Category Archives: General Hoo-Hah

Is that a cervix in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?

I’ve flown twice this month: once to my hometown in California and once to New York City, and the experiences I’ve had with the TSA have been as different as the cities I visited.

I used to joke with the TSA at DFW Airport that I must have a tumor or something, because my lower left leg always sets the damn body scanner off. But lately, my voluptuous bod seems to be pissing off more and more scanners. On my flight home from California earlier this month, a very polite and well-mannered female TSA agent asked me to step aside so that she could pat me down.

She was very polite and asked if I’d prefer a private screening. No, I answered. I never do. Maybe if they’re going to ask me to take off my bra and give me a mammogram or something, but just to pat me down? I’m made of sterner stuff than that.

“I’m going to start with your chest and arms, going in this direction,” she told me as she gestured with blue rubber gloved hands. “But I’m going to use the backs of my hands.”

I shrugged the equivalent of “Yeah, okay.” What am I going to do? Start running for my gate? Besides, if we all get to our destinations safely I honestly don’t care if she cops a feel with the backs of her hands. I’m sure it’s even less a thrill for her than for me.

She went on to pat me down everywhere, but kept stopping to explain what she was going to do…and always “but I’m going to use the backs of my hands”. Got it. After a few minutes and a good swabbing of my hands for bomby things, I was on my way to my gate. No big.
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Yesterday, as I was leaving La Guardia Airport in New York City, I had the exact opposite of this experience.

As usual, my lumpy body set off the body scanners. If our lack of decent presidential candidates didn’t concern me enough, now I’m a bit worried that the TSA can’t tell the difference between a terrorist and a chubby girl like me. Why the hell do I always set off those scanners! I wasn’t even wearing Spanx, for fucks sake.

There were two female TSA agents working the security side of the body scanners. One was a regular looking lady in her mid-fifties, I’d guess. The other was an incredibly surly chick with an attitude I can only describe as something between a Jerry Springer talk show guest and an LA gang member with a rap sheet as long as my arm. She had to be at least 6 feet tall…and she could’ve easily palmed a basketball. Shit, she could have palmed a Mini Cooper.

I don’t know her name, but let’s call her Tiffany because it sounds dainty and feminine, which she was not and that shit’s just funny. I was too afraid she’d see me look at her badge, lest I end up floating in the Hudson River like in an episode of Law & Order. Visiting, delightful, warm-hearted tourist from Texas is found floating boobs-up in the river…Benson & Stabler arrive on the scene…donk donk!

Here’s now my pat down went:

Tiffany, pointing one 9 inch finger to the floor mat in front of her: “Step here.”

I step here.

Without another word, Tiffany proceeds to use her gigantic fucking meat hook hands to push and slap my shoulders and arms, then runs her frying pan sized palms down the front of my legs and then back up between my legs until BAM! Karate chop right in the vagina. The fuck?

Tiffany didn’t use the backs of her Andre the Giant hands. She just manhandled the shit out of me and punched in me in the lady bits.

I was still reeling from the violation when she turned around and yelled (I’m totally not shitting you here) at this tiny little woman in the body scanner, who was apparently not understanding the other agent who was telling her to step out.


Not. Even. Shitting you.

Almost as an after thought, Tiffany told me I could go. She turned and stomped back to her post, her blue rubber covered knuckles nearly dragging on the ground behind her. Bitch.
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As I was seated on the plane, being safely jetted away from Tiffany and her beefy fingers, I realized that the TSA is rather like a visit to the gyno – except with a gyno you can change doctors if you’re not happy.

The TSA agent in California was like my beloved gyno here in Texas: soft spoken, gentle and pleasant…in spite of the task that’s been handed her. In contrast, Tiffany from NYC was like the doctor who uses a teaspoon of lube on a freezing cold speculum and just aims in the general direction of your birth canal. Pfffffffp! Good enough! NEXT!!!


I wanted to cross my legs all the way to Texas, but I was in coach.

I’m sorry, I know I’ve been talking about my vagina a lot. It’s really not that special or fantastic, but it’s the only one I have…and I really don’t want to share it with Tiffany and her man hands.

