Embracing Liberties

Safety First

2011-12-15T17:00:00.000-08:00

Guys. I have a friend. (He's not my only friend, so don't make no jokes, bro.) This friend is named Josh, but I call him Hoovie, when I'm not calling him Precious.

Josh/Hoovie/Precious is a man of the finest sort. Besides his loving disposition, he bakes a mean lasagna, can dance improv circles around anyone, is an expert on people watching, and does this:

Any questions?

In Which Gary Dines at Hooters (and I Get an Apartment)

2011-12-14T20:00:00.000-08:00

"Living in LA is expensive."

I looked up at the gray-haired man sitting across the desk from me, where he watched as I signed my name to the $3,000 check I had just written.

I handed him the check and, as he processed my apartment application, I let my eyes wander the room. Apartment manager's offices are funny little rooms, and Gary's was no exception. To my right, three stairs led to what used to be a doorway. The wall, now bricked in and coated with a worn pea green, blocked access to the courtyard of what is now my apartment building. The steps, now defunct, held the results of his latest trip to the hardware store: three boxes of light bulbs, seven packages of off-white mini blinds, a screwdriver, a hammer. A handful of nails lay scattered about the steps.

The rest of the office read less like an office and more like the contents of a filing cabinet. Several filing cabinets, to be accurate. You could tell that at some point in the very distant past, stacks—columns—of files had been created. What purpose this served never crossed my mind—a lamp stood on one, offering light to the desk when the sun had gone down for the day. Columns in the back of the room supported items of less clarified roles, such as a tape player from the 90s, an empty cigarette carton, and a pen collection that lay in want of a traditional pen holder. It was a veritable smorgasbord of practicality if you ask me (though no one has).

"OK, let me just make a call," Gary said. I brought my attention back to him and the task at hand. I nodded in agreement, though I suppose that had I shook my head in discord, he would have dialed the leasing company anyway.

"Oh OK, we'll wait," I heard Gary say into the phone. He held the phone a few inches from his ear as he said this. An associate at the leasing company was yelling at him, yelling words that I, and likely my parents who were sitting in their truck outside, could make out perfectly. Sean—also known as Wash—was momentarily unavailable. Sure. We'll wait. And as long as no one else asks for a $3,000 check for immediate deposit, my bank account will wait as well.

Gary switched the phone to speaker and laid the handset back on its dock. He rolled his swivel chair closer to my side of his desk. Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, Gary looked at me over the rims of his wire frames. He's Armenian, with olive skin and calloused hands that speak of having previously lived a hard life, but one with a payoff that is well worth those difficulties. He's the father of two, a teenage son and baby daughter; and the husband of one, a high school math teacher. Gary gushes over his family, and was eager to tell us of his recent trip to Armenia, where he baptized his daughter into the Christian faith. He's an honest, decent man who drinks his afternoon coffee out of fine China, walks his son to school, and wears ratty socks with his sandals.

"Living in LA is expensive," Gary repeated.

"Yes, yes it is." I wasn't quite sure what he was hoping I'd say here. I had no real idea yet, as the limited time I'd previously spent in the city told me only of rental car prices at Enterprise, not grocery budgets and electricity bills.

Gary continued without acknowledging that I had said anything at all. "I mean, take yesterday, for example. Work hard, then dine with friends. We go to Hooters. Laughs, wings, get the bill. Fifty dollars! Oy."

My eyes widened in surprise. Gary presented himself far differently than a man who spends $50 at a Hooters on random Wednesday night. How bachelor. How bizarre. How American.

Fortunately, he assumed mine was a reaction to his $50 tab, not his restaurant of choice.

"Exactly! It adds up. All adds up." He rolled his eyes and gestured to the side, as though pushing the thought away from himself and his belly full of hot and spicy chicken.

I offered my condolences: "You're right, Gary, it's a shame it costs so much to live the American dream."

He closed his eyes and nodded in agreement, letting the heat from his quick rant dissipate in our silence.

"Hello? Hello?" A voice came over the speaker on the phone.

Gary jumped in his seat and swiveled back to the phone.

"Yes! Wash! Are you there? It's me, it's Gary. Listen, I have a girl who needs to move in immediately—"

"—yes, well, no, well, listen to me Wash, just listen. I'm sending her to your office right now. Approve her, sign the lease, and send her back with my copies. Right now."

He slammed the phone down and turned back to me, offering a meager smile before feeling a rush to send me to the leasing office, where Wash approved my lease application immediately, just as Gary demanded, and rescued me from living in a hotel or being forced to ride back to Colorado with my parents.

I think I'll buy Gary some new socks for Christmas.

LA = Tattoos

2011-07-16T20:06:00.003-07:00

Guys. Listen. The thing is, I'm not in LA yet. Which means my life is crammed with monumental tasks like working a lot and packing boxes and separating the various colors of my index card collection. But, I do want to share with you this little gem: a conversation I had with my brother. It pretty much sums up my current state of mind in regards to LA.

ME:

I'm slightly nervous about making friends.

BRO:

Who wouldn't want to be friends with you??

ME:

Well the thing is, I'm kind of awkward around new people. Which isn't the best first impression. I also quit my pot habit so there goes that circle of peeps.

BRO:

Well at least pot circles make good back up plans if the awkward thing gets out of control.

ME:

Oh that's true. But I was thinking: new town, new me, new crowd, yes?

THEREFORE I SHOULD GET TATTOOS.

BRO:

Logically.

ME:

Like, a heart/cupid/Mom situation? Or is that only for Navy dudes?

BRO:

No I like it. Navy is relative.

ME:

Yeah, but so is, like, a ying yang symbol.

BRO:

Dragons.

ME:

A dragon that's breathing fire and is positioned at the base of my back, so it looks like it's guarding my ass. GOOD IDEA, BRO.

(You know you're jealous your brother isn't as cool as mine.)

New Venture

2011-06-09T08:00:00.001-07:00

Peoples!

Newest project. You won't want to miss this. It's called Mom Said So, and it chronicles the rules and guidance Mom gave us when we were kids, even if some of her advice didn't quite pan out.

Here's a lil peek:

So, hop on over to the site, and take a little gander around. And be sure to follow the blog for an instant bit of your mother, each and every day. Hope you enjoy!

(And yes, I'll still be updating this blog, and will resume its maintenance in full once my move to LA has come and gone. So don't worry, my little lovelies; I won't be leaving you.)

You're never too young to read AARP.

2011-06-08T18:44:00.003-07:00

Oh, hey. Look at this.

(Hint: If you don't know what you're looking for, read the words by the little blue birdy.)

Yeah. Yeah, that's me. I'm @emilyjbenson, obvs. And my fine thoughts were published in AARP The Magazine.

Be jealz. And, e-mail me regarding autograph requests; I'll tell you what's what and how to get your copy signed. (But first, go buy the issue, duh.)

The Scheduled Rapture

2011-05-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

The Rapture. It's coming to cities worldwide on May 21, 2011.

That's tomorrow folks, and for a certain religious group, their world as they know it is going up in flames.

So here's the thing. Should the Rapture come tomorrow, I will more than likely be ascending on those clouds or buried in the rubble caused by an earthquake. Which leaves the rest of you fighting over my belongings. So here, let me will them away so we're all clear:

To my sister, I leave the string of pink glass beads I stole from my mother, who stole it from her sister. But since we all know Katie is the most angelic of all and will be at those pearly gates before anyone else, this necklace will more than likely be handed down to her niece or someone's neighborhood dog.
To my friend JT, I leave my library. Yes, I call my book collection a library and yes, it's more exciting than yours. Upon this thought, however, I realize that JT will also be ahead of me on the good list, so in that case, anyone interested should e-mail me for dibs on this one, and JT will approve or disprove of your rightful claim to said books.
To anyone who cares, I have a sweet yellow velvety chair. It's more comfortable than air, so you should be super ecstatic about wanting it and super envious if you're not the lucky chosen one. So start fighting over it, people.
And to the one weird-and-creepy fan of mine, you may rifle through my sock drawer. But only after everyone else has come and gone and left my belongings to rot.

That is all, folks. Contact me if you're confused, worried, or in a general state of panic about the end of the world. I'll tell you why you shouldn't be.

Yes I'm Alive

2011-05-20T08:11:00.003-07:00

Hi, guys and gals! I can't believe a month has gone by since I last posted! I'd love to tell you I've been out saving the world and just don't have time to look at my computer anymore, but the truth is, I spend all day working on a computer and probably should have been telling you the gory details of said life. And also, Cat Woman took back her costume so that whole hero thing I was working on is officially over. Apparently she's not keen on the stealing of other people's black tights, and especially not when they are hers. Blah.

Anywho, look at the top of your screen. See that banner? It's pretty great, yes? My dear friend Leigh designed it for me. She's amazing. I've spent an average of 36 minutes per day staring at it. That's how great it is. And now you should visit her site for more of her amazeballs design work and hire her already.

As for blog updates, they are going to continue on this few-and-far-between path. Until I move to LA, that is. And once I arrive in the land of glory, I'll be back to posting so often you'll be leaving voicemails on my machine asking me to quit inundating your life with such frivolous details as to my apartment neighbors, my friends' cats, and my latest food fetish. So please, bear with me until then.

MmmKthanksbye.

To Whom It May Concern

2011-04-19T09:00:00.001-07:00

Dear Credit Card Company,

You don't know me, but you have a file loaded with data about me. The file is accessible to many in your company, and with the right security clearance, your employees can view my social security number, my address, and my birthday. Which, consequently, has produced no more than zero birthday cards and Christmas packages in my mailbox and yes, I'm holding a grudge.

I tried making calls about this grudge, but my call was outsourced to India and the worlds "Christmas" and "package" and "mailbox" weren't on his list of credit terminology and therefore, your Indian associate went home that night with a bout of confusion. But not before I spent a half-hour attempting to navigate this confusion, during which I learned that your company is fully aware of:

the year I graduated high school.
the make and model of my first car.
my last 15 mailing addresses. (Need I remind you that there were no cards or packages sent to these addresses?)
my grandmothers' maiden names (though the pronouncing of these names was another half-hour battle).
the name of my first pet.
the name of my second pet.
the name of a pet I never had.
the name of the squirrel I ran over and buried during my senior year of high school.

And despite this vast knowledge at your disposal, you really have proved nothing beyond your keeping my answers to five years of security questions on file.

Sometime later I called again about an actual credit question. Specifically, I wanted to know my current balance because it's time to close that hunky piece of plastic and move on to a life of cash and in the black. So when I made this call, one of your American employees answered. (For future reference, it has been noted as to which number to push on the automated recording so as to speak to an American, regardless of the reason for the phone call.)

Let it be said, however, that I really don't care who takes my call, except that I'd prefer to not be charmed by a woman with a must-please attitude, as is the American way. Because now my credit card is still open. As in, it's not closed. As in, it's still active. As in, she charmed me into keeping it with promises of more rewards and higher credit limits and now I still have a hunky piece of plastic in my wallet with which to buy me the world.

So thanks, Credit Card Company, for making my dreams come true. But let's not make a friendship out of this, if that's OK, because friends don't loan friends money.

Sincerely,

Emily

Adventures in Los Angeles

2011-04-13T12:00:00.000-07:00

(Note: I haven't moved yet. I'm just letting you eavesdrop on the process.)

When I move to LA, I hope:

To have an elderly lady neighbor who has an elderly gentleman suitor who brings her flowers and wears three-piece suits.
To have annoying and quirky neighbors. (Where else will I get my blog fodder? Because we all know I'm not leaving the apartment. Like, ever.)
To learn how to turn on my oven.
To learn how to use my oven.
To learn how to turn off my oven.
To learn how to call 911. (In case of an oven fire, obviously.)
To learn how to make coffee. (My balance on my Starbucks gift cards is dwindling drastically. But if you'd like to increase that balance, here is my e-mail address: benson dot ej at gmail dot com. Donations are always welcome and wanted.)
To graduate from my twin-size bed to normal adulthood with a normal adult-size bed. (My affinity for PB&J sandwiches and the Disney Channel, however, are a different story, and will therefore remain vital elements to my life.)
To stock my refrigerator and pantry with nutritional, delicious—but primarily edible—food. (One can't live off Crystal Light and soy nuts forever, you know.)

And in non-apartment-related concepts, I hope:

To maintain my vampire complexion. (It's the only trendy thing about me. And after Breaking Dawn premieres both its parts, I'll need a new fad to follow. I'm open to suggestions.)
To make human friends. (They tell me that having regular conversations with my invisible friends and houseplants isn't socially acceptable. Whatever—you don't know anything.)
To keep a scorecard: How many times did Emily trip this week? Today? This hour?
To be the best, snarkiest, youngest-looking Assistant to the Assistant ever.

That being said, apartment hunting has commenced, as has life-planning. First things to have been researched were, in this order:

Apartments. (Obviously.)
Los Angeles Public Library branches and their proximity to choice apartments. (This cheapo ain't buyin' no readin' stuff.)
Starbucks locations, and their proximity to choice apartments. (I will, however, buy me some $5 coffee beverages in a friggin' heartbeat.)
Grocery stores, and their proximity to choice apartments. (Foooooood.)

So far, plans are coming along swimmingly. And if you're worried about it me, know this: I have no plans to live in a shack on a beach and learn to surf. So chill out already.

This Has Great Potential. Right?

2011-04-12T11:30:00.000-07:00

The other night I went to see my friend's band play. They're called Lake Street Dive, FYI.* The concert was at a bar. It was one of those establishments that has, like, two tables, so really the only room to sit and sway with the music was at the actual bar. Lucky for me I have a charming personality that matches those of hermits, the clinically insane, and bartenders. Not surprisingly, bartenders 1 and 2 and I got along swimmingly.

But my point is not about my personality. It is that, while sitting at the bar being adorable in my little black dress and boots, I was hit on. By a hideously drunk couple. (That's two people. Not one, it's two. Not just a man, there was also a woman.)

"Who are they?" The woman asked, leaning too close for my comfort. I don't let anyone lean that close. Unless that person happens to be Ben Barnes. In that case, he and his beautiful locks may lean as close as he so desires.

But I digress.

"Lake Street Dive," I yelled in her ear.

Drunk Lady shrugged. She didn't hear me. I yelled again. I yelled loudly. I yelled, even though the music and the other talking and the cup stacking right in front of us by bartender Flip all told me she wasn't going to hear me. But I yelled anyway, and it was louder than the cumulative volume of all of these plus a freight train. She still didn't hear me. Her eardrums must have been drunk as well.

I mouthed a few more phrases at her, just for kicks. They included:

"Your shorts are tacky."
"You have spinach in your teeth."
"Flip is making eyes at you."
"If you reach one more time for my glass of water, you'll be wearing it."

She threw me a blank stare. "Well are they any good?" She moved on. And then she gave me what was supposed to be her seductive eyes. Her bedroom eyes. She was doing her best come-and-get-me face. And had I remembered to bring a mirror in my purse, her reflection would have reached out, slapped the skin off her skull, and reminded her that by minding my own business, I had no intention of forgetting my heterosexuality for that—or any—night.

I turned back to my left, where J was waiting ever so patiently for my comments regarding my latest foray in 19th-century literature. Yes, I'm a nerd and I take that with me to the bar and on any other efforts I may make to be a normal 26-year-old.

A few minutes later, I felt a hand graze my right ~~thigh~~ ~~upper thigh~~ hip. I snapped my head in that direction so quickly it set the world record for time taken to acquire whiplash. An ugly man's head blocked my view. And it was talking to me, as though we'd been in conversation for hours. As though it knew me. As though we arrived at the bar together, were great pals, and would be leaving together.

"Do you like to dance?" Drunk Dude asked. I recognized him as Drunk Lady's male companion.

I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off. "You look like you do." His hand grazed my hip again. I looked down at his hand, and then back up at him. His droopy eyelids were barely holding themselves open. His right arm was barely holding on to Drunk Lady's stool. I knew if I reached out, I could flick his forehead and send him pummeling to the ground. But then there were other victims and a beautifully-tiled floor and my disinterest in giving a statement to the police to consider. So I didn't.

Another hand graze brought me out of my trance. Drunk Lady was watching this interaction with great intensity. Reading lips really must be a difficult thing.

"Yeah, you look like you like to get jiggy with it," Drunk Dude was saying. And there it is, ladies. There is at least one adult male in this world who propositions girls with phrases including "get jiggy with it." Watch out; it's a crazy world out there.

"Uh, actually, no," I reply. While I always knew these thighs would come in handy one day, it was not to give signal that I like to get jiggy with it. Apparently he thought otherwise.

"What?"

"No."

"What?"

"I. SAID. NO. I won't dance with you."

"Oh, no?" he innocently responded. "Why not?"

"Because I'm in a conversation."

"What?"

"I'm talking to my friend."

"You're being boring?"

Are my words really that indecipherable? A lightbulb went off in my head. Yes I'll admit I'm boring if you leave me alone. He must know people who know me and my homebody habits.

"Yes, I'm being boring."

Drunk Lady was still staring. She gave up a while ago at following the conversation and was just fixated on me.

"OK, well, if you decide you want to quit being boring and get jiggy with me, you let me know." He was completely oblivious that he could be even slightly offensive. I knew I saw tact leave the building when he entered.

"OK."

"What?"

"I'll keep you posted."

"What?"

"Ohforthelove."

"What???"

"OKOKOK." And I turned back to J and our riveting conversation. Sometime later I heard Drunk Dude refer to me as Boring Chick. No one was listening to him. And no one even cared when he and his ladyfriend left the bar. But I did get enjoyment out of watching her parade through the crowd, giving her best Miss America pageant wave before tripping over her own feet and hugging the doorframe.

-----------------------------

*At this point in the program, I will interrupt for an all-seriousness news bulletin. This band that I have mentioned was my sole cause for having set foot in that bar. They are called Lake Street Dive, and they are good. Like, really good. Like, they're the bee's knees and the cat's meow and they should have a placeholder on every single one of your playlists.

Some things regarding Lake Street Dive:

They are four people—Rachael, Bridget, Mike, and Mike.
They met in college, at jazz school.
They are geniuses, and can write lyrics like nobody's business.
Rachael and I have been friends since high school. Meaning, we used to cut class together. Chinese food is that important. Seriously.
Frequent their website. Like them on Facebook. Follow them on Twitter.

Parenthood: Where Candy Necklaces Are Acceptable Jewelry (And May We All Take That Cue)

2011-04-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

Season 2, Episode 20: New Plan

Last night's episode of Parenthood had us all eavesdropping while the Bravermans search to find answers, plan Bs, and comfort within the current state of their lives. Adam and Kristina, still adjusting to Alex's presence in their daughter's life, face the possibility of Haddie having sex on prom night. Sarah finally learns of Amber's [this-has-to-be-a-mistake] omission from Berkeley's acceptance list, and Blount tells her to rewrite her play. By like, yesterday, thanks. Crosby buys a house in an effort to earn Jasmine's forgiveness. Julia focuses Sydney—and not on her new diagnosis.

And if we could just stop crying long enough to write this recap, we might actually have ourselves a snarky lovefest, right alongside the Bravermans. Woot.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

Zeek and Camille spent much of last night's episode house hopping, which, for the slow to catch on, is much like bar hopping. Only for the Bravermans, they toss around emotions instead of beer. (Sometimes. And sometimes they toss around both.) On prom night, Zeek and Camille stop by Adam's house to for prom-picture festivities. And amidst all of the frills and flowers, Zeek pulls a man-talk and reminds Adam that he needs to talk to Crosby. As if Adam isn't already aware that the family wants them to repair their bromance. Later, Zeek and Camille pop up at Joel and Julia's house, where they learn about Julia's inability to get pregnant. And even though we've been getting whiplash from the Braverman emotional rollercoaster, we can completely justify our sobs because Camille stepped in and gave Julia a mother's embrace and a shoulder to cry on when Julia has a breakdown in the kitchen.

Surprisingly, there were no tears to be had at the Adam Braverman household last night. Rather, their entire focus was prom, which included a few arguments over the after-prom activities. Haddie invites Alex to prom, making Adam upset because his entire memory of prom was taking the dress off his date. Like we're all shocked by that one, Oh Man With A One-Track Mind. Kristina, however, tries to assure him that everything will be OK if they just trust her. What a novel concept, and one that never seems to work with Haddie. In an effort to appease Adam, Kristina tries to discuss sex with Haddie while they are dress shopping. "Are you and Alex talking about sex?" she bluntly asks, making Haddie blatantly uncomfortable with the entire discussion. Haddie assures her they aren't at that point in their relationship, and then she runs for cover from the bomb of emotions her mother is about to launch.

On prom night, various family members gather at the Adam Braverman home to take obligatory prom pictures and give obligatory awkward vibes to the strange men who may or may not make moves on their daughters. Alex shows up looking fly in a tux. He brings Brandon, who is Amber's date. There's a meet-and-greet with all the parents, and then the girls descend from the heavens looking so capital A Amazing that they inspire instant regret of everything I ever wore in high school. Really, being a teenager wasn't this cool until Parenthood went on air. Not to be outdone where spotlights are concerned, Adam and Kristina spend some time hovering over Haddie, perhaps hoping their presence will remind her to keep her clothes on all night.

Haddie's prom experience lands her on the dance floor talking sex with Alex while shiny stars hang from the ceiling and teenagers supposedly imagine it's midnight in Paris. He reminds her that timing is everything and right now, their relationship is just where it needs to be. But then we see them making out in a conspicuous hallway. And she says, oh, nevermind, right now feels pretty good. And he unlocks a door, they go inside, and we assume they do the horizontal tango because that's what happens with teenagers who are alone in an apartment. Haddie barely makes it home before her curfew expires, her worried ~~parents~~ father finds relief, and Haddie gives us a little smile because we all know her latest secret.

Post prom-picture festivities, Sarah is on her way out the door when she turns to give Adam a piece of her sisterly mind: though Crosby made a mistake and Jasmine may never forgive him, they are his family and they don't have that option. Crosby is hurting, he needs them, and it's time for Adam to be present in his life again.

