How to train your toddler: Dragon themed cupcakes for Millie's Birthday Party.

Millie has a birthday coming up. Some of you may remember my strong cupcake game from last year, which unfortunately has backfired, since Millie is expecting an elaborate theme again this year. Luckily, this weekend during Millie's nap, I had an amazing brain wave.

I bring you: "TOOTHLESS THE DRAGON AND HIS ASSOCIATED SHEEP."

For those of you who have never seen "How to train your dragon," it's a movie that all toddlers love.  It's about a gangly teenage viking exploring his various career opportunities, and discovering that dragon training is his most marketable skill.  The viking community where he lives has a weird thing for sheep, which are used in their strange, airborne version of viking Quiddich, which provides much comic relief to the movie and its sequel.

"Toothless" is the name of the coolest dragon of all, and he looks like this:

The best thing about making these cupcakes it that anyone can do it.  I know some cute cupcake ideas require a certain level of expertise with frosting.  These do not.  The only thing you will need to do with frosting is to slather it vaguely in the direction of your cupcakes, and also squirt it from a ziplock bag directly into your mouth. Here is how you can get started:

Bake some cupcakes.
The first thing you should do, is bake some chocolate cupcakes.  You can make these from scratch, or go out and buy a box mix.  I don't care. In fact, if you choose to buy some mix from a box, I will swear to everyone that you made them from scratch, using sustainably harvested cocoa powder and agave nectar, because that's the kind of loyal, trustworthy internet friend I am.

Gather your materials.
While your cupcakes are baking and cooling, gather your materials for decorating.

You will need:
1. White frosting (you can make or buy this)
2. Food coloring (I use the "neon" colors, because the results are so bright!)
3.Oreos
4. Graham crackers
5. Mini-marshmallows
6. Chocolate chips (two sizes, normal, and "mini")
7. A few plastic sandwich or ziploc bags
8. (optional) A nail file to shape the cookies (buy a new one, don't use the one from your bathroom, nasties :)!)

Color the frosting:
Get three small ziploc or sandwich bags.

• In the first bag, put two small drops of plain green (neon) food dye into the bag on top of the frosting.  Squish the frosting inside the bag until the green is all mixed in (note: if you feel more comfortable, you can mix the dye in outside of the bag, I just do it this way because dishwashing is for suckers.) This color will be your light green.
• In a second bag, repeat this process, but put an extra drop of blue dye in with the green.  This will be your dark green. 
• In a third bag, scoop some plain white frosting. 
• In all three bags, snip the corner off of the ziplock bag.  You've now created your professional cake decorating tools!

To make Toothless:
Start with a plain chocolate cupcake.  I didn't put any icing on this, because the un-frosted cupcake looked "scalier" and it was also healthy (it's the agave nectar!) I pulled two halves of a normal oreo in half, scraped the frosting off the back with a nail file, and broke it in half to get started with the ears/horns.

Ok, so I know the nile file thing is weird.  Someone had just given us a new "nail tending kit" for christmas, and since I"m about as likely to tend to my cuticles as the viking king, Stoic the Vast, I decided to put these tools to good use. For me, it really helped shave the cookies into exactly the shapes I wanted them.

Once the cupcakes cooled off a bit, the top became a little crusty, and  it helped to cut slits int he top of the cupcake where the oreo bits would go. 

I ate a massive amount of oreos in the creation of these cupcakes.  I'm sure you will too, so take some of the shrapnel, and stick it in the top, to a make a ridge like the one Toothless has. 

Start with he dark green, and make vaguely oval eyes.  These do not have to perfectly smooth. 

Haha! Look at those eyes.  They look awful. 

Next, put in a layer of the light green over top of the dark green.  Make sure you leave a little of the dark green peeking out of the sides. 

See! I told you that you don't have to be a professional cake decorator! So far, this cupcake looks terrible. Now comes the best part.  Get two of the chocolate chips (the regular size, not the minis,) and  stick them on.

