Long time, no see.


I want to tell you something.

Mostly to do with giving your stuff away.

Meaning the things you donate to the charities in your area.

Everything else is your problem.

Not really. Get it?

Never mind.

Just so you know, there are a few giving styles.

1. The shower: pronounced show – er.

This is the donor who brings you a box of stuff. They feel an extreme need to take each item out piece by piece and explain each. This becomes a problem when I know what a sweater or a toothpick is. It comes in handy when the item costs a fortune, and I would never know it, because it’s uglier than Satan.

Mostly, it’s toothpicks, or worse, toothpick art.

2. The dumper:

This is the donor who pretty much decided between you and the dumpster. This is the dude who waits for no one to be seen, runs in and shoves things onto the counter (zero eye contact) and then jumps into the get away car. And then I haul their nasty doodoo immediately to the trash so no one gets scabies.

3. The Hoverer.

They want to wait and watch. No dice.  Cause it’s gonna be fine. It’s your freaking rejects.

4. The I Need My Box Back’s:

REALLYYYYYY! You just delivered 7 boxes of records and you want me to give you back 7 boxes in that exact size? And honestly, your boxes full of records are covered with spiderwebs and more scabies.

Again. No dice.

Take 14 small ones.

5. The Dirties:

We politely refuse your less than stellar undies, and whatever else could possibly be in that pocket.

6. The Nervousers.

We won’t speak of this to anyone. Except the Police.

7. The Washers.

We bless you.

8. The Rich Ones.

Keep em coming!!

9. The Homeless.

They get anything we give away. Or I might just bend the rules. Sue me.

10. The Bedazzlers.

Please. Stop.

11. The Ultra Rich.

May I hold the door for you?

12. The Small Toy Donor.

Throw. Them. Away.

13. The Regulars.

We adore you. Especially when you’re a washer.

You would be surprised how much stuff comes through a donation center. And how much work it is to rifle through it.

I am quite literally guilty of so much of this. I repent. I’ve truly learned how to donate through my awesome job.

Just spreading the word that we are here to benefit animals in crisis. And the more organized the donations are, the better.

And no, I ‘m not a loser.

I’m a Saint. Deal.



Well, it’s a new year.

I have some goals.  I’ve never really  had those before.

1. I’m gonna lose the rest of the baby weight.

2. I’m gonna record as many polygamist shows as possible.

3. I’m gonna write more. Aren’t you beside yourself with joy?

4. I’m gonna stop now.

I want this year to be a season of unconditional love. And mental health. And physical health. And dental health.

Which is frankly none of your business.

I also want this year to be full (mostly) of self discipline and business – ness.

And I kind of think this is my year.

All I know is, I can pretty much do whatever I want, to the capacity I want. I can at least try.

My bangs were weird today.

I tried to take a picture of them. My arms are too short.

The rest of me looked awesome.


My hand me down tree’s mid -section has its lights off.

I completely identify.


Full heart.

Full life.

Fully committed this year to happiness.

I have to admit to some tough times. I mostly brought it on with my selfishness. And my bitchiness. Yep, that there’s a dictionary word. Sorry, but Jesus said ass. And he meant it.

I also have to admit to even tougher times around me, personally.

And I had to decide.

I wear happy way better.

Mean and sad looks horrible on me.

Brad says it makes me look like my dad.

Which is AWESOME.

But still…

Happy NEW YEAR. For real, this time.






I do not want to talk about Christmas, I want to talk about what makes us anxious about Christmas.

it makes me kind of nuts. All about what makes each person who they are, and finding the right nonsense to make it happen.

This year, this happened.

Torrie sat down and asked me what we spend on each child. (Not a significant amount).

She burst into tears.

Not tears of joy. Tears of anguish.

She wanted to know why on earth we would ever spend that.

(Again, barely discernible amount.)

She said, “i do not want it. People are thirsty. We will give it to them.”

She will get some things she wants. She will also get her wish.

