Thinking I'm Wonder Woman

My family staged a small pintervention for me last week. It seems as though they like to eat dinner every night and wear clean clothes to school or work and somehow pinterest interferes with this practice. They patiently explained how my perusal of nifty stuff on pinterest was robbing me of quality time with them. Quality time meaning good food and clean clothing, of course.

It was a rough start, but I made the effort. Hardly any pinning was done. My time was limited to about an hour every day. I was doing so well. I was doing so well. Then I received an email from the good folks at pinterest.com alerting me to some boards I might enjoy.

Enjoy them I did! Look what I pinned today:

That's right. It's a Wonder Woman themed Kitchen Aid stand mixer. Two things about this mixer speak to me.

One: I already have a plain white Kitchen Aid stand mixer. I love her. With almost un-holy like feeling I love this mixer. I use her several times a week and most of the time, she has stuff in her big silver bowl to mix, whip, or knead. The other times, well, I just like to watch the attachments spin around.

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Five Minutes Of Peace

Christmas is over for this year. I wasn't going to post anything about the actual holiday because ours (like I'm sure everyone's) was very fun and very busy. It was the busy-ness of the season that caused me to really appreciate this photograph that I snapped:

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The Difference Between My Husband and Myself: Christmas Edition

I was … ahem … not peeking, but rearranging … presents under the tree yesterday when I noticed a strange Christmas phenomenon.

In our house, my husband is the gift wrapper. I am not. I do not have the skills, patience, or wherewithal to successfully wrap more than one gift per month. On the other hand, my husband is an engineer and he lives for precision type projects. It oozes into almost everything he does.

Like wrapping Christmas gifts.

Just look. You can totally tell that my husband wrapped this gift:

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I Think My Husband Broke Up With Siri

It finally happened. After weeks of watching their love affair progress, my husband and his iPhone personal assistant, Siri, have called it quits.

I never saw it coming.

I know, I know. We all thought it was a love for the ages. We thought it was going to last forever, baby. Just like a chick flick starring Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey.

Siri + My Husband = TLF.

What could possibly have broken up this uber couple? Siri turned on my husband, that's what. She treated him like she's been treating me all these months. Which is to say not very nice.

Just look at these text messages sent from my husband (on the left, using Siri and her voice recognition superpowers) to me (on the right using regular people powers) on Tuesday evening:

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A Very Special Christmas Edition of My Nerdiness

There are just a handful of days left before Christmas. I'm not saying that to freak you out, I'm merely thinking out loud (as I so often do on this blog). I need to make sure that I'm on track for Christmas 2011 and to do that, I must break out my most favorite guilty pleasure Christmas song: George Michael's 'Last Christmas'. Mmm … get the fondue pot because that song is chock full of cheesy 80s goodness.

Oh, and I need to crack open my Christmas spreadsheet and make sure I've accounted for all my purchases.

Christmas spreadsheet? Yep. A Christmas spreadsheet. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a nerd. A big, organized, on budget, on time holiday nerd. With a small dash of geek thrown in, you know, for fun.

As both an avid participant in Black Thursday/Friday, Small Business Saturday, Cyber Monday and an anal retentive, compulsively organized gal, I feel the need to keep my shopping lists, purchases, and budget neatly arranged and at my fingertips. Enter Excel, my most favorite of all the Office applications.

Seriously. I have a favorite. And it's Excel.

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I Need a Pintervention

My intense love for pinterest.com grows with each passing moment. Oh pinterest - how I love you so! My adoration for you has completely eclipsed everything else in my world. Seriously. I hardly even watch 'Real Housewives' anymore.

To be fair, I haven't just been looking at all the cool and amazing stuff on pinterest. I've been making several projects.

Behold. My Santa hat brownies:

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Nothing Wakes Up The Nutcracker Like A Little Wild Turkey

My New Year's Resolution this year was to become a more culturally diverse person. So far, I've been to an art museum, attended a concert, and visited a sculpture garden. 2011 is winding down and I thought that my cultural opportunities were pretty much done for this year.

Enter The Nutcracker. I've never been to the ballet and I've never seen The Nutcracker … well, I've seen Barbie in The Nutcracker (her first movie), but that doesn't really count. Last night I had the opportunity to see the New York City Ballet dance The Nutcracker. And it was amazing.

Through the magic of a live feed, I was able to sit in my local movie theater, munch on popcorn, and watch the dancers on stage (almost eight hundred miles away) in New York City's Lincoln Center.

Logistically, I didn't think I'd be able to see this show. Lots of activities make up our Tuesday nights, so trying to add in one more thing while juggling the rest was challenging. I thought I had the logistics all figured out until I realized that there was no time for my husband and I to eat dinner before the start of the show.

Me: Well, I think I've figured everything out. Except for a few minutes for us to eat dinner.
Husband: No problem, we can just grab McDonald's on the way and eat it in the car.
Me: … you do see the irony in that statement, right? Eating McDonald's in the car while on the way to see the ballet … clash of cultures, my friend. Worlds are colliding.

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The LSD Sweater

Initials are very popular and have been for a few years. Now that I'm thinking about it, they were even popular when I was a kid. I remember when I was about thirteen (my most physically attractive stage … not) monogrammed sweaters were all kinds of popular. All the cool kids had one.

The sweaters themselves were pretty plain, most of them being simply a solid color. But the monogram itself could be anything from plain to just darn swanky. It was all in the font of the letters.

Having cool initials helped make your sweater extra fab. My initials at the time, JJW, weren't exactly blah nor were they very exciting. My sister had more exciting initials, LAW, because they spelled a word. I would have loved for my initials to spell a word. Unless that word was ASS, like a boy in my school (true story).

However, on a monogrammed sweater your initials aren't in order, so my LAW sister (on a sweater) became LWA, with the W in the middle with a bigger and slightly fancier than the L and the A.

*side note: Sadly, ASS boy would have still been ASS on a sweater.

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And Now … Something From the Home Decor Section of Goodwill

It happened again this week. I had some time to kill in town and I was by a Goodwill. And a Target. My bank account prefers I kill time at Goodwill, where I'm more likely to whip out my phone and snap a few photos of the odd stuff for sale than I am likely to whip out my wallet and buy something. If I kill time at Target, I find at least fifty dollars worth of treasures that I did not know I needed until I spied them on the shelf. 

It's a total mind game. And I am just not equipped to win it.

I found this broken scale at Goodwill.

How do I know it's broken? I stood on it to weigh myself. There is no way on this Earth that I weigh that much. So what if I eat butter at every meal? That factoid is completely irrelevant to this conversation. The scale went immediately back on the shelf where I'm sure it sat in shame for giving me an incorrect weight.

Aside from the obviously broken scale, my trip to Goodwill was looking unfruitful in the humorous donations department.

Until I saw this in the Home Decor aisle:

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Thankful For And Freaking Out About Butter

During the month of November, several of my Facebook friends posted one thing they were thankful for as their status everyday. This led me to thinking about what I'm thankful for, but I didn't want to post it daily on Facebook.

