Fake Resume? Splendid!

With all the emphasis and talk of finding a job that's been going on in my life recently, I've spent a lot of time thinking about my strengths and weakness.  I've spent a lot of time thinking about what would make me a good employee or at least a good fit for certain jobs.  I've spent countless hours working and re-working my resume and cover letters, tailoring every cover letter to be specific for each job.  I continue to list my previous job responsibilities, mention my strengths, and demonstrate my enthusiasm for a given job.  But mostly I feel like everyone's resume is essentially the same.

Just for fun, I put together a fake resume for myself.  Everything on the resume is true; it's just not information you would typically find on a resume or cover letter in any of the fields for which I am qualified.

What true information would you put on your fake resume?

DIY Ukulele Kits? Splendid!

A couple weeks ago, Stacey and I were out doing some shopping, when she mentioned that she had found DIY ukulele kits on Amazon.  I've been not-so-secretly interested in learning ukulele for a couple months, but I didn't want to make the investment in a nice one if I was going to A) destroy it accidentally (a distinct possibility with my penchant for bumping into things) or B) get bored with it and ignore it while it gathers dust in our instrument petting zoo. These Grizzly DIY kits were, like, 1/5 as much money, and it meant we got to decorate them ourselves.  We got so pumped about them, that Stacey ordered them from her phone while we waited in line for the cashier.

They arrived about a week later, and we set a roommate date to start working on them.  In the meantime, we gathered most of the materials we needed: wood glue, sandpaper, a drill and appropriate bit, clamps, and various tie-down straps.  (Shout outs to Dad and Boyfriend for providing some of the necessary tools and Mom for delivering some of the supplies!)  Much in the same way that I cannot follow a recipe exactly, I decided we were not going to follow the directions exactly either.  Mostly, this just meant instead of buying 6 different grains of sand paper, ranging from 120 to 800 (or something equally ridiculous), we would buy two - fine and extra fine.

We began by sanding down the body and neck of the ukuleles.  

Action shot!

After that, we glued the neck to the body and used the tie-down straps to keep them pressed together.

We were supposed to wait to perform the next steps for something crazy, like 24 hours, but ain't nobody got time for that!  We were able to rig the ukes so we could keep the necks drying against the bodies while also gluing the fretboards down to the necks.  Before we could glue the fretboards on, though, we drilled the holes for the tiny mother of pearl dots.  This was terrifying for me, because I was convinced I was going to mess it up.  Also, Scott's drill weighs like 75 pounds.  Note the terror on my face.

Slightly terrified I was going to ruin something or hurt myself

We also taped off where the bridge would be placed after decorating, and left everything to dry for a day or so.

Now, let's be honest, most of the reason I wanted to make the ukulele myself was because I wanted to decorate it.  We took a trip to Michael's to gather supplies.  Stacey's inspiration was the striped side of a gift bag we have in the house.  I decided I wanted purple paint, purple glitter, and orange flowers on mine.  Because clearly I revel in simplicity.  I've already received multiple comments on how people are surprised I didn't use orange glitter paint on the body.  To be honest, I just didn't like the Krylon Glitter Blast shade of Orange Burst as much as the Grape Glitz.

A few days later, we spread out our decorating tools before us, taped off the neck of each uke, and got to work.  Since I was using spray paint, I took mine outside, where I promptly gave the bushes in front of the porch a little more pizzazz.

Do YOUR shrubs sparkle?

Stacey carefully taped off the body of her instrument using painters tape and different widths of washi tape we found at Michael's.  I thought it was brilliant of her to label which color each strip of tape would be painted.  It definitely kept things more organized as she continued to add color.

The flower stencils I bought were actually designed to be used on glass or plastic, so they were extra flexible and had a bit of adhesive on the back.  I found this very useful.  I cut up my stencils to use the flowers in a design that looked best on the body of my ukulele.

After letting them dry, we still had to attach the bridge, attach the tuning machines, and string the instruments.  I found attaching the tuning machines with a tiny screwdriver to be incredibly difficult and frustrating.  I thought this was supposed to be fun!  I apologize to anyone I spoke with on the phone that night.  I was Miss Super Cranky Pants.  I was so frustrated by this process that I asked our guitar technician at work if he would finish attaching them and put on the strings for me.  He obliged, and the angels sang from the heavens.  My poor bruised palm rejoiced.  Well as much as a hand can rejoice, I guess.

I brought my uke home after he finished it and promptly tried tuning it to learn some songs.  The problem is that strings need time to stretch out after they're put on, and I wasn't being patient enough.  I would tune the strings and start learning a song, and by the end of the song, the strings were out of tune again.  I didn't really care because I was just excited to be learning new chords.  After a few days, things leveled out quite a bit, and they sound pretty good now.

