I got in from New York around 2am last night, and as I sat down at my bar with my 20 piece nugget and 3 containers of sweet n’ sour sauce I may or may not have rewarded myself with for making it through 1.5 hours of turbulence next to an old Indian woman listening to a Rickey Gervais comedy show on her iPod, I realized that I loved coming home to a clean house full of all my normal smells, my DVR all full of all my favorite shows (even that soft core porn one I tape for when I don’t like Andy), and all my mail in a nice little pile for me to look at.

So, I settled into the chair and opened my laptop so I could skype with all the West Coast people who weren’t giant pussies in bed already. I flipped through credit card offers (pass), car recall notices (dumb), a bank overdraft letter (I bought loafers from American Eagle that look old on purpose, long story, totally worthsies), and then I came to a small square box addressed to me.

I almost never get fun packages out of the blue, unless they’re from Klout, in which case they usually blow. Like a mouse sized vial of Axe hair gel, a poster signed by the cast of Hawaii Homicide CSVU Whatever, or $25 Vegan Granola Bars that taste like old pubic hair and somehow benefit poor farmers somewhere in probably Africa.

I opened the box to find the most amazing thing I had ever seen, and as I took out the tiny note attached to the outside of the box, a Facebook notification came through…and then I realized…

Tomorrow is my birthday and I had completely forgotten.

To be fair, apparently everyone else had forgotten as well, because no one has even asked me what I want, and I am totally not old enough that we are ignoring birthday gifts yet, that’s shit my mom does, and it’s totally all an act. She says she doesn’t need anything outside of just spending time with us, but what she means is, she wants lots of gifts but feels she is at an age she needs to appear meek and humble, so I call her bluff by presenting her with pornography and handmade coupons for free at home hair cuts.

Unless Andy has a surprise Alice in Wonderland themed birthday party waiting in the wings, or secretly got my name tattooed somewhere on his body, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was concerned, because I made his birthday this year pretty damn awesome. I don’t want to brag, but there were tiny monkeys with ascots involved, so yeah, bar raised.

So, what as in the box?

A whole army of flesh eating, decomposing, bad ass fucking zombies, from the folks at of Box O Zombies, who as you may remember, I featured in my Easter Edition Lazy Sunday.

I love them so much, and I’m feeling extra generous on account of it being my birthday, I have extreme jet-lag (Ohio has it’s own timezone. Like Narnia.), and I had so much fun giving away my favorite things last year, I’ve decided to kick off a few days of Brittany’s Favorite Things by giving away a box to one of you!

All you have to do is leave me a comment.

This giveaway runs today only, ending tonight at 11:59pm EST. One (1) winner will be randomly selected, and the prize delivered to them upon confirmation of winning within 24 hours. You may leave as many comments as you want, please make sure you use a valid email address for contact purposes.

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If I could live anywhere in the whole entire world, it would be somewhere where everyday was jeans weather.

But, I don’t live in such a place, I live in Ohio. It gets hot and muggy and humid and gross here, and my hair, thighs and fashion palette don’t enjoy it one bit, so I relish the small peeks of Spring and Fall we get every year, and take full advantage it, because very soon, my thighs will be all rubby and my boobs will sweat.

Like last time we played dress up, I thought I’d give you another look at some of my current favorite (totally affordable) items, how I put them together, and how it truly doesn’t matter what size you have to buy, it’s all about the fit, man.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, try stuff on. Online shopping is fun, I do it a lot, often at night eating a bowl of Cool Whip, when Andy isn’t lurking over my shoulder, but until you know how certain cuts and shapes are going to fit your body, having nothing to do with the size you order, you’ll probably end up returning it.

Or, in my case, not returning it, because you are too lazy, so just throw it in the back of your closet to fester along with your defeated self esteem and empty bank account. (I might be projecting.)

White pants can be a scary, scary situation. I never wear them when it’s close to my period, and they are an absolute must in the try on department, because, fun fact, many white pants are see through. These are wide leg white Chinos (Lands’ End, size 16, $70), they are not too heavy, not transparent, and I love tab waist pants because they help me feel held in where my belly feels all pouchy.

This is a great shower outfit. White pants with a fitted white cami (Target, size XL, $8), and a yellow lightweight Cardigan (Lands’ End, size L, $49) that I belted. I love belts. They make a waist where there is none, and I feel slimmer. Like I said before, thin belts don’t work for me because of my large chest, but the proportions of a thicker belt balance things out. Another tip, I always size down in my cardigans. They usually stretch really well, and I like the arms to be fitted and not oversized and boxy.

