28.9.12

The Nail Files: I Copied Crystal



The Nail Files Link Up


This week's Pin-spiration (courtesy of Crystal, from last week's Nail Files):




Here's what I used:

Finger Paints Black Expressionism, Rite Stripe White and Turquoise Sparkle, China Glaze I'm Not Lion



One coat of Black Expressionism (because that's all you need). Then I did sparkle flower petals - Turquoise Sparkle on three fingers and I'm Not Lion on my ring finger and thumb. I also switched where the petals were on my ring finger and thumb. You know, just to keep things interesting. Then I outlined the petals with the White Rite Stripe. The lighting is kinda bad in this picture, so it looks like the black isn't solid but trust me, it is.


Happy Friday, everyone! And thanks to Tara and Vicki for hosting!



26.9.12

Attack Geese


For the past five years, or so, we've had a couple of geese living in our front yard. And for the entire time we've had them, they've been docile and fairly-low maintenance. When we moved from Ontario to New Brunswick, we made sure to make arrangements so they could come with us because we love them and they're really cool.


So, it pains me to admit this, but it looks like our formerly faithful geese have turned on us.


Maybe they had enough of the high winds, or maybe they grew tired of having to be in the same place all the time but last week, the geese snapped and attacked someone on our property.


I know what you're thinking, once an animal attacks a person, it's a sign that the animal should probably be put down. And trust me, that's exactly what we would do but this situation is slightly different.


Mostly because the geese are made of wrought iron.


The geese in question.


Now, I won't publicly call out the person who got attacked by our immobile iron geese, but I will say that it wasn't The Remix (or me). However, it was a person who has spent quite a bit of time at our house lately.


The first time (yes, the first time) the geese attacked, they left a small cut above the person's eyebrow. Now, one would think that an injury from fake geese that haven't moved in years would be enough for this person to stay clear, but that didn't happen. In fact, the second time the geese attacked - on a separate day, no less - they took a quarter-sized chunk out of the person's forehead. 


A QUARTER-SIZED CHUNK!


So, naturally, there was only one thing that I could do to prevent such an accident from happening again:


To be fair, it was really the front goose that was doing the attacking, although the other goose didn't do much to stop it.


Name has been blocked out to protect the identity of the attackee.


I'm happy to report that a week after instituting the extreme safety measures, there hasn't been a single (additional) goose-related injury. In fact, it's gone so well that I'm even thinking about making a sign that reads:


7 days since a goose-related injury.


Because that's something to brag about, right?



Note: When they saw the extreme safety measures, the attackee laughed so hard that their face hurt, which was good because it distracted them from the pain of the goose-related injuries. Also, they asked me to send a picture to them so they could show their family. Because how do you really explain what happened without a picture?



24.9.12

I'm Trying Hard Not To Gloat (but it's not going well)



Oh em gee, guys. 


OH EM GEE! 




 Would you like to guess what happened yesterday?


 Yup, you got it - The Remix ran out of gas. 


 Repeat: THE REMIX RAN OUT OF GAS! 


(Side Note: I wasn't in the car so we're still married.)


He was driving home on the highway when, about ten minutes from our house, he noticed that the cruise control "stopped working." Approximately three second later, the gas pedal also "stopped working," which is when he looked at the gas bar and saw that it was below the red line.


Repeat: BELOW THE RED LINE.


Luckily, he was at an exit and managed to get halfway along before the car konked out completely. Luckier still, the exit was right next to a gas station so he didn't have to walk far. And to his credit, he said that he was laughing the whole time because he couldn't wait to get home and tell me. 


In fact, he said that he decided not to call and tell me during his little stroll because he wanted to see the expression on my face. Which I'm guessing was something like this: 


Equal parts Britney and Demi


 And what did he say when he walked in the door, about half an hour late due to his Gas Walk of Shame? 


 Babe, do I have a blog posting for you! 


Best. Intro. Ever.


Only time will tell if this experience will change The Remix's view on running out of gas, but for now, I'm just working on not gloating too badly. As you can read, it's not going well. 


That said, at least I'm not doing this:

Told You So


So I get a couple of bonus points for that, right?






21.9.12

The Nail Files: Dot It To Me


The Nail Files Link Up


This week's inspiration:




 Sally Hansen Xtreme Wear White On, China Glaze Turned Up Turquoise, Grape Juice, Man Hunt & Flip Flop Fantasy and OPI DS Coronation



Two coats of White On (but only one on my feature finger). Then I used the biggest dotting tool from my new kit of FIVE dotting tools (YAYAYAYAY). The Pinterest inspiration had the dots layered in a pattern but I didn't really like that, so I did random dots, one colour at a time. And let me tell you, it's WAY easier to do the bigger dots with the tool versus the bottom of a makeup brush. They were pretty even, for the most part, so I can't wait to see what else the tools can help me do. 


