Change and Tofu.

Change.

So you may have noticed that my blog template looks a little different. Squeeeee!!! Blogger finally decided to come out with new templates and more options for the HTML-challenged. Like me.

It kinda reminds me of the old myspace days. Mywhat? I know, you're thinking "Gawd... that was like social networking in it's infancy." I haven't touched my myspace page in ages but one of the things I remember (and liked) most about it was that I could easily change my profile background.

And I did.

Constantly.

So you should probably expect to see that here too. I get bored easily.

Anyway. Hope you like. We'll live with the flowers for awhile and see where it takes us. Feel free to comment on this or any future template changes. Comments make me happy.

*********************

Tofu.

I love tofu. And not in a weird "I eat it because I'm a vegetarian and OMG would never be caught dead eating an ANIMAL" kinda way. I eat meat occaisonally, I just prefer things like vegetables, tofu and pasta.

Although I love it and have eaten it in restaurants plenty of times, I've never actually cooked a meal with it. Last night became the time to experiment. And it was an amazing success. I can't wait to make it for dinner again tonight.

I found the recipe on myrecipes.com.

Soy Glazed Tofu

My version

Mine doesn't look as pretty but I'm willing to bet my first born that it tasted better. Because Mmmm. And I'm awesome.

I used rice noodles instead of the thicker asian noodles that are pictured and they were a great addition to the plate. I'm sure you could use any starch you'd like. Rice, glass noodles, etc. I also went a little heavier on the glaze because I'm sau-cy.

So. Super easy to make. Delish. Healthy. Go make it. Now. Thank me later.

Partying like a rockstar (should be illegal for a 29 year old)

So. The bachelorette party of the century. Not gonna lie, it was more fun than my own. Not that mine wasn't a blast... it was nice and low-key. The only thing low-key about this one was the plane ride there.

And now I shall state for the record: I'm too old for this shit.

It took me days to recover. Literally, my entire body hurt. Although, that probably had something to do with the strip-tease class.

Yup. Strip-tease. As in "try not to think about looking stupid while attempting to look sexy in front of a bunch of girls you just met".

To get in the um, mood, Rachel and I chugged a 6 pack of beer in mere minutes.

Here are the 9 of us, looking all lovely in our hot pink boas. Bride (Michelle) is in white, I'm in the gray hat and Rachel is in the camo hat. The rest of the girls I had just met the night before.

FAIL.

The format of the class was basically just a broken down "strip tease" routine that we learned. In my case, however, it was a big fat FAIL. See how I'm on a different part of the routine than the rest of the girls? That's 'cause I'm not sexy. Or coordinated. Sorry husband, you probably won't be seeing this routine reenacted in the bedroom.

Pole dancing at it's finest. ha

Remember the beer that we chugged? Apparently it kicked in after the class. Since there were no poles in the room, we made this pipe work. And we worked it. ha.

Ok, class over. I survived. It was fun and definitely an entertaining way to spend an hour.

Now onto dinner.

Here we are at Hub 51. Great location, awesome contemporary decor, okay drinks, decent menu. Blame Husband for turning me into food snob.

Me, Bride, Bride's sister.

Now here is where the night gets interesting...

After dinner, Rachel (who lives in Chicago) took us to her favorite bar in the city. LOVED it. They played seriously the best music. Lots of 80s and 90s. Perfect for us old people.

There also happened to be a bachelor party at the bar that night. I honestly don't remember any of the men from the party but I do know that we somehow snagged their blow-up doll. Because duh, no bachelorette party is complete without one.

And of course we had to pose with said blow-up doll.

Notice the stupid look on my face. I guess I decided to stop smiling... all of the pictures from this point in the night look like this. God, I'm a ra-tard. Let's call it my drunk face.

You might be wondering who the nasty boy (aka d-bag) in the front is. Asshole. That's who he is. He deserves no respect so I deem him Asshole. He was a little leech, following us around all night. At the very end of the night, he hugged Rachel, then came over to me for a hug. Ew. Did not want hug.

Now here's the kicker. Mid-hug, he proclaimed "I didn't dig you, but whatever".

Oh damn, 'cause I was really hoping he did. I'm mean, for real, this guy was a CATCH!

I should've punched him in the face. A black eye would've been an improvement on top of that sorry excuse for facial hair.

Ok, I'm almost done.

I'll leave you with one final picture. This was taken at approximately 4 in the morning. Yes, 4. am. Ugh. I haven't seen that hour in years.

