Friday, August 28, 2009

inspiration

My lovely buddy Bess just emailed me this article. All I can say is, it's an inspiration.

To do something.

Anything.

Right now.

So what am I waiting for? Waiting just means it will take that much longer to achieve my something. Wait long enough and I'll just have a long stream of nothings instead of one gigantic something.

So I'm going to do it. Now. Fail or succeed, who cares? Failing is just one more step up the ladder toward success.

(I think I definitely just quoted something from a "Things I Learned In Kidnergarten" poster.)

(At least something sunk in.)

Friday, August 21, 2009

oops

As the lovely Lilu brilliantly pointed out yesterday, today is Friday, not Thursday.

(Unemployment makes you stupider.)

(Yes, I know that's not a word. I is making a point.)

So, instead of providing you with my TMI Thursday story, I'm going to save it for next week. You'll just have to wait and wonder, won't you?

For today's post, I'm kind of copping out. It's a gorgeous day (think 74 degrees and sunny and kind of crisp like a fall day) and I don't feel like living behind the computer, I'll just leave you with this...

I want this T-shirt.



You can buy it for me here.
You know you want to.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

on a positive note...

After today's earlier post, I don't want to end the day negative. It just wouldn't sit right with me.

(Unless the negative is finding out I lost four pounds. That's a minus I can get on board with.)

My oldest step-daughter, M, turned 9 a week or so ago. Remember last year when I made this
cake for her and it turned out surprisingly well? I decided to try and keep the tradition alive.

M is obsessed with Hannah Montana and had mentioned a few times that a guitar cake would be super cool to have for her b-day.

So, while Hubs painted her newly acquired cast (she had surgery on her foot), I worked in the kitchen trying to make a really rad guitar cake.

I baked.

I screamed.

I cursed.

I ate frosting.

(A lot of it.)

I completed the cake - and M was very happy with the result. Without patting myself on the back too much, I was darn happy with it, too.

(What an artistic woman I am. Kind of like Van Gogh. But with both ears. And without insanity. (Sometimes.))

See the pics below! Tomorrow is TMI Thursday, and it's gonna be a good one, so come back and visit me.




Yes, Hubs painted that cast by himself. And no, Hubs is not for sale. I'm keeping him for a long, long time.


The Guitar Cake, complete with microphone.



Blowing out the candles...

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

you can run...but apparently you can't hide.

Things happen to us in our lives that we have to chalk up to bad timing, poor planning, or just plain rotten luck.

We whine about those unfortunate events, and maybe even shed a tear or two over them. But eventually time moves on. Occasionally the memory of what happens comes back, but we're able to push it away and trudge ahead, older and wiser.

Then there are times when we really believe we've moved on, gotten over it, forgiven and forgotten, and are ready to trudge ahead.


And then we find out we're wrong.

Dead wrong.

It happened a few weeks ago to me. Hubs was in Iowa doing improvements on his Mama's house to help supplement our non-existent income. I was bored with no one to talk to and took a quick trip to the mall.

I found myself wandering into a Hallmark store and decided to browse the Precious Moments. (Yes, the weird figurines. My Mom is a fan.)

I looked at the funny Gift Books section and laughed at the cleverness.

I browsed through the kichy snowman and reindeer ornaments.

(I also decided Hallmark needs a "Sex and the City" ornament collection. And that I should design it.)

I looked at memory scrapbooks and mentally kicked myself for not having one.

Then I looked across the store...and saw it.

I wasn't even looking for it, but apparently it was looking for me.





There they were. The cards that had made it to the Hallmark YourBloopers finalist round.

Of course my card was nowhere to be found because of this. And this. And this.

Like I said earlier, I thought I had let it go. I was positive I was over it and it couldn't hurt anymore. But then I looked at the glossy pictures and the funny captions, and I turned the card over to read the bio's of the authors.

I could have been there. With my picture and bio. ON A HALLMARK CARD.

