Stop Gym selfies 

I can’t stand seeing work-out selfies. The first couple times you post them—is allowed and understood. It’s awesome that you are working out and eating healthy and give a shit about your health. Like that’s cool. And good for you for making a change to better yourself and your life. I’m all about that!

But, by the 10th selfie… I’m annoyed. I don’t give a shit anymore about what your body looks like and I’m considering unfollowing you.  And by the 15th post,  I’m beginning to think you are possibly narsacistic—self centered, attention starving—and living in your own world.   Like there is only so much of your body that I care to see.  I get it.. You look good! Now, please stop fucking bragging about it and move on. 


This is my belly selfie.  I don’t work out at all and I have about a thousand stretch marks from carrying two babies. (Although, I prefer to tell people I got into a bear fight and won).  #bearfight.  

Either way if I posted pictures of my body (in shape or not)— everyday!?  You would get annoyed too.   And after the 15th post you would be thinking, “We get it– you have a bunch of scars and are self conscious– get over it.” 

So please stop the gym selfies. Otherwise I’m going to start harassing your Instagram and facebook feeds with my scars and blinding white skin. 

~ g

My G spot

If you’ve found my blog by accident you’re most likely disappointed, but Welcome anyways.  If not, Hey there.  My name is Georgia.  And this is my spot.  I’m a starving-hippie-wannabe, lawyer’s wife, and mother to two girls living in the suburbs of Ohio.  Yes, that was a mouthful and you may be bursting with excitement, but stay calm.  It’s only the beginning.

I figured with my first post I would ease you in to my spot.  So, first, let’s clear the air.  The Spot of G is about me, my life, and my thoughts.  When I refer to “My G spot,” or “The G spot,” I’m referring to something being pure genius, a golden nugget, or holy-amaze-balls delicious.  Not that fun spot located inside my vagina.   And, No, I’m not going to refer to a Vagina as a “wee-wee,” or a “woo-woo.”

Most likely you’re bored scrolling through your phone or at work watching the clock, and that’s why you’re reading this.  It’s rough out there. I get it–you need to stay sane.  So, I promise to you give you all of me and my spottiness. That is, the truth without my pretty filter and with my rich outhouse vocabulary.  Those of you that know me–like this part of me best anyways.

Okay, my infant just shit herself and my toddler is naked. I gotta go.