Amazing Kindness

Sometimes people do things that are so thoughtful and kind that it just blows my mind.

I’ve been the blessed recipient of kindness like this and I’m so very thankful.

After a post of mine a few months ago where I was talking about my Pink Teddy, the wonderful, sweet and talented Lisa at blondiesBEARista made for me the most adorable gift and then made the gift a big sister too!

LOOK AT MY NEW, WONDERFUL AND ADORABLE PINK TEDDIES!

Are they not the most precious things you’ve ever seen???

I mentioned that as much as I love teddies, I’d never received one that was homemade.

Well, Lisa took care of that! And I got TWO!

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Look at their adorable and happy faces. their little scarves and bonnets. I just wanna eat ‘em up!

I told Lisa that they’ll be drool colored within a year, but that’ll just go to show how much love they’ll be getting.

Lisa, dear friend, you made my heart melt with your kindness and love. That you would do something so special and above-and-beyond for me leaves me almost without words (and we all know how hard that is to accomplish!). Every time I look at them it just fills me with joy. To know you would take the time (and the money as I’m sure the materials and shipping weren’t cheap) to do something so precious means more to me than I could ever fully articulate.

Just know, sweet girl, that these two teddies will receive tons of love and always be looked upon with a smile and an overflowing heart.

Thank you, so very much, for giving me two new little buddies and making me feel loved. You are truly one of a kind.

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My first blind date in 10 years

Yep, I was nervous.

I hadn’t been on a blind date in 10 years and I’d been waiting for this one for a couple of months. That first meeting always makes me wanna puke with nerves, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. :)

All the things that run through anyone’s mind were running through mine.

What am I going to wear?

I hope I make a good impression.

Man, this bad hair day sucks!

What perfume should I wear? I want to smell good.

Good grief I have to shave. My hair is growing its own hair.

Do these pants look good on me?

I hope I’m not too chatty.

When it comes time to get nekkid, I hope everything is in its proper working order.

After all that build up, the time has arrived.

I have to work all day first and it’s in my mind on and off during all my endless meetings.

Finally it’s time to get ready, so I get up, take a shower, shave til my razor is dull, fix the hair, put on make-up, spritz on some perfume, check the mirror more than once as first impressions are lasting ones. Then it’s time to go.

I hop into my car and put on some head-banging music to get me in the right mood.

When I arrive I go up to the girl at the front to let her know that I’m here.

Finally my blind date is ready for me, so I go back to our reserved area and after a little playful conversation I get a few minutes of alone time and then start stripping off the clothes.

Shirt first. Then bra. Then pants. Then panties. Always in that order, though I don’t know why. If you’re gettin’ totally nekkid, why does the shirt always come off first? Makes no sense.

Then a knock at the door and it’s time to party…well, as much as you can with your new gynecologist.

Yep, I’m not cheating on the hubby! I love him! Though my new gyno now knows me as intimately. Good gravy, nothing is left to the imagination.

As I was getting ready to head to my appointment I realized that going to the gyno is like going on a first date. You’re all nervous and hoping that he/she isn’t a dickhead. You hope they’ll be gentle with all your girlie parts and not make you limp for a week. You hope they’ll be sweet and really listen when you talk.

It’s just like a freakin’ date. Though most of my first dates over the years haven’t ended up with me naked…well…most… ;)

Luckily, she was awesome and fun and super friendly and I only limped for a day or two.

GynoGod bless nice gynos. I had one when I was a teenager that was the most wretched bitch on earth. It’s as though she delighted in trying to rip me a new muff. But I was a teenager and she was the only female choochie-doctor around, so what was a girl to do?

As a matter of fact, when I thought back on her while writing this post, a very special song came to mind. Cartman, on Southpark’s very first Christmas special, sang a song which is a perfect description of my ex-muff-punisher.

Watch at your own risk as it is in no way polite, un-gross or politically correct. Actually, no one should watch this, but I’m gonna put it here for your viewing pleasure anyway. Click on “Cartman” below.

Have a great weekend, my friends!

Cartman

The Horrors of my Noggin and the Related Panic Attack

I’m telling you, life is NEVER dull. ;) Not that I wish to be bored, but c’mon, a little peace now and again is a good thing.

So, 3 weeks ago I got my hair dyed.

It’s pretty much been every color in the rainbow over the last 30 years.

