Tag Archives: Pinterest

Weird Ass Crap I Found on Pinterest

Pinterest. I love and hate it all at the same time. The good: recipes I’ll probably never make, but REALLY want to, clothes that I could actually wear and look amazing in, and endless pictures of Benedict Cumberbatch and David Tennant.

Mmmmm… Cumberbatch…. Tennant…. I’m sorry. Where were we?

Yes, Pinterest.

And then there’s the bad. Anything crafty. I am crap at crafts. I have tried. Dear God, I have tried. And each time I am defeated in a humiliating fashion. It’s pathetic, really.

But then there’s a whole other side to Pinterest. There is a dark little rabbit hole of weird. And I don’t mean ironically weird. I mean weird weird.

Behold! The odd, creepy side of Pinterest.

weird-gnomes

Dude. What the hell? This is not normal.

The pinner said he wanted them for his birthday. You know what I want for my birthday? A purse, a massage, Not freaky-ass, nightmare-inducing gnomes. They are not gnomes. Where are the red hats? The cherubic smiles? NOT HERE.

skates

Work it, sell it, own it.

So, this guy has fans. Over 200 of them. Fans who repin his photos and shower compliments on him. Really. The dude in daisy dukes and roller skates has more fans than I do. Let that simmer a moment. Maybe I should wear skates and daisy dukes…. Maybe not.

oils

Yes, oils will stop snoring. And those weird foot pads really suck out toxins.

My husband snores like a freight train. I kick, pinch, pluck, and nothing works. He keeps on sawing those logs. So, you expect me to believe that oil on his feet will stop that buzzsaw? Really? I’d sooner believe my dogs are ninjas on the weekend. Just on the weekend though. They have naps to take care of during the week.

veggies

Veggies into pasta. Yes, that will happen.

Could you imagine turning vegetables into pasta? That’s dumb and weird. Not just weird. Seriously. It would never work. It would make a gooshy, stinky mess. And there is no way a child would ever eat that. Green pasta? Have the inventors ever met a child? Obviously not. Dumbasses.

dog

Poor dog. Poor, poor dog.

It wasn’t enough to shave the dog to help him cool down. No. They had to shave a pair of overalls into his back. I should call PETA.

barbie

Barbie, the Dia de Los Muertos edition.

Barbie has many fine qualities. She’s an astronaut, a horsewoman, she takes care of her many sisters, and cleans up her dog’s poop. I am good with that. I don’t need to know what goes on behind the plastic skin. Especially not with the girly parts. Although, I wouldn’t mind knowing how her feet are naturally angled for heels. I would love that. My hooves would sport awesome kicks all day long and never be uncomfortable because that’s just their shape.

exercise

Nope. Can’t say that happens.

Yeah, I have a hard time dragging my ass out of bed. Period. If someone offered my chocolate covered chocolate in the morning, I don’t know if I would be able get up and eat it. I’m that exhausted. Work out? I laugh in your general direction. Workout out in the middle of the night. Please. I might rupture my spleen with how hard I laugh at that thought.

So, you see, Pinterest friends, the world is a scary place. Weird, scary, and wonderful. Because, Benedict.

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An Open Letter to Failing Pinterest Moms

Dear Mom who Fails Miserably at Pinterest,

It’s OK. No one is really able to do any of those crafts. Honestly. You know what the truth is? It’s all staged.

The “no-sew” projects? It’s all a guerrilla marketing ploy by JoAnn Fabrics and Michael’s to lure people in to buy yards of fabric and ribbons that will end up a tangled mess, and you will throw it in the trash while screaming, “I HATE FELT! It’s itchy, and annoying, and stupid. Screw you felt, I’m going home.”

Image

T-shirt dress? More like cruel hoax.

You see this? No one can do this. They are two totally different t-shirts that have been made to look like one had been turned into another. You know how I know? I’ve tried this crap. I’ve tried making new shirts out of the old, and what happens? The sleeves are shredded, and start unraveling the minute you try to fold and twist, just so. Twist and fold, my ass.

Not going to happen.

Not going to happen.

And this? I tried it with my husband’s shirt. It MIGHT work if you are 4’9” and your man is 6’4”. When I tried to put the shirt under my armpits, I couldn’t button it. AT ALL. I am not Sheera, Queen of the Hooter People; I am a normal woman, so if I can’t do, ain’t no one able to do it.

One, two, three... I'm starting to lose count of how many hooks I need.

One, two, three… I’m starting to lose count of how many hooks I need.

How many mop hooks are you going to buy to complete this bright idea? A bagillion? Might as well buy yourself a silver plated spice rack. And who the hell wants their spices in a closet? “I need to season the soup, let me walk halfway across my kitchen to find the bay leaves.” No. I want it in arm’s reach, because if I step away from the stove, I will be distracted by dogs, kids, husband and that soup is going to burn faster than you can say, “stupid mop craft.”

