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.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, November 19, 2010
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!!!
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!!!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
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!!!
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!!!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
What Boyfriend Wants For Christmas...Yes, This is 100% True...
Christmas is right around the corner and I am really, really excited. First of all I don’t care what any of y’all say, no one does Christmas better than my family. The day is full of eating, presents, eating, hanging out together, eating, football, eating, having fun, and eating some more. Plus, this is an even year meaning Sister and Brother in Law will be with us for the holidays. Then, to add icing to the cake, Boyfriend will be coming to Christmas with my family for the very first time. Yeah… I kinda excited.
So, because Boyfriend will be with my family for Christmas morning they have been asking me for ideas of what to get him in his presents under the tree and what he would want in his stocking. I told him last week that over the weekend he needed to sit down and make a list. I went to see my parents in San Antonio this past weekend and when I came home on Sunday and asked him about his list he told me that I should just give them some stores and gift card ideas, because he didn’t want to demand gifts and already know what he would be getting before Christmas morning. Okay… So, yesterday I sent an email to my mom and sister with some generic ideas for gifts for Boyfriend, only to walk in the door last night to find him sitting in front of the computer with a yellow sheet of construction paper, making his Christmas List.
I thought I’d share that list with y’all for my blog post today.
(So, here it is. Copied straight from the paper. No changes. Promise.)
1. Flip Flops of high water quality. (Olukai Brand, Makai Collection, Ohana Black)
2. Gold and/or Silver Coins (1 oz weight)
3. T-Shirt
4. Long Sleeve T-Shirts
5. Colloidal Silver Generator (www.silverlungs.com)
6. Soap
7. Rug of high Arabic quality circular form
8. Leather Flip Flops
9. Lionel Messi’s soccer shoes… see Lemon Lady for color…
10. Plastics
11. Helly Hansen tops and Bottoms (Voss men’s pant #70480 in black, Roan Anorak #70206, both found in the HH work wear section of the website)
12. Socks (Wood floor quality)
13. Crawfish Boil set up
14. Winter flip flops
15. Soft Super Cooler (www.softsupercooler.com)
16. Sunspel Sleep Pants
17. Fairway Woods
18. Persol Shades
Right…
So, first of all I want to say how much I absolutely 100% adore my boyfriend. And, that list might be reason 367,289 that I’m madly in love with him.
But…
Come on! That’s ridiculous!!!
Going through them one by one…
1. Starting out good. He does really love these flip flops and I know he has been looking for them in stores around town, but since IT’S WINTER no one has his size left. FYI size 10.
2. I don’t even know what to say about him wanting silver and gold coins except that he does… yeah…
3. I love this. “T-Shirt” Well, isn’t that great. Boyfriend wants a T-Shirt. Does he want a red one? Or a Large one? Or maybe one from Target or Armani? Who knows? Evidently I’m support to be able to read his mind and know this means a Crazy Shirt. K.
4. Long sleeve T-Shirts (see above)
5. I still have no idea what this thing is. Boyfriend has tried to explain it to me so many times and each time I just end up confused. I just Googled it and to be honest I got bored reading about them before I even found out what they do, so go at it Mom and Sister.
6. Here he is referring to the expensive British Soap he loves called Mark Birley. No body wash please, just the bar.
7. “Rug of high Arabic quality circular form” HAHAHA!!! I laughed like crazy when I read that. I mean, we do want a rug for the livingroom and we would like it to be round, but evidently Boyfriend wants it to be “of high Arabic quality”.
8. I’m not quite sure how these are different from the first flip flops…
9. Yeah, so he wants soccer shoes even though he hasn’t played soccer since college and I’m suppose to know in what color he wants these shoes… um, I don’t know the color and I’m pretty sure that makes me a very bad girlfriend.
10. In the language of Boyfriend, “plastics” mean Nike, Puma, Adidas, ect, workout shorts he wears to work and around the house. I should point out here that he would want a size large (I don't care how big they look) and he likes them to have pockets.
11. This one might sound weird, but it’s not once you get past the fact that the waterproof work wear he wants is some crazy Swedish brand. You can actually find it at REI and other large outdoor stores.
12. “Wood Floor Quality” I’m guessing this means, “Really soft awesome socks like Lemon Lady has and that I steal and stretch out because my foot is big and fat.” But that’s just an educated guess…
13. Boyfriend must be tried of crab and is moving on to a new crustacean.
14. What the Hell is a “winter flip flop”?
15. Okay so this seems pretty cool.
16. Sunspel is a very old British men’s undergarments company that boyfriend found out a few years ago because of a article about James Bond. Yes, Sunspel is the official provider of all 007’s underwear since the first movie way back when. Two years ago, all he wanted was James Bond underwear from England and being the good girlfriend I am I bought him 75$ underwear. So, now he wants some pajama pants. Awesome.
17. He plays golf. I feel like this is a normal thing to be on a Christmas List.
18. Remember #16 and the James Bond underwear, well Persol makes his sunglasses and Boyfriend really wants a pair. Yes, they look good on him.
Again, I love Boyfriend very much, but there is no denying he’s a weird guy.
Oh, and while I was writing this he called to let me know he has one more thing to add to the list…
19. Rosetta Stone (languages: Polish, Spanish, Jamaican, or “Freaky Deecky Dutch”)
My response to this…
19. Boyfriend wants to learn a language. Awesome, I fully support this. Polish I get because he is polish. Spanish because everyone in Texas should know Spanish. Jamaican??? I have no idea. AND NO WAY AM I GOING TO ALLOW ANOTHER BOYFRIEND OF MINE TO LEARN DUTCH!!!
So, because Boyfriend will be with my family for Christmas morning they have been asking me for ideas of what to get him in his presents under the tree and what he would want in his stocking. I told him last week that over the weekend he needed to sit down and make a list. I went to see my parents in San Antonio this past weekend and when I came home on Sunday and asked him about his list he told me that I should just give them some stores and gift card ideas, because he didn’t want to demand gifts and already know what he would be getting before Christmas morning. Okay… So, yesterday I sent an email to my mom and sister with some generic ideas for gifts for Boyfriend, only to walk in the door last night to find him sitting in front of the computer with a yellow sheet of construction paper, making his Christmas List.
I thought I’d share that list with y’all for my blog post today.
(So, here it is. Copied straight from the paper. No changes. Promise.)
1. Flip Flops of high water quality. (Olukai Brand, Makai Collection, Ohana Black)
2. Gold and/or Silver Coins (1 oz weight)
3. T-Shirt
4. Long Sleeve T-Shirts
5. Colloidal Silver Generator (www.silverlungs.com)
6. Soap
7. Rug of high Arabic quality circular form
8. Leather Flip Flops
9. Lionel Messi’s soccer shoes… see Lemon Lady for color…
10. Plastics
11. Helly Hansen tops and Bottoms (Voss men’s pant #70480 in black, Roan Anorak #70206, both found in the HH work wear section of the website)
12. Socks (Wood floor quality)
13. Crawfish Boil set up
14. Winter flip flops
15. Soft Super Cooler (www.softsupercooler.com)
16. Sunspel Sleep Pants
17. Fairway Woods
18. Persol Shades
Right…
So, first of all I want to say how much I absolutely 100% adore my boyfriend. And, that list might be reason 367,289 that I’m madly in love with him.
But…
Come on! That’s ridiculous!!!
Going through them one by one…
1. Starting out good. He does really love these flip flops and I know he has been looking for them in stores around town, but since IT’S WINTER no one has his size left. FYI size 10.
2. I don’t even know what to say about him wanting silver and gold coins except that he does… yeah…
3. I love this. “T-Shirt” Well, isn’t that great. Boyfriend wants a T-Shirt. Does he want a red one? Or a Large one? Or maybe one from Target or Armani? Who knows? Evidently I’m support to be able to read his mind and know this means a Crazy Shirt. K.
4. Long sleeve T-Shirts (see above)
5. I still have no idea what this thing is. Boyfriend has tried to explain it to me so many times and each time I just end up confused. I just Googled it and to be honest I got bored reading about them before I even found out what they do, so go at it Mom and Sister.
6. Here he is referring to the expensive British Soap he loves called Mark Birley. No body wash please, just the bar.
7. “Rug of high Arabic quality circular form” HAHAHA!!! I laughed like crazy when I read that. I mean, we do want a rug for the livingroom and we would like it to be round, but evidently Boyfriend wants it to be “of high Arabic quality”.
8. I’m not quite sure how these are different from the first flip flops…
9. Yeah, so he wants soccer shoes even though he hasn’t played soccer since college and I’m suppose to know in what color he wants these shoes… um, I don’t know the color and I’m pretty sure that makes me a very bad girlfriend.
10. In the language of Boyfriend, “plastics” mean Nike, Puma, Adidas, ect, workout shorts he wears to work and around the house. I should point out here that he would want a size large (I don't care how big they look) and he likes them to have pockets.
11. This one might sound weird, but it’s not once you get past the fact that the waterproof work wear he wants is some crazy Swedish brand. You can actually find it at REI and other large outdoor stores.
12. “Wood Floor Quality” I’m guessing this means, “Really soft awesome socks like Lemon Lady has and that I steal and stretch out because my foot is big and fat.” But that’s just an educated guess…
13. Boyfriend must be tried of crab and is moving on to a new crustacean.
14. What the Hell is a “winter flip flop”?
15. Okay so this seems pretty cool.
16. Sunspel is a very old British men’s undergarments company that boyfriend found out a few years ago because of a article about James Bond. Yes, Sunspel is the official provider of all 007’s underwear since the first movie way back when. Two years ago, all he wanted was James Bond underwear from England and being the good girlfriend I am I bought him 75$ underwear. So, now he wants some pajama pants. Awesome.
