Fighting over turkey. 

Drama always finds a way of showing its face during thanksgiving with my family. No matter how hard my family tries, drama transpires. This year was no exception. 
Due to a series of unfortunate events brought on by utter stupidity, my youngest brother and my father were unable to attend our thanksgiving feast at Golden Corral. I considered not going myself since my family decided not to be bothered with cooking and instead fighting the crowds at the local Golden Corral. But, per usual, I took one for the team and showed up.

Much to my surprise, my family was pleasant. In fact the only negative comment made was from my eldest brother stating that he plans on throwing a party when our mother’s dog dies. Apparently, he secretly hates her dog and felt thanksgiving was an appropriate time to let everyone know. How very logical, thanks for that bro. 

All was going better than planned when we decided to proceed home. I grabbed my little niece, she’s 3, and proceeded to lead the line of family members to the door. 

I’d almost successfully lead the family through the crowds to the door when it happened. A full out fist fight breaks out. Screaming, yelling, and punches being thrown right by the meat carving station. I know turkey is serious, I get that, but fighting in the Golden Corral is a new level of low. The main issue though, stemmed from the crowds of people. We were stuck. Stuck with front row tickets to a brawl we never thought we would be attending. Like I said earlier, drama finds my family on thanksgiving every single solitary year. 

Strictly between us, I’m proud that my family was able to resist the urge to jump into that fight. I’m thankful for that. 

My life has never been dull, 
Blaire 

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Virginia, get it together.

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Today, a public health emergency was declared in the state of Virginia for the opioid addiction crisis. Somehow, I don’t care at all.

Ya see, it’s hard for me to care because I’m not addicted to opioids. I understand that drugs, especially those containing opioids, are dangerous. These medicines should only be taken if needed and as prescribed by the doctor.

I’ve seen it happen though. I’ve seen people I love get addicted to opioids. And do you know what I think? I think they are selfish, destructive people. I think if they cared about themselves or the people they claim to love they wouldn’t abuse opioids.

My best friend in high school had everything. A hot body, beautiful hair, great grades, a bright future, and the most loving family you’ll ever meet. I spent time each day wishing I could trade places with her. I would daydream about having her seemingly perfect life, even her annoying yappy dog.

One afternoon she got in a finder bender. When she went to her doctor, the doctor prescribed her Percocet for her whiplash. He advised her to take it as needed–and she did. She took it when she was in pain and when she wasn’t and at all other times of the day. She got addicted quickly. I did everything I could to help her and stop her addiction, but nothing I said/did helped. Soon she was buying pills off of the street and soon I had completely lost my best friend.

Do you know what could have saved her? Not getting addicted in the first place. Not taking more than the prescribed dose, not lying about her pain, and not continuing to buy pills on the street once the doctor cut her off.

And, while I’m on the subject, if you’re shooting heroin, I’m 110% apathetic towards you. You’re making a choice, a choice that could kill you. Tidy up or you may actually die.

I’m not a mean person, I swear.

Love always,

Blaire

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I’m done with cooking, again. 

I don’t cook, ever. But for some crazy reason today I felt that maybe I should. So, I decided to start with a Pasta Side. If you are familiar, you know that they are easy to cook… or so I’ve heard. I thought by starting with something simple I would gain confidence and be able to start cooking daily. 
I read the instructions three times. Then I started the process. I put milk, water, and butter in a oven-safe pot and waited for it to come to a boil. While I was waiting, I turned on Grey’s Anatomy. I’m a little behind on Grey’s Anatomy so I am still enjoying Derek and Meredith’s love affair. Thank God Derek is still alive in the season I am on. I think I will lose part of myself when he dies. Anyways, I got caught up in watching Grey’s Anatomy.

Naturally, I get on Snapchat to snap about how much I love Grey’s Anatomy, when I hear a noise from the kitchen that simply doesn’t sound good. I run into the kitchen and the pot has boiled everywhere. It could’ve just been my eyesight but I swear I saw a flame. 

I am done with cooking, again. 

This kitchen isn’t going to clean itself, 

Blaire 

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It all started with a margarita

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I did something a tad bit strange and spontaneous yesterday– with a margarita in my hand. If you know me, you know that margaritas make me have the best ideas. All great nights start and end with a margarita. Tequila speaks to my soul. In fact, I could arguably say that margaritas could help aid in world peace—but this blog is about yesterday.

Yesterday, my two friends and I went to Chili’s for margaritas. We sat in the bar area and wasted no time in placing our order for blackberry margaritas. I had one tiny sip and I already knew that the night had potential. I’ve got to give it to the bar tender, Stephen, he knew how to add mostly tequila with just a splash of blackberry. I was in paradise.

