Uh, that is not pinteresting. It's deranged.

Pinterest just freakin blows my mind. It's amazing. I've already explained how much I love it.  Everything awesome in this planet is suddenly at my fingertips. And the best part is that 98% of the awesome things I discover only because I have spent 10 mins (aka 3 hours) simply browsing. But sometimes I see things and I my reaction is a-somethin like this:



Because pinterest is messin us up, dudes. We spray paint one jar and suddenly think we can out-craft Martha Stewart. And the irrational thoughts keep coming. Things that we once might've rolled our eyes at, we are just accepting. Sometimes thinking it is cool. The eye roll is on the endangered list. Dave is puh-ritty ridiculous, so I am doing my part here, but I can't save the eye roll on my own, people!

Please join me as I give a hearty interweb eye roll to the following actual things I have found on pinterest:



See? Boromir knows what's up.



I hope to high heaven that this revolutionary product doesn't put hair ties out of business.



Brookstone will sell you this grocery list maker. So glad technology has finally found a way to tell me what to buy. Without having to use my delicate hands to, you know, write stuff.



Oh, you guys are going to lunch? No, I'll just stay here and get some work done, since I had one ounce of tomato soup with my quarter-sized grilled cheese sandwich. Needless to say, I didn't save room for dessert.



This sign might as well say, "I am old enough to use power tools, but not smart enough to have realistic expectations for men."

And lastly (perhaps leastly),



If styling your five year old like a twenty-five year old doesn't convince everyone what a good parent you are, that chair in the middle of the yard holding books she'll never read definitely will. Everyone knows kids=props anyway. Why else would we create them?

Pinterest responsibly, my friends.

how to ensure that you take a girl on the worst date of her life

This is a guide for the gentlemen callers. The ones that don't know how to call. All of these guaranteed worst-date techniques and tricks are based on my own experiences (some experiences may have been experienced vicariously). I just think that women make as much sense to men as the baby/sun makes sense to the viewers of teletubbies, which is to say, none. The men folk need a little guidance. Here it is maley males! Some simple ways to make sure your contact name in her phone is changed to douche canoe immediately following and/or during your date.

 

1. Talk a lot about your exes. Seriously. This is gonna be good. She will love it when you describe in detail the characteristics that you love of your recent ex.Wanna know the only thing that will make that conversation more exciting for her? Go ahead now and let's talk body. Tell her all about your exes smokin curves and her amazing eyes. Please please PLEASE don't forget to tell the story about how she is such a good kisser that you couldn't help but make out in front of 17 generations of her family at their 12th annual whatever-the-crap. I know you and your ex had some bad times as well, but steeeeeer clear of those stories. That will just make her sad. Stick to the good stuff.

2. Don't plan a single thing. You heard me, let's just let life take us where it will. Your constant "what do you wanna do"s will just sweep her off her feet. Nothing is sexier than a man without a clue. Make sure you display your masculinity by rejecting anything she suggests. Seriously. We love it when a man can just take control AND demean us at the same time. It's a twofer!

3. Talk about her body....a lot. If you can find time between talking about your ex Brittany/Jessica/Hilary, that is. It doesn't matter what kind of body she has. This is win-win, because she'll love it if she has a rockin bod that you keeeep talking about it. And if she has some problem areas she will be so grateful if you could help point them out to her. Sometimes we just need an outside opinion, you know? Go ahead and wax poetic about it too. No three-word sentences here. If you think her ears are weird, tell her why. Let's use some adjectives, guys!

4. If all else fails, take her dumpster diving. There's no better way on a first date to show her that you are a fun, spontaneous guy that can't afford the date you asked her on. Wanna up the ante here? Dumpster dive for edibles. So romantic. It is as much a surprise to you as it is to me that the man that took me for that wild ride and the one I ended up marrying were not the same man.