17. He plays golf. I feel like this is a normal thing to be on a Christmas List.
18. Remember #16 and the James Bond underwear, well Persol makes his sunglasses and Boyfriend really wants a pair. Yes, they look good on him.
Again, I love Boyfriend very much, but there is no denying he’s a weird guy.
Oh, and while I was writing this he called to let me know he has one more thing to add to the list…
19. Rosetta Stone (languages: Polish, Spanish, Jamaican, or “Freaky Deecky Dutch”)
My response to this…
19. Boyfriend wants to learn a language. Awesome, I fully support this. Polish I get because he is polish. Spanish because everyone in Texas should know Spanish. Jamaican??? I have no idea. AND NO WAY AM I GOING TO ALLOW ANOTHER BOYFRIEND OF MINE TO LEARN DUTCH!!!
Monday, November 15, 2010
My Brother In Law, My Nephew, and a Conversation About Babies and Pot Roast...
From the very beginning my sister had been extremely supportive of my little blog. She has posted it on her Facebook numerous times and talked about my site on her blog. Therefore, it is only fair that I write a special and loving post about her... better halves, meaning my brother in law and nephew.
For me, wanting a brother started when I was in 9th grade. But I didn’t want a little brother. (Please I’m the baby in the family, Hell no I didn’t want a baby brother.) I started High School envious of all my friends who had older brothers in High School as well. It honestly never occurred to me to just wish my sister had been a little younger so she would have been in school with me, because I wasn’t close with my sister at all. No, it had to be a big brother. A big brother to scare all my boyfriends. A big brother to introduce me to hot upper classmen. A big brother to always be looking out for his adorable little sister. Since I knew I would never get the big brother I wanted, the next best thing would be Sister dating a really cool guy.
Sister never dated really cool guys…
When I was I Middle School and Sister was in High School she had the dorkiest guy friends and boyfriends. (At least I thought so.) They all thought they were the coolest until my dad came home and then they would knock on my bedroom door and ask me to go get them snacks and drinks from the kitchen because (and I quote), “I don’t want to have to walk past your dad.”
In college she dated Robert who I HATED! Because Sister was in college, Robert only had a few days over the weekend to make an impression, and he did… a bad one. Robert made the mistake of making fun of me in front of my boyfriend. You don’t make fun of 15 year old girls in front of their boyfriends! I was embarrassed and I will never forget Robert Whatever His Last Name Is.
Then Sister dated Joey who I learned all about when she came to Germany with us the summer we moved over there. She spent the summer all pining around for some dude named Joey, while I secretly wanted to slap her because at least she got to go home, back to Texas, at the end of the summer and I had to stay in Germany with our evil, evil parents who ruined my life by making me move half way around the world and really far away from Wesley (the love of my 15 year old life – same boyfriend Robert made fun of me in front of). Sister’s relationship with Joey was, for the most part, while we lived in Germany so we didn’t get to know him very well. While they were dating my sister’s hair got blonder and blonder and then he told her to lose some weight so I pretty much hated him before I even met him, but then I actually met him and then I really didn’t like him. Joey and Sister came to visit us in Germany the summer after we moved there and OMG was that guy a douche bag. He sucked up to my parents and didn’t say five words to me the whole time he was staying in our house. I was so confused why my sister was so in love with this tool.
But they broke up, thank God, and she quickly started dating Brother in Law and everything turned out A-Okay. Although Brother in Law didn’t make the best first impression with our family I liked him right away. He was brass, funny, and didn’t hold back in front of me or my parents. He was just himself and that was extremely refreshing from Dr. Tool Joey. I can honestly say that seeing my sister marry Brother in Law opened my eyes to the fact that I was, at the time, kinda dating my version of Joey and I didn’t want to marry and be stuck with My Joey. I love hanging out with Brother in Law just as much as I love hanging out with my sister. He is definitely part of the reason I wished they lived closer to me. On top of just being a cool guy, he also loves my sister unconditionally.
The other amazing man in my sister’s life is my Nephew, Mouse. (I only call him Mouse here, because he was nicknamed this just after birth as evidently he squeaked like a Mouse.) It is no secret that I don’t really like kids and I’ve never wanted to be a mother. Wow, that sounds really harsh… let me restate that last sentence. I like kids just fine. I just don’t know how to interact with them. I was the youngest in my family and because we grew up so far away from family I never hung around my younger cousins when they were babies. I just don’t have experience with young kids. Plus kids are so awkward sometimes. I mean the thought of spending a prolonged amount of time in an elementary or middle school really creeps me out. I just can’t handle that type of awkwardness. Sometimes I wonder how I was ever a kid to begin with.
People usually don’t understand me not wanting kids. When I say that most people respond with, “Oh, well one day you will want them.” You know what people, you’re right. Someday I might want kids. One day my maternal clock might start ticking and I’ll get all knocked up by the first male I see and then I’ll have ten kids and I’ll look back on my life now and think, “Wow that random person I met when I was 25 was right, I did want kids. I hope I can find them to tell them they were right and I was wrong.” But hear me out. I don’t want kids, so I tell people I don’t want kids. People tell me in a few years I will want kids. Okay well I don’t want pot roast right now and although I might want it in a few hours or days or months, I don’t make that clarification when I say I don’t want it…
Random Person: “Hey Lemon Lady, Do you want some pot roast?”
Me: “Um, no thanks. I don’t want pot roast.”
Random Person: “Seriously? Everyone wants pot roast.”
Me: “Um, well… I just don’t want any, sorry.”
Random Person: “You know someday you will want pot roast. You just wait and see. You’ll be begging for some hot piece of American male to give you some pot roast… give you lots of pot roast…”
So, as much as I don’t want kids (yes everyone, right now I don’t want kids) and as much as I kinda don’t know what to do around them, I absolutely LOVE my nephew. And, my loves grows every time I see him because he can finally do stuff. I mean yeah I loved him as a baby, but now that he is 2 and a half and can do more than just lay there and drool, the kid is so cool. I love watching him play. You can see his mind at work making up stories in his head and acting them out with his cars and trucks. I love watching my sister be a mom. She is so patient with him and I know she loves reading to him as much as he loves curling up in her lap listening. I love watching my parents be grandparents. My dad is adorable calling to Mouse to see the deer in the back yard or because there is a large truck on TV. Mouse calls my mom “RamRaw” because he can’t say grandma yet and she scoops him up for the biggest hugs. But most of all I love it when my nephew calls my name. He can’t quite pronounce it yet, but that makes it all the better. It’s so cool to hear this tiny little person express so much in one word.
Some photos of Mouse…
And one of him and my sister...
Oh, and nephew number two will be here in March.
For me, wanting a brother started when I was in 9th grade. But I didn’t want a little brother. (Please I’m the baby in the family, Hell no I didn’t want a baby brother.) I started High School envious of all my friends who had older brothers in High School as well. It honestly never occurred to me to just wish my sister had been a little younger so she would have been in school with me, because I wasn’t close with my sister at all. No, it had to be a big brother. A big brother to scare all my boyfriends. A big brother to introduce me to hot upper classmen. A big brother to always be looking out for his adorable little sister. Since I knew I would never get the big brother I wanted, the next best thing would be Sister dating a really cool guy.
Sister never dated really cool guys…
When I was I Middle School and Sister was in High School she had the dorkiest guy friends and boyfriends. (At least I thought so.) They all thought they were the coolest until my dad came home and then they would knock on my bedroom door and ask me to go get them snacks and drinks from the kitchen because (and I quote), “I don’t want to have to walk past your dad.”
In college she dated Robert who I HATED! Because Sister was in college, Robert only had a few days over the weekend to make an impression, and he did… a bad one. Robert made the mistake of making fun of me in front of my boyfriend. You don’t make fun of 15 year old girls in front of their boyfriends! I was embarrassed and I will never forget Robert Whatever His Last Name Is.
Then Sister dated Joey who I learned all about when she came to Germany with us the summer we moved over there. She spent the summer all pining around for some dude named Joey, while I secretly wanted to slap her because at least she got to go home, back to Texas, at the end of the summer and I had to stay in Germany with our evil, evil parents who ruined my life by making me move half way around the world and really far away from Wesley (the love of my 15 year old life – same boyfriend Robert made fun of me in front of). Sister’s relationship with Joey was, for the most part, while we lived in Germany so we didn’t get to know him very well. While they were dating my sister’s hair got blonder and blonder and then he told her to lose some weight so I pretty much hated him before I even met him, but then I actually met him and then I really didn’t like him. Joey and Sister came to visit us in Germany the summer after we moved there and OMG was that guy a douche bag. He sucked up to my parents and didn’t say five words to me the whole time he was staying in our house. I was so confused why my sister was so in love with this tool.
But they broke up, thank God, and she quickly started dating Brother in Law and everything turned out A-Okay. Although Brother in Law didn’t make the best first impression with our family I liked him right away. He was brass, funny, and didn’t hold back in front of me or my parents. He was just himself and that was extremely refreshing from Dr. Tool Joey. I can honestly say that seeing my sister marry Brother in Law opened my eyes to the fact that I was, at the time, kinda dating my version of Joey and I didn’t want to marry and be stuck with My Joey. I love hanging out with Brother in Law just as much as I love hanging out with my sister. He is definitely part of the reason I wished they lived closer to me. On top of just being a cool guy, he also loves my sister unconditionally.
