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.



Christmas is for Smut

It’s been September since I made a post!

What happened do you ask?




Do I sound like a crazy person? You betcha. Is TV rotting my brain? Nope. All it does is give me insight to what I’m avoiding. That’s a life lesson you can’t put a price on.

So what’s happening now with me? I am procrastinating. Because I can, and because I don’t want to wrap endless christmas presents.



This is an especially important time of year for smut. We NEED the smut. We have to have the smut. And all the alcohols.

So what’s new? Well, I am on the third and final edit, I started the second book in the series and an entirely different book about an artist who leaves her horrible life in New Jersey to pursue her art career. (I have no idea where I get these crazy ideas).

I am starting to get ready to attend a Pitch Conference in NYC in March. All that means is I will get rejected in person. Don’t worry, I’ll still have a party to celebrate mediocrity!

Without further ado, here is my list of 20 reasons why you deserve smut for Christmas:

  1. People. People are assholes.
  2. Wrapping countless gifts.
  3. Which leads me to paper cuts.
  4. School parties.
  5. Baking cookies. (Stop lying, it sucks)
  6. Gingerbread house construction. Are you kidding me with this shit?
  7. Elf on the Shelf. No.
  8. “Last minute gift ideas.” Fuck off. Here is a last minute gift idea, my wrinkly vagina on a plate with leafy greens.
  9. Re-runs of crappy Christmas movies like ‘Christmas with the Cranks’. Nice try Ben Affleck. I guess that’s good practice for when you fail at Batman.
  10. Star Wars. Hey, I’m excited too, but shut up already. Carrie Fisher is old and fat now. I was shocked they let her out of rehab long enough for filming.
  11. One. More. Gift Card. Stop adding important people to my list of losing monies!
  12. Lack of vacation.
  13. Lack of energy for fun things, like sex and streaking through the quad.
  14. Everyones god damn photos. Holy shit. Stop matching your pajamas!
  15. ‘My cute dog with antlers’ photos. Your pets should be removed from your home.
  16. Devastating news reports. Just. It’s Christmas! Stop being bad humans!
  17. Customers. See number 1.
  18. Driving. Just. Bad things.
  19. Singing of all kinds. STFU.

And last but not least….

20. ASPCA commercials. I help animals. I rescue them. BUT I CAN’T LISTEN TO SARAH MCGLACHLAN ANYMORE.

Buy some smut. In the mean time….I promise to be more regular with the funny and the gross. Here is a lady bone…(r) for you. I wrote a short story of no name yet….just for you!

Disclaimer: All material is subject to copyright. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination of are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.


I haven’t slept with a man in two years. And it was only one man. Only one my whole pale faced, virginal, geeky, existence, and he ended the relationship because I wouldn’t let him have a  relationship with a second person, namely, a girl called Penelope who played roller derby and had skull tattoos.

As I study Darren’s face, I can see him thinking this out. He’s watching me intently, waiting for me to give him the silent ok. But as I think of all of the sex I never had with Jason, the things I didn’t feel, physically and emotionally. While I was laying there as he pretty much stuck it in and out in repeated motions, until grunting and falling asleep on top of me, I think, do I want to do that again? The answer should be no.

But as I look up in Darren’s Pacific blues, I realize I want to try. I have never wanted anything so much as to let him consume me. Maybe it will be different this time? As he comes a little closer, I realize that he’s testing me out. Should I tell him about my limited experience? Should I explain how much I disdain sex? No. I don’t want to kill the mood. I don’t want him to see me as that pale, geeky girl Jason did ‘just because.’ The difference however, between Darren and Jason that is, is that I actually find myself wanting this. I want him near me, kissing me, touching my skin, feeling where he likes. Doing what he likes. I want him to take control.

Like a boardwalk fortune teller, he must know what I’m thinking. His right hand lays at my waist. It’s gentle. It’s barely invisible. His fingers lay one by one on my shirt. With a touch that could light the dampest tinder, he grabs the hem and works it slowly upward. I outwardly sigh and close my eyes when he breaks the reverie.

“Open them Jayne. Let me see you.”

And there it is. The control I desperately needed. The tingles shoot from all angles. From my fingers to my hair follicles. I’m hot. Im chilled. I’m…turned on.

