Pinterest is Ruining my life

How would one describe Pinterest?

The beauty of it is, you can't.

It's a magical place where there are recipes, memes, arts and crafts, DIY, house decorating and remodel ideas, movie quotes and posters, travel destinations, photography, and everything you could possibly be interested in, on one site.

When you find something you like, you can save it to a "board" specifically for the topic of your choice; an Internet version of a pinboard similar to what a teacher may have in their classroom, or someone who is ridiculously organized and has everything on a pinboard in their kitchen. And on that board is everything that makes you laugh, and insecure with your crafting, cooking, and organizing skills.

It also can suck you into the Internet and will never release you. I don't know how many times I've said, "I'm going to take a ten minute break, check Pinterest and continue writing." A couple hours later I close out of Pinterest and I have a half finished writing project there. But don't worry, I know what colors will work in our bedroom that receives minimal natural light. Oops.

I love my house, I love the layout, I love the openness of the downstairs. It's a great house! B

ut after wandering on Pinterest I want to rip out closets and make reading nooks. I want to repaint the entire house, and replace drywall with an exposed brick wall. I want to redo every room seven times over, because there are so many rooms on Pinterest I love.

There was a concern about our yard and me with a shovel. I think there needs to be a bigger concern about me, the house, and Pinterest.

Whenever Chris went out of town when we were in the apartment I rearranged furniture. I'm thinking if he ever goes out of town, I'm redoing the house.

The conversation when he returns will probably go something like this:

Chris: Why is there a hole in the roof?
Mo: I wanted a skylight.
Chris: Why is there a hole in the wall?
Mo: I wanted to make a bay window with shelves for a reading nook.
Chris: Why is our kitchen completely and totally destroyed?
Mo: I wanted to refurnish the cabinets, and install new counters, and replace the floors with this crazy all natural moss like thing that works like Disney Channel's Original Movie Smart House where the floors absorb EVERYTHING!
Chris: Why is our house leaning?
Mo: I saw this really cool idea on Pinterest where you take out a wall and you get more natural light
Chris: I'm never leaving you alone in the house again

It probably would never get to the point I was able to take out an entire wall, but you never know.

But one thing I am going to do, if Chris ever leaves me home alone without a babysitter after reading this, is decorate my closet like Narnia and every time I open the closet door I can be in Narnia. Also, I'm going to make the door to my office look like a bookshelf so I can have a hidden room. If I have enough time, after I tie up my babysitter, I'm knocking out the ceiling in our Room of Requirement and building bookshelves from the floor to the roof in the attic.

Okay, who wants to kidnap Chris for a weekend and who wants to help me remodel?

It's the Holiday Season

Happy Holidays everyone!

Yes, I do say holidays because within six weeks there is Thanksgiving, Chanukah/Hanukkah (dec 8-16), Christmas and New Years and I cannot combine them into anything pronounceable. The closest I have is Happy Thankskahmasear. I have enough issues with word pronunciation, I don't need to make it harder on myself.

I have found the perfect way to celebrate Thanksgiving. Allow your mother to call you in July and say she and your father are coming for Thanksgiving. Make sure she and your sister will be doing the cooking (this is essential). Then invite friends over and assign them to bring something. All I had to do was unlock the front door. Perfect!

A Detroit Lions loss (shocker), seventeen people, ten bottles of wine and several beers later it was a party!

There were several flippings of the bird, both fingers and the turkey; a threat of fire, and only eight chairs. We were surrounded by good friends and good food, it was perfect.

The best part of Thanksgiving? It gives way into the Christmas season. I no longer have to secretly listen to Christmas music in my car or through headphones. I am able to play my favorite Christmas movies on the large screen instead of my laptop and I get to wear my Elf hat.

There is tons of candy and Chex's Puppy Chow (if you call it Muddy Buddies you do not deserve presents this year).

The stockings are hanging by the chimney with care, with lovely garland with lights on the mantle.

The perfect corner for the perfect tree is empty.