When Sarah's not giving the advice, she's taking a verbal beating from various members of the family and/or people she is barely acquainted with. Sarah stops by Julia's office to pick up some computer paper and learns a few things: (1.) Julia is unable to conceive, but says she's OK with it; and (2.) Amber didn't get in to Berkeley. Back at home, Sarah tries to discuss it with Amber, but Amber is too "vulnerable and upset and sensitive" too have that conversation. But Amber's candy necklace inspires us, so we nearly forget how Sarah is left standing dumbfounded in the kitchen, feeling as though it's her fault. Later in the week, Amber returns home early from Prom Experience 2011. (Amber has encountered the used-to-be-BFF Kelsey, who gets too focused on college and Amber flips out. Hence Amber's quick departure from the prom.) Amber is clearly very upset, and admits to her mother that she's been living her life for her mother, not for herself. There's a lot of one-sided yelling, and Amber reveals her intent to make her own decisions, whether Sarah approves or not. And so we watch Sarah shrink against a wall, being told that her daughter's unhappiness is her fault.

During all of this prom chaos, Sarah is trying so desperately to work on her play. Because Gilliam T. Blount is back and is as vocal as ever with his criticisms. He tries to convince Sarah to cut two scenes from her play, an idea that Sarah is less than pleased about because that means rewriting the entire Act Two. Blount's assignment, besides the rewrite, is to make room for some Sarah-time. She has an opportunity for a staged reading of her play at the Berkeley Theatre Company, so she is to put all her energies into the play. "Sarah," he says, "you have a gift, you really do. . . . For once in your life, let yourself come first." And we finally agree with something he says. If only he'd consider shutting up once in a while.

Also one to not take the shutting-up hint (and thank you Jesus for that) is Crosby, who tells his entire Jasmine-saga to a realtor, because he's making the not-so-wise decision to sell the houseboat and buy a house. For Crosby, buying a cute house equals forgiveness from Jasmine. Or at least the road towards it. Crosby visits Adam to apologize for the hundredth time and to get his opinion on the new house. Adam, still angry with Crosby, yells at him for his immaturity and pretty much throws him out of the house. Which is good, really, because that's a move we haven't seen yet this episode. Needing some assurance of his Jasby-repairing approach, Crosby convinces Sarah, Julia, and Joel to come look at his new purchase. He then sells the houseboat, and when the camera lingers on his face, we see how nervous he is that this plan may not work and he'll be homeless foreva and eva.

Fresh off the painful pregnancy news, Julia chooses the not coping part of coping. She's throwing all of her energy into building special moments with Sydney, which is starting to crowd Sydney bubble. We see this when Zeek and Camille arrive with Julia's old golf clubs. Julia intends to teach Sydney to play golf, and then it will be that thing they do. Sydney protests, saying she doesn't like golf, which sends Julia to the kitchen to regroup. Zeek and Camille notice something is wrong, and then Camille appears in the kitchen and comforts a sobbing Julia. Later that night, Joel and Julia lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. "For what it's worth," he says, "I've always wanted to play golf with you." And as she reaches for his hand, she loses her composure to another set of sobs. (And so do we.)

The Miscellaneous

Alex is back and present as ever. And while we love him, what we love more is how he wears that tux. The man is a god, and since we're living in Fictionland and are quite aware that the Bravermans have a life in between episodes, we thus begin our campaign to make Alex the fourteenth Ocean, because Danny O. is looking for more. Or so I've heard.

Evan Peters guest stars as Brandon, Amber's blind date slash prom date slash funny pal. See "I kinda want to wear this [corsage], but I think it's for you." and "Can I take your coat? What do I do with it now?" for examples.

While we really hoped Gilliam T. Blount was a one-episode appearance, we're still loving every moment he's on screen. Because, though a man with a missing professional decade in the recent past probably doesn't have the clout to make Sarah rewrite entire plays when he's more than likely not paying her a dime for this, he's still Richard Dreyfuss and we're still starstruck.

When Sarah, Julia, and Joel convene at Crosby's new crib, we really see how Crosby's effort to win Jasmine's heart may not succeed. The house is a dump; the idea is a dump. Even Crosby himself isn't looking all that great. The siblings take a gander around the house and rattle off a list of repairs and improvements it needs, none of which are as simple as "paint walls" and "replace light switch covers." "Do you think I can fix it?" he asks. The siblings stare blankly at him. "No," says Adam, who's sudden presence gives great potential to the Adam-Crosby relationship we all heart so much. "I think we can fix it." They hug, we all hug, and there are smiles through the rain once again.

MVP of the Night: Joel, for holding it together while his wife breaks down, over and over and over. She's miserable, she's making Sydney miserable, and he's the only one remembering to get dinner on the table. But that's OK, because he's the solid rock we all depend on.

Funnypants Line of the Night: Sarah, regarding the pile of formal dresses Amber has on her bed: "So what, are you going to cut one of these up? Give it a Pretty in Pink kind of treatment?" Amber's quick wit shows up: "You just dated your self," she says with her typical eye roll and heavy sigh.

Parenthood: Tears, Fears, and Amber Gets High Before Five

2011-03-30T08:00:00.008-07:00

Season 2, Episode 19: Taking the Leap

Everybody who's anybody has acted on faith at least once or twice. (In my case, it was that day I had to retrace my whereabouts during a bank heist that may or may not have happened in Sleepytown. But that's not up for discussion right now.) The Braverman family is no different, which they prove to us time and time again, and last night's episode of Parenthood was no exception. Adam and Kristina must decide if Max is ready to face the challenges of a mainstream school. Amber's future is in limbo. Sarah is uncertain about her play's merit. Crosby hopes a trip down memory lane will incite forgiveness from Jasmine. And Julia's desire to get pregnant hits an unforeseen roadblock.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family
Zeek got a hold of Sarah's play, made a few copies, and—because he's the fatherly figure that insists on taking care of his little girl—he called in his Army slash Broadway-producer friend Gilliam T. Blount to help Sarah with her play. Always jumping the gun, Zeek spends the Gilliam-and-Sarah conversations assuming G-money is producing her play, whereas Sarah is really only receiving his opinions. It's quite the hilarity, especially when Zeek wants to have a toast at the exact moment Blount tells Sarah that a key moment of the play "sucks on every level."

While on a walk, Kristina and Max stop by the Lessing's house where Kristina is greeted with a surprise: Gaby has been hired as Noel's behavioral aide. Kristina offers some damning words to Suze and Gaby, and storms off in a huff that leaves us all super annoyed with Kristina's (im)maturity.

Meanwhile, Adam and Kristina are called into Max's school, where they learn that Max is doing remarkably well in all areas—so well that Footpath would have to restructure a curriculum specifically for Max if he continues to attend there. Therefore, it's recommended that Max gets mainstreamed. For us laypeople, that means non-specialty schools. Like, public school. Like, he would encounter the weirdos that roam the planet (that's you and me). Adam and Kristina argue about the situation, an argument that is heightened when Adam calls Sycamore Charter to set up an appointment for Max without Kristina's agreement. However, Kristina receives some helpful advice when Gaby stops by the house. Though Kristina is initially put off by Gaby's presence, she eventually warms up, affording Gaby the opportunity to provide some comfort and apologize for the Crosby incident. After all of this, Kristina and Adam decide to risk their deposit at Footpath and put him in a new, mainstream school.

Also dealing with a school issue is Amber, who applied to Berkeley and one alternative, her safety school, and should hear back from either any day. During these pressure-filled days, Amber goes to work at Julia's law firm. Wowed by the office and the opportunity, Amber enjoys her days working as a runner for the firm, until she's found high, jamming to music in Julia's boss's car, and freaking out because she didn't get in to either college. Julia advises that Amber talk to her mom about it, but Amber is worried that Sarah will be mad.

But Sarah can't be mad. Because she's got her own confusion and disappointments to worry about when she receives mixed reviews from ol' Gilliam T. Blount regarding her play. He thinks the current state of the play is pretty much worthless, but that the direction it's headed slash the potential it has is genius. Sarah takes these criticisms constructively, but struggles to agree with Blount on its overall value.

The one bright star in the Bravermans' lives is Jabbar. He is selected as "Star of the Week" in his class, which gives Crosby and Jasmine an opportunity to bond over their son. They each separately help Jabbar work on his poster for class, and then band together as a family for the "Star of the Week" celebration at school. While talking about their family, the memories appear to soften Jasmine. So then we all love her and vote for her and wish we all had her amazing hair and clear complexion. Later, Jasmine stops by Crosby's boat and seems happy and positive. But really that's just her passive-aggressive tone. We hate that tone. It's a tone that says horrible things all while wearing a sweet, sweet smile. "I'm not ready to forgive you, Crosby, and I don't know if I ever will be," she says. And with that funky attitude, she tells Crosby she's moving on.

Disappointments also abound at the Graham household. Julia takes a pregnancy test, which turns out negative. She suggests that Joel and his sperm-fish may be the problem. Joel visits the doctor and finds out his fish swim just fine. Happyhappyjoyjoy! But. Julia also got tested, and her results aren't so wonderful. She's got a condition that makes it unlikely to ever get pregnant again. Feel free to hit pause here. You should have started the episode with the box of kleenxes. Duh.

The Miscellaneous
~~Mr. Holland!~~ Richard Dreyfuss! guest stars on last night's episode. While we love him so much, his character is less than snuggly. As Gilliam T. Blount, we get annoyed at, flustered with, and defensive against this ass of a man who is giving Sarah a verbal beating. But, you know, he's Richard Dreyfuss, so we just stare starstruck at him, his pinky ring, and his shortness of stature and tact.

Gary (guest star Scott Michael Foster) is a valet at Julia's law firm. We all knew he was coming, and have been anticipating the storyline for Amber. But please, Gary, cut your hair. Or at least comb it before you show up to work next time. Thanks.

It's Adam and Kristina's decision to mainstream Max that reminds us that a life without leaps prohibits us from knowing the unknown. Sometimes a child needs new challenges. Sometimes the path to college needs a few hurdles. Sometimes a play needs to be read, forgiveness needs more time, or desires need miracles. But all of these moments—these happenings, these life-altering events—could never have been possibilities if leaps and bounds and tears and fears were never addressed.

MVP of the Night: Sarah, for enduring the forced attention on her play when she's not ready for it, and therefore handling her vulnerability with class.

Funnypants Line of the Night: Sarah sees her father coming out of the bathroom with some papers sticking out of the back of his pants. "What do you have in your pants, Dad?" she asks. And then Amber's quick wit kicks in: "What kind of question is that?" Go ahead, rewind to moment 2:52. You'll notice no one takes a beat, and the scene just moves right along. It's brilliant, and you're welcome.

Parenthood: Mae Whitman Charms Our Socks Off (Again)

2011-03-22T12:00:00.001-07:00

There's not a new episode of Parenthood on tonight, which is so sad ~~I might embark on a strike against Spring Break and ruin the lives of beach-going, bikini-clad teenagers everywhere~~. In their normal time slot, however, NBC is rerunning one of the best moments we've seen from the Braverman clan thus far: Amber overcomes her fears and shows us her song-writing talents and the Bravermans [mostly] all show their support.

For the Parenthood-obsessed, we all know that Mae Whitman is the one whose friendship you wish you'd grasped closely in high school and maintained throughout college and gratefully counted on when you could barely afford rent and food. She's the one you wish you could hang out with foreva because her voice and her humor and her older-than-her-age wisdom are the answers to every single mood of your existence. (And yes, I'm fully aware I'm saying all of this based on conjecture because no, I don't know Mae but yes, I'm pretty sure I'm still correct on this account.)

Back to the point. Tonight is a second chance for you, my readers. Should you dare to have missed Parenthood's "Meet the New Boss" when it first aired in January, you get to watch it tonight. And you will love it. Because you will laugh. And cry. And giggle. And yell at one or more of the Bravermans. And become an emotional trainwreck, beginning at minute 39:15, when Amber questions her ability to take the stage and take a leap and Momma Sarah saves her courage and the day.

Also, for a little more Mae Whitman love, this gal is killer-hilarious. As in, her hashtags will kick your hashtags' butts to the curb and back. Examples? Um, OK, duh. Here are a few of her latest and greatest:

#nowimcranky

#itscoldandgreyincaliforniaandimgoingtoamuseum

#im47stuckina22yearoldsbody

#imtooscaredtomakefriends

#dontworryimjustnaturallysuspicious

For more of Her Funnyness, follow Mae on Twitter. And watch Parenthood, Tuesday nights at 10/9 central on NBC.

Internet Vacations (And Then Some)

2011-03-22T07:00:00.001-07:00

Um, hi. It's been a while. Like a month, and then some. I'd love to tell you I was surfing in Hawaii or learning to cook Moroccan food from Moroccan geniuses in Moroccan lands, but neither of those are remotely close to accurate. Alas, I took an vacation from most Internet things so I could focus on work. And then more work. And now, what I've gathered from the e-mails and texts and comments I've received lately, my return from absentia is long overdue.

So, consider this, my lovely readers who I hope are still reading, my return.

In my weeks away, a few things happened, the details of which aren't as important as the lessons learned. And those are:

When a girl is wearing an uncomfortable face while sweating a few drops on a treadmill, don't interrupt her workout to tell her that whatever she's doing at the gym is working, so keep doing it. It's not cool, and it's gives everyone in a 20-foot vicinity the opportunity to spend the remainder of their workout staring and whispering.
When a car needs an oil change, get it done. Otherwise you'll spend weeks telling everyone that the funny noises it's making are sound FX rehearsals for an upcoming techno tour in the Northwest.
Encountering a deer (or 5) walking down the middle of the road isn't an invitation to continue driving. Rather, it is an invitation to stop what you're doing, don't make eye contact, and wait for the herd to pass.
When a dog is pouncing on you in an effort to wake you up at 5:00, get up. Ignoring him will only deliver diarrhea on your bedroom carpet.

That's all for the life lessons learned during the past few weeks.

How have you all been?

Parenthood: In Which Vulnerability Is Its Own Character

2011-03-02T08:00:00.004-08:00

Season 2, Episode 18: Qualities and Difficulties

There's an element to cheating that raises a thrill. Stacking the deck, pocketing cash from the tip jar, and relying on chemicals to improve a person's performance all alter the outcome of a specific situation—and give a cheater a boost of excitement at his or her efforts to get ahead on the sly. But that's exactly where the thrill ends. With cheating, someone always loses. The other gamblers, the coworkers who need those tips for rent, and the athletes relying on their own strengths to win the race not only lose to a cheater's maneuvers, they lose to a lie that cheating is an action one can take without paying for it. The cheater's high will eventually settle, and when the dust clears, there are truths to clarify, hearts to mend, and regrets to live with.

When it comes to cheating in relationships, the results are no different. There are no winners. The lies that are spun make the situation no better than if the truth were told. The individuals involved are succumbed to a vulnerability that is suddenly void of the protection, security, and love once felt before the cheating occurred. But, if there's anything Parenthood has taught us about cheating, it's that there's an entire family to give you sense when your brain fails miserably, or to stand behind you when you can no longer hold yourself up.

And it is here that we find Crosby, hoping desperately to find forgiveness, repair damaged relationships, and restore faith in himself and in his family.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

As much of an ass that Zeek can be, especially with his tough-love attitude towards Max, I have to agree with him: blood is indeed thicker than water, which is why the united relationship that Zeek and Camille have now is the support system this family needs right now.

Adam and Kristina are faced with explaining Asperger's to Max. I can't even imagine how to do this. It's worse than the sex talk. It's worse than the death talk. Syndrome's aren't tangible, especially to someone who is smarter than the average person and yet can't put an image to this concept and understand what it means. When Max runs upstairs after their first talk, one can only wonder if this reaction means he's relating his syndrome to a fatal illness. But, the triumphant moment that Adam and Kristina have when they tell Max how great he really is is what makes parenthood a worthwhile concept: there's a heart and soul in that boy, and he deserves love like anyone else.

Sarah operating on no sleep is hi-freaking-larious. That being giggled at, it's a refreshing take to see her writing. She's doing something she's excited about, that she's good at, and that exposes her emotions and thoughts in a creative measure. And even though she was a nervous wreck when Mark caught her kneeling at his door, Sarah's taking leaps and meeting challenges and discovering a reason to get up in the morning.

Two weeks ago, Crosby had drinks with Gaby. Later we see him apologize to her for being too forward. Yet, he and Gaby spend the after-party doing the horizontal tango. If we pause for a moment, we would realize how confusing this is to Gaby and to himself. You either are or aren't that kind of person. You can't play fickle with which parts to act on. Even in an emotional moment, there are choices to make, and throwing cross fire at yourself doesn't help those choices.

But that's as far as I go with the words against him. Because yes, he was stupid for sleeping with Gaby, but let's think about this: mistakes happen. And before you throw stones at me for seemingly belittling his one-night stand, think about the situation. What good is it doing to not talk about it? What good will come for Jasmine when she wakes up months later and all she has are wonderings as to why things happened the way they did? No, I'm not suggesting that Crosby's infidelity be forgotten. What I am suggesting, however, is that ignoring him is only going to rip the family apart and create even more of a hostile environment for Jabbar.

Not to be left out of the drama, the Crosby-Jasmine break up has put Julia and Joel in an awkward situation. Having to decide the monumentality of a sleepover isn't an understatement. But here's where I get stuck: if Jasmine is so against Crosby and his being in her life, why would she encourage socialization with his family? It seems contradictory to her actions of throwing him out of the house. That being noted, should Jasmine be considered family, even through all this? I'm a little shocked at it all, given her history with: 1.) not telling Crosby for 5 years that he has a son, and 2.) pulling Jabbar away from the family for the New York period. It's not like she has a track record of allowing Jabbar to know his family all these years. So yes, even though Crosby cheated, I'd say Jasmine needs to take a beat before she continues acting as though his family is her family and she has a right to give them her side. But, drama aside, quite possibly the best outcome so far of this awful situation is Joel telling Julia that he will never cheat on her. Sometimes, even if everything is momentarily perfect, a partner just needs to hear that cheating will never be an option.

The Miscellaneous

Finally, ~~Mark Cyr~~ ~~Jason Ritter~~ Mark Cyr is back. He's so charming it makes him beautiful. He's so charming it makes me lust after him. Because he plays a nerd and probably is a nerd and he makes Sarah weak in the knees and their banter is one of the things that makes her eyes sparkle.

Dr. Pelickan is a pretentious little man. I mean, seriously. His responses to Adam and Kristina when he hears details of their conversation with Max are a little on the cocky side. Duh, Dr. P., we all know you would have done it better. Because you are better. You have practice. Get off your high horse. Or maybe I just heart Adam too much to disagree with him.

The moment that Sarah realizes she's actually worth something is a moment we all covet. At some point or another, we all need someone credible—someone meaningful to us—to tell us that our existence on this big blue marble has merit. Sometimes that realization hits us at age 6 when our gymnast talents move us from the Y to a competition gym. Or at age 12, when we test in higher math levels and our paths are directed to a career in engineering. And sometimes, that realization happens at age almost-40, when being a bartender is fine, but not enough to settle the soul and make life livable.

MVP of the Night: Zeek, for being the only one with enough brains to give Crosby the hug that he needs.

Funnypants Line of the Night: "I get a little freaked out in the daytime." Mark scares Sarah when he approaches her house. He calls her the cat burglar, reminding them both of her stalking his door at an earlier moment, to which she exclaims that "the cat burglar worked during the day; that's not scary," Mark's only retort is an admittance of fear of all things sun and shine. Ha.

Happy Weekend!

2011-02-18T13:00:00.001-08:00

My lovelies, what are you doing this weekend? I have no plans, and that's my favorite kind of weekend. Anything could happen, which includes the possibility of meeting Mr. Man, telling strangers how much they annoy me, or stewing in my filthy pajamas for three days straight. Like I said, it's the best kind of weekend to have.

But before I sign off till Monday, here are the week's posts:

I have a history with the Valentine's Day concept. You don't want to miss this chronological exposition.
Spiders have been added to my black list. I have good reason for this.
Gnomeo & Juliet is finally out in theaters! Here's a clip and my top reason for seeing the film.

Any big plans for you over the weekend?

(Image found here.)

Gnomeo & Juliet!

2011-02-18T11:00:00.000-08:00

OMG, guys and gals, OMG.

This week I went to see the new animated film, Gnomeo & Juliet. I frickin' loved this movie. Funny, charming, adorable, perfect. So so perfect.

Here, a clip for your enjoyment:

And if the romantic frog wasn't enough to convince you to go see it, you should know that darling Gnomeo is voiced by James McAvoy. You're welcome.

The Resurrection

2011-02-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

It's only natural that, by living in the mountains, we would make friends with critters. What is not natural, however, is when those critters invade the house.

About once a week, I find some member of the spider species crawling up the bathroom wall. Or descending from the ceiling above my seat on the john. Or hovering too close for comfort near my toothbrush.

Today's criminal was found on the ceiling in the shower, no doubt plotting my demise while my precious head was receiving a relaxing shampoo. Will--the cousin to whom I trust my life when it comes to eight-legged creatures--stepped in with Kleenexes and sent that spider to its trash can grave.

But then.

I bent down to grab the towel that I had dropped in my moment of panic and fear for my life. I glanced at the wad of tissue in the garbage, giving a moment's thought to a eulogy for the freshly deceased.

And then.

That spider came crawling out of the mound of tissue and began to climb back to its post in the shower, all limbs intact and not a hair out of place.

What the heck.

I thought Jesus was the only one with self-resurrecting capabilities.

Parenthood: Don't Blow the Ingredients (And Other Advice)

2011-02-16T08:00:00.016-08:00

Season 2, Episode 16: Amazing Andy and His Wonderful World of Bugs

Raise your hand if you predicted Crosby's indiscretion like a chef predicts a dinner menu. Raise your hand if it still stopped your heart and sent your jaw dropping to the floor. Hurdles in a relationship are no new concept, and when they unfold before our eyes, we can only pick a side and hope our little souls on our couches across America will magically change the course of action in our favorite TV family. Even when that doesn't work, we cry and yell and hurt right alongside Crosby and Jasmine, waiting rather impatiently for their emotions to calm and their voices to simmer and their relationship to right itself again. But we'll just say it out loud now: Crosby is far from fixing The Great Demise of Jasby, which is obvious given the mistakes made in last night's episode. (See the nonconsecutively numbered moments throughout the recap for full disclosure on how he tossed their relationship down the drain.) Good thing there are a million other Bravermans to keep us occupied until peace comes to that struggling little home.

Let's recap, shall we? (And for the OCD-prone, this one is packed with goodies: bulleted lists! numbered lists! heightened use of the em dash! oh joy!)

