Nothing in this world is harder than speaking the truth, nothing easier than flattery.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Along with the meaning of life, I have been pondering an often observed issue in the social media circuit. That includes us lovely bloggers. I call it the I-Want-What-I-Imagine-You-Have syndrome. The green-eyed monster. Jealousy. Idol worship. Living vicariously through others. Envy. What you or I call it is irrelevant. The fact is, it's easy to get sucked into the lives of others via the rather shallow and superficial world that is social media. We've all blog-stalked. And Facebook-stalked.

"She's SO skinny!","Her life is perfect. Why doesn't anything bad ever happen to her?!", "She's more fashionable, smarter, a better writer, luckier, richer, younger, has more followers...[fill in the blank] than me." Been there? Yeah, me too.

But I've got earth-shattering news: her life isn't perfect. Nope. Sure, her problems may be different, but they're still problems. And those of us who have jumped our fair share of hurdles over the years are better adapted to life in general. We persevere. Even when our kids resemble demon spawn. And our husbands feel compelled to stink up the bathroom right before our morning shower. I own my mistakes, failures, and less-than-glamorous moments. They make me flawed. Flawed equals interesting.

While we're at it, did you ever stop to consider that she posts all that wonderfulness as a way of feeling better about her life? It's the perfect platform, really. Where else in 'real life' can we present such a skewed 1-D view of our existence? Once you think about it that way, it's easier to step back and see things for what they are.

If we all covet her, well, she feels covet-able. Everyone has that girl in their life. More than one? Bummer. Me, too. The one who posts perfect family pictures, gushes about her perfect husband, and carefully creates the illusion that she wakes up with a face full of makeup and a stylist standing by to dress her. Don't even get me started on Instagram. Or my personal favorite: the oh-so vague "FHML" Facebook post that elicits fifty "Oh no! What's wrooong?" replies. Then we are left to wonder if we were the only ones not let in on that little secret. Did she private message the other 49 and I wasn't good enough to know why she hates her life? It is high school all over again. And I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly eager to go back there.

Overcompensation is a telltale sign of deep-rooted insecurity. I, for one, need to stop falling into that ugly vortex. After a rather harsh, cold-water-in-the-face moment of realization, I am usually able to climb out of the self-shame hole and see things for what they are: imperfect. I'm imperfect. You're imperfect. And guess what? So is Miss Facebook Perfection. And Mrs. Blogging Supernova. Why, in this day in age, do we still feel the need to portray the Super Mom/Wife/Worker Bee role?

Let's all gather and fight the urge to covet that which is not real. Deep down we know it's a facade, right? But when you're feeling blah/vulnerable/messy/unmotivated/ugly/shameful/dumb/depressed/annoyed/murderous, it is incredibly easy to step through the mirror into her Wonderland. It's like modern day Sirens, luring the self-esteem compromised so that we crash head-first into a rock. 

Her sink is full of dirty dishes, too. Sometimes she wakes up looking like she's been in a dryer full of rocks.  Her kids act up and her husband leaves his underwear in his pants when he takes them off. They overspend at Christmas and take vacations they technically can't afford. The sooner we can all admit this, the better off we all shall be.

In the spirit of full disclosure, here's the honest to goodness truth:

For every one ironically cute pic I take of myself (why trying to hide my arms so that you don't know it's a self-portrait via iPhone), there are 20+ of these:

Forehead wrinkles. No makeup. No contacts. Year-round eye allergies that make me look like I've just smoked a bowl. At 8 am.

My kid doesn't have a bento box waiting for him every day. Mommy's too tired. Instead, he eats things like this on occasion. Or several occasions. That's a hot dog on an Eggo, in case you were wondering. With ketchup.

As I write this, my sink looks like this. Because I'm too lazy to empty the clean dishes from the dishwasher so I can reload it. Thanks to Instagram, my dishes look less "Crate and Barrel outlet" and more "vintage chic".

