September 2010


Michaels Craft Photo Frames

This is where it starts.  Forty five $1 wood frames from Michaels.  I wish you all could have been there with me when I checked out and the cashier scanned each wood frame individually.  Yup.  Individually, 45 times.

(Maybe you were there with me, and in that case, you better not have been the one cursing me out at the back of the line.  I know what that word means, madam!)

Anyhow, like I stated in a previous post (of which I’m too lazy to link to, sorry folks), I’m getting Martha Stewart all up in this joint.  Which means our condo is starting to look like a mini Michaels store.  But more like an explosion instead of those neatly stacked shelves.  I dare you to open my guest room closet.  Get some padded gear ready and remember to protect your face.

Sidenote (of which I have many and you all know that by now): I’ve been informed by the President/CEO/Emperor of Michaels Craft Store that if I mention the store just ONE more time in this blog, they’ll make me Director of Marketing for their Web Ad Campaign.  A snazzy title, but long, lonely days on the road away from the family.  I had to turn them down.

Also, I feel a little like I’m bailing on Oscar Meyer and Willy Wonka who are cutting me checks at this very moment.  Yup.  Annny minute now.

Sidenote over.  You made it through alive.  That wasn’t so bad, right?

So back to the craft at hand.  Channeling Martha, I decided to take on the task of making table number luminaries.  Let me explain what these are.  Way back when, I saw a picture on the Martha Stewart Weddings site that showed 3 photo frames connected upright together to form a triangle.  In the frame, Martha (or probably one of her minions) had printed photos on vellum, a translucent paper.  Inside the frame, Igor (I named her minion that because Igor is the minion of all minions) had placed a candle.  The light shone through and made the photos appear to glow.

Tony and I decided (wait, did I say Tony?  I meant I decided for the both of us) that we could put something like this on each table with our baby photos.  And because it wasn’t crafty enough, I’d also buy wood numbers to paint gold and spray paint with glitter.  These luminaries would act as our table numbers.

Man, I’m smart!

Which brings me to the first set of problems I encountered.  Printing on vellum paper.  It didn’t go so bad at first.  Until my printer decided to join all the other electronic devices in my household and revolt against me.  If you know me, you know anything electronic in my household will eventually declare mutiny.  And I’m saying that really quietly in case my dryer is listening again.  Uncle!  I’m crying Uncle, Maytag!

(Sidenote #2: Of course the dryer, TV and DVD player all crap out on me, but nooooo, not Tony’s XBox.  It couldn’t be the Xbox.)

Apparently there is no fooling my printer that flimsy, translucent paper is anything like the normal stuff it eats.

The printer started to act a little annoyed.  Until it went nut-zo and started printing on the fritz.  Poor Tony had ink splatters all over his tiny, little baby forehead.  And it was noticeable enough that we couldn’t pass the ink stains off as a freak mole he had as a baby.  Nobody would have bought it.

So I lost some paper in the mix.  And I’m not on speaking terms with my printer.  So we’ll have to figure something out, but for the most part, I was able to finish a good portion of Project Baby Photo.

Below is an example of what it looks like, but the finished product will have a lit candle behind it.

Please refrain from gobbling up such a cute little face. Because that face is now 29 years old and that could be awkward.

I haven’t started staining the frames yet, but his mom has volunteered to help me with that part.  She’s in for a surprise.  And you are too, when I get to the second post on this project and let you know how the staining goes.  I’m having nightmares of lighting the candle inside and the stain vapors going up in a fireball.  Is that a smother or douse scenario?  Let me know quick, ok?

But in the meantime,  how about a few gratuitous baby photos to send us out?

Yeah, I have a nametag pinned to me, so what? What up, ladies?

To which Katie replies:

Whatevs, Tone! The day you can start whining is the day someone forgets to put pants on you.

Stay tuned for the next installment on this DIY project.  And please pray my printer doesn’t try to attack me in my sleep tonight.  I’ve already had one nasty surprise from the toaster.

I need to stop writing about Justin Bieber (or Biebs as I call him ‘cuz we’re totally bff like that) and the Wienermobile.  Because I’m getting an awful lot of Google searches for those terms.  And sometimes the two together.  But…without the “mobile” part on the end, if you get what I’m sayin’…

I could hear you all thinking that over.  And yeah, it freaks me out too, people.  Can’t help the Google stats, though.  As gross and skeevy as they may be.

Also?  Wiener?  Really?  The English major in me is disappointed in the lack of creativity.  Someone get these tween girls a Thesaurus already!

