SNOWPOCALYPSE

In case you haven't heard, there's a storm coming. It "will far surpass anything that we've seen, probably for the last several years." According to the National Weather Service.

Oh yah, I forgot to tell you. There's a storm coming.

With snow.
As in igloos and penguins and ice.

But someone just text me. There's a storm coming.

Hey look an email. Really? A storm?
I didn't know.

A storm! A storm! THERE WILL BE A STORM!

I've been notified by the university, every single do-gooder in my ward, email, phone, text, relative, friends, dogs, small emus...

You name it.

You should probably text your friends. Email them while you're at it to. And if you're feeling really in the holiday spirit, shout it to traveling passersby.

Oh look. Apparently it's going to snow tonight. Huh.

There's a storm.
Campus is closing? At three? DOES THIS MEAN I GET TO GO HOME EARLY???!!! *extremely excited face*

No? Well poop.

Everyone else gets to go home.
But me? NOOOooooo.
I'll be here forever. Rain. Shine. Storm.

Oh. Did you hear the news?
THERE'S GOING TO BE A BLOODY BLIZZARD.

And I am going to sit in this office until I die.

I made a freakin' bouquet.
No. Not during the storm you ninny.

SNOW-STOOOOOOOOOOOOOORM!!!!
Geez. Don't freak out.

It's just a little snow.
And when I say a little, I mean A GINORMOUS BUTT-LOAD.

Run for your lives!

P.S. A storm's a comin'.
Hide yo women. Hide yo chillen.

Would you knock me out, please?

Just hit me in the face.

It's... Complex.

Is it bad that I kinda enjoy giving people complexes?
If it makes you feel any better, most of the time it's an accident.

Really.

I think my older sister, Katerina Cupcake, introduced me to this guilty pleasure. One day, she noted that 'Da Twinneh' has a head that is unusually egg-shaped and guess what?

'Da Twinneh' has a complex. Majorly.

All it takes is one well-placed comment and shiz-zam.
Com. Plex.

But it doesn't end there, oh no.
One time, I told Gem that she had a butt-crack forehead.

It's true!

Whenever that girl knits her eyebrows, (where most people would have two indentations) she has only one crease.
A single, uni-wrinkle.

And it looks like a butt-crack.

But I do feel a little remorse for some of the complexes I've unduly issued. Take my friend Hamm for example. (Hamm is new to the Corinner-Elly scene so let's give her a big 'hello'. Everyone say 'Hi Hamm'. Good.)

She has a middle toe that's longer than all the rest.
It's cute! I love it! No reason to change a thing!

Except for that it kinda looks like she's flipping people off.
Foot style.

Oh! And I also may have prompted her into an unreasonable distaste for her own tongue... (Distaste... hehehe... Ba dum dum. Chee!)

It's just different, okay!!? But different's not always bad.
'Da Twinneh' may say otherwise but she doesn't count.

The point is:
I love 'Da Twinneh', Gem and Hamm.
Even if they do have egg-shaped heads, butt-crack foreheads, weird toes and funny looking tongues.

CHEAP SHOT.
Sorry. I will resist.

So... the weather, eh?
Bleck. Scratch that.

Worst conversation starter EVER.

I'd better just quit diggin' this hole I'm in.
But before I go, take a looksie at the wood blocks I found at D.I. (for .50 cents all together!) then painted and modge-podged letters on.

I was trying to think of two five-letter words to put on both sides that were either witty, ironic or sarcastic. But, alas. I think I'm losing my touch.

All I could come up with was 'sweet'...

and 'bliss'.

And, of course, if I'm in a cheesy mood:

Smell ya' later.
 P.S. Hamm has voluntarily signed up to be featured on ze blog. I don't know why someone would submit themselves to such cruel and unusual punishment but... what the heck. My creative juices are already stewin'...

Bore-dumb.

This is the most boring post ever written.
Just so you know.

Why?
I am at work. I have little to do.
("I was there... I was bored..." Use it sometime. It's the best excuse ever.)

But last week I decorated my parents' house.
With decorations.

See.

Yes. That's me in the picture.

When you're Corinner-Elly, you have those priveleges.

I added a bow to the front door 'welcome' pumpkin sign.

 No. That does not mean we welcome pumpkins.

That would look like this---> 'welcome pumpkin' sign.

Get your apostrophes right.

