Filed under: Bookworm
It is that time of year again. No, not the time of year when everyone falls off the “New Year New Diet” bandwagon. Not the time of year when every retail establishment is smothered in red and pink hearts and barfy sentiments about love. Not the time of year when one feels she will die from lack of Vitamin D due to the dark winter days and pollution so thick it literally blocks out the sun (Thank you, damn Salt Lake Inversion).
It is time to finalize plans to go to Phoenix for the Booksale.
Can I please get a collective SQUEE! from across The Interwebs?
[SQUEE!]
If you are new here, or have amnesia, let me fill you in. Every year Phoenix hosts an absolutely enormous Used Book Sale; 600,000 books are sitting in a warehouse, organized by genre and quietly waiting for someone to adopt them and take them home. (Are you interested yet? Because if you claim to like books AT ALL you should be sitting on the edge of your seat by now.) These books are donated all year long throughout the greater Phoenix area and are then sold, with all proceeds benefiting a literacy program for the metro area. Paperbacks are $1.50, hardbacks are $2-3 dollars, and big, shiny coffee table books are $5-$10 dollars. (Are you drooling yet? You should be!) Due to terribly sad and tear-inducing circumstances completely beyond my control, I couldn’t make it last year. But here’s the post from 2008, a very good year at the Booksale.
Go ahead, go read it. I’ll wait.
Did you see those books?! Stacks of books! Piles upon piles of books! Heaps and mountains of books! Wait…you didn’t click over there? Ok, fine. Be lazy. Allow me to make your life easier by one click:
This photo was taken in the first 10 minutes of the sale, I was standing in the center of the warehouse, which is about 200 yards long and stuffed with books ready to be taken home with me. If you didn’t SQUEE earlier, you can do it now.
[SQUEE!]
People, it is time to rock the booksale! Travel companions Andrea and HRH have been recruited. Plane tickets have been booked. A room has been secured at the Casa de My-Brother-Who-Is-Putting-Me-Up-In-Return-For-My-Saving-His-Place-In-Line-At-The-Booksale. I have put together a spreadsheet of the entire inventory of my current book collection (537 books in my apartment right this minute, for reals). I have made lists of the classics I still need to acquire and the more current stuff I would love to find. These lists are grouped according to the area’s at the booksale for easier location of books on said lists. All lists and spreadsheets will be printed and carefully tucked into my carry-on size suitcase, along with a large, sturdy duffel, and then the whole thing will be stowed in a larger suitcase and checked. Southwest allows you to check two cases for free and I intend to fill both of them with books. One hundred pounds of books, coming home with me via the lovely people at Southwest. If that last statement isn’t the sexiest thing ever, I don’t know what is. Squee and Double Squee!
*Another note: I have now organized every single book I’ve read in the last three years by a 5-star system, so if you are ever curious as to my favorite reads and/or my least favorite reads, it is now documented and periodically updated for your viewing pleasure.
Filed under: All about me
There are several things that every girl should have.
- A flattering black dress
- A small tool kit
- A fantastic, no-fail recipe for dinner or cookies or something
- The skills (and equipment) to sew on a button or hem a pair of slacks
- A good face moisturizer
- A well-fitting bra.
People, it was not until recently that I realized the importance of that last one. Sure, women have raved about the benefits of a great bra ever since that scary pointy cone-bra came in style, but it wasn’t until a few months ago that it occurred to me that I was wearing an ill-fitting bra. The subject somehow came up at brunch with a girlfriend, Uzi, and she mentioned that she had been fitted a few months earlier and was shocked at the difference between the size she had worn for years and her current, correct size. I nodded knowingly and sympathetically, wondering how on earth a woman as smart and talented as she could possibly have worn the wrong bra size for so many years. I almost pitied her. Then she said something that has changed the life of myself and “my girls”–she said Did you know you aren’t supposed to be able to hook your thumb between your rib cage and the band of your bra? There should not be enough room to get your thumb in there without a serious struggle.
Wait…what?
Stop everything. Hold the phone. Put down the cheese.
Really? Um…so, you’re saying that I’ve been wearing the completely wrong size for as long as I can remember? Damn.
