Category Archives: creativity

Literally Funny

This photo has been going around and it cracks me up. Have a laugh to start your weekend!

Let’s talk about cat clothes.

Ever go to I was searching for ideas on how to hide tattoos fun children’s activities when I stumbled on this: How to Sew a Cloak for Your Cat.

Or, as I like to think of it, A Modern Suicide Modality.

I had a roommate who dressed her cats up for every holiday. Yes, little Joey and Chandler clearly wanted to die loved it.

But even she bought the outfits. She wasn’t so foolish as to tailor clothes to those beasts.

There must be a special subcategory of cuckoo eccentric cat lovers–those who make clothes for their cats?.

I know, you cat people seem practically pleased when you’re petting your fuzzy friend, who is purring away, appearing happy, and suddenly for no reason you get bit! Oh, ha, he just does that sometimes…

(It’s intriguing the bleeding suffering you will head into endure when you love something, isn’t it?)

Can you imagine what would happen in the dog world equivalent? Pet-pet-pet-CHOMP! …Uh, Rover, how about a trip to “the farm”??

Anyway, for those masochist cat owners, this cloak-making project is right up your alley.

You get to do things like measure your cat from the back down the legs, from the neck to tail, and all around the neck. And I’m sure that will go well.

After you’ve applied band-aids, you cut and sew the cloak, and then yes, put elastic around the neck just to keep Muffy from ripping it into shreds in 3 seconds it looking smart.

If you look at the instructions page, the finished product is shown on…what’s that? Yes! A person’s arm.

Which, turns out, is perfect for covering up all those bloody scratch and bite marks.

Am I missing anything?

In sum, dogs, clearly superior, yes?

Or, do we just endure a less bloody different suffering in the canine crowd?

Nah, clearly superior.

Summer is a Battlefield

Last weekend, I dragged the Let the dog in! household to a civil war re-enactment, but since the civil war was more sad than funny I know nothing about the civil war, how’s about we talk s’more about summer with the kids out of school, ‘k??

It starts off with a gorgeous image, a vision of calm, peaceful order and an appreciation of community and the natural beauty in all life.

You imagine you’ll have lovely, relaxing chats with your friends and neighbors.

As the natives declare they’re BORED get restless, you quickly realize you have a big, white target “X” on your back.

You scramble to entertain the enemy your kids with music and fun, perhaps an outdoor concert.

But even the littlest soldiers revolt.
(with the very littlest fighters yelling, “BANG,” instead of firing an actual gun)

Before the actual altercations began, you fashioned yourself the guy with the biggest, loudest gun on the field, but, alas, you need to fix a martini a reality check.

In the end, your fate turns out more like the band.

And your living room, strewn with popsicle sticks dead bodies that no one is picking up…

If you’re lucky, some summer camp instructor angelic vision will come to pray for your soul.

What month is this? September, right? Whaaa?

Do you have war on your hands or a peace treaty?

Yet another broken bone…

No one told me my family was gonna be a bunch of reckless nuts there’s a competition between the Hubs and the Kid. Last year, the Hubs broke his knee all kinds of ways to Sunday.

And now…the Kid has broken her arm. She gets points for being small and cute with a broken appendage, but I think the Hubs is still the main prize winner and security x-ray setter-offer forfreakinever. Screws and plates will get you that honor.
I should just accept that our family album will be in black and white.

But enough about them and their lesser calcium deposits. How does all this impact you, Wendy, you ask? Are you doing okay? How terrible is all this broken bone business for you? Poor Wendy!

Well, frankly, I could have used more of that meditative time in the ER at midnight. I mean, how often does a mom get to sit for hours in the same spot and navel gaze? It’s not like the Kid plays softball.

Plus, if they weren’t perfected already, I have thoroughly honed my ice-pack-refilling skills. Vegas, anyone?

Unfortunately for me, because of this break the Kid has now managed to get herself excused from Friday jumprope class the big, whiny baby, so there goes my weekly happy hour late afternoon “me” time. Thanks.

Finally, as if this blog and other blogging duties I’m ignoring weren’t enough, now I have to mind the etsy shop for this?
Creations by the Hubs

Let’s pray for a fast recovery or I’ll be needing a recovery program.

Eggs and Hot Glue Guns, a Cunning Easter Egg Craft or Pure Misfire?

Warning: numerous eggs were harmed in the making of this post.

You all know how the Hubs is into all his power tools, right? No task too big or too small to bring some apparatus to plug into a socket.

Easter is apparently no different.

This year, besides his usual take-your-time, draw-it-out-ahead-of-time approach, the Hubs decided to experiment with a hot glue gun.

We started with plain, boiled eggs (I don’t recommend brown eggs but I’m dumb and lazy and used what we had…)

and the usual dye tablets plus vinegar.

There may have been other liquids involved so that I could handle the slooooow pace of this hot gluing and can we just dye them already??.

So, just make your design (either planned out or wing it, *ahem*) on the egg.

Be careful with the glue gun! We did have a small incident totally not related to beer.

I’m just sayin’, they don’t call it a hot glue gun for nothin’.

Then submerge in your color of choice.

So, the Hubs’ plan was to peel off the glue once the color is on the egg to reveal his special pattern in white underneath, but guess what?

Glue sticks to stuff!
Oh, shit.

As you might imagine, many eggs were eaten as a result of the peeling-off process.

As a side note, if you want to peel your eggs easier, just put a bunch of hot glue on them. Works like handles!

But one or two turned out pretty cool.

And most importantly, a certain someone enjoyed eating eggs watching the process and spending quality time with her pack.

Happy Easter!