Chistmas Traditions: Food, Funny Hats, and More Food...

Update! It’s the week of Christmas and I’ll be around till Thursday with a few fabulous blogs posts, but after that I’ll probably be MIA until Wednesday the 29th while I’m living it up with my family in San Antonio. Hopefully I’ll be back that day, that day after my birthday(!), with some Christmas stories. Nothing too embarrassing…

Moving on…

Let’s talk Christmas! I love Christmas so much! Honestly I might even say I love it more now that I’m older. Sure I don’t have those butterflies in my stomach Christmas Eve night while I try to force myself to sleep because the sooner you fall asleep the sooner morning comes and the sooner you can see what Santa brought you, but I’ve traded those butterflies for wishing and willing time would slow down for those few precious hours we all get to spend together as a family. So, I thought I would dedicate today’s blog post to my favorite Christmas traditions with my family.

Stockings. It is no secret at all that opening my stocking is my favorite, favorite, favorite part of Christmas morning. In my family we all buy each other fun little gifts, wrap them, and add them to each other’s stocking while they aren’t looking. On Christmas morning while we are opening the gifts, we always thank Santa for the presents even though they were in our stocking way before Santa came on Christmas Eve. (Technicalities, smecnicalities.) My family opens all gifts individually. This includes stockings. Therefore the whole process of my family opening stockings can take a long time for a number of reasons.

1. I want to make my stocking last, so I take my time enjoying it knowing it will be 365 more days until I get to do it again.

2. My mother TAKES FORVER OPENING PRESENTS because she refuses to rip the pretty paper. This means she tries to pry the tape up off the paper as neatly as possible and then (yeah it gets worse) she has to fold the paper into a small square before actually opening the box or looking at the gift. You can see how with Birthday gifts or under the tree gifts this is annoying and time consuming, but when she is doing this for twenty little, tiny gifts in her stocking… well… it can take a whole lot of time.

3. This year Nephew has a stocking and I won’t get to be the first to open my stocking. Yes, I have no problem acting like a 6 year old and letting this kinda upset me. Boo little kids in the family! (Yeah I get this has nothing to do with “time allowed to open stocking gifts” like 1 and 2, but I thought it deserved a number.)

Christmas Eve Dinner. We have the same things to eat every year on Christmas Eve. We snack on shrimp, meatballs, tamales, spinach balls, cheese dip, veggies, cookies, guacamole, and Champagne (Sprite in Champagne glasses when my sister and I were growing up). What is kinda funny about this menu is we eat the exact same things when we would decorate the Christmas tree (which we always made a family affair) and on New Year’s Eve, yet never any other non December holidays. We always eat on paper plates, but use my parent’s wedding crystal for the alcohol.

Christmas Dinner.

We have no traditions for what we eat for Christmas dinner, which I think is weird. My Sister and I would flip out if there were no spinach balls on the buffet Christmas Eve, but we have no “must haves” for Christmas dinner. I find this incredibly odd because my family revolves around food! Seriously the food and menu is the most important part of family events. We plan vacations around how many meals we can fit into the trip. “Two days in Key West? That’s not enough time to eat here and here and here and oh we have to eat there and there and here... We must stay another day!” All of our best stories start, “This one time we were in X Country eating X…” Yet, every year a few weeks before Christmas my mother calls me and asks me what I would like for Christmas dinner. We’ve had the usual turkey and ham, but we’ve also sat down to pheasant and beef tenderloin. This year I believe quail will be on our table.

Christmas Crackers. We may have no food traditions for Christmas dinner but we always have Christmas Crackers. No, you don't eat them, they're a British tradition we picked up living on the other side of the pond and it’s a fun one to keep around. How you use them is two people hold the cracker by the paper string that comes out both ends. At the same time the two people pull hard and the paper breaks in the middle causing a loud, “SNAP”. Then you open the cracker and inside of it is a crappy toy, a horrible British joke, and a fun paper crown that if you are sitting at the table with my family must be worn the rest of the meal. Got to love the English! Yes, we are very cute in our hats. No, it wasn't Christmas, but actually last New Years Eve. I didn't lie when I said this would be Boyfriend's very first Christmas with my family.

Garth Brooks’ “Beyond The Season”.

BEST CHRISTMAS CD EVER. You know what’s not the best Christmas CD ever? Garth Brook’s other, newer Christmas CD called “The Magic of Christmas”. It really kinda sucks. Beyond the Season is amazing, though, and every song on that CD reminds me of my family and Christmas. It starts with the best version of Go Tell it on The Mountain ever which I love and ends with the classic, What Child Is This sung absolutely beautifully (don't you love that word pair english teachers) by a pre-divorce, pre-Chris Gains, pre-In Pieces (aka the Aint Going Down Till The Sun Comes Up Album where he wears that horrible black and red boxes shirt) Garth Brooks. Two of my favorite Christmas songs that aren’t “classics” come from this album. “The Gift” (which will always remind me of my dad) makes me cry. It’s beautiful, not cheesy which is hard to do in a Christmas song. Also, “The Friendly Beasts” (which I love) is about the animals that were also in the manger on the night of Jesus’ birth. His version of Silent Night is my favorite as well, even with his monolog in the middle about him and his wife trying to make it home for Christmas in bad weather. Love. So. Much.

Brought Together By Richard Dreyfuss...

Boyfriend and I have been together for four and a half years. Whenever I tell people this they are surprised and usually a little shocked. Next comes the big question, “Why aren’t y’all married?” First of all, how awkward of a question is that? Who are you to demand to know anything that personal about my relationship?

“Why aren’t y’all married?”

“Because I’m an avid fan of Brad and Angelina and will only marry after they do.”

“Because I have refused the 17 different rings he has proposed with because they aren’t big and sparkly enough.”

“Because I’m allergic to white dresses and large cakes.”

“Because we can’t afford to go on a Honeymoon to the Maldives.”

“Because I’m a nihilist and therefore I don’t believe in anything including marriage.”

How about, “DIVORSE SCARES THE SHIT OUT OF ME AND I WANT TO MAKE ABSOLUTE SURE THAT THIS PERSON IS THE ONE I WANT TO SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH AND THAT HE WANTS TO SPEND THE REST OF HIS LIFE WITH ME AND WALKING DOWN THE AISLE IN A PRETTY DRESS CAN WAIT UNTIL WE’RE DAMN WELL READY AND IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!!!”

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, here is reason 5,347,273 that Boyfriend and I are meant to be… (Oh, and it’s not all lovey dovey so please keep reading.)

When Boyfriend and I started dating he made me watch one of his favorite movies he used to watch a lot growing up called Let It Ride. Made in 1989 it stars Richard Dreyfuss as Jay Trotter, a man who on the day he decides to give up gambling forever and really make his marriage work gets a tip on a winning horse at the local race track and then his luck keeps him going all day. It’s really funny and has become one of my favorite movies. The movie script was adapted from Jay Cronley’s book Good Vibes. A few years ago, Boyfriend and I tried to go buy the book and we found out that it has been out of print for years and years, thus making it rare and pretty expensive.

Which brings me to the question, “What to get Boyfriend for Christmas”. Now I know he made a great list, but I wanted to really surprise him and finally buy him the book we always talk about reading, but never actually have, Good Vibes. So, right before Thanksgiving I got online and started looking for the book on various sites. The cheapest one I found was for almost two hundred, so I decided to just keep watching it and maybe it will go down or I can find it somewhere local. A couple weeks later I completely changed my mind about my gift to him and got him something different. End of story… right?

No.

The other day Boyfriend and I were hanging at the house when he turned to me and said, “So, I’m going to tell you what I almost got you for Christmas, but then I didn’t get it for you, so I can tell you now without you getting mad.”

“Okay”

Yeah, he then went on to describe how he wanted to get me the book Good Vibes, but they’ve gotten really expensive and he just can’t spend that much money on one book. Then I got the greatest flash forward scene ever in my head. Picture this, it’s Christmas morning and we’re sitting on my parents couch with Mom, Dad, Sister, Brother in Law, Nephew, and Grandma Texas. There is a fire in the fireplace and the tree is decorated all beautiful and we’re drinking mimosas and there is wrapping paper and gift boxes all over. In our hands are the gifts we are exchanging. At the same time we unwrap them together only to find THE EXACT SAME book. But not something we picked up at Barnes and Nobles. Not a book that is on the best sellers list, but the exact same rare, out of print book we had to hunt for online.