I open my eyes just to get smacked in the face with his stunning features. Good god, he’s handsome. Rugged, yet neat in appearance. His hair on the longer side, a little wild under his ball cap. He has scruff, which I can’t wait to touch. He rakes me over with slow abandon. He then takes off his trademark ball cap. The Boston University faded one he has worn on all six dating occasions. Every one an outdoor adventure. When I told him I have never seen the pacific northwest until moving here a month ago, he has taken me hiking, mountain biking, star gazing and picnicking to name a few. It’s been the best month of my life. He has never made a move on me save a small peck on the lips. I think he realizes I’m an inexperienced twit. He makes me nervous and it’s not because I don’t want him, it’s because I do. And badly.

Tonight we end up at my apartment after a walk around the city with my dog, Bruce. I asked him up, and to my surprise he asked if I was sure. When I nodded he spoke. “You know what this means right Jayne? If I come up to your apartment with you now, I won’t be able to hold back any longer. I’ve been waiting for you to be ready. Are you ready?” In answer, I opened the door and dared him to follow me.

Which leads to here and now. My artfully ripped vintage ghostbusters t gets thrown to the floor, where his hat now lays. His long brown curly locks, loose and wild at the ends is begging for me to grab. His hand is now working the back of my bra. He looks into my eyes and lifts his eyebrows in question.

I give him a small nod, practically begging him to continue. I surprise myself in braveness when I say “Just take what you want.” He stops and his eyes close longer than the usual blink, his head tilted back a little. He’s absorbing. He’s taking in what I said. “I want you, Jayne” he finally says. “I want you too.” I whisper as I look down to my feet. He grasps my chin and pushes it up gently. “No. Never look away. You, are beautiful.” He removes the rest of my bra. He looks at me, taking in a breath as he admires my frame, the swell if my breasts, the goosebumps on my flesh.

Then it happens. He kisses me. Gently at first, more demanding after a beat as he coaxes my lips open with his tongue. He’s velvet, mint, a hint of coffee. His kisses firm, a little demanding. His hands reach my breasts and squeeze slightly before wrapping around my waist. Hy arms ensconced in his muscular, lithe frame, my hands immediately go to his chest. He is a wall of sensual male, his t-shirt barely hiding his beautiful hardness. He pulls me into him harder, trapping me under his ruthless skill and I am unable to move. I don’t want to move.

I feel his hardness now, pressing into me. I’m lost in a cloud of varying sensations and thoughts. Im desperate now, all consuming in this sexual need I now feel to my very core. Thoughts of Jason go through me, and not because I want to think of him, but because he is all I have to compare this to. And in that spirit of things, there is no comparison. Jason never held me like this. Never kissed me like he was starved for the taste of me. He never made me feel this way. With Jason, I didn’t feel. I just did.

A myriad of things happen all at once. He backs up, breaks our kiss, removes his shirt, wow, and oh my god, and makes work of his pants. “Undress for me Jayne. Let me see you.” I mirror his actions, making known what I already knew when I met up with him tonight; that I was going to have sex with him. And I can hardly wait.

His tight heather gray boxers are stretched to the seams. His erection pushing the fabric taut. There is no way I can see that fitting inside me. Jason was smaller, so much smaller in fact that I remember being quite disappointed, even though, I had never seen a penis in real life before. A couple more experienced girlfriends told me what to expect, and that wasn’t it. What’s more is he made it out to be the best thing that ever happened. Stroking it in front of me, asking if I liked what I saw. What was I supposed to say to that? This time, however, I was actually afraid.

Darren must sense my reluctance, as he bends to help my jeans rid themselves of my now still legs, frozen in fear and awe. It’s like a train wreck. A lovely, large, beautiful, scary train wreck. He gets to his knees, and taps my ankles. I remove them from my pants, and he starts kissing his way up. First my ankles, my knees, where he lingers on my thighs, his hands going up the back of my legs as he works me over. He must see the wetness through my white cotton panties because I can feel his smile against my skin. Is this normal? So much moisture there? I’m guessing there is no cause for alarm. It feels good. It can’t be wrong when it feels this good right?

He then puts his mouth on my nipple, lashing his tongue slowly around and around the sensitive flesh. Using his fingers, he squeezes them in turn, taking steps to pay attention to each one. My breathing quickens. I let out a small groan. He really has a talented mouth. I start to imagine what else it can do when he stands up and we are now face to face. “You are so sweet. I can’t wait to taste you.”

His words are as seductive as his movements. He pushes me backwards so I am flush against the backs of my knees to the edge of my bed. He lightly pushes me down as he stretches out on top of me. He peppers me  with small, featherlight kisses all over my face, neck, ears and collar bone. My body tense, he asks me, “Is this your first time?”