The tree substitute with its teeny tiny tree-like-shaped-thing that fits in a small corner and holds ornaments is up in the kitchen. I'm still angry about the stupid fake impostor with its stupid plasticness. I'm not going to rant again, if you missed it last year here it is.

The upside to the fake tree this year?

We get to go home for Christmas this year. This is the first time since I moved out here I will be returning home for Christmas. And there better be snow!

As per tradition the day after Thanksgiving the Christmas lights went up on the house. It was your typical lights on the house adventure. Me trying not to fall off the roof in the pouring rain. I'm not a fan of heights. My fear of heights has been decreased to a dislike. So you put me on the roof in the rain, and I am not going to be moving very fast.  It  was a slow and steady process until I said the gutters were overflowing. Not surprising as we were out in the pouring rain.

My goal for lights to be on both levels of the house went out the window when my dad and husband began cleaning out the gutters as we attached the lights to the house.

As Chris and I attached lights my dad put his hand in the nasty gutter and came up with a handful of gunk. Chris did the same. I was not putting my hand in there. There could have been a crocodile. Probably not. Most likely a swamp monster.

I continued hanging lights, Chris took the peak over the garage and my dad began to rake out the gunk.

Then Chris began to rake out the gunk on the upper level of our roof. He did not take lights up there with him. I finished my strand, my dad fastened to the shingles since I couldn't lift the shingles off the roof (there may or may not be a leaking roof later).

Cold and wet I went inside to decorate.

Chris and my dad made it their goal to fix the gutters. For the most part it is fixed, thanks to a scrap piece of wood from our neighbors. Don't worry they already know we're weird.

Lights are up. Gutters are working, and now we begin the Christmas Season with some lights and music. In the words of the Muppets:

It's time to start the music. It's time to light the lights!

Messing with Squirrels

I think I've written about the two squirrels who like to hang out in our backyard. Steve the Squirrel greeted us the first morning in our house with a pine cone on the patio next to our glass sliding door. Since that morning I've been greeted by Steve in one way or another.

There have been times where it looks like he is almost peering into our house. And there are times where he and his mate (gay marriage is allowed in Washington, and we don't discriminate in our house) have gotten a little frisky. I'm telling you, they have no shame.

As I cleaned up the backyard this past summer, Steve kept a watchful eye on my movements. If I got to close to one of his hiding places he would squawk and leap down from his tree and quickly dig it up and rebury it elsewhere. Depending on what I was doing he had to rehide his food storage up to seven times in a day.

He never complained.

On Tuesday of this week we removed three large trees. Okay, we personally did not. We found a limit to my ability with shovel and hatchet; and 100ft trees is that limit. Two trees were side heavy and leaning towards our house. The third was leaning towards the street.

Normally, Steve spends most of his time running up and down the trees and then backflipping when he hit the ground. He's a funny little squirrel.

As I sat on the couch watching the 21st century's take on lumberjacks (hoodies and cargos, with chainsaws and harnesses) cut down trees from the top and feeling the tree's trunk sections hit the ground with a large thump, causing the couch and house to shake, I looked at Chris and asked, "What about Steve?"

We didn't see Steve that day. I'm not sure what his exit plan is for his trees being cut down. But whatever it is, it kept him alive.

Once the trees were down, and the branches chipped and chopped through the chipper chopper the arborists left. Tree removal companies do not remove the wood that used to be a tree; instead they partner with firewood companies to come out and remove the old tree trunks.

Before the wood removal/collector came yesterday afternoon, Steve and his mate made an appearance. Unfortunately for them, the nuts they buried in the backyard were under several thousand pounds of former trees. This did not stop them.

Steve pushed, pulled, and hopped around the fallen trunks, with no success. Steve went so far as to try to burrow under it while his mate tried to pull the log up.

Not going to lie, Disney got the facial expressions of squirrels struggling to lift something much larger and heavier than themselves. I think they spent most of the morning trying to figure out how to get to their food stash.

The wood removal person who liked to think there were multiple people with him at all times showed up about noon.

