tongue in chic journalings

the one with all the itis-es

So I've spent the last few days in bed watching seasons 1 & 2 of FRIENDS (hence my totally ripped off post titling) due to the fact that I not only have a crazy infection in yet another one of my lymph nodes, as well as a sinus infection that has made me lose my hearing in one ear (my left ear, so if you need to talk to me please address my right side only. If you are taking my picture however, take it on the left side, as that is my good side) and if you think that sounds lovely, I can totally make it better.

I also have tonsillitis.

So I can't speak, can't hear, and today (during my seventh super hot shower to help me breathe) without my glasses on I realized I was also totally blind. I'm so vulnerable. If my husband ever wanted to knock me off well, this weekend would have been his prime opportunity. He could have stolen my glasses, driven me over to the Costco parking lot that's like, a block from our home, and I'd have never found my way back, nor would I be able to ask anyone for help, or hear anyone ask me if I needed help, or see anything more than a foot in front of me.

That last paragraph was totally redundant. Anyhow, the holidays+ the ridiculous sickness that kept me awake for 26 straight hours due to said inability to breathe has completely interfered with my life. Have you ever stayed awake against your will for 26 straight hours while going through 3 boxes of tissues, 2 rolls of toilet paper and barely able to eat ice chips? Because if you have, then maybe you totally understand how I laid on the floor of the sixth hot shower sobbing because I just wanted to sleep. And also to see. And to breathe. And to communicate without drawing stick pictures in the shower steam.

Aren't you glad you are not my husband? And also, aren't you totally thinking about how if you were my husband the redundant paragraph about dropping me off in the Costco parking lot would sound mighty appealing?

I thought so.

It's not like I have anything important going on in my life right now that I need to be well for. It's not like I'm moving to Tennessee on Saturday. Oh wait. That's right. I'm moving to Tennessee on Saturday.

Well, the good news is, I have a really cute, new hat.

And since there is nothing better than mixing prescription drugs with alcohol, I'm off to do a shot of whiskey and honey because a) I'm southern and b) I have boxes to pack.
*Note to first time readers: Don't do drugs. Don't do drugs and drink hard liquor. Amen.

Cute New Hat. Picture taken prior to onset of all the itis-es.

Glory to God in the Highest

and on earth, peace and goodwill towards men. Luke 2:14

Merry Christmas

Love, KA

Jeff, KA, and Baby Hayley

Because it's my anniversary and I can

now off to The Cheesecake Factory

Becoming Mrs. KA Terrell

Setting: Atlanta, Georgia
Time: One Year Ago Today

The weather was dreary. Gray skies, rain, bitter cold winds. The scene was hectic. Hair, make-up, last minute assembly of programs. Juggling two cell phones while miming at my sister to send her running off on yet another previosuly forgotten errand. Late to the venue, broken chocolate fountain, wrong songs.

The most perfct day of my entire life thus far.

The one in which I use the word hussy

Anytime I go to Victoria's Secret, I am certain that everyone around me is thinking "What is that 13 year old girl doing buying lingerie? Where are her parents and how did she get to be such a hussy?" And that is why I sporadically flail my hands around, so that maybe people will notice my rings and instead think to themselves "Who let that 13 year old girl get married?"

*Posting thanks to the woman in line behind me who asked "Um, so how old ARE you?"

check one, check one, cash money, mike on

Apparently, I can't work beyond a basic html format.... So last night my blog looked totally fine and cute and VISIBLE. This morning I woke up and POOF! it was gone. As though perhaps someone coughcoughKr@ftcoughcough was trying to censor me.

And I spent all day obsessing and sending HELP ME OR DIE tickets to the lovely typepad people and answering emails about why my blog had disappeared and why would I do such a thing and could I possibly send out a newsletter in place of my blog (which was the most flattering email I have ever received, next to the one from the lady who told me I looked like Amy Adams)

And then I came home from dinner and it was all fixed and cute and VISIBLE and it was like "Yes Virginia, there IS a Santa Clause."

drop it like it's hot

I rearranged the blog a little and I'll be playing some more over the next few days. The banner size was totally wrong and I need to redo it so it isn't so stretched but I'd rather go make out with my husband. But here is my big announcement: I am officially a moron. This past spring, during the time that I was being harassed by the person pretending to be me on the internet, I changed my email address. I changed a lot of my accounts so that I could make myself a little more secure. It's hard to be totally secure when most of my work is done online and in magazines so people already know my first and last name. But I thought that changing my email would help.

So here is the moronic part: I never switched my email for my blog. I was in the account part of the blog and noticed it was my old email address, so I went and checked that email address and I have oodles of emails that I totally never answered. I am so sorry. If you emailed me since like, April, know that I am trying to get through all of them and get them answered now. Because contrary to how it must seem, I love getting blog emails. It never occurred to me when I stopped getting them that it was because I changed my email address. I just took it totally personally and figured no one wanted to email me anymore.