Tween girls are a strange bunch.  A strange, hormonal bunch.

Run, Biebs.  Run.*

*But stay away from the caves.  There are plenty of cougars running wild out there, too.  It’s a dangerous world, my friend.

There is this girl.  We’ve all met her.  She’s the girl who’s 2 months out from her wedding date.  Some may call her organized.  Some may even say a bit whack-a-doo about cake flavors.

I used to laugh and roll my eyes at that girl.  Because, seriously…bridezilla.  And I was NOT going to be that girl.

Well.  Let me introduce myself.  I’m that girl.

I didn’t realize how hard all this planning was going to be.  The money, time and effort that goes into planning a big soiree for your closest friends and family is astronomical.  I find myself laying awake in bed at night going over details, deadlines and deposits.  I’m starting to become that annoying girl who somehow finds a way to link a conversation about something as completely random as a trip to the zoo back to the wedding.

What’s wrong with me?

I need help.  An intervention of some sort.  I might even allow slight physical violence if you promise to remember I’m kind of a wuss.

 If I don’t get help soon, this is the bride you”ll see on her wedding day.

Kiss me, Tony and I'll be yours forever!

My back molar hurts.  Dagnabit.

Which is really old man speak for “shit!”

And, yeah, the swearing was necessary.  Because I have a toothache.  What the heck karma gods?  You know I hate the dentist.  Did he pray for more money when he was getting ready to go to bed last night? (Side note, I picture him in footie pajamas for some reason…)

Listen, karma gods.  I know I make a lot of promises when I go to the dentist.  Things like:

-“For sure I’ll cut down on the candy intake.” (Lie)

-“I will use the flouride treatment diligently” (Lie)

-“It’s so good to see you again” (Lying through my teeth…ha, no pun intended)

But, I DO floss.  And I DO brush twice a day.  And I get a toothache.

My fiancee, who works at a dental company and has insane dental coverage, isn’t always the champion flosser, yet he has a clean bill of oral health.

Life.  Unfair, no?

Check out my award, bitches!  Jealous much? 

Now that I’ve offended the lot of you, let me thank Thoughts Appear for the lovely shout-out.  And yeah I just said “lovely” again.

Anyhoo, I guess the way this works is I pass it on to my favorite bloggers.  And if you didn’t make the list, please know that it’s only because I can pick just 4.  Besides, I’m sending you a contract for my first born child in the mail.  It’s the consolation prize.  Which, really, is way cooler than a shout-out into cyberspace, anyway.

(I can’t guarantee he will cook, though.  My DNA can be mighty aggressive in the gene pool.  Some might even consider the “curly-hair” gene to be downright scrappy.  Sorry stick-straight-Tony-hair.)

So in no particular order, here are some blogs I enjoy perusing.  You know.  When I actually have time away from the straightening iron.

The Highly Uninteresting Misadventures of Average Girl – I am always amused.  Always. 

Amalah – She’s pretty much super famous in the blogging world (think Hyperbole and a Half…) so she probably has no idea I exist, nor that I am passing on such a prestigious and honorary award to her.  But you asked whose blogs I love to read.  And I don’t miss hers!

Goodbye Whoopie Pie – she’ll make you laugh, she’ll make you cry.  Then she’ll make you feel like you wish you had just written what she wrote, damnit!

Perpetually Peeved – I’m new to her blog, but she’s pretty, freakin’ hilarious.  Check out her “What The…?” posts – you could quite possibly pee a little from the laughing.  I will try not to be sitting next to you when you do, though.

So that’s that.  How’s it feel to be uber-famous, you ask?  Oh, pretty natural, I must say.  I’ll try to remind myself to remember all the little people when I make it to the top, though.  Which one of you does hair?  I’m going to need a fabulous stylist when I’m hobnobbing with P. Diddy and Luda in our pimped out Wiener-mobile.  That’s just how I roll, people.  Big fat wheels and vertical grills…and a big, orange hotdog sitting on top.*

*Ten thousand points and my SECOND unborn child if you can name the song whose lyrics I just totally ripped off (before the hotdog part, of course, because rappers tend to not sing about hotdogs.  It’d be a lot cooler if they did…but that’s beside the point).

It is exactly 9:41 p.m., Monday night, September the 13th. 

At this precise moment, I am hoarding not 1…not 2…but 7 Michael’s coupons for 50% off.

 They are squirreled away in a pocket in my purse as I literally plan out how to use all 7 before they expire.  Did I mention you can only use one a day?  And you make a good point when you roll your eyes at me and tell me I can technically walk out of the store and walk back in, but…I can’t do that.  It’s the honest conscience.  It just won’t let me.  It can be such a pain sometimes.