A girl can never have too many maxi dresses, especially if said girl hates shorts and thinks summer is stupid. This is a really simple maxi dress (Target, size XXL, $27.99). I look for two things with these, 1. can I wear a bra with it, and 2. is it long enough. There is almost nothing as horrible as a too-short maxi dress, not even war or famine. So, I always look for a dress that at least covers my ankles. Like I’m Amish only not afraid of cleavage.

This dress looked really thin and plain on the hanger, but the elastic waist is adorable, and it sits just below my chest, so I don’t feel self conscious about my stomach. It’s also very, very long, which makes me very, very happy. I am 5’7 and I am wearing this with flip flops. It’s the perfect summer chill dress.

This jacket looks like a cropped Member’s Only jacket from the 80′s with a frilly neck. It’s from Old Navy (Size XXL), I actually cackled when I saw it, and tried it on as a dare to myself. In a shocking turn of events, I loved it.

I paired the cropped jacked with a long navy v-neck cami (Target, size XL, $8), some dark wash flare jeans (Old Navy, size 14, $25) and a fun burnt orange necklace (Target, $14). It’s dressy like a blazer, but also girly with the ruffles. I don’t support cropped clothing, but for this jacket, I make an exception.

Two very blah things. A grey cropped sleeve cardigan (Gap, size XL) and a meh white empire cut shirt (Walmart, size XXL, $12). You see these shirts everywhere, and they almost never wear well as is, especially if you are busty. But, I love the cut of the v-neck, and I really want to make this work.

This is one of my favorite outfits. I took the grey cardigan and white shirt, and belted it to add not only interest, but it’s now keeping the shirt in place so my bra doesn’t hang out. I added some cute yellow heels and some dark wash flare jeans (Old Navy, size 14, $25).

I don’t like business wear, I’m very much a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, so dressing for things like tv shows or interviews has always been a challenge for me. I found this blazer in my closet, it’s NY& Co, size 14 and probably from 2000, which totally makes it vintage, right? It was covered in dust and had some foam almost-shoulder pads things in it, I cut those out.

I love pairing blazers with some sexy jeans (Mudd, size 15, Kohls $19.99) fitted tops, and then pops of colorful jewelry (Target, $14), which is what I did here. Now, I feel girly and professional, but totally comfortable.

I saw this sweater on sale in-store at the Gap (Size XXL, $19). On the hanger, it has absolutely no redeeming qualities. It’s boxy, the neck is weird, and the color, really? Neon yellow. Who looks awesome in neon yellow!?

This is something I wear on the regular. What’s that? Plus size girls can’t wear horizontal stripes? False. The color is surprisingly doable, especially when I tone it down by layering it over a long fitted white cami and some, yes I know OMG, skinny jeans. Alright fine, they’re jeggins (Old Navy, size 14, $34). But here’s the thing, they hold their shape and while my thighs are an area I hate, I think the oversized bright top helps balance it out.

This outfit feels very Audrey Hepburn meets Zooey Deschanel…and I’m ok with that.

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50% Drinking game, 50% Candyland. I’ve cracked the code to the raddest, most confusing drinking game on the planet. You’re welcome, lushes.

Click here to keep reading!

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The little alarm on my iphone just beeped.

It’s Wyatt’s birthday, remember?

Of course I remember, iPhone. I don’t need an alarm to tell me that.

(yes I do.)

Today Wyatt is five.

He loves Kung Fu Panda, the Three Stooges, and Adam West is his favorite Batman of all the Batmans. (even five year olds think you sucked, Clooney.)

His favorite word is creepy.

I love you Wyatt Adam.

You’re creepy.

He loves roller coasters and sushi and eating the crust first.

He hates whispering and olives and the sound nail clippers make.

If any of my children were going to get a girl pregnant in high school… it would probably be him.

My Wy. I positively adore him and can’t believe I have been allowed to have him to myself for five whole years.

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This post contains spoilers, lots of them!

It occurred to me, internet, that I never reviewed the final book of the Fifty Shades series, Fifty Shades Freed.

Maybe it’s because I was too busy smoking a cigarette or being numb from the waist down, the reason doesn’t really matter, the fact is, it happened, I read it, and now I’m making Andy read it, because yes, I know it’s taboo, but women, real ones, really do like this sort of thing in real life…

Click here to keep reading!

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As a parent, we have the crappy job of making decisions regarding our kids. Most of the time, they are super easy, like if they’ll buy lunch that day, or if they should wear a jacket.

Other decisions are trickier, like if they can play at Joe’s house even though his dad has guns, or if they’ll attend private or public school.

It’s hard as hell, and I could ask 100 different parents and get 100 different answers.

The fact is, there is no right answer, only your answer. One you often make in a caffeine induced stupor and three day old underwear, surrounded by little people you wish would just shut up for five fucking minutes so you could have a coherent thought that’s not set to the tune of a Yo Gabba Gabba song, although, admittedly… all my sex dreams are now done to the soundtrack of Try It, You’ll Like It!

