Pretty Much I'm Going To Be The Next Mrs. Fields.

Internet, I make cookies. I do not make pies, I do not make crumpets, I do not make turkeys. I make cookies. Sometimes I get lazy, and make junk drawer cookies, which may contain chocolate chips and/or pennies and/or red hots and/or batteries, but mostly I make decorated sugar cookies, and I sell them to whoever has a fat wad of cash. Then, once I get said cash, I like to toss it in the air like 'Lil Wayne. It's neat.

Anyway. I have an etsy shop that I periodically get really into selling on, like I think I'm gonna make a million bucks on cookies and become a successful businesswoman or something. Then I realize that I am broke, stressed and.. Well. Broke and stressed, pretty much, so I give up. And then I forget how broke and stressed I was, so I get back into it, and once again there is glitter and flour all over my house and I'm yelling at Greg to GTF away from my cookies or I will smack him in the balls with my rolling pin.

A couple weeks ago, I decided that it was time to tap into my inner Mrs. Fields again, and start up another huge cookie project. You should have seen the insane amount of glitter all over my house. It looked like a strippers titty. But they were beautiful. I don't care if that sounds conceited of me. They were beautiful, delicious, sparkly Christmas cookies, and you wish you would have bought some. That's right. You wish that. Mmhmm.

So I have all these cookies strewn all over the house, and I decide that THIS time, I AM going to get famous.

Rewind:  Several months ago, I was introduced to a daily deal site (I am a daily-deal-site-whore, but that's another story for another day, my internet pretend friends) called Heartsy. It's basically an Etsy-Groupon. You have an etsy store, you can submit your store to this heartsy site, and if they pick you, you can offer a voucher for a certain amount to your store for a discounted price. You know how Groupons work, right? So yea. That.

So. (Beautiful) cookies everywhere, I decide that I'm gonna go ahead and submit my store for one of these heartsy deals, and if I get it, probably Oprah will get one of these vouchers, get my cookies, think they're amazing and I'll have it made. I like to think ahead.

I GOT IT!! I GOT MY HEARTSY DEAL!! They sent me an email yesterday saying something like, "You are amazing, and cookies are so wonderful..." Or something like that. I just sort of skimmed the email, but I'm pretty sure that's what it said. So now I'm in the negotiation part of how much I'm gonna offer the voucher for, and when it'll go live. And THEN, I'm looking forward to being miserable because there are 50 dozen cookies strewn all over my house that have to be delivered in 10 days, and screaming at Greg about rolling pins and testicles again. It will be awesome. So if anyone knows Oprah, please let her know I'm going to need her credit card information to process her order.

Today Is The Day...

Sweet Jesus, how I wish I was talking hardcore. (I could, but then I would probably sound all idiot-y, so I'll stick to the topic at hand...)

Heading home for Christmas today. Have to tell mom about the Europe. Not really looking forward to the conversation.

Oh. By the way, internet, Greg and I (and Ava) are moving to Europe. (Maybe Lexi, too, if I can sweet talk him into it.) He got an offer for a position in Germany, and, well, hell yea. I can spend some days drinking beer and eating brats. That's what Germans do, right? I'd fit right in.

Anyhow. I'm nervous that she's not going to be all that excited about it. From what she expresses, she doesn't even like that we live all the way in Arizona, so I can only imagine what a blow Europe is going to be. But I'm hoping that she can see the good, and how this is really going to be a great opportunity for my family. Or pretend to, at least. She does know something is up, and is fishing for information. Nosy ass. I guess she'll know soon enough, though. Here's hoping she doesn't try and ground me.

Happy *First* First Birthday

What a weekend!

I belong to an online mommy group, the theme of which (other than that we all grew a human) is "December babies". It's nice to have a group of 70ish women with babies all pretty much the same age as mine, being able to share (and lets be honest, compare). Ordinarily I would say that is about the *only* thing that is nice about a group of that many women in one setting, but there are actually some great girls, and I think I'd be safe saying even that some of them are my friends. Like, actual friends. Not just werido interwebz facebook friends.

