I have to write because it is my therapy. And my therapy makes me sane. Being sane, will make me happy. Or so they say....

I am a mom and wife first.
Everything else is second.
A hilarious raging bitch an occassional third.

Her Blog….

It’s ridiculously degrading. Like I want to cry degrading. I wish she had more self respect. Or an ounce of respect for anyone around her. But she lacks common fucking sense…. hence the degrading for any type of attention possible. How did it get this way? 


Today, October 15th, Is Pregnancy & Infant loss Remembrance Day; a day when we remember all babies born sleeping, those we have carried but never met, and those we have held but could not take home. ✞I love you Mila Jolie Cervantes! I love you Forever and Always ~ 1.22.09✞ ~My sleeping beauty~

Today, October 15th, Is Pregnancy & Infant loss Remembrance Day; a day when we remember all babies born sleeping, those we have carried but never met, and those we have held but could not take home. 

✞I love you Mila Jolie Cervantes! I love you Forever and Always ~ 1.22.09✞ 

~My sleeping beauty~


I’m pretty sure the chip I ate earlier is cutting up my insides slowly and painfully one crusty turn at a time. In other health news, my shoulder sprain is back. Hooray. And still even with that shitness, today has gone as great as it could have.  My stress level is at an all time low at the moment and I’m just looking forward to coming home to my boys. My dawgs. It’s almost that time. Thank God. 

Like a Maniac….

A dazed off. Mid daydream. Redlight when I heard a honk of the horn. The familiar car. It waved. and off I took like it was the bullet starting off a race. Turning right, trying to get away…. like a maniac.

And when is my embarrassing spell going to end? Never. 

Never believe what anyone says. Don’t read reviews. Nothing means anything and everything means nothing. Real friends are important. Cars are stupid. Get it while it’s hot. Keep your head down and don’t take anything too seriously. And nothing matters.

— Aubrey Plaza (via cybrpizza)

The Inevitable, It Happened….

I had trouble sleeping last night. It happens when my head doesn’t shut the fuck up. I lay there and recite any Simpsons episodes I know by heart to try to clear my mind from any thoughts so that I could fall fast asleep. I’ve been doing this since I was a little girl. My episode choice, the Lemon Tree. Last night that episode replayed over and over in my head too many times to count. It eventually worked but not before the feeling of guilt filled embarrassing shame was able to wear off as I am still feeling it two days later. I’m feeling it deep down in the pit of my stomach. It feels like the complete opposite of butterflies. This is the feeling if maybe the butterflies were wearing boxing gloves and upper cutting my insides. That’s what that feels like. Saturday was filled with regrettable choices. Choices that sober Karina would have never done in a million years. But sober Karina lost the battle. Two shots was all it took after a day filled with beer drinking. And down went the downward spiral. 

I was left alone by 5:00pm. The husband had to abruptly leave the party. He was indisposed. And there it was, my fear of literally feeling alone in a room filled with people. Beer was my companion. As long as I had a drink in my hand, it was ok. I didn’t feel as alone. I should have stopped there. I didn’t. The next stop was a bar. The bar is where it gets hazy. The bar is where it happened. My word vomiting mouth. Talking out of my ass is a given when I get switched to hard liquor. And that I did. I did it well. Well enough to hate myself the next morning. The parking lot was the worst. That is my regret. The word vomit didn’t get held back there. And there was the man, listening to everything I had to say. And boy did I say it all. I think miserable was used more than once and clearly emphasized. It’s not far from the truth but at the same time it is. And I’m sure my daughter was mentioned. I think about her day in and day out. Keeping it in. When liquid courage sets in, I talk about her openly. And almost always instantly start to weep becoming upset. We hugged it out. I think he was possibly trying to get me to shut up. He was kind about it. I can’t remember much though. So what else was said is up in the air. And I’ll never know. Maybe it’s better that way. I won’t have any interactions with the man for a while. Again, it’s better that way maybe. The husband keeps reassuring me that I’ll be fine.

I hope so. and I need this feeling to go away because right now it sucks ass. I just want to feel normal again. Withered away in my corner and left comfortably alone. To sum this misery up, in the words of Sir Kid Cudi: “Oh, God, why did I drink so much and smoke so much, ah Ah, fuck it” Yea, fuck it. This definitely isn’t the first time, and most possibly isn’t the last. 

The Mini Getafuckaway….

I just stuffed my face with fake Chinese food I bought from the mall while looking for two days in a row for what to wear for a barn party. Unsuccessfully I might add. I’ve broken out in acne all around my face from the stress of thinking about how my social anxiety will play a part of the weekends busy ass schedule we have ahead of us. I don’t remember always feeling like this. It hitting me this hard. I’m not sure what it is. The power of feeling alone while standing in a room filled with people is a complete mind fuck. I’ve never been the super outgoing type. Not unless of course when I’m shit hammed. and then comes the repercussions of that the following morning when I ask myself “what the fuck did I do or say.”“I’m pretty sure I embarrassed the fuck out of myself” That or someone gets out of line with me. It happens. A lot actually. It’s all too much sometimes. This is the first time I’ll be without her and I think that’s the serious issue here. Because when I was with her, it was all ok. It was like she was my anti-anxiety pill. I’ll be with him though. The social butterfly. I’m grateful one of us is. It’s him. I fear I’ll get lost in the manly of men conversations that typically go on, while I stand there, staring at my feet, chipping away the linkin park after dark polish off of my nails constantly thinking back to that Facebook post an acquaintance posted about how chipped nails look so trashy. I have a 4 year old and two 2 year olds with no time to ever care for my nails unless I’m on my lunch break sequestered away in the bathroom rushingly polishing them only to get home, wash dishes, doing laundry, or bathing said children and having them chip. Hello, my name is trashy. 

I literally stopped typing to chip the remaining polish I had left.

It’ll be ok. I know this. Because he will be by my side. He always is. and he always makes everything better. Everything is always fun with him. Because he gets me, and I get him. I wish I could control my stressing out over ridiculousness.  It will all get better once I answer my own question:

What the fuck am I going to wear?