Three Pictures For Boston And One For Me

I remember walking the streets of Boston when I visited the city years ago. I remember wandering the old cemeteries, climbing Bunker Hill, running down Hull Street toward the Old North Church reciting "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" (Yes. I'm a dork.). I remember stopping, refilling my water bottle and sneaking in a bonus reading session at the most beautiful library I had ever seen. I remember walking out of that library and finding the finish line to the Boston Marathon. Painted. Right there. On the street! I may have stood there, staring, imagining myself, one day, running across that very line. For an, hem hem, abnormally long time.... People may have begun to give me weird looks. I may also have turned around, walked into a running store and bought the best souvenir ever! A sports bra. I may have also worn that sports bra for way too long, insisting it was THE BEST SPORTS BRA IN THE HISTORY OF EVER, because, obviously, Boston knows running bras.

But then Monday happened. And, as I laced up my running shoes to head out on a training run for my half marathon in June, I thought. I thought about how three people, ridiculously young, were never going to get to chance to choose to run again. Three people who were never going to get the chance to wander around my running hood, marveling at the beauty I get to run through every day, like I once did through theirs.

Never get to watch the Olympic Mountains emerge on the skyline as they run over the bridge.

Never get to run past the red leafed bushes in spring at sunset. 

Never get to run along the marina waterfront while the ferry comes in to dock.

Never get to share their love of running with their kids. 

 "Scripture tells us to run with endurance the race that is set before us. As we do, may God hold close those who have been taken from us too soon, may He comfort their families and may He continue to watch over these United States of America." -President Barack Obama, at the interfaith healing service at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Boston, April 18, 2013.

If Only Bundt Cakes Weren't So Complicated

So, hey, what about this whole spring thing, huh? (nods head, gives knowing look)  I know, dude! It's here!  And woo boy has it been exciting!!

Obviously! Because the other night I had the greatest dream! I mean, I even woke up with one of those happy, little, that-was-the-greatest-dream-in-the-history-of-dreams-smile on my face.  See, in my dream, there I was, kneeling in the flower bed in front of my house, digging through the dirt with my bare hands pulling out root after root after root of crab grass, and, as the weeds mounded higher and higher in my Disney princess bucket (stolen from the children) I felt a calm, a rightness, a connectedness to all of nature descend over my very soul.

And then I woke up.  And realized the best dream I'd had in weeks was about weeding.

No. Seriously. Weeding, people. W-e-e-d-i-n-g.

Stop reading and let that sink in for a minute.

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Ok. That's enough sinkage. You can start reading again.

And not even weeding the area around something pretty in my yard, like my Weeping Cherry Tree. Oh, no! Instead, I dreamed about weeding the area in the middle of The Stupid Bush.  Which, yes, is it's real name.  Because any bush who's not smart enough to keep the middle of itself alive in a place that gets, on average, 52 inches of rain a year doesn't deserve a cool name like Weeping Cherry Tree. Stupid gluttonous northwest vegetation....

Obviously, this is unacceptable.  Because normal people don't dream about weeding.  They dream about being a race car driver, or eating the world's largest chocolate peanut butter Easter egg without getting nauseous, or being back in college and telling that freaky English professor to shut up about how smart he is and just teach the class and also TO QUIT STARING AT YOU ON THE BUS, FREAK MAN!, and maybe, now and then, a dream about puppies. Because they're cute. But weeding? No. Just no.

Luckily, my kids like to pick out random books for me from the library in order to expedite their own journey to the children's section, and they had picked out the perfect antidote: The Tourist by Olen Steinhauer.  That's right.  Tonight it's SPY DREAMS!

Now, before I go any further, don't spoil it for me, because I haven't finished the book yet. And for the love of all that is good! don't tell me why an eight month pregnant woman was touring Venice by herself, somehow runs in to a double agent, becomes friends enough with him to find herself in the middle of a cross fire while the good guys try to bring that rogue agent in, and when the double agent is gunned down on the streets of Venice, basically right before her eyes, goes into premature labor, births a daughter, and then ends up marrying the good guy spy fake-named (obviously) Charles Alexander,who had been shot three times (twice in the chest) by the double agent and was bleeding to death (but didn't die!) beside her mere weeks later! Because the answer to that has got to be the key to solving this whole puzzle!