Somehow, my eyes are still open. I'm a trouper, I am.

Back at Rachel's apartment at 5am, I managed to get my stuff packed and get a few hours sleep (although I forgot to remove my fake eyelashes and woke up with one stuck to my cheek) before miraculously not oversleeping and making it to the airport on time.

All in all (did I really just say that?) it was a great, yet exhausting weekend. And Michelle had a blast, which in the end is all that really matters.

Blah.

So I have a post half-ready about my Chicago trip. Too tired to finish it, however. Once you see it, you'll understand. Bottom line: I tried to party like a 19 year old. At age 29, that should be illegal.

I'm still paying for it.

Especially the eating out all weekend part.

To really put myself in a good mood last night, I tried on my bridesmaid dress for the brother and Michelle's wedding. Now, when I got the dress in a month ago, it was too big. Last night, however, that wasn't the case. I'm such a pasta-loving, alcohol-consuming, don't-take-those-girl-scout-cookies-away-from-me glutton. Ugh. I think you get the picture that the dress didn't fit. Even with spanx. True story.

So, at 9:00 last night, I pried my fat ass out of the dress and went to the gym for an hour.

Now I want to die.

But with only 5 weeks and 2 days left before I leave for the wedding, I kinda need to stick to this...

'cause, funny, this would look a lot nicer zipped all the way up.

So please don't come near me with pasta.

Or wine.

I can explain, Officer...

So. After nearly 3 years of living in NY, it finally happened. They caught me.

After deciding to NOT go to the mall after work on Tuesday, I head home, taking my normal route while singing incredibly off-key to some horrible song on the radio. About halfway home, I see a small checkpoint with three cops stopping traffic going both directions. I was the fifth car in line so I'm watching as the cars ahead of me get stopped. The cop looks through the windshields and lets them all go.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking "Ooh, what's going on? There must've been a kidnapping or prison break or something!" I seriously thought they were looking in the cars for someone in particular. And obviously I'm home free because I'm harboring no fugitives or small children (to my knowledge) in the back of my car.

If only I was right. Or harboring a fugitive.

Apparently this stupid state sets up checkpoints to check inspection stickers.

Now here's where my ignorance comes into play. In NY, when you register your car, they give you two stickers to put on your windshield. One is for your inspection, the other for the registration. The registration sticker is big and has a HUGE, obvious date stamped on it. 4/10, in my case. So I'm good right for another month, right?

Nope.

Apparently my inspection sticker has a different date on it. 3/09 to be exact. Oops. In my defense, you can BARELY read the date on that sticker. And I seriously didn't notice that it had expired until about a month ago. And at that point I was like "well, I've made it this far, I might as well see how much longer I can go."

Stupid, stupid girl. This is what you get for f-ing with the law!

So I pull up to the checkpoint, the officer looks through my windshield and waves me on. At least that's what I thought. I start to pull away when he yells something and throws his hands up. Great, now he thinks I was trying to leave the scene of a crime(?) or whatever.

I roll down my window (thank GOD I wasn't on the phone and miraculously had my seatbelt on) and he asks me what's up with my inspection sticker.

"What are you talking about, Officer? It expires in April." See, I'm playing dumb. I could be an actress.

Then he explains that no, that's your registration...

Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I'm still thinking I can fool him into thinking I really am an idiot and didn't know any better. So I get all upset and explain to him that I'm from out of state and the last state that I lived in had different rules. In that fine state, your inspection and registration expire at the SAME TIME! Imagine that. Makes sense, right Mr. Officer?

No dice.

"Please pull over there in front of my police car."

DAMMIT!!!!

Here come the tears. I truly cannot help it. When confronted, yelled at, belittled, etc, etc, etc, I cry. That's what I do.

And apparently (I think I've used that word a few too many times for one post) he didn't believe my crap acting anyway. (Probably because I was a bumbling, nervous idiot, tripping over my words... so much for my top notch acting skills.) He came over, took my license, insurance card and registration. Now I'm sweating. Not that there's anything for him to find but my driver's license has my current last name, my insurance card has the ex-husband's last name and my car is registered in my maiden name. He's probably gonna be all confused and write me another ticket just because I don't have my shit straight. Oy.

Long story, well, long... he gave me a ticket because "this is your car and even if you say you weren't aware of the rules, you should've been. Any questions? Good." And he walked off. No "have a nice night" or anything. The makeup running down my face probably scared him.

So. I have a court date in a few weeks. Joy. Think I can plead my ignorance to the judge? ha.

