Confessing my real age of 78

Sometimes I call capri pants short pants, just for giggles.

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I giggle over small things, like short pants.

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I am not aware of the status of short pants.  Is this something I can still wear or have we moved on to matchstick jeans and such?

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Wednesday night while the potatoes were boiling I sat on the floor up against the fridge singing "You're My Best Friend" by Queen, the whole song....to the dog.  He licked the chocolate frosting off my face.

"You're my best friend too!...wait, do I smell tater tots?!"

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Speaking of my little man, Arnie is always on a leash.  Always.  Except that one time I got lazy during a potty break.  The same potty break that was, of course, his first squirrel sighting which led to his first squirrel chase near the road.  And wouldn'tyaknowit also his first time meeting the nasty Boston Terrier that lives below us who nearly tore his face off.

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Corey didn't understand my tribute Wednesday. 

"Beetle I read your blog, it was weird."

Safe to say he does not share in my love of birds.

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What does Corey share my love of?  Breakfast.

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When I say I'm going to go running, I do what real runners call "moderate walking."  In a 5k race a few years ago I came upon a 70 year old man who looked like he was barely moving and I Could. Not. Pass. Him.  Tragic.

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My friend, Jill, thinks I'm an old lady trapped in a beeeeeautiful, fit, young shell (my pretty accurate interpretation).  And to that I say, "Huh? Can you speak up??"

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And on that note, time for my daily dose of Metamucil...Happy Friday!

This post is for the birds

Hey guess what guys...I love birds!!

Yaaay!

Those pesky little dummies that are full of germs and diseases and terrify my little doggie tickle my fancy like nothing other than milk glass can.

Don't know what it is about the stinky poopers; maybe all the colors, the bright reds and blues and yellows, that they can be as big as a mid-size SUV or as small as a cockroach or it could be that they aren't actually dumb at all.

But most likely it's just one of those mysteries you can't explain.

Like why chocolate has such a strong, strong hold over me.

And is the moon really made out of cheese??

And almost more than I love actual birds, I love, love, love John Audubon's collection of drawings of birds;  a collection of more than 700 species all drawn to scale and in their natural habitat.  Be still my heart!  The drawings are simple: not a leaf or flower too many, the colors are vivid but not overpowering...I'm getting a lump in my throat thinking about how much I love these drawings, is that weird?

I was traveling around the interwebs pretty aimlessly recently looking for accents to put in my bedroom after I paint and introduce some gold-toned bedding when I thought, "yellow-breasted warblers, for SURE!"

Srsly.  I did happen just like that.

With that thought, I tracked down some of my faves to build an Audubon collection of my own.

Mourning Dove

Yellow Breasted Warbler

Anna's Hummingbird

Pelican

Flamingo

I die a little seeing the last two.  Get ahold of yourself, Stace.

It's safe to assume a healthy representation of Mr. Audubon's collection will find it's way into my home.  What will Corey think, you ask?  Well, when the options are drawings hanging on the walls or the real things eating his cereal and pooping on his furniture I think he'll warm up to my plan.

Pictures to come just as soon as I'm finished....in three years.

Just kidding.

But actually that's probably accurate.

:)

I don't always eat cake, but when I do I eat the whole thing

"Corey, I'm leaving now to get the groceries."

"Hey, do you want to pick up a cake mix?"

"Noooooo.  You know I'm trying to get beach ready!"

"........"

"Okay."

 fancy eats Betty Crocker style

They call me Stacie No Willpower Lucas.

I'm a sucker for cake.

And brownies.

And cookies.

And razzleberry pie.

And any other pie.

And any other type of dessert, minus anything with raisins.

Raisins aren't dessert.  Neither are carrots.  I'm looking at you carrot cake.

Yummy yummy yum yum yum!  Batter is tasty.  I eat it with my fingers!

Hello dinner.

I also ate that corner piece.  It was lonely.  Also, I don't know when to stop.

they call him Arnie Eats Everything Not Bolted To The Floor Lucas

Arnie's wondering, do I get a piece now oooooor do I just sneak one off the counter when you're not looking?

I distract him with chicken biscuits.  And he's pretty flaky (blonds, go fig.) so it works.

But now that mama's in a sugar coma it's all fair game.

Confessing my love of early 90's rap

I used to do this thing back on the other blog where I would confess the random//embarrassing//stupid moments of my week, not so much as a "must repent of my thinking this was a nautical symbol:"

...but more of a "laugh at me because I'm sure I'm the only dum-dum on the planet who didn't know what the heck this thing meant."

