I'm pretty sure this post qualifies me as a "Lifestyle Expert".

Lifestyle Expert Profile Picture
(totally looks legit, doesn't it?)

If you've ever wondered, "Gee, I could really use some advice on how to make my own bricks and glue using average household goods," I have the post for you.

With a bit of accidental ingenuity I have discovered the secret to thinking you are concocting delicious treats, but in reality are creating weapons and adhesives.

I've found the best way to do this is to notice the bananas on your counter are past their prime, and perfect for using in banana bread. Get out your trusty banana bread recipe (any one will do) and proceed to math. Be forewarned, this is the most time consuming part of the process. If the recipe calls for three bananas, and you have eight, go ahead and decide to triple the recipe, eight is totally close enough to nine to justify tripling. Eight and nine are neighbors.

Once you have correctly multiplied, employ a three year old to peel all the bananas while you gather the rest of the ingredients. Next, take a few minutes to unearth all the stringy peel leftovers that made their way into the banana bowl, and unleash the three year old to smash the ever loving daylight out of the bananas. When banana soup consistency is achieved, bribe the three year old to stop smashing with a promise he can hold the measuring spoon while you pour some lemon juice. Midway through measuring your tablespoon(s), your three year old will freak the heck out because he found some rogue banana guts still clinging to the inside of his wrist. Call upon your previously unknown skills as a hostage negotiator to convince the little terrorist dear child you will thoroughly clean his hands after you finish measuring and pouring the lemon juice.

Next, send your three year old on the world's most important mission to find the banana bread pan. Hurriedly measure and pour your oil before he can return and demand to "help" with this part. Make sure that in your haste you only measure enough oil for the original recipe, and not the tripled one. This part is crucial. If you are lucky you can add the (tripled) sugar before the completion of the bread pan mission, but unfortunately you probably selected the most competent bread pan retriever in the history of the world, so he will arrive just in time to aid in the addition of the sugar.

The sugar part is sweet. You will end up with a model of the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes composed entirely of Domino Sugar on the kitchen table. This is mostly because for a three year old, a ten inch target from one inch away is surprisingly difficult to nail when a cupful of sugar is involved.

Get out the mixer because now the real fun begins. This is the most spiritual part of making bricks and glue. You will practice what the Apostle Paul refers to as "pray without ceasing" while the three year old mans the hand mixer "ALL BY MYSELF, MAMA". Some phrases I found helpful were, "Please Jesus, let him keep it in the bowl", and "Oh Holy Spirit, please bless this child with a steady hand and an obedient heart." Feel free to use any alternate wording you've found to be helpful.

Once your wet ingredients are mixed, get out a separate bowl in which to combine your dry goods. Do some more math. Do it again, because you remember you are tripling - or was is quadrupling? - your recipe. Glance in the garbage can and guestimate how many banana peels you see. Deduce there are a crap-ton, which roughly means you used about twelve bananas for your recipe. That means you must have quadrupled the recipe. Pat yourself on the back because math just happened and it found you smart.

Quadruple the flour. If you are a food allergy family using a vegan banana bread recipe, quadruple the what germ. Quadruple the salt, baking powder, and the baking soda. Let the three year old stir.

How *you* doin'?

Dump the wet ingredients into the dry ones. The three year old will attempt to stir them together but will quickly give up because "it's too hard". Do not be deceived into thinking he's just quitting because his sisters started watching Monsters University in the other room. Yes, he is being seduced away by Mike and Sulley, but he was accurate in his assessment that it really is too hard to stir the banana bread mixture. Like, crazy hard. Like, "Uh-Oh I Did Something Majorly Wrong Here" hard.

Release the three year old to Monsters University. Decide to bake a trial run of six muffins. For twenty two minutes you will bake banana bricks. Eight minutes after they come out of the oven you will determine that banana bricks taste horrendous. Quietly dump the batter, but not before spilling some on a few Christmas cards and some unopened mail on the counter. (Don't worry, it wasn't your card. Your card is lovely and is being displayed prominently on my kitchen wall.)

Until you discover Banana Bread Glue.

Later that evening, as you are cleaning the kitchen before bed, discover the spilled batter when you try to clear the mail so you can wipe down the counter tops. The mail will not budge. It is stuck firmly to the surface by banana bread glue, which seemingly rivals Gorilla Glue in effectiveness.


If you faithfully follow the steps above, you too can make your own bricks and glue.