It wasn’t long before I was dragging Uzi down to Victoria’s Secret* to have a proper fitting. I asked for their best salesgirl and stuck out my arms, ready for the tape measure. And I was shocked at the results. Now, I have been a 36B since I was in high school, I have a style of bra that I love so much I now own it in something like 9 different colors. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that sometime in the last decade I might have changed bra sizes a bit. I guess I assumed it was like shoes; once a 10 always a 10 (that would be my shoe size, not some twisted announcement about my opinion on my own bazoomas).
Ladies, I am not a 36B. Not even close. (At the risk of attracting a lot of pervy attention from any uninteresting parties, I’m about to announce my actual bra-size. It’s for science. Or the good of women everywhere. Or something.)
I’m a 34D.
I am still shocked about this. Many of my girlfriends who I have expressed my shock to have been surprisingly unsurprised. If they knew I was bigger than a 36B why didn’t they mention it? Hello, could have saved me several years of bad-bra-itis! At any rate, after trying on several different bras in this strange, surprising size, I walked away with three new ones; black and white in my old, favorite style (which is my new favorite now that it fits me properly) and a hot pink one in a new style the salesgirl promised I’d love. I have never been so aware/unaware of my chest. My shirts fit me better, my button-ups no longer gape open at the chest, I no longer have the dreaded “side-boob” problem. I actually look thinner! I am continually surprised at my reflection. Who knew so much could be changed with simply wearing the right bra size! Simultaneously, I am no longer pulling or tugging on my bra during the day. I no longer have to constantly adjust to feel comfortable. My new, correctly-sized bra doesn’t move. It stays put from the moment I put it on in the morning until I take it off to go to sleep. Apparently, this is how bra’s are supposed to work. Who knew? Uzi knew, and she told me, and now I’m telling you.
So, the moral of this story is for each of you to go to a women’s lingerie store or department and get fitted for a bra. Go today. On your lunch break. Or on your way home. Or this weekend if today is a little crazy. But GO! Make sure you shop carefully and try on a bunch of different things to get the style(s) that are perfect for you. Take a friend if you must to be an unbiased second opinion; Uzi will probably go directly to heaven for her honest-and-hilarious boob advice. And for heaven’s sake, please get a bra with enough padding that you won’t be poking through when you wear a thin sweater. Or when the air conditioning turns on. Or when you walk down the street to get a cup of hot chocolate. These things are part of daily life and you should be prepared so as not to parade around in public with your perky bits in front of you like headlights. Showing nipple through clothing is tacky-bordering-obscene and best suited for a strip club, not school/work/grocery store/library/restaurant/anywhere where children, teenage boys, adult men, creepy old dude’s or the general public frequents. Keep those things under wraps, for the love of Pete!
*I know there are some women who have major problems with purchasing every-day lingerie at Victoria’s Secret. Here’s the thing…it is the only proper lingerie establishment in a 60-block radius of my home. For reals. Out of the three shopping malls that used to be downtown, only one is open for business and it doesn’t have a single big-box department store. That disclaimer being said, I always shop at Victoria’s Secret anyway. It’s just my thing. Don’t judge.
I don’t know how you go to Vegas, but chances are more than likely that when pitted against your standards, my Vegas excursions are ridiculously tame.
- No drinking.
- No gambling.
- No Thunder Down Under show.
- No spontaneous wedding.
Don’t I just sound like a party? That’s what I thought–it’s okay, you can plan your Vegas getaway with someone less square. I won’t feel badly. I really only go to Vegas for one thing, well, okay, two things. Shopping and the Bellagio Fountains. I do love me an hour or so at the Bellagio Fountains. After a long-but-delightful day of trying on shoes, I met up with Bulldog and we headed to The Bellagio for a little gelato and some fountain viewing, it is one of my Favorite Things.
(Photo credit: Bulldog A. McGunsmoke)
Waiting the fifteen or twenty minutes for the next show to start has never bothered me. Besides, there are a million things to do on the streets in Vegas. There are wandering Elvis impersonaters (is more than one Elvis “Elvisi”?), street magicians, and thousands of people to watch.
