I Think I’m A Pinterest Mom

Counting the Deviled Egg Disaster of Easter 2015 as the recent (and glaring) exception, I think I’m a Pinterest Mom. And even so, the Deviled Egg Disaster of Easter 2015 was inspired by the famed pin site.

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It was like Night of the Living Dead meets a traditional, holiday appetizer.

When my husband said that the only thing he cared about on Easter was that I make a lot of deviled eggs; oh and by the way can you make those guacamole ones?; oh hey you should do those colored ones you did a few years ago…; oooh look at those bleu cheese buffalo spiced deviled eggs … well you can see I was overwhelmed. I also saw a pin where the person made the deviled eggs look like baby chicks, and immediately felt up for the challenge. This is around where it fell apart – I was just in way over my head.

It also didn’t help a single bit that my husband’s cousin and his wife showed up with this bullshit cheese and chartreuse platter. I call it bullshit because it was SO. DAMN. AMAZING that it put everyone else’s nonsense to shame. I could have brought in a watermelon carving fashioned in the likeness of Jesus Christ himself, and it wouldn’t compare to that goddamned cheese and chartreuse platter.  They actually hand-carved the platters at home, out of what I can only assume was wood they gathered from the homes of the gods on Mount Olympus.

So you can see, in the case of the Deviled Egg Disaster of Easter 2015, I was set up to fail from all sides. But this isn’t the normal course of affairs.

Usually I’m all over baking homemade dog treats, making my own laundry detergent, and hanging cutesy signs through out the house – that I happened to cross-stitch or paint out of, naturally, up-cycled materials I already had around the house.

Consider Exhibits A and B. After spending hours working on these, I can’t help but wonder if (a) anyone in my house will ever pay attention to them; or, (b) just how insane others will think I am when they visit the house.

I mean really… sock buddy system? How annoyingly cute can we get here?

Exhibit A

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Exhibit B

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Birthday parties aren’t just birthday parties anymore. They are events. Events where every food item is perfectly labeled.

Exhibit C

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Themes and color schemes are strictly adhered to.

Exhibit D

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And there is always – ALWAYS – a dessert table.

Exhibit E

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In Exhibit F you’ll see I’ve created a monogram for our family. It’s a fusion of our last name initials (P and S), and has taken over our house in monogrammed towels, wall letter art, and the labels I put on everything.

I actually have a day set each month to make more of those labels.

Exhibit F

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As time goes on, I’m making more and more from scratch. I’m getting to the point of needing nothing more than a cow, and I will be fully sufficient. I can for canning season. I make homemade dog food, from-scratch Chex Mix, and homemade butter.

Yes – moving on to Exhibit G, now – I make my own butter. As in I churn it.

Exhibit G

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And on the off chance that I’ve missed a beat, or something comes up like the Deviled Egg Disaster of Easter 2015, I feel that I have failed. Failed miserably – not only as a Pinterest user, or a Pinterest mom, but as a human being altogether.

tumblr_n0o4rm1zP71somw7ho1_500Why? Because like many of you, I can’t help but compare myself, both to others as well as to that vast world of pins and pictures and examples of the far greater things out there. As I see it, Pinterest is just the new era of Better Homes and Gardens and Modern Woman magazines. And this is why women have been comparing themselves for ages.

We could talk about the social problems with this for ages, the fact that it happens is just that: a simple fact. No matter how many positivity-be-myself-and-love-it articles I read on Buzzfeed and Huffington Post, a part of me is always going to wonder if I could do as well as the others.

But it isn’t just a matter of self-comparison, because – quite frankly – a lot of the time I couldn’t give a lick about what others do. It’s more like a challenge. There is better out there, and I know I can do better. So I’m going to (unless it has anything to do with deviled eggs).

So I think I’m a Pinterest Mom. That means that a lot of you hate me. Like really-really hate me; like you’ve written your own articles about how I’m a big asshole making everyone else look like a pile of crap.

And here I am, feeling like my own pile of crap because of a fucking cheese platter.