I'm not a fashion blogger because my husband doesn't have the time to take pictures of my outfits. I probably wouldn't be satisfied with them anyway. I'm chubby. And I don't want that many unflattering pictures of me out there in case I ever commit a serious crime. Or become (in)famous. Because it always looks like I'm wearing mom jeans when I take photos of myself. Because sometimes (or a lot) I buy shoes based on comfort not style. These are "snow sneakers". You can find them in the Sundance catalog if you ever want to pay an exorbitant amount of money look effortlessly homeless.

You know those amazing, simple, where-have-you-been-all-my-life hair tutorials on Pinterest? They always turn out just beautifully. Pffft.

If you consider flat, limp and frizzy signs of success. And to add insult to injury, I have to go the whole day looking that way. Because who, besides the Pinterest girls, have time to shower twice in the morning? Thankfully I have my homeless shoes to pull the look together.

I made these cookies. With love. I took glamor shots of them looking all melty and delicious. Only, I forgot the sugar. They gave me a headache. And a particularly unattractive digestive upset due to an artificial sweetener in the pudding mix. That's them in the trash.

If you're thinking I'm a hot mess right about now, you wouldn't be wrong. But we've all been there, no? Hopefully not all in the same day. So let's own it.  
We will all be better for it.

Get Real

Friday, November 30, 2012

I'm not what you would call a flashy person. Sure, I like to mix up my wardrobe and make an often feeble attempt at fashion; but I tend to shy away from really bling-y pieces. Besides, I don't have a lot of places to wear them at this juncture. The little girl within hasn't been lost completely, however, as I still find myself gravitating toward the shinier things in life.

Like most things, there's a happy medium. Perhaps going full-on sequin isn't my thing, but touches of it are lovely and sophisticated. Here's what I'm coveting right now:

1. Garnet Hill Festive Long Knit Dress 2. TOMS Pewter Sequin Classics 3. Victoria's Secret Bling Tee and Legging Set 4. Banana Republic Sequin Tank 5. J. Crew Sequin Pencil Skirt 6. Target Sheer Sequin Scarf 7. Target Sydney Sequin Pump

And until the right sequin-wearing event comes along, there's always Pinterest. A special place where I get to admit that deep down I want to dress like a disco ball.

The body comes with the dress, right?
Source: via Mary on Pinterest

Source: via Amber on Pinterest

Shine on, Friends.

Dream Sequins

Thursday, November 29, 2012

There is nothing like soup. It is by nature eccentric: no two are ever alike, unless of course you get your soup in a can.

Laurie Colwin

(In the process of wolfing it down I almost forgot to take a picture!)

The older I get, the soupier I get. I mean, I'm really loving soup more and more. This fall I've tried several tasty new recipes...and am really warming up to this soup thing. I'm so punny.

One of my great discoveries is Paula Deen's Tastes Like Lasagna Soup. Well, her son's lighter version anyway. I'm not sure how I feel about Bobby overriding his mother in such a fashion; but his hutzpah is our gain. I want Paula Deen to be my mom.

This soup is amazing! I've made it twice now and gotten rave reviews both times. It's easy peasy, healthy, and hearty. I've made some small tweaks to suit our taste...and love it. This bad boy has taken up permanent residency in my recipe binder.

Lighter "Tastes Like Lasagna" Soup



2 teaspoons olive oil
1 pound Italian turkey sausage, casings removed
1 onion, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 (32-ounce) container chicken broth
1 (15-ounce) can tomato sauce
1 (14 1/2-ounce) can petite diced tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper
5 whole wheat lasagna noodles, broken into chunks
1/2 tbsp dried basil
3 tablespoons grated parmesan cheese
1/2 cup part skim shredded mozzarella cheese (or more to taste)

Heat the oil over medium-high heat in a large nonstick saucepot or Dutch oven. Add the sausage, onion, bell pepper, and garlic. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, until the sausage is crumbled and browned, 8 – 10 minutes. 
Add the broth, tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, salt, and crushed red pepper. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the flavors are blended, about 20 minutes. Add the noodles; bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the soup thickens slightly and the noodles are tender, 10 – 12 minutes. Remove from the heat; stir in mozzarella, basil, and the Parmesan. Serve with the breadsticks, if using. (whole-wheat lasagna noodles take a little longer to cook.)

