Can we celebrate weirdos? They’re eccentric, peculiar and bizarre, wouldn’t you agree? Weirdos are my tribe, my gang, my people.

I might look normal with blonde hair and blue eyes but deep down I’m a weirdo. I’ve finally realized it and embraced it.

Individuality is monumental. We don’t have to be copycats. Each of us are matchless and extraordinary. We’re different so why not grasp the idea that you’re exceptional?

I’ll give you a few of  my quirks….

I’m 43 and I listen to Frank Sinatra and Rap music. What a combination right? I love hanging out in graveyards. I read the headstones and calculate how old they were when they passed away and try to imagine what their lives were like. Creepy right? I sleep in such a tense way that my hubby says I look like someone is performing an exorcism on me. I love bags. Not Coach, Marc Jacobs or Michael Kors bags but those cloth bags you take to the grocery store. I can’t get enough of those bags. I eat ketchup on cabbage, spinach, collards, and turnips. That’s just a few of my weird quirks.

Let the weirdness commence…..why be a standard edition of yourself? Let’s rock these incredible strange quirks we have with confidence. You know there’s something weird about yourself, don’t even try to hide it. As Lady GaGa sings “You were born this way.”


Wide Open


I absolutely love this quote!

I appreciate traditional, normal, and general types of characteristics. But, those characteristics of abnormal, unconventional, and rare are a magnet to my steel.

There’s something quite gripping about diversity, wouldn’t you say? I think people that are authentic and resistant are the most captivating ones.

Honestly, we’re all authentic. There’s no replica of you or me is there? We’re originals.

Sigh, resistant….unyielding…no brakes….That my loves is a beautiful thing. Keep going and keep writing and shining here. Don’t hold back on anything. The door is wide open. You’re not in prison here. Let it all out. There’s a freedom about writing your thoughts and sharing a piece of yourself. Let your authenticity flow.

Now be proud of your originality and wave it around magnificently loves.

Happy Wednesday – XO




Defy The Normal

Why be a grey crayon when you can be a blue, red, green, yellow, purple, pink, etc? Why not be colorful instead of normal?

We all have our imperfections, flaws, glitches, and each of us are unfinished.

I’ve discovered so many new things with blogging. Each time someone likes one of my blogs or starts following me I immediately stop on over to their blog and it’s like Christmas morning.

I feel like I’m opening a precious gift and finding something so extraordinary. When I open up my gift my eyes light up and I want to say “Is this for me? All for me?”

Embrace all of the things that you were warned about in life. Deviate from the normal path you’re used to traveling and hurl yourself into the unknown.

Seize the opportunity to color outside of the lines. Dive into the abyss for once. Abandon all views of normalcy, please!

An open mind is an exquisite thing. Diversity is my addiction. Why always stick with the same chocolate you’ve always loved to eat when you can have an assortment of different flavors?

Accepting people that are the reversal of yourself is a liberating thing. Do not isolate yourself from the unique just because you are not familiar with it.

It really is an honor for someone to let you into their world and to get to know them. Do not judge them or ever criticize them for their lifestyle. We are all imperfect and no one is above the other. We’re all equal.

Open your heart to love the uniqueness of one another. No matter what your race is, whether you’re straight, homosexual, transgender, republican, a democrat, catholic, baptist, or whatever….we all have something in common which is LOVE.

Humanity is tenderness, kindness and goodwill. Let’s apply this in our everyday hustle shall we? We could all use some tenderness, kindness and goodwill couldn’t we?


Dear Vital Records

It was 1966 and my Dad had joined the Army in hopes of fighting for our beautiful country The USA. He was pumped to be going to Vietnam. First stop was Germany. Germany was a blast and the beer and women were endless. He was a MP for a year and came home for a quick visit and would soon be flying over to Vietnam, his dream was about to happen.

My Dad you see was one of those hell bent kinda guys that wanted to be the bad ass mother fucker to go in with guns blazing. Little did he know that my Grandmother had other plans.

While home visiting his parents on that short break in the US he received a call from a Lieutenant. The Lieutenant informed my Dad that he would be reporting for duty at a Fort in the US and would not be returning to Germany or going to Vietnam as he was the sole surviving son of a disabled veteran.

At the time my Dad’s father was sitting in a recliner right there as my Dad was listening to the Lieutenant informing him of this on the phone. His Father sitting in that recliner was not disabled at all. As my Dad began to ask questions the Lieutenant didn’t elaborate and told him to report for duty at the Fort on a certain date and hung up.

