This weekend I go back to New York City for our second annual National Swim Suit Confidence Week, wherein, I man up and appear on television in my bathing suit.

That’s all well and good, and I wasn’t even nervous (lie. airplanes and bathing suits scare me.) until I got my media schedule, and OMG DREAM COME TRUE Y’ALL.

Some people want to be on Oprah and Ellen, and I do, too, but my total secret guilty pleasure?

Bam.

I don’t know how we’re going to come out of this not being best friends.

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As seen in my most recent Spring Dress Up collection, I love white pants, which is in direct violation to the rule that curvy women should stay away from white and stick to black. Fuck that rule. A well fitting, non-see through pair of white pants are great for summer, can be totally slimming, and make me feel dressed up, even when I’m not…

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It’s not quite summer hot here in Ohio, so that means I can get away with cranking my oven up to roasting level a few more times without it turning my kitchen into a Native American sweat lodge.

Andy is generally displeased when I say things like, “we’re having cabbage for dinner,” or “I’ve made brussels sprouts!” If it were up to him, we’d have lunch meat and cheese product every day. But, when I don’t say those words, and just put the food on his plate and serve him like some sort of caveman, he eats it. Hell, even moans a little.

I actually grew up on cabbage and kraut dishes, as it was cheap and filling, which is a good thing when you don’t have a ton of money to feed a family. Now that I have my own family, I like to experiment a bit, outside the realm of boiled dinners, to find better ways to eat the stuff I grew up hating.

Oven Roasted Brussels Sprouts

Brussels Sprouts
1 tbsp Ranch Dressing Mix Powder
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Salt & Pepper

Pre-heat your oven to 400 degrees.

Thoroughly rinse the sprouts, slice them in half, and then coat them with the olive oil, Ranch Dressing Mix, and Salt and Pepper to taste. Spread them out on a cookie sheet lined with foil.

Bake for 15 minutes, or until sprouts get caramelized and crispy looking.

Serve, devour, get seconds.

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I thought I’d start to do little fashion sneak peeks on the occasion I actually dress myself to leave the house.

As seen in my most recent Spring Dress Up collection, I love white pants, which is in direct violation to the rule that curvy women should stay away from white and stick to black. Fuck that rule. A well fitting, non-see through pair of white pants are great for summer, can be totally slimming, and make me feel dressed up, even when I’m not.

White Flare Jeans, size 14/32 Long, Gap Outlet $59 (currently on sale for 20% off*)
Ruffle Denim Button Up, size XL, Gap on clearance in store for $15.99
Wide Braided Leather Belt, Lane Bryant
Brown Wedge Sandals, Target

*If you have a Gap Outlet near you, spend the $6 on the reusable bag. It’s super cute, plus you get 10% every time you bring it in to shop.

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What’s more controversial than breastfeeding, circumcision or genocide?

Giant trampolines.

Yesterday we bought one, I say “we” because I was there, and since I didn’t lay down in front of the cart in the middle of Sam’s Club, I guess I allowed it to happen.

Andy has wanted one for a million years, and because he loves to live out his childhood fantasies vicariously through our children (A Day at Historic Williamsberg? Stupid, and no amount of penny candy or giant old fashioned jawbreakers could save it.), he bought one.

We stood in the aisle, and he was all, but they’ll love it, look at Gigi, look how excited she is, and she’s just looking at the box, it’s not even out of the box yet and it’s already the most amazing gift ever! And they both stared at me, biting their little lips, and drooping their sad little eyes, and I was like no, trampolines are death traps, sorry suckers.

But, Andy knows me. We pushed the cart around a bit more, he lubed me up with free samples of sausage, battered shrimp and OJ, and then he hit me with it. Just think of how much this will tire them out, they’ll probably take two naps a day and go to bed by 7pm with all that jumping.

Two naps and early to bed without a fight? I mean, sure, they’ll be in full body casts or wheelchairs, but think of all the me-time I’d be getting.

It took 5 hours to assemble, lots of screwing and stretching and weaving rope in and out. I felt like one of those old Chinese fisherman that weave nets all day and secretly know kung fu, but only use it when they need it, not for funsies.

We had it finished before the boys came home from school, and I spent forever explaining to Andy all the safety rules I wanted observed. No high jumps, or double jumps, or whatever jump Bela Karolyi made teeny tiny Kerri Strug do.

We went to pick the boys up, and sure, it was fun seeing them run out of the car, screaming and shocked at the mammoth structure in our backyard, and they jumped for hours. I assume, I actually went inside to relax and made Andy sit in a lawn chair next to the entrance without his ipad or his phone to distract him, and instructions to yell Code Velociraptor loud enough I could hear him over the air conditioner, should a medical emergency occur.

