5 celebrities I find oddly attractive…

5 celebritiesSo when I was pregnant with my first child, I had sex dreams about Bret Michaels from Poison. I thought, at the time, that it was simply a result of my hormones being thrown around like kernels in a popcorn popping machine.

However, since those dreams ceased, I have realized that perhaps I have slightly dirty and often confusing taste in celebrity men.

This is highly amusing considering that my husband is very clean cut, normal and not in need of any type of mental therapy (unless there is a therapy program for putting dirty laundry actually inside the hamper).

However, my celebrity crushes are the complete opposite.

In my defense, his celebrity crushes are all Latina women and considering that I can only say “Donde esta el bano?”  I think we are safe to say his tastes also tend to go to the opposite of each other.

So who is in my naughty celebrity hot tub?

1. Pitbull. I realize that he is short, bald, high pants and I have no clue what his eyes look like because he’s always wearing sunglasses, but damn I’m a sucker for that little shrimp.

2. Kid Rock. Now wait, before you go getting vomit all in your mouth, let me explain. Wait. Actually, I have no explanation. In normal circumstances I despise white tight tank tops on men but in his instance, I find myself wanting to spill cheap beer all over his.

3. Seth Rogan. You need someone funny in the hot tub, right? You can’t just have dirty, horny men in there. Someone has to tell some damn jokes.

4. 50 Cent. This guy knows moves that ever porn stars can’t figure out. The first time I listened to “Candy Shop” I remember feeling like lollipops would never look the same again.

5. Eminem. Okay, maybe I have a bit of an affinity for rappers. It’s probably because I can’t even figure out a word to rhyme with lion when my kids ask me. But he is that flawed, bruised from love kind of guy. And you know, like Marvin Gaye said, “I got that special healing”….

So yeah, it seems like I’m a freak in hot-tub land. So I gotta ask – who is in your naughty hot tub? Come on, don’t leave me hanging out here in this STD-filled jacuzzi…


Twatter: The new social media site for the elderly

twatterThere are folks you meet in the blogosphere that you know instantly you would be friends with in your normal, outside of writing, life. Nikki from Moms Who Drink and Swear is one of them. She tells the good, bad, ugly and always entertaining side of parenting on her blog but she’s also just a damn good person who doesn’t hide her passion for mental health and helping those in need.

I had the honor of guest blogging over on her site today and it’s about an elderly neighbor I have who… well… might be a bit confused about how social media works these days…

It still cracks me up every time I think about it. Go see what I mean. You’ll definitely never look at Twitter the same way again…

To read, click HERE.


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Goodbye Diem Brown.

My husband is truly a saint when it comes to my television tastes. Don’t get me wrong, he mocks them profusely, but he always snuggles in close to me and cares more about being together than watching what he would actually prefer to watch.

He’s much nicer than I am because the second he turns on sports I hightail it the hell out of there.

But one show that we both watched for years together, and actually mutually enjoyed, was The Real World/Road Rules Challenges. I grew up as a child of the first ever “Real World” and it was a series that was truly revolutionary. Of course, it eventually became a collection of smut and trashiness, but sometimes, hey, that’s enjoyable to watch too.

And I have to admit, I always had a soft spot for Diem Brown. She and CT had the tumultuous on again/off again romance and it hooked me in, like it did millions of viewers.

But that wasn’t where I truly developed a liking towards her. No, it was when she started documenting for People magazine her cancer struggles. I loved her honesty. I appreciated that she put her raw feelings out there. She dared to do what many writers struggle with – to truly expose themselves at the risk of judgement.

She would post pictures of her failing body, her lack of hair, and her tubes/machines pumping life into her veins in the hospital.

But today, she lost her battle. At just 32 years old.

No, let’s not say that.

She didn’t lose. She beat the shit of cancer but her body couldn’t keep up with her spirit.

My heart breaks for her loss. She openly talked about wanting to get married and have children – a path my life has taken me, and I feel sad that she didn’t get to experience that kind of love and joy.

But perhaps I’m wrong.

I believe in an after-life. I believe that “something” continues after you leave this world. And I once read something very comforting about this. It said that when a person dies young it is because they have learned all their life lessons. They didn’t need to live longer to learn more. For some reason, that brings me comfort.

The holidays are upon us. You’re going to buy tons of crap for your family – and that’s okay, you should. I will too. But how about we give just a bit of that money to cancer research? You decide how much and to where. But how about we all do it and try to make this cancer crap go away? I will if you do.


The Day the Crayons Quit – Why I love it.

the day the crayons quitThere are only so many times you can read Ninja Turtle books or even worse, the Disney Princess Palace Pet series. I can almost feel the brain cells exiting my body through my mouth when I read them to my kids.