I thought about writing several blog posts listing the things in my life that I am thankful for having. But I nixed that idea because I never know where to draw the line between heartfelt sentiment and schmaltz. Also, by the time I decided to do a daily blog post, November had come and gone. And most of my 'thankfuls' are obvious anyway: family, friends, and butter.

Butter?

Yeah. Butter.

Okay. Maybe butter isn't an obvious choice, but I'm very thankful for butter and I have a little bit every day. I probably have more than a little bit every day. I have butter at nearly every meal.

I can't help it. It's delicious.

Once I realized that I eat butter at every meal, I kinda freaked out. You're shocked that I freaked out about something, aren't you? Yeah. It's pretty shocking news.

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Why, Pinterest, Why? Why You No Like Me?

Have you all heard of the website pinterest? Yes, you probably have because you all are way cooler than me. I came late the the pinterest party. Obviously.

For those of you who live under a rock bigger than the one I reside under, let me school you on the wonderfulness that is pinterest.com. Simply put, it's heaven in a website.

You can find things that you like on the web and 'pin' them to a virtual bulletin board on pinterest.com. And you can have more than one bulletin board. Oh hons. This. Is. Thrilling! Virtual bulletin boards - oh my! I can quit copying and pasting pictures of all the quirky little weird stuff that I find online and absolutely love to iPhoto and instead, pin it to a virtual bulletin board.

The catch is that you have to ask pinterest to be invited to join their website. Inviting myself anywhere flies in the face of the manners my mother tried so hard to instill in me. But, pinterest is wonderfully amazing and awesome, so good manners are flying out the window. Sorry, Mom.

I asked to be invited to the pinterest party.

Last Tuesday.

Seven days ago. I asked. To join pinterest.

And I've not heard back from them.

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My Thoughts on The Jerk

I'm in some kind of weird movie watching zone. It could be because I'm a total suck up and I want to finish my movie list earlier than my December 2012 deadline. I'm a classic overachiever. Or it (more likely) could be because it has been cold and rainy at my house the last few weeks and cold weather doesn't inspire me to do much other than grab a blanket, a snack, and a seat on the couch.

For my viewing pleasure, The Jerk with Steve Martin.

Honestly I've never seen The Jerk, but I felt that I had seen it because I've heard the jokes for years.

Example 1: My husband used to grab the new phone book upon it's delivery and immediately look himself up. This earned him the nickname 'Navin' from a few of our friends. Now I know why.

Example 2: One of these same friends, Caucasian McWhiteboy, would always respond 'I was born a poor black child …' when asked to tell a little something about himself. Now I know why.

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2011 Christmas Parade

I love a parade. It's true. Especially my local Christmas parade. You may remember last year's parade in which a guy dressed as a pint o' Guinness fell off a float and rolled into the cameraman for the local news.

Good times.

This year marked a change in the local Christmas parade. The safety of the parade marchers was put above everything else, meaning the pint o' Guinness wasn't on the float rocking out to the live band. Instead, he was firmly tethered to the bed of the pick up truck by a thick strap. It was safer, but it severely limited his killer dances moves to the Cheese Weasels' live music.

Gotta be honest with you. Safer = less fun for me.

In what I'm taking to be a sure sign that the economy is improving, the candy thrown out to spectators this year was top notch. We're talking full sized candy canes, gum and Tootsie Rolls. Tootsie Rolls are my favorite. Sure they look like little turds, but mmm mmm. They are deelish.

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Good Thing I'm a Cheap Date (Or KFC: Home of the $600 Buffet)

I am, admittedly, a cheap date. A little carryout pizza, a one dollar movie rental, bottle of wine with a screw on cap, and I'm set. My tastes run more funky and cheap than elegant and expensive. It's okay. I'm fine with it. I've embraced this quality about myself.

One place that I never thought would be too expensive for me to dine is my local Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Specifically the Monday night buffet.

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The Highlight of My Day

Yesterday we had a freak snowstorm at my house. Okay. Maybe freak is too strong of a word. It was more of a sudden snowstorm. Okay. Maybe sudden is too strong of a word. It was more of a surprise. A surprise snowstorm.

It went from pouring rain to big white fat snowflakes in the span of a few minutes. And it snowed heavily for a few hours, wrecking havoc on my afternoon and evening plans. Surprise!

I should point out that it surprised only me. Apparently other people watch the local news and actually pay attention to the weather forecast. I must say, a local weather forecast is the one thing my news channel of choice, E!, lacks. Perhaps the good folks at E! could allow ninety seconds for a local weather update so uninformed dorks like me don't get caught in surprise five inch snowstorms.

It wasn't the five inches of snow that bothered me much. I'm accustomed to that. It was the fact that the rain turned to snow and put a nice, even layer of slick onto the roads. I do not enjoy a nice, even layer of slick on my roads. My kid's bus even slid into a ditch. She was pretty jazzed about the whole experience when she got home because sliding into a ditch was the highlight of her day.

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My Thoughts on Office Space

I checked another movie off of my Must See list: 1999's Office Space.

I. Loved. It. Finally! A movie that delighted, not disturbed, me. Hear that Nicole Kidman and your incredibly disturbing other-worldly beauty?

Right away Office Space cracked me up. The door locking scene in the opening credits? Hilarious. Discussing flair? Hilarious. The Geto Boys 'Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gansta' and describing Michael Bolton as a 'no talent ass clown'? High. Larry. Us.

* side note: Impolite as it may be, no talent ass clown might be my new go-to phrase. 

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Black Thursday/Friday

Black Friday 2011. It was good ... I think. I'm still kinda jet lagged over the whole experience because T, Banana and myself started shopping at 10 Thursday night and didn't stop until 7 Friday morning.

In our matching 'I've been naughty' herpes shirts of course.

This year marked a departure for the three of us. We've never worn matching tshirts before, with or without herpes letters. And we've never stayed out all night. Usually we meet at my house around 3 Friday morning. There is something to be said for catching a few hours of sleep. And I liked our up early shopping schedule because it included breakfast at 5:00 at McDonalds, double steak burgers with cheese and fries at 8:30 at Steak N Shake, and an emergency donut at Meijer around noon. Those traditions are hard to beat, man, but we gave it a whirl. Here is the breakdown of our shopping experience.

First stop: Toys R Us. 10:00-midnight.

It was almost our last stop because the line took For Ever. About an hour and half. To amuse ourselves, we started playing a game called 'Who Is Hotter'. The rules are simple: name two celebrities and pick which one you'd rather take home with you. Yes, I know it's immature but it kept Tata from freebasing Midol if the line didn't start moving a little quicker, which she loudly threatened to do on three separate occasions. In the immortal words of Han Solo, it isn't wise to upset a Wookiee.

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Black Friday

Today is Black Friday. It is one of my most favorite days of the year, not because I get all of my Christmas shopping done in one massive shopping trip (I don't), but because I get to hang with Tata and Banana.

