Vacation Photo Time!

So I feel that I should show some of my vacation photos on here. Jay and I have been to some fantastic places, and really, what is there to life if you can't brag?

Last year in April, Jay and I went to England and visited Buckingham Palace. Did you know the Queen is my 27th cousin 9 times removed? No? Well, now you're educated.

Anyway, we took a photo at Buckingham, and I think something special was going on that day, because there were so many cheering people there...maybe Justin Beiber was visiting...

Now! Our next vacation was a few months ago, in Washington, DC. We were trying to take a photo there, but this guy kept getting in the way! All my photos turned out with this man in them! Needless to say, I was VERY annoyed.

Now last, but not least, a photo from our winter 2010 Vancouver trip. Amazing views, just gorgeous, and we didn't even need coats (we're THAT good). But there were these CRAZY athletes all over the place - these skiers even tried to run us over when we were taking this photo! We were all, "Simmer down, skiers, this isn't the Olympics!" 

Hope you enjoyed our trip down vacation memory lane! As you can see, my Husband and I have changed a lot over the years, and we like to try different poses and outfits, but we're the same ol' dorky people from Ohio/Ontario that we've always been! 

Can't wait to see where we go next year, and I'm sure you can't either!

Susie Frickin' Homemaker: Snot Soap

And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure, we welcome you to another episode of:

Welcome, welcome, and may the odds be ever in your favor! Opps, my bad, wrong character. 

Today on Susie Frickin' Homemaker, I'll show you how to make your own liquid dish soap! Or rather, I'll show you how I made my own liquid dish soap from a recipe from a real homemaker's website that has no affiliation with my blog! Then I'll show you how it all went HORRIBLY WRONG.

What you need:

1 bar of soap, any kind (I used Ivory)

8 cups of water

4 teaspoons of lemon juice or vinegar

Right! Let's start, shall we? FIRST, I used my mandolin to cut the soap into shavings. You can use whatever you have, but my mandolin made it so much easier. Second, I added the soap shavings and the 8 cups of water to a large pot and then heated it over medium heat until the soap shavings had melted, making sure it didn't boil. Then, you take it off the heat, let it cool a little and add the lemon juice or vinegar. I used lemon juice because vinegar just doesn't smell that nice. Lastly, let it cool completely all the way, then pour into your dish soap bottle.

Oh lordy, it all sounds so easy.

I did mine at night, so that when I awoke the next day, it would be completely cooled and I'd be able to pour it in the bottle.

I awoke from my chamber of secrets and made my way blearily out to the kitchen, silently cursing the sunlight pouring through our dining room window and stumbling over several cats along the way. I pulled the lid off the pot and stuck my finger into the liquid soap to make sure it was cool.

*GLOOP*

At least that's the noise I imagined it made. 

Eyes the size of saucers, I exclaimed, "EWWWWW!" and pulled my finger out of the pot. IT HAD SOLIDIFIED!

It looked like grease that had been sitting out too long. Not willing to give up, I got a whisk and started whisking it back into submissive liquid form. No good. I stuck my hands in and started squeezing it, and it did get thinner, but it was then I realized that this stuff feels and looks EXACTLY like SNOT.

So then I thought, "Let's strain it!" I put it in the strainer and put it over a bowl to catch the liquid.

Yeeeaahhhhh, that didn't work.

So finally, I put it back into the pot, poured some hot water in, mixed it up really good with the whisk until it was a very thin snot, and poured it into the soap bottle.

Tried it out, it does do the job, just....snottily. Besides, my Husband thoughtfully does the dishes most of the time for me.

And by that, I mean I make him do the dishes while I sit in the air conditioned bedroom playing "The Sims 3." 

So I poured the extra into a container for refills and called it a day.

Next time on Susie Frickin' Homemaker, how to remember to change the refill in your plug-in air freshener before it burns into it like a permanent piece of the structure!

Ha ha, no, I can't teach you that, I'm just gonna keep forgetting and let that sucker burn. 

Until next time, stay domestacular!

Why I Run

People have asked me repeatedly in the weeks since I started my running program just why I have started doing so.

Are you running to lose weight?

Ha ha, NO. I'm not one of those people who repeatedly step on the scale and obsess over every little pound lost. No thanks. I like myself the way I am.

Are you running to make yourself look good to people who see you run?

Have you ever seen me run? Yeah, me neither, but I imagine I look a lot like this.

Only more red in the face, WAY more sweaty and my tiara is more sparkly. Also, gold tu-tu? What is this, the 80's?

 My tu-tu is pink.

I get stares, I get shocked looks, I get smirks. But those are the people that I wink and blow kisses at before jogging my jiggly butt past them, singing "Bootylicious" to myself.

Are you running for your overall health?

I'm sure that's a big part of it!

Then why ARE you running?

Because someday, there may be zombies.

And those people who are staring, shocked, smirking? Well, I have to be able to run faster than them so that the zombies will eat them instead of me.

