Jackson Riley

we are so middle class

2012-02-13T08:36:00.000+09:00

the last time my sister was in town, we found ourselves using the restroom of a rather nice outdoor mall. upon leaving, i couldn't help but comment on the overall cleanliness of it / faux granite countertops. to which, my darling sister, replied:

I know. It's like a Hilton in there!

Ah, we are so middle class; it even creeps into our hotel references.

Day 3.

2012-02-09T18:33:00.003+09:00

chika okazumi portrait | 11

Today is Day 3 of Life in Japan. I don't know when I'll stop counting the days we've been here, but I know I'm too early to stop now.

Anyway: How did we get here, say you?

Over the last couple years, Amos' work had asked him to apply to open positions in Japan. Same company, similar work, only in Japan instead of the States. He had always said no because -- for a variety of reasons -- it hadn't been the right time. We were seriously dating the first time he was asked. We were engaged the second time it came up. Then the third time they came around, we had been married just over a month. He asked me what I thought about it. I said Go ahead! Sure! Why not?

Within weeks he had applied, was interviewed, and was formally offered to position. They gave us a week to decide. At that point, things got real. We had to (quickly) wrap our heads around actually living in Japan right now, not just hypothetically living abroad at some-ambiguous-and-comfortably-future-point-in-time.

A week. We only had a week to decide if we could move out of Seattle, leave our tight knit community, our friends and family, our humble but homey apartment... and if I could leave my fulfilling (and stressful and actually pretty happy) job.

You bet we could? Wait, I mean: You bet we could! (I did and will continue to vacillate between the punctuation on that sentence.)

On January 3rd, I gave notice to my job.
On February 3rd, we moved out of our first home.
On February 5th, we boarded a plane for Nagoya, Japan.

On February 13th, we'll have our 6 month wedding anniversary.

Yeash. And Yay. And I need a glass of wine, which is where I'm headed right this second.

I'm writing this from our temporary home at the Marriott Nagoya Associa where we will live on the 30th floor until our belongings arrive, which is expected in three to six weeks. I'll be filling you in and keeping you up to speed, and - who are we kidding! - cluttering up the electronic pages of this blog with thoughts and thinking in between.

I'm actually quite excited to be back. A little nervous, truth be told, about many of the new things coming my way, but ready.

Until then,
Sarah

stepping in, once again.

2012-02-09T11:57:00.001+09:00

[ Japanese Fireflies _ images via Colossal ]

Well, let's just step on in, once again. I'll pretend it hasn't almost been a year since I've been posting regularly, and you all can pretend that not much has happened since then.

One day, I promise to catch you up on it all, but until that day, here's a synopsis:

Got married.
Quit my job.
Moved to Nagoya, Japan.

Okay? Ho-kay.

Here we go. Apparently, I'm back. Only this time, I'm unemployed and in Japan.

hello paris and tyler.

2011-10-15T01:44:00.001+09:00

this morning i ate a caramel apple for breakfast. i had to stick my face under the faucet to get all the stickiness of my cheeks.

this was all before 9:30 in the morning.

percolating.

2011-04-01T23:52:00.000+09:00

{source}

LOVES. why... hello. i'm back, but just because i was feeling straight up rude. i need to throw something out there, and it's not great.

i need to stop blogging for awhile.

here's the thing: i don't have time. at all. i am one of those people who uses time very, very well and when i say i don't got any, it means i do not have any. it's not a lack of stories on my end (i went yeast and gluten and vanilla and dairy free for the last four weeks. and i bought my wedding dress. and my world at work went crazy. all those just begs for a post.) but the problem lies in the lack of time i have to let them percolate before i throw them up here. and if the time alone wasn't enough, i don't have the energy. most importantly, i don't want to keep apologizing for things that are beyond my control. i'm working on that last one.

when i started this blog little more than a year ago, my life was a bit slower paced. it's not the wedding planning either, darlings, though that does take some time. it's the job - it simply uses much more of my brain power than it did before. i used to find myself with 10 or 20 minutes here or there to think and jot down a couple sentences. now? my spare 10 minutes don't exist anymore. i am now at a place where i have to be on. all the time. which is great and rewarding and kind of exciting. i get to use my brain! (and, like most of you all, that was not always the story). but when i get home, i need to turn it off. like all the way off. and do yoga, go grocery shopping, do laundry, say hello to Amos... those things that you can't really skip.

i will continue to write, focusing on longer stories and novels. maybe i'll be back with posts, but only when i can do it right, not this baloney i've been tossing up here.

so, with that, i bid you adieu. or, as my Irish grandmother used to say, Until we meet again.

xox,
Sar

right rights.

2011-03-12T03:22:00.000+09:00

{source}

not to get all political on you all, loves, but something has been weighting on my mind these past couple weeks, and I wanted to call it out. it seems to me there have been a couple disconcerting going-ons lately, aimed specifically at certain groups of people [sidenote: i know, i know, a political-ish post. think of it like your blog equivalent of broccoli. it's good for you. and, because i like sweets much better, it's rare.] some of these rumblings have just been talk, some have already been put into law. have any of you all noticed? like, ahem:

- take away all funding for planned parenthood. planned parenthood has never used federal funds for abortion. (Just to be clear, agree with it or not on moral grounds, abortion is a protected act - a right of women - supported by the supreme court. it is the law of the land. you don't have to like it. you can find it morally reprehensible. but. but! even if it is against your moral code, other Americans have a undeniable right to it). planned parenthood serves many women in our community for birth control, medical check-ups, body image, men's sexual health, pregnancy and pre-natal care, STDs, and much, much more. To take this away from our community and instead have people have to rely on private, traditional doctors puts many of the younger and poorer segments at a disadvantage. Health care isn't cheap. Planned Parenthood specializes in prevention and comprehensive care and sex education. To take this away is to hurt our communities and reduce the options avaliable to our citizens for their health needs. I remember a conversation a group of girls and I had my freshman year of college, and the question came up: where would you go if you were raped? The first answer I could come up with was Planned Parenthood. I would go there. They would help me figure out what to do next. If that doesn't highlight the importance of that organization, I don't know what will.

- the so called "pregnancy centers" that do not give information on birth control, do not offer full information, withhold pregnancy test results while reading Bible verses to women, and manipulate women to forgo abortions. i am not against these centers existing. but you must call a spade a spade. these clinics are NOT the same thing as a comprehensive pregnancy center. They are an extension of a religious organization and only offer options that fit their religious standard. Women should know that once they enter those doors. The Washington State legislative just killed a bill that would have regulated these clinics.

- in new hampshire this week, there was serious talk about limiting college voter rights, making students only able to vote where their parents' had established residency. the sponsor of the bill, Representative Gregory Sorg, was especially cutting when he said students should not be able to vote because they posses "a dearth of experience and a plethora of the easy self-confidence that only ignorance and inexperience can produce." Even though voting is both a fundamental privilege and obligation of democratic citizenship, State House Speaker William O'Brien recently claimed that college students vote, "too liberal," "with their emotions," and that they lack sufficient "life experience" to vote in the state. Really. The legislation was recently killed, but this was a discussion that i think people should hear about.

- then there is the collective bargaining rights in Wisconsin. Whether you agree with it or not - it seems inappropriate that is was done in a budget session, no? an issue this controversial seems to be best handled with a vote or, at a minimum, separate legislation. this is one of those ironic moments in american history where we get our panties in a twist about the salaries of $45,000/ year teachers and don't worry about the bonuses of bailed-out financial execs. huh.

so there's my political catch up of the day. don't mean to get all serious on you - i'll post something light-hearted tomorrow... maybe about my awful encounter with a gluten, yeast, dairy - free scone. but for today, broccoli. so go sign a petition, if you want, and participate in your democracy.

in the meantime.

2011-03-07T13:12:00.000+09:00

{image source}

I have about 5 blog posts half composed in my head. Until I can get them unscrambled and down on paper (or er, computer screen), please do this:

- make quinoa
- cut up strawberries
- mix up together, with a spoonful of honey.

eat. enjoy. repeat.

and... you're welcome.

there and back.

2011-02-26T02:09:00.000+09:00

Caye Caulker

the most tan i will ever be.

loves. sorry i took off like that. did i not mention that i was going to belize for a couple weeks? oops. well, i went to belize for a couple, er, 13 days. it was heavenly.

we saw jaguars and howler monkeys in a rehabilitation zoo, we slept in forest cabanas, and explored a sacred mayan cave where they performed blood and human sacrifice. we postponed kayaking and snorkeling to instead sit through a giant 4 day rainstorm while on the south cayes (i called it a monsoon, but i do have a penchant for the drama). we rafted down the moho river and camped in the jungle, stopping along to be introduced to our guide's mayan villiage. we had lunch there, under a thatched roof, and it was delicious. we finally hit sun when we returned to the north cayes. i snorkled with a nurse shark and manta and eagle rays and a turtle. the snarks were small. the rays and turtle were decidedly not.

Enjoying Belizian beer, Belikin

Tobacco Caye

Moho River, on an inflatable kayak.

Moho River is super clear but tinted green.

Bit Windy on Glover Reef Atoll (South Caye).

Exploring the ATM Cave.

Looking all professional and shit.

Mayan human sacrifice, the only woman to be found in the ATM cave. Mayans believed all caves were sacred, being the birthplace of humans and the closest one could get to the gods.

Belize Zoo.

ah, yes. did i mention it was lovely? it was.

but. on the 12th day of our vacation, as i was ordering a cup of coffee at the delightful amor y cafe on caye caulker, i realized that i was ready to return. belize time is wonderful, do not mistake me. however, loves, i was ready to order a cup of coffee and have it come faster than the 45 minute wait, a wait that belizians did not seem to think was a big deal. i mean, (not to be dramatic here) it's my morning cup of coffee. do you know how happy that makes me? too often - and i can't believe i'm really confessing this - telling myself i get to drink a cup of coffee is how i drag my butt out of bed. and by too often, i mean every day. coffee, or the thought of it, gets me out of bed in the morning. not to complain about belize, but i was ready to return to a place that understood this. home was calling me.

My cup of coffee at Big Falls, so don't feel too bad for me.

too bad when i returned, the place was covered in snow.

come on pnw. really?

so now i'm back. i brushed my hair for the first time in two weeks (don't judge; i did run my fingers through it on a fairly consistent basis when i showered. so. there.) i wore a regular bra instead of a sports bra or swim suit. i had a great cup of coffee. i think i might be okay with being back.

might be.

my life would be better with theme music.

2011-02-02T14:02:00.000+09:00

{source}

not just for the obvious moments (the Indiana Jones theme song for my harrowing adventures - um, duh - or the last 10 minutes of spin class, which is pretty much the same thing).

but i think the Can't Run But by Paul Simon would be perfect for the mudane aspects of my life, like waiting for the light to turn green after hoping off the bus, when it's all drizzle and mist out. it would make my life mirror a chic independent film, which i could really dig. as long as i get to look like Zooey Deschanel.

organization motivation

2011-02-01T02:35:00.000+09:00

Er... hello.

{fffound}

It's been awhile. I know. I went to Chicago last week, and have been playing catch up since then. I wanted to blog - really - I just didn't have much to say. Or anything to say, really. I, sometimes, I think there is no greater crime than spouting out words for the simple sake of spouting, you hear? Or - truthfully - it could very well be that tell myself that to make me feel better.

Anyway, all last week, when I thought about writing but didn't have much to say, I felt the pressing need to do something - something that could make me feel all right about my radio silence. Remnants of Catholic Guilt, I guess. Baby dolls, I cleaned. Like really cleaned. I have my entire trunk of my car filled up with clothes for Goodwill. I was ruthless. If it hadn't been worn in a year, it was gone. Even if it was still in good shape, like my Dansko clogs. Someone else can use them, says I! I have teeny closets and a girl can only have so many pairs of shoes before her boyfriend starts complaining that there is no where for his (scant 3 pair) of shoes. Then girl feels bad and makes room. See, girl can make sacrifices for her relationship.

Yes, closets were emptied. I even dug out and organized all my photos and keepsakes from high school and college. (I know.) Amos took over my home office/closet and set to organizing and nesting in there, as I have tend to sit in our kitchen, soaking up the little natural light we can get. I dusted, I Swiffered, I cursed the Swiffer for how it's not that great and pretty wasteful. I mean, I still don't own a real mop, but I bet they work loads better. We took boxes and boxes to the recycling bin.

Now I'm back. Not sure I have much to say, except that I'm working on it. I've run out of things to clean.

Oh, and download Florence + The Machine. That shit is good.

my new craft goal:

2011-01-19T10:55:00.000+09:00

I think I am going to start making my own word banners like this one, so I can put snarky comments up to my little heart's desire. Mine would read: What the Fuck.* Because nothing says classy like the F word (made out of construction paper) hanging on your wall.

*(Not that anything has to be really wrong for me to say What the Fuck. I say it a lot. For good things. For bad. For interesting thing. For when I'm bored out of my gourd. I should probably buy a thesaurus.)

** Oohh, or I'd put one up that said I'll give you something to cry about.

mother f*cking rock star.

2011-01-15T03:56:00.000+09:00

GUYS.

GUESS WHAT.

I am A Practical Wedding blog today.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A couple of months ago, whilst in the throes of deciding on a caterer, I send a frantic email to Alyssa at 'Ask Team Practical,' and - while she emailed me back a very sane, very calming email - I left it at that. I never thought it would really make it onto the blog. In my head, everyone else had picking a vendor down. They didn't spend sleepless nights wondering about choosing the extremely nice caterer with the only okay chicken or the inflexible caterer with the to-die-for risotto (we ended up going with the extremely nice caterer and we switched the order from chicken to salmon and are keeping our little fingers crossed). It's calmed down a bit now, as we've moved closer to the wedding and made more and more decisions, but I am loving the wise, wise, WISE advice them ladies are giving me over there.

Oh, and did I mention how much of a rock-star I feel like to be on MY FAVORITE BLOG EVER? Seriously, I read it every morning with my first cup of coffee. Every. Damn. Day. Before I look at anything wedding-related, anything work-realted, anything even-breakfast related. I've never even written so much of a guest post on any other blog and here I am, hitting the Broadway play quality of blogs. Hells to the Yes (ug. okay, now i promise never to say that phrase again).

