Friday, October 31, 2008

friday shoes

Before I get going on the shoes, I've got to share this ridiculousness. It's Halloween and hubs just broke off one of the caps on his tooth. From chewing on a Kit Kat.

Somewhere I can hear the dentist laughing.

Anyways. Back to business.

You'd be hard pressed to find a pair of boots that I wouldn't wear. This blog proves that almost every Friday. So you shouldn't be surprised to find that this weeks Friday shoes are, of course, boots. The 'Polta' Boot by Jessica Simpson, my friends.

Okay, hold on.
When the boot is "by" Jessica Simpson, what does that mean? I mean, this blog is "by" me, right? I write it, I toil over it, I take the heat if I write something stupid or

(often)

totally inappropriate. But does Jess really sit down and design these boots while eating her tuna? Or, do hundreds of underpaid 9-year-olds figure everything out and she stamps her name on it? Seriously, this bothers me. What are the requirements for having the word "by" on a clothing, shoe, perfume line?

Just wonderin'. Oh, and don't hate on me. I totally love Jessica Simpson. I cried the day 'Newlyweds' went under.

And, for the record, I think they should have done a show about the divorce. That would have been killer. And they wouldn't have had to start "Laguna Beach" to fill in the time slot.)

You'll hear lots more about me loving Jessica when December gets here and I start listening to her Christmas album every chance I get.

Hubs loves that.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

do, re, meme

Rose meme'd me. This is basically an internet chain letter in which you get to tell the world about yourself via your blog. And we all know I'm a card-carrying narcissict. I therefore have no qualms with filling this puppy out. And we're off:

The rules of the “6 Random Things About Me Meme”:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged,leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

6 random things about me. Since I recently did a
list like this, I'll try to make these items even more random.
  1. I'm a semi-huge germ-a-phobe. Bathroom doors, restaurant dining tables and especially escalator hand rails send me into a panicked frenzy to locate some Purrell.
  2. I can wiggle my ears without touching them.
  3. In 2nd grade, I got busted for writing a love letter to Matthew Holloman, telling him I wanted to hold his hand at the skating rink. I was such a slut.
  4. Every word I see, I must try and determine what it would sound like backwards. (example: computer is retupmoc.) I 'm sure there's some psychological reason for this, but I have no idea what it is.
  5. One of my favorite songs of all time is "Africa" by Toto.
  6. I used to have a complete and detailed list of every boy I had ever kissed. I don't know where the list went. I just remember some of the names of the people on it were "Guy in Green Hat at The Hawk" and "Derrik/Erik, can't remember first name."

So basically, I'm a Forgetful Slutty Germaphobic Circus Freak. Nice.

There you go. Six random things about me. I can't think of six people to tag, so we'll just do four. Alissa, Erin, Jolene and Bess, you're up. If you wanna.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

i want my MTV

However will great grandma know how to order the Jitterbug Phone if she can't find the number on the telly?

color me jealous



Dior Show Mascara in Black Out - $24

Eyelash Comb - $7

Primo Make-up Mirror- $85

Knowing your precious baby girl will never need any of it - Priceless

This is my friend's brand new baby. She is priceless in herself, but when I saw this pic of her eyelashes I threw myself down on the floor screaming, "WHYYYY can't I have those??" Less than six months old and she's already got this grown women jealous of her.

But really, I'm doing her a favor. She should get used to vindictive jealousy early. Women are bitches when we smell competition. I'm pretty sure she just smells like Johnson and Johnson's baby lotion, but still...

Monday, October 27, 2008

hangin' with mr. hangover

I drank too much on Saturday night. Or... maybe I drank just the right amount but my age had too many numbers in it on Saturday night.

Seriously.

I don't get it. In college, I used to go out with my girls on Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, drink endless beers/vodka tonics/cosmos (paid for by nerdy guys we thanked then ignored) and still function well enough to work a part time job and think about going to class.

(Notice I said "think". Not necessarily attend.)

Point is, when did having only four or five drinks on a Saturday night suddenly render me incapable of getting off the couch on Sunday? Hubs and I spent practically ALL of yesterday having conversations like this:

Hubs: Ughhhh...ohhhh...ahhhh...uggghhhh!

Me: (irritated) What?

Hubs: My head hurts.

Me: (trying to sound tough and choking back nausea.) I'll get you Tylenol. I'm not feeling too bad.

Hubs: No, no. I'll get it, I just need a minute.

Me: (Thanking God I don't have to move.) Oh, okay. Let me know if I should get it.

Silence for three minutes.

Hubs: UUGHHHH...OOHHHH...AHHH..UGGHHH!!!!

Me: (through gritted teeth) What?

Hubs: My head hurts.

Me: I. Will. Get. You. Tylenol.

Hubs: No, no. It's okay, I just need to sleep.

Me: (rubbing head and wondering why room is still spinning) Okay, I'm going to go downstairs and watch some TV. I can't sleep anymore.

Hubs: (gaily leaping out of bed) Oooh, the Jets are playing Chiefs today! I'll be down in just a second.



(Okay, admittedly I'm taking (huge) creative liberties here. But for real, football really does fix everything if you're a dude.)

So anyways, yesterday was pretty much a lost cause for both me and hubs. And that's okay. Our weekends are generally so jam packed with grown up adult stuff, it was a nice change to be selfish and spend our weekend doing things we regretted the next day.

(Although I do not regret the $23.00 I raked in at the casino. Miss Moneybags, baby.)

And I learned some new things this weekend.

....Craps doesn't make sense. Even if you stand and watch it for 20 minutes and have someone explain it to you.

....Slot machines are the adult equivalent of a Baby Einstein Adventure Gym. Bells, whistles, lights, sounds. It's all very, very good.

....If the words "don't drink anymore" creep through your head at any point during the night, listen carefully. And obey.

