Saturday, October 30, 2010

"The Incident"

Ok so we were watching basketball and someone got poked in the eye and he went down on the floor, clearly in some serious pain.  My first thought was, "Okay really? A poke in the eye hurts that bad?"  And then I remembered.  I remembered one of the worst dates I ever had.  And it happened to be on Valentine's Day.

Let me tell you, this guy was a serious loser. I could probably go on for days telling you about all the stupidness that led up to "the incident" but I'll spare you.  For now.  Anyway, we were going to a movie and stopped at the fast food restaurant across the street before the movie started.  While perusing the menu, he said something to the effect of, "Well it looks like you didn't bring your purse so I guess I have to buy you dinner."  (Yeah.  He was that guy*) 

I tried to make conversation while I ate my chicken kabob but he rarely looked up from his precious iphone to acknowledge my presence on this worthless date. 

Later we are standing on a street corner, heading to the movie.  He has a plastic spoon in his mouth, you know, for the milkshake he was trying to sneak into the theater.  He has a plastic spoon in his mouth so he can put his coat on and slip his milkshake into his pocket.  It was a brilliant idea, to be sure, but while he was putting his coat on he literally walked, spoon first, into my eye.  Right in my eye.  It hurt like hell.  He laughed.  And I secretly plotted ways to get even through the whole stupid movie.  Worst. Valentine's Day. Ever.

Which brings me back to the poke in the eye: it hurts like hell.  I know from experience.


*that guy who recommended a certain type of implant to make me more "proportionate"
*that guy who raved about how grateful he was for his ethnic heritage because his teeth are so much whiter than other people's
*that guy who has since become the laughing stock of my entire dating history

Friday, October 29, 2010

One Day You're In...

one of the few surviving pictures from college--thanks mel, i stole it from your facebook!

I have decided that watching Project Runway is good for my soul. 
I propose two reasons to support this theory:

1. Watching the models get all dressed up actually inspires me to put on makeup for work and other such drudgeries of life.  The use of Garnier's hair products reminds me of how good their hairspray smells and maybe I should try it out again?  I mean, if the "pros" are using it, it certainly must be good enough for my pathetic baby fine hair.  And then also maybe I will try blow drying my hair in the mornings.  You know, and not be so lazy.

2.  I feel inspired to sew.  Again.  My poor sewing machine is all too often neglected in my crazy life of this and that.  I sometimes forget that I actually went to school to SEW for 4 years.  And then I remember how when I started design school, I did not expect to be sewing and what an odd coincidence it was that I actually liked to sew anyway and so it was a nice surprise.  But I mean really, what was I thinking?  Design school without sewing?  Oh my gosh I was so dumb.  It's a wonder I ever graduated.  But I digress.  I do love to sew.  I do love to design.  And I do love Project Runway. 

And back to Project Runway, I'm watching the finale on DVR so don't tell me who wins, ok? I still need to catch up.  Oh, I mean I WAS watching the finale before Kyle reclaimed the TV to watch sports.  Figures.  Marriage is all about compromise, you know.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

A Failure

Today I have failed as a wife.
I passed up free Jazz tickets.
And then made the mistake of telling Kyle.

Oops!

Normally I would have jumped at the chance to go to a game with my sports freak husband, but the game didn't start til 8:30, I have to pack for a weekend in Boise, Kyle has been sick and I'm just so tired.  The thought of being out late on a weeknight just did not appeal to me.  And anyway, it's only the beginning of the season so there will be many more games for us to go to.

Excuses, I know.

I was going to share my fantastic plan for making it up to Kyle, but I got nothing.  Maybe a back rub?   That usually does the trick.

Shoe Liberation!

We have an issue with shoes around here. 

Here is my side of the story:
I have a lot of shoes.  What can I say?  I'm a woman.  I have a lot of shoes and I'm always running late.  Do you honestly think I have time to run up and down a flight of stairs, in and out of a bedroom closet just to put on my shoes?  No.  No, I do not have that time.  I have time to slip on my shoes on my way out the door.  That is what my time is for.  And that is why the occasional pair or two live near the garage door.  In my defense, I always leave them neatly arranged behind the green chair, where no one can notice them.  No one, that is, except Kyle. (He sees everything)

Kyle's side of the story:
My wife has a lot of shoes.  Shoes belong in the closet.

