Last Friday Night

If there were to be an official anthem for the summer of 2011, It would undoubtedly be Katy Perry’s TGIF.

Wait. I take it back.

Party Rock Anthem, the song which makes me want to spontaneously perform high impact aerobics every time it plays on the radio, would be the song of the season. And yes, if you’ve seen a twenty-something blond girl in a black Toyota Corolla doing body rolls while she blasts the song at an unusually loud volume, it was probably definitely me.

I may or may not pull the car over on occasion so that the mundane task of driving doesn’t interfere with my totally legit car dancing. As LMFAO would put it, everyday I’m shufflin’.

But TGIF (a.k.a. “Last Friday Night”) is a very close second. Who doesn’t love a song about bad decisions and someone who can’t remember who they’ve kissed? This past Friday evening (alright technically it was two Fridays ago…I’ve been slacking on my posts a bit), I couldn’t help but to turn the volume up a few notches while the song played on my drive home from work.

As Katy described her weekend of antics, and I bopped my head entire body along to the music, I couldn’t help but to pick up on the irony of the situation. Here I was, dancing like a crazed teenager at a rave in Iowa while Katy sang about the perils of deciphering a hickey from a bruise and discovering a passed out DJ in her yard.

My Friday night was about to take a slightly different path.

I would not be streaking in a park, skinny dipping in the dark, or engaging in anything even close to a ménage à trois.

I would be living it up at the Ballard Jo-Ann Fabrics store; or as Scott likes to call it, “We all die alone.”

I supposed it could be interpreted as some sort of fabric-hunting ménage à trois, as I managed to entice Scott and Jolie to join my crafty triangle of lameness.

Scott's twitter update

Told you. And yes, the pine cones were for him. As were the river rocks he picked out all by himself for the plant on our back patio.

Leif the plant

Leif the plant. Yes...I have a plant named after my brother. I figure I might have a better chance of not killing it if it shares a name with a loved one. Oh, and sorry for the blurry pic. I snapped this shot with my iPhone in the dark. But not while skinny dipping in the dark.

Technically, it was Scott’s fault that we were spending Friday night at JoAnn’s in the first place. He was the one who insisted we replace the perfectly good sheer curtains in our bedroom.

Scott doesn’t cares about curtains, or interior design at all, for that matter.

He was more concerned with the fact that his weekend ritual of sleeping in until noon was being interrupted by all of the bright and shiny sunlight pouring into our east facing bedroom.

Sleepy timeJolie may have also had a say in the matter

And yes, Scott has been known to sleep fully clothed. He does other weird things in bed too…such as angrily eating salads immediately before falling asleep.

Scott eats salad in bed

"This salad is perfectly dressed."

Don’t worry–Scott gave me permission to post this pic. Add that to the fact that he tags along when I visit JoAnn Fabrics and you officially have the coolest husband ever. Or maybe the strangest.

Scott with a daquiri

"You say strange. I say eclectic."

Our new blackout curtains (purchased off Amazon) arrived in the mail last week. I was underwhelmed, to say the least.

Black CurtainsThey were definitely missing something.

Horizontal cream stripes, to be exact.

And so, our Friday evening pilgrimage to JoAnn’s was born. After snagging some fabric and various other supplies (including Scott’s pine cones…still not sure what he plans on using them for…?) we returned home where I began sewing.

Okay, technically I began ironing. You see, God invented this wonderful thing called Stitch Witchery which magically “sews” fabric together when you activate it with a hot, steamy iron. It’s perfect for all of the Katrina’s out there who can’t sew to save their life. All I had to do was fold a half an inch of the white fabric edge under itself on each side to give the appearance of a finished hem, and then use the Stitch Witchery to attach the contrasting strips to the boring old black curtains.

I was feeling quite domestic, until I heard my own personal peanut gallery snickering from the living room while I stood there ironing. (100 points to anyone who got that literary reference.) My inability to sew is, apparently, quite laughable to my husband.  As a surgical physician assistant, he sews people’s skin together for a living — the fact that I can’t hem a pair of pants is something he finds both hilarious and pathetic. He reinforced this viewpoint by informing me that his grandmother would not approve of my method of “sewing” curtains with nothing more than an iron and some fusible bonding web.

I believe his exact words were, “My Grandma is rolling over in her grave right now.”

I kindly pointed out that his Grandmother should be grateful I was spending my Friday night making curtains as opposed to having a stranger in my bed, a pounding in my head, and pink flamingos in the pool.

My retort did the trick. Scott quietly returned to watching back to back episodes of How I Made my Millions on CNBC. Which might actually be lamer than making curtains.

Scott's TweetYup, definitely lamer.

Scott had nothing to show for his two hours of CNBC and Kettle Chips.

I on the other hand, had these beauties to show after 120 minutes of slaving away.

New curtains

Take that, Katy Perry

I know. I’m like the no-sew version of Martha Stewart. Even skeptical Scottie was impressed, telling me the “new” curtains looked like they were from a high-end hotel.

Look at me now, Grandma.

While my Friday night may not have been the most exciting evening of my life, I was quite pleased that my fancy-schmancy curtain project was a success.

And at the end of the day, I’m proud of the fact that unlike Katy, I’ll never have to ask myself the question “Is this a hickey or a bruise?”

Burn from an iron


It’s a burn from the stupid iron.

Turns out I’m not as handy with the Stitch Witchery as I’d like to believe.

In the words of Ms. Perry, “That was such an epic fail.”

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