I am trying to stop myself from judging my blog to harshly. Makes me realize that I'm not crazy about my writing the last couple months, the post seem short, I seem a bit whiney, I swear to God that my life in not as shallow as it sometimes is portrayed... so to any new folks from A Practical Wedding - Hello. This is my blog. Some days it is good. Somedays it is less than good. But it keeps me writing, even if that writing is crappy. So please, um, don't judge too hard.

Okay, now that's over. Back to squeeling with joy. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, and in case you were wondering, here's the entire email exchange between Alyssa and meself. I think my second email is better than the first. You be the judge-ola.

On Sat, Oct 23, 2010 at 3:28 PM, Sarah wrote:

Hi there!

I'm not sure exactly what my question is, but I need some serious advice and a healthy dose of sane. Turns out this wedding planning bit can be stressful, no?

Okay, first the good & important stuff: I am marrying a guy named Amos, I like him, he likes me, and we're totally stoked on this who get-married business. The planning-to-get-married is a little more stressful than we originally anticipted. As of last night, we have a pretty-solid potential venue, and it's even within our budget (by budget, I mean we had to SWAG* a budget, so we're kind of flying blind & making it up as we go along).

So we have a cool venue, and I do like the people who run it (local church group who rehabed it, use it as their space, and rent it out during other days. Imagine a big warehouse with a beautiful wood ceiling). But they haven't done many weddings before (3 with ceremonies), so we're forging a new trail. Which you think is exciting, until you get in the damn thing and can't see the forest for the trees.

We're going to have to rely on our caterer a lot here, and that's why I'm writing you all. How do I know what's a reasonable fee? How do I know what questions to ask? How do I know what I need and don't need (until a week ago, I never even thought or renting linens. Oooh, that's how the tables have those pretty white things draped over them!) And, perhaps most importantly, how do I know when one is good? I wish the good guys - the ones who use local and sustainable ingredients, who pay their servers and staffs fair wages, who reinvest money into the community, who don't want to rip us off, upon whom we can trust to do a great job and think of things we didn't - had halos. Because I'm on website after website and so terrified we are going to get into a situation where we will end up with a bigger bill than we thought, or we won't have things we need (wait, who was supposed to rent the microphone for the ceremony?) and be tots stressed... and broke... and I know, we should start talking to people, but how do you even find the ones to speak with?

Wait, wait, I got my question:
How do I pick a good vendor?

There, after 3 paragraphs of writing, I found what I was trying to ask. Hope you stuck around long enough to read it.

Best,
Sarah

*SWAG = seriously wild ass guess. I think that what it's called when you Google 'how much does a DJ cost?' 'how much does a live band cost?'

PS - thanks for building & supporting such a wonderful community. it makes the world a more friendly place.

On Mon, Oct 25, 2010 at 8:48 AM, Ask Team Practical <askteampractical@apracticalwedding.com> wrote:

Hey you!

It's Alyssa, I just wanted to let you know we got this and we'll add it to our queue and get to it as soon as we can! Meg and APW get a lot of emails, so I can't guarantee that we'll get to it before your wedding, but we'll try as best we can.

Some questions though:

One - When is your wedding?

Two - Can we use parts of your email when we answer it, including your name and/or your partner's name?

Three - Do you have a blog we can link to?

I feel ya on this, it's a really tough thing to deal with. You don't want to get ripped off, but you also don't want to pay way more than you have to or go with an inferior vendor... A couple things to help in the meantime; check out your local boards on Offbeat Bride and ALWAYS check on a place's Better Business Bureau status. Lack of a status doesn't always mean something bad, but a bad or low grade usually should throw up all kinds of red flags.

Take care, and hope to hear from you soon!

--Alyssa

On Mon, Oct 25, 2010 at 1:11 PM, Sarah wrote:

Thanks Thanks! It just felt good to send this out to the (practical) universe... this is much more difficult than I originally expected! For instance, we're interviewing photographers this week, and I really like this one. But on the website, he and his wife mention Jesus a lot. And that's cool - nothing against loving Jesus, by any means! - but I also want to support vendors who believe in the basic equality of every individual person, including marriage equality. Bringing that up can be super tricky - what do I say? "So, Benj, you friendly to the gays? Does your Jesus love focus on the inclusion aspect of Christianity or the separation/judgment aspect of Christianity?" You jive? Tricky business...

Okay, onto your questions:

#1 - I think it's going to be August 13th. Could be August 20th. Or September 10th. All 2011. Should know by tomorrow.
#2 - Sure thing! My name is Sarah, and can you use fiance's last name - Amos - as that's how I call him in my blog.
#3 - yes, I do! I haven't been writing as much as i would like, but I do try to update is once to three times a week. My blog's name is Jackson Riley and the address is http://thisisjacksonriley.blogspot.com

To My Future Husband.

2011-01-13T04:13:00.000+09:00

Dearest Amos,

I know you just started a blog, and I quite like it, though - as you are painfully aware - zombie movies just ain't my thang. I realize this is a big disappointment to you, and I appreciate the fact that you got over it enough to offer marriage to me. At least now I eat pepperoni pizza, unlike the first 5 years we were together. See? I can grow. But don't hold your breath for the zombie movies. That's not looking promising.

Anyway, if you wanted to start another blog, I think you could fashion it like this one? It's one guy's notes to his future wife, and it's pretty much crazy romantic. It's just an idea because - sigh, this probably isn't a surprise - your zombie blog is not making me weak at the knees. It makes me laugh, which is great. Appreciated. But weak in the knees ain't bad either, know what I mean?

All right, that's all I gots for now. When you get home today, let's make fajitas because that sounds delicious.

Always,
S.

my monday morning party trick.

2011-01-11T01:29:00.000+09:00

it's Monday morning. For some reason, on Mondays, I really love to get out of bed an hour or two earlier than I need to begin work. Okay, I don't really love the getting out of bed, part, but I do enjoy the hour putzing around my house, doing the dishes and making coffee and packing lunches and making the bed, all while the sun is coming up and filling our little apartment with a smidgen of light. It makes me feel productive and ahead of schedule. It's a wonderful way to begin a week, as within hours, I'm usually miles behind on my to-do list. But for an hour or two on Mondays, man, am I ahead of the game.

{west elm travel mugs, which they unfortunately do not seem to have anymore}

Christmas this year was simple at our house, with an average of one gift per person. Mine was a lovely ceramic travel coffee mug that looks much more West Elm than it's Target origins. I really enjoy it, but I've found a way to maximize the potential. I'm dubbing it my Monday morning party trick. While you are making your coffee, put a put of water on the stove. Doesn't need to be a lot of water, about 8oz - depending on the size of your mug. Once it's almost boiling, pour it into your travel mug. Let it sit for a couple or five minutes. Once your coffee is done brewing, dump out the water and fill up your mug. Now you're coffee will stay warmer longer, as it doesn't have to heat up the mug itself.

I know. Amazing. You're welcome.

like... woah.

2011-01-05T01:26:00.000+09:00

browsing the blogs this morning, eating my usual banana bread, drinking my coffee, and i saw this. Now, folks: I am not a crier. Not at all. Ask anyone, ask my mom. But this? This made tears come to my eyes. Watch it. Cheer for her. Apparently, she didn't win this competition, but my money is betting this Rebecca Ferguson will go big. Love Her, Love the song, Love her story. AND love her darling Liverpool accent.

merry merry. happy happy. where were we?

2011-01-04T03:09:00.000+09:00

{wish i lived here}

Hello all.

I'm back.

Didn't mention that I was taking the Holidays off from blogging?

My bad.

I needed some serious R&R, so I took from Christmas to New Years off. It was awesome, and I'm - surprisingly, actually - ready to jump back in to normal life. I know, right?

I have to confess, as much as I do love Christmas decorations, there is something very clean about a newly not-decorated house. It's all white and open and almost matches the January weather. I rather like it. It makes me want a house in shades of white, inspired by those sophisticated Scandinavian folks. I don't find them depressing, by any means, but rather energizing. It's like the entire house got in on the New Year / Fresh Start vibe.

I'm not a big one for New Years' Resolutions, but I can't help but feel like this year my goal is to simplify. First thing that's up? My house. Guess that means I'll be taking off the dead wreath on my door. That's how you start of 2011 right.

a broken clock is right 2x a day. or whatever.

2010-12-17T01:32:00.000+09:00

{this is not my mug. i was too lazy to take a picture this morning. you can find this mug here.}

I used to make fun of my mother for certain things: stretching in public, her dance moves while cooking, wearing workout clothes hours after she had left the gym, and, let's not forget, her snowman mug. It was a large mug (some people might call it a bowl) and it was a Christmas gift from my sister years before. It was delightfully cheerful: perfectly winter-y and Christmas-y. My mother drank out of it year round. Including July. In my tween years, it was mortifying.

Now that we are in the winter-y, Christmas-y season, and now that my tween years are far, far behind me (thank Jesus), I have to confess: I have 2 Christmas mugs, one with a snowman and one with a pengiun. Amos brought them both into the relationship. I think they were Momma Amos' at one point. Regardless, they ended up in my cupboard. And I love them. Yes, even in July. But now that it's December, I can just nod and smile when I am drinking coffee and Amos comes into the kitchen and comments how festive and Christmas-y I am this morning.

I am my mother's daughter - what can I say? Though I'm drawing the line at public stretching. For now.

polar bear on my chest.

2010-12-14T07:10:00.000+09:00

i bought this. and it is awesome.

now, if only Amos would get this. we could take the best christmas card ever.

My to-do list kicks ass.

2010-12-09T10:16:00.000+09:00

Things I Did Today:

Today I made a doctor's appointment.
Then I called my insurance to make extra-double sure this new doctor was covered. Only make that mistake once.
Then I made an appointment for a facial.
Then I made an appointment for a massage.
Then I bought a ticket to go visit a friend who lives halfway across the country. Just cause I wanted to.
Then I updated my blog.
Then I road my bike trainer, because at one point in my life, I used to work out.
Then I went to my writing group, who hasn't kicked me out, even though I haven't written anything since the summer. We meet in one of my favourite pubs of all time. Sometimes I say words like 'favourite' and 'pub' and pretend I'm British and scrappy.

Days like today are awesome.

Image Source

things i am excited about - christmas edition.

2010-12-09T03:00:00.000+09:00

{source}

Family getting together -blah-blah-blah. Do you know what I'm excited about for Christmas? I am going to bring down all my silverware, silverware that has been washed by hand for over 2 years, and run it in my sister's dishwasher. Yea boy. I'm excited. You should be excited for me. It will all be very, very clean.

The End.

*PS - I'm not a total Grinch. I am very excited for Christmas, for more than just the use of a dishwasher. But, peeps, it's been TWO FUCKING YEARS since any of my dishes has been sanitized in scalding hot water and scrubbed in the way only a machine can scrub. You dig? It's exciting. But I am not, nor have I ever really been, a Grinch.

holiday bunting

2010-12-02T02:35:00.000+09:00

{apartment therapy}

now that it's december 1st, i am full on in holiday mode. i don't know if it was the early snow this year, or the fact that my life was so busy, with all projects wrapping up in early december, but i am stoked for the holiday season. Thanksgiving, Christmas, you name it, I'm there, with a plate of cookies and some wrapping paper.

don't get me wrong, i have gotten precisely zero gifts so far, and have precisely zero clue what i am getting people, except Amos. we're not really doing gifts this year - just something small - given the whole planning-and-paying-for-a-wedding-and-a-honeymoon-and-a-pre-honeymoon-to-Belize-for-almost-all-of-february (sigh... super pumped)

anyway, back to holidays. now that it's december 1st, i'm all sorts of ready to decorate. wreaths. bells. ribbon. and now bunting. wouldn't the above look fantastic draped across windows in stairwells? particularly my windows in my stairwells? it's homemade, and looks pretty simple, but, alas, i don't have a sewing machine, so i'm having to scour my brain to come up with a way around that (or a way to convince sister with a sewing machine to do it for me...Maybe I can convince her with homemade cookies, a little trade action, no?)

That's all I got. No ending here. Stopping now, must commence scheming about decorating...

SNOW DAZE.

2010-11-25T03:48:00.000+09:00

{source}

I grew up in Colorado. And I never had even one snow day. I know, what luck right? I have it on my list of "Things to Take Up with the Big Guy." However, since moving to Seattle 3 years ago, I have had several snow days, which is more than making up for the paucity of my childhood. I mean, I have to work remotely on the snow days, but no one sends me emails, no one wants anything, and so my days quickly turn into me baking in the kitchen, phone in apron pocket, emails open on the table, and occasionally, I'll walk over to it, scan to make sure no one needs me, and then continue on making my sweet potato cheesecake. Delicious.

In the years living in Seattle, I've gone from a person disgusted from the city's inability to handle the smallest of snow storms to completely enjoying the fact that the city SHUTS DOWN given 3 inches of snow. It's rather wonderful. Neighborhood coffee shops fill up, the local pizza and beer place is packed, everyone is enthusiastic, except for the passengers on the 1/3 of metro buses that jackknifed and who are now stranded at the office. (Dummies - why did you leave the house?!) I love snow. I love living in a city that lets me unabashedly enjoy it. None of this Denver mentality of getting-thought-it. I much prefer Seattle's freak-out-on-the-outside-and-secretly-enjoy-it-as-an-excuse-to-eat,-bake,-and-drink. Yes, please!

{right by my house}

{again, in my hood.}

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So that's my last 3 days have been like. Working from home, baking up a storm, making some kick-ass save-the-dates, and addressessing the hell out of some envalopes (Confidential to mis padres: Amos' family already got us all their addresses. You haven't. Just sayin'.)

all right then.

2010-11-11T09:57:00.000+09:00

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i was listening to NPR (enter joke about stereotypical northwest liberal hippie choices of news-radio) this morning, driving my booty to early morning yoga (i know, i amaze myself sometimes... and enter another joke about stereotypical northwest liberal hippie choices) when the following sentence caught my attention.

...the brothel owners, who used to own a funeral parlor, are helping their neighbors in an effort to preserve the habitat of the endangered toad. In the dusk hours, the toads have begun to be found congregating by their clothing - optional pool.

Hands down the most interesting thing I heard this morning. There is just so much in those 2 sentences.

You're welcome.

More Enjoyable than Fine China.