(I will gladly supply the three year old.)

Happy Baking Crafting!

Nothing says "love" like VD*

I have dreams of being *that* mom; you know, the one who actually does all the crap she pins on Pinterest, whose children have amazing memories of themed breakfasts and color coordinated holiday desserts, but who also gracefully handles normal life with aplomb.

But instead I'm the kind of mom that actually has kids.

However, this year was going to be different.  I had my Valentine's Day game ON.  I picked a Pinterest craft to make for my beloveds:

and even started saving toilet paper rolls like, two weeks ago, which, in my sweet little family of six means I have a collection of about 25 in my immediate possession. (Which also now puts me on the Black Market Hit List for every elementary school art teacher in my vicinity.)  I bought candy with which to fill the bombs, and, because I know the perils of too much junk in the trunk, I also bought some heart pencils and rulers.

I don't even know how it happened but I finagled my way into an invite to a homeschooler party that I wouldn't need to plan at all.  I could just show up with a treat or two and have the kiddos prepared to hand out cards.  Which? I also had the foresight to purchase last week. Cards with stickers and pop out cardboard jewelry.  (Oh my goodness.  I get the chills just thinking about how ahead of the freaking game I was.)

My whole "This Year I Will Be An Awesome Mom" Valentine's Day plan was going so well.

Enter Saturday night.

Kelly: Dude.  I don't feel so good. (The exact wording may have been a bit different because maybe I feel Brian doesn't take me seriously unless it seems I am dying.)(So it probably was more like, "Briiiiiaaaaan.  I feel like I'm gonna diiiieee. Seriously, Babe.  I've never felt so sick in my Whole. Entire. Liiiiiiiiife.  Except that one time in our old house - remember then?  When my limbs were so painful that I couldn't even lift the sheet off the bed and you had to stay home from work because there was no way I could lift two children in and out of cribs let alone be expected to change any diapers? That time was worse.  But thiiiiis is reeeally bad, toooooooo.")(I'm paraphrasing, of course.)

The next few five days were a blur.  A blur of the worst moments of my life.  (Really, Drama Queen?)(Um, yes.)  Because not only did Mama get the FLU FROM HELL (symptoms include high fevers  - averaging 103.5 because we are not underachievers - extreme body/muscle aches, fatigue, chills - and night sweats, score! - sore throat, headache, nausea - maybe I even took a pregnancy test because this wretchedness could not all possibly be just the flu, right? - sinus pain, etc.) but all four kids got it as well.

Brian came home from work most days to discover me cashed out on the pullout couch, covered in four feverish children.  I think we were all whimpering.

I do know this week included copious amounts of television.  And the viewing of the entire "Buddies" puppy movie catalog.  And probably the Spy Kids franchise as well.  We consumed exactly four sleeves of saltine crackers, one and a half gallons of apple juice, and 19 berry flavored Minute Maid juice boxes.  The highlight of the week was undoubtedly this:

Facebook Status:  Thanks to the wretched flu, tonight was my first attempt at dinner in 4 days. About 30 seconds after I realized the Greek yogurt I drizzled all over our Greek pizzas was spoiled, the doorbell rang, and there stood my friend Carrie with homemade chicken noodle soup and warm bread. It was the happiest moment I've had in a long time. I feel so loved :)

Best chicken noodle soup of my life.

So, in conclusion, Next Year I Will Be An Awesome Mom for Valentine's Day.  Unless there is a tornado.  Or something else as equally unplanned and horrifically destructive as this flu. Until then, well, I guess our St. Patrick's Day is gonna be piiiiimp.


*"Nothing says 'love' like VD" is the name of my Valentine's Day board on Pinterest.  It makes you totally want to follow me on Pinterest, amIright?  Good news for you, click on the P over at the top right and you are all set.

If Shakespeare had the kind of resources *I* have ... the possibilities are endless

Rose got me quite possibly the most awesome Christmas gift in.the.world.

"cool poem bro"

I was very anxious to channel my inner gangsta poet, but had to wait for inspiration and the right time.  The right time came in the form of me catching the flu. Inspiration came all on it's own, because thug livin' is my life.  I had all day to stay in bed and funnel my ghetto angst into jiggy rhymes that captured my penchance for flow.

The first thing I did was put all the words in alphabetical order on a cookie sheet.  Nothing says "Thug Life" quite like teflon.* (*Proof?  Click here.  Thank you, Urban Dictionary.)