I’m startled out of my erotic daydream as I mutter, “N-no. But I’ve only had sex with one other person.” His eyebrows knit together and because I don’t know him that well, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Let me guess” he begins. “It wasn’t very memorable.” He understands. I give him a lopsided, apologetic smile with a one shoulder shrug. “Yeah.”

At that point he growls from the base of his throat. He grabs my panties and pulls them down. “I will always take care of you, Jayne. You will always have pleasure with me. If you don’t come, I don’t come.” With that, his mouth is on me, and I am startled into pleasure. Sensation sky rockets through me. I never knew how amazing that could feel. Jason never did this to me. He didn’t like the smell, he said. Did I ever tell you how charming he was? In remembering his comments, I tried closing my legs and backing up the bed, even though it was the very last thing I wanted to do. Apparently that wasn’t going to happen anyway, as Darren grabbed my thighs and pulled. “Oh no. Open. You’re mine tonight, Jayne.”

Fuck it. He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t want to, right? I acquiesce to the immense pleasure he’s giving me. As he reaches my center with his tongue and finds the bundled nerves, he sucks them into his waiting mouth. The power of his mouth is like a pleasure vacuum, sucking me into a world of orgasmic bliss. I spiral, out of this world, literally, quickly, seeing white streaks with spots behind my eyes. I don’t realize I am moaning until I start to come down from my tower of bliss. I have a sheen of sweat on me, and Darren is still there, still between my legs, licking me in long, leisurely swipes of his magnificent tongue. “You taste divine. Mmm. Just lovely. You have a perfect pussy Jayne, don’t let any dickhead tell you different. Come here.” He says, his voice smooth as silk, pulling up to me as he yanks me down to his mouth. “Taste yourself. See what I mean.” Then he’s kissing me, hard, relenting, bruising almost. Taking complete and elite control over my senses yet again. I never knew something like that could be so erotic.

“I need you.” He simply says, after he’s done taking what he wants from my mouth. “I need to get a condom.” he says, pulling away a little to retrieve them. He pulls three from his pocket and I smile. “Three? Aren’t you ambitious.” He laughs. “They are connected in packs of 12. 3 seemed reasonable in comparison.” I smile, chuckling softly. Normally sex has been quick and a tad awkward. But not now. I feel at ease with Darren. Comfortable and ready.

He sits up, setting the task of putting on the condom and I can’t help again by staring at it. “Darren, your penis is huge, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’m worried, it won’t…you know.” He smiles again. Lord he’s a knockout. “Fit?” I nod swiftly. I’m glad he understands.

“Sweetness, it will be fine. You were made to stretch. I will go easy, I promise. It will feel good, don’t worry. Just lay back. I will take care of you.” He leans and kisses my nose. “I can’t wait to be inside you. My cock has been throbbing for you for weeks. I’ve been waiting so long it seems. You’re just so fucking sexy.” He’s still leaning into me as he speaks to erotically to me, all the while positioning his cock to my opening, which is drenched thanks to his skilled mouth.

He pushes a scorching hot inch inside me and it makes me suck in a breath. “Oh!” I breathe in, and out, trying to focus on the pleasure as he presses further. “Jesus Fuck” he exclaims as another few inches press further. I love how he talks. So sexy. “Almost there.” What? “Almost?” He smiles a wicked grin, as he adjusts his position and leans his hips into me further. It’s like a button is hit, a switch that was flipped. “Holy shit Darren. Oh my god” He pulls back, and pushes again. “Oh!” He starts a little faster. “That’s it. I’m hitting it, aren’t I?” I’m confused. “What? Hitting what?” He smiles again. I must look like an idiot to him. “Your G-spot sweetness. It’s. Right. There!” He pushes hard this time, surprisingly, I am ready for it, my ass coming off the bed to meet him. “Yes!” He continues his movements, relentless and unforgiving now. I find I am willing to meet him at every thrust. I start to feel the same cosmic pull as before and my body is primed and ready.

“Jayne.” He whispers. “Yes Darren…” I say in response. “Come. Now. For me. Do it, baby. Just let go.” And after he says this, he kisses me, pushing his lush tongue in my mouth yet again. I lose myself once more, and as I am riding high, on my ride of white streaks, I hear his growl above me. I open my eyes as he meets my gaze. He stills as he lets himself go now, allowing his body to have pleasure after he has given me so much. Our bodies hot to the touch, dripping from the exursion of our primal act, we breathe heavily, foreheads touching.