And that is the 5,347,273 reason why I love my boyfriend and I know we will be together forever even if we aren’t married.

Quick Thursday Top Chef thoughts...

First and foremost, the Top Chef Recap will be here sometime this evening.

How awesome was last night's challenge!?!?

How awesome was the "cheftestants" actually getting to cook and not just making trail mix for 8 year olds and granola and fruit for their parents?!?!

Mike said, "I do a lot of lamb". Hahaha...

BTW, Boyfriend and I have totally eaten at a David Burke Restaurant, Primehouse, the last time we went to Chicago. It was the amazing restaurant we actually had delivered straight to our room at the James Hotel. (I mean how cool is eating bone-in filet Mignon that has been aged for 75 days in a Himalayan salt tiled room right there in the restaurant in your amazing, beautiful, gorgeous hotel room wearing your plush, white, hotel bathrobes!) So we felt really cool. (It doesn't take much...)

Also I've wanted to eat at Wylie Dufresne's wd~50 for like three years now, and from what I saw last night, yup, still want to eat there...

Cupcake, Cooper, and Tie Die...

This past Sunday I met up with LSU Friend and Cupcake for a fun afternoon of eating, drinking, and Tie Die. We went to Zocalo and (horary) I didn’t want to kill anyone. Two stacked enchiladas and a pitcher of mixed frozen sangria/margaritas later the three of us headed to Cupcake's house for some tee shirt dying fun.

(By the way, I know many of you (i.e. Dad) have some stereotypical ideas about what people do in Austin. So, no, we don’t Tie Die all the time! And no, we weren’t taking bong hits and listening to Bob Schneider either. Just wanted to clear that up.)

This is my friend Cupcake. (Gotta love stealing photos from Facebook.)

Isn’t she adorable? On top of the adorable thing, Cupcake is literally (and y’all know I hate when people misuse the word literally) the nicest person I’ve ever met. Cupcake likes esty.com, Anthopology, Glee, and of course cupcakes. She has cupcake ornaments on her Christmas tree, cupcake photos on her walls, a cupcake hanger thing on the back of her front door, and every cupcake making do-dad known to man. Also she has and teeny tiny little cupcake tattoo. Seriously adorable. She’s a nurse… in a children’s hospital. She takes care of her nephews and friend’s children like they are her own. She does yoga and ballet and river surfing. She was really upset this past weekend that someone at her work, who is crazy, might, maybe, kinda sorta not like her. She is the nicest person in the world.

She is also a cat person.

This is Cooper Seris, Cupcake’s cat.

This is Cooper Seris getting into his Santa outfit on Sunday to show LSU Friend and me.
Cupcake: “Cooper Seris! Hold still silly. You know you love your Santa Outfit. Don’t you want our friends to see you all dressed up?”
Cooper Seris: “Stop holding me down woman!”


Cupcake: “Look how cute your little waist is…”
Cooper Seris: “I die. My hips are huge in this thing.”

Cooper Seris: “If you put this picture on the web I will hunt you down and gut you like a fish.”

Cupcake: (standing next to me) “Cooper! Look this way. Look at Momma. Cooper…”
Cooper Seris: “Come on lady. Take the flipping photo already…”


Cooper Seris: “I fucking hate my life.”



Cupcake: “Smile for me, kitty...”
Cooper Seris: “Someone kill me now.”

Oh and here are two pictures of our tie died onesies and tee shirts.

I Was a Cheerleader In High School: Hear Me Out Before You Judge...

Cheerleaders.

What’s your opinion of them?

I was a cheerleader in high school for a year and a half. Even now, when I tell people this I can see the judgmental wheels rolling in their heads because whether it’s good or bad everyone has some preconceived notions about what kind of person picks up the Pom-Poms.

It all really started at the end of 8th grade. I was ecstatic because instead of moving (like we thought we would have to) my dad was able to stay in San Antonio for one more year. At that time in my life, being 14, a year seemed like an eternity. Learning that I would be able to go to high school with Best Friend and all my other middle school buddies was the first time in my life I cried out of joy. And then, for the 2 millionth time, I winced in my awkward, early teenage skin when Best Friend decided I simply must join Pep Squad with her.

In the my high school in San Antonio anyone who wanted to tryout for cheerleading or dance team had to first complete a year of pep squad. This means that 250 9th grade girls all signed up to spend an entire year in Hell, just so they have the opportunity to then move up the social totem pole to Cheerleader or Dance Team… (dancer?). Now, there was absolutely no point for me to subject myself to the Year of Hell called Pep Squad. I knew I would be moving at the end of my freshmen year, so I wouldn’t even be around to try out for Dance Team. (Yeah, Dance Team because no way was I going to be a cheerleader.) But, Best Friend really wanted me to be on Pep Squad with her, because she knew at the end of the year she could practically walk onto Dance Team, so I did it. I wore the stupid Day Uniform to school (a cheerleading outfit with a really long skirt). I “danced” on the football field during half time. And by “dance” I mean I moved my arms very slowly and did like 1000 ball changes because the chorography couldn’t be too challenging… meaning 3 year old had to be able to do it. I put the bows in my hair and made the spirit gifts and smiled ALL THE FUCKING TIME, because I liked my Best Friend. Oh, and yeah… SOMETIMES, it was fun…

Just after I completed my freshmen year, pep squad and all, is when we moved to Germany and I was faced with the challenge of meeting people and making friends once again. Adding to my system, which had been devised and modified over the years, I decided that a great way to make friends would be to tryout for a sports team. My options were Volleyball, Tennis, and Cheerleading. Volleyball was immediately out. I couldn’t serve the ball over the net to save my life. So, I was left to tennis and cheerleading. I came to the conclusion that either would do. Honestly, I couldn’t have cared less which team I made as long as I made some team. Cheerleading tryouts were first. If I didn’t make the squad I would move on to tennis.

Tryouts were… um… interesting. I went to an American School on the military base we were stationed at. This means that 50% of my school left at the end of the year and at the beginning of the school year 50% of the school was new. Tryouts went a big mix of cheerleaders from the previous year, new students who used to be cheerleaders at their school back in the states, girls desperate to make the team this go around, and me who was just trying to strike up conversation with anyone who looked remotely nice and normal.

Girl Number 1: “Is it high V, low V, fist pump, raw?”

Girl Number 2: “No, I think it’s low V, high V, touchdown, go.”

Girl number 1: (addressing me) “Is the end a raw or a go?”

Me: “What? I don’t know? So… Where are y’all from?”

Girl Number 2: “What? Um, Virginia. So you weren’t paying attention to the ending?”

Me: “Nah, just do a kick and call it a day. So, what kind of movies do you like?”

Girl Number 2: “Yeah, I’m going to go over there now…”

Girl Number 1: “Oh, I think Girl number 2 just called my name. Later.”

Me: “Wait! I like all kinds… of…. movies… They are so not listening anymore. And now I’m talking to myself. Way to try and look cool Lemon Lady.”

Then I actually put my Pep Squad sharp arms to use and my years of just randomly stretching and sitting in the splits and I made the JV Cheerleading Squad.

Turns out being a cheerleader isn’t really hard. All you have to do is remember cheers, smile, and be okay with girls throwing you in the air or throwing other girls in the air. I made friends. None of them turned out to be the best friend I was looking for, but they were at least nice (to begin with) and I had people to eat lunch with and hang out with on the weekends.

What was hard was dealing with other people who resented me being a cheerleader. My school wasn’t big and rich so we only had one uniform (compared to my school in Texas where the cheerleaders had like 6) and we didn’t have T-shirts and sweatshirts and whatnot to wear to school on game days. All the football player wore their jerseys on game days so our coach made us wear our uniforms. Okay, honestly the very first game I was excited to spend the day wearing my uniform. I had tried out and made the team and hell yeah I wanted to walk the halls of Ramstein High School being proud of my accomplishments. Then, being we living in GERMANY, it got cold as shit and wearing a short skirt and sleeveless top was not all that fun anymore. I repeat none of us wanted to wear that damn skirt to school when it was snowing!