Stacey was at a workshop during the time I was finishing my instrument, so she finished it a few days later.  So, without further ado, i would like to introduce you to the newest members of our instrument family:

Luke the Uke and UkuLeia

(Get it?  Luke and Leia!  Because they're ukuleles AND twins!)

Luke is on the left, Leia on the right.

I'm so happy with the way they turned out!  I have to admit that I was hoping for more instant gratification when putting the kits together.  I wouldn't recommend building this particular kit with a classroom of kids, because it does take awhile, and there are some tricky parts that require dexterity and/or strength.  I think there are some other kits out there that might be a little bit easier in that regard.  But it was fun to build them and paint them, and now we're having fun learning how to play.

New job? Splendid!

For those of you who don't know, I recently started a position at music store.  It's a pretty good job, and the people have been fantastic so far.  I have only two real issues with the position: 1) I'm on my feet all day, and 2) it's approximately an hour away from where I live.  Other than that, it's an okay gig.  I compiled a list of thoughts and feelings on the situation over the course of my first two weeks.

1. Being on my feet all day sucks.  It sucks especially hard since I'd pretty much been sitting on my butt all day in the interim between jobs.  The first week was predictably difficult.  I work with four guys at the store, all of whom have been exceptionally helpful.  What they didn't do during my first 4 days though, was sit down.  There are a couple of stools behind the counter, but they just never sat down! Thankfully by my 5th day, I saw at least two of them relax a bit.  The other nice thing is that we're allowed to wear athletic shoes.  I haven't yet, because mine are, unsurprisingly, orange, and it's hard to look cute in a skirt and blouse when you're rocking orange Asics.  For now, my black Mary Jane Danskos are working very well.

2. The drive kind of sucks, but luckily in the long and boring way and not the heavy traffic kind of way.  After I accepted the position, I immediately downloaded a bunch of podcasts to listen to on the drive.  My commute is approximately 58 minutes, which is means hour-long podcasts are perfect.  I've been going through a backlog of the Nerdist podcast, and that's keeping me very entertained on the drive.  I also started listening to audio books recently using Audible.  This week I'm listening to the audio book version of Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson.  I've already read the book, and I'm obsessed with her blog, but I'm really enjoying listening to her narrate her own life story.  Seriously, if you haven't read anything she's written, get thee a copy.  Get thee a copy.  (Obscure Much Ado About Nothing reference alert!)

The mouse's name is Hamlet von Schnitzel

3. The day before I started working, I was out buying more than I originally intended at Target, like you do, when I found Sally Hansen Salon Effects Nail Strips with music notes on them.  I mean, really, how perfect would it be to show up to my first day of work at a music store with music notes on my nails?  The answer is super perfect.

I mean, really.  Super perfect.

As I mentioned before, I mostly work with a bunch of dudes at the front desk, and they were completely oblivious to my fabulous nail art.  However, I did have two separate customers compliment me on them, so I will mark that in the Win column.

4. Quite a bit of my work the first week was learning how to fill out the contracts for instrument rentals.  The contracts are not overly difficult, but they're intricate.  I watched a few before I tried one on my own, but I felt confident by day 3 that I could do one solo.  That was doubly good because no one else was available to help my first rental customer.  After explaining the rent-to-own process we use for most of our band instruments and having the customers fill out their portion of the rental agreement, I headed to the register to enter in the down payment.  Luckily one of my coworkers was available then to check my work.  Because I had done all of the math wrong.  All of it.  I basically had to redo my portion of the contract, but we thankfully took care of it before I overcharged the customers.

The next day I completed three more contracts, and I felt like each subsequent contract was a VICTORY!  That is, until the end of last week, when the woman who enters all the contracts to our system emerged from her office.  Apparently I had been regularly forgetting one piece of information.  She told me that she had noticed it the first week but had hoped I would just figure out that I was doing it wrong.  Also, instead of coming directly to me at any point, she brought it up with one of the guys.  I'm not gonna lie, I was really irritated by how passive aggressive she was about it.  I mean, I'm new.  If you don't want me forming bad habits, correct me ASAP instead of wishing the problem away.  Argh.  Anyway, I have finally mastered the rental contracts!

5. With it being summer in Illinois, I tend to wear my hear up more to combat the heat and humidity.  The first time I wore my hair down, one of my coworkers commented, "Wearing your hair down today, I see.  Loose and free like a hippie!"  Um, no.  I use far nicer and far more hair product than a hippie.  Also, I'm not terribly Bohemian.  Also, just no.