“Jayne” He says. Softly. Slowly.

Deep breathe.

“Yes.” I say, waiting for what he has to say.

“I think love you.”

It’s my turn to grin now.

“I think love you, too.”












The ‘Parent Manual’ they forget to give you when you leave the hospital….

How many times have you heard it or said it?

“Hey, you know, they don’t give you a manual about parenting….”

Toasters. Yes. Tv’s. Yes. Washer/dryer. Yes. Even my curling iron has one.

But parents? “Pshhhh. You’ll be fine. Just don’t drop it.”


Seems reasonable that they should expect you to use that “intuition” thing and just do it right? I mean, you have therapists you can talk to, yeah? Your childless neighbors will tell you exactly what to do, and so will the little old lady down the street that “Never would raise her kids to say those things”.


Everyone has an opinion, but no one tells you the truth. Even the negative things. Because lets be honest, its the human condition to get people to procreate, so we can keep our race in the running for universal dominance.

Best thing to do?

Listen to CURRENT moms. Moms whos kids are a *little* older. Not in college, not married with kids,  like a couple years ahead, where they remember the fresh cuts and bruises and will give you honesty over selective memory. “Isn’t childbirth amazing?” Says old lady. “No, asshole.” Says mom of screaming infant.


Okay, so I feel that, with kids who are 10 and 8 respectively, that I have every right to be honest with you about the good and bad. Once we are done with this blog post, you will see why my life currently is all about dirty books. Once you become a mother, the universal thought is that now your a mom that’s all you are. Sorry. No.

Keep your sexy underwear, stock up on wine, get out of the house at least once a week, do your hair just because, and always, always have earbuds and music handy. You will need it.


So, here is my “manual” on parenting. It’s not perfect, but it’s honesty at its best.  Enjoy.

  • No one is ever on time once you have kids. Stop beating yourself up and just get there when you get there.
  • Don’t buy a ‘baby on board’ sign. No one cares.
  • You kidless friends will now be awkward around you for the following possible reasons: a) They want a kid and go on and on about how they can’t wait, making their boyfriend of 3 weeks fidget with pretend lint on his shirt. b) They have no interest in kids and they are trying to figure out a way to avoid you in the future.
  • No one likes families that match their cloths.
  • Stop spending so much money on them. Seriously. They are like cats. They want to play with tin foil. Save the money for wine and drugs.
  • Consignment stores will become your best friend after you have multiple children. Don’t be ashamed of that. If your confused, see the rule above this one.
  • Breastfeed where you want, but don’t be the asshole that takes of their whole shirt in the park to prove a point.
  • When you leave the hospital, you will cry. Mainly because of hormones and mainly because you have no idea what you are doing. This is normal.
  • You will go to the hospital a few times for high fevers, broken things, and such. No one will call child services unless it’s obvious you threw them against a wall. So don’t do that, no matter how bad you want to sometimes.
  • Your kid will have a tantrum in the store. Kids have tantrums in stores. Drop your shit and leave. End of.
  • If you feed them pedyalite they will poop out toxic waste colors. Take pictures. It’s fun.
  • If you befriend an overdramatic mom, get rid of that twat as quickly as possible. You don’t need it.
  • Get out of the God Damn house. Your kid will not be permanently damaged if you leave him for a few hours.
  • Don’t hover. He’s fine. Really.
  • Your husband does not babysit. He made those kids with you, you raise them together whether YOU are together or not. This isn’t all on you.
  • Don’t worry about what other people think of your house. You have kids. If they don’t like it, they don’t have to come over.
  • Your dog takes on a whole new role, huh?
  • Use one room in your house to throw shit in when company comes and lock that bad boy up.
  • Pictures are lovely. We love to see them. But we don’t need 8 of the same shot. We get cameras have quick uptake nowadays, but edit a little, please.
  • No one outside of your inner circle watches your videos.
  • Don’t put your baby in beauty baby pageants. Ever.
  • The doctors will railroad you into anything they deem necessary. Research shit. If it doesn’t feel right to you it probably isn’t. Use your gut.
  • Stop separating your lights and darks. Throw all that shit in there and turn on the cold water. Fill that bitch up as high as it will go.
  • If your husband won’t help with basic chores, then it’s okay to label him as a Douche Canoe. Make him a neck sign.
  • Read lady porn.
  • Buy a vibrator.
  • Have sex when you can. And if he’s not getting it right, tell him so.  Happy endings go both ways.
  • Buy stock in Typenol, Tums and Mylicon drops.
  • Sleep when you can, even if its a 5 minute power nap in the parking lot.
  • Drink.
  • Pretend to have diarreah if you need 5 moments alone.
  • Get a hobby. You are not just a mom. You are still the bitch you were before except you lactate now.
  • Keep your sexy underwear. Your husband still likes it no matter how bad you think you look. He just want nookie.
  • Stop being so hard on yourself. It’s a HARD job. You, WE are all doing the best we can.
  • Your kids are going to fall. ALOT.  It’s fine. The are fine. So use your judgement lady, and you will get them to college.
  • Travel. Even if it’s camping, whatever. Take them away. I know it doesn’t seem possible, but they will grow up and leave someday.
  • Give them chores at 5/6 and up. Make them aware of what it’s like to run household and take care of yourself. That isn’t something you just ‘know’.
  • If they backtalk you, it’s okay to take shit away. Set rules and boundaries. Your kids are not your friends.
  • Don’t dress like them. You’re a grown up. Have your own style.
  • And finally, buy baby wipes from Costco even after they outgrow them. They rock for cleaning.

