increased storage

Lately life has been something like this equation:

living life > blogging

But I am here to report that our stab at refinishing a desk has festered into somewhat of a hobby.  I was at a second hand furniture store and found this sweet little night stand for an amazing price of just $2! I knew I couldn't beat that deal, so I handed over a couple crinkled up ones and jammed it into the back seat of the cavie with ideas buzzing about.

I made the impulse purchase just a few days before our Salt Lake City trip, so I brought it home and it sat until we made it back. Upon our return we realized we had committed ourselves to house sitting, so we brought it along and had glorious amount of space to redo the piece.

 

We had picked up some paint samples while on our trip from various Walmart type stores, but in the end I scratched what we had found and went with "Fern Gully" from the locally owned Ace Store. Thanks Paul!

Quickly we found out why the nightstand had been so heavy, it wasn't actually comprised of wood but made with some particle board type stuff. I mean, technically it is wood but not the kind I was hoping for.

 

Eww.

 We basically followed the same steps used for the desk, except I forgot to water down the paint so it took a little more elbow grease to make the night stand look "roughed up".

In less than three days we were able to get from start to finish. I am so excited to have more drawer space in our room now!

i. am. ecstatic!

made with love

Hello my friends! I have a new and very exciting hobby to report that I have recently taken up. Clayton and I really wanted a different/more practical look for our little bungalow. We settled on the idea of finding older furniture and re-finishing it instead of spending gobs of money on something we'd come to hate in about 2.5 years. I'd have to say for our first attempt we did a fantastic job! I had a rough start, but after one week, a handful of blisters, and four separate trips to Home Depot we have a lovely piece of furniture living under our window in the new sitting room.

Yay for us!

 We found the desk at a little antique trove in the Melrose District at a place called Magpies.

Before it just had a finish on top of the original wood and a little leftover red paint from a previous owner.

 Step one was to strip all the finish and old paint from the desk and drawers. I used a citrus stripper because it was less caustic.

 After scraping everything off we sanded the wood down so it was nice and smooth.

Thank god for power tools, it made this project much easier!

I totally missed out on a few in between pics... we painted a coat of brown before putting on a bright blue. We sanded the parts we wanted to look worn (edges, corners, and bits that are supposed to be worn over time) and put a dark wood finish on it. The last step was to put a matte varnish on it and move it inside!

i hope you know husband deserves almost all the credit :D

the potty dance

At the hospital I work at we have automatic everything and hand sanitizer everywhere. As a result we have automatic flushing toilets (the last thing you want to think about is putting your hands all over the handle of a toilet that's been the victim of a scary spraying situation/been stomped on 1000 times). I know this is probably not a new technology to anyone, but it is not the "automatic" bit I am having trouble with. My friends what my problem is, is the timing of these flushing systems.

 On almost a daily basis I find myself flying into a stall and attempting to arrange the magic paper buffer on top of the toilet seat. This is usually fairly difficult for me as I am also doing the "potty dance" writhing around like a two-stepping snake on crack (shut up, it makes sense). I always have to use two of the complimentary hygienic barriers because I rip the first one in half while trying to separate the middle circle part from the section that actually covers the toilet seat. (If you do not complete this first step and attempt to use it, you will have boomerang reaction with whatever you were trying to keep off of your pants in the first place.) After arranging the covers on the toilet seat, you must carefully balance them so that they do not slip off and fall into the toilet water. This will cause you to begin the potty process all over. By the time I turn around and yank my pants to my knees I hear the dreaded clicking and "whoosh" of the toilet. All my hard work literally goes down the drain and I must start from the beginning, this time with my pants down.

A few times my bum has made contact with the toilet seat just before the mass of paper is sucked away and suddenly I know exactly what it must feel like to be using the loo right as the pilot of an airplane flushes everything out. What I can't help but wonder is how the censor bot sitting on top of the toilet is mistaking my routine of cleanliness while attempting not to wet myself for someone actually peeing into the toilet. Is the bot being overworked? Have its censors gone mad? Maybe I am just in the slow category when it comes to getting my tush on the seat. In any case I will continue to perfect the potty process until one day I dance so much I acquire the thigh muscles to hover my self above the toilet seat.

i hope peeing is less complicated at your work.

shamefully obsessed

The thing about puffy Cheetos besides the fact that the orange dust accompanied with the tasty snack stains your fingers, clothing, and all furniture in a close vicinity is that they are addictive. Also, it is not a snack you immediate think of when choosing a terrible-for-you-but-absolutely-delicious snack. Right away my mind skips to sweets: peanut butter m&m's, milano cookies, reese's peanut butter cup blizzards. This puffy snack makes it attack at Superbowl parties and 4th of July celebrations. It was at a similar event where my taste buds were captivated.

