DIY: How to Never Lose that Recipe Again! And Other Stuff.

As if this is what it looks like when I sit down to enjoy a cookie or four. Shoot, by the time I actually get to the table, I've gotten a cookie and a half crammed into my gullet. I am convinced that eating while standing doesn't count. In fact, I'm pretty sure in Weigh Watchers-land that'd be considered negative points. Bonus points, maybe? Extra credit work. That's it.

What you are about to read involves a recipe by yours truly. I know, I know. I probably should have allowed a little more time to lapse between near foot-amputation via a food processor and a blog post of cooking tips. But this here cookie recipe is too good not to share. In fact, hubs, who is a sweets aficionado, calls these his favorite and requests them often. Which is kinda a problem because I'm a flippin unorganized disaster that misplaces this recipe constantly. So I decided to perma-ize it on to a tea towel and a thrifted platter. 'Twas easy, lemme show you how.

Are you checking out those ingredients? You know anything that involves a stick of butter, sugar and chocolate has gotta be good. In fact, these cookies simply taste like chocolate butter. Which would be the best invention ever. And if you don't think these cookies are amazing, than, I'm sorry, but something is seriously wrong with you. I hate to be the one to tell you. Maybe your taste buds are broken. I heard once that you can get Taste Bud Transplants (actually, I've never heard that). In which case, you'd come back to me all apologetic like raving on and on about how incredibly wrong you were and how incredibly incredible the cookies are. Which, after TBT surgery would probably sound something like, "Oh my Dod, Cathie! Theeth cookieth are tho delithith!"

(Did I just insult people who may or may not have had Taste Bud Transplants? Er, if you exist, thorry).

Because my hand writing may be a touch difficult to read, here are the ingredients for a small batch of 12 cookies: 

• 3/4 cup of flour
• 1/4 cup of unsweetened cocoa powder (I use Hershey's)
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 stick of unsalted, room temperature butter
• 1/2 cup of sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 2 tablespoons of steel-cut oats (really any kind of oatmeal is good, we just prefer this)
• 1/4 cup of semi-sweet chocolate chips
• Small amount of coarse sugar (like the raw stuff) in a bowl
• Handful of cocoa nibs, if you got 'em

Oh, but back to the tea towel. So I used some linen-esque cotton I had in my stash. I cut it to 18" X 24" and began the entirely-too-long process of creating those light blue loose-leaf-paper lines. I set my machine on zigzag and zipped along. Once finished with that, I added the light pink vertical line and serged the edges out of pure laziness. 

Once you've russell up all the ingredients, do this:

1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.  By the way, always check the inside of your oven before turning it on or you might discover that the crusty food on those dirty dishes you put in there when the in-laws were coming over is gonna burn and stink to high heaven. Not that I would know anything about that.  
2. Mix the first 4 ingredients into medium sized bowl.  Using an electric mixer, beat the butter in a large bowl until fluffy. Ummm, fluffy butter. 
3.  Add sugar and vanilla to the butter and continue to beat until blended. 
4. Add that floury stuff from the first step and attempt to beat. It'll be a little tricky because that stuff is about to get thick and clumpy. Which is usually never a good way to describe someone's cooking, but stay with me, the cookies are worth it. 

I used a fabric pen I picked up at the local craft store to write the recipe. That was a pinch tricky as the ink of the pen liked to bleed a bit so I just wrote a little larger than normal. By the way, did you know that they no longer teach cursive writing in elementary schools? This seriously bums me out. When I was a kid, we didn't have art class so those purple ditto cursive writing sheets were the closest thing for me. And I totally rocked 'em. Couldn't do long division or pass a spelling test, but you give me one of those hot-off-the-presses smeary purple sheets and I'd cursive write it all the way to Peru. Not the country. Peru, Indiana. The town next to the one I grew up in.