USEFUL shit ladies.

Don’t let anyone tell you your doing it “wrong”.

You, are a fucking super hero. End of!

Be brave.


Till next time!



Highway to Hell (Including a snippet and some rejections!)

Thank you AC/DC for capturing the feelings of me having to keep a schedule and bring my kids back to the world of homework, Home and School meetings, Clarinet practice, purple shirt day, book fairs, and basically anything to separate me from my time and money.


I have gotten about 3-4 emails already asking for my time, and spent about an hour yesterday online figuring out how to get my clearances because I need to prove to them I am not a child molester like the Subway guy. And thanks Jared, for tainting Subway for me. I loved their 5 dollar footlongs, and now, well. Ew.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate my school. The ladies are nice to me, despite my deep seeded book writing skills, my sarcastic responses to bake sales and the more important fact that I refuse to run for any office. I think they trust me when I tell them that I will not only ruin the structure of the schools volunteer program, but single-handedly curse throughout any important meetings due to stress. I don’t do well in controlled situations. I know me, and whats more important, they do too.

So, some updates today. I will give out a snippet today as well. It’s been a while. I have had a lot of rejections these past weeks. “It’s just not what we are looking for right now” is the biggest one. I am actually appreciating the niceness going into the “I don’t like your book” emails they send. One even sent me a link to agents taking open submissions. That’s something right? One told me not to give up. I’ll take it. It’s better than “You’re a shitty writer, fucktard. Don’t quit your day job, asshole.”


So how goes it in the writing world? Well, the kids are back at school, so I am back at it, full, black Columbian coffee type strength. Currently, I am formatting things in the way I have been reading they need it to be presented before I can send anyone a full manuscript. So far I just have query letters out with the first three chapters. But if I want to submit to Harlequin say, or Siren, I need to have a full manuscript prepared.

Being a new writer is hard, but, it’s just like being a new mom you know? You will get shit on, for sure, and sometimes the book will even keep you up at 4am screaming at you. It will make you want to cry and laugh with joy all in a span of a few moments. At the end of the day though, you’re just proud you made it through the day without getting completely shit faced, going to the hospital, or crying alone in a dark corner with a guy named Leroy.

Once this mad bastard is formatted, I will print it and then read it again, correcting it with massive amounts of highlighter. I’m looking forward to that, only for the simple fact that I will get to use all the pretty colors they have and color little inappropriate doodles in the margins. Pubic hair is surprisingly easy to draw.

So without further ado, here is the snippet I promised. Enjoy.

Love and Cheers.


Disclaimer: All material is subject to copyright. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination of are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorizes, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

He starts talking to no one in particular as he continues to look around the room and delicately touch things. “My first 11 years were spent in a small cottage in Ireland. We had about six acres. We had a kitchen space like this and it always smelled of fresh grass and lemon. My mum was a wonderful cook. She painted trees on the walls. She wanted to be surrounded in nature. Ireland barely has any trees. Most of them were burned long ago, during times of retaliation and war.” He sounds wistful. He’s transported to a place I think when he was happiest. I decide to go for broke, standing in my kitchen, waiting to bury my dead cat. “She sounds like she made a lovely home for you.” I smile, wondering if that will be that. “She did. She was a wonderful woman. Really, very talented. You remind me of her a little.” I’m stunned here. “Wow, Declan. What a nice thing to say.” He looks at me, casual, hands in his pockets and shrugs. “It’s the truth. There is something about you Mag, and maybe that’s it. You remind me of a time where life was less complicated and….happy.” My brows furrow. “Are you not happy?”