Life is always good when I get to hang with my girls.

I have been up and functioning for over twenty-four hours so I'm only going to post a little snippet from my Black Friday experience right now. Buckle up. It's a doozie.

In addition to T putting Tom Petty on the Seven Different Ways of Sexy List, she also puts Bill Clinton on there.

That's right.

Former President Bill Clinton.

Husband to Hilary.

Dad to Chelsea.

Bill Clinton.

Sexy.

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You Can Find Anything At Goodwill … I Have Proof

After Sunday's stint at Old Navy's sweaterpalooza, I decided to weed through my sweater drawer.

Side note: Sweaterpalooza is my term. I'm coining it now so Old Navy will have to pay me big bucks next year to use sweaterpalooza or face swift justice from me and my lawyer. 

Note to self: get a swift justice type of copyright lawyer.

My criteria for weeding through my sweater drawer was incredibly simple and effective. Look for ill-fitting/heinous/itchy/was-I-high-when-I-bought-this? sweaters to donate to Goodwill. Assuming the shoppers of Goodwill have higher tolerances for ill-fitting/heinous/itchy/was-I-high-when-I-bought-this? sweaters than I do.

Fortunately for me, there are three Goodwill stores located in my town. Fortunately for you, I had time to go inside and browse after donating three big bags of sweaters. I don't know when the last time you browsed around a Goodwill, but I encourage you to do so. There is some seriously good shit in there.

However, more often than not you have to wade through serious shit to get too the seriously good stuff so be prepared.

I give you Exhibit A: The Snoring Santa I received one year for Christmas. Seriously. It was a gift. 

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75% Off Sweaters? Yes Please!

Sunday was one of the most wonderful days of the year! It was Old Navy's 75% all sweaters for adults sale!

Being a fiscally virtuous person is sometimes a difficult thing to do. I received the numerous emails last week from Old Navy announcing the sale. I ignored each and every email with the resolve to not attend the massive sale. I knew I'd buy sweaters that I really didn't need.

Then I received a phone call from Tata. She wanted me to attend the sale with her. Sure, I wanted to go, but I also knew that if I went I would have to buy a sweater. It's just the socially responsible thing to do. It's a matter of etiquette really, not fiscal irresponsibility. Attend a sale, buy something. So still being a fiscally virtuous person, I declined the offer to shop with her.

Instead of shopping I opted to rearrange the furniture in the master bedroom with my husband, followed by a quick jaunt to Goodwill, and McDonald's for a one dollar Diet Coke. While sitting in the unloading zone at Goodwill, I received a text from Tata saying there were tons of sweaters left and to 'get my happy ass out here'.

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I'm Spiffy and Handsome Today

 Hey! Look at me! I've got my coat on. Aren't I spiffy and handsome?

Why, yes. Yes I am spiffy and handsome. Just look at me.

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Glitter Is the Herpes of the Craft World

Sunday afternoon I texted Tata a West Side Story question. She responded with a phone call that led us to meet at Home Depot to look at paint colors. I'm doing the master bedroom next and I think we all can agree that I need help picking out a color. Help that doesn't involve Curtis.

We left Home Depot and somehow ended up at Old Navy because somehow we always end up at Old Navy. At Old Navy, I spotted a gray long sleeved T-shirt that had 'I've been naughty' printed on it in red glitter. It was fabulous and totally Tata. As a matter of fact, I said 'Wow! This shirt is totally you!' and she agreed.

Sitting next to the 'I've been naughty' shirts were navy blue long sleeved T-shirts that had 'I've been nice' printed on them in green glitter. In other words, totally me.

Me: You should get 'I've been naughty' and I'll get 'I've been nice' and we will run the risk of looking like total dorks by wearing them on Black Friday.

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Meet Banana

A few weeks ago, I introduced you to one of my nearest and dearest friends, Tata. There is another friend that I now want you to meet. We call her Banana.*

*not her real name. No really. It's just a nickname.

Tata and I have known Banana since Kindergarten, 1978.

Here's a little known fact: Banana looks exactly the same as she did in 1978. Only taller. True story. It's her most irritating quality. Well, that and she talks during movies. God help you if the movie you are watching with her is based on a book that she's read, especially a Nicholas Sparks novel. You will learn every minute detail of what is different between the movie and the book.

Whenever the three of us go to a movie together, an argument starts in the car between Tata and myself over who has to sit by Banana and hear how the movie differs from the book. However, I've discovered over the years that sitting by Banana in a movie can actually be a good thing. She doesn't really like popcorn, but always forgets that fact and buys a bag at the concession stand. She eats about two handfuls and passes it over to whoever is sitting next to her and says, 'Hey you want to finish this for me? I forgot that I really don't like popcorn all that much.'

Need me to finish your popcorn? I'm there for you, babe! Hand it over. I love popcorn and use it as my favorite way to get butter and salt into my body. Extra movie theater popcorn helps to offset the whole talking during a movie thing.
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My Thoughts on Moulin Rouge … and The Clapper

Not only did I knock out painting my craft room this weekend, I also squeezed in viewing a movie on my Must See list.

Why yes, I am part superhero.

No, not really.

I don't think you reach superhero status simply because you painted a small room and watched 'Moulin Rouge' over the course of two days. If this were true, then the world would be lousy with superheroes because the bar would be set so low.

* side note: If I were to get a superpower, I would totally dig having telekinesis. Just imagine having the power to move objects using only your mind! Awe-some! You could get into bed at night and turn off the lights using just your mind. I would seriously love that.


* side note #2: Yes, I realize the same light turning off ability can be achieved with the purchase of The Clapper at any drugstore for around twenty bucks, but I still think telekinesis is, like, way cool.

Hmm … where do I start with this movie? Moulin Rouge wasn't disturbing like another movie on my list (I'm talking to you, Fight Club), but I wasn't really looking forward to seeing it because, well, it's a musical. As in singing. And dancing. As in random singing and dancing. Sigh. This is so not me. With the exception of 'Grease', of course. That's about the only movie with random singing and dancing in it that I like.

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You May Applaud Me Now ...

... for I have officially made my craft room paint choice.

That's right, I kicked indecision in the hooha. I brought it to it's knees. It only took me twenty-one paint chips, three days, five trips to the paint store, hours of agonizing indecision, sixty-eight text messages to friends, and one Curtis to select my color.

* side note: I loved the suggestions in the comment section a couple of days ago about how to select a color. You guys crack me up.

In the end, I've decided to channel my husband and be all scientific about it. He had already formed his opinion by using my two nemesis: logic and reason. He went through some type of analytical process that allowed him to choose one color from the many taped to the wall. Very efficiently, I might add. He'd made his choice in about fifteen minutes and then went out to the garden to check on the pumpkin crop. Meanwhile, I'm still stuck in the room going 'Hmm … I don't know. I really love them all' for three hours.

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Methinks Fall Is Here

Sigh. I'm not ready for the fall season. Not. At. All.

I do really love all the colors of autumn. 

