Dear Mandy….Vol. 1


So I have had some folks send me emails asking for sarcastic advice per my personality issues. Keep in mind, this advice is purely sarcastic. I cannot give real advice for the following reasons:

  • I is not qualified. Really and for realsies. Closest thing I am to a therapist is a bartender. A drunk one.
  • I make mistakes every 2.2 seconds. Big ones. Like, if people knew, I would be in jail. Big ones.
  • I’m from New Jersey.
  • I don’t think like most rational humans. I’m a real prick most times.
  • My degree is quite useless in the advice department.
  • I drink way too much and have  tendency to say wrong things at even wronger times.

See? Sarcasm only. So today we have three entries, all from friends of friends. Let’s see what we have kids.

Dear Mandy,

I hate my family. I have to go home at least once a month or my parents freak out and think I’m ungrateful, or so they tell me. When I do go home, it’s a chastise fest, with them always telling me that I should apply myself more. I know they love me, but I can’t wait to relocate to the other coast to get rid of my obligation to see them. What sarcastic advice do you have for this one?

–Parents Really are Aliens

Dear Parents,

Not knowing what your childhood was like, it’s tricky for me to formulate the right curse words for you to use the next time you go home. Really, the more cunty you sound to them, the less they will care if you come back. Is there anyone you know that would give them a good “talking to?” Like, a certain person of Italian ethnicity with large connections to abandoned warehouses and gun type, things? I mean, a good threat always works.

If nothing like that seems appealing, then I would simply suggest growing a pair and telling them to f*** off.  That, or next time your there, take a big dump in the living area. Guaranteed to get some of that space you require, I gather.

Good luck with the aliens.

Love and kisses,



Dear Mandy,

I’m confused. I work in a nice office, and I dress up per the dress code everyday. Today I was called into the bosses office and was asked to dress more appropriately. For the record, I generally wear nice leggings, shirts and boots. I’m a larger girl and I’m not comfortable in dresses.., I tried explaining this, but because we get customers coming in, we have to look “professional” which apparently, I don’t. I thought I was doing well. But now I feel self conscious. What should I do?

Yours Truly,

No More Leggings

Dear No More,

Hey.  I get it. I’m a bigger girl too, and I love my lularoes. But I hate to tell you, if I worked in an office, (We know if I did, that wouldn’t last long), I wouldn’t think that would be okay to wear. If it was casual friday every day and your boss was 8, I imagine the flying pigs on my last pair of leggings would be a big hit. Alas, your boss is probably a cunt. So.

Did he/she ask you to wear dresses? I would just go get some dressy looking leggings. You know, the ones that say “These are my fancy leggings.” You know, like a play on the old “This is my costume” Halloween shirts.  If they have the word fancy on them, would it make it better?

If you can’t win, go literal.

P.S. I think they sell them at Wal-Mart. Along with the ones that say “Classy bitch” in the ass area. Maybe that’s good for Mondays? Start the week off right!

Best of luck with the cunty boss.



And for the final one,

Dear Mandy,

My kids are awful lately. I don’t know if it’s because they are almost teenagers or what, but the back talk is killing me. All I want to do is run away. I’ve given up the good fight and just take it most of the time. I’m at a loss. I didn’t expect this to be this hard. Help!



Dear Mom,

I have a news flash for you. Kids are awful at pretty much any age. Whoever looks at you and says “I love this age!” Is either high, or a stupid, clueless twat.

THEY are the teenagers. Let them run away. You’ve earned your stay. I thought adults paid the bills and owned the homes? But my history may be fuzzy.

Isn’t that what they do, anyway? Run away?

Or has this ungrateful generation been tainted by an equally more pussy fed generation that has no sack?

For fuck sake.

This is what I would offer up as general advice:

Here, kid, take this bag on a stick, and head east towards the ocean. Just don’t get into vans, okay? No matter the “fleek” color or sound system. And don’t let people touch you in the pee- pee places. (Unless you’re in Vegas. That’s kinda what they do there.)

It’s that simple. Be smart when you’re crossing the street and make sure the truck drivers that pick you up don’t make you explain why you think it’s okay to be a cunty fuck and leave a nice, free, uncomplicated bed. Because that’s when they kill you and hide you under thier creepy, Gacy shrine, like house for being a total and complete pussy.

And did I read that right?

“I didn’t expect this to be so hard.”


I read that right.

Wow. Where have you been living? This is hard all the god damn time. I’m sorry you pushed 2 assholes from your pooter and they turned out to be a little douchy, but seriously. Take your life back. And kick those fuckers into the basement. You know, the place they will end up living with thier stripper girlfriend if you don’t SHUTTHEFUCKUP.

Hope this helps!




Need advice?

Email: and be featured in my next blog. (Names are changed to protect the stupid)


Dear Summer

Dear Summer,

Hello. How have you been? How is camp? Have you gotten to swim or take a vacation? I haven’t lately. 

Wanna know why?

Because you seem to think that summer = it’s okay to fry mo’effers to deaf.


Are you mad at me or something? I don’t mean to sound, like, girlfriendy or anything, but what the hell? 

Wait. Is this hell?

When I asked you to keep in touch, I didn’t actually mean you should stalk me with your unbearable, yet lovable heat hugs. K.I.T is something you just write as a nice salutation. Then you know, you give the wrong phone number. 

You get around though, don’t you.?

You had to take a break from Australia, which I’m sure was rough for you, and you’re probably missing killing old ladies in apartments with no air conditioning, huh? 

I mean, it’s what you DO, right? Aside from all the swimming fun weather you provide. And are you to blame for goggles existing? I would’nt answer that. Parents everywhere may retaliate with pitchforks.

So, you’re kind of a dick. Yeah?


So, friend, let’s talk, because it’s July and I’m starting to lose my patience.