The Family

In a gesture to welcome the now-very-present, refuses-to-admit-his-age-and-adulthood Seth, Zeek tries a polite conversation—which ends in an angry throwdown of words and Seth's body. Drew sees this violent move at the end, and thus continues Zeek's struggle to be the protective-yet-hands-off patriarch of the Braverman tribe.

With a similar outburst, Max struggles to adapt to Gaby's new behavior rules. Pencils are broken. Books are thrown. Buckets of crayons hit the floor. And words are painfully hurled at Gaby for her methods. Luckily for her and the scandal we all see coming, Crosby enters the kitchen (it's laundry day; he somehow amassed a few loads while staying on the boat) during Max's tantrum and gives her a few comforting words and one ironically seductive gaze (demising moment 1).

On a happier note, the Adam Braverman household is focused on one thing: Max's birthday party. Kristina spends much of the episode stressing about the party details, which are even more involved because of the gluten-free police who plague her with phone calls. Most of the family is recruited to prep for the birthday bash, giving Crosby and Gaby a bonding opportunity (demising moment 3). Threatening the perfection of their partying ways is Amazing Andy (guest star Michael Emerson), the bug guy who is ~~hired~~ ~~not hired~~ hired to perform a bug exhibition for the kiddos. Though there is one hiccup—which is remedied by Gaby, the behavior whisperer (demising moment 4)—Andy, with his Asperger's and plush-cricket-giving ways, manages to wow the crowd and the family, and give a bit of hope to the Bravermans that Max could actually have a wonderful future.

While helping Kristina taste-test the gluten-free cupcakes for the party, Sarah receives a surprising phone call: Drew is in trouble, and has been promptly positioned in the principal's office for punishment. When Sarah arrives at the high school, Seth is present and waiting to be his half of the parental unit, a concept that makes Sarah visibly uncomfortable. Over the next few minutes, Sarah learns a few things:

Drew got in a fight with a bully
Seth taught Drew to fight back
Seth thinks fighting back is the best form of defense
Drew prefers Seth's parenting approach over Sarah's

Drew goes home with his favorite parent; Sarah goes home with continued worries that Seth just doesn't understand being a father.

Also struggling to be on the same page, Crosby and Jasmine still haven't made up. He calls; they argue. He shows up; she's cold and unfeeling and they can't agree. She needs time; he now needs a place to sleep. Their situation worsens when Jasmine decides that Jabbar can't go to Max's birthday party—she reasons that Jabbar needs to visit his faraway aunt, when really she just doesn't want to face Crosby and the other Bravermans. All of these emotions are confusing for Crosby, who leans on Gaby for comfort and discernment. They have drinks at a bar (demising moment 2), during which I gripped the edge of my couch cushion in anticipation that someone—Jasmine's brother Sekou, perhaps?—was going to enter the bar just as Crosby and Gaby engaged in an awkward and chemistry-filled embrace (demising moment 2.5). It is this conversation at the bar, plus the other noted moments, that lead us to expect Crosby and Gaby's banter-filled attraction to culminate in their having S-E-X (demising moment 5).

Another couple with sex on the mind is Julia and Joel, who are trying to conceive a second child. Desperate to make pregnancy a reality, Julia places a hold on their bedtime activities until her body is screaming now is the moment to make this happen. When they can finally act on the tension that has been building for two days, Julia and Joel choose the master bathroom in Adam's house during Max's birthday party for the big moment. This is all really of very little consequence except that Kristina walks in on them (hilarious) and instead of freaking out, she offers them the bed (I. Died.).

The Miscellaneous

Fresh off a hostile high from his altercation with Zeek, Seth takes Drew to the batting cages, where he uses a bat to threaten the lives of boys who are being brats. Rather than being shocked at this outburst, Drew thinks Seth is perfect and wonderful and knows what he's doing and is embracing his role as father superbly. And we all agonize over this mistake, knowing Seth's presence in Berkeley will only end horribly.

At the end of last night's trip through Parentdise, Seth and Sarah have a small exchange on the steps of her abode, during which Seth: (1.) shows an appreciation for her parenting skills, (2.) discovers his son might actually need him, and (3.) reminds Sarah of her talent at song-writing. It is in this moment that Sarah realizes she has merit in more ways than as a mother, and she shouldn't ignore that. But isn't that how it is for all of us? It's so easy to get caught up in the given roles we play as parents, children, or siblings—and to forget that our value also comes from our individuality, a concept we too often misplace.

MVP of the Night: Sarah, for taking The Seth Saga one day at a time and being patient with Drew's need to be around his father.

Funnypants Line of the Night: Julia and Joel offer to make bug-shaped cookies for Max's birthday party. "Why can't we just buy bug-shaped cookies from somewhere?" Adam wants to know. Kristina replies, "Think about that sentence." It's true; no one makes bug-shaped cookies because that's a disgusting concept that should be abolished along with eating escargot and muffin-top revealing clothes.

An EB Valentine History

2011-02-14T15:00:00.004-08:00

Today is Valentine's Day. And unless you've been living under a rock, having only resurfaced to read this post and have therefore lost all sense of time, reality, and self, this is no news to you.

To celebrate this holiday, I'm doing a few things: (1.) buying myself a dinner of Chipotle burritos while I ~~whine~~ dine with other singles, (2.) browsing my true loves on the shelves at Borders, (3.) relishing the emptiness of the bookstore because no one takes a date to Borders on Valentine's Day, and (4.) paying for my own Valentine's present ~~because no one knows me better than me~~ ~~because that's what strong, independent, single women do~~ because I want one.

Are you OK being single? you may ask. Actually, yes. I could tell you things like "I'm happy being single" and "I'm taking time for myself right now" and "I don't have time to date right now." And all of these things are true, but my purpose in pointing out my singledom is to tell you just how much my future Valentine has to live up to. Because it's a lot. To exemplify this statement, let me present you with some chronological evidence:

First Grade, Age 7:

This is the first year I remember making Valentine's for my classmates. We each decorated a shoebox to put on our desks for the day. I'm sure mine was coated in black spray paint, which no doubt made me high as a kite while decorating. A tradition foreign to no one, each classmate was to bring a valentine card or treat or whatnot for each of his or her peers. I probably wanted something cool or nerdy like Tiny Toon Adventures valentines; Mom probably made me use a box of Hello Kitty love notes she found at Sanrio. To tell you the truth, I don't remember the theme of the valentines; I was too focused on what I wanted to write to my peers who, frankly, annoyed the heck out of me and deserved no statements as to my faux affections for them. I followed the rules and provided something to put in each student's box; Mom followed the rules and made me write nice things on the cards. I remember Alice (I think that was her name, anyway) snubbing her nose at me when I dropped her card in her box. There were pink hearts perfectly lined across the sides of her box, which matched the pink hearts perfectly printed on her dress, which matched the pink letters she perfectly formed on every single thing she wrote. I hated her; she hated me. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't because I spearheaded my own campaign for thieving pencil grips and erasers from ~~Mrs. Dillpickle's~~ Mrs. Dillman's supply bucket. But who knows, and who cares.

Second Grade, Age 8:

This is the year I had my first boyfriend. His name was Chris, and he was shorter, skinnier, and overall smaller than I was. Thank goodness my only concept of self-esteem was wrapped nicely around my brain and the knowledge that I was smarter than most people between ages 10 and 15. That sounds like I was cocky. I wasn't; I was just confident that I read more than the average anyone. I'm pretty sure Chris and I had a short-lived relationship, and that it didn't happen anywhere near Valentine's Day. We wouldn't admit we were a couple; we just sat against the wall during story time and held hands behind our backs. He frequently wore his hot dog condiments on his shirts; I frequently held my breath around him out of my hatred of mustard. Our relationship was so romantic, especially when I got bored one day waiting in line for lunch and kicked him in the crotch. When interrogated by our teacher, I completely denied having done it and continued with my crime-free record, even though our entire class saw the event happen in real time and no doubt had a play-by-play reeling in their minds for days. Some of the guys even passed me in the halls holding their crotches for protection.

Eighth-Eleventh Grades, Ages 14-17:

These are the years I spent harboring a major crush on my best friend, a guy named S. We didn't go to the same school, so we spent hours on the phone each night talking about our amazing and dramatic lives. Really, I just pretended to listen to him drone on and on about C, the girl he was in love with, while secretly plotting her demise and my rise to pageant queen beauty and the top of his affections. My dreams finally came true during our junior year. It was like a scene out of My Best Friend's Wedding, but before the real ending happens and Julia Roberts says goodbye to her BFF and his new bride. Our relationship blossomed, but it all began after Valentine's Day and therefore S missed his chance to tell me how perfect I am and how much he equates his love for me with a bouquet of roses and a box of really bad heart-shaped sugar.

Twelfth Grade, Age 18:

I began this final year of high school still dating S. But it wasn't going well. We ended things in November, but spent the remainder of the school year trying to define this new stage of our relationship. In the meantime, I had moved on to another boy, L. This new relationship actually happened near the holiday of love, but not near enough for us to acknowledge that our affections for each other required spending money on each other. That, and we were keeping our relationship completely off the books, out of fear that L's ex-girlfriend would find out and burn us at the stake. Prom season came around, and this new relationship fizzled. L left me to reunite with his ex, and I called S for an emergency prom date. He agreed to come with, but then broke that promise two weeks before prom. I was devastated; my dress was too.

College, Ages 18-22:

I spent my college years having an on- and off-again relationship with one guy, R. Conveniently, our off periods fell on Valentine's Day, so we didn't celebrate the holiday. Instead I spent those holidays hoping I'd open my school mailbox and be pummeled by cards and gifts all screaming of his affections for me. But usually, I had one or two pity cards from friends, and once I received a belated care package from my mother. My luck in this blasted love department changed in my senior year. R and I were giving our relationship yet another go-around, and this time, Valentine's Day was happening and being acknowledged. We talked about going out to eat, so when he said he'd make the reservations, I assumed he would have the night planned out and ready. The morning of the big day, I woke with a smile on my face. I was going to have my first valentine. Turns out, R didn't make reservations. He forgot about our conversation. He wasn't planning on doing anything. My reaction to this new revelation wasn't a happy reaction, which royally pissed him off. He nearly broke up with me. Somehow the relationship and the holiday were salvaged and dinner was back on--at R's parents' house. R and his roommate decided to cook dinner for their girlfriends, which meant I was sharing my very first Valentine's Day experience with someone I didn't really know and really didn't care to know. The menu was fettuccine alfredo, with some frozen chicken they threw in for kicks. I think we had peas for a side dish. Miraculously, they knew to thaw and reheat the previously-grilled-by-the-manufacturer chicken. Also miraculously, I came away from that night having rolled my eyes at the roommate's girlfriend only seven times, rather than my usual 20.

Post-College, Ages 22-Present:

It's kind of sad to say, but there have been no romantic happenings in these recent years. In fact, the only action I've seen is a make out session here or there with a few serial make out artists, most of whom did not give me the slightest desire to write them love notes of any kind.

So, to conclude this lengthy list of evidentiary facts presented to you for your information, there is a lot to be lived up to by the future Mr. EB. You, sir, must: (1.) be breathing, (2.) have a backbone, (3.) share my requirement of using napkins when eating, and (4.) actually stick around for Valentine's Day.

Hope you have a happy Valentine's Day!

Parenthood: Where Everyone Is on Everyone's Team

2011-02-09T08:00:00.002-08:00

Season 2, Episode 15: Just Go Home

Home is a interesting concept on Parenthood. Besides the walled-and-roofed structures they own that make us all greedy with real-estate envy, the Bravermans give us a rather accurate definition of what it means to have a home. Last night's episode was no different. Adam and Kristina continue to mourn the departure of their Haddie-girl. Sarah's world and emotions are rocked with the resurfacing of her ex-husband, Seth. Crosby chooses fighting instead of conversing for his modus operandi, which jeopardizes his engagement and relationship with Jasmine. Needless to say, homes became just houses when the heart and soul disappeared from them last night.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

Zeek and Camille spend this episode trying, in their separate ways, to take care of their most dramatic family members. While Zeek wants to be a soundbite in The Seth Show, Camille talks to Haddie about her decision to live outside of her parents' house and outside of their parental guidance. Haddie describes her situation as "stuck," because no one will budge on their opinions. Camille's advice: "Go home." Haddie's reaction: *blank stare*.

At the Adam Braverman household, Adam and Kristina try to mask their struggles with Haddie having moved out by pouring their energies into Max and living as normal as possible. They call Sarah to "check in." They make ice cream with Max. They don't react to any mention of Haddie. Because that's what parents do when their 16-year-old runs away to her grandparents' house. Taking Camille's advice, Haddie eventually returns home to her own room and a new change of clothes and a hot meal. Adam and Kristina lay some ground rules for Haddie and Alex's relationship, which Haddie agrees to. The scene ends in a lovey-dovey, we're-too-afraid-to-piss-you-off-again group hug.

Hugs are less frequent over at the patriarchal Braverman abode, where Sarah is now internship-less and spending much time making lists of her goals. While she's in this introspective trance, Drew takes the bus to a faraway land where he meets up with his dad and shows us two things: (1.) he's really, really happy to see his father, and (2.) he actually has a lot to say about life. When Amber catches wind about this excursion, an argument breaks out about the (im)possibility of Seth having actually changed. Sarah interrupts the yelling match and learns about Drew's get-together with Seth, which she is less than thrilled about.

Realizing there's no avoiding Seth's presence in town, Sarah visits him at his questionably-hygienic hotel to scope out the situation and deem him safe for children and animals. Though they fight, it's clear Seth wants to make things right however he can. "I know I screwed up a hundred times in a hundred different ways and it probably doesn't matter that I'm beyond sorry," he says. This apology is believable, but Sarah is still hesitant: "If you hurt them again I'll kill you." Despite her continued trepidation, Sarah lets Drew go to hear Seth's band play (with Amber serving as chaperone, of course).

Meanwhile, a grudge is also festering at the Crosby-Jasmine apartment. Momma Renee sends Crosby and Jasmine to an "engagement exploration" at her church, where the Reverend throws some major marriage questions at the couple. Jasmine controls all the talking, revealing just how much she takes the reigns in their relationship. This sets off a series of observations by one Crosby B., who takes issue with the amount of decisions he makes versus that of Jasmine. Boiling with anger over the situation, Crosby slings some major verbal rocks at Jasmine, some of which claim he "can't marry someone who will not let me make any decisions." The horrendously loud argument sends Crosby out the door without solving the dispute.

The Miscellaneous

Seth's band. Seth has a band. (Technically speaking, this is John Corbett's band, but no one speaks technically here.) Seth has a band and they need a shout-out. Specifically, a shout-out re: the song Seth wrote with his ex-wife, which gives us the clue that Sarah has some talent hidden somewhere underneath her worries and insecurities.

Last night's coda gives us a visual reflection on this idea of home. For the Adam Bravermans, their house now feels like a home with the return of Haddie. The family heads to the basketball court for a recreational game with Alex, showing the two teens that the issues have been forgiven and the family seeks to embrace the boy and the budding romance. But not all families are feeling the healing and togetherness vibes. Crosby spends a drunken night on his boat, waking up the next morning to beer bottles, half-eaten Chinese takeout, and no Jasmine.

MVP of the Night: Amber, for volunteering to take Drew to Seth's show. Remember, if you will, how much she cringed at the idea of chatting with daddy-o at Thanksgiving. Or how emotionally upsetting it was for her to see her brother so enthused about his dinner with Seth. She's clearly harboring a major, painful grudge against her father, and yet she takes one for the team by giving Drew a ride and a companion and a little bit of adult-ish presence for the rock'n'roll affair.

Funnypants Line of the Night: Crosby, on the Reverend's office: "You know, so we're sitting in his office, which, apparently Billy Graham decorated—there's crucifixes everywhere."

The Ever-Present Shed Battle

2011-02-01T07:00:00.002-08:00

A little note for you, my lovely readers: There's a little shed in the backyard that is used to store lawn equipment and miscellaneous nuisances. This shed means nothing to anyone, except that it's a threat to my life. You see, if I do or say anything to Ashleigh that she does not like, I am threatened with finishing my life in the shed. Now that you know this, the following conversation--held via text messages sent from our positions in our respective bedrooms--will make sense to you.

ASHLEIGH, having just discovered the pile of laundry I lovingly folded for her:

Why didn't you fold my underwear or pair my socks?

*looks pointedly toward shed*

ME:

Because last time I said I was going to,

you freaked at the idea of me touching your undies.

*looks pointedly toward my spot in my bed that I'm not leaving*

ASHLEIGH:

Ah, well, consider that recanted.

Perfect squares next time, if you please.

ME:

Ah, ok. Consider it done.

ASHLEIGH:

You are dismissed.

ME:

Yes ma'am.

ASHLEIGH:

*looks pointedly toward shed*

ME:

*looks pointedly toward your growing stack of dirty laundry

that won't get folded when it's clean if I'm in the shed*

ASHLEIGH:

*pointedly builds a convenient hatch

for inserting laundry into shed when it needs to be folded*

ME:

*pointedly destroys servitude hatch and

servitude sentence due to new shed dwelling*

ASHLEIGH:

I think, just maybe, that I won.

Spontaneity Kills the Hair

2011-01-28T08:15:00.001-08:00

Guys and gals, I cut my hair. Like, more than just a trim. While this statement may give some of you an eye roll and cause you to quit reading this post, there are others of you out there who know how monumental this is.

I'd love to give you some major story with crazy details like my small-ish sibling attacked me with scissors in the nighttime because I hid his toys and and made him clean his room. But the brother wouldn't attack me (nor would he obey me) and we don't even live near each other so that's just not a plausible story in any way.

The truth is, I just had a wild moment and made a hair appointment for a completely new 'do. Take a looksie, if you wanna.

Anyone want an 11-inch ponytail? I've got one riding shotgun in my car. Holler at me if you do.

Thoughts from Ashleigh

2011-01-27T11:00:00.000-08:00

On an upcoming event...

"Maybe we could both get really sick and not go."

Or maybe you just shouldn't have said yes.

"I know. But I did anyway.

So I'll just have some Xanax and a Budweiser and then be just fine."

Blog of the Week: Olivia Leigh Photographie

2011-01-24T21:00:00.000-08:00

Hi, guys and gals. Hope your week has started off well.

This week's Blog of the Week features the talented Olivia Leigh of Olivia Leigh Photographie. A wedding photographer by trade and by heart, Olivia has the great privilege of astounding us with her ability to capture emotions with a lens.

On wedding days, Olivia gets to play with blushing brides and their pastel-adorned friends. But on the other days, the non-shooting days, Olivia lives the ins and outs of owning her own photography studio and business. These days involve meetings, business lunches with coordinators and vendors, consultations with prospective clients, editing photographs, designing albums, handling press inquiries, lots and lots of e-mails, and lots and lots of coffee.

And then there's blogging. For a woman whose writing skills were honed by her days working for Chicagoist, Olivia's blog has become her outlet for sharing tips, strategies, stories, and photos from her experiences as a wedding photographer. Read on for more of Olivia Leigh and her magical reality.

Embracing Liberties (EL): What is your inspiration for your blog?

Olivia Leigh (OL): I started my blog so I could share more photographs from the weddings and shoots that I do. While my portfolio is more of a "curated" selection of my favorite and best images, being able to show a wider range from an individual wedding is helpful for clients to envision their own day. It's also nice to add a backstory and provide more information about a couple, their relationship, and/or their wedding day, which often helps readers and clients understanding why I selected certain images and what my motivations were in shooting them.

EL: I'm sure many bloggers found themselves terrified to actually hit "publish" on their first blog post, or wondered if what they had to say mattered. What about you? Do you remember the day you wrote your first post?

OL: Oh, goodness! I wish I remembered. I wrote for a popular daily blog in Chicago prior to starting my own blog, so I don't think I was nervous or too unsure. Though I think I was probably hoping I'd find enough things to regularly write about!

EL: I giggle at that, but only because as a blogger, I've worried about that exact thing quite frequently. Lucky for your readers, you continue to provide us with heart-warming love stories that keep us coming back for more.

EL: One of the things I appreciate about your blog is your refreshing expression of joy. Whether it's showing us the perfect shot of a bride and groom, or writing a quick sentence of excitement for a pending shoot, you make photography come to life in a way that makes your readers giggle with glee right alongside you. When did you first get your interest in photography? What made you first realize your interest had turned into talent?

OL: I studied abroad several times in college, and on one trip to Costa Rica, a friend had a real SLR film camera. That was my first time using a "real" camera, and I instantly wanted to use it more. When I returned home, I immediately bought a film camera on eBay and as I was shooting with it, I developed a strong passion for it and pursued it from there. I never thought I would become a wedding photographer; instead I had been shooting more for artwork. But a friend asked me to shoot her wedding in 2007 and through that experience, I fell in love with working with real couples to create art out of their wedding day.

EL: Your life allows you to combine things you love: photography, creativity, and making people smile. What's that like for you?

OL: I love what I do. I'm very lucky to have a job that I enjoy so much, and I really love to be my own boss. I feel very fortunate to work with couples who I think are truly joyful and kind people, rather than the "bridezilla" kind of people. It is fulfilling to work for and with people who trust me and allow me to creatively document the story of their wedding. Another great aspect of my life is being able to provide couples with images that will serve as reminders of their love for years to come. (I will also say that I love my job because I truly enjoy the business/entrepreneurial aspect of my profession as well, and I find it requires almost an equal amount of creativity.)

EL: Let's focus a little on one of those key elements: creativity. Do you have any go-tos for inspiration?

OL: I often look at fashion magazines and art photographers to find unique ideas or inspiration from those fields. I then try to infuse those ideas into my own work with the couples I photograph. Overall, though, the couples themselves provide the largest source of inspiration. My goal is always to capture the essence of a couple and capture the nuances of their relationship, which requires being in tune with and inspired by each one, rather than simply "setting up shots". One of the reasons I love what I do is because each couple--the story, the relationship, and the wedding--is so different from every other couple that there are always new things to explore and be inspired by with each event.

EL: I like that perspective. It would help us all to find inspiration in the individual settings or moments of our lives, just like that.

EL: Changing the subject, let's talk accomplishments. What's your greatest accomplishment?

OL: My greatest accomplishment is simply having a wonderful life. I was going through a difficult time several years ago, but now my life is very different and very good. I am quite proud of myself--and thankful to my family and friends--for being able to create a life that includes a successful business, a wonderful home, a great relationship, and fun and wonderful friends.