This is not an all-inclusive guide, of course. This guide is based on my own limited experiences. Maybe, if you're lucky, some ladies can add their two cents down in the comments about their tips on how to make a (terrible) lasting impression! Read up!

things you should know before calling the cops on your jag off neighbors

So. There is this house. It's backyard faces my bedroom windows. It's a little confusing how that works because there's a corner and some voodoo magic and I am not going to spend twenty minutes trying to explain it to you guys because words are hard, but pretty much you just need to accept the premise that I can see completely into their back yard. I can see so well I don't even need the binoculars. Not that I would use them anyway to spy on people. Because I am not a creep. I just happen to have the binoculars for....bird watching. Which I don't do. Anyway. I am getting a little off track here. So, we are close to these guys.

see how natural I look? Just glancing around the neighborhood in the normal way  nuns do

Have I ever met them, you ask? Uh, no. We spend way too much time doing whatevertheheckwewant instead of knocking the doors of our mystery neighbors. We know one neighbor (our landlord) and then another neighbor (they were selling girl scout cookies).

So one night (which it is important to know it was a MONDAY) I got up at like 2 AM because Reese needed a bottle. I am awesome at not waking up fully when I get her a bottle. Dave always finds the lid to the formula in weird places. So I get her what she needs and I crawl back into bed. And then I hear it. Laughter. Ugh. If there's one thing I hate, ESPECIALLY in the middle of the night, it's laughter. But I deal with it. And then there's more. And it's escalating. Dave wakes up too. For some reason he's not a complete idiot in the middle of the night like me, so his brain could actually make out the words they were saying. According to him they were yelling about balls and cups. Awe-some. Which explains why they kept getting louder and LOUDER. Finally, I was done with it. This jubilee must be crushed. So here, my friends, is a guide to calling the cops on your neighbors.

1. Uh, you should probably know the address before you call. So, here's how my conversation with dispatch went:
 "Hi there. I am not fully awake. I would like to be less awake but there are some nerf herder neighbors  that won't shut up. And it's late. And I hate them."
"Okay ma'am. What is your name?"
"Lord Voldemort." (okay, I didn't say that. I said my real name. But I wish I had said that).
"Alright, and do you know if any drugs or alcohol are being used there?"
"How am I supposed to know? I am not even supposed to be awake!"
"Okay, and can you tell me the address of the home?"
"Uh, I don't have the exact address. But it's on the north side of B street. I mean, it's on green street, but north of B street. I mean, we're pretty close to an intersection. Of white street and B street. So I guess it's on the west side of B street and the house itself is on the south side of green street. Does that make sense?"
"Not really, but I'll have an officer check it out."

After the phone call, I knew that party would never end unless I got some cold hard facts. So I used the magic of google to stalk my neighbors and get their address. Kinda freaky, google. Anyway, so I called dispatch back. Basically I said, "Hey three minutes ago I called to shut down a party and ruin some lives. But three minutes ago I was dumb and now I am smart and now I have the address of the house." And I gave it to them. After those phone calls they probably thought for sure that there were drugs and alcohol involved. In my brain. So, step one, know the address.

2. You probably shouldn't tell them who you are. I did. I am dumb. You are smart. Dave asked me if I told them my name. I was like, "ofcourseIdidDeanfromdispatchwassonice." And then Dave told me that if the cops do indeed go shut down the party and the party-goers inquire of the constables who reported them, it is their obligation to tell. I am not sure if that is true or not (any law hotties here?). But just in case it is, don't tell Dean your name. You don't want some crazy party animal to murder you for being lame and sleeping at night instead of attending their party. If you give a fake name, make it scary like Lord Voldemort. Uh, pretty much no one wants to mess with an evil wizard.

3. Make sure you wake yourself up to watch the results of your actions. Get an energy shot. Do a lap. Whatever. You won't want to miss this. Bonus tip: be sneaky about this. As in don't leave your windows gaping open and lights on. Party people may catch on to you.

4. Only feel a smidgen of guilt for ruining peoples'nights. Seriously. Just the teeniest bit. It would be better if you could stifle all guilt all together. It turns out the house I reported on was a party house for underage drinkers. So you know what I am? A HERO. A party-stopping sleep-deprived hero. Also, I got to see people jump over fences while running away. If that doesn't make for good talk over or-derves (shut up. I know it's not spelled like that) I don't know what does.

5. You probably shouldn't put it on your facebook or bloggity blog, especially if you violated rule number two. Here I am. Doing both. Fortunately for me, drunk teenagers make very poor investigators.