But we don't have anything against pumpkins either.

We stack them and tie them with a bow.

I also line the porch steps with them.
They don't mind the cold.

And sometimes, I arrange really old granny decorations on a precarious shelf over the stairs.

And sometimes, Mom nags at me to be careful.

And by sometimes I mean always.

Then I come to work and... guess what?

I decorate some more.

Until my fingers bleed.

You're probably sleeping now, right?
Right?

I don't blame you.

Oh Sweet Mercy.

In my apartment, we have our very own Sheldon Cooper.
He eats otter-pops in my kitchen.
Has his own broom closet by the front door.
The dude's contaminated all of the apartment bathrooms at one point or another.

Heck. The man practically lives on my couch.
(You remember. This one.)

Point is:
though irritating at times, everyone loves Sheldon Cooper.

Take our apartment for example.
We are all avid 'Big Bang Theory-ers'. (Word to the wise. Don't try to abbreviate that title in any way, shape for form. It will be to your detriment. Especially when you tell your visiting teachees that you are an avid 'Big Bang-er'. Not that I would know...)

Truth be told, our very own Sheldon hates the nickname. Or perhaps just lives in a constant state of denial? (It's not just a river in Egypt you know...)

Therefore, we may have to resort to the next best thing for all future references. And so, without further ado, I present:

The Many Talents of Davey-Baby.

Bambi eyes.

Elbow licking.

Giant tongue.

Giant tallness.

Sultry looks while teeter-tottering in a flirty apron.

Sultry looks while wearing a zebra striped Snuggie.

Now.
Prepare.
For the smolder.

  

Professor. Pedophile. Same dif'.
(It must be said that I applied the mustache. Hidden talents EVERYWHERE.)

Ever seen a man run on all fours like a bear?
Or a crazed, psychotic, animalic baby-killer?

I mean, come on! This guy's got it goin' on.

And he's even starting to embrace his Sheldon-like tendencies.
So long as we remember that 'he is not crazy!'

His mother had him tested.

Purty. Purty Flower!

I'm a Renaissance woman.
Do you know what that means?

Let me tell you. Ah hem.
Renaissance man (or woman): a highly cultivated man (or woman) who is skilled and well-versed in many fields of knowledge, work, etc., as in the arts and sciences.

If you spout a 'country girl' slam, I will make your brain explode.

The point is, I even amaze myself.
Mostly recently, I have blessed the world with the gift of floral design. The likes of which have never before been seen.


My sister commissioned my services in the creation of a flower display, of some sort, to adorn the top of her TV bureau. I'll have to admit, I went a little giddy when she told me I had free reign. Here's what I came up with:

And now for a close up.

So that you might be exposed to its full whimsical fantastic-ness.

And that's not even all! Listen up if you wish to be shocked and amazed.


Here's how it went down.
1) Went to Hobby Lobby (officially re-named 'Corinner-Elly Heaven') and purchased all of the flowers and woody twig balls for 50% off. That's right. 50% off. Not only that, but I had also saved a 60% off mailer coupon for just such an occasion. Boo. Yah.


2) Stopped by Michael's Art and Craft to pick up some moss and serendipitously found the bread basket love of my life. But that's another story.


3) Made my weekly DI rounds and came across two perfect distressed bronze candle trays that would serve perfectly as a base to my imagined arrangement. Amongst other things... (Such as two BRAND SPANKIN' NEW Pampered Chef stoneware pans! $3.00 for a 9x13 and $1.50 for a bread pan. Bow to me now!)


4) Buzzed on over to Dollar Tree for the floral foam and extra glue sticks. (My supply was dwindling rapidly. Who knew college roommates were so 'hot glue gun' starved?...)


5) Worked my magic. No wand necessary.


Ya see. The problem is, once I get my mind set on something, I can't stop thinking about it 'til it's done. So from conception to execution took about, oh, three hours or so.


I've come to accept that I will die of anality.


But what's more important to understand: the whole ta-do cost a grand total of (wait for it...) $35.00! And that includes this amazing curly willow bouquet I made for a modern little vase by her bed.

I'm just tickled pink with how it all turned out.

These are the moments when I don't mind so much to be greeted with, "I've decided what the next project you can do for me is!" -OR- "You need to come help me with this. Now. "

After all...

that's what we Renaissance women are for.