However, after reading part of the book, I've come to realize, most international (and probably non-international) espionage can be thwarted by a good old fashioned block party. And the occasional slice of bundt cake over a cup of coffee.

Case in Point 1:

Spy says: "Oh, wow.  That's super.  Listen, can I use your bathroom? I've been waiting for my girlfriend, Marie, all day.  She just called and it looks like I've got another half hour.  You mind?"

Neighbor says: Sure. By the way, is Marie the one with the wooden leg or the urban chickens? You know what, who cares! Come on in! Feel free to break into her apartment while you pretend to use my bathroom! Mi Casa es su casa!

What the neighbor should have said: Um. Dude. Marie doesn't even have a boyfriend. She hasn't felt emotionally stable enough since the Estonian Count dumped her on her birthday four months ago! I mean, I can't even count the nights I've spent with her, crying into pints of Chunky Monkey, mocking every endearment he ever said in the voice of the count from Sesame Street. Walk on, spy. Walk on.


Case in Point 2:

Spy says: "Uh, excuse me. I'm here about Angela Yates. She's my sister."

Neighbor: Let's out an audible gasp, then buzzes the spy in.

What the neighbor should have said: You're a spy.  Go away.  Angel never had a sister.  Only guinea pigs.  And a parakeet that one summer.


Case in Point 3: 

Spy says: Hold the door, please! I need to get in and check the foundation and make sure it's earthquake certified!

Neighbor says: Holding!

What the neighbor should have said: The building super got that paperwork last week! You're a spy here to replace poor Angela's sleeping pills with poison! You just want to kill her! Murderer! Spy! Bring your pitchforks! Bring your overheated hair dryers! Bring your baseball bat! Charge, neighbors! CHARGE!!



Aaaannnnd. Point proven.

Now, excuse me, I have some weeding to do. In my front yard. In the middle of my neighborhood. Not because I want to see if I can recreate the utter peaceful perfection of my weeding dream in my waking hours. Obviously. But, because, um... I have an international spy to catch? Yeah, that's it! And there simply isn't enough time to bake a bundt cake.

Slippery Slope

Remember last year, when I got sucked into planning a Star Wars birthday themed party with Belinda and Winifred? And I rewrote the plot of Star Wars using a napkin and added popcorn in order to appeal to a wider demographic? Yeah. It's that time of year again. There be birthday planning in the air! And, despite my totally authentic pirate impression in that last sentence, Katie is not having a pirate themed birthday.  Because, we did that once. And, while Jon and I thought it was whimsical to dress one of her favorite stuffed animals up in a pirate costume and then have all the kids pelt him with sock cannon balls, Katie did not.  Because, pirates should be nice. And if we had just talked to Pirate Bunny, and explained that he was being mean, he would apologize and then we could all be friends and hug. Because no one should be mean.  It's just not logical*. And, while the traumatization didn't make it to this level, we decided to go in a different direction this year.

IT'S A SCIENCE BIRTHDAY PARTY!

Meaning, it's a perfect time to dust off my pre-mommy Museum Educator hat and work up some fun!, exciting!, boisterous!, mirthical! and  age appropriate enlightening educational stations! (Also, it's a chance to write a post where I don't make an inappropriate joke about murdering Jon or being arrested. Because, apparently, Jon didn't see the humor in those specific situations. And, you know, so my mother-in-law will start commenting again.... PS, FYI and YOLO Jon is still alive and happily researching electric assist bicycles. Because, obviously, he's already learned everything there is to know about hovercrafts.) What's that? Will I share my science themed learning stations with you? Oh, I couldn't possib-OK. You talked me into it!

Station One:

Launch Your Own Astronauts!

What You Will Be Doing:

Defying Gravity!