I mean sure, the whole jumping kid thing is adorable, and they were worn out and sleeping by 6:45pm.

But did I just make the biggest mistake ever?

Or the awesomest?

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I just finished Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter.

Am I the only one who read this book, and then spent 7-15 hours googling around to see if Abraham Lincoln was, in fact, ever an actual vampire hunter?

Because dude, this is all totally plausible, and how bad ass would that be!? Also, why was he not a hotter president, I could totally get behind him being a super hot tall guy who kills people with an axe.

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Being a mom is one of the only jobs I’ve never wanted to quit. It’s taxing, but it’s also hilarious and sweet and fulfilling, and I get to experience my heart changing each and every day.

But, I’m especially thankful Andy figured out intercourse, not only so I get these three monsters in my life, but because I needed this maternal punch to the face to even begin to understand my own mother, and how fucking amazing she is. It took pushing something out of my vagina three times and being shit and puked on for six years to become unselfish enough to see that she was an amazing mother despite going through things that no mother, or woman, should ever, ever have to experience. And I get this lady as a mother and a best friend!

That doesn’t count as my present though, Andy. I still have a Mother’s Day list of demands:

1. I want to eat all three of my meals while they are still warm today. Or cold. Really, whatever temperature they are supposed to be to safely consume and not get botulism.

2. I want to go to Home Depot to look at my stuff, not your stuff, Andy.

3. I don’t want to wipe anyone today. You know what, including myself. It’s not weird unless you make it weird.

4. I don’t need flowers or breakfast in bed or homemade coupons, but I would like a nap today, with the air conditioning on as high as I want it, no complaints.

Ok enough mushy crap.

It’s been a bit since I have Lazy Sunday’ed, so let’s catch up!

I did another addition of Playing Dress Up, where I raid my closet and show you what I’m wearing.

I filled you in on what it was like being a plus size model in NYC.

You saw how I threw two parties in 24 hours, hangover included.

And finally, I decided Andy and I will have separate bedrooms. It sounds bad, but I think it’s going to be awesome!

On Amuse Bouche:

I showed you how to play the AWESOMEST drinking game ever.

Andy tried to be Christian Grey.

I got you shitfaced.

I miss Weeds.

And then I got you shitfaced again, plus an ice cream headache.

Oh, and Andy posted this week about why he’s an insensitive muggle.

Now for some cool shit I saw online:

You had me at Hate Rhombus.

My new favorite site. It’s like Pinterest and Instagram doing it them having baby websites with really cool interfaces. (Pssst. You should follow me here.)

The best post about pants and airplanes to ever exist.

Since Andy purposefully ruined the comfy men’s sweatpants I’ve had since 2001, it’s only fitting they should be replaced….with these classy fellows.

To keep up with everything I love, I suggest joining me on Pinterest, Facebook, Twitter, and follow me throughout the day on Instagram!

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Years ago, I sent Andy to the store for ketchup, and he came back with that weird Heinz colored ketchup that was supposed to be fun. I smacked him on the mouth and told him to leave. Ketchup is red, and I have no idea what unnatural, car battery-like substance was used to make it purple or green, but it’s not that way in the bible, and it won’t be that way on my hamburger.

I’ve always had an aversion to foods that challenge social norms. Peanut butter and jelly in the same jar, crab in a can, seedless cucumbers….it’s all just witchcraft.

But, I have a weakness for As Seen on TV gadgets. The Magic Bullet single-handedly changed my life, and I lifted a car off a baby once wearing pajama jeans.

So when I saw Slushy Magic…

I had to have it.

Make every drink a slushy? No way. Impossible. Or is it?

$14.99 later and you are wondering, Brittany, does Slushy Magic really work?

Turns out it does. You pour whatever you want to slusherize into the cup, toss in the three magic bags of frozen ozone and polar bear blood, shake for 1-2 minutes, and BOOM. Slushy. Milk, juice, water, soda… all turned into home made little icees. 7-11 wha!?

Because I’m an envelope pusher, and frozen milk is for babies, I decided to give it the ultimate test, alcohol.

Now, with any other beverage, the shake time is easily just a minute, but since alcohol doesn’t really freeze, I decided to shake it a little extra just to be sure. I mean, it was obviously no big deal, I have Madonna arms.

Three minutes later…

Boom. Moscato slushy.

