Google Reader, Anxiety and YOU!

As you loyal readers know, I used to be pretty awesome at updating my Pinterest all the time. I even had a weekly feature for a while.

See, the process has always been read the blogs, star the posts I like the most, pin the pictures from said entries. I like to use Pinterest as my own personal blog imagery file cabinet. Then I'd share it with you lovely people.

You might have also noticed that that has slowed from a pleasant skip to somewhat of a slog as of late. 

Here's why:

Google Reader stressed me out.

Not only because it's shutting down and I need to find an alternative (which seems upsettingly unnecessary in my first-world-problems life,) but because it triggers a strange and unshakable... something in me.

Oh- right. The word is anxiety. 

But it's not google readers fault; It's reeeeeeally more of a me problem. 

Let me explain:

There is nothing quite the same kind of stressful as when you get busy for, say, a week, and then cheerfully sit down with a mug of hot chocolate or tea (I don't do coffee), only to be met with the glaring 1000+ count at the top of your list. 

 You think, how can this be? It's been a week? Has that much happened? 

HOW WILL I READ ALL THIS???

Now, keep in mind I am not afraid of long reading material; one of my favorite books is Anna Karenina. But there is something about having a lot of blog entries to catch up on that makes my blood go cold.

It's like that feeling when you realize you were supposed to email someone or text them back, like, yesterday and TOTALLY forgot. In your head, you know that the blogger in question won't take it personally that you got behind; in fact, they probably have no idea who you are. Almost definitely, actually. But this breach in loyalty is something that I cannot abide in myself. 

So, I just shut my computer and franticly hum as I walk away until my unread pile reaches a digital stack up to the ceiling. 

Oh, I know it's crazy; don't worry about that.

Winter Pin Ups

RASPBERRIES!!!

So I've been a bit lazy about my Pin Up posts- so I'm making up for it right now with a marathon Pin Up extravaganza.


Or just a big post.


Ok... Here it goes!

Not-Great Habits

So I bite my nails.


Ive stopped a few times for a few months at a time, but sooner or later I start again. They'll be nice and long and elegant, but one day I'll just be sitting watching tv and look down only to find I've absentmindedly bitten off my hard work.



But not this time.

This time, I'm going to make it stick.

A family friend once told me that he's always thought that being your nails means you're afraid to grow up. These words have stuck with me. I think they're true, too. I mean, I'm terrified to be a grown up and avoid it when possible. That doesn't mean I want my hands to look mangled and sad anymore, you know?

So this is the month that it all stops. I'm going to keep them painted and neat, maybe put that gross tasting stuff on them if I need to. Here's my starting point, and by next month I'll have long, healthy nails. Or at least I'm going to try.

What about you? Do you have any habits you're trying to break?

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Makin' It Happen: Ikea Honeycomb Mirror

We went to Ikea the other day.

the project

sad nook :(

The best part of any Ikea trip (besides the meatballs) is finding the little bits that brighten up a space. On our harrowing Labour Day trip to Ikea, my roommate, Schroer, and I found a few choice bits. One of my favorites is the honeycomb mirror we found.

See, we have this nook right when you walk in and it needed a mirror. Badly. So when we came across this one, it seemed like a no-brainer.

Naturally, the moment we got home and had put together the furniture we'd gotten, I pulled out the pieces and began arranging them. The mirror isn't just one piece, but ten smaller octagons that you can arrange to your liking.
My favorite part of the mirror is that it's half silver mirror, half bronze mirror. When I first saw this, I didn't like it one bit, but as I arranged the pieces and put the bronze ones in at random, I grew to love them. The warmth of the bronze is so welcoming, especially in our front hall.

Remember when I said my roommate is a master crafter? Well, she came up with the genius idea to put papers behind the mirrors to frame them.

the piece in progress with it's creator, the magnificent Schro

We immediately pulled out paper and started arranging them.

We went with different papers for each piece- it gives almost a quilted effect.

So after deciding on the final arrangement of the mirrors and papers, Schroer traced the octagons and measured out about an inch. Then she carefully cut out the strips and placed them around the corresponding octagon. After it was all laid out, the dangerous part began: sticking it together.

Schroer stuck the paper to the mirrors using her handy dandy double sided tape tool. Then, I volunteered to help out.


Not my brightest idea.