While most of us dream about that one special day on which we walk down the aisle, this driven gal experiences those dreams on a regular basis, and she shares parts of those dreams with us on her blog. And when she's not surrounded by cameras and photographs and puffy white dresses, you can find Olivia with her friends, her family, good food, and fabulous wine.

PS, This wouldn't be a proper interview without another example of Olivia's work. I could write a paragraph on what makes it beautiful and why she's worth it as a photographer, but let's be real: this photograph speaks for itself.

Need to catch up on the Blog of the Week series? Read them here.

I Was Running from a Man in Paris

2011-01-20T09:30:00.000-08:00

I turned the street corner as fast as I could, dodging an old lady who stood in the middle of the sidewalk, struggling to get a hold of some of her packages. For a short second I thought about helping her, but catching the glimpse of my pursuer in the corner of my eye inspired thoughts of spending some months in a white, cement-block room with an androgynous woman 25 years my senior and listening to her recite Anne Sexton's poetry and therefore, I changed my mind on assisting the little lady and continued my flee from the law.

Because in my hand was a bag of goodies I'd stolen from a cute little boutique on a cute little side street in cute little Paris and the beautiful policeman, dressed in a fancypants suit with a skinny tie, was hot on my trail. I caught up to my gal pals, who'd also risked trading their cushy lives for their jail-cell counterparts, and we dashed into our hotel and up the back stairs.

Suddenly the policeman was there. Right behind us. We cut in front of a housekeeping entourage and made it safely to our room, telling Mr. Maid we didn't want cleaning services and hoping he'd understand our out-of-breath English. He insisted on refreshing our towels, but after a quick argument of "no no no no no but thanks so much", we slammed the door in his face just as our finely-dressed man of the law came running down the hall. He passed our room. We let out a sigh of relief.

Considering ourselves free, we lounged in plush white robes, watched French television, and discussed important topics like music, the social scene, and living off thrifted wares so our budgets can afford a monthly gym membership.

My friends, Mindy Kaling and a funny brunette whose name I don't remember, found me witty and clever and wanted to keep me forever. They gave me a makeover, because dressing like a came from Gap's latest lookbook isn't club-appropriate attire. We went to a new club that night to let out some steam. We moved around on the dance floor, forgetting about the gorgeous man who chased us all around town. Some guy offered to buy us all drinks at the hotel bar next door. He looked disappointed when we agreed to a night of club sodas and board games. We told him to scram when he tried a second time. He was confused, but he left when he saw us making eyes at the club bouncers. He wet his pants on his way out.

I don't remember anything else about that night. Because when I woke up, I was in my twin-sized bed in Colorado and I realized I've never been to Paris or run from the law or offered to play board games with man I met in a club.

Guys and gals, that was a crazy dream. Mindy Kaling, should you ever need someone to help you steal things and run from the law, I'm your girl.

Happy Weekend!

2011-01-14T16:00:00.001-08:00

Hi, my loveys.

I've been somewhat absent the past couple of weeks because of other projects. Those are still going, but I'll be back soon in full force. For now, though, it's time for the weekend. I'll be spending time with a dear friend, catching up on some reading, and pretending I don't live in an artic state.

Here are this week's posts in review, plus some from the holiday season, in case you missed them:

This week's Blog of the Week is one of my faves: For Me, For You is one of the best lifestyle inspiration blogs in the blogosphere.
I was the subject of a most unwelcome pursuit.
My new obsession? Ally McBeal. Watch it; love it; thank me later.
Last week's Blog of the Week featured Pure Style Home, an interior design and lifestyle blog you won't regret adding to your blogroll.
While the rest of us sleep, my cousin Ashleigh surfs eBay.
The one in which I reveal how shallow I can be.
I used to wish I was Lucy's BFF.
The dog might be gay.
I had a horse when I was little.

What are you up to this weekend? If it involves outside temperatures of over 20 degrees, don't tell me.

I Want My Own Ally McBeal

2011-01-14T07:00:00.000-08:00

Whoever created Ally McBeal (I'm talking to you, David E. Kelley) is a genius. I'm freshly starting on this series, thanks to a new subscription to huluPLUS, but let me tell you—I'm so hooked it's bordering on obsession.

For example, please watch this amazing (but poor quality) clip:

The leg shots after the one-minute mark are enough to make you want a unisex bathroom of your own.

I realize that Ally herself isn't in that clip. But that doesn't matter. The entire show delivers dialogue so fantastic it'll leave you breathless from laughing too hard and desperate to be her.

Take Your Pursuit Elsewhere, Please

2011-01-13T17:00:00.001-08:00

Men have a desire to do their job. I get that. They need to feel powerful. They need to pursue, caputure, and conquer. They like the chase, and with that comes chasing those who aren't available to be caught.

Which includes me, apparently.

It seems that my stone-cold, don't-you-even-attempt-to-imagine-me-naked attitude is no longer working. Rather, the untouchable vibe is telling men of all shapes and sizes and marital statuses that I really do want them and it is, in fact, opposite day.

And this, despite the ring on my left hand that is supposed to signal "married" to them (a lie) and "safe from all harm" to me (also a lie).

The latest of these unwelcome episodes takes the biggest and ugliest of all creepy cakes. This man--let's call him Dick, so we can eliminate an obscene amount of pronouns--was short (in height), gray (in hair), and too tan (for even having spent a six-month stint in Aruba). Both his ears wore a dime-sized silver hoop, his wrinkled skin wore a leather resemblance, and his geriatric eyesight wore smart black frames that I actually did find cute.

Dick hurried out of the dressing room, sans shoes, with his shirt pulled up around his chest and his beer belly exposed. He was trying on a pair of our easy-fit jeans. He stopped in front of melike a man who has reached the subject of his conquest. Oh wait, he had.

"I guess these pants are too big. Do you have anythig smaller?" Dick asked, holding the waistband away from his body to emphasize the hugeness of the pants. His eyes kept flitting from me to the gap between the pants and his crinkled stomach flab. Not being one to turn down a good eye-flit, even from the king of all disgustingtons, I glanced down and noticed a solid chunk of lint in his belly button.

Giggling, and completely grossed out, I backed away from him to avoid the view and assumed a perfect customer-service stance. "Well, what size are those? I can find the next size down if you'd like."

Dick took a few seductive steps toward me, his stomach (and more) still exposed. "That would be great. Really."

I tossed him some new pairs of pants to try on and rushed him back to the fitting room. "Maybe one of these will work for you."

"Oh yes, let's hope one of these fits much tighter," Dick emphasized with an overexaggerated wink in my direction.

Finally finding some pants that fit, Dick continued to spread his charm at the cash register. Letting me know he's single, available, and comes with children, I barely managed to get him out the door before digging a hole and burying myself in it.

Blog of the Week: For Me, For You

2011-01-10T11:00:00.003-08:00

Good morning, my lovelies. Hope you all had a wonderful weekend!

-------------------------------------------------------

This week's Blog of the Week is a quick profile on one of my all-time faves, For Me, For You. Authored by the very talented Kate Miss, this blog is a leader in lifestyle inspiration. A place where she collects her thoughts, dreams, and goings-on, Kate keeps us entranced by her regular creative updates.

On Mondays, Kate posts her latest photography offerings in her "Bits Of My Weekend" series. By documenting her weekends, she gets camera practice and we get a peek into what makes her tick. Fridays bring us "Friday Bits", a summary of her week's happenings and inspirations, again in pictures. Any other posts throughout the week are bonuses, and usually involve a glimpse of her latest jewelry designs.

Kate Miss brings us giggles and joy as we live vicariously through her adventures, dreams, and coffee dates. Kate Miss brings us an idea of what it means to live and create from inspiration. Kate Miss brings us a blog that we absolutely must read.

Image credit: Kate Miss.

Miss last week's Blog of the Week featuring Pure Style Home? Catch up on it and the others here.

Thoughts from Ashleigh

2011-01-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

"I stayed up late last night looking through eBay's offerings of vintage copies of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. I found one I thought was fantastic, but when I enlarged the image, I saw it had a typo: 'fellowship' was misspelled.

So I continued my search. The next posting had a misspelling as well. In fact, the more I surfed through the posts, the more I realized they all were misspelled. I found books with typos, people.

And then I did some thinking. It isn't possible for all of these books to have typos, right? Right?

So either I have been misspelling 'fellowship' since I was in the womb, or late-night eBay rendezvous ~~cause people to lose all sense of right and wrong and reality begins to bite~~ should never ever happen."

Home Office Glory

2011-01-05T11:00:00.000-08:00

I don't tell you much about the facts of my life. That's not to say the anecdotes that warm your heart aren't factual. I just leave out the specifics. Because zombies might ring the doorbell and snatch me away or uber-annoying customers at my part-time employment might realize I'm secretly taking notes on their sad existences to document on the interwebs. And because no one cares what I do for a living or where I do that living.

But let me tell you this much: I may never go back to an office again. This working-from-home situation is capital D Divine. Spending all day in grungy clothes and sniffing my trusty Sharpies is magically delicious. ~~So is a box of Lucky Charms.~~

So, you who know me well enough to be privy to my life: call before showing up. The death-in-old-black-sweats look is in and trust me, you'll need ample mental prep before laying eyes on me.

Parenthood: Controlling the Control Issues

2011-01-05T08:00:00.006-08:00

Season 2, Episode 11: Damage Control

In a perfect world, we'd all trust each other. In a perfect world, there'd be no reason to doubt honesty or good intentions. But we don't live in a perfect world, and neither do the Bravermans. Last night, situations went awry. Last night, lies were told, burdens surfaced, and fathers tried to play it cool. Sounds like an after-school special, yes? Not exactly. It's just another week with the Braverman clan. This time, Adam and Kristina found themselves telling Haddie she couldn't date Alex, even though they found him to be a great guy. Sarah has to face the reality of her ex's addictions and have the alcohol talk with her children. Crosby's "cool dad" status is jeopardized when Jasmine wants him to be more of a disciplinarian. Julia and Joel are forced to tell Sydney about death, which becomes more complicated than they expected.

Though we're used to events blowing the roof off one or more Braverman homes, we're left dizzy with this episode, wondering if it's the players or the situations driving their decisions.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

Zeek continues to recruit Drew's help with manly chores around the house, hoping to inspire the father-son relationship that Drew has been missing. When Drew's friends invite themselves over for some beer and bro talk, Zeek interrupts them and sends the boys home. In an effort to teach Drew lessons about handling alcohol responsibly, Zeek downplays the underage drinking and the entire concept, which upsets Sarah. Now, let's think about this. We've seen this behavior with Zeek time and time again—he has an opinion, and he acts on it the way he sees fit. In this case, he's concerned that Drew has no father figure, and therefore he's stepping in. But, by blurring the lines in his cause, he misses the point: being a role model for his grandson doesn't mean operating by his own rules. Because of his concern for Drew's upbringing, Zeek oversteps Sarah's boundaries and is forced to rethink his approach to bonding with his grandson.

Under the guise of wanting "to see where [she's] been spending so much time," Adam appears at the food bank where Haddie volunteers. He meets Alex and invites him to dinner. At dinner, Alex divulges his entire past, which is a lot for Adam and Kristina to digest. (When he drops the AA bomb, Kristina is seen plugging the wine bottle as quickly as she can. Perfect moment to note their shock over the information he's presenting.) Their faces react with a holy-cow moment, though they make it through dinner as polite as possible. Regrouping in their bedroom, Adam and Kristina decide that although Alex is an impressive and stellar young man, he's too adult for their 16-year-old daughter to date. Haddie reacts to the news badly. As in, her blowup at her parents nearly rivals the season-one blowup she had re: Amber's sexcapade with Steve. When Haddie enters the food bank the next day, it's nearly convincing that she's going to tell Alex the truth about her parents. But then we take a beat: Haddie started this episode lying about her time with Alex, so why stop now? And as Alex turns to face her, we cringe while she lies about her parents' feelings about him and their relationship.

Sarah has a double scoop of storylines in this episode. For comic relief, she embarks on a "no men" resolution, hoping to have a year of fun. First up on the list: reinstating girls' nights with Julia (though this is noted as never having actually happened before). And because it's Julia's "13-year-old fantasy coming true," she agrees to a night of fun. On the big evening, they start with drinks in Sarah's house while getting pumped up about their night out. After Zeek shows up for a moment of father-daughter camaraderie, the girls end up talking and getting seriously drunk, and never leaving the house. Not to forget her dramatastic life, Sarah tells Julia that because of Drew's premature drinking adventure, she's going to have to share with Amber and Drew the truth about their father's addictions—a discussion she chooses to have while driving them to school. As the kids roll their eyes, she tells them that because of their father, they may be more prone to problems with those substances than other people. The talk is quick, the kids assure her they understand, and Sarah looks like she's about to lock her kids inside their rooms for the remainder of their lives. Which sounds promising, because we all know that these two have absolutely no resources when it comes to disappearing out from under their mother's watch.

Now that Crosby has settled in his new digs with Jasmine and Jabbar, he is faced with being the man and father of the family. Up first: teaching responsibility to Jabbar. Jasmine wants to start by disciplining Jabbar to clean up after himself, specifically in his room. Crosby, however, doesn't understand the big deal. "I'm sorry if I don't think it's important for a little kid to clean his room," he says. But because Jasmine is insistent, Crosby has to talk to Jabbar about the situation. This conversation, however, doesn't go as planned. Crosby downplays the situation and ends up cleaning the room for Jabbar. When Crosby eventually understands the need to discipline his son, he ends up telling Jabbar they can't go to the zoo because he didn't keep his room clean. Jabbar yells and throws his toys, putting Crosby in his first "mean parent" situation, making women across America tear up a little while we watch the scared and defeated Crosby stare at his son's tantrum. I, for one, have placed many calls to his people hoping to be the first shoulder he cries on during this heart-breaking time.

Over at the Graham household, a bird flies into the kitchen window while Joel, Julia, and Sydney are digesting their morning oatmeal. Julia and Joel try to nurture the bird back to health, while Sydney names it Amelia and dreams of life with a new pet bird. Despite attempts to the contrary, Amelia dies; and until they can decide on how to teach Sydney about death, Julia and Joel tell her that Amelia is sleeping. Eventually, Sydney learns of the bird's death and becomes upset by the finality of death. Hating to see her daughter so hurt by this concept, Julia comforts Sydney with the idea that she'll see Amelia in heaven one day—a disclosure that goes against Joel's wishes.

The Miscellaneous

So. Haddie and Alex are like a thing. Like, they're dating. Like, they're something so definitive that Mr. Manlips makes a public declaration--at his AA meeting, no less--that he met someone so special, so amazing, who showed him "that he has something to offer." While this sentiment is cute, as is their witty banter, it poses a question: Isn't it a bit too soon in the relationship to have such substantial feelings about each other?

We've all been in the Bravermans' shoes before. We try to prevent our loved ones from getting hurt. And, in our protectiveness, we fail to see that our effort might be the very thing that is doing the hurting. By trying to control the situation, we end up driving away the teenager, or shattering the kids' idea of their father, or being called "mean Daddy," or giving the daughter an upsetting finality to life and death and all things in between. But what is left, if we don't do all we can to protect and prevent the pain and suffering they might otherwise experience?

MVP of the Night: Drew, obviously. There's a certain element of adulthood that, at his young age, he already carries. He made a mistake, and he knows it. And instead of waiting for Zeek to tell on him, Drew confesses and settles his transgressions on his own. He's got the responsibility factor down. Don't we all wish we could say that.

Funnypants Line of the Night: (The following dialogue between Zeek, Sarah, and Julia:)

SARAH

"Dad..."

JULIA

"We're supposed to be partying right now, not crying. Geez."

SARAH

"It's girls' night, Dad, we're supposed to be thinking about boys and lipstick."

ZEEK

"I think I should go with you."

SARAH

"I do too! That would be awesome!"

JULIA

"I think you should get all gussied up!"

SARAH

"Let's go dancing! We'll take Dad dancing!"

Blog of the Week: Pure Style Home

2011-01-03T10:00:00.002-08:00

Hi, loveys. Happy Monday to you!

Today's Blog of the Week profiles the very talented Lauren Liess of Pure Style Home. An interior designer, Lauren spends her days working with and for the clients of Lauren Liess Interiors. This means she's surrounded by fabrics, furniture, styles, and spaces. All day, every day. And she loves it.

A believer in style being pure and simple, Lauren's design philosophy for creating beautiful homes for beautiful living is applied to every project, whether big or small. (And should she ever grace our coffee tables with a book of her own, you can be sure this theme will be in abundance on its glossy pages.) Some days are spent producing design boards in her home office; other days send Lauren combing the showrooms for the perfect sofa to make someone's family room complete.

With her 9-5 hours locked in for beautifying the DC suburbs, this laid-back yet driven lady spends her free time hanging out with her husband and two young sons. And sharing her soul on her blog. A lover of family, friends, books, good food, and nature, Lauren's never shy to give her readers insight into her mind and style. Read on for a glimpse of how Lauren took the blogosphere by storm--and why we're totally OK with that.

Embracing Liberties (EL): What is your inspiration for your blog?

Lauren Liess (LL): A place to write down my ideas and thoughts on projects, home and family, and design.

LL: I don't really remember what I wrote that day, but it was probably something about trying to live in and create a home that's beautiful and organized. I wrote exactly how I think, which is typically how everything is written.

EL: Faithful readers of your blog know that's so true. It's refreshing for us to remember that when we sit down to read your latest post, we're going to hear your voice through your words.

EL: Your life allows you to combine things you love: style and design. What does that mean to you?

LL: I love it. I love having a job I'm passionate about. Because of the blog, often the line between work and home is blurred, but I'm OK with that. I need to be creating on a daily basis for my own sanity. I love being excited about things and finding beauty in the everyday.

EL: Let's focus a little on one of those key elements: creativity. Do you have any go-tos for creative inspiration?

LL: Typically, my biggest source of inspiration comes from my clients themselves: who they are, what they like, where they've been, and what they collect. Every project, however, also needs research beyond the clients. I use my collection of design magazines and books, and I love surfing the Internet and other blogs for ideas. One of the best inspirational sources, though, is talking to creative people in the industry who are excited about what they do. Learning about new ideas and works of art is one of the best ways to get fresh inspiration.

EL: You share a lot of these ideas and sources on your blog, which gives us an idea of what makes you tick and makes us really love coming back for more posts.

EL: Another thing I appreciate about your blog is your ability to make design accessible to every woman. When did you first develop an interest in design? What made you first realize you know a little something about design?

LL: I've been interested in design from a very young age. As a little girl, I used to draw house plans and floor plans and design my dream house for fun. I used to do video tours of the house my dad built. Rearranging my rooms and my friends' rooms was an all-too-common occurrence. I always knew I had a flare for it, but I never knew it was a real career possibility until I graduated from college.

EL: So you didn't study design in college?

LL: No, design happened after I had completely graduated. I earned a bachelor's degree in communication, and then did PR for our family business, Maestranzi Corporation. I realized I wanted to work in the design industry, so I took a distance-learning interior design program and worked for another designer. Gradually I began taking on my own clients in the hopes of establishing my own design business.

EL: That's quite the success story! Speaking of successes, what's your greatest accomplishment?

LL: Besides my two boys, I'm proud of setting up and operating my business. Though I've made a ton of mistakes along the way, I've learned a lot and always work to make sure I've righted those mistakes.

A charmer in design, word, and personality, Lauren's approach to blogging the simplicity of design brings it to life in a way that makes design relatable, personal, and desirable.

PS, What you should also know about Lauren is that on this page of her company's site, she uses an image of Christian Bale in Newsies. If that isn't enough to want her to be your BFF, I don't know what is.

Need to catch up on the Blog of the Week series? Read them here.

Saying Hello to 2011

2010-12-31T08:00:00.001-08:00

happy new year!

Hi, loveys. Tomorrow is 2011. As is fitting, I've been doing some thinking about what the new year entails. While a lot of people make resolutions, I've made a list of things I'd like to do. Because ~~I tend to break my resolutions and develop a guilt complex~~ I insist on being different.

So, in 2011, I'd like the following to happen:

Complete my move to LA.
Become a citizen of LA.
Quit drinking ~~coke~~ ~~diet coke~~ ~~carbonated beverages~~ juice?
Organize the files on my MacBook.
Get a plant.
Repot the plant.
Keep the plant alive.
Read the books taking up space on shelf number two.
Be disgustingly happy.

What ~~resolutions~~ lists have you made for the new year?

Image taken from here.

Fashion-Forward (Thanks, Gap)

2010-12-30T10:30:00.004-08:00

My family was never a fashion-forward sort. As little girls, my sister and I wore matching, homemade dresses on Easter that were complete with puffed sleeves, layers of crinoline, and wrist gloves. Our everyday outfits were also often coordinating, and were purchased at the local kids consignment shop. But we didn't care. Because we were too busy pretending to save lives in outer space or fight Indians on the plains to notice that our wardrobes weren't up-to-speed with Gymboree.

When junior high and high school landed in our house, we popped our bubbles and began to notice that our denim faves weren't quite the same as those worn by our schoolmates. The first day of seventh grade dawned and I marched to the bus stop in my carefully-chosen outfit: a Wal-Mart knit t-shirt striped with various shades of blue, jean shorts rolled to just above my knee, white socks, and white Reebok hi-tops. I was certain I looked great and I'd be welcomed into the circle at my new school in my new town. Neighbor-girl took pity on me--of that I am positive--and offered to show me the ropes when I descended off the bus at Ellis Middle. That first day of seventh grade taught me a lot: I had no idea that 1997 had bequeathed such fashion-conscientious 13-year-olds. Even the girl in the crocheted poncho knew what she was doing. I, on the other hand, was made an example of in homeroom for having shorts that danced on the too-short fence.

The days that followed all held the same scenario. I begged mom for new clothes that could only be purchased at the right stores. Otherwise, I was nothing but dog food. But Mom did not succumb to my begs and pleas. She saw no merit in shelling out grocery money so I could have shirts from the new spring line at Limited Too. And though the siblings had no care for such trivial matters, we all received the same chant:

"Be a leader, set the trend.

Wal-Mart, Kmart clothes are in."

I would love to say that the first time I heard that chant, I got her point and we moved on in life with the understanding that since third-world children are starving, it shouldn't matter what I wear. But that would be a lie. It mattered. I desired so much to rise above my current Purina status and become the meat so welcomed by the right people in the school hallways. Once I even forced Mom, bribing quite possibly included, to buy me the perfect dress for picture day. (To this day, I'm convinced I caught her in a sugar coma of weakness when she agreed to buy me this dress.)

