Purpose.

Apparently there isn't one behind this blog. It's just a random bunch of crap. But since it's all about me, it's obviously fantastic.

Seriously though... there's no actual point behind my ramblings. I read so many blogs that fall into a category... design blogs, mom blogs (don't get any ideas), architecture blogs, fashion blogs, etc. If I had to pick a category for mine, I'd pick, um, general? Pretty boring, right? But honestly, I enjoy reading mind-numbingly pointless blogs about other people's lives. I guess you could consider me a bit of a voyeur.

Scratch that.

You can definitely consider me a voyeur. The husband will tell you I have a problem with peering into people's homes at night when the blinds are open. I can't help it... I like to see how others live. Is their house prettier than mine? Are they having more fun than me? What are they having for dinner? Etc, etc, etc.

Maybe I should get professional help. I obviously have issues.

So on that note, please enjoy another perfectly pointless blog about ME!

My week in review:

20s themed wine dinner. I think I may have gone slightly overboard. What a cool freaking decade though... I would've loved dressing up this much to go out. Too bad I was born 60 years too late. I mean, c'mon... who doesn't love an excuse to wear feathers in their hair?! Anyway, the dinner was lovely. Well, the wine was anyway. I don't really recall the food.

Please don't laugh.

Here I am with my lovely friend Andrea. See, she likes feathers too!

Hangover. Wine dinners really should not be planned for Sunday nights. Makes for hell at the office on Monday.

Laundry. So much fun that I've dragged it out over 4 days.

SNOW!!! The husband is going to kill me if I tell him one more time how much I love it. (Let's keep in mind that I don't shovel.) Or if I cry in jealousy one more time about all the snow the rest of the country's getting. We're seriously slacking in the snowfall department this winter. Did the weather gods forget that this is, in fact, upstate New York? Where it's SUPPOSED to snow. That's part of the fun of living here! If I wanted icky, rainy, brown winters, I would've stayed in St. Louis. (Well, probably not. The husband is here. I kinda like to be where he is. Go figure.)

Anyway. We actually got a teeny-tiny-piss-poor-little excuse for a snow storm this week. Then it rained for 2 days straight. Nice try, weather gods, nice try. Next time, bring it on. I want a blizzard. Just please don't knock my power out.

This is what I woke up to Wednesday morning. I drove to work with a big, giant happy face :))))))))

Reason #6,482 for my love of snow. It makes the shabby exterior of my house look kinda pretty! (Pay no attention to the Christmas lights still wrapped around the light post. They'll come down in July or so.)

Wine. Need I say more? I thoroughly enjoyed a lovely bottle of malbec all by myself the other night, while making (for the first time) homemade jalapeno poppers. Which were fantastic. And incredibly easy. If you're lucky, I'll make them for you sometime. If you bring wine. Preferably riesling.

Great news from a great friend. That's all.

Shopping. It hasn't happened yet, but I have a date with the mall tonight. I hope to God all the annoying teenagers stay home. Or out of my way.

And just for fun. Miles and Bella. Because cute.

Can I get a do-over?

So. It's almost 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Which means I've been at work, um, ALL DAY.

I just reached down to shift my necklace when my hand grazed this weird tag-y thing inside my dress. In the front.

My dress has been on backwards ALL DAY.

Awesome.

This just goes to show you that I should not be required to wake up at 8:30 am, i.e. the ASS-CRACK of dawn, expected to perform the ever-difficult task of dressing myself.

Regardless of my stupidity, it's snowing outside. Am happy :)

What I learned in school today.

GINORMOUS is officially a word. A word that I happen to love. Apparently enough people have been using it to warrant it's inclusion by Webster. In case you're wondering, here's the official definition:

Main Entry: gi·nor·mous
Pronunciation: \jī-ˈnȯr-məs\
Function: adjective
Etymology: gigantic + enormous
: extremely large : humongous

Um, duh.

And here's what pops up when you google-image 'ginormous'. Well, after you make your way past all the ginourmous sets of boobies. Ew.

Anyway, that made my day. It's the small things in life, people.

Let's talk cars.

So I found out through facebook* on Monday morning that the husband was car shopping. While I was at work. Not shopping. So I made a phone call.

Wife-piece: "So did you buy a car?"