My very first “boyfriend” told me one day that, “You’d be perfect if only you were blonde.” Of course what did I do? I immediately went and dyed it blonde and just as immediately realized that blonde is NOT a good look on me. Eeeee gawds, it was a nightmare. Especially with my personality.

If some guy said that to me today I’d verbally cut him until he crawled home crying for his mommy, dragging his entrails behind him. But I was 14 then and always concerned with being as perfect as possible. Thank God I don’t worry about that shit anymore. Take me as I am or fuck off. I rather like that mantra! ;)

I went to get the blonde nightmare fixed a few days later and ended up with 3 different colors of hair. I don’t know why the fix-it hair dyeing adventure turned into such a fiasco, but the good news was that my mom understood that I couldn’t go into public and she let me skip school for a week until I could wash a bunch of it out of my hair. Best Mom Ever Award for that! :)

Over the years it’s been light brown with highlights, black, dark brown, that purpley-red color, accidentally green (yep, that sucked as much as you’d think), red, and so on. I get bored easily with my hair color. Now, the style’s been the same for 20 years and will probably be the same until I die. But the color? That I like to mess with.

So, when I got my hair dyed a few weeks ago I went with a blue black. I wanted that shit dark dark dark. My chick used the same brand of dye she always does and everything seemed okay.

Then a few days later I noticed this weird thing on my forehead right by my hairline. It looked like a skin-colored scrape about 1/3 of an inch in diameter. As I was looking at it thinking, “Please God–no skin cancer. I know I tanned my ridiculously white skin a lot when growing up, but I haven’t had a tan in 20 years. Please spare me skin cancer…” I noticed all these black dots on my scalp. What the fuck? Hmmm…they didn’t look like the typical dye blotches that appear on my scalp after a hair color. These were tiny little specks like someone took a Sharpie and put dots on my noggin.

Well, whatever. I’ll just scrub my head harder next time I wash it to get the dye off.

Uhhh…the dots didn’t come off after the next shampoo. Or the next 5 shampoos.

Finally, after 3 weeks I’m like, “What in the ever-loving shit is on my fuckin’ head?” As we know, I’ve been dyeing my hair for 30 years. I’d never seen anything like it. So I had to investigate.

Can I just tell you…NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER Google something like “black spots on scalp.” NEVER! It’s horrifying.

I went from “Hmmm…that looks odd” to “HOLY FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK OH MY GOD I’M DYING THIS IS AWFUL HOW DID THIS HAPPEN WHY ME SOMEONE KILL ME THIS FUCKING SUCKS.” Yep…all one sentence.

When you Google “black spots on scalp” you learn that you’d be better off dead than with the host of things that come up as possible diseases or conditions.

Keep in mind that I typically stick to sites like WebMD or Mayo Clinic for medical advice as I feel they are likely a bit more accurate than, ‘Jodi’s dumb ass blog on weird stuff,” but even those scared the shit out of me.

Some of the suggestions were: Mold (WHAT THE FUCK???). Fungus (I WANT TO DIE). Ringworm (This is when the panic set in).

All of the sites also mentioned itching. My head didn’t itch before I read that. Now it was as if spiders were crawling around on my head. I know, totally psychosomatic, and I kept trying to rationalize it, but I was scared shitless, so a bit of irrational was starting to slip through.

Then Grant gets home and I tell him what’s going on. He grabs a flashlight and tells me I have black dots ALL OVER MY HEAD!!! I thought it was just that one small spot, but nope. They are EVERYFUCKINGWHERE! Oh, the horror!

So, I immediately got on the phone to schedule an appointment with a dermatologist. If I fucking have any of those things I wanted it diagnosed immediately and then I wanted someone to decapitate me.

Of course, out of the 6 I called, 3 didn’t answer the phone (I’m thinking their businesses are covers for drug running, otherwise how do they stay in business?), 2 sent me to voicemail (how can they close on a Tuesday before 4 pm? Must be nice…) and the last one kept me on hold for, and I kid you not, 15 minutes. 4 times people picked up the line and I’d repeat, “Hi, I’m calling to make an appointment as a new patient,” and they’d always say, “Just a minute,” and I’d wait 5 more. I wanted to smash something violently. First off, what shitty customer service. Secondly, I’VE GOT MOTHERFUCKING FUNGUS, MOLD OR WORMS ON MY MOTHERFUCKING HEAD. SOMEONE NEEDS TO HELP ME BEFORE I PASS OUT FROM HORROR!!!