5.   Mix in oats, chocolate chips and cocoa nibs (which are totally optional. We just happened to have a stash and I add them for their crunch) with a spatula. 
6.  Shape a big ol' tablespoonish amount of the cookie dough, roll it around in that bowl of coarse sugar and kinda flatten it onto a cookie sheet. That's if you even get this far because, if you're anything like me, you're going to have consumed nearly half of that cookie dough before it even hits the sheet. Which is a good thing because this cookie dough doesn't contain raw eggs and thusly won't give you worms that crawl out your back door in the middle of the night (you know, call me naive, but I'm pretty sure most recipes shouldn't include the worm-crawling-out-yer-butt visual. Sorry).
7.  Bake them bad boys for about 10-12 minutes, let 'em cool for five seconds and drop 'em in your mouth like the hot-as-coal-from-a-grill chocolate buttery goodness that they are. Don't worry about those silly burnt taste buds. After all, you can always get TBT.

 For some reason, I got it in my heard that the recipe-emblazoned tea towel just wasn't enough. So when I spotted this giant platter at the thrift store, I decided to glaze the recipe onto it as well. I filled  one of those fine metal tipped glaze bottle thingies with black glaze and then I set to work transcribing the recipe.

Which makes the whole process sound much easier that it actually was. Because of the heavy glaze already on the plate, the surface was super slick and hard to write on. And the glaze liked to do this coming-out-in-clumps thing which was totally awesome. After doing some serious writing, wiping off and rewriting, I found that the best thing was to drag the metal tip of the applicator across the surface as I was writing. The above is how it looked before firing...

And here's the after. Which looks exactly the same.

Cookie and platter close up. Look at that prettiful hand-writing, would ya? All that hard work, it pays off. Just don't ask me to do any of that long division nonsense, ermkay? By the way, I know it looks like there are raisins in cookies. There isn't. It's just what happens when you wrap freshly made cookies in layers of Saran wrap and stick 'em in the freezer. More on that later.

Yay! Hub's fave recipe immortalized! The end.

Okay, not really The End. I just had to share this with you. This is how hubs keeps his extra stash of cookies: in 13 layers of Saran Wrap and a zip lock baggie in the freezer. You know, if some coke fiend came to our house, lookin' for coke in the freezer (cuz that's where one keeps coke, right? I don't know about these things and I'm afraid to google it for fear that "angel dust in freezer" will most assuredly get me fired. Again.) they'd find these instead. Which, being jacked up on coke, they'd be able to wrestle through those 13 layers much faster than me (I'm pretty sure one shouldn't curse and break into a sweat as much as I do before enjoying a cookie.) Now that I think about it, I wonder if those layers aren't meant to keep these cookies Cassie-proof. Hmm...I just might have to have a cookie or (one, two, three...) eight! in order to figure this one out. 

Until next time, go make yo'self some cookies! And then come back and tell me how amazin' they are!

What the Art Teacher Wore #67

Sunny Yellow Monday: So I've been hitting the local hardware/plant place recently (because as a serial flower killer, I find it a sound investment) and I've noticed something: there's a lot of old dudes workin' there. And, it turns out, old dudes are fascinated by retro-dressin' chics. Not in a creepy "I'll-show-you-where-the-tools-are,-honey,-heh-heh" kind of way. More like an "aw-my-mother/girlfriend/wife-used-to-dress-like-you,-heh-heh" (sorry, in my mind, all old dudes end their sentences that way). Which kinda makes me wonder...in twenty years when the "retro" look means wearing a vintage Hooters uniform, will the old dudes be like, "Aw, I remember when classy ladies used to wear thick-a** nylons under their construction-worker-orange shorty shorts, heh-heh" and then off they'll go to satisfy their sudden and unexpected wings craving? dress: vintage Swirl dress, picked up in St. Louis; shoes: Target, last summer; giant flower: just a fake one I glued to a clip after I changed out of my Hooters uniform

Hi! I'll have you know that since last chatting with you, no one has been sliced, diced or tampon'ed. Aw, don't look disappointed. I've got a month and a half left of summer vacation. I'm almost positive I'll be short a limb by the time I return (geez, if that really does happen then this will suddenly become The Most Awkward Post Ever. And we shall never speak of it again.)

So I thought I'd change it up a bit and share with you random photos from my week. I don't have Instagram but I do have A-Day-Or-Two-Later-Cam. Which is even better because I don't have to look at that amazing vintage find of yours or that totally stunning bouquet of flowers your boyfriend gave you (both of which I am sharing here. You're welcome). I've got a couple new DIY's coming up this week so make sure to pop back in and say hello (I've been hearing a lot from you lately and it totally makes my day!). And the next time you're ordering the wings at Hooters, tell 'em Cassie sent ya!

