Cause she was too cute being the Loo and humoring her cooky Aunt Court.

Here is the almighty Loo, featuring her third Aunt Courtney Original. It’s tough having an aunt that makes you weird, holiday-themed clothes and then expects you to pose in them… I had an aunt like that too and by the time I got to understand what was going on, I hated everything about those gifts because they were a TRICK to make me look like an idiot in a jumper with tin foil pockets and matching hair bow. Now I understand where she was coming from, and I feel like I have become a traitor to nieces everywhere. How could I not make the punkin’ a turkey onesie this week though?!?! Especially since I won’t be able to celebrate her first Thanksgiving Food n’ Fat Fest with her, I needed to let her know I still care, and dang it, if applique and ric-rac do the trick, I’ll Heat-n-Bond her onesies all day long.

Pleeze don’t eet me, I’m too kyoot!!!!

**Side note on how special Aunt Courtney Originals in fact are, the turkey feathers are Avalon’s actual handprints. I know. Timeless keepsakes. I’m good like that. Here’s a better picture of the true artistry in this masterpiece:

I know since becoming a sewer (not the poopy kinda, the kind with thread hanging off her clothes) you all think I have lost it and become an old grandma. I’m here today to tell you that this is not true, and to encourage ALL of you to explore your inner seamstress (or to pay someone like me to do this crap for you ).

This is my latest ::ahem, first:: refashion project ever. And I am totally jazzed about it. I sort of was inspired by something else I saw, but I totally took the ball and made it my own thing. See, Stockton used to play lacrosse for the Holy Cross Saints when he went to school there, so I had all the gear. Sweatshirt, t-shirt…. I guess that was it in terms of gear. But still, two whole articles of clothing that I cannot wear anymore! And as I am trying to move my way out of the lazy, sloppy, college kid wardrobe of hoodies and sweatpants, I figured I needed something to turn this sweatshirt into. Thus, a project was born. And, yes, ladies and gentlemen, since your curiosity is peaked, I will tell you: It was my new sewing machine’s maiden voyage. And she’s a beauty.

Before:

Well, I don’t really have a before picture, until Stockton sends me one and I’m pretty antsy right now. But just imagine a regular old sweatshirt.

After:

A little shawl/capelet/armless tube that I can totally picture at someplace like Urban Outfitters where they would charge me at least $65.

Now even though Stockton isn’t playing lacrosse anymore, I can support my honey’s former life as a college athlete. And look way cuter than if I were wearing his baggy old sweatshirt.

I can even wear my new creation as a cool infinity scarf.

My new sewing machine and I are so freakin cool I can’t even stand it.

And it cost me all of zero dollars (my favorite price).

I read wedding blogs. I’m not sure why, other than I am getting married and feel like I have to participate to some extent in the psychosis that is frenzied, bridal madness. Some girls are FA-REAKS!!!!! I told my mom just the other day, I am always left speechless by the girls who FIXATE on their weddings for months and months and months. They agonize over the littlest details and drag all their friends, relatives, neighbors, vendors, and strangers down with them. I mean, I’m excited for my wedding because well, my parents know how to throw a good party, and it will be a blast. However, Stockton and I are a bit more interested in our MARRIAGE, not our WEDDING. See the difference? Wedding=one day. Marriage=FOREVER, people, RE-PRIORITIZE!!!! Just the other day in the store, I had a bride looking at personalized stationery as bridesmaid gifts (so cute, right? If my sisters didn’t regularly work in Orange Tree, I would totally be all over that) so I’m trying to make my pitch and was all, “I’ll print those for free, AND have them done in 24 hours, since I would imagine you are just doing the last-minute gifts now, right? Your wedding must be in what, a few weeks?” Oh, no. Her wedding isn’t until June. IT IS NOVEMBER! Don’t you have like, anything at all that you could better spend your time on right now? Maybe a job? A nap? Spending time with your poor fiance? ANYTHING!?