Happy Friday Nail Filers!!


Thanks to Tara and Vicki for hosting!


17.9.12

Why Costco Is The Best (and it's not just because of the free samples)


Last Thursday, I had a bad day.


First, some loser doctor pushed every button I have regarding the field of medicine while simultaneously making me feel extremely shitty about myself. After spending approximately twenty minutes being berated by this doctor, and then crying for equally as long in the parking lot, it was time for a new day. Too bad it was only 10:00. With little choice but to wipe my face and suck it up, I headed to Costco to pick up my latest collection of medication. 


On the way there, I started thinking about how much better I was going to feel once I got inside. Call me a loon if you want, but I love me some Costco. Not only do they have super-sized vats of Hidden Valley Ranch and the cheapest bananas in town, but they also have the best random stuff.


For instance, a few weeks ago, I bought a giant Mr. Potato Head. It was $21.99 and stands at just over a foot tall:

It's super cool because inside the giant Mr. Potato Head are two average-sized Potato Heads. Awesome.


A few minutes later, I was at the front entrance, passing my membership card to the greeter. In return, she handed me a flyer with the week’s special deal, while I tried to control the vomit that was creeping up my throat. 

Why?


Because the front entrance of my local Costco is directly next to the electronics department. And in the electronics department, there are at least twenty televisions. And of those twenty televisions, most are bigger than my car (I rock a Mini). And every single one of those enormous televisions were playing a music video by an artist that I have a physical reaction to - and not in a good way. 


Not only has this singer been convicted of battery, but their supposed “rehabilitation” has been lip service, at best. To add fuel to the fire, he recently tattooed the image of a beaten woman on his neck. Of course, he claims that it has no connection to his past, but let's be real - if nothing else, his choice of tattoo confirms that he has little to no remorse for his actions.


There are a lot of people out there who remain loyal to this artist, and adamantly support his right to say what he pleases, no matter how offensive. And, frankly, I agree with them. After all, we live in a free country. But if they get to choose, so do I. 


Long before the recent tattoo, I made the conscious decision to stop supporting this artist by not buying or listening to his music, or watching other mediums where he appears (including the MTV Music Awards). Again, this is my choice. A deliberate choice that I’m entitled to make.


So seeing this singer at a place where I love (while feeling particularly emotional) made my stomach turn because I knew that if he was appearing in their promotional material, then some of my money was going into his pocket.





When I got home, I wrote Costco an email about how disappointed I was with their decision to use such a polarizing individual when there were so many other available options. And then I wept into three throw pillows started to think about how much I was going to miss shopping at Costco. It just opened a year ago, here, and I’ve grown accustomed to bulk English Muffins and 50-pack rolls of toilet paper (that The Remix loves to stack in a giant pyramid) but all that was over because they decided to hire a singer with a confirmed history of violence against women to help sell televisions.


But then, something extraordinary happened.


The next day, around noon, I got an email back from Costco.


I thought it was a brush-off at first, as it was addressed to “Dear Valued Member,” but then, in two simple sentences, the rest of the email stated that they appreciated I brought the matter to their attention and the video would no longer be played.


What?


I write a company an email telling them how I feel and they listen?


And then they do something to make it better?


In less than 24-hours?



To know that a company truly cares about my concerns – and is willing to put their money where their mouth is (so-to-speak) makes me feel embarrassingly good. I've had some great customer service before but this went above and beyond anything I've experienced. And the fact that the email came in such a blasé form shows that it wasn't even that big of a deal for them to do. Amazing.


So bravo, Costco. Thanks for being awesome. 






You've got a member for life.  

14.9.12

The Nail Files: Moderately Complicated Flowers


The Nail Files Link Up



China Glaze For Audrey, Sinful Colors Aquamarine & Innocent, OPI Don't You Lilac It?, Essie Bermuda Shorts and Sally Hansen X-treme White On.




Two coats of For Audrey - dried completely. It's important to wait for the base coat to dry because, if you're like me, you grip the dotting tool like a pencil and stick your tongue while concentrating, which isn't a good thing if your polish is still wet (a lesson that only took me one try to learn...err...this time, anyway). Haha! 


Anyhoo, after the base coat was dry, I put big droplets of the five other polishes on the top of a plastic shoe box (better than a crumpled up receipt) and got to work.


Getting the petal dots to touch each other without blending together was trickier than I thought it would be (read: three do-overs of basecoat and two cookie breaks) but once I got the hang of it, they worked out great. 


