Wednesday, May 13, 2015

HGTV Is My Kryptonite

I love HGTV, y'all.
I'm not just saying that, either.  I love it like white girls love Starbucks and yoga pants - it's serious.

I love it... but with every great love comes a price.  Love is blind; or it makes you blind, maybe.
For instance, some days I become so excited about what I want to do with my house that I forget I don't have a $100k reno budget, and "Open concept", hardwood floors and granite countertops don't appear on the McDonald's $1 menu.

My bad.

I have a deep, unflagging adoration for The Property Brothers that tends to get me into trouble.  They make it look so freaking easy, right?  They are the reason I often have conversations that begin like this:

"You spent $100 on galvanized buckets?"
"What is this $200 charge at Lowe's?"
"Was this room always this color?"
"What happened to the floor?"
"Have you seen my drill?"
"WHERE IS MY HAMMER?!"

Party pooper.  (I'm lookin' at you, P. Diddy.)  But in fairness, he has come home to this on more than one occasion:



After a Property Brothers marathon, I can overestimate my abilities just a touch.  They pulled out carpet?  I can pull out carpet!  (Nevermind that three people are doing it on the show, and I'm all by my lonesome.  Did y'all know that a roll of carpet weighs roughly 87,000 lbs?  I do now.)  They can tear down drywall?  I can tear down drywall!  (Did y'all know that banging on drywall with a hammer and ripping it down (the way they do it on the show) produces roughly 94,000 6" pieces of drywall?  I know this now. Yeah, it doesn't come down in nice big chunks like you would think.)  They can put up a backsplash?  I can put up a backsplash!

I think you get the picture....

It's a sickness.
On the other hand, though, a lot of my attempts turn out pretty well in the end.  Except when they don't, and I'm looking a bit like this:



(Penny backsplash, I'm looking at YOU.)

I just tell myself that it's temporary anyway... a way to express my creativity while waiting for the real renovations that are happening slowly.  If you stop by, who knows what you might see... but if you find me buried under drywall rubble, or grouted to the floor you can be sure Drew and Scott had something to do with it.  Good-looking bastards. *grumble*


Tuesday, May 5, 2015

That Time I Lost My Mind (In Brooks Brothers)

So, Brooks Brothers is evil.

I know, weird, right?  Since when is this preppy Mecca the seat of the devil?  I'll give you that - maybe the devil himself is not in residence, perhaps only one of his minions.

Only an evil place would make a woman believe wholeheartedly that her husband (at the tail end of his 30's) would look good in seersucker.

SEERSUCKER.

Don't get me wrong, I've always been a fan of it - on toddlers.  It never occurred to me that these twee adorable duds came in pieces bigger than a 5T, much less large enough to cover the rear of a grown man.

But there it was, big as day, allll over Brooks Brothers.  And it looked good.

It. Looked. Good.

To me, anyway.
I started holding up shorts, and shirts, telling my husband (dead seriously) that he should purchase them - they would look awesome!

After about the third item, I get The LOOK.
Y'all know The LOOK.  It's that sideways glance that clearly reads "I would never say this out loud, because I value my junk (and a good sandwich once in a while), but you are about 30 brands of crazy, woman.  Were you always like this, and I have trauma-induced amnesia, or was I black-out drunk when I proposed?"

Yep.  The LOOK was clearly thrown my way, along with an emphatic "Um... NO."

I probably should have figured out that it was not going to happen when even the kids (who are fashion-challenged enough to think that Minecraft and 'space kitties' are the best prints for your must-have wardrobe staples) began shooting me The LOOK and making gagging noises.

Gagging, I tell you!

So, I followed little one around the store, telling her that she's lucky she wasn't born a boy, and showing her all the seersucker/plaid/polo shirt things I would be forcing her to wear right about now if she was Emmett instead of Ella. Suffice it to say, there was never a person on this earth happier to not be in possession of a penis.  

Either my entire family has absolutely no taste, or I lost my mind in Brooks Brothers.  Maybe I should let up on looking at Kentucky Derby pictures, and NOT get a triple latte before my next venture into Preppyville.

Maybe.

There's always Christmas.
Look out hubs, seersucker is available year-round.


Saturday, May 2, 2015

Ramen's Legacy

My kids love ramen noodles, and ask for them all the time.  Most of the time I find myself furrowing my brow, and wondering why on earth they would choose that, when they have a million other options.

It's simple:  they love it because it's never been their only choice.

You know what I mean.  Remember in college, when you looked in your pantry (and believe me, I use that word loosely) and saw only ramen noodles, generic cereal, real coke (come on, we're not animals, people!) and Pepe Lopez tequila?  Yes?  And in the freezer was frozen juice concentrate (to complement the Pepe) and Mr. T's pizzas, amirite?  What more does a broke-ass college student need?

Yeah.
Well, turns out that the surplus of ramen and Mr. T's never quite leaves you/stops haunting you.

 I now have a pavlovian reaction to ramen noodles - I eat a bowl, and immediately get paranoid....  Have we paid the house payment?  Do we have enough money?  Should I start 'couponing'?  Did I REALLY need to buy those brand name Cheerios?  GREY EFFING GOOSE?!  Is my husband trying to bankrupt us?!

Ramen is not just a noodle, it's a state of mind.

You can earn half a million dollars a year, and after one bowl of ramen, you're thinking "Maybe we should switch to single-ply" and "Good God, people, there's a one Twinkie limit!  One!  Do you know how much those things cost?!"

Similarly, other 'college purchases' bring certain sentiments to mind, as an adult.

Mr. T's pizza:  "This is what sadness tastes like.  Sadness, served atop charred cardboard."

Pepe Lopez tequila:  "Hope you're not attached to your stomach lining!"

Frozen juice concentrate:  You look at it, and all you taste is the Pepe Lopez... after all, once it was made (seriously watered down, of course) it only contained about .001% juice.  You now have a near vomit-inducing sense of revulsion whenever you see it.

Generic Pop-Tarts:  The equivalent of a dried out piece of used paper, scribbled on with Mr. Sketch markers.

Generic Cereal:  "Why bother with niceties like real milk?  My life is over."

Banquet TV dinners:  "Pretty sure this is the stuff Mom used to feed our cat."

Suave (or White Rain) shampoo and conditioner:  "My hair is dried out and shriveled, just like my soul."

Yeah, so, maybe all those rose-colored college memories don't involve eating... or they involved eating at someone else's house.  Come to think of it, I don't remember eating a whole heck of a lot, and when I did, Hamburger Helper was a freaking feast, yo.

There's your answer to the burning question "Why the fug were you so effing skinny?!"
When you have ramen, cardboard, and cat food to choose from, painfully thin doesn't seem so bad.

LOL!