The top comment says it all: “When I first saw the title of this song, I was expecting it to be a stupid, stereotypical song mocking gays… instead, I got this incredibly deep, beautiful song about love. “I’ll love you still in hell” is the line that gets me the most.”

Posts first-

Most popular posts

1. My take on the Japan disaster and whether or not you should donate.

2. How I got my feelings hurt, and then moved on.

3. Where I gave my daughter some very un-Cleaverly advice.

4. Y’all liked my letter to nameless PR people everywhere.

5. Of course, any mention of my sex life brought out the readers.

And, of course, my favorite part of the year, 2011 in photos. Enjoy!

2011 In Photos from Amy Phillips on Vimeo.

You’ve heard of Google translator, right? Today, I am going to introduce you to the ‘Amy Translator’. Much like the Google version, I will put in common phrases and then you will get a glimpse of what someone with my crazy brain actually hears when you utter this drivel.

Ready? Great, let’s go.

What I hear:

Live your joy!

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Quit whining about your dead end job and be glad you get a paycheck, buddy!

What I hear:

Helping others succeed!

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Couldn’t succeed on my own so now I take your money and tell you how to avoid all the mistakes I made.

What I hear:

Community Builder

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I tweet a lot.

What I hear:

PR Friendly

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I wouldn’t dream of writing anything negative, anywhere. Also, I am a swag whore.

What I hear:

Living my passion

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Trust fund baby.

What I hear:

Brand builder

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I get paid to talk about products I don’t really care about.

What I hear:

I am influential

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

(Hahahaha, who am I kidding? Nno one believes you when you sprout this shit).

What I hear:

You are such an inspiration.

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Tell me more about your pain, so I can feel better about my crappy life. Because, hey, at least I’m not you, right?

What I hear:

Mom to missperfectpants and mrhandsomeboy

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I gave up my identity when I became a mother. I stay at home because I am a white middle-class mom who can afford to do so, but I am going to call it a ‘choice’. I receive validation only through what my kids achieve. Also, I am better parent than you.

What I hear:

Ignoring the haters.

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I am oblivious to everyone but me.

What I hear:

No matter what anyone says we’re going to make it! I love you [insert current husband here].

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

We will be divorced within a year.

What I hear:

Photographer

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

I got a DSLR for Christmas and now I think that certifies me as someone who should be charging for photos.

What I hear:

Professional Blogger

What it actually means (according to the Amy Translator):

Stay at home mom.

That’s all I could think of for now, but if you have any more phrases that you think sound like maybe they could really be code for something else, don’t hesitate to let me know in the comments.

Yes, but the burning question. WHERE WAS I?

Good question.

Answer: GOING FUCKING CRAZY

That is no lie. I know what you you’re thinking – I am already crazy, so how did I add more to it? Talent, folks, talent.

Actually, it creeped upon me in a very unusual way. In an email. In a lot of emails. Suddenly, I couldn’t answer emails. I was so scared of getting behind in something that I couldn’t answer one email for fear of forgetting another. And then deadlines were passing, projects were crumbling, and I was in the deer in the headlights. Of course, I handled it in my normal calm way, but looking in the mirror and shouting at myself: WHO DOES THIS SHIT?

Me is the answer. Yes, I was beset by the anxiety plague. Let me tell you that shit blows. Hard.

In addition, I had quietly came upon the second year of this blog and it was time for a little introspection. Did I want to continue? Is it worth the effort? Well, here I am. Not because I actually answered those questions but because I did not want to leave you grieving.

I’m here for you.

Except when I’m not.

But today? Today I totally am, and for the first time in about eight weeks I was able to answer some email. TAKE THAT GMAIL!

I’m BACK baby!

She also made a great button, please feel free to grab and post it! And then join on us on twitter for #sixthings at 8pm (EST) and tell us what makes you interesting.

A woman looks back at the past twenty men she’s had relationships with in her life and wonders if one of them might be her one true love.

Got that? A woman who realizes she has had twenty relationships/lovers/boyfriends reads (in some magazine) that she has had too many relationships/lovers/boyfriends to find true love. She sets off to find all of her old boyfriends, convinced that she has missed the love of her life. I am not even going to touch the premise of the move, so insulting is it. Go ahead and fume at home. I have other things to talk about.

It got me thinking. What is in that number? You may not know this, but I know my number. I’m going to tell you what it is in a moment. First, what does this number mean to you? Don’t fool yourself into thinking you are not judged on it. According to a recent poll:

Cosmopolitan and AskMen.com recently surveyed thousands of women and asked them what they considered to be a woman’s “slut number”: 37 percent said it was 20 sexual partners, 35 percent said it was 10, and 16 percent said it was 50. Just 9 percent of respondents said a woman can never be a slut.

What is wrong with this? First, the terminology. “Slut number”? Really? I have never seen an episode of Sex and the City, but I know the archetypes of the women portrayed, and I’d rather be a Samantha than a Carrie any day. ANY DAY. Do you know how grateful I am for my number? Each person who makes up that number has been a learning experience. I know what works for me and what doesn’t, what turns me on and what turns me off. I know how to vocalize all those things to my partner. I also know what men like even when they don’t know how to vocalize it.

