All Wallow's Eve

You know how sometimes a night can end up in a completely different place than it started?

Like, one moment you're setting out an array of holiday themed novelty glasses, excitedly anticipating the arrival of your friends and the start of your favorite night of the year, and then the next moment you're wearing footie pajamas, sitting alone on a curb, questioning every decision you've ever made in you're life?

Halloween spiraled a bit...

I'd decided last year that I was going to be Harold & the Purple Crayon this year for Halloween. It was one of my favorite books when I was a kid, and when I saw the idea on Buzzfeed, I knew immediately that's what I wanted to do.

So, yeah, this person is an adorable infant, and I'm an almost thirty year old grown ass man. And, yeah, there's a whole cast of supporting costumes that really ratchet this idea up to the next level, and I'm single as f#%!. And, sure, their social circle is probably full of other parents knowledgeable in children's literature, and I would be spending my night surrounded by drunk twenty-somethings knowledgeable in Taylor Swift lyrics.

Turns out the prospect of having a legitimate reason to purchase footie pajamas was really all I needed though.

Harold and the Purple Crayon it is!

On a side note, how great is it that we live in a time where adult sized footie pajamas are a mere Google search away? I mean, I know the internet is mostly just teenagers being awful to each other via YouTube comment, but it's moments like this that really prove what a powerful tool for good it can be.

So I bought the pj's. I also got a big crayon bank from Toys-R-Us online (so now my Facebook ads assume I'm the mother of a toddler). I then took that big crayon and glittered the shit out of the ends (because I'd almost managed to clean up the glitter from last Halloween). I had a big plan to drill a hole in the top and keep a ball of purple yarn inside to pull out as if it was writing, but I considered just who in the hell I thought I needed to impress and decided against it.

I'd invited a group of friends to meet up at my place for drinks before heading downtown. I wish I could say I invite people over because I like being a host and entertaining guests, but it's mostly because if we're meeting at my place it means I can't be the one who arrives late.

It also means that the first things my guests hear upon opening the door is, "I'm not ready, I'm not wearing pants, and I need you to be okay with that."

The night started off like most of my nights out do. I took a nap after work, polished off two drinks and performed the entirety of the Mama Mia! soundtrack in the shower, spent twenty minutes poking and prodding at my forehead wondering if maybe I'd look better with just a little bit of a face lift, and told my friends apologetically that I just didn't have the time to clean up before they arrived.

 At the first bar of the night it became super clear that even less people were going to understand my costume than the year before, and also that if you bring a giant tube shaped object into a bar, it will be used to pantomime a giant (glittery) penis.

While waiting in line for the bathroom, I had one guy look me up and down and ask, "So...you just, like...wore your pajamas to the bar?"

"No, sir, I didn't just wear my pajamas to the bar. There's a clarifying prop that I didn't bring along because my friends are busy sodomizing each other with it."

We stayed at the first bar just long enough for their drink specials to end and then moved on to the next stop. This is where I lost control of the night a bit. It was at this bar that I immediately ran into an ex-boyfriend.

He was my first boyfriend. We weren't in love with each other, in fact, I'm not even certain that we liked each other all that much. We were young, and I think we both just liked the idea of having a boyfriend.

And I definitely liked being able to borrow sweatshirts with his last name on them.

"Yes, my last name is Roberts, this sweatshirt actually belongs to my boyfriend."

Needless to say, I wasn't super devastated when we broke up. Or, at least, I wasn't super devastated when other people weren't around. I wasn't about to give up any sympathy attention that was due to me.

This wasn't the first time we'd run into each other either. In the years since we broke up, there have been multiple run ins.

Multiple run ins, and (without getting too detailed) a few...relapses.

I never meant for it to happen. We'd run into each other, and there would be a level of comfort and familiarity there. We'd chat for a bit, and I'd remember that all of the awkward "getting to know you stuff" was already taken care of.

No one makes good decisions at 2 am, right?

I spotted him sitting at a table right by the entrance of our second stop on Halloween night. I turned to my friends and said, "So this is happening." before walking up to his table and asking him, "What the f#%! are you doing in Mankato?"