My Grandmother was crying and praying out loud as my Dad hung up the phone. She then sat my Dad down and explained how thankful she was that she had contacted the officials to inform them that his “Real Father” was a disabled veteran and he was the sole surviving son. She continued to cry explaining the story to my Dad about how she was married before and he was an alcoholic and abusive. She had to leave him to keep them safe and from harms way. She said she had to contact the officials to keep my Dad from going to Vietnam as she couldn’t bare to lose him. My Dad was in shock but never even asked where his real father was and had no interest at all in meeting him ever. He loved the father that had raised him and that’s all that mattered to him.

Two years later my Grandmother told my Dad that his “Real Father” had passed away and how she wanted him to go to his funeral which was out of state. My Dad went to pay his respects but didn’t speak to anyone at the funeral home but just signed the guest book. He looked at the man in the casket and walked away. He had no feelings whatsoever for this stranger. He was happy it was over with.

Later in life I found out about all of this and had questions. I wanted to know everything I could about my “Real Grandfather” I wanted to know his story. What happened to him later in life? What did he die from? Did he ever remarry? Why was he abusive? I wanted to know everything and anything I could. My Grandmother told me his last name but only after I begged and pleaded for days. She wouldn’t even tell me his first name. My Dad resisted the whole idea and said I was wasting my time.

When I told my Mom how I wanted to find out more about my Grandfather she told me that my Grandmother had confided in her many years ago and had probably forgotten now that she was 77 years old.

My Mom began to tell me the real story…….My Grandmother had married him, a soldier that was about to go to World War II back in 1946. She was so in love with him. He was the most handsome and charming man she’d ever met. He had Elvis’ features and adored her. He honestly loved her. My Grandma used to model hosiery in the boutique windows in town. And when he first laid eyes on her he had to meet her. He went to the local florist and bought her one red rose and went back to the boutique and introduced himself. It was literally love at first sight. They got married right before he left for the war. A few months later she discovered she was pregnant with my Dad.

She gave birth to my Dad in 1947 alone in a hospital. My “Real Grandfather” was still fighting in WWII. She went home with her newborn baby boy and about six months later some officers came to the door and told her that her husband had been in a terrible accident. His brigade had been hit hard. His body had been burned severely. He was in multiple hospitals for months and when he did come home he was barely recognizable. She welcomed him home with tears, affection and much love. He was ashamed of the way he looked, constantly in pain, and suffering mentally. He turned to alcohol and began abusing my Grandmother. She tried hard to hang in there and to endure the abuse but finally had to leave for her and my Dad’s safety. He never laid a hand on my Dad as he was approximately 8 months old when she left. She never looked back.

I’m happy that my Grandmother was strong enough to leave him and found a better life for her and my Dad. I’m extremely proud of her. I don’t understand why she never told my Dad the whole story though. She had been caught in many fabrications in her lifetime by my Dad and my Aunts. That’s neither here nor there as my Mom always says.

But, I wanted to find out more about my “Real Grandfather”. What happened to him, why did he die, what type of life did he live after she left him? Did he remarry? Did he have more children?

Again, remember, My Dad and Grandmother didn’t want me to find any information and were very uncooperative. All I had was a last name and the approximate year he died.

It was June 1998 when I began my search. Three months prior to Google, might I add. So, where to begin? I wanted the death certificate. I figured that would be a good start. So, I called Vital Records in the county/town where my Grandmother was born. They had to mail me a form to sign. I forged my Father’s name because he wouldn’t sign it. They sent me another form stating they didn’t have enough information to go on to give me a death certificate. Remember, all I had was a last name and a year that he died. I decided to write a heartfelt letter telling them the story and how I just wanted to know if I had any other relatives and what he died from. At this point even just having his first name would mean something to me. I had to find out something about this man. He fought for our country and he deserved to be known no matter what hell he put my Grandmother through.

A few days later a woman called me from Vital Records and told me she really shouldn’t be calling me but my letter spoke to her. She asked for my Dad’s name and she found his birth certificate and there was my Grandfather’s complete name on it. I would share it with you but for privacy reasons I cannot. But when she called out his name I began to cry. I’m tearing up now just thinking about it. I got chills up my spine. I finally had his first name. It was a beautiful name. She told me she was sending me the death certificate that day. Two days later I received it. He had died of cirrhosis of the liver. He was 5’11. He was divorced. He was born on the 4th of July. My heart skipped a beat. It had his Mother and Father’s names on the certificate as well. I felt a sense of pride.