I had to leave space at the top so I had room to create.  But it's hard to limit genius, y'all.

Next, I discovered some key words were missing. WTHeck, how am I supposed to write any kind of masterpiece without key words like "Imma" or "tryna" or "booty"?  So I did what anyone with Hood Acumen would do:  I got out my trusty label maker.

The other night I had a dream that I let Kanye West and Jay-Z get into their zone.  That sh*t CRAY.

Then, I had to decide what form my poetry would take.  A sonnet, perhaps? A limerick? Naaaahhh, Imma go with Haiku 'cuz I got a Japanese cuz.* (*This totally makes no sense but makes me deliriously happy because "cuz" almost equals a homophone in a world where grammar rules cease to exist. Plus I legitimately have Japanese cousins.  SHOUT OUT to Rika.)

Here are a few Ghetto Haiku's for your reading pleasure.  You can send your appreciation to Rose.

Puddled on the floor because the two year old wanted to pour it all.by.himself. thankyouverymuch.

werd.

My inspiration for this work was Ezra.  The same inspiration inspired a transition to a big boy bed.

Right as I was perfecting my  pièce de résistance, the unthinkable happened.  My label maker ran out of label.  I was all, "Dude."

This is my label maker that gave until it had nothing else to give.  This is my hand saying, "Dude."

A good blogger would have typed some words on the computer, printed them out, cut them out, glued them to magnets, and used them.  I remembered I had yellow sticky notes.

What up, Pampers?

In closing, here is a picture of Rose and I at the Red Carpet Run.  Brian is throwing up the midwest gang sign because that's why I married him.

Midwest 4 Life
Rollin' down the street, in my Chevy, sippin' on Faygo
Laid back (with my air conditioner and my furnace both on in the same day)

It's Like I'm Joan Rivers

Woo-hoo!  Look who went and got a face lift!  Big ups to the hubs for spending a Saturday evening with me while I was being entirely specific about the fact that I wanted more than a template look to my blog, but entirely vague about what I actually wanted. (Times like these are why I married him.  Because not only did he *not* get frustrated with me, I actually had to say, "Dude, babe, let's stop working on the blog and go to bed okay?"  because he was all excited about getting me a twitter account (Pretty please follow me.  Right now I have three followers, so you betta hurry that mess up if you want to be in my first one hundred followers.)(Who will forever be my favorite.)

Some neat new features on the blog?  I thought you'd never ask.  Well, with a mere click of the "F" button you can totally get to my Facebook page where you can sign up to follow me.  (Oh my gosh, it's so easy it's like she's daring us *not* to follow her.) Also, right by the "F" button is a "P" button.  That one links you to Pinterest where you can also follow me. Similarly, a click on the little bird will take you to my Twitter account where, yet again, you can follow me.  (Jeez-Louise, if I keep this up it will be like I live with her. "Kelly at Sublurban Mama" all.the.time.  It's like a little slice of heaven in my day.) (I know. You're welcome.)

I obviously got a new header (the fancy title section, Mom)(I know you totally knew what it was and didn't assume it meant a fancy soccer* move like someone else I know who shall remain nameless)(but it's totally not me if you were thinking it was)(because the evidence might point to me being a bit tech illiterate).

(Okay, it was totally me).

Other parts of the blog are still under construction, but rest assured I will totally let you know about them once they are finished.  I care about you being an informed consumer. Which is why I tell you so often about Tim Horton's Iced Capp.  Because it is delicious.

Other things in my neck of the woods also got a face lift. (Nice segue, Kel.)  Over Christmas break we tackled the kids rooms.  Since they've been born we've been playing musical bedrooms, and they had yet to settle into a permanent room with a permanent roommate. All that changed once I decided I wanted to decorate. Thank you, Pinterest.  I used some of my Black Friday planning and shopping time to gather cheap items for the kids' rooms.

This is the part of the blog where if I was a planner I would post "before" pics.  We have none.  Like, I went through three years of pictures of us living in this house and found not a single shot of either kids' bedrooms.  So, bear with me as I describe the "before" awesomeness.