Friday, October 24, 2008

friday shoes


Although I am (supposed to be) an adult, I find it great fun not to act like one.

Ever.

These rain boots will undoubtedly help me in that endeavor.

Though it might be dreary and wet outside, you can always count on a big *splash* in flashy plastic boots to make you feel better.

And 10 years younger.

Without Botox.

They're only $25 Wahington's over at Target. Go get 'ya some.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

it's bananas!

Leave it to my bestie to provide the blog content for the morning.

(Oh wait, first things first. Ben was totally amazing. Just as I had imagined. Though he did not dedicate any songs to my shoes. Nobody's perfect.)

So, anyways. Back to today.

This morning Erin sends me and some friends an email with no words. Just a link. From the Home Shopping Network.

YESSSSS!

I'm all for shopping (just ask hubs) so I think this is going to be a hot pair of shoes, or maybe a handbag I can't live without.

Instead I am met with this image.


Holy dildo.

Immediately the email thread blows up. There are 14 email responses to this gadget in three seconds.

I mean, really. Look at it. It would fit in better on Priscilla's web-site.

Apparently this thing, (aptly called a
Banana Bunker) helps you carry your banana around without it bruising. Or as the advertisement states, "Looking for an easier way to pack a banana on the go?"

How did that sentence get approved ? Are they that unaware of how dirty Americans' minds are?

(I swear I want to buy this thing and put it in hubs undies drawer just to see what he does.)

In all seriousness, though. Logistically, I can see that this...contraption...would work. No one wants a bruised banana. They taste weird and get too soft.

(Omg. Even when I'm trying to make this sound clean, it comes out like Jenna Jameson speak.)

So I can understand why someone would want to own one. It keeps your banana fresh and black-spot free. (There's a tag line for a Trojan commerical.) And, you know, let's say for instance you don't currently have any bananas that need sheltering. The Banana Bunker could forseeably serve a second purpose. Like, say, if you're lonely....

It's fruity double duty.

(Did I go too far?)

Really, though, with the holiday season coming up, how great would this thing be for one of those White Elephant parties? Ten bucks spent and you've got a conversation piece for the entire night.

Maybe don't buy one for grandma. Heart attacks are no laughing matter.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

for the record

Tonight is going to be a good one.

I get to see Ben Folds in concert for the first time. I love him. No really. I'm serious.

(Love him like, 13-year-old school girl with a bad perm and braces crying and screaming "BEEENNNN!! I LOVE YOU!!! I HAVE EVERY ALBUM YOU EVER WROTE AND FORGED YOUR SIGNATURE ON THEM JUST SO I COULD FEEL LIKE I'VE MET YOUUUUUUU!!")

(Okay I never had a perm, bad or good. But it makes the story better.)

You might be wondering why, if I love this man's music so much, I have not yet attended one of his concerts in my 27 years of life. The answers always look better in a list, yes?

#1. At the height of Ben Folds' career (a la the 1990's) I was spending my money on more important things. Tickets to Ben Fold's Five back then cost like, $25.00. That equaled one amazing (and fuzzy memoried) night on Mass Street or 8 solid days of Taco Bell goodness. I had to have priorities.

#2. I don't go to concerts alone. (Mostly because there'd be no one to drive me home) Unfortunately when my Benny Boo came to town, my ex had no interest in attending, despite the fact that I dragged my ass to a Bloodhound Gang concert for him. I even bought a T-shirt. (Which quickly shrunk into oblivion. Kind of like the Bloodhound Gang.)

#3. Ben is a good guy. He understands concert money sometimes gets spent earlier than anticipated. I mean, let's be truthful. I'd blow my family's Christmas present money in a heartbeat if the right pair of boots went on sale. And Ben's really not even family...so there you go.

(And besides, I have this fantastical fantasy in my head that tonight I'll meet him. He'll shake my hand, look at my feet and say, "I knew someday you'd come to my show. Your shoes are fabulous, so it was worth the wait.")

So that's the deal. Lack of money and emotionally unavailable ex's have prevented me from witnessing a true musician do his thing. But that ends tonight. I now have money (kinda, number 3 on the list is still in effect). Plus I have an amazing hubs who's willing to come along as I watch Ben sing the song that was played during our wedding.

(Or should I say that was supposed to play. Mr. Music Dude had one job. Play the ceremony music on the CD at the appropriate time. "The Luckiest" was to play at the Unity Candle lighting. The whole song. Not 17 seconds worth. Jackass.)

(Hubs doesn't remember, nor care about the song. I'm not positive he even knows we lit a candle of any kind.)

Below is that Unity Candle song that I'm so hoping to hear tonight.

I'll let you know if Ben dedicates any songs to my shoes.


Monday, October 20, 2008

who do you love?

Have you ever hated someone? I mean like grit-your-teeth-bite-your-lip-resist-the-urge-to-throw-them-against-the-wall-and-really-hurt them hate someone?

(The answer is yes. We keep it real here, kids.)

We're built to experience a plethora of emotions. Love just as much as hate, right? Obviously we can't love everyone. (There can only be one
Tammy Faye Bakker.) In this life, there are those people who naturally just grate on our nerves from time to time. And that's okay.

(Sometimes it may even be your hubs. Ahem.)

But then there are also those individuals that go beyond annoyance or even simple dislike. These people make us shiver with hostility. Quiver with loathing. They inspire us to spit out words that our innocent little mouths would never dream of saying. And it's generally because they totally deserve it.

(You know you feel this way about someone. Don't be passing judgement on me.)

The great thing is, people we truly despise can generally be avoided. We know where they are, we know where they hang out. For the most part, we can always count on our super sleuth abilities to avoid a nasty confrontation.

(You surely had tons of practice with this in college. Example: "Can't hit up ( fill in bar name here) on Saturday. That crazy dude I made out with on the pool table will be there for sure." Sound familiar?)

