The best way to describe the show is Vanilla Horror. What does Vanilla Horror mean? It means the content is accessible to all, my MiL can listen and enjoy, a non-horror reader can listen and enjoy, and horror fans can have a cozy moment of horror. Vanilla isn’t bland—vanilla is classic. Horror can heal. This podcast provides a fresh brewed experience of horror. Vanilla Horror and The NPR of Horror means that these authors can share their stories with every type of reader. That’s what makes this podcast unique, insightful, and inspiring. Add some vanilla to your life!! Join the Vanilla Horror community.
Deep Dish pizza, Chicago, Sleuthing, and writing nuggets. Grab a slice and dig in to this end of year chat with cozy author, Mindy Quigley, where mobsters are a prevalent part of childhood as a Chicagoan and in this cozy pizza series. Also: Learn the value of verbs!! https://mindyquigley.com/https://www.instagram.com/reel/DNTSelmA6ok/Support the show
So yesterday I got really lightheaded and super dizzy when I woke up. I had no idea what was happening. I just woke up feeling like this and it was super scary.
I went to the bathroom and went to get up and all I could see was the wall coming at me at an angle. It was the freakiest thing I had experienced. It was like watching a movie where the camera falls against something and then lands on the ground. Luckily I was able to grab on to the towel rack for dear life before my head ended up on the ground. So I grabbed for it, held on and slid my way down the wall and yelled for help from Babes.
Luckily I had finished my business but wasn’t able to wash my hands and she needed to help me get up. So I said grab the hand sanitizer before grabbing my hand, she said, “I’ll wash my hands after we get you off the floor.”
That is true love.
So she helped me sit up and I crawled my way out of the bathroom floor and sat against the wall. I sat like that for a hour before trying to move to another room. She walked my unsteady self to the living room and then she got me water. I thought I was extremely dehydrated so we were doing all the things to hydrate and get me feeling better. I ate a ramen, I took a shower and then we went to the store to get some more supplies. Again, thinking I needed electrolyte drinks, bananas, oranges and more soup. I came home and took a nap.
Woke up feeling like it reset all over again and hard.
It was now 4:30pm and I was afraid to go through the night like this. I called my family members and asked if they think I should go to Urgent Care. It was a consensus: yes. Get checked out and update them after we know what is wrong with me.
After a few hours at urgent care I was seen and it is official: I have Vertigo. Nothing to do but ride it out. That could be two days or seven.
Well being that this was the 3rd day in the new year, I’m like: “Hey Universe I have a lot of things to do and I this is not helping.”
So here I am riding it out with thousands of things I want to do. I’ve got big goals for 2024 but right now the Universe is telling me to slow down. I’m not a fan of this concept. Me—slow down!! What is this thing you speak of?
To put things into perspective now my goals are not to fall on my face or fall and hurt myself. I feel like an adult trapped in a toddler’s wobbly body.
I am at about 80% functional but still really woozy and somewhat sick to my stomach. But dammit I am trying and I am going to get through this.
I feel like a Vertigo Warrior battling just to stand on steady legs and hope not to fall again.
Here’s to finding strength and digging deep to get through the simple things.
Deep Dish pizza, Chicago, Sleuthing, and writing nuggets. Grab a slice and dig in to this end of year chat with cozy author, Mindy Quigley, where mobsters are a prevalent part of childhood as a Chicagoan and in this cozy pizza series. Also: Learn the value of verbs!! https://mindyquigley.com/https://www.instagram.com/reel/DNTSelmA6ok/Support the show
Deep Dish pizza, Chicago, Sleuthing, and writing nuggets. Grab a slice and dig in to this end of year chat with cozy author, Mindy Quigley, where mobsters are a prevalent part of childhood as a Chicagoan and in this cozy pizza series. Also: Learn the value of verbs!! https://mindyquigley.com/https://www.instagram.com/reel/DNTSelmA6ok/Support the show
CoffeeFitnessUnicorn was created as a healing tool/persona after becoming a widow and turning to fitness from a coffee-lovers perspective.
Everything I did when I was training was to get healthy in body and mind. I worked hard, I trained hard and I learned valuable tools and gained a great foundation for fitness. So much so that I considered becoming a Personal Trainer.
Then my life kept changing and I kept learning and growing and finding my new voice.
That voice was in my blogs, my Instagram posts and then became my podcast.
The podcast became my new tool. By connecting with others as guests, as listeners, I kept growing and healing and learning.
The show started as one thing then evolved. Like I did.
The show is still coffee-centered, of course, just with a new take on things.
Coffee Fueled Stories seemed like the right name, the right time and the right fit/feel/vibe.
I am still your Pocket DJ and I look forward to sharing the podcast with its new updates and will bring you mini-episodes (Mini-Mondays will be back) again.
Lots of good things to share and chat about. The podcast will be back up soon. I apologize for not saying how long I would be on pause while I worked on the book launch.