On Saturday Bulldog & I had tickets to go see the stage-version of The Lion King. Last time I went to New York I went to see Mary Poppins instead of The Lion King, and while it was lovely, I feel like I missed out and have been kicking myself ever since. When I decided to go to Vegas I immediately purchased tickets–good tickets–to see this show. It was absolutely fantastic. Really amazing. I am still not over the costumes. Or the artistry. Or any of it.
(Photo credit here)
If you have the chance to see The Lion King on tour I highly recommend it. The artistry, the costumes, the music, the imagination, the story…it’s breathtaking.
I have been to Vegas several times (I’d venture to guess six or seven) but this was the first time I had seen the famous “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” sign; Bulldog was kind enough to humor me. The weather was lovely and we managed to be there in-between tour buses, it was perfect.
The rest of the Vegas adventure will be kept off the Internet. (Don’t worry about missing any juicy details–did you see the list at the beginning of this post? Be thankful I’m not boring you with details of my 3-hours delayed flight, or my slightly snuffly nose, or the 6-hour drive home. Really, it’s better this way, cross my heart and kiss my elbow.)
In recent months I have had the delight to experience a very new-and-fantastic phenomenon, at least for me: bank account balances that regularly exhibit three, sometimes four digits before the decimal. People, this hasn’t happened for a good, long time. I had forgotten what it feels like to be able to just go buy something because you feel like it. I’m not talking about a new flat-screen TV or a Caribbean vacation, I’m talking about hairspray or fig newtons; non-essentials that make your life just a little bit better. (And I don’t want to hear anyone dissing on my fig newtons, I love them and that’s all there is to it.) In the last month I have lovingly and ceremoniously purchased four pairs of fantastic heels. Goodness, I forgot the pure bliss that comes from seeking and finding a perfect pair of heels. (I haven’t had a good shoe-spree for at least a year. It was time. Don’t judge.) I purchased my first pair of dressy winter boots (dark, chocolate brown knee boots with a roundy-pointy toe, and a cone heel just a smidge over 3 inches. I love them!), and then I fell hard and fast for the following:
Grapey-purple suede! With studs! And a black-and-gray snakeskin platform! And sexy cut-outs! Don’t these just scream “Take me to a big fancy party in Las Vegas!”
That’s what I heard, and that’s exactly what I did.
Bulldog McGunsmoke knows People. And People can make things happen. Things like getting a handful of tickets to a super-exclusive party sponsored at a Big Fancy hotel in Las Vegas. We’re talking prime rib and white linen napkins and a thousand-or-so men in dark suits gawking at the 50-or-so women in fancy shoes. And dresses! We wore dresses! Goodness, it’s not one of those Vegas parties where the women only wear fancy shoes and some sparkle, Bulldog’s People aren’t those kind of people. Gracious. I’m glad that little situation was cleared up–I mean, yes, the shoes are sexy, suede, studded and crazy-high–clocking in at 5.75″, my highest pair yet–but I’m not the type to wear them out and about without a proper outfit. In this case, a sleek, black cocktail dress, accessorized by a terribly good-looking man in a suit.
In full disclosure, I don’t think Big Fancy Vegas Parties every weekend are really my thing. The shoes are divine, but the combination of spending five hours in brand spankin’ new, crazy-high heels on slick marble tile with a half-mile jaunt through the casino’s left me with my very first case of Morning After Sore Feet. Whatever. It was totally worth it. Bulldog’s industry (that would be the ass-kickin’ industry) had their annual trade show in Vegas last weekend, and one of the premier manufacturer’s of ass kickery equipment hosts this fancy, exclusive party. It was the event that everyone at the trade show wanted to attend, and while I may not have appreciated the exclusivity (not being in the ass-kickin’ industry), I loved walking in on Bulldog’s arm, loved watching all the people mingle and chat and dance (goodness–the people-watching was AWESOME!), loved the looks of admiration directed towards my feet and my date, loved the dancing, the band, the bar of mini-desserts. I loved it all.
Apparently this is some famous actor-guy, R. Lee Emery, famous for the drill sergeant in Full Metal Jacket…which I have seen, but did not recall his character. He has also been in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie, X-Men: The Last Stand, and has voiced the Army Guy in about a dozen different cartoons (like Toy Story 1-3). Bulldog told me to tell you to alert your male significant other (or yourself, if you happen to be male) that I had met him and they would be impressed. Whatever.