My amazing bouquet of flowers from my boyfriend. Who happens to be in kindergarten. But whateves, he's got good taste in the ladies and the orchids, so I'll take him.

Slice and Dice Tuesday: So if you've not heard the ridiculous story of my foot injury, go here. It's worth the read because it will totally enlighten you on the thinking of the dimwitted. Added bonus: you'll feel better about yourself and your obviously advanced intelligence. dress: made by me; shoes: ugh, Crocs.

Oh, lookie, a sneak peak. I started working on a new painting for the kitchen that I can't wait to finish off, hang up and share with you. It's very paint-by-numbers with out the numbers. Because they confuse me.

Wednesday, Unlimited: You'll never guess in a million years where I got this dress. The Limited. Yes, seriously. When's the last time you went to The Limited? For me, I believe it was back in '91 and I picked up a pair of Madonna-style trousers (you know the ones she paired with her bullet bra back in the Vogue days. I opted out of said bullet bra. Not enough ammo to fill it). My teacher neighbor at school, who always looks adorable, recently shared a photo of herself wearing the cutest dress. When I jokingly (sorta) said I was going to break into her house in the middle of the night and steal that dress (I was giving fair warning, I don't know what the problem was), she quickly informed me that she got the dress at The Limited. I immediately zipped over, found the dress and scooped up this one as well. So, where's the so-good-Ima-gonna-attempt-burglary-and-possible-jail-time dress? I'll show ya next week.

Can you freakin' believe this fabric?! Dude, I am so excited. I've got big plans to create what I imagine will be the most perfect pair of barbeque dresses even though hubs and I don't barbeque nor do we ever get invited to such things. Because vegetarians at barbeques suck. Regardless, I have a feeling these dresses, once created, will be more than welcome. Even if the dress is all, "Yeah, sorry about the person in the dress. She demanded to come," eye roll and sigh.

Hello, Neighbor, Thursday: You know, getting a photo of what you wear everyday is taxing. Especially when you attempt to do it in your front yard and the neighbors, who already think you are nutz, see you. But I do it for you. Now that's dedication, people. sweater: Target, old; dress: vintage, The Hip Zipper

Whatcha see here is my recent estate sale loot. It's become my Friday ritual to grab a buddy and hit as many sales as possible before noon. My favorite score of the day are those little doll dresses and that hand-knitted Anthropologie-esque sweater. Or maybe it's those mini-leather gloves. Possibly that dress with the blue daisies?...I just can't decide.

Free Tree Friday: Before I get to the tree, can we have a moment's chat about this dress? Because I lurve it. I ventured into a thrift store that I don't often frequent and there she was. This sweet little Anthro dress for a mere $10. I got all excited and started chatting with the lady at the rack next to me saying, "look at this dress! Isn't it amazing?!" Unfortunately, my new friend, who only needed to share in my enthusiasm with a high five, decided to become my personal shopper. Which woulda been great had her idea of my taste not involved vintage Jaclyn Smith. She was sweet for tryin', bless her heart (which, in the South, can mean many-a-thing. In this case, it's "get that Kathy Ireland frock away from me!") dress: thrifted, Anthro; belt: Pin Up Girl Clothing; box purse: vintage Enid Collins, ebay; necklace: Target, old

Me standing in front of a tree trunk. Like, literally. A trunk o' tree. Not too long ago, a coupla friends and I volunteered to help create the new window display at Anthropologie. It was so much fun. They served cookies, parfaits and mimosas. We skipped the snacks and instead drank our way through the crafting. Much to their dismay, I'm almost certain. In the midst of all our merry-making, it was asked what would become of the current cherry tree display. We were told that it was going to be given away to a good home. My buddy piped up that I was an art teacher that would love to have the tree...and, a week later, here we are with a mammoth tree in the trunk.