“I am today. I was yesterday. My life, is, complicated Maggie.” Uh oh. That can’t be good. Complicated means kids. A wife maybe? There is no ring, no line where a ring was. Maybe he’s not a ring wearing guy. “You’re not married are you, Declan?” He pauses, thinking about what to say. He sighs. “I was. She’s no longer with us.” Well knock me over with a feather. He’s a widower. Shit, that’s, heavy. Beats out my baby daddy being a flighty tool. “Wow. I’m so sorry to hear it. When did she pass away?” I can tell he’s struggling, his jaw tensing. He does not want to talk about it, but for some reason, he does. “Three years ago next month. Come, let’s go get that box.” And just like that, the discussion is over.

CH 16.

After selecting a nice box for Spencer, I kneel down and kiss him on his furry head a last time. “Thanks buddy, for always being there for me. For being good to my boys. I’ll never forget you. Rest easy, my friend.” Aww gush me. I’ve started crying again, and Declan comes behind me to squeeze my shoulders. I gingerly lift him up with his favorite bed and lay him in the felt lined box I made for him. I cover him with a small sheet from the boys closet, something of theirs to leave him with and a photo of me with him when he was a kitten. I know, I know, I’m sappy, but I love animals. I love him. I cover the box and Declan helps me, well, really he does most of it, digs a hole behind the shed in the backyard. There are random patches of wildflowers, where he used to go to chew on blades of grass.

Once he is buried I make my way into my room, Declan meandering behind me so I can clean and sanitize the floors and frankly, clean the whole room up. I’m flustered and I’m feeling low, not knowing what I’m going to say to my kids when they get home. I’ve texted mom in the mean time with my where bouts and she politely tells me they are having fun and to leave them alone. No doubt she’s spending money in an arcade at another attempt to spoil them rotten. Declan, meanwhile, he busies himself in my kitchen, making us an impromptu stew for lunch. He grabs meat chunks, veggies, and spices, not even bothering to ask me where they are as he just rifles through to find everything himself. My room is nice and clean, smelling good again, and as I make my way out the door he’s there, in the hallway, hands on his hips, leaning against the wall looking at me with a smirk. “What?” I say, wondering what’s on his mind. “You look sexy as hell in my cloths woman. That’s what.” I look down, realizing I still haven’t changed from my walk of shame outfit. “Ill just go change” I mutter as I start to turn back into the bedroom. He Stops me with two hard as steel band hands around my hips. “Oh no you don’t Mag.” He whispers in my ear, so close goosebumps run all over my flesh. “You, my lady, will stay in my cloths all day. You will smell me on you and whenever you do, you will think about what I can do to you, and what my cock looks like covered in your come.”

I close my eyes, instantly growing wet and hot between my legs. He starts pulling my hand toward the kitchen. NO! “Come, now Maggie. I’ll feed you, then, I’ll fuck you.” Damn it! “Can’t we reverse that little scenario?” But no, his wordless pull is the end of the discussion as I am dragged into my wonderfully smelling kitchen. Stew, crusty bread, butter and iced tea lay on my table. Complete with sliced lemons. “Wow” is all I can manage. He went all out. He pulls my chair out for me. I sit dutifully as he takes his place at the opposite end of the table. I start to doll out food when he slaps my hand away. He stares me straight in the eyes, Blazing green to shit brown. “When’s the last time someone took care of you?” It’s a warning more than a question and I put my hand down. “Sorry, force of habit.” He looks at me as he starts spooning out strew in my bowl. He puts the spoon down and lightly tugs at my chin. “No Maggie. Don’t apologize, ever.” I nod, not knowing what else to do.