Eve and Hosanna had bunk beds, a dresser, and two of those cube bookshelves.  Their walls are pink but did not have a single piece of artwork or decorations of any kind.  Their bedding was on the floor mostly originally green, pink, red, and blue, and covered in birds. (Sounds hideous, I know.)  They ditched them and went with the down comforters I got on clearance that were brown and blue. (Sounds worse, right?  It was.) After two full days of getting my Extreme Makeover on, this is what they have now:

I did all this for about $100.  The twin beds came from the in-laws.  Remember how they are moving to Africa for a year?  We are storing these beds for them for free.  I know. How generous can we be? (I was all, "new beds would be hundreds of dollars, who loves us enough to let us use their furniture so we don't have to buy any?") The bedding was on clearance. Each set is six pieces - the polka dot was $23 and the butterfly was $29.  All the artwork came from Hobby Lobby, either on clearance or with a 40% off coupon, and I ordered the vinyl clings online for about $12.

The desk and mirror are my crowning achievements in Pinterestdom.  I refinished the desk in July (remember when I confessed I was a serial killer?) and I garbage picked and refinished that mirror around then as well.

The chair I got on Black Friday.  It is lime green.  On the bottom right is a shower organizer I got from the Dollar Store.  It holds all the girlies' lotions, necklaces, and sunglasses.  The desk and mirror?  I totally did that.

One of the cheapest changes but the one that has made the most difference in terms of organization was inside the closet.

I switched dressers with Esther so it would fit in Eve and Hosanna's closet.  I moved all their hanging clothes to one side and put the boxes for next seasons clothes underneath.  This way the closet doesn't become the black hole of death for any and everything they own.  I spent $5.99 on that shoe organizer and it is worth it's weight in gold.  Every shoe has a spot, and they are limited to four pairs or five pairs each.  No more lost shoes, no more smooshed shoes, no more dirt kicked all around.  Awesome.

Tomorrow I'll show you Ezra and Esther's room and you'll understand why my nights have gotten a tad "later".


So do y'all like the new blog look?  Let me know - please and thank you!



*Soccer = Football for the rest of the world who are deprived of Alabama football, but still know that Alabama will ruin Notre Dame tonight.  ROLL TIDE.

How to Get Free Stuff (You'll thank me later)

Sometimes people* question why I waste invest so much time on Pinterest.  Not to brag or anything, but I am really good at Pinterest.  I am diligent in my searches and committing to pinning anything that strikes my fancy awesome things in a systematic and logical way. Like this:

Whaaa?  Are you kidding me?  Why don't I have this already?  TheWaffsicle Maker.  A waffle on a stick you dunk in syrup.

I'm diligent in my pinning for one simple reason.  One day, the fine makers of reality television are going to spring a new show on us.  I am convinced of this.  And when it comes, I will be ready. Because I am already steadfastly planning for Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition.

Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition will happen when your Pinterest boards are hijacked and everything on them either purchased, created, implemented, or personally taught to you.  It's like a first world life makeover, and I am not messing around with my preparation.

Whenever I see something on Pinterest that I like, my sole criteria for pinning it is "What if it were free?"  An outfit that is okay but I really love the purse?  Better pin the whole thing, because EM:PE will be giving every piece.  A crazy exotic vacation destination that I will only visit in my dreams? Better get my passport ready because EM is sending me on their dime.  It's not practical to own a glass canoe when you have four kiddos?  It's totally practical when it's a gift.

Can't you see my children absolutely destroying this me freaking out as I search for leeches relaxing as I row through the crystal clear waters of paradise?

My "Lookin' Good in the Hood" board is extensive because I have fantastic (internet) style.  In fact, I'm pretty sure if Pinterest were invented when I was in high school (the dark ages)(not really, it was the 90's) I would've swept Best Dressed Not in Real Life but on Her Pinterest Board during mock elections.  So, you're really lucky, Class of '97 Reigning Queen Julie D.  Lack of technology handed you the crown for that one.

My fashion pins revealed to me that I really like 1950's housewife dresses:

(How many do I own in real life?  Zero.)(Which is a shame.)(But I'm a size 10.)(If you needed that information for any reason.)(Like buying me a dress.)

And, I apparently would really like to be adorned in birds:

(Also?  I like leaf jewelry too.  Who knew?)

(Whooooooo wants to buy me this owl bracelet?)






I also have about a thousand skinny jean/t-shirt/cardigan/scarf/purse combos pinned just like everyone else, because I'm not at all trendy.



