JoAnn Fabrics: Girls Only

Did I ever tell you about that time I took my Manfriend to JoAnn Fabrics? Probably not because it was equal parts stress and frustration. At one point I thought I was better off just cutting my losses and leaving him there.

To be clear, it’s not like he was acting like a small child (“ugh, can we goooooo”, “I’m hungry”, “I have to pee”) in fact he was being extremely patient as I ooo’ed and aww’ed at fabrics, batting, etc.

We were there for foam. Foam? Foam.

Four inch thickfoam that was on sale 50% off and I needed for my pallet-turned-ottoman project. Yes, I know I have referenced this twice now (that’s it?) and I swear I will post a tutorial once I complete the damn thing.

Anyways, we were in JoAnns surrounded by crafty, older ladies who were noticeably without husbands/boyfriends/lovahs. Not like they were single and/or widows, to be fair I didn’t question their FB status, but more like their sig-others knew better than to even set foot inside JoAnns.

And because I’m me, I did not have a schematic or blue print of my to-be-ottoman or how I was going to build it, which meant I was trying to pull up my Pinterest page and find the link to go to the page and then read what this other person wrote and did I mention I hadn’t eaten in awhile? Like a long while.

And how was I supposed to know how the foam was going to be sold? Why would I look that up online? I needed to SEE it.

So when Manfriend said, “Don’t you think you should have figured this out beforehand?” I literally almost lost my shit. I’m not positive what my facial expression was but I can only imagine it read as, “fetal position, protect yourself!”

I’m not sure what happened next because I was either so annoyed or so hungry I blacked out that portion of my memory. (I know what you’re thinking, I wish I was drunk too.) I calmly (yaright) walked back to the wall ‘o foam, pulled two pre-cut pieces and decided that would do.

Luckily, I am almost a mathematician (yaright x2, I was not math major) and figured out how to machete those pieces to fit together for my little project.

And because M was so happy to get the hell out of dodge/JoAnns and also knew there was a high probability I would try to pull a praying mantis, he promptly took me to Taco Time. Win.

(Writer’s note: I swear we went to Taco Time but M says we went to meet my parents for dinner. whatever.

Two weeks later, M went out of town and I was able to go to BOTH JoAnns AND Michael’s IN THE SAME DAY! It was the best day.

And while I was trying to pick fabric to upholster what will be the most badass ottoman of all time I was sure to text M a picture of each and every single fabric I liked until he finally said, “whichever one you want, sweetie.”

And now I think I found a new strategy to getting my way. This is what I decided on:


The smart lady that posted a how-to on making this ottoman said it took her four hours total. I couldn’t even tell you how many hours I’ve logged thus far because its taken my for-ev-ar to compile all my supplies.

And if you even think the words, “don’t you think you should have figured this out beforehand?” I will hunt you down. Hunt. You. Down.

Challenge Accepted.

Ok you guys, I have a few things to tell you. First of all, yesterday while I was trying to make my pallet-turned-ottoman (I’ll explain later) I was innocently putzing around in Manfriend’s backyard. In my spandex, naturally, since it was the weekend. 

Then out of nowhere, I was stung by a bee. A BEE. Confused, I started screaming, jumping and panicking while trying to pull my pants away from my leg. Manfriend, also confused by my circusing-about, began panicking because we are good, bee-fearing folk who just don’t get STUNG BY BEES.

I made it inside at which point he said, “do you want to take you pants off?” Smooth, Manfriend. And, yes I did want to take my pants off but as I was afraid the bee might try to attack me from it’s grave (aka the stinger was stuck in my spandex) so it was a bit of a process. I scuttled upstairs and waited for him to DO SOMETHING since all I could do was not cry.

Then, my parents showed up. And there I was, sitting on my Manfriend’s bed without pants on holding an ice pack against my thigh moaning, “Mooooooooooom I got stuuuuuuuung.”


I can’t even believe I wore pants today to be honest. Jeans, nonetheless. I had to apply 80 million layers of a Benedryl/Cortaid cocktail in order to survive the day without going mad. Then I was going to go to the gym, but my bee sting itched so I didn’t. (Love that excuse? Me. Too.) Redic. 

Since I feel as though this bee attack was unprovoked (it’s not like I dropped my pallet soon-to-be-ottoman on top of the deck under which it seems these little b-holes are living), Mother Nature and I are having a little bit of friction. I mean, ok, I threw away a few plastic bottles and sometimes I get plastic bags for my groceries when I am out of Seattle-proper but a bee-sting? Poor me.

So then, tonight, three-ish days before I leave to go camping with Manfriend and his high school “bros” I realize that I am going camping. But it’s ok because I am a camping pro. If “camping” is defined as staying anywhere that ends in “motel” and is classified under 3-stars on TripAdvisor.

Since it’s not, here’s how the conversation went:

Me: there a store near this ‘camp site?’

Manfriend: no. well, like 10+ miles away.

Me: how are we supposed to eat?

Manfriend stares. Then stares some more. I am pretty sure he was suppressing a smirk.

Me: does that mean we have to pack all our food? then cook it…over a…fire?

Manfriend: …yes…

Me: but what are we supposed to pack?!

Note: while I am not an idiot, I am really not acing the ‘play it cool, you can camp’ in front of my Manfriend.

Manfriend: beans, corn, steaks, hot dogs…

Me: oh, so this is like REAL camping?

5-minutes later…

Me: but we can shower right?

Manfriend continues to stare…and smirk…

I wouldn’t lie to you, when he pitched (hah! i’m so clever) this to me he told me it was like car-camping, which in my defense means there is access to a car which go on roads which lead to Starbucks.

Oh, shit. I just had the coffee-epiphany. Eff.

Except, yknow what? I was a Girl Scout. I can totally do this. Even when my troop mate picked a spot for our tent on a hill (what.the.hell) on a night that it monsooned (srsly.lakes.) I stuck it out.

So, I am going to pack me some Via, dry shampoo and bug spray and head to the “woods.” I use the “” because I feel like it’s going to be a clearing where there are no bears, snakes or things that bite…right? RIGHT. 

Challenge accepted, Manfriend.