 Adapted from Bobby's Lighter Tastes Like Lasagna Soup recipe.

Note: I use half hot turkey sausage and half regular turkey sausage. Then I bag up the remaining 1/2 pound of each and freeze for my next batch. Also, don't omit the crushed red pepper! I'm always afraid things are going to be too spicy, but in this case it is oh-so necessary flavor-wise. And even with the 1/2 pound of spicy sausage, it was quite mild. Finally, the original recipe calls for 1/2 cup of fresh basil. I didn't have that, nor did it look very, um, perky in the store, so I opted for dried. I actually like it better.


Small Things

Soup it Up

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

 If you concentrate on what you don't have, you will never, ever have enough.

Oprah Winfrey

I'm alive! And well! After an unintentional blogging hiatus, I'm back in all my glory. Whatever that looks like.

My uncle was on the East Coast, so we had him up for Thanksgiving. In addition to loads of food and vegging, we took a day trip around Southern Vermont and spent a night unofficially touring Boston. I tried my hardest to remember everything I've learned in my dozens of visits, but my tour guide skills were sorely lacking. Still, it was laid back and fun.

All the work I intended to get done over the break? Untouched. It's time to put my game face back on so I can power through the last 3 weeks of the semester. Although tired and a bit off-kilter today, I had a moment of profound realization: A single semester is all that stands between me and a college degree. If someone had told me I'd be here five years ago, I would have called the nice men in white coats. Crazy. 

I'm so thankful for my family for seeing me through this. And I'm really proud of myself. I should say that more often. We all should.

Speaking of thankful, here's a glimpse of my Thanksgiving merriment:

Clockwise from top left:
  • Mister said "No more schoolwork!" by taking a looong nap on my bag. If the cat says...
  • With Husband by Boston Harbor. It was freezing and the wind was raising quite the ruckus, but we had a great time. 
  • Cupcakes for the last day of Kiddo's art class.
  • The most amazing Italian bakery. Their pistachio macaroons literally made my heart stop. We stop there every time we're in town. If you haven't been, book a flight to Boston. Pronto.

  • After freezing our tails off on the harbor, we dined at an amazing Irish pub. The bottom picture is the story printed on our placemats. It's where the Revolutionary War was planned. No biggie.
  • The window boxes around Boston were still lovely. This ornamental, um, cabbage (?) was no exception.

  •  After dropping Uncle off at the airport, we headed for breakfast. We always stake out the best local eateries...and this was amazing. I abandoned my omelet obsession in adulthood, but I had to make an exception for this lox special. Smoked salmon, cream cheese, avocado...the works. Husband had the avocado BLT with garlic cream cheese special. This was all that was left come picture time. If you're ever in Boston, visit Mike's City Diner on the corner of Washington and East Springfield. Deeelish.

Rest and be thankful.

William Wordsworth

Be thankful for what you have; you'll end up having more.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Like most of you, I am going to be doing some serious food prep tomorrow. But it's the fun, casual kind of cooking as opposed to "oh my gosh what am I going to feed this kid I barely have time to pee let alone grocery shop" kind of cooking. Laid back family fun is the name of the game.

I like my quaint little kitchen. It's roomy and comfortable. But who hasn't cruised Pinterest thinking "ooh, that would be nice"? So here's to dream kitchens. May we all have one some day. If you already do...lucky duck!

Source: via Sarah on Pinterest

Holy counter space and natural light!

Source: via Sarah on Pinterest

The backsplash against the white cabinets is divine.

Source: via Sarah on Pinterest

All of your guests can hang out around the kitchen...but without the crowding.

I'm not sure this gem has more counter space than mine, but this shabby chic kitchen is beyond lovely.

Source: via Sarah on Pinterest

A second oven and sink on the island? And built-in bookshelf? Sold!

I love the open-air feel of this beauty.

Crisp. Clean. Simple. Love.

Hello, charming! Color and character everywhere.

Why I favor white kitchens is beyond me. Like I have time to keep white counters clean. Pffft. Oh, I know! I'll get a dream kitchen and a housekeeper. I'm so resourceful.