Overall, it's a look that's slightly too cutesy for me but I have some ideas on how to funk it up for next time (read: incorporate sparkles and a darker base coat). 


Happy Friday, everyone! And thanks to Tara and Vicki for hosting!



10.9.12

B-hoot-leg Diva


So I was on Modcloth last night, stalking a wallet I have my eye on, when I came across this:


Source: modcloth.com via jennie on Pinterest


The description states that you should buy the purse because it's a piece of "hoot" couture. Amazing pun aside, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the Out Owl Night Bag.  Mostly because it's the b-hoot-leg version of one I found during our Happypants Reunion Tour.


Before showing you the magnificence that is my owl handbag, I'll give you the low-down on how she flew into my life. 


It was POURING rain on Friday morning. We hadn't planned on going shopping because people can sneeze on you and I wanted to make sure I was well enough for the McKLove wedding, but when the heavens opened and shoppers scattered like freaked out Chihuahuas, we spotted an opportunity. 


We wandered around the deserted streets, popping into whatever stores struck our fancy. The Remix found two pairs of shoes, but nothing really caught my eye. When we got to Misdemeanors Fashion Crimes, a favourite store of mine (side note: I bought my first semi-formal dress there when I was 15. It was made of crushed velvet, had sorcerer sleeves and was effing amazing) I breathed a sigh of relief because it was full of sparkles, sequins and crinoline - just like I remembered.


After combing the store, though, all I could find was a gigantic silver ring in the shape of a wolf head. It was a cool ring, but I'd been hoping to get something super-mega-cool. 


But then I got to the cash and everything changed.


"What's that?!" I asked, pointing at a shelf behind the register.


"Oh, that's our owl purse," she said casually.


"Gimmiegimmiegimmie Can I see it, please?"


"Sure," she said and got a small step-ladder.


"How many of these did you get in? I love her but don't want to run into anyone else with her. Obviously," I said, stroking the supple leather.


*blank stare* "Umm...we only got the one."


(Side note: a couple of pals LOVED this part of the story - "Just how big do you think the target market for owl purses is, Jennie?" they asked between bursts of laughter. Well ladies, apparently there is a demand so w-hooo's laughing now? BAM! You've been owl-faced. *hands bag of ice*)


"Wrap her up!"I declared.


So she did and then The Remix and I skipped all the way back to Baby Jamie's condo. Okay, so I was the only one skipping. Fine - there was no skipping...externally, that is. On the inside, I was a skippy-mc-skipper-son.


And that's how I became the proud owner of Whitney Hooston:






Not only is she 12" high, but she's got crazy eyes, a blinged-out beak and gold leather feathers, which basically means that although there's a good chance she'll eat your face, she'll look good doing it. An owl after my own heart, Mrs. Hooston is. 


And the best part, aside from her fantastic good looks, is that she can cover just about any Whitney Houston song:


Owl will I know if he really loves me, I say a prayer with every heartbeat...


I wanna run to you (hooooo), I wanna run to you (hooooo-hooo-hooooo-hoo-hooo)...


And Iiiiiiiii-eeeeee-iiiiii will owwwwww-llllll-ways love yo-hoooooo...



So sorry, Modcloth. You know that I love you but this time, you've been bested. 



8.9.12

What Good Friends Do


Set Up:


My pal, The Mac, watched the dogs for us while we were in Toronto.


The A/C was wonky when we were gone, so when we came home, there was a huge puddle of water on our basement floor that the laminate had absorbed quite well (*headdesk*).


I told my pal that it was fine - it wasn't like she did it on purpose, but she continued to feel bad about it. Naturally, as her friend, it was my job to make her feel better.


So I did:




Friendship: it's all about forgiveness.




6.9.12

My Insane (yet completely rational) Fear Of The Gas Light





On Sunday, The Remix and I decided to drive to Bangor, Maine, for an International Day of Fun and Excitement (read: a trip to Target and Denny's). He was craving delicious pancakes while I wanted to pick up some finishing details for our new bedroom. And copious amounts of $1.99 nail polish.


The Remix did some quick math to figure out how much gas we'd need to get to there without having to stop and figured that we'd be fine with just under half a tank. The next day, we were up bright and early to start our drive. 


The morning was lovely: 


A couple of hours later, with thoughts of scrumptious deep-fried balls of pancake batter dancing in our heads, we passed a sign that said it was less than 30 miles until we reached our destination.


Anticipatory pancake dance. 


But then I noticed that there were only two bars of gas left.