Anyways.

Unfortunately, despite all of our superb and expert plotting to avoid seeing whomever it may be, we simply can't avoid that pesky little thing called:

Fate.

And so, there you are, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, blissfully unaware of impending doom. And then *BAM*, you turn the corner at the effing Price Chopper and there they are. Your enemy. Face to face. You've nowhere to go but down the baking aisle.

(And let's face it, we all know I have no business in the baking section.)

So what do you do? (Obviously this happened to me, so allow me to tell you what I did. )

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Aren't you so proud of me? Here I am, a girl with one of the worst tempers in the history of human kind, and I was head on with the person I hate most in the world.

And. Walked. Away.

Praise be to Jesus.

I don't know if it was my less than stellar reaction time, or if it was the fact that I was in a great mood from the fantastic weekend with hubs and the kiddies. But I did nothing.

(And trust me, I have been plotting my words to this person for over a year,
Charlotte style.)

Don't get me wrong, I'm still carrying plenty of misgivings around with me. (I think it' healthy.) And should I be granted another chance to be in front of this person, I might not be so silent the second time around.

Although, perhaps enough time and massively coordinated FBI-like avoidance has passed, and I can just live and let live. Maybe I have grown into a bigger person (without expanding my ass). Maybe I could be placed directly in front of this person, look them in the eye and actually wish them well before walking away with my head held high.

But I wouldn't count on it.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

all in the family

As much as I love snarky and sarcastic posts about life, tonight I find myself snark blocked. I had way too much fun with hubs and the girls this weekend taking fall pictures and carving pumpkins to come up with anything minutely snappy.

Instead, take a (probably much needed) break from my normal sarcasm and enjoy the pics me and hubs took of the family this weekend.


Click to play Fall 2008

Create your own slideshow - Powered by Smilebox
Make a Smilebox slideshow

Friday, October 17, 2008

the air up there


Feeling meek? Unnoticed? Inconsequential, even? Maybe a little like Amos in "Chicago"? No worries, we've all been there. And baby I've got your cure.

Stuart Weitzman never ever ever lets me down. I give you the Mega Oxford. It is impossible not be noticed in these polished puppies.

I am over the moon about these shoes. And with that heel height, I could get there. Literally.

Thing is, I have nothing to wear with them.(A problem easily solved by a trip to Nordstrom.)

Some advice for you lovely readers: with these heels, I would make like Oprah and stay seated for much of the time you wear them. On the flip side, when you do stand up, the air you'll breathe will be fresher than usual.

So you ask, "if I'm sitting behind a desk, how will anyone notice my shoes?" Oh, ye of little imagination. Sitck out your tootsie and trip someone as they walk by your cube. Dangerous? Maybe, but I do actually know someone who met her boyfriend by accidentally tripping him in a similar style

They say love happens by chance. I say only if you're wearing the wrong shoes.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

master of the runway

Did I mention I totally love reality TV? And Bravo, which is essentially crack for reality TV watchers.

Last night was the finale of Project Runway, and my girl Leanne Marshall totally kicked ass. Her line was inspired by waves, without being totally obvious and cliche. Not an easy thing to do. And her wedding dress was a show stopper. Must. Have. It.

(I would resembl a large white Easter peep in it, but it'd still be nice to have in my closet.)




I gotta say, I'm so glad Leanne won. Kenley was for real on my last nerve with her whiny excuses. Yes, the girl has talent, but was I really the only one that wanted to yank the flower pot right out of her hair?
Newsflash Kenley: just because your models are doing it, doesn't mean you should be. It looks like your head has sprung a leak and all that's in there is foilage.

run from the (high)light!

I love hair. And hair products. And hair styles.

What can I say, I'm a girl. Hair love come with the territory.

Throughout junior high and high school, my tresses were every different color of the rainbow. Blonde, red, brown, green (when I went from blonde to brown too quickly) and black. I've had short hair, long hair, unintentional mullets and split ends that rival Medusa.

In college, I'd love to say I calmed down.

(Unfortunatley, I hate lying in print. It's too easy to fact check.)

No, in college my two roommates Robin and Erin joined me in the evilness of damaging our locks. Together with our best friend L'oreal, we secured the inevitable - our hair will have completely fallen out by 2018. (It probably didn't help matters that we were buzzed on Natty Light while participating in these hair dye/ratting/curling/straightening sessions. Class all the way.)


That time in my life I often refer to as the Tress Stress Era.

But now, I'm grown up and mature and all that (stop laughing). I have finally become comfortable in my own, natural skin. But not my own, natural hair color. I've been blonde for 2 years now, courtesy of that magical blue stuff my stylist mixes in her little tub. I love being blonde. I was blonde at my wedding, blonde when I got my job, and blonde when I met hubs.

Wait.

No I wasn't. I was a brunette.

*gasp*

Perhaps that explains why hubs mentioned last night that he was looking through our engagement pictures at work and was totally digging my brown hair.

Of course, he assured me that he loves my hair just as it is right now. (A lie always precedes a truth, no? Maybe that's just me.) However, if I felt like maaaaaybe trying out brunette again, now would be a great time to do it since, after all, autumn is in full swing.

(Ps- how clever is hubs in bringing up that dark hair is sooo fall? He is feeding on my fashion muscle, which is, natch, the weakest one I have. Unless you count my abs. Whatev.)

As usual, hubs is right. (Although I would never tell him that. Always keep 'em guessing, ladies.)


And so, I have decided to part with my Heidi Klum hair and go back to something a bit darker. (Not like SJP did on SATC though. I'm not all about trying to bury my identity and look creepy/sleepy.)

Of course I will post photos...if I'm happy with the result. Otherwise, I'm perfectly willing to going back to my blonde the very next day, regardless of how much it will damage the hair.