We hugged, and we got the necessary pleasantries out of the way. He explained that he was just in town for the night visiting some friends. I smiled and nodded, pretending I wasn't preoccupied with locating my friend in the Smurf blue body paint who was holding my next drink.

Just as I as telling him that I would be checking back in with him later in the evening, he interrupted me to say, "Oh! Wait just one second, I need to introduce you to my fiance."

Your who now?

He turned to get the attention of a tall, good looking, guy at the bar, giving me just a few seconds to deal with the deluge of thoughts flooding into my brain.

"He's engaged?! But he's younger than me!"
" Be a good person. You need to be happy for him right now. Make a happy face!"
"Am I going to die alone?!"
"That's not a happy face, try again!"
"Maybe I could get a cat, maybe I'm not allergic to them?"
"You're convincing no one with that smile! Less teeth, you fool!"
"Just look at your phone, pretend to get a text."
"Maybe I could pretend that guy is my boyfriend?"
"If he was my boyfriend maybe I wouldn't have to pretend to look at a text. Maybe someone would actually text me."
"Oh god, am I going to die alone?"
"Here they come, be cool, act natural. You're smart, you're charming, you're funny, you're...you're...oh my god..."

"You're wearing footie pajamas..."

The costume was a mistake.

I wasn't able to handle much conversation after the introductions were over, so I yelled, "I'm coming!" in the general vicinity of the last place I'd spotted a flash of blue body paint and extracted myself from the situation.

Don't get me wrong. I really am happy for the both of them. I'm not pining for my ex. In fact, I think about him very little (as little as I'm sure I cross his mind). There's no part of me that wishes that I was his fiance. The meltdown that ensued was more based on the fact that I'd had shredded cheese poured sloppily in my mouth while hovering over a garbage can for supper three times that week, the last real date I'd been on was more than a year ago (and his roommate came along), and I was pretty sure my parents were screening my calls.

And also I was wearing f#%!ing footie pajamas, you guys!

Life wasn't feeling super on track.

When I was reunited with my friends, they could tell something was wrong.

I explained what had just gone down to the best of my ability between giant gulps of my Stoli soda and whoever else's drink was sitting on the table in front of me. They all tried super hard to cheer me back up. One friend rushed to get me a refill, another complimented my hair, and another took the opportunity to search Facebook for pictures of his former girlfriends that he thought would cheer me up.

"Look at this one, do you see how fat she got?!" he asked.

"BUT I'M THE FAT ONE!!!"

My ex found his way back to me three or four times to try to catch up, and each time unknowingly digging the knife in deeper.

"Yep, still at Shopko."
"Nope, I'm single."
"The same shitty apartment as last time."
"Yes...I do still have a cardboard cut out of Sarah Michelle Gellar in my bedroom."

The time finally came when we were ready to move along to the next bar, and I couldn't have been more relieved. I was ready to shake off the beginning of the night and start over.

Until I realized that my driver's license was missing.

I searched every pocket, I emptied out my wallet, I searched the ground around where we were standing. It was gone, which meant that we had to return to the previous bar to look.

We got back to the entrance, and I explained to the bouncer that I had just walked out, but needed to go back in and search for my ID. He told me that he couldn't let me in without seeing my ID, and I called into question whether or not he was listening to me when I spoke to him only moments before.

Everyone else went back into the bar to search except one friend who made it his personal mission to convince the bouncer to let me back in. He yelled for five minutes before I finally told him he needed to shut up or risk being kicked out as well.

"Whatever dude," he said to the bouncer as he walked inside, "you better give my friend your coat if he gets cold though."

I sat down on the curb outside the bar, and was contemplating never ever leaving my apartment again when the bouncer cleared his throat and asked, "Uhhh. Do you...need to wear my coat?"

"I'm wearing a fleece blanket..."

And that's the moment when my ex and his fiance walked out of the bar.