So let them sit in their cars, laughing to themselves about that fat girl running around the block while they stuff themselves with McDonalds and pat themselves on the back. Because someday, in the future, when the zombies attack, I'll be running past them as the zombies take their McDonald's loving butts down and treat them like a Big Mac. Then I'll be the one smirking, and do you know what I'll say?

A Fetching Nightmare

I have five cats living in my one bedroom apartment.

Yes, you read that right. 

Five. Cats.

Three of the cats are mine; Shiloh, age three, Mikey, age two, and Cookie, age one. Two of the cats are cats that I foster for a local humane society, but who haven't been adopted yet; Stevie, age four and Prin, age one. 

Now, each of them has a different personality and their own little quirks, as loving pet owners will acknowledge about all pets. Shiloh and Snookie are both cats that love to play fetch. Shiloh is very specific about what she will fetch; brightly colored balls with bells in the middle, or a feather toy that she can toss around.

Cookie, however, is not specific at all.

Cookie will bring me any number of things to throw. Balls, toy mice, feather toys, bottle caps, hair ties...she even brought me a sock one time. All of these items she expects me to toss across the room so that she can retrieve it and bring it back to me, much like a dog.

This evening, I was sitting in our bed with my Husband, watching a particuarly riveting episode of Dexter. Cookie brought me a toy in her mouth and dropped it in my lap, sitting back patiently, waiting for me to toss it so that she could fetch it and bring it back. 

Not paying attention, keeping my eyes fixed on the TV to see what life would bring to dear ol' Dexter, I grabbed the toy and held it in my hand.

And then the toy moved. 

Crawled, really.

The toy...crawled.

Confused, I looked down into my open palm in horror.

Cookie brought me a live beetle. 

Now, it's at this moment that I feel I should tell you that I am terrified of bugs. Oh, not the little stand-on-a-chair-and-shriek-until-someone-kills-it terrified. I am the screaming-at-the-top-of-my-lungs-throwing-it-while-simulatiously-trying-to-throw-myself-the-other-direction, all-the-blood-is-gone-from-my-face, shaking-and-crying-and-acting-like-a-three-year-old kind of terrified. So I did what comes naturally.

I threw it and screamed bloody murder while trying to lodge my fat body behind my Husband's skinny frame, like I might be able to hide from it behind him. 

My Husband, being the brave shining knight in armor, quickly scooped it up and did something with it. I didn't ask. 

I calmed down and thought to myself, "Now, how did she get a beetle? It couldn't have gotten in our apartment..." and then it dawned on me.

The balcony door must be open.

Sure enough, we ran out into the living room to discover the cats were having a little party out on the balcony called "Freedom." Seems they somehow managed to open the door on their own and decided, "Hey, let's live a little while we're young!" Cookie thought. "Ooo, a moving-thingie! I bet Mommy would love to throw this for me, and it would be fun to catch!" 

*shudders*

After coercing them back inside with a little sweet talk and a lot of treats, we slammed the door shut on their freedom, and Cookie will have to go back to her secret hair tie and bottle cap collection. 

As for me...I'll be laying awake in bed tonight, eyes open wide, searching the bedroom walls for more beetles that might somehow attack me, or crawl on me, or...or...

I'll be back.

I have to go buy Raid.

The Most Amazing Recipe Ever!

Being a Pinterest addict, I tend to pin many delicious-looking recipes to try, all provided to us from blogs who seemingly have all the food secrets. They come up with amazing recipes that I, myself, not really being that great of a cook, could never come up with on my own.

Those Pinterest recipes make me jealous.

I have recipes. I should be pinned!

So today, I am giving you my TOP-SECRET-MOST-AMAZING-RECIPE EVER. And you're going to want to make it SO MUCH that you are just going click your little "Pin it!" button and make all my dreams of being a top-pinned recipe come true!

So are you ready for the best recipe ever that I totally made up myself unless someone else says they made it in which case I totally didn't make up myself for legal purposes?

GREAT! Taste-buds, get ready!

PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH

What you need:

Two pieces of bread - any bread. Even if it's moldy, pick off the moldy bits.

Peanut Butter, Creamy preferred - Any kind. I use knock-off PB. I'm cheap.

Jelly, any fruit flavor.

Ok, now, I know that this recipe seems like it is INCREDIBLY hard, but that is just those five shots of tequila talking - or at least it is for me - you can do this, I believe in you!

First, put the pieces of bread on a plate. 

Second, and this is where it gets hard, spread peanut butter on one piece of the bread, and jelly on the other piece of bread. As much as you like. I like a lot, because I'm a slob.

Third, very gently, place the peanut butter'd piece of bread on top of the jelly piece. Putting the jelly piece on top of the peanut butter piece is sacrilegious - lightening will strike your sandwich and destroy it if you put the jelly piece on top. I mean it - many a sandwich of mine has disintegrated due to being wrongly placed together. 

This last step is the most important step of this sandwich, and you will cry a river if you get it wrong. Using a knife, cut the sandwich in half DIAGONALLY. It's VERY important the the sandwich is cut diagonally. If you cut the sandwich in half straight down the middle, it won't taste as good. Trust me. I'm an expert, and so are your kids.