Enjoy your day!

What's Cooking, Good Lookin'?

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Howdy, Folks! The past 7 days have been a real zinger. Not the actual Zingers, because Hostess is kaput. Is it weird that I'm all upset even though I've only had one or two Twinkies in my whole life? I guess I took comfort in knowing they were out there if I ever needed them.

Anywho...two quizzes, an exam, my husband's job, my button-pushing offspring, and my senior research presentation conspired to give me a heart attack. My stress levels were through the roof (which is why I have The Cold That Will Not Quit). Why all at once, Professors? Trying to kill this old gal?

Still, I made it to other side. Phew. And Husband is home from France. Now I can enjoy Thanksgiving and all it has to offer. And by offer, I mean a 5 day weekend. Duh. 

It is Thanksgiving week, so it's only natural that I talk about food. As in, there hasn't been a lot of nutrition going on around here. Stress-relieving comfort foods were the name of the game. But I think I'm back on track. Just in time to swim in gravy.


1. This girl earned her Icee. Which I got at Target. Two birds. One stone. 2. Who owned her Icee tongue?  And teeth. I swear I'm a good brusher. I floss every day. Well, close to that. I get tired sometimes. Don't judge. But somehow that Icee manages to make me look like a hillbilly. 3. Hey, Orville! When a lady is in the midst of a crisis and needs cheddar microwave popcorn pronto, you don't give her half a cereal bowl's worth. Besides, the last thing I need to add to the stress heap is a broken tooth courtesy of the 1/2 cup of unpopped kernels at the bottom. No broken tooth, but a lot of broken dreams. Now I know why I never buy microwave popcorn. Fail. 4. While I was knee-deep in homework, Kiddo ate this entire jar of pickles. In one sitting. He's growing like crazy and eating like a rabid racoon...but geez. If I did that, I wouldn't be able to get my shoes on for a week. 5. Those crazy art students decorated the Student Center with canned food sculptures. I want to be an art major. 

6. Target had this beauty last year, but I procrastinated thinking it would go on sale and it sold out. Fast. Determined not to let it slip through my fingers a second time, I pulled the trigger. And it was on sale for 15 bucks. Hurrah! [Merona Sequined Sweater] 7. Ebony and ivory, live together in perfect harmony... 8. A friend just got a new puppy! He is a tiny little nugget of sweetness. Upon holding him, I immediately went into "I want a puppy, too!" mode. Someone needed to throw cold water on me. Thank goodness I snapped out of it, because I do not want a puppy. Yes, I do. 9. I bought a plaid version of these Sorel snow shoes a couple years ago and love them like a turtle loves its shell (I wanted to say "like a fat kid loves cake" but thought better of it. Oh, I just did. Oops.). Upon seeing them recently in the Sundance catalog, I realized that they are, in fact, shoes. Which means it is perfectly legit to wear my slippers warm, comfy shoes in public. I found them for half the price at Sierra Trading Post. Order up a size. Sorel has its own definition of what constitutes a normal shoe size.

Happy Tuesday! 

Icees, Twinkies, Orville and puppies...oh my!

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

...but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.

Sam Keen

 Alright. Things are going to get a bit mushy here. Which is so unlike me. I hope I'm okay.

My husband is pretty awesome. I know, I know. Most women deep in throes of wedded (or unwedded) bliss say that. But we are past the honeymoon phase. Real life kicked in a long time ago.

Is it always rainbows and butterflies? Certainly not. There are days when the sound of his breathing makes me want to climb the walls. And don't get me started on how he chews soup (It's a liquid...just swallow!). But this chap loves me when I'm at my best, my worst, my ugliest, and my meanest.

He celebrates my successes more than I do. He sings my praises when I can't. He believes in me when I don't believe in myself. He doesn't care if I'm the best at anything, everything, or nothing at all. He just wants me to be happy. Whether I become a butcher, a baker, or a candlestick maker is irrelevant.

The fact is, I take him for granted on a regular basis. But a life without him is unimaginable.

