Sunday, March 27, 2011

Decorating for Dummies

I have a lot of things going for me. I'm funny, I have an uncanny ability to recall the most insignificant things, I'm resourceful, a decent cook, I have blonde hair - which by default gives me an advantage. (It's true. It's been scientifically proven that blondes have more fun.)  Decorating, however, - in any sense of the word - is not one of the things I have going for me. (And shut up, it has nothing to do with my hair color.)

I'm a t-shirt and jeans type of girl. I always have been. A t-shirt is easy. It's safe. It looks good with my pair of snake skin loafers or flip flops.

I realize that "good" is a relative term here.  I just don't possess the ability to go into a store and put an outfit together. I don't. I don't deviate from the mannequin. I'm just not creative that way.  Last year, I did step outside of the box. I bought my very first pair of capri pants. Yes. My very first pair. And of course, I wear them with t-shirts. This is why I own approximately 479 t-shirts. Unless PETA suddenly branches out to defending cotton (Ha! You see what I did there? I made a joke about PETA "branching" out to defending plants... I told you I was funny.) ,  I don't ever have to worry about being ridiculed for my obsession with t-shirts. That's a definite weight off my shoulders. The less stress, the better.

Not only do I lack the girl gene that knows how to build an outfit, apparently the gene is also responsible for interior decorating skills - or lack thereof in my case.  I have no freaking idea how to arrange the furniture to make the room flow better. Should I replace our horrendous carpet with wood or go for a more high traffic stain resistant carpet? I haven't the foggiest of what to do in Grayson and Jack's room to make it look more fun and suitable for 2 little boys.
Paint? Hm, maybe. But what color?
Wallpaper? Again, maybe - no - wait - no. I don't want wallpaper. That stuff is a pain in the arse. Maybe a border though? About chair rail height? And then paint the wall underneath the border? But what to paint?  I don't want to do a licenced character since the room is for both boys. I just need it to look boy-y.
Naturally, I went to the place that can solve most of my problems. My place of refuge and answers. The place that gives me comfort in my time of uneasiness or ignorance: Google.

I found lots of things that I liked.  Like this:

And this:  

Or this: 

Naturally, none of these things are doable.  Right now, we're in that awkward stage where Grayson is just about to outgrow his toddler bed, and Jack is still very much in his crib.  While bunk beds will most likely be a purchase in the future, it is not practical to even consider it now. So..what? Do I buy Grayson a cheap twin bed that will just take up more room? UGH. Nate Berkus, where are you and your fabulous skills?!?

I am in need of some serious help. So serious, in fact, that I went all the way over to to sign-up for one of those shows where a contractor will come out and re-do your house or whatever. Unfortunately they aren't doing filming in the West KY area, so it looks like unless I hit that Powerball, I am on my own.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Rebecca Black is taking over my Twitter

I know exactly what you are thinking? Who the heck is Rebecca Black and why is she the topic of conversation during this post?
I'm glad you asked.
This is Rebecca Black. And she has invaded my twitter.

You see, Dear Readers, it all started when I checked my TWITTER (shamelessly plugging myself!) several days ago.  I've been on Twitter for a long time, but I have just never got into it like the true social network savvy people. I checked my Twitter and noticed that "Rebecca Black" was trending.
For those of you that don't Tweet or Twitter or Twitwit or whatever you want to call it... "trending" on Twitter means that it's a hot topic - something that's been mentioned by bookoos of people.
Ok, so Rebecca Black was a top trending topic on Twitter. I had no idea who Rebecca Black was, and I just dismissed it and decided not to research her. She became popular during at the height of the Japan earthquake, so I figured she was in the media or something like that - eh - something, that quite frankly, just didn't interest me. I know. I'm a horrible person. 
Fast forward to today. I check my twitter and lo and behold, there she is again as a trending topic.  I asked my husband "The hell is Rebecca Black? And why is she trending on Twitter? Any relation to Sirius?"
His eyes lit up like Clark Griswold's house on Christmas Eve.
"Oh. I'll show you. It's fantastic."
TIME-OUT (Ha! I totally pulled a Zack Morris!) My husband has a warped sense of humor.  And, yes, so I do, but I mean...well, whenever he says something is "fantastic" or when he describes something as being "the tits" - I am always left wondering just how bad great it is while he's pulling up the appropriate link.
TIME-IN. "Oh, God," I said in between bites of my banana split. (Now that banana split was fantastic.)
And then he showed me this. Go ahead and watch it. Keep in mind, this is not a joke. And especially pay attention to the lesson she gives you about the order of the days at the end. I know you're confused. Just watch. Try to make it through the whole thing. You'll see what I mean.

STOOOOOOOP!!!! STOP SINGING!!!  This is horrible! Horrible! Rubbish! 
I mean, it's almost as bad as this:

Or this:

*SHUDDER* I mean, don't these people have to impress somebody? Surely there is someone involved thinking "You know, this sounds like a man getting ass-raped by a rhinoceros. Maybe we should re-think this."
And Nickelback can just stop all together. Noone will care. I promise. So, please. Just stop.

The people that I listed above should take a lesson from this guy:
(Yes, he is my official AI favorite!)

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Oh, Murtaugh.

