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.

Semi-Grand Tour

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present... *drumroll please*

My Apartment!
Well. The kitchen, at least.

I can't help but be proud of it. After all, it has been pieced together over the course of four years during various scrounging missions to the D.I. and dollar store. Not to mention all of the free junk I've been given. 'Junk' meant with all the love possible.

Our first exhibit: The Infamous Bakers Rack.

Bakers Rack: $35.00- found on KSL.
Plant: $10.00 for the red pot- grown from a clipping at my office.
Cookbooks & recipe magazines: free/forcibly given (in some instances).
Candles w/stands: $5.00- mismatched from D.I. and dollar store.
Photo carousel: $3.00- at D.I.
Cookie Jar: $1.00- at D.I., lid stolen from my mom &  repainted
Magnet recipe board: $2.00- at D.I.
Picnic basket: free, abandoned in one of the Wymount basements
Fall decorations: $10.00- at Dollar Tree

Stop two: Kitchen Table and Black Picture Frame Wall.

Table: (gratefully) not mine

Chairs: $10.00 a piece at D.I.- reimbursed by landlord

Placemats: free- stolen from home

Pampered Chef treat tote: free, stolen from home

(are we noticing a trend?...)

Variety of black frames: $15.00 collectively

Glass cube flower arrangement: free (in manner of speaking)- made during this week's floral design lab.

On a sidenote:

You'll be happy to know that I gave my creation to a 'supposedly' sick invalid as an expression of goodwill. 'Da Twinneh' was grateful for the gesture but didn't appear especially ill. Faker? Perhaps.

That girl will do anything for free egg drop soup, cream cheese wontons and flowers.

Around the corner you'll find the: Window Seat.

My pride and joy.
You can't really tell from this picture, but the base has three compartments, yet to be filled with an assortment of items in need of storage.

And for a closer look:

Now, for the break down.

Three throw pillows: $6.33 at Kohl's- call me the world's best coupon clipper

Bench: free minus a few bucks for the paint- my Dad helped me make it over the weekend

Cushions & fulcrums (of sorts): free- salvaged/created from some old camper cushions and drapes that used to hang in my sister's house

Various doo-dads: mostly free, a couple bucks for the frame

I never cease to amaze myself.

Which leads us to the main event: The Kitchen.

Boy Howdy, I wish I could add a splash of color on the walls. Someday.

A description of expenses in this room would take ten-gazillion years so, suffice it to say:

I found the rug stuffed in the bushes at a prior apartment.

The wrought iron wall art used to be wall sconces that were accidentally broken in the process of being hung. I suppose it's apropos that I like them better this way?...

Pretty much everything else has come to me free of charge but let's face it.

That's just how I like it.

We're coming to our last stop: The Sad & Lonely Refrigerator

I take that back. I guess he has the garbage can for company.

Some consolation that is...

The main purpose of this view is to show of our adorable aprons, all sewn by muah. We're so crafty.

All this tourin' is making me tired. Which reminds me...

I didn't even make my bed.

I know what you're thinking: Who hacked Corinner-Elly's account and is spreading such malicious falsehoods?!

But tis' true. Tis' true.

I'm morphing into a normal person who doesn't ceremoniously make her bed every morning.

I sense some disbelief.

The Princess and the Peas.

Eureka! I've found it.
The only constant in the known universe.

My dad's magical ability to fix any appliance, no matter how hopelessly mangled it seems.

You see, all you have to do is find an device that simply won't work no matter how much you try, fiddle, curse, diagnose, kick, cry, weep or wail. When all hope is lost and you curse the heavens for your luck, just head inside and find Pops.

Once you've successfully bemoaned your sorry lot in life, wailed over the misfortune of your predicament and utterly convinced him that there is no possible way that it will ever start again, he will follow you to the problem.

As you stand slightly behind him, whimpering softly, he will look the object over, tap it softly and, no fail... it will start instantly.

"And... what was the problem?", he'll question.

There is never an answer, simply the steady beat of a head pounding against the nearest wall.