Let's be clear: I've always questioned monogamy. As a biologist, you learn that it is a rare and rather unnatural phenomenon in the animal kingdom. The current divorce rate can attest to that. But logic and science can't sort out my feelings for this guy. There simply isn't anyone else out there for me.

I'm not an easy person to love, but I work to be more loveable every day; in the hopes of one day matching his admirable ability to accept, forgive, overlook, and hug what must feel like a lump of wood some days. The harder I push him away, the harder he holds me. It's both infuriating and amazing.

 After Kiddo is no longer a kid and we are left with only each other, I will still enjoy his company. Me makes me laugh like no other.

Some days forever sounds a lot like banging my head against a wall for the next fifty years. Will we still argue about how poorly he loads the dishwasher when we're eighty? I hope so. Because any day with him in it, no matter how awful it seems at the time, is a good day.

Here's to the really great guys out there. They do exist. If you haven't found him yet, don't settle for anything less.

 Never give up on something that you can’t go a day without thinking about. 

Winston Churchill

Love is giving someone the power to destroy you, but trusting them not to. 


We come to love not by finding a perfect person...

Monday, November 19, 2012

...not what to think.

Margaret Mead

Because my child loves nothing more than to experiment with my patience, this happened:

Does peanut butter actually remove wads of gum from hair? Yes. It takes some elbow grease, but it definitely works. 

Did I garner the slightest bit of satisfaction from having to aggressively comb it out? Probably.

Do you think this experience will prevent him from doing it again? Nah.

And now a poem from my childhood. I wish I'd know then how wise indeed Shel Silverstein really is.

“I cannot go to school today"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry.
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.

And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be the instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My toes are cold, my toes are numb,

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There's a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is ...
What? What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is .............. Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play!” 

Shel Silverstein

Children must be taught how to think...

Saturday, November 17, 2012

...and want to eat two thousand of something.

Mitch Hedberg

A few weeks ago we actually remembered to buy the Sunday paper. I'd love to say that I use it to become a wiser, more world-conscious individual. Nah. I covet the coupons, Target ad, Parade magazine; and I only read the front page...above the fold. Don't look at me like that. You do it, too.

Anywho, I came across an article in Parade talking about one of my favorite authors: Patricia Cornwell. I started reading her books in high school, and they are permanent residents of my bookshelf. I've read many of them more than once.

So when I saw that she shared her recipe for Wild Rice Salad with Cashews, the ingredients went straight on my shopping list. Maybe if I carefully follow the recipe, I too can become a helicopter-piloting, crime-solving genius like her. Well, one can wish.

It was easy. It was delicious. Husband swooned. At me, not the salad. More wishful thinking. There were leftovers, which only got better with time (unusual for rice-containing foods, in my experience). Also, I made it for dinner so I added the meat from a rotisserie chicken to make it more meal-like. Enjoy!

Wild Rice Salad with Cashews
(serves 6)

1 cup uncooked wild rice
4 cups chicken broth
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 1/2 cups chopped red or green bell pepper
3/4 cup cashews, coarsely chopped
2 green onions, sliced
1 rotisserie chicken, meat removed and cubed/shredded

3 Tbsp seasoned rice vinegar or apple cider vinegar
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp Asian sesame oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 tsp salt
Dash of freshly ground pepper

1. In a strainer, rinse wild rice under cool running water. Drain well.
2. In a 3-quart saucepan, bring rice and chicken broth to a boil over high heat.
3. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 45 to 50 minutes or until rice is tender. Drain excess liquid and set rice aside.
4. In a medium skillet, heat 3 Tbsp oil over medium-high heat. Add peppers and cook for 3 to 5 minutes or until tender.
5. Add cashews and green onions. Cook for 2 to 3 minutes or until nuts begin to brown. Remove from heat. In a large bowl, stir wild rice with bell pepper mixture.
6. For dressing, combine vinegar, oils, garlic, salt, and pepper in a jar with a tight-fitting lid. Shake well. Pour dressing over salad and toss to coat. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours.


Rice is great if you're really hungry...