The other amazing man in my sister’s life is my Nephew, Mouse. (I only call him Mouse here, because he was nicknamed this just after birth as evidently he squeaked like a Mouse.) It is no secret that I don’t really like kids and I’ve never wanted to be a mother. Wow, that sounds really harsh… let me restate that last sentence. I like kids just fine. I just don’t know how to interact with them. I was the youngest in my family and because we grew up so far away from family I never hung around my younger cousins when they were babies. I just don’t have experience with young kids. Plus kids are so awkward sometimes. I mean the thought of spending a prolonged amount of time in an elementary or middle school really creeps me out. I just can’t handle that type of awkwardness. Sometimes I wonder how I was ever a kid to begin with.
People usually don’t understand me not wanting kids. When I say that most people respond with, “Oh, well one day you will want them.” You know what people, you’re right. Someday I might want kids. One day my maternal clock might start ticking and I’ll get all knocked up by the first male I see and then I’ll have ten kids and I’ll look back on my life now and think, “Wow that random person I met when I was 25 was right, I did want kids. I hope I can find them to tell them they were right and I was wrong.” But hear me out. I don’t want kids, so I tell people I don’t want kids. People tell me in a few years I will want kids. Okay well I don’t want pot roast right now and although I might want it in a few hours or days or months, I don’t make that clarification when I say I don’t want it…
Random Person: “Hey Lemon Lady, Do you want some pot roast?”
Me: “Um, no thanks. I don’t want pot roast.”
Random Person: “Seriously? Everyone wants pot roast.”
Me: “Um, well… I just don’t want any, sorry.”
Random Person: “You know someday you will want pot roast. You just wait and see. You’ll be begging for some hot piece of American male to give you some pot roast… give you lots of pot roast…”
So, as much as I don’t want kids (yes everyone, right now I don’t want kids) and as much as I kinda don’t know what to do around them, I absolutely LOVE my nephew. And, my loves grows every time I see him because he can finally do stuff. I mean yeah I loved him as a baby, but now that he is 2 and a half and can do more than just lay there and drool, the kid is so cool. I love watching him play. You can see his mind at work making up stories in his head and acting them out with his cars and trucks. I love watching my sister be a mom. She is so patient with him and I know she loves reading to him as much as he loves curling up in her lap listening. I love watching my parents be grandparents. My dad is adorable calling to Mouse to see the deer in the back yard or because there is a large truck on TV. Mouse calls my mom “RamRaw” because he can’t say grandma yet and she scoops him up for the biggest hugs. But most of all I love it when my nephew calls my name. He can’t quite pronounce it yet, but that makes it all the better. It’s so cool to hear this tiny little person express so much in one word.
Some photos of Mouse…
And one of him and my sister...
Oh, and nephew number two will be here in March.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The CMAs and How Carrie Underwood Lost the Fight Against the Ugly Dresses of the World...
Let me tell you about my night yesterday. I worked a 10 hour day. Now usually working a 10 hour day is no picnic in the park, but yesterday’s 10 hour day was horrible! I mean like “wow it’s only 11AM and I have already wanted to gorge my eyeballs out five times” crappy day. So, when I finally got home I took a long hot shower, changed into my most comfortable PJ pants and large sweatshirt, and plopped down on the sofa to watch the (and please don’t judge) America’s New Top Model which had recorded earlier that day.
I’ve been watching this stupid, stupid TV show since season 2 (or cycle two as Tyra says) and the one thing that completely baffles me is when the girls are going on “go sees” in a foreign country they always get horribly lost. A “go see” is when Tyra lets her little baby models out into the real world to meet up with several different fashion houses, designers, and photographers. Last night the models were in Milan and had four people to go see in four hours. Every girl but one was only able to finish 1 go see in four hours because they all got lost. The other girl only saw two. Okay all these go sees were all in Milan center. Really they showed them on a map and an 8th grader could navigate between one and the other. They had the option to use public transportation (bus or underground) if they didn’t want to walk. All of the girls wondered into an underground station and all of them wondered out just as lost with no clue how to get on a train and go in the proper direction. Even the girl from Chicago couldn’t figure out where to go! Oh, better than that, the MOTHER F-ING YALE GRADUATE couldn’t figure out the train system!!!
Anyway what I guess I’m trying to say is that last night I watched bad reality TV until Boyfriend came home and then we watched a Barcelona/Milan (just a coincidence) soccer match. What I didn’t watch was the CMAs, which according to Facebook, many of y’all did.
What I love about these award shows (well besides when the camera pans to the losers trying to look happy for the bitch that just won Best Female Artist instead of them) is the hostess’s outfits. It is pretty much mandatory that they change clothes at least five times. I’m going to go out on a limb and say this started when Whoopi Goldberg hosted the Academy Awards in 1990something and she changed into a different costume to announce each movie that was up for Best Picture. Y’all remember this, right?
Back to the CMAs… Carrie Underwood was the host last night I can’t figure out how she actually found time to be on stage because it seems to me she spend the entire night changing dresses. Let’s take a closer look at those dresses…
Dress #1:
This is what she wore on the red carpet… I guess because this carpet seems to be black, but maybe black is the new red in Nashville this year. My question for Carrie is, how many of the Queen’s hats did you have to steal to make this stiff, gray, extremely itchy looking dress? I mean who wants to wear a dress that looks like it was made out of those old lady hats little kids spend hours trying on in department stores? And, risking sounding way too much like Michael Kors, but what woman wants to make her hips and ass look bigger? I don’t want to get into her hair and makeup all that much. I feel like Carrie Underwood is a very pretty woman, but ALWAYS has too much makeup on.
Results… Carrie 0, Ugly Dresses of the World 1
Dress #2:
This is an adorable little dress. I mean what country starlet doesn’t want to take a page out of the Taylor Swift book and wear a sparkly little dress… or sell a million CDs… whatev… But… stop… Why is Carrie wearing her padded seat belt with her little Sparkly Swift dress? Wait! I know! Isn’t she married to a hockey player? Maybe she is holding is lucky hockey stick under that black thing. Or it’s just a really big plush AK47 gun strap. Oh and I like that Brad Paisley decided to go Garth Brooks up top and Johnny Cash down below.
Results… Carrie 0, Ugly Dresses of the World 2
Dress #3:
This dress is a little bridesmaid, but the day after the wedding. Like Carrie wore it to her best friend’s wedding even though you know she hated the color but it turned out okay because she got wasted off Champaign, Bud Light, and the Jager some groomsman had, but that’s okay too because she hooked up with that hot Jager having groomsman but only to wake up the next morning late for the send off brunch with the bride and groom and she can’t find her room key so she was forced to wear the same ugly bridesmaid dress, but being the good friend she was she improvised be adding some pink napkins and coffee filters to the bottom so maybe some of the old people wouldn’t know but you know everyone knew and even grandma called her a tramp. This is totally that dress. No, I’m not sure why she would ever have wanted to wear it again. I’m sure it reeks of semen, shame, and Clinque Happy.
Results… Carrie 1 (hey, we’ve all been there and who are we to judge), Ugly Dresses of the World 2
Dress #4:
In order to help us forget about her slutty ways in Dress #3, Carrie next shows up in a dress that is a cross between something a five year old would wear and some crazy ensemble Katy Perry might wear to personify the Mango Mandarin fragrance at Bath and Body Works. No really I think she just wanted to play Faith Hill for a few minutes as the very first thing that popped into my head was the Faith Hill/Tim Mcgraw Duet “Like We Never Loved At All” when Faith went all sexy throwback like this.
Yeah… Faith’s was a little more successful, not to mention she can make out with Tim McGraw anytime she wants, so all in all Carrie, you lose.
Results… Carrie 1, Ugly Dresses of the World 3
Dress #5:
What was Carrie thinking? Was she thinking…
A: I always wanted to be the Ballerina in my music box.
B: FU husband who thought I could only wear my wedding dress one day! All I needed were some fake flowers from Hobby Lobby.
C: I wonder if people think I’m an extra for that new movie Black Swan?
D: I look just like Beyonce! (Y’all remember the dress I’m talking about…)
Oh and don’t you think it is nice that Brad Paisley is trying to keep up with Carrie by changing out of his striped black jacket and into his kinda sparkly black jacket.
Results… Carrie 1, Ugly Dresses of the World 4
Dress #6:
Dear Carrie,
It’s not 2005. This dress is not new and exciting. The color is boring. The folds and weight of the fabric look like napkins from the Best Western’s Breakfast Buffet.
And now I’m hungry for pancakes. Thanks…
Yours Truly,
Lemon Lady
Results… Carrie 1, Ugly Dresses of the World 5
Dress #7:
I’m pretty sure this dress was mistakenly sent to Carrie instead of Miss Alabama of the Miss America Pageant. Miss Alabama is freaking out today because she will never be able to find a replacement dress for the talent competition and her dramatic reenactment of the final scene of Gone with the Wind. Now she will never make it to the interview round and she had such a perfect answer to, “If you could be any tree, what tree would you be and why?”