Mistakenly, I purchased a rather large sized bag of puffy Cheetos twists, far superior to their straight counterpart in my opinion, for a sweet 16 party. (The large bag was warranted, there were seven girls.) I may have had one or seven of those tasty twisters, and ever since the only food that has been on my brain (except for chimichangas, which lets get real, can't really be surpassed by much. except for maybe a fairytale brownie sunday...) is puffy Cheetos. Even the straight ones. Clayton literally had to pull me away from a display of Cheeto sale items set up seemingly to tempt my weakness for junk food last week on a beer run.

Note to self: Last sentence may contradict itself....

Anyway, since last Thursday I have been dodging the bags of orange goodness. Lord knows I would open a bag to have "a couple" and the entire contents would be finished in under an hour. Despite my futile attempts to replace the cheesy snack with popchips I still find myself day dreaming about consuming handfuls of Cheetos and then riding off on the back of Chester Cheeto's motorbike (I know he isn't technically featured with a motorbike on the packaging, but those sunglasses give it all away) and into a smoky orange sky. 

 But today my friends, is a day of weakness. For fear of my job, health, and general safety of others I have every intention of marching into the grocery store and stopping only until the largest bag of Cheeto twisters is safe within my death grip. Maybe then the weird dreams will stop...

i hope you are this passionate about food.

happy birthday baby sister

To my long haired, freckled faced, silly little sister with an amazing sense of humor and killer fashion sense,

You were born 16 years ago today at 12:34 in the afternoon. You were scheduled, not as in Mom and Dad had planned you necessarily but as in the doctor told Mama to show up at 6:00am on the 29th to be induced. Haleigh and I were on a field trip that day and playing in a pool when my teacher announced that our baby sister had arrived safe and sound. Our sunburned arms ached to hold you. After Dad had collected us from our day of fun, we posted pictures specially laminated in our "Big Sisters in Training" class to the inside of your incubator so you could recognize us when you got home. I'll never forget how excited we were planning for you, picking out names we loved and choosing the outfit you wore home.

I can't believe the last sixteen years have gone by so fast, I am so proud of the beautiful young woman you are becoming and the responsibilities you have taken on. You are goofy and brave, fun loving and thoughtful. I am honored to call you my sister and am thrilled to watch you blossom into adulthood. Continue to follow your dreams and defy the norm.

 I love you Emily!!!

i hope your 16th is the sweetest yet!

scary movie

By nature I'm not a scary movie type of person, the suspense in the movie the Davinci Code is enough to keep me on the edge of my seat and my mind wandering long after I should be in dreamland. I have however been victim of cheesy horror film re-runs on TNT when visiting my Dad. They ALWAYS have a scene where the girl is running from the uber creepy guy and can't start the getaway car in time because she has the wrong set of keys, a weird alarm system, so on and so forth. In  my head I'm thinking "yeah right, in real life you would just start the car and drive away and that would be the end of the movie". Then I'm usually annoyed by the ridiculous plot line.

This last week my Dad was out of town and dropping him at the airport left me in possession of the big white truck he drives. It was awesome, I was ramping curbs and taking turns so wide I felt I was in a semi. Late one night I was on my way out to visit my sisters, racking my brain for a clever nick name to be used on a CB system when I realized I could be the star of a horror movie. The keychain my Dad had left me had four small keys looped on it. Two of these keys were GMC and the others looked like they opened front doors and office cabinets. My arms were loaded down with an overnight bag, my blue Nalgene bottle, my shoulder bag, and my cell phone. I carefully chose the square GMC key and shoved it in the lock. No dice. I reassessed and tried the round one. Bingo.

Note to self: This seemed really weird because my GMC automobile is opened with a square key (the round one is only used for the trunk).

So I haul myself and my belongings into the cab of the truck and stick the round key in the ignition. The car won't start. I pull the keys back out tried the square key to start up the massive engine. After a bit of turning, the truck roars to life.

 I have flashes of myself in a dimly lit WalMart parking lot at 2:30am being mugged/raped/having someone taking a photo of me and posting it on people of WalMart all because I can't remember which flipping key opens and which one starts the white monster truck.