I will never forget the next conversation that happened on a very cold Friday while I was wearing my uniform to school because we had a football game the next day. Again, it was freezing and I was super cold and not in the mood to take shit from anyone, especially super annoying, upper classmen who thought they knew everything, in my computer class. I remember getting to class a little early and taking my seat at my assigned computer, waiting for Simon to get there and sit next to me and start up a conversation about Destiny’s Child. (I mean come on! Make fun of me for that! Make fun of me for the endless conversations we would have about Kelly Roland and the other chick Michelle and her awesomely bad solo in Survivor!) So, I’m sitting there waiting for class to start and in walks Upper Classman Mean Girl. She walks right by me, stops, then turns back around, rolls her eyes and says, “God. Every year you people have to wear your skirts shorter and shorter.”

Here’s what I should have said, “Oh, I’m sorry is the fact that I’m wearing something other than the old ratty College sweatshirt you’re wearing offending you? Maybe, before you start making people feel horrible about themselves for wearing something they don’t even want to be wearing, you should get your facts straight. You see it’s impossible for these skirts to be getting shorter year after year because they are the same F-ing skirts cheerleaders have been wearing year after year at this school (seriously you can Google my high school’s website and see pictures of cheerleader still wearing those same skirts). So no, the skirts aren’t shrinking and I’m sorry if you think you can see too much of my leg in them. Why don’t you take your condescending complaint up with my coach, Coach Meadows. Yeah, her. The meanest, most crazy women alive! You think I like walking to school in a short skirt when it’s 20 degrees outside? And, I like really walk to school… I don’t live in one of those buildings just on the other side of the football field, I live in Colonel’s housing way over by the BX! Yeah, I had to wear this dumb uniform while I walked a mile to school in 20 degree weather! (I’m sure it was uphill both ways, too.) So you and your wannabe Yale sweatshirt, “don’t I look nerdy but cool nerdy” glasses, and bad attitude can suck it!!!”

Here’s what I really said, “Yeah, it’s not really all that fun wearing this.”

God, I wish I could go back in time.

I tried out again for winter cheerleading and made varsity (because one of the varsity girls didn’t try out) and that was fun. Then the next year, my junior year, I cheered for football and then stopped. I realized while I was standing on the track during a football game, doing the same boring moves over and over again, that oh yeah I already have friends. I don’t have to do this anymore. So I stopped.

Things I learned while a cheerleader…

If you’re a flier (like I was) always shave your legs, because girls don’t like holding onto prickly ankles.

My coach never wore underwear and had false teeth. Both things we learned during our trip to England for a football game. We all wanted to steal her teeth during the night, but we were all way to scared of her.

If you lie down on your stomach and grab your ankles with your hands this helps your voice so that you are not to high pitch and annoying.

Running five miles two times a week and jumping A LOT makes your legs AMAZING!

Cheerleaders are not all whores, as I found out on the way to Heidelberg.

You can’t iron your cheerleading uniform on the highest setting or the heat will literally burn your skirt. (I really hope my skirt with the iron marks on the right hand side is still being worn today and still shows signs of the abuse I did to it with my mother’s iron.)

Always, Always, Always put Lemon Lady in the back of any dances. Even better if you can put a really tall girl in front of her.(Yeah, I’m a horrible dancer with little to no rhythm.)

Vaseline will not cure the black eye you will inevitably get when trying a new stunt and your bases decide to catch you with their fists.

You will have back pain for the rest of your life when you fall on the basketball court when they don’t catch you at all. Thanks Girls.

Things That Fascinate Me: Starting With Punching Sharks...

(Just three today. More to come later if you like or if I need a quick post.)

1. Shark Attacks. I know this may sound morbid, but shark attacks fascinate me. Jaws is a real instance where I actually like the movie better than the book. (Have y’all read Jaws, by the way? OMG is Chief Brody’s wife annoying!) What I think is weird about myself is I will watch every show on Discovery about shark attacks and I read every internet article I come across, but going in the ocean doesn’t freak me out or anything. I have learned that if you are being attacked you should punch the shark in the its face or poke it in the eye. Have you guys read about the “Jaws like” situation that is going on in Egypt right now on the coast of the Red Sea? Evidently there is some crazed shark eating Russians and Ukrainians on vaca. Mohammed Shosha, local governor and Mayor Vaughn wannabe, closed the beaches for 48 hours while they hunted and killed two sharks. Then he reopened the Beaches, it is the high season there after all, only to have a German woman killed and eaten in chest deep water! What is really weird about the whole situation is that these very clear Red Sea waters aren’t exactly shark central. I mean it’s not like these Russians went swimming off the coast of South Africa during Great White mating season or something. (Although no knows where or when Great Whites mate.)

2. Deaf People. Have you ever eaten in a restaurant with Deaf people sitting next to you? It’s so freaky quiet, that even the waitress talks in a whisper even though they can’t hear her and she could be screaming the Gettysburg Address at the top of her lungs. Then I always think that I should be able to understand sign language because of its basic concept. I mean if I were making up the sign for bellybutton, I would just point to my bellybutton. But I don’t think that’s right because then the people sitting next to me the other day at Fire Bowl would have been talking about fired rice, dolphins (they made wave motions), and bellybuttons. Also, Wesley, my first college roommate who went to a private high school, played football against the Texas School for the Deaf. He said it was the weirdest experience ever because when they would do some well or score the entire field was deafly (oh, haha) quiet. No cheering at all. Instead that would shake their hands back in forth real fast.

3. Dinosaurs. I love Jurassic Park and The Lost World. I took Dinosaur Class in college (science classes for non majors are awesome). I was a dinosaur for Halloween. Dinosaurs scare the crap out of me! First of all, I am a VERY vivid dreamer. (Yes, I am my mother’s child) I don’t have nightmares about scary men or falling or Boyfriend leaving me. I have nightmares about dinosaurs. Seriously. 95% of my scary dreams involve T Rex or Velociraptors. Usually I am stuck in a place where dinosaurs have gotten loose, like a mall or school. I know this sounds silly. I know having dreams about big ‘ol T Rex coming to get you sound ridiculous and funny, but they are scary as shit when I’m dreaming them. People die in these dreams. I see friends and family being ripped apart. I hide in pipes and under tables praying the raptors can’t smell me. The thing is, I have the dreams more often when I’m rereading Jurassic Park, but I still keep rereading the book. I don’t care if I’m scared to fall asleep, I love it too much.

Top Chef ALL STARS: Quotes, Boyfriend's Ideas, and Double Name Issues...

Top Chef Recap should be up on The TV Guide Hunters sometime this afternoon/evening. I don’t want to go into too much detail about last night’s episode before you’ve had the chance to check it out, so instead, here’s a look into my notes and all the ridiculous quotes that came out of the “cheftestants” mouths.

“All Star season, more like Open Season.” – White Dale (Because anyone could go at any time)

“The Jonas brothers are like Rockstars.” – Spike (Spike letting us know what type of music he hides under his douchy Nickelback and Doughty CDs)

“Kids are the pickiest eaters… the will cry in your face if you don’t give them what they want.” – White Dale (On his confusion about what to make for kids)

“Basically I’m making crap for small children.” – White Dale (What he then decides to make)

“Kids love Marshmallows, right?” – Marcel (Proving my theory that Marcel was never a child and probably came out of the womb being at least 15 and a snotty teenager)

“It’s like trying to make chicken soup with chicken shit” – Asian Dale (Why even his help won’t help Spike win the Quickfire)

“I have no interest in having children… ever” – Jamie (On kids, and how she might be my lesbian soul mate)

“2nd place is still losing.” – Jen (What her father used to tell her and why her pork belly must be perfect)

“According to Jurassic Park T Rex eats Brontosaurus and things like that.” – Casey (Proving she is blond and pissing me off with her inaccurate portrayal of one of the great books of our time)

“YOU DON’T FUCK WITH SOME ELSE’S MISE EN PLATES!!!” – Marcel (‘nuff said)

Another thing that made last night’s episode so wonderfully bad (besides learning that Tre sleeps nude) was that Boyfriend watched it with me. Here is what came to Boyfriend’s mind when watching Team Brontosaurus present their food.

Boyfriend: “Who wants to eat gnocchi for breakfast? These kids just want bacon and eggs and some Lucky Charms.”

Me: “They can’t use meat, so bacon and eggs are out of the picture.”

Boyfriend: “Then cereal. They should just put out a large cereal bar and let them have at it.”