I have some tips for you, and I’m going to keep a list, so you can keep yourself nice and organized.

Here are several  reasons why you need to go away, or at the very least tone it down a wee bit:

1. I can’t see when I go outside for the first five minutes or so. The haze is fogging my glasses and if I die, I will come after you. When I’m a ghost, I can follow you all the way to Africa, you prick.

2. I can’t use my oven. Even when the AC is at it’s highest. Wanna know why? Yoooouuu already know why you sneaky tosser. What’s the matter? You don’t like brownies mother fu****?!

3.  So, sleeping is great! I love doing it. In fact, it’s my VERY favorite thing besides turtles blowing bubbles and Sam Heughan with his shirt off. So, when my son wanted to have a tent sleep over in the yard I didn’t hesitate. Its my kid, and we are making memories, after all. Well, we WERE, until 2:30am when we promptly had to go into the house to keep the humidity from killing us from the inside out. I bet that was fun for you. I swear I saw you smiling outside the fabric of the heatbox that was our coffin…I mean, tent.

4. I got into the car while in my bathing suit last week, and much to my dismay, my fat mom thighs almost got third degree burns from the leather that had been cooking all morning in your welcoming devil rays. Did you and all the leather in the world make this deal? Do you work for the government? What’s happening?

5. I like to drink coffee. Now I can’t even think about it. And iced coffee doesn’t count. I like my coffee like I like my vaginas. Sweet and warm. And you ruined that for me, you stupid, stupid, bitch.

6. Exercising outside. So that’s not happening. So maybe I need to thank you for that one. 

7. I can’t send my kids outside, or I may never see them again. And not because they would get abducted by some fu** nut, but because you would kill them with your sunshiny evil. So now they get to stay in the house with me. ALL day. FU** YOU.

8. I’m fat and things even stick together in COLD weather.

9. I’m so dehydrated I can’t even cry when I watch Grey’s Anatomy reruns. “An hour ago he was proposing.” Nope. Got nothin’! Not even for Denny!

10. You’re even making Republicans believe in global warming. HIYO!

11. Florida is dead. All of Florida. Died.

12. Beaches have turned into skin cancer conventions. Complete with booze and sharks. And kids! You’re going to a special jail cell for that one.

13. Jim Cantore from The Weather Channel was speechless. In fact, the entire weather channel team jumped off a bridge to find the sweet relief of death.

14. My dog won’t shit outside. So she shits inside. I don’t see you offering to clean it up.

15. You owe me one thousand, two hundred, and forty two dollars and eighty four cents. All spent on Sunscreen.

16. Do you like, have a deal going with the people who make BBQ’s, lawnmowers and weed whackers? So when people use them in this heat, they, like, die?

17. I have thrown every blanket I have away.

18. I can’t hug my children because you’re a whore. Don’t. Touch. Me. NOTHING CAN TOUCH ME!

19. Do you not like the 80’s? What’s with staying in the 90’s? The 80’s had better music and a more stable economy. Go back to the 80’s. Please?

And finally,

20. People move to places like Arizona because they LIKE being hot. And even they hate you. You’re losing your key demographic. I think you need a break. Leave the glaciers alone too, the environmentalists are shitting their panties.

Until next time, stay thirsty, my friends. (And hydrated, please. Seriously.)

Please follow me for more sarcastic fun! What would you like me to write about? Need sarcastic advice? Leave a comment or email me @



Mandy is a wife and mother who lives in rural Pennsylvania. She is an Art Instructor, a Romance Author, and Sarcastic beastie. To contact Mandy, send her an email: Find her on Facebook:  and twitter @exposedseries. Follow the blog for updates on her smut!

Dear, end-of-the-year-school-mom, I got you.

I almost told my home and school association to fu** off this week. 

Hey, I give these people a TON of credit. They are there at every event, pushing forward to try and make elementary school a better place for all students. They are tireless moms, wayyy better humans than me, some even working full time jobs and fitting this stuff somewhere in the ass crack of the body that is labeled, “Commitment”.

And I DO come to events and give my time. I do think it’s important to be present in your kids school life. I DO. But, by about, let’s say April 18th or so, I can no longer fit anything else in my commitment crack. That shit takes a pounding fairly regularly, and I’m starting to chaffe.

Today is May 3, so I am WAY passed the date of expiration. Now you’re just taking a chance eating the meat, friends. It’s starting to turn gray and has a big, orange “MANAGER SPECIAL” sticker on it.

Someone, please pass the Goldbond.

That being said, I am here to proclaim why, in fact I am the WORST, end-of-the-year-school-mom, ever. There are more of us out there, I know, and while I’m SURE the teachers of the world would LOVE to end school on April 18th too, they have no choice but to cram this shit in, making our lives a living, shit stick, fuck up the arshole. They hate it as much, if not MORE than we do, which, is only ONE reason why I SHOULD NEVER teach your kid anything, except maybe sarcasm and filthy words. (And, no fuck doesn’t count. You’re sweet.)

So here you go, end-of-the-year-moms….

You can agree with me privately and hate me pubicly for this list. I totally get why. Appearances and all that, blah, blah, fuck and titties.

But, if you have done at least half these things, or something similar, you’re in the same boat with me. And we are sinkin’ fast, bitches. 

Maybe I’ll share my lotion with you.

Without further adieu:

1. My son asked me to buy him an Abraham Lincoln Costume so he could have an edge over winning this years, ‘Poetry Battle’ (You can guess what his topic is). When I tried to make him one the night before with black construction paper, he very, ever so sweetly, and conveniently, left it on the table the next morning. He is now on his third win, WITHOUT the costume. My response to that, (after I praised him of course), was to say, “SEE? Me not getting you a costume may have helped you!” Me, – 1. Guilt, – 0.

