Last Post

As you can see, we have been ghetto stylin' for a while.  Let this be a cautionary tale.  Ghetto stylin' is the reason my marriage failed. Peace.

Oh, thanks honey!

Our kitchen spigot sprung a leak. Not the faucet, not the sprayer, but the curvy metal tube where the water comes out. I couldn't believe it- tiny little arcs of water were sparking in the sun, squirting out of tiny pinholes formed at the corroded spot.
I pointed them out to my husband, and penciled in a trip to iMenards, ghetto styler's paradise, to pick out a new fixture. Not to worry. When I got home today it was all fixed up.

When something breaks...

I wear my watch at night.  Two weeks ago, I woke up and noticed the extra part of the strap was flopping around.  I went to slide it under the strap holder and realized it wasn't there.  I found it broken under my pillow.  As you can see from my photos, I fixed it with your run of the mill twist tie.  Problem solved.  Except for the fact that the twist tie often sticks out and snags on things.  Oh, and the strap falls out.  A side effect of ghetto stylin'.

McDonald's Coffee- nothing ghetto about it!

Today I found myself in a town without a Starbucks or a Caribou, but you know what? My need for a super strong, smooth and milky latte was perfectly met. MacDonald's makes s fine latte, even though they really, really have a hard time not putting flavor in it.
When it was empty, I rinsed it out. The plasticky styrofoam cup got nice and clean. I drank cold tap water from that coffee cup all day long.
Now THAT'S ghetto stylin'!

Blog Photos

I was preparing the photos for the blog about the pizza and my older son, Jake, asked what they were for.  I told him they were for the blog.  He then replied "Is that the blog from you and Kristin showing gross stuff in the house?"  I have to teach him the proper term, Ghetto Stylin'!

Yum!! Pizza!

This is a desk in our living room.  We have several framed photos on it.

It also seems to be a leftover pizza holder.  My son, Trevor, was standing by the desk yesterday, chomping on this leftover piece.  He said "Hmm, this is pretty hard!"  When I took it from him, I tried to check to see how hard it really was.  Let's just say I couldn't break it in half or pierce it with a fork.  In fact, I don't remember when we last had DiGiorno pizza.  Yuk.

It's June 10th.  Ghetto Stylin'!