Cinderella can suck it

There are a handful of blogs that I frequent on a daily basis, and the majority of those blogs are run by women that are practically Disney characters.  You know the type.... size 2, tan, can sew together a beautiful ensemble out of curtains, while baking elegant looking cupcakes, while playing a complicated piece on the piano with their toes.  They are one singing blue bird short of becoming the next Pixar character.  In other words, they are everything that I am not.  And I'm okay with it.  You see, I'm the type of girl that almost always has a stain smack dab on the boobage area of my shirt because coffee is attracted to it like a magnet, and Lean Cuisines tend to be like molten lava when I'm trying to shovel it into my mouth.  I'm the type of girl that glows like an albino in every picture that is taken of me, and the closest character that I can relate to is Powder.  And I'm the type of girl that can take something as simple as making a "fancy" grilled cheese sandwich, and turn it into an inedible lump of goo.  So today I'm just laying it all out there.  I will never be perfect, or come across as someone that is.  The only thing that I can cook successfully is coconut fried chicken (*toot toot* <--- Me.  Tooting my own horn.  It's amazing), or anything that comes pre-assembled in a bag or a box.  My idea of sewing is something that resembles a knotted mess.  I once attempted to fix a fallen hem by scotch tapping it, and when that didn't work I resorted to stapling it.  I kid you not.  So even though I will never be able to offer you culinary awesomeness on this page, or give you step-by-step directions on how to create a pant suit out of an old doily, I will be able to give you great laundry advice on how to get out a marinara stain that's on the front of a white tee-shirt (you throw the shirt out and head up to Target to buy a new one), or that Gorilla Glue works best when trying to mend a hole that you have in a sweater.  Now you must excuse me.... I have to go prepare dinner, and from experience hot dogs take at least an hour to thaw before you slap one on the old George Foreman. :)