I knew I should've gone to the mall.

**********************

I'm heading to Chicago this afternoon for my future sister-in-law's bachelorette party so there will be no posting til I return on Monday. Don't cry, you can make it a few days without my wit, right? ;)

Vintage Vantage

Another self-serving post for your viewing pleasure ;)

Remember my wine class post?

The husband has had huge success with the classes over the past couple of months, catching the attention of the local media.

The Times Union ran a pretty fab story detailing the classes last week. Featuring the Husband's mug and some pretty lame quotes by the Wife.



Read for yourself. Here. I think I came off sounding a bit juvenile.

I'd like to tell you that I was ambushed and had no time to prepare but then I'd be lying. I saw the journalist sitting at another table interviewing other classmates... I knew it was only a matter of time til she got to me.

Which she did.

After I'd injested more than my share of wine. I probably would've used bigger words, you know, to make myself sound smart (SMRT!) if I had been more sober.

On second thought, who am I kidding? I have to look up big words to use for my blog. You can't possibly think I can come up with one off the cuff, while being quoted.

Whatever.

First article down, God knows how many to go. My husband is, after all, a local celebrity.*

*So states his now-defunct** myspace page.
**I used a big word without looking it up! Go me.

Finding purpose?

It seems that this, in fact, may be the case.

Lest my blog become any more self-serving, conceited, self-promoting, or however you want to spin it, I'm putting this out there right now:

I'm going to continue writing this blog the way I do (i.e. about ME!) for, um, me. I mean, most people's blogs are about themselves, right? But like previously discussed, most also have a theme, if you will. Mine, not so much.

So to avoid all the "God, this girl's full of herself" and "really, more pictures of her?" mantras rolling around in my (few) readers' heads, know this: I'm enjoying the whole blog thing and can't wait to look back at it in 5, 10 or 20 years and remember.

'Cause seriously, we should all have something to embarrass our future children with, right?

So there you have it. Think of it as a photo album/journal of sorts. Which is probably the definition of the word blog. Go figure. SMRT!

*************************

So now that that's out of the way and you're no longer allowed to yell at me for talking about myself, please enjoy the second installation of "New York's Newest Supermodel".

Once again, I started hearing "I saw your face in a magazine" from random people.

Um, what?? To steal a quote from the husband, "As long as it's not the police blotter, that's fine with me!" He's full of the quippy one-liners, that husband of mine.

The Spirit of Saratoga, which is a publication put out by the Saratogian, did a fantastic article on the ever-fabulous Alayne of Make Me Fabulous. Alayne is the makeup artist who prettied me up for The Wedding of the century. And accompanying the article is a picture of ME!

Now is where I should clarify. The photo is actually a shot of Alayne doing my makeup at The Wedding. Alas, it's not technically a pic of yours truly. Nor did my name appear in the article. But the side of my face does look pretty nice!

So nice of them to use my good side ;)

Photobooth madness...

Yes, yes, I realize that in yesterday's post I said I was done boring you with all the little details of my wedding the greatest wedding in the history of the universe. Sue me. I lied.

I can't possibly go on without ever posting the infamous photobooth pics. And it's really not all about me. This time. I've also included, for your viewing pleasure, some photobooth shots from the wedding we attended last weekend. And for the millionth time, all cred goes to our amazing photographer, because this type of photobooth setup is his brainchild... and it's WAY fun.

So. Apparently I turn into a dancing queen (i.e. clumsy moron) once I step foot in front of the self-controlled camera. Trust me. I only included the pretty ones. You know, to make myself look good* ;)

It seems we follow a theme upon entering the photobooth. For the sake of comparison, you'll see pics from my wedding (black/white background**) and pics from JP and Kris Ann's wedding (blue/brown background).

Shall we?

First up, we have the "let's dance like a fool and snap a million pictures to show our future kids just how cool we were back in the day" shots.



Apparently I'm quite fond of raising the roof.

Next we have the "gee, Carolyn looks rather pick-up-able" shots. Oy. I'm really not that light, people.

And um, being picked up in an uber-short dress was slightly dangerous. I'm pretty sure I gave the band a little peek of my leopard print boyshorts***.

Now onto the "jump" phase of the photobooth series.


Again, dangerous. First I almost lost the girls, second I probably mooned the backdrop. Such is life.

Ah, here we have the "I'm too cool for school" shots.

Nick likes to call this one our "Bel Biv Devoe" look. I guess I'm a bad child of the 80s/90s because I don't really know what that means.