Voila! All of the sudden, your cupcake looks 100% less shitty than it did!  I found that making Toothless vaguely cross-eyed gave the most realistic/cutest effect.

To make the Sheep:

Slather white frosting all over a cupcake. At this point, you should probably also have some frosting for yourself.

Get a rectangular section of graham cracker.  Round out the edges with the nail file.

Break some pieces of graham cracker and carve out some little ears.  These can look bad-- don't sweat it. 

Stick 3 marshmallows on each side, and 2 along the top, leaving space for the terrible little ears you made. 

See, I told you the ears would look ok. 

Using the bag of white frosting, make two large dots for the eyes. 

And then add two smaller dots for the nostrils. 

Yep. It's pretty simple. 

For the finishing touch, add two mini chocolate chips for the eyes.  Then, take a celebratory swig of frosting, because that sheep looks GOOD. 

Are you feeling smug?  I think you should be, because when your toddler wakes up from her nap, she is going to FREAK OUT.

I hope you enjoyed making these cupcakes, which will trick everyone into thinking you are the Michael Phelps of cupcake making.  (Tip: do not let actual Michael Phelps near these cupcakes, he will eat them all.) I'm a pretty proud of them, but I'm also starting to get nervous about raising the bar for next year's birthday party. Luckily, that's a year away, and for now, I've got about three ziploc baggies of leftover frosting calling my name...

Oregon, A Visitors Guide (Subtitle: how I peed in the Metolious River)

This blog post is a PSA for anybody who is considering visiting Oregon.  DON'T GO THERE. CANCEL YOUR CONCERT TICKETS AND MARIJUANA DISPENSARY APPOINTMENTS.  Turn around now while you can, because once you get to Oregon, every single thing you encounter will be so beautiful, you'll want to puke your puking face off.

Barf.

Last summer, Sean and I made a huge mistake and took Millie on a vacation to Oregon.  Life has been really hard for us now that we've returned, because compared to that place, Ohio looks like the frozen ice planet of Hoth. Here's an overview of what we did.  My only hope is that this blog post will serve as a deterrent to other reckless wanderers, whose eyeballs have been heretofore unassualted by the pristine beauty of that North Western Harlot, Oregon.

A Primer: 

For those of you who are unfamiliar with it, Oregon is a state/microbrewery along the pacific coast of the United States, just north of California. It is most famous as the destination of the computer game, Oregon Trail, and as the place where my sister, Kelly just moved.

Every single store in Oregon offers growler fills.  As you can see, even this corporate shell station has succumbed to the state's powerful microbrewery lobby.

Things to See in Oregon

The Forest:

When you're visiting Oregon, it's important that you visit the forest.  It's not important which one you choose, because each one of them, including the ones adjacent to highway rest-stations, look like something out of a Sierra club calendar, or the hit movie, Harry and the Hendersons. 

I call this photo "Tree on the side of the Road."  I can't decide if this forest is crawling with ancient tree shepherds, or with Sasquatches, but either way, I am obsessed with it.

The Campsites

Oregon is home to some of the country's most beautiful rivers, all of which will be too popular to find campsites along. You and your husband will drive from site to site,  for several hours until you are eventually driven up into Oregon's high desert, at LaPine State Park-- Oregon's only unattractive campground.

I peed in this river.

Campsite at Opal Creek

Campsite by Haystack Rock.

Errr..... Campsite at LaPine.

LaPine state park was easily 1000 degrees during the day, and below freezing at night.  The only interesting wildlife we encountered there was a colony of felonious ground squirrels, who would abscond with any unattended food items lighter than a jar of JIF peanut butter.  For this reason, I recommend all visitors there eat exclusively Vienna sausages and hanks of local bison during your stay at LaPine.

* Pro-Tip- Use your growler to weigh down your shampoo-- or those little shits will take that too.