2. Snacks are dwindling and I don’t care. Chex mix ALWAYS tastes better after it’s been sitting with an open bag for three weeks. It’s called, f-e-r-m-e-n-t-i-n-g, kids.

3. ANOTHER Olympic Day is coming, and I, like usual, left it down to THE LAST DAY to buy the t-shirts. Do you know how many of these fucking things I have? I came *this* close to making them from old hanes, armpit stained shirts with dye and puff paint, just to proove that I don’t have to follow the mans sucky rules. Take that, gov’mnt! 

4. Breakfast? Are you kidding me? Do you really need to eat today? I’m out of Bailys for my coffee. FUCK!

5. Stop crying. You will see  your friends this summmer. (Probably not. Mom needs a break from other moms.)

6. It took EVERTHING I had not to draw a dick on ANOTHER test I had to fucking sign. Maybe then they would assume it was recieved and never send me another one out of fear of what I will draw next.

7. I love your artwork, kids, but NOT in one heaping mass. And calling it a “portfolio” does not make it sound cooler. You are 10 and you still pick your nose and eat it. “Portfolio” should not be a word you use yet. And yes, I threw most of it away while you slept last night.

8. Are you still doing homework? Here. Here are all the answers. Dawson’s Creek is on and Joey and Pacey are finally going to have sex. GO PLAY WITH SOMETHING.

9. We are eating ice cream at the local ice cream place for dinner from now until August.

10. Your lunchbox smells? Like what? Food? Just leave it sit outside and open for a night or something. That will air out the smell. Maybe. 

11.New shoes? You’re kidding, right? HAHAHAHAHAA. No.

12. Did I just see a note asking me to bring sunscreen into school for Olympic Day? I change my story. No, I didnt get that note. Sorry. Vitamin D for all, bitches!

13. Are you wearing socks? No? Okay.

14. Why are there gloves still in your backpack? What else is in here…..I should probably take a look.

15. Was this a granola bar at one time?

16. Oh my. I guess I should have given you sunscreen. Does it hurt overmuch? “Overmuch? Mom, were you watching Outlander again?” 

17. Yes. And no, I’m not sorry. ‘The Wedding’ episode runs on continuous mode on my phone. Cause’ Jamie. (See Sam Heughan in a Kilt below. You are welcome.)

18. Vodka does not smell in a water bottle. FYI, for when your “Volunteering” at Olympic Day.

19. What grade are you in again?


 20.  I’m sorry you don’t like to buy lunch at the end of the year because they are trying to get rid of all thier supplies before summer, and all they are serving is corn and old hoagies, but the world ran out of bread and juice boxes last night.

Stay thirsty my friends!

And remember, if they don’t like what you have to say, then come hang out with me!

Summer! OnWARD!

Mandy is a wife and mother who lives in rural Pennsylvania. She is an Art Instructor, a Romance Author, and Sarcastic beastie. To contact Mandy, send her an email: Find her on Facebook:  and twitter @exposedseries. Follow the blog for updates on her smut!

This is Crap! (Holiday Edition)

Holidays are shit. And at the risk of sounding like a grumpy old man,



Here are my issues with the jolly effin’ holidays, in no particular order.

You have too many blow up decorations. No one cares that it’s snowing inside the bubble with the fake snowman family in it. You just wasted a 100 dollars. I could have gotten drunk 10 fold with that money.


Christmas lights are really expensive. And my idea of a good, relaxing weekend does not include untangling these fuckers for hours while the kids skip around me pretending to be productive.

christmas lights meh funny meme xmas lights lighting.jpg

Wrapping paper is waaaaay over rated. You know they sell these bag things right? Plop that shit in there. DONE. Tissue paper? Are you fucking kidding me? No one cares.


Family visits. I don’t want to clean my house. So, you’re not coming over. I’ll mail you your shitty gift card. I’ll see you in the summer when I’m actually happy.


I just spent a thousand dollars on “Black Friday.” You know why it’s black? Like my heart, there is no fucks left to be given. They are making people work on Thanksgiving now. That poor turkey’s life was in vain so you can save a few pennies. You idiots.


“Magic of Christmas” is now translated into “You have to pay 50 dollars for Elf on the Shelf”. No. This thing is creepy. It WILL start moving on its own, I’m sure of it, right before it kills you in your sleep. Either that, or I drank so much I forgot where I put the little shit. He’s with last years easter eggs. Little fucker.


Charlie Brown’s Christmas Special. Lets keep reminding our kids that its okay to bully little bald kids.


School and work “Holiday” parties. Seriously. People are offended by the word “Christ”.  I have SO many more words that are far more offensive. Twunt (A twat and a cunt),  Fripple (Frosty nipples. It’s the holidays), and Vaginer. (The way JFK would say it, if we was alive that is.) I can give you a much longer list, should you so desire.


People who love Christmas Music. Um. I like a couple of diddies while I am opening up presents. That’s always fun. But every other time it’s completely unnecessary. There are OTHER musicians at this time of year besides Mariah Carey and Michael Buble. If you put Christmas music on in my house without expressed permission, I will cut you.


Christmas Pajamas. Fuck that. I’m wearing my ghostbusters PJs. They bring me happiness. Snowflakes and mittens do not.

Christmas Meals. Okay, I just did this shit on Thanksgiving. You want pie? MAKE IT YOURSELF! I want Chinese food. I will gladly take advantage of the fact that these lovely eastern folks do not celebrate Christmas.

Any Questions?


Mandy is a wife and mother who lives in rural Pennsylvania. She is an Art Instructor, a Romance Author, and Sarcastic beastie. To contact Mandy, send her an Find her on Facebook:  and twitter @exposedseries. Follow the blog for updates on her smut!

The Parenting Marathon–Stop Raising A@#holes

There is such a thing as too much.