Results… Carrie 1, Ugly Dresses of the World 6
I’ve been watching this stupid, stupid TV show since season 2 (or cycle two as Tyra says) and the one thing that completely baffles me is when the girls are going on “go sees” in a foreign country they always get horribly lost. A “go see” is when Tyra lets her little baby models out into the real world to meet up with several different fashion houses, designers, and photographers. Last night the models were in Milan and had four people to go see in four hours. Every girl but one was only able to finish 1 go see in four hours because they all got lost. The other girl only saw two. Okay all these go sees were all in Milan center. Really they showed them on a map and an 8th grader could navigate between one and the other. They had the option to use public transportation (bus or underground) if they didn’t want to walk. All of the girls wondered into an underground station and all of them wondered out just as lost with no clue how to get on a train and go in the proper direction. Even the girl from Chicago couldn’t figure out where to go! Oh, better than that, the MOTHER F-ING YALE GRADUATE couldn’t figure out the train system!!!
Anyway what I guess I’m trying to say is that last night I watched bad reality TV until Boyfriend came home and then we watched a Barcelona/Milan (just a coincidence) soccer match. What I didn’t watch was the CMAs, which according to Facebook, many of y’all did.
What I love about these award shows (well besides when the camera pans to the losers trying to look happy for the bitch that just won Best Female Artist instead of them) is the hostess’s outfits. It is pretty much mandatory that they change clothes at least five times. I’m going to go out on a limb and say this started when Whoopi Goldberg hosted the Academy Awards in 1990something and she changed into a different costume to announce each movie that was up for Best Picture. Y’all remember this, right?
Back to the CMAs… Carrie Underwood was the host last night I can’t figure out how she actually found time to be on stage because it seems to me she spend the entire night changing dresses. Let’s take a closer look at those dresses…
Dress #1:
This is what she wore on the red carpet… I guess because this carpet seems to be black, but maybe black is the new red in Nashville this year. My question for Carrie is, how many of the Queen’s hats did you have to steal to make this stiff, gray, extremely itchy looking dress? I mean who wants to wear a dress that looks like it was made out of those old lady hats little kids spend hours trying on in department stores? And, risking sounding way too much like Michael Kors, but what woman wants to make her hips and ass look bigger? I don’t want to get into her hair and makeup all that much. I feel like Carrie Underwood is a very pretty woman, but ALWAYS has too much makeup on.
Results… Carrie 0, Ugly Dresses of the World 1
Dress #2:
This is an adorable little dress. I mean what country starlet doesn’t want to take a page out of the Taylor Swift book and wear a sparkly little dress… or sell a million CDs… whatev… But… stop… Why is Carrie wearing her padded seat belt with her little Sparkly Swift dress? Wait! I know! Isn’t she married to a hockey player? Maybe she is holding is lucky hockey stick under that black thing. Or it’s just a really big plush AK47 gun strap. Oh and I like that Brad Paisley decided to go Garth Brooks up top and Johnny Cash down below.
Results… Carrie 0, Ugly Dresses of the World 2
Dress #3:
This dress is a little bridesmaid, but the day after the wedding. Like Carrie wore it to her best friend’s wedding even though you know she hated the color but it turned out okay because she got wasted off Champaign, Bud Light, and the Jager some groomsman had, but that’s okay too because she hooked up with that hot Jager having groomsman but only to wake up the next morning late for the send off brunch with the bride and groom and she can’t find her room key so she was forced to wear the same ugly bridesmaid dress, but being the good friend she was she improvised be adding some pink napkins and coffee filters to the bottom so maybe some of the old people wouldn’t know but you know everyone knew and even grandma called her a tramp. This is totally that dress. No, I’m not sure why she would ever have wanted to wear it again. I’m sure it reeks of semen, shame, and Clinque Happy.
Results… Carrie 1 (hey, we’ve all been there and who are we to judge), Ugly Dresses of the World 2
Dress #4:
In order to help us forget about her slutty ways in Dress #3, Carrie next shows up in a dress that is a cross between something a five year old would wear and some crazy ensemble Katy Perry might wear to personify the Mango Mandarin fragrance at Bath and Body Works. No really I think she just wanted to play Faith Hill for a few minutes as the very first thing that popped into my head was the Faith Hill/Tim Mcgraw Duet “Like We Never Loved At All” when Faith went all sexy throwback like this.
Yeah… Faith’s was a little more successful, not to mention she can make out with Tim McGraw anytime she wants, so all in all Carrie, you lose.Results… Carrie 1, Ugly Dresses of the World 3
Dress #5:
What was Carrie thinking? Was she thinking…
A: I always wanted to be the Ballerina in my music box.
B: FU husband who thought I could only wear my wedding dress one day! All I needed were some fake flowers from Hobby Lobby.
C: I wonder if people think I’m an extra for that new movie Black Swan?
D: I look just like Beyonce! (Y’all remember the dress I’m talking about…)
Oh and don’t you think it is nice that Brad Paisley is trying to keep up with Carrie by changing out of his striped black jacket and into his kinda sparkly black jacket.
Results… Carrie 1, Ugly Dresses of the World 4
Dress #6:
Dear Carrie,
It’s not 2005. This dress is not new and exciting. The color is boring. The folds and weight of the fabric look like napkins from the Best Western’s Breakfast Buffet.
And now I’m hungry for pancakes. Thanks…
Yours Truly,
Lemon Lady
Results… Carrie 1, Ugly Dresses of the World 5
Dress #7:
I’m pretty sure this dress was mistakenly sent to Carrie instead of Miss Alabama of the Miss America Pageant. Miss Alabama is freaking out today because she will never be able to find a replacement dress for the talent competition and her dramatic reenactment of the final scene of Gone with the Wind. Now she will never make it to the interview round and she had such a perfect answer to, “If you could be any tree, what tree would you be and why?”
Results… Carrie 1, Ugly Dresses of the World 6
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Ahhhh! Work... blah...
I think I had an idea for a blog post today, but my mind is being pulled in 500 different ways because of work. So please excuse me for not being entertaining and please enjoy a picture of Sister and I that makes me happy.
Going to my happy place now...(aka lunch with LSU Friend)
Going to my happy place now...(aka lunch with LSU Friend)
Monday, November 8, 2010
Driving: Watching Sister Make a Fool of Herself and How My Parents Taught Me...
Lately I’ve been carrying around small notebook and writing down any good ideas I think of for my blog. This is a good thing because I don’t sit in front of my computer with writers block because I can’t remember that really funny thing Boyfriend said last night. The notebook is a bad thing because last night I dreamed that something slightly… okay not slightly… really embarrassing happened while I was trying to buy a bottle of Disaronno Amaretto (which I don’t even drink) and after I left the store in shame (without my alcohol) I thought to myself, in the dream, “well at least this will make a good blog post.” Swear to God people… I am now putting myself in awkward embarrassing situations in my dreams so you people can have a laugh and I can quietly crawl under a rock and die. FML…
But, If I’m going down, I’m taking my sister with me!
Today I’d like to write about that oh so important time in a young girls life when she learns how to drive.
But first I want to write about when my sister learned to drive.
My sister started learning to drive when we lived in Alabama. I’m sure I don’t know the whole story of every time Mom and Dad would take her out on the road, but I do remember a few things. The first is that I was extremely jealous of my sister getting behind the wheel. Looking back this is pretty funny. I mean I was in 6th grade, so I was nowhere near being old enough to learn to drive. I didn’t care that my sister was dating and I wasn’t. I didn’t care that she was in high school and I wasn’t. I didn’t care that she played an instrument and I didn’t. But, the first day mom pulled over at the entrance of our neighborhood and turned to Sister and asked if she wanted to drive the rest of the way, I was pissed! Driving, like most things adult get to do, looked like so much fun and at that point in my life I was pretty sure my sister thought I was the biggest nerd, so I immediately started hating her for being able to drive.
My sister learning to drive was hilarious. Her first big obstacle was stop signs. Sister would start slowing down for a stop sign like a block before the stop sign, and this is our neighborhood when she was only going 15 MPH anyway. Then she would dramatically come to a stop about ten feet behind the actual stop sign, meaning she couldn’t see around the corner to see if it was okay to continue after the stop. OMG my mom used to get so frustrated…
Mom: “Daughter! Keep driving forward! You are nowhere near the stop sign!”
Sister: “Stop yelling at me mom! I am right at the stop sign! If you count the nose of the car I am practically at the sign!”
Me: (to myself) “Haha, she sucks at driving. When I get to drive I’ll be awesome.”
Then I remember my sister having a very hard time judging the distance between her car and other cars on the road. This happened one time when my whole family was out driving to who knows where and Sister got to drive. We were driving on some pretty little country road with only two lanes. And my sister kinda drove like this…
Dad: “Daughter! Drive in your lane!”
Sister: “I am in my lane! If I get any closer to the side of the road I’ll be in the bushes.”
Dad: “That’s what I meant! You’re driving on the shoulder of the road. Move the car closer to the center.”
Mom: “Now, Husband, don’t yell, but really Daughter you’re driving in the dirt and it’s not good for the tires. Now gently ease the car back into the center of the road.”
Sister: “I’m on the road! If I get over anymore to the left I’ll hit the oncoming traffic!”
Dad: “You are nowhere near the oncoming traffic! In fact I think the oncoming traffic might flag us down to make sure our car is okay because you are driving off the road.”
Sister: “Stop yelling at me!”
Dad: “I’m not yelling at you. Drive better!”
Mom: “Let’s all just calm down…”
Sister: “Mom!”
Dad: “Daughter!”
Me: (to myself) “Hahaha!!!”
Like I said, I don’t know all the gory details of Sister learning to drive, but I do remember mine.
