Oh Yes I Did.

April 13th was 'National Scrabble Day'.
It's a sacrilege how few people know that.

I had planned to spend the evening playing a rigorous game of Scrabble Diamond Edition with the fiance (formerly referred to as the 'BF') and eating Scrabble Cheez-Its in celebration.

He, however, was subsequently invited to a Salt Lake Bee's game where he volunteered to dress up as a giant ice-cream cone and race a hot dog and a slice of pizza around the field.

Why?.. You might ask?
Beats me if I can think of a valid reason.

Let's just say he almost won. 'Almost' meaning he tripped during the final stretch, fell fantastically and lost to a hot dog. (He claims, in defense, that the hot dog had an unfair advantage, being more aerodynamic and all. And it's hard to see when you're a giant ice-cream cone. Apparently.)

It's a story that's best heard in person.
Ask him about it.

The point being, when I got back to an empty apartment that day, feeling a little sad that I was going to be all alone for the evening, I found a little surprise waiting for me on the kitchen table.

The fiance (BF at the time) had taken his enormous stash of miscellaneous Scrabble tiles, purchased for my Valentine's Day surprise, and left me a little message.

Let's just say he was immediately forgiven for deserting me on perhaps the greatest of unofficial holidays. And for causing me more mending work by ripping his pants in the 'Great Ice-Cream Cone Fiasco of 2012'.

Remember that. It's goin' down in history.

You might also remember the greatest thing I was ever given, FOR FREE. Namely, the world's comfiest couch.

So when I mentioned that I wanted to re-cover three of the pillows to look like Scrabble tiles but wasn't sure what letters to choose, the fiance exposed his genius and suggested his (and soon to be MY) last name.

And thus, the NAY Scrabble pillows were born.

Don't they look gorge!?
I know someone who uses this as a slang abbreviation for 'gorgeous'. Decided I'd try it out. See how it feels. (Update: I don't like it. Tastes like word vomit. 'Delete' from brain.)

Oh, and P.S. The Scrabble fridge tiles are still in good use.
And have expanded to include a :), :(, :P, ..., " and :D. Among other things.

Now spelling out happy little messages is a breeze!
Not to mention more grammatically correct.

So there you have it.
I'm obsessed with everything Scrabble.

Someone please buy me this.

That's... 'Pin'teresting...

I have something to admit.
I am a shameless addict.

A week or so back, I noticed certain posts on Facebook beginning to appear. They notified me that certain people were 'pinning' things.

Confused, I decided to look in to it.
And that is when it happened. I took my first dose of Pinterest.

And now, pretty sure I'm never going to be able to stop.
I won't go to rehab. You can't make me!

It doesn't help that my job is an enabler. I can only stare at the closet door in front of me or click my pen so many times before I develop a twitch.

So, instead (to keep me alert and active) I scroll through pages and pages of Pinterest pins. If you are unfamiliar with how Pinterest works, let me educate you.

Copied directly from their website:
"Pinterest is a virtual pinboard. Pinterest allows you to organize and share all the beautiful things you find on the web. You can browse pinboards created by other people to discover new things and get inspiration from people who share your interests. People use pinboards to plan their weddings, decorate their homes, and share their favorite recipes."

So it's like a giant collaboration of photos that provide inspiration for whatever you're in to.

What they neglect to mention is that people use Pinterest to waste gigantic amounts of time. But if you enjoy wasting the time, is it really time wasted?...

Regardless, it has really gotten me into a crafty mood.For some time now, I've wanted to refashion a sewing chest I was given as a 7-year-old for Christmas. I hate to bash Mom *cough* I mean Santa, but even then it looked dated.

Seriously, there are no words to describe my distaste for the combination of forest green and what appears to be a piece of medieval tapestry.

So instead of taking my daily afternoon nap (it was a tough decision), I decided to whip out my scrap fabric, spray paint, glue gun and get crackin'.

Okay, okay. So I still fit in a short nap. The paint needed time to dry...
But I also finished my now ridiculously fabulous sewing basket.

It was no where near as intensive as I imagined it'd be. All I had to do was pop out the lid and dismember the pieces. (I watch a lot of SVU. Can you tell?...)

Then I taped the sections I didn't want to be painted and started spraying. While that was setting, I re-covered the padded lid with a zebra print that has hot pink accents.

It's freakin' hot. Not gonna lie.

Then all I had to do was put it back together, hot glue gun at the ready.

I did make a small whoopsie when painting the wooden insert tray.
Word to the wise, do not cut corners when taping off sections. Because when I removed the newspaper, there were some ugly black stains on the fabric lining.
 

Never fear, I don't sweat the small stuff.
I quickly found a piece of hot pink leopard material which I lined the offending compartment with.

And I actually like it better than I did before. Yay for happy accidents!

But can you believe it, I didn't stop there.
I've seen many of variation of this, and I've always wanted to try it.

So I did.

I absolutely love how it turned out!
I found the three plates and two candlesticks at the D.I. The top smallest one is completely white with a cool shape/design, the middle one is black with white polka-dots (obviously) and the third is a simple black IKEA plate.