6. Two of my favorite quotes from my first two weeks on the job:

"Mustang Sally is the Jessie's Girl of blues." - coworker

"I just think the bassoon is my spirit instrument." - local high school drum major

Marriage 2.0? Splendid

Whoops!  I didn't get around to posting last week because things were INSANE, but to make up for it, I'm sharing a ridiculous story that happened recently...

My roommate and I have lived together long enough that if same-sex common law marriages were a thing in Illinois, we would have one.  Cohabiting for so long comes with a whole bucket of strangeness.  If you follow us on twitter (@KLandSP) you get a sneak peek into what it's like to live in our house.

We've been told by more than one person that our lives should be a reality show.  I think that's a compliment?  It wouldn't actually be a great TV show though, because it would mostly consist of us making snarky remarks at the TV while watching the backlog on our DVR or episodes of Doctor Who.

We have honed some ridiculous communication skills that include, but are not limited to, understanding each other while yawning, burping, chewing, and laughing.  We have even been known to communicate telepathically, like the characters on one of our favorite shows, How I Met Your Mother.

Recently we attended a bachelorette party in the Chicago suburbs for a college friend.  The pub where the party started offered the bride-to-be a free dessert, and the group of us gladly accepted it on her behalf because 1) most of us had already been drinking for 3 hours and 2) dinner reservations weren't for another hour.  

The waiter brought out the dessert, which seemed like some kind of ice cream cake with a chocolate cookie crust and strawberries and whipped cream.  We passed it around, and Stacey held the plate while I tried to break off a bite for myself.  I grabbed a dollop of whipped cream before sinking my fork into the frozen treat and trying to break through the cookie crust.  After attempting to be dainty about it and getting nowhere, I finally put some effort into it, and shot the cookie crust one way, the whipped cream another, and ended with a forkful of ice cream.  I happily ate the ice cream, found the piece of cookie crust, and checked the table for the dollop of missing whipped cream.  It didn't take long for me to realize that the whipped cream had landed on Stacey's forearm.  Without even the slightest hesitation or real eye contact, she offered her forearm to me, and I licked the whipped cream directly from her skin.

This is a recreation of the incident substituting sour cream for whipped cream.
Thanks to Mariah for taking this picture.

We immediately started cracking up, not because of the sheer ridiculousness of what had transpired, but because it was so normal for us!  

We're also just so comfortable with each other, you know?  About 4 years ago I started referring to my boyfriend and Stacey as my Life Partners.  Both relationships are very important to me, as I spend the majority of my time with one or both of them.  (Next year I want to send Christmas cards from the three of us with pictures in matching sweaters or something equally nuts.)  Each relationship provides me with something the other doesn't.  My boyfriend obviously provides me with a romagical (romance + magical = romagical) relationship that I won't elaborate on and Stacey doesn't provide. Whereas she will do things with me that Scott won't.  For instance, she will happily watch Real Housewives of ___________ (pick a city - we love nearly all of them) with me.  She will accompany me to Target 99% of the time.  She is always ready to go get ice cream with me, no matter when she plans to eat lunch or dinner that day.  

I shared this story and it's absurdity with our friend, Elizabeth, recently, right after we came to the common law marriage conclusion.  Elizabeth remarked that what Stacey and I share should be called Marriage 2.0, because we've been together so long.  It's obvious that we enjoy living together, and we stick together because we want to be roommates.  We take trips and mini-vacations together (Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Louis!).  We consult each other on all major life choices (Should I accept this job offer? or How do these pants look?).  We even do projects together - like the ukuleles we're building together.  That's definitely a blog post for the future...

Facing my fears? Splendid!

I was raised in a small town.  (Cue the John Mellencamp.  No, wait, please don't.  I hate that song.)  My hometown has approximately 5,000 people (97% of whom are caucasian according to Wikipedia), seven stop lights (four blocks in a ROW in the center of town), and not a single road that's more than one lane in either direction plus a center turn lane (there aren't even one way streets).  The nearest interstate is 15 miles away.  I didn't even drive on the interstate till I was a sophomore in college!  Why does this matter?  Because growing up in a community like that turned me into a big ol' scaredy cat behind the wheel.

I remember the first time I drove into Urbana.  I took a state highway instead of the interstate because I felt safer.  As I came into Rantoul, the road widened from two lanes to four.  This was a big deal for me.  Driving on Lincoln or University Avenues was treacherous as far as I was concerned, and both should be avoided at all costs.

