Things insomnia does

"The hell are all those noises?  Is that my house?  STFU, House!
Ooo!  Pinterest!  I need to remember to get six pounds of beeswax the next time I'm at the beeswax store.

Is there a beeswax store?  There should be.

I AM GOING TO MAKE SOUP!!

I don't really have any soup-making stuffs.  Meh.  I'm too lazy to put pants on anyhow.  But I think I should get some stuff to make soup tomorrow.  Or maybe grilled cheese.

The hell is that noise?!?  Prowlers.  Burglars and prowlers.  Thousands of them.  I'd better investigate...

Effing cat.

I wonder what happened to that kid from that show, "Webster."

Webster...Webster...Webster.

HAAAAH!  That sounds weird.

Weeeeeeb Steeeeerrrrrr. 

Didn't he die?  

What the hell, Youtube?  How did I end up at a booty-pop tutorial?
I am totally gonna learn how to booty-pop.  I will break it out at family gatherings.  My mom will be all "oh, how are you, dear," and I'll be all *BAP BAP BAP*.   Then I'll eat all the fucking coleslaw.

I AM GOING TO MAKE COLESLAW!!"


And that is what insomnia does.  Ahthankyou.

I am grumpy. Here is some ice cream. IT IS TOO ICE CREAM.

I'm too grumpy and tired to write about anything important.  I'm officially running on the fumes of what little sleep the insomnia allows me lately.  The good news is, I will have Schwarzenegger thighs by the time I finally do get a good night's rest, since I have suddenly developed an absurd case of RLS. 

Here's hoping I don't sprout a penis...

Long story short, if that's possible here, I have had some recent health scares that gently persuaded me to hop back on the "green" train, and re-rid myself of loads of needless chemicals in my daily life. 

Which means laying off the gorgeous-smelling perfume-y shampoos, laden with poisonous cocktails, and going back to plain old baking soda and essential oils.
I still smell gorgeous, only now I don't have to rub foamy cancer directly into my scalp to get there. 

VINEGAR VOODOO!

There is much voodoo in our house again.  Baking soda on the teeth, hydrogen peroxide in the ears, vinegar in the hair.  And...everywhere else in the house. 
It's crunchy, it's "hippie", and it makes me happy.  So there.

If you're not quite ready to sew yourself a menstrual pad and replace your face wash with oatmeal and baking soda, you can still tag along with this really tasty "ice cream" I've come up with.
As always, nothing is measured, since measuring is for wieners.

Step one:  Get yourself a food processor

Step two:  Get yourself some frozen fruit.  I like bananas and strawberries.  I buy the berries already frozen (Costo has a great big bag for somewhere around $9) and I freeze the bananas myself.  We get the big bags of "almost gone" bananas at the store, and I chop them up and freeze them in one of those "food saver" machines.

Step three:  Cocoa and cream.  Those things are kind of optional.  I added some plain old cocoa powder to a bit of cream last night, and let it sit overnight in the fridge.  Personally, I think it's better without the cocoa, but there was a pre-menstrual part of my brain helping me to make my grocery decisions this week.

Step four:  Grind up that fruit!  Put in in your fancy new food processor machine, and beat the shit out of like it stole your car.  Sometimes it takes a few minutes to get it to the right consistency, and I normally have to stop the machine two or three times to press it down, so the chunks get nice and destroyed.

Step five:  Add your cream and cocoa, and continue to mechanically abuse the food.

 

When everything is nice and ice creamy, and looks like this, spoon that shit into a container and keep it in the freezer! 

Congratulations!  You are now the proud owner of a pretty damn good substitute for fruity ice cream!  Now, RUB IT ON UR FACE!!!  

I mean.  I guess it could do some good...
I'm just gonna eat mine, tho.  But whatever.  

Homemade lip, face, body (and possibly nipple) scrub.

I have done it again.  And I am a genius.
Or maybe just really hungry today...


Either way,  I have created a beauty-making masterpiece in my kitchen, and because I love you, I am sharing with you my super secret recipe for gorgeous skin.  And probably a fat ass, if you're like me.  Since I can't stop eating it.
Not so much eating it, but "testing" it, as a lip scrub.  A lot.  And sometimes I miss my lips completely, and accidentally just scoop it into my mouth.  Don't judge me.

Sticky, scrubby, moisturizing sugary goodness.

So.  The business.

You need:

Turbinado sugar.  The big brown scrubby stuff.  For scrubbing.  About a cup, I think.  But you know how I am at measuring important stuff.

Coconut oil.  Preferably organic.  Because I'm a snob.  Enough to make all the sugar wet.  (Insert dirty joke, here.)

Honey.  About a tablespoon.  Preferably local, not because I'm a snob, but because don't be a jerk.  Support your local folks.


So, you mix all that goodness together in a a jar until it's all mingled and looks like dessert.
Then taste it.  Five or six times.  Because this concoction is so natural and delightful, that you can eat the whole thing, and not have to worry about toxins or artificial bullshit that isn't good for your body.
I don't recommend doing that, however.  Diabetes isn't cool, and you'll probably throw up.

I made this intending upon using it as a lip scrub, but it would work just as well as a facial scrub, a body scrub, or as one of my questionably weird friends suggested, "a nipple scrub."
I don't typically scrub my nipples, but that's just a personal choice I've made for myself.  Your nipples and your exfoliation habits are your own.

I plan on taking my magic nipple scrub into the shower with me later, and using it to beautify all my bits, and maybe as a light snack while I'm there.
If you try it, let me know how it worked for you.  Or how it tasted on your ice cream.  

Don't douche-up my room!

I have my own room in our house.

And why shouldn't I?
Our children each have their own rooms.
My husband has his basement.

Why shouldn't I have my own space for my private thoughts and my emotional expression?

I should.  And I do.
And it's lovely.

I resent having invited an unappreciative and undeserving soul to sleep in my precious space this weekend.  This person left a negativity in my home that's hung in the air ever since they left this morning.  I feel as if my sacred space was entirely unappreciated, and that the person who occupied it was most undeserving.

"Well...it's a place to sleep..."

It's not just a place to sleep.  It is my calm from the storm.  It is the place where I hide from negativity and sadness.  It is a happy place.  It is my place.
Offering you my bed in this precious space is a big deal to me.
It only happens if I adore you beyond your comprehension, or if I am utterly obligated to do so...

This weekend, I was obligated...

And the person...sucked.

Sucked the whimsy and peace right out of my room.

Fuck that person.
My space is more than just "a place to sleep."   The way that person was more than just an asshole.


Here's the five-cent tour.  Click to large-ify.  Enjoy :)  

My rainbow jungle :)  

 

Birds.  Since my husband is a cruel a-hole
and won't let me get a real bird.  I'll probably die...

 

Where all the leftover paint goes.  Yes, that's an elliptical.
Yes, I use it.  Yes, I use it for more than painting on...

And, finally...

Just in case another asshole is invited to
sleep in my private sanctuary.
I thought it was a lot more peaceful, and much
more whimsical in spirit than something
like "NO DOUCHERS ALLOWED!"  ***

*** It's worth mentioning that I found that quote on pinterest.   Along with five jillion other things that are adorable and fun, but that I will never get around to actually making, since I spend all my time on pinterest.  If someone sends you an invite, don't go.  It's horrible.  Your house will fall apart and you will get swamp-ass from sitting in front of your computer all day...