Those teen years were brutal. My friends graduated to Gap; I was still getting sister's castoffs. I spent nights agonizing over what to wear to school the next day, hoping that suddenly my closet would birth a new wardrobe. It was a glorious moment when Mom finally gave in to the power of the brand names, deciding that the clearance rack at Old Navy was worth her dollars. I spent hours organizing my new, seasons-old clothes: ~~brand names~~ Old Navy went in front, everything else was hidden in the back.

My greatest wish in high school was to have a Gap sweater. Everyone had a Gap sweater. It was a winter staple, and since we lived in Tennessee at the time, you could spot the Gap sweater from miles away as no one bothered with wearing coats. If you wore a Gap sweater, you got a nod of approval. It was the in-thing for the in-crowd, I had to have one, and no amount of hounding my mother was going to make her enter that store.

One Christmas I finally opened a box from Gap. Inside was the most beautiful Gap sweater a girl could have. It was charcoal gray with one Fair Isle stripe and I cried just knowing it was all mine. Even though it was too big and we spent hours in line exchanging it during the day-after chaos, I considered myself the most dignified human being because I now possessed a Gap sweater.

Life since that Christmas has been a lot of the same for both me and my mother. I still require the right clothes; Mom still doesn't understand. But. Those starving children in Namibia have more attention from me than ever before and I think knowing that, Mom was OK with buying me this year's clothing demands.

Narnia Moments

2010-12-28T04:30:00.000-08:00

Hi, y'all. Happy Holidays y'all.

Over the happy Christmas weekend, I saw the new Narnia movie. Now let me tell you, I laughed and cried and thoroughly enjoyed the entire thing. Because there were some funny parts. And some emotional parts. And all of it was just so fantastically made that I watched with amazement as moments of my childhood were flashing in my mind and before my eyes.

Which reminds me. I once mentioned having entered an essay contest, but I left out any and all details. But now here you go.

A couple of months ago, Focus on the Family announced an essay contest, the winner of which would receive a trip to London for the premiere of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. If you know anything about me at all, you know I jumped on this contest faster than you could research the contest details. I didn't win, but I have loved every moment of imagining what such a trip would be like. If you've never been to London, you must must must go. And I'll go with you.

Here's my essay, because I know you're dying to read it:

My old backyard had a tree house. It balanced its fine, flat surface on the trunks and limbs of two strong oaks. It was nothing spectacular in its squareness, but to me, it was my entire world. Some days I was Laura Ingalls, before she became a Wilder and a parent and a boring adult. Other days I battled pirates and rescued orphans and cooked lavish feasts for kings and queens. On the best days, I was Lucy P., whose last name I couldn’t pronounce, but whose faith, courage, and loyalty I sought to have.

Lucy P. was a mighty warrior when she stepped through a wardrobe at her mere eight years. Lucy P. so badly believed that there was something right, something good, to fight for in the world. She found that rightness and goodness in Aslan and in her family. She learned to love, believe, and trust in a world where none of that seemed to exist.

Send me to London, to the premiere of a movie whose story built my character and gave me faith. Send me to London, where something I once pretended to be could be my reality, if only for a night.

If you've never read The Chronicles of Narnia, you need to. The books create a world where faith and beliefs are an everyday requirement. And if you've already read this series, good for you. Now go read them again and enjoy a few minutes with your imagination.

Wrapfest 2010

2010-12-23T08:00:00.000-08:00

Paper: brown craft paper, stamps and ink from my crafty box; Ribbons and bows: stolen from my aunt's supply (don't call the police; they will be returned post-unwrap fest); Name tags: from last year's clearance at Paper Source (I heart Paper Source so much); Box insides: gifts (no! I won't tell you!); old issues of J.Crew catalogs

I'm Pretty Sure the Dog Is Gay

2010-12-21T15:00:00.000-08:00

Guys, I'm pretty sure the dog is gay. Consider the following points as evidence:

In the above image, Weasley's arms are crossed. I'd love to tell you it's an owner-manipulated pose, but alas, this is a regular occurrence. Sometimes they cross when he's biding his time. Occasionally they cross when he's waiting for food. But mostly, that's just how he sits.
Weasley has a daybed. Because he's too prissy for normal dog behaviors, the daybed sits by the patio doors, providing optimum views of the gardens for his daydreaming pleasures. And because he's just that much of a princess, there may or may not be palm fronds nearby. Cue half-naked men, please.
Weasley doesn't eat off-the-shelf food. For this dog, there is no such thing as opening the bag, filling his bowl, and calling the dog "fed". Rather, if you care to escape his pleads and begs, you'll fix his food properly: topped with a warm mixture of diced chicken and a fabulous--but healthy--gravy. This is no joke.
Weasley's pleads and begs aren't the usual whine, bark, and flutter of the tail. Weasley twirls. Like a ballerina.
Weasley does not walk. He does not run. Weasley prances. Gracefully. Like a ballerina.

Blog of the Week: The Lonny Blog

2010-12-21T09:30:00.001-08:00

Hello, my lovelies. Happy day to you. I'm back from my week away and have lots prepared for you. So, grab your britches and hold on tight.

-------------------------------------------------------

This week's Blog of the Week is a short profile of one of my many addictions: The Lonny Blog.

But first, some background. In 2009, Lonny was launched as an online magazine to unite our lifestyles and make our interior design needs accessible. When Lonny debuted, magazines became more than the glossies we hurriedly purchase on the corner and passionately digested in the most studious way. A treat for the eyes and the mind and inspiration folder, the production of Lonny gives us tips and DIY projects and success stories that the every woman (and man!) could use and create and be. Combining the Internet age with a love for design, Lonny was and is an answer to our fast-paced lives: with just the click of a mouse, you can read the current issue or browse designer's portfolios or research products you find in the artfully designed pages.

And then there's the blog. A fantastic presence in the blog world, The Lonny Blog fills our Google Readers and RSS feeds with fresh design insight. Even when it's just a beautiful watercolor greeting saying hello.

With The Lonny Blog, fans of interiors and expertly-divulged design strategies find a daily dose from the Lonny team. With The Lonny Blog, a set of dishes becomes an extraordinary piece of artwork and a must-have for the home. With The Lonny Blog, our houses become our homes and our hearts harbor the tips and tricks that only Lonny's best can provide.

Need to catch up on the Blog of the Week series? Read them all here.

In Absentia

2010-12-17T13:56:00.003-08:00

Hello dearest darlings,

I took the week off from the blog. Too many projects needing my more immediate attention. So sorry I didn't warn you.

I'll be back next week with a slew of posts to help you ring in the holidays.

Hope you have a great weekend! (And to those still shopping, be brave. It's crazy out there.)

PS, that Christmas cookie pictured above? It was a snowman in its undecorated state. Ashleigh turned it into a fuzzy muppet. Love her.

Gingerbread House Happy

2010-12-10T11:45:00.000-08:00

Last night we attempted a Martha Stewart and had a gingerbread house party. Crafty moments combined with people who couldn't care less about having this happy seasonal fun is not something to be repeated often, just FYI.

But we tried. And though some houses turned into recreated scenes from Lord of the Rings chaos, it was a good, laughable time. Mine, however, has a pond. For ice skating. And, because we live in the land of fairies and Little Women, the trees are multi-colored and adorable and not proportionate to the house.

This activity was also a learning experience for Will, who didn't know gingerbread houses were named such because they are [usually] made out of gingerbread. Meaning, he didn't know gingerbread was an actual thing, though he does acknowledge the existence of gingerbread men. But he's 20 and still young and doesn't get out much so we'll let this one go.

Out of Body Experience

2010-12-08T14:30:00.000-08:00

I tried something new. I woke up before the sun. That's right. I got up at 5:00, just to see what all the fuss is about.

Now. ~~A decision~~ An experiment like this doesn't go without planning. For starters, it requires an 8:00 bedtime, much like the kind the old folks have so they can get their precious 12 hours of sleep. Lucky for me our Internet happened to be down, thanks to our need to employ four computers within a 20-foot radius. Because we all know the only thing accomplished beyond dusk is mass amounts of web surfing, I suddenly had nothing to do and I promptly made my way to bed.

So. Waking up before humans, roosters, and God gives one an abundance of time. Like, so much time that going back to bed seems to be the only answer.

But. Instead I decided to go to the gym. Because there is a need to see what kind of people choose this horrible fate every day. No doubt they are over-achieving business men and soccer moms who insist on being home and showered and ready before the kids are awake.

To my surprise, the same people kind of people work out at 5:00 a.m. as the kind who work out at noon or at 3:00 p.m. A weird fact, really. They were like, normal. They had no agenda other than their "get fit quick" mantra that we are all doomed to repeat.

As for the workout itself, those regulars know what they're doing. They do it all the time, obviously, whereas I spent my hour on the treadmill in a zombie-like state, feeling as though my head was floating 30 feet above me and realizing all too quickly how much I needed a harness to keep me strapped onto the machine.

Despite my hour-long stumbles, my little experiment proved completely unnecessary and unhealthy and pointless. So thanks, gods of some sort, for this ridiculous waste of time and for making my lack of beauty rest a grumpy factor in my day.

Making Peace with Christmas Glee

2010-12-07T12:30:00.001-08:00

So here's the thing. Christmas is a happy time. The lights, the trees, and the carolers all inspire giggles and joy during these few weeks. Even the hush-hush commotion of getting a present wrapped before the intended receiver finds it is a moment of glee. So it would be fitting that a Christmas parade would welcome all the gushy feelings that this season brings.

Except sometimes it doesn't. Because sometimes the parade gives you memories you don't want.

Like when the Christmas clown gets too friendly with the children huddled in the front row.
Like when the homeless population see a few of their friends walking in the parade and decide to join forces and they become their own float.
Like when the local prostitutes start soliciting on the street corner where your family is trying to drink hot chocolate and sing along to the 50 marching bands.
Like when the kid in front of you talks too loud and his speech is slurred and you wonder if he's drunk. But when you look him up and down, you realize you're not sure if he's a boy or a girl because apparently androgyny is back and brutal.
Like when you're standing on a three-foot ledge and you realize the temperature has frozen your limbs to the point that all feeling has been drained and therefore, the only way down to street-level is falling backwards and hoping someone will catch you.

And so, thanks to this year's Festival of Lights, my Christmas spirit has been bonused with a side of oh gee whiz.

Photo credit: DNAinfo/Della Hasselle

Blog of the Week: Ballerina Project

2010-12-07T10:30:00.002-08:00

Hello, all! I took the day off yesterday and spent it decorating the house for Christmas. We officially live in Santa's shop and/or a Christmas outlet store. Anyway, because today is my Monday, I have a Blog of the Week for you!

Today's Blog of the Week is another interruption from the regular interviews. I know you love surprises. Instead of profiling something I've been reading for months and months, I thought I'd post a little blurb of a blog I've just recently discovered. Because I know you love surprises.

Guys and gals, let me introduce Ballerina Project. I've briefly mentioned this blog several weeks ago, but that tiny blip didn't do it justice. Ballerina Project is a photoblog that documents the juxtaposition between the beautiful grace of a ballerina and the rough edges of urban cityscapes.

But that's really not enough of a dutiful explanation. To get the full idea of this project, you need to look at the photographs for yourselves. They come in black and white. They come in color. They come in power and frailty and an elegance that makes one feel weak and strong at the same time.

See it for yourselves.

Need to catch up on the Blog of the Week series? Read them all here.

Happy Weekend!

2010-12-03T12:30:00.000-08:00

Hi, loveys. It's time for the weekend. I'll be shopping for Christmas presents, finding unique ways to wrap presents without spending money, having quality time with a dear friend, and continuing my perpetual cold state. It should be a good time.

Here are this week's posts, in case you missed them:

Our Blog of the Week's The Printed Blog will rock your socks off. Subscribe now; read weekly; be happy.
My Thanksgiving holiday became a learning experience.
Justin Bieber may have cut his hair, and other Internet news.
Holidays don't have to be scary. Try these tips for surviving.
I have issues with certain gym-goers' exercise routines.

What are you doing this weekend? Hope it's a great and warm!

I'm Not Skilled Like Batman

2010-12-03T11:30:00.000-08:00

There are some things I'm not afraid to try. New foods, skinny jeans, and red lipstick, to name a few. These things don't bite, they aren't fatal unless the skinny jeans are just way too small, and they aren't going to keeping me from moving on in my mundane day.

But then there are some things I most certainly will not try. Pole dancing, flying a plane, and using an exercise ball in public are at the top of the list. These things are physically and emotionally painful, and the mere thought of attempting one of these tasks makes my body cripple into a paralyzing state that does not wear off for days.

And to you, oh women who use the exercise ball and swear by its power, trust me when I say you are wrong. I've watched you at the gym, you on your round ball and me repeating my "left foot, right foot" mantra on the treadmill. You think you have it figured out. You think you're just sitting on a round ball and just repeating exercises and just balancing positions and just getting through your workout so you can buy expensive things for your expensive houses.

But you're not. You're performing a skill that only black belts and Batman can perform. (I'm friends with Robin; he tells me about their workouts.) You're high on the list of the world's most talented people.

And you make me hate myself. For every time I fall off my exercise ball, banging my limbs on my desk and dresser and bed, I realize that I will never be like you. I will never master the control necessary to achieve rock solid abs and perfectly toned thighs by using an exercise ball. Especially if I am eating cookies and drinking chocolate milk while sitting on it.

Tips for Surviving This Holiday Season

2010-12-01T11:00:00.000-08:00

Or, Mocking the Merry Mayhem That Consumes Our Winter Souls

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Today is the first of December. It's the day when blasting Christmas music isn't accompanied by an eye-roll, Christmas shopping isn't an over-achievement, and Santa Claus and candy canes and tacky sweaters are key players in your day-to-day.

Last year I wrote a list of dos and don'ts for the holiday season. I've decided to repost it for you, my dear readers, as a guidebook for how you should handle the next several weeks. I hope insights and encouragement abound.

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It's a well-known fact that braving the ins and outs of the holiday season is brutal. The mayhem begins with the fight for the best, plumpest, awkwardly-shaped, naked bird from your local grocer's refrigerator and doesn't stop until week two of the second semester of school--when the latecomers return from extended holiday skiing trips and teachers realize there's no avoiding the children so they may as well cease the staring contests and try to teach them something.

Well folks, this holiday season is no different. We're still experiencing an economic crisis that is so out of style you'd think the scrunchy had returned for a comeback. Again. But, since we just aren't fond of breaking our bank accounts, maxing out our credit cards, or spending any time at all in ERs and other just-as-chaotic public facilities, here are 12 neatly-organized and expertly-experienced tips for keeping this holiday season a notch below insane.

1. When fighting lines at the mall to buy little Bobby and Amy their new toys and dolls, wear an alarm around your neck to ward off people who get too close. These devices are rather affordable and can be set to go off at 30-second intervals, so as to remind your fellow shoppers to stay out of your personal space.

2. If you choose to get your gifts professionally gift-wrapped, perhaps at customer service in your favorite department store, bring your own wrapping paper that you neatly folded and saved from last year's Christmas festivities. This will cut your costs by more than half--you'd only be paying the fees for the wrapping service.

3. White elephant gifts are really only for white elephant parties. And since white elephants are rare finds in the domesticated United States, stick to re-gifting more traditional, common things, such as your plethora of plastic grocery bags, your This Old House back issue collection, and any other items you can reduce, reuse, and recycle.

4. Gift receiving is a tricky thing. What if you love it? Is it always appropriate to jump for joy and giggle with glee? What if you hate it? Is it possible to still jump for joy and giggle with glee? Whichever method you choose to take, remember this: open your great-aunt's gift with caution--who knows what's inside. And, wear protective clothing for this portion of your holiday spirit; you never know if the gift is safe, clean, or comprised of non-toxic materials.

5. Holiday weight gain is always a scare. To prevent living in fear and/or anxiety during this holiday season, place your scale in a sturdy box, and lock it with a chain and pad lock. There's really no need to spend these precious weeks worrying about such small matters.

6. Grocery store visits should be limited to early Saturday mornings. Arrive Friday night with full camping gear in tow so as to be first in line for the shopping rush. Bring your spouse for conversation and warmth; just think of it as the new Friday night date.

7. Airport security lines are still a mess, and there's still no avoiding them. So, to keep your time spent in line to a minimum, wear a bodysuit. They're like adult onesies; easy, comfortable, warm, and can be purchased in a variety of fabrics and colors.

8. Since personal space on planes is only decreasing these days, be up front with your neighbors about your plane-riding habits. Once you're settled in your seat and ready to enjoy the ride, politely turn to your neighbors and inform them that you will, in fact, be borrowing the shoulder of choice for your nap, you may stretch out when the seatbelt sign is not lit, and you must walk a lap down the aisle every 30 minutes but no, you will not accept any seat but the window seat. Thanks.

9. Be health-conscious this New Year's holiday. When the ball drops, rather than kissing your spouse or significant other, rub elbows or pat each other on the back. You'll save yourself from the looming swine flu.

And finally, some post-holiday trauma preventions . . .

10. Rise early on New Year's Day. While still in your party-hardy stupor, rid the house of all party evidence. When you're completely awake, you won't remember those drowsy promises to throw the annual family pig roast this year.

11. Having neatly folded and stacked your holiday wrapping paper from the season's festivities, spend the rest of the New Year's weekend storing it properly in fireproof boxes to be used again next year.

12. Remove the pad lock and chain you placed around the box containing your scale. Reset the default for 10 lbs. below your normal weight. Now sit back, relax, and think about next year's holiday feasts.

Happy Holidays, folks. Hope you take time to enjoy them.

Things I Didn't Know I'd Want to Know

2010-11-30T09:45:00.001-08:00

I plan to use design*sponge's gift guides for all of my holiday shopping this year. Everybody needs a happy home with happy home things (like pretty spoons), so these guides will be perfect. Hope that's OK with the gift-getters, especially those who prefer football over china patterns.

Since we've had rampant recalls of food lately, the senate has passed a bill to overhaul food safety regulations. But the bill doesn't include meat, so sorry, your chicken nuggets will still look like this at some point in their existence. And my breakfast may or may not have just revived itself.

Headlining news in my Google reader is a debate on Justin Bieber's hair. Did he cut it? Not only is this maybe-cut up for debate, our opinions are also! Readers of this article are asked to sound off--do you think he should cut it or keep his famous shag? I can't believe that even the world of celebrity news has nothing but a haircut to report. Blah. Somebody create some paparazzi drama, stat.

Thanksgiving Day's buzz focused on Kanye West and ~~his BFF~~ Matt Lauer. The headlines sang songs of their reunion at the Macy's parade. Let's just think about this: a Today show host having to announce--as he does with all the floats and those riding on them--Kanye as he drove by is ~~hardly~~ not a reunion. I highly doubt hugs and kisses and a potluck were involved.

The title of this video pretty much speaks for itself. Minute 1:38 is especially heart-warming. (Note to those with weak stomachs: there is a 4-second close-up of crotch at about minute 1:17.)

A Hair of the Dog Thanksgiving

2010-11-30T07:00:00.000-08:00

If you know anything about my family, you know there are several things we just don't talk about: sexuality, body parts, alcohol, smoking, and movie ratings. These topics are frowned upon. They are taboo. They are not safe for dinner conversations, my grandparents, or the general sophisticated person. Yes, we live in 1890, complete with an as-tall-as-me fireplace and a sitting room.

Knowing this, you can imagine my surprise when many a conversation this past holiday centered on the phrase "hair of the dog". Let me tell you how this happened.

As a family, we've always enjoyed a round or eight of Taboo, and we even suffer through the awkward attempts at describing "Wonderbra" and "thong" and "k.d. lang" before moving on to more appropriate, family-oriented terms. (See paragraph 1 for reasons why these may be awkward.) Therefore, when "hair of the dog" became the word of the draw, we giggled as we watched the lucky family member squirm. Except, after a few facial expressions showing obvious discomfort and uncertainty, said family member passed on the term, hoped for something much easier, and yelped a solid shooooot when the buzzer sounded the end of his turn.

Generally, we'd forget all about the word that was [eventually] skipped, and we'd be on our merry way with the next player. This term, however, had stumped the particular family member. It was a term he had never heard before. (Not surprising, given the details in paragraph 1.) An explanation was then required.

Soon we were spending our free time consulting the dictionary and Google, and finding ways to use the term in everyday conversation. "Hair of the dog" became the new catch phrase, the new inside joke, the new answer to every uncertain question.

And now my family has rounded the century and uses the 1930s as operating standards.

Hope your Thanksgiving was lovely and fat!

Blog of the Week: The Printed Blog

2010-11-29T11:00:00.001-08:00

Happy Cyber Monday, y'all!

Today's Blog of the Week is taking a little twist. There is no riveting interview for your reading pleasure; instead, I'm interrupting the regular series with a major scream about my ~~new~~ ongoing obsession: The Printed Blog.

Guys and gals, you love blogs. That's why you read mine faithfully everyday and subscribe to my feeds and laugh at my tweets and drool over my carefully-selected words. Well, The Printed Blog geniuses have figured out that blogs are the new black. They realize that we live in an Internet age, where the latest and greatest in headlines, trends, and monkey-business arrive in blogs.

But. They also understand the power of the printed word. While we function on MacBooks and stay organized with BlackBerrys and cultivate thumb calluses from texting too much, the brains behind The Printed Blog understand that the printed word is what unites this world. It's what taught us to love, made us want to learn, showed us that justice exists to right the wrongs of those who traded straight As for popularity in high school, and let us escape, if only for a 500-word article in this week's issue, into the mind and matter of someone else's story.

Therefore, they are providing us, the begging and desperate public, with stories and photos that will blow our brains out. For $9.95 a month, you'll get a slick and solid issue in your mailbox every week. (For you math-challenged, that calculates to one issue costing less than a cup of coffee.) You know you want to subscribe. Everybody's doing it.

Here are the most important details.

Subscribe: theprintedblog.com

Facebook: facebook.com/theprintedblog

Twitter: twitter.com/theprintedblog

So. Do the right thing. Subscribe to The Printed Blog and do your part to make the world a better place.

Image from The Printed Blog on Facebook.