Yes, there is.

What are you talking about Mandy? Well, gee, two visitors, let me tell you.

Parenting is a marathon. A hard one. The longest one you will ever do. (And, for the record, I don’t run them, because, well, I enjoy food). We all do the best we can. Some of us have it much harder. Some are single mothers, fathers, on welfare, or jobless. We are all fairly lucky to just have two parents, a decent job and a place to live. All in all, we have to pick our battles. The big ones, the little ones. All the battles.

But at risk of aging myself and saying the same shit my parents said, it doesn’t make it any less true.

Kids today. Just. Ugh.



And let me tell you, there are asshole kids because they are being raised by asshole parents. Yeah, you heard me. I’m thinking they would be less likely to be on the news if you actually started questioning behavior and actually did something about it. I would rather be looked on negatively for being too strict, than have a kid end up on the news. And no, not the good kind of news.



Here is a list of things you can do to eliminate the asshole threat. Oh, another list, Mandy? But, you know you like them lists. And be honest, it’s why you show up.

  1. This is a big one. And why it’s number one. If you don’t have kids, then STFU. Really. Unless you like to be punched in the twat. I know this doesn’t really go with the theme of asshole kids, but assholes in general are also welcome here, and that includes the ones who just ‘know it all’. Fuck off. Seriously.


2. Discipline them. It’s really okay to do that. Now, I know you worked really hard to make them babies, and shit, it took me three years to get my twins, so I get it. They are blessings and all that, blah, blah, blah. We know. They are angels. Gifts from god. And yes, all that is true. But when they start being little dick heads, it’s okay to shut that shit down. I’m not saying beat them, but it’s okay to shout, take shit away and occasionally swat them on the ass. No one is going to jail for raising responsible people. You are not their friend.images-11.jpg

3.  Stop making multiple meals. Your kids WILL NOT STARVE. While we are at it, it is not acceptable for kids over one to be hand fed. STOP IT. When they are hungry enough, guess what, they will try new things! They may actually EAT what you make. How novel.


4. It’s always okay for your child to defend themselves. Never teach a kid to roll over and take it, and take the “high road”. Sometimes, the road is just the road, and in order to get down it, you need to fucking punch through barriers. Your children will never know how to stand up to anyone if they are taught to be afraid of everyone. If he punches you, you know what? Shit in his toast. Go one up and be a freak. He will never do it again, I promise you that. That being said, the same goes with falling down. Unless you tape nerf balls over him, he will get hurt. That’s why we have hospitals.


5. Bed time. OMG and WTF is wrong with people. When it’s bed time, IT’S BED TIME! And hey, I know your pain. I HATE bedtime as much as I hate homework and warm rice pudding. But let me reiterate to you…..THEY WILL MANIPULATE YOU AS FUCK ALL. They are assholes by nature WITHOUT your help. They don’t need you to add to what they already know, that if they beat you down, you will give in. Stop giving in. You are thirty years older than them. Yeah. Be a grown up. If you have to pick them up via wedgy and hang them on the door knob so they stay in their room, than fine. You will get no judgement from me. Kudos. They do not need: More water, more hugs (thats a big manipulation factor, so watch that one), the fact they didn’t eat dinner when you told them to eat, and now they are hungry, a shower, another glass of water or anything pertaining to a headache. If they are not vomiting or bleeding, they are FINE. GO. TO. FUCKING. BED.imgres.jpg

6. School. I cannot TELL you how many asshole parents complain about teachers/education and overall homework loads. While SOME of this has merit, and yes, asshole teachers exist, I guarantee you, your kids will not learn to respect authority if you do not. You may not always agree with what they tell them, do for them, etc. But you are not the only person now that makes rules and you CAN actually talk about these things rationally in reasonable circumstances. They have their reasons, and while you may not agree with them, if the teacher is a decent enough person, then shut your pie hole. It’s not all your way or the highway. All your doing is showing your children that it’s okay to tell people in authoritative positions that it’s okay to shit on them. Good luck in corporate america, kids. They go to school once, and only you will have those regrets when they are forty and living with you and their pregnant stripper girlfriend, Tatiana.



7. Independence. Yay, ‘merica.  Our forefathers are crying in hell. (Really, they cheated, drank and fornicated too). So let’s talk about what that means. They can do the following things alone generally by 1-2nd grade; Ride a bike in a relatively safe neighborhood. Use a toaster. Make cereal. Get a drink. Have a few chores, like, feeding a cat, or unloading the dishwasher with help. They can take responsibility for the shitty things they do and say. They have a conscience.  They can be considerate and thoughtful and make good decisions, unless, of course you are doing all these things for them. If so, cease and desist. You are doing NO ONE any favors.



8. Pretending you’re perfect. This includes letting them see you cry. For example, I have nasty arthritis. Some days, I cannot get out of bed, and it hurts so much I need to fall apart. My first instinct is not to show them my weaknesses. I should be strong, as I am their mother. But, I’m ALSO a person. Seeing vulnerability teaches kids how to be compassionate to not only you, but the general understanding of suffering and what that means. It shows that they aren’t the only ones with problems. If you walk through parenting as a robot, they will treat you as such, and when you finally DO cry, they won’t have two fucks of knowing what to do. Mom’s make mistakes. Mom’s drink. Own it. It makes you real.




9. Have some sex. Please. No one likes a grumpy mommy who isn’t getting any. I mean, kids aren’t stupid. Happy wife, happy life, and all that. The less reasons you have for being an asshole, the less they do, too. If you were getting laid regularly (and well, we all know how to give directions, so start navigating that shit, please), these kinds of surprises would be met with more mirth and less bitter, angry resentment in life. And if you don’t have a man, buy the prop. Purple glitter, bitches. You can internet and ship that shit in an unmarked, cardboard box. In fact, buy several. You’re welcome.