Lookit, it’s just like Prom!
The next day while Bulldog went back to the trade show, I went shopping.
Vegas. Shopping. Goodness, it is a sight to behold! Now, I’ve done my fair share of shoppery in Vegas; it’s the closest city to Salt Lake with a proper retail scene. Things you Big City-ites take for granted–H&M, Steve Madden, Sephora–us Salt Lakers can only dream about. And after a few months the dreaming turns into a six-hour road trip, a day or two in Vegas spent primarily at the shops, and then all is right in the world again.
Last Friday was one of those days that makes all right in the world. A full day of shopping without having to answer to a man. I gave myself a budget, and I very nearly stuck to it. (I went over by about $15 dollars, I consider this acceptable.) I picked up several lovelies; a black cocktail dress that fits me perfectly (and on a fantastic sale), a mod-ish trench coat, a blue and white stripey button-up to pair with a bright orange belt, a hat–my first hat purchase ever–a couple of tops, two pairs of corduroy pants that fit me perfectly and two more pairs of fantastic shoes. One to be worn when the weather thaws a bit, and one to be worn to my next Fancy Party (quite possibly with the new black dress, actually).
These are so summery, and while they may appear to be pale-ish, pink-ish white to you, and only to be worn after Memorial Day; they are in-fact, the exact shade of my pale-ish, pink-ish white legs and will be worn as soon as the threat of tootsie frostbite dissapates. My legs go forever in these, and I still can’t get over the flower. Love!
And these beauties? Oh my goodness, I couldn’t say no–and they are the reason I went “over” my budget. Worth it? Absolutely. Do you see the fuschia-satin? The ruffles? The peep-toe and the sexy heel? I’ll skip Starbux for a month to wear these for one evening. They are perfect.
Yesterday was just one of those days.
Firstly–I hate having to wake up and drive 50 minutes to work in the cold and the dark and the snow.
Secondly–this is infinitely more difficult on a Monday.
Thirdly–this is even harder when the preceeding three days are spent in Las Vegas, painting the town and gorging one’s self on sunshine and shopping (stories and pics of shoes forthcoming, I promise.)
That being said, I was surprisingly cheerful upon arriving at work, this mood lasted approximately 5 minutes. Vladd is diabetic, right? So the first thing I do in the morning is check his blood sugar to make sure he’s where he’s supposed to be. So I went into his room, like I always do, signed good morning, like I always do, and let him know it was time for his test…again, like I always do. That’s where the normal routine ended. Before I could complete this test (which I have down to 37 seconds or something), Vladd started vomiting.
It was all over him (thankfully missing me), all over the floor, the bed….ugh. No bueno. So, I cleaned that up as best I could, and then tested his blood only to find it astronomically high. As in, four times higher than it was supposed to be. FOUR TIMES HIGHER! HOLY SWEAR WORDS AND WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO! I kind of panicked. I hoped that the stress of throwing up had spiked it temporarily, so I gave him a glass of water and waited 10 minutes (while I continued to clean up vomit) and checked it again. It was a titch lower, but still three times higher than normal. In case you have not picked up on this yet…this is a rotten way to start your morning. For me and for him.
The rest of the day has consisted of my cleaning vomit out of couches, carpet, more bedding, clothing, hardwood floors and spending an hour and a half waiting for doctors to tell me that my instincts (more fluids, lots of rest, keep checking his blood sugar–and praying to every diety imaginable that it would be slightly lower than last time) were correct. Um. Excuse me? Couldn’t you have mentioned that AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO! If these instincts are so correct, couldn’t the nurse who answered the phone have been a bit on the helpful side instead of prophesying doom and gloom and encouraging me to bring him in to the E.R.? Ugh. I’m still bugged about this. Note: this kind of frustration does not help a bad day become anything but more frustrating.