1.  Draw a face on a ping pong ball.  Name them if you want, and write their names on the back! (I named mine Bob.)

2.  Turn on a hair dryer, set it to high, and point it straight up.  Place 1 astronaut in the airstream. WHAT HAPPENS?

3. Try it with more that one astronaut! WHAT HAPPENS?

Scientific Stuff/Why This Works:

Gravity pulls things to the earth.  Sir Isaac Newton figured this out when an apple almost hit him on the head! BUT if you have a force strong enough to work against gravity, like air, things will float!

What have you seen floating before?

The air stream actually pushes the astronauts upwards (against the force of gravity) until the upward (air) and downward (gravity) pushes are equal and then the ball floats! The high pressure in the non moving air surrounding the air stream keeps the astronaut in the center of the moving air / astronaut flying chamber!

Optional: Try it with a roll of toilet paper on a stick or an inflated balloon with a penny inside. What else happens?

(Experienced Educator Note: Use Beer Pong balls rather than Ping Pong balls.  They're cheaper and the kid's won't notice the difference until at least college! Or, if they're smart, until they buy a condo in one of those 55+ retirement communities.)

Station 2:

Basic Bernoulli Balloons

What You Will Be Doing:

Air is weird.  It affects things differently.  For example, with airplanes, the air both lifts AND pushes!

1.  Suspend two orange sized balloons from a string.

2.  Have someone hold them up in front of them approximately two inches apart.

3.  Have another person blow a stream of air between the two balloons. WHAT HAPPENS?

Scientific Stuff/ Why This Works:

Bernoulli’s Principle of Air Pressure! Bernoulli! Bernoulli! (It’s just fun to say!Try it!)

Basically, Bernoulli found out that the fast moving air caused a reduction in air pressure between the balloons. Meaning, that the pressure of the air on the outside of the balloons was now greater and could push the balloons together!

(Experienced Educator Note: Really, any of your basic citrus sized balloons will work. Except kumquats. But that's probably just because I don't like them. Also, I call dibs on being named Bernoulli in my next life!)

Station 3:

GEYSER!!!!

What You Will Be Doing:

Let’s explode something!! (For science, of course.)

1.  Find an empty field.

2.  Place a bottle of diet soda in the middle of the field.

3.  Using the Geyser Tube (or a rolled up paper) drop the first number of Mentos into the bottle.

4.  RUN!!! (Wait! Don’t forget to look back to see what happened!)

5. WHAT HAPPENED?

6.  Repeat the experiment with a different number of Mentos.  Is the geyser bigger or smaller with the different amounts.  Record your data below by circling the correct description:

2 Mentos: high hugely high really really really hugely high

4 Mentos: high hugely high really really really hugely high

6 Mentos: high hugely high really really really hugely high

Scientific Stuff/ Why This Works:

First, it works because of what makes all those bubbles in the soda: Carbon Dioxide (or CO2), and, there’s a lot of CO2 in the soda bottle! If you shake a can or bottle of soda, some of those bubbles cling to the wall of the bottle, THEN when you open it up, wooooosh!, SPRAY EVERYWHERE!

But, by adding Mentos to the CO2, we’ve created a much more interesting, and messy way, for the CO2 gas to escape! Mentos (and other things) have tiny pits on them, called nucleation sites by scientists, and the act of bubbling is called nucleation. So! By dropping Mentos, which have a lot of nucleation sites on each candy piece AND are heavy so they sink to the bottom of the bottle, a LOT more CO2 can be released! And BAM! You have an awesomely BIG EXPLOSION!

(Experienced Educator Note: If you want the kids to just hold up signs instead of circling the correct data description make sure you don't spell the word "Hugely" as "Hugley". Because that's embarrassing. Seriously. It's almost as embarrassing as that one time in 8th grade when you stayed up until midnight, MIDNIGHT!, working on your president report poster board and then, when you carried it carefully and lovingly into the orchestra room, and you proudly showed it off to your friends, someone, let's call him Jon, walks by and says, "You know you spelled president wrong." and then walks away! Dude! Seriously! I mean, what am I supposed to do about it now? Gosh!) 