10.  I will leave you with this last asshole-ism. It’s not a contest. Organic or no, Gap or Target, it does not matter. Those who care about that shit don’t matter anyway. So please, please, if they want to wear green rain boots and a batman costume today, just let it go.

No one cares.

You got this.

You stay gold, Pony Boy.


Mandy is a wife and mother who lives in rural Pennsylvania. She is an Art Instructor, a Romance Author, and Sarcastic beastie. To contact Mandy, send her an Find her on Facebook:  and twitter @exposedseries. Follow the blog for updates on her smut!



“Your Boobs Smell Like Doritos”–Moments in Marriage

Ah. Marriage.

It’s not just for  Melanie Griffith and Anton….er.


Jessica Simpson and Nick Lac….gah.


Celine Dion and Rene Ange….Oh. Wait.


He’s dead.

He died.

My bad Celine baby. You rock widower in Vegas, there, girlfriend.




You get so many damn questions about being married when people think your good at it. Those who aren’t married always seem to really wanna be. Those who are roll their eyes at the very idea that they actually did this to themselves. Those who are against it are sometimes even with the ‘It’s a gross interpretation of women’s rights, and enslaves them’ campaign. No it’s not Goldie Hawn. Kurt Russell is really just not that into you.




Truth is, marriage can be quite good with the right person. But with that love, joy, and deep seeded anger, comes….complications.

My complication of the day?

My boobs smelled like Doritos.

Did that stop him?


You know why?



Everyone has a ‘marriage’ moment. These moments, they aren’t pretty, they don’t sparkle and shine, and they usually consist of the real world colliding with the voices in your head. I know my boobs smelled like Doritos because I ate them, but hearing those words from my darling husband; “Hey, you know babe, your boobs smell like Doritos” made me realize we have just hit the def con 5 stage in our marriage. There is nothing short of bringing up a pee fetish, that’s going to make us run away screaming. And hey, that’s something to celebrate.

So celebrate with me.

Here we go. Reasons for, and why in marriage, we celebrate mediocrity. Because when all the big things are done, and there is nothing left to look forward to, we turn to the little things:

  1. You’re really never going to cheat on me, solely out of pure shame. I like looking at you, I have no issues with the fact that your balls look like the say old man phrases like, “Don’t steal my garbage cans” and you certainly don’t mind the fact that I have at least four constellations worth of stretch marks  JUST on the ass area. If your in the population that does not cheat on your spouse, bravo. It takes a real level headed person to not fall for the “It doesn’t matter to me baby, if it doesn’t matter to you” line. I’m so happy you didn’t succumb to the peer pressures of fucking the gardener.
  2. Waiting for the fart smell to dissipate before you actually get naked. The farts are less of a problem inside the clothing. Outside, well, that’s just gross. Inside, ok, we can still do it. Quick thinking like that saves lives.
  3. Taking the kids to the store so the other person can masturbate in peace. Hey, we are on this planet to please each other sure, but sometimes, it’s just easier to do alone, and we appreciate a spouse who is courteous in giving us that time alone to reflect on the greatness that is a not a rushed, mediocre orgasm.
  4. Chocolate in the secret cupboard. You all have one. Don’t be silly and start lying now. I mean, there is NO WAY those kids would be able to not eat that shit if it was out in the open. You don’t want to set bad examples by not having, fresh, organic produce in the house at all times. Thats why you wait up till almost 11 watching re-runs of Friends, so you can inhale that shit like the sad little addict you are.
  5. Dance offs during school hours. Now, I generally write during those times. It’s a way for me to avoid housework, but when I AM home, Beyonce is usually showing me the ‘Single Ladies’ dance so I can be in her new Mom Video; ‘Moms who love Bey’. She chose me out of all of these people, I mean, it’s such an honor. I win first prize in the video. Every time.
  6. Stop trying to hide your office supplies obsession by scattering them around the house. Everyone knows you love the smell of scotch tape.
  7. A really, good, long poop. I mean, CLEANSING! HALLO! It’s just, such a good way to avoid things. And to not have to lie about the poop is SUCH a bonus. I’ve had to prove them before. And I am A OK with showing my shits to all who can’t take my excuses at face value.
  8. Coffee. I mean, this is necessary as a married person and parent. You need this, it’s essential. But it’s such a small joy. Because, we both know, that when we wake up, we will let that person make that coffee at all costs. Meteors could becoming to earth and I would be jonesing my way to the Keurig for one more cup before the world ends.
  9. The fact that you can buy adult toys on amazon. And not hide them. It’s not a shameful thing. It’s purple and it’s name is Christian Grey.
  10. Getting out your hate in the form of sarcasm. It really never gets old. When I tell you, “No way, I LOVE your shirt tucked in”, you can totally pick that up now and know, really, it’s cute that you tried, but you should never tuck your shirt in, ever again. Sarcasm ABUNDANT. SUCH a great def con marriage tool. Survival at this stage.

Look! I did a whole post without mentioning kids. #govaginago

Enjoy Marriage, Bitches! And look for those little, supple, leather linings that present themselves as pants for people like Sam Heughan (Google that shit if you don’t know. Cuz, DAMN).

Slainte Everyone! Till Next time!


Mandy is a wife and mother who lives in rural Pennsylvania. She is an Art Instructor, a Romance Author, and Sarcastic beastie. To contact Mandy, send her an Find her on Facebook:  and twitter @exposedseries. Follow the blog for updates on her smut!

You’re Allowed!

Mom guilt. It’s everywhere.

It’s with you when you wake up and forget to pack their snack because coffee seemed more important to make first.