I especially like the way this pear tree in my front yard looks. She's a very festive tree, isn't she?
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Indecisive People Shouldn't Go to the Paint Store Alone

After seven years of being shoved in the basement, my craft room and I have finally made the move upstairs. Out of the dreary, poured concrete walls of the unfinished basement and into the eternal sunshine of the main floor of the house.

Where there is a bathroom. This is key.

I quote the great singer Irene Cara, circa 1983, when I say 'What a feeling'. The only difference being that she sang it about 'Flashdance' and I'm applying it to a craft room.

With the move upstairs, comes the understanding that my craft room must groove with the rest of the house. It cannot jeopardize the otherwise cleanliness and/or neatness of the main living areas. All funky stuff must be contained in said craft room, rarely (if ever) can any funk creep outside of the door.

Translated: My hodgepodge mix of storage containers, including but not limited to: old baby wipe containers, shoe boxes, an empty paint can, and assorted ziploc baggies absolutely, positively can not make the journey upstairs. The upstairs is striving to be classy and snooty. Obviously old Huggies baby wipe containers with cracked lids scream something other than polished and sophisticated. Oh, and my choice of paint colors cannot be ridiculous and give visitors to the living room (which is visible from my craft room) a headache.

No problemo, si? No, not si.
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I Finally Saw 'Fight Club'. I Will Never Be the Same.

This weekend I tackled some of my movie homework. I've been avoiding it because some of the movies are either scary or disturbing and I so don't like to be scared. Or disturbed.

Saturday was a bright, sunny day and I figured it would be the perfect day to watch (in my opinion) the scariest movie on my list, 'Silence of the Lambs'. Sadly, both copies were rented at the video store, so I went with another movie on the list, 'Fight Club'.

*side note: When ponying up the dollar to rent 'Fight Club' the clerk informed me that I had incurred a four dollar fee for the late return of 'Titanic 2'. Well, that's a head scratcher. I'd never rented 'Titanic 2' for a variety of reasons, namely I didn't like the first Titanic and seriously, 'Titanic 2'? How can you possibly make a sequel to that movie? The boat sank, people. The. Boat. Sank. End of story. No sequel. And, after me confronting the clerk about it, no late fee. :)

Instinctively I know this movie will disturb me. I tried to get out of it by texting the perpetrator of the list.

She's being a stickler.

As I'm sure all of you know, the first rule of Fight Club is that you don't talk about Fight Club. The second rule is that you don't talk about Fight Club.

Since I'm a rule follower by nature, this effectively ends my blog post.

Sorry.

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Should Have Just Gotten on the Treadmill

Yesterday I found myself absolutely, positively not wanting to run on my treadmill. Neither the lure of truly cheesy TV nor the siren song of truly cheesy 80s music were enough to get me down to the basement and on the treadmill.

Don't even think of suggesting that I run outside. Even though the corn has been harvested, running outside still frightens me. I'm a total weenie-tot. A total weenie-tot on her way to becoming a very jiggly weenie-tot if some form of exercising didn't happen.

Enter Zumba for the Wii on sale at Target this week. Sure, I have no rhythm and can't dance. What's your point? It's destiny, kids. Destiny. 

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The City Museum

Remember waaaaaay back to January when I made the New Year's resolution to be a more culturally diverse person? I made it a point this year to do more culturally sophisticated stuff like go to museums and attend concerts. I saw our mini vacation to St. Louis no differently and we headed to a museum.

The City Museum.

This is a museum like no other. I've been processing the whole experience for the last few days because it just blew my mind. I walked around for five hours completely overwhelmed by one man's (Bob Cassilly) vision and creativity.

An accurate description of this place would be Dr. Seuss gets stuff destined for an industrial landfill and creates a real life Chutes and Ladders game.

Amazingly crazy stuff, man. Cr. A. Zy.

Who looks at a school bus and wonders what it would look like dangling off the edge of a ten story building?
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What Is Most Appalling About Me

My kids had a long weekend off from school, so we packed up the Honda and headed to St. Louis to visit family. And see the big Arch. I'm a such a sucker for a really big arch.

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Halloween Sky

The sky looked spooky this morning. I like it. It's perfect for Halloween morning.

Happy Halloween! Pin It Now!

My New Assistant Hates Me. With A Passion.

It's been two weeks since my new iPhone arrived via UPS. For the most part, I adore this new phone. All that advanced technology crammed into one spiffy looking package just makes my heart sing. I tell you, she's amazing.

I love the voice recognition software that's built into the texter, meaning I can chat away and my phone will convert whatever I say into a typed format and text it to which ever of my friends is currently the luckiest duck. Of course, voice recognition software is what gave one of my friend herpes this summer, so I do have to be careful. Potential STD aside, I love the voice recognition stuff.

Each iPhone comes with a personal assistant (fancy that!). Her name is Siri. My husband made an instant connection with his assistant that I thought only occurred in romance novels. He thinks she's amazing and she cannot help him call someone or find someone on his contact list fast enough. They all but ogle each other with big doe eyes.

In short: he hearts her.

He asks her questions about the weather and she tells him the five day forecast. He asks me for a weather update and I glance out the window and say 'Dude. It's dark out there and I can't tell what the weather is if it's dark outside.'

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More Weird and Tacky Photo Edits

I couldn't help myself. I messed around with some photo editing software again.

But look: I'm Batgirl. I can do anything.

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I Had Lunch With Tata Today ...

… and all was well until I hit road construction traffic on my way home.

I'm fine with road construction. Usually.

I'm fine with waiting my turn in line while traffic in the opposite direction moves. Usually.

I'm fine with just sittin' back, relaxin', singing' along with Thriller on the radio. Usually.

But today, after twenty-four minutes, my Honda and I had moved a grand total of thirty feet. Twenty-four minutes, people.  Twenty. Four. Minutes. To move thirty feet. That's an entire episode on Diff'rent Strokes for crying out loud. Minus commercials of course.

The worst part wasn't sitting in traffic or the jerky people behind me honking their horns. No. It was the fact that whilst at lunch with Tata I drank a thirty-two ounce iced tea. Then refilled my cup. Then refilled it for a third time.

The average human bladder is designed to hold about seventeen to eighteen ounces. See where this is going?

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The Odd Fellows

The 'Odd Fellows' cemetery. What, pray tell, does this mean?

Do you have to be odd to get in? In that case the city planners had better pony up to buy more acreage because hello? Look around. We're all odd.

Is it only for fellows? Like a gentlemen's club of final resting places? Where do the odd ladies rest eternally? I looked around the neighboring blocks and never found the 'Odd Ladies' or the 'Married to an Odd Fellow' cemeteries.
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The Bacon Pancake Cupcake

Last week my friend, Tata, called me. You remember Tata, right? She discovered a bakery in town with the most amazing new flavor of cupcakes: the Bacon Pancake Cupcake.

*insert the sounds of angels singing

That's right. I said the Bacon Pancake Cupcake. You had me at bacon. Only part of the pig I enjoy. Obviously, a small road trip to the other side of town was now in order.