See?!? He is so inflexible! Implacable! Unrelenting! My shoes need to live and move and experience life first hand by waiting near the door for my every beckon call! A closet is no place them.  A closet is for random toy footballs that husbands leave in the most stupid of places.  Like on the coffee table.  Now, that is what closets are for.  But definitely not for shoes.  At least not all my shoes.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Fever in the Morning

A few days ago I finally convinced Kyle to replace the missing shingles.  With the baby hurricane we had the other night, I had nightmares that our roof would leak and the wood would rot and we'd have to tear our house apart to fix it and then we'd be broke and have to abandon our house and we'd live in a cardboard box by the river.

But then he fixed the shingles, so we're good.

Only now Kyle has a fever and is convinced he is sick because I made him climb on the roof and brave the wintry cold winds that were the very cause of the missing shingles in the first place.  *sigh*


Since it was "my fault" he got sick, I guess it was only fair that I was up late in the night blotting his head with a cold wash rag, listening to his incoherent mumblings and convincing him he is not going to die of a fever and chills. 

You see, Kyle almost never gets sick and so when he does, it is like the end of the world.  I'm sure it must be just devastating for him to realize he is only human, like the rest of us, but he is kinda cute when he's helpless and sick. 
My poor, vincible Kyle.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

The Heat is On


It has been a few months since we've needed the air conditioner and those few months were complete marital harmony in the Post home.  Because, you see, I have an ultra-sensitive body thermometer and need constant pleasing temperatures in order to survive in a never ending state of bliss.  Kyle, on the other hand, would rather bake our home from the inside out before turning on the air conditioner.  He would rather slip into near hypothermia before he dare turn on the heat.  So that is why, during those few months of 72 degree fall weather, we achieve perfect harmony--no need for heat or air conditioning and I am still perfectly comfortable.

But now it is cold.  And to me, cold is anything below 72 degrees.  To Kyle, cold is anything that is actually frozen.  So I decided to slip on the thermostat while he was happily engrossed in football.  I have learned this is the best time to do things the husband does not like because he is too wrapped up in his many sports to notice and/or care what is going on in the world around him.  For the record, he is, at this very moment, tucked snugly in the Love Sac, with an oversized quilt and the remote not far behind, grinning happily that he gets to watch all the football he wants.

But also, the heat is on.

I win : )

Brand New Key

Please tell me you seen this commercial and you love it as much as I do!  It makes me giggle 'til I cry.  I made Kyle watch it twice.  There's just something about a traveling baby that makes my day.

I also love the song, which is apparently called Brand New Key by Melanie Safka.

Love. Love. Love.

Happy Sunday.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Adopt an Accessory!

My sewing room is no space for sewing these days.  It is, instead, crammed floor to ceiling with handbags, hats, watches, leggings (oh the leggings!) and a variety of other accessories just waiting for the boutique shows to begin so they can be free of their blue-walled prison.  My sewing machine is currently stored under the table, lonely and out of sight, just to make room for more accessories. 

If you are/will be in Utah in the next month or two, please come to one of my shows and give these darling accessories a new home. Adopt-an-accessory!  Give a handbag a home!  It needs to be wild and free, not hiding in my blue-walled sewing room. 

You can see some of my inventory here but I have three shipments coming this week that won't make it on the website so you really should come to one of the shows to see all of the goodness.  And besides that, I just made some really fantastic display pieces for my booth.  Hint: sequins and lace! 
So come!


Upcoming shows:

Blooms & Ruffles Boutique


Cottonwood Heights Holiday Boutique


November 12th & 13th, 2010


10am – 7pm
Ages 10 and up $2


Children's Activity Area FREE

Riverwoods Conference Center


615 South Riverwoods Parkway
Logan, Utah 84341


 
Sweet Tweets Boutique

Monday, October 18, 2010

Everything's Bigger

If you are thinking to yourself, "Self, it would be a great idea to visit a fair this year" you would not be alone.  I too am I lover of the fair.  I love fair animals I love fair rides and most of all, I love fair food.  So naturally, when we were in Texas last week, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to visit the State Fair of Texas. 