I would say, overall, I have a 70/30 parental success rate, which sounds low, but it’s not. I mean, there are no books on this… alright yeah, there are actually tons of books on this, but seriously, who has time to read them, they’re incredibly dull and if I want to feel bad about myself, I’ll go into an Anthropology and try to fit into stuff.

Andy and I make decisions for our kids together, turning to google if we need a third party moderator, which we seldom do. His level headed nature and my flamboyant idealism usually produce decisions that don’t end in death or loss of custody or permanent body modifications.

Yesterday, Jude came home in a tizzy of excitement about campfires and pizza and bee-bee guns and catapults, which, admittedly, all sound awesome. Where on Earth can you get all those awesome things? Boy Scouts. For $12 a year plus uniforms and badges and other random fees, you can have camping and dirt and building things and shooting stuff and boys and debauchery and fun.

I was a girl scout for years, and had the pleasure of working for the organization after college, and I am chomping at the bit for Gigi to be old enough to join. They have a great message, they stand for and teach amazing things, and they sell cookies that I like to eat.

Win, win, win.

But when Jude asked to join Boy Scouts, my heart hurt…because I knew we might have to tell him no. In fact, in my head, I was already screaming no, no way, absolutely not, not happening. But, I have this almost-six year old beautiful boy in front of me, who’s bursting at the seams to see his friends at meetings and get a free mini catapult for joining.

And suddenly things got harder. I remember my brother was in Boy Scouts for a year or two, and he would go away to camp and participate in the Pine Wood Derby, and I know, deep down, that is stuff Jude would love.

But, I also know that Boy Scouts of America has an explicit anti-gay policy. And while he may not understand all that in the grand scheme of equality and civil rights and humanity, would he understand that it meant that his friend’s dad couldn’t be his leader? That one of his relative’s couldn’t participate? That some of our dearest family friends would be unwelcome?

Do I pause all that in lieu of a pizza party and bee-bee guns because it’s easier, neater, less of an OMG TANTRUM APOCALYPSE?

I know he obviously won’t go to meetings and get indoctrinated into an anti-gay mindset. He’d probably learn a craft and play a game and sell ridiculously overpriced stale popcorn that nobody ever wants to buy, leaving me to pick up the tab.

But, we’d also be one more family making it ok for an organization to stand for ideals we just don’t agree with.

For us, the answer was no.

I’ve had to teach my kids lessons in the most unexpected places, usually when I am completely unprepared, and almost always while I have food in my mouth, and it sucks most of the time. Explaining life is hard, especially when you have to use clean language and Dora the Explorer analogies.

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Ok, I’m not going to beat around the bush, there is almost nothing healthy or redeeming about this recipe, it is pure bar food.

On the couch, in your sweatpants, drinking beer, watching your big screen, bar food.

Click here to keep reading and get this stupid delicious low carb recipe!

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I’ve never been to Texas.

In fact, all I know about Texas I learned from the Rick Perry Presidential campaign and when Pee Wee toured the Alamo in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.

So, I had really high expectations, and when one of my best friend’s in the world, Shauna, asked us to stay with her, I couldn’t say no.

As no surprise to any of you, we drove, but it was actually really cool, because I got a chance to drive through states I had never actually seen in person to confirm they actually exist, like Missouri and Arkansas.

Both were great except, and Arkansas I hate to pick on you, but I have two things:

1. I drove through you at night, and there were like, a million dead animals on the side of the road. So many, the roads were stained red, like roads of blood. It was exactly like the beginning of every Rob Zombie movie. I was actually trying to wake Andy up because I was freaking out after I saw the bottom half of a deer laying in the lane next to me, when I accidentally hit an opossum, but it was 2am, and I couldn’t emotionally process the event, so I spent the next hour singing along to Danny’s Song on repeat until Andy let us get a hotel for the night.

2. Arkadelphia and Texarkana are just other places mashed up with the word Arkansas.  It’s like you’re not even trying. In fact, my friend Shauna didn’t even think I was really coming to Texas, at all.

Honestly, other than that, you were lovely, and I will have to visit again, because I’m dying to see Ark Vegas and Bostansas.

I honestly wasn’t sure how I was going to like Texas, even though Andy has been dying to go visit, because in his head, he wants to live anywhere that isn’t snowy Ohio, so he did what any smart husband would do and planned the trip around food in an attempt to woo me.

Spoiler alert: that almost always works. It’s the only reason I go to the gynecologist or agreed to see the Star Wars Prequels.

I ate so much food, you guys.

