Martha, Martha, Martha

Innocently enough, this post was prompted by a sock. A hole in a sock to be exact. Some people might sew it up, I toss it. Why you ask? That is another post for another day, we'll just call it Autism, and now that there once was a hole, a hole will always remain in the memory of my four year old, even sewn; and he would obsess. Like I said, another day friends. But I'm not much of a seamstress anyway. The sewing machine and I look longingly at one another, interested, yes; but we do not speak the same language. Plus I hate geometry, and patterns remind me of geometry, which reminds me of my old geometry teacher Ms. Mutz. No, don't care for it. And really, I need another hobby like a hole in the head. I could tell you if I started, it would be bad. I'd be at the craft store buying swatches for my quilt for the state fair in no time. I don't even own a quilt, which is a lot of geometry; don't need Ms. Mutz on my bed. Shudder.

Thought Tiffany had the rights to blue?

Crafts are like crack to me people. I know a good portion of my readers understand this, because they are my enablers. Yeah, you know who you are, my sweet, dear gang of {stickles lovin'} craft-o-holics. Guess who is the ring leader, the king pin, the Anti-Christ?  Martha Stewart. She's the only person who can swindle $9.95 out of me for some glitter because it really is the perfect shade of blue. Darn her spot on color palette. Jump on that crayola, sheez. Blue isn't just blue, there are precisely 998 shades of blue. Oh, Martha. She scares me a little, okay maybe a lot. She has found a way to weasel into every single hobby I like! She's like Applebee's...everywhere!

And God forbid I decide to try my hand at a Martha Stewart recipe or craft...75% disappointment guaranteed and here's why...

A.) I need a Martha to culinary moron translation book. Let's just get real here lady with your Pate Brisee, its dough, it's flipping pie crust. I am not making pie for the queen, I am not having a party in the Hamptons or whatever, it's just for my family. My family who would laugh at ME your terminology and probably mistakenly think I cursed at them with my Pate Brisee speak. And so would begin the unraveling of Sunday dinner, enter the ball and flames, ignoring my phone calls, defriending me on facebook, and them ultimately disowning me. How does that make you feel Martha?  Home wrecker. {Okay, that was so mean, but it really might explain a lot about her personal life, just sayin'.  Nobody likes being corrected when they say, great pie crust, OH NO, pate brisee.}

See this?

 B.) I have to go to Williams Sonoma to purchase $100 dollars of equipment to make your one dish. Seeing as I've already spent close to that amount on your very specific ingredients, I decide not to go to Williams Sonoma and MacGyver it with what I have. This already lands me about a 50% fail on presentation alone. Your too fancy Martha, dumb it down.

 C.) I scour the planet for Meringue powder, only after drooling over your 9 chapter sugar cookie book so I can achieve the same beautiful glossiness on my cookies. Because you are very specific {wait, does Martha have Aspergers} and my icing doesn't quite look so pretty, I will find the powder. After finding said powder, I was somewhat disappointed to learn this is basically the same thing I make. Once said icing has completed its 3-4 day dry cycle, I can then move on to steps 2-14, with my 12 different piping bags, chocolate ganache, glittery sugar and silver "where the heck do you find those last minute" decorative toppings. Or I could use sprinkles and red hots, because that's what's left at the grocery store and I'm not going to uppity up grocery store with my kids to spend 100 bucks on fancy sugar.

Mine did NOT look like this, who has
time for this?  Anyone?

 D.) You, dear lady, are a bride's worst nightmare. I might, or might not, {nothing to see here stalkers} have a little bit of experience in the floral industry. Every single bridal consultation without fail, guess whose pictures the brides bring in hmmmm? I look...I say, "okay, what else were you thinking? Oh that? Huh". I then break the news, "Okay sweetie that flower only blooms on the 2nd Monday of January every 3-5 years in Singapore... we can do that for you for one million dollars, how do you feel about roses?"

That doesn't go over well. Bridezillas? Yes. I doubt many Bridezilla’s show their teeth to you Martha, but they lash out at little old me, the not so Martha. It's like comparing a five star meal to the 2 day old hot dogs at a truck stop. Which would you rather have? And please don't get me started with how in God's name you've managed to genetically engineer the perfect blue flower, oh right, I'm sure in your garden in Vermont using your Pomeranian's poop who by the way is fed a strict diet of organic boysenberries and handmade gelato, which achieves the perfect acidity level for blue, as fertilizer. Seriously, stop with the blue. There are about 2 blue flowers, and they are often purpley.

Purpley, ummhmm

Martha, I totally understand your desire to educate America. But I have to say I think a large majority of us cower in the shadow of your perfection and our inability to emulate it. You are a self-esteem bulldozer. This is why I sold all my Martha Stewart books at a yard sale...for a nickel. I. just. can't. compete.

And one more thing, I still can't fold a fitted sheet, even though I've watched you explain it 50 times. I need cliff notes or something. Oh wait; there is a cliff notes version of Martha! Rachel Ray!  Who, I love.

Martha~

In case you are reading this, bahahaaa. {Please don't sue me…or hurt me} I mean you no harm. I actually think you the people behind the scenes are brilliant and snooty. And if you want to come to my house, or I could totally come to you, either or, and teach me how to fold a fitted sheet before I die, or teach me how to make the perfect Pate Brisee {bring your tools, MacGyver over here} I'd be honored. I have also made your cranberry chutney recipe {no dates, no raisins} for 10 years religiously and it is one of my favorite dishes of all time. Through the chutney {here again...it's sauce, cranberry sauce} I find forgiveness. Yes. I forgive you Martha Stewart, I forgive you.

Disclaimer: This post may have just been written because I'm jealous, very jealous of Martha Stewart's Martha-ness.