Dude, look at it. It's huge! I'm so excited to put it up...and it's totally getting me inspired and excited for the new school year. But I've still not settled on a theme. So! I'm asking you, whatcha got? Do you have any tree-themed book suggestions (please don't say The Giving Tree as I can't get through that book without crying which makes the kids super uncomfortable)? Art project ideas? Artist suggestions? Thanks in advance, I appreciate you doing my homework for me.

Chat with you soonish!

DIY: Mirror, Mirror

Hush. Don't even say it. I know what you're thinking:

"This Cassie-person things she's classy and fabulous? Wait, didn't I just read in her last entirely-too-long-post that she dropped a food processing blade on her foot that she bandaged up with a, what totally classy thing was it again, oh yeah, a tampon?! AND isn't she the one who makes fun of New Zealanders and their pronunciation of "decks"? I bet she punches puppies and eats food off the floor (um, no! I love puppies! And, well, yes, sometimes. Gotta get to it before the puppies do. Even if I don't have puppies.) Classy my a--" (hey! This is a family friendly blog, try to keep it clean, would ya!? Geez.)

Dude, I couldn't agree more. In fact, dear ole hubs occasionally refers to me as "Classy Cassie" because he likes to be ironic (at least I think I'm using that word correctly. Alanis Morissette has confused me for life. Canadians, I swear. Oh, crap, did I just offend another country?! Sorry, dudes). In fact, I hesitated to even share this DIY with you in light of all my recent moronicness. Seriously. And, if you can believe this, I've even managed to step it up a classless notch since last chatting with you which was, oh, 36 hours ago. Because if it's one thing I've got down, it's the classless bit. It's called perfectionist, people. You outta try bein' it.

What you see here is one classy babe. I mean, who just wakes up one morning and decides, "Yeah, Ima gonna wear my necklaces backwards," and bam! does it with a look that says, "What?! You not fabulous enough to pull this off?!" Why Coco Chanel, that's who.

 Oh, not believin' me? You're only saying that because you want more examples of what an idiot I am. Well, I always come prepared, so here you go:

So our house is full of critters and creepy crawlies inside and out. Why just the other night I found Asha the Cat running, leaping and body-slamming the front door in what I thought was a feeble attempt to escape the Haus of Food Processing Blades. Turns out she'd spotted this wee one and was just dying to get her kitten mittens on him. Probably so she could turn him into a chew toy and leave him under my side of the bed as she's done in the past. Which is yet another reason not to clean: discovering you've been sleeping just mere inches away from a fresh kill. Sometimes it's best not to know.

 

Don't you even say, "awww." This is the same cat that demands to be fed each morning at 5:15am, including weekends. So determined was she to get me outta bed that she once stuck her claw inside my nose and when I pulled away it raked the inside of my nostril which bled for the rest of the day. When I told hubs, he said, "well, you should have gotten up to feed her." Humph.

Anyway, frogs are just the tip of the creepy crawly iceberg at Casa de Cassie. My least favorite are spiders, right after silverfish (which hubs SWEARS do not exist and that I'm making them up. What?! Back me up here, they're the ones that when you step on 'em the other half crawls away. More than likely, up your leg, disappearing inside your shorts causing you to do your best dance moves ever).

And it's because these things make me super jumpy that the following happened: while changing the bandage on my foot, I saw the stitches out of the corner of my eye, mistook them for a spider and smacked my foot. 

That's right. 

Classy? Why, yes.

Fabulous? Would you really expect any less from me?

So when my mother-in-law gifted me this estate sale find, I just knew it'd be the perfect surface for Coco's quote. But first I had to remove that warped and fugly paper design. Which I did by stabbing and slicing it repeatedly with an Exacto-knife. It's really surprising that I've not injured myself before. Because I actually come from a long line of limb-losers (okay, just my mom. And, alright, she's just big-toe-less due to some freakish toe-in-bicycle-spoke accident. My fave part of that story is that her brother had to hold the detached toe all the way to the hospital. This also ended her foot modeling career.)

  

After tracing the paper circle onto a piece of paper, I wrote out the quote in sharpie and traced it onto some sort of linen-y fabric in pencil. Which is totally not how you are supposed to go about doing embroidery. Something about pinning it to your fabric, sewing through the paper design and later removing the paper with tweezers. What?! No. That sounds like time better spent doing other things. Like eating food off the floor.