After three hours of stopped freeway traffic, this was a most welcome sign.


This, however, was not such a welcome sign.
But did you know that the State Fair of Texas is the largest state fair in the U.S.?  We found out the hard way.  As they say, "everything is bigger in Texas."  Even, apparently, the crowds.  (An average of 3 million people each year)

Here's a little equation for you:
3 million people=more sweaty arms unavoidably brushing up against you
3 million people=claustrophobia and also, perhaps, panic attacks
3 million people=an entrance line a few thousand people deep
3 million people=more little children to step on (accidentally, of course)


Despite the millions of people cramming every inch of the fairgrounds, we did get to see Boris III, an 1,100  pound boar... that's a lot of bacon.


 Remember how I mentioned my love affair with fair food?  It is real and everlasting.  We had a tough choice among fried cookie dough, fried butter, and fried PBJ & banana sandwich.  Behold the glory of fried cookie dough! 

Heaven. 

Heaven, I tell you.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

It's Like Some Crazy Voodoo or Something

I have a thing or two to say about football.  You see, this thing happened last night and it was so out of character for me and so strange that I have nothing else to wonder but there was a full moon out and the stars aligned and perhaps maybe somewhere in the deep south there is an old fashioned fortune teller gazing into her magical ball and forcing me to enjoy watching football.  Because that is what happened.  And I can hardly believe it.

We spent our Saturday night watching football (thanks, DVR) and I LIKED IT.  Really, I did.  I had so much fun screaming at the TV with my sports fanatic husband that I think somewhere in the night I thought we were on a date or something.  But really we were just watching football, the sports freak and wife, until the late-ish hours of a Saturday night.  This is how I know that I am married, because I'm pretty sure this kind of thing never happened when I was single.  Not ever.

And in case you were wondering, the answer is yes.  Yes, we are also watching football at this very moment.  And then very soon there will be Monday Night Football and it will feel all very much the same. 

I feel like I've joined the "cool club" of those people who talk all about sports and their athlete stars.  These days I (usually) know when to cheer, why we are cheering, and who to cheer for.  Although sometimes I'm actually cheering for the fact that I knew what happened, not so much for the play itself.  While everyone else is screaming, "Alright, we got an interception!"  I'm really saying, "I understand what happened!  That guy intercepted the pass!  I'm so smart!!  Yay for me!!!"  But whatever.  I'm happy, Kyle is happy, and the Boise Staet Broncos are currently ranked number 3.

Yay for me!

Friday, October 15, 2010

Regional Jet Flight of Terror

I knew it was going to be bad.  I could sense it our last night in Texas.  My anxieties grew strong and my nerves were already escalating.  I checked us in online, because that's just what you're supposed to do, only my boarding passes wouldn't print.  Kyle's did.  Mine didn't.  I tried three times to no avail and regrettably called the airline for help. 

The automated robot man instructed me to say my confirmation number.  This was terribly unfortunate as my confirmation number included the sound-alike combination of BCZVE and an M.  I tried my best to enunciate but it only seemed to make it worse. 
"Did you say, '3PRGMS?'"  He would respond.
"No, I most certainly did not!"  And I would growl some terrible growl of frustration which is my angry trademark.

Eventually I got to speak to a human, which was really no better because I couldn't understand her at all. I guess it was only fair because she didn't have a clue what I was asking and after seven minutes of circular confusion, she offered to transfer me again.  I hung up and growled my terrible growl of angry frustration.  And then I cried. 

I hate flying.  I hate getting to the airport, I hate going through security, I hate packing my carry on bag just so only to avoid the ridiculous checked-baggage fees.  I hate being unstably perched between heaven and earth, 35,000 miles in the air.  I also hate airport food.  And, while I'm at it, airport bathrooms.

The end result of all this boarding pass frustration was that I had to check myself in at the airport only to find at security that I had been flagged for "special screening."  I got escorted through security by a really rather friendly TSA agent (officer?), placed in a "corral" (I mean, this is Texas after all), patted down, and tested for all kinds of whatever it is that they test for.  It was all very dehumanizing.  Luckily, I passed.