On the blogs I read, I get a lot of stupid suggestions for ways to display your engagement photos, real wedding pictures and color palettes, brides who give way TMI about their wedding dresses, brides who complain because the diamonds are falling out of their bedazzled engagement rings already, but today — Oh, where to begin with today’s blog. Let me preface the entire recap by saying that I understand it is customary to give your groom a gift on your wedding day. Up to this point, I had been thinking like, cufflinks, maybe a monogrammed hanky. Maybe both if I’m really feeling generous! Today’s bride suggested a gift of a TOTALLY different genre, and one that scares me to death.

Boudoir pictures. B-pics as my ghetto fabulous, skanky bridal blogger affectionately calls them.

So for the freak in us all, there are actually photographers out there who will take pictures of brides in NEARLY NOTHING for their husbands-to-be. I am against this idea for a number of reasons. First of all, HELLO SELF RESPECT!!!! Does anyone have any??? The rest of my “of-all’s” shouldn’t even have to be discussed. It’s sick. End of “of-all’s”.

This nasty bride posted pictures, which I saw against my will, of several B-pics of other girls (thought those were supposed to be for your husbands’ eyes only. But now they are floating around on the WWW. BACKFIRE!). The most modest of these pictures depict girls in WAY too much makeup wearing men’s dress shirts. They range from this to some dang near pornographic pictures, i.e. one of a woman’s big, cellulite-laden booty with her left hand on her left butt cheek (cheeky… get it?). The caption on this particular photo read: “Take a look at that engagement ring!”. Uh, what engagement ring?? All I see is more of another woman’s hind parts than I EVER wanted to see. These girls are not in Playboy for a reason… Not that I endorse Playboy or anything that it represents, but dang, at least those girls have firm butts!

Moral of the story, my dear Stockton, is that no. You will not be receiving B-pics from me. Not now, not on our wedding day, NOT EVER!!! Hope you like cufflinks.

I don’t even think I can call myself a blogger anymore. Aren’t there like, governing rules that say you must blog every so-many days in order to maintain that title? If I were an educator, it would be time for me to renew my teaching license by now. BUT ALASSSSS, I am back. At least for tonight. Because I am in Professor Doobie McPrius’ class and there is nothing else for me to attend to other than catching up on all of the blawg business I have been neglecting. It’s actually somewhat sad because my fans ::ahem:: have been heralding me to write. One fan (Love you, Shelba), even suggested I post a picture of the length of my hair. Something. ANYTHING!

So, since there have been nothing but a bunch-o-crickets on Because My Sister Made Me for a while, I think I may be forced to summarize the last several weeks in a list. I will include pictures for the right-brained readers, because apparently I don’t appeal to right-brained people according to my sales professor, WHOM I HATE. I also end my statements with question marks. And sit in my hips when I stand. And have bad breath. I’m sure there’s more, just ask her. Guess I got the cart ahead of the horse there by jumping right into academic VENTING but it was bound to happen, so might as well just nip it in the bud.

So here we go, gang.

1. I turned another year older. We (Mom, Kaley, Maddie, the Punkin, and I) were in Florida to toast to another year. I may or may not have permed my hair seconds before this picture was taken. Let’s not talk about it.



Best aunt. Ever. No contest.

Party Pooper.

And no, it’s not from my birthday, but take a look at the Punkin rocking a blue hair bow to match the swimming pool water. So matchy-matchy, that one. HELLO FUTURE LINDSEY BENKO!!! You make your auntie so proud.

2. Mom turned another year older, too.

3. We celebrated with a part-ay, hey ho!! (First person to name the movie that is from will get a prize. Literally, I’m feeling generous, I might have my first EVER give-away). (And I bet it will go to Kaley, because I think she will be all over this one).

Surprise

4. For my birthday, I got a new sewing machine. That’s right MY VERY OWN SEWING MACHINE! Please, curb your enthusiasm. And I would like to note that I am 22. Not 82. Nothing wrong with being an old soul. Or getting really excited to open a case of multi-colored thread and seam rippers from my grandma. That’s normal for women my age, isn’t it???

5. I wrote a 72 page report on The Coca-Cola Company and my group’s proposed strategy for the company for my Senior Comprehensive, and came within paragraphs of jumping off the LeMans bell tower. Blech, 4 more weeks til I graduate. 4 more weeks til I graduate. Say it with me now!!!!