Me: “Yeah, okay…”

Boyfriend: “You know if you’re and athlete, cereal is the way to go. If you get an “in” in the cereal market, you’re set for life. I mean people who watch sports LOVE cereal! The age bracket is perfect.”

Me: “What’s the age bracket?”

Boyfriend: “Kids.”

Me: “Kids?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, kids sit and eat cereal while they watch sports. Parents are too busy watching this (pointing to my lap top which he had open to The Drudge Report), but kids love sports. In fact I don’t understand why schools don’t license out cereal brands. Notre Dame Leprecons! Florida Gator Mallows! Granola from Cal Berkley! I mean we might get some resistance from Luck Charms for the leprecon thing, but we would be making so much money who cares! Just think, Texas cereal with little longhorns floating in the milk. Although, we would want to make the horns curve the other way or something so we don’t infringe on their copyright…”

These are the kinds of conversations we have on a daily basis.

Also, Boyfriend things I’m being racist calling the Dales and Tiffanies, White, Black, and Asian. I do this because it is easier than remembering Faison, Derry, Talde, and Levitski. Then he told me if I am going to call Tiffany Derry, Black Tiffany I should call Dale Talde, Yellow Dale. I said that was extremely racist and rude. Then he said I should then call Black Tiffany, African Tiffany, but I fired back that she isn’t African she’s American, so should I call her American Tiffany? But then White Tiffany is also American, so we’re back where we started, having two people with the same name. Then Boyfriend pointed out that Asian Dale is probably not like “Asian Asian” because he doesn’t have an accent and he is American, too. So according to Boyfriend this is how I should write their names…

Tiffany Faison: American Tiffany with red hair and freckles

Tiffany Derry: American Tiffany with a dark tan who may or may not have descended from African Slaves

Dale Levitski: Gay American Dale

Dale Talde: American Dale with parents who are from “one of those China countries” in the far east who is also an asshole

My Favorite Wedding Dresses Found By Facebook Stalking...

Yesterday I changed my Facebook status to this, “Over the years Facebook has allowed me to see a lot of ugly wedding dresses and it has allowed me to wonder how parents come up with names for their kiddos”. First of all, I don’t think this is a negative status at all. I love looking through my “friends” wedding pictures. Why? Because I’m not a black hearted bitch. Weddings are happy events. They are full of happy people and (hopefully) yummy food and lots of alcohol. Who doesn’t love a wedding? So, yeah, I don’t care if I only knew you for ten minutes in 7th grade, I will totally Facebook stalk your special day because I like weddings. You know what I like even more… happy people, yummy food, lots of alcohol and PRETTY DRESSES!!!

Here are some of my favorites… (In no particular order… well after the first one.)

First up, my sister… (Photo by Leeann Widyn. Check her out at www.widynphotography.com) I know I’m probably partial to this dress for two good reasons. One, she’s my sister. Two, my extremely talented, amazing, wonderful Grandmother made this dress. My sister is the kind of girl who had been planning her wedding her entire life. She is also the kind of girl who builds things up in her mind and sets very high expectations and then usually the event doesn’t reach those expectations and she is unhappy. (Just ask her about all her middle school dances.) To say the least, my mother was freaking out that her wedding wouldn’t be perfect. But, it was. And the icing on the cake was Sister’s wedding dress. Hand made by Grandma, read the tag on the inside. She had made my mother and my aunt’s wedding dresses and years later out did both of them with Sisters. I love the tulle peaking out at the bottom and the ivory color. I love the crumb catcher up top and the simplicity of the lace. Most of all, I love how absolutely gorgeous my sister looks.

This is my friend Stephanie from Germany… Again, I like this dress for two reasons. One, Stephanie is a huge personality! I feel like she could have gone completely crazy and over the top and fabulous and crazy and OMG, “Is that glitter on the train?” crazy. But she didn’t. Two, I love the cap sleeve detail. They are delicate and the beaded lace is beautiful and just enough to create a little drama and pizzazz.

Here we have middle/ early high school friend, Colette…(Photo by Graddy Photography. Check him out at www.graddyphotography.com 952-649-0525) Colette recently got married and I fell in love with her dress the moment I saw it pop up as a new profile photo. It’s so different and yet very classic. I’m not usually a big fan of the halter top, but I love, love, love the ruffle collar. The rest of the dress is very simple, letting it frame her face beautifully. Plus, look closely and you can see her amazing green shoes.

This is Best Friend…
First of all I was with Best Friend when she first tried on this dress and Best Friend’s Sister and I cried. It’s so… Best Friend, which is funny because I was honestly a little terrified about what she would pick to walk down the aisle in. I mean, we have been friends since she wanted to name her unborn children Denim and Lace. I was half picturing Disney Princesses throwing up tulle and chiffon until it made a dress, and then she walked out of the dressing room in this and I cried. She is so pretty, and it’s perfect for her. It’s flattering and unfussy. It has a big bow (throw back to 7th grade) and pockets (for her chapstick she never leaves home without). Plus, Best Friend’s Husband looks pretty handsome, too.

This is another friend named Stephanie… This one might be my favorite, if I had to pick a favorite and really I can’t because I like them all. Doesn’t she look like a ballerina from a little girl’s jewelry box? I love the ribbon at the waist with the sparkle detail and the rouching of the bodice. And the back… that bow is so cute. No, I’m not really sure why she is in a basketball court, but she looks amazing.

Lastly, Jessica… (I can’t believe I’m about to write nice things about you, you better love me forever after this…) I had to include this dress, because this is practically the dress I’ve always envisioned myself wearing on my wedding day. (Which makes me hate you even more…) It’s simple and sweet. I like the ribbon details that are present, but not crazy over the top. I went and dress shopping with my sister when she was still looking for the perfect dress (before she went to Grandma with fabric and an idea) and she found two dresses at a little boutique that she liked. She put one on and I put on the other so she could look at them side by side. The one I wore, was like the supped up, Scarlet O’Hara version of this dress. I like it in this much simpler, sweet version way better. Kuddos Jessica for looking lovely and crushing my dreams at the same time.

Another post to come soon about the second half of that Facebook post. I mean why would anyone name their kid Emma Olivia? It's like someone from my generation being names Jennifer Jessica.

The "Keep Austin Weird" Moment That Totally Backfired...

I love Austin, and I love my neighborhood. I have lived here for six and half years (double the length I’ve lived anywhere else) and I have absolutely no desire to move anywhere else. I love living central where I can walk to the original Whole Foods, Book People (the greatest bookstore ever), and the Town Lake (excuse me, Lady Bird Lake) Hike and Bike Trail. All the downtown bars and restaurants are only a four dollar cab ride away, and three of the best breakfast places to cure a hangover are two blocks west of me. I love seeing local businesses, like Tacos and Tequila (yeah, you read that right TACOS and TEQUILA… on tap), succeed and giant corporations, like Walmart, kept out of our neighborhood.

I take a lot of grief from my family for not only moving to Austin, but staying in Austin. I’m pretty sure I disappointed my dad, by deciding to go to school here and not in College Station where his Alma Mater stands. (Okay, disappointed might me the wrong word. I don’t think I disappointed my dad by going to college, I just think he would have been ecstatic if I had become an Aggie instead of a Longhorn.) Every time Austin is brought up by or around my parents, it is followed by a snide remark about how weird this town is. Every time I do something they think is odd, it’s because I live in (or have lived too long) in Austin.

I don’t care. I love Austin.

But!

(Yes, there is always a “but”…)

Something has happened in my neighborhood that makes me think every negative thing my father or mother or anyone has ever said about the capital of Texas might be true.

Now, I know to a lot of people, this might not be a very big deal. In fact, I’m sure many of you will think I’m crazy for even taking the time to write a blog post and draw a picture to explain my hatred of this. But, look into yourself. We all have “things” that get under our skin. We all have pet peeves that we think are very important. I don’t like restaurant that offer you Tabasco, but no salsa. (We live in Texas IHop!!!) I don’t like it when Boyfriend leaves his work gloves all over the house. (Why did his boss buy him 10 pairs of gloves???)

And!

And, I don’t like, neigh I HATE the parking spaces on 6th street you have to back into!!!