Once I'm on Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition, my home will be filled with the cutest handmade crafts.  You are going to be so jealous, mainly because I didn't have to do them so they actually look just like the picture said they should.  Not at all like the t-shirt tutorial I tried and ended up throwing away.


<----- Lies.  All of it.  Or I just suck at crafts.  But it's probably lies.

Suburban Detroit, y'all.

I can't wait for my Pinterest Edition home.  It going to have a waterfall built into it, and a three story wall of windows.  It will fit in perfectly on my suburban block down the street from the garden gnome house.







My Nom Nom Nom board is the biggest, because I really like food.  Specifically, eating chocolate, which is reflected accurately in my pinning choices.  I'm really excited for my personal chef to make all the cute mini-food I pinned that I will never take the time to make but enjoy looking at because it's darling.

Awwww ...  Panda Bears made out of rice!

Mini Pineapple Upside-down cakes?  Don't worry, Producers, I already bought the pan to make these four months ago and haven't gotten around to it yet.

But honestly, I think the number one reason (without a doubt) that I need to be on Extreme Makeover: Pinterest Edition, is that I will finally own this:

This is a cross stitch of the genius that is Kayne West on twitter. "I hate when I'm on a flight and I wake up with a water bottle next to me like oh great now I gotta be responsible for this water bottle"

I die.  Every.single.time.  There are no words for how sharply I giggle when I see this.  It's like a little slice of awesomeness I could glimpse several times a day if I owned it.  It might be better than iced coffee (yeah, I just went there). (Interestingly enough, you don't even need my correct size in order to gift this.)(It will flatter me regardless.)(It's a gift where everyone wins.)(And by everyone, I mean mostly me.)

So, just a heads up, all you slackers out there that are missing out on prime preparation time, squandering your time away by making dinner instead of pinning recipes.  Don't say I didn't warn you.  The Pinterest Edition is coming.  Be ready.



P.S. Now I don't do this for just anyone, but yeah, you can follow me on Pinterest if you need some extra help with your preparation.

*my husband

Bucket List Update : Whole Foods Recap

Friday night I got all dolled up (i.e. I back combed my hair and put it up) because it was the evening of the great Whole Foods dessert pig-out tasting.  I tried to take a picture of my hair.

Me

Not me.  Pinterest Goal.

What you can't see - the awesome back combing job and twisty-bun thing a la Pinterest that I dominated finally called "done" after a mere 17 minutes of almost cursing because the tutorial looked so flippin' easy, but was a big fat liar.  (And, not to get all hater-like, but where were you, Sister Wives?)




Lauren recently moved into some new digs so I traveled to her side of town to check out the renovations in progress, collect some of her old dance costumes for the girlies, and eat my body weight x10 in calories at Whole Foods, a.k.a. the Pinnacle of Good Health.

My Whole Foods has an amazing hot food bar.  The Whole Foods by Lauren was, bless their hearts ... trying.  There just wasn't much to choose from and I decided I didn't want to waste my calories on something healthy mundane like vegetable soup.  What I really wanted was dessert. We headed to the mecca of chocolate goodness that disguises it's empty calories behind mind-blowingly gorgeous artistic creations that deserve to be eaten, otherwise referred to as the dessert showcase.

It was one of those situations where you are struck dumb by choice.  Not like you are choosing to be struck dumb, but that there are so many good choices you are rendered mute.

Because one of my hidden talents is an insane ability to make vegan baked goods (blame it on the a-a-a-a-llergy kids), I was honestly tempted by vegan chocolate cake.  I was even tempted by vegan carrot cake because any form of sugar can seduce me.

I finally settled on a peanut butter brownie.  Lauren chose a chocolate frosted brownie.  They were both fine choices.

Mad artistic photography skillz.  Stephanie, you should totally be jealous.

Don't worry, we drank skim milk with it, so it was  pretty much diet food.

I felt like such a hipster taking pictures of my food.  But then I realized it wasn't with Instagram, and then I felt like a nerdy suburban mama, so back to reality for me.

Dinner at Whole Foods remains on my bucket list, which means technically I'm pretty much required to go to my WF in order to fulfill this dream.  Otherwise I would be someone who never follows through with their plans.  I can't settle for being that girl.  So really, dinner at WF is a matter of my personal character.  That's what's at stake here.

WE TOTALLY JUST HAD SO MUCH SUGAR!!!!!!!!