6. I saw my honey. He came the weekend I was writing the paper, which was due Monday. Bad timing for my paper to be due, EH?! But it was totally worth seeing him.

7. Had an awesome family photo shoot with Joanne of Josephiney Photography, who did Stockton’s and my engagement photos. Pictures to follow for that one.

Everything else was just a blur of running from class to work to pilates to class to group meetings to the dining hall to Chipotle to bed to Starbucks…. I’m ready for the blurred running around to END, y’all!!! 4 more weeks til I graduate. We all still chanting together on that one??

Next Tuesday, as in one week from this Tuesday, as in I just crafted my paper chain for counting down the next 8 days, I am going to Arizona for some Schultz family festivities. Can’t wait to see my hubby-in-waiting and spend my first holiday with his family. Also, this is the first family vacation with my future sister-in-law, Shannon, who will be marrying Stockton’s older brother, Max, in December. Can’t wait to have the whole group together for the first time.

I’ll try to blog again in the next 3 weeks. Maybe even a picture of my hair for Shelba.

Like a moron.

Dear adult college woman of Saint Mary’s,

While loungewear is a common sight on this female dwelled establishment, please refrain from ever committing this crime against humanity ever again. Fleece onesie pajamas with rubber soled feet and an airplane pattern is beyond inappropriate attire for walking around campus in the evening. My two month old niece has more mature looking sleepwear than this. If you would be so kind as to find the 4 year old boy who you stole this hideous monstrosity from, your sisters of Saint Mary’s would be tickled. One less unfortunate embarrassment for us to explain to outsiders.

Thank you, and goodnight.

I really hate you.

I think your color scheme is icky. You bring out the bad in Orange, which we all know can do no wrong outside of your satanic grips.

You give people an excuse to dress in ways that would otherwise be considered illegal, and I don’t care what day of the year it is, there should be no exceptions for some things.

You give young women, who should be learning to act classy, not trashy, the impression that ANYTHING can be sexy on Halloween.
“What are YOU going to be for Halloween?”
“Oh Em Gee, I am going to be a sexy fire hydrant!”
“Oh Em Effing GEE I am going to be a sexy high school administrator!!!!”
What does this mean, you ask? They buy the appropriate color bra and panties, maybe a skirt that doesn’t cover their ANYTHING and in the case of the administrator, maybe a pair of reading glasses. And she might throw her hair in a bun just to validate a good stereotype. The fire hydrant? Red, all the way. Maybe her boyfriend will dress as a dog and pee on her leg all night. I wouldn’t put it past certain people.

Back to YOU, Halloween. You make people decorate their homes with arachnids, which if I am not mistaken, most people AVOID AT ALL COSTS for the other 364 days of the year, so what changed, exactly!?! And what in the world do Spiders have to do with Halloween ANYWAY!!??

You make children forget about everything relevant for at least one month straight to think about only the rotting of their teeth and what they are going to wear for Halloween, because let’s face it, it will kill you to have a lame costume. Some customer of mine even went so far as to ask me to sew her child’s costume this year. And I said, Um, hello, do I know you or your child??? No. Do I CARE if your child hits the streets on October 31 dressed as a Notre Dame marching band member? Not really. Do you have $200 to spend on your child’s costume? Oh, no, you don’t??? Perfect…. I selected the appropriate rate to get you to BACK THE HECK OFF then. Good luck with the gold tassels

You are all about fear, fright, death, mummies, zombies, ghosts…. things I try to avoid, in general, in my daily life. I don’t think there should be any exception on Halloween.

I think middle school is DEFINITELY the cutoff for trick or treating, and yet, there always seems to be some 17 year old punks skateboarding around the neighborhood that comes up to me, sans costume, to steal candy.

This year, I plan on standing my ground: no costume, no candy. And children shall receive candy based on the creativity and appropriateness of their costumes. You threw on a ski mask to go trick or treating? You get a chewed piece of gum. You show up (and you are under the age of 12) in an adorable Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz costume, braids and all? Well, that deserves some milk duds.

