Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Patterned wall tutorial

I painted this patterned wall in my living room because I wanted some flair without painting an entire mural, so I thought painting a repetitive pattern on a 15 foot wall along the stairs was a nice compromise.

I also thought, "Hey, you know what would be great? If I scared away potential suitors with all the feminine decor."

True story: Back when I bought this place and I was furniture shopping with my aunt, she told me to buy what I wanted now, because at some point I'll be in a relationship again and I'll have to get approval before I buy furniture pieces. So I bought rainbow chairs and painted the walls with bright colors because I'M CHIPPER.

Step One: Create a stencil. I drew out this design on a piece of poster board. I like that it's imperfect and asymmetrical, but if you want it to be a perfectly symmetrical design, fold your poster board in half and draw half of it, then cut it out like we all use to do for hearts in elementary school.

Orange you glad I didn't make a silly joke here?

Step two: Trace your stencil along the whole wall. I taped it up with good ol' fashioned generic CVS brand scotch tape and went at it to the max with a No. 2 pencil.

Step three: Paint. It's smartest to paint the light color first because it's easy to paint over if you mess up, but I didn't do that because I'm a rebel. I painted all of the gray and then went back and filled in the white.

Some tips (just the tip):

My favorite brand of interior paint is Lowe's Valspar Signature Paint + Primer. It's worth the extra $4 or negligible amount to get this one over the basic one because the coverage is way better. Paint two coats? Ain't nobody got time fo' dat.

When I use a drop cloth, I use canvas because the plastic ones get annoying AF.

I don't bother taping the baseboards because that blue painters tape is a BALD FACED LIE. It doesn't work and you spend double the time because taping everything is more of a timesuck than training for a marathon. It's easier and more efficient to just be careful along the edges.

This was nice practice.
Now it's time to paint the really tall walls.

Monday, April 21, 2014

Not like Oedipus

I had a date with a really great guy on Saturday. He's smart, funny and really cute. We had a great time, I think I'll keep him.

On a date, you laugh a lot (or at least I do - says the crazy single lady). You make the person you're with a priority over your phone or any other distraction. You're polite, engaging and you hold doors open. It's supposed to be fun.These are all things I'll teach my son as he grows older, so that hopefully one day when he goes out on an actual date with someone he'll have a solid foundation of what to expect and what is expected of him. Right now though, we dress in our nicer clothes and go get dinner at a sit down restaurant and maybe get dessert.

Gotta rock out this motherhood game.

We dressed up in our going out clothes and went out to dinner and one of his favorite activities - riding the escalators at the mall. Guys: put on a tie, iron out the wrinkles from your shirt and may your daughter feel like a princess. (For the record: wearing pants is a must.) Girls: OMG look how cute his tie is. 

Make sure to seize opportunities. Is there a guy walking around selling flowers? Buy her one. Is there a balloon man making a minion right as you walk into the restaurant? Boom, you know what to do.

A conversation we had at the restaurant:
Me: You look so handsome!
My son: Thanks, mommy. Mommy is pretty like french fries.

I'll take it.

After dinner we hit all the best parts of the mall, in the following order: the escalators, the Lego store, the kids play area with the gigantic plastic toys and the Disney store.

And then we rode off into the sunset on a pink motorcycle.

Some things I maybe could have done better: 

1) Maybe don't take him out in public for an extended period of time the first day I put him in big boy underwear all day. I got peed on twice and neither of us was happy about it.

2) Really just that first thing.

When we got home and got in our jammies, he snuggled up to me on the couch and said "Mommy, I had fun on our date," and I then I melted.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

How Guitar Hero saved my sanity

Every now and then you need to time travel to your younger days before your current life laden with responsibilities, bills and rabbit food for every goddamn meal. I love my life, but shit on a STICK it's busy and stressful and my kid insists on eating dinner every night after I get home from working all day - I mean, what is that EVEN ABOUT. Not to mention my mortgage company insisting that I pay them for my house every month. You won't just let me live here for free? Because it'd be a lot cooler if you did.

My point is, I spent this last weekend playing Guitar Hero and MarioKart, eating jalapeno cheetos (NOT flaming hot cheetos - they're different and it's important), watching nerky movies we've seen a thousand times, drinking beer, shooting all sorts liquor like we were 21 again and laughing with my best friend as if we see each other every week instead of twice a year at best. I didn't exercise. I didn't watch my calories or protein or food intake in general. I didn't set an alarm clock. 

We've been friends since the summer before junior year of high school when we were playing kickball during hell week of drumline camp and the boys stuck us out in the outfield together because they thought we'd be useless and she asked if I wanted to form a superhero crime-fighting dance team and I said FUCK YEAH because that sounded like way more fun than mysogynistic kickball and we made up names for ourselves and it turns out the boys were right because we didn't pay attention to the game at all. Aw.