They spotted me sitting on alone on a curb, holding a giant glittery crayon, wearing footie pajamas, and bickering with a bouncer. They gave a tentative wave goodbye, and I decided that my night was f#%!ed and went home to make a call to the one person who could provide me solace.

The Freeze

I was doing a bit of Pinteresting awhile ago when I came across something interesting.

When I was done laughing hysterically at Velma's sassy ass, I stumbled upon something a bit less enjoyable, but probably more useful to my life.

Instructions and tips for a month long spending freeze.

30 days of no spending (beyond necessities like food, gas, rent, and such). No eating out. No nights at the bar. No random trips to Target that end in a bag full of glittery sponges, pomegranate flavored/scented something or other, or rainbow striped socks.

And way less wine...

I mean, obviously there's going to have to be some wine.

I didn't actually read any of the tips or tricks, because reading headlines and then adamantly asserting my knowledge of a topic is kind of my jam. Seriously, don't ever believe me if I start a sentence with "I was actually reading an article about this the other day..."

I wasn't. At most I accidentally stumbled upon a Buzzfeed on the topic while looking for more eye rolling gifs.

It couldn't be that hard to figure out though, and it's not like I have 28 years of anecdotal evidence pointing out that I wouldn't be able to achieve this goal, so I decided to go all in on the spending freeze. I just needed to figure out when to start.

September obviously wasn't going to work with the wedding and wedding preparation. October was out because of Halloween and Halloween related activities. I'd need to start my Christmas shopping in November, and by December I'd need to quit just buying myself presents, and actually do Christmas shopping. I couldn't commit to January because I like to drink the real good shit on New Year's Eve. Unless something really changes before February, I'll need to buy myself an "I'm Single and Happy" gift for Valentine's day (and an "I'm Single and where the f#%! is my life going" pizza for Valentine's night). Then there's March which is Birthday Month, so that's obviously no good...

And then I realized why I'm a poor person.

So I committed to October. I'd already decided on my Halloween costume, so I would just need to buy that before the first of the month, and then I could just consider Halloween night a celebration of my victory over financial irresponsibility, and a kickoff to a new era of smart spending and frugality.

It was about he 4th of the month when I remembered that this was going to be a thing.

It was a pretty big inconvenience.

I'd made a commitment though, and I was going to stick to it. The first part of my plan involved going grocery shopping, and not like the grocery shopping that I normally do where I buy a family size box of brownie mix and rice cakes and assume that they cancel each other out. I picked out recipes to cook for the week, I made a list, and I stuck to it.

The first thing I decided to make was my mom's chili. She'd written out directions for me a few years ago, but I hadn't attempted it until now. Aside from an especially painful conversation in which I tried to get her to quantify a "glug" of vinegar, it went really smoothly, and the finished product was delicious.

I brought my friend Emma over to share it with, and she brought over a $50 bottle of wine to share with me. The free shit this girl gets for her blog astounds me, including this fancy ass bottle of wine (check her out here).

Clearly I'm doing it wrong.

The wine was good, but I think I'd enjoy 10 bottles of $5 wine more...

So I did a pretty great job on that first day of living frugally. I mean, I bought groceries, I filled my gas tank up, and I stopped for a latte after work, but none of that counts really since they were all necessary expenditures (and that latte was a small).

And for two more days I did super well. I ate leftovers twice and I didn't even consider walking to HyVee for generic Doritos and mini tacos. In fact, the only money I spent was buying footie pajamas and a giant crayon on Amazon, but those were for my Halloween costume. I'd forgotten to buy it in September like I originally planned, and if Halloween weekend was going to be the big celebration of being able to spend money again, I had to have something to wear.

Obviously.

I ran into a problem the Thursday after I started this experiment. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't be going out all month. It was a waste of money, plus I really needed to be spending more time sleeping on week nights, and less time, slurring drink orders at bartenders (or random people who look kinda helpful).

I'd forgotten how much I really like going out to karaoke though.