I then decided to call the funeral home / cemetery that he was buried at to see if I could get some information on surviving family members. The woman there was kind enough to give me a list of pallbearers and a few relatives. Keep in mind, there’s no facebook, my space, google, bing, nothing. I somehow find addresses for some of the pallbearers and mail individual letters to each of them in hopes that they can tell me more. Two older gents were roommates in an assisted living home and received my letter. They immediately got in their car and drove to my Grandfather’s niece’s house and hand delivered my letter to her. She adored my Grandfather and was very close to him. She called one night and told me who she was and how these two gent’s brought her my letter. She cried and I cried. She told me that after my Grandmother left him that his drinking got worse. He loved my Grandmother and my Dad more than anything but the burning of his body and the alcohol got to him. She said he used to tell her “Mike’s coming to see me one day, I just know it.” She said he had an 8 X 10 picture of my Dad and my Grandma that he always kept near him. He did remarry but then divorced. She said he never had any other children. My Dad was his only child. She said he got so sick from the cirrhosis that he was in the hospital for 39 days before he passed away. She said on the 37th day a preacher came to speak with him and prayed with him. My Grandfather prayed for forgiveness and accepted Jesus Christ into his heart as his Lord and Savior. He was saved two days before he passed away. I take great comfort in knowing that he was saved as one day I will meet him in Heaven for the very first time.

His niece Kitty told me many stories about him and how he loved my father and my Grandmother more than life itself. She was kind enough to send me pictures of my Grandfather. She sent me one before he went to war. My God, he really was a handsome man. I see my Dad in his face and I even see myself. She also sent me a picture after he had been burned. She told me he had over seventy surgeries in his lifetime to help with the inflicted burns. His face didn’t look bad at all. It looked kind, weathered, and sweet.  But in that one single picture of him after being burned, right behind him was that 8 X 10 of my beautiful Grandmother and my Dad as a baby. They were there all along right by his side and seeing that picture behind him I knew without any doubt he honestly loved them and never ever forgot them.

It took me over a year to find the courage to put all of this together and to show my Dad. I was afraid to show him in fact. I knew he wanted nothing to do with me finding my Grandfather’s information and he always said he didn’t want to know a damn thing about him. You see, my Grandmother didn’t tell my Dad that he was attacked in WWII and burned practically to death. I know she had to leave him. I don’t blame her one bit for that. She did what was right for her and my Dad. But, I wanted him to know that he was loved by his father that was a disabled veteran. By now my Grandmother had passed away. I waited to tell my Dad any of this out of respect for my Grandmother.

I kept copies of the death certificate, that heartfelt letter I wrote to Vital records, even the letters I mailed to the pallbearers in a folder along with my Grandfather’s two single pictures. When I presented all of this to my Dad he didn’t get angry and he didn’t fuss at me. He wept. He literally just cried and held me. When he finally gained his composure, he said to me, “You did the most beautiful thing that anyone has ever done for me. You showed me that my Dad loved me.”


This was heart wrenching for me to write. It’s extremely close to my heart and very personal.

But, it’s an honor to share my Grandfather’s story. Although he was an alcoholic and an abuser, he was a soldier first and foremost. He gave his ALL to this country and for that I admire, respect and am ever so grateful for his duty to this land of the free. He lost a lot after going to war and it changed his life in so many tragic ways.

I look forward to meeting you one day Pop in heaven. That’s what I’ve been calling you in my heart…..hope you don’t mind.

Enough Already

Stretching, yawning, another sip of coffee, sigh…….

Wake up loves! We have shit to blog about and today’s subject is about what we have in our lives.

Bet you thought I was going to go off on an anger rant with the subject being Enough Already, No Loves, it’s not “Enough Already!!”

It’s, Do you have enough money? Enough clothes? Shoes? Enough cars?

When is it enough?

Have you ever noticed that sometimes in our minds we think we don’t have enough? I’m guilty of this as well.

Look around you and take in everything you have. I’m not talking just the materialistic things. Think about this air we’re breathing, roof over our heads, jobs, family, friends, sight, feelings, the list goes on and on.