When I was all finished embroidering (which, by the way, have you seen the embroidery on this dress?! Now I look more chump-y than normal. Thanks, Lauren), I busted out my fave glue. Have you ever used this stuff? I like to imagine the creator, Aleene, being some big bouffant'ed and bejeweled Southerner who was all like, "Elmer's glue?! Pshaw, honey, I need something much tackier than that if Ima gonna glue all these here shells to this here lamp. I'll just make my own glue with some Crisco and boiled down opossum." See? And you thought I was only pickin' on the Kiwis and the Canadians. Oh, naw. I'm an equal opportunity picker-on'er.

After slathering my Aleene's Tacky Glue all over the backside of the mirror, I placed the embroidery on top and used the aforementioned Exacto to shove the stray bits of fabric under the lip of the mirror.

After hanging the mirror on my sewing room wall, I felt it needed a little something more. So I added the little candy cane stripped ribbon and called it finished.

Coco Chanel sprinkling her fabulous classiness on one of her signature dresses.

And there you have it. A little embroidered reminder for me to strive toward the classy and fabulous. Which I totally forgot to do during my Multiple Doctors Appointment Day. In an attempt to be efficient, I scheduled both an eye and, ahem, a lady-parts doctor appointment in one day. This being the day after the Food Processing Blade Incident. So, imagine if you will, an eyes dilated, limpy and bandaged foot goofball stumbling into, for lack of a better term, the legs-in-stirrups room. The alarmed look on the nurse's face caused me to blurt out:

"I swear to you I'm not all jacked up on bath salts!"

"Uh, okay. What happened to you?"

"Oh, I just, you know, dropped a food processing blade on my foot that, you'll appreciate this, I bandaged with a tampon. I had to get a couple of stitches. And I was just at the eye doctor so my pupils are all coke-head huge."

"Uh, okay. I'm going to get the doctor now."

Aw, don't act like Coco Chanel wouldn't have done the very same thing. Chat at ya soon, ya'll!

DIY: A Mid Century Mod Dress

Do you find my creepy grin as disturbing as I do? I can't decide if it's the part where I'm trying to bare all my teeth or the dead look behind my eyes. I predict this is the same creepy grin I'll be baring upon the first day back to school. "Welcome back! I am soooo happy to see (uncomfortable swallow whilst maintaining creepo grin) yoooooou."

   Holy moly, I have so much to tell you I don't even know where to begin. Despite the title of this post, I definitely will not be chatting about this new dress right away. That was just a ploy to draw you in (because "DIY: Mid Century Mod Dress" is such a great hook, right?!). We have much more pressing matters to discuss. Like dangerous kitchen accidents with food processing blades where a tampon is applied to the wound to slow the flow. Yeah. See? I told you. LOTS to discuss.

   I don't know if you know this about me, but I have a fabric hoarding problem. No, really. I know, you're thinking, "Whatever, Stephens. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, 'Tis a rule of manners to avoid exaggeration.'" Wow. You're like so well read and stuff. But I'm not exaggerating! Upcoming post, I'll prove it to you. In the meantime, this here amazing mid-century mod fabric has been in my stash forever. Because I found it at the thrift store and there was no writing on the selvage edge, I dunno if it's actually vintage. Nonetheless, it spoke to me and said "Make me into a dress. After you make me a sandwich." Ermkay.

 Okay, so I know you're dying. Tampons?! Food processing accidents?! (Geesh, why wasn't that the title of this blog post? It woulda gone viral!) Well, just hold on. If Ima gonna tell this story right, I've gotta start at the beginning. And, like most beginnings not often shared on this here blog, mine begins with a DIY fail. Or four.

 Oh, look. My lovely deck. Funny story about my deck. Last summer I was put in charge of getting some quotes to have our deck painted. Which, as you can see, I never did follow through with. But whatever, that's not the point of this here story. One of the dudes who came out to quote us showed up in his adorable turquoise mini-cooper wearing skinny shorts and Beatles boots. In the summer. In Tennessee. Which means it's like 150 in the shade. But look at the way I dress, I'm not one to judge (haha, yes I am). Anyway, dude was a super nice guy from New Zealand. Are there any New Zealanders in the house? If so, I've gotta tell ya, ya'll need to learn the correct pronunciation of the word "deck". Because my deck quoting friend referred to it as our "dick." As in, "You're dick's in bad shape. I think if I stain your dick it will look so much better." Hubs and I could hardly keep a straight face. Because we're 12.