So went out. I wish I could say there was some sort of internal struggle over the decision. There wasn't. It happened like every other bad idea I have does. I promise myself to make the smart choice. I commit to making the smart choice. I'm 100%, no question, absolutely going to make the smart choice, until I think, "Or maybe..."

"Or maybe I could just go out for one." And then it's 2 a.m. and I'm dancing with a 21 year old on a Tuesday night.

"Or maybe I could treat myself to just one Little Debbie snack." And it's a week later and I'm wondering how it's possible that there are seven empty Zebra Cake boxes in my apartment.

"Or maybe he's not a killer and I'll be just fine." And then I'm giving a vaguely hot (in a "might steal my hubcaps, but could also probably help me fix my blinker" kind of way) guy a ride home after he approached me in the dimly lit Shopko parking lot.

Does anyone else ever wonder if maybe they would be better off if someone else was in charge of their life?

I gave up after that night.




What? You thought I'd do better than that?

#RVBWedding

Remember when I said that Gay Bachelor Parties were the best?

I lied.

Guys, Gay Weddings are. the. best.

A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to be able to help celebrate my friends Jamie and Simon's wedding. The boys threw a helluva party, but I'm honestly still a little wiped out from the minimal amount of responsibility expected of me in my role of groomsman on Jamie's side of the wedding party.

When Jamie asked me to stand up with him, I was super honored. I'm pretty sure I was almost brought to tears. I didn't really consider that I'd need to, like, be places, or do things, or not be super drunk.

I have to wear pants?!

You're kidding me. Not like all weekend though, right?

The Thursday before the wedding I went in for my final tux fitting.

It went rather less well than anticipated.

I really did mean to workout before this wedding. I went so far as to pull my gym bag out of its 6 month hibernation in the trunk of my car and wash the clothes that were still in it from the last time I went. I imagine most of you are probably pretty grossed out. Well, me too, and I'm the one who actually had to open the bag. It wasn't cute.

I got pretty involved in anything I could possibly think to do instead of working out, though, so I ended up going with my usual plan for any big events: Eating two salads the week before and indignantly claiming that it's just not possible that I've gained any weight.

Should I have been shocked when the jacket didn't button at my fitting two days before the wedding? No. Did I have a meltdown worthy of being aired on a Bravo reality TV show nonetheless? Oooooh yeah.

Guys, I cried while eating a chicken tender melt from a gas station.

I also texted a guy who I'm not really all that interested in because I knew he'd tell me I was pretty, and I blew off plans with a guy I am kind of interested in so I could go get drunk instead.

I'm shocked that people still like me.

Silver lining? The next day, at the rehearsal dinner, I didn't even question whether or not I was having dessert. They're overnighting the fat tux? Where's the pie?

I took a half day on Friday to give myself enough time to get ready for the rehearsal and also to make myself available in case Jamie or Simon needed any help with set up. As the only person in the wedding party who lived in town, I felt it was my duty to help out whenever needed, and I fulfilled that duty by sincerely and enthusiastically offering to help as soon as I was pretty sure they'd already taken care of whatever needed to be done.

To be fair though, they seemed to have things pretty damn under control every time I talked to them. Maybe they were stressed out, but it certainly didn't seem like it from my perspective. I'd stop over at their place and Simon would wave his arms and say, "Look at these thirty centerpieces I made, they're right next to the hand painted card table signs, and the perfectly wrapped wedding party gifts."

I'd have delegated the shit out of alllllllll that business.

The only job that I was tasked with was helping set up tables for the rehearsal dinner after I got off work on Friday, but by the time I got to the house Jamie had already taken care of everything and was sitting around anxiously looking for something else to do. Apparently the way he deals with nerves is by keeping busy. I briefly considered sending him over to my place to deal with dishes situation happening in my sink, but then I remembered that this weekend wasn't about me (plus there wasn't so many that I couldn't just hide them in the stove).

It actually worked out nicely to have that extra bit of time in the afternoon. I had a lot to do...

The rehearsal dinner went off without a hitch. Or maybe there were some hitches. Maybe there were tons of hitches. I don't really know. I got fed, got free booze, got a present from the grooms, and then got to go out to gay karaoke for the kick-off of 'Kato Pride.