2010-11-25T11:00:00.002-08:00

happy thanksgiving!

And, in case you missed it, here's a Thanksgiving message from me and Horse.

Image from Martha Stewart.

Holidays Equal Horses

2010-11-24T08:00:00.000-08:00

It's officially the holiday season. I can say that because I'm at my parents' house, basking in the glow of too much cleaning (for tomorrow's festivities) and too many supermarket runs (for tomorrow's festivities) and too many people pinching my cheeks (for being so darn cute).

The holiday season always brings a flood of childhood memories, which typically start as I'm washing down stale, unsalted peanuts with 3.5 ounces of watered-down Diet Coke that the stewardess politically-correct flight attendant handed me on her its way down the aisle. For most people, memories like these involve winters spent reading and playing games and watching electronic trains go round and round as the fires roar and mommies bring refills of hot chocolate and sugar cookies. Or for those in better climates, those days are spent walking on beaches and putting on long-sleeved shirts and hoping for a dip in the pool before the sun sets.

Sure, I have some of those memories, fires in- and out-of-hearths included. But my childhood memories, the ones that I think of when I think of home, all involve horses. Primarily one horse, if I'm being honest, so we'll just talk about him for a moment.

He was tall and handsome. He had a chestnut coat and big, beady, black eyes. His hooves were white, as was the stripe running down his face. He was beautiful. I don't remember his name. I'd like to say it was Charlie or Blaze or Ambrosia or something very horse-like. But knowing me, I named him Horse and moved on with my day.

Winter for me meant afternoons spent with Horse. We had some great adventures; they involved beating my own record at lapping the track, the supermarket, and just about anything that could be circled in one way or another. We got along famously. I loved him so much, and I know he loved me right back. Horse turned evil to good and nightmares to dreams and comforted my biggest fears. He was my BFF.

When you're spending time with your loved ones this holiday season, cherish the moments. Remember your childhood memories. And know that me and my 7-inch tall, plastic Horse wish you and yours a Happy Thanksgiving.

Things I Didn't Know I'd Want to Know

2010-11-23T06:45:00.000-08:00

Someone took the time to map cigarette data. Meaning, it shows who smokes where and how often. Check it out. And then send a congratulatory gesture to those in the Midwest for being the Americans most addicted to their habit.

"The word corset was not used in its modern sense until the early 1800s, when corsetry—and the pronounced hourglass figure it created—came to dominate both fashion and social discourse on women's health and morality." Two of the most interesting minutes of my life were spent reading an article on the history of the corset. I have a new respect for every woman pre-1960.

Here in Colorado, we let civilians play Taboo while being interviewed by the local news. This woman struggles to beat the timer.

Did any one celebrate National UnFriend Day with Jimmy Kimmel?

This elevates my iPad obsession:

Mom and Dad, consider this a major hint.

Or anyone else who cares to bestow major gifts upon me this holiday season.

A "Dynamite" Cover

2010-11-23T06:00:00.003-08:00

Guys. If you haven't seen this yet, you need to watch it now. It's simply brilliant.

That is all.

Happy Tuesday everyone!

Blog of the Week: Thinking in Words

2010-11-22T07:30:00.002-08:00

Hi, friends!

Today's Blog of the Week features the charming Brandy Bruce of Thinking in Words. By day, Brandy works as a developmental nonfiction editor for Focus on the Family. This means that Brandy wraps her thoughts around books. All the time. But before any books get read, she's up early, rushing to get her two-year-old ready for daycare. Then she's rushing to drop her off five minutes late. The she's rushing to get to her cubicle, where she starts her day with a can of Diet Dr Pepper, a to-do list, and a few tweets about having just opened that can of Diet Dr Pepper.

Brandy's job, however, isn't just reading books and tweeting about them. Her days involve book proposals. And evaluations. And meetings with authors. And developing projects. And editing. And e-mails and more e-mails.

But then she blogs. With her survival kit--family, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, a DVD of Sense and Sensibility, cheese enchiladas, and an endless supply of Diet Dr Pepper--at her side, this 31-year-old uses her wit and well-spoken graces to show us a world where books are the only necessity in life. Read on for more from a girl "who gets ridiculously happy over things like Jane-Austen flicks and vampires that sparkle".

Embracing Liberties (EL): What is your inspiration for your blog?

Brandy Bruce (BB): You know, I've never like journaling. But for some reason, blogging appealed to me. I'm probably just someone who easily succumbs to peer pressure. Part of the appeal is that I live far from most of my extended family. I wanted to create a way for them to peek into my life and catch a glimpse of what's going on with me. Also, I'm a book lover. I love reading reviews, hearing about what other people are reading--blogging is a great way to dialog about that kind of thing.

EL: I can so relate to that perspective--peer pressure and I are best friends. What thoughts were running in your mind when you published your first blog post?

BB: I think I'm really going to like doing this. And I doubt anyone will ever read it.

EL: And I giggle at that, but only because I can't remember what life was like when I wasn't read and gush over your blog. Mostly because I love your writing style so much. Do you have any go-tos for writing inspiration?

BB: Good movies, other good books, cooking, Christmas music, cappuccinos--I find inspiration in lots of ways; sometimes it hits me unexpectedly. But I don't believe in always writing just because you've been inspired. Sometimes I need to write when I'm not feeling inspired. I think some of this comes from being an editor and giving authors deadlines. When we're on a timeline, you've got to come up with something. Search for inspiration, do what you must--but please meet your deadline!

EL: That's an interesting spin on writing with or without inspiration--no doubt your writing is more practiced because you stick to a schedule, no matter what your mood is. What is your writing process?

BB: I like to have an idea of where my story is going. My sister and I are currently working on a fantasy book project together and the entire series is already outlined in detail. I'm always open to characters taking off in a new direction, but I like to have an idea of what I want the story to look like.

EL: You and I have spent a lot of time talking about stories, both fictional and real. One thing I've always admired about you is your active imagination. If you were to write a novel loosely based on your life up to this point, what adventure would you send "yourself" on?

BB: I'd probably send myself on some romantic trip to Italy where I'd eat gelato and ride in a gondola.

EL: I may be riding shotgun in your luggage for that one.

EL: Let's go back to your blog for a moment. Something I love about your blog is your series of interviews with authors, which is nice for those of us who desire to understand the author as well as the book. What is that like for you, chatting with so many different dreamers and gaining such close access to so many minds?

BB: I love it, because I know just what it feels like to be excited about something you've created. It's encouraging for all of us who are dreaming of being published. And it's fun to get an inside look into the life of an author you admire.

EL: Speaking of authors, you work with them constantly. Your job (and life!) allows you to spend all day with things you love: books and writing. Tell us what that means to you.

BB: I'm extremely lucky to be able to work in a field I'm passionate about. Working on books is fulfilling for me. It's great because at the end of a long project, you have something tangible--proof of your hard work. Although I find editing very fulfilling, I still really enjoy writing. Working with my sister on this fantasy series has been so fun and a great outlet for me.

EL: Working a dream job is every college student's hope. Give us a little background into how you got to your position as an editor.

BB: After graduating from Liberty University with a degree in English, I worked for a few months as an intern at Focus on the Family, where I realized that being an editor was a perfect fit for me. About a year after that, Focus contacted me about working for them. Before I knew it, I was moving from Virginia to Colorado with my husband. I've now been an editor for six years.

EL: That's quite the success! Speaking of successes, what's your greatest accomplishment?

BB: My daughter. She's my little piece of magic.

EL: And your biggest failure?

BB: There was that time I drove through a fence when I was nineteen. Not my most shining moment. And then there's the time I broke up with my high school boyfriend in the most immature and insensitive way known to man.

She may be somewhat of an introverted editor, but to those of us who know her, Brandy is a woman whose life is spent making authors' dreams come true.

For more of Brandy, visit her blog, Thinking in Words.

Miss last week's Blog of the Week? Read it here.

Gym-Going Tyrants

2010-11-19T11:00:00.001-08:00

The truth is, I admire those who can so freely walk around a gym's dressing room in a naked manner. These women have no inhibitions about being gawked at as they undress, make their way to and from the shower, and then redress. They simply amaze me. They're free, and the rest of us just wish we were.

But. Even freedom has its limits.

Like when I'm running from my car to the gym because I have to pee so badly that I may or may not have already started wetting my pants. I rush through the doors, knocking a man into the glass partition and mutter some sort of "I'm so sorry, I'm just in a hurry and if you look close enough you'll see why".

There's a line at the check-in counter. The ID machines seem to be slow today. Apparently computing phone numbers and finger prints has been wearing on them lately. The line shortens and it's my turn. I punch some numbers, hobble back and forth on my feet, and wait. Scanning finger . . . Scanning finger . . . Would you hurry up! It's the same finger I use every day! . . . Scanning finger . . .

I finally get the computer's permission to Enjoy workout! and off I go, skipping madly to the women's dressing rooms though I shouldn't bother really, since my pants are pretty much soaked in my reason for entering the restroom in the first place.

I turn the corner. Wham! A face is in my face; her shoulder against mine. She didn't hear me coming; my apparent blindness missed her as well. She's freshly showered; I'm caught by major surprise.

I no longer need to use the restroom. I turn to head home, where I will wash off the urine and nakedness and sulk in annoyance at having missed a day at the gym.

Books Make My Soul Happy

2010-11-18T08:30:00.000-08:00

I ♥ books. Watch this video and you will too.

Great F. Scott from Penguin Books on Vimeo.

Clearly I Need More Sleep

2010-11-16T08:00:00.001-08:00

Saturday. The day of impending boredom freedom to tackle whatever I want (like skydiving and walking correctly and pottery glazing and learning to cook with the stove turned on) as long as I show up to work at noon with my cheeriest smile and warm little compliments.

And so, I jump out of bed feeling empowered to conquer one of the many aforementioned items on my to-do list. I sit at my desk, rubbing my eyes and sipping my pick-me-up coffee, hoping for some Internet amusements to occupy my morning.

And there it is. My Inbox. Bold with a new message. Bold, with this century's version of AOL's "You've got mail!" shouting at you when you sign in and have the volume control on an audible level.

Hip. Hip. Huzzah. I have a new message. I'd be giddy if I was awake. But, my heart barely skips half a beat. I just know it's from that boy I walked by the other day whose eyes told me tales of romantic visits to castles in far-off lands and Christmases spent watching our little Susie play with her new dolls and retiring in Orange County (but we won't have the next Seth Cohen because you can't recreate that genius). I just know it's from him. He got my e-mail address by osmosis, duh.

I quit day-dreaming and sip some more coffee and start toward this bold, new e-mail.

From: Fickle Cattle

Um, what? I scratch my eyes and gulp some more coffee, hoping a drink of much more emphasis will provide some clarity on what I just saw.

Again, I look.

From: Fickle Cattle

That boy with the telling eyes is suddenly walking toward a moving taxi. But then it's not really him; that's just Joe Black and we all know he lives happily ever after with Susan in her daddy's great big house. And since my daydream suddenly became a remembrance of a top-five favorite film, I jolt with focus back to the screaming black text on my computer screen.

From: Fickle Cattle

Last time I checked, I never dabbled in the cattle industry or spent time learning the various milking breeds (except that one time I went to Mount Vernon), so someone must be playing a joke on me or Gmail's spam filter needs some work. Right?

Wrong.

Fickle Cattle is the name of a blogger (not his given name, obvi.). Fickle Cattle found his way to my blog and left me a little comment.

Fickle Cattle, thanks so much for adding charm to my day.

Blog of the Week: life is love leigh

2010-11-15T07:30:00.006-08:00

Happy Monday, all!

Today we're soaking in the creativity from the mind of Leigh Thomas, author of life is love leigh. Leigh's paying job is for the Indianapolis Marion County Public Library as their Activity Guide, which means she spends hours in "a room with walls the color of sherbet, filled with puzzle-piece chairs; plush animals; computers with big, bright buttons; and a handful of overly-eager children and their parents in tow", teaching computer basics and how-tos on Photoshop, Google Earth, and other digital divineness.

Otherwise, Leigh is immersed in reading, writing, crafting, and living a multitude of stories. Which, for the betterment of all of society slash her main readership, are far more interesting than the Conan-Leno competition or TLC's latest social exploration, Sister Wives. These stories, you see, are what make up this deep-thinking, sarcastic, tenacious, and joyful individual.

Her blog is an outlet, where the 23-year-old types paragraphs and makes lists and shares images of "the things she thinks of late at night and tries desperately to remember in the morning". Read on for more of the girl who loves to laugh, read, and discover the spirituality in everything.

Embracing Liberties (EL): What is your inspiration for your blog?

Leigh Thomas (LT): Mainly the random thoughts that appear in my head that I would be mad at myself for not recording in some way. In other words, it's my attempt at self-discipline.

EL: That's an interesting perspective on blogging. What thoughts were running in your mind when you published your first blog post?

LT: It's about time . . .

EL: That's what the rest of us thought, too, but just because we think everything you touch is pure genius.

EL: One of the things I've always admired about you--even during our time of dorm rooms and book-bonding and scribbles in the margins of class notes--is your endless creativity. It abounds in all areas of your life, and especially in your voice on your blog. Do you have any go-tos for creative inspiration?

LT: I usually start with Martha Stewart. Her innovative approach to crafting and décor is absolutely brilliant; but at the same time, her 26-step directions are so insanely involved and somewhat impossible that I'm actually encouraged by the reality check. Like, who actually owns orange roving? And who has time to purée cauliflower individually? I love Martha for her good things and great ideas, but also because the comic element in aiming to be like her is like chicken soup for my perfectionist's soul.

EL: I appreciate that your inspiration comes from realizing the impossibility of copying someone else's craft. That's an interesting spin on creating. Let's talk about taking your inspiration to work. Your job allows you to combine a few things you love: graphic design, creativity, and books. What is that like for you?

LT: I definitely count it lucky that I get to roll a variety of likable elements into one job. I enjoy getting to play with Photoshop just as much as I love recommending a book or author to an inquiring patron. Our library model includes both the traditional (books, crafts) and the digital (computers, technology), and I think both sides are needed.

EL: Good think you're so well-rounded. What's your version of your own resume?

LT: Leigh K. Thomas: Comma Queen; Font Snob; Book Cover Analyst; Poster Girl for Posters, Bulletins, and Brochures; Unofficial Theme Party Planner; Glue Gun Extraordinaire; and Sharpie Pen Enthusiast . . . at your service.

EL: I'd hire you. For all of the above. And I do hope that's part of your professional resumé.

EL: If you were to write and cast a movie based on your life up to this point, who would play you? And what adventure would you send her on?

LT: I would like to say Natalie Portman, since she's kind of my fave. But for a more realistic portrayal I'd need to cast someone shorter, smaller, and slightly more Jewish-looking. The adventure would likely involve an existential quest and some good coffee.

EL: Everything brilliant always happens over a good cup of coffee. Speaking of brilliant, what's your greatest accomplishment?

LT: Completing my first young adult novel, which I chose to make my senior English Departmental Honors project. The jury's still out on the actual content of this accomplishment, but I try to focus on the "I finished it" part. We creative types can be so non-committal, you know, so when I actually got to the finish line, it was a pretty good feeling.

For Leigh, life is made of stories that are meant to inspire. For Leigh, Over the Rhine sets her reflective mood, and a solid young adult novel creates a tone that only like-minds can understand. For Leigh, joining in the rhythm of others' voices is the only way to bring out your own, and sharing your voice is the only way to grow.

Read more from Leigh at life is love leigh!

Miss last week's Blog of the Week? Read it here.

Thoughts from Ashleigh

2010-11-11T09:00:00.000-08:00

"There's no way I could fail this art class.

I just made my eraser into a unicorn."

Happy Hiking

2010-11-10T08:00:00.002-08:00

They let crazies hang out in Red Rock Canyon. Once, my family rounded a bend while frolicking on a trail and some strung-out freak of a female verbally assaulted them. She screamed warnings of dangerous wildlife (rabbits) and claimed to own the land (a city-owned property) and threatened to hurt us if we hurt our dog (as we stooped to pick up his crap). I wish I was making this up.

If you go to Red Rock Canyon on the perfect fall day at the perfect hour of the morning, you may run into some sort of stumbling being on the easy, amateur trails. You will find said being, let us call her E, pausing every 200 feet to correct wardrobe malfunctions.

Her stylish and hike-inappropriate Converse laces once again need to be tied.
The last rock she tripped over has caused her Kenzie sunglasses to wobble and fall off. But only off one ear this time.
The persistent wind-slash-Mother-Nature prefers the perfected two-feet of hair to sport a more wind-blown coif (they are now fighting profusely, a battle neither admit to have won or lost).
Another wind effect has caused snot to run, which finds its happy home on the right sleeve of Gap's favorite T (in black).
There's a hole in the crotch of her jeans. It wasn't that big when she left home.

Hikers, if you find E, send her home as soon as possible, and text 9-1-1 to her stylist. 'Cause they let crazies hang out in Red Rock Canyon.

Things I Didn't Know I'd Want to Know

2010-11-09T07:00:00.001-08:00

I've entered a contest, the prize for which is a trip to a far-off land that is so dear to my soul. Details are being kept from you on purpose. But just know this: If I win, I can spend all moments post-December 5 in complete and utter misery because life will have achieved its purpose.

I've never taken a dance class. Wait. Let me retract that. I've never taken a ballet class. (And no, four hours of gymnastics in February of 1990-something isn't worth mentioning here.) I mean, let's just face some facts: I'm curvy, and I like it. I'm 5'5" when I'm not vertically challenged, so there's that to consider as well. And as for flexibility, let's just say spelling flexibility correctly is about as good as it's going to get. So, to conclude, ballet wasn't in my future. And now I hate myself for that fact.

My secret weapon is me. And most of you just peed in fear.

I know someone who has issues with American companies making their products other countries, only to then sell those products in America. This concept is supposed to bother me. But it doesn't. (Unless there is an ethical breach happening, and then we'll talk and I'll be kicking some major tail.) Because really, since when did community get restricted by oceanic barriers?

I need to meet the brains behind this video. Like, right now.

Blog of the Week: the health nut

2010-11-08T07:00:00.012-08:00

Hi, loveys. Today is the second posting of my new series, "Blog of the Week". In case you missed the memo, here's how it works: each Monday, I'll profile a blogger and his or her insider secrets to life and love and blogging. But mostly, you'll just get to read a bit about someone new who will inspire you to continue being your most amazing self and document it for all of blog world to see.

-------------------------------------------------------

This week we're exploring the world of the always-adorable Emily Carlson, author of the health nut. A registered dietitian and nutrition counselor for her company, saving grace nutrition, Emily makes the rest of us actually want to live a healthy lifestyle. (Or sometimes, we just live vicariously through her homemade granolas, knowing our own attempts should never come to fruition.) She's obsessed with oatmeal; drinks fair trade coffee because every single one of us should too; and, when she's not counseling or teaching nutrition classes, she spends her time researching for a client's meal plan. Basically, she's a foodie and she likes it.

I asked Emily to do this interview because of one fact: no matter what, Emily makes nutrition science accessible. For everyone. Trust me, I read one blog post and felt healthier. It's like osmosis, really.

But that's not all this 25-year-old has to offer. She's pretty clever, too. Always one to think outside the box, Emily's curiosity allows her to find ways we can live and breathe and be better. Read on for a taste of Ms. Industrious Herself.

Embracing Liberties (EL): What is your inspiration for your blog?

Emily Carlson (EC): A lot of bad health blogs! Anyone can publish whatever they want on the Internet these days, so when I read things on so-called "nutrition blogs", I kept thinking, "Someone has got to set the record straight!"

EL: Good thing you did, too. What thoughts were running in your mind when you published your first blog post?

EC: That I hope someone, somewhere is inspired by what I write! My blog has actually changed a lot from that very first post. It used to be more of a chronicle of what I ate; but now it is a conglomeration of my opinions on food issues, recipes, and life as a dietitian.

EL: One feature I love about your blog is the abundance of healthy recipes, as you just mentioned. We can tell you love trying new things. Do you ever have any funny or disastrous moments in the kitchen?

EC: Do I have to pick just one?? My latest disaster happened with my homemade pumpkin ravioli. I didn't show it when I posted the recipe on my blog, but half of the ravioli exploded while I was boiling them!

EL: Haha, that should've been posted in full visual detail for sure. All funniness aside, your blog followers are big fans of you. What does that mean to you?

EC: The blog community is incredibly supportive. I can't tell you how great it is to get a super nice e-mail or encouraging comment, especially when I'm having a bad day. It also means the world to me when someone tells me how my blog has helped them somehow or asks me for nutrition advice.

EL: It means you're doing your job! Which, given your freelance lifestyle, changes quite frequently. What project are you currently working on?

EC: I'm trying to help establish a community program to treat obesity in my hometown here in Michigan, with an emphasis on consuming local food and sustainability. It's a big project with many barriers, but it makes me happy to work on something that gives back to the community and will hopefully change the lives of others for the better.

EL: Wow, that sounds like a major undertaking. But it's certainly worth the time you're putting into it. Speaking of major undertakings, what's your greatest accomplishment?

EC: Probably finishing grad school . . . in one piece. It's definitely one of the hardest things I've ever done. But, I grew so much during that time and am grateful for every challenge and hardship, as unpleasant as they seemed at the time. And along those lines, I'm very proud of staying balanced during all of my years in academia while studying and being a member of ONU's band and orchestra and OSU's symphony.

EL: You're basically the multitasker's poster-girl.

And so we carry on, me with my obsession over this girl's genius and Emily with her stellar resume saving America, one healthy diet at a time.

Read more of Emily and her healthy-living advice at the health nut!

Miss last week's Blog of the Week? Read it here.

It's Cold in Colorado

2010-11-03T07:30:00.000-07:00

Therefore, we spend our time wisely collecting dead wood to burn. It keeps us warm. My cheeks turn red and hot. My fingers thaw. My contacts get dry. And I pretend that it didn't just start flurrying outside.

But I don't just sit there, cozy on the couch under a homemade sleeping bag, circa 1970-something as I try to read something deep and tragic and brimming with big words. I earn my keep. I cut down trees. I skillfully operate an 18-inch chainsaw. I conquer the Black Forest.

And I do it all for the glory of riding shotgun in a 1978 Ford Ranger while listening to The Beatles' hits on the 8-track.