The launch was bumpier than planned and that is okay. Someone told me that if things went wrong, I did it right, LOL.
As for the podcast, just before the radio silence literally, I kind of lost my “why.” I was so focused on growing that I lost sight of why I actually do what I do.
To connect with people. I love coffee. I love books, and I love talking about books while drinking coffee. These things connect people. That is why I read, shared, learned, and worked so hard to make a great show. I wanted people to feel connected to the guest. Feel like they were sitting at the table, sharing the conversation. Learning something new and laughing with us.
I want people to feel informed and entertained. Part of the conversation.
Then I became hyper-focused on numbers. If people are liking the show and telling their friends, and sharing: why wasn’t I growing? Why was I only staying at the same number of downloads per episode, per month? How do I get new people to listen? How do I get people to share? How do I get people to share more, be more involved, spread the word more?
So many questions. Doing tons of research and tons of work with no growth. No increase.
So I focused on the book. Let that take up my time and energy. Focus on something that I waited 30 years for to come to fruition. That gave me joy. That made me happy. Doing something that had massive delayed-gratification. That felt good. I had accomplished something and something big.
While in that positive head space I was able to share the joy and confess: I lost my why. During an IG Live today I was comforted by listeners and supporters who validated what I have been doing and encouraged me to keep doing me, and stop listening to the experts. That is my usual unicorn way, but I thought maybe I was doing something wrong because I was not seeing any traction of all my hard work.
Thanks to the awesome Unikornos I chatted with today, my why came back. I feel good about getting behind the mic again and sharing my stories and guests.
What do a Children’s Author, a Romance Author, and a Podcaster have in common?
When they sit and drink coffee together, they write a great tale of bloody revenge.
Welcome to the first edition of Coffee and Murder with Sherry Shearhart, Melissa Roberts and me: Coffeefitnessunicorn.
It started out as a conversation over coffee: Tales from the Coffee Table then somehow took a dark, twisted turn with violence and gore. And don’t forget the coffee–that was still involved. Never forget about the coffee.
Tales From the Coffee Table is a brilliant idea/concept that Sherry and Melissa do every Thursday and they invited me to join them; I was a little nervous as I haven’t done shared writing prompts in years, and it was my first time writing with these lovely ladies. I was afraid I would be too dark and my prose would be flat compared to their flowery words. I was extremely happy and surprised that they too have a dark, twisted side and we wrote a coffee and murder story together.
Russian Bride Story:
As night became day, she started to understand the truth….
The truth that she didn’t want to accept, but the truth that she suspected all along. It was dark!
Like a black cup of coffee; but not sweet; unless you consider the sweet smell of death tasty.
The blood trickled down her fingers, and the the taste for revenge was still fluttering in her heart.
The sweet taste soon turned metallic as her first full revenge was quenched. She waited until the time was perfect. Revenge had to come at a cost. There was no guilt as she felt like her conscience was clear she deserved it.
She waited years to sink her fangs into that piece of shit.
As she bent down , she pulled a knife out and cut out his lying tongue. She walked across the billiard room and stuck it to the dart board.
This will come as no surprise. I was told that I was the weakest link. Coming from a family riddled with crime. This serves as restitution for the sins of my father.
I could smell the blood as it dripped from the dart board. Staining the paint for a life time. Serving as a reminder that my sin is guiltless. I have no guilt or shame for taking the life from someone that took so much from me. Now, sitting by my fathers grave.
As I walk away with blood dripping from my fingers. I take pride in taking the life of this man and I will never have a date again. Which is fine with me, now that I’ve found my strength I am confident to sit guiltless with my sins and enjoy a cup of coffee by myself.
The man with no tongue assumed he could order a mail order bride. I felt sick and cheapened. My brother assumed I had not worth and discarded me from the family. I was abducted from my room and sedated. I awoke in the back of a shipping container and found myself in nothing but my birthday suit.
I knew in that moment that I desired to seek revenge, revenge for the abuse for all that I endured for all of those years, the abuse for the secrets that I had to keep. Revenge was imminent and I knew that I had to do it myself.
Melissa having fun with Coffee and Murder
Rising like a Phoenix, I bit my tongue as a reminder to do what I had to do, the metallic filled my mouth. The taste of sweet revenge. Every time the anxiety came back for everything that he did to me I would bite my tongue. It was a satisfying and erotic response to coping.
I sit beside you, my father, pulling out my tumbler of steaming goodness, I inhale and release a satisfying breath. I dip the tip of the tongue and squeeze some blood onto my fingers. I toss the tongue, stepping onto it with my stiletto heel and swirl the coffee with my fingers and lick them clean.