First of all I didn’t get to learn how to drive at 15 and take my driver’s test at 16 like most normal teenagers. We lived in Germany and the driving age there is 18 or 17 if you already had a license in the states. I did not. So I got in a few more years of being driven around by my parents and begging my friends for rides. The very first time I ever drove a car was in Germany when Ex-Boyfriend Matt asked if I wanted to drive his car in this old abandoned lot.
Ex-Boyfriend Matt: “Hey, you’ve driven before, right? Wanna drive my Opel around this abandoned parking lot?”
Me: “Of course I’ve driven before! Hell yes I wanna drive! Pull over and hand over the keys!”
Ex-Boyfriend Matt: (pulling the car over and getting out of the driver’s seat) “Yeah, this sounds like a great idea and not at all irresponsible of me!”
Me: “Buckle up kid. I’m a pro.”
Yeah, I wasn’t and Ex-Boyfriend Matt quickly demanded I pull over and give his keys back and he never ever asked me if I wanted to drive again. But the first time driving with my father was the best time ever and if by “best time ever” I mean horrible.
My dad told me one day during the week when I was a junior in high school that he wanted to start teaching me to drive. My first thought was “AWESOME I FINALLY GET TO DRIVE!” and my second thought was, “wait Lemon Lady when your father tries to teach you to do something and you’re not good at it you get very defensive and end up in tears with your father swearing at a very high decibel that no, he’s not in fact yelling at you… remember when he took you to the driving range and tried to teach you how to hit a golf ball?” But that thought was quickly covered up by, “AWESOME I FINALLY GET TO DRIVE!”
That weekend Dad drove me to the high school parking lot right there on base and handed over the keys to his Honda Accord. I got behind the wheel and waited patiently as he went over what every single button, knob, and gage’s purpose was. I waited while he spent 10 minutes making sure my seat and mirrors were adjusted perfectly. After what seemed like an eternity behind the wheel he finally let me turn the car on and drive down the parking lot row.
Me: (to myself) “OMFG! I’m driving!!!”
Dad: “Good job. Keep her at the same constant speed and get ready for to turn left at the end of the row and drive down the next row.”
Me: “Okay Dad, sure.” (to myself) “Yeah I’m going to turn this car. Watch me turn this fine Japanese automobile. You like that Accord? You like that nice and easy left hand turn?”
Dad: “Nice turn.”
Me: “Thanks.” (to myself) “Who has two thumbs and is the best left hand turner driving this car at this very moment? Me, that’s who.”
Dad: “Okay and pull to a stop right here.”
Me: (stopping) “Okay. Can we do right hand turns now? I’m sure I’ll be even more awesome at right hand turns.”
Dad: “Nope, let’s work on backing into this parking space.”
Yeah, you read that right. I had been driving for all of 37 seconds and my dad has me stop and try to back into a parking space! BACK INTO A PARKING SPACE!!! I didn’t even know if I could perform a right hand turn! For all I knew I was the Zoolander of driving and my father wanted to start on backing into parking spaces! Yeah, about 30 minutes later we were back home with me wanting to wash the tears off my face and my father wondering either A, “Why didn’t I have boys?” or B, “How F-ing hard is it to back into a parking space? What’s her problem?”
After that my mom and the driving school taught me to drive my senior year. I turned right on red without stopping once while driving with Mom and she freaked out. (Hello, we were fine…) But then she hurt herself and I had to drive her across San Antonio to the hospital before I had really driven on the highway in driving class. So, yup, that’s how my parents taught me to drive… backing into spaces before I knew what a turn signal was and driving my paralyzed mother, who could only lay in the front seat and pray I knew where I was going, to the Emergency Room when I should have been in 1st period.
I love my parents.
But, If I’m going down, I’m taking my sister with me!
Today I’d like to write about that oh so important time in a young girls life when she learns how to drive.
But first I want to write about when my sister learned to drive.
My sister started learning to drive when we lived in Alabama. I’m sure I don’t know the whole story of every time Mom and Dad would take her out on the road, but I do remember a few things. The first is that I was extremely jealous of my sister getting behind the wheel. Looking back this is pretty funny. I mean I was in 6th grade, so I was nowhere near being old enough to learn to drive. I didn’t care that my sister was dating and I wasn’t. I didn’t care that she was in high school and I wasn’t. I didn’t care that she played an instrument and I didn’t. But, the first day mom pulled over at the entrance of our neighborhood and turned to Sister and asked if she wanted to drive the rest of the way, I was pissed! Driving, like most things adult get to do, looked like so much fun and at that point in my life I was pretty sure my sister thought I was the biggest nerd, so I immediately started hating her for being able to drive.
My sister learning to drive was hilarious. Her first big obstacle was stop signs. Sister would start slowing down for a stop sign like a block before the stop sign, and this is our neighborhood when she was only going 15 MPH anyway. Then she would dramatically come to a stop about ten feet behind the actual stop sign, meaning she couldn’t see around the corner to see if it was okay to continue after the stop. OMG my mom used to get so frustrated…
Mom: “Daughter! Keep driving forward! You are nowhere near the stop sign!”
Sister: “Stop yelling at me mom! I am right at the stop sign! If you count the nose of the car I am practically at the sign!”
Me: (to myself) “Haha, she sucks at driving. When I get to drive I’ll be awesome.”
Then I remember my sister having a very hard time judging the distance between her car and other cars on the road. This happened one time when my whole family was out driving to who knows where and Sister got to drive. We were driving on some pretty little country road with only two lanes. And my sister kinda drove like this…
Dad: “Daughter! Drive in your lane!”
Sister: “I am in my lane! If I get any closer to the side of the road I’ll be in the bushes.”
Dad: “That’s what I meant! You’re driving on the shoulder of the road. Move the car closer to the center.”
Mom: “Now, Husband, don’t yell, but really Daughter you’re driving in the dirt and it’s not good for the tires. Now gently ease the car back into the center of the road.”
Sister: “I’m on the road! If I get over anymore to the left I’ll hit the oncoming traffic!”
Dad: “You are nowhere near the oncoming traffic! In fact I think the oncoming traffic might flag us down to make sure our car is okay because you are driving off the road.”
Sister: “Stop yelling at me!”
Dad: “I’m not yelling at you. Drive better!”
Mom: “Let’s all just calm down…”
Sister: “Mom!”
Dad: “Daughter!”
Me: (to myself) “Hahaha!!!”
Like I said, I don’t know all the gory details of Sister learning to drive, but I do remember mine.
First of all I didn’t get to learn how to drive at 15 and take my driver’s test at 16 like most normal teenagers. We lived in Germany and the driving age there is 18 or 17 if you already had a license in the states. I did not. So I got in a few more years of being driven around by my parents and begging my friends for rides. The very first time I ever drove a car was in Germany when Ex-Boyfriend Matt asked if I wanted to drive his car in this old abandoned lot.
Ex-Boyfriend Matt: “Hey, you’ve driven before, right? Wanna drive my Opel around this abandoned parking lot?”
Me: “Of course I’ve driven before! Hell yes I wanna drive! Pull over and hand over the keys!”
Ex-Boyfriend Matt: (pulling the car over and getting out of the driver’s seat) “Yeah, this sounds like a great idea and not at all irresponsible of me!”
Me: “Buckle up kid. I’m a pro.”
Yeah, I wasn’t and Ex-Boyfriend Matt quickly demanded I pull over and give his keys back and he never ever asked me if I wanted to drive again. But the first time driving with my father was the best time ever and if by “best time ever” I mean horrible.
My dad told me one day during the week when I was a junior in high school that he wanted to start teaching me to drive. My first thought was “AWESOME I FINALLY GET TO DRIVE!” and my second thought was, “wait Lemon Lady when your father tries to teach you to do something and you’re not good at it you get very defensive and end up in tears with your father swearing at a very high decibel that no, he’s not in fact yelling at you… remember when he took you to the driving range and tried to teach you how to hit a golf ball?” But that thought was quickly covered up by, “AWESOME I FINALLY GET TO DRIVE!”
That weekend Dad drove me to the high school parking lot right there on base and handed over the keys to his Honda Accord. I got behind the wheel and waited patiently as he went over what every single button, knob, and gage’s purpose was. I waited while he spent 10 minutes making sure my seat and mirrors were adjusted perfectly. After what seemed like an eternity behind the wheel he finally let me turn the car on and drive down the parking lot row.
Me: (to myself) “OMFG! I’m driving!!!”
Dad: “Good job. Keep her at the same constant speed and get ready for to turn left at the end of the row and drive down the next row.”
Me: “Okay Dad, sure.” (to myself) “Yeah I’m going to turn this car. Watch me turn this fine Japanese automobile. You like that Accord? You like that nice and easy left hand turn?”
Dad: “Nice turn.”
Me: “Thanks.” (to myself) “Who has two thumbs and is the best left hand turner driving this car at this very moment? Me, that’s who.”
Dad: “Okay and pull to a stop right here.”
Me: (stopping) “Okay. Can we do right hand turns now? I’m sure I’ll be even more awesome at right hand turns.”
Dad: “Nope, let’s work on backing into this parking space.”
Yeah, you read that right. I had been driving for all of 37 seconds and my dad has me stop and try to back into a parking space! BACK INTO A PARKING SPACE!!! I didn’t even know if I could perform a right hand turn! For all I knew I was the Zoolander of driving and my father wanted to start on backing into parking spaces! Yeah, about 30 minutes later we were back home with me wanting to wash the tears off my face and my father wondering either A, “Why didn’t I have boys?” or B, “How F-ing hard is it to back into a parking space? What’s her problem?”