The Coast:
Another "must see" on your visit to Oregon, is the coast. One advantage to visiting the coast with your family, is that immediately upon entering Oregon's coastal watershed, all tourists are immediately transformed into talented professional photographers. Here are a few photos from the Oregon coast, all of which look like they were captured by David Attenborough, but were actually taken on my cell phone-- and generally after I had been patronizing one of the coastal open fermentation microbreweries. 

I call this shot "Maybe I should move to Oregon"

This one is called "Okay, I'm definitely moving to Oregon."

I call this one, "Sean and Millie exploring our new home, Oregon!"

I call this photo, "Kelly, I just looked up housing prices in Oregon, and I am furious with you."

The Pig-N-Ford
While you're on the coast, it's important to go to Tillamook county, home of the "Pig-n-Ford," our country's greatest sporting event. The "Pig-n-Ford" happens every year at the Tillamook county fair, and involves contestants sprinting to a pen full of live pigs, hand-cranking a Ford Model-T with a 20 pound swine in one hand, and holding it in their arms as they make laps around a dirt racetrack. Then, they repeat this process, because there are NO LIMITS TO THEIR COURAGE, OR THEIR GROWLERS FULL OF WHAT I'M ASSUMING IS MOONSHINE.

 The most important video you'll ever watch.

The Cities:
After all that camping, you are probably going to want a shower, and a trendy brunch somewhere. I recommend any of Oregon's cities, as long as those cities do not contain any real estate agents.  You are in a vulnerable emotional state, and real estate agents are to be avoided at all costs, unless you want to end up paying $700,000 for a 1200 square foot Arts and Crafts cottage with a backyard full of heirloom rhubarb and a xeriscaped front walk.

Per Oregon building code, all dwellings built after 2011 must prominently feature hop vines climbing up a pergola or trellis. 

The Airport: 
Eventually, you will run out of vacation leave and need to return home from Oregon. Remember to leave for the airport early in order to give yourself time to navigate the crowds of healthy, attractive, socially conscious travelers flying out of PDX.

I call this photo "Me weeping, as we leave Oregon."

A few travel tips:

• Bring some extra cash so your husband can rush to buy a sweatshirt from the Rouge Brewery at the other end of the concourse before you board.
• Don't fill your growler with local, Marion-berry cider before you go through security, TSA will not let you in the concourse. 
• If the person sitting next to you on the plane tells you she is a real estate agent from Portland, ask the stewardess to change seats.
• If the person sitting next to you tells you they are a park ranger from LaPine State park, surreptitiously check their carry-on for stow-away ground squirrels.
• If the person sitting next to you is the 2015 champion of the Tillamook County Pig-n-Ford, ask them for their autograph, and to be your child's godparent.

The Pictures:
When you return for Oregon, it's likely that your co-workers will want to know how your vacation was. What are you supposed to tell them?  Oregon is a magical land, filled with organic hops and sea lions?  That there is not a single mosquito, alive anywhere in Oregon? That your retinas are now forever etched with the majesty of those Sasquatch filled woods, and that from now on 75% of your "office time" will be spent looking at $500,000 bunglows on zillow?

No, you will lie.  Lie and protect your innocent colleagues from the temptation that is Oregon.  Or, if there is a particular co-worker you don't like-- someone you wouldn't mind seeing a 6 hour plane ride away---well I guess there is no harm in showing them just one picture.

Dibs on your office, Larry.

Goodbye 2015, Don't let the door hit you in the Ass on the Way Out.

Some of you (by which I mean, probably just my parents), may have noticed that I haven't been updating Sean and Katie's place much in 2015.  There are two very good reason's for that. One is about 30 pounds, and knee high, and wants to be a flute player/dragon rider when she grows up.  The other reason is a little sadder.

 Some of you may remember the Spring of 2015, when I announced that I was pregnant, after failing to convince my neighbor Bill that I was going on a cleanse. Sadly, 4 1/2 months into this pregnancy, I went into early labor.  Our second daughter, Adeline was born on June 2nd, and did not live. I debated whether or not to even mention this on Sean and Katie's place, because the tone of this blog is so playful, but I've decided that it's important for readers to know this about us, if you plan on following along in our lives.  I've written extensively (mostly for myself in order to process grief) on a separate blog. To read about our Adeline, click here.