That being said, I had big plans to tell you all about my Vegas vacation, the shoes that were purchased, the parties attended (and the shoes worn to said parties), the shows seen…but, well, those plans were drowned in Lysol and carpet cleaner before 8:30 am. So, you’ll just have to wait another day…like, tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow will be all about the shoes and the shopping and then some more shoes.
Filed under: Utah: Life Elevated
West Side of Timpanogos, Utah County, Utah
It is a well established fact that Utah is a snowy state, take a peek out my window if you think otherwise. Sure, there are tons of deserts and gorgeous red-rock scenery and lots of hundred-degree days during the summer, but in the winter? It’s cold, yo.
Sundance Ski Resort, Provo Canyon, Utah
I am not here to complain about the weather, I used to be one of those “I hate the snow and the cold and the ick!” people, but in the last year or so I have become more in the “Snow is okay, as long as I can still breathe, am warm and snuggly, and don’t get caught in bad snow-traffic” types. I don’t mind snow any more. I have a snuggly coat, lots of scarves and gloves, I even ventured to purchase my first pair of snow boots. Not a chic leather flat to wear with tights a la The Sundance Film Festival, I’m talking about serious snow-worthy footwear here. To my credit–like I ever need to justify buying new shoes–I have never owned snow boots and with my new-found-love for snowy outdoors I felt it was time to invest.
Besides, I had a date with Andrea to go snow-shoeing. And a girl just can’t go snow-shoeing without the proper footwear. So, boots were purchased, snow shoes were rented, additional snow gear was borrowed (thanks Pink Suede Shoe), and Andrea & I set out on our adventure.
Big Cottonwood Canyon, Utah (photo credit: Andrea)
Turns out, snow shoeing is just hiking in the snow. We had a blast. The weather was perfect, the snow was powdery, and the few times we got lost turned out to be alright as well. (We weren’t Lost Lost, just a little disoriented. Lots of people around meant we would not have frozen to death or anything scary like that.)
This is something I will be doing again and again, I even am thinking of purchasing my own snow-shoes in the End of Season sales. Do you snow shoe? Ski? Snow board? Snow mobile? Enjoy the frosty flakiness from the comfort of your living room with a steaming cup of cocoa?
Big Cottonwood Canyon, Utah (photo credit: Andrea)
Disneyland. The Happiest Place on Earth. Also–the place of $4-dollar sodas, a million souvenir shops, and several dozen 8-fingered characters that really, as an adult, kind of freaked me out. (Their gloves only 4-fingers on each hand. Creepy.)
Coincidentally, as I mentioned yesterday, it is a fantastic place to go on a date, $4-dollar sodas notwithstanding. Now, I went to Disneyland “for work”. Really. I affectionately refer to Vladd, the deaf, diabetic, autistic, vegetarian man I take care of, as My Boss. Vladd’s brother is my Boss-Boss and two weeks ago he told me to pick someplace warm to take Vladd for a few days. It had been cruddy, cold, nasty weather here and hey, it would be something fun for Vladd to do, get him out of the house, etc. I tossed around a few ideas like Tuscon, Vegas and San Diego–but as soon as Disneyland was mentioned I was sold.
My Boss-Boss told me to just book the trip on Vladd’s credit card, and that I should probably stay at the Grand Californian hotel, the enormous, new Disneyland Resort hotel that straddles Disneyland and California Adventure. Um, sold. My Boss-Boss also told me that I should book two rooms, make sure they were adjoining, and have a good time. That was about all the direction I received. Tickets were purchased, hotels were booked, airport transportation was arranged and in under 20 minutes I had planned a 4-day Disneyland vacation. It’s amazing how quickly these things happen when you are a) money does not seem to be any real object and b) you are using someone else’s funds. Twenty minutes, people. Also, for the record, private chauffeur is perhaps the best way to travel to and from the airport. Lesson Learned.
Now, I was a little nervous about undertaking such a big responsibility with Vladd. There is the learning of new American Sign Language signs relating to theme parks and traveling (airplane, airport, x-ray, hotel, roller coaster, train ride, hand stamp, photograph, postcard…the list goes on and on) and there was also the problem of dealing with eating out for several days in a row. Vladd is diabetic, he has a pretty particular diet that no chef I talked to in the greater Disneyland area could come close to comprehending. I quickly learned that it is better to not talk to the chef, they only messed things up.
