I spent FAR too much time over the weekend reading these hilarious recaps of the YA series of my early-adolescent-hood: Fear Street, Sweet Valley Twins and the Baby-Sitters Club. (THE CHEERLEADER EVIL SERIES SDFKJHDFJKSDFHSD. My sixth-grade self is still flailing with joy)

When I wasn’t reading recaps, I was in the kitchen (insert women-in-the-kitchen joke here). B had requested spaghetti and meatballs from scratch on Saturday, so I made Martha Stewart’s classic meatballs with Emeril Lagasse’s best basic red sauce. Emeril’s recipe says what it is and it is what it says. Because I have the brain of a 12-year-old boy, every attempt to say something positive about Martha’s recipe is overshadowed by my laughing like Beavis and Butthead, so how about this: Martha can do no wrong.

Balls.

At this month’s First Friday event, downtown Las Vegas decided to do a mini-Burning Man by setting—what else?—a 20-foot-tall wooden showgirl on fire. God, I love this city.

It’s always a good idea to have some zombie-specific firearms training as part of your family’s Zombie Apocalypse Contingency Plan (ZACP).

Andi always adds value to my life. You know that light, summery blue fabric that kind of looks like denim that I always thought was denim isn’t actually denim?? It’s chambray. Thine eyes have been opened (meanwhile, my mother is sputtering to herself “But…but…I’ve been telling her that since she was five! Can’t she retain ANYTHING I try to tell her??”)

In our living room, we have this weird cubby-like…thing…that takes up an entire wall. It originally housed an even weirder fireplace-slash-TV-nook-that-was-actually-too-small-and-odd-shaped-to-hold-a-TV that B tore out because of said weirdness. This cubby is absolutely begging to be made into a fabulous built-in, but we weren’t sure how to go about it. Thankfully, the lovely Beckie at Infarrantly Creative compiled this glorious list of ways to fake your own built-in shelving.

And I’ll just leave this here:

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