The health complications that followed for me have been shocking. For months after Adeline's death, I dealt with extreme blood loss. I had 3 surgeries, 4 blood transfusions, and went into something called "septic shock." (given it's name because it feels like you are being buried alive in an actual septic field.)  On three separate occasions, I was in critical condition and on three separate occasions, Sean and I said our goodbyes to each other. And, if you think that last sentence sounds dramatic, wait until I tell you this.  At one point, I was rushed in a helicopter to the ICU in downtown Cleveland by a life-flight Paramedic whose ACTUAL NAME was Alan Jackson. Then, a medical student stabbed an IV in my ACTUAL NECK, while I was still awake.  It was crazy.

For all these reasons, as I reflect on 2015, I just have one message for this awful year, which is best expressed in picture format:

And then in break up letter format:

Hey 2015, 

We need to talk.  I've been thinking for a while now that this isn't going to work out. It's not me-- it's definitely you. I just can't keep living with this much DRAMA.  Actually.... it's kind of awkward to talk about this, but I've recently been seeing someone new.  His name is 2016.  He's older, more mature, and has a better job than you. I think we're going to be really happy together. 

See you around,
Katie

And then is hashtag format:

#gofyourself2015
#AlanJackson

So cheers.  Let's all raise our glasses to 2016.  I hope this year is full of blessings, toddlers pretending to ride dragons, and women saying goodbye to abusive relationships with time-periods.  As for me, I'll be sitting in my house, soaking up the good times with my family, and listening to Alan Jackson's "Chatahoochee."

Happy New Year
#hotterthanahootchiecootchie

My Daddy is a princex.

I'm not scared of many things.  Snakes? love em. Spiders? Adorable. Orcs? Elendil himself could not be less afraid than I. But ever since I found out I was having a daughter, I've been living in terror of Princess Culture.*

*for more information on exactly what to fear, go out and buy the book Cinderella Ate My Daughter immediately!

I was raised with a pretty bad-assed woman for a role-model.  My mom is a black belt, a doctor, and is not afraid to straight up slaughter copperheads with a machete while wearing a lacy nightgown.* She literally gives no shits about what men think of her. That means me and my sisters learned to do all sorts of hard core things growing up.  She taught us to build campfires fires in the rain, to saw our own lumber and to build our own goddamn tree-houses.  Did we talk about princesses?  Sure.  She quickly confirmed that we were all three unique and special princesses, each of whom possessed *magical powers* which enabled us to beat boys at things like math tests, arm wrestling contests, et all. My mom is awesome.

*This may be a bit of an exaggeration.  I cannot guarantee she was wearing a nightgown.

Anyways,  I really want my daughter to have strong role models too.  When she reads books, I want her heroines to do more than just marry a handsome prince.  I want them to have guts, I want them to be kind, and I want them to be smart, empowered, and earn just as much in pay as their male co-workers do. Basically, I want my daughter to admire more than a poofy dress with giant shoulder pads.

So, while not being too extreme, I've tried to carefully avoid princess culture.  If someone else refers to her as a "little princess," I don't make a big deal of it, but I never call her that myself.  When I play with her, I try to say to her "you're so funny," "you're so smart," and "you're so kind," as well as "you're so beautiful." 

That's why I was very surprised the other day, when Millie was in her bath-tub and she pointed straight down to her new washcloth and told me informatively, "That's a Princex."

What?  I looked down hurriedly.  She was right! The puffy sleeves were a dead give-away.  The washcloth was a trick! It was the kind that comes up crinkled up into a tiny shape, and explodes when you put it in the water and turns into something awesome like a dinosaur, or ...DRAT... a princess.

The Princex

Trying to make the best of the situation, I encouraged her to think critically about the Princess.  "How do you know she's a Princess?" I asked her. "I don't see a crown." I added desperately, "I think it's just some blonde lady."