I couldn't get a picture that makes it look proportional (as it is in real life) so you're just gonna have to believe me when I say that it looks perfect.

I have it sitting as a centerpiece on my kitchen table, just waiting to be filled with some sort of tasty goodness.

So that was my productiveness as of yesterday. Hopefully the girls who gave me strange looks as they passed by while I crouched in my grungies spray painting in the stairwell won't judge me to harshly.

Heck, like I care.

I'm way excited for my next project.
If you know me, you know of my affinity for everything Scrabble.

A while back, I found a ghetto Scrabble board at the D.I. that still had all of the pieces. I bought it so that I wouldn't have to steal my parents' set, but within months it was Christmas and Santa brought me the brand-spankin'-new Diamond edition complete with swivel game board, raised edge tile slots and shiny black letter pieces.

I couldn't decide what to do with the thrifted game, so it's just been sitting in my game closet. That is, I couldn't decide until I was browsing through Pinterest (again) and kept coming across engagement photos and crafts containing those little Scrabble letter tiles.

And that is when I had an epiphany.

I am going to glue all of the old tiles to pieces of magnet and...

wait for it...

stick them on my fridge!!!
Then Lacy-Hacy with be able to spell obscenities with ease and leisure!
It's brilliant I say!

I'll let you know how they turn out.

Seventy Times Seven.

I love the number seven. It is the perfect number.

How do I know?
Well, first off, I was born on July 7th.

That's 7/7, to dispel any confusion.

And then, if that weren't fan-freaking-tastic enough, just think of this. I... had a birthday... in 200... 7.

07/07/07. Hoo-SHA!

In case you were wondering, Wikipedia informs us that '7 is the natural number following 6 and proceeding 8'.

We are an edjukated nation, people.

Know what else?

There are seven girls in my family. (Mom included.)
Snow White had seven dwarfs.
There are seven days of the week.
Seven wonders of the ancient world.
Seven brides for seven brothers.
Sailors sail the seven seas. (Say that ten times fast.)
Seven deadly sins.
Seven days of creation.
7-Eleven.
7UP.

Freak. I even stop the microwave at seven seconds.

Don't judge.

More?

The number of servings I had of my smothered burritos with Mexican rice. Or at least wish I had.

The number of times a day I admire my new shoes.

The number of times Davey-baby and Candy laughed when they saw their handmade wedding present from yours truly.

 

The number of times 'Da Twinneh' complained that I didn't have enough pictures of her in my room. -AND- The number of times a day 'Da Twinneh' proclaims how much she hates the pictures I chose.

How many times I doubted whether the ratty DI decoration 'Da Twinneh' scavenged would amount to anything adorable. It did.

The  number of years it took to convince my roommate that SPAM is second only to bacon.

And lastly, the number of milliseconds it took to realize Gem would absolutely capital L-O-V-E this pillow.

So when my nieces woke up at 7:00AM by screaming loudly seventy times, demanding seven different breakfast cereals and asking to swim AGAIN 7,000 times, did I forgive them?

Of course. Seventy times seven.

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'...

Random Thoughts...

Where to begin, where to begin? Ah.
First off...

Thought #1: My family is perverted.
Well, more specifically, my mom n' pop.

Yesterday, I was loading stuff into the back of Dad's truck, bent over just minding my own business when suddenly... I was ASSAULTED.

By the time I'd realized what had happened, Dad was already half way up the drive.

After climbing back out of the pile of boxes I had just fallen through, I marched inside to loudly announce my displeasure.

"Did you SEE what Dad just did!!?", I charged.

"What?", Gem responded listlessly, not even looking up.

"He pinched my bum!", I declared, trying to emphasize the seriousness of the matter.

"So?", she yawned.

"My behind! My derriere! My fanny! My posterior! My tush! My very own, personal bum!", I cried dramatically.

"So that's why he just walked in chuckling to himself.", she surmised.

And then, as if that weren't enough, later that night, when I tried to get some sympathy from mom, do you know what she said?

Do you, KNOW what she said!?!

"Bum-pinchers have been in existence for hundreds-of-thousands-of-years."

And, ya know what? I should have seen it comin'.
There hasn't been a bum-pinching opportunity, in my lifetime, that Mom hasn't taken advantage of.

You have no idea how alarmingly terrifying going up the stairs in front of her can be.

I eventually had to learn to either
A) block her jabs
B) insist that she go first
-or-
C) run like the wind, Bullseye.

Let me repeat. Perversion. Everywhere.

Thought #2: My dad is a fibber.

Do you know those quintessential moments as a child, where you look up into your parent's face, unabashedly waiting for them to explain life's wonders to you?

Because, of course, parents know everything, right?

I have recently come to the conclusion that such a concept is a big heaping pile of BS. I mean a really big, stinky load.

And it all comes back to Dad. The world's greatest fabricator.
You can never tell whether or not you're being lied to. He's that good, the turd.

Seriously. I have no absolutely no idea what's true anymore.

Many a time, I have shared some of my Dad's vast knowledge, with those around me, only to be shot down instantly.