"Hey! We're here!"

There was one of him, but I wasn't about to point that out to the guy who is going to clean up the yard.

He asked if we had dogs, and I told him no, but there were a couple squirrels who like to hang out in the backyard and could possibly be among the wood piles.

He said he could handle a couple squirrels.

I went inside and about fifteen minutes later I hear him screaming, followed quickly by him shouting, "It's just a squirrel, just a squirrel!" And there was Steve and his mate sitting on logs squawking at him.

For the record, I did warn him.

After all the logs were cleaned up, Steve and his mate came down from the remaining trees and promptly dug up and rehid their food.

I'm afraid to see what they do when we relandscape the yard this spring. The creatures are probably going to have a conniption.

Oh, here is our backyard.

 

 Before

 

 

 

The logs Steve and his mate tried to move, unfortunatley I couldn't get them in the photo

 

The finished yard



We have so much more light, and the yard seems a lot bigger. I just hope Steve and his mate aren't to angry.

Mo vs. The Dog(s)

Let me begin by saying I love dogs. I will leave conversations to go pet a dog, and if one happens to be a puppy I have thrown myself onto the floor to snuggle with it. Yes, these are strangers' dogs. Yes, I am strange to the dogs. It's fine. It's fine.

I have always had dogs around. Either my parents have owned a dog or a family member has owned a dog. My first word was dog. Me and canines go way back.

So it is sad to say, I am declaring war on dogs. It breaks my heart, it really does.

So why am I declaring war on dogs?

Because I have neighbors who believe our yard is meant for their dog's use. Sure, there's grass there but that doesn't make it fair use for your dog. You have a toilet but you don't see me going over to your house and using it everytime. And if I did, I wouldn't flush, because it's the same thing you and your dog are doing.

Yes, I am aware that is a horrible argument. I am also aware I have possibly gone mental. It's fine. It's fine.

Because I have rude neighbors who think it is fun to throw balls into my yard for their dogs to retrieve, I am constantly picking up dog poop.

Chris and I live on a corner and about a three foot width of side yard between the sidewalk and privacy fence, and it is about fifteen feet long before it meets our front yard. It is in this 3x15ft stretch of yard that dogs love to drop giant deuces.

This is the main chore on why I never wanted a dog.

It was bad enough having to clean up after the puppy who pooped in her crate while we were gone during the day. My sister and I pushed and shoved the crate out the door and hosed it down with dish soap and a hose.

I found reasons to not have to pick up dog feces with a shovel when I was growing up. The main reason? I would puke upon the smell of dog poop. Guess what? That hasn't changed. Yup, one hole for my neighbors' dog poop and one hole for Mo's lunch.

It's awesome.

Talk to your neighbors you say. Oh, I have. One neighbor told me to ring their doorbell anytime there is poop and they'll pick it up. And guess what? They do. Way to be a nice responsible neighbor. You can have a cookie.

My other neighbor with a dog is the champion of saying, "F you" without saying it. She is also the champion of saying "F you" while she tells you she will make sure it doesn't happen. But guess what. Her dog is constantly using our yard as his toilet.

I have talked with her. I have begged her. I have called animal control on her. Apparently, Animal Control only cares if they dog is about to bite me while he poops. No, I told them, I am about to bite the dog. They advised against it.

Neighbors who live next door to Pooper and have since they all moved in when the houses were brand new (1975) have taken sympathy and have also talked to the woman who has been in the house since it was built about the poop. That hasn't worked.

Apparently, she is a nice woman. Apparently, she's had a tough life. Apparently, she is crazy. Apparently, she is a self centered woman who should still be in kindergarten learning what "STOP DOING THAT!" means.

The neighbors have told me to just put the poop back in her front yard. So I pick it all up and march it across the street and place it nicely in her yard. While I feel better, it isn't solving the problem.

Everytime I go outside while she is out with her dog she goes inside. I ring the doorbell and she doesn't answer. I have even gone out with the shovel and picked up poop while she's been outside and asked where she would like her dog's poop.