Here is the Bacon Pancake in it's natural habitat in the bakery's display case. Notice the heavenly light shining down upon the cupcakes. Some people might argue that it's the light from the display case, but those people are wrong. 

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Photo Edits That Amuse Me

It is cold at my house. Rainy, too. Cold and rainy are not a motivating combo for me. Cold and rainy weather makes me want to sit on my couch, wrapped in my snowman print, down filled blanket and watch informative science shows on the international space station. Mainly, reruns of The Big Bang Theory on TBS.

So far, I've successfully resisted the urge to get bundled up on my couch and learn via Howard Wolowitz how to fix a toilet in space. My motivation to be productive is still at large somewhere; however, I've found something particularly awesome that I'd like to share with you.

It's a photo editing website that let's you do pretty sweet stuff to photos like add filters, text, or just about anything.

Oh yes, I have examples.

Before we get started, remember this photo of me?

Now, let's play.

Same photo, but I added glasses. Don't you think they make me look smarter? Yeah, I think so, too.

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My 200th-ish Post

I hit a milestone last week - my 200th blog post! Yay! I was going to make a big deal out of it, a huge celebration really, complete with cake, a confetti cannon, and dancing men for all my followers.

But I forgot.

Boo.

I guess last week I was too excited to bring you my animal butts extravaganza post. Then I got wrapped up in finding a non-gag reflex inducing photo of myself. Next thing you know, I'm in the car snapping photos of covered bridges, learning all I need to know about arches, and capturing Carl the orb on film. And I think we all agree that my conversation with my Grandmother about her marrying Don Rickles just couldn't wait another day and had to be shared.

Wait. Where was I going with this post again? Oh yes. The celebration of my 206th blog post.
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A Phone Conversation With My Grandmother

My Grandmother called me on Saturday. Talking to her on the phone is always a trip. She wanted me to know that she read my blog post about her and that she approved of it.

Here is a snippet of our conversation.

Grandmother: I read your newspaper article about me. I didn't know you were a reporter.

Me: I'm not a reporter. I wrote a blog post about you. Anyone can have a blog.

Grandmother: Well, you missed your calling. You should have been a reporter.

Me: Nah. Reporters are restricted to facts. I like bending the facts to amuse myself.

Grandmother: That is true. You do that. I thought the article was hilarious. I laughed and cackled all the way through it. I didn't like my photo though.

Me: Thanks! Why didn't you like the photo? I think it's fabulous.

Grandmother: It is a fabulous photo. Of the zucchini. Not of me.

Me: I disagree. I think it's a great picture of you. Why don't you like it?

Grandmother: It shows a lot of wrinkles. I don't think I have that many wrinkles. Hey, I stopped by my fiancé's office on Wednesday.

Me (completely and utterly shocked): What?! You have a fiancé?! You're engaged?!

Grandmother (calmly): Yeah. Don Rickles is my fiancé. You knew that.
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99% Sure This Is a Ghost Photo

When I was around ten, I had a hot pink Huffy girls dirt bike. She was a real beaut. I put a card in the spokes to make her sound cool, too. She really walked the fine line between being quite lovely and completely bad ass.

Be jealous.

Scooby Doo pretty much ruled my world then and I used to cruise around my neighborhood on my quite lovely bad ass bike looking for mysteries to solve. Daily. I was all about looking for suspicious activity or anything that was slightly askew so I could beat the local authorities on busting whatever crime ring was hiding in my 'hood. What I wouldn't have given to have an old man shake his fist at me and say, 'I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't of been for that meddling kid.' I never got to be a meddling kid, but all of my training in being on the lookout for something out of the ordinary came in handy last night.

After reviewing my 247 covered bridge photos, I noticed something … peculiar in one photo. Being a total sucker for a good Scooby Doo-esque mystery, I decided to do a little research into this peculiaraity. Sadly, my quite lovely bad ass Huffy/Mystery Machine was sold in a garage sale twenty-five years ago, so my research was limited to Google.

But first. Notice anything … peculiar about this photo?
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Channeling Creedence Clearwater Revival

Last night I was minding my own business while driving home from my oldest daughter's swim practice. I wasn't bothering anybody, I swear. Until Adele's 'Someone Like You' came on the radio. Being a big fan of that song, I just had to spring into action and start wailing along with reckless abandon. That song is so infectious (or maybe it was my fabulous singing voice), that my child felt compelled to join in the impromptu sing-a-long. There we were: windows down, breeze in our hair, belting it out at top volume.

It was a moment.

When we pulled into our driveway, I noticed the moon. It's not everyday you are treated to a full moon.

Like the closet karaoke queen that I am, I seamlessly switched from Adele to Creedence Clearwater Revival. Gone was 'Someone Like You'. In was 'Bad Moon Rising'. I channeled John Fogerty like nobody's business.
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My Own Personal Covered Bridge Festival

The weather here in the Midwest has been unbelievably spectacular this past week. Phenomenal, really. Sunny and 80 degrees. And the leaves on the trees have started to turn colors. It's autumnal perfection, people. So perfect that yesterday, my husband and I drove around Indiana looking at covered bridges.

Wait … covered what?

Covered bridges. As in bridges with sides and roofs. Indiana is known for basketball, John Mellancamp, having an usually large number of unclaimed dead bodies, and covered bridges. It's true. Look it up.

All told, we visited nine bridges. Bridges built about 150 years ago. That, my friends, is quite impressive. Some were in better condition than others, but all were uniquely cool.

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Ugh. Finding a Decent Picture of Myself

I did it. I finally caved and put up a picture of myself as my blog's profile picture. Quite courageous, right? Raise your hand if you like looking at pictures of yourself.

*crickets chirping

Ugh. I loathe pictures of myself, but I guess I should be happy that I appear in pictures. Beware of those that don't appear in photographs, like vampires. So actually showing up on film (or digitally) is a real plus. Still, it was really hard for me to find a decent photo of myself.

I could have gone with this beauty:

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Animal Butts Do Not a Nice Photo Make

It was a gorgeous Fall weekend with lots of sunshine and temperatures in the 80s. Totally my kind of weather. Around here, the leaves on the trees are starting to change colors and the colors are really brilliant this year. I wanted to see if I could get some great pictures of the brightly colored leaves, so about 5:30 yesterday evening, I grabbed my camera and my oldest child. We set off on a walk in search of great photos.

About half a mile into our walk, we spotted a deer standing by the side of the road. He stared us down for several seconds and then darted across the lane. My reflexes are so quick, so very lightening quick, that I managed to snap a photo of the deer. 

Okay. Three quarters of the deer. The, ahem, rear three quarters of the deer.

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She's a Real Beaut, Clark.

Last night I was talking to my husband about how tired I've been lately. My fatigue has nothing to do with my physical health and everything to do with Wilford Brimley, the actor and diabetic testing supplies guy. 

