How to make a cork board window box

Materials needed:  Best friend who knows exactly what you need as far as a window —

Mirrored window box   PERFECT —

mirror out  WOW —  1 sheet of mirror removed in less than 5 minutes.  ONWARD —

cb3 Other materials you will need — and yes these all came from the dreaded and hated WALMART :

Cork tiles  ( found in office) $5.47 (est) for 4 tiles

chalk paint ( Ink colored) $5.87  and 1 paint brush  $1.00

cb4  After I removed the mirror I painted with the chalk paint — allow about 1/2 hour or more for drying. I then measured each opening — cut the cork to fit …placed inside and put the back ( cardboard) back on. I used packing tape to hold it in place.

cb5  Finished project  — took maybe an hour.  Most of the time consuming part would have been removing glass if you do this with a regular window.

How go find an old window and have fun!!!  :)

Diva Cup Review – I know it’s rigged but it’s friggin hilarious!

( let me just preface this by saying this is wrong on so many levels    totally fucked up!)  No way would I be messing around with this and this review here sums up my thinking  on the matter.
Amazon Verified Purchase(What’s this?)
This review is from: DivaCup Model 2 Post-Childbirth (Health and Beauty)

So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva “Moon Cup”. Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.

The theory is that the cup catches your pan drippings, and you empty it a couple times a day, washing it with hippy soap, and reinserting. It presupposes you are enough of an Earth Mother to be OK not only with your monthly outpourings, but also with generally fossicking around in your flaps. Now, I am no stranger to gore. Nor am I squeamish about my delicate rose of delight, except that I have no such illusions about it and indeed am always reminded of nothing so much as stuffing an oddly-warm raw turkey. So, when after several weeks of teasing, the Period Fairy threatening to postpone the Communist Invasion until I was actually getting on the plane (I was about ready to scream and cry at some hapless unwary male just as a sacrifice to appease her) at last I greeted the rosy-fingered dawn and set about embarking on my new life as a eco-friendly Diva.

The Moon Cup comes in two sizes; Size A, for youthful nymphs under 30 who have never given birth and have silken tresses and tinkling laughs and are all size 0, and size B, for Big Ol’ Bitches like m’self, who have either spawned, or are so old (ie over 30) that they might as well have been poppin’ them out like Duggar Donuts, because their sugar walls are now echoing corridors full of cobwebs and slackness. Of course the packaging phrases it more nicely, but I was miffed to see that despite having never replicated, I was still doomed to the Big Gulp size because of my age alone.

So, chalice in hand, fingers washed, and let’s fold that thing like a taco (no, not THAT thing, the other thing!) and cram it up where only one man has gone before and even then not for a damn long time even when he WAS still around. I’m sure I imagined the rusty creaking sounds as I tried to shove something which was larger than anything previous (with the exception of various medical speculums which, I believe, were constructed by the same person who designed the Montlake Drawbridge)into the Gaping Maw.

Now, you’re supposed to roll the cup up, smuggle it past the border, let it expand, then turn it clockwise (or counter clockwise, or then one way and another, stopping when you hear the click, or something…) anyway, you’re supposed to be able to turn this thing like a dial in there.”If the cup does not turn easily, you did it wrong” Oh, of course, I’ll just grasp hold of a thing about the size, shape, and slipperyness of the pointy end of a peeled hard-boiled egg, which is now buried in the meaty folds of my innermost femininity, which, I may add, are well-sluiced with the special effects from a Quentin Tarantino film, and spin that sucker like a dredel.

There is, also, a small stem at the base of this cup, which, being made of the same slippery silicon and about a centimeter long, is about as helpful as providing a live, untrained earthworm for a handle. More on this later.

So, rotate this thing in situ, to ensure a good ‘seal’ and a comfortable fit.

Does. Not. Happen.

Ladies (and gentlemen, although I hope for your sake none of you gentlemen are reading this), I tried. I hauled that thing in and out of there more times, and with much less joy, than Eeyore with his birthday present, and not once could I get that thing to “turn easily”. I finally gave up, since it seemed, at one point, to be “fully inflated” and more or less in the right place. Frankly I think that having left my furrow unplowed for so long, I’m not exactly the proper degree of hotdog-hallway that the instruction-writer was intending to address, but so be it. Let’s give this thing a whirl, if we can’t give it a twist.

Fast forward a few hours in which I’ve done nothing much. To its credit, I don’t feel the presence of THE CUP at all, no discomfort, not even a vague sense of “eugh” as I sometimes have when knowing all that stands between me and my khakis is a small cottony Dutch boy. In fact, I’m getting rather concerned that the Diva Cup has wormed its way in like some form of parasitic jellyfish and is now eagerly migrating up my fallopian tubes, with me all unknowing. Time to go fishing.