That was ten (seriously, ew) years ago.  Of course, I've gotten so much more comfortable in my adopted hometown since then.  I think a lot of this is due to me having my car for my first summer on campus.  I was able to learn which streets were one way and in what direction, and it meant not getting stuck in the circle of doom (you know: Green/Sixth/Armory/Wright/John streets) anymore.  I'm a pro at using  I-74 like everyone else in town: as a way to avoid University when going from Champaign to Urbana.  I've even mastered downtown Champaign.

No matter how comfortable I've gotten in Champaign-Urbana, though, I still hate HATE HATE driving in/around Chicago.  I avoid it if at all possible, begging my travelling companions to drive and bribing them to do so when necessary.  Part of this apprehension is due to my geographical ignorance about the suburbs.  In my head, they're all 15 minutes away from each other (I know this is false).  Also, I don't know how anyone knows where they are at a given time because the towns touch.  Where I come from, you know you're in a new town, because there are fields, a curve, and railroad tracks between each town!  If not for the best Christmas gift ever given to me by my boyfriend, a GPS we call Samantha, I would be truly hopeless in the suburbs.

Last week I had to face my fears.  My college roommate invited me to her place in the city for the night, and I was going solo.  Until then, the only time I had driven in the City of Chicago was to drive my parents home after my dad's open heart surgery last year, and that was a big freaking deal for me.  That trip included the following rules:
     1. There will be no yelling at any time.
     2. There will be no use of an invisible emergency break at any time.
     3. There will be no vocal intercessions to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph (Mom's favorite while
     riding along) at any time.
     4. I will retain total control of the radio.
     And number 5, which had to be added at the last minute after Mom proudly documented
     my driving prowess: There will be NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY AT
     ANY TIME.

The offending photo

I planned so see my mom for lunch on the way back this time, so taking the train wasn't an option.  I met with my travel consultant boyfriend to go over the route a couple nights beforehand because Samantha and I do not always agree on the best way to get somewhere.  And sometimes she forgets to tell me what lane I need to be in.  And, okay, sometimes I disregard her instructions and do what I want in a fit of defiant independence.  He and I decided on the simplest route, and I was ready to hit the road.  The day I left, I had major anxiety.  I mean sweaty-palms-throat-constricting-verge-of-tears anxiety.  It was as if I was going into battle.  I was going to fight my fear of city driving in the third largest city in the United States.

Before I left, I posted a self-indulgent Facebook status lamenting my impending journey, and I was so touched by the amount of support I received from my friends.  I got a lot of encouragement and some excellent advice.  (Cousin Katie wins the Advice Award: stay in the middle lanes and always check your blind spots.)  Armed with Samantha, backup instructions, my host on speed dial, and a large Diet Coke, I hit the road.  The first hour of the drive would typically be easy for me, as that's how I get back to my parents' house, but this day was different.  Even that first hour had me tense, with both hands on the wheel, spaced at 10 and 2 like I was taught in Drivers Ed.  As I made my way north, I started to stress a lot more.  I had to breathe slowly and deliberately to calm myself down.  Thankfully as I made my way onto the interstate that would take me into the city, traffic didn't seem so bad.  I thought I might even beat the rush hour traffic!  Then I needed to exit for Lake Shore Drive...

The signs on the road assured me that the right two lanes would exit for LSD, so I was pleased to already be in one of them.  As traffic started to exit, I notice the far right lane was incredibly backed up, and I was happy that I wasn't one of the schmucks over there.  Then I realized that the sign telling me my lane would exit LIED!  Well, sort of.  The two lanes do exit, but then they immediately merge.  So I felt smug for about 4 seconds until I realized that I had to rely on the kindness of one of those schmucks to let me into their lane.  Thankfully I was the recipient of some nice midwestern driving hospitality, as a young woman allowed me in front of her almost immediately.  I almost tore my rotator cuff courtesy waving to that woman.  As we wound around McCormick Place, I remembered my cousin's sage advice and tried to stick to the middle.  White knuckled, I didn't even notice Soldier Field enough to make a Doctor Who joke to myself about how it looks like a Raxacoricofallapatorian space ship crashed into the stadium.  I had not missed rush hour.  Not at all.  And I was stuck behind a bus.  I was not going to be able to drive in stop and go traffic for nearly 10 miles behind a bus.  Ain't no way.   

source

I was able to get around the bus surprisingly easily (it was a surprise to me, anyway), and the rest of the drive was mostly uneventful, thankfully.  I was able to navigate around a bunch of one way streets to pick Rachel up before heading back to her apartment.  The drive back the next morning was fairly simple as well since I successfully avoided morning rush hour traffic.  Of course Samantha failed to remind me that I should stay to the left on 90/94 to remain in the express lanes, but other than that, the trip back was fine.