So, I’ve used this map before, but here it is again. I live in the small community called Clarksville, which is located just west of downtown. The southern edge of Clarksville is W. 6th street. This isn’t crazy, rowdy, Girls Gone Wild 6th street. Nor, is it “I’m a pretentious douche bag who only downs Vodka Redbulls at Molotav” 6th street. (Please note, That I’m just trying to distinguish between the two very different areas of 6th street bars and not making fun, because –face it- we’ve all been there… multiple times, and who and I to judge…) This area of 6th street is full of specialty art and design shops, restaurants like the original Z-Tejas, and other small businesses like Yoga Studios and drug stores. The street was all hunky dory fine until the City came in and redid the parking spaces.

Like this…Yeah… Let’s talk this one through… 6th Street is one way. This means that anyone who wants to park in these parking spots has to drive past the spot, stop, make sure no one is behind them, and then reverse back into on coming traffic to park in the space. Why make traffic stop when someone is trying to park? Instead why not make the parking spots “slant” the other way, so you can just drive right into one, and then when you are ready to leave, you back out of the space when no one is coming. Really Austin? Why? This just doesn’t seem to make sense, and I promise it is not just my inability to back into parking spaces that makes these parking spaces so frustrating and ridiculous to me. I truly believe this to be a “Keep Austin Weird” moment that has totally backfired.

Top Chef ALL STARS: "Cheftestants" Odds To Win and Who I Want To Go First...

Top Chef ALL STARS!!! Omg!!! How freaking excited was I???

(If you are here looking for my recap, please click here. It should be up sometime tonight...)

Although I am recapping for another blog, I still have to do something for the big premier of Season 8, All Stars. So I thought I’d do a little bio on each chef and their odds of winning… Here goes…

Tiffany Faison (Season 1): Tiffany lost in the finale to Harold, but Tom Colicchio has come out and said that her artichoke risotto was hands down one of the best dished in Top Chef History. She really fudged up the finale when she decided to a “duo” of everything, instead of concentrating on one really good dish for each plate. Oh, and she was totally known as “the bitch” of that season. AKA White Tiffany. Odds to win 5:1

Stephen Asprinio (Season 1): Steven will always be known as “Top Sommelier” but never top chef. He dresses impeccably and favors colorful ties with very large knots. (Check out his matching “bed saving” umbrellas in All Stars episode 1) Harold, who won Season 1, always got annoyed with Steven for cooking “danty, girly food” and making his plates look like art and something you would hang on a museum wall and not food. He was kicked off for spending too much time in the front of the house during Restaurant Wars. 45:1

Elia Abomrad (Season 2): Elia was only 23 and made it all the way to the finale, but lost along side Marcel to Ilan. Also, she seemed to go a little crazy towards the end of the competition and even shaved her head when the remaining boys thought she wouldn’t. Odds to win 15:1

Marcel Vigneron (Season 2): Everyone hated Marcel, but whatever you thought of him the kid could cook and was creative as hell. (Even if he was kinda ripping off Wylie Dufresne…) Also, I hope all y’all remember his rapping skill which he show cased on the roof top of the hotel to get away from the other “cheftestants”. Odds to win 7:1

Casey Thompson (Season 3): Casey was the sweet girl from Fort Worth who just couldn’t get it together in the finale and lost to Huyng. Later during Season 5, she came back to help finalist Carla on her last meal and some say she took over the meal and is the reason Carla lost. Odds to win 7:1

Tre Wilcox (Season 3): Tre being kicked off during Restaurant Wars has been called the “biggest upset in Top Chef History”. Odds to win 8:1

Dale Levitski (Season 3): Before Dale started on season 3, he had not been cooking for like a year, so he started out a little rough, but quickly rose to the top and lost to Huyng in the finale. He was known for always having five to many ingredients on his plates. AKA White Dale. Odds to win 10:1

Richard Blais (Seaons 4): Richard loves molecular gastronomy and banana scallops (making them three times during his season). He was the first and only person to admit to the judges during the finale that he choked. He lost to Top Chef’s 1st female winner, Stephanie Izard. Odds to win 3:1

Antonia Lofaso (Seaons 5): Antonia was very much a “sleeper” of Season 5 until she hit a hot streak and made it all the way to the finale in Puerto Rico. She made a lot of Italian food and get ready to hear lots of stories about her daughter. Odds to win 30:1

Spike Mendelsohn (Seaons 4): Always in a damn fedora, Spike talked his way through many challenges. He was called “sneaky” and “cocky” and a “fucking bastard”, but the man can cook and worm his way through eliminations. Odds to win 45:1

Dale Talde (Seaons 4): AKA Asian Dale. AKA Huyng take 2. Dale was good, but not good enough to serve butterscotch scallops Tony Bourdain and live to tell the tale. He was kinda a dick in the kitchen and everyone seemed relieved when he was kicked off after Restaurant Wars. Odds to win 10:1

Carla Hall (Season 5): Hootie Hoo! Carla sings and yells random adorable nicknames of her husband out in the kitchen and became a huge threat and fan favorite towards the end of her season. She lost in the finale when she strayed away from her classical French techniques and training. Odds to win 15:1

Jamie Lauren (Season 5): Defiantly the coolest lesbian on the show (my personal opinion), even straight as a board European Stefan had a huge crush on her. Known for being the queen of “Top Scallop”, she went home after the Le Bernardin challenge because she thought his food was boring and nothing new and exciting. Odds to win 13:1

Fabio Vivani (Season 5): The Italian charmer (and one half of the European threat that season) I believe he was kept on the show longer that he should because of his charm and accent. He made it to the top five and then the producers brought him back to be a judge during the finale because audiences loved him. Odds to win 45:1

Mike Isabella (Season 6): Mike was known to for two things. One, hating on everyone (especially cancer survivor Robin – although she was annoying as Hell). Two, sneaking along unnoticed because that season had much more talented chefs than himself. Odds to win 50:1

Jennifer Carol (Season 6): Jennifer has the female authority in the kitchen that Tiffany (Season 1) always tried to get but it just came off as bitchy. Jennifer was strong from the get go, but when she messed up the pressure to get back to the top was really hard for her to overcome. Odds to win 5:1

Tiffany Derry (Season 7): She was half of the Best Friends Forever team between her and Ed. A very sweet girl and a fan favorite, she lost right before the finale. Odds to win 35:1

Angelo Sosa (Season 7): Hands down the creepiest chef in the show’s history. He was always very cocky and made it all the way to the finale before getting very ill and not winning. Oh, and he has a son he always talks about and a mail order Russian girlfriend he only sometimes talks about. Odds to win 7:1

My Personal Favorites Who I Want To See On Top…
Tiffany Faison (White Tiffany)
Richard Blais
Jennifer Carol
Marcel Vigneron
Casey Thompson

Predictions To Leave Early…
Antonia Lofaso
Spike Mendelsohn
Fabio Vivani
Mike Isabella
Tiffany Derry (Black Tiffany)

Good and Bad Teachers, An Artistic Creative Genius, and Bad iPhone Photos...

Okay, first of all I am really sorry for the lack of substantial posts this week. I say substantial because I did post on Monday, but (yes Sister) it was kinda a cop out. I read an article about how to keep your readers coming back to your blog when I first started writing it back last summer and it said you should always post on Monday no matter what. So, that was my “no matter what” post.

However, today I would like to write not about my crappy Monday blog post, but what happened Monday night. I have already written one great post about going over to Caliman’s house for poker and Boyfriend lying to a random girl that walked into the house completely uninvited. (Check it out here.) But this happened before we even started to play.

First of all though I need to talk about teachers…

I have known for a long time that I will never be a teacher. If I think about all the teachers I’ve ever had, I have had good teachers and bad teachers. Not to be simple or anything, but honest to God that’s the truth. Teachers fall into either one of the categories. There are no in between teachers, no teachers that fall right smack in the middle, because in my opinion if the teacher isn’t “good” then they shouldn’t be teaching in the first place, thus pushing them into the category of “bad”. If a teacher can’t rise to the challenge of not being mediocre, then they are just bad.

I’ve have good and bad teachers. I’ve had teachers take time out of their lives to help me, guide me, and ultimately make me a better person. Then there are the bad teachers. I’ve had the “I still want to be in high school and have all the boys think I’m cute” government teacher, the “I hate children and like to eat really stinky cheese for lunch and then talk right in their faces” math teacher, and the “Lemon Lady really got the extra credit problem right, but I’m going to say she didn’t” math teacher (yeah, I will never forgive you evil, evil geometry teacher).

