… or is it?
There have been some ghastly rumors going around I feel I need to address. Let this post serve as one that separates FACT from FICTION.
FICTION: JillianApproved has decided to close up shop.
This is not true. Now mind you, I could have been the one to start such a rumor… but I’m setting the record (and myself) straight. It’s not happening. Yeah yeah, I know it says I update twice a week and those of you who visit regularly know it’s a damn lie. That will change. See, I learned something: you can’t put creativity on a fucking schedule. That shit flows whenever it flows and you just need to be there to catch it. Needless to say my cup hasn’t runneth over in quite a while. So no more schedule, no more deadlines, and no more feeling bad about not updating when I said I would. From now on, it happens WHEN it happens.
Consider this the beginning of a new era. You’re welcome.
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Random things for the rest of the weekend:
When I have annoyed my husband to death he’ll ask, “Are you fucking serious?!” I usually reply with, “No, I’m Jillian.”
I do this for two reasons: 1) I know it pisses him off; and 2) I genuinely think it’s funny.
Whatever, it IS funny.
*****
For a brief period I had gotten into the habit of randomly saying, “Well, it’s about that time…” People would always respond with, “About what time?” to which I would reply, “Oh nothing, I just like saying that.”
*****
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*Warning – This post might contain Too Much Information (TMI). Read at your own risk.*
The price of stuff is going up.
We recently went grocery shopping and a pound of butter was almost $6! Can you believe that? Why is butter so expensive? We almost had to put it on lay-away. Pretty soon we’ll have to purchase it on a stick-by-stick basis and I don’t think stores even do that. So to save money, we have come to the obvious and very logical conclusion to cut-back spending on certain items. I guess my cranberry juice doesn’t have to be OceanSpray and I suppose I can drink Dr. Fizz instead of Dr. Pepper.
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How’s this for a title theme, eh? Part Harry Potter, part Oprah ( SHE can put HER name on everything, why can’t I?) Aren’t you glad February is only 28 err… 29 days long?
I like grocery shopping. It’s a great feeling to stroll aisles heavily laden with food, picking and choosing whatever the hell I want. Do I need this? Oh, I haven’t tried this before. OMG… I gotta buy this. Grocery shopping makes me happy and it makes me feel grown up. Yes, I am the captain of the cart. Me! I choose what we’re having for dinner and dammit, it’s whatever flavor ice cream I say it is. I can do that, because I’m the captain.
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When I was single, lonely and desperate I told myself that whoever I married was going to get a pretty good deal. So many times had I witnessed countless wives and girlfriends dragging their obviously miserable boyfriends and husbands from store to store shopping; I said I would never do that to my guy. I hate shopping anyway, so I wouldn’t even do that to myself. I’ve been to movies and witnessed the male half of a couple dread going into the theater because he knows he’s in for a force-fed 2 hour estrogen feast. No guy of mine would ever endure that. In essence, I was going to be the cool girlfriend… the kick-ass wife. I told myself I would never talk during football, I would never ask him to hold my purse, I would never in a million years make him go shopping with me and I would never force him to watch a girly flick he clearly had no interest in.
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