It’s there when you are at home while they are at school and at 2 o’clock,  you realize it was purple fu@&%ng shirt day at school. Then you remember you have boys, and really don’t own one. Oh well, kids. Blue is used to make purple, so I decided that it counts.

It’s there at night while at the table doing homework. When you re-read the damn common core math problem for the 15th time and decide that it would be best to drink instead, while you tell them ceremoniously, that “I have no idea what the hell this means!” You throw the papers into the air, only to watch them gently rain down in a beautiful snow flurry of frustration. I blame the wine.

It’s there at bedtime, when after they get up for yet another lame excuse, you tell them that you will kill them if they get up ONE.MORE.TIME. And you kind-of-sort-of mean it. I’m watching Outlander and I don’t like pausing the sex scenes.

I had this revelation this week when I dropped my three sons off at camp. I had never left the 8 year old alone before without being watched by a trusted friend or family member. It was his first foray into boyhood, gaining a little independence from me, and growing his little 3rd grader wings.

Let me tell you something.

It sucked.

I planned to keep myself busy the whole week. Planned a mountain retreat with my husband. Canoeing, hiking, planned to paint a little. Zip lining was on the list and even a mountain coaster ride. I had a GREAT six day kid-free lust filled week all ready to enjoy.

What’s the problem then?


I felt bad that I could not look to make sure he was wearing clean cloths. I felt like I should be the one to tell him to brush his teeth, or make sure his shoes were tied. It was my job to take photos for the cool things he tried for the first time. To be there to make sure the soap did not run in his eyes when he needed a shower. To tuck him in. To tell him I missed him, to ask how his day went.

I didn’t get to do any of that. I wrote notes, sent e-mails, to only hear nada (Which is the way it’s supposed to be). I sat and wondered what they were doing, if they were having fun. If they were happy. I cried a little at bed time, because I had NO idea how wonderful camp may be, and if they missed me as much as I missed them.

Then I realized something when I picked them up.


And surprisingly…

So was I.

I enjoyed my parent alone week, I really did. My husband and I talked. Sat by a beautiful flowing river. Drank a little. Saw a Bald Eagle take a fish from the river on a canoe trip. We cuddled and made a fire. Watched (bad) movies. We connected as friends, as a couple. We had dinner alone. We did that zip lining, went for a long hike. We didn’t have to feed three extra people, do laundry or make anyone yet ANOTHER FU&%ING SNACK. I didn’t have to  adjust goggles, or watch flips and jumps in the pool.

I read a dirty book.

Made some dirty choices.

It was a great week…..*except* for that nagging, altogether, really frigging annoying mom guilt.

So here is what I learned this week:


To do what exactly? You know how I like lists, so here it is.

  1. You are allowed to send your kids away for 6 days (Or whatever) to an organized, happy place where they MAKE your kids eat, play in the dirt, swim in the lake, and be KIDS. (You know, like we did in the 80’s).
  2. You are allowed to take advantage of that time alone. To be an adult. To have an adult life. Order Thai food! (But I don’t like Thai food mom….oh that’s right, YOUR NOT HERE!)
  3. You are allowed to sleep in. (yay!)
  4. You won’t have kid responsibility for quite some time. Generally, they will only call you if a hand falls off, so you CAN drink. AS MUCH AS YOU WANT. (Disclaimer; I do not promote alcohol poisoning in any way. Don’t sue me for that statement when you’re in the hospital eating charcoal.)
  5. If someone calls you about a school thing, a work thing, or a bill thing, you have my permission to tell them to, “Fu*@ off until (Insert date here). Leave a message, biatch!
  6. You are allowed to not worry about if they have band-aids in case of a fall. They have them there. They do this every summer.
  7. You are allowed to go into adult bookstores. Why not? You don’t have to leave your kids in the car. That’s a whole other level of guilt that you don’t have to worry about.
  8. You are allowed to let your kids need others. Your kids need you first. Of course they do. But they don’t need you at this very moment (That they are at school, spending time with their grandparents, or in my case, at a super awesome summer camp). They will need you later, and you will be available when that time comes. But for now? Weeeeeee!!
  9. You are ALLOWED to feel guilty. It makes you a good mom. You worry. THAT’S OUR JOB. You were built for guilt. (I should t-shirt thats shit).
  10. And finally: You are allowed to be you. You are allowed to WANT to have a mountain vacation with a hunk of a man (My husband is such a man). You can sleep, eat, drink, and engage in other various things….:) It’s not just about the kids. If you don’t take time out for yourself, for your marriage, for your life as a 30-40 something adult, you will pass out from all the responsibilities laden on you. You’re not superman. Seriously, let it go a little.


With great power becomes great responsibility, Spiderman. You have the power and only you, to shed that horrid mom guilt. It’s not easy, no,  and we will always have it a *little*, but you can do it. You can let the majority go. You are a responsible, loving mom. And you fu%$ing know it.

You deserve to be *just* you sometimes. You are in there somewhere. After all, you were you before you were a mom.

Remember, if you let your freak fly too far away , and then the kids are gone, you will need to find her again, so don’t let her wander too far…..

So, write little post its.

On the bathroom mirror.

In the kitchen.

On the car visor.

You’re allowed.


Cheers, Bitches.



Mandy is a wife and mother who lives in rural Pennsylvania. She is an Art Instructor, a Romance Author, and Sarcastic beastie. To contact Mandy, send her an Find her on Facebook:  and twitter @exposedseries. Follow the blog for updates on her smut!









One thing I have learned as I have gotten older, had children and went into late adulthood, is that I honestly, and simply have to stop giving f*cks. Do you have this problem too? Good. Let’s discuss how to get rid of them f*cks.

Many things have the potential of holding you back, but I have news for you sugar lips, only you can let go of that shit. No one can hold you back from you. If your LETTING people do that, than thats on you. If you want to do something, figure out a way. That person standing in your way? Kindly ask them to move. If they don’t budge, you have my permission to cut a bitch.