To be fair, it probably could have been shaken more to get a bit thicker and ice-like, but it was a good first try. Now you may be saying to yourself, but Brittany, why not just blend the wine with some ice, it’s way easier than shaking it? And to that I would say 1. why are you so lame, and B. this way is less watery, because it’s wine ice, not water ice. Stop making me explain Hogwarts magic to you.

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I miss Weeds so much, it hurts.

I’m an entire season behind because Andy canceled Showtime when the Tudors ended. Real conversation…

I can’t believe they canceled The Tudors, I loved that show. I’m pissed they killed him off.

They didn’t cancel it, Henry died, like in history. The show was about real life, Andy. Please read books.

He says we don’t need Showtime to watch just one show, so I am stuck watching it when it hits Netflix, which leaves me done with season 6 and still waiting for them to get season 7.

Ugh, sometimes nothing is as funny as this show.

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We’re currently mattress shopping. Unlike furniture shopping, mattress shopping has been something I insist on being sober for, less I end up with a waterbed.

Truthfully, I’d be ok with a set of bunk beds, as I have a growing desire to not be touched while I sleep. In the old days, that may stem from the fact that I have no control over my body when I sleep, so if Andy would caress my tummy, I would be unprepared and un-sucked in. Now, I’m just hot and over-exhausted and would like to not have shit rub up on me. In fact, if I wasn’t paranoid about intruders, I’d buy one of those eye masks and noise canceling headphones, because sleeping next to Andy is a chorus of irreconcilable differences.

Please stop snoring.

Please stop chewing in your sleep.

Please stop touching me with your toenails.

I assume I’d be just annoying to sleep beside, should I ever be afforded the luxury of R.E.M.

We currently find ourselves on the queen size bed I have had for almost ten years. A lot of things have happened on this bed, including but not limited to, my water breaking and a college bong water accident. I like to pretend it’s probably not full of mold, and the tiny bites on my leg are from the eye bag fairies who visit me each night.

Mattresses are shockingly expensive. Like, if you asked me how much a mattress cost, I would assume it would be around the price of a full body tattoo, which I don’t even entirely know the exact price of, it probably depends on what you decide to get. I think, as a rule, dragons, Elvis and John Lennon quotes cost more, that’s the market for ya.

Since our primary mattress complaint is lack of room, we have decided to upgrade to a king size, which seems to baseline around six full body tattoos. We’ve gone around to a few mattress stores, and while the option to bounce on it and not spill a wine glass is cool, I kinda just want a normal pillow top mattress that’s not full of black mold and doesn’t require a remote I’ll probably lose.

This one here is a pillow top California King.

Ok.

I can leave you two alone, a lot of couples like to practice spooning or whatnot on the beds, to get a feel for them.

Well, that’s not very realistic. How about Andy and I lay on it, and you and, like, four more associates come lay on it with us so I can see if I have enough personal space.

Sorry?

Grab that little guy back there, the one who looks like a chubby Hawaiian baby.

Andy and I went to dinner empty handed. We get gun-shy when we have to spend a lot of money on something. Over shrimp curry, I decided to once again float the idea by him of separate beds, like Lucy and Ricky. I know it sounds bad, a happily married couple sleeping in separate beds, but the things is, while I adore every inch of him awake, I’m starting to hate his guts asleep, and I’m running out of options. Maybe this is why Edward Cullen is appealing? I can sleep, and he’ll just lay there watching me all creepy like, and when I wake up and ask if I drooled or snored, he’d lie to me and then we’d do it. It’s the perfect arrangement, that whole book makes sense now.

But, Andy hates the idea of separate beds. His parents slept not only in separate beds, but on entirely different floors, so he has this picture in his head of us pillow talking it up until we fall asleep in each other’s arms. But, the reality of the situation is, we lay in bed fighting over who didn’t put the Chinese food in the fridge, and then he falls asleep and I plot his demise for the next six hours.

I read in an interview that Helena Bonham Carter and Tim Burton are very much in love, but live in two adjoining houses. Now, I love Helena. I have this thing for maniacally brilliant women who devour ugly roles. Anyone can be pretty, Helena, while stunning, is dark and addictive. She’s my spirit animal.

I remember reading about the Helena and Tim living arrangement and thinking, genius! Here you have two creative people who adore each other enough to allow themselves to both live together…and apart. That is the answer.

Two homes joined together by those hotel room doors that you never open because on the other side, people are having sex or cutting coke.

It will take a lot of sweet talking Andy, but maybe he’d go for it if I promise him he can fill his side with shiny black leather couches and a coffee table that is really a fishbowl filled with piranha?

It’d be like living with 80′s Don Johnson, but it’d be worth it for a solid night’s sleep and Bill Murray mural in my bathroom.

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