I learned that I need to just sit and do nothing more often. I'm always going. It's hard to do this one with a 2 foot tall ball of energy around, but I could carve time out for relaxation. I just don't.

I learned that sometimes it works better if you lefty flip. (Wink.)

I learned that Malibu coconut rum tastes like suntan lotion and probably always has. Similarly, I was reminded that Captain Morgan spiced rum is fuggin' terrible, only made worse when you chase it with a Corona (the piss-wateriest of lagers).

I was also reminded that Rainbow Road can eat a dick. It's SO HARD. (twss)

I learned that my BFF and I have been friends for 12 years and across thousands of miles of distance for a reason (because we're both awesome, duh), because we're very different, but we're the same in the important ways.

No homo.

And finally, I learned that there's a cost associated with going 4 days without considering the junk you're eating and drinking and the exercise you're not doing. Cheers to a vacation from my organized chaos I call life, to best friends and to jalapeno cheetos. Now it's time to get back on track. Stay tuned for gym selfies and tweets about clean eating and ass sweat. Keepin' it real since that year I was born a while ago.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

The Elevator Workout

I call this The Elevator Workout because you gon' need to ride the elevator tomorrow. Stairs will be a negative, Ghost Rider.

BEGIN with 15 minutes of sprints. Crank the dreadmill up to 10 and run 20 seconds, rest 20 seconds, run 20, rest 20, etc. until you get to 15 minutes. It's easy for the first 5, but just wait.

THEN do 50 weighted squats. 5 sets of 10. I'm up to squatting 165. (Hot damn, that's something I never thought I'd say.) I use the squat rack where the bar is attached to the rack so I don't die, especially because I workout alone most of the time. The machine is my spotter just in case my ass and quad muscles can't take the heat. Safety first! 

THEN do 100 walking lunges. Again, it's easy for the first 30 or so. Then shit gets real.

Then end it with a 2 minute plank, because abs are neat. You know what else is neat? Trying to hold your plank when your legs are jello and your arms are slip-sliding around because of ALL THE SWEAT.

It takes about 40ish minutes - perfect for a lunch hour workout. Plus, soon you'll be able to crack a walnut between your ass cheeks, and that's a pretty cool party trick.

For your Pinning pleasure.
Nobody should smile this big during The Elevator Workout. NOBODY.
I just hadn't finished the squats yet.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

More unicorn kisses, please

I'm not gonna act like having a kid is all rainbows and unicorn kisses. I love my kid with every fiber of my being, but sometimes he's a little twat. This usually happens when he skips naptime. Like yesterday.

To be fair, we had Sonic for dinner and fast food always makes me a little bit short-tempered and ragey. Surprise, I eat fast food sometimes. It's maybe 2-3 times a month, and it's almost always Sonic because they have grilled cheese and tater tots, my son's two favorite food groups.

This kid, though. He was actin' a fool last night. Throwing his toys around in the car. Grunting at me instead of using words. Then he'd pepper in some cute stuff, like having a gigglefest when we rode the escalators up and down. Going to the mall to ride the "escavators" up and down and up and down is his favorite thing in the world right now, so I take him maybe once a week. We also always stop in the Lego store to play with the Legos they have out, too. Cheap thrills. Sometimes when he's extra cute or good or I'm feeling generous, he also gets a new toy.

Side note: The Lego store is my favorite place in the mall. The staff is always so nice. They build things with my son and ask him questions. They can (and will) talk about Star Wars at great length. They know the DC and Marvel superheroes. These are my people. One day I will buy the expensive-as-fuck-but-totally-worth-it-probably R2-D2. One day.

So he wants to go to Build a Bear after the Lego store. I shouldn't have succumbed. He was being an asshole, but I knew it was just because he was tired. It wasn't his fault, right? Wrong. It's not okay to be an asshole, ever. And he will learn. Except that I still bought him a teddy bear because nobody is a perfect, shining example of impeccable parenting. Whatever. He had to have it in the store, then he didn't want it when we got home. Figures. He'll see his Captain A-bear-ica tomorrow when he's in less of a dillhole mood and probably love it.

So we get home and he's exhausted. He threw a fit. And then another fit. And then another fit. Seriously, kid? Let's just do ourselves a favor and call it a day. I'm feeling like I want to punch some kittens because the fast food fog has set in, and he's starting to look a lot like a kitten. (I kid. I would never punch my child. (In the face.))

