We had a very Barrelassin’ Christmas at my house. Food, fun, and family! Barrelassin’ Momma received some special gifts that made her cry a little, but they were tears of joy. The kiddos were happy with their gifts and my mom, sister and husband all knocked it out of the park with all the great books I received! Do I go from extreme to another or what? I asked for and received Caroline Manzo’s book, Let Me Tell You Something and Nikki Sixx’s, The Heroin Diaries. And several more in between. They did, however, have to hook me up with a gift card for NeNe Leakes’ book, Never Make the Same Mistake Twice, because they couldn’t get their hands on a copy. I’ll fix that! 

So anyway, don’t you just love the shirt I’m wearing in this picture? Me too. Looks great on me huh? Now picture it a little later in the evening wrapped around my face with one arm stuck, half way over my head. Why you ask? Because that’s what I looked like wearing it while sitting at my dining table surfing the internet and trying to make one of those smooth, quick moves that every woman has undoubtedly mastered within a year of her first time wearing a bra, to attempt to get my bra off without coming out of my shirt. It’s an art. It’s like our very own magic trick, and is typically an easy one. Not so much with this shirt. I know it wasn’t the bra’s fault- I’ve taken that same bra off numerous times the same way. The bra is a team player. The shirt is new, and hasn’t quite learned the rules of living with me yet.
I’ve retraced all of my steps, and I did everything right. The shirt was definitely not cooperating. By the time it was over with, I actually felt somewhat violated. I had one arm in and one arm half out. The half arm out was stuck in an uncomfortable, not to mention unsightly position just above my head and hanging over the opposite side of my body. My hair was stuck to my face and I couldn’t see a thing! I was running out of breath during the fight and my air supply was already limited at best. I even had my own hair in my mouth. 
I hadn’t yet removed my false eyelashes , so when I did try to open my eyes, my lashes would rub the fabric of the shirt and try to bend backwards and stab me in the eye. I was very frustrated by the time I managed to save myself, and I’m still not quite sure how I did it. I tried to give up at one point and start over, but I never could get back to my original state. Somehow I managed to wrestle my way out just in time to actually see one of my own boobies hanging out over the top of my undershirt. It’s a miracle nobody in my house witnessed this catastrophe, but to be honest, had anyone, even a stranger shown up, I would’ve begged them to please put an end to my misery. All the spinning in circles had made me a little dizzy and I had to get my bearings. I was exhausted!
One thing was very clear to me when I escaped…the Ultra Lite was not going to cut it; I was now going to need a stiff drink!
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂


Have been waiting for this concert for months. LITERALLY! Months ago my little sister purchased tickets for me, herself, and our mother as a gift for my upcoming 40th birthday in January, since I am self-proclaimed “Keith Urban’s biggest fan”. The concert happens to be on January 31, 2014 (Knoxville, TN), thirteen days after my birthday, so it’s perfect timing for his show to be in our area at that time. Did I say “perfect?” It is now the source of my stress headache.
Meet my son, Noah. He is a Senior in high school and has played basketball since the third grade. I am also Noah’s biggest fan, naturally. I’ve also been awaiting Senior Night at his last regular season basketball game of his life for months ;This makes me tear up every time I think a bout it. Senior Night is a moment to be very proud of. All of the Seniors and their parents are honored together on the court during the game that night. I am very proud to be his mother 🙂 
I recently found out that Senior Night will be on January 31, 2014…the same night as the Keith Urban concert that we have tickets for. I felt a little pain in my heart upon hearing this news. Obviously, I would not miss my son’s big night, and although years ago, I had to give up my Cheetah Girls ticket and let someone else take my daughter so that I could attend my oldest son’s eighth grade championship basketball game, I think this one may leave a scar. It’s not as simple as buying another ticket, for another show, in another town.So, I’m trying my very best to seek out anyone who may have tickets to another show on the tour, somewhere that I can drive to, that would be willing to trade their three tickets for my three tickets. We have pretty decent seats, and I would naturally like to trade for three equally decent seats as well. 

 Doesn’t it seem ironic that as I sat wearing my son’s high school basketball sweatshirt a few years ago, while I was sitting on the cold, wet ground waiting for Keith Urban to arrive and receive his star on the Walk of Fame in Nashville? A star that I drove four hours in the middle of the night with my barrelassin’ momma, to see him receive?