In all seriousness, though, it makes me wonder how a person like that keeps their job. Is no one watching her? Why is she allowed to be that horrible to people? Why is she so fucking angry? Maybe I’d be angry too if I had to frisk people all day long, but maybe I’d go look for another job where I didn’t have to touch vaginas all day…ya know, if that wasn’t my kind of thing.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that there are many of us who might choose to do something else for a living if we could. I grew up wanting to be a tap dancing astronaut writer. I am not an astronaut. I can tap dance. I’m a writer. But I didn’t achieve the trifecta career of my childhood dreams. That doesn’t mean I can run around punching people in the vagina and yelling all day.

We need to find a way to be happy with ourselves in some way. We need to find at least one spot of joy in this world…or we end up like Tiffany.

Don’t be Tiffany. That’s all I’m saying.

Calm the Fuck Down adult coloring book


What the H?

So earlier this week I was sitting, weirdly enough, in the waiting room at my gyno doctor’s office…scrolling through Facebook on my phone…and I see this article from Yahoo! Health:

Please Don’t Stick Herbs Up Your Vagina. Please.

What the actual fuck? Did I read that right?

I felt an odd mixture of horror and curiosity that I haven’t felt since Gwyneth told us all we should be steaming our lady bits if we wanted to be cool like her. (I’d link you to her blog post about all that, but it mysteriously disappeared after the entire universe laughed at the ridiculousness of it all). That’s okay. My vagina decided back then that it didn’t want to be cool like Gwyneth. I’m not in the habit of scalding the shit out of my girly parts even if Ironman’s girlfriend is telling me to do it.

To be fair, I’ll link you to this article about the famous vaginal steaming post. It’s the best I can do.

Anyway, I clicked on the Yahoo article. How could I not? I was not disappointed. I mean, I’m thankful that I was paying attention in school the day they told me not to mess with my vag’s eco-system, as it were, but for those of you who think differently…this article is awesome on multiple levels. When it comes to all the reasons why you shouldn’t put herbs up your vagina, Amy Rushlow (with Yahoo Health) puts it all together for us in an effing hysterical package.

Apparently, “vaginal detoxing” is actually a thing that some women are taking seriously. Like…they’re buying herbal tampons and shoving them up their vajayjays to get a good detox. For three days. THREE. DAYS.


My favorite part of the article was when she talks about where to buy these ridiculous things. Are you ready? Etsy. Yes! Etsy…the homemade crafting website. “Because when you want to buy something that goes up your vagina, the first person you think of is the guy who made that super-cool necklace for your aunt,” says Rushlow. LOL. I love this chick! (I clicked over to Twitter and followed her so fast.)

I read the damn thing twice while I was sitting in the waiting room, then I was called back to have my own lady bits inspected, giggling the entire time. But as I walked back to the exam room, I realized that these herbal tampons look like…tea bags. Don’t they?

Holy CRAP! Tea bags for the vag!!!

Okay, now this is exciting. If you’ve read my blog or followed me on Facebook for any length of time, you’re well aware that I’m a big fan of Downton Abbey. So now I’m thinking…vag…tea bags…tea…Downton…vag…tea….

Sometimes my mind is like a runaway train, honestly. And once it’s off the tracks there’s just no stopping the damn thing. Before I knew it, my imagination exploded with images of Lady Mary doing magazine ads for this remarkable breakthrough in feminine hygiene.

“I’m Lady Mary Crawley…and when I want to get the funk of a dead Turk’s peenie out of my vag, I turn to Mrs. Tiddlywink’s Detox Tea Bags.”

Poor Mr. Pamuk was no match for Lady Mary’s vag. Perhaps if she’d had a damn detox beforehand he’d still be alive!

Remember when Lady Mary made Anna go to the pharmacy to get a diaphragm so she could bump uglies with Tony Gillingham out of wedlock?

Pharmacy lady: “May I help you?”

Anna (embarrassed): “Yes, uh…I’d like…I’d like to get one of these please.”

(She hesitates a moment.)

Anna: “Oh, bullocks. Can I also get a dozen of the Cinnamon Cervix tea bags? Lady Mary’s whoring around again.”

