A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All

Tag: business cards

‘Tis the season to order business cards…

I’m talking about business cards over In The Powder Room today.

Business Cards 101 by The Bearded Iris In The Powder Room

It’s a good read, and I share some links for free and discounted business cards of your own, so check it out!

If you do decide to design and order your business cards through Moo.com, where I get mine, you can help me earn some free goodies by going there through my refer-a-friend link. Thank you kindly! But no big whoop. This is not a sponsored post. I just really like their products and wanted to share.

And yes, that really is how I organize and store the hundreds of business cards I’ve amassed over the years as a blogger—one ring per conference. It works. Don’t ask me where my kids’ immunization records are right now, but when it comes to the insignificant minutia of my life, I’m an organizational ninja. Sad but true.

Okay, go read. Or at least ogle my custom-made business card holder.

Kiss kiss,


NYC, Thongs, Offensive Analogies, and Some Eye Candy

Well I’m just back from NYC and have lots to tell you about my exciting/painful/star-studded/harrowing/grope-tastic/hilarious/exhausting/potentially-life-threatening journey to BlogHer and back, but that will have to wait for later this week because I’m about as tired as the mauve-accented linoleum that still graces my circa 1993 master bathroom.

(No, we haven’t finished that sucker yet. I know. Shameful.)

So instead, I have not one but “TWO-TWO-TWO-for-the-price-of-one!” posts up at In The Powder Room this week that you are certainly going to enjoy if you are a fan of things like lady bits and/or the F-bomb. Because I know what you cheeky-monkeys like and I am a fast motherfucking learner. ‘Nuff said.

But before you go, here’s some eye candy as a parting gift:

Aren’t my business cards fabulous? Especially THERE! Day-um.

No, that’s not my spectacular rack/card holder. It belongs to one of my fun blogging sister-wives who was gracious enough to let me store some personal items all up in her boobness while I rifled through my ginormous purse for a cheeseburger. Sort of. Whatever. You know what, forget that part, just bask in the majesty of that glorious anonymous cleavage and then go read my smut In The Powder Room, m’kay?


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