How to make jello-shots


If you don’t know already, I suck at cooking. I think it is because instructions on the side of food items are not specific enough. I need to know all about cooking including how to turn on the oven. Growing up, we simply weren’t in the kitchen learning how to cook. I didn’t have a mommy and daddy that were around enough to teach me the small stuff.

Naturally, when I go to parties, I bring Jell-O shots. First of all, I am good at making them. I know you’re smiling right now because you realize that I’m good at it because I am a low-key alcoholic. But I will be darned, I can make some freaking Jell-O shots. Here’s how:

1) Go to your local liquor store and buy yourself inexpensive vodka. Make sure the vodka is flavored. Vodka that isn’t flavored will cause your jello to taste super nasty, trust me. I typically use Burnett’s. It is inexpensive and comes in every flavor imaginable. You might be thinking that Burnett’s is pretty trashy of me, but have you ever had a terrible night while drinking Burnett’s? Exactly. Burnett’s is never a bad idea, just causes a slight hangover when consumed in large amounts.

2) Go to the grocery store and buy several flavors of Jell-O. Yes, you can get the generic storebrand for under $.50. The Jell-O flavor really doesn’t matter. If you were going to beat yourself up over flavor, focus on the flavor of the vodka not the Jell-O. You will also need to buy small cups to put the finished product in. You can snag a bag of “Diamond Mini Cups Multi-Purpose” from your local Walmart. That’s what I use. (See above picture)

3) Boil 1 cup of water. Stir in one package of Jell-O mix once the water is to a boil. Continue stirring and remove the water from the heat. Make sure that the Jell-O is not sticking to the bottom of the pan. If the Jell-O sticks to the bottom, it will not allow the most flavor– be careful with that. Stir for exactly 2 minutes.

4) Pour in 1 cup of flavored vodka. Continue stirring for another minute or so.

5) Using a large spoon, scoop out the jello liquid and put it into the little containers.

6) Place all containers in the refrigerator overnight.

7) Serve at party and come off super fun and flirty. If you want to get fancy, serve with whip cream on top.

Jello-shots are the extent of my cooking.

Love always,

Blaire 🌷


I sleep with stuffed animals


I turned 26 years old this year– I have two degrees, a challenging job, and a good looking husband. And somehow, someway I still sleep nightly with 3 stuffed animals. Hello, daddy issues. Am I right? If you’re nodding your head and smirking right now then you’ve met someone crazy like me before. You’re probably thinking of a bat shit crazy ex-girlfriend or that wild best friend you had in college that you always knew was a little off.

I could sit down right now and tell you every little thing that has ever went wrong in my life and I still cannot account for my inability to put my stuffed animals in the past. My mom used to always joke that I wouldn’t give those stuffed animals up till the day I got married. Well, uhh, I have been married for years and still I sleep with them. Yes, they have names: Puffy, Puffilump, and Ruff. The first two were named when I got them on the day I was born. The third one was named by my drunk friend at a party.

Honestly and truly, I cannot begin to tell you why I can’t fall asleep without them. No, I do not believe they talk or have feelings. But, then again, I still get upset if I see one absentmindedly tossed on the floor.


Blaire 🎀


The internet cured me, again.

fullsizerender-2The other night I started researching the best ways to cure stomach pain. About 1 million different things came up. So there I sat with 1 million answers to my simple little question. I reasoned that the best way to choose which one to use would be to see which one would make me the happiest.

I sat there for a minute thinking and decided that taking a warm bath on that cold evening would make me feel wonderful. So I googled “bath that will cure stomach pain.” And you’ll never guess that I got a billion search results. I decided to go with the first one that popped up– bathing in baking soda. The idea seemed far fetched and harmful to my health… then it seemed so far fetched that it could potentially work. And, shoot, what did I have to lose?

So, I started the water and carelessly tossed baking soda around in the tub. I put on Jason Aldean’s new cd and I climbed on in. I set a timer on my phone for 20 minutes (that’s what the Internet advised) and began my 20 minute, baking soda filled relaxation.

It’s probably all in my crazy little mind, but my stomach was cured the second the timer rang. Well, the Internet knows things or I’m nuttier than I originally thought.

Hypochondriac Blaire 💕


New Year’s Resolution 

Every year I have the exact same resolution for the new year- to become a more fit version of myself. Every year though, I fall a little short. Mainly because there’s a Chick-fil-A within 5 miles of my house and a Taco Bell in walking distance. Those delicious choices, coupled with my inability to exhibit self control, are a recipe for unhealthy dinner choices nightly. 