I’m sure you’re all thinking what I’m thinking: I never would have survived back in the days when the working class couldn’t say what they thought. If I’d lived back then…with my mouth, I’d have ended up scrubbing underpants at the local whorehouse or something – and scrubbing my knuckles raw cleaning crotches all day just seems a waste of my talent.

And what about the Dowager’s naughty history with Russian Prince Kuragin?

Perhaps a little of “Lady Violet’s Echinacea and Olive Oil Downton Estate Vag Tea”…for when you need to add a little moisture back to that crusty, 80 year old hoo-hah. With a touch of Retinol to give your labia a rejuvinated, youthful appearance!

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And, of course, there’s the obvious seasonal blends we could play with:

  • Spring Fling – leaves an essence of clean laundry and freshly mowed grass
  • Summer Daze – perhaps something that smells like the ocean. Without the fish or…that might be weird.
  • Pumpkin Spice in the fall, y’all!
  • Holiday Hymen Surprise in December, maybe? I’m just thinking out loud…

It’s true that I haven’t had to suffer through a period since I had my evil bitch uterus sandblasted a year ago, but for you ladies who still have deal with that crap how about a nice Menstrual Mint?

There’s no limit to the money we can make with this scheme, ladies, really. Which one of you has the capital to invest? We should talk. Get me Downton creator Julian Fellowes on the phone. STAT!

I’ll be back later. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately and I’m going to try my hand at mixing up a batch of Lavender Labia. I know I’m probably kidding myself, but at least my vagina will be well rested…

Royal Albert Old Country Roses Boxed Cup and Saucer

Tour Through Blogland!

Today we’re traveling, peeps. We’re going on a Tour Through Blogland, thanks to HMP fan Ashley from This Pretty Little Life. Ashley’s quite a blogger herself and when she contacted me about this opportunity it sounded like a hell of a lotta fun. So I said yes.


If you haven’t read Ashley’s blog, you need to go check it out. Here are a few of my favorite posts of hers:

The letter she wrote to her younger self. Who wouldn’t want to do that? Well, she did it! It’s moving to read and don’t we wish we all had a time machine so we could go back and smack some sense into our younger selves?

This Pretty Little Spring Cleaning: Kitchen – Under the Sink  Honestly, Ashley’s “before” picture doesn’t look nearly as bad as what my under sink cabinet looks like right now – but I’m betting she doesn’t live with a Hot Mess redneck like I do. Seriously, HMH can be a real challenge sometimes…and there’s only so many hours in a damn day. But I love spring cleaning and I love before/after pictures of home organization – so this one really got me.

And finally, My Weight Loss Journey – Support is just simply a good read. It’s incredibly hard to change and Ashley’s take on what really matters is open and real.

You can find Ashley on all the major social media networks. My favorite is her Pinterest boards, but she’s everywhere in social media – so click here to go to her blog and look at the social icons on the upper right to see which ones suit you best.

Ashley’s asked me to answer certain questions as part of this tour, so here I go!

Question 1: What am I working on right now?

The answer is…many things. I have a post waiting in the wings about change. Are you ready for it? How do you know? I’m also working on checking items off my list of 50 awesome things to do before I turn 50…and that day is getting closer. Eeek! And I’m working on writing my first book, but I procrastinate that one a lot because the idea of finding someone to publish it is daunting as hell. (Yes, I realize I can self-publish these days…but I’d rather have a publishing house do all the work for me.)

Question 2: How does my work differ from others in the same genre?

Well, for one thing…what the hell genre am I in? Weight loss? God, I hope not. I have a huge problem with the weight loss industry. I don’t like people who make money off of fat people. Bottom line. I don’t mind paying for goods or services if there’s an end in sight, but if I have to keep buying your shit then there’s a problem with that. So I’m not sure what genre you’d put me in but I’ll tell you this much: my central message is that you have to do what works for you. I’m not a weight loss blog…I’m a hot mess and I’m just blabbing about my life and my path and my process. I’m unique and so are you.

Question 3: Why do I create/write what I do?

That’s easy. Because I can’t help it. I started this blog because I knew there were others out there like me and I was reaching out. And I found you. I wouldn’t be where I am today without your support and I know, thanks to comments here and the many private messages and emails I receive, that many of you have been helped by this blog. So I do what I do because I’m called to it. I can’t imagine things ever being any different.