“Oh dearest daddy, you were so wrong about me. You decided I should be discredited. I was a daughter, not a son! In your mind I was frail, I was not allowed a voice. I was only a girl. But I watched and learnt from he back seat of your car. From the other side of the door. Peering through a window of the world you tried to hide from me. You gave your legacy to my brother. He’s so stupid and believed that sending me away at 16 would be a favour and keep me out of the way. I actually blame you and him.
And since I can’t repay your kindness to you your corpse… Nicholas, oh your precious Nicholas. My brother, he is next. I bring to you a trophy of what I did to the man who bought me. His tongue lay at the base of your tombstone, like yesterdays trash. I have his money. A lot of it. It’s enough to pay for all I need. I came here to let you know I am more than alright! Its a shame you didn’t see my worth. You could have had a queen run your empire. Rot in hell, you miserable bastard.”
I’m sorry I have been away from the blog for a bit.
The podcast has been taking more time and creativity from me.
The good news is I am learning a lot about the process and how not to have meltdowns when my computer crashes, like today for example. I cried a little, not going to lie, then shook it off and found a solution the issue that was plaguing me.
A few tears and a fresh cup of coffee and all was well again in the Vitural Coffee Spot(C) world that is Coffee Fitness Unicorn: Coffee Chats podcast.
Today was the big day I announced my partnership with SkyTop Coffee Company and I wanted it to be perfect. The universe decided to smack me around a bit and I took a few hits, then I started to block and fight back.
Life gave me lemons today and got smacked in the face, then batted them away and demanded coffee.
I won and took back the day!! A few bruises but still standing.
According to an article published in 2014 the color of your coffee mug had an influence over the taste of the coffee.
The article states that because we “eat with our eyes first” the coffee in white mugs tastes better because the richness of the coffee is enhanced by the contrasting color. People who drank the exact same coffee in the black mugs claimed the coffee tasted bitter.
I chose to do a little experiment for myself this morning.
I had the exact same coffee in three different mugs, to up the ante so to speak. The coffee had the exact same yummy taste in all three mugs. It could be that I didn’t do a blind taste test, however, I mostly wanted to see if since I “eat with my eyes first” if there was any significance to the coffee looking bitter in the black mug or the two-tone mug. Nope. The coffee looked delicious in all three mugs. Also, I take my coffee with cream and sugar so it looks appealing in the black mugs as well in the white and two-tone mugs. That could enhance the “flavor” in all mugs.
For me, coffee is an experience and it’s all about the mug not the color. I have certain moods for certain mugs. I’ve learned over the years what coffee origin I like, what roast I like and what coffee maker I like so the coffee, for the most part, is very consistent and the flavor is as well.
What changes are my moods and what mug I want to use depending on mood.
Someday I think it would be cool to be in a coffee study so until then, I’ll continue to drink my yummy coffee from any color mug that fits my mood and I am sure it will not taste bitter.
This sticky note is taped on the wall at my desk to reaffirm the things I do.
Why does it feel good to be a unicorn and what does it mean to be a unicorn you ask?
For me, it means that I am happy with being unique and I embrace my weirdness and the choices I’ve made in my life.
My path was (and still is) a long and meandering one. Much like a quest or bildungsroman, my coming of age was very different from what I would call “standard.” Meaning, I went into the military after high school, then worked in corporate, then went university, then back to corporate, then retirement (which just means doing things on my terms), to now being creative and working on the things I put off for 30-plus years.
Now I do things for me—not because I have to.
I never embraced my unicorn-ness until now. I’ve always been different and I’ve been proud of that, but now I don’t let the fear hold me back like I did for the earlier part of my life.
For example: I wanted to be a radio DJ back in high school. I think I would have been good at because I love music and I believe in the power of music. My mom was not having any of it and told me I had to find a real career and get a real degree.
Well here I am 35 years later doing a podcast because I freaking can and I am having fun doing it. People have been telling me they like my voice, they like the show and they like the content. I am beyond jubilant with this feedback.
That joy was 51 years in the making and I regret nothing. I now have the confidence to put myself out there and have fun. I am powerful, creative force for good with loving intentions and a joyful spirit, trying to create a better world for myself and others.
Deep Dish pizza, Chicago, Sleuthing, and writing nuggets. Grab a slice and dig in to this end of year chat with cozy author, Mindy Quigley, where mobsters are a prevalent part of childhood as a Chicagoan and in this cozy pizza series. Also: Learn the value of verbs!! https://mindyquigley.com/https://www.instagram.com/reel/DNTSelmA6ok/Support the show
When I think about how much fear held me back and how much farther I could be now, I just have to remind myself that I needed to grow on my terms and cool my jets. It seems that my life is a constant hyper-speed of delayed gratification. I work hard and fast for a very long period of time for some sort of reward. My life is very much my tattoo: Festina Lente—to make haste slowly.
