Holy Shellac, Batman!

For those of you scoffing at my $40 manicure, eat it.

This was taken at a full week in.  NO CHIPS, people!

Can I tell you how nice it was to be on vacation and not have to worry about my nails?!!  I suppose most people probably wouldn't, but we all know how I feel about my appearance, right?  Poor husband.  Er, lucky husband?

The manicure actually lasted a few days beyond this without chipping.  The first chip appeared around day 10 but wasn't that noticeable.  Day 13 came and went and I was shocked thinking I'd get a full two weeks (maybe longer!) out of it.  No dice.  Day 14 was like Armageddon for my nails.  Literally every nail began to crack and peel.  And because I'm impatient and didn't want to wait for a salon visit (or spend the money) for proper removal, I peeled the rest off myself.  

Good for my cuticles, no?

So.  Shellac?  Love.

 

One year down.

Showing off our marital bling.

One year ago today, we said I do.

And I still do.

I love you more each day and love the life we have created together. 

It's nice to have a BIP ;)

Happy Anniversary, Babe.

xo times a million.

Shellac me.

I know, I know.  Close up hand pictures are gross.  And seriously?  When did my middle finger's middle knuckle get so damn big?  And wow, my index finger is totally curved.  The cut on my pinky?  Spaghetti squash carving incident.

Moving on.

I got a manicure the other day.  This is not a routine thing for me.  My friends will tell you that there isn't much more that I hate in the world than wasting money on a manicure only to have it chip in mere days.

This one is different though.  ::crosses fingers and prays to the nail gods::

It's called a Shellac manicure.  Apparently it's like a gel polish.  Or something.  And you stick your hands in a UV light emitting thing in between coats.  Supposedly it lasts up to 2 weeks. 

Check back with me upon my return from Napa and we'll see what state my nails are in.  K?  Thx.

The love-affair may recommence.

That's probably not even a word.  Whatev. 

So this morning I got out of bed, peed and walked my naked-ass to the scale.  Yes, this is my morning ritual.  Don't judge.

And holy shit, the scale made my day!  131.2 people!  I've officially passed my original goal of 132 and am well on my way to getting under 130.  Too bad we'll be in Napa for the next 7 days gorging ourselves with wine, cheese and the like*. 

Anyway, after seeing that glorious number on the scale, I decided to try on a pair of jeans that I haven't worn in, oh, about 4 years.  All girls do that, right? 

Look at that beautiful "h" on the rear. 

I first heard about Citizens of Humanity jeans on Oprah (love her and seriously might cry when her show ends) during a show about denim makeovers.

On the show was a woman who had been searching for jeans for years.  She had flat-ass syndrome and ridiculously long legs and had never been able to find jeans to accomodate her, um, problem.  Sound familiar?  The next chance I got, I rushed to the store to try these puppies on.  It was love at first zip.  Thus began my love affair with COH jeans.  I own roughly a dozen pairs.  Overkill?  Probably.

When my waistline started expanding, however, I put them to rest.  Going up a size didn't do it for me... they just looked baggy.  Now that I am almost back to skinny-mini size, I'm bringing 'em back. 

This picture didn't come out as planned.  I was attemping to show just how nice my trusty COHs make my ass look.  But I cut off my legs.  Such is life. 

So.  Suffering from flat-ass syndrome?  Buy the Citizens.  Flat-ass be gone. 

True story.

 

*Have I mentioned how I excited I am to be back in a state that has a Jack in the Box??  There's a strong possibility that we'll be making a stop (or four) for some delicious deep-fried tacos.  And holy shit, our hotel has afternoon tea!  As in, fourth meal.  In the middle of the day!  See ya next week, diet. 

I have upgraded.

This post should really be titled "NEW CAR NEW CAR NEW CAR NEW CAR NEW CAR!!!!!!!!!"

'Cause I'm feeling a little happy.

Ok.  Deliriously happy is more like it.

But a little sad at the same time.

Like previously mentioned, I get attached to things.  My car is one of them.   

Here I am, looking like a tool, showing off my beloved, elderly Jeep, in my not so pretty garage. 