The only thing I am looking forward to doing on October 31 this year, is calling Kate to wish her a Happy Birthday…. NOT a Happy Halloween.

Mine is not what comes to mind. In fact, I would venture to say mine falls under the category of Someone is Trying to Sabotage My Life, I Just Know It, I am Henceforth a Hermit. That category has taken on a whole new role for me this weekend. Because bad things can’t happen to hermits; after all, they know better than to venture out into chuck hole infested world. Because you know what chuck holes do?? They leave you stranded at the side of the road on a Friday night with a dead cell phone, in the rain, with two flat tires. Not one. Two.

Let’s rewind, shall we? Scene: It’s Friday night, just had Carrabba’s salads with Kaley and Rob and spent some good time smooching on Avalon. 10:00 rolls around, and it’s time for me to leave the fun fest. Driving home, on this dark rainy night, I hit a chuck hole and BA-BAMM!!!! The first BA was my front right tire. The BAMM was my back right tire. BA and BAMM ruined the rest of my weekend. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. They really just ruined the rest of my night and the better part of Saturday. I have a pretty quick rebound rate, if you’ve ever met me. Mad one second and asking for high fives and telling jokes the next. Like a schizo, really.

So I am now hyperventilating as my car starts to drift to the right side of the road because, well, there was no air in my tire and that tends to throw off the equilibrium of the car, as you may know if you know anything about balance, physics, cars, or have an iota of common sense. My heart is in my throat and I reach for my phone because what is a cell phone if not an adult’s safety blanket? It’s like Avalon’s Wooby… makes me feel like everything’s going to be OK because, well, I am cellularly connected and that can solve any problem.

But HARK! What’s this? My phone is DEAD, you say?! (Enter MAJOR water works)

I am now hyperventilating, heart in throat, crying, and trying desperately to find that car plug that Stockton left in my car accidentally and then offered to let me keep. Thank you, by the way. I owe you something that will, like, save your life. After plugging in the phone, I am trying to turn it on. But I get nothing. I am still fighting to keep my car on the road, driving at about 20 miles per hour… yes, still driving. Like a total moron. HELLO DUMMY!!!! Stop the car!!!! You have one, two TWO flat tires and you are still driving. Who thought it was a good idea to give me a vehicle and a valid driver’s license?! I make stupid decisions!!!

Finally, after about a mile, I get service and call home. Nothing. Surprise of the century, no one at the Helman residence is answer the phone. Then I call Maddie. Because my 16 year old sister will surely have the answer to this problem. Crying like a complete psychopath, I try to relay my situation and thoroughly freaked her the heck out, I’m sure. Bless her little do-gooder heart, she offered to come meet me somewhere. Because two clueless girls are way better than one in a situation like this. But at that moment, my knight was calling me. Dad. GOTTA GO MADDIE DAD TO THE RESCUE!!! First words out of my mouth:

“WAAAAAAAHHH BAHAHHHHHAHAHHHHHHH DAAAAADDDDDDDD!” and my dad is all, “Ummmmm, get a grip you freak” and I’m all “I’M GONNNAAA DIIIEEEEEEE”. He’s so nice. He totally tolerated me. Then threw on some grubby clothes and hauled his total Bat Mobile, MacGyver’d car to my rescue and changed my tire in the dark, on the ground, in the rain, while I droned in the background about my miserable luck and how lousy it is to be a car owner because “WAAAAA I CAN’T AFFORDDDD TIRRESSSSSS (hiccup) WAAAAAAA”.

Let’s just say that after learning a valuable life lesson of stashing some freakin’ weird stuff in every nook and cranny of your car, I am now equipped to build a house, fight off ninjas, paint my nails, and self-medicate all by popping my trunk. Thanks, Dad. You are the original MacGyver.