The Husband: "Yup."

WP: "Really? That quick???"

TH: "Yup."

WP: "No, you didn't."

TH: "Yes, I did."

WP: "SERIOUSLY??!!!"

TH: "Yup."

Enter extreme jealousy.

Yes, I'm happy for him, but, (in my 4-year old temper tantrum voice) NOT FAIR!! I WANT A NEW CAR!!! And he didn't just buy any car. He bought the EXACT** car I want. And have wanted. For years.

JEA-LOUS.

To be fair, the purchase was warranted. His car basically shit the bed over the past month. And his driver's seat started smoking while he was driving the other night. Literally. Smoke was coming up between his legs. Explain that one.

At least I'll get to drive it occassionally. And have something respectable to use should the need arise for clients to be in my car.

New car is pretty. Very pretty. And loaded with lots of things I know nothing about.



Now husband gets to parade around town, looking all smug in this gorgeous Grand Cherokee***, while I'm shamefully hiding behind my sunglasses in my heap.

This one actually looks pretty. Mine does not. Although mine has lots of nice accessories. Like door dings, scratches, peeling paint, so-foggy-they-do-almost-no-good headlight covers, rust and the ever-stylish giant-ass dent from that time I drove into an unsuspecting mailbox.

My car is old. Well past middle age, slowly nearing death. Getting slightly senile. If I just let it go, it would drive around in circles. Although I can't justifiably blame that on old age. I should probably make a visit to the car doctor to have the alignment, um, realigned.

The inside is a sight. I take such pride in my vehicle that I've opted to turn the backseat into a trash dump. Literally. I have a fullsized garbage bag in the backseat for all the crap I accumulate. And it's full. I haven't cleaned my car out in ages. Since probably the summer.

And today I had a moment of sheer terror at Panera Bread while the overly-cheery counter girl was helping me out with my catering order. I was not expecting this, so I didn't appropriately prep my car. As we're nearing the rear of my vehicle, I'm scrambling to decide which door to open, while she's going on and on about how much she likes my boots (they are pretty fabulous, duh).

Options:

• Backseat? We already know that's out.
• Front passenger seat? Might work. Except for the idiot who parked waytooclose to me. Not enough room to open the door.
• Front driver's seat? Maybe I can get in and have her pile the boxes on my lap. Scratch that. Don't want to be known as the crazy-box-lady at a restaurant I frequent.

So, trunk it is. Oh my God, please please please don't let there be anything embarassing back there. I haven't opened my trunk in weeks. God knows what could be growing in there. PANIC.

Sigh...

False alarm. Nothing in the back except for one random leopard print pump (I've been looking for that) and an umbrella. Crisis averted. Cheery girl leaves, I go back to work. Maybe I should clean out my car.

*Not entirely true. He said the night before that he might go. I, however, found it ironic to find out through fb rather than a phone call. Whatever. Won't kill husband.
**Not entirely true either. I prefer white. Or black. I like to keep it classy.
*** We might need a Jeep intervention. I'm driving an '01, he just traded in an '04 for the new one and he used to own an older one. On second thought, Jeep should be paying us for our loyalty****.
****Please forward post to Jeep top-dogs.

I'm having a hair crisis.

My wonderfully-talented-amazing-no-one-else-is-allowed-to-touch-my-hair hairstylist is out of commission for a few weeks. And I need a haircut. Desperately.

I knew this was coming. She told me the last time I was in. In early December. I'm not one of those come-in-for-a-trim-every-6-weeks kinda girls. I'd rather wait until my hair is a disgusting, grown-out mess with absolutely no shape to make my appt.

So I called the salon for an appt this morning. For tonight. I like to plan things in advance. No such luck. And I'm busy each subsequent night this week. And then she's gone.

Seriously. I don't think I can wait. I'm gonna start to lose my "my haircut is better than yours so therefore I'm better than you" attitude* if this goes on much longer. But I can't let someone else cut it. It took me years to fall in love with a hairstylist. Going to somebody else would be like cheating. I guess I can sacrifice my vanity and endure a few more split ends for love.

*These are thoughts I normally (and probably should) keep to myself. But oversharing with the internet is completely acceptable.

Leggings.

This post is brought to you by the oompa-loompa in the office next to mine. Not her, per se, but her outfit.