I was in charge of sticking the final pieces to the wall. Well, the adhesive squares for the mirrors are a one-shot deal. So, naturally, I stuck the first one on slaunchy. And then panicked.

But it turned out ok; Schroer fixed it.

It turned out amazingly. The nook is now cheerful and welcoming when you walk in.

final product, with Schoer as a disney princess. 

And, we all learned an important lesson:
Schroer really is the master.

And I should not be in charge of the hard-to-fix steps. 

When Things Go Wrong (But Turn Out Ok)

As you might have heard, I'm moving. As you also might have heard, I was supposed to fly into Wisconsin Tuesday. But things don't always go as they're supposed to, do they?
On Tuesday, the United Airline network crashed nationwide. All this really did was delay a specific window of flights, including my first flight to Denver. I ended up missing the second leg of my journey.

Now, I respond poorly when travel plans go awry. By 'poorly' I mean that I follow standard Cravi procedures:
1. Panic internally
2. Decide it will be fine
3. Call parental person
4. Speak in an urgent and exasperated voice for a solid minute to three minutes then insist I'm just tired.
5. Calm down and decide to be a grown up about it.
6. Put some food in me to subdue the Hanger beast
7. Make sure I'm as nice and understanding and sweet to the poor airline people as possible

Boom- Problem solved.

This is my usual course of action.

This time, the solution to my no-airplane problem was to be put up in a hotel overnight and jump on a plant the next day. At first, I was cranky. Then the clouds parted and I realized: Hotel= jammies. Hotel = room service.
HOTEL= JAMMIES + ROOM SERVICE.
Finally, the transitive property is working for me.



See kids? We really do use math after the SATs.

So what started out as a stressful, cranky, sweaty day turned into reveling in two food vouchers worth of cheesecake, wine, and french onion soup while watching Chopped and Dance Moms.

Basically, I lived the dream.

BearBear agrees.

Lookin' Good: At-Home Pedicure

As you may have heard, I love a pedicure. But sometimes you just can't make it out to get one or you don't have the cash to make it worth it. Or the couch Is really comfy. Either way, the prospect of going out together your feet prettied isn't always likely. That's why I've whipped up my own at-home recipes and steps to tide you over till you can scrape together the change to get a professional to do the job.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Here's what you'll need product-wise:

sad feet; lemon, salt and oil at the ready!

• Salt
• End of a lemon
• Olive oil or coconut oil
• A bucket, sink or bathtub
• Your favorite lotion
• A yummy pair of old socks

That's the minimum. If you wanna go all-out, you'll need:

• Your favorite foot mask
• A small hard ball, like a golf ball or tennis ball

Ok- you got everything? Let's do this.


First, if you want to, start with a foot mask. All you do is slather it on and wrap your feet in plastic wrap or ziplock bags (this part is a little weird at first, but you get the hang of it. Then you wrap them in a warm towel and watch an episode of Say Yes To The Dress.

"i wanna be a princess..."

If you dont want to/ dont have a foot maks you like, start by taking your lemon half and putting a bit of oil on it. Then sprinkle the grainy sugar on it. Add some more as needed. then, over your tub or sink, use the lemon to scrub the ever-loving crap out of your heels, arches and toes. Really get in there! The acid in the lemon helps break down the dead skin cells, the salt scrubs them away and the oil moisturizes. Once your content with the scrubby goodness, rinse and pat dry those feet.



Now hobble over to the couch.



Take your favorite lotion and warm some up in your hands. I like to rub my feet starting with the arches and gently rubbing each toe and muscle. Once your hands hurt, glob on a layer of lotion and carefully roll on your old socks.

If you want a deeper massage put that hard ball on the floor and roll your foot over it to get th knots out. I like to do this with my socks on. I do it kind of mindlessly while I watch another Say Yes To The Dress or Income Property.

happy, soft feet!

Bam-you have happy, soft feet!And you got caught up on your HGTV and TLC shows. So everyone's a winner.

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The Never Ending Story: Defining My Personal Style.

some ridiculously cool ladies

My least favorite thing to do? Describe myself. I find it tedious, embarrassing and insanely difficult. It also makes me feel like I'm a walking contradiction, like I'm pulled in so many directions. I consider myself a loud person,, yet I'm drawn to simple clothes in muted colors. I love guilty nail polishes and cutesy aprons, yet I have my androgynous short hair and a meriad of menswear inspired shoes. So what the hell is my style?

more ladies who are way too cool for me

Since I'm moving, (in case you haven't heard, I am), I'm using this as an opportunity to put my art history skills to work and analyst my current wardrobe, isolate the soul-defining pieces and maybe even give my style it's own name.