Spoon plus mirror. No.

Spoon plus mirror. No.

No. Just no. You can’t tell me someone in the world has time to do this, make it look like the picture and not like some crack whore spray painted some spoons and glued them together. Some 19-year-old intern at Home Goods made this to try to sell more mirrors. Because when the average person tries to make this, they will fail, and then need a new mirror. Enter Home Goods, the savior of the Pinterest fails.

Dear, sweet mother, please hear me now. More people fail than not. By the inherent nature of technology, we are sharing EVERYTHING. And people may or may not be telling the truth. People take photos of these projects they have allegedly completed, and we all think they are mother of the year.

Hippity hop onto Pinterest fails.

Hippity hop onto Pinterest fails.

These insecure, lying wenches have ruined it for all of us. They are not perfect, and if they are, they are sacrificing quality time with their children to be that way. These expectations are not real, and you do not need to live up to them. You need to be the mom who plays, shouts and loves those babies with all of your might.

You do not need to be perfect; you just need to be a mom, Pinterest fails and all.

Courage,

A Pinterest Failing Mother

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May 9, 2014 · 10:40 pm

Defending the “Bad Mother”

I recently read an article on Salon.com attacking “Slacker Moms” and, frankly, it really toasted my buns because the author ripped all of the imperfect parents apart without really understanding what it means to be a “bad mother.”

I won’t describe the article in detail, but suffice it to say, it got me thinking about this cadre of women that I have recently joined. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been failing at motherhood for seven years, but I just started talking about it in January.

For centuries there has been a portrait of perfect motherhood. It shifts decade by decade, but it’s there and has been weighing on women the way the world rests on Atlas’ shoulders.

Mean Girls

Curse you, Regina George!

In the recent past, the perfect mother had a spotless home, happy husband, polite children and a pineapple pot roast on the table every night. When they joined the workforce en-masse, they were expected to have all of the above as well as a level of committment to the work that rivaled their male counterparts. It doesn’t help that there are Mean Girls who try to rip other women to shreds.

It’s no wonder that there was a backlash against trying to be perfect, and the subsequent rise of the self-deprecating parent. This is the woman who is helping one kid put cottonball sheep into a diorama due the next day, helping another with math they themselves forgot how to do 20 years ago, while making dinner, and tripping over the family dog, who is trying to snap up any food scraps that fall to the floor.

Cake Pop

My attempt at Hello Kitty cake pops. It was all downhill from here.

She is not exactly the “perfect” mom who breezes through homework, surfs Pinterest for convoluted pinecone crafts, and bakes cakes with an entire Minecraft landscape on top. Damn, I wish I could be that woman, but only for birthday parties. It’s too tiring on a daily basis.

But never for one minute do any of these imperfect parents ever claim to not love their children. Their kids may bring them to their knees in agonizing desperation, but those children are always loved. These moms (and, yes, dads too) are up late after their kids go to bed, making lunches, putting artwork created that day on the fridge, surfing the web to find replacements for kitty costumes that were outgrown years ago*, and, overall, worrying about how to not screw up these tiny humans who, for whatever reason, have not been completely traumatized by inept attempts at parenting.

(*Seriously, she’s 5. How can she fit into a size 24-month costume? And if anyone knows where to find the Carter’s pink kitty costume in a 6x, let me know. I’m pretty sure my daughter’s butt is eating the tail on the thing.)

Yes, these bad moms vent, but they are not intimidating monsters reveling in the fact they tossed their kids a snowball and Mountain Dew for dinner and called it a day. It’s about chronicling this surreal journey and knowing that we are not alone.

I know that I am not the only woman who will flip out in the middle of Target and leave a full cart in the middle of the aisle because my kids are pitching a fit about the DS game or Frozen doll I won’t buy.

I am not the only woman who whips up carrots and dill as a side dish, just to be asked, “Why are the carrots moldy? I am NOT eating moldy carrots.”

I am also not the only woman who wakes up most weekends to my 5-year-old crawling into bed for a snuggle, or who spends an extra 15 minutes telling stories to my 7- year-old starring his stuffed lambs.

There are great joys and great pain in parenthood. I am not superior to anyone, nor have I been made to feel like I wasn’t “bad enough” to call myself a terrible mother. And, frankly, if anyone does degrade another human being (let alone another parent), then they are just bad people, not bad mothers. So, let’s let everyone parent go their own way, and I’ll go back to  trying to make cookies with my daughter, using her Easy Bake Oven and choking down the disgusting results. Agreed?

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