I Thought Facebook Would Be The Ultimate Death Of My Soul, Cue Pinterest

Hi.  My name is Summer, and I am addicted to Pinterest.  I would like to blame all of my former classmates, who carelessly spoke of this demon website continuously on Facebook.  Then when I found there was a waiting list or you had to be invited, it made the need to be a part of it even more.  <---- I don’t think blaming is 1 of the 12 steps, but I’m not ready to surrender to treatment yet.

I did that.  Go ahead, be jealous!

I wander to and fro all. day. long.  I make supply lists for DIY and crafting projects while transfixed by simple yet ingenious directions.  If you pin it, I’ll bake it or make it.  True fucking story.  Now.  That being said, I’m growing weary of the mason jars.  CONFESSION:  I’m hoarding glass because of Pinterest.  Please don’t call A&E.  Please.

 

My kitchen cabinets may or may not be looking a little like this.  So many mason jar crafts, so little time. 

You can roll them in Epsom salt, paint them, tint them, doily them and then throw a candle in that sucker!! 

Every outfit I see, I need.  I need it.  I need those grey pumps with that navy cardigan, neveryoumind that cardigan costs $4,659.  I NEED IT! But I know I can’t have it, so I log out---- unfulfilled.  

The beauty ideas.  Oh. the beauty ideas.  I’m making lotion this weekend.  I haven’t told anyone.  I just decided 4 seconds ago while writing this post. Hmmm.  Did I remember to pin those body butter recipes?  Where does one procure organic beeswax of the African Honeybee? <----- these are the questions running my mind, as of late.  I hear myself and know that it’s kooky, but I don’t care.  I’m one craft project away from becoming the weird chic that hands out homemade honey lip balm and solid perfumes made out of patchouli essential oils for Christmas, People.  BUT let’s be honest, you would love for me to give you homemade lip balm for Christmas, WHILE secretly hating me for being such a goddamn hippie. 

Let’s talk about the sock bun curl though.  Let’s talk about it.  May I be frank?  What the hell am I doing wrong, Pinterest Folks?

Is it because I don’t have an accent?  Is that it?  Because I SWEAR to Baby Jesus you don’t even want to know what my hair looked like.  My youngest son put it into better words than I can. “Mommy, did you ruin your hair?  Did you?  Did you ruin it?  It’s really funny, but it’s probably ruined.”

So that’s what I’ve been up to.  Wasting time and money.  Relentlessly.