The reason I know I never want to be a teacher, is I really don’t think I would fall into the “good” teacher bucket. I think I would try, and I think I would kid myself to believing I was, but in all reality deep down I would know that I’m really a bad teacher. Out of all the teachers and professors I’ve ever had probably only 25% were good… I don’t like those odds…

Therefore it takes a very special person to be a teacher. More so, it takes a very, very special teacher to be an elementary school teacher. Out of all the people I know who have become teachers, the one person who I think honest to God, hands down is a great teacher is Caliman’s girlfriend, Shay. Shay loves love kids, she loves listening to kids, she loves teaching kids, she loves helping kids, and she loves playing with kids… I don’t like kids, but even I can’t help but smile and laugh when she talks about teaching. She graduated last May and this school year she has been substitute teaching in local elementary schools.

By the way, the reason I started writing this blog post has nothing to do with teaching.

It has everything to do with elementary school teachers having the greatest arts and crafts ideas EVER!!!

Monday night, Boyfriend and I picked up some yummy take out (bacon wrapped shrimps and crawfish eggrolls) and headed over to Caliman and Shay’s personal residence. As we pulled up, Boyfriend and I noticed that everyone who was there to play poker (Caliman, Shay, Ted, and Joe) were all in the Garage with their heads down over the Foosball table, yet no one was actually playing Foosball.

Like this… (Sorry bad iPhone photos)

Shay, in all of her “awesome teacher creative glory” had wondered out loud why Caliman hadn’t ever given his favorite Foosball players real individual personalities. Then she brought out her super awesome basket of glory (AKA the Sharpie tub) and we all went to town.

Here’s how it turned out…
This is Caliman's goalie which look a lot like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Just saying...

So, this is my chick, Haygood… or Haywood as everyone has been calling her because for some reason Haywood is more bad ass. I completely disagree. But they all also call me Irene, so why would they want to get my last name right, either. She a Fullback (defence) because only pussies play offense and that is a ponytail and not a rat tail, just FYI. Number ten should be self explanatory… Hello Vince Young the greatest football player of our time.

The creative artistic genius herself, Shay, creating her Irish dude.

So, because I just made fun of offensive players, of course all of Boyfriend's Foosball guys are Forwards. It's a little hard to read but their names are T2 (which a water volleyball nickname), Keverski (I'm still confused where this one came from) and SP (Ted calls him that and I'm not quite sure why). There are some things about Boyfriend I don't even try to understand.

Ted choose to create an outside Midfielder which baffled all of us because that guy is like the least used when playing Foosball. But then Ted confessed that he really didn't think about it and just picked the guy closest to him, which makes much more sense. Personally I think he kinda looks like Hitler. Yeah, Hitler in sunglasses…

These are Joe's players and I have to give him props for giving his goalie the team caption's C.


Completely unrelated news...

The new season of Top Chef starts tonight on Bravo at 9PM (central) and I will be writing recaps of it (it's all star season!!!) for the blog TV Guide Hunters. Don't forget to check them out!!!

First Post After Turkey Day and I Would Rather Be Sleeping...

First work day back from Thanksgiving Break sucks.

Here’s your super awkward embarrassing story for the day.

Once upon a time I was 12 and in 6th grade… for a whole year… FML.

You’re welcome.

The Night I Gave Myself a 3rd Degree Burn And Hung Out With My Boyfriend Instead of Going To The Hospital...

Okay, the time has come. I can’t continue with all these frivolous blog posts about fashion and cookies and TV Shows. It’s time to get back to the roots of my four month old blog. (Yeah, deep, deep roots.)

It’s time for another ultra embarrassing, ultra awkward, ultra “OMG! Is this really my life?” story. I mean there’s nothing like a little embarrassing story to make your Monday, right? I call it the story of the night I gave myself a third degree burn and then decided not to go to the hospital and hang out with my friends instead…

It was Friday night sometime around the end of February of my junior year (still living in Germany) and I was looking forward to hanging out with my new boyfriend, Matt and some other friends. Matt and our other friends, Sean and Kristen, had been a good influence on me and when I say “hang out” I really do just mean that. I think our big plans were to go bowling or maybe see a movie… on base which meant no ordering beer mixed with soda at the German movie theater off base. (And yes, beer mixed with Coke was on the menu and not some weird drink the local American teenagers wanted.) So, yeah, there I was 17 and all excited to do very PG activities that Friday night.

I got home from school around 4 and the plan was for Matt to pick me up around 6 to go grab a bite to eat and then hook up with our friends. So, I got home and since there was no way I was going to do homework on a Friday night and since we only had five English channels on our TV, I decided to take a long bath (something I still love doing) and actually do my hair and plan a cute outfit instead of just throwing it in a ponytail and wearing jeans and my Ramstein Royals sweatshirt.

So I took a bath…

Me: (in the bath) "Ahh…"

Bubble Bath Bubbles: "Pop! Pop!"

Me: “I love baths.”

Hair: “You should wash me. I’m dirty.”

Me: “But I’m taking a bubble bath hair. I can’t wash you in my bubbles.”

Hair: “But I’m dirty…”

Me: “But if I wash you, you will not have enough time to dry and then you will be wet and I will get sick because there is still snow on the ground and duh, it’s cold. (No, I didn’t own a hair dryer. In fact I still don’t own a hair dryer.) I know! I won’t wash you, but I’ll curl you and make you all pretty and then Matt will fall even more in love with me and we’ll live happily ever after…”

Hair: “Yeah… I don’t know about that… I was really just looking for a wash…”

(Note to readers: I do not actually have conversations with my hair. The previous conversation was for blog humor reasons only… moving on…)

I got out of the bath and immediately ran to the thermostat on the wall and cranked it up to 90 degrees. I did this whenever my parents weren’t home and I was cold. (Sorry Mom and Dad and your check books.) So, with my room all nice and toasty and my curling iron warming up, I started looking around my room and closet for something fun to wear even though it was like 12 degrees outside and I would be forced to wear a coat over anything. I couldn’t decide on an outfit, so I sat down at my vanity to do my hair instead.

So, here’s the mental picture… I’m sitting at my vanity. I’ve put on makeup and pants, but I haven’t done my hair yet or put on a shirt. This is honestly something I can’t remember. I can’t remember why I was sitting at my vanity topless. Well, not completely topless. I had on my favorite bra from back then. It was lavender and had little butterflies on it and I bought it at H&M and it had matching panties and I loved it and wore it all the time. Okay, so I’m sitting in my bra, curling my hair, probably jamming out to Linkin Park or New Found Glory or some other God awful band when disaster strikes.

As I am curling a front section of my hair I DROP MY CURLING IRON for no apparent reason. I didn’t drop it because my music skipped or because I heard one of my parents walking in the front door and the heat was still jacked up to 90 and it felt like a F-ing Amazonian jungle in our house or because the phone rang or because I have some medical condition where, although thousands of people have looked for a cure, I just randomly drop shit all the time and it’s really quite sad because I honest to God can’t help it. No, the was no reason at all except my hand just let go of the hot iron it was holding near my face.

It fell. The curling iron fell for what seemed like minutes as I tried to get my hands to keep working. Mentally I was yelling at my arm to move faster and my thumbs to do what evolution had made them do which was grab on to things… but I wasn’t fast enough and the hot curling iron landed. It landed right on my left boob.

Here’s the thing, too… I had zero boobs back in the day. Seriously I was barely out of an A cup until I turned 22 and the damn things just grew over night. But, on that horrible, horrible night I was wearing my favorite bra. It had cute butterflies and was a pretty color, and (I don’t think I mentioned this) was padded like I was fearful of drowning and my bra would be the only thing around to save me from dying a watery, cold death. The clamp on the curling iron got caught in the padding and underwire, thus trapping the hot medieval torture devise in my “cleavage” and not letting it keep falling like gravity, and my boob, wanted.

By the time my hands and thumbs remembered how to work and made it down to save my beautiful, soft, booby skin… it was too late.

Me: “OOOUUUCCCHHHHH!!!”

My Left Boob: “HOT! HOT! HOT! Very Fucking HOT down here!!!”

Me: “OMG! What do I do? What do I do? OMG? Shit! Shit! Shit!”