Question 4: How does my creative/writing process work?

I have two very distinct, separate methods for writing: one for the blog and one for fiction. My methods for writing this blog are very organic. I write what I write because it comes to me. I can’t put it off and I can’t plan it. When I first started the blog, I tried to create an editorial calendar and schedule certain posts for certain days…but it didn’t work. I can’t schedule any of the shit I spew through my keyboard because it’s all coming from the heart. Fiction is different. Fiction is created completely. It’s crafted. Embellished. It’s bullshit, basically, so it’s a lot easier to manipulate. The Hot Mess thing is real.

So those are the questions and my answers. Now? I’m super proud and happy to introduce you to my pal Brenda’s blog “One Awesome at a Time”. You might remember Brenda from the 2013 DFW Penis Expedition…or at least you should. It’s hard to forget this girl once you meet her. She rocks!

Brenda is a wonderful, funny, loving, creative, amazing work in progress and I’m proud to be her friend. You can find Brenda on her blog…you can even subscribe to new posts via email.

Here are a few of my favorite posts of Brenda’s:

Her post on creating the life you love. Brenda is all about color, life and creativity and this post totally shows it!

Her own 50 Things Before 50 post. She’s turning 50 a month before me (hahahahah!) and she’s well on her way to completing her list.

Her amazing “Shame – Today I am ENOUGH!” post. It’s beyond description. Grab a cup o’ something and read away. It’s wonderful.

I can’t wait to see what Brenda cooks up for her post next Monday. Until then, big thanks to Ashley from This Pretty Little Life for inviting me along…this was really fun!


Nylon Butterfly Decorations (36 pc)

50 Awesome Things Before I Turn 50

If I don’t get this post out today, I feel like I’ll never get it out. Life is pulling me in 300 directions at once…and my blog has suffered for it. Until now. I’m forcing myself right back up on the horse. The internet is about to get a bit less quiet and a lot more Hot Mess.

Peeps, today I start a series of posts called “50 Awesome Things Before I Turn 50”.

50 things

I got the idea from a Facebook friend who’s doing 40 awesome things before her 40th birthday. Unfortunately, 40 passed me a while ago. This November, I’ll turn the big 5-0…and to make things interesting I’ve decided to do 50 awesome things before my birthday.

If you’re not a fan on Facebook, you might want to be…because I’m going to open some of these activities up to anyone who wants to join me. I’ll post the info on my Facebook fan page – so watch for that!

Now…I also need your help with a slight problem. When I started this list, there was more than enough time to plan and save up for some of the bigger items – but as life interfered and my budget shrank, I had to remove quite a few things from the list. Now it’s full of holes…and my imagination is stretched on this topic. That’s where you come in.

For the love o’ God, please…if you have an idea for something I can do to fill this list, leave a comment and tell me. One thing, though: no tattoos. I have many loved ones with tattoos, so I have nothing against it whatsoever (even HMH has a tattoo). It’s not for me. It’s a needle thing, not a judgy thing. So if you have any other ideas, shout ’em out!

Here’s my list thus far:

1. Give blood
2. Volunteer
3. Visit my cousin in Florida
4. Sketch something
5. Rollerskate
6. Enter the State Fair of Texas needlework competition
7. Send flowers to someone
8. Take a CHL class
9. Write a short story
10. Play with sidewalk chalk
11. Finish the watercolor painting I started in Florida
12. Get my passport
13. Buy a new bike
14. Take a knitting class
15. Walk a 5K
16. Design my first cross stitch pattern
17. Over-tip a waitress
18. Attend a live performance
19. Play in the rain
20. Lose 100 pounds
21. Serve myself breakfast in bed
22. Clean out my closet to donate clothes
23. Eat ice cream for the first time in a year
24. Embroider something
25. Clean out the trunk of my car (talk about a hot mess…)
26. Watch a movie outside
27. Eat a popsicle
29. Watch a sunrise
31. Inspire a rebel
32. Surprise my Mom with a weekend visit
33. Make a really cool craft project
34. Teach a child a new skill
35. Help someone think better of himself or herself
37. Make a new friend
38. Read a book
39. Go to the movies again (it’s like pulling teeth to get HMH to go)
40. Buy a stranger a drink
42. Random act of baking kindness
44. Ride a rollercoaster
45. 2014 DFW Penis Expedition (Confused? Read this: I live in a penis!)
46. Make a candle
47. Go to the top of the ball at Reunion Tower in Dallas
49. Surprise HMH with a super awesome home-cooked dinner
50. Perform a random act of kindness every day for a week