I've never been one to have recurring dreams. Until this week. I've been having the same nightmare every night in which Wilford Brimley is trying to choke me. No, I'm not making this up. The choking scenario occurs every night in my dream and it's starting to really get to me. I'm sure that Wilford Brimley is a lovely person, but in this dream he turns on me. Right in front of the fireplace in his classic diabetic testing supplies commercial. One minute he's telling me how my diabetic testing supplies may be covered by Medicare and the next minute his hand shoots up to grab me in a Darth Vader death grip. It is seriously messing with my REM cycles, man. 

My husband, always the solution hunter and problem solver, told me to sleep in this morning. I really appreciated his offer, but I declined. And I'm glad I declined because look at the sunrise that I would have missed this morning:

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Three Honorable Mentions

Over the course of the past few weeks, I've been giving you a list of my Top Five Favorite John Hughes Movies … Plus Three Honorable Mentions. To recap, My Five Favorite John Hughes Movies are:

16 Candles
Breakfast Club
Vacation
Uncle Buck
Ferris Beuller's Day Off

Have no fear, there are still plenty of fabulous movies from which to choose Three Honorable Mentions. Hmm … what movies are missing from the list? What could possibly make up the Three Honorable Mentions?

Drillbit Taylor? No. Not even close.

Baby's Day Out? Um … no.

Home Alone 3? Puh-leeze.

Here are the Three Honorable Mentions - and I heart them. I really do.

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Revenge of the Hats

Remember the hats? The rockingly awesome, seemingly benign flea market hats?

Yeah, those hats.

I'm kinda regretting the purchase of these lovelies at Sunday's flea market. Although they are stunningly beautiful, there is one problem with the hats.


They shed.
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Haggling Like a Pro

The first Sunday of every month is the local flea market. Generally, I avoid the flea market. You have to haggle at flea markets and I hate to haggle. Almost as much as I hate cleaning the bathrooms.

My youngest daughter loves to haggle with people. She's pretty good at it, too. Either she's good at it or people think it's hilarious that a nine year old tries to haggle with them so she gets a good price. Whether she's a decent negotiator or merely amusing, it's a plus to have her in my corner at the flea market.

Normally my husband takes her to the flea market and they have a terrific time, but he was traveling this weekend, so I said I'd take her. I wanted to see what the big woo was. And I wanted to see my daughter in action. And I wanted to see if some fool was selling something I needed. Like a manual typewriter or a Madonna 'Crazy For You' 45.

*Side note: Found both a manual typewriter and a 'Crazy For You' 45. Both were priced at three bucks. Didn't buy either one. My crack negotiator said she could get them for a better price at the antiques store downtown. I believe her. She knows her stuff.

About halfway through the booths, I stopped to tie my shoe and looked up to find something wonderful. Amazing, really. Something I felt I needed to own. A pair of mounted animal horns.
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One Of My Nearest and Dearest

I am really blessed to have many fabulous friends in my life. Most are friends that I've made in the last five years or so, but two of my dearest, closest, if-I-die-please-assume-the-responsibility-of-going-clothes-shopping-with-my-children-because-I'm-not-sure-my-husband-can-handle-it friends are girls that I've known since Kindergarten.

As in Kindergarten, 1978.

And I believe that if you've weathered the fashion and hair trends of the 70s and 80s together you are, in fact, besties for life.

Let me introduce you to one of those friends.

I'd like you to meet Ta-ta. No, that's not her real name. Ta-ta is her nickname because it's the first couple letters of her first name. And that's the official party line.

Okay okay. The nickname really references the fact that she was the first girl in 6th grade to get boobies. Honest to God, no training bra necessary, howitzers. We were all way jealous of her.

* Side note: Ta-ta lived just down the road from a pharmaceutical plant. I think we're all relieved that she only has two, early onset, good sized boobs on her chest and not six furry ones sprouting out of her back. When you grow up downstream from a pharmaceutical manufacturer, anything is possible.


*Side note #2: My other close friend since Kindergarten, nicknamed Banana, is still way jealous of Ta-ta's, well, ta-tas.

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A Guessing Game For Your Thursday Pleasure

Guess what this is:

Is it the sun? Nope.

A nacho cheese Dorito? No. Yum, but no.

Another one of my sunset photos? Nuh-huh.

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Tree-Athletes

Every Sunday I buy the local newspaper. I buy it mainly for the sales ads and coupons, but sometimes (if I'm feeling especially interested in current events) I will peruse the wedding announcements and read my horoscope. Even more rarely than weddings and horoscopes, I actually read the news stories. To be honest, I only read the stories whenever I realize that I don't remember the last time I got my news from a source other than E! or David Letterman. It's sad, but true.

This past Sunday I was enjoying an article about the sport of tree climbing. That's right. I said the sport tree climbing. Hons, it's a professional sport. No joke. People get paid to climb trees. Once again, my high school guidance counselor failed me because I was not aware that climbing trees could be a profession. Who knows? I might have really excelled at that.

The paper said they aren't triathletes, but tree-athletes.

Get it? Tree-ahtletes? 'Cause they climb trees?

*Snort, snort. Giggle giggle.

Tree-athletes. That's funny, right?

*sound of crickets chirping

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A Raging Case of the Lazies

It is currently closing in on 6 pm and I haven't posted anything on my blog today. It's okay. I'm not dying.

I simply have a raging case of the lazies. Which I believe is better than a raging case of herpes or a raging case of the schidoozles any day of the week.

Actually, I wasn't lazy in all areas today. Quite the contrary. I was pretty productive and even made a few pounds worth of applesauce. Yep. I was productive. Until it came to writing a blog post. Then I sat and stared at the blinking little cursor on my computer screen for about twenty minutes. This happened several times over the course of the day.

No nuggets of wisdom came to mind. No funny stories. No interesting photographs to share. Not even a list of my random thoughts. For the first time since probably second grade, I had no random thoughts.

My brain. She be shut off.

Sitting, staring at a blinking cursor and not really doing anything led to a bout of lazyitis. Lazitis? Lazy-itis?

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Last Night Was Impressive

Last night was impressive. I had a fish taco for dinner. I love fish tacos.

With a side of queso. I love queso.

Then it was a quick shopping trip to Target. I love Target.

What could be better than an evening of fish tacos, queso and Target?

A double rainbow.

I was excited to see a double rainbow, but not as excited as YouTube's Double Rainbow guy. No one is as excited as that guy to see a double rainbow.
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Twinkle Twinkle Little … Mailbox Handle?

A few days ago, I received a post-it note on a sales flier for a local grocery store. The note was from my mailman … err, mail person (she's a lady). She wanted me to fix something that was a result of an incident that happened about five years ago. Come with me, won't you, back in time to 2006.

Picture it: Indiana in 2006. Not much is different than Indiana in 2011, but go with me here, people. This is more for effect.