2010-11-02T10:47:00.000+09:00

{Martha Stewart, of course}

Amigos! I've been a busy little bee this week - securing a venue, working my hiney off, dressing up as Suzy Homemaker to go play Bingo in an old folks home - but this morning, I started to dig in and create a wedding registry. Don't worry: Amos wasn't missing out on the fun. He and I were both working from home, and our conversation went back and forth across the living room and home office.*

I'm just going to come out and say it: Wedding Registries are weird. It's the second weird thing I've done while planning. Wedding websites were number one. (Try and create one that isn't cheesy and let me know how that is possible). Like wedding websites, I wanted to just skip the whole thing, but then realized that, under their mega-awkwardness, both are super helpful to guests. So I sucked it up, made a website, and begun registering. I felt like I should be shouting GIMMIE, GIMMIE, GIMMIE when I first starting adding items, simply because it feels totally excessive. Then I realized it's like shopping without spending money. Which is awesome, and I got over feeling weird pretty quickly.

Here's the thing: Amos and I live in a small place. We have tiny closets, teeny cupboards, and teeny-tiny kitchen. Where are we supposed to put anything? I looked into honeymoon registries, but you end up paying like 8% to the companies that run the site, and (I think my guests would agree) I would rather have 100% of my gifts, compared to 92%. I'm greedy like that. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: I really would like hurricane candle holders.
Amos: What's a hurricane candle holder? [pause. Enter conversation about what hurricane candle holder is.]
Me: They would be really pretty. Let's register for 2 big and 2 small. That will look so pretty when we host holidays.**
Amos: Where would they go not at Thanksgiving?
Me: [quiet a moment].
Me: Shit.

I assume the hurricane candle holders will make my outdoor space look exactly like this? Wait, I don't have outdoor space. Damn it.

So, after putting a nice blurb about not expecting gifts (which is totally true. Guests' presence is best present, blender is optional, you get?), we put a little thing about saving up money for a house, which is a goal of Amos and I. Then we began the more traditional registry. Well... almost traditional. We headed to REI, and I found this. Mmmhmmm, check yes to a double sized camping hammock. I will put you on my list.***

Already, this wedding registry feels better.

* Let's be real here folks. We live in the city. Home office is a closet. Actually, home office is part of a closet because how could we possible give up an entire closet? Our shoes have to go somewhere.

**This whole planning our future thing is actually the MOST EXCITING thing about getting married. Really fun. (Oh, and we did register for the hurricanes. We found they can go on a bookshelf and a dresser when not in use. We are very good at space management.)

*** I also supplemented with more traditional things, like a vacuum. But I am way more excited about the hammock then the Hoover.

getting old-a.

2010-10-26T01:03:00.000+09:00

went to see Mumford & Sons last night. Very fun. However, on the way to the concert, I found myself thinking something along these lines:

Have they always had concerts on Sunday nights? How can people do this on weeknights? I wish they started at 7:30 and just skipped the opening band, that way I could get home at a reasonable time.

Then I started counting how many hours it would take if the band went on at 9 and what time that would put me back in my (very) comfy bed. Geesh. Who knew that aging creeps up like this? Next thing you know, I'll be rocking a purple sweatsuit, a cane, and nun shoes*. Or I'll be in a miniskirt and heavy eyeliner, trying to reclaim my youth.

Stand by for which one wins out.

* Nun Shoes = one color (navy or beige), orthopedic shoes that were favored by nuns at my Catholic grade school. Or actually any nun I've ever met.

favorites folder.

2010-10-18T03:13:00.000+09:00

AH! As I'm beginning to plan the upcoming marriage-party for Amos y Me, I've been going and snipping out lovely pictures from all over the web. In the process, I also went through my 'things i love' bookmark folder, and MAN, I found some good things I forgot I saved. Thought you all might be interested in some visual candy, yes yes? (Apologies, most of these don't have links back, as I usually just bookmarked the .jpg. If one of these is yours, please let me know and I will give credit.)

None of these really deal with weddings yet, per say, as I've just begun to appreciate how, um, loaded a wedding can be - with everyone you love having all sorts of big opinions - so I've being a tad private with it right now. That may change in the future. (One of the sincerely lovely things about being a human is the ability to occasionally change one's mind.) Anyway, on to a scattering of my favorites folder!

{black*eiffel}

{design sponge}

{this whole post on bike storage in apartments is fabulous - via renest}

{barn doors! via Everything LEB}

{desire to inspire - and the hooks for jeans? genius.}

That's all I've gots for now - a dear friend and I are off to look at an old salvage shop in SoDo. Lovely Sunday if I do say so myself. xox.

sad puppy.

2010-10-15T13:11:00.000+09:00

Peeps. It's been awhile. My bad. And it's going to be awhile longer. (At this point, it's appropriate for you to tear up, just a tad). See, last week I got knocked out with a wicked cough, and by Thursday I was sitting in the doctor's office, leaving with codeine cough syrup and albuterol inhaler. It was rough. But my lungs are now on the mend, which is nice.

Now work is back with a vengeance, and I've got a deadline looming. And a couple other things on my plate. I'll be back soon, I promise. Just got to get some things checked off first. I really do enjoy blogging, and I can't wait to be here on a more regular basis - hope you'll keep me on your radar and stop back by when the posts pick up.

xox,
S.

chills.

2010-10-01T01:39:00.000+09:00

Marriage is a vital social institution. The exclusive commitment of two individuals to each other nurtures love and mutual support; it brings stability to our society. For those who choose to marry, and for their children, marriage provides an abundance of legal, financial, and social benefits. In return it imposes weighty legal, financial, and social obligations….Without question, civil marriage enhances the “welfare of the community.” It is a “social institution of the highest importance.” ... Marriage also bestows enormous private and social advantages on those who choose to marry. Civil marriage is at once a deeply personal commitment to another human being and a highly public celebration of the ideals of mutuality, companionship, intimacy, fidelity, and family…. Because it fulfils yearnings for security, safe haven, and connection that express our common humanity, civil marriage is an esteemed institution, and the decision whether and whom to marry is among life’s momentous acts of self-definition.

From “Goodridge Vs. Department of Health” – Massachusetts Supreme Court Chief Justice Margaret H. Marshall

*Can we just legalize marriage for gays, lesbians, et al yet? pu-leaze? 'Cause it puts a damper on my joy if it's a right that other's don't have... that whole my liberation tied up in your liberation thing. you get?

petition for a 37 hour day.

2010-09-30T00:25:00.000+09:00

{i don't know why this photo makes me so happy, but it does!}

Dear Universe,

I'm running into a bit of trouble, ya see. There just aren't enough hours in the day for me to do all things I need to do, let alone all the things I want to do. It's getting to be a bit of a problem. For instance, my to do list includes:

A) a big work deadline on 10/21, followed by an even bigger deadline on 11/18. I believe that puts me squarley in the "crunch time," a.k.a. the "all I feel like I do is work" time.
B) oh, I'm getting married. And weddings don't seem to plan themselves. Plus I want to, you know, relax and have time to enjoy this whole engaged business. it's kind of fun.
C) i need to renew my licensure and of my 3 classes, I am only a quarter way through the first one. Due in mid-November. This is a big one. BIG. my CPA books just keep staring at me.
D) i used to be working on this thing called a novel. Yes, I'd like to get back to that. I've bailed on submitting chapters to my writing group for the last couple months, and it's just getting embarrassing.
E) yes, and i'd like to have much more time to blog. I know blog is an ugly word, but its such a pretty thing. I don't have nearly enough time to scout the internet for lovely photos and interesting tidbits. I need that in my life.

Now, dear Universe, I know people have asked this of you before, and you have remain steadfast in your commitment to a 24 hour day. But please... I'm a bit special and I really need it. I'll be anxiously awaiting your reply.

Best,
S.

BOOYAH marriage.

2010-09-27T23:43:00.000+09:00

lovely folks, sorry i up and disappeared on you for a bit. some things were going on. exciting things. things with shiny rings, and serious questions, and surprise picnics on the roof with big bouquets of yellow flowers and yummy BLTs.

that's right. amos and i are engaged. i have spent the last week in total, complete, and slightly overwhelming happiness. no, i did not see it coming, and yes, in the end, that worked for me. we went ring shopping, i've got something beautiful and vintage on my finger, and we've happily told our families, who are so supportive.

i never thought it was possible to be completely exhausted from joy/happiness/bliss, but here i am. i'll keep it short and sweet and see you all soon.

It gets better.

2010-09-25T05:45:00.000+09:00

my god, i do love dan savage. and it does get better. support this and go watch: http://www.youtube.com/itgetsbetterproject

they should call it sky falling.

2010-09-16T09:48:00.000+09:00

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you know that dream you have, the one where you're falling and then - BAM - you wake up? I had that, in real life, except I didn't fall and wake up, I just keep falling and falling and falling.

Peeps, I went skydiving. For real. It was super fun. And the scariest fucking thing I've ever done.

It was my sister's boyfriend's quarter-century birthday. My sister doesn't do small birthday shindigs. The girl goes big. Surprise skydiving big. With everyone wearing matching shirts. How could I not get my booty down to Portland and jump out of a plane with them?

So I did.

Did I mention it was scary?

Amos couldn't come (he was man-cationing), so I was going solo. Get there late on Friday, promptly ruin the "surprise" part of the birthday ("So when I told Dad we were skydiving...Ooh, shit. Sorry!"). Truth be told, I hadn't really thought about what I'd signed up for. I just knew I needed lots of cash - this is not a cheap activity - and to show up ready to go at 10:30. On the ride out to the site, one of my fellow jumpers had the gall to tell me that just about every skydiving organization has had a death or two, and ours* - a suicide by an instructor - was no exception. At this point, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I should have thought this through a bit more.

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We drove out to the Oregon countryside, threw down some dinero, and signed away every legal right we might possibly have. Seriously. One of the waivers said - paraphrasing here - Skydiving is one of the most dangerous things a person can do. Mistakes and errors happen. We might make a mistake. You might make a mistake. The pilot might make a mistake and you could have broken bones, bruises, concussions, or you may die. This is part of the risk of skydiving and you/your family cannot sue us. Holy crap. It took me about an hour to read all the rights I was signing away. This did not make me feel any more secure.

Post-waivers, post-payment, and post -very-short-15-minute-training-session, we were ready to go! We went out to a field, where we promptly sat for about 2 hours waiting for our turn. Actually, this part calmed my nerves the most. People kept going up in the planes, jumping out, and coming down safely. Including the 84-year old grandmother who went before us. She was fricking adorable, in her tracksuit and super white tenny-shoes. The woman is my new role model. I mean, you all know I have a secret desire to be an old woman.

Anyway, enough celebrating old people. It was time to go. I picked out my bright pink parachute (I insist on high style wherever I go), met my tandem jumper, put on the harness, helmet, and sweet goggles, and hopped onto the tiny little airplane. At this point, I had gotten very quiet. Not speaking quiet. Pale face quiet. I was just focusing on breathing and not vomiting.

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The plane was empty save for two foam benches running parallel from front to back. We hopped in the door on the back of the plane and all straddled the benched and scooted back, sitting in a little train of skydivers. We climbed up, slowly, to 13,000 feet, where the views were impeccable: Rainier, Helen, Hood, Jefferson, Adams, Three Sisters, and downtown Portland. Strangely enough, the higher we climbed, the less nervous I became. It seemed significantly less real as the ground became a patchwork of colors instead of actual fields, farms, roads, and houses. Then the back door opened and the temperature of the plane dropped to that of a walk-in beer cooler. About the moment, I officially wanted to lose my shit. F my life.

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We slid down the benches and Sister's Boyfriend turned to look back at us as he got ready to leave the plane. I've never seen the kid so pale. Then, right before my eyes, he dropped. As I was registering that he just fell. out. of. a plane., my tandem instructor was pushing me toward the door. At no point were my limbs going to help him out: I was pretty much paralyzed. He had me sit on the edge of the plane, with my legs dangling out, flapping in the wind, as the landscape whizzed by, and wind whipped around me. I have never been so batshit scared in my life. And then we fell forward, the weight of my instructor pushing me out of the plane. Immediately, my stomach was in my throat and my eyes were closed. Reminding myself I paid handsomely do to this, I forced my baby blues open. We hit terminal velocity and my stomach was returned to its rightful place. We fell for over a minute, reaching 120 mph and descended from 13,000 to 4,000 feet. I kept chanting: Please let the parachute open. Please let the parachute open. Please let the parachute open. The universe listened. The bright pink canvas came out of the pack and we began to gracefully drift downwards. That part was fun, except when we did flips, and my extremely sensitive stomach threatened revolt. After putting my instructor in his place (Do you want me to vomit on you?), we returned to a lovely decent, landing softly in the field. Others in our group had a more Wild Ride, including free fall flips and spins, but I am - at heart - a boring girl and falling out of a plane the good old-fashioned vanilla way is plenty for me. Me and the 84 year old woman. The only way it could have been better was if I was in a matching tracksuit.

We celebrated with beer and burgers, followed by more beer at the Green Dragon, a favorite spot of mine (and sister and sister's boyfriend). If you find yourself in tPDX, and even if you are too much of a wimp to skydive, visit them and grab yourself a beer. Maybe a Jalapeno one**, if you feel like living, which is exactly what I was doing.

*Ours was Skydive Oregon, which was very, very good. Highly recommended.
** Srsly. Get one and a plate of nachos and thank me later.

dupped.

2010-09-11T00:18:00.000+09:00

i went to high school. i went to college. i took a bagillion tests to become professionally certified (to clarify, bagillion = 4). and now, a scant 2 years later, looks like i have to catch up on my reading to keep my licensure.

Oh, and the books cost $430, which is just insulting. i'm kind of regreting this whole grown-up-have-an-adult-job-thing. Can I get a do over and come back as Hannah Montana? Her life seems awesome*.

*I know, the poor child is stalked by paparazzi. BUT... did you see the book Intellectual Property up there? I would gladly exchange one book, one 'azzi. deal, Miley?

damn it seattle.

2010-09-08T07:30:00.000+09:00

if you are going to insist on being summer-y for a measly 6 weeks, then I am def. going to increase my coffee budget. because if this is me in August, god help us in February....

if a blog was a restaurant...

