My Professional Background - Once upon a time, I wanted to be a motivational speaker. Actually, I was a professional motivational speaker for about 5 years.:

Monthly Archives

May 2013

I bet if neurologists did even the most cursory study of my brain functionality—specifically my long- and short-term memory—they would find that I’m only slightly better off than Ozzy Osbourne.

Though, probably for different reasons.

I blame my dad’s genes for my awful memory. But I’m not so sure that Ozzy even remembers who or what he should blame for his.

Sadly, most of my childhood memories are lost to me now. They’re piled behind stupid movie quotes, annoying children’s songs and completely random facts that I never wanted to remember. Like the hierarchy of biological classification:  kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species. Y’all, I didn’t even have to Google that. It pushed it’s way right up to the front of my memory. In that prime real-estate where my grocery list and social security number should be.

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“It seems strange celebrating the fact that we are still married rather than celebrating 8 amazing years. But, by God’s grace, you are my wife today!”



These were Brian’s words in a card he gave me Tuesday night on the occasion of our 8th wedding anniversary. I chuckled as I read those words—though he didn’t necessarily intend for them to make me laugh. Perhaps I found it humorous because he’s so right. Neither of us expected to make it this far. These past 8 years have not exactly been a Disney movie.

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Guyyyyyyyys, WHERE have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!

[Huh? Wait a minute…SHE’S the one who didn’t post anything for a week! So, why is she looking for us?]

I’m confused. Have you been looking for me?

[Why does she keep having these stupid conversations with herself?]

Have y’all seen my medication lately?


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One Woman's Trash

As you may have already read, we had a garage sale recently.

[Really? I didn’t notice an entire week’s worth of annoying, melodramatic garage sale posts.]

I get your point.

But I’m here to talk about the aftermath of that traumatic experience.
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Seller's Remorse, Pottery Barn Rug

I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have experienced buyer’s remorse. I happen to be rather opinionated (“RATHER?!?!?!?,” says my husband), so I don’t usually waffle back and forth when I shop.

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It’s almost like JJ knows how very, very particular I am about my calendar and said, “Hey, Averi, you know what would be reeeeeeeally hilarious? If I took a PEN and colored all over mom’s calendar. On the first day of the month. Bwahahahahahahahaha!”

And that’s how it happened.

I’m sure of it.

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Women are like Spaghetti

I read a book once called Men are like Waffles—Women are like Spaghetti, and it was probably one of THE cheesiest (no pun intended) books I’ve ever read. But the points the authors, Bill and Pam Farrel, made were both interesting and pretty hilarious.

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