She ran inside.

Before we moved into the house our realtor advised we go and talk to the neighbors. I talked to a couple. They all told me how nice the neighbors are and how the neighborhood is great and safe. I asked about shady dealings like meth houses or pot labs. None.

There were no pedophiles and no crime.

You know what people don't talk about? Dogs pooping in other yards.

So now I am trying to figure out how I can keep the dog out of our yard. I can redo the landscaping and move trees to be close to the sidewalk. I can install a motion sensor sprinkler that squirts everything that walks by with water (I don't want to take out people running and walking by).

I can use old school recipes like baking soda and water. Or use coffee grounds (new or used) and sprinkle them on the yard. Or I can wait for the allegedly old dog to pass away from the giant tumor on his chest.

Seriously, I am open to suggestions. I really don't want to bite the dog.

Mo vs The Garden

Armed with a shovel, hack saw, snippers, and yard waste bin I enter battle.

I never know if I'll make it back safely as I'm not only fighting the pricker bushes, but also spiders as big as my face, and snakes lying low in the overgrowth.

As I saw, dig, cut, and pull out weeds the backyard begins to resemble a yard and not a wild jungle Tarzan or Mowgli would live in.

I was nearly convinced someone in the past had a vision for the yard. There are remains of a patio and an arch in one corner, possibly a nice place to read on a summer afternoon?

It would be if not for the vines, weeds, dead limbs and raspberry vines everywhere. I feel bad ripping out trees and bushes someone may have planted. But, when seven different types of bushes are growing in the same one square foot, it's time for them to come out.

I have ripped out bushes with my bare hands. I have dug out trees and pulled vines out by their roots. My blisters have blisters, and yet, the backyard looks FABULOUS!

Well, besides the dead grass, bare spots, some crazy dandelion weed things growing EVERYWHERE! The front yard looks like death.

I've had a yard for about five months and I killed it!

I'm a murderer!

Luckily, the person I found at Scotts.com was very helpful in telling me what I had to do to fix the yard I have somehow killed.

She assured me I'm not the first person to kill their first lawn in the house they have lived in less than a year.

Nice to know I'm not alone.

After viewing the yard through my webcam the lovely Scotts.com lady told me exactly what I needed. Surprisingly, all I needed was Scotts products. Some fertilizer, some topsoil, and some grass seed.

Not to bad.

So we will see how good I am at making things grow, because we all know how good I am at chopping things down.

Jet Lag is a B*tch

For the record, I would just like to state to the TSA, FBI, CIA, Secret Service, President Obama, former presidents dating back to George Washington, and the local police who will be assigned to beat down my front door, I am joking. When in doubt assume I am joking.

Also, you are all doing a marvelous job, so keep it up. :)

Right, disclaimer is out of the way, it's story time.

It's a little after 1 a.m. on a Friday morning, about two days after I flew over the entire Pacific Ocean with no sleep, and the entire west coast with a small child kicking my chair, and another child in front of me, asking more questions than the customs official did when he say my overstuffed backpack.

You would think I would be begging for sleep. I am. In fact, I can barely keep my eyes open, and yet I cannot fall asleep.

I have counted: sheep, cows, emus, kangaroos, and sugar cane. Nothing.

I'm not as tired as I was yesterday after flying 15 hours from Melbourne, over the entire Pacific Ocean and every single island in it, and landed in LA at 6 a.m. to be greeted by customs agents who have not had their coffee, morning happy time, nor, seemingly, a hug.

I've long given up being welcomed back into my own country. Now, they assume I'm smuggling something in, like a koala or worse, Vegemite.

I was greeted by a bomb sniffing dog, that definitely paused a little too long at my bag. No, I did not have anything like that in there. I'm sure he just smelled the pets at my friends' house. But it was enough for the dog-walking-man in uniform to look at me.

"How are you?" He asked.
"Good, slightly tired, but good."
"Where did you fly in from?"
"Australia"
"Line 15 please."