Picture it: Indiana 2006. We have a quasi new home (it was two years old), complete with a bright shiny new mailbox. Oh hons, the mailbox was a real beaut! We sprang for the extra large model, the kind you could fit a whole toddler into if need be. This mailbox, in a word, was spacious. And, to the spider that quickly took up residence, it was a deluxe apartment in the sky.

This spacious mailbox is located not at the end of my driveway or hanging up by the front door like city people, but at the end of our lane out by the county road. It's about a quarter of a mile from my door to my mailbox or a half a mile round trip. I'm still trying to figure out a way to peek in the box before I leave the house to see if the mail is good enough to warrant a half mile trek out to the box and back. I feel extremely disappointed if there is only junk mail or bills in there. Junk mail is so not worth the trip.

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Jealous of Jonah Hill

By now you know me well enough to realize that my taste in things tends to lean more towards the cheesy end of the style spectrum than the sophisticated and classy end. I'm actually fine with this because, while I'm cheesy, I'm not all the way to tacky. I'm safely ninety feet from tacky. Yeah, ninety feet at least.

And yes, there is a difference between cheesy and tacky, but it mostly lies in yard ornamentation.

Example: pink plastic flamingos. They are cheesy and wonderful and I adore them so much that I have a pair of jammies with a bunch of pink plastic flamingos standing in front of silver Airstream trailers printed on them. I'm about seven different kinds of hottie wearing those.

No, not really. But I do love those jammies.

Flamingos represent the cheesy point in the style scale. Representing tacky would be the painted plywood cutout of an old lady bending over. Those, my friends, are tacky. Sorry if your yard currently has an old lady bending over cutout. I mean no offense, I'm just illustrating the difference between cheesy and tacky. And I'm guessing that if you've gone as far as to put one of those plywood cutouts in your yard, you've fully embraced your tackiness and are into flaunting it.

So, tacky and cheesy are clearly different, aren't they?
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The Long Awaited Number Five

After much self reflection, internal debate, and the questioning of random citizens in Target, I am finally ready to announce the fifth pick on my list of My Five Favorite John Hughes Movies (Plus Three Honorable Mentions).

But first, does anyone have a guess?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Give yourself five (meaningless) points if you answered Ferris Bueller's Day Off! I love them all, of course, but this movie just might be, gun to my head, I must must MUST pick just one favorite, John Hughes movie. But that's only if I must must MUST, gun to my head, pick a favorite. It's just so dang good, folks.

A brief plot summary: A high school kid takes a day off from school.

Why do I love this movie so much? Is it the snappy dialogue which is subconsciously worked into my everyday vocabulary? Yes. Is it the perfectly cast Matthew Broderick as Ferris Bueller? Yes. Is it the quirky name Ferris Bueller? Yes. When pregnant with my first child, was the boy's name I had picked out Ferris? Yes. Was the girl's name I had picked out Farrah? Yes. Was I (blessedly and rightfully) outvoted? Yes. Do I digress? Apparently. Let's get back to Ferris, shall we? Yes.
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My Fear of the Telephone

In 1985, I was a pretty happy kid. I had replaced my signature bowl haircut with a truly great perm, was in love with Prince and the Revolution, and was discovering the sheer joy that was blue eye shadow. 

And, in 1985, my house was one of the few in town that got HBO. That's right. Be jealous. In a time in which most houses out by mine had a choice of three over-the-antenna stations (four when the weather was decent and you could pull in WGN out of Chicago), I had HBO.

HBO was awesome. And I loved it.

I remember it mostly played Star Wars and for a period of several weeks (okay okay it was more like a period of several months) I thought HBO only aired Star Wars. Nothing else. Just R2D2 and C3PO. That was fine with me because I loved Star Wars and would sit for hours watching it over and over. Actually, I spent quite a bit of time puzzling over why it was even called HBO and not the Star Wars Channel since that's all HBO seemed to air. However, my honeymoon with HBO ended when they began to show other movies, which brings me to my childhood fear of the telephone. 

HBO and my older sister are directly responsible for my telephonophobia.

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Number Four

After much internal debate, I'm ready to announce number four on my list of My Five Favorite John Hughes Movies Plus Three Honorable Mentions.

I take that back. I'm not just going to announce it. What? Just throw it out there for you to devour? Nope. I'm going to make you guess it.

Go ahead. Guess. I'll wait.

*insert quasi impatient foot tapping here

Okay, I will give you some hints. See if you can guess the movie based upon my stellar hints.

Clue #1: This movie was directed by John Hughes. (One million points if you guess the movie based on this one clue)

Clue #2: It's not 16 Candles, The Breakfast Club, or Vacation. Because I've, you know, already chosen them. If you guessed one of those three, subtract one trillion points and pay closer attention for crying out loud.
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The Ol' Stink Eye

Yesterday I went out to the garden to do some weeding and general tidying up. Yeah, it's hard work, but that's what I'm into. Hard work is my thing. I'm, like, so into manual labor. I just can't get enough back breaking work to do. Back breaking work = my life.

Really.

No, not really.

To be truthful, I was out in the garden checking on the pumpkins. They are doing well and are starting to go from green to orange. Look:

As I was looking at the pumpkins, I heard some odd noises coming from the horses' pasture. Snorts and whinnying. General carrying on. It seems as though Ace was trying to get my attention.

You remember Ace, right? Ace and I have a very deep bond. His love for me is undeniably strong and he rarely hesitates to let me know how he feels about me.

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Apple Picking: It's Not For Weenies

My family has lots of Fall traditions: yelling at the TV during the Purdue football games. Getting lost in the local corn maze (this is mostly my own personal tradition because my husband has never, ever been lost one time in his entire life). My annual lecture on the fact that wearing socks with flip flops does not, in fact, make flops 'winterized'. And apple picking.

Ahh … apple picking. I do love apples. I really do. How much more autumnal can you get than apple picking? Crisp, cool weather to pull crisp, cool Granny Smiths, Courtlands or Golden Deliciouses off of a tree. Well, except the past couple of years the temperature has hovered around ninety degrees, but I'm not going to let that fact dampen my enthusiasm for traditional Fall activities.

My family loves picking apples so much that we tend to pick a lot. A lot. This year we picked the same weight as an average pre-schooler. That is to say … thirty-five pounds. Of apples. All Courtlands because the Golden Delicious weren't ripe enough yet. Thirty-five pounds of apples. Um … yeah. We really like picking apples.

This year I was so excited to go picking (nerd alert) that I jumped out of the car, rushed up to the first tree I saw, and pulled on an apple. It must not have been totally ripe yet because I had to tug on the apple, really pull on it. Like a lot. At this point a more reasonable person would have left the not-quite-ripe apple on the tree, but you have me. And (spoiler alert) I'm not all that reasonable.

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A Really Bad Day

Ever have one of those days? A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. A day in which nothing seems to go according to plan. A day in which you just can't seem to get some traction and move forward because a million little things are going wrong.

A day so bad that you can't seem to do anything right, even silly little everyday tasks.

Like parking your car.

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My Stats: An Update

Periodically I like to scroll through the Stats section of my blog, mainly to see who has been stopping by and what the devil they googled to find me.

