SimpliPatti

Funerals are sacred moments. They’re times for reflection, respect, and — above all — dignity. Yet, despite our best efforts, sometimes a poor musical choice can derail the whole atmosphere, turning a solemn farewell into an awkward cringe-fest. If you’re planning a service (or just trying to leave strong hints for your own), here’s a list of songs that should absolutely never grace the speakers at a funeral. 1.  “Another One Bites the Dust” – Queen Look, we love Freddie Mercury as much as anyone, but even the most hardcore fans would agree this is not the time for gallows humor. Save this classic for your workout playlist, not the memorial service. 2.   “Highway to Hell” – AC/DC Unless you’re aiming for the funeral equivalent of a Vegas roast (and even then — please don’t), this is a no-go. Great riff, horrible timing. 3.  “ Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead” – Judy Garland (from The Wizard of Oz) Even if Granny was a bit of a tyrant, airing grievances through musical theater...

So, listen. I’m not saying I’m bad at homesteading, but if the zombie apocalypse hits and someone hands me a tomato and says, “Preserve this for winter,” I’m handing it back and asking for a pre-sealed can of SpaghettiOs.   Late last summer in a tragic display of optimism, Pinterest confidence, and a YouTube binge, I decided to can tomatoes for the first time. You know, like our great-grandmothers used to do. With love. And patience. And probably a lot less swearing too. The dream was warm shelves of mason jars glowing ruby red with fresh tomatoey goodness, waiting to become stews, soups, and sauces.  The reality was that my small kitchen looked like someone had been murdered by marinara. Various friends contributed 20 pounds of tomatoes to the cause.  I wanted " a lot" because I assumed they’d shrink like laundry in a dryer. (Spoiler: they don’t. They multiply. Kind like gremlins. Angry, juicy gremlins.) Anywho... Blanching tomatoes means dropping them into b...

Okay so, full disclosure, I didn’t go to “journalism school” or whatever. But like, I’ve watched a TON of documentaries on YouTube and I once interviewed my neighbor’s cousin who works at an airport, so I feel like I know what I’m doing. So, let’s get into it! The other night I was outside looking up at the sky, because that’s what I do when I can’t sleep (or when I eat too many sour gummy worms), and I saw the moon. But something seemed… off. It looked too perfect. Too… round. Like a lamp or maybe a balloon. And that’s when I realized: the moon might not be real, you know? I did some deep research (i.e. Googled “Is the moon fake?”) and you would be SHOCKED at what I found. Did you know that NASA stands for Not A Single Answer? Because every time you ask them a question, they give you “science” instead of the real truth. Also, fun fact: I read somewhere that the moon emits light. But if the sun is supposed to be the light source, then how come the moon is shiny AT NIGHT? Checkmate,...

My dog may be dramatic, slightly unhinged, and have the judgmental stare of a Victorian ghost, but he’s also my best friend. And sure, he can’t actually talk—but if he could, I’m pretty sure this is exactly how it would go:  (BTW,  I gave him a treat as a bribe just in case.) Me: Thank you for sitting down with me today. I know your schedule is jam-packed with barking at nothing and dramatic sighing. My Dog: [Licks own butt.] You’re welcome. I had to cancel a very important nap for this, so let’s make it quick. Me: Let’s get right to it. Why do you bark at the mailman? Every. Single. Day. My Dog: Because he dares to show up uninvited, and then—get this—he leaves. Suspicious behavior. I’m protecting the nation. You’re welcome. Me: Okay, but he’s literally here every day. You know him. My Dog: Exactly. It’s always the ones you think you know. Me: Fair. Moving on. Why do you insist on sitting directly on me even though you’re 60 pounds of pure dog? My Dog: You are my chosen thro...

So... I live in a small space—quaint, cozy, “minimalist” if you squint and ignore the pile of laundry doing its best impression of Mount Everest in the corner. At some point, I looked around and realized that my floor had officially become a “suggestion” and not something I could really see.   So naturally, I declared: Today, I clean! And thus began the most unhinged journey of my adult life, as chronicled below: Hour 1: The Hopeful Beginning Armed with a trash bag, a playlist full of motivational songs on the iPhone, and wildly misplaced confidence, I started in one corner. I picked up a hoodie I hadn’t seen in three months. Underneath it? A sock. Underneath that? A spoon.  Dirty.  Of course. Why? Who knows. This is a lawless land. It was then and there that  I set a goal: Make my floor visible again! *Narrator: It was not.* Hour 2: The Closet War My closet is not a closet. It’s really a portal to another realm where T-shirts go to multiply and mysteriou...

Let’s talk about the great lie: Pinterest perfection. You know what I’m talking about—the DIY candle that looks like it was hand-poured by Martha Stewart herself online that turns into a hot wax mess in reality, the “easy” macramé wall hanging that somehow turns into a tangled octopus of shame, or the clay mug that ends up looking like it survived a medieval war. I am here to say: it’s fine. Actually, it’s just beautiful. Because DIY doesn’t stand for “Do It Yourself to impress the Internet.” It stands for “Disaster Is Yearly” and we love that for us. Enter Exhibit A: The Clay Cat Planter That Now Haunts My Dreams I followed all the steps. I shaped it. I painted it. I gave it whiskers.  I also accidentally gave it four eyes and a tail that looks like a sad worm. Pinterest version: whimsical and elegant. My version: mildly possessed and definitely judgmental. Still proudly sitting on my desk with a tiny succulent inside because guess what? She’s got character. Exhibit B: The “No-Sew...