And just for fun, a prim and proper "prom pose".

Wasn't that fun?

*I never said modesty was a strong-suit.

**Because obviously seeing me in a giant white dress wasn't enough of a give-away.
***They liked it. (See footnote 1)****

****If you're waiting for me to tire of footnotes, keep waiting. They amuse me.

THE wedding post. Part 4

The Husband and I attended a lovely wedding this weekend, so it seemed fitting to publish the final of my series of wedding posts. Not to mention the fact that it got me all nostalgic for our wedding again. Probably because it was the first one we've been to since and it also took place at the same venue ours did*... i.e. THE coolest room around.

See? You can't go wrong with the Historic Canfield Casino in Saratoga Springs. Since I'm an architecture geek, I love it for obvious reasons.

Making our grand entrance as Mr. & Mrs. to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing"... We definitely weren't excited or anything ;)

First dance (to Bon Jovi's "A Seat Next to You")

Best Man's toast. Don't really remember what he said... I just really like this picture ;) (Check out the length of our massive headtable!)

Insanely gorgeous centerpieces by Kris Ann.***

I'm seriously drooling just looking at this. We had our favorite sushi roller (chef??) from our favorite sushi restaurant, Koto, come work his magic. We also had a mashed potato bar, a carving station with 4lb lobster tails, a noodle bar, a Cold Stone station and a ton more that I can't think of...

Our amazing band, the New York Players, kept everyone on the dance floor all night long.

It was seriously a kick-ass party.

So. That's it for the wedding posts. (See the first 3 installments here, here and here.)

If I haven't said it before, SHOCK and AWE was the name of the game. Think we achieved our goal?

*...with the same band, the same color flowers and a similar food setup. At least we got ours in 4 months before them ;)**
**I'm so kidding. I love the bride and groom. They obviously have great taste ;)
***Who also happened to be the bride! Who happened to marry our photographer, who gets all the photo credit for these beautiful pics.

Hallway Decor

We have one hallway in our house. It's long, narrow and mind-numbingly boring.

I want to create a gallery of sorts, with picture frames lining the walls to liven it up. I just can't decide how to hang them or what type of frames to use.

Our home is decorated in a contemporary sort of style (clean lines, simple color pallette, modern furniture pieces) with a slight traditional edge (crown molding, silk drapery) to warm it up a bit.

So the hallway could go either way. Contemporary or traditional.

The question is:

Do I go with a look like this, with the simlicity of symmetry and matching frames?

Or do I do something like this? Still symmetrical, still with matching frames, but a little more haphazard.

Or do I make a statement and go floor to ceiling with my arrangement?

What would you do?

My husband thinks I'm funny...

Except for last Friday when he called from work to tell me that his car was stolen and I laughed and said that he had to be kidding.

Wait, what?

Yes, shiny new car was stolen. From the gated, attendant-supervised valet lot at his restaurant. Seriously.

Lesson learned: take husband seriously next time car is stolen.

Wait, what?

Yeeaaahhhh... let's not go down that road again. haha. Road. Just like the one the thieves drove ours down. And left abandoned on.

What an f-ing nightmare. Surveillance from the lot showed two men walk into the lot, approach husband's car, high-five and get in. Apparently car-thievery warrants high-fiving. Another lesson learned. Then they drove right out of the gate. The attendant, in the meantime, sat in his heated booth playing Play Station. Instead of paying attention to the car being STOLEN from under his nose. Idiot.

After a fantastically sleepless night (the car thieves have our f-ing HOUSE key) we woke up early the next morning to methodically drive the streets of the Albany ghetto looking for the car.

No dice.

Finally, we got the call around 8:30pm that it had been located, apparently deserted behind a Burger King. The cops said it looked kind of odd to see a nice, shiny car sitting there in a shitty neighborhood. Thankfully these were no Super Troopers and were smart enough to run the plates. They then discreetly watched the car to see if the thieves would return. They didn't (go figure), so they called us.

I seriously thought that we'd get there, identify the car and hand over the spare key so they could take the car in and process it or whatever. Apparently I watch too much CSI. No dusting for prints, no checking for blood stains in the trunk, nothing. How boring.

And everything was intact inside the car and out. The only thing missing was our GPS. Eh, we needed a new one anyway.

******************

Back to my original thought... Apparently my husband really does think I'm funny. He called me from work the other day to tell me "I was just reading your blog and you're pretty fucking funny." Awwww, he likes me, he really, really likes me! Well, my blog anyway ;)