Fearful and Fearless…

I swear, I have a knack for words.

The truth is, these last few months have thrown me so off.

My family totally fixed that.

They sat around a table and they did everything I feared the nation was doing. They pointed out my crazy eyes. They totally made fun of that freaking montage… “Am I obsessed with couponing… am I obsessed with couponing.. AM I OBSESSED WITH COUPONING… yeah… yeah… I think I might be.”

They asked me if I really worked for the Sober Home. (really? you’re gonna ask me that?)

They spiked my drinks.

Wait… that’s another post.

Sorry Dad.

Except I’m not.

My family was my family.

We all have obnoxiously loud hyena laughs… and sneezes.

We are endearingly sarcastic. Apparently, it’s a gift to be hateful without letting anyone know it. (You have to smile sweetly while saying toxic stuff)

And we hold each other accountable to the real us.

If any one of us is off, it throws us all off.


The fearless part came when I decided to test us all by exposing myself on a camera.

The fearful part was waiting to hear the reaction. Not a perfect review. I’m grateful.

The fearless part is when I try again and again, because my family is really all that matters.

(Seriously, no offense)

In whatever I do.

Moving on. As much as I’d love it all to be about me.

The fearful part is when you need to have an exceedingly difficult conversation including a very difficult topic.

The fearless part is when you just do it. And you don’t regret it. Or maybe you do. But it happened, and that’s that.

All I know is, this was the most big girl Thanksgiving I’ve had yet.

Also, I will miss Elmo.

He’s family.

Living real life is not always awesome. Laugh as much as you can. But for God’s sakes…

Just be real.



New website coming soon….

It’s gonna be beautiful and epic and colorful and gypsy-ish.

Better get on the waiting list for my personal shopping. That sucker is gonna take off.


Wish me “luck”. 🙂


I love that word. It’s what I call a fun word. Like sissy. Who doesn’t love that word?


have mercy. So much stuff is happening.

First of all, I’m loving my work at the Thrift Store. I do not call it a job. I call it work. Because, my goodness, have you ever seen the likes of a donation center? I broke a fake nail. Which was guaranteed not to break. Because they are dumb.

I was also pretending I had my nails done. Fail.

Anyway, It’s never dull. And Tre and Jen Cates are the best people ever. I’d put them up there with Brad and Julie Riley.

Also, as you may know, I’m gonna be on the telly soon. TLC’s Extreme Couponing, Nov. 13. TLC. Sometime at night, I think around 9. I know it’s the second show of the premiere. They are monitoring my every move. I am currently failing epically. I have no real details. Actually, I do. That would require me to read every email. Like I have that kind of time at the moment. Stuff is on sale, for heaven’s sakes.

It’s on their website probably… 🙂

I looked. I’m not sure.

I never released this blog to them.

Some things are mine. And mine alone.

Here’s the thing. I’m a little nervous. Like does my butt look huge while pushing a cart alongside tiny man children?

And I could literally feel my forehead move during the interview. (which lasted 90 million hours) 

I said, “I can feel my forehead moving”.

They said, ” You worry too much.”

My point.

(right now I should mention the sound man who wired and basically walked me through the whole process)

Carl Hernandez.

I would have crumbled without Carl.

He was always so encouraging. I mean, honestly, he would pretend to need to adjust something, and then spend a few thousand minutes encouraging me and telling me what I needed to fix.To breathe. He believes in the real thing. He kept giving me permission to be me. In fact, he insisted. Big deal to me. He still encourages me to this day. Go ahead and look through my Facebook feed. The man works with Larry King, Obama and Bill Cosby. He still checks in on me. 

And also…

I had NO idea I started every sentence with So. Terrible for television. I can appreciate that feedback as someone who has recorded musically. He spoke the language I understood. Thanks, Carl. You are my hero.

In other news,

There’s a really real website in the works, with a logo and a purpose. 

Truthfully, ya’ll, there are fireworks in my future.