Such was my lot in life while trying to find staples for one of the trusty ole' red staple guns in the chaos that is our gargage. Apparently, you have to have a certain level of brains to find those little suckers amid the confusion because after endlessly scouring high and low, I couldn't for the life of me locate them.

Rest assured. It took Dad two seconds.

After all that I do. After all that I have done.
It's never enough.

But I have a story for you.
It's called 'Corinner-Elly and the Holiday Weekend'.

Once upon a time, there was a real princess/slave known as Corinner-Elly. She had been invited by an older sister to sleepover for the upcoming holiday weekend.

Due to her innate kindness, she accepted.

Over the course of the next four days, she...

created a headboard that was said to have been inspired by her older sister though, truth be known, she had really thought of first.

Joy was heard throughout the land when no one was accidentally stapled in the process.

arranged various articles in a lovely stripped pink room, the organizational elements in which almost brought her to tears.

admired the new owl themed bedset her sister had purchased for her children while reflecting on the mis-matched hand-me-downs of her childhood.

helped place various sentimental items in logical order upon newing shelving units in the new baby's room while trying not to stare at the lava lamp in a trance-like state.

soothed her niece Lil' when, at various points, she started crying, "I want my Tin-neh!" Which naturally melted her heart.

discovered that one of Lil's favorite dolls, originally meant to be two-dolls-in-one but had, due to unfortunate circumstances, become a two-headed princess, still hadn't been repaired and therefore grabbed a needle and thread. Before long, it was back to normal, good as new.

all while teaching her budding seamstress, 10-year-old niece how to 'pivot at the corner' while sewing slipcovers for Grandma's kitchen window seat pillows.

Sadly, an iron was no where to be found.

Before long, she came to two sad realizations:

A) that her stay was almost over.
-and-
B) no matter how long she might lay out in the sun while her nieces and nephew played on the waterslides, she would never successfully tan.

Thus, the real princess/slave Corinner-Elly reached the end of her happy journey.

She had enjoyed every minute of her holiday weekend while cooking, cleaning and otherwise trying to be generally helpful whilst having ever-so-much-fun helping her sister re-do her upstairs and loving all the family, friends, fireworks, fun and food.

Except for the peas.

The end.

I'll Pot Yer' Gut!

Sometimes, I don't understand people.
Such as: my brothers, father and every other man that was ever born throughout the ions of time.

Oh, and Michael Jackson.
But that's beside the point.

This confusion is usually wide-spread but the most recent puzzlement revolves around boys and their guns. For instance, last week I updated my Facebook status. It read:

"Corin Haymore doesn't think men understand the ecstasy that comes from buying a new purse and then transitioning all of the essentials from the old to the new. Well... MOST men... :P But let's not go there."

This, of course, was in reference to males (hopefully few in number) who have no qualms with flaunting their femininity. Which reminds me of this: (skip to about 6:20 or so.)



It takes a very secure man to walk like that.

And thus, when the first comment (made by a 'real' man, of course) came less than three minutes later, it naturally referenced ammunition.

"Sure we do!" it exclaimed, "We feel the same thing when we shoot stuff with high powered or automatic weapons."

Soon came the addition, "You don't have to be a man to have fun shootin' stuff."

"Somehow," I ventured, "We've gone off topic..."

See what I mean?
What is this obsession with weaponry?

Literally two days later, an unusually small portion of the fam' (yet still massive by some accounts) was splayed across various couches in living room, softly moaning after the evening's meal. Inevitably, killing woodland critters came up.

"When we gonna go out n' shoot some potguts?", my Dad offered, then proceeded to relate a story  of a magical place where you can sit atop a hill, lazily perched in the shade, and 'pop' ground squirrels by the dozens. A veritable real life whack-a-mole.

No respect for the sanctity of life, I tell ya.

"I'll never understand why boys take so much pleasure in killing completely innocent creatures.", I muttered to Candy, who was conveniently seated next to me.

Unfortunately, somehow my dad overheard this remark.

"Do you KNOW how many of those things are out there?!!" he demanded intently, "Overpopulation is a real problem, which we will only be helping."