2010-09-01T09:17:00.000+09:00

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... it would be Nettletown, this lovely, little hole-in-the-wall that is kind of new to my 'hood. I went with Amos on Friday (when he was playing hooky... shush, don't tell.) I had a lovely lunch of pork noodles and he had lobster and mushroom sandwich, complete with Beechers' cheese. And if you're familiar with Beechers', than you would understand how positively delicious this sandwich was. I plan on returning soon for the baked eggs and huckleberry mimosas. Or the Rogue beer and lemongrass elk meatball sandwhich. Decisions, decisions...

bee happy.

2010-08-26T02:41:00.000+09:00

i'm not really posting today, so there's not much for you to read here. Instead, go read this funny article by Samatha Bee (of the Daily Show) about Being Hugely Pregnant.* Or this one where she and her husband talk about not getting divorced. The woman is funny. I kind of want to be her when I grow up... you know, minus the always pregnant bit.

*If you are in Seattle, get off your f*cking computer and go enjoy the gorgeous summer weather. Seriously.

dancing with ira.

2010-08-23T07:15:00.000+09:00

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sorry kiddos, but i'm going to get all braggy on you here. See, I'm sitting at my red kitchen table on a beautifully sunny afternoon, finishing up a late lunch of leftover mussels steamed in white wine sauce, and I have just had the best weekend. the kind of weekends you can't really plan but that sometimes just pop up and make your life slow down and well, to run the risk of sounding downright cheesy, they are just... delicious. there. i said it. but it's true.

it all started with a slow Friday afternoon, which hasn't happened in months at my dear ol' job. I had gotten a cute haircut in the morning, busted out a couple super productive hours of work at a coffee shop, and gone on a nice run around greenlake. i got home around 1, checked on my to-do list and found it insanely short. i celebrated with a wee bit of a nap, curled up on the couch which had just enough sunshine to be comfortable, but not too much to be hot. once awake, with a cup of coffee in hand, i actually wrote. yea. see the thing is - and i can only confess this now that i think i am coming out of it - i have been in a bit of a writers funk lately. blame it on the sunshine. blame it on the stressful job. blame it on the fact that a cute boy keeps asking me to go on long runs and eat nice dinners or go drink tall boys at dive bars, but i haven't been writing. and when i sat down... it wasn't pretty. i mean, i kept up as best i could on Jackson Riley, and the posts, while not awful, were not great. but there were something. and i'll take it. it's a little weird to have my writer's blocks a public thing, but i'll get used to it.

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but on friday afternoon, i began to write a bit of my novel, which has been on hold for weeks upon weeks. and i didn't hate what i wrote. it's terribly long and doesn't yet have plot or much focus, but it's about a girl named Brooklynn and a mother named Adelle and a big farmhouse in eastern Kansas. i'm rather fond of the characters. i think i'll keep them around. i pumped out 6 pages, which is a ton for my little out-of-writing-shape mind. i was exhausted afterwards. i had to take another nap and watch the daily show to recover. (oh, and i did a little bit more work too, just to pay the bills).

friday night was out drinking a fresh (!) squeezed (!) whiskey sour. having never really had a whiskey sour before,i don't think i can now have it any other way that freshly pressed right in front of me. 2 lemons, a lime, and Maker's Mark. Mm-hmm. I sat and ate pot pies with friends and then sat and drank with friends on a huge patio enjoying the slightly chilly but totally manageable Seattle air.

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Saturday was filled with trips to the Farmers Market to pick up ribs and veggies and fruit for the week ahead and salmon for dinner that night. We had to celebrate, to kick off our evening right. See, my friends, we were going to see Ira Glass. And while it may be understandable that some of you don't know who he is (a NPR radio broadcast host of This American Life) and some of you who know who he is might not care that much and wonder why I would be so excited (please don't underestimate the bounds of my nerdiness. srsly.) I. was. pumped. Before the show, friends were coming over and we were grilling salmon & asparagus with a side of cilantro pesto, eating a salad with fresh avocado and apple (a combination i had not previous thought of and now cannot wait to try again). We finished off the meal with beer popsicles, which were - surprisingly - very delicious. I was skeptical, and I am a true-blue fan now. I can't wait to try them with huckleberry beer and fresh fruit. Should you ever find yourself at a summer dinner party in my backyard, I fear you'll now know what I'll be serving for dessert.

We saw Ira, and for the most part, he lived up to my expectation. I wished he had a bit more depth to his show - another performer or storyteller would have been nice - but I enjoyed it none-the-less. Leaving the show, we headed to the only acceptable afterparty: a dance party DJ'd by Ira Glass and Dan Savage at the dive gay bar Rebar. It was (wonderfully) what I expected: terrible DJ'ing by two novices, a lot of show tunes set to a techno beat (Zanzabar and Cats, no joke) and probably the best people watching EVER. Ira danced exactly how you would think a 50-year old national public radio host would dance, and it was ever so endearing. Dan danced as one would expect a writer with an affinity for show-tunes to dance, and it was ever so perfect. Dan's husband, Terry, somehow was able to dance to every. single. song. and make it look good (to a disco version of Memories. I don't even know how that's possible). At one point (I think it was when GaGa began to play) everyone behind me pushed up and I found myself dancing on the stage, next to 100 of my new best friends and Ira. All fun and good, if a little surreal. But once people began to push past me, saying "Oh, I just need to touch him. I just need to touch Ira." I knew my stage time was over. There is only so much celebrity worship I can handle, especially of a radio host while in a fairly dive-y bar. Girl gotta know when to peace, you know?

So we left, and headed up to le capitol hill and ending the night with the best burrito ever from Rancho Taco Bravo, the place to stop should you be starving and slightly tipsy at 2AM (just note it for future reference). It's Seattle's answer to fast food - family owned, recognizable ingredients, slightly more 'spensive than Taco Bell, and a million kagillion times better. I highly recommend it. 'Specially the spiced pork Rancho Burrito.

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And this morning, after saying adiou to my friends, Amos and I have had a nice relaxing time, cleaning up from dinner last night, looking into a future vacation, watching instant Netflicks. I may go on a bike ride later or I may bake a strawberry pie. It's one of those kind of days. And tonight we are seeing Raiders of the Lost Ark with more friends at this little theater that lets you eat pizza in a booth and brings you homemade popcorn in wooden bowls... seriously, don't mean to be braggy here folks. My life is kinda rocking for the past 48 hours and I just am soaking it up.

All in all, I think I'm coming out of my writers funk - this weekend sure didn't hurt - and looking forward to seeing you all again soon. Peace.

bathing beauty.

2010-08-21T02:48:00.000+09:00

This past weekend, I went swimming in a gorgeous mountain lake. The mountains were tall and deep green, the water was clear dark blue and there was not one cloud in the sunny sky. I, however, did not get much of a chance to look around as I was busy trying to keep my swim bottoms covering my (very) white booty. Here's the thing: On an impulse purchase from the Banana Republic sale rack, I now have a very cute suit that is a size or two too big. I mistakenly thought I could "make it work." (Never watch Project Runway prior to shopping. That phrase should be banned from retail environments.) As my bare ass could tell you, I was failing to keep it classy. Thus begins the search for a new swimsuit, preferably one that, you know, stays on.

i now know my correct size (thank you Nordstrom bra fitting department!) but - unfortunately - it narrows my options quite a bit. here are a couple i am thinking of... (and now, a-hem, please offer your suggestions. that's the whole reason i'm putting this shiznit on here.)

Seersucker Bikini from J.Crew

I'm nervous that the color of this suit and the color of my skin are too close...

Twist Front Bandeau Top from J.Crew

I like this one - though I'm a little nervous about the top, u-um, staying up.... (see above on keeping it classy). It's also back ordered until October, but the blue color would look good on my skin.

La Blanca suite from Nordstrom

I love the retro look and folded over bottoms. But a white suit?! And it's super spendy.

Zimmerman from Sirene

Love the color... would I regret the ruffles? (And how weird is it not to have a model in that photo? It's creeping me out.)

my first day bike communiting.

2010-08-19T06:56:00.000+09:00

i was cleaning out my email and found this from last year, on my first day bike commuting (this is what i did prior to blogging... send random emails to my family):

I decided last night that, after 3 years of talking about it, I was going to become a true Seattleite: I was going to bike commute. I had my timbuk2 tote bag ready! My helmet and sunglasses! My spandex! The problems started when I couldn’t get my tote bag adjusted right… groggy Mike was little help. All the other cool bike commuters have their bags tightly cinched to their chest, and mine refused (inanimate objects are capable of such). Annoyed and hurried, I threw everything into a backpack (so dorky) and was out!

My route takes me along Stewart to Second. Both of these are under construction. Not awesome.

Upon realizing that I had no idea where the garage entrance was, I had to come in through the front doors, and take the elevator down with my bike (so uncool.) I got into the bike cages and taking out my lock, I found that they key had somehow gotten lost in the early morning bag switch. Darn it! Back in the elevators went I, switching to another elevator bank with a very nice young man from EY who wished me luck on my first day commuting and asked me if I had ever been hit by a car (really?)

I wheeled my bike into my office, hoping that it would be at least a little inconspicuous. (I did not make eye contact with anyone while I was wheeling in, and my bike does not wheel quietly. It clicks.) After resting my bike (which now takes up most of the walking room in my office), I went to the bathroom, and did the magic trick where one enters in Spandex and exits in a cardigan sweater and ballet flats. As I was applying makeup to my little red face (we all know how thin Irish skin handles physical activity) I thought to myself: This is what homeless people do. They get ready in strange bathrooms, out of a small bag, hoping that when they leave, they smell all right and no one notices.

On that note, I got a paper towel and tried to scrub some grease off my leg.

So now I sit, my bike resting comfortably in my office, my sense of self-righteousness riding high (I’m judging everyone who arrives to work already dressed), having to remind myself that I have to ride home (darn it again.) But I do feel like a more authentic Seattleite.

Snap, son.

2010-08-18T08:32:00.000+09:00

I may be late to the party on the celebration of Prop 8 in the United States district court, but I was rewatching these interviews of the attorneys -- including Ted Olson on Fox (!) -- and I had to share. Snap, son. That is how you win a damn court case.

Ted Olson with Chris Matthews on Fox News

"You don't get to vote on the Bill of Rights."

Conservative lawyer Ted Olson destroys above Chris Matthews on Fox.

David Boies on Face the Nation

"The witness stand is a lonely place to lie."

Best. Line. Ever. Said by David Doies on Face the Nation.

prayers & thoughts, please.

2010-08-17T00:05:00.000+09:00

{source}

this past weekend, i ran in the Spokane to Sandpoint relay, a beautiful race that takes a team of 12 runners on a 185-mile route from Spokane, WA to Sandpoint, ID. It was gorgeous weather, great to be back in Spokane (my college city, but I hadn't visited in years), and wonderful to run the race with such a fun team.

However, on Saturday morning, about 20 hour into the race, there was a terrible accident. While along a wide highway in Northern Idaho, a motorist heading east veered from their lane, across the other, and hit a woman and a young runner who were along the west-bound shoulder. During the night, runners could have pacers either run with them or bike next to them to help with running times and to increase visibility to traffic. The pacer in this case - a mother of one of the other runners - was killed. (News article is here). The driver has been booked on manslaughter charges and alcohol may have been involved.

Relay teams began in waves, and we started out at 8:50AM on Friday morning. Since the race is so long (our time was around 27 hours to complete), we got to know the other runners and teams, recognizing their support vehicles and their runners. This team was made up of high school cross-country runners and their mothers. Our team had been leapfrogging theirs and we were ahead of this on this particular leg (about 6:30AM). I saw the ambulance go by while I was waiting for our runner to finish, and I prayed it was not for a runner on the course. Over the next couple of hours, we got word of the accident, who it was, and the tragic death. The race - with teams spread over miles and miles of distance - isn't one that can be canceled, so we finished as planned.

Back at home now, I'm digesting. This situation is making me think about open-course races and their inherent danger, a danger I never understood. It's making me think of how random and tragic life can be. It's making me want to implore people to be aware of bikers, runners, and walkers on the road and to never drink and drive. It reminds me there is so easy answers or ways to ensure things like this never happen again. I haven't settled on some of this issues - like if I will do a race like this again - that will take some time. Meanwhile, I ask you all to keep those affected by this accident in your prayers.

best. photo. ever.

2010-08-10T15:58:00.000+09:00

Doing Dishes with the Amos.

2010-08-10T00:35:00.000+09:00

Upon realizing that stacking bowls on top of bowls in an elevated dish rack is a bad idea, he says:

I'm in quite a predicament.

Gaw, with lines like that, I'd keep him around even if he wasn't so good looking.

You're Kidding Me... right?

2010-08-05T04:08:00.000+09:00

The Segway Seattle Tour:

When Walking is too Fucking Hard!

For reals, this exists. Check is out here, if you want to. Better yet, pay me the $125 fee and I'll carry you around to the Seattle sights.

Image from here.

Frigidaire.

2010-07-31T00:23:00.000+09:00

Here’s the thing about living in an old apartment building. It’s all cute and charm when you first move in. A lot of oooh, look at the rounded doorways! And ahh, look at the beautiful leaded glass windows! When I first moved in to my apartment and you asked me about it, I would have waxed poetic about the wood floors, the layout, and just about everything else. Even the quirks were adorable: the fact that there is no light in the bathroom? It’s just mood lighting when you’re taking a shower. The fridge on top of the counter? Well, when the place was built they didn’t have fridges; look at that cool ice box in the cupboard. An ice box!

{our little foyer, complete with a cubby-hole that just begs for Holy Water and a Blessed Virgin, if I were that Catholic. I'm not, so there's the more-decorative-less-religious Mexican cross.}

Now fast forward 2 years, and while I still have a fond place in my heart for my little apartment home, the quirks have lost their luster. The birds that nest in our non-working kitchen fan? Annoying as shit as 5 in the morning. The cupboard with 80 years of paint on them? Man, I wish they would close. And the fridge on the counter. Well… that, mis amigos, is where this little blog post begins.

{Fridge. On top of counters. With drawers that don't close all the way.}

In our slightly-bigger-than-a-college-fridge-but-not-as-large-as-a-normal-fridge, there is an itty-bitty freezer. One has to be on a stool to reach said freezer. Well, some people have to be on a stool. I need a ladder to get into it, which is why anything freezer related has to be left to Amos. Sorry to be the damsel in distress here, but 5 feet, 2 inches will not get you ice cream in my house. For that, you need a big, strong man… or be be over 5’5”. Thems just the facts of life our abode.