 Who wouldn’t wanna be me (pun intended) watching him accept this honor in person? I seriously doubt he’s willing to return the favor by driving up to wait and watch while my son receives his his Senior plaque lol. Especially when he has a show to put on the same night. And I’m pretty sure he won’t wait for me to get there since they start around the same time and I will be about an hour away 😦

That’s me being really happy to be there! Maybe someone will see this post and be willing to trade their three seats in their town for our three seats in our town. If everyone shared this, it would increase my extremely small odds. Keith Urban, and country music fans are the most loyal fans on the planet- I could actually make this happen if I could get the word out! Now go pass it along and help a mother out! 
contact info: or
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂


Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Well, well, well. It would be all too easy if this settled things for Phil Robertson once and for all, but it won’t. And here’s why. Although this is the First Amendment and every American’s right, it’s mostly only used by us when it’s convenient to our own unique situations. Other than that, nobody really wants to hear what anyone really believes if it’s different than what they believe. And pretty much it boils down to this: say whatever you want to, everyone will get mad, and the press can tell us all about it.
This is how it goes:
Person 1: I don’t like the color blue.
Person 2: How dare you. You should’ve never said that. Blue is a beautiful color.
Person 1: You can’t say that to me, because I can say whatever I want to; it’s my right.
Person 2:  Well, then, you can’t tell me that I can’t say that to you, because it is my right to disagree with you.
And so on and so on…
I’m pretty sure you’re only protected in the court of law, because in the real world, you could get your ass kicked for saying what you think. So with all of the fuss over Phil Robertson’s statement in GQ magazine, let me update you in case you were on vacation to the moon yesterday-
Phil Robertson says:
“Everything is blurred on what’s right and what’s wrong… Sin becomes fine. Start with homosexual behavior and just morph out from there. Bestiality, sleeping around with this woman and that woman and that woman and those men, It seems like, to me, a vagina—as a man—would be more desirable than a man’s anus. That’s just me. I’m just thinking: There’s more there! She’s got more to offer. I mean, come on, dudes! You know what I’m saying? But hey, sin: It’s not logical, my man. It’s just not logical.”
He then quotes the Bible by saying “Don’t be deceived. Neither the adulterers, the idolaters, the male prostitutes, the homosexual offenders, the greedy, the drunkards, the slanderers, the swindlers” —
This is where I start having reservations about the media. Everyone is up in arms over gay rights and the freedom of speech right now. Gay is really none of my business. I couldn’t care less who loves who or who is sleeping with whom. In fact, it is my policy not to judge sex that doesn’t directly affect me. I have gay friends, and I can’t imagine not liking them for who they are sleeping with. If I judged all of my straight friends for some of the people they have slept with or are currently sleeping with, I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t have very many friends.
But what about the greedy drunkards who slander people’s names and swindle one another? And I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure greed, slander, swindling, and drunk, are all associated in one way or another. Greedy people are stingy with their alcohol. Drunken people usually end up slandering someone at some point during each good drunk they pull. Swindling leads to guilt and alcoholism. And by the way, if we have freedom of speech, how can we be prosecuted for slander? Just something to think about. I have yet to see anyone stick up for them, though.  Where are all the people fighting for their rights? Perhaps they were drunk and won’t know until they wake up this afternoon what has been said about them.
I would imagine somewhere in America, someone threw their beer bottle at the TV and cussed out loud, “you don’t know what I’ve been through, you don’t know me!”
And just for the record, before I start getting hate mail, I’d just like to say, I have no problems with the color Blue.
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂

Barrelass respoinsibly!