After that my mom and the driving school taught me to drive my senior year. I turned right on red without stopping once while driving with Mom and she freaked out. (Hello, we were fine…) But then she hurt herself and I had to drive her across San Antonio to the hospital before I had really driven on the highway in driving class. So, yup, that’s how my parents taught me to drive… backing into spaces before I knew what a turn signal was and driving my paralyzed mother, who could only lay in the front seat and pray I knew where I was going, to the Emergency Room when I should have been in 1st period.
I love my parents.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Introducing Ms. Hann And The Fact That Old Navy Doesn't Want Boyfriend's Feet To Be Warm...
Bare with my materialistic post today. I promise next week I’ll have a hilarious embarrassing story to share with you, but not today. Today is all about NOT living with 100 things, but going out into the world of commerce and buying things! (I love being an adult and having money and a pay check…)
I made two significant purchases yesterday on my day off.
The first is this beauty I picked up at the Nordstrom’s Simi Annual Sale.
She is Cole Haan and she is my new favorite thing. I’ve wanted a nice bag for a while. And hot damn if this isn’t a beautiful bag. She is the softest black pebbled leather with a gorgeous mahogany lining. The straps are the perfect length for carrying her over your shoulder or across your arms. The gold hardware works perfectly for me because I like and wear gold and it’s not gaudy and there isn’t a lot of it. Have I said she’s soft… she’s really soft.
Before Ms. Haan made it home with me yesterday the most I had ever spent on a handbag was probably 40 bucks, if that. Also, my handbag collection has seen better days, I mean really… it’s sad. When I moved into the new place this summer LSU Friend and I spent a good day going through my closet tossing and donating clothes, shoes, and handbags. I moved to the new place with one black knockoff Coach tote that Jew Boy (who’s not really Jewish, so it’s kinda a weird nickname) bought me on Canal Street in New York. The lining inside is ripping, but it looks better than my baby blue (real) Coach bag that I bought from someone’s car trunk with my old boss. That one is so dirty it more looks like a brown bag with something blue spilled on it. Oh and some Chick-Filet honey mustard sauce leaked in the inside. (Don’t judge me!) I own a canvas tote from Target with yellow straps and also Sister gave me a red satchel also from Target. Actually, when LSU Friend and I were going through all my bags last summer I realized that Sister has given me three purses for Christmas/My Birthday in let’s say the past 8 years and all of them have been red. I also own a silver clutch which I’m pretty sure I stole from my mom, and a black carpet bag that has a fun gold chain as straps, but they always break, so really they aren’t fun. That’s it. That’s my handbag collection. Ms Haan was needed.
After perusing the shoes at Nordstroms and resisting and telling myself I just dropped X amount of money on a handbag, I did what any girl my age would have done… I went to Old Navy. First of all let me point out that Old freaking Navy already has a Christmas tree up in the store and yes, they are already playing holiday music. Really? It was Halloween LAST WEEKEND!!! But I quickly got back into the retail state of mind when I saw on the rack what I was looking for… jeggings.
Yeah, you read that right, Jeggings. For y’all who don’t know what jeggings are (i.e. dad), jeggings are leggings that are made to look like jeans. For the past few years I have been avoiding the leggings trend because just the thought of wearing leggings took me back to elementary school when leggings were the only “bottoms” I would wear. I didn’t wear dresses or skirts or even jeans, I only wore bottoms that were fitted and stretchy and looked cool with my over sized Emmitt Smith T-Shirts and homemade holiday sweatshirts. However, Boyfriend has been begging me to wear leggings ever since he went to Amsterdam with his buddy, Caliman. He came back from the Netherlands all knowledgeable about fashion. This is his wisdom, “All the hot girls in Europe are wearing long shirts and sweater with tall boots and like really, really thick tights…” Once I explained to him that tights are not pants and they are called leggings he has been bothering me for the past two winters to wear leggings. I finally gave in.
I can’t go full legging yet. I’m just not there mentally. But, I was willing to try the whole jegging tread, so I loaded up a couple of styles in multiple sizes (because I never know what size I am at Old Navy) and headed to the dressing room. To my surprise, I didn’t hate them… In fact I kinda like them… a lot. So, I bought them and I’m wearing them right now tucked into the boots Boyfriend bought me while in Amsterdam with a short shirt dress from H&M and a sweater. So, Old Navy come through from me and let me try this trend for a fraction of the Nordstroms price, even during the sale.
Oh, I also learned that the new skinny leg, ankle capri cargo pants all the actresses and models are wearing this season, is not a good look if you have thighs. Just FYI…
Here’s my question for Old Navy… Why don’t they make fun, soft socks for men? You know those socks that I’m talking about… they are made from that synthetic material that feels like angel wings and puppy dog dreams.
Old Navy has them every year in fun colors and prints and they make perfect stocking stuffers. Well, they don’t make them for men. Why not? I mean I understand them not having the pink and silver sparkly ones, but why not some blues ones with footballs or something? I say this because for the past week Boyfriend has been stealing my socks. First to go were my elf socks because they are 500 times too big for me and thus actually sorta fit him. Then he moved on to my super soft Bath and Body Works socks, which annoyed me because they will stretch out too much. Then the other day I come home and he is laying on the couch with my multicolored rainbow ankle socks that Best Friend gave me on! WFT Boyfriend?!?! The thick socks I understand, but those ankle socks are no more thick and luscious than any of his plan white boring socks.
This is why I was so excited to see the fun socks at Old Navy. In my mind I thought, “I’ll buy him his own and then he’ll leave mind alone.” You see this is the problem with sharing a sock drawer, he thinks everything in it should belong to him. Um, no Boyfriend. So I walk to the men’s side of the store and find no socks. So, I found someone and asked them where the fun, super soft, holiday men’s socks are and the sales chick looked right at me and said, “Why would anyone want those?”
I wanted to scream at her, "Because my boyfriend is super weird!" but instead I just walked away thinking how bad a sales associate she was...
I made two significant purchases yesterday on my day off.
The first is this beauty I picked up at the Nordstrom’s Simi Annual Sale.
She is Cole Haan and she is my new favorite thing. I’ve wanted a nice bag for a while. And hot damn if this isn’t a beautiful bag. She is the softest black pebbled leather with a gorgeous mahogany lining. The straps are the perfect length for carrying her over your shoulder or across your arms. The gold hardware works perfectly for me because I like and wear gold and it’s not gaudy and there isn’t a lot of it. Have I said she’s soft… she’s really soft.Before Ms. Haan made it home with me yesterday the most I had ever spent on a handbag was probably 40 bucks, if that. Also, my handbag collection has seen better days, I mean really… it’s sad. When I moved into the new place this summer LSU Friend and I spent a good day going through my closet tossing and donating clothes, shoes, and handbags. I moved to the new place with one black knockoff Coach tote that Jew Boy (who’s not really Jewish, so it’s kinda a weird nickname) bought me on Canal Street in New York. The lining inside is ripping, but it looks better than my baby blue (real) Coach bag that I bought from someone’s car trunk with my old boss. That one is so dirty it more looks like a brown bag with something blue spilled on it. Oh and some Chick-Filet honey mustard sauce leaked in the inside. (Don’t judge me!) I own a canvas tote from Target with yellow straps and also Sister gave me a red satchel also from Target. Actually, when LSU Friend and I were going through all my bags last summer I realized that Sister has given me three purses for Christmas/My Birthday in let’s say the past 8 years and all of them have been red. I also own a silver clutch which I’m pretty sure I stole from my mom, and a black carpet bag that has a fun gold chain as straps, but they always break, so really they aren’t fun. That’s it. That’s my handbag collection. Ms Haan was needed.
After perusing the shoes at Nordstroms and resisting and telling myself I just dropped X amount of money on a handbag, I did what any girl my age would have done… I went to Old Navy. First of all let me point out that Old freaking Navy already has a Christmas tree up in the store and yes, they are already playing holiday music. Really? It was Halloween LAST WEEKEND!!! But I quickly got back into the retail state of mind when I saw on the rack what I was looking for… jeggings.
Yeah, you read that right, Jeggings. For y’all who don’t know what jeggings are (i.e. dad), jeggings are leggings that are made to look like jeans. For the past few years I have been avoiding the leggings trend because just the thought of wearing leggings took me back to elementary school when leggings were the only “bottoms” I would wear. I didn’t wear dresses or skirts or even jeans, I only wore bottoms that were fitted and stretchy and looked cool with my over sized Emmitt Smith T-Shirts and homemade holiday sweatshirts. However, Boyfriend has been begging me to wear leggings ever since he went to Amsterdam with his buddy, Caliman. He came back from the Netherlands all knowledgeable about fashion. This is his wisdom, “All the hot girls in Europe are wearing long shirts and sweater with tall boots and like really, really thick tights…” Once I explained to him that tights are not pants and they are called leggings he has been bothering me for the past two winters to wear leggings. I finally gave in.
I can’t go full legging yet. I’m just not there mentally. But, I was willing to try the whole jegging tread, so I loaded up a couple of styles in multiple sizes (because I never know what size I am at Old Navy) and headed to the dressing room. To my surprise, I didn’t hate them… In fact I kinda like them… a lot. So, I bought them and I’m wearing them right now tucked into the boots Boyfriend bought me while in Amsterdam with a short shirt dress from H&M and a sweater. So, Old Navy come through from me and let me try this trend for a fraction of the Nordstroms price, even during the sale.