Replete and completely impressed with his cooking prowess again, I get up and start to clean. Thank goodness he doesn’t stop me this time. I would have given him a load of shit. Instead he helps. “Thank you. That was delicious. Yet again. Your going to spoil me with all your fancy cooking. How will I ever go back to boxed Macaroni and Cheese?” He laughs a low chuckle. It’s sexy as hell. I steal this opportunity before the mind-blowing orgasms begin to find out more about this man in front of me. “So, do you go to Ireland often?” He eyes me suspiciously. He knows what I am doing. But he obliges. “Yes, I do. My uncles live in Belfast. My wife is buried there as is my mother.” No mention of a father. Do I dare? Well, he asked about my ex husband. “No dad?” His brow furrows. “I have a da, yes. But he’s, well, no one knows where he is. So I couldn’t tell you if he’s alive or dead.” Oh. Revelations galore today. “Oh, did he run off on you and your mom?” He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “Something like that. It’s old news Mag, not worth discussing.” I cock my head now. “Yes it is. He was your dad. I don’t know what I would do without mine.” A little bold on my part, but I have never been one to tone it down.

“It’s a part of my life I don’t talk about much Mag. There are things I will never be able to discuss, you need to know that now, so whatever your next question is, unless it’s what position you’re going to let me fuck you in, you can let it go.” Okay, now I’m a little irritated. I let him have it.

“No Declan, I won’t let it go. I’m a mom. Do you get that? I don’t randomly fuck strangers. You have made it clear to me that this is not what that is, and I believe you, because I feel it too, whatever this is, but you can’t go through life not wanting to discuss things because they are shit to talk about. I don’t particularly want to fuck a stranger and that’s right what you are right now, a stranger.” He blinks. I continue.

“You claim to know all of these things about me, however you came to obtain them and I didn’t question it, even though in any right mind I should have. I have you in my home Declan. This is sacred to me. I need to know what I bring in here needs to be fucking sane and right. My kids sleep 20 feet away. You buried my cat for Christ’s sake. Do you get that?”

He runs his hand through his hair.

“Yes, I get that. I do.” He says as he looks me in the eyes. His head cocks to the side and purses his lips. Bowing his head as he has resigned to something.

He pulls my hand gently over the couch, the cream-colored couch he was going to fuck me on not ninety minutes ago. Instead I’m set to have a serious conversation with a stranger I’ve already fucked a few times over and shared two meals with, and quite possibly, fallen in love with already. My head is spinning. What the fuck am I doing? We sit and he puts his hand in my hand.

“You know me better than most Maggie. In this short period of time I have grabbed your attention. After a year of wanting to grab your attention that is. I’m no saint. Over the past couple years, I’ve fucked and used several women for pleasure, drank myself into dark corners of seedy bars and gotten into a few good brawls, all to forget my former life. My mother’s death, my father’s disappearance and my pregnant wife’s murder are all a part of that life. I want a new one. Desperately, and I want you a part of that new one.” I go white, but I don’t dare speak. “I do go to Ireland. About once every three months. I still own land and a home, and I visit with family and a few blokes. But in reality I go to find him.”

“Your father?” I blurt out. He takes my lips in his fingers and closes them sarcastically. “Shut up Maggie.” I nod.

“I go there to find the bastard that killed my wife and unborn son. My wife was 24 weeks pregnant when she was shot point-blank in the temple. She was innocent, beautiful. Just like you.” Just like me. I pale. Oh no. I can’t be this person. I don’t want to be the woman who looks like his dead wife so he can live out some kind of healing scenario. Do I?

“You remind me of her, it’s true, your beauty, diligence, elegance, and your humor. But you’re different. You’re stronger, more resilient. My wife, she had problems, hardships. She couldn’t handle life, had a lot of depression issues. She tried to kill herself once, only to get rushed to the hospital where then, was when we found out she was pregnant. She claimed she wanted to get better for the sake of the baby and me. But I think having a baby, would have made things harder for her. When I found her, dead in a pool of blood, all I felt was guilt; guilt for not believing that the baby would be a good change instead of a negative one.” I am stark still. I can’t breathe. “I wanted him, Mag, I did. I just didn’t think she was ready for him. I think the men who killed her are the same responsible for my father’s disappearance.”

“Oh.” Is all I can manage.

“Maggie, my family, we are wonderful, loving, sweet, fun, amazing people. We are well-known around Belfast and not in a good way. There are some rumors.” He sighs before completing the next part. “Rumor’s that my family is involved in the IRA.”

“Oh.” “Yes Ma’am. Oh.” “Are they true?” I blink, at least I try. “True?” He asks. “The rumors.” I say, blatantly.  “The less you know the better about rumors.” End of. I change directions. “Your mom? Was she a product of, the, well, um…”

“Irish Mafia? No. She had ovarian cancer. Stage 4. She died in her bed.”