You guys.  I was so proud of myself.  I had done something that I really didn't think I would able to ever do.  I did not give in to the anxiety.  I didn't even almost get in any accidents!  I faced my fear.  So what did I learn from my experience? I learned that most of the other drivers don't want to die in a fiery car crash either, so they'll usually try to avoid getting in one with you!  Not only did I face my fear by driving in Chicago, but I also put myself out there by asking for encouragement from my friends.  And I learned I have a lot more support than I sometimes realize.  I know that clicking the Like button on my silly little Facebook status doesn't mean all those people would go into a real battle with me, but I felt comforted knowing they were pulling for me.

P.S. While I was at her apartment, I helped Rachel set up her blog.  She's doing summer stock theatre in Door County Michigan this summer, and she's going to blog about her experience.  Find out what she has to say in I Carried a Watermelon.

This is My Life?! Splendid!

If I've seen you in the past two weeks, you've probably heard both of these stories.  For those of you who haven't heard them already, let me introduce you to a new series called "This is my life?!" that will showcase the slightly ridiculous moments that happen to me.  If you follow me (@klareau3) or our house (@KLandSP) on Twitter, you'll probably get snippets of these stories.  Here are the full (overly)dramatic versions.

The first story takes place just over two weeks ago.  I had an interview that afternoon, and it was unseasonably hot that day (welcome to Central Illinois, where the weather is schizophrenic), so when I came home, I changed from my interview dress to a lounge-about-the-house dress.  I decided to unwind for awhile by watching YouTube videos, and I became intrigued by the Colors of the Rainbow tag videos being made by some of the vloggers I follow.  The concept was to talk about one of your favorite beauty/fashion items for each color of the rainbow (plus pink and multi-colored).  I decided I wanted to make a video response.  

I set up my camera in the dining craft room, opened the blinds and turned on the lights.  I decided that I couldn't wear the lounge-about-the-house dress because it has weird straps, and I have to wear a cami underneath it, and there were just too many straps involved to make me comfortable on-camera.  I took off the lounging dress, and went back into the craft room to finish putting on my makeup so as not to get any makeup on the dress I was going to wear in the video.

Before I go any further, let me describe where I live.  It's a small house with two front doors situated on the corner of a side street and a busy one way street.  There's a bike lane along the one way street.  The window of the dining craft room looks out onto the one way street, but based on assertions by my roommate who never sees me wave at her from that window, I basically assume that most people can't see me...

As I adjusted my makeup in the dining craft room, I happened to notice a young man riding his bike on the sidewalk just beyond our front porch.  Now, I can't be positive that he saw me, wearing nothing but beige undergarments, but he did look directly at the window.  And I swear, in that moment, not only did he see me, but it felt like he looked into my soul.  I immediately scampered back into my room and threw the dress on.  Then just for good measure, I closed and locked both front doors that had been standing wide open so as to encourage a breeze inside the house.  Luckily for me, he kept on riding, but seriously, this is my life?!

Then last Friday, I was getting ready to north for my cousin's graduation party.  I had just gotten out of the shower and was wearing my pj's, which may or may not have been decorated with not only toothpaste spots but also a nice big smudge in the exact neon orange dust that is found on Cheetos. (Hint: it did.)  Most of my wet hair was sectioned for drying, and I had a single braid down the center of my head.  Since I'm home alone so often, I rarely get ready without playing music.  I was dancing around, like one does, as Mick Jagger serenaded me with "Let's Spend the Night Together."  To be honest, Mick was also serenading half the block, and there's a very real chance window panes were rattling in my little house.  The hair dryer was going, I was singing, and over all that cacophony, I heard four loud knocks on a front door.

As I emerged from the bathroom to pause the music, I saw the landlord standing on the porch.  He stopped by to check in about a few things and ask if we were planning to sign another year long lease.  The entire conversation probably didn't take longer than 5 minutes, but it felt like eternity.  In those four minutes, I think a bus full of school children unloaded at the corner, people were walking their dogs, and I was sopping wet on the porch in sweatpants talking to my landlord.  

The landlord is a nice enough guy, but he doesn't get me.  When we originally signed the lease, Stacey and I were in a good mood, making jokes about how we were excited to move to a neighborhood that didn't necessitate having the police on speed dial, and he just didn't get us.  Since then I felt like every conversation between the two (or three, if Stacey's around) of us has been awkward.  I could tell that he really didn't know how to process the sight before him.  I think it was the hair that put him over the edge, not the Cheeto dust.