So when we received The Day the Crayons Quit by Drew Daywalt as a present for my daughter’s birthday, I was thrilled to take a break and dive into something new with the kiddos. By page two, we were cracking up and I knew that I wanted to write about it for The Washington Post’s parenting section, On Parenting.

It’s seriously a book for all ages. And that peach crayon, oh how I love the letter from peach crayon.

Come read my take on it all. It’s an awesome book for kids for the holidays. No one is even paying me to say that. It’s just simply a book I loved. We all did.

To read my post, click HERE.



You’re not alone in parenting. Be part of my video project.

video parentingI was recently interviewed by a fellow blogger and she asked me why I started blogging.

I told her that I started blogging because I wanted other parents to know they weren’t alone in the insanity that is parenthood.

I wanted them to read my stories and laugh because the very same thing happened to them.

I wanted them to feel like there was a place where they were understood. Where it was okay to curse, okay to complain and okay to mock our children behind their backs.

So I’ve decided to do something about that all.

I’m creating a video project where YOU are the subject.

I want you to take one picture of what a day in your life is like. Perhaps it is of something that stresses you out. Perhaps it is something that made you laugh. Perhaps it is something you hate. Perhaps it is something you love. The key is that it is shows what one brief moment of your life as a parent looks like.

My hope is the same as when I started this blog. To show parents that you aren’t alone. Perhaps it will make a mom who is having a bad day laugh when she sees it. Perhaps it will remind a dad of the things that are important to him when he is struggling to balance it all. But in the end, it will be what REAL parenting looks like.

No names will be used. No links will be included. It’s just a visual presentation of the reality that is parenthood.

Email your picture to martinisandminivans at hotmail.com – please have your picture emailed by Wednesday, November 19. My plan is to have the video up by Thanksgiving.

Email me your picture. Do it. Come be part of it all.

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Buses, bands and bitch slapping – My 40th birthday party

hard to handle stage pic

Me “rocking” it on stage. And by “rocking it” I mean pointing my finger in various places without any sort of rhythm.

I had my 40th birthday party this past weekend. My sister-in-law and I decided to do one together seeing this was the milestone birthday for both of us. We decided to rent a party bus for our friends and hit up a few bars. Our entire goal of the night was to play the tambourine on stage with the band at the last bar.

Yes, you read that correctly. We actually rented a party bus and bar hopped.

Okay, okay, so we just ended up going to two bars, and they were both Irish pubs, but damn, we were out until almost 2 a.m. And yep, we got on stage with the band, and my body still hurts so I would say it was a raging success.

Well maybe not a complete success.

There was that little incident of telling off a 22 year old girl in the bathroom.

As my friend and I entered the bathroom at the last bar, a very intoxicated young little twit is cheering about turning 22 years old. I told her happy birthday and that I was celebrating my 40th.

She then had the most horrified look on her face. As if I told her that I was a carrier of Ebola and planned to lean in for a french kiss.

So after she made this disgusted face, I said, “I love being 40, I definitely wouldn’t want to go back to 22.”

And this punk of a kid said, while rolling her eyes and flipping her drunk frizzy hair, “Well I definitely would never want to be 40.”

I stopped for a second, thought about bitch-slapping her but then realized I don’t actually know how to do that. Is it closed-fist? Open palm? What do you do after the slap? Run?

So instead of attempting an actual bitch-slap, I decided to lean in and really sweetly said, “Do you have a boyfriend, sweetie?”

To which she completely perked up, looked freakishly giddy and said, “Yes, yes, I do.” Feeling very proud of herself.

I smiled and in the most flat and matter of fact voice I could possibly have, said, “Well, he’s probably an asshole.”

Her face fell to the floor and I walked out of the bathroom.

My friend and I laughed our asses off when we got outside the door. My friend then turned to me and said, “How do you know her boyfriend is an asshole?”

“Cause he’s a 22 year old boy. All 22 year old guys are assholes.”

“Very true,” my friend said, wrapping her arm around me. “You are wise in your old age.”

Bet that little girl was rolling her eyes out of her head after I walked out that bathroom. But the truth is, she probably knows I’m right. And if she doesn’t, I have no doubt she will when she turns 40.


Why an old lady made me pee my pants in the voting line…

ballot boxWhile waiting in line to vote this morning, a young woman in her early 20’s was a few folks in front of me. The woman was frustrated at how slow the line was moving. She was muttering things under her breath about how the people behind the check-in desk should move faster and figure out what they are doing.