Things I Didn't Know I'd Want to Know

2010-11-02T07:00:00.005-07:00

The French want to ban cross-Channel swimming. Well, there goes that dream. Really--I spend my slumber swimming the channel. It's how I keep my lean physique.

Exercise can prevent the common cold. So say some scientists. Funny thing, though. I've heard this from about every doctor, teacher, and adult know-it-all since The Land Before Time hit the big screen in 1988. However, the fall season is fully upon us and therefore, this mind-blowing observation is up for renewal as newsworthy.

Zach Galifianakis had nothing to do with Mel Gibson's release from the cast of The Hangover 2. He does, however, know something about ex-Mrs. Mel's toilet.

The San Francisco Giants won their first World Series last night. Since their 1954 win as the New York Giants, that is. Was this a first first or a second first for them? Not that it really matters to me, as I consider my acknowledgement of their win to be my one sports-related concern for the week.

I have cuteness-envy over a lot of gals. This one is my newest. She's 15. And she's got good taste. And she has red hair. And she takes risks. And she knows how to pose.

Photo by Matt O'Sullivan of thenarrative.net.

Blog of the Week: Le Blog de Mimi

2010-11-01T07:00:00.001-07:00

Today I'm launching a new series for the blog, aptly titled "Blog of the Week". Each Monday, I'll profile a blogger and his or her insider secrets to life and love and blogging. But mostly, you'll just get to read a bit about someone new who will inspire you to continue being your most amazing self and document it for all of blog world to see.

-------------------------------------------------------

This week we're taking a look at the very lovely Michelle Kraker, author of Le Blog de Mimi. By day, Michelle works as the manager of Student Marketing and Social Media for The International Interior Design Association. (Say that five times fast, if you dare.) Translated, that means she promotes her company on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube. And through creative marketing campaigns. And at industry parties, rubbing elbows and knees with fabulous people at fabulous venues eating fabulous food that most people cannot pronounce. Oh, and she's a newly established fashion editor, which means we'll get more of her more often and we are waiting way too impatiently for that.

When she's not navigating the design world, sifting through her 200 daily e-mails, delegating to interns, or watching Real Housewives reruns with her coworkers during lunch, Michelle uses her sass and charm to wow the blogosphere with her logbook of personal style, modeling gigs, home interior projects, and work events.

Over cups of coffee in our respective geographical locations (she in Chicago and I in Colorado), Michelle and I recently spent some time chatting via e-mail so I could grasp the essence of who she has become at her mere 25 years of age. Read on for a glimpse of a girl who, as she'll freely admit, is "pretty much always overdressed for the occasion".

Embracing Liberties (EL): What is your inspiration for your blog?

Michelle Kraker (MK): My life and my loves. I have a lot of stories to tell and things to share, and I needed an outlet. So, a blog was born.

EL: What thoughts were running in your mind when you published your first blog post?

MK: Something along the lines of, "I know what I like, but will anyone else out there like what I like?"

EL: Oh we do! Which is why most of us can now proudly wear Chanel red lips with your permission.

EL: You seem to have it all together with a confident, I-can-pull-through-anything attitude. If you had to, what advice would you give a high school freshman who thinks the world is over because she lost her crush to the high school bombshell?

MK: The best is yet to come.

EL: That's fair.

EL: What five words would your BFF use to describe you?

MK: Sassy. Posh. Outgoing. Thoughtful. Entertaining.

EL: All of which are true. Entertain us with this thought: if you were a piece of furniture, what would you be?

MK: Can I pick chandelier? If not, I would say a canopy bed because they always look so inviting and elegant.

EL: Working in the interior design world, you've no doubt seen your fair share of canopy beds. I'll be calling you for recommendations some day. And I've seen your talent at setting a table. I just may be calling you for dinner party help, too.

EL: What's your greatest accomplishment?

MK: My marriage. Growing and learning in love everyday.

EL: And your worst?

MK: That time I passed up those Jimmy Choos that were on sale.

To the girl whose morning mantra is "get up; get stylish", her life is a dream. Though it wasn't always filled with train commutes, outfit-scouting, and marketing a company who claims home in one of the largest buildings in the world--Michelle spent one summer interning for free, befriending copy machines, waitressing to pay bills, and having one of the best summers of her life. Today, you'll find her hard at work in The Mart or at home with the hubby, where she "tries on different roles, different projects, different outfits, and reads War and Peace (that was a lie)".

I saw that last e-mail in my Inbox and must admit to a giggle or four, because let's be honest, what gal doesn't sometimes say she spends her evenings combing through a high-vocabularied piece of Russian literature when really she's wearing threadbare sweatpants and eating Chinese takeout while the television blares reruns of Jersey Shore?

Check out more of Michelle and her style and creativity at Le Blog de Mimi!

This Is My Halloween Post.

2010-10-29T14:00:00.000-07:00

boo!

i'm fully aware, p.s., that my pumpkin is the one that has already been scared,

rather than the one trying to scare you.

just go with it.

and have a Happy Halloween.

oh, and be safe this weekend, kids. say no to strangers. unless they have candy.

I'm a Proud Trendwearer

2010-10-28T08:00:00.000-07:00

I've been catching up on my blog roll since I was basically sequestered from all things Internet over the past couple of weeks. Weddings will do that to you, my friends.

Anyway, as I told you in this post, Tavi is one of my favorites to read. She's like 14, but like so much more intelligent than my 26-year-old self. One of her posts last week featured the usual: her outfit of the day and the inspiration behind it. But wait. (This is where you pee your pants with anticipation.) We have the same sweater.

See that red or pink or coral or whatevercoloritreallyis sweater she's adorably doning? I have it. Except mine is cream and three sizes bigger than hers and doesn't fit me quite so nicely and isn't worn quite so fashionably.

I think that means I'm cool again.

Image found on Tavi's blog, thestylerookie.com.

Candy Makes Me Happy

2010-10-27T11:00:00.000-07:00

Shopping the bulk candy aisle at Sunflower Farmers Market is therapeutic for me. There are so many reasons that this is a must. All of those reasons are in those plastic bins pictured above.

Birthday Earrings

2010-10-26T07:00:00.001-07:00

Mom gave me these beautiful handmade earrings for my birthday. Each petal of the flower is a pink iridescent bead. They are mounted on a gold starburst earring, and have a gold bead as the flower's stigma (center). The pink tones look like they nearly blend in with my porcelain skin, but when I wear them, they make things sparkle and shine and actually make my skin a healthy pink. It's cute, really. I love them so much. Thanks, Mom.

Weddings Make My Feet Hurt

2010-10-25T11:00:00.002-07:00

My dearest sister got married on Saturday. It was a lovely wedding that so captured her best qualities, especially when we sang all four verses of "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee". A Katie wedding just wouldn't be complete without a congregational hymn sung in full.

It occurred to me this morning that you, my lovely readers, should know a few things as you move on with your day having been told that she's now a married lady. So here: I give you my toast to my darling Katie, as she is, indeed, my most favorite sister and one of the best people I could ever know.

When we were little girls, you came home with a pair of red eye glasses that had navy blue alphabet letters. I thought you were so cool. You could write in cursive and now you saw the world through these awesome, adorable glasses. For years I wished I had glasses so I could be just like you.

When you started fifth grade and got to ride a bus to school, I was so jealous. I mean sure, it was a dangerous school in a seedy neighborhood and all that "adult" stuff, but oh how I longed to have to get up before the sun and walk to the corner in your shadow just so I could ride the bus with you.

When I got to high school, I was the little sister of the famous Katie Benson with the perfect skin and silky brown hair who sang like an angel--and it was the best. two years. of high school. ever.

And then you went to college. And decided to grow up. And be an amazing flutist. And suddenly matching outfits and slumber parties weren't happening for us anymore.

But then you met Doug. And because he wore a tie on your first date and he actually likes going to the symphony with you, he's so your Prince Charming and I can only hope to one day find one too.

My dear Katie, you and your new husband are absolutely amazing and I can't wait to see what God has in store for your marriage. Congratulations!

Here's the beautiful bride helping her little sister with makeup.

Because I don't know what I'm doing.

And because it needed to be perfect for the wedding.

My Best Sister Is Getting Married

2010-10-17T06:00:00.005-07:00

I'm flying home today. Home being the Bourb, where the momma and the papa and the family live.

Because Katie, the most darling sister a girl could ever have*, is getting married on Saturday. She's marrying Douglas, a real tall drink of water if you ask me. And they, together, are to die for. Seriously.

So I'm going home. To be wedding slave number one. To have the busiest week ever. To be maid of honor extraordinaire. To cry a whole lot. And I'll love every second of it.

*Sorry to those who just learned they'll be settling for a lesser sister. I got the best. End of discussion. And no, she's not available for rent. She is, however, available for hire as a flutist, cause she rocks at that one as well. Contact me if you're interested.

(Click image for image source.)

Where Do They Find These People?

2010-10-15T11:00:00.000-07:00

The other night, I was holding down the fort in the lingerie section, trying desperately to make some much needed headway on the disheveled stacks that were still a mess from Monday's crazed sale. In walks a man holding the hand of his lady, who followed timidly behind him as though he was leading her into the land of the unknown. Ma'am, don't be afraid, we're not Sears. As if.

Anyway. Being the polite sales associate that I am, I ask if they are looking for anything in particular.

"No," she stutters. "We're just browsing."

"Actually," he says, as he swerves to miss the display table holding pretty little pieces he probably couldn't even pronounce. (I know, bi-kee-ni is a foreign word to most humans when placed between terms like low rise and cut.) "Do you have anything on sale?"

I look around the room slowly, letting my gaze pause for a moment on each table marked with signs designating 3 for $15; regularly $8.50 each. Perhaps he'll get the hint. But he did not. "Yes, we do." And I point. And then point some more.

A few minutes later, I check on our bright patrons. They are loitering by a display of panties in the girl shorts cut (our version of the boy shorts). He is holding up a few and she is giggling in the you-are-so-embarrassing-me kind of way. I ask if I can help with anything.

He looks at me. "Do you have a butt measurer?" He's so serious.

I stifle the urge to simultaneously laugh and curse him out the door as I move closer to our now obnoxious couple. "A what?"

"A butt measurer. To know what size she is. Or do you just have to eye them?" He's still so serious.

I turn to the lady in question and give her a look that demands she speak up before I walk away for good. She proves fruitful. "I usually wear a large, but this large just looks so huge."

"You could try on a medium and a large. That would give you an idea of what size you are in our lingerie."

"I don't want to try them on. That's why we asked how to know what size."

Ah, OK then.

After our conversation eventually puts them on the right track, the couple leaves the store with their purchase. Ladies and gentlemen, our 30-year-old man bought his 30-year-old girlfriend the romantic gift of three pairs of cotton panties and a tube of chapstick. And she hated every bit of the process.

Cupid is running away as fast as he can before the urge to smite this couple on several accounts of idiocy becomes his one and only thought.

today's my birthday!

2010-10-15T06:15:00.007-07:00

i want this cake. and these elephants.

so while you're getting those things for me, i'm going to be out celebrating.

happy birthday to me.

(Click on the image for image source.)

Peace and Coffee, Please

2010-10-14T21:15:00.004-07:00

TRENDING

Jives: the coffee shop for all of Colorado Springs' hipsters teeming with the so-street kids who defy all trends by banding together in the unwashed, hand-me-down lifestyle.

You know these kids. They're the ones who preach recycling and reusing and thrift till you drop! and live simply! and let's build a commune! because that's what will save this planet. They're the ones who swear the monkey sweater was grandma's and the skinny cords with the saggy butt came from Goodwill and the t-shirt blatantly screaming sex me tonight was dad's screen-print job from the '70s. But what they refuse to admit is the monkey sweater was mass-produced in China and sold in Urban Outfitters stores on the West Coast and shipped by Aunt Judy as a birthday gift, therefore ensuring that no other mountain-dwelling girls in the eleventh grade will be wearing said sweater. Or those skinny cords. Or that subtle sexuality t-shirt. Yeah, right.

These kids are also the ones who have lost--or never even learned--their sense of boundaries, proper public behavior, universally-accepted hygiene standards, and conversational skills. They are the ones who send teasing text messages to friends-with-benefits while another someone tries to relay his latest sexcapade and just hopes you'll pick up the vibe that he wants you...on his couch...right now. As if the t-shirt "from Dad" wasn't enough of a hint.

And while other coffee drinkers try mercilessly to drown these horrid conversations by listening to the score from The Mission on their iPods (because that, in and of itself, is much more philosophical and actually interesting), all they can really think is how unhappy these not-so-hip hipsters must be as they trade STDs and lice and whatever else comes with not bathing. (Though, I will admit, even my hair is at its finest when having gone three days since its last washing. But I don't know how I know this.)

All this to say, Kids, give your texting thumbs a break, take a shower, and have a face-to-face conversation. In a normal speaking voice, of course. And, while you're at it, quit your not-a-trend lifestyle that everyone else is living. Thanks.

26 Things You May Or May Not Know About Me

2010-10-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

It's Birthday Week, in case you haven't heard. So to celebrate [me], I've compiled a list of 26 things you may or may not know [about me].

1. I have a photographic memory.

2. I rent a room in my aunt and uncle's basement. Payment currently stands at charming them with witty anecdotes and unloading the dishwasher.

3. I dream to plan and coordinate events like book release parties and magazine launch parties.

4. I read the blogs of college acquaintances and complete strangers as though we're the best of friends.

5. I cannot cook to save my life, but I can bake a mean apple pie.

6. I can't function without lists or making my bed every morning.

7. I am a bibliophile. I'd love to tell you I've read all the books on my shelves, but that would defeat the purpose.

8. I refuse to buy a new tube of toothpaste until I'm faced with the threat of having to go without brushing. You call it bad hygiene; I call it living on the edge.

9. I cry every time I watch The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and 13 Going on 30.

10. My appendages are perpetually cold. Like, cold enough to freeze water.

11. I consult my dictionary and The Chicago Manual of Style every time I write, even for e-mails to my besties.

12. I wish I was acquaintances with Eddie Ross so we can meet for tea and antiquing every so often.

13. I work out so I can eat obnoxious amounts of food.

14. I'm a total homebody and I'm so OK with it.

15. I hate meat. But I eat it anyway, because I live with gourmet chefs who thrive on beef.

16. I can claim home to 19 different houses, dorm rooms, and apartments.

17. Surprisingly, there are only four black things in my room, the most important of which is a set of Penguin Classics. Everything else screams shades of pink.

18. I have seen every episode of Friends and Alias more times than you've seen the sun rise.

19. A teddy bear holds court on my bed every day. My sister has his brother.

20. I travel with at least two books, one magazine, and an iPod fully loaded with TV episodes and podcasts. I am my own information highway.

21. I have two webbed toes on each foot.

22. I want to hike up the steps of the St. Louis Arch. And I plan to bribe security guards so this can happen.

23. I've played the piano since I was five years old. I can only play one song by memory.

24. I know a ridiculous amount of information about actors and celebrities.

25. I think my cousins Annie and Natalie are the coolest teenagers ever. They are stage actresses, y'all.

26. I can't wait for the day I look old enough to have graduated college.

It's Birthday Week!

2010-10-11T22:48:00.002-07:00

Here at Adams Circle, we celebrate birthdays all week long. You get seven days of birthday goodness, including all the selfishness you want. And since my 26th birthday is this week, Birthday Week is officially in full swing.

Today started with sleeping in, following by lazying around the house in my ratty sweat pants, Birthday Lunch #1 at Chipotle, and pulling the busiest eight-hour shift for our Columbus Day sale.

A few things.

While we value you, our customers, we do not value your crabbiness that insists on tagging along your shopping excursions. So next time lady, don't huffily remind me that you've been waiting for oh-so-long to buy your 20 items and save your extra 40 percent on each and every one of those items when we both know you chose to be one of the 30,000 customers spending money at our 40 percent off, today-only sale. You knew it would be busy when you parked your car in BFE.

Also, it's part of my job to hand you the 20 percent off coupon and explain how it works. I get paid to do that. And I get tick marks by my name in my boss's mind when I don't do it. (No, not really. It just adds emphasis.) So don't take your receipt and coupon out of my hand while I'm mid-speech and walk away with disdain. Need I remind you I just gave you 40 percent off each and every one of those items.

And another thing, it's Birthday Week and I'm important to myself, so don't ruin my day by standing in the fitting area in the middle of my pile of go backs while I'm trying to fold the 15 shirts you decided you don't want. And if you pull your iPhone out one more time and text your daughter--who wouldn't join you on this olympic shopping day--about a pair of jeans for her, all while remaining in my workspace, I won't give you the extra 5 percent off even though you've used your store credit card to get the extra discount. You're already paying nothing for these clothes so stay away from the pile I'm trying to fold. Thanks.

So. Once again, it's Birthday Week. Start celebrating me.

The Choice Is Yours

2010-10-09T07:00:00.001-07:00

I heart this commercial. I can't quit watching. It's better than a meteor shower, Zach Galifianakis' satchel in The Hangover, and waiting for popcorn to stop popping so its delicious aroma will invade the house.

My favorite parts are the comparisons made: the Kia Soul is better than all household appliances, be they real or cardboard cutouts. Duh.

2010-10-08T21:58:00.002-07:00

OMG. I may or may not have taken major HTML steps when writing that last post. Like, big deal for me steps.

(I'm jumping for joy. No joke.)

Shower Success

2010-10-08T21:45:00.007-07:00

Last Saturday night, October 2, was the lovely personal shower for my best sister, Katie. She's getting married on the 23rd, so we gathered together for some food and fun, and to gift her with lingerie and whatnots for her wedded bliss.

Since I don't do well with paragraphs of extraneous verbage, here's the outline of the event:

Venue

We held the shower at the dear Christine Case's house, the charming life of whom can be found here. And, you should know we used a tea theme. (It goes without saying that a tea theme is inclusive of books and propriety and everything Katie. But I've said it anyway. So now you know where our inspiration came from.)

Food*

We ate. A lot. And it was oh-so-good. Here's the menu:

Cucumber-Avocado Tea Sandwiches

Ham Sandwiches with Pineapple Glaze

Fruit Tray

Marinated Cheese Plate

German Chocolate Cake Cupcakes

Strawberry Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting

Hot Teas, Lemonade, Water

Decor

We used the dining room table as food central. We borrowed a beautiful white tablecloth from my mother, which was the perfect size for Christine's dining table. Then we grabbed old cloth-cover books (contemporarily known as hard-cover books) from Christine's shelves to arrange in stacks of various heights on one side of the table. These stacks were used as additional areas for platters of food, which gave the entire table varied levels. It looked pretty perfect, from a birds-eye view. (Though I don't have a picture of it. Sad day.)

Our flowers were purchased in colors relating to Katie's chosen wedding colors. We separated wine- and bronze-colored mum bouquets into a few tall vases and mason jars. Then we arranged white Peruvian lilies with rose colored accents into some shorter, skinnier vases, and placed these between the wine and bronze arrangements. All of these flowers were used on the dining room table. We then cut the blooms off of white roses and placed those in a few very small vases to accent the coffee table and side tables in the living room. All of the vases and jars for the flowers were purchased at Goodwill in clear, purple, blue, green, and bronze glass.

Here are a few close-ups of the food and flowers, though none of them really show the entire table. But you get the idea. (Click on each thumbnail for a larger image.)

We played a few games and Katie opened her gifts, which provided many a laugh for the guests and delighted Katie to no end. Ha. :)

And then we ate more cupcakes. Because that's what a bride and her friends do.

*Should anyone desire the recipes for these, I will happily provide. Just shoot me an e-mail.

Blog Revamp!

2010-10-07T21:27:00.004-07:00

Guys and gals, there are some changes to el blahg, in case you didn't notice. Do not be alarmed; I'm still here, and I'm back from one half of 2010's wedding mania (otherwise known as the month of September; the second half is the month of October) to once again bless you with tidings of comfort and joy (otherwise know as bits and lovelies of my life).

And, if you're curious, the change to the blog was a response to my need for something simpler in design. There was too much going on in the past posts bloglife, and since I'm into minimizing my life, I may as well minimize all of it, yes? Glad you agree. Plus, it's so much easier to read. You know you agree on that one as well.)

So, all of that to say, hello and happy fall. Hope yours is going well so far.

Thoughts from Ashleigh

2010-10-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

"Turns out heartburn plus hiccups equals gargling with pure stomach acid."

Parenthood: Where We Talk First, Then Think (And Fight Off the Mothers Mafia)

2010-09-22T08:00:00.008-07:00

Season 2, Episode 2: No Good Deed

In last night's episode of Parenthood, punishable deeds seemed to rule the roost. Kristina, in an effort to console the hurting Suze, who brings her own autistic son over for a few days of crazy. Adam gives Sarah an internship, an act he quickly regrets as Sarah develops camaraderie with Gordon. Zeek and Camille step in as parents to Drew and Amber, causing jealousy in Sarah over the new bond they have formed. And Jasmine's efforts to reunite her son and his father are challenged as Crosby doesn't immediately agree to the terms. Save for Haddie's absentia, no Braverman was excepted from this week's acknowledgement that good deeds become mere actions taken when communication goes awry.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

In an episode-opening scene, Kristina receives an addition to her lengthy Mommy-do list: Phil and Suze Lessing are separating and Suze needs an understanding shoulder to cry on. While a potentially annoying experience, this could be a valuable lesson for Kristina. Though her days are booked solid with Max-related worries, perhaps she's been needing the challenge of being patient with someone else and carrying their burden for a few days. What strikes me as interesting is the distinct differences between Kristina and Suze, and also Max and Noel. Kristina pays attention to Max when he's speaking; Suze ignores Noel's noises. Max is a law-abiding citizen; Noel seems to have no concept of boundaries. What makes their differences even more of a contrast is Max's insistence that Noel play by the Braverman rules, rather than his own. And though this argument didn't end in Max's favor (Adam and Kristina argued that Noel could eat in the car since he's allowed to with his parents), it sheds light on his adult counterparts—suppose the rules of a new place matter, what happens when the players become adults? What happens when Adam treats Sarah as though she's broken all the unspoken rules of the company, which apparently include taking short lunches, not fraternizing with the boss, and not providing your boss with coffee?