That's a pretty epic party from my perspective.

Saturday morning should have been an easy morning. Jamie didn't have me scheduled for anything until 11, but the night before he'd brought up a promise that I'd made when we were in Vegas.

Since I was the most prepared person on the trip (or possibly just the gayest), I was the only person who thought to bring a beach bag, and subsequently, I was the only person who ever had anything with me. "Chris, do you have that sunscreen?" "Chris, where is my wallet?" "Chris, can I leave my phone with you?" After the tenth or so request, I joked to Jamie that this should just be my job for the wedding. I could just have things.

In the future I need to remember to be sure my friends are blacked before I go offering to be responsible for things.

On Friday night he mentioned, in passing, that he'd have a few items that would need to be added to my bag.

So then I had to set my alarm for 8 in the morning to go out and try and find a f#%!ing bag.

I could say that I thoughtfully considered every possible scenario that could have arisen and packed the bag accordingly, but I pretty much just ran around my apartment grabbing everything in reach.

And it worked.

"I've only go the one pair of scissors, so you'll have to wait until I'm done."
"Don't worry, I brought extras!"

"Shit, I don't have a pen."
"Give me a second, I've got one here somewhere."

"Oh man, my stomach feels weird..."
"Do you need Tums?"

"Does anyone have a nail file?"
"I have a glittery one!"

I was so accidentally well prepared that I'm pretty sure I got some random dude laid. After the ceremony, as I walked to my car, I passed a couple having a super romantic picnic in Sibley Park. I mean, they had candles lit, like three courses of food laid out, Frank Sinatra playing, and the dude was in a bow tie. All of the stops had been pulled out, and yet bow tie dude's girlfriend was sitting there was a pretty intense bitch face going on. As I walked by their blanket, he had just gotten up and run to his car. He was about to drive off when he rolled down his window and asked me, "Dude, do you have a corkscrew?!"

A part of me wanted to ruin their afternoon. I mean, I'd just attended a gorgeous wedding ceremony, and I was feeling single as f#%!. Witnessing their adorable date wasn't helping, but I did in fact have a corkscrew, and I'm just not the type of person who will leave someone in the middle of a wine emergency.

Speaking of that gorgeous wedding ceremony, it was absolutely perfect. The weather was great, the location was beautiful, the dog was well dressed, and they kept that shit under 20 minutes.

I was ready to get to the reception, and I was ready to drink. I'd spent the entire morning being helpful, accommodating, and selfless (or as selfless as I could be). I needed a vodka soda, some damn cake, and I needed to dance with two "a"s and a "y."

I needed to daaynce.

Luckily we only had seven and a half hours worth of pictures to take still.

Okay, so it wasn't quite seven and a half hours, and I totally knew it was coming. Jamie was nothing if not thorough with his itinerary. I just thought I'd enjoy it more. I'm an ego maniac, and I was wearing a tuxedo. Typically I'd want ALL THE PICTURES taken of me.

I used to pride myself on being able to find my angle and whip out a well rehearsed smile on a moment's notice. I was once so good at this that I'd learned to sense anytime I was in the background of a photo and pose myself accordingly.

Moments before this photo was taken, Emma was asking, "Wait...why are we laughing? What's so funny? Am I missing something?!"

A half hour into pictures that day, however, something changed.

It was like I broke my damn face.

I completely forgot how to smile. I was suddenly super conscious of how much teeth I was baring, worrying that I looked like an agitated weimaraner in a tuxedo. So I put all of my effort into the perfect adorable smile, ignoring everything else and looking like a dead eyed monster (but a really happy one). So, I grew concerned that I wasn't "smizing" (thanks for that, Tyra), so I focused entirely on what my eyes were doing and ended up completely forgetting what mouths look like when they're happy and excited for their friends.

At one point the photographer (who happened to be my friend Katie, and who had also been warned to watch for this) shouted, "Chris, do you realize you're side-eyeing someone right now?!"