But I'm not.

So despite my forgiving and forgetting and glazing over and shoving to the back of the closet, my feelings resurfaced once again. I started to get really mad.

In a Hallmark store.

A place of love and laughter, where even unicorns and rainbows overdose on happiness.

Before I could stop myself, I hastily began pulling one card after another off the display, reading it and saying, "THIS ISN'T EVEN FUNNY!" and "OH MY GOD, MINE WAS SO MUCH BETTER!"

The poor sales lady (in all her Mary Kay perfection glory) looked at me strangely from behind her cappuccino. I'm sure she was wondering how a person can actually get angry looking at Hallmark cards.

By the time I left the store, I had calmed down a bit. I knew this was not unlike seeing a boyfriend for the first time after you've been dumped. You immediately revert to Rocky Road ice cream and Julia Roberts videos for the next few days. You look at old pictures, cry over the songs you shared, and eventually move on.

Unfortunately, unlike old boyfriends, I still love Hallmark. It's not their fault. And because the circumstances of my card not making it to the final rounds is delicate, I will just have to get over it yet again.

But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

So for a little while longer, I will wallow in self pity. I will be mad and a little angry.

The good news is that once this contest is over, there will undoubtedly be another that follows.

I'll just have to win that one.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

skeletons in my closet

We're all friends, right?

I mean, after all of this time together, I've learned to trust you and even shared some pretty harrowing embarrassing moments and awkward instances with all of you. But until today, dear friends, I have yet to admit something I can barely even say out loud. I have been a fashion victim.

No, wait. That doesn't even do it justice, because being a victim implies that it wasn't my fault. And it was.

I have been a fashion murderer. But not just once. Many, many times over.

And so, today I am coming clean. I am admitting to my infractions and requesting that you take pity on me when deciding if I'm allowed to dress myself in the future.

Yesterday Hubs and I attacked our walk-in with a vengeance. Out came 23 pairs of worn out shoes, at least 6 pairs of jeans, and approximately 30 awful, ill fitting, polyester nightmares that I used to wear on a nightly basis.

(Nah, they couldn't be that bad, right? Um...yes. They could. Allow me to show you.)

Bear in mind that all of these offending articles were worn during my early 20's. (Read: bar hopping years) Many of them were purchased at high class stores like Gordman's and the 1/2 Price Store, and rang up for less than $13.00.

Including tax.

(I was in college and living on ramen noodles, okay? Cut me some slack.)

I think the worst part about the whole thing is that I had a relatively steady boyfriend the entire time. Generally we count on boyfriends to be our worst critic, right? They won't let us take one step outside the door looking like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman." They're supposed to tell us which outfits look good, and which make our legs look like sausages.

Unfortunately, the guy I was with during this time in my life not only approved 90% of these apparel choices, but insisted I looked "so hot, babe" in all of them.

(Kind of like Brooke Shields looked amazing with
Amazon eyebrows.)

Now, bloggies. Let's be adults here. I'm showing you these pieces of clothing today because I believe, deep in my heart, that you won't judge me too harshly.

(And for those of you who are mentally counting the skankies in your own wardrobe, I want you to know...it's okay to throw them out.)

Are you ready? Let the madness begin.





Item #1: Robin's Egg Hooker

This little polyester number is brought to you from the good folks at Kohl's department store. (Before Vera Wang got her hands on it.) As you can see, once you reach the bosom area, the lovely blouse opens completely up, revealing my kick ass belly button ring dangling oh-so-sweetly into my crotch region.

Despite it's horridness, I did wear this shirt to an "Our Lady Peace" concert and actually hugged
Raine Maida in it. Too bad I looked like a hooker wrapped in a handkerchief.

Item #2: Nobody Puts My Bosom's In the Corner

It's hard to see from the picture, but this halter top is (again) polyester. In addition, it is a very thin article of clothing, and if memory serves, I usually chose to go without a bra while wearing it. Nice. The worst thing about this shirt is that I actually thought it looked so good that I wore it to...are you ready?