Well there are a few saving graces, here. (One) is that a lot of my Pinterest projects likely come out looking more like the Deviled Egg Disaster of Easter 2015 than I’m able to admit. (Two) is that unlike a lot of people I know, I can only keep up charades for a relatively short period of time. Which means that before we know it I’ll be back to my bargain basement decorating skills, coupled with parties that consist of no more than a bucket of chicken on my cluttered dining room table.

As I get ready to make a Moving Day Binder out of printables I printed off Pinterest tomorrow (that is, literally, the only thing I have planned for the entire day), I hold steadfast in my hope that this Pinterest Mom phase will pass quickly.

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You’re Fuckin’ A Right, It’s Fall

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It’s Fall, motherfuckers. Well, it’s been Fall for a few weeks now, but – as usual – I’m behind the game of things.

That’s not true. My Fall shit has been up since around August. It was like 102 degrees out, and I was setting up a scarecrow. I’m just slowing down on all the crafts and the Pinterest projects right now to take a breather, and share the bad-assedness of Fall with you faithful blog followers.

I absolutely am in love with Fall.

Are any of you tired of hearing that from panty-waste women such as myself yet? Oh I just love the smell of falling leaves! Pumpkin season is back! Here are 7,000 photos of my family and me apple picking and getting lost in fucking corn mazes!! Fall is the greatest season EVER!!!

That’s a bit over the top, but I will say that I share the sentiments that Fall is pretty fucking rad. I’m not sure why. It’s possible that it’s because baseball season is coming to an end (being a White Sox fan, I am usually ready for the disappointment to stop), and football/basketball/hockey season begins. But I’m not that much of a sporty, so really I think it’s the sights and smells, the projects and the extra free time. And it’s the undeniable fact that with the beginning of autumn comes the temporary end of summer boob sweat.

My favorite things about Fall (besides the part about boob sweat), in no particular order are:

Gourds and Shit.

Shit like hay bales, scarecrows, sunflowers, and dried out corn.

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Fucking Fires.

October is fire season in California, which means that the highest fire risk is present. A lot of people’s lives are entirely devastated as a result of some sick fuck with a Zippo and a pyromaniacal tendency.

I’m not talking about that kind of fire. I’m talking about fireplaces and campfires. The crackling and the smell is the greatest; even when it’s simulated with potpourri, fake logs, and LED tea lights on my living room coffee table.

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Open Eating Season Begins!!!

That’s the thing that is really spectacular about Fall and Winter: it’s Open Eating Season. In the spring and the summer, we’re always too busy and too hot and sticky, and too self-conscious about the way we look in our jorts and bathing suits, to eat. But with fall comes pumpkin everything. Halloween treats and Halloween candy. Then Thanksgiving and on into the winter season of eating and yuletide, and all that other happy horse shit involving egg nog and calories.

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So sure, it may be tiring to listen to people ramble on and on about how great their Pumpkin Spice Frap at Starbucks was this morning. People are going to totally overdue the pumpkin flavored crazy, which – ironically – rarely has actual pumpkin in it. Yeah, people will start wearing those ugly fucking moon boots again, but it will still be warm enough to pair them with jorts and skeez tops.

But beyond that, Autumn is so awesome. The leaves and the wind and the oranges and browns and reds. The crackling of fires and the gourds and dried out corn. Pumpkin farms, apple picking, and haunted houses. The end of it being warm enough for teenagers to dry hump outdoors in public; and the beginning of sweater season.

You’re fuckin’ a right, it’s Fall.

Screw Yourself Sideways, Spring Cleaning

I’ve been spring cleaning for about a week.

At first it was as it always is – like a new boyfriend. I was excited. My heart a’fluttered at the thought of trashing some of the crap we have and never use. The first night I couldn’t even get to sleep – the wheels in my brain were just turning and turning and turning over all the things I wanted to do.

Now spring cleaning and I have reached a parting of ways. It’s been a week (so, also much like a new boyfriend). I’m tired of having headaches from all the dust allergens flying around. There’s stuff. Everywhere. And for some reason I can’t get rid of this nagging feeling that I got rid of something I shouldn’t have.

Or is it that I didn’t get rid of enough?

Day 1

My Husband will rue the day he married this de-cluttering queen.