My Left Boob: “Help me! Help me! So hot! Help me!”

As the skin on my left boob is burning like Hell (yes, that pun was intended, thank you very much) I did what any 17 year old girl would do, I put a cold wash cloth on it and slathered my breast with Vaseline because in my mind Vaseline cured everything. Kinda like the Dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Except he was all about the Windex and my love was petroleum jelly. Sitting on the couch half naked with a cold towel on my chest, I started to feel better pretty quick.

Me: “Okay Lemon Lady, calm down. You are okay. Life is okay. Crisis averted.”

So what did I do next?

Did I…
A: Call off my fun night with friends and lay face and boobs down in a vat of ice cold water.
B: Call my mother crying because I totally disfigured myself for life.
C: Call my mother asking if we had any drugs for burns because I “had a little accident”.
D: Continue to curl my hair and get dressed for the fun night we had planned.

If you guessed C and D, you are right. I did call my mom and she told me we didn’t have anything, but I wasn’t too worried because I had slathered my wound in Vaseline and I figured it would be all cured up by the morning. I wasn’t until I had gotten completely dresses in my jeans and cute sweater when I realized things might be a little worse than I thought. My left boob was on fire! It felt like the curling iron was still attached and would always be there burning and burning my flesh.

Me: (to myself) “Wow, this really hurts. I hope I didn’t do any lasting damage. I wish the Vaseline would work faster and make it stop burning. I wish we had some burn cream.”

IDEA!!!

So, I called my new boyfriend, who I really, really liked, and told him I burned my boob and did he have any burn cream because I’m pretty sure it’s going to fall off if I don’t do something to help it out. Then I hung up the phone and died just a little bit on the inside.

Doorbell: “Ring ring!”

Me: (opening the door) “Thank God you are here! Give me the cream! I need the cream!”

Matt: “Oh, were you serious? I mean I know you were serious, but were you serious, serious? We didn’t have any. I did look! But, yeah we didn’t have any… Should we go to the Shoppette (corner gas station to you non-military folks) and see if they have any? I’m so sorry… Is it that bad???”

Me: “No, I’ll be okay. It’s not that bad.”

And honest to God, it wasn’t that bad. When I opened the door and saw Matt standing there I did feel better. I felt the pain slipping away and I knew everything, including my left boob, would be okay. In my retarded 17 year old mind the reason for this was Matt. My amazing new boyfriend had saved me from the fire of my boob and we would live happily ever after. Yeah, no. Love was not the magic that caused the burning under my sweater to stop, THE FUCKING FREEZING AIR OF GERMANY IN FEBRUARY caused the burning to momentarily cease. I learned this three minutes later when we got into his still warm car and the fire started again…

Me: (to myself) “Oh, God, it’s getting all hot again. No, no more burning. I can’t handle the burning. I need the magic burn cream. Fuck Vaseline! I need the cream…”

Matt: “You okay?”

Me: “Yeah, of course… What could be wrong? I’m fine…”

Matt: “It’s just you’re kinda squirming around a lot and sweating. Are you hot?”

Me: “Yes! I’m so hot!” (rolling down the window and letting the snow blow in) “Ah… so much better…”

Matt: “Okay…”

I found out from Matt the plan of the night was to meet up with friends Sean and Kristen at Popeyes and then go bowling because Kristen wasn’t going to be able to stay out very late that night. I was feeling great when we arrived to Popeyes because I had the windows rolled down the entire car ride there (all of four minutes), so it wasn’t until we arrived and walked inside when I started to get uncomfortable again. To top it all off, half of my high school was there. (Okay, not half, but Popeyes was one of like three places to eat on base and it was Friday night, so there were like eight or nine other people I went to school with there.) I couldn’t eat. Putting hot fried chicken in my mouth just seemed to make it worse. If my mouth got hot, then my left boob got even hotter. About half way through my first piece of chicken I just couldn’t take it anymore and I just up and ran outside. I didn’t stop to tell anyone where I was going or to put on my coat, but Matt, Sean, and Kristen all watched me sprint outside in relief. And what relief it was. The cold air was my drug and I needed it. I put snow in my hands to get them really cold, I danced around to create wind, anything to stop the burning!

Matt: (walking up to me) “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Me: (holding my sweater away from my body fanning cold, freezing air down my shirt.) “Me, yeah sure… I’m doing great.”

Matt: “I don’t think you’re doing so good…”

Me: (grabbing snow until it melts making my hands super, super cold and then putting them down my shirt) “No, really I’m okay.”

Matt: “Lemon Lady, you’re feeling yourself up with icicles.”

Me: “Okay you’re right. I’m not okay. I burned the shit of out of my left boob trying to get all pretty for you and now I’ll probably be all permanently disfigured at age 17. And I feel like it’s on fire. I feel like my boob is on fire. No, I’m not okay.”

And then I showed my wonderful and amazing new boyfriend my scalded left boob outside of Popeyes in the snow.

...yeah...

I sucked it up and managed to get through the night, but I had to tell Sean and Kristen why I was acting all weird and keep running out of the bowling alley to rub snow up under my sweater. All those other kids I went to school with who were at Popeyes or later at the bowling alley just thought I had lost my mind. And by the time Matt dropped me off back at home that night, it really did feel better, although I slept with a cold washcloth under my T-shirt that night. I told my mom, kinda what happened the next day. She asked me if I found the burn cream I had called her about and why I needed it in the first place, so I told her I dropped my curling iron on my chest, but that I was fine. She didn’t understand the magnitude of the burn until we went to the island of Crete for spring break and I had to make sure my bathing suit top covered up the huge scab on my boob so it wouldn’t get re-burned in the sun. (The scab itself was about the size of a quarter… a kinda stretched out quarter.) She was pretty horrified and told me I should have told her and we should have gone to the doctor. Um, my bad mom, but I wanted to eat fried chicken and bowl with my boyfriend.

The scab fell off months later, but left a very sexy, very attractive white scar (again about the size quarter) on my left boob just where my bikini top would start. It finally faded away about two years ago. Meaning whenever I was naked, whenever I showered, whenever I wore low cut tops for five years, I was always reminded about that time I tried to be pretty and curl my hair for my new boyfriend.

A Quick Little Post: Cookies!!!

New Friend A is thinking about starting a Cookie/Baked Goods business maybe through etsy.com. (Which is totally my favorite new website, by the way.) Because we are such good friends now, she included me in her list of Guinea Pigs to send trial cookie packages too. Awesome because I get fun mail, which still even after college is not lost on me, and yummy cookies to eat and hide from Boyfriend.

For A’s sake I will try to be as thorough as possible because I know she wants all the details about how her cookies made it all the way to Texas, but please remember that I was extremely excited to eat the cookies and really just wanted to rip the package open with my teeth…

This is how the box looked when it arrived yesterday. It was upright and the box wasn’t smooched or crunched in anyway. However (and I’m not sure if this is how she packaged it or not) there was a large gap under the clear tape across the top of the box. You can see it better in this photo…

Okay so here it really starts getting good… OMG the smell when I cut open the top of the box and pushed the flaps back!!! A made me peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies and they smelled like Jesus himself had cried tears into the batter. I wanted to eat the box, but then I remembered I could just eat the cookies inside, so I didn’t. Oh, and the little hand written note on the inside box was cute. (E – that’s me.)

Inside the inside box the cookies were wrapped in plastic wrap in pairs. All but one of the pairs of cookies was still in tact. Only one pair had pretty much fallen apart to become crumbs. But, yummy crumbs and I think peanut butter cookies are pretty crumbly so one out of the bunch wasn’t that bad.

Here you can see all the other cookies arrive still looking like whole cookies and ready to be eaten. (Boyfriend also wanted the picture to highlight my watch he gave me last summer and that’s why my hand looks awkward. At least I think it looks awkward.)

First bite…

Feast time…

I have to say the cookies were very good. You could defiantly taste that they were not store bought or from a tub of cookie dough. The chocolate chips were big and more like chocolate chunks. I personally like a lot of peanut butter taste and could have gone for a little more peanut butter, but Boyfriend said more would have been too much. The cookies were fat and still very moist and fresh, even after their trip across the country via the US Postal System. Also they were a good size. Not too big, not too small. The only thing that would have made them better would have been a big glass of ice cold milk in the package as well.

All in all, very yummy cookies!!!