Anyhoo, the freezer has been defrosted 2 times since we lived there. The first was when Amos took a knife, stood on the necessary stool, and went to town on the big ice chunks. As he plugged in a hair-dryer to heat the remaining frost, (the cord went across the kitchen and plugged in on the opposite counter tops) I decided to get the hell out of dodge and go shopping. Sometimes I know when space is necessary for us to continue our relationship, and this was one of those times.

Round 2 was more of an accident. Last February, we were flying back to the Midwest to visit my grandma. As we grabbed something out of the fridge on the way out of town, we must have accidentally hit this little red button. We must not have noticed it because when we returned 4 days later, we found out that the red button defrosted the freezer. Our tip-off? Something about a puddle of water on the floor and streams of water coming from the bottom of the fridge down the counter tops.

To summarize: fridge: 2. Amos & Shean: 0.

We're on to round 3. We went to open our freezer last week and it had frozen totally shut. The time had come to defrost the sucker. I was feeling good. We had the knowledge that there was a red button in our fridge and we now knew what it did. The tricky part? While there is a drip tray under the freezer, it can't be removed because our freezer is on a freaking counter top and doesn't open all the way. But we weren't going to be defeated. We're not amatures at this old-apartment-thing. I cleaned out the fridge & laid towels on all the racks to sop up water. Then we draped a towel from inside the freezer tray down to the other towels, so water could be absorbed down. Then... I pushed the button.

As the ice melted, the towels slowly filled up. The they rapidly filled up. Amos only had one instance of taking a knife to the ice; other than that, it was pretty hands-off affair. About 2 days in, the water stopped coming. It was just about done. I was ready to call it good and start repacking, but Amos wasn't going to be fooled. Standing on his tip-toes, he looked and saw the drip tray, while not filling up with water, was quite full with a big ice slab. With some creative tilting, we broke it and got most of it out. Success! We can now use our freezer and have a nice cold fridge. The aftermath? I only had to wash about 9 towels. I'll call it a win.

because French women are inspiring.

2010-07-22T14:56:00.000+09:00

{i think my skin is clearing up just from looking @ this picture}

My skin and I have had a tenuous relationship at best. It turned on me around the tender age of 12 with my first zit (on my chin; I remember it exactly). My dad said that it was a good thing - that way I could have clear skin by high school. At the age of 25, I have the pimples to prove that my dad is a liar (sorry, Pops). My skin tends to be red, a bit splotchy, I have pores you could drive a car through... at least you could, if they weren't so clogged. I reached a point in late high school when I just kind of gave up on the 'miracle' fix-it, and decided to try and accept myself, you know, flaws and all.

Fuck that shit. Self-Accepting, my ass. It's time for self-improvement.

{i really, really was hoping that they did something like this to my face. because that would increase my spa street cred by a billion percent. people would say 'oh, have you heard about the seaweed hydrating epidermius wrap? i hear it's so popular in Japan.' to which i could say, 'done it, bitches. and it is awesome.'}

I recently read an article in the New York times on how well French women age (appropriately named Frenchwomen's Secrets to Aging Well) and it was inspiring. How could it not be? Take a read:

She clearly loves being herself. And she makes me think that in France, women might forget everything else as they age — but never their sense of style...

And even the average Frenchwoman — say, shopping along the Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré or enjoying a leisurely lunch on the Left Bank, or strolling through the Luxembourg Gardens — seems to defy the notion that, as one grows older, you either have to disguise that process with Botox, eye-lifts, lip plumpers and all sorts of procedures that convey a desperate “youthful” look, or else just give up altogether and let the ravages of time take their toll...

But while American women, like me at least, approach personal care with practical efficiency, the Frenchwomen I know regard the pampering of the skin, hair and body as an enjoyable, gratifying ritual.

As for makeup, Frenchwomen of almost every age (except those teenagers) regard less as best. Heavy foundation has a tendency to emphasize wrinkles and pores, and most women avoid it in favor of a bit of blush. Those who do use foundation make sure that it blends with the skin, often by applying it just after moisturizing. The idea is to look as natural as possible: a little color on the eyelids, mascara, maybe a bit of eyeliner and lip gloss.

Of course, it’s easy to look natural if your skin is great. And that may be where the French secrets really are. According to a 2008 Mintel report, Frenchwomen spend about $2.2 billion a year on facial skin care — as much as Spanish, German and British women put together. If you happen to use the bathroom in a French home — something that is not considered polite, by the way — you might see a line of skin care products rivaling a shelf at Duane Reade.

There will be day creams (with sunscreen), night creams (without it), re-pulping creams, serums, moisturizers, cleansers, toners and salves for anything from orange-peel skin to varicose veins. But you might not find much soap. Ms. Caron says she doesn’t use it on her face or her body (except for “certain places”). Madame Figaro magazine recently quoted the French actress and TV presenter Léa Drucker as saying, “The day I stopped using soap, my life changed.” Post-transformation, she uses a hydrating cream.

{i was kidding about the photo above... this is what i want i hope they do at my facial}

Okay, so I pretty much copied and pasted the entire article, but you get why I've been thinking about this for days... a long time to hold a thought in my little head. I called the Avenda Institute and made myself an appointment for a facial. (Sidenote: Amos kept giggling when I mentioned a facial. Apparently, it means something dirty in a double entendre that went -zip!- straight over my head)

I haven't had a facial since my acne prone high school days, and it rather bruised my sensitive soul at the time (I took it quite personally that the esthetician had to do so many extractions.) But I'm an older woman now. Wiser. A bit hardened. Bring on the extractions, baby. I'm ready.

I confidently told the woman to add on the acne treatment because, why yes!, I'd be happy to pay $15 extra for my problem skin. Within a week of reading said article, I was in the salon, lying on a bed, with a very earnest and likeable esthetician-to-be asking me questions. She was good. She picked up my T-Zone is oily and my cheeks dry. That I run warm. That I flinch involuntary whenever someone reaches for my face. To recap my reactions during the process:

-- I am dehydrated - you can tell that from looking at my skin?!

-- No, not really sunburned, my skin is always this red...

-- The broken capillary on my nose? Yes, it's been there ever since I got a cold sore last winter. I know, runs in my family - my mom wanted to ask if we could get on the family plan for the laser removal! Ha Ha. Oh, you see another broken capillary on my cheek? Well... shoot.

-- Yes, it has been a long time since my facial (said while she is going to town taking out blackheads on my nose)... why I'm glad I came in too!

Thank goodness my self-esteem isn't that of my 17-year old self. I would have dissolved on the floor in a puddle of awkward, self-conscience tears. Instead, I took it in stride, all in the name of aging like those across the pond. I appreciated the hydrating masks and cold stone treatments. I breathed in the aromatherapy. I lied and said the extractions weren't too painful. In the end, when I looked in the mirror, I could tell a difference.

{look at her. look at how confident she is! the spa doesn't make her cry and it's not going to make me cry either!}

Because I don't do things half-ass, I suggested my esthetician-to-be show me a couple of products to buy. For the sake of my aging process. I am now the proud owner of a gentle cleanser and lotion with acne fighting salicylic acid.

And that, ladies and gents, is how I left the salon much poorer, but with significantly nicer skin then when I came in. My face is radiant, and, for the first time that I can remember, I cannot wait to wash said face. It's going to be glorious. As will my next facial, in 3 weeks, and as will the other 2 products I'll be purchasing (my self-pampering does have a budget, people. I need to spread the costs over a couple months, for practicalities sake. What good are fewer wrinkles if your 401k is shit?)

{i better look like this while i'm washing my face. i certainly hope i feel it after i spent $40 on lotion.}

Okay, enough of this blogging nonsense. Time to wash my face (YEA!!) and hit the hay.

Talk Soon,

Sarah

I'm not sure when this turned into a letter/journal entry, but we're going with it tonight, ok?

PS - Mom, I cussed a lot in this post. Sorry. But I'm 25 and it's a blog, so it's okay.

what to do when you're not writing a blog post:

2010-07-20T00:14:00.000+09:00

1. Check Facebook. A billion times. Judge people who post too many status updates as people who need to get a friggin' life. (Remain oblivious to any hypocrisy of this judgment.)

2. Read the latest Dan Savage article. Then go to the archives and read the 10 years of Savage Love. (I made it from 1999 to 2003.)

3. Read the book The Gift of Asher Lev. The entire thing.

4. Attend an open house of a fantastic apartment, even though you are not in the market to buy and even if you were, there is no way you could afford it. lie to the agent when she asks, Why yes, I'm just beginning my search. The interest rates are amazing right now, aren't they?!

5. Finish the first season of Mad Men. Then go see Inception. Then watch a couple episodes of Better off Ted. Tell yourself it's okay that you watched that much televisions/movies since they are all well done. It could have been worse: It's not like you watched several hours of Say Yes to the Dress (not that I haven't before. That show is like crack - terrible and highly addictive.)

Gesh, no wonder I'm dreading Monday and feeling terribly behind the ball: no blog post, a lot of dirty dishes, and not a lot of clean clothes. I would care, but I'm still watching Better Off Ted.

dancing queen

2010-07-15T14:32:00.000+09:00

you know how when you come home from vacation and look at your work email and it's totally overwhelming and sucky and you wish you were independently wealthy and never had to work and could backback and take ferries and be on permanent vacation?

yea, i felt like that tuesday.

you know how when you come home from vacation and the first two days are so effing long that you totally forgot you ever left and when you look at pictures it seems like you took off years and years ago?

yup, that's today.

thank goodness celia posts things like this to make me laugh. 1,2, cha cha cha!

my bad, Nan

2010-07-13T11:26:00.000+09:00

you all remember how i whined and bitched about Nan Lawson never getting back to me about the custom portrait? Well, turns out I never sent her a confirmation email to say I wanted to order the first draft. Yeah, I know. Somehow, in my totally excitement, I sent the confirmation email to my mom and not Nan. Whoops. I also sent all follow up emails to my mom and not Nan. Whoops again. I'm left a little bit red in the face that Nan has been very timely in response when I actually sent emails to her, and a little bit annoyed at myself for not catching my errors when I went back through these emails a couple weeks ago. (And, sidenote, Mom... why didn't you say anything when you got all these random, not addressed to you emails?!)

Anyway, my rant on Nan was totally, 100% unwarranted because it was totally, 100% my bad. If I am getting good at anything in my mid-twenties, it's this apologizing business. So: I am very sorry Nan. You were right, and I was uber, uber-wrong.

planes, schmanes

2010-07-09T01:30:00.000+09:00

I. Hate. Airlines.

Wait, doesn't everybody? Aren't they the bane of modern existence? Does anyone enjoy them or do we all just wax nostalgic for the days when they served food and everyone got dressed up (and people could smoke on them and stewardesses were fired or hired depending on their looks... wait, maybe they've always been awful?)

I'm flying out for my grandmother's memorial service the last weekend in July (and a sincere thank you to all the kinds words from you folk. I really appreciate it. Really, Really.) This has been my last 2 days:

- Book a ticket at a somewhat reasonable price for somewhat reasonable times.

- Amos has to check with work before he can buy one.

- A day later, Amos is ready to purchase.

- Tickets on my flights have jumped up $250.

- I call a representative, he says something about supply and demand. I take that to mean price gouging and collusion. I took Business 101, I know what that means.

- Cancel my first ticket, which is fee-free if you do it within 24 hours of purchase. That's so common sense smart, I can hardly believe the airlines allow it.

- Look for and book another ticket, this time for two people, at slightly higher and slightly more unreasonable times. Our 12 hour flight from Seattle to Kansas City is a red-eye with a long layover in O'Hare.

- Get a early morning call from my dear aunt and mom, who let's me know - while telling me not to worry - that my red-eye lands the wrong day. I need to get in Friday morning, not Saturday.

- I get online and cancel tickets number two and three.

- I start looking for tickets four and five.

- Nothing.

- Expensive.

- Returning home at 1AM. Two red-eye flights within a 72 hour span.

- I check non-discounted tickets.

- Normal, direct flights.

- Mucho Dinero.

- MUCHO.

- Aunt and Mom say book it. 3 1/2 hours travel time compared to over 10 hours each way. It's family. It's important. To quote my gramps, "Money not spent is wasted." They will help. It will be okay.

- I buy the tickets.

- They overnight a check.

- Until then, I have $32 in my bank account.

I. Hate. Airplanes.

But, I do love my family. So I keep buying the damn things.

paint it white

2010-07-06T14:27:00.000+09:00

My grandmother has been ill, and on Saturday, I received a call that she had taken a turn for the worse. This is not a post about that. This is a post about painting a dresser, which took place at the same time.

On a almost-sunny and slightly sad Saturday afternoon, I had a beach BBQ to attend at 5:30. It was 3:17. I also had a can of primer, a can of a delicious Martha Stewart paint called Heavy Cream, a very blah dresser and bookshelf, and hands seemed too idle. So I let them move, taking all of my clothes out of the dresser and all the books off our shelf, giving our bedroom a delightfully and completely distructed look. I don't necessarily recommend doing something like this the night before you and your boy throw a 4th of July get-together, and I especially don't recommend doing it when you have a BBQ to be at in less than 2 hours. But grief makes people do interesting things, so I went with it. Luckily the boy was, as always, cool and calm in all situations, even ones where I take apart our house.

About 15 minutes into the project, when my clothes were halfway out and I was getting sheets to put on the ground, I knew this was a bad idea. I had absolutely no time to get this done. I kept going. I didn't say this was a particularly intelligent course of action; I just said I did it.

I put down the sheets, swept in corners that hadn't been swept since I moved in, and with ruthless efficiency began to prime the dark brown pieces. My sister, Megs, and I had gotten the primer when she last visited Seattle, and it was super duper grippy, perfect for the slightly slick plywood construction. I was off, painting my heart out as quickly as humanly possible. There was no room in my head for anything except Glidden Gripper and rollers and edging, and maybe - perhaps - that was the point.