Saturday morning, I woke up early, seriously hoping I would walk out to my car and there wouldn’t be a small, stupid looking, yellow spare tire where my front right tire was supposed to be and that the back wheel wouldn’t have a goose egg protruding out of it the size of a soft ball. Certainly this was all just a dumb dream. What do they put in that Carrabba’s house dressing anyway??? But no. It was real. The spare was laughing at me as I walked out to reassess the damage. And cry some more. After making a few phone calls to some of my dad’s greasy-fingernail friends, we arranged for me to go to Tire Rack to purchase one, two TWO new tires. Ugh, makes me ill to think about. And then they were going to do the installation for me. Notre Dame game just hours away, I thought the toll road would be the best way to go with the South Bend traffic situation. And then, once I was on the toll road, I realized I had a spare tire and a tire that was threatening to explode at any given moment, so I drove 10 miles on the toll road at 40 miles per hour with my hazards on. Oh. My. Gosh. It was like plucking your leg hairs. Everyone else is shaving, but you are the freak who does it the slow, painful way. I had semis threatening to hit me because, well, their braking time isn’t anything to brag about and when barreling down the highway at 80 mph only to encounter the IDIOT who is on the toll road with a ticking time bomb of a vehicle, there are some major threats of rear-endage. Luckily I made it out without any love taps from behind, but I bet if I had bothered to take my eyes off the road, I would’ve seen some middle finger salutes aimed straight at me.

Once I got to tire rack, I was told that I was tenth in line. TENTH. And that once my car got in, it would still be 2 hours. Which means I would be there until my wedding. Waiting and crying. The lady sitting next to me in the waiting room with the pink hair who kept talking to herself wasn’t making me any more stoked about this whole process, so I chose to buy the tires and leave, thinking somewhere else might have a shorter wait time. Which means I got to drive back across town in the ticking time bomb. This time, I chose not to go the Toll Road route. After all, I had just bought one, two TWO new tires and I could afford no tolls.

Long story, eh? If you made it this far, we really are friends, I think. Oh, mylanta. Moral of the story: my dad’s the best rescuer ever. Amen.

Happy October 1st! This is my favorite month. The weather is a wonderful mix of sunny and crisp (when things go right), my birthday is within sight, and the new chill in the air means this is the first opportunity you get to wear all those new Fall clothes you splurged on, even if it was just at Target on Tuesday night a mere 5 minutes before they closed just because you needed a daggum MOMENT TO YOURSELF WITHOUT SCHOOL AND WORK AND PIANO AND SEWING AND OH MY GOSH SOMEONE GIVE ME OXYGEN AND A MOSSIMO T-SHIRT!!!! Oh wait, that was just me??

::crickets::

Moving on then!!! I do have a few feelings recently, which should come as no surprise to you because, well, something is always causing me to be a tad disgruntled in this fragile state of limbo where I’m not a real member of society yet, but really close, but still a student, but really hating school, etc. And with the aforementioned weather change, one of those things is footwear. Trivial, you say? NAY!!! This is one of my greater annoyances with college women! Saint Mary’s college women in particular. My argument is this, ladies: Yes, this morning it was 31 degrees. Brr, ok, I get it. But NOW it is in the 60’s. And despite popular belief, UGGS and flip flops are not your only two footwear options. THERE I SAID IT! Go buy a frickin’ pair of tennis shoes, closed toe flats, loafers, hell, I don’t care if you wear scuba flippers because at least then you are being original!! I am so. sick. of seeing UGGS and flip flops everywhere I look. If there is any debate as to whether you should wear your flops or your UGGS when you are getting dressed in the morning, it means that neither are appropriate because those shoes should not be worn in or around the same season under any circumstances. Also, if UGGS are the best option, you better have a coat and pants on, as well, because it better be so frigid that your feet will cease to exist without the sheep’s wool goodness of those boots. In other words: It is never OK to wear UGGS with shorts! Or a short skirt! Or a skort, for that matter!!!!!