And there you have it! The bestest, most amazing recipe you have ever seen and have never made before! 

Take THAT, fancy Pinterest recipes! 

Warning: Fat Girl Jogging

Today, kids, we're going to talk about exercise and its importance to your health.

*snort* Yeah, no, it's not that sort of blog. But I am going to talk about exercise - jogging, to be precise.

Being a very large woman and a supporter of size acceptance doesn't mean that I promote sitting around all day, eating junk food and burping the alphabet, no matter what my Husband tells you about me. I actually enjoy exercise and would like to be more active! And so, I started the Couch to 5K program.

And then it ended. The end.

Well, I guess there was a LITTLE bit more in between.

 A little.

Turns out that when you start Couch to 5K and you think, "Oh wow, I'll be running 5K in no time!" while imagining yourself running all sexy-like in slow motion, hair blowing elegantly in the breeze as "Born Free" plays that you've seen too many movies with sexy-like joggers and are maybe a little delusional.

Such was I.

I imagined that jogging would be a breeze and that it would just come naturally.

Here is a photo of me after my first attempt at Couch to 5K.

Turns out my breeze was actually a hurricane. And that was just after jogging for one minute a few times for less than a half hour!

Crawling up the stairs to my third floor apartment, if memory serves me right, I believe I told my husband, "Leave me, leave me! Save yourself! *sob* Just leave me some water...some chips if you have them..." before curling up in the fetal position and whimpering a few times. 

Even though my first attempt at Couch to 5K left me less than enthusiastic about my chances of actually accomplishing this program, I decided to press on. I went out a few days later with my Husband to try again, and things went a bit better. I was immensely proud of myself that I only vomited twice! But I started noticing a very severe pain in my back and legs. 

The third time I tried, a few days later, I was only able to make it one minute jogging before the leg and back pain left me limping to a nearby picnic table. Sliding one leg behind me while limping with the other, I called out to my Husband in a raspy voice, "Master! The plans! The plans!" 

Three days later, this very morning in fact, I decided to try one last time, this time on my own. I got up at five am, got my "fitness" clothes on (aka pajama pants, a man's wife beater and my tightest bra - I don't want to lose an eye!) and made my way outside to the empty road. I decided to just walk and jog on the streets around my apartment building.

Ten minutes later, as the debilitating back pain set in, I realized that I possibly, maybe a little, kinda, probably, sorta, might have made a tiny, minuscule, itty bitty big mistake.

Limp two steps. Stop and moan. Limp two more steps. Stop and moan. That's how it was the entire hour it took me to get home from the street beside my apartment building. I vaguely remember using a tree to try to alleviate the pain and stress on my poor back and legs - that tree will be in tree therapy for years. Sorry Mr. Maple Tree, for my violation.

When I got home, I stretched a bit like a good amateur jogger, then laid down in my bed and let my dream of "Born Free" jogging with my hair blowing in the breeze pass on and go to dream heaven.

Instead, I now have a new dream! A dream of WALKING all sexy-like in slow motion, hair blowing elegantly in the breeze as "Born Free" plays!

Let's face it. Imagining that starting an exercise program like Couch to 5K and that it wouldn't be incredibly hard work is like imagining having a baby and that you won't have any labor pains - I think I must have been high on the chocolate icing that I had been stealing spoonfuls of out of the container in the fridge (Note: Don't eat cake at my place). 

Couch to 5K will have to wait. I still intend to do it once I condition for it, but right now, I think I better start with Bed to Couch. I'm starting a new program next week where the walking and jogging is a little more my level, after my back injuries have healed. 

But if you're in Oakville and you see someone along the street in the fetal position, whimpering and mumbling something about chocolate icing, please call my Husband, tell him where to find me and that I require a large steeped tea and a glazed donut from Tim Hortons. 

Thanks.

Welcome!

Welcome, welcome, welcome!

Welcome to the best blog EVER. Ok, it probably isn't the best one EVER, and I'm sure there are other blogs who have the right to use the word EVER in all caps, but seeing as how I kinda march to the beat of my own drum and all the other cliches about being different, I'll just go ahead and use EVER howEVER I like. Get it? HowEVER? Eh, you get the point.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Stephanie Vandenburg, and this is a photo of me.

*cough* Ignore my "model" shirt there, don't mean to show off...

Ok, Ok, you've got me. No, I'm not a natural blonde. 

What?! Oh, alright, that isn't really a photo of me. Let's face it, folks, I am neither blonde, skinny, tan, and I most certainly do not wear orange...whatever those are...a handkerchief? A scarf? A well-placed napkin? Who knows.

THIS is the real me.

Fat (and happy with it!), brunette with a bunch of greys growing in, brown-eyed, with...dare I say it?...FRUMPY PANTIES.

I've been told numerous times by two people that I should have a blog, and they've pinkie sworn to read it, so here I am! Along the way, you'll read news reports from the Oakville Boring News team, see photos only a Mother could love and read random thoughts that pop into my head. 

So get out your party dress, it's time to sit by the computer and read!