Of course, the people behind the desk are volunteers or only getting paid enough to buy a cup of coffee. And it is obvious that they are trying their best.

However, this girl disagreed.

As she huffed and puffed all rudely, I looked back to see how many people were now on the line behind me. As I turned, the woman in back of me smiled and moved her finger in a way that asked me to move closer so she could whisper something to me.

Now, before I tell you what she whispered, let me describe her so you can get a visual image in your head of who we are dealing with here.

She was probably in her late 80’s, white short perfectly permed hair, maybe as tall as an Oompa Loompa, navy blue polyester pants that came right under her boobs that showed a lifetime of aging, and a cotton long-sleeve shirt that had a large fall maple leaf on it.

She shook her head as she steadied herself on my extended arm, trying to keep her balance when I suspected she should probably be using a cane.

Then she said it. She said the line that made me almost pee my pants in public.

In her softest, sweetest, grandmother voice she says, “Bitches don’t have any respect, do they?”

I kid you not.

This little old lady, wearing foliage on her blouse, dropped the B-word  as if she was guest rapping on the new Eminem album.

And as the young “bitch” girl walked out, my rapping grandmother shook her head, pulled up her pants up higher and added, “She better not have taken’ the damn last jelly donut either.”

Lucky for the girl’s sake, the jelly donut was untouched by the time I got up to vote. I seriously think that grandmother would have hunted her down and cut the bitch. I’ve now learned, you don’t mess with a grandmother, her voting and a jelly donut.



So I did it. I told my daughter I was married before… And this is what happened.

washington post danielle herzog pictureAfter writing about my concerns about telling my daughter that I was married before, I really thought about all the comments folks left after the post went up on The Washington Post. And I knew what I had to do.

I had to tell her.

I wrote about what happened when I did for my latest piece for The Washington Post’s parenting section, On Parenting.

I’d love it if you read it, maybe share it, maybe talk about it and definitely tell me what you think.

To read it, click HERE.

I’ll simply say this. Navigating this world of parenting is really full of surprises….



Friday’s Surprise Guest Blogger: The Mediocre Housewife

never call you anymoreMy best friend had children almost a decade before I did. So I was a stupid, naive self-absorbed person at the time she was dealing with screaming toddlers, potty training and lack of time to properly shower. I called her one time to discuss what I’m sure was a ridiculous relationship problem, when I noticed that she wasn’t really listening. I laid a horrible guilt trip on her about feeling left out and how she needed to make me a priority. She was so kind at the time and let me believe I was justified, when of course, I was being a fool of epic proportions. I didn’t realize this though until a few months after the birth of my first child where I called her and simply said, “I’m sorry. I get it now.”  And because she’s the world’s best friend, she simply laughed and told me that she knew I would someday.

So when I read this submission for a guest post called 10 Reasons Why I Never Call You Anymore, I found myself cracking up at the memory of it all. And how unbelievably true and hilarious it is. I’m hoping that when my children go to college, I can finally call back my old roommate that I told six years ago that I would call back in a few minutes.

You have to read it. I mean, you really have to. It’s so freakin’ funny and a fantastic way to end a week of amazing guest bloggers.

To read it, click HERE.

And go give her some following love too – she deserves it! You can find her on Facebook and Twitter.

Thank you to all the hilarious writers who let me post their words this week. It was such a fun way to celebrate 6,000 Facebook followers and turning the big 4-0. What a year it already is!

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Thursday’s Surprise Guest Blogger: Elaine Ambrose

midlife cabernetThis is such a damn funny guest post today, I don’t even know how to intro it. Other than to tell you the title.

Don’t Fart During An MRI

Yeah, I kid you not. That’s the real title.

And the story lives up to it. I mean, REALLY lives up to it.

Go see for yourself. No really, go now.

It’s so freakin’ funny that I’m thinking of creating a fake injury just to fart during an MRI.

To read, click HERE.

And go give her some social media loving. Be sure you tell her I sent ya! Find her on Facebook and Twitter.


Wednesday’s Surprise Guest Blogger: The Dusty Parachute

dusty parachute logoWhen we had our first child, I left the most ridiculous “care instructions” for my in-laws who would babysit her from time to time. I remember one instruction said, “Rock her 16 times, not 15, in a semi-circle motion to the song You Are My Sunshine while turning her away from the direct light of the window.”  I found out later, of course, that they popped open a bottle of wine and let her fall asleep with them on the couch.

So when The Dusty Parachute submitted this guest blog post as part of my week-long celebration of turning 40 and hitting 6,000 Facebook followers, I literally fell off my chair laughing. It is so freakin’ funny and absolutely something every parent can relate to.