DIY fail item #1: My deck decorating. First of all, lemme just say, we have this nice big deck (heehee) and never use it. Because it's 150 degrees outside in the shade, remember? AND it has a hot tub. Which we've never ever used because it's not 1987 and my husband isn't Tom Seleck. I hate the unsightly thing so this summer I got the genius idea to "hide" it with plants. As you can see, it's working out great. As did hanging those planters on those diagonal boards. And, let's not forget the oil cloth pillows I attempted to sew. All of which frustrated me to the point that I just dropped my tools, snapped a photo and went inside to destroy another DIY dream:

These here Anthro-inspired chairs. Which I am determined to conquer. Although, as you can see, I currently stand defeated. Because after the 56th rouge staple flew out of the staple gun, I thought, "forget this noise, I don't wanna end up getting hurt" (little did I know blood shed would come later). And, just like the deck, I left the mess where it was and did what any normal person would do. I made a dress.

 Aw, don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing. I've been toying with the idea of turning this fabric into a sort of early 1960's tiki dress for a while. And with my deck and living room covered in DIY disasterness, the only safe place seemed to be my sewing room. I used my two fave patterns, combining the pocketed and gathered skirt of the Project Runway pattern with the bodice of the vintage pattern.

 I am kinda in love with this bodice and the big band of fabric...as you may know. Because I've made this same bodice like 4000 times. Not only is it slimming but it's also a place to play with color and pattern. Which is why I've used it, oh, here, here, here, here and, um. Here.

 Now, being a pattern from the 1960's it has that close-to-the-neck fit. Which I don't totally love because it's not comfortable. And because of my gorilla neck. The other prob with this pattern is that once complete, there's this extra fabric at the at the neck. As you can see, along with my hairy gorilla neck, above.

 So, as usual, I went to get hub's opinion of the dress. And he was like, "What's with the gap in the back?" He's actually said that every time I've made this dress. And I'm always like, "oh, it's a design element" which is code for "I have no clue!" It was at the point in our convo for me to deliver my design element BS when hubs said, "wait a minute. I have an idea." Now, I have to tell you, my hubs is kinda this amazing idea man. My favorite case in point: the time he and his roommates who never ever cleaned the bathroom of their apartment were moving out of their soon-to-be-condemned place. But they were still expected to clean the joint to get a return on their deposit. Idea Man's suggestion? Buy three cans of white spray paint and paint that bathroom clean. Kid ya not. And it worked. So when he suggested I simply unzip the dress, create a v-neck line and stitch it in place, I thought, wow. This man is like a genius.

Which now brings me to the point in my post when I'm ready to share with you the Attack of the Food Processing Blade. Genius hubs was outta town and I decided to host a lil crafty get together. For which I got the grand idea to make hummus. Yeah. Even though you can buy it at the store for, oh, I dunno, 3 bucks? And I really got into it. I skinned a 30 ounce can of chick peas just for the occasion (yes, you read that correctly. It's actually kinda fun in a bubble-popping kind of way) threw 'em in the food processor with some lemon juice and tahini and, viola! Some seriously good hummus.

The day of the get together, I'm cleaning (which I only do when people are coming over...so it's like an all day event) and I drop that stupid food processing blade on my foot. It didn't even hurt and I didn't think much of it until I noticed my foot felt all warm and sticky. When I looked down, I almost fainted. There. Was. Blood. EVERYWHERE. It looked like an episode of Dexter. If Dexter was a complete idiot that dropped food processing blades on his feet. Now, I'm not a total dope, I did grab a cleanish towel, put my foot in the air and applied pressure. But it just wouldn't stop gushing blood. I convinced myself I was feeling faint decided to hobble all the way upstairs for a Band Aid. Because, in my deliriousness, I just knew that would fix it.

Oh look, an extra large photo of my veiny feet. Hawt.