This is what a fatherless daughter times two looks like…
This is what grief looks like…
ugly cry captured the day after my mom passed away.2017, I didn’t feel like showing my grief face, this is how I felt most days.The firsts are always the hardest to get through…
In four years I lost 3 family members. Not including being estranged from my bio-dad in 2010 after grad school graduation. He up and left with his new family and never made contact with me again. That’s why my step-dad of 40 years became my “Jad” (his name was Joe so I called him “Jad”). That’s a lot of loss in a short period of time.
I learned how to handle my first loss in 2017 with the help of friends, family, a therapist and a personal trainer. I spent 5 glorious weeks in Rome learning to heal through food, coffee, culture and a long-term friendship. For once someone took care of me. I didn’t have to think, just heal. It worked. I was healing.
I went back to work ready to face new challenges and be a better person having gone through the hardest thing I had ever experienced in my life. Not to mention the trauma and PTSD from that experience. It was so bad that I couldn’t watch hospital scenes on TV. Even though my brain knew it was for drama, it was still too close to home. I spent a lot of time in the hospital; I’d log 14-16 hours in the room keeping my late wife company. I even slept with ear plugs, eye mask, face mask and gloves. It wasn’t great sleep so we all decided that I should sleep at home even if it was only for four hours.
2016 where I learned to sleep in a hospital cocoon you learn to get sleep anyway you can, 2016
My best friend would come and get me to help me recharge; we would go to Denny’s, Chili’s, or grab coffee somewhere. As a caregiver you have to learn to take care of you too. It was hard to leave, but it was important for my mental health as well even if my heart didn’t like it.
I became a widow at 47. We had an amazing 10 years together. It wasn’t all sadness and sickness. We went to Fiji, Tahiti, Hawaii, Thailand, Cambodia, Indonesia, and Hong Kong. We had a great life and I am thankful to have been there for her. Vanessa was a sensitive and beautiful person and she wanted me to mourn her, but not be lonely. She wanted me to be happy and find love again.
I thought that would never happen because who wants a widow? We’re damaged, sad, stuck in the past, or you’re competing with a ghost. These were my thoughts. I figured I’d be alone for the rest of my life, untouchable by another because the other person would think I couldn’t be in love them as much as I loved someone before. I had massive fear of rejection. Massive fear of loneliness and massive sadness.
Never knowing or realizing that I was very much wrong.
Enter Brandi. She didn’t run because I was a widow. She didn’t feel like she was competing with a ghost. She didn’t say the wrong things, in fact she said the most perfect things to me. I had no idea someone would ever love me the way she does. I had no idea that my late wife gave me tools to help me understand Brandi’s sensitive heart. And because Brandi and I went through so much trauma we are able to really help each other and work together to fix a situation or work through a problem. We both see signs that Ness approves of this relationship. I know that Ness and Brandi would have been great friends had they ever had the chance to meet.
When I told my in-laws about Brandi they were very happy for me. We met up for dinner and I told them all about how we met at her coffee shop and showed them pictures of her and us. They were thrilled that I was happy again. Mind you, I had tried to push them away after I came back from Rome. They knew what I was doing and they weren’t having any of it. We still talk and text regularly. Every few months or so just to check in, catch up on who’s doing what, our various travels and just connect. This family has been my pillar. They are understanding since we all went through the same trauma and we were all there when the crap hit the fan. They broke the mold with this family and I am so glad they stuck around and didn’t let me push them away. Love you MKamps!!
Grief is a bitch.
There is no wrong way to go through it, only the way you feel.
I woke up every day waiting to be on the other side of it. The sad, sleepless nights, the unhungry moments that lead to poor diet and unhealthy weight loss sucked, but I had to go through it my way to understand what rock bottom, for me, felt like. It felt like shit and the only thing that got me through was coffee.
I met friends for coffee, even if I couldn’t drink it, I still ordered it because I loved the smell. I loved how my favorite coffee shops felt like a warm blanket in my sad lonely world. Coffee was my solace in Rome. And coffee is what brought Brandi into my life.
Road Trippin’ in ItalyHeartsleeves Coffee
Coffee and I have had a very long and open-relationship; we’ve always been there for each other.
Grief and coffee are very much linked for me. My mom loved coffee, she introduced me to coffee (see https://atomic-temporary-59563893.wpcomstaging.com/2021/10/26/coffee-lover-not-coffee-snob/comment-page-1/#comment-241). At the hospital we would see a little coffee cart outside a patient’s room (we didn’t know that was actually something you didn’t want to see as that meant it was very bad for the patient and that was a way for the hospital to provide comfort). I had to switch to decaf when I was a very fresh widow as my emotions made me feel sick to my stomach daily for several months. Then I was able drink half-caff for a few months after that until I could handle full strength once again. Grief and coffee were battling with me. Grief felt like it was winning, but coffee never gave up.
Grief maybe a bitch, but coffee is a badass warrior who always fights for me.
Coffee Fueled Stories 