And that, my friends, is how to be the best dang party-stopping hero this town will ever see. Don't be discouraged if you don't have a natural knack for it like I do. Practice makes perfect.

Russia, puberty, and hell. So, you know, the usual.

So in my fancy blog dashboard it tells me a bunch of crap about the people who are reading my blog...which until a few days ago was just my mom. But guess where blogspot told me there were poor people reading my blog?

RUSSIA. Dudes, I have like 30 Russian readers (or one person 30 times). I feel like I need to reach out to my fanbase there. Who knows if they even get my mean girls jokes?? I need to be more relevant to them. But all I know about Russia is kinda dated...like Stalin, Gorbachev, and Fiddler on the Roof kind of old. So I did what any person of little to no intelligence would do, I googled Essence of Russia. And this is what I got:

So, what I am gleaning from this is that really, my Russians not getting any references to Mean Girls is the least of their problems. In addition to being good at suffering, they hate America (aka Toby Keith) and they have no men.

This pandering to my public has got to stop. It is stressing me out. I am breaking out like I am going through puberty. I mean, if I had ever gone through puberty. I am still holding out hope for that growth spurt!

But isn't puberty a golden time in the life of a young person? Like, overnight, everything is different and half your friends look like 30 year old pedophiles and the other half can still talk in a range so high that only dogs can hear it. And you're feeling all weird because you don't even understand what is going on in your own body, so everyone takes it out on everyone else. A simple fart would set off a witch hunt and subsequent burning at the stake. Which totally sucks, because really, the world would be such a better place if everyone just pretended like farts didn't exist. Not as good as the world would be if farts ACTUALLY didn't exist, but we don't deserve that world yet.

Puberty also sucks because suddenly you like people. I mean, I liked boys in elementary school. Because society told me to. So I did what any regular kid does and I looked at all my options, and chose the least deplorable one to have a crush on. And let me tell you, what a beautiful system that is! It gives you an outlet for your ridiculous need to write stupid love notes and play MASH, but then when he turns you down or doesn't like you back you just choose the next least deplorable option. No emotional attachment there. Kids don't need rebound crushes, because they're not insane like adults. But then you hit puberty. And suddenly you have emotions coming out every orifice. And WHAM all of a sudden you like people not because society tells you to, but because nature  tells you to. Your brain starts talking about weird things and won't shut up. "Hey, kaitlin, did you notice the muscles in that guy's forearm? Because guess what? I'm your brain and I notice stuff like that now. Wanna know what else I've noticed lately? That you look awkward and probably will until the last 30 seconds of your senior year. Also, I have A LOT to tell you about menstruation. Can we schedule a sit down about that sometime between yourfacelookslikepizza and peopledon'tknowtheyneedtoweardeodorant o'clock?"

There also comes a time in every young person's life that they make the jump from would-only-kiss-someone-for-a-dare and actually-want-to-kiss. For some people, that doesn't happen until college (SERIOUSLY. THESE PEOPLE EXIST). For me, it happened in 8th(?) grade. I'm fairly certain it was my awkwardness that attracted Robert. So one day we went with a big group of people to a haunted house, and that is where we had our first kiss. First kiss for both of us. I'm pretty sure the universe gave us some sort of award for that. We shared several other (tight-lipped) kisses that night. All of which were the best I'd ever had. To that point. Things were exciting and amazing.

And then I got home. I thought my parents would be able to tell that I had kissed someone. I probably was giving off some sort of I-hit-a-milestone stink. I don't know how they didn't see it on my face, because I was feeling guuuuuiiiilllllty. I was pretty sure I had messed up my whole life and I was going to hell. I couldn't sleep that night. It was a night-long panic attack. The next day I went to school and told Robert that we had sinned and I felt awful and I was going to give up my life of philandering to become a nun in Russia where I would be able to really get in some solid suffering for my grievous misdeed. Also, there are no men there, so that would help too. Needless to say, Robert and I did not kiss more after that.


From Russia With Love,

Kaitlin

more poverty, more sexy!