My life theory about scary movies was quickly disproved and left me feeling all too vulnerable. I considered the options and risks and decided to drive the hunk-of-gleaming-white-junk to my Moms. Besides, my car doesn't have air conditioning and going down tragically in a website post is not near as bad as sweating.

i hope your imagination is used on more productive thoughts.

the return of bike riding

As you may have read here, I am not an expert in the bike riding department (which probably has something to do with the mysterious disappearance of my lovely pink beach cruiser). Despite this unfortunate fact I have recently inherited a blue beach cruiser from my new mother-in-law! While it is not as new or shiny as my old bike, it rides wonderfully. Well, as wonderful as the person who happens to be steering it. On the weekends Clayton and I ride our bikes to our local coffee spot and during the week we sometimes ride them to happy hour. I have most recently started riding my bike to work. And this my friends is where the return of my bike riding tales begins:

It was a fine morning just a few weeks ago when I set out on my blue cruiser. The early morning air (okay, it was a little after 7...) was still refreshingly cool on my skin. I was running just the teeniest bit late and had decided to save myself a few minutes and take my coffee on the go. I had been riding my bike to work for approximately three days, so I felt like the challenge of balancing a scolding mug of precious mocha coconut coffee freshly brewed from my Keurig (Thanks Sara, TC, and Lane!) would be a piece of cake. It was a shaky start but once I reached the bike lane I was set: left hand steering the bike, owl mug in my right fully extended arm, and my brown Coach bag slung over my left shoulder. I was admiring myself for not veering too badly when I came upon my first obstacle, speed bumps.

Note to self: Why? Why do my neighbors have to speed racer down third avenue!?!?! Don't they realize going over speed bumps with an almost-full cup of coffee is a terrible idea!?

Shockingly I made it over the speed bump and the next two without spilling a drop. Ha! I showed the citizens of Willow. I was on my way to becoming a bike master.  Then I came to the crosswalk.

I mentioned I was running late, right? I decided to dismount my bike and pop up on the curb to press the 'pedestrian crossing' button in hopes that the light would change faster. The light was going to change and I was going to hop back on my bike and gracefully cross Thomas without being late. I hauled my body across my bike and after some arranging (it is actually quite hard to get back on said bike with a large shoulder bag and only the use of your left arm) I began to pedal across the crosswalk.

Note to self: Really Aimee? Do you need to haul the large bag to work EVERYDAY? Not only is your balance shot, no one even gets to see how fab it really is because all it does is sit in a locked cubby all day. Definitely switching into the smaller one ASAP.

 Except the thing about beach cruisers is, is that they are only one speed with coaster brakes. Since I had only been riding my bike at short intermittent times, I had not mastered the ability to get a rolling start from the brake position I had left my pedals in (to be quite honest, I am still mastering that one). With a quick 22 seconds I begin to push my left pedal down and hop myself and my bike across the crosswalk, right arm still extended. (Imagine if you will a bike-pogo stick combination) Halfway across I get the pedals far enough around that I can finally bring my right foot up onto the bike and begin to make up some time. With 13 seconds to go I begin to race to the far side of the street not taking notice of the uneven asphalting in my path. With a bump, my favorite morning drink is hurled from the cute owl mug and into the air. My khakis have been rained on and a large stain sits on my right shin. The next bump sends coffee across my glasses and into my hair.

Once I reach the other side of the street I decide to walk my bike the remaining short distance into my building. (I have received permission to park my blue cruiser on the storage floor at work since one got nabbed off of the bike racks right in front of the security office) Once I get myself and what is left of my morning caffeine up the wheelchair ramp I found myself in the lobby. The seven minute ride from my house to work has demonstrated the lack of muscle and coordination I have, especially in my left arm. I place my bag on the floor so I may better balance the bike and the cup of coffee while pressing the 'up' button for the elevator. Bad move. Trying to compensate I lean too far to the left and my bike goes flying out from underneath me and takes out my bag and my left pant leg. There I was standing in the first floor lobby with my belongings sprawled across the floor, my bike completely on its side, my pants covered in black and brown stains, puffy pink cheeks, dripping hair, and a quarter cup of coffee. 

All in all I learned that:

-Keurig don't make their coffee cold
-It takes me 10 extra minutes to ride my bike one handed to work
-Bike tire marks only disappear after scrubbing Coach bags for what seems like forever

i hope my boss didn't see me.