Side Story: When I was a child (maybe around 8 or 9 years old) my Mum was driving my brother and me around when we ran out of gas. Although the details are fuzzy, I DO remember my Mum having a fairly intense emotional breakdown on the side of the road (who could blame her) while we waited for a VERY LONG TIME for a tow truck.


You know that scene from Adventures in Babysitting when they arrive at the garage and a Thor-like mechanic tries to fix their flat tire? That's pretty much what happened (minus the Thor). 

If you don't get this reference, do yourself a favour and watch the movie. It's awesome.


Anyway, because of this traumatizing event, I have a somewhat insane (yet completely rational) fear of the gas light. And that, combined with the meds I take, make me super-fun on longer road trips.


Here's what happened:


Me: Hey babe, there's only two bars of gas left. I can't use my phone because of the ridiculous roaming charges so I don't know where the closest gas station is but we better pull over at the next exit.


The Remix: No way. We've got a ton of gas left. Each car has a reserve tank so we'll be fine. Just keep taking pictures of deer on the side of the road and we'll be there in no time. 


Me, after hearing The Remix's claims of having "lots" of gas left despite all evidence to the contrary:



Me: You've said that before but we both know that you're a liar. 


The Remix: It's true. I used to work at a car dealership. I know what I'm talking about.


Me: So then you know that know that cars really can run out of gas. Stop acting like those girls on Teen Mom - they think they won't get pregnant but guess what? They ALL get pregnant. Just like we're going to end up on the side of the road and it'll cost us thousands of dollars because of all of the roaming fees plus the actual gas that will probably come from the exit we just passed.


The Remix: You're really overreacting. There's only 25 miles until we get there. Focus on the pancakes.


Me: Fine. But when we're on the side of the road, I'm not going to be able to stop myself from wagging my finger in your face while crying about how it's all your fault because you refused to stop for gas. 


The Remix: Noted.


Me, unsuccessfully trying not to look at the gas bars for the next seven minutes:
 



Me, when the gas light turned on and we were down to one bar:


Me: Babe. Seriously. Please pull over at the next exit.


The Remix: Only 15 miles to go!


Me: We won't make it.


The Remix: Of course we will!


Me: I think I'm going to throw up.


The Remix: Then roll down the window.


Me: You're not funny.


The Remix: *chuckles*


Me, when there are no bars left and we've just passed another exit:
Freak Out GIFS


Me: Please. Pleasepleasepleaseplease pull over. I don't want to spend all day waiting for a tow truck. I'm hungry and want to buy many $1.99 nail polishes but we won't have time for that if we're stuck on the side of this highway, waiting for someone to bring us some gas because you grossly overestimated the theoretical reserve tank which we both know you're just making up to try and appease your wife as she has a nervous breakdown that could have been totally avoided if you would simply would have gotten off the highway.


The Remix: Fine. We'll take the next exit.


(You think this would have made me feel better but it was too late - I was in full freak-out-mode)


Finally, we got off the highway. The sign said to turn left but there wasn't a sign that said how far the station was from the road...


And then we saw the gas station and everything was okay again:
happy smile happy smile



Approximately three minutes later, with a full tank of gas, we arrived in Bangor. And because The Remix wants to remain my legally-bound-spouse, he didn't say one damn thing about it. 


Compromising - it's what marriage is all about.



3.9.12

Tomato Watch 2012: It Worked, It Really Worked!



Hey guys!!


So remember when I decided to become a tomato farmer and was all:




And then I waited and waited and watered and watered but nothing happened?








Well all of the stress (and Miracle Grow) was worth it!


LOOK!!


*points below*




Re-inactment of the dance I did when I noticed the ripe tomatoes:

image
Okay, so it was a little more intense than this. Fine...it was A LOT more intense. I was alone, though, so it was okay.



The first two tomatoes I harvested from my plant:






And what was the best thing to do with the juicy, perfectly ripe tomato? Why, make a b-l-t sandwich, of course!


*points*





With only one bite, it was clear that I would never buy a tomato again. There's simply no comparison. Home grown tastes better. Like, way better. 

Way, way, way better. 


And now, the little-plant-that-could is FILLED with ruby red tomatoes. There are so many, in fact, that I'm going to make some tomato sauce. I've made it before with canned tomatoes and it was good so I  just can't WAIT to try a batch with fresh ones...


fresh ones that were GROWN BY MEEEEEEEEEEE!!




So although there were a few snafus, and the plant was almost decapitated with my lack of general plant knowledge, it all worked out in the end. So well, in fact, that I'm already figuring out where I can put a second plant next summer. Yes, you read that right - next summer I am considering one additional plant, for a total of TWO plants! And you know what that means, right?


Lasagna for everyone!