I know, I know. You're thinking "Hey wait! You never actually told me how to be sexypoor. All you did was make me jealous of how perfect and trauma-free your childhood was!" Yesssss, I did. So here are the actual steps you can use (besides not eating out and skipping cable...obviously).

Here I am, just being poor and reminiscing on my totes aweso childhood

1. Don't try to fool people. You're not rich, and you definitely don't need to try and look like you are. If you try to trick people, I guarantee your life will go all Mean Girls where at first you are like "hey me and poverty are best friends, but I'm going to put on lipgloss and infiltrate the rich people and they will think I am one of them and they will tell me all their rich secrets and my life will be wonderful." It won't. You will ruin everybody's lives and end up as a Mathlete. So don't buy fancy things when you don't have a fancy paycheck. Seriously, people care soooooo much less than you think they do. Also, those people that you would like to impress? They are probably struggling too. My dad always said, "You never know how much someone makes, only how much someone spends." Smart, right? So stop comparing yourself. Those people that can afford stuff still live with their parents. Quit the comparisons. YOUR WHINING IS DRIVING ME CRAZY.

2. This goes hand-in-hand with the first one, but sometimes you gotta learn how to just say no. Yes, young people like to engage in a lot of late night Denny's. But, (back to our eating out thing) your $4 plate of cheesevomit and your $2 drink can add up quickly. Yeah, I know it sucks to be the friend that says you can't, but you know what's worse? Being the idiot friend who always has to bum off their friends. NO ONE LIKES YOU. If you can't afford it, say no.

What is that, you say? You actually want to have a social life? It's coo. Next time your friends are like, "Hey, poorface let's go do stuff you can't afford," you can say "hey, that's not really in my budget" ("oh my!" they'll think "how responsible they are!") "but hows about you all come over to my house so I can try out this new recipe on you guys?" They will all kiss your feet and think you're awesome. Unless you can't cook. Then PLEASE for the love of Henry just have a game night.

3. Embrace the DIY. Let's get crafty and resourceful! Next time you find yourself pining over something, see if you can make an acceptable substitute for a portion of the price. I really want some mint jeans, but there's no way spending $50 on a pair doesn't make me want to barf, so instead I am going to bleach some skinnies I already have and spend $2 on dye. The fact that I can make them myself makes me want to run through Nordstrom proclaiming the Truth, that you don't have to pay so much for something you will hate in a year! What? You don't know how to do stuff? Well, lucky for you, youtube does. Seriously, I am addicted to tutorials on youtube like it's my crack. But this crack is free, legal, and hasn't yet torn apart my family.

There are pros of the DIY: People are impressed. Seriously, I have lots of people fooled into thinking I am good at making stuff and things, merely because I am too cheap to buy it already made. Another pro, DIY is actually fashionable right now. Pinterest has blown up the world with DIY projects. So just give in! Do it yourself!

4. Don't be a snob. My grandparents are amazing people. They started from nothing, but they have done well. Like, WELL. Dave Ramsey asks them for advice. They have lots of nice things (that they bought when they could afford them), but they still save money where they can, even though they probably don't need to save money as much as most of us. One time I was at their house, and they both got in from their errands they were running separately. What did they both buy? Bread that had been marked down to $.99 from the bakery thrift store. I was all, "Whhaaaaat?? You guys go to the bakery thrift store? Shouldn't you be getting your bread from King Tut's tomb or something like that?"

So drop your snobbery. I was in line at the store the other day behind a lady who spent like $40 on her shampoo and conditioner. And let me tell you, her hair looked like crap. C.R.A.P. Now, I'm not saying you have to use V05 (however you SHOULD buy that for your husband...he can't tell the difference), but maybe you could try some pantene or garnier fructis or something (TIP! they pretty much always have coupons/sales on those not-crap-but-not-salon brands). This is not just about hair. Get over your brand issues. Remember that one time when I told you that no one really cares what you do? They don't care if you buy your clothes from Ross instead of Buckle (but they do care if they have to buy you dinner because you spent all your money at buckle). You're going to look amazing in whatever you wear anyway, since you don't eat out or watch cable all day.

how to make poverty look sexy

Now let me tell you, if you think Dave and I are poor NOW (we are) this is NOTHING compared to the poverty we have survived before. The difference is mainly that now it's like "Oh, I have use my own hands to cook food because I can't afford the salary for Gordon Ramsay" and then it was like "Oh, I can't remember last time we had sauce on our noodles" type of poor. Okay, so the first one I exaggerated a lot. The second one, sadly, I am barely exaggerating.