She looked up at me with pity. "That's a princex." She said firmly. And then, to my horror she added, "I'm a Princex." My heart froze.  No! Not my baby! She's too young. She's TOOO YOUNG!

But then she continued. "Mommy is a Princex." She paused carefully, and added... "Daddy is a Princex too!"

At that moment, a ray of warm light blew across the bathroom, and cast upon my poor, soapy brow. My Daddy is a Princex. YES. She's not succumbing to the premature over-sexualization of her body! She's not fast tracked to a life of romantic-conquest-based self esteem, and unrealistic beauty standards! She's just a baby, playing in a tub, and she's trying to learn about the word Princess.

One day, I'll have to battle these societal pressures, but I'm grateful today isn't that day.  For now, I just fill my cup and rinse her hair, (I can't help but notice, with a sense of foreboding,  that her hair really does look like newly spun gold) But for now, I give her a smile. "Of course," I tell her reassuringly. "Of course your Daddy is a Princex."

Mother's Day, 2015

Don't get me wrong.  I love Mother's day.  This year, Sean bought me 200 feet of soaker hose and helped me build an irrigation system for my vegetable garden! I'm all for any holiday that celebrates my awesomeness, and almost guarantees that I can go to the lawn-&-garden store and buy irresponsible amounts of shade perennials, but still--- the whole idea of celebrating all mothers on a single day seems fishy to me.

I think the traditions of mother's day-- the brunches, the flowers, the truck-loads of horse manure* ** ***--- should take place on the birthdays of that mother's children.  After all, she was the one who endured hours and hours of horrific pain in order to bring them into this world, and then, once her prenatal yoga class was over, she had to have childbirth! Shouldn't we celebrate mother's day on that child's birthday?

* I have a weird family ok.
** Yes, that is a real mother's day present my mother received from my father one year.
*** she loved it.

But instead, we live in a messed up world where, rather than relaxing on the anniversary of their child's birth and perhaps enjoying celebratory cocktail for keeping that child live for another year,  mothers have to spend that day experimenting with unnatural color's of frosting for their toddler's birthday cake.  It seems unfair, right?

That's why next February, I will insist that we celebrate mother's day early.  On Millie's birthday, I will enjoy 8 hours of relaxing-while-reading-heirloom-seed-catalogs, in order symbolize the 8 hours of time I was in labor with her. Then, I'll go to a prenatal yoga class and shout encouragement at all the expectant mothers. "Don't worry!" I'll lie,"Those will go back to normal!" and, uproariously-- "It's going to be hard work, but the pain is manageable!" Finally, we'll wind up the day with a little party in which all Millie's friends can all bring her shade perennials in lieu of traditional presents. I have a feeling they are really going to like the outdoor activity---a rousing game of "Spread the horse manure on Millie's Mommy's Garden!"

I'm a secret pregnant lady.

March, 2015

 I'm pregnant.

(I KNOW!!!)  I'm so excited.  Sean is excited too-- mostly because my boobs are going to get crazy big, but also because of propagating our bloodlines, the joys of parenthood, blah blah, blah- blah....

Now SHHH.  It's a secret.  I'm a secret pregnant lady. You can't tell anyone.

It always really confuses me when I think about the taboos of announcing pregnancies in our society. For those of you out of the loop, when a woman like me gets pregnant, there is a 15% chance that I will loose the baby (have a miscarriage) in the first three months.  For this reason, many expectant parents wait until after this period to tell friends, family, and employers about their future little snot-rocket.  Now here's where the irony comes in, the first three months are when women are in the need of most sympathy.

Here are some actual symptoms, which pregnant ladies like me experience in our first trimester. I am not making these up.