Line 15 is the line I was in to begin with, because it is the only line for US citizens at 6 am on a Wednesday morning.

In theory, US citizens do not need to be fingerprinted, or have their picture taken. I, thankfully, did not either. However, there were people in front of me, constantly getting checked.

Lord, help me not to fall over from exhaustion.

"How was your flight?"
"Long but good"
"Did you sleep much?"
"Not really."
"Have a good day"

EASY!

Nope. After waiting for my bag to be unloaded, I had to clear another part of customs.

Do you have anything to declare?
Besides what I wrote down?
He looks at my list of purchases, that includes boomerangs (weapon), wine (alcohol), and beach towels (that had grass, sand, and Aussie dirt on them)
Did I have food?
No
Not even Vegemite?
Nope.
Anything you're not telling me?
A lot of things, but I'm pretty sure I'll be arrested if I say them. I shook my head.
You're free to go.

Since then, I have been trying to sleep. For those of you that know me, know this is a rare thing. I'm normally bouncing around and have to be physically exhausted before I think of bed time.

This time? I'm begging for the clock to read 9 p.m. so I can go to sleep.

It was 10:30 tonight, I could barely keep my eyes open as I climbed the stairs. I collapsed into bed, and laid there, wide awake. And why not? Because it was only 3:30 in the afternoon in Australia (granted it's tomorrow at 3:30, but still 3:30).

I only slept 12 hours last night, with an hour and a half nap in the morning. I should not be unable to sleep. I didn't even drink caffeine or take an afternoon nap. I think I might be broken.

Please note, I adjusted fine in New Zealand. Granted, I was awake at 5a.m. the first two mornings, and nearly every morning after that-due to wake up calls.

But I adjusted.

Come home, to a large comfy bed. No sleep.

I've read every blog known to man. I've even read the economic section of the NY Times; and that didn't put me to sleep!

So here I am, at 1:30 in the morning, typing away and posting photos to facebook, so I can at least be productive as I battle Jet Lag.

I also know tomorrow is going to suck if I don't sleep tonight.

Here's to the memories of New Zealand and Australia! And to hope I will be able to sleep.

Getting Crafty

Any time I begin a sentence with, "Hey Chris, you know what we should do?" It turns into a bigger project than originally thought.

My idea was a good one. Let's make a cornhole game! Simple right? Grab some wood, put it on an slant, put a whole in the wood, throw bean bags through it.

One week later, four burns and a loss of fingerprints, everything is just about done. Please note, Chris did not suffer any injuries.

Chris says I greatly under estimate the project and over estimate my abilities.

Sounds about right.

I can't sew, but for whatever reason, this small fact did not slow me down from thinking I could make bean bags.

I grabbed needle and thread and tried to sew the bean bags. The material was to thick, to sew, and I was to impatient to wait for someone who could help me on a sewing machine.

People advised lessons, but I could not work on my project during the lesson, I had to go back to the preschool of sewing, and I am way to impatient for that. Also, the risk of sewing my fingers together was fairly high.

So, I had to come up with a plan B, fast!

Instead of sewing my fingers together, I shall burn them and then glue them together. Oh, hot glue, you are fantastic.

How to make no-sew bean bags:

1. Gather your materials. This includes a 25 pound bag of pinto beans. I still have about 20 pounds of beans if anyone would like them. Also, please note, no project can be completed without duct tape.
2. Measure out your squares. My goal was to make 5 1/2 inch squares, so I measured 5 1/2 by 11 rectangles to save me from having to glue a fourth side.

3. After you cut out your rectangle, it should like something like this.

















4. Fold your piece in half to make sure the corners line up. Nothing is worse than your bean bag looking like a drunken sailor made it.








5. After you glue 2 of your 3 sides, place a piece of saran wrap over the square and pile on the beans! I found a heavier, fatter bean bag worked best. 

6. After you have piled on the beans, wrap them up! Secure the saran wrap with duct tape to keep any beans from jumping.












After the beans are secure, force them into the bean bag.

TA-DA!

I am pretty crafty.