The basement gets it's day in the sun

Did you catch us on Remodelaholic today? Because that's where our sweet little basement landed. We're, um, kind of a big deal online.

But you knew that.

In real life, we at Bigger, Better, Best also roll in the big time and as such, have declared it summer vacation 'round these parts. We're getting crazy doing things like mowing the monster lawn, skimming the redneck pool of debris and riding lots of dubious hot pink bikes.

Pardon our hiatus. Sometimes, a gal just needs a moment to get her mind right before painting 1/4 of her garage a rainbow of sherbert colors.

Yes. That's happening. Eventually.

Hazy summer days are made for moving slow and around here, we like to let the weather make our important decisions.

Let's make the house a little weirder

It's been a very busy week, but I wanted to let you know : I wasn't kidding about the garage mural project.

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Do you see it, too?

This expanse of garage wall that faces our patio garden needs an autobiographical mural.

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Like father, like daughter

Happy Father's Day to any and all dads who read this blog.

I'm pretty sure there's just one and he's my very own pa, which is why I feel it fitting to mark today with the following confession:

I made and enjoy a Pandora station based on Jimmy Buffet.

Now you all know. I have the musical sensibilities of a man who, probably, has in his lifetime owned more than 30 pairs of Sperry's.

Have a good one!

Don't let that door hit you on the way out

 One of the first mini-projects since falling off the DIY wagon was to replace our janky bathroom door. Previous owners had put this poor thing through the ringer - painting it blue, installing a towel bar (did I mention this is your standard-issue hollow core door and therefore not suitable to bearing any weight?) and letting rusty hinge juice decorate the jamb.

 The towel bar did a real number on the poor door. It used to always fall out of the door, especially when we had guests who weren't used to the supreme ghettoness of our bathroom. In the picture below you can see the totally rockin' blue paint that used to cover not only the door, but the whole bathroom.

 So, we went off to Home Depot and bought a paneled door. Because our house is old and weird, the new door needed to be cut down a smidgey bit.

 Hubs and I got to get back into our respirators and goggles, which is a look I know I missed, so I'm guessing you missed this awesomeness in your daily blog visits, too, right?

How you doin'?

After some slicing and dicing, a little touch up paint, and a fancy new non-brass door knob, we couldn't help but fall breathless every time we caught a glimpse of the new bathroom door.

Cue the choir of angles!

In the spirit of easing back into DIY, we only did one of the three doors in our hallway. The two bedroom doors are still 50's slabs with brass door knobs and bad paint jobs.

In due time, bedroom doors. In due time.

I was really surprised how the panels made such a difference. the bathroom feels cottage-y and that slice of hallway feels new and bright. I'm officially in love with paneled doors.

Here's a really nerdy question: do you have a favorite type of door? I bet you do, nerd.

Scary stories

I'm not really a horror movie person. Minute 6 or so of this video really pushes my limits for a scary story, which is kindly - and dramatically - reenacted by this gentleman:



"He permed me!" Ahhhhh!

Anyway, it's been dark and stormy in my neck of the woods and I thought I'd tell you one of my scariest tales.

A few years ago, Hubs and I went to what was billed as a wine and cheese party at a friend's house. Now, we totally know thyselves and knew we were actually going to attend a block-of-Kraft-and-assorted-boozes party, which is fine and spooky. We're, like, very chill like this. I mean, one of my top ten favorite cheese of all time comes from an aerosol, but I balance that with knowing my French sheeps' milk from a Spanish cow's.

We chose to bring our very favorite cheese (also the top layer of our wedding cake) - a Pierre Robert. It's very brie-like, and spooky. Verrrrry spooky.

When we arrived, we set our cheese out to come to room temperature and began to schmooze and booze. I could sense something was not quite right with some of our fellow guests. They seemed...spooky.

It's important to note that I am an excellent eavesdropper. I'm known far and wide for this skill. I know this because I've heard people talking about it.

As we chat with our hosts, I overhear some of the more zombie-esque guests. I hear horrifying things.

"Oh, this is um, like, a brie?" says a fellow guest.

"Yeah - you're supposed to microwave it so it gets gooey inside," replies another.

Dear. God.


"That'd be so good with a  pretzelersumthin dipped in it!" said a third.

They're microwaving my precious cheese. Microwaving! My! Cheese!

I looked to Hubs, hoping he could intervene but as we both turned to tell the naughty guests that you don't microwave good cheese - it was too late.

The Pierre Robert was being wrenched from the microwave, bubbling and getting tackier by the second (ba dum ching!). Within minutes, it had hardened and was abandoned by all at the party. Spooky.

I'm telling you guys, it was horrible. Awful. A fate I wouldn't wish on my most hated cheese.

*Please look for this story to be retold when I write my business book, Who the Hell Microwaved My Good Cheese?

St. Louis in dessert form

Saturday was my little sister's birthday (happy birthday, yo!). When I asked my mom how they were celebrating, she said she was starting by making gooey butter cake for breakfast.

My brain seized up. Gooey butter cake! Gooey + butter + cake = excellent baking endeavor for a Saturday afternoon.

Luckily, I had snagged this local cookbook gem from my Nana not too long ago.

You really can't go too far wrong with a recipe book made from Midwestern moms' best dishes.

 The bottom layer was a shameful amount of Crisco (one stick!), melted, and combined with a box of yellow cake mix and three eggs.

Then, I mixed up a pound of powdered sugar,  a box of cream cheese (I used fat free, but I don't think it helped any. There's a stick of Crisco in this shizzle.) and two more eggs.

I spread the topping on the uncooked cake mix and popped it in the oven at 350 for 35 minutes.

As I admired my cooling GBC, I realized there was no butter in my Gooey Butter Cake. Shocking, right? I know. I was scandalized, but I was able to console myself with an iced tea and hefty hunk of Gooey Butter Cake.

Even Hubs, who hid his skepticism well, fell in love with the caramel-y crunch and rich ooze. It's a powerful force, this GBC.

What's your favorite hometown dessert?