So, I’m on Pinterest.
My mother said, “Like you need more social media in your life.”
Truth. I tweet. I blog. I tried to Triberr, but Triberr hates Internet Explorer and refused to work and I refused to put further effort into it. But Pinterest! Pinterest is just mindless enough to delight me. I see. I like. I repin. No thinking required.
But I’ll tell you what. Since I’ve been pinning, I have made homemade meals for two weeks straight. No eating out. I vacuumed more than I thought was physically possible. I feel all….domestic. I mean, look at this.
Delicious homemade jambalaya in the crock pot. Gorgeous. Fast and easy. And for those of you who know my addiction to calorie counting, surprisingly low in calories (242 calories per serving). My recipe box doesn’t know what to do with all my new recipes. I’ve pinned like, 50 cupcake recipes to try. I’ve pinned tips on cleaning and organizing my house. I actually looked forward to cleaning the living room carpet on my day off.
It’s downright bizarre.
And in other news, my obsession with the Olympics continues. I. Can’t. Stop. I watched three hours of Men’s Volleyball today. Why? Because it’s the Olympics. It’s only here every four years.
I’ve been having notoriously bad luck these past two days and keep falling asleep during key moments of prime time coverage. Example: I slept through Michael Phelps’ final individual race last night, when–or so I’ve been told–he advanced from second-to- last-place and flew past everyone to win gold. Missed it. The other night, I slept through all of women’s gymnastics.
I did not, however, sleep through Ryan Lochte’s races. I made substantial effort to stay awake for him and his abs. And I enjoyed them. Would I have enjoyed them more with a freshly made cupcake in hand? Maybe.
Here’s an example of how I don’t know what to do in this random two hour block of no Olympic coverage. I’m watching Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman. This is what I’ve become.
And while we’re discussing the Olympics, can I just say: Head and Shoulders. Your commercial with a naked Michael Phelps washing his hair is both uncomfortably hot and unsettlingly terrifying. Thank God his enormous head covers up his crotch, because I’m not sure my brain can handle Phelps Peen 2012.
Ryan Lochte on the other hand…..no, no, lets just stop there.