Guess my college days aren't gone after all.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

blind eye on the prize

I have always considered myself a rather perceptive person. When I talk to friends and family, I am constantly analyzing what they're saying, what they truly mean deep in their souls and why they are the way they are.

(This analyzing side of me is just another facet of my rapidly growing paranoia, because I'm also often wondering if whomever I am speaking with actually hates me and is trying to cover it up.)

Because I categorize myself as perceptive, I also have always assumed that I am observant. The two seem to go hand in hand. However, last night I discovered that perceptively observant is, for me, a ship that sailed long ago.

At 6:00 last night, I drive over to Amanda's house. (She's yet another fab friend I met while in one of my first "big girl" jobs.) Amanda's hubs has been out of town on business for almost two weeks, and she is in need of girl time. I am, of course, more than happy to oblige. We dine on chips and guac and pasta.

(I never said Girl's Night meals made sense, only that they are delicious.)

We happily settle in her living room and watch Sex and the City The Movie. (Further fueling my desire to write a long list of successful books and novels.) It is fabulous fun. We eat, we laugh, we have a few glasses of wine.

At 8:58 I get a text from hubs wishing to know when I will be home. He is in bed, snuggled up and watching TV.

This is highly unusual, as Hubs is a bit of a night owl. If his eyes close much before 12:00, he either has a headache or I "inspired" him to go to bed early. (I'll leave it at that. My parents read this.)

He's in bed this early without me. He must really miss me, yes?

At 9:45, I hug and air smooch Amanda goodbye and head home. As expected, hubs is upstairs, tucked in bed watching a movie. I sit next to him and watch a few seconds of the movie, before getting into my PJ's and snuggling up next to him. But something feels....off. Something is different.

Hubs asks if I had a lot to drink or something.

I say no.

He asks if I would like to get up and turn on the fan.

I say no, I'm way too comfy.

We watch a few seconds of commercials together.

He asks again if I would like to turn on the fan.

I repeat that no, I will do it later for crying out loud don't you understand that I am super comfy at this moment and just wish to snuggle with you.

A little confused, I turn around on my back and watch whatever HGTV do-it-yourself show is on the television.

The really large television.

I freeze.

Our TV has grown in size and flattened out considerably. My 26" Magnavox tube television circa 1903 has vanished. I slowly manage to mumble out, "Waaaait a minute..."

Hubs explodes in laughter and it all finally makes sense. Obviously he went to bed early after craftily buying and installing this new 32" flat screen that we've been saving for. He assumed I would come in from Amanda's, lay next to him and immediately discover this new addition to our home. Obviously he failed to observe that my observation skill are shit.

In total, I had probably watched a good 6 minutes of the new TV with my own eyes before noticing anything different. No wonder hubs was curious about my drink count for the evening.

Needless to say, I have the greatest hubby in the world. I love that he totally surprised me with something that I've wanted for so long, and didn't even make me wait until Christmas.

(Maybe because he knew I would break down and buy it eventually, anyway. I'm impatient like that.)

In the end, every day is a chance for self discovery. Last night I discovered that a 9' aluminum Christmas tree could be placed in my bedroom with tiny elves dancing the Macarena around it, and I wouldn't notice a damn thing.

Oh well, I now have 32 inches worth of screen to make me forget all about it.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

you gotta have friends, version 1.0

I just realized something. Approximately 40% of the people I talk to on a regular basis are:

a) living in a different city

b) friends that I haven't seen in 5-10 years

c) colleagues that I see for minutes at a time when I'm pimping my carpet line

d) are on Bravo and don't know me. I just speak to them while watching their shows.
(example: "NO,
Rachel Zoe! Don't put up with Taylor's attitude! Fire her!")

Is this a bad thing? I say no. I love keeping up with people I knew in high school, college, and kindergarten. I totally love visiting my clients at their offices or taking them to lunch. And my friends who live far away always give me something to look forward to. (Road trips and vay-cay, here I come!!)

(As for Bravo people, I'll just continue with the relationship role I already have. Psycho at-home reality TV watcher that helps boosts ratings. I know my place.)

People we don't see constantly often know the most about us. We share stories via emails, blogs and phone calls and those are the avenues in which I think we are most honest. So allow me to share a few of my best e-mail/blog/phone/clients/friends that I love so very, very much.

Erin: You hear me talk about her all the time. Besties since kin-de-garden, she was the first friend to sleep over at my house. I stole her Care Bear pillow in my sleep and we've been attached ever since. With Erin I have:

  • broken her wrist while roller skating (if I was going down, someone was going down with me)
  • eaten copious amounts of chicken tenders and macaroni and cheese as a post-hangover cure (doesn't work. Taco Bell is the answer)
  • gone through some really questionable dark lipstick phases
  • survived the 80's with minimal pictures of neon clothing as proof
  • participated in several late night Richard Simmon's workouts
  • gotten blitzed on Captain Morgan and Pepsi as KU dorm mates
  • stood by her side as she married her high school sweetheart
  • watched as she became the cutest pregnant chick in the world, all while being my matron of honor
  • said good-bye as she moved with her hubs and baby girl to Dallas
Erin has a cute as pink punch blog where you can witness her many Dallas experiences. We talk all the time and plan to one day open an event planning company in which we get to party all the time. And buy Prada with the profits.

Judy: Everyone else calls her Judith, but I refuse. I met Judy as a sophomore at KU. She sat next to me on the first day of Design 101. She had all her school supplies. I was missing a ruler, paper, pencils, T-square, eraser, book, markers and syllabus. She lent me all of them and wondered how this person managed to get accepted to college.

Through the last 6 or 7 years, Judy has become the ying to my yang. I make a mess, she helps clean it up (with notes on how to prevent it next time). She wants to proceed cautiously, I tell her to down a shot of vodka and go for it (whatever "it" may be) with reckless abandon. We are the quintessential opposites that attract. And we shop constantly. Unlike everyone else on this list, Judy lives here in KC, so I see her all the time. Which is bad for my bank account.