Vomiting
Feeling like you are going to vomit because you have an empty stomach
Felling like you are going to vomit because you have a full stomach
Feeling like you are going to vomit because you smell axe body spray
Feeling like you are going to vomit because you smell cabbage
Feeling mad at your partner because they don't constantly nearly vomit
Insomnia
Extreme Exhaustion
Emotional mood swings
Dissatisfaction with your throw pillows
Acne
Knockers that make you look like Jessica-Rabbit
Inability to go jogging because of your Jessica-Rabbit knockers
Feeling guilty about not jogging
Inability to drink wine with your girlfriends
Inability to be honest with your girlfriends about why you won't drink wine with them.
Inability to convince your neighbor, Bill, that you stopped drinking wine because you are going on a cleanse.

Now, from looking at this list, you can see how much I am in need of pity and understanding-- especially at work, but alas, I can't tell anyone about what I'm going through, and instead am forced to let them believe that instead, I am randomly recalling an errand which requires me to leave the building each time they are reheating leftover cabbage!

Now, I'm not going to get into the complexities of why women like me choose to keep their pregnancies secret.  If you've ever made or received a phone call about the loss of a child, you have reason enough for silence, and if you're a woman who cares about her career, you know your pregnancy could affect your professional goals.

What I AM going to request, is a little consideration from all you bystanders out there.  Next time you are at the office or at a public event, have a little consideration for the secret pregnant ladies out there.

Ask yourself these questions:

Is someone who I KNOW to be fond of wine, suddenly going on a "cleanse?"
Is there a person who is clearly struggling not to vomit when sitting in a staff meeting about data reporting?
Is there a person who is physically recoiling in the presence of Axe body spray?*
Is there a person who, though normally slight of frame, is beginning to resemble Dolly Parton in a Wonderbra?
*may not indicate pregnancy, could just be any adult.

You may have a secretly pregnant lady in your midst.  In order to be inclusive, I would immediately enact these policies, which will enable your friend/college to cloak her pregnancy until the appropriate time.

1. office wide ban on all cabbage-related leftovers
2. staff happy-hours should only be at establishments with sympathetic bartenders who are willing to serve "mocktails."
3. All-office nap time is preferred. 
4.  No one talks to Bill.
5. All lunch-time jogging initiatives should be ceased immediately. 

There.  Now you are prepared to support and nurture the secret pregnant lady in your midst. I congratulate you on your support and inclusivity.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I just recalled an errand which requires me to leave the building and is in no way related to your leftover enchiladas.

The key to toddler birthday parties? Food coloring.

 I recently threw a birthday party for our beloved two-year old, Millie.  Millie is now two, which means she is a BIG GIRL, and has therefore grown weary of her diapers (which are for babies),  and in no way contain images of Elmo.  It also means that she was old enough to know about *birthday parties,* and specifically that at birthday parties, she and all her friends would be allowed to eat cake.

I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure that a toddler's social status is directly correlated to the frosting intake at her birthday party, and certainly to the unnaturalness of her frosting colors. So, if a grown-up looks at a your child's birthday cake and thinks "there is no way this frosting color originated anywhere but in a beaker of toxic chemicals, " chances are you've just helped grow your child's social capital.

No taking any chances, I decided to make Millie these  birthday cupcakes:

I was going with the theme "googly eyes," which are-- in my daughter's estimation--- the finest representation of high art. These are probably more gelatin and food-dye than flour, but they looked majestic, and my daughter actually peed her pants when she saw them. 

If you are a parent wanting to recreate these, the components are simple. Just use oreos for the eyes, mini-chocolate chips for the nose, and chocolate cupcakes with dyed homemade buttercream frosting for the "frog body".  I used the neon colors of food dye to get that perfect "color that exists nowhere in nature" look. I mixed that in with the frosting and iced the cupcakes in a very inexpert fashion.

When Millie saw the cupcakes, I knew she felt like her party was something special. My only fear is that she'll be pooping food dye this week. This could present a problem, because she's really been enjoying the new, BIG GIRL, Elmo underwear we bought her for her birthday.

How to say, "I give a shit about you" this Christmas.