As he turned to leave, I turned the music back on.  Once more in the bathroom with the hair dryer and the singing, I heard four more loud knocks at the door.  It was deja vu all over again.  I came back out of the bathroom to find the landlord on the porch again.  Now, he claimed that he had forgotten to mention one last thing while we were talking, but I'm pretty sure he was just floored by my beauty, grace, and glorious singing voice and was desperate to be in my presence.  This time I made sure his car had pulled away from the curb and was on its way down the street before I turned the music back on.

I do have a sense of shame, and I do get embarrassed from time to time, but stories like these happen to me so often that it doesn't make sense to feel embarrassed about them anymore.  Instead I share my potential shame with the world and hope that it makes somebody feel a little bit better about their day.

Fangirling over Hannah Hart? Splendid!

I wrote a couple months ago about my girl crush on Hannah Hart, her YouTube series My Drunk Kitchen, and her Hello, Harto tour.  It was my distinct and absolute pleasure to meet her on Saturday!

She kicked off the Hello, Harto! tour in late April, rented an RV, and hit the road.  Most of her stops include shooting for the Hello, Harto travel portion of the show, shooting an episode of My Drunk Kitchen in a fan's house, and a volunteer event/meetup.  They even developed a smartphone app so fans can stay connected throughout the tour.

When the tour calendar was announced, I was sad to see that the tour wouldn't include my kitchen, but I was happy that they would be stopping in (somewhat nearby) Chicago.  It also happened that the Chicago stop was scheduled for Mother's Day weekend.  I immediately called my mom (who is also a fan of Hannah) to ask if she would be interested in volunteering and meeting Hannah for Mother's Day.  Being awesome, my mom enthusiastically agreed that it would be a great way for us to celebrate.  The hard part was waiting for details about the event.  Both of us checked the app multiple times a day in hopes of the volunteering signup being open.

In the meantime, my Grandma came up from Florida to visit and celebrate my cousin's college graduation.  When registration for the event finally opened, she asked if she could join us.  My boyfriend also agreed to go, which was fantastic since none of us particularly like driving in Chicago.  The event also included a food drive, so before Saturday, I went and picked up some things for us to donate.

Saturday we headed north (MUCH earlier than I've been awake lately) and enjoyed watching all the U of I Commencement traffic heading the opposite direction.  We met Mom & Grandma in the suburbs and headed for the venue.  It can be difficult to find a food bank to accommodate the number of volunteers Hannah was able to recruit.  Because of this, we weren't actually able to help at a food bank.  Our act of volunteerism was the food drive, and I think that turned out pretty well.  All the food was donated to the Greater Chicago Food Depository.

The event was at the Catalyst Ranch in Chicago.  I had never been there, but I heard that it's used a lot for corporate retreats and to encourage creativity.  I can totally understand that because it is a very eclectic space.  In addition to colorful decor, the room we were in also had a bunch of different vintage dinette sets and fabulous chairs.  Waiting in line to meet Hannah was easier because there was always something interesting to inspect.  Before we could go in the room where Hannah spoke, I asked Scott to take a picture of my grandma, mom, and me, because it's not often we all get to do something together, especially something so awesome!

Unintentionally color coordinated and everything!

Since we weren't able to help at a food bank, Hannah was able to devote a lot more time to talking about the tour and answering questions from the audience.  She was so gracious and sweet.  She talked about how the tour was going, and her plans for the future.  She was warm and funny and absolutely charming.  One fan combined Hannah's show and her love of Doctor Who by creating a sonic spatula and presenting it in front of the group.  It was a replica of the sonic screwdriver David Tennant used as the 10th Doctor, complete with blue light and sonic sound effects.

The Sonic Spatula is in the top row.

After the Q&A session but before we could meet Hannah, Pearl (Hannah's friend and the tour's producer) took a panoramic shot of everyone who attended.  It was suggested that everyone Grace Face as an homage to Hannah's friend and excellent YouTuber, DailyGrace.  Hannah shared that her usual reaction to that request is to flash both her middle fingers at the camera, and those of us in the audience could choose which we wanted to do.  Not knowing what Grace Facing is and not wanting to flip off the camera, apparently my grandma opted to give the camera A finger instead of THE finger.  She just held up her index finger.  It was pretty adorable.  If you look closely in the Instagramed photo Hannah posted after the event, you can even kind of make her out.