I always tell myself that I’m relatively healthy and not fat at all, guess that sort of thought process simply doesn’t have me waking up at 4am to go to the gym. 

This year, I’m switching it up. This year I’ve decided to become more emotionally connected to others. Currently, I’m the queen of building walls. I can manipulate and lie my way out of showing my true feelings any day of the week. Previously, I used hiding my feelings as a defense mechanism. I’ve done this for so long that I’ve forgotten how to truly feel. Well, guess what? I’m done with that. Starting in 2017, I’m gonna feel again. It’s going to be awkward and it’s going to be uncomfortable, but it’s also going to be rewarding and show others the true me. 

Guess the plus side is that I don’t have to think twice about feasting on Chick-fil-A or Taco Bell anymore. 

Bring it on 2017,

Blaire ❤️


I threw myself a pity party.

I threw myself a pity party.

Last week I threw myself a pity party. I spent the entire week feeling sorry for myself. Poor Blaire has a sucky life. Poor Blaire is in a situation where a positive outcome is unlikely. Poor Blaire will have a bad birthday and Christmas. Poor little Blaire.

Today, I woke up. Today, I reality checked myself. Today, I realized that I am the author of my life and my life will have a happy ending despite it all. Sitting here feeling bad for myself sure isn’t helping my situation. In fact, it is making it worse. I don’t need to punish myself for situations beyond my control. I need to continue living a healthy life and worry less. I need to help where I can, but also remember to put myself first.

Yes, I served myself tequila at my pity party. It helped. It always does. 💚

My mind is set on happy,


My crazy little family 

Want to meet a bunch of crazy people? Come to my family’s Christmas party. I’m quite certain that crazy runs in the family. Growing up I had no idea how crazy my family really was. It wasn’t till college when I realized that they were all nuts. 
My youngest brother is a paranoid schizophrenic with a drug addiction. My oldest brother has a baby mama that is likely a stripper and a series of hardcore partying habits that he can’t kick. My mom likes to play a nice Christian woman by pleading ignorance to everything happening around her. She will be the first to play stupid when my brother is cracked out and the last to admit that a problem exists. And my father, bless his heart, is off his rocker completely. And then there’s me. I’ve never committed a felony and I don’t like driving on the interstate. I like following the rules and I spend more time than I should praying that I was switched at birth. 

This year for Christmas, I want my family to wake up. I want them to see that the way they are living isn’t right. I want them to know that happiness is out there and is obtainable. I want them to find it within themselves to be better. 

Pull it together guys, please.



Too much information, I know.

This is going to be too much information–I get that. I created this to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So, here it goes.

Recently, my husband and our two friends decided that we were going to plan a trip to Costa Rica for summer 2017. (I’ll blog about that later) Being the obsessive people that we are, we began planning every single solitary detail. And I mean every detail. Right down to shaving areas where the sun doesn’t shine. My friend going with us, Sabrina, chimed in that it would be a good idea for the girls to get Brazilian waxes before leaving. This is something I had never even considered doing, ever. I pondered the idea in my head for a few days and then I decided— why the hell not?

I’m not the bravest person on the planet when it comes to nudity. So, I couldn’t bring myself to get it professionally done because that’s awkward, way too awkward. The thought of the awkwardness has me cringing as I type. I just couldn’t manage. So I turned to the only person that I know of that would be comfortable waxing that region… my husband.

If you’ve met my husband before, you just spit out your drink. You know with 100% certainty that Ricky told me no. But, that’s just it, he didn’t tell me no. He said it was worth a shot.

Like any normal human, we turned to the Internet to get educated. YouTube had a lot to offer on the subject. After about 2 hours, we were basically licensed professionals. We set a date to put our new professionalism into fruition and I began the growing process. For those of you that don’t know (it was a surprise to me as well), your hair has to be a certain length for waxing to be effective.

On the night of the waxing, I was excited. I was confident that this would be easy. The process started out perfectly. I could write a how-to-blog right now on how to properly prepare and begin the waxing process. And that’s about all I could write because what I didn’t see coming was the pain. Ricky pulled off the first bit of wax and I screamed. I screamed so loud that I’m certain the neighbors heard. In fact, the human language has failed on providing words to describe that sort of pain. I guess I’ll have to compare it to an exorcism—with my hair being the demon that needed removing. I was screaming and my back was lifting itself up towards the sky. Suddenly I was laughing uncontrollably, crying, and screaming some more. To be honest, I’m disappointed that my neighbors didn’t call the cops after hearing all that screaming. I could have been being murdered, that’s what it sounded like anyway.

Needless to say, we weren’t able to finish.

I’m still recovering,