And of course in the meanwhile I’m terrified to touch my head, lean it onto a pillow, let my husband anywhere near me. I made him throw away his brush cause I’d used it earlier in the day. He tried to hug me and I yelped, “NO! You’ll get the Mange!”

Finally, the idiots at the dermatologist’s office get back on the phone and they can’t see me for a week.

Ummmm…no. That’s too long. I’ll run into traffic by then. I’ll shave my head. I’ll die of terror and fear!

So, I make the appointment anyway and then rush out of the house to go to Urgent Care. By now it’s after 5pm and no doctor in the state is open except Urgent Care. And I was sincerely starting to have a panic attack at the idea of a foreign body making its home in my head. God bless Valium.

When I get to the first one, I open the door to what I can only assume was an outbreak of The Plague. So I said, “Uh, fuck this,” and left and went to another one where everyone looked like they were suffering from Ebola. Damn flu season. So, fuck that one too. I just went home and wouldn’t let anyone or anything near me until I could get in to see someone in the morning.

Finally, morning comes ’round (after a lovely night chocked full of wormy, fungus-filled dreams) and I get an appointment to see a doc.

I go there at 10:30 and they are so nice and lovely. The doc comes in and I explain what’s going on.

She looks at my head and says, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Great. I’m a medical mystery full of fungus and mold and worms and God knows what.

Then she plays a bit with my noggin and determines that the dye (which is some stubborn-ass dye) had grabbed hold of all the new baby hairs growing out of my scalp and gotten kind of stuck at the follicle (if you’ll recall I mentioned earlier in the year that I had a bunch of hair loss due to thyroid and iron/protein deficiencies). The hair was just a tiny bit of a millimeter long and hardly even out of my scalp yet, so the dye clung to those tiny pieces of hair and went down a bit into the skin. This was why it wasn’t easily washing off in the shower.

Can I tell you that I have rarely been more relieved in my entire life? EVER! I wanted to hump her in thanks for her awesome diagnosis.

She said she could see why I’d have been terrified, but that I’m good to go and that she wished all her appointments ended on such a happy note.

Whew!!!!

What an absolute cluster-fuck. I had told Grant that I just could not take one more medical issue and was going to snap from the stress. Luckily, I have a wonderful hubby who was supportive even when we did think I had The Funk. Thank God it was just some weird dyeing anomaly and I am worm-mold-fungus free! Yay!!!!

So, that’s my saga. I’m just happy that my noggin is good to go. I’m quite certain I couldn’t have handled any other outcome because they were just too damn gross!

Have a happy weekend, my friends! XOXOXXOXO

Favorite New Crap to Buy

Howdy and Happy New Year! 

Yep, the sentiment is a bit late, but I still hope you all had and will have a happy one.

Now for the scoop.

Every once in a while I do a post that details some fabulous product I’ve come across. This time you get 2!

First is something my sister got me last year and again this year. It’s a face powder foundation that kicks ass!

Lancome Dual Finish PowderI wore foundation and powder for the past 30 years and never thought I’d do anything else, but this shit rules!

When my sister gave it to me she said, “I’ve found the best foundation powder ever and I can finally get some for you. They just came out with their Corpse Line of Colors and they have one light enough for your white ass.”

Well, my white ass was also a dumb ass because I totally believed her! Ha! Little snot.

While there is no Corpse Line of Colors, I do have to get the very lightest one they sell. I’m a pale mo fo!

Two caveats to keep in mind with this stuff:

  1. You should wipe down your face with some water and a washcloth to get any sleepy crust off your mug (mine is usually trails of dried drool and eye boogers).
  2. Use a moisturizing cream under it, but LET IT DRY COMPLETELY or you’re fucked. This powder will turn into some kind of impossible to remove sludge if you have ANY dampness on your face.  I use Estee Lauder Hydrationist Maximum Moisture Cream and while it reminds me of old ladies with fancy creams sitting on doilies on their antique dressing tables, the shit does work. And since I never wash my face, it has quite the job to do. Luckily, it does it well. But I wait about 10 minutes after applying the cream before I put on the powder.

I get compliments all the time on my skin and how smooth it looks. I give 75% of the credit to getting my mom’s genes and 25% credit to Lancome. None of the credit goes to me.