“Shit.” I mumble. Shaking my head in disbelief after all this man has been through. “I’m sorry about your mom. About everything.” I don’t know what else to say. I feel even though, wierded out by some of his admissions, that he deserves to be happy. I deserve to be happy.

He squeezes my hand harder. “No. My life has brought me here. I’m wealthy, successful, and I’m good at what I do. I have control, as much as I can possibly have. It’s the only thing that keeps me going. It was anyway, until I saw you.” “Why?” I mumble. “Why wait so long to come to me?”

“I resisted for many reasons. Mainly for the sake of you and your family. At first I wasn’t sure I wanted to pursue you, not wanting to drag you into this life. My life. But over time, you came to be a drug. Buying your photographs kept me connected to you. To the feeling I had when I saw you. Everything felt better and I daydreamed about making love to you. You were, what you would call, my happy place. My unattainable fantasy.”

“I would hardly be unattainable any longer, now would I?” I snort.

He smiles. “No. You may be attainable my dear Mag, but you are still my fantasy.” He continues. “What I had with my wife was great. But it was hard. She was sick and I spent years trying to help her, to save her. When she tried to take her own life I knew. I knew I had failed her.”

End of Summer is Near….

And I am realizing there is no winning. I just gave my kids the best summer of their tiny little existence and all I get is whining about pop tarts. So thus, in the spirit of back to school, I have decided to give ten good reasons why I am, in fact, the biggest asshole on this planet of assholes.

Despite how crappy I act on a near regular basis, my kids still love me. I wonder if it’s built in. You spawned them, so they have to love you. Unless I become the crack whore from fifty shades, I don’t know what else I can do to get them to realize how much I hate them and just want to see them unhappy.

Take yesterday for instance. Which brings us to number one on our asshole countdown.

  1. We went to the pool. It was 94 degrees. I made them put sunscreen on. Twice. If that’s not enough of a kick in the teeth, I made them purchase ice pops and split them in half. Why? Because I’m an asshole.
  2. I took them to a museum last week for some culture. They loved it so much I got a membership. When asked why I purchased a membership, I explained that we had such a nice time, we should come back. The response was less than enthusiastic. I can’t believe I made learning fun. I’m such an asshole.
  3. I am an art instructor, and in the summer, we run kids camps. They are not cheap, most parents shelling out 30 bucks a kid. I made them paint a football, an ice cream cone, the Philly Fanatic and a vase of circle flowers in the month of July alone. I was told recently, “Please don’t make me go back again.” I forgot. You’re right. Painting is so hard. I’m such an asshole.
  4. I bought them a guinea pig last year that I take care of for them. I’m such an fu****g asshole.
  5. On our recent annual trip to Busch Gardens, it started raining. So we took them into a restaurant to have a snack, then went to see a show. “Wow that really sucked. I can’t believe we had to sit in here and watch a show while it rained.” I guess I should have let them stand in the rain. Asshole.
  6. We go on an annual overnight trip to Knobels with their friends every year. I suggested maybe we try a roller coaster this time. One of them made a swooning noise and pretended to faint. I guess that made me just a really big asshole.
  7. When one of them dropped and broke their tablet (for the second time), I said that they needed to save their money to buy a new one. When that day finally came, and they got the new one, they lost it. I can’t believe, that when we go on trips, they don’t have a tablet to play with in the car. I’m such an asshole for letting that happen. I’m truly ashamed.
  8. The dog took a shit when we took her to the park. It smelled like shit. I didn’t make them pick the shit up. I picked up the shit. What an asshole!
  9. Dunkin Donuts was really crowded yesterday so we went to WaWa for donuts instead. They didn’t have strawberry frosting with sprinkles. Can you guess? Asshole!
  10. I forgot to buy waffles yesterday. They ate peanut butter and jelly for breakfast. They were so distraught, they couldn’t play video games for almost an hour. My assholism knows no bounds.

I don’t quite know how to change my behavior. I mean, I’ve talked to a doctor, went to therapy and take a bunch of pills. Drinking helps, but sometimes, especially the times they get their head caught in a banister, the cops frown upon being drunk and in charge of kids. I guess it’s good for me that I have an attorney in the family. At better yet, an EMT so that can hide the emotional bruises.

All I have to say, is let the school year commence!



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