Now, paradise is a place where my great ideas flourish. So, it wasn’t a big surprise when I had one of my best ideas yet. Ya see, my friend has recently started online dating
. Being a supportive, overbearing friend, I tend to seek/demand every itty, bitty detail of her quests online. The issue being, she’s a super secretive person. Well, it hit me as I sipped margarita number two; I could just attend her blind date. I simply needed her to agree—that’s where margarita number 3 came in.

I carefully, very carefully, slipped the idea into conversation as she took a large gulp of what likely tasted like pure tequila. She coughed a little and looked at me like I was the craziest person alive. My other friend quickly chimed in that the idea was flawless. I continuously nodded my head in approval of my own idea. And somehow, someway, margarita number 3 had her hesitantly agreeing.

It took a lot out of me to pretend I was chill when she agreed. Ingreen-heartside, I was doing cartwheels. This was going to be the best.

My friend walked outside and sat in my car so it would seem like she had just arrived. Her date walks in wearing a flannel shirt, just like the flannel shirt my friend was wearing. Talk about coincidence. I heard wedding bells.

The hostess approached them as I pretended to be super interested in the last drop of tequila remaining in my glass. Unfortunately for me though, the hostess sat them at a table that might as well have been in another state. I could barely see them, let alone make out any inkling of conversation. How anticlimactic.

Until my next great idea,

Blaire

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I’m a police wife?

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Even though my husband has been a Police Officer for years, I was the first person to resist being labeled a “police wife.” I guess I just didn’t feel like it was appropriate to label myself since that isn’t something other professions do. I don’t hear my friend Karen labeling herself a “welder’s wife”. So, I just didn’t get it. I was against the label, indefinitely.

Well, at least I was– till this year.

This year, my husband works 12-hour shifts on Christmas and Christmas Eve. It took a minute for this to sink in. This means that he will risk his life on the biggest holiday of the year while I sit at home petting my cat. This means that if someone out there decides to make a stupid choice on Christmas, my husband will risk his life to save a stranger. It hit me hard and all at once, I’m a police wife.

Well, despite the fact that my cat has an unprecedented bipolar personality, I guess I could be in worse company on Christmas.

I hope my cat doesn’t read this,

Blaire

 

 

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I’m proud to be an American. 💙

I knew a few things about this election from the start. I knew Clinton or Trump would win. That I knew for sure. And, as a living, breathing human, I also knew that they both had their faults. In fact, my fingers would fall off right now if I attempted to write even half the things that they have each done/said that were cruel or hateful. And let’s be honest, my fingers are just not ready for that. 
But what I didn’t see coming was the aftermath. I didn’t foresee any backlash. I didn’t foresee protests or riots. I didn’t foresee people judging others over who they voted for. I didn’t foresee my best friend betraying me, over a vote he assumed I placed. These things, I didn’t even recognize as possible. 

We are the United States of America. The greatest Nation in the entire world. We are known far and wide for being the land of the free. So many countries envy us simply for our ability to vote for a our nation’s leader. Take a step back and look at ourselves right now. Take it in. Look at how we must look to other countries. We need to lick our wounds and rise as the most powerful, united Nation in the world. I’m passionate about America and you should be too. 

Shit, we could even make America great again.

You guys make me crazy, 

Blaire 

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Doctor Blaire?

Webster defines a hypochondriac as “a person who is often or always worried about being ill.”

When I first saw the word “hypochondriac” I already knew I had it. I mean, the word itself is scary and I’m prone to bad luck.

Just the thought of having it has me feeling even worse about having it. And after rereading the definition, I am again convinced that I likely need an evaluation.

Since I’m attempting honesty with this blog, i’ll go ahead and tell you something that you may have already decided– I’m a little nuts. I’m the person that sees a commercial about the flu and then diagnoses myself with the flu. I’m the person afraid of somehow contracting Ebola– even though I’m securely in the United States. The word “Ebola” itself sends shivers up my spine.

What’s even worse is when I start diagnosing others. I was dating this guy once and I convinced him that he was dying of a disease. So much so that he went to the hospital… where the doctor laughed in his face because the disease I diagnosed him with isn’t even prevalent in today’s society. And although I knew that before he even went, I felt he was better safe than sorry. He didn’t find me charming as the doctor escorted him on his way with a $100 hospital bill.

I’m going to now end this blog prematurely so that I can properly research my sudden fatigue. Maybe I just need a nap. Maybe not.

Nervously googling,

Blaire

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