Little Mrs. Never Crafts

You know those people who make almost everything their wear, everything they have decorated their house with, everything in general?

"Ooooh!  You like my sweater?  I maaade it."

"Ssssseriously?  You LIKE this vase?  I made it you, know."

"The Valedictorrrrrrrrian?  I'm so crafty I knitted him in my womb."

...Apparently in my mind crafty people over enunciate their words as well as make a ton of stuff.


Regardless of their extra consonants, I aspire to be one of those people.  Within reason.  I promise I will never make a sweater, and I swear to never use the term "knitted him in my womb" ever again. Scouts honor.

In my assssspiration to be more like these crafty folks, I have made something that I am going to share with the blog world. Besides my photos, I am not a very crafty person, so this is attempt #1 to MAKE something that I won't eventually eat.

Here is the how-to for my craft project.


STEP 1:
Buy a painting with lots of color on it. I chose Starry Nights.

STEP 2:
Buy stick on letters, find a poem or a saying to put on the painting with your letters.

STEP 3:
Stick on letter.  Yup.  That was the entirety of step three.  Way more complicated than it sounds.

STEP 4:
Buy spray paint and cover the entire painting with the spray paint. Because my painting was pretty dark, I used 2-3 coats.  I say "I" used.  Really, 'twas the husband.

STEP 5:
Let the spray paint dry before peeling of each of the letters, exposing the painting behind it.  Or be an impatient turd like me, and peel the letters off too soon.

STEP 6:  Proudly display your faux-painting/poem painting/WHATEVER you want to call it, on a sweet 70's recliner, and give it to your sister for her baby shower. :)

PS I thought of NONE of this. I found the poem and the craft project on Pinterest. :)

Four

Fancy a trip down memory lane? Let's go!

When I was in high school I had the best psychology teacher EVER.

Every Christmas break, the seniors from the previous year would return to Mr. Foutz's class to be 'hypnotized'.  After I had begrudgingly left high school (am I the only one who like it there?) to go to college for a year, I journeyed back to Mr. Foutz's class for my chance at being hypnotized.

Because I was pretty sure it was all fake, I was more nervous about seeing my ex-boyfriend and his friends than I was about actually being hypnotized.

Foutz was unfortunately able to hypnotize me.  He was telling other people who were hypnotized that he was Brad Pitt, or that water filling the room. I was given a MUCH tamer scenario.  Shame huh?  I'm pretty good at making a public spectacle of myself.

I was told that there was no such thing as the number four.  No matter if I was adding 2 and 2, counting, or trying to read the number four, it would not work.  At one point I started getting angry.  Surprise.

After Foutz brought me back out of the hypnosis (for fear of getting a fist to the groin), I had to run out of the class room to get to my job at the mall.  Thaaat's right. I had a sweet mall gig at a kiosk that no one frequented.  I read books and people watched. Heaven.

That night I was counting the cash register and I could not figure out why it continued to come up wrong!  Could it be because I kept skipping the number 4?  Yeah... I was annoyed.  Once I realized what I was doing, I could consciously count the 4th dollar, but without prompting, my brain would just skip it.

I was hypnotized over 6 years ago and until a few weeks ago I had forgotten all about that little incident.

Until I was teaching Pilates.  "Inhale, one, two, three, five"...

Not a believer in hypnosis?  Me neither.