Next product (this one the guys can use too!):

Who out there has feet that you wouldn’t want to take a picture of and use as your profile pic?

Got the Crusty Heel Blues?

I get a pedicure every 4 weeks or so, but since I’m a barefoot mama and try to avoid shoes at all cost I still get feet that are a little rough around the edges. I can tell when I need a trip to the pedicure chair when at night, on my satin sheets, I can hear my feet scrape across the satin and pill the material. That is just fucked up. Ewwwwww!!!

Good news is that I discovered this kick ass, at-home foot belt sander that make my feet feel like the feet of an infant.

If I could and not be weird, I might kiss my own feet all the time like you kiss a baby’s cause they are soft as can be.

And the fun thing is you get to watch all the skin powder from your foot fly up in the air while you sand off the calluses. Yeah, I know, gross. But it’s totally fun too!

foot sanderIt’s the Emjoi Micro-pedi Battery Operated Callus Remover and I got it on Amazon for $30.

I use it for just a minute or two a night and I’m telling you, my feet are delicious now! Plus, I can get cheaper pedicures because I won’t need the callus remover treatment anymore, so this thing will pay for itself in less than 2 pedicures.

Pretty freakin’ awesome, if I do say so myself!

If you guys get them, let me know what you think. I love love love both of them and even sent my sister one of the footie things as a surprise present.

Anyway, those are my post-Christmas treats that I just had to share (along with a few pics below of our Christmas fun!).

Have a great weekend everyone!

HUGS!!

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FREE Kindle books for you! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, even if you are a Humbug! ;)

If you don’t already have all 3 of my books, you can download them for FREE on Kindlechristmas_animated_gifs_05 this Tuesday through Saturday.

Since I’ve tortured all of you with my Christmas decorating pics (here’s one in case you missed it–note the new Christmas Teddy Hammock on the right side!), I thought I’d give you Christmas presents too, starting tomorrow.

Christmas 2014 Plus Teddy Hammock

Remember, if you don’t have a Kindle, no big deal as you can download the Kindle reader to almost any device. Click HERE to download the Kindle reader. And then click HERE to download my books.

If you do have a Kindle, click HERE and download away!

Love you guys! Your friendship and support mean the world to me, so I hope you enjoy my Holiday presents! XOXOXOXO

MerryAWChristmas

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Christmas Tree Update!

So, you guys recall that I was whining about how half the lights on my tree went out. Well, I bought a ton of both multi-colored lights and warm white lights (LED so they’ll last for at least a few years) and I fixed her up!

Yay! Now the tree isn’t a sad little Charlie Brown tree anymore. It’s all kinds of lit up. I think, in total, there are 1400 lights on it.

I know…whacko…

ChristmasTreeNewLights2014

And in case you are thinking that I am also insane for all of those presents (they are all from me to family and I’m not even done wrapping yet) know that some of them cost about $2.00. We just like to unwrap stuff at Christmas, so one of those presents is a 6 pack of Charmin with a $5 bill taped to it for my mom.

What can I say…clearly we are all nuts.

Love you guys! XOXOXOXOX

Nooooooooooo! The Beginning of the End.

Well, it’s confirmed.

I’m older than Methuselah!

And I’m able to document when my ancient-ness started to the exact day. How many people can say that?

So, there I am, putting on a little makeup before the man gets home so that I don’t rival the Crypt Keeper for ugliest freak show on earth and I see something in my eyebrow.

“What on earth is that?” I ask myself.

Then I flip the mirror around to the 10x magnification side (eeeee gawds, don’t ever do that!) and saw this monstrosity:

Eyebrow from Hell 2014What in the ever-loving hell is that?

Who ever heard of such a hideous thing?

Half luxurious black. Half Jodi-is-old-as-dirt gray.

What the fuck????????

I’m too young for this!

Oh, and add to the grayness the fact that that eyebrow hair is 300 feet long.

It looks like a 90-year-old man’s nose hair.

Hmmm…what shall I do to cheer myself up?

I’m thinking a splurge of pizza for dinner.

Yep, that’ll heal what ails me.

:)

Hope you guys are having a good week! XO

 

 

It’s time to get down and get funky! (Updated! Yay!)

.

No, I don’t mean to roll in the dirt and get smelly! Though that does sound like fun. ;)

I mean that tonight I’m going to be on LA Talk Radio! The show is called Modern Male Radio and starts at 8pm Pacific time, 11pm Eastern. Woo hoo!