Also, another update just for fun:  Remember when I confessed the night I realized my Serial Killer tendencies?  The scene of the crime was in my basement where I was working diligently on a desk for Hosanna.  I totally finished it.

Life before Pinterest.

Life after Pinterest. 

"Hey Kel, did you line the drawers?"
"Heck yes, I did."

Oh, and did you want another random update?  Of course you do.  Here is my bathtub after the Peroxide/Ginger Detox bath.

Just, sick.

And finally, because I can't leave you on that loveliness, here is me after crushing day one of Jillian's 30 Day Shred.

As the days progress, the triumph dims considerably.  But for now - Is that all you got, Jillian?! 

No one PLANS on growing up to be a Serial Killer

The last time I got in a physical fight was in sixth grade.  I had a pretty decent streak of about 21 years that were filled with non-violent conflict resolution.

Then Friday night happened.

I guess I should really start with the garbage can in the garage.  Somebody thought it would be brilliant to have a garbage can next to the door to the house, inside the garage.  This would serve as a visual reminder to get your darn apple juice boxes outta the flippin' minivan before I lose my mind take care of the things that need disposing before you come into the house.  This was an astute plan.  It mostly worked.  Then, summer came.  And with it, maggots.

Somebody Else was being resourceful and ghetto-rigged a piece of cardboard over the top of the garbage can to deter flies from filling the garbage with their demon spawn, but didn't tell Somebody the purpose of said cardboard, and so when she ran into it with her arm for the third time she was all, "not this junk again," and she removed the cardboard, placing it responsibly in the recycling bin.

The flies had a field day.  And since their maternity ward was directly adjacent to the door to our home, every few hours when we would open the door, they would politely accept in their annoying fly language, "Thank you.  We would LOVE to come in."

I hate flies.

One morning I awoke to ten of them on the kitchen window.  Dude.  Brian thinks the best method of fly control is to use the Dustbuster.  While this approach takes the least skill and effort, I am now convinced there is a little fly colony trapped inside my Dustbuster just waiting with bated breath for me to empty it.  I will crack it open and be attacked by the plotting masses of germ infested vermin.

Soon, I'd had enough.  It was time for flypaper.

It was really hard for me to buy flypaper, mainly because of the serial killer stigma flypaper evokes.  I mean, I have seen Silence of the Lambs.

(A tangent just for fun? The main lesson I took away from Silence of the Lambs was: don't be fat. Only fat girls get kidnapped, thrown in a hole, and starved so a serial killer can make a dress from their skin.  Yeah, Hollywood, the message isn't so subtle after all.)

But I digress.  Silence of the Lambs?  Oh yeah.  When Clarice entered Buffalo Bill's (totally a fictional serial killer) house, I thought, "This guy needs some flypaper."  And?  He puts moths down his victims throats, so, not anything like just like flies. (See the connection?)

To recap, flypaper = serial killer.

I was hoping the people at Lowe's knew I wasn't a serial killer as I was buying flypaper, but I wore a twinset and pearls and took my kids just in case.  Then I caved to non-existent peer pressure and went through self-checkout so no one would have to aid me in my serial killer paraphernalia purchase.

If purchasing flypaper isn't gross enough, you have to open it, which is a sick process I will save for Brian in the future.  Thankfully, even though the flypaper remains 100% fly-free, I'm pretty sure it worked as a deterrent because the flies have vacated our home.  They probably had a little fly meeting that went:"It's serious fellas.  Girlfriend bought flypaper."  And then all the little flies murmured to one another in distress.  And got the heck out of Dodge.

...except...

Girlfriend got pwned.

The flies, in an effort to escape the horrendous heat wave, had really moved to the basement, where I never spend any time unless it happens to be Hosanna's birthday in a few days and I am refinishing a piece of furniture for her (shh, still a secret).  This is where I discovered I got played.  Flypaper? These flies are playing on a whole 'nother level.  Specifically, the basement.

It is rough trying to paint with flies buzzing around your head and landing on your freshly painted surfaces.  I just know that if I got out a magnifying glass I would be able to see little tiny fly foot prints jacking up what was, admittedly, an awesomely sanded desk top.

I could feel my anger simmering, but was trying to keep it in check.  I may have spoken out loud to the flies, but apparently they don't understand that a disgruntled, "Dude.  FLY.",  means "get out of my house or die."

