I normally don’t talk about specific companies or products that I purchase, but can I drop a line about featherBUNNY?

Feathers are all the rage now, aren’t they? Well, at least around here they are… so I guess that means they were hot a couple years ago somewhere else. Oh well.

featherBUNNY has great feather-like extensions that are perfect alternatives to the real rooster feathers being sold on the market.

But let’s get serious, the most important part is how they affected me. They changed my attitude & ambiance so completely.

It was nothing short of a miracle, really.

I showed up feeling really drab and dull. No energy, no pizazz. Everyone was annoyed. They yelled, “Hey you! Over there with the obviously padded push-up bra! Quit being a fuddy duddy.” And then I heard them whisper, “Man, all she just needs are some featherBUNNY feathers.”

featherBUNNY feathers? What are — ”

and I was quickly covered with a blanket and drug into the bathroom… same dull expression. The thought that I was being kidnapped couldn’t even change that gloomy face.

And then she whipped out a light brown feather. This person must know me because despite the myriad of colors in her case, she settled on one that would give me a subtle highlighted look.

It was put in my hair…

STEP AWAY FROM THE DANCE FLOOR PEOPLE. I’m ready to party! No RedBull was used during the application of the feather. This was the real deal.

Could the feather really give me this much energy and spirit? Apparently so.

I needed something to balance it out though, and still wanting to go natural, she suggested the gray feather.

Rude. But true… and out came my inner Jessica Rabbit.

Parrrrdon me, boyssss.

Wow, I haven’t felt this sexy since dressing up as a girl from the 18th century.

Seriously, though. If you want an inexpensive way to give your look a little kick without the permanence of actually coloring your hair (don’t forget you’re saving a rooster!), check out featherBUNNY.

Also check her out on Facebook and you could be entered to win free extensions along with feather earrings coming in August.

You won’t be disappointed!

How you must enjoy my cooking disasters…

So sorry, suckers – this one turned out!

I swear, if I could eat soft pretzels every day, I would. And now that I have a few extra hours in the day, I decided to make some of my own.

Mix 4 tsp yeast and 1 tsp sugar with 1.25 cups water.

Be sure to spill the mixture right before taking a photo. It puts you in a good mood.

In another bowl mix 4 cups flour, 1/2 cup sugar and 1.5 tsp salt. I also threw in some flax seed to make me not feel quite as guilty when I eat 5 pretzels in a row.

Mix everything together  and then dump it on the table.

Kneed for 8-10 minutes. Oil up a bowl, roll the dough around in it and set the bowl in a corner for an hour. I put a damp towel (not terry cloth) over it to keep it moist.

Then look back at the mess you made and sigh. Oh well, you have an hour.

And you can also chug the water bottle your midwife gave you, complete with a bright orange KEGEL sticker on it. She makes me giggle.

My mom gave me that Indian Cookin’ cookbook. She included a note that I check with my local park ranger to make sure these are safe. One recipe said to sieve wood ashes into an iron pot of boiling water. I might pass on that one.

It’s been an hour! Hurray.

Punch down the dough. If R had been home, I’d let him do this. It’s like licking the cookie dough spoon to him.

Roll out pieces of the dough to your desired length and turn into a pretzel.

In a bowl, heat up 4 cups of water and mix in 1/2 cup of baking soda.

Dip the pretzel in the mixture and place on a parchment lined baking sheet. Once the sheet is full, sprinkle salt on them, then pop into a 400 degree oven for 8 minutes. I was baking banana bread at the time at 350, so let them sit for 15 minutes and they came out fine.

Better than fine, actually!

I brushed melted butter on them and have since been restraining myself from chowing down.

Happy Baking!

Hangin’ Tough… 20 years later.

…and the New Kids on the Block are still… rocking it? That doesn’t sound right at all. They’re at least still dropping to their knees for passion-filled love ballads. And 20 years later, I’m old enough to get a good laugh out of it.

We started our fancy night out with a bite to eat as my mom debated with the waiter on the similarities between Lady Gaga and Madonna.

I ate for four and then we were off to see the BOYS.

… and apparently the only boys that attended the show were those singing. Wait! I do see two boys in the photo, and they’re hanging on to dear life to their girlfriends. But mostly it was a 30-something girlfest.