Anyway. The topic of "first birthday party" has been being bounced around for a couple of months now. Me, being the ultimate lazy ass that I am, have sort of just ignored it, thinking that I'll deal with it when it's time to deal with it. Well. This weekend, it was time to deal with it. OHMYGOD. Talk about being stressed out. But I wanted it to be perfect. It was, after all, her first birthday party.

We went with an Olivia the Pig theme, because I Ava loves Olivia the Pig. Naturally, we had bacon themed appetizers, so basically anybody who hadn't planned on having a heart attack before coming to the party could count on one by the end of the evening. I never in my life thought I would be able to say I was tired of the smell of bacon, but there's a first for everything, I guess.

Overall, it was a success. We got some great pictures, have wonderful friends who littered my house with more toys, and I'm excited to do it again next weekend, for her ACTUAL birthday. But thank God I'll have a year to recover.

The more you knoooooow!

The other day, Greg and I were having a very... aah... *intense*, I guess I'll say, discussion about dinosaurs. More specifically, dinosaurs and people. It's always conversations like these that make me wonder how I not only managed to get through school, but also life in general.

Did you know that dinosaurs and people didn't live at the same time?!

I don't know if I truly didn't know that, or if I just never cared enough to remember. I guess I always thought that people like me, who wear 4 inch heels and eat bing cherries weren't around back then, but for some reason, I guess I always thought the Geico guys mingled with the Pterodactyls. I blame the Flintstones.

Last night Ava had an epic freakout at about 11 o'clock. I don't know if she had a dream that maybe there wasn't going to be anymore cheese (the kid can eat some cheese like a mofo, you know), perhaps a ninja came and pinched her really hard, or she's just teething still. I noticed yesterday that she's got three molars. MOLARS. She's not even a year old yet! She's like a goddamn crocodile, I tell you. But whatever it was, she was wailing big time.

If we lived in dinosaur-times, one would have found her and eaten her for sure.

Why my couch has butt indents

The holidays are a pretty crazy time of year for me. (That's right. Only me. Not you.) Hi internet. My name is Sheila*. I am a procrastinator. But I come by it honestly. I remember my mom trying to defend her tardiness one time to my dad by saying "Look. If someone writes '7 o'clock' on an invitation, then that means that I have until sometime within the 7 o'clock hour to be there!" Basically everyone who knows both my mother and I know that if something starts at 7 o'clock, you write noon on the invitation, just to be safe.

So here it is, less than two weeks until Christmas, and my mind is still stuck somewhere in July. I have a list of shit to do fiftyhundred miles long, and I can't seem to cross "get my ass off the couch" off to save my life. The very *thought* of... I don't know... Doing stuff, I guess, is enough to send me into panic mode.

So here goes. I'm getting up now. I really am. Really. 

*name changed to protect the innocent.

So... I guess I "blog" now.

So I was thinking the other day, I should probably take a shower I should start a blog. I like to make words. Unfortunately, my words don't always make sense when strung together. So we'll see how this goes.

Let me start by saying I don't *actually* even know what the definition of a "blog" is. I believe it's like talking to yourself, only it's slightly more socially acceptable because other people can eavesdrop without looking or feeling like a... Well. An eavesdropper. I myself am an eavesdropper. I'm not ashamed of it, but sometimes I wish I didn't do it. For instance, at dinner the other night, there were two girls next to me who were "like, so much more mature than freshmen!" and "like, couldn't believe how much they blend in with the juniors and seniors now!" It didn't help that one girl looked like a Jane Fonda workout video. At that moment, I secretly wished I had an ear infection. (insert that one crooked-faced emoticon)

Anyway. I'm sure I'll have a TON of readers from all over the world (space millionaires, probably) who don't know me. So maybe I'll tell you a little about myself, so we can feel all friendly-like with each other.

• I have a baby. It's a really big one. 
• I like to think that I am a wise old woman, but I still have no idea what "orbit" is. 
• Gummy bears are still my favorite food. But don't you dare ever come at me with that Haribo shit. 

I guess I can't think of anything else that really defines me right now. Basically I am like a magical creature, made of unicorn dreams and Nutella. (Because seriously. Nothing is more magical than Nutella.)

Oh wait. One more thing. I will probably write a lot of stuff that's only funny to me. I'm ok with that.