Judy has a hubs, two dogs and a cat and is one of the smartest and most creative chicks I know. She can whip up a new pair of shorts out of a trash bag in like, 2 minutes. She's a fashion McGyver. And she gives fab advice, even when I don't want to hear it. We plan to someday start a realistic greeting card company (with genres like "So Sorry to Hear Your BC Failed and You're Preggers", or "I Really Hate You as a Boss but I Feel Obligated to Give You a Birthday Card"). We always keep it real.

Judy has a blog, but it's a journal of her life and only I am cool enough to read it.

Alissa: Alissa is one of my afore mentioned clients, but she is also a friend to both me and hubs. She participated in college with hubs and therefore probably knows things I never want to hear. Alissa is an interior designer and is super chic/elegant. She knows a lot about everything. As a fab designer with impeccable taste and a hankering for all things design (and wedding), she of course has a blog.

Someday when I open my "Event Business" with Erin and my "Realistic Card" business with Judy, we will be hiring Alissa as creative director.

Jen: Jen is my (not much older) cousin, and in keeping with everyone else on this list, is super fab. I've obviously known her all my life, and yet never really get to know her until the invention of the internet. Her blog about family, photography ventures and card design has taught me loads about her, and made me a cute little cyber friend/relative all at the same time. In addition, Jen has about 39483094 friends with blogs (all listed on her site) and they're all super presh and creative. So check them out, too.

PS- I am insanely jealous of Jen. She runs marathons. Like they are a walk in the park. I attempt to run two miles and am begging for the sweet Lord to take me home. Perhaps that is why my jeans don't fit like they used to. Jen could wear a flour sack and look hot.

Rose: You know that friend in high school that kept you in stitches during the most boring class on earth? That was Rose for me. We survived Mrs. King's chemistry class together in our junior year of high school. I don't remember much educationally from the class, but I do remember dating one hell of a jerk (again, we'll cover that another day) at the time. I'm fairly certain I made Rose endure a lot of tales about how much I loved him and how sexxy it was that he was in the Marines. Oy. Thankfully, Rose made it through that class and the horrible stories I subjected her to, and now has a man of her own to brag about. And of course, she has a blog about her day to day life.

So there you go, peeps. A handful of blogs that I follow from people that I've grown to love love love. If you look at my blog roll, you'll see there are several other bloggers there (and I love them, too) so they will be addressed in "you gotta have friends, version 2.0"

Happy reading...I'm off to watch Bravo.

Monday, October 13, 2008

because you didn't know

My friend Rose from high school had this idea back in January. Since I have no shame I am going to straight up jack it from her and use it as my own.

I've had some new readers in the last week, thanks to Rose and Jen putting me on their blogroll. And I realized many of you may not know much about me.

(Additionally, you may have no desire to know anything. And that's cool. If that's the case, skip this blog entry and wait for the next. No offense will be taken.)

Fortunately for you, I'm not interesting enough to have 100 things to share about myself. I had to stop at 35.
  1. I LOVE DRAMA.
  2. I grew up in Topeka, KS, then moved to Lawrence for college, and ended up in KC.
  3. I hate the sound of buzzers. Of any kind. That freaking annoying buzzer in Taboo, the buzzer at basketball games, the humming of electricity. Gross gross gross.
  4. I have had three serious relationships in my entire life. (More on that in another post. Promise.)
  5. I love shoes. Almost as much as hubs.
  6. My biggest pet peeve is when someone attempts to touch the steering wheel whilst I am driving.
  7. Hubs and I have the most amazing story. He swept me off my feet in an elevator. (More on that in another post as well. It's a good one.)
  8. I sell carpet for a living. (Does that make me sound like John Candy in "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" where he sold shower curtain rings? My job is nothing like that. It's way, way cooler. I get to sell commercial carpeting to some of the coolest people on the planet.)
  9. I am not a natural blonde.
  10. I have one tattoo of my wedding day on the back of my neck.
  11. Carrie Bradshaw has my life. (Except she's married to Big and hubs is way cuter and never acts like an asshole. Ever.)
  12. I am a hypochondriac. (Sort of. Like, okay, I get a headache and assume it's a tumor, or get a paper cut and and worry microscopic baby insects are going to make a nest in there and eat my finger off. Whatevs.)
  13. My bachelor's degree is in Interior Design from the University of Kansas. It took me six years to get it.
  14. I despise poor grammar. Learn there, their and they're.
  15. My biggest food weakness is chips, salsa and any form of cheese dip.
  16. I love kids. Especially little babies. Read this and this and get caught up on my obsession.
  17. I'm a step-mom. Love it love it love it.
  18. I actually enjoy paying bills. I love to cross them off as I finish them and do a little victory dance when my Visa balance is $0.00.
  19. I have super cool friends. Erin is my fave.
  20. I have a hard time with forgiveness and forgetting the past. Sorry, it's in my genes. Read this and this and you'll see that I'm getting better about it. Really.
  21. I cry about ev-er-y-thing.
  22. My first job was at Things Remembered in the West Ridge Mall. I engraved stuff for people. Like flasks that grooms give to their groomsman. I often wonder how many of those wedding favors I engraved ended up in divorce.
  23. I have played the cello since 4th grade.
  24. I am occasionally paranoid. See #11. We've discussed this before, where have you been?
  25. Gone With the Wind is my favorite movie.
  26. I am in love with Billy Joel's music.
  27. Spatial relationships are hard for me. I run into a lot of things and fall down a lot.
  28. I hate math.
  29. I love English. And I love the written word. I read all. the. time.
  30. My biggest goal/dream is to write a novel/book/magazine column. See #10.
  31. I am one of those weird people that hearts family. Both biological and in-lawed. And my mom is my bff.
  32. I would love to live in Chicago someday.
  33. My least favorite body part is my ears. Ever seen Dumbo? Exactly.
  34. In grade school, I wrote an essay about staying off of drugs and won a trip to school in a fire truck (with Erin) and got to be Vice Principal for a day.
  35. I love memories. I love to think about the past, read my journals (I have over 10 journals starting from age 12) look at old pictures and watch home videos. My past made me who I am.