Hang on, I take that back…

I sat next to a feisty group of early 20-somethings and asked if they remember New Kids back in the day. They said, “No.. we’re here for their latest album. I mean, it’s not like we’re in our thirties.” And then they dry heaved after saying such a disgusting word.

Me? I was happy. I love being in that bracket.

So after laughing at my young compadres, I took a look at the stage. What the…

Exactly how far up are we? All I know is that I was short of breath and it was snowing.

And then out of nowhere a lady with tickets for better seats showed up and handed them out to our section.

Hot Dog!

These old fogies were excited!

Especially the two die-hards: my sister-in-law and mom. I was sandwiched between them and it was almost a scene out of a Night at the Roxbury. I was bumped all over the place by those dancing hips.

<—- D, getting close-ups

P, getting close-ups —->

  Me, in the middle, getting close-ups of them getting close-ups.

 I turned to see what L was up to…

But she was busy searching for a “I just watched two straight hours of boy bands and survived” support group.

I do have to say, though, that it was a lot of fun hanging with the girls and laughing at the boys.

Even Baby Collier had a good time. So much so that I wasn’t woken up at 3am for my nightly “snack” (which most people would call a meal.)

Trapezoid Baby Blanket

No problem, she said.

No one can screw this project up, she said.

Okay, let’s do it, I agreed. So after 30 years of living and breathing, I went under my mom’s guiding hand and turned on the sewing machine. A couple of hours later I came-to and she told me to get into the car. We needed fabric.

And off to Jo-Ann’s we went! I was excited, picturing this like the library of textiles. I’d be sure to love it.

Instead it was like a horror film.

Where the

h-e-double hockey sticks

am I???!!

[cue screams of horror]

This was moments before I started getting dizzy and off-balance. So I quickly focused on the 50% off sign, which can ground even the most vertigo-ed of victims.

After finally just closing my eyes and pointing to two fabrics, we had them cut and made our way back home.

We got to work pinning the fabrics (after a good wash), while I also tried to hold a ‘blank white wall’ intervention with my mom.

Nothing worked.

I convinced myself that she was going for the “tuberculosis asylum” look in honor of my great-grandma who was admitted in the 40s or 50s, but failed to forget that they probably would’ve posted cards up on the wall at least.

In other news, she did paint the living room Eggshell White or something like that. Progress is being made, people.

After we were done pinning, mom suggested we go to the sewing corner she created for me.

Yay! My very own sewing corner!!

…In the darkest corner of the house.

It was like Flowers in the Attic Basement and was the one time I wish everything were painted white. Don’t sweatshops even have painted walls?

She patiently showed me all the nuts and bolts, and I quickly got to work. Loved using the 40+ years machine- It felt solid and sturdy.

A while later, this square blanket magically appeared.

Check out the bottom. Now that’s what I’m talking about! Nothing like a good steady decline, if I don’t say so myself.

Baby better appreciate this.

Nice pins.

I love my morning walks around the local college.

It’s just me and my bladder in the early sun, holding it in and enjoying the sites.

Like the creek that runs next to it for about a half mile. There’s one little spot where turtles like to sunbathe…

The canopied parts are cozy and inviting, but I catch myself looking up to make sure no snakes are dangling. I cannot not look up.

Sometimes I try to go through and force my eyes straight ahead, but then out of the corner of my eye a curved tree branch startles me into a head-twisting, eyes-bulging freak.

And then the wall o’ green, as I call it. You can’t see anything past this and that’s the way I like it.

Sometimes on the trail I see people running. Every time, though, I admire their runner’s bodies. I would give every excuse not to go for a jog not too long ago. But now that I can’t, it’s all I want to do.

One girl ran by and I marveled at her toned thighs. Couldn’t help it.

So I looked down to check out my own…


Well, I’m sure they look just like hers.


Reason #435

…how different R and I are.

Making hash browns:

I could stop just after this photo alone.

Unless the skillet being used is round, there is no way a circle would be formed by my own accord. If anything, it would be rectangle in this case.

The flipping is a most serious endeavor. Split perfectly down the middle with a careful flick of the wrist.

And when it does not flip neatly and nicely, a hurried adjustment to the original shape.

Whatever, just plop it onto my plate please.

We spent two days last weekend getting R’s brother married and I needed four days to recuperate. Seems I forget how big I am!