Now, if I was smart, I would have stopped there. But, obviously PinINterest exists for a reason. So, excuse me, Belinda and I have to go whip up some homemade buttercream frosting, fill plastic test tubes with Skittles and rotate the organic strawberries I'm dehydrating to naturally flavor the cupcakes. Because, dude, you can bet that there's no way I'm slipping down this PinINterest birthday party slope alone!

*Do you think if Sherlock just explained this to Moriarty?...

How I Murdered My Husband

At first, I thought I should add the word "circumstantially " to the post title, but then I thought, "Nah! That'd take all the fun out of it!" I mean, the Google analytics alone are sheer gold! (note: I don't actually know how Google analytics work.) Also, I should probably state up front that I did not murder Jon. I should also probably state that I have no intention of murdering Jon. Even accidentally. Unless you can kill a person with a crock pot full of vegetarian haggis*. Which, could explain why he's been eating dinner on the ferry ride home lately....

The Incriminating Evidence:

Jon has a really long commute to work.  Once you factor in walking time and ferry time, he's commuting about 3 hours a day. Every day.  Plus, he really really likes his work. Which means, sometimes, he forgets that he needs to show up on time for the ferry.  Now, step back, Willis, I'm not complaining here. I knew he had this focus issue when we got married and it didn't bother me. Back then I was all, "Sweet! More running time!" But then we had kids. And, yeah. Not so much the extra running time anymore. Because, while five year olds think they want to run six miles with you in the rain, in reality they only want to run 1/3 of a mile and stop for a donut at the bakery down the hill. So, in a futile effort to slow my widening waist line, I stay at home more. Where there is a phone. That I answer. And have awkward conversations on.

Awkward Conversation That Gives The Impression I Murdered My Husband #1:

Me: (picking up ringing phone) Hello!
Phone Guy: Hello! May I speak to Jon, please?
Me: I'm sorry, he's busy right now, may I take a message?
Phone Guy: Oh, maybe you could help me! I'm from his alma mater and was hoping he'd-
Me: (Interrupting. Politely. Probably.) I'm sorry, I never went to your university. I can't help you.
Phone Guy: Oh. Um, well, when would be a good time to reach Jon then?
Me: (A little maniacally, because, seriously!?! And obviously.) Hahahahahaha! (Then Ellie yelled "I NEED TO GO TOILET!" So I hung up.)

Awkward Conversation, One Week Later, That Gives The Impression I Murdered My Husband #2:

Me: (picking up ringing phone) Hello!
Phone Guy: Hello! May I speak to Jon, please?
Me: I'm sorry, he's busy right now. May I take a message?
Phone Guy: Oh! Maybe you could help me! I'm from his alma mater and was hoping he'd-
Me: (sighing) I told you guys. I never went to your university. I can't help you.
Phone Guy: (politely) Ok. I'll make a note of that for our records. Would there be a better time to reach him?
Me: Uh. Well.... Good luck with that.... You could try between 7 and 8pm our time. But not before and not afterwards. And only on days that start with M and F. (pause) Seriously.
Phone Guy: (naively) Oh! That's today! Thank you! I'll call back!

Awkward Conversation, Five And A HALF Hours Later, That Gives The Impression I Murdered My Husband #3:

Me: (picking up ringing phone, while trying to give a flailing Ellie a bath. Because the bathtub is a pool. And she's at swim lessons. There is a lot of kicking. And bubble blowing. And choking. ) HELLO?
Phone Guy: Hello! May I speak to-
Me: (Yelling. Because the acoustics in natatoriums is really bad.) IT'S NOT EVEN 7 YET! (Then I hung up.)