So there they are. 35 things you may or may not have known. Anything you're curious about that I didn't cover? Just ask...anything. I will answer.

Friday, October 10, 2008

friday shoes


It's finally Friday, and today is historic. Mark it on your calendar.

I am posting about a pair of flats.
I. Never. Wear. Flats.

When your hubs is 6'2", sacrifices must be made to look like you actually belong with him. Generally if I wear flats I assume people think I am a daughter.

With big boobs.

Anyways. These Tory Burch "Reva" Ballerina flats make me want to put on a matching orange tutu and run the streets singing something from a really tacky musical.

And yet I wouldn't be tacky. I would look like a beautiful Project Runway ballerina. Because the shoes are magical. And did I mention they are ORANGE.

Of course in this dream scenario where I am a musical singing, tutu wearing un-tacky chiquita, I must also add that my checkbook runneth over. Because these puppies are $195.

Hubs doesn't usually complain about my spending habits, but for this price, he might just get a little agitated (pissed off) and put me on an allowance.

Which I will ignore, because I am the boss. Unless hubs comes home.

chick lit in a flick


I admit it. I love Nicholas Sparks books. The man understands what romance (albeit unrealistic) is all about. Each time I finish one of his novels, I'm all lovey dovey and kissy smoochy all day long and I want to talk all about the book with my hubs. One problem.

Hubs doesn't read.

Anything.

So, if I want him to expereince the book, I have to wait for someone to make a movie out of it. Then I have to drag hubs to the theatre. Then he spends the entire movie explaning where the mistakes are, and how there's no way it's comfortable to have sex on a kitchen table like that. Or hygenic.

Before I continue with this story, I would like to list the last handful of movies that hubs and I have attended recently:

Eagle Eye
Wanted
Street Kings
The Dark Night

I'm not saying I didn't want to see these movies, but you have to admit there's a pattern here.

Of male machismo. On a 40' screen. I'm just sayin'.

So last night hubs and I are watching television. A commercial for "Nights in Rodanthe" comes on. I mention that we should totally go see it Friday while we're in Iowa and have nothing going on.

Here's how the conversation went:

Me: We should totally go see Nights in Rodanthe tomorrow while we're in Iowa and have nothing going on.

Hubs: (raises eyebrows and snorts.)

Me: What? What's wrong with it? It's Richard Gere and his silvery hair and Diane Lane! And love and smooches!

Hubs: I'm catching up on Entourage tonight cuz Mom has HBO. You can go see it you want.

(I pause for a moment. I totally heart Entourage. But that's not the point right now.)

Me: (tossing hair and trying to look cute and pouty) I'm not going alone! Come on, it'll be so fun!

Hubs: (craning his neck to see TV around my head) The only people that go to movies like that are over 40, babe.

Me: (totally lying) I have friends who would love to see this movie!

Hubs: Then you have old friends. (Gives himself imaginary high five)

Me: (climbing on hubs lap to look him straight in the eye. You know, like you'd do to a dog who's not paying attention) I'm totally going to blog about this tomorrow morning, mister. People are going to comment about how much they love "Nights in Rodanthe" and side with me.

Hubs: And I bet they're all over 40.

So the battle is lost. I will have to wait to watch Richie Gere and Diane Lane to fall head over heels in love. And hubs wins.

Again.

It's all good though. The next time we have movie night at home, I'm going to make him watch "A Walk to Remember", "Message in a Bottle" and "The Notebook" in one sitting. That'll bring out the sensitive in him.

Or turn him gay.

And there's nothing wrong with that. Except I prefer him hetero.

Anyways....

Thursday, October 9, 2008

pics from the shooting

Here are the pictures I was able to take with my phone last night. Adding to my ever-growing Ridiculously Ironic file - I almost brought my kick ass Nikon with me last night for our work function. In the end it stayed home because I decided there wouldn't be anything exciting enough to snap photos of.

*Slapping palm to forehead now.

Here's dude man's car.




Looking out at the car after the po-po tape was put up.



The Dr. that assisted Dude Man being interviewed by KC's version of Detective Sipowicz.

shot in the dark (even though it was daylight)

So this happened last night....

http://www.kctv5.com/traffic/17669988/detail.html

...and OH YEAH, I was there for it.

So here's what happened:

Myself and two clients are scheduled to attend a work-related function event at 5:30 last night. We drive around, wait in lines that lead to nowhere and generally coming to our wits end and give up. We are hungry and need food.

Nearby is a restaurant that serves amazing chips and salsa (of which I am obsessed), and we head over. We select a table on the patio and order drinks. Duh. Then we hear a bang. A big one. A screech of tires and a few screams pierce the early evening air. Everyone in the restaurant runs over to the patio fence, proving that residents in KC are not afraid of rubber necking, even at dinner.

My friends and I stay at the table and continue drinking. It's an accident, they happen. We don't need to leave our chips and salsa.

Then we hear this:

"HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE DON'T LET ME DIE! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

The voice sounds not too far away.

And then gets closer.

And closer.

And then he is there. On the patio. One of the guys from the crash. I don't know how to tell height, but he is near in size to the hubs, making him approximately 6'2". Large black guy...covered in blood. His left eye is either missing or so covered in blood that it is unrecognizable. There is blood spurting out of his neck.

(Like on Monty Python when that dude's leg gets cut off. Except this is not a movie. Clearly.)

