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.

My Assets are Frozen.

AH POOP.
I believe these were the words I shouted upon exiting my room this morning and looking out an exterior window. There was white filth all over my car.

I'm not talkin' about some practical joke gone wrong, I'm talkin' about the real thang. SNOW.

As in penguins and igloos and ice.

Scraping snow and ice off a car's windows in the frigid, accursed hours of the early morning, when you already happen to be late and didn't even eat any breakfast, is one of the most loathsome jobs there is.

So I made Gem do it.

In exchange for a piece of toast.
(Do I know how to bargain, or do I know how to BARGAIN?) 

But this sad state of events got me to thinking...
If I didn't happen to have a bed (or an apartment for that matter) and I lived the life of a traveling vagrant bum, I think I would definitely sleep under a tree.

Not like Pioneer Park in Salt Lake, were you can't tell if they're dead or just drunk.

Like a big fur tree. The kind with boughs that point downwards, making a little tent underneath their bottom-most branches. I'd definitely sneak under there for protection.

In fact, I've debated it several times on campus. No one would even know where I was...

When I told Gem this plan, she seconded its coolness factor but wondered how, exactly, I would survive under there??

"Easy." I answered, "I'd live off the squirrels."

"What??..." she countered, "You wouldn't kill a squirrel to save your life."

"Who said anything about killing poor defenseless woodland critters?" I questioned, "I would just share their nuts."

Her resulting burst of laughter prompted me to immediately knit my eyebrows.

Word of advice: before opening mocking me, you must always remember that, in MY world, anything's possible.

But I'm already tired of winter. I want more summer and autumn.
Unfortunately, my floral design class is the only place where this can still be a reality.

See what I've made:

Boutonnieres.

(Who even came up with that word? Why would you have a boot in your ear anyways?...)

Pumpkin Arrangement.

I am rather proud of this one.

It looks rather nice sitting on my dining table at home.

And I didn't even have to go out and buy a pumpkin. That's what happens when you have a faux-farmer for a father.

A faux-farmer of a father who's like the Little Red Hen.

A faux-farmer of a father I love. <3

A faux-farmer of a father who needs to fix my automatic car starter so I don't freeze my tushy off every morning.

Hmm...

Train of Thought.

Ever heard of Epic Fail Blog?
You can find some pretty darn funny stuff there.
I highly recommend it.

But the great news is: not many realize that anyone can make their own Epic Fail! Whether it be image or video.

That's the part where I come in.

Wouldn't cha know, over the weekend I recorded my very own epic video. 'Cept this time... it was a WIN.

The stage is set.
Characters: Mom, Daddy-O, Gem and Corinner-Elly
Location: Heber Valley Railroad on the Soldier Hollow Express (formally known as the Heber Creeper)
Date: October 16th, 2010
Time: approximately 3:18 PM, give or take
Color Worn: pink (is my fay-vor-it cuh-lah...)

Alright, here's your motivation.
Gem looks to be sleeping across from you on the bench.
Daddy-O decides to break up the stagnancy of the ride by placing a fake plastic mouse on Gem's arm.
Corinner-Elly feels tension as excitement begins to build over the pending prank.
Gem doesn't notice.
Gem lies there.

Gem may be dead?...

Corinner-Elly impatiently scoots the mouse closer, hoping that its tiny rodent nose might tickle her arm.
Corinner-Elly hopes she doesn't fall out the partially open window.
Mom and Daddy-O look on bemusedly.
Corinner-Elly has an epiphany and decides to record the whole ordeal on her phone.
Gem suddenly looks up.

Gem is suspicious.

Corinner-Elly begins to doubt whether or not their trick's success is obtainable.
Slight conversation ensues.

Enter hilarium.

BRILLIANT!

Cut, print, check the gate, moving on.

and now for a short learning moment.
*cue happy music, preferably on a flute*
Brought to you by: Corinner-Elly.

Things I Learned While Riding the Train:

1. It is impossible to walk a straight line down the aisle from one end of the train to the other, while in motion, without swaying, swaggering, side-stepping and possibly landing on a small child, happily seated with her grandmother. Killing them instantly.

2. Trying to imagine what it would have been like to have traveled by train in the olden days is harder to accomplish when you just purchased a corndog from the concessions caboose. Even harder when you steal some of your sister's nachos.
3. The slow rocking motion produced by a train that is traveling at a leisurely pace down a peaceful mountain landscape will almost always lull the parentals into a blissful state of delirium.

4. Sisters are not inclined to cooperate in pictures when you have recently played a prank that scared the bejeebies out of them.

Relations, however, often improve.

5. Train rides are always better when you have someone to enjoy them with. And I don't just mean the conductor. Though he did have some pretty wicked whistle/horn-blowing skills...

It also helps when you don't have to wolf your food down during a rushed lunch at 'The Hub' only to wait for an hour at the station because someone looked up the departure times wrong.

Good thing I'm so forgiving.

I Was Born for Greatness.

My parents knew for sure the very first time I was ever given the opportunity to try my hand at mowing the lawn on the riding lawn mower.

I climbed atop its gleaming rusty frame, queen of my very own yard maintenance universe, and cranked that baby into motion.

Everything was going well until, to my horror, I realized I had missed one tuft of grass in my hurry.

Determined to correct the error, I slammed to a screeching halt and yanked the shift stick to reverse, proceeding to back up.

"No biggie.", I thought. Things were going just peachy.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, I was moving slowly backwards and life was good until I realized that, somehow, my original course of motion had veered.

I was going to miss the patch of grass! AGAIN!

Frantically, I spun the miniature steering wheel in one jerky motion. Panicked. As though I were captain of a ship lost at sea, throwing my weight into the helm, determined to save my crew.

And that is how dad found me.

Stuck. In reverse. Desperately crying for help while circling the same piece of grass that I had so ardently been trying to mow in retrospect.

Like I said: I was born for greatness.

At least that's what I told myself when I was finally pulled from the runaway machine and sentenced to a lifetime of servitude behind a push mower.

And sometimes, in the quiet moments of dusk, I can almost see that sinister mower sneering at me in the darkness.