It never fails to amuse.

There is an entire twenty piece box of information McNuggets in the Stats section, people. It tells me keywords or phrases that have been plugged into Google as well as a list of different countries that have stopped by my blog. Lots and lots of info is kept on my Stats page and periodically I like to pull those nuggets out one by one for a closer examination.

A few people googled "winner winner chicken dinner". This doesn't surprise me, as it is a popular phrase. What I find amusing is that thirty-three people did this search last month and were directed to my blog. Those poor, misguided souls. They had no idea that they were going to be treated to a story about my conversation with a dead chicken that I named Tabitha.

There was a hit on "fish spazzing before death". I find this equal parts amusing and creepy. I'm not sure what the googler was hoping to find. A video of a fish flipping around a boat and gasping for it's last breath perhaps? Man, that's gross. And it's kinda creeping me out. My massive fish spazz-fest had nothing to due with a fish flipping around a boat. It was partially due to tossing a half-dead minnow on myself. The other part was due to the fact that I was wearing Mom jeans from Target when tossing a half-dead minnow on myself.

The google keyword phrase that I find the most puzzling is "pictures of spongebob chicken noodle soup". It's true. I did post a picture of ol' Spongy and his soup back in December. But I'm not sure as to why someone else would google that topic. I've decided that people are weird. This profound statement is brought to you courtesy of the person who talks to dead chickens, goes full on freakazoid when a minnow touches her, and takes pictures of soup.
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A Less Obvious Choice

Previously, I listed 16 Candles and The Breakfast Club as two of my five favorite John Hughes movies. Today I'm announcing number three and I'm going a little less obvious. It's a big film, but not one necessarily associated with Mr. Hughes. I think it's because Molly Ringwald isn't in it.

But Anthony Michael Hall is.

And Chevy Chase. I do believe I've even posted a picture of myself next to a picture of Chevy in this movie. Not because I'm in love with him, but because we have so much in common. Like this haircut. The only difference is that my bangs were plastered to my forehead and his were swept to the side.

Have you guessed number three on my list yet? Give yourself 50 (worthless) points if you guessed Vacation!


Side note: Subtract 50 (worthless) points if you answered 'Curly Sue' or 'Beethoven'. Or 'Beethoven's 2nd'. Or 'Beethoven's 3rd'. Or any of the 'Beethoven' movies for that matter. They're really not my favorites.
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Nastiness in a Jar Reminds Me of College

Have I ever mentioned that I is a college graduate? Well I is. And I'm sure every one of my professors is throwing up a little in their mouths at the structure of those two sentences. My poor sentence structure aside, I got my BS from BSU (insert your best bs joke here - I know you have one). I was reminded of ol' Ball State whilst hanging out in my kitchen a couple of weekends ago. I walked into the kitchen and blam! Ball State all over the counter tops. 

And the kitchen table.

Pepperoncini peppers and vinegar were involved.

And canning jars. 

Ball canning jars.

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Cultural Update for September

Remember my New Year's resolution? The one that had me getting sprayed with toilet water and getting my knee rubbed by a stranger? Yeah. That one.

Remind me again why I do this to myself ... oh that's right. It's my goal to become a more culturally diverse person, dahhhhling. A person of real style and class. What better way to do that other than immersing myself in the arts and other cultural activities?

I willingly immersed myself in a cultural activity this past Saturday night. I went to a minor league baseball game. Purists might argue about the cultural significance of a ball game, but it's our national past time. I believe it's right up there with museums, music festivals, and operas.

Besides, I got to eat a weenie at my cultural event and in the cultural experiences department, weenies beat opera glasses and curators walking around sushing people hands down. It's true, people. Look it up in the Geneva Accords.

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My Second Hughes Movie

Yesterday I announced that it wasn't humanly possible to pick a favorite John Hughes movie, so I picked five. Plus three honorable mentions. That would be a grand total of eight favorites. Why eight? Because I'm decisive, that's why.

The first movie I chose to list was 16 Candles. It's a classic and totally worth the fifty cents it will cost you to rent. Promise.

Next on my list of Five Favorites is … The Breakfast Club! (insert flashing lights and some audience members yelling woohoo! here)


A brief plot summary of those of you who have never seen this movie (what? like you don't get TBS or whatever cable station that plays this movie AT LEAST twice a year?): Five (on the surface) very different high school students serve a Saturday detention together and find out that they are more similar than they thought.

This movie is excellent, from the writing to the casting, and I love everything about it. Everything. How many movies can you say that about?

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Hush Up. I Have an Important John Hughes Announcement

Ahem … tap tap tap. Is this thing on? Good. I have an announcement. After much thought, much inner conflict, and much lost sleep I have decided to bestow the honor of My Favorite John Hughes Movie to (insert drum roll here) …

Okay, okay, okay. I haven't picked a favorite and I probably never will.  It's just not possible to pick my favorite John Hughes movie. But I have narrowed it down to Five Favorite John Hughes Movies Plus Three Honorable Mentions.

I am nothing if not decisive.

The best way to handle this topic is not in one single post, but in many, many posts over time. But first there is something that has bothered me for years and I must get it off my chest. Raise your hand if you've ever thought John Hughes and Stephen King were the same person?    *raising hand*

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Calming. Soothing. Peaceful. Yep, That's me.

After scaring myself with yesterday's post, I decided today's post would be calming. Soothing. Peaceful. Sadly, I don't have any photos that meet that criteria from my artsy fartsy photo excursion last week. 

I had to go back in my picture archives. 

Way back.

All the way back to my sunflower days.

I like this picture. I like the color of the flower, the color of the stem, and the color of the sky.

And I really like Mr. and Mrs. Bee meeting for a late lunch on the sunflower. At least, I hope they are Mr. and Mrs. Bee and not Mr. Bee and some floozy shacked up together on my flower. Some floozy would harsh my mellow.

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Artsy Fartsy Turned Scary

It had been a while and I was feeling the itch last week. The itch to get my artsy-fartsy on. And I drafted a friend to go with me.

Look what we found:

A red barn! In Indiana! We were just so … shocked at seeing a red barn in the Hoosier state that I just had to hang out the window of the mini van and snap a photo. I'm such a daredevil, I know.

All joking aside, it's a right purty barn.

I don't know what the painted white circle on the front is, but I'm guessing it's a guide for making bales of hay the desired size. Think kitchen doodad that helps you measure out the correct amount of uncooked spaghetti noodles for four people.

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Fire and Ice

On Sundays, I usually roast a chicken. On really lucky Sundays, my husband grills the chicken out on the charcoal grill.

It's delicious.

Getting the charcoal going without using lighter fluid is a process. I don't know the intricacies of the process because I'm inside fussing with other things like hoping I have enough butter for the mashed potatoes and making sure my yeast rolls are rising. I'm sure you agree that both are legitimate concerns.

Taking a break from fussing around the kitchen, I popped outside to see this on the back patio:

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