It took us quite awhile to make it through the line to meet Hannah individually, but it was absolutely worth it to me.  When we got to the front of the line, I went first, she shook my hand, introduced herself (it was a very Harriet Jones, Former Prime Minister moment for me), and then gave me the best hug.  Seriously, home girl can hug.  Then I explained to her that I take 98% of my pictures with my mouth open, and I was wondering if she would do that in our picture.  She asked me to demonstrate and then was totally game.  After introducing her to my mom and grandma, she hugged each of them, and the four of us posed for a picture.  Hannah asked if we were going to take the picture with open mouths.  Again, in case you didn't catch that, IT WAS HANNAH'S IDEA TO TAKE AN OPEN MOUTH GROUP PICTURE WITH MY FAMILY!  And then I died.  No, really, it was so sweet.  Pearl noticed the three generations in our group and asked if we would mind being interviewed on camera.  I was obviously up for it (and therefore decided all three of us were up for it), and she sent us to see Sam the cameraman.  Sam asked a few questions about how we became fans of Hannah and what we love about her and similar things.  Hopefully we'll make the final cut in the documentary at the end of Hello, Harto!

Hugs and open mouth pictures with HANNAH HART!

Meeting Hannah has definitely been the highlight of 2013 for me.  It's hard to meet someone you look up to so much, because the higher the pedestal you put them on, the more likely they are to disappoint you.  Hannah Hart did not disappoint.  She was absolutely as lovely and welcoming as I had hoped she would be.  On the trip back home, we decided the best single-word descriptor for her would probably be delightful.  She really is just so delightful.

If you have the opportunity to meet her, definitely take it!  And call me so I can go with you!

Another Kiddo Kim Story? Splendid!

When I was a kid, my parents censored the types of media in our lives but only on a limited level.  We watched a LOT of movies at home because we didn't have cable or satellite until I was in high school.  That meant we were limited to the two channels we could pick up with the TV antenna.  We had a pretty big movie collection, but there was the section at the back of the faux woodgrain VHS tape drawers that held the movies we weren't allowed to watch. 

Yeah, remember these guys?

I even remember which movies they were: Animal House, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, and Stripes.  The nudity in these movies was apparently deemed too graphic for us.  (Mom, I know you read this.  Why wasn't Caddyshack included?  The nudity wasn't too graphic?)

They were even more lax when it came to music.  We regularly listened to the Meatloaf album Bat Out of Hell on the casette player in the car.  I'm pretty sure I knew all the words to "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" by the time I was eight.  I loved that song - still do - but it didn't have anything to do with the lyrical content.  It's loud, and epic, and it's a duet, and there's a whole baseball section in the middle!  It wasn't until I was much older that I really started to understand the lyrics anyway.

Anyway, my favorite movies as a kid were Grease and Dirty Dancing.  I won't even go into the lyrics for "Greased Lightning."  But to this day, I still think the final scene in Dirty Dancing is one of the most triumphant scenes in all of film.  Seriously.  Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

This is what success looks like.

And yes, I do realize how ridiculous this sounds, but I stand by it.  As a kid, all I knew was that this was a love story with a lot of amazing dancing.  I had absolutely no understanding of Penny's plot line.  I mean, I guess I probably knew that she was pregnant.  But I'm pretty sure I thought she was still pregnant at the end of the movie until I was 17.  It was definitely a lightbulb moment when I figured out why anyone had a "dirty knife and a folding table."

I loved this movie so much that when Johnny and Baby would perfect the lift at the end, I would beg my dad to do the same with me.  Obviously this got progressively more difficult as I got older.  (Sidenote: I think that's one of the saddest moments of growing up - when you realize you're finally too big to just be tossed up into the air.  Especially when you're the oldest, and the other kids still have years of child throwing ahead of them.)  Then there was also the fact that my dad didn't love Dirty Dancing as much as I did, so he often found reasons to avoid watching it with me.  That's when I developed my solo Dirty Dancing lift technique.

We had a a really sturdy footstool that was the cornerstone of playtime in our living room.  It was used as a tunnel when we were really small, as a house or garage for dolls and cars, a sturdy wall for fort building, you name it.  Most importantly for me, it was also the Johnny to my Baby.  It was my lift partner.  If Dad wasn't around to do the lift with me, I would come running from one end of our house and gracefully flop onto the footstool arms outstretched, legs straight out behind me.  I had no shame in this either.  I didn't care who was around.  When my parents were out for the night, and our babysitter Laura let me stay up late to finish watching the movie, the only thing that changed was that I would try to run quieter so as not to wake up my little brother.

I don't think this spectacle was ever captured on film or video, so I made a helpful visual aid.  Other than the fact that I used a picture of me at twenty-seven instead of seven, I feel that this is pretty accurate.  Please feel free to compliment my photo shopping skills.  

This is full of win.  Trust me.

I really don't blame my parents at all for exposing me to those things as a kid.  Until a child is old enough to understand what any of it means, it doesn't really matter.  And once we were old enough to understand, my parents would have honestly answered any questions we had.  To this day, I still don't think much about Penny's plot or the lyrics to "Greased Lightning," so it's no big deal.  Understanding the lyrics to "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" however...  Yeah that was an adjustment.