Awkward Conversation, Forty-Five Minutes Later, That Gives The Impression I Murdered My Husband #4:

Me: (picking up ringing phone) Hello!
Phone Guy: Hello! May I speak to Jon? I'm from his alma mater and-
Me: Yeah. About that.... Um, you know, earlier? I didn't mean-Ok. Listen. He's not here. And...I'm sorry, but he's not going to be. It happens like that sometimes.
Phone Guy: So, would Friday be a better day?
Me: Well, see, about that, this Friday's not good.  And, truely, next week won't work either.... Maybe you should just send him a letter or something?
Phone Guy: Oh. Well, I suppo-
Me: (laughing) Ha! Ha! It probably totally sounds like I murdered him and I'm trying to buy time to stash the body! (realizing what I just said) But I didn't do that. Really. I didn't.
Phone Guy: (nervously) I'll just- (click)

Awkward Conversation, Three Days Later, That Gives The Impression I Murdered My Husband #5:

Me: (picking up ringing phone) Hello!
Phone Lady: Hello! May I speak to Jon?
Me: I'm sorry, he's busy right now. May I take a message?
Phone Lady: I'm calling about the next service on your car. Would there be a better time?
Me: Hahaha! You'll never find him!
Phone Lady: (silence....click)


Dudes. Let's hope Phone Guy and Phone Lady never meet. Because the circumstantial evidence alone....





*Because, sometimes, some things seem like a really good idea when you read about them. Or hear about them. You know, circumstantially.

Wait.

Crud.

Listen, I DID NOT MURDER JON! I have evidence! Look! This is a photo of him playing with the kids at a playground:

Deep, deep in the woods by our house...

Over a month ago....

(note to self:  start taking more pictures of Jon, ESTABLISH AN ALIBI!!)

This Is How We Do It In My 'Hood

Psstt.... Dudes...(looks suspiciously over shoulder, puts finger to lips) Shhhh...  Come over here! I got something to tell you man!

Guess what I did last weekend!!

Yes it involves coffee.

Yes. And some sidewalk chalk.

OK, you're right, there was a TURKEY! hat too, but, geesh! There was more!

See, I totally engaged in a wee bit of civil disobedience!  Oh, yeah, that's right, me.  I flouted the law!  Thumbed my nose at the man! Repudiated the regulations! Derided the dictates! (Throws fists in air. Triumphatically.) Affronted the assizes!! Wait. (Lowers fists.)  Assizes? Hold on a sec. (Googlegooglegoogle) Whew! Yep. Still family friendly here!

First, a stupid back story:

See, a few months ago some guy walked down to the fountain area near the ferry dock of our town and pulled a few pieces of sidewalk chalk out of his pocket and wrote the same 23 Occupy Movement Grievances that were written in New York a year before.  Then, the City came by and said, "Dude! You can't do that! You're vandalizing " And he was all, "Um, City, you know it's chalk right? And it's totally going to rain in like 15 minutes and wash it away...." And then the City said, "Well, yeah, but, it's vandalism, and, WHAT IF IT DOESN'T RAIN!?!" And then the guy gave them this look, like, seriously!?! it's totally going to rain, but then, didn't have time to say it because then the Fire Department showed up and washed the vandalitical chalk away.

End of stupid back story.

And, yes.  All of that was true.  Except everyone probably used the word 'Dude' at least 50% less than I did.

Then, last weekend? In the dark wee hours of early Saturday morning, when normal protesters are sleeping soundly in their snug little beds, I donned my most awesome of awesome TURKEY! hat and did THIS:

Oh yeah. That's my hand and it's totally chalking up my neighborhood! On the street! You know the one! It's the one that I don't own! The public one! And dudes, I didn't just chalk up the street in front of my house, oh no, that's not near protestatical enough for me. I totally chalked up 3.86K of the public streets. And then I and at least five of my closest friends ran around my neighborhood, following the pigmented arrows, to protest the chalk oppression that is happening in our town*! And then we drank gallons of hot coffee and ate homemade sticky Nutella caramel pecan rolls. Because protestaticalling stupid regulations uses up a lot of calories. Plus, apparently Mabel knows how to use PinINterest for more than sarcasm. Because she's awesome.

And, um, also, now that I think about it, since all the cops have to do is follow the chalk arrows directly to my house in order to arrest me maybe I should go put on my TURKEY! hat now. Because that'd be one awesome mugshot!




*Or to train for a race in March we all signed up for that promised us chocolate fondue and cozy hoodies afterwards. Potato/Patata.