Warning: This is a total rant. Feel free to take offense and yell at me through your comments. But since no one comments on my half-assed blog (sigh...) I'm not afraid.

Let's get to it.

I take issue with leggings. BFF will tell you that I constantly gave her shit (in a BFF sort of loving way, mind you) for wearing them for oh, about a year. I truly thought they should only be worn by the highschool crowd. I mean, it's practically turned into a teenager's uniform. Leggings and Uggs, leggings and Uggs, leggings and Uggs. Do they not have any creativity? When I was that age, I was doing my best to against the "norm" and opted for a grunge turn hippie wardrobe. (I was SO cool.) At least only like a quarter of my peers dressed like me. Seriously, go to a mall and count how many little lemmings you see walking around in leggings. It's scary.

Anyway, I finally broke down this past fall and bought a pair. Let's pause for a collective gasp...

And... even bigger gasp... I wish-I-could-wear-them-everyday-type-LOVE them. But in my defense, I'm not obese. Or even overweight, really. (Thank you stomach flu for eliminating my larger than life muffin top).

Exhibit A. Me. An appropriate use of leggings.

So. I like to think that when I wear them with boots or heels and a long, flowy top, I make them look good. (But let's get serious, I make everything look good. Or at least that's what The Husband tells me. Maybe I should get a second or third opinion...)

Now that I've decided that I don't have a problem wearing leggings, let's discuss my issue with others wearing them. Anorexic teenagers aside.

Back to the oompa-loompa (who is probably the nicest lady ever but desperately in need of a Stacy and Clinton wardrobe overhaul). I walked out of my office today to use the disgusting shared restroom only to find myself behind this poor woman. To her credit, she had shockingly thin legs. I could tell, because she was wearing, um, leggings. Duh. And Uggs. Ugh. That's another post/rant entirely.

Where the outfit failed miserably was the top. 1. Its was WAY too short. I could see waistband, people. 2. It was some sort of fuzzy sweater material in purple and white horizontal stripes. Eek.

Hence, the oompa-loompa effect.

Exhibit B: Not the lady from down the hall. But close. And not cute.

I'll stop bashing this poor, unsuspecting lady now. But it's not just her. I've seen it everywhere. And again, nothing against our larger-sized counterparts, I just really wish somebody would tell them that just because it's trendy doesn't mean they have to wear it! And no, I won't take that responsibility on. I'll bitch about anything in the privacy of my public-to-the-entire-world blog, but saying it to someone's face is a completely different story. I'd rather not get bitch-slapped. I like my face the way it is.

Now off to find a pair of jeggings.

Happy Birthday Mommy!

Isn't she beautiful? I think I'll keep her :)

Super Bowl and Stomach Flu.

Let me start off by saying that I LOATHE the game of football. I turn into a temper-tantrum-throwing, whiny baby when the husband makes me watch it. I just don't get the game... what's so fun about hurling yourself full-speed into another human being? And the idea of being at the bottom of that tackle pile terrifies me. It seems so pointlessly violent. Although I did say recently that I would love the opportunity to punch somebody in the face. Just once.

I digress.

About a week and a half before the Super Bowl, the husband came to me with the idea of a party in the all-so-important game's honor. I agreed. With the condition that I could consume as much alcohol as I pleased. He obliged and invited a few of his friends.

Then I got excited. Super Bowl or no Super Bowl, we're having a par-tay!

I even brought out the Martha Stuart in me and made some semi-cute football cupcakes. (Hey, I didn't work in the Schnucks bakery for 5 years in high school and college for nothing!) Although I will admit that I did have go online to find out the Super Bowl number (44, for the other non-watchers out there) and to make sure I put the proper lines on the footballs.

Did I make Martha proud?

The spread. We planned a pretty simple menu, keeping the football theme in mind. Garlic-buffalo wings, corn dip, buffalo chicken sliders... Think bar food.

Our fantastic guests also generously brought the following:

• buffalo chicken dip
• taco dip
• soft pretzels sticks w/ mustard
• more taco dip
• garbage bread

Have you noticed the buffalo theme? This was not intended, but worked out. Who doesn't like buffalo sauce and chicken? That's right. Nobody.