A Strong Female Role Model? Splendid!

I have a girl crush on the late Nora Ephron.  Admittedly this crush came about somewhat recently, but that does not diminish its intensity.  I had watched many movies Ms. Ephron had a hand in well before I knew who or how important she was.

The eldest of four daughters in a family full of writers, Nora began her career as a journalist at the New York Post.  In 1976 she married journalist Carl Bernstein who is well-known for two things.  First, he was one of the journalists who broke the Watergate scandal in the 1970s.  Second, he had a well-publicized extramarital affair with British politician, Margaret Jay, while he was married to Ephron.  Nora used her divorce as the material for her 1983 book Heartburn.  The book was turned into a film starring Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson in 1986.  Ephron and Streep worked together on numerous projects over the years, and of Streep's role in Heartburn, Ephron famously noted "I highly recommend having Meryl Streep play you.  If your husband is cheating on you with a carhop, get Meryl to play you.  You will feel much better."  I think it took a lot of courage to turn her personal misfortune into a book and film.  It allowed her to take something terrible in her life and turn it into something wonderful.

Ephron continued writing books and screenplays throughout the rest of her life, but there are a few specific ones that will always hold a special place in American pop culture history.  In 1989 she wrote and co-produced When Harry Met Sally.  The partnership between Ephron and director Rob Reiner created one of the most memorable and beloved romantic comedies ever made.  This also marked the first time Ephron worked with America's Sweetheart of the 1990's - Meg Ryan.  Ryan went on to star in two more of Ephron's biggest films, Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail.  Working consistently throughout the 1990s and the early part of the 21st century, Ephron's last film was 2009's Julie & Julia, starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams.

While her legacy may be mostly rooted in American film and literature, that's not the basis of my girl crush on Nora Ephron.  As a graduate of Wellesley College, she was invited back to her alma mater to give the commencement address to the class of 1996.  You can find a copy of the address on the Wellesley College website.  In my opinion, it is magnificent.  If I ever have daughters, I will read this to them.  It is a reminder of how far women have come in the last 50 years and also a reminder of how far we still have to go.  Despite the fact that this speech was delivered 17 years ago, so much of it still resonates with me, a (relatively) young woman trying to make my way in the world.

There is one specific line in the commencement speech that speaks to me above the others. Looking out on the graduating class of 1996, Nora Ephron said to the women of Weselley College, "Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim."  I like that line so much that I decided I wanted to hang it on my wall.  I made an extremely simple design of it in four different colors.  This way I can hang whichever best matches my mood!

I want to pass this sentiment along to every woman in the world.  It's a reminder that you should be the protagonist of your own life story.  In the spirit of sharing this reminder, you can download the image as a jpeg or pdf here.  The image is designed to print on 11x17 paper.  

Custom made shirt design? Splendid!

So I was recently watching a YouTube video that featured Ingrid Nilson (Missglamorazzi) wearing a shirt sporting The Cure's song title, "Friday I'm in love."  I have been thinking about the shirt for a couple weeks now, so I decided to make one for myself the other day.

I used the freezer paper stencil method I first learned from Dana's Made blog.  Basically, I found a font I liked and printed out the words.  Then I taped the printout onto freezer paper and cut the letters out using an Xacto knife.  Cutting the letters was the most difficult part, but only because it takes precision.  After cutting the letters out, I positioned the stencils on a t-shirt I got at Old Navy and ironed them down.  The freezer paper has a thin plastic coating that acts as a light adhesive when ironed to the shirt.  It's what keeps the paint from seeping through the paper stencil.

After inserting a piece of cardboard into the shirt to keep the paint from leaking through to the back, I started painting with Jacquard Textile Color in 107 Ruby Red. I applied two coats of paint, and I think that gave me a great amount of color without drying too thick.

I let the paint dry overnight, after which I removed the freezer paper.  You certainly don't have to let it dry that long, so check the label on your paint.  Honestly, I just got side tracked with a visit to an ice cream shop and a few episodes of Doctor Who with my roommate.  Waiting to set the design doesn't hurt anything.  To set the paint, I put a towel over the design and ran a hot iron over it for 30-60 seconds. 

The finished product!

I'm trying to decide if I want to add a heart or leave it without.  I like the font I used (Handwriting - Dakota bold), but next time I do something like this, I'll probably use a fatter font.  I can definitely say I'm very happy with how it turned out.

This is the third time I've tried this technique, and it's so simple that I just keep coming up with more and more ideas for personalized apparel.  What do you think I should make next?