Recently, my friend Heather was having a birthday.  I really wanted to give her a present that sent the message, "Hey friend.  You're someone I give a shit about," but, I didn't have a lot of time to make her something handmade-- which is my usual go-to way of telling someone they are important to me.

Luckily,  last winter, I worked out a pattern for a warm winter hat that knits up in just a few hours.  All it took was one nap time, and this hand-knitted token of my affection was cranked out and ready for the snow.

Click here for the pattern 

When Heather opened it, I could tell she really knew how much I gave a shit about her. I'm posting it here for you all, so that you too can knit up quick, cute, gifts-- hopefully in time for Christmas.

I also created this absolutely amazing Christmas card, which Sean quickly refused to send out. I guess we all know how ungrateful Sean really is to me for making him and Millie such incredible STAR WARS themed halloween costumes. 

I am still in disbelief that Sean has vetoed this card.

I hope you all have a really good Christmas (Endor happy new year!), and that you get to spend your holiday with people you totally, absolutely, give 100% of a shit about!

Craigslist: Transfer Student Seeking Rich Heiress as Roommate

As many of you know, my sister Tori has been living with us for the past year.  She's been taking a "gap year" from college.  If we were rich people, she'd probably spend this gap year volunteering on organic farms in Italy, staying in lots of stinky hostels, and doing some obscure language immersion program. But, since we're not rich people, instead she did an immersion program in "working for a living," which gave her valuable insight in how much it blows to be a grown up person.

Wisely, she has decided to return to the aderol-fueled, two showers a week, shuffle-board-is-a-real-sport, reality that is American academia.  In a few weeks, she be moving to Athens, Ohio, where she will be attending Thirsty Thursdays Ohio University.  She's only got a month to go before school starts, and she still needs to find housing, so in desperation, she recently crafted this roommate wanted ad for Craigslist: 

subject: Transfer student seeking roommate 

My name is Tori. I'm a 22 year old transfer student who will be moving to Athens in August. I am looking for an apartment/ house or potential roommates. I have no gender preference about roommates. I will be studying wildlife biology. I am returning to school after taking some time off to work. I am very responsible and respectful. I would prefer something within 15-20 minute walking distance or closer to campus. I have a 6 year old lab mix named River, so I would prefer something pet friendly. I am hoping for something under $550 including utilities.

My main concern is that this add is boring misleading, because it is in no way an accurate representation of how much my sister kicks ass.  Tori is fun, friendly, and-- if you are hungover---will cook you a fried egg sandwich that would make Paula Deen look like Jenny Craig. That's why today, she and I crafted this revised craigslist ad, which I think we all can agree will attract the caliber of roommate she so richly deserves:

Subject: Transfer Student seeking wealthy heiress as roommate

I am a 22 year old transfer student who will be moving to Athens this fall. I am seeking a roommate, preferably someone who is a wealthy heiress who could support my extravagant lifestyle of PBR and craft mac and cheese. I am seeking a pet friendly place because I have a dog. I know that a dog should appeal to an heiress although my 70 pound lab mix probably won't fit in your purse. You are welcome to try it as long as you pay for any resulting damage.... to your expensive purse.

About me: I will be studying wildlife biology, so I'm interested in a roommate whose parents might be willing to make donations to the penniless conservation organizations I will be working for in the future. I'm originally from the mountains of North Carolina. I am sassy and southern and would make a hilarious counterpoint to your privileged heiress upbringing. I'm a hippie who is not at all materialistic so you can count on me to be respectful of all your expensive shit.

With everything I am bringing to the table all I ask is that you pay for 95% of the rent and 100% of the utilities. In return I'll kill 100% of spiders*, and cook you tons of delicious vegetarian meals.  Oh-- I forgot to tell you, I'm a vegetarian, so (by default) now you are too.  I know your rich ass doesn't know how to cook for yourself. 

* By "kill" spiders, what I actually mean is catch them in an overturned cup and release them outside-- I'm not a monster!

Applicants can respond by email or by social media. If there are not pictures of you and Pharrell Williams on your instagram, you need not apply.