All that being said, we had a blast. The park was practically empty, we had one of those fancy line-hopper fast-track passes due to Vladd’s disabled status, the weather was delightful and the dreamy boy, Bulldog A. McGunsmoke, made the 10-hour drive to hang out with me for a couple of days (and then drive another 10-hours back).
Vladd went on every ride I suggested: Indiana Jones, Thunder Mountain Rollercoaster, Splash Mountain, the Matterhorn, Space Mountain (what is it with all the mountains? Goodness!) Pirates of the Caribbean, the Star Wars ride, the Toy-Story-Rocket-Ride-That-Can’t-Be-Attached-To-A-Disney-Movie, the Finding Nemo/Yellow Submarine Ride, the Autopia Bumper Cars (twice), and the Soar California ride over in California Adventure. Hello, packed trip. On the other hand, due to no lines, no crowds and the close proximity of our hotel, there was also quite a bit of downtime. Vladd took naps and spent a lot of time at the pool. All in all, it was the perfect vacation.
Getting snuggly in front of Sleeping Beauty’s snow-topped castle…who thought of that?
A bona-fide Monte Cristo sandwich, ham & swiss deep fried and sprinkled with powdered sugar, served with raspberry sauce. It’s a heart-attack on a plate. Seriously.
Not sure what, exactly, was so funny…but I kind of love this pic. A lot.
Whilst stuck on Pirates of the Caribbean (for at least 25 minutes, not moving at all), Bulldog McGunsmoke and I got cheesy with the camera.
Who me? I’m just happy to be here.
(You will note that while Vladd was on this trip, I will not be posting pics of he and I (or just him) here. You don’t post pics of your boss on your blog. Also, a million thank you’s to Bulldog McGunsmoke for taking and editing the above photos. He makes me whites whiter and my brights brighter…yet another reason to keep him around.)
In the last six months I have gone on approximately umpteen thousand dates. Okay, that is a bit of an exaggeration, but prior to The Boy Who I Promise Will Be Named Later In This Post, I was a bit crazy. After breaking off an 18-month relationship I went on kind of a dating rampage, which will not be discussed in much detail here. Notable mentions are The Butcher, who has the notorious distinction of being the only boy who has ever broken up with me; The Baker, whose cookies and pastries were distracting from the unnerving, contentious and (eventually) yelling-and-crying-in-a-restaurant type of relationship; and The Candlestick Maker, who was so tall that even in my tallest heels (which put me at six feet) I hardly grazed his shoulder. These “relationships” ranged from a few dates, to a few weeks, to a few months. I also feel that it should be noted that The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker, and The Boy not only all know each other, but are routinely invited to the same parties, functions and events. Yeah, being in the same (suddenly much too small) room with all four of them was perhaps one of the more awkward moments of the last month.
Which brings me to The Boy Who Is About To Get A Name. While we met in October and started dating soon after that, I have been hesitant to properly introduce him on ye olde blog. Inexplicably, I’m all nervous about it, which is bizarre because I have sent novel-length emails to a half-dozen friends around the world about The Boy and how amazing he is and how fantastic everything is going, ad nauseum. But I’m still nervous, however, nerves aside, here it goes.
The Boy is kind of a Jack Bauer type, the SuperHero guy who can save the world at a moment’s notice. (Unlike Jack Bauer he does not routinely break dozens of federal laws or have the President’s cell phone number. And unlike Kiefer Sutherland he does not have a television series or criminal rap sheet.) If they were in a fight, I think The Boy would totally beat Jack Bauer. He runs a business where he actually trains other people to be Jack Bauer types. And by “people” I mean SWAT teams and military teams are previous clients; seriously, he’s hardcore. If something bad is happening, The Boy is the type you want to have around. I was surprised (and relieved) to discover a balance to all that testosterone, The Boy writes his own music, plays the guitar and sings. And I know of no easier way to get me into full swoon mode than to have a big, strong, handsome man hang out in my living room playing his guitar and crooning. Seriously swoony.