I’ve even done a few of these already because it’s taken me so damn long to write this post. Let’s get busy crossing a few off…and filling in the holes. Who’s with me?


37 strikes and…you’re OUT!

I’m talking to you, Avenue clothing stores. You’re outta here.

I spent years on the big side of a size 32 (meaning I could squeeze into them but I’d be covered in red welts by the time I waddled my way home from work). When you’re on the plus side of plus size, your choice in clothing stores is limited. Lane Bryant only carries up to size 26/28. And Catherine’s? Well…I probably could have found some things that fit me, but their styles are not for me. I prefer to wear clothes that are somewhat understated and conservative…and Catherine’s seems to want me to look like a giant tropical flower bedecked in sequins and glitter. Not my thing. So I was stuck with the Avenue.

Going by baseball rules, they should have been out after three strikes but since my choices were limited I had to stick with them until I figured my shit out. Now I have…and I’ve dropped five sizes. Last weekend, I dared to step into another clothing store and was treated to something I haven’t seen in a very long time: customer service.

But let’s go back to the Avenue for a minute. Let’s talk about the three biggest strikes they have against them in my book.

Strike 1: impersonal staff.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked into one of these stores and heard someone lethargically yell “Welcome to the Avenue!” from the back with about as much enthusiasm as I have going to the gyno. (Oh God….do I really have to do this? Can’t they just xray my vag and tell me I’m okay? GROSS!)

I try not to be a rude bitch on a daily basis, so I always yell back “Thanks!” to the disembodied voice in the back of the store. No one actually steps forward to say hello or ask if I need help.

There’s usually only one person on the floor at a time. If there are two, they’re usually back there together…talking about how they’re going to put the merchandise on the floor or about the customer who stayed in the store until 9:02 pm last night. I once stood next to two employees, one who was working in the store where I was shopping and the other who was visiting from another store, as they had a conversation about an irate customer. My arms were loaded with clothing I wanted to try on. Both of them ignored me completely while they went on and on about this irate customer. I’m too big to be invisible, folks. I was standing right there within four feet of them…obviously waiting to be helped…and, nope, nothing. I finally interrupted them and asked for a fitting room.


Strike 2: Lame-ass failures

Tired of sewing my workout pants back together for the umpteenth time, I went over to the Avenue to buy a new pair. I walked around looking for some but couldn’t find any. The closest thing they had was a pair of bright blue velour lounging pants. Velour. As I neared the back of the store, an employee approached and asked if she could help me find something. (It has been known to happen, I’ve just learned not to rely on it).

“Yes, thanks,” I said. “I’m looking for some workout pants. You know…like the nylon or polyester blend ones we had to wear in gym class in high school?”

“Ohhhhh, no,” laments the Avenue chick. “We don’t have anything like that, I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” I asked incredulously.

“Well, we only carry workout stuff in January,” she offers back. “You know…because of resolutions.”



This was one of those times for me when I could feel myself wanting to open up and vent and my filter was frantically trying to get me to stop. Think. Don’t say something rude, HMP!!! Don’t do it!!!

I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and replied “Oh riiiiight. Because the fatties only work out after New Years, I’d forgotten. How silly of me…it’s June. We’ve all failed by now, right?”

Poor Avenue chick. She didn’t know what to say. To her credit, she tried to be helpful by pointing out the velour lounging pants.

“We do have these…”

Now I’m pissed at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Well, those are made of velour. If I workout in those the thigh friction alone would have the inside legs bald in no time. The gym floor would look like someone murdered the Cookie Monster.”



“Well, I guess you’re right. I’ll have to quit working out and wait for next January. Thanks for your help.”