"Likely excuse." I objected, eyes rolling.

Suddenly, the room exploded in a flurry of heated debate.

"What?!!" I charged, "You can't tell me that every time you want to shoot something, suddenly those animals are part of some over-population crisis that must be solved by a bunch of hill-billies with rifles. Do you have any proof that such a scientific measure has been taken to even calculate their numbers?"

The conversation proceeded swiftly, during which, all of the pro-hunters tried to convince me of their deportment.

"I just don't think it's right to kill something, that you don't mean to eat, all for the sake of 'fun'.", I added decidedly.

"Oh, so then you've never ever swatted a fly in your entire life?", they jeered.

"That isn't even close to what I mean," I shot back, "and that is the worst argument I've ever heard!"

Naturally, being Haymore men, this was interpreted to mean they had won the conversation. Thus, they began settling back into the furniture, smiling smugly. Poor deluded souls.

How are we even related?

Why can't they channel their energies towards more creative endeavors. Like me, see?

My boss wasted no time before pointing out the clear contradiction in my creation. She wondered why he appears 'happy' when the quote clearly states that a 'perfect summer day' includes a broken lawn mower.

"Buh-I-dunno?..." I answered exasperatingly, "He's an optimistic appliance?"

I love Utah. Where else can you jam-pack the month of July with fireworks from the 4th all the way to the 24th?

I like the purple and white ones best. In case you were wondering.

That's another thing. Why are men so entranced by fire and explosions? This cannot be good for the public health/safety.

I'm beginning to re-think this logic...
Obviously the testosterone around here has a mind of its own.

Space. The Final 'Pun'tier.

I love corny puns.
Doug from Savage Chickens understands this obsession.

Did I ever mention that he is the master of hilarious chicken antics, among other things? Well... now I have.

I also have a confession to make.
I'm kind of a Trekkie. So this comic speaks to me.
Not to mention that it combines three of my favorite things:
puns, Star Trek and sewing. Moving on...

This weekend was more fun than I deserve.

Of course... I felt sick & gross the whole time, none of my family showed up and we were forgotten in the church parking lot, but hey. I'm trying to forget such minor details.

It started off with celebrating Gem's graduation by going on a small road trip where we swam in the hotel pool, went to the aquarium and ate too much of everything.
Then, joy of joys, it was Homecoming: a sort of 'community days' in Lake Shore. It was excellent. I'd say better than most years.

I was bestowed (term used loosely) the honored position of creating the backdrop for the pavilion stage. Namely, a giant tree. Lying out on my living room floor, it looked ginormous! Nine feet by nine feet to be exact. Sadly, it was less than impressive taped up.

That's right. Call me Corinner-Elly.

I cook. I clean. I accept random charity projects from frazzled activities committee members.

And then, as if that weren't enough, I went to the Mormon Miracle Pageant in Manti. That's a story in and of itself though I'm not sure I'm up to telling it again. Suffice it to say that there were entirely too many mis-communications, melodramatic lines and overly zealous hand gestures. But surprisingly, upbeat.

Oh! The activity this past Wednesday was a Bubble Blast. The pictures speak for themselves.

The wind that day was quite serendipitous.

This little fella had the time of his life trying to attack me with the bubbly solution. Luckily, I made tracks before the trend caught on and I was completely covered in suds.

We were surprised by how many actually showed up. There were only a few to start out but then the number practically 'bubbled'.

Did I say I love puns? Well I do.

Wonder If?

Wonder if you died tomorrow?

Notice how I put 'wonder if' instead of 'what if'.
This discrepancy is the source of much serious debate in my family. Us cool people think it should be 'wonder' while the bozos on the opposing side favor 'what'.

Here's my question: Why would you want to succumb to mere custom when you can live in a world of wonder and amazement? Who cares about formality anyways? Grammar-shmammar.
(I can't believe I just said that...)

But back to the issue at hand. Obituaries.