When a fly landed in my can of paint, I responded in exasperation, "Ok, Dude, whatever.  Stay there. I hope you drown."  But then I had to fish the fly out of the paint.  And I was tired of painting.  And Burger King just introduced sweet potato fries and a brownie sundae which I am taking as a personal attack on my quest to lose those five pounds.  And, seriously, do I really need any more reasons?


The next poor fly that gave me opportunity was going to pay for my frustration.  It didn't take long before a fly landed five inches from my foot, mocking me as his brothers plotted elsewhere to take over the paint stirrer.

Out of nowhere, the Beastie Boys started playing Sabotage (in my head) and my body switched to slow motion.  I (slooooowly) brought my knee up, making a face that was all

"This is the face of a Killer, Bella." - Edward Cullen

and then (still in slow motion) I stomped the crap out of that fly.  (I resumed normal motion, breathing hard because I was angry and from DETROIT the suburbs.)  Then I chanted "Whose house?  MY HOUSE, FLIES," at the other flies who where staring in horror at my ruthlessness. 

So?  In conclusion, don't mess with me.  I may not be a serial killer, but I can take care of myself.

I was going to pin this on Pinterest, but that's like, Pinception. Or something.

Um, I think this is USA Triathlon sanctioned.
Or totally should be.

Another Saturday, another long bike ride. This one was scheduled to be 15 miles followed by a 20 minute run.  I also knew Sarah and I were headed to the lake later that day to attempt my first ever OPEN WATER SWIM!, so I was totally ready to justify eating that Big Mac dominate the way triathletes do, by rocking all three sports in one day.

I thought I would take advantage of my close proximity to the recently renovated four million dollar bike path, allowing me access to 44 miles of trail designated for cyclists and runners alike.  Except that the State of Michigan is really intent on keeping me off the trail, because they have chosen prime cycling season to attack all the bridge work over the trail, making entrance to the path tricky.  But I persevered (i.e. went to mapmyride), and discovered a secret batman route onto the path. (Which?  Probably should have stayed secret until I got shocks for a certain body part that rhymes with "China".)

Let me say:  The path is awesome.  Not as awesome as the hardcore, X-Games, secluded woods trail.  But fully paved, moderately empty, and only a slight creepoid factor as you trek behind a rest stop. (Really, State of MI?  Are you not fully up on your urban legends?)

Since it was along a major highway (for all you stalkers it totally wasn't 275) there was a fair amount of litter, and I noticed a really disturbing trend as my ride continued.  I would see this:

and think, "Oh my gosh, that could totally be a super cute vase/necklace/aluminum bouquet of flowers/uprecycled reusable handmade bag!"

I should have thought, "SICK!  Who knows where that nasty GARBAGE has been?  I should wear gloves to throw it out, and not even consider covering it in hot glue and burlap/twine/ribbon and sticking it on my kitchen table!"  This is when I knew I have been grievously affected by Pinterest. And not only was Pinterest making me environmentally friendly absolutely delusional, but I have no idea where to go to get help.


You see, there is no such thing as a Pinterest Support Group.  I'm sure, once upon a time, someone tried to initiate one, but it was doomed from conception.  I don't know a lot about support groups, but I'm pretty sure you need to have meetings.  And a group of Pinterest junkies organizing a meeting would only further their problems.

A Pinterest Support Group meeting would have SNACKS

And a PLACE to talk about ADDICTION

and I'm pretty sure you need a MODERATOR, someone who is in recovery from the addiction.  Here are all the images in the entire Internet of people who have recovered from Pinterest.

*insert sound of crickets*

So, today, I'm taking matters into my own hand.  I declare I will not pull that (perfectly sized) waterlogged cork board from the drainage ditch.  It may only need some fabric, a cute frame, and fumigation to make it usable, but I will bravely ride past, and not spend two more miles wondering exactly how I could have gotten it home on my bike.

All the beads, wire, and jewelry making tools I bought to make these necklaces?  They are going to hang out on my dresser until they spontaneously turn into bird's nests, until the end of time for another four months.  Then I will reassess.  (Because technically I could have bought one necklace on Etsy for less the price of buying all the materials to make one myself, but if you factor in that I could now make bird's nest necklaces for everyone I know, it's now way more economical to own the stuff.) (*Spoiler* - once I nail this, Everyone I Know, this is totally your Christmas/birthday gift for 2012 2013 let's not ruin the surprise.)


IN CONCLUSION, it's really late and I need to check Pinterest go to bed.  Good night.