Sarah is now an intern, thanks to Adam's job offer. That's got to be hard. And awkward. "Anyone ever heard of 'nepotism'? 'Cause I sure have. I'm just kidding. Well I'm not kidding. But. Anyway," she says to the design team. Yep, that was awkward. I was an intern once. For a publishing company. I was 22 and fresh off the college boat. I went in wearing a smart navy pants suit from Ann Taylor LOFT and was determined to make a good impression. At lunch I was told never to wear it again; after all I was "just an intern." Just interns should dress just business casual and just blend in. Apparently. But, you know, props for impressing the boss with those legs, SB. Next time I'll wear that outfit, too, and Billy Baldwin will be my new bestie and I'll rise up in the world in an asap manner. If only.

Jasmine is doing a stellar job at getting on my nerves. Understandably, she's worried about Jabbar, but she doesn't have to act as though the idea of a father taking care of his son is a foreign concept to all of mankind. Crosby may be new at the role, but his family and her family live nearby and can help provide a major support system. And also, Jasmine, please don't ever go to someone's work, interrupt his recording session so you can discuss a change of plans for your child. So. Freaking. Rude. (But J has good hair and pulls off a dancer's wardrobe better than anyone so I kind of can't hate her.) My concern with this situation is alleviated somewhat, however, because Crosby has come to the realization that Jabbar needs to be put first, even if that means Jabbar will be living with Renee and Crosby only receives visitation rights.

Holy school politics, Batman. So many questions and exclamations come to mind. Let's start with the obvious: Where's this Amy G's mother and why isn't she the one arranging a play date with Julia? Also, how is a child that angelic apparently so evil? So many issues. I'm homeschooling my kids. Because we all know that like Julia, I would spell it out exactly how I heard it and offend someone in the meantime. The end.

The Miscellaneous

Oh Billy Baldwin. Pleasepleaseplease waltz into my dining room and eat lunch with me. I'll buy you a lifetime's supply of chocolate pudding. I'll buy you a silver spoon. I'll buy you a thousand silver spoons. Just please, bring your hair poof to my table. Stat.

I didn't like Jasmine's mom in season 1. I don't like her in season 2. She walks around the globe with one default response: judgment. That's all. No other anything inside of her.

Last night's episode concluded when Adam chose dinner with his family and rambunctious Noel, rather than enjoying some relaxing alone time at home. And as he lovingly looks at his wife in this moment, we realize it's our picking and choosing that matters. What we do with our time affects those we're surrounded by. If we turn away hurting mothers, allow our sisters to quit new careers because of unnecessary blaming, or put our own must-haves above our children's needs, we become people who fail to rise to challenges, forge new paths, or recognize that doing right comes before being right.

MVP of the Night: Sydney, for enduring a play date with evil Amy G, which means that her friendship with Ashley is potentially over and it's all because Joel doesn't want Mothers Mafia on his bad side.

Funnypants Line of the Night: Sarah tells Amber to call Julia for help with her math. Camille offers to help Amber instead. Sarah finds that laughable: "It's changed, Mom. It's different now. It's not the same math."

Parenthood: "The roof is caving in. It's like 2012 in there."

2010-09-15T08:00:00.003-07:00

Season 2, Episode 1: I Hear You, I See You

Welcome back, Braverman clan. These past 3.5 months have been miserable without you because let's be honest: your lives are our entertaining graces every Tuesday night. Which is why last night's episode marked the highly-anticipated and incredibly-needed return of the laughs, frustrations, sarcasms, and tears that Adam, Sarah, Crosby, Julia, et al incite each week. (And, I missed Momma B--she wears more jewelry than the average 8-year-old playing dress up. But it's OK because she's a hippie. Remember when she smoked pot in season 1? Uh huh, she did.)

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

So, Zeek and Camille are giving their marriage another go around. He's moved back in and, perhaps in return for a bed to sleep in, he's in marriage counseling with his lovely bride. Some thoughts on you, Pops: let's get rid of that bandana. And those shades. But actually, just mail them to me. But, as for your self-righteousness when it comes to you knowing more than a licensed contractor slash your son-in-law? Throw it in the Pacific Ocean because there's no room for it in that house. And then maybe Camille will quit acting like she's purely in the right and you're completely in the wrong with your relationship. Because we all know she cheated too, and therefore can't go unpunished. Right?

Adam and Kristina are still solid in a marriage partnership, which is a support system they need to have with each other since they have a snarkastic teenager and a time-consuming 9-year-old. (Or is he 10? I can't remember.) Speaking of Max, I'm kind of loving his insistence on being social. Last season he was so loud and demanding. So far this season, he's just demanding. I'm pretty sure that at age 9 I wasn't demanding things so I could have stickers. I probably voiced needs for more reading time or play time with my plastic horse-friend. Lame, I know. Max's issues, however, are a whole lot to digest. Tantrum Max makes my heart pound like crazy. He makes me panic. I can't even imagine what that's like for families who deal with autism or Asperger's on an everyday basis. But Haddie makes a good point to her mother: Max and his syndrome are not a burden. Because, like she said, he's a brother and a son and a cousin and a friend. Of course she loves him.

That being said, I'm not loving Haddie's attitude toward her parents. She doesn't get the whole "the two will become one" thing that happens when a couple gets married, and really, her ignorance is annoying. Dad isn't going to disagree with Mom. Period. So get over it and understand that you're only 15 and they are your parents and they can indeed boss you around. Which is true, even though Kristina is a control freak and therefore cannot let you out of the parking lot. Ever. PS, Let's discuss the impossibility of driving at that speed when turning right after coming out of a complete stop. It cannot happen. Really. I'm going to try it at home and prove that even though your van has a light on top to signal "student driver at the wheel", your NASCAR tendencies are a little out of whack. What's not inaccurate, though, is Kristina's catastrophization. Not a real word, true, but totally a real feeling. I experience this every time someone mentions eating beef tongue or liver pate, or wants to discuss putting me on a ski slope. Both of these are horrific images and cannot and will not happen. But, let's pause for reflection on Haddie's moment on the top bunk during her sleepover with Max: it seems she's realizing there's more to life than boyfriends and costly cell phone bills. Let's hope the season shows her a bigger world and a bigger point to life.

It's fitting for Sarah that her bedside table would be a holding place for What Color Is Your Parachute? The woman is starting over. She needs money. She needs a fulfilling job. She needs a career. And to have to find all of this at age 38 has to be one of the most humiliating and vulnerable experiences on the planet. I've done it at 25, and let me tell you, it isn't peaches and cream. It's more like painful. Freeing, but painful. And I only had a plant to take care of, not the two kids she has to think about. Props, SB, props. But, can we please solve the mystery of the missing shoes? Seriously, that was never answered and I still need to know. All mysteries and jokes aside, let's note the tears that flowed down my cheeks (and yours, too!) when Adam offered Sarah a job. Tears. I'm pretty sure my siblings would be just as amazing as the Braverman's [generally] are to each other. Which means that the rest of the world will just have to suffer because my siblings are the best ever and you're missing out. Sucks for you.

(A note about the leakage in Sarah's guest house, because it's bugging me: Besides an opening dramatic effect of water leaking on Sarah's career-finding book and continuing to drown her hopes of doing something with her life, there's a bit of staging that needs to be remedied. The opening scene showed the leak over the bedside table. Later on in the episode, the leak is in the living room by the couch/coffee table configuration. So, this begs a few questions: 1.) Where is the leak, actually?; 2.) Where is her bedroom?; 3.) Can we please address the bed that has only made one appearance so far? Because I'm still convinced she sleeps on the leather couch that I'm plotting to steal from the set.)

Crosby's baby and baby momma drama is still just as much of a mess as it used to be. Meaning, he spent season 1 trying to digest their existence, and now, in season 2, he's trying to be a part of it from afar. He can never win. Which is probably why he looks so small sitting at the computer while Skyping with Jabbar. It's adorable, true, but his looking so small seems to be reflective of the small and only effort he can give them.

Julia and her hubby, Joel, have a smart and sarcastic child, which means they're going to encounter the hard parenting subjects before most parents of children Sydney's age. Therefore, it is of no surprise that Sydney is now asking about sex and Julia has to deal with it. While Julia prefers to straight shoot it with the real answers, I can only remember the birds and the bees talk that I received: it involved my fifth-grade self sitting in the bathtub shaving my legs for the first time while mom supervised the razor action and botched her way through a "When a Mommy and Daddy love each other..." speech. And, frankly, I like my version better than Julia's. I got shaved legs and a sex talk in one half hour. Sydney got mumbles and offers to eat ice cream.

While Julia struggles to child-proof the sex talk, Joel deals with helping his father-in-law. And after days of listening to Zeek rant and rave about dumb roofers and how Zeek knows all, Joel finally tells Papa B where to stick it. Until Zeek says, "I've never heard you say more than five words." That would irk me to the point of knocking him off the roof. Bah.

The Miscellaneous

Gaby's back. Woot. And Crosby finally vocalized what we've all been thinking, by calling Gaby an "oddly beautiful stranger." She's beautiful; we get it. And we're all drooling right along with you, dude.

OMG, Billy Baldwin. OMG. I don't care if your character is an ass. You. Are. Brill. And you can rock a purple suit jacket and the no-socks look like no other. Mmmhmmm. And when your face is confused, your eyebrows squint together and it's so adorbs I can't take it. Also, I love that Gordon carries an iPad around and runs his hand through his slicked hair more than a teenage girls twirls hers while talking to her crush. It's cutesy.

"Next time, call a plumber." And with that, season 2 of The Best Show on TV is off and running and just as perfect as ever. Even when Adam's face reads strongly of "Thanks, boss, we hadn't thought of calling professionals yet." By the way, has anyone noticed that the pilot episode dealt with plumbing issues, and now the season 2 opener is as well? Hi-freaking-larious.

MVP of the Night: Joel, the stay-at-home dad who deals with a controlling wife all the time and who, last night, had to suffer through days of his father-in-law being 2010's Most Difficult Man. Joel, we hope you spend the rest of your life speaking more than five words.

Funnypants Line of the Night: "Did I come from a vagina? . . . Wow. Did you come out of a vagina too?" Best. Line. Ever. Sydney's a smart kid, which is of no surprise. But she asks all of this with an attitude. And then offers pure, honest amazement that the whole family did, indeed, all come from vaginas. She reacted with as much enthusiasm as if she learned she's getting a pet bunny after their play date. Yesssss.

2010-09-09T13:44:00.003-07:00

Displaying my best moves on the dance floor.

Blogs I Read

2010-09-02T17:00:00.000-07:00

And why they're oh-so-important.

Lately I've had some inquiry as to what blogs I read and which ones are my favorites, etc. So, I've compiled for you, dear readers, a listing of some of the blogs I just can't get enough of.

Dooce. As the master of the "This Is My Life, Read All About It" blogs, Heather B. Armstrong has captivated readers with the ins and outs and goings-on of her life since 2001. Her sweetly snarkastic tone keeps you sucked in till the last punctuation mark, and makes you envious that you didn't first establish the coffee maker as the only way you and your spouse can be present in the same room. (Heather's life blog can be found at dooce.com.)

Cafe Con Lesley. This is Lesley Arfin's blog. Let's reread that, shall we? This is Lesley Arfin's blog. The woman defines capital C Cool and makes you wonder what you spent your time reading before having discovered her blog. Reading her blog posts is like eating a never-ending, juicy peach: she makes you salivate as you discover a world where whoever you were and are is what is cool. (Discover Lesley's blog at cafeconlesley.blogspot.com and consider yourself someone again.)

Style Rookie. OMG, she's a mini-Lesley Arfin. Like, seriously. Like, this freshman in high school holds much of the fashion world in the palm of her hand. A blog she began at age 11, Tavi Gevinson uses her wit and digital-generation wisdom to create a world where fashion is art, models are normal people, prints can mix with prints, and the fashion-daft (me!) can receive an education to understand and appreciate. (Fall in love with Miu Miu and Rodarte at thestylerookie.com.)

Design*Sponge. A smorgasbord of home and product design, this blog keeps readers entranced with its various projects and ideas for keeping house and making a happy home. With a little taste from every angle, Grace Bonney and her team sell home and design as one and the same. (Find your creative hand at designspongeonline.com.)

JustJared, Celebuzz, TMZ. As a participant in this celebrity-obsessed world, reading about celebrities is about as necessary as my daily oatmeal. Our society loves the small and big screens and the concerts and platinum records, but what interests us just as much is the knowledge that those celebrities grocery shop and work out at the gym and take their kids to birthday parties and date each other over and over again. (Garner a vast amount of Hollywood news a justjared.buzznet.com, celebuzz.com, and tmz.com.)

Daily Intel. This daily update by New York Magazine provides articles on the day's news, mostly happening in the greater New York City area. With articles spanning various topics by various authors, this blog gives readers insight into the latest political scandals, government debates, entertainment news, and random information that you may or may not wish you knew. (Today's news can be found at nymag.com.)

So that's that. Any of these strike your fancy for becoming your next must-read? Know of some blogs you think I should be reading? Let me know!

Gym Faux Pas

2010-09-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

Today's trip to the gym was an uneventful experience. (Which is quite unfortunate, given my current blah-state of existence.) But, I noticed a trend: for most of my 1.5-hour workout, there was a very obvious emptiness on the equipment surrounding me. Though patrons continued to filter in and use said equipment, they packed themselves onto the treadmills and ellipticals and whatnots that were far, far away from me--even forcing a workout on a machine right next to someone else.

For all you gym-goers, you know that gym patrons avoid working out right next to someone else unless there are no other available treadmills. So it should mean something to you if you see an old man in his '80s workout gear struggling to maintain balance on an elliptical next to a young man in his trendy workout shorts beating the guts out of a treadmill. And then repeat. All while the treadmills and ellipticals within 20 yards of you remain empty.

And then, while you sweat and choke on your saliva and hope a good song comes on your iPod soon, you realize they must know you forgot deodorant and haven't shaved your legs in a week and that's why they refuse to workout near you.

Cheers to New Friends

2010-08-23T11:00:00.000-07:00

It's a quiet Monday here at the homestead. Meaning, I've begun my weekday routine of being shut in my basement bedroom (it's pink; have I mentioned that yet?) burning my eyes on my computer screen.

At some point this morning I realized I heard no dogs playing with their toys or each other or the kitchen table's legs. An hour later, I realized it may be time to look for said dogs. (Let's just remember yesterday's present from Dog Number Two.)

But I needn't look long. I found this behind me. (Please excuse the crappy cell phone picture. Apparently when a camera battery says "Low Battery Life. Shutting Off Now.", you're supposed to charge the dang thing.)

Dog, meet Bear.

Bear, meet Dog who likes to sleep on your crotch.

Let me know how that works out for you.

Yuck Yuck Yuck

2010-08-22T17:25:00.000-07:00

Yuck Yuck Yuck Yuck.

This afternoon I was politely minding my own business when I moseyed upstairs for some delightful sweet tea. Pleasant Sunday, yes? No.

First, I found Dog Number Two lounging in a plush floral chair. He's not supposed to sit in that chair. After throwing the dog on the floor and scolding his precious little heart, I realized he was backing away from me with his tail tucked under and trying oh-so-hard to scoot his little butt into the three-inch gap between the sofa and the floor. To all you dog owners, you know this is a sign of a dog realizing he's done something wrong. I turned in triumph from my little disciplinary session and prepared to pour my tea and return to my cave in the basement.

Now, let's note here that the dining room floors are hardwood. They are a very pretty dark wood of some sort that I've never bothered to learn. Let's go with walnut or magnolia or something exotic like papaya because I have no clue what they really are. But you get the idea. These hardwood floors are dark and smooth and pretty and therefore should not be yellow and liquid and chunky and wreak of throw-up. Yuck.

[Please pause here in preparation for the graphic clean-up details that I'm going to share with you. And should you desire to not be tempted for some upheaval of your own, quit reading this post right now.]

I'd like to tell you that cleaning up said regurgitation off the dining room floor and back door rug was uneventful and no big deal. But that would be lying.

I'd like to tell you that Dog Number Two hid under someone's bed like a normal dog who knows he's done something wrong and/or just plain dumb. But that would be lying.

Instead, cleaning up this mess was full of alternating screams and annoyed grunts and dry heaves as I gasped for breath because I refused to breathe during this process. And the dumb dog followed me around apologetically for the rest of the afternoon, trying to stuff himself under cabinets and into the stairs and anywhere else that would make him invisible to my stares and insults.

Thoughts from Ashleigh

2010-08-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

"You know so much you could probably get a job as a vampire hunter."

New Roommates!

2010-08-15T21:42:00.000-07:00

I live with two dogs. You need to meet them.

This is Dog Number One. His name is Mitch. He's a pug. He's like 11 or 12 or something that qualifies him as a senior citizen. (We've applied for his AARP card.) He's blind and deaf. His right eye is cloudy and goopy; his left eye is currently red and bloody--we think he walked into a corner. Getting Mitch's attention is tricky. It involves a lot of clapping as you near him, and then letting him smell your hands so he knows you're safe. He grunts and coughs in his sleep, and he gets bouncy with excitement when he realizes who you are.

This is Dog Number Two. His name is Weasley. He's a Yorkie Poo. He's so cute it's distracting. Like, I spend quality time just staring at him as though he's my child. In the mornings, he jumps on my bed and climbs all the way up to my face and paws at me till I wake up. He spins in circles when it's time to go on a walk, causing his leash to get tangled in his legs. And then he stumbles like he's drunk while the dizziness wears off. He also licks Mitch's goopy eye, gives hi fives, cuddles well, and farts mid-air when jumping on my bed. He answers to Weezer, Weas, and Idiot. He's special.

Thoughts from Ashleigh

2010-08-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

"I defy you to show me the man who does not like pink crushed velvet."

Things I Learned Over the Past Two Weeks

2010-08-07T21:34:00.006-07:00

So, my lovelies. A lot has happened lately. Here's the recap.

This happened on the Eve of the Great Roadtrip: "I thought for sure your license was going to say you were born in the 90s." I challenge you, dear readers, to do that math and imagine how happy that made me.
For those who live on the Plaza, you'll be satisfied to know that the Plaza Public Safety employees had nothing better to do than chat with us while we loaded the moving truck. Rest assured in your safety, dear neighbors.
I arrived to my new home safely. The Great Roadtrip was fine, and we traveled without any harmful bumps or hurdles. There was, however, a detour to the Historic Cathedral of the Plains in Victoria, Kansas. It's one of the 8 Wonders of Kansas. Check it out, peeps. It's worth the drive.
If you desire to visit Lawrence, Kansas, you could dine at Freddy's, where you'll quickly learn to eat your fries with a fork and you'll insist repeatedly that the employees put the lid back on the tea dispenser.
Mom can boast of a plethora of skills, one of which is bug repellent. Meaning, she spent a solid five minutes swatting at a fly that was circling Dad. While Dad was driving. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was on a ride at Six Flags.
Two days after arriving to my new beloved homeland, I visited every Goodwill in the greater metro area. Best purchase: a book for 12 cents. Oh how I heart Colorado.
Ashleigh is my cousin. She likes sushi and watching YouTube. And she reads while she hikes. She's single, guys. ;)
There have been several wildlife sightings in the area, including--but not limited to--the buck that eats the apples next door and the other buck that frolics by the fence out back. There may or may not have been screams resembling a little girl. Those weren't me, I solemnly swear. I can show you the dog as proof, if you wish.
Castlewood Canyon State Park has a monstrosity of mosquitos, 90 percent of which left their mark on my body.
Currently, I spend a lot of time feeling quite unmotivated to put down the book and leave the lounge chair that's strategically placed in the garden. Oops?
There are far more exciting things to do than watch Clash of the Titans. Like, scrub the toilet or clean out the dryer's lint trap.
Sophia Bush has guts that a lot of us only wish we had. Read her voice on global crises, living green, and companies who spend money promoting negative social concepts. And then go do something good for the world.

And, for proof of my current fab life relaxing in the mountains, here's a charming pic of me and one of my new roommates, Weasley:

Hope you're all doing well! Miss you, dear KC.

Calling All Housewives Everywhere

2010-08-07T09:00:00.003-07:00

While browsing at my beloved halfpricebooks, I uncovered a gem that all wives should have sitting on their bookshelves.

Please note there are only 10 easy steps to becoming a happy housewife!

Look closely at the chapter titles. My favorite: "Bond with Your Home." Good thing I have that one semi-accomplished--the couch and I are one with each other. (One step down; nine to go.)

And for all you curious readers, here's a blurb from the inside jacket:

"Darla Shine asks desperate housewives everywhere: what have you got to complain about? Here's a modern-day guide to keeping house, raising kids, and loving life."

For more Shiney tips on gleaming your great and grateful life as a housewife, visit your local bookseller for a copy of Happy Housewives by Darla Shine.

This Is Ashleigh

2010-08-05T09:00:00.000-07:00

She likes sushi and watching YouTube. And she reads while hiking.

She's single, guys. ;)

2010-07-15T21:00:00.000-07:00

it's [slowly] filling up.

jumpforjoy!

Things I Learned This Weekend

2010-07-13T07:09:00.005-07:00

This fashion designer and reality TV star has never eaten pasta. That's because I always have her share. And then some.
Packing up your life is kind of annoying. The boxes, the tape, the newspaper wrapping, the stuff--it can cause quite the headache. Therefore, follow my lead next time you're planning a move and give everything to your local thrift store. Seriously.
Sometimes, I have the (un)controllable urge to dance to the Snoop Dogg blaring through car windows as they speed down Troost. OK, so I technically realized this today. And I technically already tweeted it, thereby technically already putting it out in the interwebs. But it's still ohsotrue.

Basically, my life was relatively boring this weekend. Hope yours was better.

Tuesday Thoughtday

2010-07-06T08:28:00.000-07:00

"Every year after age 25, we gain, on average, one pound of body weight and lose a third to a half pound of muscle. As a result, our resting metabolism decreases about 0.5 percent annually."

Good thing I plan to celebrate my 25th birthday every October until 2020.

Dr. Howard Murad, "Water Works," marie claire 17, no. 8 (2010): 178.

Things I Learned This Weekend

2010-07-06T06:16:00.000-07:00

Female visitors to the Plaza often leave their dirty underwear on parking garage staircases when drunk.
There is no longer a threat of my inability to take care of other dependent, living beings. Rachel's dog survived his visit with Auntie Em, and so would (should?) yours.
Turkey burgers are really good.
Need a wasps' nest evacuated? Want those pesky wasps to relocate to other, more fatal environments? Call Curtis, who, with his expertise at spraying Clorox and beating nests with rakes, will rid your back porch of any and all lethal, stinging pests.