Big thanks from Austin New Friend A!!!

Vogue's Best Dressed 2010!!!

I’ve been on a little bit of a fashion kick recently, ever since the Carrie Underwood at the CMAs post. So, if you’re more into me accidentally kicking people in the face or stuffing my mouth with breakfast tacos, my apologies and I promise a funny embarrassing story soon. For everyone else that likes fashion, you’re welcome. For those who are just here because my sister told you or Google brought you here after searching “ANTM, dumbass, ugly dresses” (real search that brought visitors, okay singular visitor, to my blog) stay, look around, read, follow, comment, love…

Moving on…

Vogue Magazine announced its annual list of best dressed this week with Kate Moss being crowned “Best Dressed of the Decade”. I think I could write a whole post about just Kate and her new title, but what fun would that be? Let’s trash, I mean talk about them all.

Kate Moss – Best of the Decade

There is no denying that Kate Moss changed the fashion world in the 1990s, with her tiny frame, short stature, and “heroin chic” new look. But that was the 20th century and here she is being called the best of the first decade in the 21st century. I think Kate got here by being truly stylish which means she has her good days and her bad days. Any star can do classic. As, sad as it is to say, dressing like Grace Kelly on the red carpet isn’t hard. All one needs is a black strapless gown, some fancy smancy jewels, and a nice French twist. To be stylish you must take risks. (Do y’all remember a few years ago when she only wore jumpsuits?) Here we have one of my favorite red carpet looks.
I love this night look because this is only a dress and look, as a whole, that a model could pull off. Actresses and normal people can’t go to galas like this dressed as a Golden Grecian Goddess, it would come off as way to costume-y. Models can do whatever the hell they please and just file it under them being a muse for some crazy Greek loving designer. I’m pretty sure Sandra Bullock pointed to this look last year for the Acadamy Awards and said, “Yes, just like Kate I want to be a golden Goddess!” Then some very nice assistant sat Sandy down and said, “Sandy, you are not a model. You cannot pull off a gold headdress, but here look at this nice Marchesa instead.”

Here is the rest of the list…

The Bombshell: Blake Lively
Screen Siren: Marion Cotillard
The Independent: Michelle Obama
American Beauty: Jessica Biel
Street Cool: Alexa Chung
Haute Bohemian: Sarah Jessica Parker
Conscious Chic: Liya Kebede
Free Spirit: Carey Mulligan
New Classicist: Shala Monroque
The Visionary: Lady Gaga

Blake Lively – The Bombshell

Supposedly Blake is in movies or is making movies so she does more than just play dumb, blonde Serena on Gossip Girl. Actually, Blake’s boobs do more of the acting according to NYMag.com. (Seriously check this awesome slideshow out. It’s hilarious.) But, she did wear this dress to the 2009 Emmys and you can’t argue this girl does “sexy” well. I mean how many time do we, as women, here “do boobs or legs, never both” well Lively says F that and does both and looks freaking gorgeous! If this is what modern bombshell looks like, then sign me up because I either want to be her or date her.

Marion Cotillard – Screen Siren

What is funny about Marion Cotillard being called a “Screen Siren” is isn’t a “Screen Siren” just a “bombshell” with dark hair? Bombshell = blonde. Siren = brunette. I think they put screen in front to show that Marion is a real movie actress, where as Blake Lively is just getting started in movies. Okay moving on to the fashion. There is no denying that Marion Cotillard is beautiful. Plus she’s French so that puts her up like 10 notches on the hot radar. I think because she is French she is interesting to Americans. American actresses have almost all started to look alike. They all know what designers and what styles will get them in the Best Dressed category of US Weekly so they all wear some version of the same Carolina Hererra dress thus playing it extremely safe.

Cotillard takes chances. I know I was in the minority but I loved her 2008 Oscar dress by Gaultier. I don’t care if she looked like a mermaid, she looked amazing and there is no way an American Starlet would have even tried to pull of this dress, let alone succeeded. Love it.

Michelle Obama – The Independent

Again, I’m not quite sure about the title, but I do agree Michelle Obama should be on this list. It has defiantly been refreshing to see a first lady in something other than pantsuits and matching skirts and jackets. Although, let’s not kid ourselves, Mrs. Obama has stylists, she keeps what looks best on her and then sometimes, like at a State Dinner in 2010, she does something like this and the whole country skips a breath.

I would argue that Michelle Obama is the best example we have in 2010 of a woman that isn’t a size 2 or 0 that truly wears flattering clothes for her body type. Here she is in a great teal Jason Wo dress accessorizing with cute yellow flats and fun bangles. Right now anything in Washington that makes you smile is a good thing, even if it is Michelle Obama’s outfits.

Jessica Biel – American Beauty

Right… So this is the only one that I just don’t understand. Don’t get me wrong, Jessica is very pretty, but “American Beauty” pretty… I just don’t know about that. I mean we’re talking about the girl from 7th Heaven and Stealth for crying out loud! Again, very pretty girl, but I feel like she is in that group of actresses that I was talking about earlier, they all have the “how to look like a movie star and get on the best dressed list” down pat. I don’t feel like she has really ever taken any chances in fashion… But that’s just me and she is sleeping with Justin Timberlake so this could just be the 14 year old girl in me being jealous.

Alexa Chung – Street Cool

Alexa Chung is the cool hipster model who had a MTV show. Rad. She modeled as a young teenager and then quit because the industry gave her body issues and such, but came back (out of retirement?) after being on TV. She’s a beautiful girl, who actually seems to be having fun in life, which I like. And, if you ever wanted to be stopped on the street by a fashion blogger and asked about your outfit I feel like all you have to do is dress exactly like Alexa Chung, or you can just buy her collection at Madewell. She likes skulls and Chanel Bags. Isn’t that nice, y’all?

Sarah Jessica Parker - Haute Bohemian

Sarah, Sarah, Sarah… Where do you start with Sarah Jessica Parker? Do I go straight for a horse face joke or ease into it with a slutty Samantha wise crack? No, no just kidding SJP. I don’t know if bohemian is the right adjective to describe our little former Carrie, but she is an actress that likes to play dress up in the big girl dress up box, meaning the world of Haute Couture. And, man, does she like to dress up…

The Good…(Chanel Couture)
The Bad…at least for her boobs(Dior Couture)
The Ugly…(again, Chanel Couture)

Conscious Chic - Liya Kebede

Conscious Chic??? WFT Anna? Liya Kebede is a freaking Goddess! She should be Vogue’s “Most Beautiful, Best Eyes, Can Someone Skin Her And Then Weave Her Into A Dress So We Can All Feel Good About Ourselves… Chic”. I’ve tried to use all real life photos in this post instead of magazine shots that have been styled and airbrushed and such, but here she is in Vogue. A.M.A.Z.I.N.G

And her she is with her adorable daughter.

Carey Mulligan – Free Spirit

Carey Mulligan is having a great week. First she got casted as Daisy in Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gastsby, and then Vogue puts her in their best dressed 2010 list. Good week I’d say. Again, these titles are killing me. I wish Vogue had just said Best Dressed and moved on. Because what really makes Carey Mulligan a Free Spirit? Maybe it’s because she has short hair. Yeah, it must be the hair. Carey Mulligan always looks like she’s got a secret and that secret is, “OMG I can’t believe I’m here with all these famous people in such nice clothes and I’m not being kicked out” and I love her for this. I feel like she really enjoys the attention her fashion brings her and I hope she doesn’t lose that as she becomes more and more popular here in the states. A little Mia Farrow and a little Michelle Williams (post Dawson) never hurt anyone either.

Here is Carey in Prada at the 2010 Oscars. As if celebrating her adorable pixie hair cut her dress is covered with little scissors.


Shala Monroque - New Classicist

For y’all who don’t know (and I totally didn’t know until I just Googled her) Shala Monroque is the editor at large of Pop Magazine. Girl has defiantly got it on in calf length dresses, pops of color on her amazing skin, and killer shoes. Like killer shoes. Killer Prada shoes…

She arrives on the red carpet on the arms of designers, yet puts her own twist on their dresses. (Class, example Monroque and Jason Wo here.)

But it’s her day wear as a working women who earned her this honor on Vogue’s list.

Lady Gaga – The Visionary

Need I say more…
Now Anna, GIVE THIS WOMAN A COVER!!!