In fact, on the drive down, Andy was all, gosh, it’s going to be hard to be all low carb down there with all those tortillas, and I was like, yes that will be really hard for you, good luck with that.

Sorry, I love to eat, I bought three different sizes of jeans with me, and a staggering amount of maxi dresses, this was happening. And it did, hard, which presented a whole new set of problems.

First, I don’t know if it’s just me, but does anyone else have this thing where when they travel, they cannot poop to save their lives? No matter where I go, I show up bloated and puffy and my stomach just keeps getting harder and harder, until by the end of the week, I’m double fisting laxatives for relief. You should have seen me on the last day of Disney, granted, it was poor planning on my part and I almost had to jump off It’s a Small World to shit behind Russia, but dude, at least my pants finally buttoned.

This happened in Texas, only times infinity, because I had the added bonus of reintroducing carbs to my digestive system. I died a thousand deaths last week, most of them on the floor of Shauna’s upstairs bathroom, but it was worth it. Fort Worth has the best food I have ever, ever, eaten. Uncle Julio’s, Dutch’s, Sushi Axiom, Joe T. Garcia’s… I looked 6 months pregnant in a maxi dress by the end of the week, but I just gently rubbed my belly, because I was carrying the most adorable Mexican-Asian-South American baby ever.

The next problem I faced was alcohol. Staying low carb limited my consumption options, so I’d been mostly dry for the last 3 months…until I went to Texas. One drink in, and it was like I was 7th grade Brittany all over again, getting shit faced in the field behind my parents house, asking my friends if they thought I was pretty and crying when my gay friend Mike wouldn’t make out with me for practice.

While I was in town, Shauna put together this amazing get together with some local Texans, and it was an absolute blast. Everyone was amazing, the food at Joe T. Garcia’s was stupid good, our waitress looked like a prettier Polish version of Cameron Diaz, and the night was perfection…except that after three pitchers of margaritas, I couldn’t feel my face anymore, probably like how botox works.

This is the stunning, and I mean, like…gorgeous BreAnn and I. I think I asked her twice if my face was working for this picture.
If you have pictures from this party, I’d love to see them!

After the get together, I stumbled my way up the steps to the bedroom to find Andy playing on his new iPad and the kids fast asleep. He looked super adorable and I am still operating on the fantasy that he’s Christian Grey from 50 Shades, so I was all, ohhhh Fiddy Fiddy Fiddy, you are so hot right now, we should totally do it, and Andy was like, totally, and I was all, awesome, just please don’t, like, touch my stomach or my intestines at all, ok, because bad things are happening there.

It was the best vacation ever.

I love Texas.

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This morning, I stood at a gas station at the Indiana and Ohio border cleaning puke off of Gigi after she choked on a Starburst. That girl never chews.  She’s like her mama, swallowing things whole. I was going to have to take her whole seat apart..

It was miserable, but then I realized, this wasn’t even the worst thing I had to do today.

Today I have to tell my three kids what we’ve been hiding from them all week.

Poppy is gone. I’m heartbroken. I miss her spotty stinky face every second of every day.

And I don’t want to talk about it yet.

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Of all the fights to have in the confines of an 18 hour car trip, how to sensibly spend our fake half a billion lottery winnings is my favorite.

It always starts off innocently enough. We agree we’d keep it a secret and claim it anonymously, I mean, I’ve seen Brewster’s Millions, and the last thing I need is crazy people trying to sell me glaciers. Like those even exist anymore!?

After we considered taxes, and what we’d divvy out to our parents and best friends, it became obvious that we had very different visions for our future.

I was all, but where would we live? And, Andy doesn’t even care. He’s all, I don’t know, bunches of places.

But, what about the kids’ school?

They can go to school anywhere.

Can we have livestock?

Do you want livestock?

I’d like the option, I’m really feeling tiny goats right now. Fainting ones.  With tiny gold grills in their mouths instead of teeth.

But then, it just got worse. Besides not wanting tiny fainting Lil’ Wayne goats, it’s painfully obvious that fake money is making Andy selfish.

I’d really like to get one of those vintage Land Rovers, the kind that kill whole rainforests every time I do school drop off.

I’d buy a Maserati Quattroport.

Um, you can’t put 3 car seats in a Maserati Quattroport.

Why would I put car seats in a Maserati?

Oh, so you get rich and decide not to be a father anymore? This is how Paris Hilton happens.

It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time.

Who would you have in your rich guy entourage?

I don’t know, probably Marky, Barry, Shane, the guy from Carlito’s Way…

Al Pacino?

Yeah, and somebody awesome, like Chuck Norris.

But, he’s a republican?

Bottom line, money changes people, and it can’t buy happiness… unless happiness is hundreds of tiny goats.

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