Oh, I also learned that the new skinny leg, ankle capri cargo pants all the actresses and models are wearing this season, is not a good look if you have thighs. Just FYI…
Here’s my question for Old Navy… Why don’t they make fun, soft socks for men? You know those socks that I’m talking about… they are made from that synthetic material that feels like angel wings and puppy dog dreams.
Old Navy has them every year in fun colors and prints and they make perfect stocking stuffers. Well, they don’t make them for men. Why not? I mean I understand them not having the pink and silver sparkly ones, but why not some blues ones with footballs or something? I say this because for the past week Boyfriend has been stealing my socks. First to go were my elf socks because they are 500 times too big for me and thus actually sorta fit him. Then he moved on to my super soft Bath and Body Works socks, which annoyed me because they will stretch out too much. Then the other day I come home and he is laying on the couch with my multicolored rainbow ankle socks that Best Friend gave me on! WFT Boyfriend?!?! The thick socks I understand, but those ankle socks are no more thick and luscious than any of his plan white boring socks. This is why I was so excited to see the fun socks at Old Navy. In my mind I thought, “I’ll buy him his own and then he’ll leave mind alone.” You see this is the problem with sharing a sock drawer, he thinks everything in it should belong to him. Um, no Boyfriend. So I walk to the men’s side of the store and find no socks. So, I found someone and asked them where the fun, super soft, holiday men’s socks are and the sales chick looked right at me and said, “Why would anyone want those?”
I wanted to scream at her, "Because my boyfriend is super weird!" but instead I just walked away thinking how bad a sales associate she was...
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Could You Live With Only 100 Things?
I just read about a couple in Oregon who decided to rid themselves of “things”. They literally only own 100 things. They threw out junk, donated clothes, and gave away furniture and appliances. They left their lovely two bedroom apartment and now rent a small, 400 square foot studio. In fact they have no debts – no mortgage, credit card bills, or school loans. They only have four plates and four forks and four knives which they use instead of storing 12 place settings of wedding china they never used. They use one bottle of shampoo. They each have two sweaters. They ride their bikes everywhere. They can get away with the bike riding because they live in Davis, California (yes where Davis Girl lives). The only other place I’ve ever seen that is that bike friendly is Amsterdam.
Right, so this article really got me thinking about my “stuff” and “things” I own. What would I get rid of and what would I deem a necessity and try to find a place for in my 100 things. Only being about to have 100 things would be a great way to finally get me to clean out my junk basket. Owning 100 things would also mean I could make Boyfriend get rid of the surfboard that is under my bed. (Yes, Boyfriend has a surfboard that he has never used because we live NO WHERE NEAR THE F-ING BEACH!!!) I could throw out some old makeup and nail polish and boyfriend could toss the 100s of match books he grabs at every restaurant we go to. My house would be cleaner and less cluttered. I might be okay that in the entire home we only have one same closet, if we only have 100 things.
So, here’s my issue though, I like my stuff. My first big problem in only owning 100 things would be my book collection. I own, in my house, over 100 books (probably more like 200 or 300) and if I sat down and went through them I could probably only find like 15 to get rid of… 30 if you held a gun to my head. I love my books. They are my friends and each one holds memories of the first time I read them and the first time I finished a great read. I have books I’ve been reading since childhood that remind me of my mom and my sister because they would both read out loud to me. I still own my favorite History and American Studies books from college that I can’t get rid of. I’d much rather display my favorite books from my favorite classes than my degree. I have books friends have given me and books Boyfriend has bought me. Getting rid of my books or donating my books would be the hardest part.
Then there are the things I own that yes, are useless and no, I don’t need them to survive, but I like them. Pedro, my plant, is one of these. Pedro doesn’t do anything. He just stands (well kinda leans) in his pot by the TV all day every day. But I like him. I like looking at him. I like watering him. I like watching him grow. My plant makes me happy and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I also like my collection of teas. Boyfriend and I both drink tea (mostly in the winter) and we have ourselves a nice little collection that we keep in a basket above the oven. We have black tea and white tea and breakfast tea and peach tea and green tea and even cucumber tea. Could we live with only owning one type of tea? Yes. Could we live without tea? Yes. But do I want to? No. Another thing, well things, I would have a hard time parting with are my blankets and pillows. Do we need to sleep with six pillows? No. But I like my pillow situation. I like having fluffy pillows to sit up in bed while I read. I like the flat ones when I’m actually sleeping. We have a very nice duvet Boyfriend’s Sister got for us, but I can’t sleep without the blue blanket my mom bought me at IKEA when I moved into my first apartment because it gets nice and cold. Seriously if you just count what I’ve mentioned in this paragraph I’m already up to 15 things!
Other unnecessary things I would want to keep…
My photos in frames
My plug in neon flamingo
My regular washcloths and my exfoliate washcloth and my bubble bath
My computer, my mouse, my charger, and the extension cord that plugs it all into the wall
My kitchen table and two chairs (which we were just given to us from Boyfriend’s Mom)
My Crockpot, my food processor, my three cutting boards, and my recipe box
What about underwear! The article talked about the couple each having two pairs of shoes, one for warm weather and one for cold weather. They each own a jacket and a sweater, but what about underwear? Do they only own two pairs of panties and boxers? Does that mean they wash clothes every other day? Or did they use 14 of their 100 items to have a week’s worth of under garments?
Also, do you think they always have 100 things in the house or do you think they try to keep it at like 95 or 97 just in case of an emergency? Like when the woman has to buy tampons. Or maybe one of them gets sick and needs some NyQuil. Can you imagine spending all day at work congested and sick only then to have to ride your bike to the drugstore on your way home to then get home and have to get rid of something so you can bring your bottle of decongestant into the house. “Honey, I know you want that box of tissues, but if you want to step through these doors, you better throw out a pair of socks.” Then you have to wonder if the box of tissues counts as one thing or 150 things.
In fact, forget just underwear, what about clothes in general. Just sitting here typing this I have on shoes (which I’ll count the pair as just 1 thing), pants, shirt, sweater, scarf, bra, underwear, ring, watch, bracelet, rubber band, and earrings. 12 things! This means that my outfit would consist of over 10% of everything I owned.
Conclusion, we don’t live in cold war communist Russia, I’m going to keep my things.
What things could y’all totally not live without or do you think you could do the 100 item household?
Right, so this article really got me thinking about my “stuff” and “things” I own. What would I get rid of and what would I deem a necessity and try to find a place for in my 100 things. Only being about to have 100 things would be a great way to finally get me to clean out my junk basket. Owning 100 things would also mean I could make Boyfriend get rid of the surfboard that is under my bed. (Yes, Boyfriend has a surfboard that he has never used because we live NO WHERE NEAR THE F-ING BEACH!!!) I could throw out some old makeup and nail polish and boyfriend could toss the 100s of match books he grabs at every restaurant we go to. My house would be cleaner and less cluttered. I might be okay that in the entire home we only have one same closet, if we only have 100 things.
So, here’s my issue though, I like my stuff. My first big problem in only owning 100 things would be my book collection. I own, in my house, over 100 books (probably more like 200 or 300) and if I sat down and went through them I could probably only find like 15 to get rid of… 30 if you held a gun to my head. I love my books. They are my friends and each one holds memories of the first time I read them and the first time I finished a great read. I have books I’ve been reading since childhood that remind me of my mom and my sister because they would both read out loud to me. I still own my favorite History and American Studies books from college that I can’t get rid of. I’d much rather display my favorite books from my favorite classes than my degree. I have books friends have given me and books Boyfriend has bought me. Getting rid of my books or donating my books would be the hardest part.
Then there are the things I own that yes, are useless and no, I don’t need them to survive, but I like them. Pedro, my plant, is one of these. Pedro doesn’t do anything. He just stands (well kinda leans) in his pot by the TV all day every day. But I like him. I like looking at him. I like watering him. I like watching him grow. My plant makes me happy and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I also like my collection of teas. Boyfriend and I both drink tea (mostly in the winter) and we have ourselves a nice little collection that we keep in a basket above the oven. We have black tea and white tea and breakfast tea and peach tea and green tea and even cucumber tea. Could we live with only owning one type of tea? Yes. Could we live without tea? Yes. But do I want to? No. Another thing, well things, I would have a hard time parting with are my blankets and pillows. Do we need to sleep with six pillows? No. But I like my pillow situation. I like having fluffy pillows to sit up in bed while I read. I like the flat ones when I’m actually sleeping. We have a very nice duvet Boyfriend’s Sister got for us, but I can’t sleep without the blue blanket my mom bought me at IKEA when I moved into my first apartment because it gets nice and cold. Seriously if you just count what I’ve mentioned in this paragraph I’m already up to 15 things!
Other unnecessary things I would want to keep…
My photos in frames
My plug in neon flamingo
My regular washcloths and my exfoliate washcloth and my bubble bath
My computer, my mouse, my charger, and the extension cord that plugs it all into the wall
My kitchen table and two chairs (which we were just given to us from Boyfriend’s Mom)
My Crockpot, my food processor, my three cutting boards, and my recipe box
What about underwear! The article talked about the couple each having two pairs of shoes, one for warm weather and one for cold weather. They each own a jacket and a sweater, but what about underwear? Do they only own two pairs of panties and boxers? Does that mean they wash clothes every other day? Or did they use 14 of their 100 items to have a week’s worth of under garments?