At Least One Of Them Is Going To Grow Up To Be The President Of The United States The Other Will Cure Cancer

Typical lunch conversation with Katie at two years old:

Katie: We're having apples and cheese? I like apples and cheese!

Me: Me too!

Katie: What kind of apples are they?

Me: They're called Fuji apples.

Katie: Why are they called Fuji apples? Who thought to call them that?

Me: Um. I don't know.

Katie: Can you look it up on your phone and read it to me?

Me: Sure. (start typing "why are fuji apples called fuj-", then stop abruptly because she's sooo not done yet)

Katie: How is cheese made? Why is this cheese orange? Is all cheese orange? Where do Fuji apples grow? In Fuji? Is Fuji a country?

Me: (looks down at two thumbs and mumbles) Alright Thumbkin! And You too Thumbkin! You guys ready for this?


Typical lunch conversation with Ellie at age two, or, you know, yesterday:

Ellie: WE'RE HAVING APPLES!?! AND CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE?!!!!!!?!!!!!! YE-AA-AY!!!!!

Me: (placing plate in front of Ellie) Eat up!

Ellie: (picks up apple slice in one hand and cheese slice in the other) Well, hello Mr. Apple! I'm Ms. Cheese! How are you today? Oh! Look! (raises index finger) It's Mrs. Finger! Hello Mrs. Finger say Mr. Apple and Ms. Cheese! Well, hello Mr. Apple and Ms. Cheese! How are you today?

Me: (laughing) Come on! Eat up now!

Ellie: (singing) Where is Ms. Cheese? Where is Ms. Cheese? Here I am! Here I am! How are you today, sir? (Mrs. Finger throws Ms. Cheese on the floor) AAAAAHHHHHhhhhhhhh!!!! Bye-bye, Ms. Cheese!

Me: (picking up  Ms. Cheese) Ellie. Eat. Don't throw people on the floor.

Ellie: (still singing) Where is Mr. Apple? Where is Mr. Apple? Here I am! Here I am! OMP-CHOMP-CHOMP-GULP! Mmmmmm! He was GOOOOOooooooOOOOOD!!!!

Incendiary Thoughts

I'm going to offend you.  Maybe alot. Maybe alittle. It probably depends on you're, you know, tolleration level for people yelling, "Boo-yah!" and then waving their hands all annoyingly in front of your face. Because. Yeah.  I just did that. Alot.

And if your still reading, thinking  to yourself, "Dude, it's Martha.  She's just trying to scare us off with these annoying grammar bombs. She's probably just going to write the rest of the post in fragmented sentences. Like normal. Pshaw! She's got nothing!" I have one word for you f-bomb*.  That's right. I've sprinkled them liberally throughout this post. Because, dude, IN-CEN-DI-ARY!!! (I just did that whole waving my hands in front of your face again. Yeah. Deal with it.)

Incendiary Thought #1 on Education

Parents who home school their children are lazy!

Reasons:
Because they tweet and post statuses that say things like, "Oh I just love homeschooling my children! We slept in, made waffles and then did our math and spelling while still in our pjs!"

While my status would say something like, "Dudes! This morning I hauled two inert bodies out of bunk beds an hour before we have to leave for school, and in the case of Ellie deposited her on the toilet itself, made three different breakfasts, because goodness knows we can't all eat the same thing, unloaded the dishwasher, buttoned dresses, found shoes, laid out coats, shoveled food into my own mouth as well as others because HOW CAN THEY POSSIBLY EAT SO SLOW!, watched the clock so I could inform everyone that, "We need to leave in 20 minutes!" and then repeated myself every 5 minutes, finally I yelled in my best Drill Sergeant voice, "Back Door! Back Door! Go! Go! Go!" while I scooped up the inevitable forgotten lunch box and water bottles, only to play goalie at the back door as small bodies tried to wedge their way back into the house because they only brought three books for the 15 minute ride to school and they really really need Megan the Monday Fairy because, well, obviously....then finally found myself at the car only to be logically listing out the reasons why Ellie can't ride backwards in her car seat before I realized what I was doing and simply picked her up, turned her around and strapped her down while ignoring her yelling "Noooo! I don't want to ride this way!" in my ear, then once we were all finally buckled I took exactly 37 fortifying swigs of coffee from my travel mug that I washed once on Monday but since today is Thursday it's starting to taste a bit off before I finally dropped Katie off at school, 10 minutes late. Again."