6496_522876140413_4968011_nWhen my husband and I first moved in with each other, I learned how much of a hoarder he really was. Is. Will have to get over.

We were unpacking stuff and he opened this big crate and dumped out a bunch of wires. The first thing I should have picked up on was that we didn’t really need any wires for anything we were doing, he just wanted to sort through his wire collection.

Pause a moment. Wire collection.

I asked what they were for and he said “in case I ever need them.” He thought it was funny. By contrast, I thought it was horrifying so I popped Xanax after Xanax because I was beginning to realize what I had gotten myself into.

We have gotten rid of a total of three of my husband’s things in the entire time I have known him. A bedside fountain that didn’t work. An African-looking knick knack that had rusted and cut me more than twice. And a ripped pair of sheets. A few years ago, my husband was given hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of clothing by his parents for Christmas. He got rid of two t-shirts to “make room.”

When I started spring cleaning last week, I realized that I just could not take all of his clutter anymore. If he wasn’t going to get rid of it, in fairness he had to find a better place to store it than on the floor next to our bed, or in areas of the closet that should be for me. I am the woman in the house, aren’t I?

Our conversation went like this:

Me: “We have got to start de-cluttering this place, Nick. I have to be here all the time, unlike you – it is making me feel sick and unsettled to have so much crap around all the time. Plus, it’s like some of this stuff is just here for me to clean. I have never actually seen you play those two guitars sitting propped against the wall over there. And the amp and pedal board that sits next to our bed – not a once. Ever.”

Nick: [Look of panic] “I don’t know what you are talking about. I also don’t even know why you care that there is clutter all over the place. I let you put away the Lord of the Rings cup that I used to like having displayed. How much more do I have to give up?”

Me: [Ignoring the look of panic, as well as the blatant stupidity] “OK, well if that is how you are going to be, I’m just going to do it myself and you can deal with it…”

Nick: Fine.

Nick is right. He let me put away the Lord of the Rings cup. By “let” of course we are all of the understanding that he had no choice. I love the Lord of the Rings movies; The Hobbit was my favorite book growing up. But there is no room for Frodo Baggins in my home decor.

Day 2

The bedroom and the kitchen. I figured I would start at one end of the apartment and move my way out.

To start, I wanted to pack as much of my husband’s guitar equipment into his side of the closet. Of course to do this, I had to start going through his side of the closet and getting rid of crap. Papers. Wire collection. Pussy Master 3000.

Wait, what?

You heard me right, faithful blog followers. I found the drawer full of gag gifts. Some of them I do remember as gifts – possibly gag, possibly serious (I never know with some of my friends). Lubricants. Handcuffs. Things never used, of course. Then there was something my husband consistently insists was a gag gift, although the details of said gift have never been disclosed.

Pussy Master 3000. Lubricant included. As the packaging goes, it’s for the guy who is sick of just using lotion, but needs an artificial vagina for those lonely nights while the wife is away. Fortunately it was still in the bag.

I moved into the kitchen after the Pussy Master and did a little purging and organizing. Then it was time to call it a day.

Day 3

Can’t deal with this spring cleaning shit. Let’s go to the mall.

Day 4

Can’t deal with this spring cleaning shit. Let’s go to my dad’s and mooch food.

Day 5

Oh shit, how am I going to finish spring cleaning in time for the Super Bowl party?! Super Bowl party … Super Bowl party … Let’s shop all day to get stuff for the Super Bowl party.

Day 6

Got my period. There is shit everywhere in my house now. I haven’t dusted in over a week. There is some gelatenous goo forming on the kitchen floor. I need tampons. Better to go get those and hang out at my dad’s house. It’s nice and tidy there.

Day 7 – Today

Screw yourself sideways, spring cleaning. It’s now just a few days away from the Super Bowl and we’re packing about 16 people into our tiny apartment. There’s a bowl, books, stickers, an open package of graham crackers, and a broken Dora the Explorer talking backpack occasionally splurting out “back pack back pack” on the living room coffee table. On the kitchen table is a pile of cleaning supplies, another book, a party bag full of Super Bowl-themed party stuff, and a package of Puffs tissues. I didn’t even bother to put the boxes of kleenex around the house and the extras away. Better to just pull the kleenex directly out of the package, left half-opened on the table.