There are some days I feel like this man:

No, I don't mean I feel like Danny Glover. 
And no, I don't mean I feel like an old African American dude with an awesome mustache - the rate my life is going, it could probably happen at any given moment.  
No, Dear Readers, that is a picture of  Sgt. Roger Murtaugh - from the high-larious Lethal Weapon movies which also starred a very young pre-lunatic Mel Gibson.
The famous line Murtaugh was known for was "I'm too old for this shit."
Let me explain.
The past few weeks have been remarkably hectic.  Jack had his first birthday and my SIL's birthday is the day after. She turned - dare I announce it on here?- 30, so I had a bit of a surprise up my sleeve for her. You see, I have this horrible habit of remembering crazy random things. I can recall conversations about mundane things with anyone at any given time. I say it's horrible, but it's kinda cool. It comes in handy when surprising people -which I like to do.
So, anyway, the SIL said sometime ago, that when she turned 30, she thought it would be fun to have an 80s theme party.  Or at least, I'm pretty sure this happened. I don't think I would imagine this up my in head - but you really never know. Now, whether or not she was serious about actually having this party is a whole other story. 
I decided that it would be fun to throw her a surprise party.  I'm going to cut a terribly long story short and just show pictures now. It exhausts me just thinking about it!

The like, totally awesome cake! 

We dressed the part. My husband looks like Kenny Loggins. Highway to the danger zone!! HAHA! I'm ashamed to admit this, but I used to wear that Hawaiian shirt in high school. Yeah. Shut up. I know.

We did karaoke and Grayson LOVED it! He took the microphone and took the stage. He sang "Life is a Highway" from Cars and "Heartache Tonight" by the Eagles. That kid is awesome.

The night before all of this, the hubster and FIL's band Classic Waxx played at The Star, so we got all the adults together to celebrate Sarah's birthday, too.

Birthday girl and her hubby

And then, because 3 parties in one week wasn't enough - on Sunday, we had the Family Birthday Celebration at Chris's grandparent's house where all the Feb and March birthdays were celebrated.


It's a full week later, and I still feel like I have not caught up. So, yeah, I think I'm probably too old for this shit - but it was so much fun.  See, I should use this as a learning experience of what not to do anymore. However, I know me, and I know how I am, and I will just do it again because I'm all if I can do it once, I can do it fifteen more times. I'm kinda stubborn like that.

So, now, this weekend, while I should be taking time to catch up and recover, I'm spending the afternoon going through baby clothes for the huge consignment sale. And once that's done,  I'll be turning my kitchen into a canine bakery where I'm attempting to bake my own hypoallergenic dog treats all while keeping the two hellions at bay.

Sounds like fun, eh?

Sunday, March 6, 2011

A Little Help From My Friends

I attempt to construct a menu of dinners for my family each week.  Attempt is the operative word here.  I like to try new things or throw in something different to the rotation, but lately, I've just been too busy to sit down and look through cookbooks or magazines for  meal-time inspiration.

So, I thought I'd just ask my Dear Readers to share recipes of dinners that you routinely serve for your family.

I'm lucky, my kids aren't too picky. Grayson loves broccoli and Jack is a little garbage disposal. That kid'll eat anything you put in front of him.

So, spill it! I need help!

Friday, March 4, 2011

The Panty Parade

Have you ever walked out of a place of business and forgotten your panties inside? I have. 

You know, I could probably just leave this post at that sentence, but I think I shall regale you this tale of ignored intimates.

When the weather gets warmer and the jeans get replaced with shorts and Capri pants, I get a weekly airbrush tan. Yes. I said it. My tan is fake. (And so is my melanoma.)  I would typically go get my tan on during my lunch break, so I kept a tote bag with a bathing suit and flip flops and other whatnots in my car.   
The tanning salon is located on a very busy thoroughfare in the little town I work in. It sits alongside a one-way street across from a bank and a car wash.  Needless to say, the place sees it's fair share of traffic.

One on particularly hot afternoon, I had gone to my standing airbrush appointment. This day was no different than any of the other. I went in, changed from my scrubs to my bathing suit, got my tan, and changed back into my scrubs to head back to work.

The bank was bustling with people on their lunch breaks waiting in line at the drive-thru.  The car wash was just as busy with every stall occupied.  And, as if the streets of the little town weren't already busy enough, there was a crew from the state highway department repairing a pot hole which had slowed traffic down.

I pranced to my car proudly showing off my freshly bronzed skin. I turned the air conditioner on full blast, and subsequently had my stereo blasting my favorite classic rock station. I did what any self respecting female does the minute she gets into a car, and flipped down my visor to look at myself in the mirror. Lookin' good! I backed out of my parking spot, and waiting at the end of the parking lot to make my way onto the street.  
I heard some yelling from outside, but with all the noise from my a/c and cranked up stereo, I just figured it was one of the road workers or someone at the car wash.

And then I glanced in my rear view mirror.

There running out the door of the salon, was the cute little southern woman that does my air brush tan. She was the one doing all the yelling.  She was waving something above her head. I chuckled at the sight of her, and then it hit me - she was coming toward me. I turned the radio down and I could hear her with my windows still up screaming: STACEY!!! YOUR PANTIES!!! STACEY!!! YOU FORGOT YOUR PANTIES!!! I watched in horror as she ran all the way to my car waving my forgotten panties over her head yelling at me.
I rolled my window down and she handed my underroos to me. I immediately scanned the situation, hoping that no one had seen me. Nope. El wrongo. Everyone, and I do mean everyone from the guys with the road crew, to the car wash patrons, and I'm pretty sure the bank tellers, too -  was looking. Staring even.  Not that I blame them, I would be looking to, I will admit. This was not the kind of attention I was hoping for after getting my tan. As if The Panty Parade wasn't already embarrassing enough, the pot hole repair had me blocked in and I had to WAIT before I could leave.  I'm sure I only sat there for a minute or two, but when you account in the Embarrassment Factor it actually equates to about an hour and a half. 
So, if you ever hear a story about someone chasing a car down waving panties over her head, there's a possibility it's about me.

At least I wasn't wearing granny panties that day.