The thing about skanky moms…

I love them.

I wish I had their confidence, their body, their style, their hair, their lack of hair…

Why can’t moms be skanky? Why can’t moms be sexual beings? Why can’t moms party like rockstars and then make their kid breakfast in the morning after popping two advils and chugging a gallon of water?

Why are we so judgemental?

I’m tired of reading and hearing mothers and women criticizing celebrities or that one skanky mom in the mom group, ya know?


Morning walks

I really enjoy taking pictures but sometimes feel like I don’t have the time. Everything is always so rushed, waking up 10 minutes early made all the difference today. I’d like to title this picture – Things Left Unsaid


Vegan One Out

I feel like I should wear a scarlet letter V.

V for vagina because being a woman is obviously a curse. One of weakness, meakness, unholy blood flows, and general inferiority.

V for Vegan because even though I mind my own fucking business while eating my delicious rice and beans someone always has to throw in some snarky comment about my food choices.

Here’s a tiny poem for all you critical motherfuckers:


I do not care if you eat meat

No really,

It does not make me lose any sleep

Keep on drinking milk

Eat that cheese

Buy that silk

Please remember that I don’t care

Not one fuck is given

Whille you sit and stare

My veggies and tofu

Remain fucking delicious

The End

Please stop being such judgemental pricks. That goes out for all you judgey vegans, too.


La Femme Vegan

Fat vegan.

I’m a fat vegan person. It feels awful. My pants are so tight I want to unbutton them as soon as I sit down. I feel bloated all the time. My cellulite reminds me of rancid cottage cheese and my skin is not glowing. I don’t resemble any of the vegans on Instagram in any kind of way.

I’m pretty much just a lame lady losing her hair, youth, beauty, flexibility and everything else time sucks right out of you. I want to live under constant strip club lighting. I want my flaws blurred and contoured into a tolerable image reflected in my mirror.

I want to have dreads and the time to cook everything from scratch. I want the patience to make clothes and lotions. I want to feel constantly inspired to create and have positive vibes oozing out from every single pore. The pores on my face alone could bring world peace, I’m sure.

But I’m just a fat vegan.

La Femme Vegan

FEED ME NOW and other uninteresting changes.

Things I’ve noticed now that I’ve gone 3 full days into this lifestyle change and 3 days means I am now a hardcore vegan, right? Thought so.

1. I’m hungry. I’m always hungry anyway but now it’s ridiculous. I want to eat all the time. I want to stuff myself with gooey globs of microwaved pizza and cover myself in red velvet cupcake crumbs.


3. I’m pretty sure I’m farting more than usual which is a lot but I’m also pretty sure that my farts are now lighter, more wonderful, organic, dairy free, gluten free, straight from the source, glitterfied love notes escaping my body as a testament of my new vegan ways for the masses.

4. I’m on the constant look out for sour cream, whipped cream, everything cream alternatives. Give me all of the almond/soy/rice cream, NOW.

5. I’m excited about making food and trying new things. Double excited that the ingredients I’m using now don’t require me to wear gloves and clorox everything down when I’m done. My girls are getting involved in cooking and it’s, gasp, a lot of fun but we’ll see how long that lasts because my girls are a fucking disaster.


La Femme Vegan

Not today In-N-Out, not today.

I did it.

I held a tray full of double doubles and didn’t even pick at the beautifully melted cheese.

God knows I wanted to. The smell took me back to the days of my youth. The carefree days when life was still full of possibilities, the possibilities my dad and I would talk about while he was grilling meat and drinking an ice cold Modelo. I’ll always love the smell of meat for that reason, it’s the only time the man smiles.

Even today his big thing is going to the supermarket and piling up a cart full of meat and veggies. Preparing the grill and food is a family affair. My brother cleans the grill, my mom roasts the array of chili peppers, my girls and I make guacamole, dad grills the meat to perfection, and for those 3-4 hours no one resents each other. There are no problems.

Happiness in my family is a big plate of meat and veggies. Bring on the guacamole.


La Femme Vegan

Born again vegan.

I wrote this last night in my lack of sleep. In my head I envisioned myself in a perfectly filtered Instagram setting with a beautifully bright, exquisitely arranged bowl of chia seeds and fruit. Next to my bowl of perfection my almond milk latte would be crying for attention in a hand made Etsy mug whose profits benefit orphans, puppies, Jesus, and your mom.

I would begin by telling you how I’m going on a quest for a new, healthier, shinier, more empowered me.

But I’m not.

I’m just tired of meat and cheese. They’ve been grossing me out a ton lately and no I’m not pregnant. I was vegan way back in the day. A time before selfies, hashtags, filters, and tagging so I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m old. Getting older has been all curses no blessings. My skin, hair, body shape are not that of a spring chick anymore and it sucks mozarella balls.

Mmmm mozarella. I used to love that stuff with tomatoes and basil.

BUT NO MORE. This old lady has seen the light. The heavens parted and I’ve repented for all my meat/diary loving ways.

I am vegan. Hear me roar.


La Femme Vegan