Now, what can this mean? Let go of what exactly? Want a list? I will give you one.

  1. Certain Friends. Not everyone has to be a lifelong buddy. Is it nice to have someone by you that knows you better than you do? Sure. But not always. When we argue, people tend to get vindictive. When we succeed, people tend to also get jealous. This is what we call toxic. You can be jealous. You can even be angry for a bit. But what a friend truly does, is supports and lifts you up. If he/she ain’t doing that, then she/he has to work on some issues. And you don’t need to get mixed up in all the reasons why they hate you. Bad Ju ju. You don’t need it sweetness.imgres-62. Places. Many people are stuck. Stuck in a perpetual nightmare of where they are. It can be a physical home, or a town, a state, or even a certain spot. “But if I move. Then what? What about all the f*cks I give about my nice floors?” I don’t know. The ‘then what’ is the exciting part, bitches. Space is everything. If your not comfortable in it, then you need to listen to the ghost and ‘get out…’imgres-53.  Your own skin. This is a killer and strait up, the most important thing you need to focus on. You will have many, many people, most that really don’t matter telling you what you need to wear and look like. See those girls with the tats and blue hair? Yep. They found there ‘no f*cks’ moment. They went to unicorn land with some of the shit they did, but they are THEM. And people judge them. You know why? They want to give no fucks too. Dress how you like. Be who you are….and please, please, just let go of all the f*cks.


4.  Your work space. MAN, is this one lumpy shit. It’s discolored. It hurt coming out and man, it never ends. This is a tough one. Because, I tell you what, people at work can be ASSHOLES. Why? Their mind is filled with all the fucks and it’s drowning them. They  will hate you more when you get rid of your fucks. Because they are jelly of you. Yeah. Them assholes can have alllll the fucks, and all the shit work you lose when you get promoted, because when you gave those fucks up, someone noticed how pleasant you fucking are!


5. Home. You need to seriously make time for you. Your kids are awesome, as are mine. They are great to be around. But let me tell you. You can’t hear them talk 24/7. You can’t answer alllll of their questions about brown dogs, and you cannot, simply, cannot always be unicorns and fucking sunshine. And let me tell you, they give no f*cks. Zero. You have all the f*cks, and they need to be divided out. Like chores. Give them some serious talks about personal space. I don’t want you to be in the paper tomorrow, because I feel you my friend. Let go of the fucks. Find a corner. Take a REAAAALLY LONG shower. Drink. make it work. You got life to plan. And that does not include any f*cks.




In closing, stop being afraid of telling people you can’t. Don’t be afraid to say no. You can make plans and execute them without being an irresponsible asshole.  You can do things because you think they are a good idea. No one has to vote on your life but you. You know why I’m a writer now? You guessed it. All the f*cks are gone. I kept one or two, because, hell, you have to be fair, but I don’t have them all anymore.

So, stop giving the f*cks. And as always, keep drinking. When that happens? Life starts.


In the mean time, consider this your Happy New Year. In July. Be free. Your not just a mom. Your not just a daughter, or a wife, or a bee.



Mandy is a wife and mother who lives in rural Pennsylvania. She is an Art Instructor, a Romance Author, and Sarcastic beastie. To contact Mandy, send her an Find her on Facebook:  and twitter @exposedseries. Follow the blog for updates on her smut!


10 Things

I recently read a post a friend and fellow author made about things she loved. It was sweet. It was kind, and inspiring. And then I realized something. She’s not a mother. Her and her wife have a wonderful existence of cats and bliss, and they don’t have to worry about snot, soccer practice, or finding secret little addictions, like the one I have with pre-Christian Grey Jamie Dornan.

In light of her awesome post, I have decided to make a list too, but this one being more inclined to those like me, who need to lock themselves in a bathroom to read her dirty books.

Here we go, with the 10 Things I hate about motherhood (But secretly was excited about before I had kids), list.

  1.  Cloths. I mean, I oddly wanted to dress like a mom before I became one. I was excited about mom jeans, flowered shirts and bedazzlers. Until, I actually put those things on my body. Once I did, I cried for a week and resigned that I will be that mom who bucks trends and wears pink camo everything, including my coffee cup and my I ❤ the 80’s t- shirts.


2. Smells. You don’t have to try too hard to smell nice before kids. I mean, you shower every morning like a grown-up. You have deodorant, yes? A little perfume. Aren’t you sexy! After kids? I thought it would be all baby powder and baby shampoo mixed in with a little apple juice. No one tells you about vomit, poop and stale milk. I actually have to schedule ‘showers’ into the family calendar. And not just for the kids. Otherwise, I wouldn’t remember to actually take one. Deodorant? I think I used my husbands yesterday. Perfume? PAAA…..HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!


3. Cars. Who wants a mini-van! Said no one ever. But the prospect of being a soccer mom with a van full of kids sounds cute before you actually have a van full of post soccer smelling pre-pubescent boys. Then there is the mud….and noise. 5 or 6 kids in a very small area. Sometimes for long periods. Yeah, you didn’t think about that, now, did you?


4. A Nice Big House in the Burbs! No! The bigger the house, the bigger the mess, and let me tell you, if you have any small, minute inch of space left, the kids will find something to put in it. Like Pizza crust and their collection of boogers they are saving for church. And you think I am being funny and cute. Nope. It’s all really real, and so is the money you have to pay a maid because your ‘sympathetic vomit’ microchip is kicking in.