I miss out on a lot when I've got my head lost in a bag of wool roving!

...it's a felting joke, maybe you...never mind.

And since my weekly confessions were met with rave reviews from my mom, I figured why not revive them here!  I certainly haven't ceased to perform the random//embarrassing//stupid just because I stopped publishing those moments.

But let's ease into it with just a few juicy morsels, shall we?

this is my baby...before he went crazy

Corey was nervous about Arnie meeting my sister's 112lb Rottweiler, Mika, last Saturday.  Turns out he had good reason to be nervous: she did, in fact, pee on his head.

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I gave Arnie a bath on Saturday.

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Last weekend was Corey's annual Fella's Retreat in Vegas.  Also known as Stacie's Vacation From Making the Bed and Putting Dirty Dishes in the Sink.

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Also known as Getting Some Sleep Diagonal Style.

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Also known as Fold That Laundry Quick Cuz He's Comin' Home in an Hour!!

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I learned the lyrics to Whomp! There It Is in sixth grade, sometimes I sing them to myself when I do my chores.

"Tag team back again, check it to wreck it lets begin..."

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I am a big fan of pancake batter.  Raw, pancake batter.  Salmonella and all.

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I like big butts and I cannot lie.

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Just kidding, I had to throw that in there with the theme being 90s....never mind.

******

See??  Wasn't that fun?! 

I know, it's a work in progress.

Until next time, have a lovely weekend!

Turning 30: the good, the bad and the ugly

"Thirty ain't so bad."

Said no one ever.

Well, maybe people say it, but I guarantee they don't mean it.

And then when they say, "no, really, being over 30 is pretty great!" it means they're dying a little inside.

Can I get a holla! from the Over-30 Club?!

Hello?

Holla?

I know you're out there, you're probably just thinking to yourself, "but self, although my mind and body have started to literally fall apart, I still feel some areas of my life are in fact better than before..."

In this case I would have to agree.  When it comes certain things, I'm feelin' pret-ty darn good, too.

Like my appearance: no longer do I feel like the whole world is judging me if I wear my slippers into a convenience store, or if my morning hair and leftover make-up look like a combination bird's nest dumpster fire and I take that whole show out on the road for some pancakes.

I take that back, the world is judging me, but now I don't care.  I just want pancakes.

Also I'm finally okay with who I am.  And who exactly is that, you ask?  I'm random and creative.  I like to be impulsive but only if I can plan on it.  Awkwardness doesn't even begin to describe my conversations with strangers and those moments where I shake someone's hand and our thumbs don't quite align.

Side question: is it then okay to insert left hand to rearrange the shake to fit properly??  Oh I hope so...

I'm funny and sarcastic and I don't take the right things seriously.  I'll never be as patient as I'd like, or have enough self-control to not say exactly what I'm thinking when my feathers get ruffled.

I'll never be like those girls who seem to have it all together and now I'm finally old enough to be okay with it.

Most of the time.

Now on the other hand...

Everything else is falling apart.

Like my joints.  They ache All. The. Time.  And they don't tolerate anything other than soft cushions and 90-degree angles.  Sitting cross-legged and playing on the floor with my nephew?  Ha!  "Sorry J, Auntie needs her sittin' pillow, oh and can someone help me get up?!"

And hellloooo anxiety!  It's like my brain gave up on me, "her? no, she definitely doesn't know what she's doing, enter panic mode stat."  I may or may not be having an anxiety attack right now.  Over what?  Is the dog pooping in his crate?! when am I going to have time to strip my chipping nail polish?! why didn't I put on two coats of nail polish?! Is the crock-pot going to burn my house down?! when are we going to close on the new house already?! is Corey going to flip out when I tell him my idea for bookcases?! it's freezing why didn't I wear socks?!

It's fun.

Another big part of my new found anxiety is I'm pretty sure I need to see a doctor about everything.

Is this bump in my cheek/nose crease cancer?

My chest hurts, I'm pretty sure I'm having a heart attack.

I need to do something about this self-diagnosed carpal tunnel.

And then there's my stomach.  Talk about sen-si-TIVE.  Drink a full glass of wine, she gets upset.  Ride in the car with anyone other than me driving, she gets upset.  Eat lettuceforcryinoutloud, she gets wicked upset.  I never had an iron-clad constitution to begin with, but tummy grumblies after a burrito//ice cream sundae night??