I turn my head and resist urge to lose my salsa. My friend stare, unsure what to do. Is he going to try and touch us in his need for help? Is he going to die right here?

Luckily for dude with hole in neck, there is a group of medical peeps in scrubs enjoying happy hour at a nearby table. They rush to dude and beg him to please lay down. One scrub actually touches the guy without gloves on. Ew.

(I am glad he did, he was helping the guy out, but still...you just never know these days)

Dude refuses to stay down. Keeps spurting something about he's going to die and he has to get out of here. Now. Strange reaction for someone who was in a car accident. Usually they stay in the car.

I am now comfortable sneaking a peek considering this bloody man is only 10' away from us. The bleeding has been temporarily stopped with 69,486,396 napkins.

We hear sirens.

The po-po shows up first, and truth be told? They were kinda rude. Told dude not to get up and keep his ass down. Nice. Me and the gals wonder why they're so hostile.

Emergency crew shows up, the patio is asked to adjourn to the restaurant inside. Me and the girls are smart. We run to the front of the restaurant where there are giant garage doors open to let the air in. We can see the street and are right in front of the car dude man was driving.

The stories begin to swirl and we eventually learn what happened from Girl In Scrubs #2.

Hole in neck guy was involved in a "rolling gun battle" about a block down from the restaurant. He was hit in the neck but continued to try and drive away. He ran a red light and hit an innocent woman in a (really ugly) van on her way to the Tina Turner concert.

(I'm your priiiii-vate dahn-cer! Sorry, I'm done.)

Woman in van is fine, just pissed she's going to be late to see Tina.

The crash does significant damage to dude's car and he gets out and runs, fearing the gunman is still on the hunt. The gunman was not found.

Gals and I stayed long enough for the CSI dudes to arrive. We were totally disappointed, they didn't really do anything. I was expecting to hear David Caruso screaming:

"I've GOT IT! I know how it was done! Get me the lab on the phone, I need these samples run IMMEDIATELY!!!"

No such luck. It was pretty uneventful.

I did manage to take some photos with my phone. No, not of the man. I thought people might look down on me for going all paparazzi at a live crime scene.

The photos are on my phone and need to be uploaded. Stay tuned and I'll put them up.

So, that was last night. Eventful, exciting and a little scary. Good way to end Wednesday night.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

fake bakes

This afternoon I drove by a Michael's Craft store and was struck with this thought:

I need to do some baking.

(Why Michael's = baked goods in my head I have no idea. Just go with it.)

Seriously, we're practically on top of Halloween and my loyal clients need something yummy to thank them for working with (and putting up with) me.

For the record, let me just say how much I hate store bought cupcakes and cookies. Especially from Wal-Mart. Puke. They taste like cardboard and look like sugar-coated crap. I call them fake bakes.

On the contrary, I totally heart assorted baked goods from real truly live bakeries with real truly live baker people. Like in big white hats and aprons. So cute. I would love to buy the real deal from these peeps. Unfortunately for yours truly, my expense account (which is dwindling by the hour) cannot handle the often high prices. So, I'm going to do it myself.

Here's the prob. Not too long ago, I told you about my experience with birthday cakes. Though the experience turned out to be pleasant enough, I'm not feeling so solid on this cookie endeavor. However, I totally bought the cutest bat cookie cutter and some pre-made frosting. Hmm, that technically negates the whole I-made-these-all-by-myself factor. Anyways.

I'm still going to try, and if my treats turn out looking like squashed sponge clusters, at least they'll taste decent and I won't have helped Wal-mart in any way.

(Except I did buy my frosting there. Forget I said that. )

I planned on baking the cookies this afternoon and getting all Martha Stewart (minus the beige hair) in the kitch. But I forgot I have a work event tonight. So...the brilliance of my baking will have to wait until tonight when I get home or possibly tomorrow morning. By then I may have backed out of the scenario completely and resorted to just eating the dough. Stay tuned.

fantasy island

There's this really annoying saying that leads us to believe that anything you dream, you can do. To my utter annoyance, much of my life has been spent disproving this theory (I can't use an umbrella to fly like MP, I didn't model on the cover of Seventeen by age fourteen, and saving myself for marriage...well, you get my drift.)

So I ask, if I dream it can I really achieve it, because I've had lotsa dreams. Get with it, I'm a Pisces. A age 11 I would stare at kiss my wall poster of Joey McIntyre from
NKOTB and dream that we would be married one day. (In no way is that lame.)

At the ripe age of 19, I dreamt that the (eventual ex) boyfriend would propose to me in the same fashion as Ed Harris to Julia Roberts in "Stepmom". Seven years later the only jewelry I had was a plastic spider ring he found on the floor of a bar on Halloween. Uber romantic.

At age 21 I dreamed that my college tuition would pay for itself even though I had no money and made $7.25 an hour as a grocery cashier. CFS Suntech Loans didn't go along with that one.

At 23, I dreamed, wished and prayed for my first real jobby job to pay real cashy cash. You don't have to wonder too long on how that worked out. Hence the paying of college loans until I'm in diapers. See above.

Really then, which dreams are attainable and which should be left behind on the cutting room floor? I don't have an answer so I suppose I'll do what I always do. Make a list, check it twice and hope the dream regarding pots of gold and rainbows isn't a complete pot of crap.

...Shawnee Magazine article will drop in December. Random House will call the next day asking if I by chance have materials that require publishing. Lauren Conrad's novel series is crap and they need a mid-western version of her...a little rounder, happily married and emotionally sound. And with no ties to Heidi or Spencer.

...the dream house that hubs and I found will drop $40K in price, triple in value and sell our current house for us.

...I will put on my favorite pair of skinny jeans only to discover they now belong in the fat jeans category. (if we're going by dreams that are likely, this one should be at the bottom of the pile)

...the hubs quits smoking with no side effects

...my hair will gain volume, shine and length all due to one styling at a Great Clips price.

