Daily Affirmations for the Person Who Needs to Say More “Fuck Its”…

Free Happy Woman Enjoying Nature. Beauty Girl Outdoor. Freedom c

Sometimes you just have to say: “FUCK IT!” 


It’s hard to let a negative situation just be what it is and to accept that we will not be able to figure it out this time nor can we propel it into a healthy state that feels better for all involved.

The truth is, without co-operation and willingness to listen and communicate, we (alone) cannot bring something to a better place. No matter how much brain space or heart energy or lost sleep we dedicate to a person or a cause, we (alone) cannot fix it.

We cannot “will” minds, or hearts, or mouths to open nor can we force ears to listen. We do, however, have it within our power, right now, to say: “FUCK IT!” And sometimes, we really must choose, say, and feel the power of these two little words.

In your bid to figure it all out, to save the day, to bring peace to the broken, and goodness to the shit, are you forgetting to take care of the one and only person you can control?

Are you forgetting to care for yourself?



Daily Affirmations For The Person Who Needs To Say More “Fuck its”

MONDAY: To that little voice in your head that’s holding you back …


TUESDAY: To that guilty pit in your stomach where lays all the unfinished or misunderstood things you said or did or didn’t say or do…


WEDNESDAY: To all the little things within your close relationships that annoy you but are actually tiny and insignificant in the big picture…


THURSDAY: To staying silent when you have something important that needs to be said…


FRIDAY: To stressful or soul-sucking commitments you fulfill simply out of obligation…


SATURDAY: To the messiness (literally and figuratively) that comes with sharing your life with other people…


SUNDAY: To everything but your cozy couch and the people you love…



That’s right, just allow all the shit that looms — and hinders you from living a “fuck free” life — to drift away. Feel the peacefulness that comes from knowing you’re taking control of that which you can control. Relish in that power for a few moments. And remember to fulfill that which you have to, of course, but don’t forget to make time for the people and things that bring you happiness and always remember: You have an invisible, self-replenishing “FUCK IT” card in your back pocket. Don’t forget to use it.


My Husband Hates My Lover….

Free Happy Woman Enjoying Nature. Beauty Girl Outdoor. Freedom c

Like a temperate pool’s caress…

I’ve got a new lover in my life.

She’s a dress. But, not just any old dress. Long and flowing, she wraps herself around me, gently; like a temperate pool’s caress on the booty of a skinny dipper.

Whenever I wear her, I feel fresh and full of life. Her effects, at times, transcend me to places of an almost spiritual nature. I honestly don’t think anything could be more feminine and uplifting than she.

Heavenly. She is so damn heavenly. And I feel grateful to have discovered her on a lonely sales rack last month. Continue reading

How I Met My Husband…

John and I


Did I ever tell you about how John and I met?  It happened late one Saturday night, in January 2003 at a bar in Hong Kong. We met. We laughed. And, yes, we made-out like crazy teenagers. When the sun came up, our rendezvous ended, and we went our separate ways with a plan to meet the following weekend. Same place. Same time.  And so we did. And the story of “us” officially began.

Now, did I ever tell you about the events leading up to our meeting?  The ones that make me question whether or not destiny, herself, may have played a small hand in our union?

Well, I wrote a short story about it and it can be found in this fab new book!  Once Upon an Expat shares an ecclectic collection of funny and heart-tugging stories told by women writers from around the globe.  And I am so excited to have my story, A Man From Another Land, within its pages.


It’s available on Amazon and all author royalties will be donated to Books Abroad, helping promote literacy and education in developing countries.


Once Upon Promo

The Battle of the Black Boots

Black boots

If you see a pair of boots that look like these, call me…


A few weeks ago, my new boots were just sitting by the front door, minding their own business, when my husband walked in. He glanced down, at my spiffy purchase and, with a face scrunched up, like a disgruntled Shitsu, he said: “What’s with those boots? Are they yours or Ava’s?”

“Mine,” I replied, with a hint of pride in my tone. They were quite unique, after all.

“You’re 40. Not 14,” he said, smirking in that know-it-all way that husbands (who think they know-it-all) do.

I didn’t respond. Nope. I just looked at him because sometimes a look is all you need. I simply smiled, sort of like this:


while silently committing to wearing my new boots as often as possible, especially while out with him.

And that’s what I did. I wore the boots. All. The. Time. Our daughters complimented me on them, while John rolled his eyes. He even made a few comments about the boots, in front of the girls, but I soon took it upon myself to turn such moments into lessons in individuality and feminism.