And then began the regional jet flight of terror.  We sat in the very back of the tiny plane and were ruthlessly tossed about for the whole flight.  I somehow convinced myself I was going to die.  I imagined falling out of the sky, recalling every movie and TV plane crash I'd ever seen in my life.  (I should really not ever watch those)  I blistered my hand from gripping the chair so tight.  I cried.  I prayed.  Nothing could console me.

Kyle patiently held my sweaty hand and patted my arm every few minutes to tell me it was going to be okay.  He later informed me that I was apparently the only person freaking out.  Even the little children had been happily playing or fast asleep.  In my mind, however, the whole thing played out very differently.  But have I mentioned before how I do not like to fly?

The terrible irony of it all is that for as much as I despise the experience, I have been on precisely four trips in the last ten months that required air travel.  And, as I write this, I am making plans for yet another trip to Denver in January.  *sigh*  You would think that after all the planes I've been on in my life, it would somehow get easier.  Not so.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Neither Heaven-Sent nor Genius


The terrible thing about having an exceptionally comfortable bed is having to leave it every morning.  If it were up to me, I would not have left my bed this morning.  I would still be stuffed between cotton sheets and down comforter dreaming that I was, in fact, both a contestant and model on Project Runway.  It was in this dream that I dreamed up the loveliest of orange skirts made of giant pieced fabric circles.  I'm pretty sure it would've fit in Michael C.'s collection perfectly.  But then again, he was in the bottom three, so maybe that wouldn't have been such a good idea.

When I first woke up I thought that the skirt of my dreams must have been some kind of heaven-sent vision of things to come.  "I must make that skirt, it's genius!" I thought emphatically to myself.  And now, hours later, I'm remembering exactly what I dreamed up and realizing that it is neither heaven-sent nor genius in any way (except, perhaps, for the color).  But, then again, I would never in a million years be a contestant or model on Project Runway so I guess it all works out in the end.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Keep Your Pants On

I have spent the better part of forever looking for my two favorite pairs of dark denim jeans.  This was especially baffling unto me because really, how do you lose a pair of pants?!?  It's not like I go around taking my clothes off in random places or something.  (Really, I don't).  And it's not like a pair of sunglasses that can easily be dropped into a public toilet or left in someone's car.  These are pants, people!  Pants!  How on earth did I lose my pants?

Giving up all hope of ever finding them, I was consigned to live solely on my second favorite, but not so dark and classy jeans.  And then I did something unimaginable: I cleaned my sewing room.

My sewing room is something of a Bermuda triangle.  That which goes in, may never come out.

But it was there that I found my pants, both pairs, rolled up together and perched on top of a shelf.  Whyever did I put them there in the first place?  Why were they together?  What was I thinking?

A similar experience happened also with the glass cleaner.  Only I told Kyle we must have used it all and he spent months looking for it before breaking down and buying another bottle.  But then I found the glass cleaner, tucked neatly away in one of the shelves in my sewing room.

Clearly I'm not using my sewing room enough.  Or, alternatively, I do not keep my sewing room tidy enough. 

...

So this leads me to wonder, are my glasses buried somewhere deep in the depths of fabric remnants and spools of thread?  Because I haven't seen them in months.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

The Secret's in the Base Coat

Sometimes I get really focused on something and a long time later I realize I've been making a really stupid face that usually involves my mouth hanging open and possibly some sort of a furrowed brow.  Other times I think through conversations in my head and catch myself mouthing the words that I am thinking. 
  
One time I walked around the office at work with the skirt of my dress caught on my name tag way up around my neck. 

I do a lot of embarrassing things.  On a daily basis.  But today is different.  Today I have painted nails and toes and perhaps there is nothing that can make me feel not a lady on this day.  Because today my painted nails and toes survived a night of tossing in my sleep and the dreaded pantyhose in the morning.  Because this time my painted nails and toes are protected by a double layer of base coat.  Today my nails and toes are strong, resilient, and ladylike.  Today I will survive the torrent of embarrassing events that I typically create for myself.  Because, you see, I have a base coat. 