Friday, November 16, 2012

In matters of style, swim with the current; in matters of principle, stand like a rock.

Thomas Jefferson

I'm totally obsessed with druzy stones. That rough, raw edge is so beautiful and interesting. Nature sure can make em, no? Natural (or synthetic) stones can be delicate, bold, or understated. But always eye-catching.

My husband bought this ring for me a several years ago for our anniversary. I'd been eyeing it in a cool stone shop near my in-laws' Montana lake house. I wish my lame photography skills could do it justice. It has amazing depth and I always feel like I'm looking into an exotic coral reef when it graces my finger. It's almost as if a little tropical fish should flit by at any moment. For the life of me I can't remember the name of the stone. But I remember that anniversary, which is more important in the end.


Happy Thursday, Friends!

Rock On

Thursday, November 15, 2012

"Blorft" is an adjective I just made up that means 'Completely overwhelmed but proceeding as if everything is fine and reacting to the stress with the torpor of a possum.' I have been blorft every day for the past seven years.

Tina Fey

I was over this semester before it began. And although I am closer than ever to the finish line, I feel like it couldn't be further away. Have you seen my mojo? Because it's gone. Missing. I'm uninspired, unmotivated, and all kinds of other uns.

As I found myself snipping at Kiddo tonight (and feeling guilty about it), I came to a realization: this is kinda all my fault. Well, I blame my disorganized, demanding professor, too. But mostly it's just me. You see, when the going gets tough, I don't do anything about it. I play possum...and here's proof:

Stress is bubbling out of me, yet until last Thursday I hadn't seen the inside of a gym in over two weeks. Exercise has more than proven its worthiness when it comes to helping me overcome life's little (and big) challenges. Yet it became my redheaded stepchild. A yoga class? I'd rather eat paste. Oh, and enough with the cookies already. You're not in a contest.

I can't remember the last time my fingers or toes were painted. My last massage was, um, last winter? My hair hasn't been trimmed since late summer...or before that? I must sound like a hot mess. You have no idea. At least my legs got shaved most people will be able to tell I'm a woman again. And a non-primate.

We are so fortunate to own a hot tub, but I've used it only once in the last few weeks. The one night I actually took ten minutes to soak, I slept like a baby. You know, that rare, elusive baby who actually sleeps a solid eight. You would think I'd be jumping in every night. Instead, I succumb to the stress and wonder why I am perpetually frazzled. And cold.
As if I wasn't on edge enough, I've been downing coffee like it's vodka water. Yet I seem to find my desire to scream and kick and quit school quite perplexing. Yeah, I'm not studying to be a rocket scientist.

The last time I read a work of fiction was this spring when I polished off the Fifty Shades series. Then I proceeded to analyze them in a 12-page paper for my Human Sexuality class. Nothing un-sexifies an erotic novel more than writing about the social implications of women everywhere lusting after an emotionally disturbed billionaire.

So I have to wonder...why is it that the times I most need to take care of myself, I instead choose to grossly neglect my well-being? Is it a form of self-loathing? Maybe. But mostly it's a drive to be everything to everyone all the time...even though they like me better when I don't. My family prefers I don't take all that on. I'm efficient, sure, but grouchy as hell. And feeling like I want to crawl out of my anxiety-ridden skin isn't worth being able to say that I was Super Mom. Or Super Wife. Or Super Student. Besides, that's a lot of capes to get dry cleaned.

It's time to press the reset button, because this gal needs an attitude adjustment. From this day forward, or at least until my next meltdown, I vow to...

...get lost in a good book...
Source: via Sarah on Pinterest

...breathe. be mindful...

...soak up what life has to offer (on a mountaintop in a funky contraption, duh)...

...switch brews... like my body is a temple, not a garbage can...
Source: via Sarah on Pinterest it off...

...stop procrastinating my way out of a good night's rest...

...and above all: spend more time looking at baby llamas. I want to pinch their little cheeks and carry them in my handbag.
Source: via Sarah on Pinterest

I feel better already.

 Reality is the leading cause of stress amongst those in touch with it.

Jane Wagner

I was a little excited but mostly blorft.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012