The party went off without a hitch, I drank plenty of wine, ate a ton of buffalo-flavored food, didn't watch one minute of the game (except for commercials) and everyone went home happy and left us to our mess at a decent hour.

Instead of doing the smart thing and cleaning up the mess, we did the comfortable thing and laid on the couch crying over our over-stuffed bellies for the rest of the night. I was in rough shape. I really overdid it with the eating this time. Wishing away my crampy stomach didn't work, so I went to bed.

An hour later I woke up. And RAN to the bathroom. Remember all that buffalo stuff I ate? Apparently seeing it once wasn't enough. I'll spare you the details, but I was hung over the toilet for way longer than necessary. I mean, c'mon, isn't once enough? Making me repeatedly go through that horrible I-can't-breathe-because-liquid-is-coming-out-of-my-nose thing is pure torture. Don't the vomit Gods know that my worst fear is drowning? Especially in my own bodily fluids.

It went on forever. The husband said "I've never seen so much puke come out of one small person" as I was practically dying. Thank you, me neither. He was great though. He cleaned up my mess (I was far more concerned with getting the crap out of my body than I was with making the bowl) which was everywhere. Even on the dogs. Don't ask. So much for sparing you the details.

The only positive that came out of the situation was that I finally got the husband back for the time he spewed dinner all over a pristine, all white hotel bathroom after a few too many after dinner cocktails a few years ago. Not that I'm keeping score ;)

After I was done and the room was clean, my wonderful husband got me back into bed with a glass of juice.

Then he offered me a buffalo chicken slider.

Funny, funny guy.

THE wedding post. Part 3

As if you haven't already seen enough, I'm going to force you to view a few more wedding pics. Specifically, group shots. Enjoy!

This has got to be THE coolest bridal party pic ever. Right? I especially love the beer can in Rachel's hand. And how you can see the differences in all the lovely ladies' dresses. (Click the photo to enlarge)

A nice respectable (read: boring, but cute) shot of us with our siblings.

Now for some fun...

It's safe to say that I'm obsessed with these columns. Yes, I'm an architecture geek ;)

Doesn't my husband look so cute in this one?

Pretty sure I was laughing here. I don't think I would make that awkward laughy face on purpose. But I like it.

LOVE LOVE LOVE this one! And not because he's checking out my ass ;)

My dress did not seem nearly this large. But apparently it was.

There's a story behind this. When these three, um, men were young and naive, they somehow ended up in this same predicament, only picture a fully nude, nasty stripper with 80's hair in my place. Now it's tradition for the their wives to pose like this. At least I'm not alone.

That wasn't so bad, right? Stay tuned for THE wedding post, Part 4!

Our Itatian Vacation

So the husband and I are in Italy, staying at this fantastic house near the coast. It's the last day of the first leg of our trip.

After packing our bags and saying goodbye to our temporary home, we walk out the door to head to the port to board a cruiseship for part two of our vacation. Then husband has to go to the bathroom. Back inside we go. Do all men take this long to, um, go?

Now we're running late. I'm freaking out. The ship's gonna leave without us!

We finally make it to the ship and board. They ask for IDs and boarding passes. I can't find my freaking ID. Typical. Then I realize I left it at the house we just left. They won't let us on the ship. I start crying.

Then I wake up.

I f-ing hate my dreams. Are yours this vivid?

A Mean Little Groundhog.

Ugh. Winter makes me lazy. And stupid Phil had to crawl out of his hole and see his stupid shadow. Or not. I don't know the mechanics of Groundhog's Day, I just know that he's jinxed us into 6 more weeks of cold.

I actually can't believe I'm saying this. I love winter. And snow. Seriously.

But this year, it's turned me into a food-loving, weight-gaining couch potato. I literally don't do ANYTHING when I get home from work anymore. The cold weather makes me want to curl up into a ball under my blanket with two cuddly dachshunds in front of the tv for hours. Or maybe it's the fact that my house is freezing all the time thanks to the constant draft entering through our disgusting old windows.

Either way, I'm sick of it. Bring on the warmth.

I want the sun to be shining past 5 o'clock. I want to go for a run - OUTSIDE. I want to be a good dog-mom and take M & B for walks. I want to drink a margarita on my front porch...

Think summer would come any faster if I went to Punxsutawney, PA and had a little chat with Phil? ;)