5. Bragging rights. Okay, so we have all bragged about our kids. Its nature. We love them, want them to succeed. So when they do, we get all excited. But its when they don’t and people still do this that bugs me. Stop telling me how awesome the little sweetie is at putting one foot in front of the other. Because honey, if you have nothing else to brag about, you need a drink. But sometimes, just keeping them alive and clean makes me want to do this:


6. Dressing them up. Fuck no and no more. My kids will go to church in pajamas. See those moms in the grocery store in pajamas? Most of them are just tired as fuck. Don’t berate them, give them a hug. I had my first 11 years ago, so it’s safe to say that’s over. If their socks match, I’m winning. You’re not gap models, so shut the credit card down ya’ll. They are kids. Not peacocks.


7. Holidays. Okay. So this is tricky. Because I have a love/hate thing going on with these fuckers. First off, lets talk about the expense. I will do this, and it’s cliche, but in my day, you got a few Christmas gifts. You got a cute little easter basket. You got one birthday present and maybe 1.00 from grandma. And, oh, wait. THAT’S IT! Yeah! That’s all you got, assholes! There was no god damn leprechaun, easter was CANDY only and maybe bubbles, defiantly not a fucking bike, and Christmas….what the hell is up with this shit now? When these kids grow up and shit isn’t being handed to them in droves they will stop ceasing to exist. For fucks sake. I’m done. “Magical years” are over bitches. Want an ipod? Save your money! You know what you get? A NAP! I want this. Sadly, it will never happen. If I don’t get Jamie, you don’t get a computer. Now go to bed.


8. Dinner. Yes. You heard me. Real moms cook healthy meals for their family every night. They have colors and all sorts of grains and shit. Yep. No! Not so much. You get hot dogs and Mac and Cheese. And if you don’t eat now, you won’t eat till tomorrow. They are angry little beasties when they don’t eat. AND ITS ALL THEY WANT TO DO! Funnier still? You don’t lose weight! Nope. Not at all. You know why? Because god hates you.


9. Date Nights with the hubs. When it does happen, it usually ends this way, or worse.


10. Last but not least, I will end with sleep. I really thought…..”If god would just give me a baby, I would give up sleep. It’s worth it.”

It’s not. I mean, I love my kids. They are incredible little people. But I’m so fucking tired. YOU. NEVER. SLEEP. AGAIN. I don’t care how old they are. You are always aware. And when they get bigger? You’re trying to make sure they aren’t sneaking out, the little assholes. First you lose sleep making sure they don’t die from choking in the middle of the night, then you lose it making sure they don’t die from stupidity.

That being said, I love being a mom. I really do. Is it the hardest thing I have ever had to do? Yes. But, I would do it all over again tomorrow. Sometimes it makes us angry, sometimes we love it. It’s a balance like anything in life. Enjoy some wine and smut girls. It makes it alllll better!

Cheers my friends,



Mandy is a wife and mother who lives in rural Pennsylvania. She is an Art Instructor, a Romance Author, and Sarcastic beastie. To contact Mandy, send her an email: Find her on Facebook:  and twitter @exposedseries.


That’s a Whole Lotta Butter!

Is what my grandmama used to say when something good happened. She was German, so she cooked with a ton of it. Needless to say, I still enjoy a whole lotta butter.

I have been slacking in my blog posts, which really means I have been lazy in them too.

“Sorry I was late, but I left late.”


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So here we go. I have been a busy butter eater.



Yes, I have kids. Yes I love to have some fun. But that’s not what I have been busy with.

I have been busy with trying to become a writer. That being said, I went to New York for a conference. Algonkian hosts it. I HIGHLY recommend this and while it was a cost to go, think of this as a investment in your career. An awesome, amazing investment.

Here is the link. They are great for retreats too….

I went into this thinking I would be gaining a valuable learning experience about how the market works. I would get to meet with editors and see what they like/don’t like/expect/shy away from. I thought I would meet new friends in the writing world, share your ups and downs with them, and for the most part, be in a room with a bunch of people who understand what you do for a living and why. I want to give a shout out to my group. A great, supportive gaggle of writers who truly understand the pain and anguish of what goes into writing down your soul and trying to sell it.


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I tend to have a low self esteem about myself, and while I am sure there is some Freudian reason why, it’s just the way I am made. As a creative person, you have to fight to make money in your craft. There is no 9-5 job for people like me. We suffer in positions that lock us in a box, and pigeon hole us in a life we don’t and can’t want. We struggle to fit in, can be a tad socially awkward, and for the most part, have a hard time living what you would call and average existence.

Now. While I can talk all day about how hard that is, let us talk about the positives. As a creative person, life is NEVER boring. You are never worried about things like, burnt toast, being late and PTA. Because to be honest, those things don’t matter in the grand scheme. We show up when we can, offer a lending hand to the PTA, and make another set of toast. We take little things in stride, and will eat spaghetti from a can if it meant not getting up from the computer and breaking our stride. (Yes, there is such a thing and when it breaks, we have a tendency to cry). Make no mistake though. We are bundle of anxious nuclear bombs when we are writing and creating. Call it bi-polar writers disorder if you will. Those married to a creative person are really, very, very patient people.



SO WHAT HAPPENED???? You will see that website URL changed. WHY? Because Exposing Maggie will not be my only book. I am now signed with The Prospect Agency (YES! I HAVE AN AGENT!), and just like that, my writing career is now attainable and well within my grasp.

While I sit and wait for an answer from the publishing houses, I count my blessings. For my choice to leap, (Specifically to NY), to trust that I can do something creative for a living, for listening to my husband when he said I could do this, and for having endless support in the journey I am on.

I simply cannot wait until you can read Exposing Maggie from Mandy Greenfield, locked in the bathroom with a bottle of cheap wine. It’s the little things in life that get us through the day girls.

I will leave you with this.

“It always seems impossible, until it’s done.” –Nelson Mandela

Until next post…keep reading the smut. Smut makes the world go round!!


I do Will Ferrell. And that is ok with me.