This was the topic of conversation last night while I was attempting Christmas Tree duty. And I must say that it’s long overdue; I typically have the tree up and half of the Universe decorated by now. Getting back to the point, My children are fifteen and older and definitely do not believe in a real Santa Claus anymore. In other words, they know I am not actually Santa, but I do his job every year. Santa is one of the few fictional characters that exists and has the whole world working for him. 
So my Barrelassin’ son was venting about whose great idea it was to leave cookies for Santa at night and then get to eat them when the children went to bed. This was definitely someone who was caught with their hand in the cookie jar by an unexpected visitor; the child they assumed was sleeping. 
I must say, we had a barrel of laughs. They even wondered why nobody ever talked about Santa and Diabetes. I was trying to put ribbon on the tree as my husband was explaining how he felt betrayed by his parents when he found out Santa wasn’t real. Not so much because Santa wasn’t real, but mostly because he had been lied to for so long. My guess is that he couldn’t believe they had pulled one over on him ;).  I could not stop laughing. This lead to me explaining my feelings the very moment I found out Santa didn’t exist. Or I guess I should say, the moment I confirmed it. I’m sure I believed in Santa one-hundred percent at some point, but as far back as I can recall the topic, I always had my suspicions. 
I always had some doubt that there was actually a jolly man traveling the entire world in one night delivering gifts to everyone. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to believe so badly. I literally remember hoping so bad that Santa was real, but I was not convinced; the evidence was really stacked against Santa. For instance, why on Earth would Santa hide my presents in my mom’s closet, only to return and wrap them, pack them up all over again, and deliver them through the chimney that we didn’t even have? That seems like a lot of work, and even I could see what a mismanagement of time that was. And nobody who tried to convince me could ever seem to look me in the eye and answer my Santa questions. I was like a prosecutor I imagine. Like when me and my mom were walking down a sidewalk one night and she tried to get me to watch for Santa’s sleigh in the sky. I really think she was just trying to get me to shut up by giving me something to focus on. And I suspected that then, but she had also just explained to me that there was no thirteen o’clock, so I couldn’t be sure yet. I was not in school yet, and I can’t say what age I was when I was given a solid answer on the matter, but I know it was before the age of nine, because by that time, I wanted a stereo for Christmas, and me and Barrelassin’ cousin waited patiently to the end of the gift opening session to for those stereos. We didn’t really care about no fake Santa, we wanted to rock n’ roll! 
My confirmation of Santa being a fictional character was probably much different than many others. I recall my very first feeling being a little hopeful. I was like, if Santa isn’t real, and the Easter Bunny isn’t real (I don’t ever remember actually falling for that crap. I played along, but I can’t actually remember ever buying that load of eggs) then…maybe the booger man and the Devil/Satan wasn’t real either!! Oh this was going to be great! Finally, I could tell a lie or act out without that fear in the back of my mind of going to Hell!
I asked my mother if he was, indeed, fictional as well, and she explained to me that one was real and there was no way around it. Are you kidding me?? What kind of world were we living in? A world where all the nice, fun people were made up stories, but the bad guy, the most terrifying guy, was the real one? This was not good. You see, I don’t remember being upset at all that Santa didn’t exist, besides, now I could tell my mother what I wanted for Christmas with confidence and not have to worry that my list was being left in the hands of a busy stranger in a red suit, that may have other children’s best interest in mind over mine.
 My entire memory about it is being more disturbed that Satan really did exist and the fact that I had had a hunch all along about Santa, but now I could say “I knew it! I told you so! I was right all along! I was right. Do you hear me world? I was right!!”  And that was the important thing.
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂


This list does not include all of the wonderful things I would do for charity and the needs of humanity. That’s just a given.

 1) I’ll buy an island for luxury vacations and private parties. On second thought, no private parties; what fun would it be if I owned my own island and couldn’t show it off to people who were obviously not invited? I will call it Barrelassin’ Isle.

2) Buy Miley Cyrus some pants. Every time I see her lately, she’s wearing her underwear. 
3) Buy Bethenny Frankel’s friendship. She already owns all the alcohol. Besides, I’m going to need it for all the parties I’m going to throw on Barrelassin’ Isle.
4) Travel the globe with V.I.P. passes to all the 80’s hair bands’ concerts. Kind of like a groupie, except I won’t have to sleep with any of them. I will be the one with all the money, so they’ll have to have tickets to my after party.
5) Launch my very own Parachute Pants line…well…just because I could.
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂 $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$


Sometimes when Barrelassin’ Papa says “get in the car, it’s time to go” he means right now.

                                      Wait! I must put on one more dab of mascara!

Great! Now I have to fix my hair again…


This picture is too great not to share. My Barrelassin’ son has been putting this headband on lately to make me laugh. I’ve been daring him to wear it into different places, but he won’t. I snapped this picture after he put it on and received a phone call right after, so I caught him off guard, which made it even better. My husband is having a great time with it, adding Chuck Norris to the mix was a pretty good one.

Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂


                                               BEFORE                        AFTER

These are before and after photos of my Barrelassin’ husband’s employee Christmas party last night.
Well, technically, they are in between and after photos. Because before either of these looks, I had a 
towel wrapped around me trying not to get my fake tan on my furniture as I added fake fingernails and fake eyelashes to the real me. This “before” look in the photo shown took up a lot of my day. The after…not so much. I’d love to know how you crazy kids take these mirror photos so effortlessly considering it took my five tries to get my face in the picture. But we’ll save that for another day. 

There’s nothing like doing the walk of shame in last night’s party dress. Even though my husband explained to me that it’s not the walk of shame; we are a married couple. Well, tell that to the hotel maintenance men standing in the parking garage on their smoke break while I strut my stuff to my car; my eyelashes now in my evening clutch, mascara on all the wrong places of my face, wearing a pair of hooker heels at ten a.m.- I had the good sense to go out wearing my husband’s long coat, rather than my short fancy fur, but upon walking by the hotel staff, I quickly realized I looked like I was about to take off streaking (as in: to rapidly flash) all the way to my car; due to the over-sized trench coat making it appear that it was possibly the only thing I was wearing. 