I did not make my ridiculous time schedule, leaving my house a bit closer to 6 than I would have liked. I had a bit too much primer on me - globs on my hands and in my hair - and a bit too little on some patches of the furniture, but there I was. I wrapped up and with no time to think, left for the beach. (I decided to wear a sweater to said beach, simply because I was beyond freezing last time I was there. Only this time it was really nice and I was sweating buckets. Fucking grief; clouds a girl's head right up).

I was out, enjoying a birthday BBQ when my mom called. Gram had passed.

Tears. Shit-ton of the tears.

Thank God the dressers still needed another coat. They were there when I got home, practically begging me to go at it. I held off, as I had drank a couple of beers (I hear beers and paintbrushes are not a good combination), and I was painting in the same room we were sleeping (I hear VOC fumes and lungs are also not a good combination). I successfully did not paint until 10AM the next morning, at which point I attacked.

My god, Heavy Cream gorgeous. Thank goodness.

Isn't it lovely, my friends? It looks peaceful. It looks light and soft. There's nothing like death to make one feel helpless and there is nothing like a can of paint to make one feel somewhat... well, better? More in control perhaps? Thankfully distracted? I can't name what exactly it gave me, but it did stop the tears for a bit. Creating something felt good. Creating something felt needed.

At any rate, whatever I am trying to say, I finished the dresser & shelf. They even were almost dry by the time my tears had stopped and our party was about to begin. I felt better once they were done, and I was surrounded by friends who were ooohhh-ing and ahhh-ing over them and asking very kindly how I was doing as we ate brownies, drank gin and tonics, and watch fireworks from the roof.

In the end, I realized that sometimes life hands me things I don't know quite what to do with. In those moments - in this moment - I did the only thing sounded right, to paint a dresser, and I still cannot explain why I needed to. But my heart feels better, my bedroom feels warmer, and somehow that seems perfect answer. And, well, that's all I got.

holy fcking sht

2010-07-02T08:23:00.000+09:00

i'm so sorry, other blogs. i don't know what happened. 741 unread entries. and i know what it takes to write one of those things. the agony of stringing together letters. into words. into sentences. making the sentences coherent. the heat of the laptop on your lap when your partner has been in bed hours upon hours ago (not that i'm bitter). all this effort, just so you can send your voice out into the universe and hope it gets read. i get it. i promise to get my shit together and read you all soon. i blame summer. it makes me act all sorts of inconsiderate.

please still read my blog. i mean, i will still read yours even if you are mad and don't want to read Jackson anymore. but please do. i know that my google analytics are too tied to my self-esteem to be healthy, but i can't break the habit now.

9 hours, 33 minutes, and 55 seconds

2010-06-29T15:09:00.000+09:00

The mountain to sound relay, a.k.a. 100 miles in one day. Amos' idea. I'm not that much of a masochist. | Brilz on the mountain bike, finishing the first 18. See his helmet? It's from Fred Meyer, bought when he realized he forgot his while en route to the race. | Me on the road bike, beginning the next 50. | The crew waiting at the park for me to finish my leg. There is a LOT of waiting in a 9+ hour race | Brilz & Gil getting the kayak going. Gil's third time EVER in a kayak. | Photo of my sorry state after I boinked... I tried to keep up with old men bikers going 21 mph on rolling hills. I got my ass handed to me. | Gil. Paddling. | Reaching the end of Lake Washington and handing off to Amos, our half-marathoner. | Man, I only wish there was a skateboard leg of this relay! | Waiting for Amos. | Megs really, really waiting for Amos. It's hard to have to guess when people will finish. | Here he comes. This is right before he passed me and I chased after him taking pictures. Those didn't turn out so well. Obvs. | And Meg's is off. Shortly after this, she took a wrong turn, due to a poorly marked course, and does a very nice 7 mile run instead of the expected 5.3 | Finishing up at Golden Gardens, where I am running in with her for moral support. Man, do my arms look funny when I run. It's like I'm marching. WTF? | 9 hours, 33 minutes, and 50 seconds later, we are Done. Beer and victory hotdogs for all.

PAM failed me.

2010-06-25T23:29:00.000+09:00

See that mess above? It's half of my kale & cheddar frittata, stuck to the pan, which is disappointing because I used that nonstick spray. Lots of it. In the end, however, it was a hot mess. Which is sad, because it was looking all sorts of promising before it imploded. It ended up looking like a doughnut. I mean, I ate it anyway, but it wasn't pretty.

Maybe if someone talks about the importance of an anodized aluminum pan as much as my dear Orangette does, I should listen to her and not substitute in my cheap skillet from Ross. Just a thought this lovely Friday morning, as I eat my leftover kale-heavy, looks like scrambled eggs frittata.

GOAL! and SUN!

2010-06-24T04:32:00.000+09:00

{seattle times}

Gaw, what a fucking fantastic way to start your morning. Add that to the sunshine that has finally descended on Seattle, and I'm happy. Darn that Seasonal Affective Disorder -- get's me every damn time.

{picture of a blindingly bright Seattle sun. I can feel my vitamin D levels rising as we speak}

naked naked naked (and NSFW, obvs)

2010-06-22T02:26:00.000+09:00

The past weekend was drizzly. And gray. Even for Seattle standards, this whole It's-late-June-but-really-feels-like-late-October shiznit is getting old. To quote Dan Savage:

Yea.

Luckily, in the midst of all the suicide-inspiring weather, we were treated the the festivities of the Solstice Parade... otherwise known as the Fremont Fair... otherwise known as the Naked Bike Parade.

Uh-huh, you know you would get out of bed and stand in the drizzle for that. And by stand in the drizzle, I mean stand in the drizzle in a beer garden. [Note: If people are riding their bikes buck-naked and painted like a giraffe, it is totally acceptable to be drinking a beer at the same time, even if that time is 11:30 in the morning.]

I had never made it to the Solstice, even though I had long wanted to see the debauchery & creative spirit that embodies my little adopted city. Amos and I dragged our sorry bums out of bed and biked over there, riding behind a couple of people who would be participating in the parade [Note: we were enthusiastic spectators... NOT enthusiastic participants. Just to clarify.] I saw waaay more buttocks on the Burke-Gilman trail than I usually do. What a way to start your morning. I giggled the entire way there.

{my wallingford}

{kozy shack}

We met up with friends, who brought their friends, then ran into more friends, and soon had a whole cohort of people standing on tables in the beer garden, drinking too-large-of-beers to be socially acceptable before noon, and whistling at the bikers. And you know what... they are inspirational. For reals. The paint jobs were professional caliber. I have now decided that, if you live a good life, you are reincarnated as a person with enough kahones to ride naked down a street.

It also was beautiful, wonderful, reassuring, and joyous to see REAL bodies. None of that photoshopped shit. No emaciated models. Real bodies, painted up, riding bikes down the street in a non-sponsored, non-motorized parade. Makes a girl happy. Take that Kate Moss. Take that.

But please, Seattle, if you're not going to have another Solstice Parade next weekend, I may need some sunshine to cheer me up.

{kozy shack}

what's the shorthand for teeter-totter... the totter or the teeter?

2010-06-16T23:21:00.000+09:00

Do you remember being a little kid at the teeter-totters? They were one of the coolest things on the playground, waaay above the monkey bars, which always hurt my hands something fierce. Unfortunately, they are one of those things that does not age well. When you're young, you're always on the lighter side of the teeter, so someone sits down and -- BAM -- you spring up and your butt does a little hop when you get to the top. Remember? It was awesome. But as you get older, turns out you get bigger, and now, by default, you are not the lightest one. Now you're bumping someone else up. I'm a bit sad because it was always more fun to be bumped than to bump on the ol' teeter-totter. I'm selfish like that.

{image source}

So where was I...? Right, I meant to have teeter-totters lead me into Balance. You can ignore that little tangent up there. I'm blogging early this morning, and I'm only a couple sips into my coffee, sitting with my hair still dripping wet at my kitchen table. Any-hoo. Balance is something that is making me pause this morning. It's not that I feel unbalanced, or that life it out of control, but it stuck me this morning -- and this was the first time I could put it into words -- that balance is constantly changing. You never are in balance. You are in the process of balancing. Always. Who knew, right?

My balance has shifted a bit, and - don't fret kiddos - it will shift back. I've had to spend more time at work, for a couple reasons (one being the fiscal year end, which always brings with it a certain kind of crazy, and the other being a recent move from working-from-home to working-from-an-office, which has added a commute to my daily routine). It's not a bad thing, and I'm not complaining. It just is. I've also been more focused on my family, especially given my grandmother's frail health. At the end of the day, it's made blogging more difficult. Some of you other writers have maybe noticed that I haven't posted any comments since before I went to Missouri. I'm so disappointed about that, and I promise I will be back one of these days. Anyone who reads (which I can assume is all of you) has noticed that I'm down to posting 2 times a week. It just works better for me, honestly. I write better posts and I love to put time into what I write and make them witty and enjoyable and bits of my life. And... well... to write about my life I have to have time to go live it. Who knew, right?

{image source}

So I'm here. Balancing priorities: my friends, family, Amos, writing, blogging, working, and being 25 and all the fun things that go with it. Because it can't all be about work. I mean, I was going to blog last night, but then I was invited to play kickball. Um... easy choice (not sorry). Then I was going to come home and write when I was invited to go have some PBR with a player who is leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow. Um... suuuuuper easy choice (and patriotic duty.)

I'll be back. The posts will continue, sometimes a lot and sometimes a little. Right now, just as in every other day, my life is trying to find balance, and I just want you all to know that I'm thinking of you.

See you next week.

xox,
S.

donde esta Nan?

2010-06-15T00:50:00.000+09:00

Hi Nan Lawson,

I'm sorry to be a whiner. I really am. But... it's been 12 1/2 weeks since I ordered my custom portrait for me and this boy I like. I meant it as a gift for our 753rd anniversary, and I was mucho-excited about it. After you've been together eons like we have, it's nice to pull of a great surprise, you know?

Well, I didn't pull anything off. Our anniversary came and went a month ago. I got a lovely, hippie bracelet from Amos and I gave him a really nice... hug. I know, super pathetic, but my back was up against the wall. I had no plan B. With delightful prints such as yours, why would a girl need to come up with a backup plan? I now realize the error of my ways.

Then, about 3 weeks ago, my draft came. Dearest Nan, I forgot any ill will. I loved the print. It's freaking fantastic. So fantastic I showed it to all my friend and family with an email written in all caps, just to make sure they understood my excitement. It went something like this: CHECK OUT MY SUPER RAD AWESOME GIFT TO AMOS FOR OUR ANNIVERSARY!!!!! WON'T HE LOVE IT?!?!?!?! AREN'T I THE BEST GIRLFRIEND IN THE ENTIRE, HUGE, WHOLE WORD?!?! AH YEAAAAAAAA.

As I said above, that was 3 weeks ago. I asked for one small revision -- for you to add the bracelet in, if you had time and it wasn't too much trouble -- but that's the last I've heard from you. Nan... what gives? First of all, I need to pay you. I have concrete evidence of your sketching genius and I think that should be rewarded. Secondly, I would really like my print. I'm not good at waiting, you see, and the last 12 weeks have been very difficult on me. I had a spot picked out in the apartment and everything. I was going to write a blog post about how awesome it was. I was planning to use it as my facebook profile picture. Waiting these past 87 days has been hard.

I emailed cutes-y, pleasent emails like "Nan, do you have an ETA on when my poster will arrive? I cannot wait for it to come - it's so great! Anxiously Awaiting!" Nothing. No email to explain your slammed and it'll be until November. At least I would know, you know?

This weekend I finally broke down and showed Amos the draft, just to defend my honor that I am a girlfriend who plans and puts thought and time into gifts. He liked it, and that makes me happy. For the record, once it arrives and I frame it, I will be wrapping it up so he can open it... because that is how I roll. Gifts need to be wrapped, even if you know what it is and I'm wrapping it in Trader Joe paper bags. Wrapping is just one of my Life Rules.

Dear Nan, where are you? Where is my poster? Could I have a bit of communication, just to calm my frazzled nerves? It's hard to be in love this much and have it be so unrequited.

Anxiously Awaiting... still.

Sarah

when my mother says "generic," she really means "genetic."

2010-06-10T23:16:00.000+09:00

After spending the last 5 days with family, I’ve realized that some things are genetic. I’m not just talking about the run-of-the-mill hypertension or thick calves, but the other things, the intangible things, the quirks that really label you as part of your familial unit.

To share (since that’s what I do here on Jackson Riley), to be part of my mother’s family, you need:

The ability to leave your keys in the front door several days in a row. Srsly, the only people to do this at my apartment are me, my mother, and my cousin Andrew. (See this post for more complete picture.)

An uncanny knack for multitasking. Everything. At once. It doesn’t have to be particularly successful multitasking, but it’s the constant effort that separates us. Microwaving water, grabbing your cell phone, and brushing your teeth. Talking on the phone, writing a note, and straightening up the dining room table. Drinking coffee, checking into your flight, and participating in a discussion on the best way to the airport. (And this was just me this morning.) We are tenacious in our multi-tasking. We relentlessly pursue efficiency. To quote my cousin Andee, “It usually doesn’t work, but when it does, you can look around and realize it’s completely amazing how much you just got done.”

A perfected decoy smile that means “I heard what you just said, I am nodding my head as if I am listening and agreeing with you, but in reality, I am going to turn around and do this my way because my way is the best way.” This is why Grandma Wanda kept nodding when I told her we needed to keep our hearing aids in and why I kept finding them on the table 3 minutes later. Let’s recap:

“Grams, we need to put in our hearing aids.”
“What?”
“GRAMS, WE NEED TO PUT IN OUR HEARING AIDS”
A convincingly confused look in my direction.
“Why?”

This may also be the reason why I told my mom I only needed to be to the airport an hour early and I ended up there with an hour and fifty-five minutes to spare. I’m telling you … we only hone our skills with age.

The belief that we, alone, are the only ones who know how to do things correctly. My family has 32 Chiefs and precisely 0 Indians. Hence the above.

An obsessive need to organize. Anything on a countertop it adjusted by everyone who comes in. Gram’s kitchen table looks like a complicated Tetris game: everything is exactly square to everything else. This trait may have something to do with #1, but I’m waiting on further scientific evidence.