I skulked off to Catherine’s, thinking I couldn’t get more pissed off. I was wrong. They didn’t have any workout gear either. But they had chocolate for sale by the register.

Strike 3: Bad fashion advice

I walked into the Avenue last week, eager to see if I could fit into a size 24. An employee was straightening a table near the entrance. And, by the way, this reminds me…why are some customers such dillholes? Do they really not realize that someone just set up that beautiful display of tshirts? I’ll never understand people who unfold something to look at it and then toss it on the table. Rude.

Sorry…I digress. I said “I’m looking for dress pants.”

The girl nodded and, quite seriously, pointed out a rack of black dress pants. Then she offered “You’re lucky. This is all we have.”

“Ohhh…yeah,” I answered. “Because they’re black and it’s summertime, right?”

She shook her head negatively. “No.”

I guess I wasn’t going to get an explanation and, as much as I knew I would regret it, I had to ask why. So I did.

“Because people just aren’t wearing pants anymore.”



You can’t say shit like that to me, okay? My mind goes from innocent to dirty in 3 seconds.

“My God, why not?”

“Everyone’s wearing shorts and capris now. Or dresses.”

Oh, I see. Everyone is. Then I looked down. “You’re wearing pants…”

Maybe she thought I wouldn’t notice?


Just as a bonus, let me add this little tidbit: I went to buy new bras at the Avenue but I couldn’t see the size on the tag anymore. I asked the girl to measure me. She’s worked there a while and I always recognize her.

“Oh! You’re at least an H cup and we don’t carry anything that big.”

Um…no. I explained to the girl that I’d purchased the bra I was wearing less than a year before. It’s a DDD.

“No, you’re at least an H. Where did you go to buy it? They measured you wrong.”

Without missing a beat, I replied that I’d purchased the bra at…the Avenue.

“Oh, which store?”

This one.

“Well, the person who measured you must have done it wrong. I’m sorry.”

You measured me.”

You’re outta here!

There have been countless other failures that I won’t list out entirely. I think I’ve made my point. Out of habit, I’ve just kept going back there…even though I’ve dropped from a tight size 32 to a 22 now. Until last week when I walked into a Torrid store.

As soon as I walked in, I was greeted by Rachel. I know her name is Rachel because she (shocker) told me her name. With a smile on her face. Right before she asked me if she could help me with anything.

Yes, perhaps you could help me up off the floor because I’m not used to being greeted with such courtesy.

Rachel asked my name and explained the sales they were having. My favorite was the yellow tag sale. Buy something with a yellow tag and get another yellow tag item for $1. Then there was the red tag sale. And the jeans for $19. And the rest of the store was on sale as well. Buy one item, get 50% off another.

Most of their stuff is casual, which is okay…but I’m always running short on clothes for work, which have to be professional. I asked Rachel, who was a whirlwind as she moved around the floor greeting and helping customers, but always seemed to have time for each of us. She pointed out their dress slacks, which looked absolutely perfect for work. I was relieved.

Rachel also pointed out that they had suit jackets to match those dress slacks. $54 for the jacket. I think it was slightly more for the pants, but with the “buy one, get 1/2 off the next” sale, I was quite pleased.

She set up a fitting room for me. As I moved around the floor, other employees would occasionally check on me. They all knew my name. They all used my name. I have to say…it was quite refreshing.

I was on a budget, so I couldn’t spend much. I ended up walking out of there with a $43 denim jacket that would have been $60 at the Avenue. Because it was a yellow tag item, I got a khaki military style jacket for $1.

As it so happens, there’s a Lane Bryant next door to the Torrid in my area. I had to go in. I haven’t been in a Lane Bryant in years and I wanted to see what they had going on.

Marble floors. Some pretty clothes. Not a soul in sight. I walked over to a suit jacket that caught my eye. $99. For a suit jacket. Buh-bye. I left…and never saw one employee anywhere in the store.

Now I need to go shopping again. The bras that the H-cup chick at the Avenue sold me are too small. Guess where I’m headed?

Yep. Torrid.

(And no, I haven’t been financially compensated for this post in any way…they’re just that awesome.)