There’s an old flame burning in your eyes.


Does that old flame still burn in yours? It’s burning in mine. And my husband couldn’t be happier about it.

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In which Eric brings me something back from India.


Last time I blogged on the 30-day challenge, I shared how we make intimacy work while my husband is on the road. Now, he’s BACK! So, I’ll bet you want to know how it went? Did one of you just scream, “NO?!?” Don’t worry, I keep it PG on Road to Joy. And so did the viral Indian friend he brought back with him.

Looking for love in all the right places.


I think I’ve got sex on the brain. My husband – the other half of our couple who makes you want to puke – is in India for 2 weeks. So I certainly don’t have sex on the bed or the sofa or the kitchen counter right now. None at all. But you can: Click through to read about the 30-day intimacy challenge for couples & follow on twitter at #30days.

There once was a man from Nantucket.


Love limericks. Even worse than it sounds.

The Redneck Adventures of Bubba-Mon and the Quacker


So, recently my long-suffering island-boy-to-Texas-transplant husband convinced me that the perfect retreat for our family would be in a thirdhand trailer on a bug- and snake-infested piece of property five miles from Nowheresville, Texas. Yeah, for real.

Screw my best intentions.


I’ve got the lovesick writer’s block blues, oh yeah.

Couples that make you want to puke.


We work hard to be this nauseating. Except that nothing inside a relationship is ever quite what it seems to the rest of the world.

He Who Laughs Last.


Most of you probably remember the hilarious scene in Caddyshack where a floater causes mass exodus of the swimming pool, then the pool boy fishes it out with his net and eats it, because it’s only a Baby Ruth? Well, this story is a lot like Caddyshack. For real. Except in a lake, on our honeymoon. And it was a lot bigger than a Baby Ruth.

Wasted Days and Wasted Nights


Seven years ago today I made a decision that changed my life. For the better. Forever. Happy seven years to me.

I want YOU to help ME…in a POLL.


In blog-years, I am only six-months old, and content on this site is evolving/bi-polar, like me. To reflect the move toward its personality(ies), I need a new image for my gravatar and for my Facebook profile page. Please vote on the most hideous one.

Bass Ackwards


Trust me guys: your wife doesn’t really like your fart joke t-shirts.

Yeah, been there/done this/bought the T-shirt.


If our responsibility as parents is to raise children to be self-sufficient and “successful” adults, is divorce always harmful to them?

Don’t Get Your Teat In a Ringer?!?


I learned to be crude the old-fashioned way: my family taught me 🙂

Rednecking Can Lead to Redneckedness


Bubba-mon and I went rednecking at the tractor pull in Nowheresville, TX last night. They say rednecking can lead to redneckedness, but I am NOT going there. Anyway, it was awesome, y’all!

Say My Name, Say My Name


Apparently my iPhone is a promiscuous little beast.

A Woman of Few(er) Words


A blog in which I shut my mouth and no one cries. Mostly.

Turn the Page


Making the effort to “show up” means everything in life, doesn’t it? I did not “show up” for our 10- or 20-year reunions. There, I said it. Ugh. I had reasons/excuses, but the bottom line is I just didn’t come. I have a reunion aversion akin to a phobia. I don’t show up to a lot of things. Shame on me.

If a picture’s worth a thousand words…


If a picture’s worth a thousand words, then I just logged 9,000 in humorous narrative non-fiction. Cool; a good writing day.

Leaving Annaly


What is it about Houston that makes it seem like the end of the line? It’s like when you say, “I’m moving from St. Croix to Houston,” you’re announcing a terminal illness. Houston, bless its heart, is not beautiful. If the heat and humidity don’t kill you, then the traffic might. People don’t dream of vacationing to Houston. Hell, I can’t even get my parents to visit me here.

And I moved to Houston from the Virgin Islands…

You Might Be a (Closet) Redneck…


Multimedia Monday, if you will: pics of our redneck excursions into trailer ownership, whereby Eric-of-the-islands earns the new name, Bubba-mon.

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