And that is where I discover that, while it’s difficult to try and ‘turn’ a Diva Cup newly lodged in your sanctum sanctorum, it’s a freakin’ log-fall compared to trying to recover said Cup after it has gotten comfortably settled in the downy folds of your blood-engorged tissues. Yes, indeed, if cram my fingers up there to the point of pain, I can just, tantilizingly, tickle the end of that goddamn silicone ‘stem’. Grasp it? Not in hell.

Of course the instructions say, if this happens, DO NOT PANIC. Well, thank god for that, because I was already running through the list of people I’d trust with a flashlight, a set of forceps, and an experience that would scar both of us for the rest of our lives. There were instructions for different positions, and “bearing down” and so forth, which I tried, to no avail, and I was pretty sure that my ham-fisted efforts (ahem) were just making things worse on the “swollen” front, so Diva and I took a break, and retired to our respective corners for an hour or so.

Now I brought out my secret weapon: Beer. If, gods help me, I ever have to have a baby, I intend to be drunk off my ass for the delivery, and I surely hope that the Fairy Prince Unicorn Elvis who is my chosen Babydaddy will provide a bedside IV of godly ambrosia, or at least Jim Beam. But anyway, two beers and I’m good to go spelunking in quest of the Holy Grail once more.

Either the beer, or the break, or the combination of all of these and squatting on the bathmat like a Neanderthal crapping, finally, produced enough of that goddamn ‘stem’ to grab (which was good, because I was dreading having use the kitchen tongs Up There or something) and, with a surprising amount of horrible suctioning “discomfort”, the invader was routed! And, wonder of wonders, it was indeed partially filled. Not filled with DELICIOUS CANDY, no, but it did seem to have been, you know… -working-, before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel. Provided we could agree to disagree on the whole “turn 360 degrees in place” aspect, perhaps this could indeed be a workable partnership. Better than bleeding into the Rupununi and attracting every caiman, pirahna, and candiru fish for fifty miles.

But not without some boundaries first. I tied a ROPE to that stupid stem this time.

Trisha suggested this post prompt..and it sounds like fun

so the one I randomly picked  weeded through till I found the one that I wanted to do FIRST- I’m a cheater..and we all know it. 


Ok prompt number 1 and after I do this..YOU all have to go and blog the same prompt OR reply to me in a comment. Prompt #72  Discuss a chore or task you HATE.

Well this one is easy…GOING TO WALMART! I HATE it with every ounce of passion I have. Here are a few of the reasons:

people and their fucking lack of cart etiquette. We all know what that means. Leaving the cart on one side of the aisle to go over to the other. Leaving the cart in the middle of the aisle (and what makes this one even worse is when there is a kid in the bucket seat of it). 

People on scooters that don’t need to be.  We all know the ones I am talking about. I personally know one and her sister that both get on them..neither one of them have anything wrong with them other than they are fucking lazy..and they ride side by side. OH HELL TO THE  NO!

50 check out lanes and 2 fucking lanes open.

Nothing in the same place where it was the day before (admit it..that’s true)


I’m gonna keep adding to this…but you all fee free to chime in :)

Where’s Java?

Here I am!!!  So updates on me. I would really like to get back here and blog but really? Don’t have much to blog about.


Moved last year– been in the house a YEAR now — tomorrow! WOW!  Still loving it.

Lost 12 lbs using    AND    Check them out. 

Still don’t get along with the old man. Think we are just going to have to get used to the fact we are housemates and let it go at that.

Quit the job I loved. I loved the position — not the assholes I worked for or with. Can not deal with the asswipes in suits that think they are “the shit”.  So come January I’ll be back at the tax office ..not doing taxes because then I’m dealing with liars. I’ll be the one at the desk who walks them back to whoever gets to listen to their lies! :) But I’ve done that before and my time is limited with them it’s all good. 

Yep that’s about it . Miss you all and really wish I had enough to blog about to warrant being here..but pretty much don’t. 


Ok..year in a post…not sure what really went on the beginning of the year. On or around July 30th my bff calls to tell me there is a house for sale in her backyard. We grew up together with yards attached when we were kids and it was a dream to think that this many years later we’d live in each other’s backyard again. With some hurried financial strategy we moved into “my” dream home on July 31st of 2011. I will post pictures of that in a minute. Onto the rest of the year which wasn’t so good…my daughter got involved with a convict on a romantic level (barf gag) and became pregnant. I had just gotten used to the idea of being a grandma when she had a miscarriage. Not going to talk much about that because it’s a good thing that she won’t be tied down to the fucking loser but I was really looking forward to being a grandma.

Out with the old and in with the new

I can’t believe another year has come and gone. And so much has happened…holy shit I should blog about it..and so I think I will as soon as I get home from walmart HELL!

Tangled Mess of Wires

That’s my brain these days. From work (which by the way is sucking right now)…down to the home life..(which by the way has sucked for many years but keeps sucking more and more).

Details to follow. Just wanted you all to know that I’m still alive existing.