I have mapped out my week as follows.  Tomorrow I will drive to the Michael’s that is nearer to my bank.  Then, on the way home, I will visit the Michael’s closest to my home.  Wednesday will be only one stop because I work the second job.  But Thursday – Hallelujah!  Tony is home.  That means I can drag his butt to Michael’s and force him to stand in line with the second coupon.  Because even though the cashier totally knows it’s not a mere coincidence that we both are buying the exact same thing…and that as a male he probably isn’t adding to his lovely collection of vases at home…she can’t do a damn thing about it.  I’m following the rules, woman!  Try and stop me from forcing my miserable looking fiancée to Michael’s to buy crafty items of which he has no interest!  Juuuuust try!

When I first started wedding planning, I asked myself a few questions.  The most important was as follows:

“Hey self, how ya’ doin’?  How do you feel about crafts?”

In which I answered:

“You know…I don’t do many crafts, but I think I like them.  And if it saves me a few pocket coins, I think I could get by. Also, you’re having a good hair day.  I don’t tell you that enough.”

The thing about me is…well…I’m ambitious.  And not cautiously ambitious, which is probably the better thing to be.  I’m the girl who looks through Martha Stewart Magazine and decides I could so create my own handmade pillows using toothpicks, thimbles and just a bit of masking tape. 

(Really comfortable, FYI.  The toothpicks are to thank.)

One summer, long ago, I even checked out a bunch of books from the library about macrame.  My room looked like the 1970s barfed up plant hangers all up in my window space.  I do believe that might have been my go-to gift of the year as well.  So if you know of a 2004 Katie original floating around somewhere, please note that goes for top bucks on Ebay.

So, my main point being that I tend to go a little overboard when I try my hand at the crafting.  My brain thinks I’m some MacGyver when it comes to finding my way around a hot glue gun, but the product outcome begs to differ.  Except the macrame.  Those were some pretty groovy plant hangers.

When I first started this blog, I wrote a post about using manzanita branches for a guest card table.  It was a bit much, what with all the mirrors and crystals and…branchy-ness.  So I reworked my vision and am happy to say, I finally have created something crafty…but pretty darn good.  I only managed to break one vase, inhale glitter down my esophagus and crush just a few mini ornaments.  All in all…success. 

I do exaggerate a little in this post (except about the inhaling of glitter.  I wouldn’t kid about sparklicious little speckles of carcinogen coating my windpipe).  While it took a lot of trial and error (and countless trips to Michael’s), I have narrowed down a few crafts of which I think I can accomplish.  Without making me nutty.  But maybe making Tony nutty.  As he stands in line.  At Michael’s.  With a coupon.

(Picture Grumpy from the Seven Dwarves.  But with a bandana instead of a stocking cap.)

See how I brought that full circle?  I’m so good.  Or just really tired.  You be the judge about my lame attempts at humor during this post.  I can’t be on all the time, people!

Annnnnd here comes the moment when I realize I’m actually starting to pick a fight with my blog readers about how I’m assuming they’re judging the un-funniness of this post.  When did this spiral downward so quick? 

Next post – a step by step guide on how I’m making the table numbers.  For all you brides out there who are actually looking to my blog as a DIY wedding resource guide.  Laugh not, people!

We didn’t end up going to the bakery yesterday.  We actually ended up having to cancel, much to my disappointment, because Tony was really sick to his stomach.  The last thing he wanted, according to him, was to eat cake. 

It could have been the spicy chicken sandwich he made himself the night before.  Or the lemon garlic chicken.  Or maybe the copious amounts of bacon he was shoveling down his gullet.

But nooo.  He chooses to the blame the 3 a.m. stop at Taco Bell.  Listen, with the laundry list of food in his stomach, he was a ticking time bomb waiting to happen.  Don’t blame the TB, honey.  It’s never the TB’s fault, in my book.

So we’ll have to reschedule, no big deal.  But it got me to thinking how down to the wire we are.  We’ve passed the 3 month mark and here’s where my freak-out, spazzoid temperament will reach an all-time high.  So don’t get too close to me unless you want a panic-striken bride all up in your face begging you to choose “cylinder vases or square?!  Tell me!  Cylinder or square?!”  Here’s where I picture myself grabbing your shoulders and shaking you like a rag doll, pleading with you to just “pick an answer already and spare me the misery of making yet another decision!!!”

Did my spazzoid-ness come across?  Maybe I should give you a call.

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