"Did you know that emu's legs bend backwards while ostrich's legs bend forwards?", I'll share with bright eyes.

"No they don't.", the person will say.

"Uh-huh!" I'll insist, "My dad told me so!"

"No.", they'll confirm succinctly, all the while shaking their head in pity and backing away slowly.

Then I make a sad face.
Because this happens often. Too often if you ask me.

So, a word of advice from one who knows.
Though my Dad may put on a good front of supernatural mind-power and all-omnipotence,

He's a FAKE. A FAKER I SAY!
But a really smart and talented faker at that.

Thought #3: Everyone thinks their feet are normal.

Scratch that.
After recently voicing my opinion on the matter, I was shot down immediately.

Apparently, I was wrong.
Everyone thinks their feet are abnormal in some way.

I guess I'm the odd-ball out then. Up to this point, I always thought my feet were perfectly proportioned. Now I am forced to re-evaluate.

*looks at feet*

But, hey. I just thought of something funny.
When I was camping (you know, the infamous scooter victory trip) my sister came up with her family for the day.

We were by a stream which meant that everyone was naturally inclined to play in it at one point or another. So it was no surprise that, as soon as they were released from the confines of the van, my sister's kids shot into the water followed closely by their mom.

Several minutes later, she emerged soaking with a dripping schnauzer in tow.

Noticing her muddy and waterlogged sneakers, my dad comically commented on how, exactly, they had come to that point.

"It was no easy feat!" she voiced loudly.

And, you know me, I couldn't help it.

"Pfft... Feet." I giggled immaturely.

(Feat. ----> Feet.)
Geez. Get with the picture.

How many idiot's we got in here?

All I know is that, when people's middle toe is longer than the rest, I feel like I'm being flipped of. Foot style.

K. I've decided to change thought #3.

Revised Thought #3: My feet are normal.

Too bad, so sad for the rest of  you.

Thought #4: I forgot to post pictures of our Craft Day!

We made paper plate masks, bead & noodle necklaces and crepe paper art.

I did a flower. It was purdy.

What?!? I can't be included in the fun?

Thought #5: Wait... what was my thought? Oh, right.

Thought #5: I am forgetful.

Because I also forget to post pictures of my Box Fort Activity!

Are you oh-so impressed?
I know, I know. I should have gone into architecture.

Except for the fact that after only twenty minutes of playing, their fortress collapsed on them. But minor detail, right?

I'm blaming it on faulty duct tape.

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.

Promise Not to Tell?

This morning, as I sat at the kitchen table enjoying a fresh-from-the-oven glazed cinnamon roll and Mom handed me an iced very-berry smoothie, I bemoaned the struggles of living at home.

"It's a hard knock life.", I thought as I lapped up some more frothy beverage.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was 'da twinneh'.

"I had the craziest dream last night.", she text.

Before long, we had exchanged quite the conversation of one-liners, all of which I proceeded to relate to Mom n' Gem: my ever attentive audience.

Thinking nothing of it, I was out the door and on my way to work. Unexpectedly, I received a straggler message.

"Don't tell anyone. I tell you this in twin confidence.", it read.

"Crap.", I paused, debating whether or not I could risk the chances of playing innocent. Years of first-hand experience had taught me otherwise.

But I must preface.

Understand this: once you are a Haymore, you are no longer allowed any secrets. Nada. None. No matter the distance, time of day or confidante. Just forget about it.

Somehow, we share a strange and un-earthly bond wherein, out of sheer idiocy, I relate something to Mom who miraculously transmits it via 'blabber-mouth' to all of my sisters, simultaneously as it were, who then Facebook/text/email it around the world and throughout the galaxy until word of it returns back to me within moments.

I fall for it every time.

"For heavens sakes Mom!" I echo in disbelief, "Is 'Pick a Little, Talk a Little' on a constant loop in your brain?"

Needless to say, as I sat staring at the text and pondering my fate, I decided that the truth must be told.

"Umm..." my fingers quivered, "I may or may not have already let it slip..."

As soon as I dared hit send, I speed dialed home.

"Under threat of death, you are not to relate one ounce of the conversation we had this morning to one single living soul so help you God!", I demanded before realizing I had no idea who had actually picked up.

"Okay...?" Mom questioned, solidifying my fear that such a threat was useless.

"I hate you.", my phone simultaneously dinged. "It's only been like ten minutes and you've already told two people!"

"No worries!" I shot back, "The problem is (semi) solved. They talk, they die."

I waited, anxiously, for what seemed like hours as beads of sweat rolled down my neck. I jolted when the phone finally buzzed. Ever so slowly, I flipped its purple lid open.

"I still hate you.", it said.

"I guess I deserve that.", I admitted audibly.

But good news everyone! My nieces and nephew still love me. Some claim this is due to my endless spoiling/teasing/party throwing. But of course everyone knows it's because I'm just too darn likeable for my own good. They can't help it. It's in my very nature.

However, making them candy leis with dollar bill decorations for their homeschool graduation may have tipped the scale in my favor, just a tad.

But for goodness sakes, keep it quiet.
Because, if word gets out...

I keel you.