Here is Dave laying on our newlywed  "bed" which was made up of a futon so uncomfortable we had to put an air mattress on top of it. 

That being said, being poor is awesome. Sort of. It's not awesome at the time, but boy does it teach you an awful lot and give you some frighteningly great stories.

Growing up, my family always had enough, but we were not rich (because my parents were squirreling away all their secret riches to buy houses and vacations the second all of us moved out. Seriously, Costa Rica AND Jamaica in a year?!--but I digress). A lot of the decisions my parents made made me into the person I am today. I am not sure if they made those decisions based on finances, or if they intentionally avoided some things in life. Decisions such as:

1. Not having cable. I remember specifically the day I figured out that we didn't have cable. I was probably 8 or 9, and I was watching some cool TV show at the Gardiner's house, but it was time for me to go home. I  asked Susan what channel we were watching, so I could finish the show at home. She told me channel 10. I went home and tried in vain to find channel 10. My mom had to explain to me that we didn't have that channel.

As a kid, I was a little jealous of the kids who could watch all the cool shows on the Disney channel. It was exciting when I got to see a show everyone was talking about. But was I suffering without cable? Absolutely not. I wanted it, but I also wanted to ride a million pink ponies to a land of ice cream treats. So clearly, my brain could not be trusted.

Dave and I have cable now. He grew up with it, and felt deprived when we couldn't afford it. Now I am regretting it. We both agreed that we deserved it because we work hard and need a way to unwind. Which was all lies. Of course I watch TV, but I feel like my life would be better, more creative, more healthy, more efficient, if we had chosen not to get cable. I am not gonna lie, it also freaks me out how absorbed Reese can become in Sesame Street (says the woman who can be on pinterest for hours and not realize a second has passed).

2. We NEVER ate out. On our birthday, we got to pick dinner, so one year I remember asking for a happy meal (a delicacy!) and macaroni and cheese for everyone else, because I thought McDonald's was too expensive for my parents to buy for everyone. Which is funny, because my parents never discussed their finances with us or in front of us. The first time I even got an inkling of how much money my dad brought in was when I was 16 or 17. But we always ate at home. And it was good for us. In this world or rampant obesity, I am proud to say that my family has resisted that. We are not a family of health nuts. My mother did not diet or count calories for us. We just ate at home, at the table. In turn, as adults, none of my sisters are overweight(except maybe me...but shut up! I'm working on it!), and not a single one of the my parents' grandchildren has a weight issue. Intentionally or unintentionally, my parents showed us what was important.

I recently watched  (and obsessed over) HBO's weight of a nation documentary series. Yes, I understand that statistics can be skewed, but I feel that no one can argue the main message, America is fat and getting fatter, and we will all die big fatties if we can't figure this out. One thing it spent some time discussing is childhood obesity among impoverished communities. It astounded me. Kids eating every meal off the dollar menu and looking like blimps because of it. The thing that really astounded me was that I feel I eat out SO MUCH MORE when Dave and I have a little heavier cash flow. Being poor forces me to go to the grocery store and plan out some meals, and eat at home. I just don't understand. I feel like these parents are not thinking this through, and don't understand what I like to think of as the Costco principle. I went to Costco a while ago with a couple who was newlywed and struggling, and they were shocked at Costco's prices. They were shocked when I spent $100 there. I tried to explain to them how it might be a big expense all at once, but if you are spending $10 on lunch and dinner (not even an expensive meal) it takes less than two weeks to spend as much as I did at Costco, on more food that will feed my family healthier and longer. I feel like people can't understand that concept. And that's why 'Mericuh is just a bunch of fatties arguing about the healthcare system that they need to treat their exploding fat-filled hearts.

This has turned into quite the lengthy post. And I am not even remotely done discussing the greatness that being poor will make you. Patience, my friends. Patience. We'll get there.