I also put some ads back on the blog, because Google now lets you pick your ads. I took them off because I didn't like advertising for places on the internet that I knew nothing about. I also didn't like that when I talked about married people things, ads for things I can not type about here came up. But choosing my own ads makes me happy, because I am a control freak. So I went and picked out some of my favorite online places, and I only picked places I've used/shopped at. Because if I'm going to endorse something, I don't want it to be something that makes your neighbor extra smiley or anything like that.

One of my favorite ads I have up is for Lulu's Fashion Lounge. It is a new find for super cute tops, pants, and accessories. Some people I know are getting something from here for Christmas...

Anyhow, please bear with me on the site changes!
xoxo

KA

Friday. An Ordinary Day.

I returned from the doctor's office with good news to find Jeff changing in the bedroom. So I did what any normal, non-crazy wife would do. I snuck up behind him and did my best WWE wrestler impersonation by spearing him onto the bed.

"It's not a tum-ah!" I shouted.

We laid on the bed laughing in relief for a minute before we started wrestling around. I couldn't get out of Jeff's wrestling hold, so I started biting his leg.

"You are crazy. You are a crazy, crazy woman" he said.

"I am not crazy Jeff. Stop calling me crazy. I am just really happy that I don't have a face eating tumor!" I exclaimed.

He moved onto tickling me so I started biting his fingers.

"Nope. You are crazy. You're so crazy that I'm going to have you committed. I'm going to send you to Ridgeview. I can do that you know. I'm your husband."

"Jeff, that is a ridiculous thing to say. I am not crazy." I said, as I wriggled out of his grasp and then tackled him at the knees.

"Yes you are crazy. And when I call them, I'm going to tell them to bring a straightjacket because you're a feisty one!"

The one that is really long

Last week I am hanging out with Shawnie cooking dinner and my hair falls in my face. So I brush it off with the back of my hand and pause. There is a lump on my face. I am pretty sure I am the sort of person that would notice if she had a lump on her face, so I went and looked in the mirror, to make sure there wasn't a clump of brownie batter stuck to the side of my cheek. My face looks like normal except for this large bump on the side of it that I am certain has never been there before. And by large bump, I definitely mean that there was a bump the size of a marble on my face. And not the kind of bump that looked like a bug bite, or a pimple, or any other thing that might cause one to have a bump on their face. So I go back in the kitchen and make Shawnie observe said lump. Then we called in Jeff for a consultation. Diagnosis? Get KA to the doctor.

I really wasn't worried about this lump much until Jeff got worried and insisted I go to the doctor because Jeff refuses to go to the doctor. Like this past year when he cut his thumb in half with a razor blade and thought that duct taping some tissue around it would suffice (until it bled all the way through the duct tape and ended up needing 5 stitches). My leg could fall off and Jeff would insist that there was no need for me to go to the doctor. Plenty of people have one leg and get around just fine, he would say. So I went to bed a little worried because Jeff was worried, but not too worried.

What really worried me was when I woke up and the lump had gone from the size of a marble to the size of a Lindt chocolate truffle. Yes, I compare weird abnormalities on my body to that of a delicious chocolatey treat. Get off me.

And then I got worried when I called the doctor and they said I couldn't get in until four days later. So then I told them why I needed to come in and they said they could see me in two hours. That worried me a little.

So I am sitting in the little exam room, trying to occupy myself by reading a National Geographic circa 1723, when the doctor comes in. It's my first time meeting this doctor and I want to look cool, calm and collected. Like someone who is not at all worried about this lump growing on her face. Like someone who is totally not thinking about that time she was 6 and secretly watched an R-rated movie from behind the couch in which a woman was bit by a spider and then her cheek exploded with baby spiders. Like someone who wasn't at all freaking out that she might have a face eating tumor like that special I watched on TLC a few weeks ago.

So I have on my cool, calm and collected face when the doctor reads off my age, height, and weight to me. And then turns to me and says very seriously "You are very underweight. Do you do the insertstickingfingerinthroatmotionhere ?"

I was completely shocked. I mean, people make comments to me, but no physician has ever really thought I was bulimic. I tell him no, and I don't think he believed me. I don't think he believed me because he made me open my mouth and let him look at my throat and teeth. And at that I completely lost my composure. Because I'm already just a little bit self-conscious about my small stature and the fact that I am frequently mistaken for a 12 year old. So I am blubbering about how I do eat and how I drank weight gainer shakes to be able to fill out my wedding dress and how I'm only here because there is this weird thing on my face and my husband is afraid that I am dying.

And the doctor says that he has great news, that I'm not dying, I just have an infection in some gland or node or something about something (because I can't be normal and have normal symptoms like, oh I don't know, a FEVER or a COUGH) and it's really easy to treat and that he's just going to write me up a prescription for penicillin.

Except I am deathly allergic to penicillin. The sort of allergic where you have to wear one of those bracelets that say "Don't ever give this girl penicillin or she will die instantly and then haunt you from her early grave" or something to that effect. The sort of allergic where the last time I had surgery and they mixed up my anesthesia with some drug that was related to penicillin, I stopped breathing. And since I was awake when I stopped breathing and I remember very well the intenseness of blacking out on the OR table, I started crying again about how I could not have any penicillin and was forever resigned to facial deformity.