This Jeep took me through my twenties.  Literally.  I bought it at age 20, sold it at age 30.  This car and I have seen a lot together.  It made the trip between Cape Girardeau and St. Louis (during my college years) too many times to count, gave me a warm, comfortable place to nap when I found myself at work a whole 8 minutes early, nursed itself back to health after being involved in not one, but three accidents, none of which were my fault, held me together during my excruciating 30+ mile bumper to bumper commutes to various communities during my McBride days, and most importantly, made the 1,000 mile journey with ease, moving me, my dogs and my life from St. Louis to Albany. 

As much as I bitched and moaned about how shitty my car was, I loved it.  We have memories, people!  Is that ridiculous?

Anyway.

Remember this post? 

I finally got my wish. 

This lovely now belongs to me.  So pretty I can't stand it.

  

And one more time, for comparison's sake...

DINGY AND OLD

SHINY AND NEW



My husband spoils me.  Although I really think he was just sick of me stealing his car all the time ;)

Whatever works, people, whatever works. 

*And Jeep Peeps, you really should be thanking us for our devotion... we're on #5.  We may have a problem.

 

And on a lighter note...

I can hardly contain my excitement...

I'm already half packed...

So ready for this view...

See you in a week, Napa Valley!

Awkward Emotions.

Not really sure where I'm going with this.

Not really even sure if I should be posting it.

Let's start with this. We all know that I'm a pretty laid-back person with a positive disposition, sense of humor and a great outlook on life. Right? Right. I think that's what makes it hard for me to go back to a time in my life where I was in a pretty bad place. Raw, emotional, angry. On the other hand, I'm very sentimental and love looking at pictures of my past, remembering what if felt like to be "me" then.

I am so completely in love with my life now. Husband, house, fur-children, job, family, friends. Everything. I've moved on from the bad parts of my past and cherish the happy parts but this one caught me completely off guard. 

Yesterday, while purusing a St. Louis real estate site (something I do semi-regularly, being the voyeur that I am) I came across a listing that looked all too familiar.

That, folks, is my first home.  The home I was so proud to purchase at the ripe age of 23.  The home I spent hour upon hour painting, remodeling, decorating, pouring love into.  Unfortunately, it's also the home I shared with he-who-shall-remain-unnamed.  He who caused me so much heartache.  He who pushed me away, into the arms of the greatest thing to ever happen to me.  For that, I am grateful.

Thus, the conflict of emotions. 

I get attached to certain things in my life.  The homes I have lived in rank high on that list.  I will never tire of driving past the homes I grew up in and reminiscing.  The same goes for this home, regardless of who I shared it with.  Although, to give myself credit, I have not driven past it once since I left.  (High five, willpower, high five.)  Nor have I looked at pictures. 

So seeing this listing yesterday was a bit troublesome.  It's hard to describe how it makes me feel.  I can tell you, however, that one emotion to immediately surface was anger.  Not anger for what transpired in that house, I'm past that.  But anger that woman I sold it to let this happen.  She took my darling little house and let it fall into the bank's hands, into foreclosure.

Don't hate.  If this wasn't a house that I paid substantially more for than it's currently listed, if I didn't have a small remaining emotional attachment to it, I would be more readily accepting of the situation.  Being in real estate, I see this all the time.  And I feel for the people it happens to.  Sometimes you can't help the circumstances in your life that lead to this.  

But my house?  Seeing it from this perspective pisses me off, to put it bluntly.  When I left, I was so ready to just get the hell out that I graciously left items that wouldn't ordinarily be left with the sale of a home.  And since the current (past?) owner foreclosed, she took EVERYTHING that wasn't nailed down.  My things. 

Sigh.

My apologies for the negativity today.  But seeing as this has replaced the journals I religiously poured my emotions into for a decade (that's a entirely other post) I had to share. 

Give me an hour and I'll be over it.

And PS, if anyone's for looking for a fabulous deal on a pretty great little house in North St. Louis County, look this one up.  Just don't tell me about it.

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

And for Husband, when you read this, thank you for being you and for understanding that every once in awhile, little annoying things like this creep up out of my past.  Like we've said, most of the time we both forget that I was ever married before.  I like that.  You are my husband, the one and only, the true love of my life.  xoxo