Gimme a break.

But on a positive note, even with the aches and pains that come with my body completely rebelling against me, I would still take the position I'm in, feeling confident with myself, over being able to do a cartwheel without throwing up afterward or sitting on the living room floor without memory foam but not having a single clue about who I am or where I'm going.

Now tell me Over-40 Club, does this feeling last??

Please say yes, please say yes....

Oh to be young again...but maybe not this young.  (Kimberlie, Stacie, Katie on tamale-making day)

Friends don't let friends look like idiots in booties

I am an awful person.

Downright nasty.

Srsly, be warned.  If you are my friend, I just might purposely put you in a situation that will cause you to be unsure, unsteady,  maybe even a little uncomfortable just so I can laugh at you.

Awful.

Maybe you've read how I find a great deal of enjoyment in watching dogs in shoes.

Maybe you've read how I've spent many a lunch break looking up YouTube videos of dogs in shoes and then snorting wildly at my desk.

this one is my fave.

So maybe it won't come as a shock to read that the first chance I got to put my own dear, sweet, trusting puppy in shoes I jumped at it and then sat back, with recording device activated, to enjoy the show.

That he didn't care last week when I put Corey's t-shirt on him and screeched, "the baby's wearing pajamas!!" wasn't an indication to me that I might not get the reaction I desired, so I proceeded to strap on four canvas booties I had previously purchased for Oliver (who summarily stripped them off when it was his turn without even a single awkward prance for his mother's sake. The nerve.)

It was probably what my sister calls Christian Karma that Arnie didn't do anything.

I mean, he had a moment of, "here we go again...." and danced around the kitchen for a few seconds, but it was more from a lack of traction than ohmigawshthesethingsareeatingmyfeet!!  After a few uneasy steps he trotted all around my mom's kitchen, sniffing out the person who was shoving treats at him as I had him pinned to the ground to strap on the booties.

Not the wild, flailing dance I was hoping for.

Serves me right for trying to use my own puppy's uncertainty for my enjoyment.

I gave him treats.  Then I took off the booties.

...and that's when my mom strapped them to her Basset Hound, Maggie.

(insert evil laugh here)

:)

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No dogs were hurt in the making of this post, they were only a little confused and maybe a tad embarrassed.

Minor change of plans

I've been thinking of doing a little re-branding of my bid-ness.

Like, I was toying with the idea of going from The Whimsical Crafter to

The Whimsical Crafter with Carpel Tunnel.

What do you think?

???

Oh, didn't I tell you?

Yes, my hands are shot.

I may be exaggerating, slightly.  But as of the last several weeks, I can't do anything with my hands.  Like felt, or string felt balls, or open jars of hot fudge.  Typing feels okay, but there's still this soreness that runs from my wrists to my shoulders so maybe that's not actually a good thing.

Dangit.

How could I let this happen?!  My hands are my part-time livelihood!!

And in the somewhat near future I had planned to employ them in a full-time fashion, churning out such money-makers as more jewelry, and artwork, and whimsical home decor, and cheeky greeting cards with your likeness in a caricature on the front.

I had planned to post a full step by step of what I do to make the felted wool balls I use in jewelry, but in short, and to explain how I rendered my left hand useless in texting while driving: my mode of felting is with needles.  This means after I wind wool roving into a ball I then stab it over and over with the needles for about 3-4 minutes.  No biggie.

The needles have little barbs that catch the wool fibers, tangling them and making the ball more dense until it's the thickness I want.  Like so:

Then I let my puppy jump up on the table I'm working on so he can grab a mouthful and run all over the house dropping little slobber balls every three feet or so, giving me the opportunity to start all over on what was supposed to be a bracelet.

See?  Easy.

But apparently all that repetitive motion is more than my hands can take and I'll have to rely on my revised back up careers:

Politics 

Just call me Governor Lucas.

Acting

With my skills I could probably land a role as dead body number 2 in Law&Order.

Pancake Chef

I like to eat them, so why not perfect them...and then eat them?

Personal trainer

Just because I can't stick with an exercise program doesn't mean I can't yell at other people to do theirs.

Professional waitress

People gotta eat, there's job security here.

Movie critic

Do what you love, right?  I love to watch movies and then say stuff like, "Ooooo that was good," or "nope, not a fan."

So basically, I have options.

Buuuuuut I think before I plan any summer fundraisers I'll check with my doctor about getting some fancy wrist guards.  Yaaaaay accessories...