Lastly, the ability to laugh quickly and easily. Which is why awkwardfamilyphotos.com made us laugh for hours (um... literally hours), why we are the one giggling in the hallways of the hospital because we’re remembering when my mom straight-up lied about being a lawyer to bust my gramps out of extended care, and why we are – I’m going on record here – absolutely the life of the dining room at my grandmother’s retirement community. It’s tough being us, but somebody’s got to do it.

And that, ladies and gentle-folk, is what I picked up from my adventure to the Midwest. Now please excuse me, I need to go obsessively rearrange my kitchen cabinets after I told Amos I didn’t care which way the dishes were put away. I can’t help it. It’s genetic.

Sorry, I've been looking for my keys.

2010-06-08T13:17:00.000+09:00

Sorry to get up and disappear on you like that. It wasn't because I was traveling (which I am) or because I was moving from my home office to a "real" one (which I was last week) but because I looking for my gosh darn keys. But I didn't say gosh-darn at the time. I said the F word. A LOT.

It was all starting on Friday morning when I was running late to catch the bus to the airport. I realized that I needed to leave my house at 8:10, not 8:30 like I had originally thought, and that lost 20 minutes was killing me. I was having to make uber-impossible decisions like "do I grab my iPod or get dressed or brush my teeth?" Let's just say my iPod is still sitting on it's charger and I was desperately seeking an Altoid from the bottom on my purse.

At 8:08, I pushed my suitcase out in the hallway and it looked like I was going to make it. I reached up to grab my keys from the key rack, and immediately had a panicked pause. There were no keys. What?! See, I have trained myself to put my keys on the rack, as I have a natural tendency to lose them (or anything really) with impressive speed. I have gotten much better and, besides the rare occasion that I leave them in the front door lock or underneath a pile of clothes or put away with clean dishes, I always put them on the rack.

Yet, with 2 minutes to spare, they weren't there. I ran all around the house, all the while thinking I-HAVE-TO-LEAVE-RIGHT-NOW-OR-I'LL-MISS-THE-BUS-AND-THEN-I'LL-MISS-MY-PLANE-AND-I'LL-JUST-HAVE-TO-FIND-THEM-WHEN-I-GET-HOME.

I ran downstairs, left the door unlocked, ran to the bus, and called Amos, frantic HI-I-LOST-MY-KEYS-SOMEWHERE-I'M-ON-THE-BUS-I-CAN'T-FIND-THEM-AND-THEY-ARE-SO-EXPENSIVE-AND-WHAT-IF-I-NEVER-FIND-THEM-AND-SOMEONE-STEALS-MY-CAR? Calm and cool as ever, Amos replied "It's okay, Sar. I'll take a look around. I'm sure they're there."

When I hung up the phone, I couldn't stop my mind from racing. In the interest of full disclosure, I bought this car, my first car, about 6 months ago, after 3 years of car-less dependence on mass transportation and the ol' bike. This car is a big deal. It's fancy. And pretty. And has astonishingly high-tech keys. Keys that cost $400 to replace. I know. $400. It's fucking madness. I almost didn't buy the car because of it. However, I am a sucker for pretty, high-tech things, so here I am, with a pretty car and missing high-tech keys.

The last time I remembered having them was Thursday evening, when I unlocked the door while simultaneously balancing my heavy CSA box and work bag. While it was an impressive display of multitasking, I clearly remember putting my keys in the lock but have no recollection of taking said keys out. I wondered if I had left them there? Would one of my neighbors grab them? Would a stranger walk up, grab them, and steal my keys and then identify my car and steal it?

Let's just say my 3 1/2 hour flight did not go by quickly. Obvs. I was obsessing.

I did one of the few things I could do while halfway across the country: I updated my facebook status. Sarah's keys are missing somewhere in The Shannon, probably left in the backdoor yesterday evening. Have any of my lovely neighbors seen them? It's a turtle keychain with a big Volvo key. It gave me a reason to check my facebook status every 30 seconds for the rest of the day, which made it feel like I was able to do something to look for them.

Over the next 48 hours I wracked my brain to figure out where they could be. My mom and I went through a play-by-play: If they were in the back door, maybe my neighbors grabbed them. I texted Amos: can you put up signs or ask neighbors? After I brought the box upstairs, I grabbed plastic bags from under the sink for the vegetables. I sent another text: can you pls look under sink? they might be by the plastic bags. I was putting away the groceries, could they have been mistakenly placed there? My mom once found her keys in the crisper (I'm thinking this losing key thing may be genetic...). Another: check in the fridge under all the veggies? Lesson learned: I have one of the loveliest boyfriends in the world. And I may have caused him to exceed his monthly allowance for texting. So sorry, Amos.

By the end of the weekend, I had resigned myself to that my super-duper-expensive keys were lost. I made peace with the fact that I'd be shelling out mas dinero to the Volvo dealership, and I'd be making a mega-culpa to my boss ("You know those office keys you gave me on Wednesday? I lost them on Thursday. Can I get another copy? And is now a good time to ask for a raise? I feel I have been really demonstrating my responsibility and dependability lately.")

As I was packing my suitcase, I heard a jingle. A jingle that sounded deliriously like keys. I had already searched my suitcase, but I hurriedly emptied it again and gave it a hard shake. This was more than a zipper jingle. Nothing in the main compartment, or, at first glance, the pockets. Wait a sec... in the smallest pocket, if I jammed my hand in, I felt them. MOTHER FUCKING BINGO! I had my keys. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I felt a ray of sunshine fall upon my face. I felt the presence of higher power...(okay, that's a touch dramatic, but you get the picture. Super happy).

I called Amos, sheepishly. "Hi there.... yes, found the keys... in my suitcase..." For all his hard looking and all my incessant text messaging, all he said was "I thought they might have been with you." Note to self: I should remember this moment when I want to tell someone "Told You So."

All in all, I have my keys, $400 back in my pocket, and only a couple more gray hairs on my head. One day, I'll learn to keep better track of my things, but until that day, I think I'm going to start carrying around one of the stretchy wrist keyholders -- my grandmother happens to have several. I'm sure she'd be willing to share.

how to be Awesome.

2010-06-02T23:30:00.000+09:00

now, my friends, many of you are probably at your computer right now, thinking, "Man, this Sarah girl is awesome. I wish I could be as awesome as her." Well, don't worry, mis amigos! I am here to tell you that, in fact, following a few simple steps, you can indeed be as awesome as me.

First of all, please make an apointment to cut you-self some bangs. Not light bangs, mind you, but some serious, heavy-duty / Zooey-Deschanel-esque / haven't-rocked-them-like-this-since-you-were-6-years-old-Bangs. Like So:

Now that you have some bangs, try and pull yourself away from the mirror (trust me, you look Awesome) and head to an Estate Sale. Now, you may think to yourself that no one cool goes to an estate sale, and you would be wrong. Trendsetters go to Estate Sales, where we swoop in and grab retro-hip glassware. Bring your game face... you may have to elbow an old woman or two to get those 1960s champagne coupes marked down to $5 for 8. But it will be worth it in the end. Your champagne coupes will be the envy of the Indie Scene (though you'll pretend not to notice how hip you are). Pair them with those crystal bowls you picked up for $4. MAN, you are one classy beast. Think of the dinner parties you can host, whipping up all sorts of delicious fare (read: probably something from Orangette).

Now, returning to your old bungalow apartment, prop your feet up on the coffee table, open up a Sessions dark lager, pause to call your Mom to chat, and then toast yourself for a day well done being Awesome, or as I like to call it, my last Friday night.*

*these types of blog posts are what I come up with when I backpack 21 miles in a weekend with too much time to think and get a kick out of how freaking funny I am.

the day after.

2010-06-02T00:36:00.000+09:00

it rained in the rain forest. i prepared for that. i did not, however, prepare for the sheer amount of mud. everywhere. now there are muddy clothes to be washed, a muddy tent that needs to be dried out, a soppy down jacket to be cleaned, and a muddy pile of cookware in the sink. and that's just the stuff we've unloaded from the car. oh, and i have to go into an office today. yup - big day.

so posting will resume tomorrow. i hope you all had a wonderful memorial day weekend, and until you get a good solid read tomorrow, please content yourself with some lovely, random photos. because i'm not going to leave you stuck at work on a Tuesday morning with nothing to look at. (Remember, I got your back, my cubicle buddies.)

i wonder if i would even notice their little faces before i popped them in my mouth?

{via fffound}

you know those pictures that capture a mood not a scene? this is one of them.

{tumblr via fffound}

i really, really, really hate the phrase lol. i will type out "that made me laugh out loud" all because i hate it so much.

{whyyoume via fffound}

what a clever cover. i have yet to see the movie or the book, but this makes me want to read it.

{via well-medicated}

bikes doing it. always funny.

{via fffound}

i never blog twice in one day.

2010-05-29T02:09:00.000+09:00

but i couldn't help but share. have you guys heard of the Twitter account @BPGlobalPR? I'm a semi-finiky-fan of Twitter, but this account is darkly hilarious and witty. It's a fake BP account and it's so cutting, i can't help but love them.

Of course Real BP wants them to stop. But, in my humble opinion, Real BP should be focusing on the massive oil spill, not Twitter. Priorities, British Petroleum. Priorities.

Here's some Twitter genius for you. Remember, this is supposedly BP tweeting these:

Can we just start calling it the oilcean and move on please? #bpcares

Flying Rand Paul in to consult. Evidently he's an expert at keeping black out of places. #bpcares

Our company psychiatrists say now is the time to move onto the last phase of experiencing a tragedy, acceptance mixed with forgetfulness.

We plan on spending millions of dollars to fix this mess. We also plan on jacking gas prices so high that you'll wish you never complained.

A lot of people are asking if we could have prevented this mess. Honestly, we have no clue. Our hindsight is 20/80. #bpcares

They want to fine us $4,300 for every barrel of oil spilled? Umm, we're not spilling barrels, the oil is going directly into the gulf. DUH

Lots of people blaming this on Bush or Obama. Pph, we wish. The truth is Presidents don't have any control over what we do.

Just saw new satellite images of the spill. Actually, it kinda looks like the Earth has a beauty mark! Ooolala! @CindyCrawford #bpcares

Eating at a very expensive restaurant and spilled salad dressing on my pants. Not sure how to tackle this.

The ocean looks just a bit slimmer today. Dressing it in black really did the trick! #bpcares

Jesus walked on water and soon you can too! (Please pray for BP, we're losing a lot of oil).

Please do NOT take or clean any oil you find on the beach. That is the property of British Petroleum and we WILL sue you.

Catastrophe is a strong word, let's all agree to call it a whoopsie daisy.

You know what they say about the ocean... Once it goes black it never goes back! JOKING - the water is brown.

and finally:

@SpillBabySpill #BP wants Twitter to shut down fake account mocking them. Twitter wants BP to shut down #oilspill ruining the ocean.

I guess I like the Twitter account because it feels like we're speaking out in some way, doing something. Because pictures like this are breaking my freaking heart.

i'm so sorry, World.

memorial day weekend.

2010-05-29T00:13:00.000+09:00

{cheapoair}

{mit}

{igougo}

Friends, I'm finally heading out to the Olympic Peninsula for the long weekend -- a little backpacking trip is in my future. I've wanted to go explore the Peninsula since Amos moved out here and I would visit, eons and eons ago. Now I'm getting the chance to traipse around the rain forests and beaches and glaciers. I don't have much attention to blog right now. It's all focused on food, gear, and organizing. This last minute trip is a reminder to me to get off my duff and enjoy the beauty of where I live; too often I get caught up with ideas that travel has to involve a plane, rather than a ferry boat, 4 wheels, and a decent sized pack. And who knows... maybe I'll even get to see Edward or Jacob as I drive through Forks.*

*Can you tell I haven't read the books? I do however know Team Edward v. Team Jacob. I don't live under a rock.

growing up. made tangible.

2010-05-27T23:54:00.000+09:00

{trip advisor}

during this weekend's window film debacle, i windexed my bedroom windows... for the first time since I lived here. I've been here over 2 years. Honestly, and I'm saying this as a very clean person, it hadn't crossed my mind to windex them. I haven't ever lived in a place this long, so I always let the move-in / move-out clean be enough. This was my first time I needed a maintenance clean of the ol' winodws. So I did it. And you want to know what? They looked freaking fantastic. All the dingyness - gone! Here I was, thinking Seattle is all gray and depressing, but it's actually just my windows. Sorry Sea-town.

I've now added "clean windows" to "things that constitute a clean house" checklist. And for all you older/wiser folks out there: this is what it is to be in your 20s.... "Ooohh, i should clean the windows? Gotcha."

an ad campaign I can get behind

2010-05-25T23:46:00.000+09:00

{emeco with coke}

About 4 years ago, Coca-Cola came to the furniture design company Emeco with a proposal: they wanted Emeco to help them demonstrate the value of recycling, especially considering they had a new recycling plant in South Carolina that was processing thousands of bottles a day. Together, with some smarty pants scientists and some sharp designers, they created the Emeco 111 Navy Chair, made from 111 recycled coke bottles.

Emeco worked with chemical company BASF to create a special blend of rPET (Recycled Polyethylene Terephthalate, aka recycled plastic bottles) that, combined with glass fiber and pigment, created strong, sturdy, and all over good looking chairs.

Let's pause for a stat, shall we? Around the world, 80% of plastic bottles are recycled. In the US, it's around 20%. (20%!! Hey US: The Pacific Northwest is frowning at you. Get your sh*t together.) Emeco estimates that they can use about 3 million bottles a year. Let's type that out so you can see the zeros: 3,000,000. What's more, these chairs are giving people a tangible, real-life result of recycling. If someone is like "Recycling is a load of bunk, it's dumb, and there's no point," you can now say, "Listen up jackass: there is a point, it takes product that was going to go to landfills - where it can't decay and which eats up valuable real estate - and instead uses it to create this beautiful chair." Man, that makes me feel good. Go ahead - say that last sentence out loud. How do you feel? Good huh? I knew it.

Anyway, all of this makes me want to drink Coke. It makes me want to drink Coke as I walk over and drop cash at Design Within Reach, where these chairs are sold.

Read about it here. Go buy them here. Even better? They are half the price of the traditional Navy Chairs (which still ain't cheap, but it's something.) Innovation like this makes me all sorts of happy.

Stepping of my soapbox now.

i like expensive things and it really, really sucks.