And is it going to be a show!

UPDATE: Here’s the link to listen to the show: KICK ASS YAPPING. Wow, they are fast! Listen to the one dated September 18th, 2014.

Senior Citizen Sex

Not only is it hosted by an incredible author and man about town, Jarod Zavistoski (he’s great!), but co-hosting is Nick Hawk from the Showtime TV show Gigolos.

We’re going to dish about all things relationshippy and how to have more luscious nookie and happy intimacy.

Can’t go wrong with that. Well, unless you hate sex and don’t like people to be nice to you.

If that’s the case, ummmmm…yeah…I got nothin’! ;)

Click HERE or on the pic below to get to LA Talk Radio’s site.

Listen in, my wonderful peeps. We’ll have a great time!

XOXOXOX

My Internal Dialogue While Being Tortured

WARNING!

If you don’t care for terrifically prolific cussing, walk away from your computer right now. This one is going to be a doozie! ;)

So, you guys know I love me a good massage. I live for them really. I’d marry a massage if I could. And I have an amazing therapist, Grayson, who rules the school. But before I met Grayson, I’d bought a Groupon for a 90-minute massage somewhere else and I got it today.

Upon arrival and meeting him, I told him that normally I’m pretty tough but that I was super sore from having to dump about 150 buckets of water away from my house’s foundation earlier in the week due to all the insane flooding. (Almost 6 inches of rain in less than 24 hours!) As such, I asked him to go super easy on me because everything hurt. He said to just let him know if the pressure was too much or too little and he’d adjust. So far, so good.

I strip, get up on the table, he comes in and the very first thing he does is push on my back SO FUCKING HARD that my poor boobies smash into the table (ummm…sir, the table is fucking hard and my DD boobs ain’t got nowhere to go). And that’s how the internal dialog began. Prepare yourself.

Action: Boob smashing

Internal Dialogue: WHAT THE SHIT! OUCH! Only a man who has no boobs would smash a woman who obviously has tremendous ta-tas into a table with the force of 3 gorillas. Dip shit.

 

Action: Digging his bony-ass fingers (similar in appearance and pain-dealing to the Grim Reaper’s) into what I’m pretty sure was bone and not muscle in my shoulder blade.

Internal Dialogue: FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK THAT HURTS!

External Dialogue: Can you please reduce the pressure you’re using. I’m quite sore from earlier this week and that hurts. I’d really appreciate it.

Result: Applied more pressure because I’m sure his internal dialogue was, “Fuck you lady, I do what I want.” (In the voice of Cartman from South Park, of course.)

 

Interim Action: 10 more minutes of excruciating pain from which there is no salvation.

 

Action: More digging of his pain-inflicting finger knives into the small of my back and around to my sides.

Internal Dialogue: YOU ARE FUCKING MASSAGING MY KIDNEYS! WHY? WHY GOD? WHY? OUCH. DIE YOU MOTHER FUCKER! DIE.

External Dialogue: Would you mind going lighter, please? Like I said, I’m really sore so I’m a bit more delicate than I’d usually be.

Result: Not only did he continue to massage my fucking kidneys through bone, muscle or whatever the fuck is between a kidney and your skin, I’m pretty sure he used a dull, rusty pocket knife to actually remove one. Possibly for sale on the black market.

 

Interim Action: 15 more minutes of, honest to God, abject misery. Shouldn’t a massage therapist inherently know that when their client is making a fist over and over again and making squeaky “I’m clearly dying” noises AND has asked him multiple times to use less pressure, that they should STOP FUCKING KILLING THEIR CLIENT????

 

Action: Uncovers the back of my thigh (which I specifically mentioned before we started was incredibly sore) and takes those daggers he calls fingers and starts strumming my hamstring like he’s playing the fiddle in The Devil Went Down to Georgia. Seriously, like the freedom of his soul depended on tearing out my hamstring and tying a bow with it.

Internal Dialog: THAT FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKING HURTS!!!! You Hitler mother fucker. Did you get your license JUST TO TORTURE people? Did you wake up this morning, throw a dart at your schedule and decide, “Yep, it’s Jodi Ambrose today. I’m going to make her wish she died in a violent car accident on her way here. Heh heh heh (insert creepy, evil laugh).”