You want some more examples, don’t you. Oh good, I thought you’d never ask. (If you are the type to get squeamish or annoyed when hearing about someone gush over a new relationship, I advise you to skip to the end. Seriously, gushing is about to happen, don’t say I didn’t warn you.)
“For Cute” Number A: The Boy and I had only gone on two dates before I went to Phoenix for Thanksgiving. When I asked him if he’d mind picking me up at the airport and then maybe go out to lunch he agreed (squee!). I was fully prepared to be blasted with Utah Winter Coldness as I waited at the pick-up point outside the airport, typical for arrivees at Salt Lake International. You can imagine my shock when I saw him waiting there by the baggage claim. Shock. I don’t think I’ve had anyone meet me inside the airport since…um….the beginning of time. Seriously, he parked, came in and waited. I am still swooning over this. (Also–this began what may go down in history as the best date ever.)
“For Cute” Number B: After a particularly long (90-hours plus) and exhausting week of work, The Boy sneakily made plans for a little surprise. He arranged for a friend of his, a massage therapist, to come over to my apartment and give me an hour-long full-body massage while he did the dishes and cleaned up my kitchen. For. Reals. Who does that?! Swoon!
“For Cute” Number C: While I was working during the Christmas holiday (and was pouting that so many of you had weeks of time off) he came to visit and brought a giant bouquet of red and yellow Gerbera daisies. Daisies are my favorite flower and these were absolutely gorgeous. Swoon!
“For Cute” Number D: On Christmas morning he arranged for Santa to visit and I opened my first Christmas-morning-present in a decade. I laughed, I may have actually cried a bit, and I have loved seeing the way a pair of sparkly green sapphires look in my ears (not pictured below, heidikins fail.) Swoon!
“For Cute” Number E: Last week while I was in Disneyland “for work” he drove down to meet Vladd & I for a couple of days in The Happiest Place on Earth. Turns out, Disneyland is a really great place to go on a date. Noted. And Swoon!
The Boy clearly needs an Internet name. Potential options include the following:
- Mr. Scrufftastic
- Lover Boy
- The Bulldog
- Gunsmoke
This list has been seriously edited, my initial list was something like 13 nick-names long. I like Scrufftastic and Lover Boy, but somehow they seem a bit derogatory in connotation–is that just me? Yes, The Boy is scruffy, but it’s not his defining characteristic. Yes, he’s swoony, but I can hardly think about calling him Lover Boy without conjuring up images from Dirty Dancing, and as much as I love Patrick Swayze–may he rest in peace–I don’t want him haunting my relationship. That leaves Bulldog and Gunsmoke. Wait…I can just call him Bulldog McGunsmoke and leave it at that, right?
Ladies and Gentlemen (the 2 who still read this blog with any regularity), The Boy Who Has Been Nameless for Months has finally been given a moniker: Bulldog A. McGunsmoke*. BAM!
*Just to be clear, “A” is for AwesomeSauce. Also, BAM! makes a much nicer acronym than BMG, which sounds like a sketchy multi-level-marketing company.
When your eyes and lungs are burning and you feel like you must escape to Los Angeles (of all places) to find some clean air to breathe, you know two things:
- You live in Salt Lake City.
- It is winter and thus the air is completely unbreathable.
Utah has this lovely weather phenomenon called The Inversion where fog and dust and muck settle on the Salt Lake valley and unless a giant winter storm blows through to clear all that out, it just sits there, percolating into a fine pollution stew. There are no-drive days, your eyes and lungs burn if you so much as jog to your car, and the haze is so thick you cannot see the massive, 14,000 foot snow-capped peaks that rim the valley. It’s depressing.
Disclaimer: to winter-sport enthusiasts, those 14,000 foot snow-capped peaks have some of the best snow in the world, and as soon as you get to the mouth of any given canyon you are high enough in elevation that you are above The Inversion. Don’t cancel your ski vacation to Park City or Solitude/Alta/Brighton/Sundance/Snowbird/The Canyons (did I miss any resorts? I don’t think so).
I am one of the lucky ones, I have escaped! I’m relaxing in 70-something degree, sunny weather with clear(ish) air and no haze. I feel like I forgot to mention something. Something kind of big.
Um, I’m in Disneyland. Right now.