“You see girls, Dad doesn’t like my boots. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t still like my boots. I am my own person and if I like the boots then that’s all that matters!”

This went on casually and consistently for a few weeks. Until yesterday, actually.

Yesterday, the boots went missing.

I know he took them. He knows that I know he took them. I have no idea where they are and he’s not telling me. So, now I have no option but to dig out the old floral sweatpants, that he also dislikes. It just makes sense. Besides, they are so comfy.

And tonight, you can be sure, I’ll be wearing my white gown to bed. Because why wait ‘til summer when I can annoy my husband all year round.



Did you know that Shannon Day and 36 other fab writers have created a book? Well, it’s actually a martini guide too. If you like funny, ridiculous, and heartstring-tugging stories of motherhood (+ easy-to-make martini & mocktini recipes) then you’ll love Martinis & Motherhood: Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?!  Available now on Amazon.

Final Book Cover


Exude it and it Will Come


If ever you feel insecure, or unsure, intimidated or out of your depth- just exude confidence and it will eventually come.

Exude confidence. This was my teenage mantra. I combined the two words back in the early ‘90s, while making my way through the tumultuous high school years. It makes me laugh now, because I remember feeling like the word: exude was all encompassing, and ever so powerful. Broken hearts, mean girl drama, disappointments and, of course, hormones. Each of these were made easier, with my mantra backin’ me up. Continue reading

Damn you, Fuller House, for Making Me the A**hole!  




Why, Fuller House?


We were all so excited about your arrival! After all, we’d been watching your old ‘90s re-runs for months in anticipation of your reunion.

And then, the moment arrived.

“Mom! MOM! Fuller House is here!” My middle daughter shouted with excitement.

So, of course, we made popcorn and we got out the chocolate and the candy.

We. Were. Ready.

All cuddled up together, on the couch, we pressed: PLAY.

With the exception of Uncle Jesse’s semen joke, and the fact that Stephanie’s boobs threatened to break free at any moment, your first episode was fine, I guess…

I liked it, because I wanted to like it. And we carried on watching.

But, by episode three, the ladies, of your G-rated show, were hitting a nightclub. “Bar Star” Kimmy, DJ (+ her genuinely impressive legs and cleavage) and Steph (who expertly modeled to my 6 and 8-year-old girls how to get drinks without spending a dime) danced the night away, fueled by tequila, with letchy men they’d just met.

During this episode, Kimmy shows my daughters what to do if you face your cheating, soon-to-be ex husband. You start by dancing seductively with him, of course! Until his new, younger, girlfriend arrives and insults you. You then must show your ex, and his young lover, that you’ve still got it! So, obviously, you do a lesbian dance, to I’ve Had the Time of My Life, with your BFF. BOOM take that Fernando! “Nobody puts the Gibbler in the corner!”

I mean, this is just what every 6 year-old girl needs to be watching on a Friday night while munching popcorn in her Hello Kitty pajamas, right?

So, thanks Fuller House. Thanks a lot. Because now, I’m the asshole that has to pull the plug on your G-rated family show.

I’m the jerk here, who is currently being given the stink eye by my middle daughter, who I simply want to shelter from at least some of the constant barrage of anti-feminist, overly-sexualized messages that the media presents daily. I really feel like we, as parents, have become too complacent and too relaxed with what we accept as “the norm.” I absolutely include myself in this statement! There are lots of times when the kids have the TV on and I’m not in there, therefore not fully aware of what they’re watching. I simply put my trust in the idea that it’s a G-rated show. Yet, so often these shows are filled with messages of a shallow and materialistic nature.

I am not always hardcore like this but Fuller House, in particular episode three, brought out my protective side. The side that questions the constant onslaught of unhealthy messages being fed to our young boys and girls. The side that is pissed off by how often such messages objectify women and belittle their self-worth. The feminist side of me, that my mother modeled, and that I hope to pass on to my daughters.

Someday, I will tell my daughters to always have a purse with their own money in it, and to buy your own drinks. But now is not the time!

Someday, I’ll happily suggest that an outfit for a night out might feature a bit of cleavage OR a bit of leg, in my old school opinion. Not both. But now is not the time!

Someday, I’ll explain that when someone cheats on you again and again, you don’t go back to him because if a person loves you, if he truly cherishes you as you deserve to be cherished, then he wouldn’t cheat on you in the first place. But now is not the time!

Someday, this show might be appropriate for my daughters to watch. But now is absolutely not the time!

So thanks, Fuller House, for making me the asshole…