"Yeah, but I was puckering my lips too, so it's cute...right? RIGHT?!"

Sorry if I ruined your precious memories, boys...

The reception was held at the Kato Ballroom, which has long been one of my favorite venues in town, largely because of the fantastic retro marquee above the entrance.

Let me tell you, I could get used to that Head Table stuff. I want to take all of my meals on a raised platform, lording over everyone else in the room. "Sorry all you peons had to go stand in line for food, I'm already halfway through my chicken and it's delicious."

At one point, I was getting a bit too animated telling a story, and as part of the story I exclaimed, "Excuse me!" more loudly than I anticipated. A hush fell over the crowd, and everyone looked up at me expectantly.

I've never felt more powerful in my entire life.

By the time the meal was over, I was a bit of a mess. I'd been brought to tears three times. The first time during a speech by one of the groomsmen. The second because the cake was soooooo good. And the third when Jamie took his turn to speak.

He went down the line and spoke beautifully about each of his groomsmen, thanking us each for everything we'd done to help shape him into who he is today. I was teetering on the edge from the start, but when he turned his attention to me...

"Oh god, we're finally at the part of the wedding that's about me!"

In the tradition of gays taking something that was good, and turning it into something really great, the boys blew it out of the water with their reception. I've never in my life had more fun at a wedding reception. I've been told that this is likely because I was in the wedding party, and also because I had a pocket full of drink tickets, but I'm pretty sure it was because it was just f#%!ing awesome.

Jamie and Simon had given the DJ pretty specific instructions. They wanted the dance to have the feel of a night out at a gay bar. Pounding bass beats, flashing lights, and absolutely,  under no circumstances, no matter how much guests begged, was he to be inciting a chicken dance.

He played "Sissy That Walk" by RuPaul. It was perfect.

Tradition wasn't thrown completely out the window though...it was just given a bit of gay sparkle.

The dollar dance, for instance...

Or the wedding party's dance...

There was only one moment when I grew concerned that the DJ was taking the party away from the Grooms' vision. When the song "Fishin' in the Dark" came on, I immediately found my way to Jamie and asked if I needed to go shut it down.

Apparently it was on their list.

Midnight came too quickly, and the party was over. The marathon of wedding weekend was over. I was exhausted (I can't imagine what the people who did actual work felt like), but it was totally worth it. I'm so happy I got to be a part of celebrating Jamie and Simon's wedding, and I'm so proud to live in a time and a place where it is legal to do so. Love is love, and there was a lot of it that weekend.

I've spent the weeks since the wedding trying to convince the two of them to throw another one. Apparently it's a pretty expensive undertaking, but I think I'm wearing them down. Maybe we can do a Kickstarter or something?

Ooh! And if we raised extra money we can use it to build me a head table in the lunchroom at work!

Just Hot Glue the Shit Out of It

Like most of you, my Pinterest boards are positively filled with things that I'm never going to do.

Ever.

I'm never going to make Blackberry Glazed Salmon and Asparagus. I have zero intention of reading the 24 books that I must read this summer. Growing lemon seeds in a mug on my kitchen counter seems like a great idea, but like hell am I going to go out and buy potting soil for it. And I'm certainly not going to do any of the workouts I have pinned.

Just kidding. I haven't pinned any workouts.

I assumed that's what would come of the fall wreath Pinterest Spiral I fell into not too long ago. I don't recall how it started exactly. All I remember is that I opened the Pinterest app at the start of my break, and then snapped out of what felt an awful lot like a blackout, 25 minutes later (ten minutes late to return to work) with the overwhelming desire to paper mache some shit.

There was one especially cute and easy looking wreath that I did really love though. You can view the pin here. Or you can see it on it's original site, Fun Home Things. I liked the idea of using a picture frame instead of the traditional circular wreath, and the use of an initial appealed to the uncontrollable narcissist in me.

Looking at it, I started to think how annoying it was that I was going to do all of this work, but I'd only get to use it for one season, and then I'd have to start all over again. Let's be real here, I'm barely gonna pull it together long enough to make one, I'm not about to make this a regular thing.