Who died (no pun intended) and made it mandatory that obituaries must be sappy and boring? I mean come on. For example:

"On Tuesday, our sweet little angel flew back to her heavenly home after many years of struggling valiantly in a little body that just couldn't take anymore..."

*gag me*

Why can't we just hear HOW the person died? They're dead. Dead, dead, dead. Am I right my friend? Tell it how it is and if 'it's' lame, make up something totally wicked! See HERE.

Then, if you REALLY want to be the coolest person ever, include a random photo that has absolutely nothing to do with your life.
I will love you forever.

So get a pen & paper and start the first draft of your obituary today. Right now. Promise me. PROMISE!

In further news.
I 'worked' again at work today.

I know. I'm on a roll.

The 'ice-cream in a bag' activity had an excellent turn out, thanks for asking. The office is also now beautifully decorated once more.

Aren't they beautiful?...

Call me the 'super-awesome-amazingly-talented, not to mention strikingly-gorgeous' bulletin board decorator! Oh, and feel free to use said title in my obituary someday.

Seriously.

I Won't Say It.

Okay. Maybe I will say it.
I'm in love.

His name is Mr. Maraschino.
Cherry, that is.

Me n' him. We go way back. See, we both love virgin Pina Coladas. That's where the attraction started.

Of course, he loves sitting in the deliciousness and I love drinking the deliciousness.

All minor details.

Know what else I love? Scrabble. The game of the Gods.
Know what I love even more? Earning back the Scrabble glory/bragging rights from my brother-in-law after that unfortunate incident in December.

If anyone asks, I let him win.

Either way, Scrabble marathon contestants are becoming increasingly sparse. I must be a formidable opponent. Heh, heh.

Thus, when my coworker Em suggested we have a tourney during down time at the office, I couldn't believe my ears! I can still hear the Hallelujah chorus.

Needless to say, I successfully dominated round one (though, technically, we are both considered 'experts' for passing 200 pts. each). Round two will commence following lunch. Better be on your game, Em, cuz' I am on FI-YAH. *that says 'fire', mom*

May I just say that this brings joy to my heart? Especially when Em spelled 'urethra'. Impressive. (Too bad she didn't see my '40 pt.' wonder word comin'. Namely. 'Quack'. Bow down before me.) Yup. We spell body parts. Some more savory than others... *you know what I'm talkin' bout'*

What can I say? We're a club. We're a group.
We can be a secret society.
And no one else can join, unless they wear funny hats.

Of course, as President of said secret society, I can wear whatever I want. Such as the ear warmer headband I made with 'help' from my sisters. (I may very well be murdered for the quotation marks around that word. Look for my obituary in the Sunday paper. It won't be all sappy and lame like the rest of them. But that's a musing for a different day.)

And for a close up on the exquisite flower design...

*Shut up, Gem. There are plenty of petals.*

Can we spell 'S-N-A-Z-Z-Y'?
Why yes we can.
We Scrabble.

Dwarves are very Upsetting.

Be warned.
There's mischief afoot.

Without exception, everyday when I get into my car, my side view mirror has been re-adjusted. I've come to the conclusion that there is an evil dwarf who follows me around, determined to upset all order in my perfect world.

For a while I thought the mirror might just be falling out of position from slamming the car door after getting in.
But let's not be silly.

This is obviously the work of a dwarf.

For one.
Why are the settings always changed to accommodate a short person?

Also, my gas meter seems to go down much more quickly than the average person's.
I'm pretty sure he's joy riding.

So there you have it.
Mystery solved.
You can call me Watson.

Oh, before I forget...

Happy Gradjamication little sista!

My little baby's all grown up and...

... and savin' China. You have a tissue?

Me mom n' pops, with the help of my decorating and 'cheesestick' making expertise, threw her the pizza party of a lifetime to celebrate her accomplishment.

Aren't they beautiful?
Two Jacks would be proud.

So to you, graduate, I say 'cheers'.
As your elder sister, I offer this sound advice:

If you shake n' shake the ketshup bottle,
none will come and then a lot'll.
(Oh. And let me know if you see a bearded midget with an impish grin driving around town in a white Taurus.)