...my readers will forward my blog to 10 of their friends, I will gain 150K readers in one week and therefore be considered a "successful" blogger. And Perez Hilton will fall of a very steep cliff. Or at least just break all of his fingers, rendering his ridiculous blogging impossible.

Fairly certain these dreams of mine really fall into the category of something else. Like fantasy. Although, porn is a fantasy and peeps get paid for that all the time. Why shouldn't I?

Wait.

That didn't come out right. I don't want to be paid for porn. For blogging. Just to clarify.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

baby someday




Who says you can't know what you'll have until you have it?

Found this tool on the internet today from friends Bryan and Kristin. I can't tell if this future baby of ours is a boy or a girl. Gender ambiguity is hot right now, right? On another note, how in the name of the Stork did this web-site know I plan on dressing my baby in ridiculous Bjork outfis as soon as he/she can open their eyes?

make-up thursday shoes




My two favorite words. Bo. and. Go. So grab your beau, and go...to Payless. Quickly.

I am a bona fide card carrying member of POSH (Payless Owns Shoe Heaven). Have been for years. I was rockin' Payless patent leather flats in diapers and have had a love affair with the store my whole life. As a POSH* member (and complete tightwad) I understand that Payless is a stiletto in the rough. Yes, over the last few decades Payless has cranked out some of the ugliest shoes on the planet. But so has Manahlo Blanic. And if you ever decide a pair of shoes you bought at Payless look hideous on your toes, you won't be out $495.

Today, in honor of BOGO I have selected two items from Payless that I wish to purchase. The Alice+Olivia Hudson Sweater Boot is way too cute for words. At only $48.00 for the boots, you can also purchase the perfectly precious Tweed Hat to go along with it. Let us not forget that it's BOGO, so the hat will only set you back $7.50. Armed with new shoes and hat for under $60, you can afford to go to Express and spend $23.00 on a scarf. Or... you could buy another pair of shoes.


*Interested in becoming a member of POSH? Gather all your receipts from shoe purchases over the last year. If your Payless receipts make up more than 50% of those purchases, congrats. You're one of us. Don't keep your receipts in order to ogle over how much money you've saved? Sorry, you're not frugal enough to become a member.

Monday, October 6, 2008

iowa state weekend

Who can you always count on to make you feel warm and fuzzy before violently ripping your heart out through your ears and jumping all over it? Iowa State, my friends. Iowa freaking State.

For those of you that didn't see the game this weekend - it was a nail biter. Iowa State kicked Jayhawk butt for much of the first half. The hub and I cheered, gave high fives, and kissed at each first down. (Additionally, two horny college kids three feet away from us decided to provide our daughter's with a perverse real-time lesson in baby making throughout the entire game.) Anyways, the Cyclone's went into the locker room for halftime - and only their bodies returned for the second half. I can assume their brains were on vay-cay in the student parking lot. With less than two minutes to go, Iowa State had a fighting chance to secure a win. And blew it. Twice. Under my breath, I had to curse the Cyclone's just a little bit. Here I was, decked head to toe in Iowa State gear in support of my husband's fave team- and we lost. On the bright side, it was a beautiful Saturday and we definitely got our money's worth out of the over-priced tickets.

Here's some pics from our gorgeous weekend in Iowa.


Cyclone family

Tay, Aiden and Makayla



Me and the hub



Tay - confused about something




Baby Brei is no longer a baby!





no if's and's or butt's


I am a proud wife today. Hubs started his Chantix pills. For those of you unfamiliar with this word, Chantix is a prescription aid for smokers who want to kick the butt's. I'm not terribly familiar with the how's and chemical's, but Hub's doctor informed him that Chantix has a high pay-off rate for those who really want to quit.


Obviously the road ahead will be difficult. From what I've read, Chantix can make you very nauseous, cause bad dreams and it has been blamed for several suicides in the United States. Hopefully I will notice if Hubs starts covertly tying nooses or carrying around razor blades in his pockets and we won't have that problem. All in all, Chantix is a means to an end. Nicotine is more addictive than heroin and most people wanting to quit need something more than going cold turkey. Think about one of your favorite vices: steaming hot Starbucks in the morning, a deliciously sugary soda, a juicy double cheeseburger, or even a cold beer. Now imagine you can never have it again. Because once you do, the habit starts back over again. Most people couldn't handle that kind of restriction for two weeks, let alone their entire lives. I don't envy Hubs for what he will be going through while he tries to quit, and I wish I could help make it easier.


I am so proud of Hubs for taking this step in his life, and I also know there is a chance he will fail. I believe he can do it and I know he feels the same way. I won't be giving constant up-dates on the quitting smoking status because it isn't my story to tell, and I would never dream of putting Hubs on display like that. The important thing is, he's going to give it a go and I know we'll all be rooting for him. Please send your good thoughts, prayers, positive voo doo spells or whatever you've got Hubs' way. He will need the support and I know we can all give it to him.

Friday, October 3, 2008

i heart technology


Sorry for the lack of posts this week. Work takes precedence (imagine that), but I fully intended to make up for my blogless blog this afternoon. Unfortunately I am having severe issues with my Internet/electricity/technology/sanity as of this moment. If I didn't have Brad to assure me, I would have burnt this house to the ground this morning. I have a bit of an anger management problem...

I hope to have new shoes up by Sunday night (my lovely Rachel called me on the carpet about it this afternoon. You guys don't let me get away with anything!) in addition to fabulous pics of tomorrow's Iowa State vs. KU game. No, I have not decided if I'm going to rock my crimson and blue or my Iowa State Cyclones jersey. My heart tells me to be a Jayhawk, but I gotta say, my jersey is damn cute. And going to a football game is all about being adorable, right?