In true Girl Scout Drop Out fashion, I couldn't find my first aid kit. Oh, who am I kidding, I don't even have a first aid kit. But I do have tampons. Which is what I applied to my foot before forcing my tampon'ed foot into a sock and shoe and zipping over to the walk in clinic. Thankfully, it turns out, I'd hit a vein, not an artery (which would have required surgery, what?!) and was good to go with two little stitches. Doc told me it'd leave a scar to which I replied, "What?! How will I continue my career as a foot model?!" At which point he looked from me to my foot several times before saying, "Really? No. Really?" 

"Um, my husband refers to them as 'troll feet', so what do you think?"

"No."

And that's why those doctors get paid the big ole bucks.

HOLY MOLY. This was the world's longest post. If you stuck around the for whole thing, give yourself a pat on the back. You've earned it. 

Until next time, stay away from food processors. They's cray cray.

DIY: Star Wars Weekends

So right after updating my profile pic on facebook with this here picture, I accused someone of being a "super dork". Yeah. I suppose those that live in glass houses full of Star Wars dresses shouldn't throw stones.

Last week, hubs and I returned from what's become our annual trip to Star Wars Weekends at Hollywood Studios, Disney World. And, like years past, it was a total blast. Even if you're not a Star Wars junkie (on a scale of 1-10, I'd only give us a 6), it's still a great time. There's photo ops with the major stars (I've yet to get one with Chewy or Vader as the line's just a pinch too long for me) and autograph signings with actors from the films. One of my favorite parts are the chats led by some of the actors from the films and The Clone Wars. 

Even if you skipped all that, the parade and the dance off between the Good Guys and the Dark Side are worth the price of admission. Seriously. We wouldn't go every year if it wasn't just the best thing ever. I thought I'd share with you a mishmash of parade photos and photo ops. Sadly, I believe today was the last day until next year. You should really go. And if you do, lemme know. We'll compare goofy outfits!

It turns out if you don't refer to 'em as Sand People but Tusken Raiders, they'll stop doing aerobics with their cane and smile for the camera. Dude, is it just me or do these guys remind anyone else of a visit to the eye doctor? I feel like I should put my eyes up to those metal tubes and read the bottom row of letters...which I did. It said: S T E P A W A Y C R A Z Y.

I took the finger pointing to mean "Hey, you! In the obviously homemade dress! Come see me for a photo op later!" Wow. So angry. Couldn't have squeezed a please in there somewhere?

And then, like every guy I ever went on a first date with, he pretended not to know me. C'mon, it's me! Homemade dress...goofy hat...I screamed, "I wanna have your clone baby!" ...ring a bell?

(Leaning back as far as possible), "Oh yeah. You. Hey someone, anyone, get her off me! Seriously. I just had this suit cleaned and now it's covered in crazy."

Chewy is always the crowd fave. Except at the Denver airport, it seems. Did you hear about this? Apparently Peter Mayhew, the actor who played Chewbacca, was in Denver for Comic Con. At the airport, security confiscated his customized lightsaber cane (he's 7'2", 69 and has a bum knee. Dude needs his cane). It wasn't until he tweeted to his 22,000 followers about his treatment that American Airlines stepped in and got his cane through security. Can you believe that? More here, if you are interested.

Such a shiny mane. I wonder what conditioner he uses.

During the parade, not only do the Star Wars characters come out but so do their Disney Doppelgangers. I'm in love with Goofy Vader's boxers, personally.

Each year I'm so inspired by the others who decide to dress up, especially when they are as cute as this trio. Look at wee C3PO givin' it to Lord Vader. Do it, gurl.

So this Jawa was super excited about my dress. It kept pointing at it and then proceeded to dance. My heart told me to join in but my head told me no. Actually it said, "you can't dance, remember, please don't embarrass yourself more than normal...oh no, you're dancing aren't you!?" Brain face palm.

Okay, remember how I said I liked Goofy's briefs? I think I dig this Gamorrean's better. By the way, General Ackbar, why didn't you tell me this guy was gonna pull an ax on me?!

"I did tell you, it's a trap!"

In the old Hollywood area of Hollywood Studios, they have vintage cars on display. Kinda took my vibe from Mad Men to gangster, dontcha think?