This was a very last minute trip that is counting as a “work trip”. Kind of. Vladd–the deaf, diabetic, autistic, vegetarian I take care of 90 hours a week–and I are here, staying in a swanky hotel, eating at swanky places, and generally having a blast. And not only is this not costing me a dime (thank you work Amex), but I am also being paid to hang out in sunny California. And go on theme park rides. And order room service.
Like I said, it’s Big. Huge. Seismic, even.
So far we have done little but check into a hotel and take a nap. (Well, Vladd is taking a nap, I’m blogging.)(clearly.) But, there are big plans for tomorrow. I haven’t been to Disneyland since I was eleven, I’m crazy-excited.
Filed under: Lists
I don’t believe in making New Year’s Resolutions until Chinese New Year, which means I have until mid-February to solidify my resolutions for 2010: Year of the Tiger and finish up 2009: Year of the Ox. That being said, last January I did publish The List, a lofty 25 things that I wanted to accomplish. People, I have done most of them. Isn’t that exciting! Here is my progress, with links when appropriate:
The List:
1. Learn to knit.
3. Read 25 books.
4. Sew myself a dress no dress, but I did make two shirts & a skirt. I’m counting it.
5. Organize The Loft. It needs it again though…still counting it.
6. Start some kind of Emergency Prepardness storage, contribute each month.
7. Clean off my desk and clean out my office…yikes!
8. Make a piece of furniture, something easy, like a bookcase. Remaking two side-chairs totally counts here. Right? Right.
9. Downsize my closet, organize, purge, etc.
10. Find a pair of truly fantastic jeans, purchase in multiples.
11. Make a quilt.
12. Learn Sudoku
13. Make a scarf, a snuggly one in a great color.
14. Learn how to ski.
15. Take a spontaneous road-trip. Two, actually!
16. Learn how to make gnocchi pasta.
17. Photograph, organize and label the rest of my shoes.
18. Makeover my sad, green couch, into something a little more, um, lively.
19. Wear orange successfully somewhere other than my feet. Scarf and sweater!
20. And purple.
21. Find or make a truly fantastic Halloween costume.
22. Try canning something like peaches or soup or something, hope for success.
23-25. Paint or refinish my dining table & 10 chairs…this is a BIG project.
Ok, so statistically speaking I perhaps didn’t do very well. But, I still have more than a month to finish…and by my calculations here is what I definitely will be able to finish before Chinese New Year (Feb. 14, for any interested parties).
- Make a quilt (it will be small, but I’m getting terribly inspired by julochka)
- Learn to ski (I may not be any good, but I will go skiing before Valentines Day.)
- Learn to make gnocchi pasta
That leaves me with the following items that could possibly be accomplished before Valentine’s Day:
- Photograph, organize and label the rest of my shoes.
- Try canning something like peaches or soup or something, hope for success.
The only items left are the following:
- Makeover my sad, green couch, into something a little more, um, lively.
- Paint or refinish my dining table & 10 chairs…this is a BIG project.
I have officially lost all interest in revamping my “sad, green couch”. At this point I am not home for enough hours a week to justify the effort to remake it. I’ll probably end up purchasing a new sofa in the next year or two anyway and I don’t want to be bothered…so that one should be crossed off by default.
Also, there is no way the table refinish will happen before Valentine’s Day. No. Way. It is something I would like to do this summer, so let’s all hope that can happen because it really needs a new look. My dining room is all mahagony/cherry stained wood and the table and chairs are light blonde wood that has been whitewashed. Bleh. And did I mention there are ten chairs!! I will most likely be slipcovering those because just the thought of sanding down all those tiny legs gives me finger cramps.
Overall, not too shabby! I’m actually much more pleased than I thought I would be. And I think I definitely can finish at least 4 of the remaining items before my cut-off deadline. And then it will be time for a new list. Squee! I really love lists, I love making them almost as much as I love crossing things off….actually, that’s completely untrue. I have thousands more listed items than crossed off items. Most of the time I just like the list.
On second thought, perhaps that is part of my problem? Hrm, don’t know. (Also–don’t care. Now, if you’ll hand me a proper notebook and pen, I have a list to make.)