Logical Conclusion:
Obviously home schooling parents are lazy because I have to type more words on Facebook than they do.  Plus they didn't share their waffles, so, all bets are off.


Incendiary Thought #2 on Feminism

Bras. Burn 'em.

Reasons:
Because while I'm stuck in a tiny overly pink striped changing room mentally wrestling with the problem of whether to buy something lacy, underwired, itchy and unsupportive or something ugly, comfortable, and supportive while mumbling under my breath something along the lines of, "Stupid bras that costs (checks label) $65!! For something basically no one is going to see unless I join a gym or get a job at one of those pastie coffee stands, which obviously I can't do, because 1) inevitably I'd burn myself with the milk steamer 2)  Bring Your Daughter to Work Day would be awkward and 3) I'd spend all my tips on lattes. Dude. I hate bra shopping!!" the last thing I need is for some salesclerk to come knock on my stupidly pink door to ask "how I'm doing" which, obviously, will startle me so much I drop my phone that I was using to look up the profit margin on t-shirt bras, and as I bend over to pick it up while insisting, "I'm doing just fine!" I'll slip on the pile of stupid bra hangers I've left on the floor that I was too lazy to hang up, fall on my face and end up with my head sticking out from under the stupidly pink door looking straight at the salesclerks perfectly shaved legs and think to myself, "Man, I wish I had that kind of time.  I haven't shaved my legs since last September for my triathlon." Which I will actually say out loud. Because it's me.

There's a reason I go bra shopping by myself.

Logical Conclusion:
Bras are stupid.  Unless they're for running. Then they're awesome. But mostly because running stores don't have pink changing rooms.


Incendiary Thought #3 on Celebrity Hair Styles

Your hair looks stupid!  Yes. I'm talking to you Drew Barrymore.

Reasons:
Remember when I got my hair cut and colored? At that fancy salon? With the artsy prints on the wall and matching decor? Yeah. I try to block out those kind of awkward situations too. Aw, who are we kidding? Here's the link to that post!

Anywho, as I was sitting, trapped in that hydraulic spinny chair, staring at the atrocity that was my neglected-split-ended-last-colored-in-Mabel's-bathroom-a-year-ago-while-sporting-teal-eyebrows-head in the giant mirror in front of me, the stylist actually says, "Ooo! Who did your color? Ombre is really in right now!"

Seriously.

Then, after the stylist's description of ombre being the coloring of your hair in gradient hues from dark at the roots to light at the ends, during which I did not once tell her I thought it was a reference to a three handed card game popular in Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries, because that would be awkward, I realized, UsMagazine is right! Celebrities are JUST LIKE US! The only difference is they pay a couple hundred dollars to have their hair look like JUST LIKE MINE!

Logical Conclusion:
Color your hair in Mabel's bathroom, wait a year, and you'll look just like Drew Barrymore!

But for less money.


Incendiary Thought #4 on Unisex Fashions

This hat makes everyone look awesome! Or.... should I say TURKEY!

Reasons:

Logical Conclusion:

Made and Designed by Karen and Sarah at SewKlassic!

And, because I promised, here's one last f-bomb for you all.






*Which, fine. "F-bomb" may  be a hyphenated word and it can be argued that it is actually two words, but, in order to arbitrate this inevitable disagreement I would've had to Google it, and then I would have gotten sucked into the Internet reading about famous cover ups which would inevitably lead me to reading about the possible murder of Kurt Cobain, which would have brought me to looking at maps of Seattle, which would eventually bring me to Zillow, because obviously, where I would then wander across the 1-90 bridge to find this house** on Mercer Island. Which I will be buying someday.  It's happened before.

**PEOPLE IF WE ALL CHIP IN $100 IT COULD BE OURS! ALL OURS!!