My husband mentioned that it may be too late to get actual breakfast food; as if I was going out to breakfast with my new look. Honestly, I had been thinking about a cheeseburger since very late the night before when I raided the hotel vending machine settling for a bag of Cheeze-Its and a bag of plain Lays, so a drive-thru meal was perfect for me.

I keep using the word “hotel” when I should probably paint the picture a little clearer. I would say it was more along the lines of a “Motel” which, somehow makes my appearance leaving seem a little more likely that I was, in fact, a “lady of the night” that my husband had called up and paid at the end of a wild night. Can you imagine if that had actually been the case? How horrified would he have been when he woke up to see me with all my falseness on the nightstand and previously white sheets now perfectly, fake tanned? Oh well, it always starts out pretty doesn’t it? (Shaking my head.)

Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂


Myth: saying “uncle” will make it stop. I’ve been saying “uncle” for the better part of the week and I haven’t noticed any major changes. In fact, things got worse before they got better, then worse again.

A little over a week ago, my horoscope advised me to not make any financial decisions on that particular day…I just couldn’t listen. Immediately after reading it, I thought about the fact that I was about to deliberately disobey the Universe by sitting down with a package of Senior photo proofs and a calculator to begin the daunting game of ‘How many people want a picture of my son, the Senior?’ Here’s a cheat-sheet for anyone about to play that same game:

                                                            ^      ^
                                          Grandparents      Grandparents
                                             one photo           one photo
                                                   ^                       ^
                               Can show to everyone      Can show to everyone
                               One large photo of each proof to display all over the walls

                                                None-doesn’t even like pictures
                                                You really only need three photos
                                                Grand Total: Your life savings

There, now save yourself the trouble of all the counting and thinking. And whatever you do, do not think with the tip of the pen in your mouth and end up like me. In my case the photos are also costing the price of one porcelain crown. Yes, chewing on the tip of a pen broke the tip of my tooth. Or should I say the other side of my tooth?

Technically, if we go back about four years- two days before my wedding I had a dentist appointment that I kept. Everyone wants to have pretty, white teeth on their wedding day. The day before my wedding I spent a wonderful day with all the girls in my bridal party and my mother, getting our nails done together. It was so relaxing. When we were finished I rode with one of my Barrelassin’ friends and picked up the rest of the flowers for the wedding. Everything was perfect, until that moment where I bit into my very first french-fry out of the box and accidentally bit my new thumbnail that I wasn’t accustomed to having, and chipped a small piece of my tooth and spit it into my hand. I almost couldn’t not laugh at the irony that I had just been to the dentist the day before and now here I was with a broken tooth. It was the weekend and there was nothing I could do about it but laugh…oh wait, then it hit me, while getting our nails done, I had forgotten to pick up one last tux that had to be re-altered and now the place was closed and wouldn’t be open the next day. Now I cried. I couldn’t stop crying, but then the business remembered and re-opened their store and called me to come and get it, blah, blah, blah.

 Anyway, I had a chip on my tooth, which is very different from having a chip on your shoulder. You can fix the chip on your shoulder yourself for free. Since I hate having dental work done, I left the small chip on my tooth and have been living happily ever after until this week, which takes me all the way back to the beginning of this story where I started in the first place.

Now I have a chip on each side of that same tooth and my teenage children are calling me “Shark-tooth.” I am not offended. We laugh and laugh, but it still looks ridiculous. I’ve been running around crazy this week cooking Thanksgiving dinner, going to doctor’s appointments, scheduling my daughter’s Tonsillectomy, along with a few other highs and lows, and then I woke up this  morning- which was a miracle in and of itself given the week I’ve been having and began to work on a computer project that nearly brought me to tears. Oh, who am I kidding, it actually did bring me to tears.

I decided I would be a strong woman (I was watching Bethenny Frankel’s talk show, so I was very determined) and headed to the kitchen to refresh my drink and grab a snack. Did I mention that I walked into a flooded kitchen? Well I did. The washer was leaking again. My husband just fixed it recently and it has been working great, until today when it went for a swim.

While using the shop-vac to suck up the lake, I had plenty of time to think about the fact that I now needed a tooth, Senior pictures, a washing machine, a yearbook and to make the final payments on all of the other necessary paper products required to graduate…all three weeks before Christmas and I’ve only crossed off one gift on the list.

Now I have a chip on my shoulder.

Bah Humbug!

Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