A base coat makes all the difference, you know.  Without it, my nails look dry and wrinkly and the color just soaks up into my nail parts somewhere.  Without the base coat, my painted nails would never survive a day without chipping or wearing off.  But today I have on a base coat and I feel like I just got a manicure even though I just painted them myself (for free).  Today my wedding ring looks extra sparkly and my waistline a little thinner.

So here's to the base coat and a day of being resilient!
Maybe today I'll also wear mascara.
I am feeling rather dangerous, after all.

Monday, October 4, 2010

A rebellion of sorts and also an invitation

I feel as though I've been rebelliously neglecting this here blog lately.  I get the feeling I should write something brilliant and immediately think back to myself, "No!  No, I won't do it! I won't!"  But sometimes maybe I have some kind of an attitude problem?  I don't know.

It's maybe as if I have too much to say, actually, that I can't particularly decide what to say.  Liken this unto the times I exit my favorite stores empty handed only because I couldn't pick which thing to come home with me.  Oh the choices!  (But I do sometimes have a problem being indecisive).

Kyle doesn't mind one bit, because he would rather me not buy anything at all for the remainder of our marriage.  Unless that thing to buy happens to be some sort of football tickets or perhaps a DVD of some kind.  Because, you know, those are the things that make his heart go pitter patter.  (After me, of course).

When I married Kyle, I also married into some really fantastic family, including nephews who are nearly my own age.  It's kind of a strange thing to have nephews who are 8  and 11 and also nephews who are 20 something.  But one such 20 something nephew did a very good thing in life and married the very cute Ashley, who is my thrift-store-loving twin at heart.  (Good job, Devin).  And it came to pass that we went to several thrift stores over the weekend and we beheld that they were good.

In other news, we will soon be embarking on our very first trip to Texas and there we will visit my eldest sister and her teenagerly daughter and hopefully partake in some southern BBQ and also perhaps some fried foods.  Kyle doesn't know this yet, but I also have plans to scope out some local thrift stores.  I have always had this dream of finding the perfect vintage cowboy boots for my awkward size nines...  if only.

The best thing about thrift stores, is that each one is different and the merchandise changes daily.  Also, things are cheap.  These combined attributes cater to my short attention span, impatience, and shallow pockets.  But also I do love old things, did you know?

And therefore, in conclusion, I would like to offer you this one time chance to suggest things for us to do whilst in the Dallas area.  I shall preface the invitation by first stating that I have high intentions of attending both the Texas State Fair and Medieval Times.  Thoughts?

Friday, October 1, 2010

So I've watched a lot of TV lately...

Thanks to the return of the DVR, I have recently watched more than my share of America's Next Top Model and Project Runway.  How much fashion can one endure, I wonder?  Sadly, Kyle cannot endure much.  He laughs every time he hears Tim Gunn's voice and cringes when he sees the two-a-day scheduled recordings filling up his valuable reserved-for-football-only-DVR space. 

The other day, when I was home all day with a cold, I watched approximately 3.5 hours of America's Next Top Model.  It was very useful though, because it inspired me to get off the couch and shower and also to wear my hair in a bun.  I also learned that you only need five products to apply makeup every morning (concealer, mascara, blush, and I can't remember the other two) (maybe it was only three products and five minutes?)  (Oh bother) and that it is important to plow through the competition when you are in a race through WalMart.  Not to mention the fact that I have the theme song permanently stuck in my head.


Last season's Erin so kindly reminded us all that this is indeed a competition and she is not there to make friends.  I like Erin.  I like her strong-willed stubborness and go-get-'em attitude.  Perhaps it reminds me of myself.  Also, she had that cool alien look in one of the photoshoots and pulled off that super bleach blonde hair so nicely (if only in photographs).  But I digress.  Erin is right: it is a competition.  BUT, it can totally benefit you to befriend the other girls (even if artificially) because sometimes one of the others wins a challenge and they get to pick a friend to share the prize with.  Just like they say, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."  There really is so much you can learn from reality TV, but don't you think?


At any rate, if you are ever on ANTM, just remember to make friends with everyone and still manage to throw elbows in the races.

A final thought:  I predict Project Runway's top three will come down to April, Mondo, and Michael C.

But maybe that's wishful thinking.

Anyone else a fan of my favorite shows?