He gets up. I put him back to bed. He gets up. I put him back to bed. Come freakin' on, kid. Finally, I sprawl out on his racecar bed and he climbs on top of me, wraps his arms around me, lays his head down in the space between my shoulder and head and falls asleep within a minute. See what I mean about the cute? It's like all the asshole-itude is totally forgiven because all he wanted was for his mommy to hold him. I mean, seriously. Melt my cold, steel heart, why don't you. So I lay there for a few minutes making sure he's really asleep and slowly begin to inch out from under him. Very, very slowly. Any change in breathing and I freeze - you know how it is. Everything is on the line here, the child musn't know I'm leaving. After a solid 5 minutes of stress and snail-speed movement, I'm free. Just in time to go to sleep at a reasonable hour to do it all over again tomorrow. Minus the fast food rage.

Moral of the story: Don't eat fast food if your kid hasn't napped.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Wonder Woman Self Portrait

I did one of those drink-while-you-paint classes over the weekend at Wild Brush Studio. It was a Christmas gift for my friend and the voucher was about to expire (don't act like it's weird to give someone a Groupon for Christmas with the caveat that they have to use it with you). Because I'm total shit at planning things, it's almost April and we're just now redeeming it. We all have our faults.

As a douchebag artist, I thought it would be a fun night out, but I wasn't gonna hold my breath about whatever they had us paint. I've seen the pictures on Facebook of my friends high school and college acquaintances. It's like 10 people each holding up a picture of a multi-colored tree against a night sky. Totally fun that everyone is learning to paint, but that kind of art just isn't my style. I looked at it as a fun new experience and then I'd probably reuse the canvas later for something else if they had us paint something I didn't want to hang up. No biggie.

This studio was a little different, though. We got to pick whatever we wanted, either from a sample book they had available, a picture we had, the interwebs or whatever. Boomshakalaka, game on. I'm more on board now.

Plus, wine. 


Real talk: who goes to a BYOB painting class without any libations in tow? Answer: everyone else in the class. My friend and I were lit like the fourth of July while the middle-aged couples stared us down with blatant judgment for being the ratchet lesbians they thought we were.

I settled on a variation of the picture I have as my phone lock screen. I pretty much had to.

True story.

My grandma was an artist. She once told me that if you change 5 things about a painting, then you can call it your own. I don't know if that's an actual rule, but I follow it. There's a fine line between inspiration and plagiarism.

Basically, you paint your background, dry it with a blow dryer, then they draw your image in chalk, and you paint in the lines. I drew my own image because I'm picky like that. I can't believe I've never thought to use chalk before. I always use pencil to sketch murals on the wall and it's a pain right in the ass to erase/paint over. The more you know.

Get it? Because I have blonde hair.

Because life is a balancing act of cheeseburgers, wine and exercise, I yogged 7 miles on Sunday, sweating out cheap wine and caffeine the whole way. Boom, nailed it.

Friday, March 28, 2014

Frisky Friday: Up in Da Club

Alcohol, loud music (n-tss n-tss n-tss), dark corners and middle-aged men in skintight snakeskin pants. How could you go wrong?

Clubs in movies are always well-lit and full of pretty people drinking pretty drinks, oftentimes resulting in a choreographed synchronized dance-off. If that's how clubs actually were, I'd be so. on. board. Lemme get in the front row, I want to show off my sweet Ricky Bobby moves. All DAY, son.

Real life clubs are loud, dirty orgies and everyone is invited. Bob, the sleazeball from accounting? He's invited. Cassandra, the walking STD? She's invited. Your mom? She's invited, bro. It's a chance for cougars to let loose and show the world they still got it. It's a chance for oogie men to gawk at scantily clad young women. It's a chance for young women to get free drinks in exchange for dressing like mid-level hookers. It's a chance for young guys to have complete disregard for societal norms and act a fool.

Once you cross the threshold guarded by the bouncer who determines if you're pretty enough to not pay cover, anything goes. No holds barred. Wheels off. Pro tip: nothing good happens when you're wearing a handkerchief sized shirt at 2am. NOTHING. Nobody's mother would be proud of them for the way they act in da club, unless your mom was in fact, at da club.

Here's some simple math:

Alcohol + late nights - clothing = Bad decisions.

But that's not really club math, is it? That's just adult math. Club math has more variables to consider:

Never ending alcohol + late nights + loud music + Handsy McGropertons - inhibition + courageous and provocative dancing - clothing - self awareness - respect = A night you will most likely regret and the worst 2 day hangover you will ever experience in your life. And maybe crabs.

The moral of the story is that bad things happen to good people who get turnt up in da club, not the least of which are sloppy selfies taken in the bathroom and uploaded immediately to Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. Where there are females with alcohol, there are selfies.