But many of those sexual encounters were easily forgotten, and for that I am little wistful. Too much time with a sexually incompatible partners led to boredom, and a jaded view of sex. All of this before I married my (now) ex at 25. (For reference, I did not start having sex until I was 18). Even my ex and I weren’t sexually compatible. That should be no surprise to anyone. I don’t care how bad things are in your marriage, if you are having hot sex things are usually going to work out. Now, again I have to stop and say this. That is not a dig at my ex, nor a comment on his sexual performance. It is only a statement that we were not sexually compatible. It led to a loss of closeness in our marriage early on and loss of intimacy near the end.

Back to my number. Ahem.

I look at my daughter. Do I want her to have the same number? The honest answer is ‘I don’t know’. Is she having sex because she is comfortable with her sexuality and her body or is she having sex to fill an empty void left by someone or something? If it the former, then go get busy. If it is the latter, then slow down and have look at what is wrong. Also, do not start having sex until you are 30. Thanks.

I reject the idea that women have a slut number. I reject the idea that I am ashamed of my number because it is high. I reject the idea that I forfeited true love by sleeping with more than a certain number of people. I reject the idea that I have found my sexual soul mate (because if that’s true, men, you need to step up your game. No joke.) and discarded him, I reject the idea that I won’t find my sexual other half. And above all I reject Anna Faris movies.

So what is my number?

40 (39 of those before I married at 25) 

Seem high to you? Well, I am taking a walk down my sexual memory lane as I write this. And I am smiling. This is all that matters to me.

Bring on number 41.

Also, you can vote everyday. woohoo!

Best Personal Blog

Best on Twitter

Best Tumblr Blog

And after you do that it will take you to…

Best Overall Blog

Me (on the phone in the middle of a military PX): Don’t forget to bury the body

Matt: No, I am going to put it in a time loop.

(Looking over my shoulder to see a Marine in dress blues looking at me strangely)

Me: I gotta go, do something with the body, just don’t leave her there.

——————————————————————————————————–

Chey: My stomach has been hurting everyday at school.

Me: OK, I will make an appointment at the doctor’s for you. I’ll call tomorrow. I need to go anyway

Chey: Why?

Me: I need to go back on birth control.

Chey: Why are you having sex?

Me: I damn sure plan to.

Chey: When?

Me: As soon as I can arrange it.

———————————————————————————————————-

Trace: Mom, look at my thin mustache. (sticks his face near mine)

Me: Yeah, cool.

——————————————————————————————————–

Me: You are taking FOREVER! Hurry up.

Matt: It’s only been five minutes.

Me: *heavy sigh* Come on!

Matt: Amy, you do know that time moves differently for you than everyone else, right?

Me: BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE MOVES SO DAMN SLOW!

————————————————————————————————

Me: Get the devil to come and get me.

Matt: He’s busy, he might be around later.

Me: What the hell? Can’t we get a good Lucifer around here?

————————————————————————————————

Me on twitter:

Note to self: When writing dramatic scenes-do NOT turn on Adele. Sobbing commences over your fictional characters. And someone gets killed off.

(that actually happened, I cried for two hours)

———————————————————————————————

Me on twitter:

And of course, tweets that even vaguely mention my cleavage get retweeted instantly. I’m calling that a win for the twins

———————————————————————————————-

S: Did you just cuss out my mother?

(immediate panic sets in)

me: nope, deleted. F***. F***

S: lol

me: F***, F***, what the hell is WONG with me. I did not sleep last night. I A SO SO SO SO SORRY

S: hahaha it’s seriously okay, and also hilarious

me: no, no, no it is NOT okay. You know how it is I deal with so many self-righteous mommy bloggers, I thought it was another one of those. Oh man, did she see it??

S: even if she did I’ll just explain, my mom’s pretty chillax

me: yeah, sure…..oh god, I am so embarrassed, me and my mouth

S: she also hates Jesus people so.

me: oh lord, I am staying off twitter today, I think I am about to cry.

S: oh, lady

me: ALL THE EMOTIONS

S: hahaha seriously. it’s my mom. it would be like if you did it to me.

me: also, I am pretty sure I am PMSing, and this WHOLE dating thing. and oh god, I need to go back on Birth Control. AND I JUST SWORE AT YOUR MOM.

S: this might be one of the best days of my life.

me: I hate you, enjoying my misery - it is why I love you

S: it’s just so much funnier when it’s not you lol

me: ok, so true, that made me laugh

S: i started to write my mom and explain, but I think I am going to wait for her to call me and be like WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH THE TWITTERS

me:  if she hasn’t logged on yet, then she won’t see it b/c I DELETED IT #likeaboss

S: let’s just hope she’s not as iphone savvy as i am cause the damn thing just popped up on my screen lolz

me: ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I am going to be sick

S: dear, you are quite overreacting, GET IT TOGETHER

me: no more twitter for me today,ever, ever, ever, ever – wait, let me tweet that. FINE! I’m over it. Just let me know if she saw it or not

———————————————————————————————————————————-

Of course she saw it, and of course she was so cool with it. Still does not lessen my embarrassment.