Like preppy-boho-chic.
Or French-saucy-retro.
Or Ralph.

Maybe I'll call my style Ralph.

Either way, I want to pear down my wardrobe so it's only filled with pieces I truly love, pieces that speak to my deepest inner self. I also want to make sure that my wardrobe works as a cohesively as possible. What's the point of having clothes if you can't put them together? That's like having the makings for a sandwich and no bread. It's a sad delema that ends in no sandwich.

(i won't call my style ralph.) 

In order to make my clothes sandwich as delicious as possible, I'm going to need a game plan. Whenever I jump into things willy-nilly, it usually ends up with me staring at the beginnings of a project until I slowly push it off the side of the bed or table and sidle out of the room. Then I leave the pile for Future Katie to deal with. (side note: Future Katie never appreciates this). So here's how I've broken it down:

Step 1 is going through everything and identifying the must-haves, the cant-let-go-ofs, and the meh's.

Step 2 is analyzing the first two piles and figuring out what they have in common and how they talk to each other.

Step 3 is making outfits and combinations to find the holes.

Now that I have my game plan, let's do this!

ruh row...

Hopefully it will all become clear sooner than later...

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Moving... again and the Shove-Shame Spiral

SO I'm leaving New York.

I know.
 But I finally woke up from my post-grad haze, looked around and said "what the hell am I doing here?!?" So I applied to a bunch of jobs all over. Then, found out one of my best friends from college needed a roommate. A month later, here I am with a job, friends, cheese curds and apartment all waiting for me in Milwaukee. Im pleased with how things have unfolded.

 Now, all this is good an well. But it leaves the horrible truth that I must, once again, pack my belongings and drag it all to the glorious cheese state. This means packing.

this is not what me packing looks like.

I am no moving novice; this is not my first rodeo. I'm a California girl who went to school in the midwest, which necessitated packing and moving my crap across the country twice a year. Still, after four years and countless hours of sorting and folding and stuffing and cursing*, I am still not very good at packing.I truly and deeply loath packing. More accurately, I hate the last 10% of packing when you keep finding crap you couldn't fit in that last suitcase or box. I call this roller coaster of emotion the shove-shame spiral. It starts about two thirds of the way though the packing process.

 At this point, you've packed you're favorite things. There are no more sleigh bells, no more mittens; you're down to the stuff you honestly kind of forgot about. You tell yourself, great! A chance to cull your belongings and finally free yourself from consumerism! You can live that minimalist life you've always dreamed of! (Or thought about vaguely before shrugging and watching chopped instead). You can be that lady picking flowers! You can have a white couch! You can go to the farmers market! You can LIVE the anthropology dream!!! And then a dust bunny cheerily floats across your room.

This is when it hits you that you have to CLEAN after you pack. Thus begins the shove-shame spiral. Suddenly, you get itchy from the dust and you realize how long its been since you showered. Whats that smell? Good God: it's you. You catch a glimpse in the mirror. You're not glowing from exercise like you supposed; you're tired and haggard form working! Thats it. WORST DAY EVER.

After this you pout for about an hour, occasionally picking things up and playing with them, briefly forgetting your woe until you look around you and remember your cursed fate. A glimpse at the clock makes you realize how much time you've wasted. Defeated, you throw up your hands like you're mom told you to stand up straight. FINE, self; I'll keep packing.

 Then you put on "Into the Woods" or "Wizard of Oz" and start just shoving stuff into boxes or already-full suitcases. Before the first act is half way though, you're done and still feeling a little resentful.

 Then you remember about bacon and happily skip off.

"yaaaaay!!!! bacon!!!!"

 So that's my usual packing ritual. To be fair, this has always been done when I have literally 24 hours between my last final and my flight. But not this year. I'm going to outsmart the shove-shame spiral this year by giving myself a whole week to pack instead of the post-finals flurry I'm accustomed to. With luck, determination and a LOT of musicals, I will pack up my things and live to tell the tale.





 *(and one unfortunate time when the storage at school was all filled up. I thought my things would have to be abandoned like puppies in a box on the highway and i melted into a puddle of tears in the very center dorm hallway on top of my sad boxes at 2am. not my proudest moment.)