I know what you're thinking.  "Your sister is hilarious!"  I know.  After reading that you probably all want to be my sister's roommate, which is totally understandable. If you happen to know a rich heiress who is looking for a quirky hippie sidekick, please let Tori know immediately. Also, if you are Pharrell Williams, please come to Tori's going away party at our house.  The party may get rowdy, but we can pretty much guarantee that the next morning Tori will cook you a fried egg sandwich.

 

Millie's Birthday Time Capsule!

Today we celebrated Millie's first birthday.  That's right, Millie is ONE.  I was racking my brain trying to decide what AWESOME gift we could get her, when I realized that she won't remember it anyways.  So, if she ever asks you about it, please tell her that for her first birthday we got her a pony but it already died.

*The pony's name was Thunder, and it had a rainbow mane.
** No young lady! Of course you can't have another pony! Not after you let the first one die!

I know I'll always remember today-- the way we woke Millie up by singing "Happy Birthday" as she bounced in her crib, how it felt to watch her open her first birthday present, and the surgical precision in which she disemboweled her birthday cake----but I'm worried that Millie will forget all about this time of her life.  That's why, for her birthday I've decided to make her this time capsule, to remind her of all the most important things in her life at year one.

Dear Millie,

Happy birthday little one!  If you're reading this time capsule, you are probably already really mad at me, because you have found this blog.*
*Just kidding, you can't stay mad at me!I bought you a pony!
Anyways, here is a sample of a few of the most important things in your life at age one: 

#1: Kingsley Snuggle Bear

You may not remember him now, but he used to be pretty much the center of your universe. He went to bed with you every night, and protected you from all the dangers of the world, such as homemade peach baby food and non-xylophone based musical expression.  

#2: Cup

Did you know that you could say "cup" when you were 8 months old?  It's true. Say it with me now. "Cup." Feel good? There was a time in your life when you had no greater thrill than to say "cup" repeatedly.  Every morning when you would wake up, you would look at me urgently and yell "CUP!" to me until we walked into the living room and found your cup. 

3#: The Television Remote

Oh what wonders lie within this magical device? What secrets will you unlock? What treasures will you seek? With what courage and fortitude will you display SUBTITLES. Millie, there was a time in which you could operate a television remote with such alarming dexterity that all but the most sophisticated technophile was POWERLESS TO STOP YOU. 

*note to self- The next time Millie is bored, take her to best buy and let her wreak havoc on the AV salesmen. 
** other note to self- while I am there, ask them to show me how to make these subtitles stop displaying. 

# 4:Bedtime Songs

When you were young Millie, I would sing you to sleep every night. I would cradle you in my arms and sing "swing low" and "edelweiss" and "plastic Jesus" to you until you shut your tiny, exhausted eyes. Then, I would creep into the other room and write snarky blog posts and drink wine, because even mommies need a break sometimes. And by "break" I mean "drink." 

#5: ROAR ROAR

This is the title of a book that you used to really love.  "ROAR ROAR" was not much of a verbal masterpiece, but it did have some pretty sweet photos of tigers, bears, and a creepy little panda cub with a fury crotch. Every day you would beg for us to read ROAR ROAR, and then you would snatch the book out of our hands and throw it across the room shouting "ROAR ROAR!"  You are awesome.

*more fury than a normal Panda crotch I mean.
** let me explain. Here is the photo of the panda crotch I'm talking about. 

It will be 15 years until you read this Millie, and by then *fingers crossed* you'll have learned not to pet panda crotches, and you probably won't let me sing you to sleep anymore. We'll probably still be fighting over the remote, but at least you'll be able to retrieve your own cup.  

Little one, I want you to know that no matter how many birthdays you have, I'll always be here with you, delighting in the things you love, and loving them because they are important to you (except your boyfriends, I will hate those guys.) I also want to make sure that you never ever forget THUNDER, your awesome childhood pony.  There's no need to thank us Millie, that's just the kind of parents we are. Happy Birthday Baby Girl!