So the doctor tells me that he will give me a different medicine, but he has to make it really strong because it is really meant to cure acne and that by the way, I should take the next few days off work because this medicine is going to make me really sick. Oh and also, that I need to come back in a week to make sure that he's right and that it really is an infection and not a tumor.

But today the lump is now the size of an itty bitty pebble, I stopped being sick after I take the medicine, and so I think it is working and I can go back to the doctor on Friday and say in my best Arnold voice "It's not a tum-ah!"

The silver lining? My skin is so clear you could practically use it as a mirror.

Have a Rockin' Holiday

I am so proud of the second set of cards. I think I'll debut them. Like they are the headliners at a big concert.

Making their debut: Set of 4 "Rockin' Holiday" Cards

The cards are available HERE in red, teal, pink and green. 2 cards feature the phrase "Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Rockin' New Year" and 2 cards feature the phrase "Wishing you Happy Holidays and a Rockin' New year". The set includes 4 cards, 1 example card, and a set of instructions for $3.50.

You simply drag your photo on the the template, add your name, and print! They are 4x6 cards so you can print them at home or take advantage of Snapfish's free 4x6 prints. I used my corner rounder to nip the edges off to make it look more like a MP3 player. The set also includes instructions on how to add a dropped embossing effect to your photo to give it a little more depth if you choose.

Thank you for being so supportive of the last set of cards! I hope you like this one and the one to follow...

Christmas time is here...la la la la la

You can't see our christmas cards yet because you might be getting one. But you can see what our christmas cards would look like if you got one from the new Classic Christmas set at Scrap In Style TV . I have a new set of Christmas cards up in the boutique! They are super easy to use, you just drag a photo onto the card (it even has a nifty little space that says "insert photo here" to make it extra simple) and add your name. You can add your name in a photo editing program, or you can just sign the card after it's printed. Although if you don't have any fancy scrapbooking pens like me, Sharpies are best for that. You can print these cards at home or send them off to be printed. I sent mine off to Winkflash and ordered 50 cards for $11.50. I think if you do 5x7 cards it might be cheaper to print them at Snapfish. The set includes (2) 4x8 cards and (2) 5x7 cards. You can purchase the first set of christmas cards here , the second is coming soon.

There is also a set up of gift tags . They are made to correspond with Avery perforated cards so that you can just print, rip, and stick. But you can also just print them on a piece of cardstock like I did, and then buy really cheap but super cute bags from IKEA and then staple them onto the bags. This works really, really well when you are out of tape.

Pictures:
(click on the first to scroll through, the second to see larger)

Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, REALLY want

Here is what I want. I want a blog or a website about how to cook. With pictures. And SPECIFIC instructions. I have no idea what braising means. I need to see how to braise. And on cooking shows, when they talk about braising, they do this really annoying thing where they are like "And now I'm braising the insertnameofsomethingyoubraisehere" but the camera does not show said braising, it is focused on the chef, or the wall, or the guy in the audience discreetly picking his nose. I also don't know how to cut things. Like onions. How the heck do you cut up an onion? It moves all over the place. I even have the little thing you use to hold things still when you cut them, but it doesn't seem to work for me. And on cooking shows they use the knife so fast that it's like some sort of magic trick. Like "Now you see the onion, now the onion is magically chopped into perfect little bits, VOILA!"

So I decided what I needed is some step by step pictures. I am good with step by step pictures. That is how I learned to stop, drop, and roll. And since I've set myself on fire twice this year and managed to stay alive both times due to said stopping, dropping, and rolling, I believe that step by step pictures will really aid me in this cooking venture.

So if you know of any sort of places on the internets that have such things for people like me, people who are tired of only eating the 7 meals she knows how to make in the crock pot + pizza when the other meals she attempts are not edible, please  please PLEASE link me up.

Amen.

An exploding can of biscuit dough part two

Which actually has nothing to do with part one. Who would have thought that I would have two stories within two weeks that can both use the phrase "an exploding can of biscuit dough" in the title?

I hate cans of biscuit dough. I make my own biscuit dough primarily because no matter what I do, I can never, ever manage to get the freaking can to open when I pull the paper off. I always peel off the paper and am left with an unopened can of biscuit dough. I have to bang the can on the kitchen counter to open it. This is incredibly irksome, thus the making of biscuits from scratch. I also like to emphasize this because it makes me look really good, making food from scratch and all.

But since I was in a hurry, I decided to go the canned biscuit route. I peeled off the paper, and surprise surprise, the can did not open. Stupid can. Then I heard a little PING and realized that my computer was telling me that someone had the audacity to outbid me on my ebay auction. So I walked over to the computer and alas, someone sniped my bid. The nerve. I gave up on the auction, and started browsing online, completely forgetting my intentions of making biscuits. I summoned Jeff to the computer to get his opinion and just as he walked up behind me, we heard a loud BOOM. Yes. The can of biscuit dough exploded. In my hand. I had totally forgotten I was still holding the can of biscuits. This is why Jeff is making me wait to have babies, the fact that I have a tendency to forget what I am doing in less than ten seconds.