Often I take for granted everything that I have and want more. Of course, it’s fantastic to have goals and want more in life. I’m not saying that shouldn’t be programmed into your mind. But, we also need to be grateful for every single thing that we do have in our lives.

I live a very ordinary lifestyle. No designer hand bags here. No Jimmy Choo or Steve Madden shoes. My house is a little cottage style house with a $600 monthly mortgage payment. I drive a decent car, payment is affordable, I don’t get manicures often at all. I’m a low maintenance type of chic.

I’ve noticed lately that women and men are caught up having the best of the best from cell phones, Ipads, jewelry, etc.

How about we take in the beauty around us that we’ve worked hard for and be thankful for how far we’ve come and how our lives are pretty fantastic.

Do you have enough in this moment? I bet you do. I know I do.

I ask you this, the next time you just have to have that coach purse or that new Call Of Duty video game, how about you do a random act of kindness for someone?

Use that money to buy someone’s dinner at the restaurant you’re at. You see the guy eating alone three tables over? Tell the waitress to bring you his tab. If that’s too much, the next time you’re at Starbucks pay for the car behind you in the drive thru.

I do this type of thing once a week. I’m not wealthy by all means. I’m a middle class chic that lives a normal lifestyle. I just choose to give back because I look at my life as enough. Sure I have hopes and dreams and goals but I also have a beautiful magnificent life.

By doing things like RAOK it shows that humanity is still among us and that we’re caring individuals and want to give back. It’s not only a wonderful thing to do for someone else but it’s an incredible feeling doing something nice for a complete stranger.

Do we have enough? I believe we all do. Be happy and thankful for what you have while working for what you need.



Unconditional: Without limitations or conditions.

In my opinion, love should be a benefit you’re giving to someone that they’re able to feel safe in their skin around you. Your love should make them feel worthy and enough.

This is not just for your partner, husband, wife, girlfriend, or boyfriend. This is for your children, friends, or whoever you love.

Each of us have differences. To love someone you should welcome those differences. Do not limit your love for someone because they don’t see things the way you do.

When I love someone, I love them unconditionally. They’re the opposite of me? Even better. I learn from people that are the opposite of me.

Your love should be open minded, natural, give refuge to that other person. They should feel comfortable with you at their worst and darkest times. Love doesn’t choose when it’s present. It’s always there.

Do you have a partner, spouse, child or best friend that you love unconditionally?

How about yourself? Consider this question. Would you ride or die for you?

If you’re doubting loving yourself unconditionally pick out the positive things about yourself. Compliment yourself. As difficult as that sounds you should do this regularly. It’s a great mental exercise and you’ll feel better after you do this.

Remember, never think of yourself badly as your brain hears those thoughts and is lessened by them.

Get a handle on your thoughts my loves. You’re just as valuable as everyone else and worthy of unconditional love.

Make a list of the things you love about yourself and keep it close by if you need to remind yourself.

Do not hustle for your worthiness. Know deep down inside you are more than worthy. You have something to offer.

Pick yourself to love unconditionally. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

Loving yourself unconditionally will blow your mind. Confidence is the most beautiful thing in a person.

Go out and get yours….you deserve it!

Beauty In Every Face


Morning Everyone,

Yesterday as I was out & about I enjoyed the simplest little pleasure of people watching.

The function I was at had more than 40,000 people attending.

As I watched and relished in my favorite thing to do I couldn’t help but think to myself….Why don’t we choose to see the beauty in everyone?

I would pick out a person and mentally think of something unique or dazzling about them. I didn’t just do this with women but men too.

A photographer with the largest lens I’d ever seen on her Canon walked by. She had weathered skin with a few lines. It looked like she hadn’t combed her hair in days but I couldn’t help but see the exquisiteness of her face. The stories she must have with each line. The beauty in her gleaming green eyes.

The charming older gent with his WWII Veteran Cap on. As he walked with his cane and the tenderness in his smile looking down at his granddaughter with her fairy costume on. As she jumped into a mud puddle in shear delight, he chuckled. He gave her a high five and she squealed out with laughter. He was beautiful to me for the way he looked at her.

We should never see ugly on anyone’s face. Of course there are many ugly things that people do or say. But, a face? A face is not ugly at all to me.

Judging a face before knowing someone’s character, personalities, their story is so cruel. Because in a sense….. that makes you ugly.

The stories are the mystery behind the eyes. When you look at someone, embrace what they might have to tell.