Next issue: lately my sales professor has found it amusing to punish me and single me out for my participation, saying that basically, I need to shut up and let my classmates talk. In fact, she said exactly this when she requested I stay after class the other day to “talk to her” but really, do NO TALKING BECAUSE YOU JUST TOLD ME TO SHUT UP. Um, ok I get it, I have some opinions (hence courtneyhelman.wordpress.com, amen?) but isn’t the point of higher education to learn to ask questions and make meaningful contributions to class meetings?? And if she slams me one more time for using Orange Tree as an example, I quit school, because HELLO, WOMAN I am actually going into sales and have at least an iota more experience than the rest of my classmates who all interned with some company that delegated them to Chief Donut Fetcher and Summer Receptionist duties. Also, I happen to have, again, just an iota of experience as a buyer for a company, so if you try to squelch my enthusiasm for this, I will report you since you are clearly missing the point of being an educator. Then today, because apparently I was contributing to class too much again (shame on me), she used me as an example for “speech issues” and said that even though I am a good speaker and should be proud of how I present myself (ahem, thank you very much), she said I end every sentence with a question mark and that it makes me sound like I have no confidence in what I’m saying and that I will not be a good salesperson because of that. Well, dear educator, I would like to tell you that I think you are an utter piece of crap professor that would really be better off as a paper salesperson (hello, Dunder Mifflin!!) like you were in your earlier days? And if that gives you any inclination as to the type of professor she is, just picture yourself sitting in class with a professor that has the dynamic personality of Stanley or Phyllis? This is me speaking with question marks at the end of my sentences? Ugh, I can’t wait until professors are a thing of the past for me. Notice that I did not put a question mark after that sentence because there isn’t a doubt in my mind regarding that statement.

On a final promotional note, new loot here.

Have a good weekend and talk at you soon? Don’t wear UGGS yet? Wait, scratch that. Don’t wear UGGS yet. That, I am confident of.

I am now a real, live, Etsy shop owner!!! After a lot of encouragement from my roommate and a few others, I decided to take the plunge and put my stuff out there. I only have two things up for now, but you gotta start somewhere, yeah!?! Even though I do make random things for display in the store, I have found (in my brief experience of selling stuff) that I am most happy to do special orders for people. Someone came into Orange Tree yesterday and wanted an apron for a new mom, as well as some onesies with applique shapes/letters for the baby to match his momma. So cute. I am really excited about this one, but the best part for me is seeing how excited the customer was about ordering this “custom” apron for her god daughter. She was ecstatic, and who doesn’t love to tell their gift recipient that the gift was especially made for them?? Seriously, people, my family can tell you that I am a borderline obnoxious gift giver because I can never wait until the actual DAY (i.e. Christmas) to give people their gifts. It’s just that I love to see people’s reactions, and I love knowing that my gift was a success. That is what making custom aprons/whatevers is like for me. Such a feeling of accomplishment.

Thanks for indulging my little hobby and if you want, you can check out my shop (although you’ve already seen the aprons here and here) at http://www.courtneybock.etsy.com.

Thanks to everyone who has been so encouraging of my new venture. And for dealing with photos of me wearing dog collars. It’s all for the cause.

For your viewing pleasure, allow me to introduce my latest project, for the stylish mutt in your life.

A lovely, handmade collar for your favorite little houndie. I made this because this week in the store, someone asked if we have cute dog collars. I wanted to say “No, but give me 24 hours and we will!!” but I resisted the urge to shamelessly self-promote, and instead, I’m doing it on my blog!!! Because, really, what else are blogs for?!?! I have fondly named this style, The Corby-Doo and will henceforth be referring to any collars in this print as such.

The fabric I used is by Amy Butler, which is a HOT designer in the textiles industry, and she has some of the coolest designs I have seen. I am making two new aprons with her fabrics (one in blues and one in greens/pinks) in that tiered style, so those will be posted soon. I think they will be yet again, better than any before. I love learning new things because you only get better each time you do something. It really makes you cocky and think that “By gosh, I am destined for a life of apron making!!!!”. And yes, I am still thinking about that, so please don’t squelch my enthusiasm.

*Note: The Corby-Doo is going to be available at Orange Tree (as long as my boss lets me ).

**Note #2: This product was not tested on animals. Just me.

***This just in: The Yo Quiero Sophie style. Pink with orange and yellow polka dots on the outside, orange ribbon on the inside.