The past few months my fiancé and I have spent a lot of time discussing our living arrangements for after the wedding day. We currently live in a trailer park and at first it never crossed our mind to stay here any longer than necessary.
We looked at buying a house, or moving into a condo; but both of those options left us with little cash to travel and so they were ruled out.
We looked into renting an apartment but the majority of places would not take in our furry babies, and so they were ruled out.
And after several discussions we made the intentional decision to stay in our trailer park, and we are SO STOKED.
The problem is that most people can't get over the fact that we are "living in a trailer." So I would like to, on behalf of all proud trailer park residents, set the record straight on this super-awesome alternative living space…
I make this every year for cheap-but-wonderful Christmas presents for family and friends. And I always make sure that there is enough made so that I can keep at least six jars for myself.
This is brilliant on cheese sandwiches, in a chili, or to pep up some chicken wings. Glass jars of all sizes are kept over the year and cleaned and sterilized to store this. I usually cook double or even triple the amounts given — but make sure you have a big enough pan.
This recipe makes about 1 litre, and is ready in 1 hour 20 minutes…
I don't wear makeup. In fact, I've probably worn makeup on less than twenty days in my entire life (one of those days was my wedding day). While I'm comfortable with my makeup-less face, the one small complaint that I do have about it is that I seem to have no eyebrows or eyelashes. This is one of the curses of the natural blonde. (The other one is the jokes.)
Eyebrows and eyelashes, like fezzes, are cool, and I would have liked to have some. Sadly, mascara application is something that I fail at. It comes out all uneven and clumpy, so I resigned myself to a life with no eyebrows or eyelashes. Laziness and not caring were very much factors in this decision. Until I found the only make-up routine that works for me…
A few months before I got married, I decided that I wanted to have eyebrows in my wedding photos, and one of my friends told me that I HAD to get my eyebrows tinted.
I initially laughed at the suggestion. I've never even dyed my hair, so it seemed like quite a big leap for me. But I decided to at least give it a shot.
As someone who fights with chronic depression and unemployment, I'm always looking for the things to help boost my mood — and, well, the closer to "free" they are, the better. So over the years I found a few things some people might not think about as mood-boosters!
I wanted to share my list of mood-boosters with everyone because we all have down days and maybe these could help a Homie out…
This post originally appeared on one of my best friends' blogs which you should be following. I begged him to let us feature it here, as I'm sure a lot of Homies have the same experience.
A fun fact about me: For the last few years, I haven't been consuming wheat.
Shortly after I moved to Los Angeles, I developed a stubborn rash. Several months and several doctors later, the only method we found to make the rash go away was to not eat wheat — no bread, no pasta, no beer. This hasn't been so difficult, since hippy-dippy Los Angeles is probably one of the easiest cities in the nation to find gluten-free food. However, my flagrantly anti-wheat lifestyle seems to be a matter of curiosity for everyone else.
Here, then, I'd like to pre-emptively answer any of the questions you might have about it…
Did you see my incredibly simple, $14, no-sew DIY veil on Offbeat Bride? This is how I repurposed the fabric for our daughter's room…
In January 1997, I hosted a housewarming at my new place in San Francisco's Lower Haight neighborhood. It was a particularly debaucherous weekend. The house filled with glamorous and skanky people, skateboards lining the long Victorian hall downstairs. One roommate asked me if I would tell my friends to move their boards, and I reported that only one friend had his skateboard there (my semi-boyfriend, John, visiting from Seattle). My roomies and I had a shared moment of realizing the house was full of people we didn't know. Shortly afterward, someone started smoking crack in the kitchen.
All my raver friends were in attendance of course, including a guy named Rick who was a friend of a friend. He brought his turntables in a big fancy coffin (for the uninitiated, that's what portable turntables are stored in: a coffin), and was playing jungle in the living room.
Eventually we decided that we had to kick everyone out, and the easiest way to do that was to GO out, so I went into the late night with my pack of motley ravers, headed to some party that had the word "heart" in the title. We were on raver time, though, and showed up at 6am just as the party was shutting down. No matter: to the after-party!
I had it all figured out.
I had nannied… Twins, overnights, special needs… I knew babies.
I'd read the books and the blogs, from the humorous to the medical. Talked to parents. Formed opinions. I knew exactly what I wanted to do.
Then, I had a child, and it all went to hell.
I should have known I was in trouble during labor. After three days of a hospital induction the baby still wasn't coming, so we were sent home. We got there and my water promptly broke, thick with meconium. With that, my med-free water birth went out the window as I was hooked to monitors and planted in a bed. This baby was literally shitting on my plans before I had even seen her face.
In the coming days, and weeks other dominoes fell. My vows against co-sleeping lost out to my desire for two hours of uninterrupted rest. Exclusively breastfeeding wasn't as important as supplementing formula to get my skinny girl to grow.
All of this in the midst of accommodating the overwhelming needs of the tiny dictator.
"How is the… adjustment going?" one mom friend asked, with a knowing look on her face. "I remember thinking it was hell on earth," the dad of a two-year-old told me. "Welcome to the secret society," my aunt said, "You can't understand it until you've done it."
I may not have been able to understand, but I would have liked a warning!