Also, do you think they always have 100 things in the house or do you think they try to keep it at like 95 or 97 just in case of an emergency? Like when the woman has to buy tampons. Or maybe one of them gets sick and needs some NyQuil. Can you imagine spending all day at work congested and sick only then to have to ride your bike to the drugstore on your way home to then get home and have to get rid of something so you can bring your bottle of decongestant into the house. “Honey, I know you want that box of tissues, but if you want to step through these doors, you better throw out a pair of socks.” Then you have to wonder if the box of tissues counts as one thing or 150 things.
In fact, forget just underwear, what about clothes in general. Just sitting here typing this I have on shoes (which I’ll count the pair as just 1 thing), pants, shirt, sweater, scarf, bra, underwear, ring, watch, bracelet, rubber band, and earrings. 12 things! This means that my outfit would consist of over 10% of everything I owned.
Conclusion, we don’t live in cold war communist Russia, I’m going to keep my things.
What things could y’all totally not live without or do you think you could do the 100 item household?
Monday, November 1, 2010
I Almost Ate An Entire Bag of Halloween Candy Just to Prove Boyfriend Wrong...
I almost had a small heart attack last night. I thought, just for a second or two, I wasn’t going to have any trick-or-treaters come to my door. I’ve been excepting kiddos to come to my house on Halloween ever since we moved in last summer, but I’ve been trying to down play how excited I was because last year when I thought I would have trick-or-treaters I didn’t get any and Boyfriend made fun of me for buying and crap load of candy. This year I didn’t buy any crazy decorations or dish out 12.99 for a pumpkin and I only bought one bag of candy.
6:00PM Halloween Night…
Boyfriend: (talking to me on the couch while I’m reading and he’s watching football) “You need to go pick up the Laundry.”
Me: “Doesn’t the place close at 9? I’m not going now because the trick-or-treaters will be here very soon.”
Boyfriend: “We aren’t going to have any trick-or-treaters!”
Me: “Yes, we are and when they come to my door I will be there with candy for them!”
Boyfriend: “Fine. I’ll go get the laundry.”
Me: “I’ll go. I just won’t go until later, after the kids come begging for sugar.”
Boyfriend: “No, you’re right. You’ve been waiting to this all weekend. (Um, more like since June) You stay. I’ll go and I’ll pick up another bag of candy on the way home. But, before you get all excited about the hundreds of kids that will tramping up and down our front stairs, why don’t you look out the window.”
Me: “Why, what’s outsi… WFT?!?!?!”
Yeah, so here I am defending the children of my neighborhood from evil Boyfriend who doesn’t think they will come and ask for treats and I look outside and see kids with their parents SKIPPING OVER MY HOUSE!!!
Me: “What the F? Are we not good enough for those little brats? Is our house not cool enough? Do we deserve to be the bottom feeders of our street because we didn’t shell out hard earned money for a black light or black trash bags to make a haunted house? (Thank you over achieving neighbors across the street.)”
Boyfriend: “They clearly are discriminating against us because it is obvious we are a rental and that means we are young and have no kids and must do lots of drugs and poison candy.”
Me: “So what if we rent! Does that mean my Kit Kats aren’t as good as Mr. Long Time Resident across the street? Hell no! And so what if we poison our candy, isn’t that what parents are for? Good parenting is not not letting your kid go to rental house. Good parenting is checking the candy for poison and razor blades before their little brats eat it!”
Boyfriend: “Why don’t you just sit outside? Then everyone will know you’re not creepy and they will let their kids take candy from you."
Me: “And get eaten alive my mosquitoes? I don’t think so.”
It’s at about this time in the conversation that three kids have passed up our house (I know this because I keep peering out the front window) and Boyfriend leaves to go pick up our laundry. I sit on the couch getting madder and madder.
Me: (totally internally now) “Pass by my house. Snobs! All of you. Just because there isn’t a Lexus under my carport… Besides those kids were all alone with their parents. No friends, no siblings… They were probably the really over baring, protective types that didn’t have kids until they were 45. Snobs. This is what I get for living in central Austin. If we lived down south or up north this wouldn’t have happened. Kids would be lining up for my Almond Joys.”
A few minutes of stewing later…
Me: (again to myself) “What if no one really does come? Boyfriend is going to rub it in for weeks that I hid candy from him so he wouldn’t eat it, just to have no trick-or-treaters anyway. (Grabbing a Hershey’s Bar) Maybe I should just eat it all. Yeah, I’ll eat it all and then when boyfriend comes back I’ll just tell him we had a crazy big rush and it’s all gone and why didn’t he pick up another bag of candy while he was out. And I’ll take all the wrappers out and throw them away in my neighbor’s trash can. Or I don’t have to eat all the candy, but save some of it in my underwear drawer. Yeah, that way I’ll have some left over… Reeses Peanut Butter Cups for a few months sounds like a good plan to me.”
Luckily before I started smashing chocolate in my mouth there was a loud knock at my door followed by the beautiful music that is, “Trick or Treat!”
I had lots of very cute kids come to my door. Snow White was very popular and so was Spider Man. My favorite was a girl who looked about 10 in a gypsy costume. The cutest was a tie between a little guy dressed up as a dinosaur who cried when his mother picked him up to walk down my porch stairs because he wanted to walk them by himself. This seemed like a pretty reasonable request to me, and I watched as his mom put him back at the top of the stairs and he slowly walked them all by himself. The other cutie was a robot of about 4 who came to the door with his little sister (3 maybe) who was dressed up like a mermaid. He made sure she held her bag open and told me not to give her candy until she said, “trick or treat” then he got his candy, looked me straight in the eye and said, “You have a very happy Halloween.” I told him, “Yes Sir, I’ll try.”
6:00PM Halloween Night…
Boyfriend: (talking to me on the couch while I’m reading and he’s watching football) “You need to go pick up the Laundry.”
Me: “Doesn’t the place close at 9? I’m not going now because the trick-or-treaters will be here very soon.”
Boyfriend: “We aren’t going to have any trick-or-treaters!”
Me: “Yes, we are and when they come to my door I will be there with candy for them!”
Boyfriend: “Fine. I’ll go get the laundry.”
Me: “I’ll go. I just won’t go until later, after the kids come begging for sugar.”
Boyfriend: “No, you’re right. You’ve been waiting to this all weekend. (Um, more like since June) You stay. I’ll go and I’ll pick up another bag of candy on the way home. But, before you get all excited about the hundreds of kids that will tramping up and down our front stairs, why don’t you look out the window.”
Me: “Why, what’s outsi… WFT?!?!?!”
Yeah, so here I am defending the children of my neighborhood from evil Boyfriend who doesn’t think they will come and ask for treats and I look outside and see kids with their parents SKIPPING OVER MY HOUSE!!!
Me: “What the F? Are we not good enough for those little brats? Is our house not cool enough? Do we deserve to be the bottom feeders of our street because we didn’t shell out hard earned money for a black light or black trash bags to make a haunted house? (Thank you over achieving neighbors across the street.)”
Boyfriend: “They clearly are discriminating against us because it is obvious we are a rental and that means we are young and have no kids and must do lots of drugs and poison candy.”
Me: “So what if we rent! Does that mean my Kit Kats aren’t as good as Mr. Long Time Resident across the street? Hell no! And so what if we poison our candy, isn’t that what parents are for? Good parenting is not not letting your kid go to rental house. Good parenting is checking the candy for poison and razor blades before their little brats eat it!”
Boyfriend: “Why don’t you just sit outside? Then everyone will know you’re not creepy and they will let their kids take candy from you."
Me: “And get eaten alive my mosquitoes? I don’t think so.”
It’s at about this time in the conversation that three kids have passed up our house (I know this because I keep peering out the front window) and Boyfriend leaves to go pick up our laundry. I sit on the couch getting madder and madder.
Me: (totally internally now) “Pass by my house. Snobs! All of you. Just because there isn’t a Lexus under my carport… Besides those kids were all alone with their parents. No friends, no siblings… They were probably the really over baring, protective types that didn’t have kids until they were 45. Snobs. This is what I get for living in central Austin. If we lived down south or up north this wouldn’t have happened. Kids would be lining up for my Almond Joys.”
A few minutes of stewing later…
Me: (again to myself) “What if no one really does come? Boyfriend is going to rub it in for weeks that I hid candy from him so he wouldn’t eat it, just to have no trick-or-treaters anyway. (Grabbing a Hershey’s Bar) Maybe I should just eat it all. Yeah, I’ll eat it all and then when boyfriend comes back I’ll just tell him we had a crazy big rush and it’s all gone and why didn’t he pick up another bag of candy while he was out. And I’ll take all the wrappers out and throw them away in my neighbor’s trash can. Or I don’t have to eat all the candy, but save some of it in my underwear drawer. Yeah, that way I’ll have some left over… Reeses Peanut Butter Cups for a few months sounds like a good plan to me.”
Luckily before I started smashing chocolate in my mouth there was a loud knock at my door followed by the beautiful music that is, “Trick or Treat!”
I had lots of very cute kids come to my door. Snow White was very popular and so was Spider Man. My favorite was a girl who looked about 10 in a gypsy costume. The cutest was a tie between a little guy dressed up as a dinosaur who cried when his mother picked him up to walk down my porch stairs because he wanted to walk them by himself. This seemed like a pretty reasonable request to me, and I watched as his mom put him back at the top of the stairs and he slowly walked them all by himself. The other cutie was a robot of about 4 who came to the door with his little sister (3 maybe) who was dressed up like a mermaid. He made sure she held her bag open and told me not to give her candy until she said, “trick or treat” then he got his candy, looked me straight in the eye and said, “You have a very happy Halloween.” I told him, “Yes Sir, I’ll try.”
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