9401It’s time to get away from this spring cleaning nonsense. I need to just put away all this crap and move on with my life. I discovered a bruise on my leg this morning while getting ready. It probably got there from the hundreds of times I’ve run into all the shit lying around here over the past week of “spring cleaning;” nonetheless, it reminded me that I’m a princess and don’t like scrapes and bruises showing up on my delicate skin. Pussy Master 3000 and Frodo Baggins will have to be it for now. Until next spring…

STFU Fridays: “Only Old Ladies Craft”

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I am 30 years old. I have no more (less) than 4 grey hairs (the hair stylist says they were a fluke, because they never came back). I still wear boots a lot. And skinny jeans. I don’t have arthritis (just yet). And my days are not defined by bowel movements (at least not mine).

My point is this: I am young and spry. And yet I craft like a motherfucker.

I have been on vacation in this weird, faux Danish town and one of the things about these types of places is that they are filled with old ladies and their quilting bees. The town’s local hero is Hans Christian Andersen. And they have a year-round Christmas store called Jule Has. That’s about all they’ve got going for them; so you know – what else are they going to do but quilt and knit?

Back to me: if you can imagine the sound of a dolphin having an orgasm while giving birth, that is about the noise that came out of my mouth while at the first of many craft stores I visited on this vacation to the Hans Christian Andersen-Jule Has-town of old ladies and quilting bee shit. Non-human ecstasy combined with sheer horror. You see, while getting my craft-gasm on, I overheard someone walking by outside the store, saying that “only old ladies craft.”

Shut the fuck up, bitch.

If only old ladies craft, then stop posting DIY shit on Pinterest

Seriously, the whole concept of Pinterest is crafting. Saying something is DIY is synonymous with saying it was a craft. Everything is creative and adorable and cute (crafty), or else why the fuck would you pin it?

Bitches that Pinterest all this creative, adorable shit and then say that only old ladies craft need to shut the fuck up. Bitches that post food porn and then say that only old ladies craft need to shut the fuck up as well (because nice-looking food is – in essence – crafting too).

Bitches that DIY their whole fucking wedding, or create house decor out of duct tape and spray paint, and then say that only old ladies craft for real need to shut the fuck up. Shut. The. Fuck. UP.

If only old ladies craft, stop wearing hand-knitted sweaters

Reaping the benefits of not-old-ladies crafting and then saying that only old ladies craft deserves a very large STFU.

Nothing makes me more angry than someone who talks shit about something, and embraces it anyway. You know, like someone that says Taco Bell is for people with no taste buds, but then gets a part-time job there when the hooker and blow fund dries up. Or a person that rails on about people on welfare, while standing in line for a prescription paid for by the free, state healthcare for people of low income.

Unless bitches know for a fact that their hand-knitted sweaters, socks, bags, scarves, or dildo warmers are – in fact – crafted by some crafty old lady, they for real need to shut the fuck up.

If only old ladies craft, then why is Etsy full of young people selling their crafted wares?

Have you ever been to Etsy, faithful blog followers? It is full of a lot of shit. I mean shit in a neutral term – some is cool (I bought the head piece for my wedding off of there); a lot is junk. There’s also some opportunism going on over the site, like that guy that was selling the homemade heart clutch bags to remember the victims of the Sandy Hook shooting (and not donating a penny of it victims and families of the shooting).

But old ladies don’t sell their crafts on Etsy! Most of the old ladies I know don’t even know what Etsy is!! Etsy is loaded with young bitches that do a lot of crafts, who then think that they’ll just jump on the bandwagon and make some extra money like all the other young bitches that sell their crafty wares on the website.

I craft like a motherfucker. And I am young and spry (well, sort of). This Shut the Fuck Up Fridays is for all those bitches and their hand-knitted dildo warmers who say that “only old ladies craft.” Young ladies do too; and it probably isn’t fair for me to imply that it’s only the ladies that craft, because men craft all the time – and that is totally OK.

So all those bitches with their DIY Pinterest accounts can just keep their dildos in their hand-knitted warmers and mouths shut the fuck up.