01. Giblets is a really funny word.
02. Last night, we went to a holiday parade in downtown Minneapolis and I just wanted to PINCH ITS LITTLE CHEEKS. Lesson: Non-Louisiana parades are so cute, with their teeny tiny floats and sober riders and lack of things flying through the air.
03. The other day I was talking to Ike, and I apparently called him Mr. McStinkyButt. Y called, from the other room, “Of the Minneapolis McStinkyButts?” It was then that I snapped to consciousness and even realized that I had been talking to the dog. I have a problem, I think.
04. We started watching Homeland this weekend and BAM. Marley from Glee, topless. The lesson: Marley from Glee is topless in Homeland and I just don’t feel like her mom the cafeteria lady would have raised her daughter to be so… topless. Related: Angela from My So Called Life is a CIA agent.
05. I’m thankful for a dog that winks at me and a husband that sleeps through the cutest photo session ever. (see above photo)
A few weeks ago I posted some pictures of real fall, meant to show you what’s going on behind the scenes as your favorite bloggers frolic through apple orchards and make out with their pumpkin spice lattes.
Today, along those lines, I want to show you Pinterest in real life.
Ever since some genius crafter discovered that – gasp – dry erase markers work on glass, Pinterest has been full of pinners posting their dry erase frame creations.
I decided to jump on the bandwagon, putting a frame in our bathroom (on those shelves that I fought so hard for).
Brushing our teeth is usually the last thing each of us does in the morning before work, so it would be perfect for the love notes we were dying to leave each other as we parted ways.
Or helpful reminders-
Not that I would ever have the foresight to package up leftovers for Y’s lunch. But that’s the thing about Pinterest – it’s supposed to make you perfect.
But, readers, my husband is not John Petersik*. So instead of love notes, this is what I got:
*John Petersik: co-blogger of Young House Love who seems to be open to any and all DIY projects and doesn’t incorporate voyeuristic whales into home decor.
Edited to add: I actually met John and Sherry, the couple behind Young House Love last night at West Elm for their book signing.
I’ll share more later — they are as friendly and real as their blog suggests — but I thought this little story was relevant. You see, this exact project (sort of) happens to be in the YHL book. I showed John and Sherry Y’s whale, which they, of course, loved (how could you not?! Look at that face!).
And then, because I was at the back of the line and I think everyone in the store was a little delirious, John wrote this in my book:
My copy of this book is going to be worth millions one day.
Being married to a resident can be kind of humbling.
Like when you realize that no matter how much you have to do at work, no matter how annoyed your boss is, when something happens to your house there is no argument: you don’t have lives to save. You are the one staying home with the repairman.
This has its perks. Like… hanging out at home with the dog.
It also has its downfalls. Like, staring at an unfinished bedroom that would look a million times better if a) there was a picture ledge on the wall*, and b) there was no underwear on the floor.
But mainly it has its perks. My favorite: getting the real story from the repairmen.
Recently, while sitting at home entertaining the people who were installing our radon mitigation system, I got the inside scoop on why our basement has so much radon. I made sure to share with Y.
By the way, this is what our bedroom looked like when we looked at the house:
*I screw up every time I try to put something in our walls. Otherwise, I would have hung the shelf myself.
I can’t wait to go home and de-stress with a glass of wine and a bubble bath
And, as the popular children’s story goes, if you tell new homeowners they need new tile, they’re going to want a new shower head. And when you give them the shower head, they’re probably going to want a new bath tub.
As Y said after he was forced to take a bath before the shower head was fully installed, Am I supposed to wash my hair in the same water I wash my asshole?
Minneapolis is the whitest place you’ll ever live.
That’s what everyone told us, at least. Some said it disdainfully, as if we would never know diversity again. Some said it jealously, like our neighbor in Shreveport. She was upset about the new black family on our street, and said — are you ready for this? —
“I wish I could move to Minnesota. Things are getting a little…dark here.”
(We’re glad we don’t live by her anymore. The racist neighbor, not the black one.)
Let’s put it this way: At Y’s hospital in Shreveport, if his patient spoke a different language, he had to call a special number. From there he had two options for translators: Spanish or Mandarin.