That's when I had a brilliant idea (an idea that I've since realized is not at all original, and I'm sure I probably saw it somewhere else first). Why not make the seasonal accents on the frame removable so they can be switched out when needed? Bats and junk for Halloween, some pumpkins or whatever for Thanksgiving, and a big, fat, glittery candy cane for Christmas; all held on with a patch of velcro tucked discretely behind a neatly tied bow.

I'm a genius.

With promises of a quick and easy craft project, I got my friend Emma to join me, and we went to work collecting supplies. I'd need a frame, glitter, and a bunch of other stuff that I didn't even bother writing down on a list, because once you've got the glitter, the rest of the project just kind of comes together...probably.

What should have been a forty five minute shopping trip turned into a 5 hour long adventure in which the following phrases were all uttered:

"I need to look at a hedgehog pretty much right now, can we swing by Pet Expo?"
"Obviously I don't need it, but it has a swirley straw!"
"Well, I know I shouldn't be shopping at Hobby Lobby, but I'll be damned if their glitter selection isn't the best in town."
"And, yeah, it's on Netflix, but I would just feel better if I had them on DVD too...you know, just in case." (in reference to Keeping Up With the Kardashians seasons 1 and 2)
"He's a little f#%!ing freak." (in reference to a 4 year old boy)

Also, in related shopping news, while I was out shopping with Julie earlier the same day, she called me out pretty hard on my bed sheet snobbery.

"...and I simply won't sleep on anything that isn't Egyptian Cotton at this point."
"'Cause you saw it on Uptown Girls, right?"
"...yeah."

Emma and I wandered around Michael's for quite awhile looking for inspiration. We came up with a bunch of ideas, but it wasn't until I found some sequined spiders in the Halloween section that I really started having a vision of what I wanted to do. I got everything I needed for the Halloween theme I'd planned on doing, but when I started considering putting together the autumn theme that I'd switch it out with I was absolutely exhausted by the idea. So I decided I'd just do the one for now and work on another later.

The metallic pheasant artwork in the thrift store frame is my favorite.

I started by painting the frame and the letter white...well I started by putting The Simple Life Season 5 in the DVD player, and eating half a bag of cheeseballs, but the painting was the first craft related task.

Then I moved onto the glitter portion of the job which was just putting down a layer of Mod Podge on the letter and sprinkling on silver glitter. Emma remarked at how simple it was, and I responded with a maniacal look in my eye and an exclamation of, "YEAH!! YOU CAN GLITTER ANYTHING!"

It was at this point that I realized that the idea of removable pieces was some real varsity crafting shit, and I was not talented enough to be making that team (I'm much better suited to being the team manager who just takes stats but still gets an excuse to go into the locker room after the game). So I gave up that dream and decided to just stick with making a Halloween themed wreath. The realization freed me to up start adding more glitter accents, namely the purple ribbon that I bought with absolutely no clue as to what I'd use it for.

Please excuse the dirty microwave that I took a picture on without thinking wipe down first. My life is a joke.

We'd been working on this stupid project for hours by this time, and Emma and I were both looking for whatever shortcuts we could find. That's when our theme for the night came about.

Just hot glue the shit out of it.

And hot glue the shit out of it we did. I'd never used one of these magical tools, but I'm in love now. I feel like I could craft anything as long as I had some glitter and a hot glue gun. The rest of the wreath came together really quickly, and I'm beyond thrilled with the finished product!

Cute, right?!

While I was giving up on my dreams, Emma stood by the original plan doing both an Autumn and Halloween theme that could be switched out. Her finished product looked super adorable as well!

Kudos to her for finding a way to hang it up already too. That's an added annoyance that I didn't plan for.

One downside to tiny removable parts is the ease to which they can be lost. Emma learned this the hard way when she lost them immediately after leaving my apartment. She got all the way home, realized they were gone and had to drive back to search for them in my parking lot by the light of her cell phone.

I should probably start taking people's phone calls in case of moments like this.