CHURCH

That's right.

I fear I was responsible for making a lot of elderly men change the batteries in their Pacemaker's on that fateful Sunday.

Classy = FAIL.




Item #3: X,Y,ZEBRA!

Yes, people. That is a Zebra top,. But with a stylish twist...it's a leopard print???!!

(Seriously, can't you see Paula Abdul wearing this to a judging of AI?)

Again with the polyester, and this time, for good measure, the designer threw in some weird zebra tampon strings to draw attention to...my muscular zebra thighs? I don't really know. What I do know is that I wore this frock to my first real job after college, and I distinctly remember thinking, "No one is really talking to me today."

Perhaps because they were afraid it was hunting season and wished to dodge the bullets that might be finding me.




Item #4: Marsha Brady's Missing Pants FOUND!

There are no words for these pants. Or should I call pousers? (Ya know, polyester trousers.) As you can see, I purchased them for convenience because the belt is SEWN ONTO THE PANTS.

The greatest feature of these pants is the lack of pockets on the rear, giving anyone who happened to be behind me a front row seat to my pantie line. Hotness. Paired with the Zebra top, I was unstoppable.

I wore these pants often to my summer interior design internship in Kansas City. It's beginning to make sense that I wasn't offered a full time job at the end of the summer.

****
Aaaaaand now, my good friends. The moment you've been waiting for.
The piece de resistance.



Item #5: Three Ring (Dirty) Circus

Hubs was relatively quiet while I cleaned out my part of the closet...until he saw this. The first words from his mouth were something like, "Did you have a good time filming the Puff Daddy video?"

WHAT was I thinking?

For starters, it's impossible to wear a bra with thing on. So not only was I probably a hot saggy mess, but I'm sure whatever bar I was visiting was given a free show of my hot saggy mess.

My parents must be so proud.

I remember thinking I looked SO hot in this. On the good side, I did get a lot of free drinks because of this top. Of course, while I was drinking, the guy who bought me my beer was probably texting to his friends, "DUDE, I snagged a dominatrix!!"

This concludes the 2000-2003 showing of my wardrobe disasters. I hope we have all learned something from this experience, but let's recap.

1. Polyester blends are a NO.

2. If there are metal holes in your shirt, and you are not a rock star, quickly walk away.

3. Bras are your friend.

4. Built-in belts usually mean built-in humiliation.

5. Friends don't let friends buy this clothing.

So what about you, bloggies? Got any outfits you were too scared to share before now? If I can do it, you can do it. Remember, admitting you had a problem is the first step.


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Item #435 I never knew about Hubs

(I walk into the house, just back from dinner with a good friend. Hubs is on the couch watching television.)

Me: (plopping onto couch) Hey, babe.

Hubs: (not taking eyes off television for a second) Hey.

Me: (fidgeting, looking for attention.) So...dinner was good.

Hubs: (still glued to television) Cool. Glad you liked it.

(silence)

(silence)

(gunshots)

(more gunshots)

Me: What the hell are you watching?

Hubs: It's a Western.

Me: (laughing) What? You watch Westerns? Since when? I thought we were going to watch "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion" to get in the mood for your reunion this weekend.

Hubs: (rolls eyes) Let's watch this first, then we'll watch that.

(silence)

(silence)

(ridiculous dialogue on the television about Colt 45's or gun powder potency or some ridiculous sh*t.)

Hubs: (sighs nostalgically) Sometimes I think it would really be cool to live in Western times.

Me: (mouth on floor) Seriously, babe? You know there weren't any Wendy's and McDonald's in the old West.

Hubs: So? It'd be like camping...but all the time.

Me: You don't like to camp.

(pause)

Hubs: Well yeah, but everyone would be camping along with you...

(silence)

Hubs: ...and you would get to wear HATS!

Me: I'm going downstairs to watch "Tori and Dean."