It’s called: ” Care Instructions for a 1 Year Old (Interpreted by the Grandparents)

To read it, click HERE.

And be sure to give her some love on Facebook and Twitter – let her know that you think she’s as funny as I do!



Tuesday’s Surprise Guest Blogger: Marie from Make Your Own Damn Dinner

make your own damn dinner logoIf you didn’t catch yesterday’s blog post, I’m celebrating two important things this week – hitting 6,000 followers on Facebook and turning 40! Woo hoo! To celebrate, I decided to feature a week of guest bloggers. The kicker is – no one knows  who the blogger is (EVEN THE BLOGGER) until the post goes live!

Today’s guest? It’s the awesome blogger behind the hilarious blog Make Your Own Damn Dinner. When I first saw her submission, it was the title “Dear Tampons” that caught my eye. Then when I read it, I loved it even more. Absolutely cracked up.

Give it a read, you won’t regret it.

To read, click HERE.

And hope you’ll give her some social media love too. You can find her on Facebook & Twitter – tell her I sent ya!




Monday’s Surprise Guest Blogger: Alison Tedford from Sparkly Shoes and Sweat Drops

sparkly shoes and sweat drops picI’m celebrating two important things this week – hitting 6,000 followers on Facebook and turning 40! Woo hoo! To celebrate, I decided to feature a week of guest bloggers that you have to check out. I put a call out on Facebook for writers to submit their funniest posts. The deal was that I would choose a different one for every day this week (Monday – Friday). The catch? No one would know who I chose until the post went live. It’s like finding out the ending of Gone Girl but far less disturbing and without the hunk-a-hunk of burning love Ben Affleck.

So today’s pick? Alison Tedford from Sparkly Shoes and Sweat Drops. It’s a post that I laughed my ass off reading. Okay, well my ass actually didn’t fall off my body but damn, that would have been awesome if it did.

It’s called “Thoughts I’ve Had in Zumba” – go check it out – it’ll definitely make you want to sit on the couch and watch exercise videos while eating Reeses Peanut Butter Pumpkins.

To read, click HERE.

And give her some Facebook love too – her profile picture makes my groin hurt just looking at it.


I did a bad, bad thing…

i did a bad bad thingAs I walked away from the 6th grade student that I just told off, I could almost hear Chris Isaak’s song, “She Did a Bad, Bad Thing” playing with each step I took away from the school.

Yes, I did a bad, bad thing.

Let me explain.

My 3 year-old son is currently obsessed with all things Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. And with that freakish obsession comes a very deep love for his plastic Michelangelo mask.

This morning he asked to wear it to his sister’s school drop off. My instinct was to say no, but then I stopped and saw his growing excitement to wear it.

“Sure, buddy, go for it.”

As we walked up to the drop off line, a snotty little sixth grade boy said loudly, “What the heck is that mask? Some freak turtle?”

I took a deep breath and hoped my son didn’t hear and kept walking.

He continued yelling though.

“Ninja Turtles suck. Only a loser likes those stupid things.”

Okay, game on, kid. Game on.

I walk over to him and said nicely through gritted teeth, “It’s really not nice to make fun of little kids, you know that?”

He looked me straight in the eye and said, “I don’t care. It looks dumb. Why’s he wearing that stupid mask anyway?”

And then I did it. I said the bad, bad thing.

“I don’t know,” I said, “Why are you wearing yours?”

As soon as the words came out of my mouth I was horrified. I just told off a sixth grade on the school line. Given, all the kids in his class cheered and I think tried to give me high-fives, but oh no, no, it was a very low parenting moment.

I quickly looked around to see if there were adult witnesses but was relieved to find their weren’t. I quickly yelled out, “Just joking!” as the punk ass brat walked in to school but I’m sure he knew I wasn’t. I’m sure he wondered how the woman in the yoga pants and unclean hair just got away with telling him off.

And of course, through it all, my son wore his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles mask proud – completely oblivious that his mother just did a bad, bad thing.

I’m thinking that perhaps I need to invest in my own mask for pick up this afternoon…


Do I tell my children that I was married before?

telling kids about former marriageMy daughter thinks that her father and I have been together forever. That there’s no way I could have ever dated, let alone married, someone else.

But that’s not the real truth. That’s only the truth she knows at six years old.

I’m opening up in a new way over at The Washington Post’s parenting site, On Parenting today. No sarcasm, so silliness, just my raw honesty. And my sadness at the thought of someday bursting her bubble.

I hope you’ll check it out. Maybe even share it with some friends or family who could relate. It’s one of those posts that has taken me quite a way to write. To read it, click HERE.