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Showing posts from February, 2015

The ubiquitous burlap banner.

After recent forays into the interwebs to look up 1st birthday ideas, I've discovered you can, apparently, turn your child's 1st Birthday Party into "Wedding Reception Planning 2.0." 

I need someone to hold me, 'cause it's scary.

All the elements of the perfect wedding plan are there. You pick a theme, which includes the perfect color scheme. The invitations have to be special and unique (they alert your guests to the theme, after all). You come up with "whimsical" details to "inject some fun" into your party. Don't forget a goody bag for the guests! Oh, and how could I forget: the outfit! "It's your big day" so you need a customized outfit special for the day! And the food? It is to be exquisite. Treats, nibbles, tastes of delight! And the most ubiquitous detail of all: the burlap banner. It is to LOOK homemade, without actually being so. In reality, you spend $38 (plus shipping) for it on Etsy.

Let's break this down.


Th…

Happy Valen... oh whatever.

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Valentines: they ain't for kids. Apparently they're for the kids' parents.

This is according to my facebook feed, instagram, and various mommy blogs I've seen in the days leading up to the most over-hyped holiday of the year.
Let me start with this: Valentine's Day has never been more than a tiny blip on my radar. It's one of those days where it's nice to say, "Let's not have leftovers for dinner," but that's about it.
In college, I was dating a guy, and by "dating" I mean we met at Stetson's on the Moon (always a promising start) sometime within the month before Valentine's Day, and had talked on the phone and gone to dinner a few times. I was 19, he was 21. On Valentine's Day, I AIM'd him (do kids know what that is? It's a stone age technology that predates texting which was created by a company called AOL--you may have heard of them) just to say, "Hey, happy V-day."
The response was something like, &q…

Oh, and you think I do?

Today I'm posting strictly to complain about something that bugs me. (Because complaining and being irritable are attractive qualities.) And it's this phrase, and all its variations:

"I don't have time to be sick!"

It's usually preceded by an outline of what specifically is wrong with the person uttering those eye-roll-inducing words. Sore throat? Headache? Gross bodily functions? Yes, that all stinks (some of it quite literally stinks).

But here's my gripe. When does anyone ever have time to be sick? NEVER.

Have you ever been kicking it, enjoying a relatively stress-free period of zen-like calm and thought to yourself, "Now would be a great time to be sick. I have loads of time." NOPE.

Have you ever been on vacation and thought, "Ah, if I had to be sick, I have lots of time to do it right now! I'm taking it easy anyway!" NOPE.

Have you ever thought to yourself that life is so hectic that you'd almost welcome a cold so you had to sta…

Dream land is a weird place.

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You know how it is. You wake up and you are mad--I mean MAD--at someone because they did something to you in a dream.

Sometime last week, I woke up with my jaw clenched because I was so angry at Patrick. Why? Because dream Patrick had hidden CHEESE IN HIS SOCK DRAWER! How dare he?! How dare he hide a gigantic block of cheese and the box grater in his sock drawer?! He lied about it, too. "No, nothing in there!" Ha. I go digging and, ho ho! What do you know? A gigantic block of cheese! And the box grater, to boot! 

Of all the low down things for a man to do to his woman...
Oh, and who helped him hide it? Kevin, from The Office. Of course.
The night before that, I dreamed that Stacy Keibler, of all people, was letting me in on her fitness secrets. She had this very particular shake that she drank each morning. It was something fruity. Alas, she was just about to give me the secret recipe when I woke up.
If I put on weight in the coming weeks, you know why. Stacy didn't let me in…