External Dialog: Seriously, you gotta lighten up on me. Just pretend I’m an arthritic 90-year-old with osteoporosis and a low threshold for pain.

Result: NOT ONE MOTHER FUCKING OUNCE OF LESSENING UP ON THE HORROR!!!! Not even a little. NONE. WHAT THE EVER-LOVING FUCK?

 

Interim Action: More abject misery. Me trying to figure how to get the fuck outta there without jumping off the table and having my ta-tas flying all over the place and my ass shining up in the air. Me wishing his balls would rot off in a leprosy kind of way. Me wondering why in the hell I haven’t freaked out more on this fuckhead. Me thinking that somehow all this “deep tissue” fuckin’ nightmare will, in the end, be good for my aching muscles. Me praying for a meteor to fly down from Heaven and kill both him and me immediately (preferably just him, but I figure a meteor would be too big to target just him–I’d be collateral damage and I’d be okay with that).

 

Action: Asks me to flip over onto my back. Then asks me if I want my pectorals massaged.

Internal Dialog: If you even think of touching my tits I’m gonna fucking brain you with a hammer. You got that, old man? YOU FUCKIN’ HEAR ME??? I’LL KILL YOU AND YOUR WHOLE FAMILY!

External Dialog: No, thank you.

Result: I did not have to kill the mother fucker because he did not touch boobies. Hence, I am not covered in blood and being processed by the police. I think of that as a win/win.

 

So, finally, this God-forsaken nightmare comes to a close. I asked him no less than 8 times to ease up. He literally NEVER did until the last 5 minutes–I’m guessing because that’s when he’s starting to think about what kind of tip I’m going to give him and he wants to go out on a high note. Well, here’s a tip, you fuck-headed fuck fuck: Don’t ever let me see you crossing the street when I’m driving.

There’s my saga du jour. I was soooooo looking forward to getting all of my sore muscles rubbed out. Now I need a Vicodin and another massage to survive the one I just PAID GOOD MONEY to endure.

I’m going to go with pain being a character builder in order to find a silver lining. But in my deepest, darkest and not-so-private thoughts, all I can think is, “You are very fucking lucky that real life isn’t like that movie The Purge where murder is legal for a day. You’d be at the top of my list, fuck face.”

With that, I’m off to fry up a bagel and watch me some Project Runway!!

Have a great weekend everyone! :) XOXOXO

I’ve turned into Martha Stewart! Someone save me from myself!!! ;)

Who on God’s green earth ever thought that I would be Jodi the Happy Homemaker?! ;)

You guys know I run from all things domestic. Really, it’s the only time I run. I prefer to sit. Wasn’t it Winston Churchill who said,

“Never stand up when you can sit down, and never sit down when you can lie down.”

I say, “Preach on, brother!”

Alas, I have a cute little way to dress up, of all things, your toilet.

Yep, I said toilet.

Martha Stewart and Hints from Heloise move over!

So, you know those little caps that cover the screws that hold your toilet in place? Half the time they are just gross. Eww!!! The other half of the time they have been lost–like those damnable missing socks that the dryer eats.

Where the hell do they go? It makes no sense. It’s not like someone would steal your toilet screw covers. Well, maybe they would. Maybe they lost theirs so they then stole yours. Hmmm…makes one think. ;)

Anyway, I have the cutest solution ever.

And while it seems like a non sequitur, but isn’t, I always have a million salt and pepper shakers. When I have folks over for dinner I like everyone to have their own cute little set. I have birdies, froggies, squirrelies, turtles (no way to really add “ies” to the word turtle).

Well, I recently discovered that I have more salt and pepper shakers than I ever do have dinner guests.

About 2 minutes after making that discovery I walked into my bathroom and saw those ugly, uncovered screws and voila! An idea was born!

Here’s my solution to ugly toilet screws:

Toilet Birdie Decor 1 Toilet Birdie Decor 2

Ta dah!

Isn’t that adorable? Okay, maybe more goofy than adorable, but still–it looks a hell of a lot better than a nasty old rusty screw. :)

If you live anywhere near a Cracker Barrel restaurant, that’s where I get all my salt and pepper shakers. They are only a dollar and if you just take the little rubber thing out that holds in the salt/pepper, you can stick the cute little guy on the screw and have a happy toilet!

Okay, that’s all the domesticity I’m gonna have for a while.

If you do this, send me pics! I wanna see other people’s toilet decor!

:)