2010-05-24T23:02:00.000+09:00

My Weekend Plans - Mini Bedroom Makeover

I wanted to add window film to our bedroom windows, which have a fantastic view of our neighbor's kitchen.

{not martha}

{brume}

{door sixteen}

well, our windows are 4 panes of 28x26, which will come to a grand total of $100. I did not realize that the windows were so large until I had already bought the film, opened it, filled a spray bottle with soapy water, and windexed the glass. FML.

I wanted to wallpaper the top of a dresser, which I was going to paint white:

{apartment therapy}

but I wanted to use this paper, which from Target costs $69 (!!). There is no cheaper wallpaper out there, and Target does not carry any wallpaper at their stores, and neither does Home Depot. I did not realize this fact until I had already visited both Target and Home Depot. FML, twice, than three times.

{target}

And I wanted to replace my bedside table lamp with a clear lamp, which the cheapest one I found was $70. I searched eBay, Craigslist, Overstock, and Target.

{target}

And Target doesn't carry the lamp in store. FML... I've lost count, but you get the picture.

So I saved my $240, didn't buy anything . returned what I had purchased, and felt sorry for myself / angry at Target for being so expensive / annoyed Craigslist had nothing good. Back to the drawing board on the bedroom makeover.

Gaw. On the other hand, I went to the Mariners and Sounders games, and while they lost, the beer I drank and the hot dog I ate were very, very delicious. So it wasn't a total loss of a weekend.

oh, hello!

2010-05-21T23:51:00.000+09:00

It arrived yesterday afternoon, dropped off at the corner coffee shop.

Full of goodies, some were even sticking out of the top.

You know what i'm talking about:

my inaugural CSA box.

Amos and I (okay, way more me) decided that we should join a CSA program, where local farmer's markets drop off weekly (or bi-weekly, in our case) boxes chalked full of seasonal veggies and fruits. It's pretty reasonable, super convenient, and uber-hippie.

Of course I signed up.

It was so exciting -- we hauled in cucumbers, broccoli, bok choy, peaches, mangoes, strawberries, zucchini, lettuce, carrots, and oranges. we were supposed to have tomatoes, too, and I was assured they would be making that up to us next box. It was a bit of a stretch to fit them all into our small fridge (which lacks crisper drawers and sits, literally, on top of our counters), but my geometry skills did not fail me. The thing is packed to perfection. I wanted to take a picture, but the fridge lacks a light bulb. Please use your imagination.

I started putzing in the kitchen and whipped up a little stir-fry and a rustic fruit tart that was very beautiful and astonishingly mediocre. Please note: Valencia oranges are extremely bitter when cooked. I picked them out and just ate the crust and goat cheese. Good enough for me.

The day took a darker, or at least deeper, turn when I realized that not all the fruit was local -- all organic, but the mangoes were most definitely not grown in the Pacific Northwest in May (is it sad that it took a sticker saying "grown in Mexico" for me to figure that one out?) It brought up some tough questions: is organic, small farm produce good enough? Or is local more important? Is it bad to eat foods that are out of season and have to travel halfway around the world, even if they are sustainably grown? What happens to the Mexican mango farmers when I stop paying for his/her crops?

Gosh, this whole responsible global citizen thing is tough.

In the end, I think I'll be sticking with my little not-quite-CSA box, though if you know of any more local-centric options, please let me know. Can't stop now -- I have a feeling that bok choy was just the beginning.

out i say.

2010-05-20T00:25:00.000+09:00

Dear persistent coffee spot on my kitchen counter,

I must admit that I admire your tenacity. You show up, every day,without fail. It's rather admirable, really. Sometime between my sleepy coffee-making routine and lunch time scavenger hunt, you appear. I have no idea how, exactly, you get there, and it doesn't seem to dampen your spirit that I wipe you away with a scant flick of my wrist. Does my coffee pot leak when I pour? Do I really spill that much? Is it a result of my putting cream and sugar in my cup and removing the spoon? Ah - so many questions, little spot, and so few answers.

You tricksy mixy. I'll figure you out one of these days. I'll beat you at your game.

Until then, see you tomorrow.

Sarah, Resident Coffee Maker

oh yea, I just made up the phrase 'tricksy mixy.' It's okay cause I'm a blogger.

well, hello again

2010-05-18T07:05:00.000+09:00

{livvit}

I'm back. I sincerely meant to have a wonderful, beautiful post for you today. I thought about it in Vancouver, where I decided that I need to put more time into my posts -- this strategy of "putting sh*t up in between work emails and meetings" is perhaps not the road to success that I once thought it was.

{ffffound}

But then I took 6 1/2 hours worth of naps this weekend. It really cut into my blogging time, but there was no getting around it. I was the type of tired where I became a little bit cry-y. For instance, Amos and I went to our neightborhood breakfast place and my trusty Monetary Omelette was not as spectacular as usual. In fact, I'll say it, the eggs were a smidge overcooked. And, you know what, instead of telling the waitress or determining if it was a big deal, I started to tear up.

Over eggs.
Yeah.

At this point, Amos suggested that I should maybe take a nap.

Again, cue the waterworks and the stammering "I'm just really tired and really stressed with work and I was looking forward to the omlette and my life is just so hard and nobody could possibly understand and you just feel like you can tell me what to do and..." Except that my life isn't hard, everyone can understand, Amos never tells me what to do, and apparently when I'm tired, I turn into a four year old... with bad manners.

{hot pants for shuffleboard}

So I took a nap on Saturday. And after another near melt-down in the AT&T store on Sunday, I decided I needed a nap that afternoon too.

I woke up this morning, somewhat better rested, and knew I needed to leap back into blogland but wasn't quite sure how. I haven't yet looked at my reader -- usually my source for inspiration -- because I think it will be a bit overwhelming. So all day, as I've putzed and worked and emailed, I've been thinking:

blog. blog. blog. BLOG. and...

For some reason, I just couldn't. I kept ending up here:

Now, mind you, I don't Twitter. Or Tweet. Or whatever the f*ck you call it. I already have a blog... what more do you people want? And I just never bothered to learn why everyone was putting the @ in front of everything. @ symbol this: @idon'tspeakin140characterbits

I think even that's too long for a proper Twitter name. Damn.

But then, as I get all high and mighty, a status update pops up. Take a look at that first one...To love is to be vulnerable. The only place outside Heaven where you can be safe from the dangers of love is Hell. Well thank you, @CSLewisDaily. I'm glad now I can enjoy your thought-provoking-if-slightly-too-Christian-for-my-taste prose without having to pick-up The Screwtape Letters. I'll only meddle through that sucker once.

But before I can ponder too deeply, another one just came up! I always say this; boys call girls complicated? Um, HELLO? Have they ever met themselves before. Ah, love that @TaytlorSwift13, even her endearing misuse of a semicolon... wait, something tells me that's not the real Taylor Swift.

Anyway.... sigh... that's how I now find myself watching the Twitters (I refused to call them Tweets; that's an unbelievably stupid word) pop up and it's... calming. Unnervingly calming. It's like a baby mobile but for adults. It stops the buzzing in my head that has been going since 5:30 this morning. I just all relaxed and loose. It's like the mind-numbing effects of alcohol without the hangover/stigma of doing it at 10AM.

{stress management}

As we approach the end of the day... I pulled myself of Twitter and landed on Jackson Riley and here I be. It's not great, but it's jumping back in. This week I'm sure I'll catch you up on the the Vancouver trip (beautiful), my weekend (exciting when I was not napping), and the general blog-fodder that is my little life.

Until then, see ya. My 3PM meeting is about to start.

peace out peeps.

2010-05-12T14:36:00.000+09:00

I'm out the rest of the week - have to take a business trip up to Canad-ia. You understand. I'll be back to the states, and blogland, next week.

I'm not going to lie, it'll be a bit of a much needed break. A couple things have picked up at work and I need to focus and get some sh*t done. And... it's beginning to be sunny, so my precious free moments are being spent outside where my pasty white skin can absorb some Vitamin D. Yes, it's true that sitting in the sun, drinking beer on a patio is done in the name of my health. I'm in discussion with my insurer to see if I can use my flex benefits on my tab. Seems only fair.

Sidenote #1: I bought orange polka-dotted sunglasses from a thrift store in Portland. They have improved my life immensely.

Sidenote #2: That picture was me working in a sweatshirt and boxers, while telling Amos to please not take a picture of me. I'm pretty. Check it.

God, this is a random and sub-par post. I'm still uploading it so you guys can really see how badly I need a break. See you Monday.

{vancouver image from here}

do not attempt before coffee

2010-05-11T01:30:00.000+09:00

There are certain life lessons that I'm sure I should have picked up by now. One of the biggest ones: do not attempt much of anything before coffee on a Monday morning. Especially a rainy Monday morning after a long sunny weekend. Seriously, I hit the alarm for an hour and a half this morning (I wish I was joking). I could not open my eyes and kept rolling over and having really weird dreams, including one where Amos and I tried to put on as many sweatshirts as possible (Told you it was weird).

Anyway, I made the bed, put away dishes, opened up the curtains, and took a shower all without coffee this morning. Why? No idea. It came back to bite me though. My theory is you only have so much brain functioning ability that early (ok, not that early... it was almost 8 at this time) and I had spent all of it. Whittled it away. And when I tried to open up my delicious Trader Joe's half-n-half to add to my morning cup of joe, well....

Gaw - opened it up on the wrong fricking end. Boo.

I should have learned my lesson by now. I will have to add "opening containers" to my list of things to do only after coffee. Also on that list: tweezing eyebrows. That was a rough morning. Told you I should have learned this lesson already.

PS - spell check doesn't recognize tweezing? For real?

art patronage.

2010-05-08T03:06:00.000+09:00

i may not take art as seriously as people along Seattle's Art Walk would hope.

That said, I think I'm a vision in this dress. Bawhahahaha.

(I hope you all appreciate how funny I am.)

White Walled Woes.

2010-05-07T00:03:00.000+09:00

I am so sad.

Okay, maybe that was a touch dramatic. Let me start from the beginning, which is a very good place to start. (Is that line from Winnie the Pooh or something... and what, exactly, is a Pooh?)

Amos and I live in a wonderful, old apartment. It has lots of character, oodles of charm, a plethora of personality, and a fridge on our counter-top.

In case you don't believe me, evidence of the photographic variety:

As in most old places, we have our fair share of quirks (scalding hot water, windows without screens, don't even try to look for anything level) but those quirks offset by leaded glass windows, a big farmhouse kitchen sink, arched doorways and gorgeous wood floors.

But there is something that has been bothering me the 2 1/2 years I've been living here. Bothering me lots and lots.

The white walls.

Now, mind you, I know a good white wall when I see one. I'm not blind. And while I gravitate towards loud and warm colors or seek out soothing hues, I have very much come to appreciate a good white wall. They can be a perfect canvas, a warm, yet blank slate.

{desire to inspire}

{dear designer}

{apartment therapy}

See?

But my walls are not that white. They are dingy white. A white that my landlord told me 'could use an update' the day I was moving in. After visiting my sister last weekend and getting a high off painting her basement (both literally and figuratively, folks. Lesson learned: crack a friggin' window) I began to have fantasies about painting the apartment.

I knew I would have to keep it white. Our landlord pops in quite a bit to tighten leaky faucets, etc. so there was no sneaking-behind-and-painting-to-repaint-before-I-moved-out. Darn. But I could do white. I found several shades that were beautiful. I rather liked Benjamin Moore (who I affectionately call BM) White Dove (below):

{nest egg}

Oohh, but BM's Decorator's White is nice too!

{sunset magazine}

Thus, I emailed Bob the Landlord. Hi Bob, I wrote. Would you mind if I painted our place? I'll paint, your reimburse, and it'll be grand.

(I'm paraphrasing here...)

He wrote back. It would be grand. I have white paint in the basement, and I'll order more for you.

Ba....What? His white paint? The white paint that is on my walls. Flat paint. Lifeless. Less-dingy-than-now-but-far-from-spectacular.

A photographic reminder, shall we?

Okay, they look dingier/duller in real life - my photographic skillz are, apparently, amazing.

Anyway.

Friends, I am so upset. I know it's ridiculous and many a reader is shaking her respective head, saying "Sar, white is white is white." But, please understand,I had my heart on White and now I must paint white. While it will make my place look better (it is mega-dingy now), it ceases to be what it could have been.

Sigh. Maybe I'll distract myself looking at expensive Seattle real-estate for awhile. Then I'll appreciate my dingy-but-affordable-and-charming-white-not-White-apartment.

I know: I could use a dose of perspective. Shut your face.

committing myself.

2010-05-05T12:42:00.000+09:00

{image source*}

This is it, folks. I'm setting a deadline, drawing a line in the sand, posting it on the blogs, and making the darn thing official.

I am writing a novel.

Let me say it a little louder:

I am writing a novel.

There. I said it. So far, I have a couple finished(-ish) short stories and am one chapter in. I even like this chapter. It has a girl named Kerrigan in it, which is a name I am rather fond of.

I read somewhere that, in the running world, there's some empircal evidence that more people are completing half and full marathons when they post their goals on social networking sites, like facebook. They're committed -- if they punk out, then they have to tell people and they look silly. And people don't like to look silly.

So here's to me not looking silly and a manuscript on my desk within a year. The pacing? Two chapters a month.

Let it begin...

*I do not recommend clicking on this link. I Googled "line in the sand," which is my preferred method of finding images. It's straight up sophisticated. I liked this one, and wanted to source it. Well, the source is What Now: Right Wing Extremist. Huh. Really? Really. As a fan of NON-Extremism in just about everything, I do not endorse this site, other than to say I liked their picture. I am, however, positive that we would be on different sides of the line.

non-buyer's remorse

2010-05-03T23:53:00.000+09:00

do you ever look back at your life, when your having an introspective, reflective moment, and just think:

why the heck didn't i buy that?

at the time, you thought it was too expensive, too impractical, too big for you place, but now, you know that's a big, fat lie and you totally could have made it work, Tim Gunn style. And, in the end, it would of improved your quality of life/street cred/apartment.

that's how i'm feeling about this guy. so much non-buyers remorse.

{inventory stockroom}

good food, good drink, good goggles, let's eat.

2010-04-30T00:30:00.000+09:00

My mom arrived Sunday afternoon, and it's been a whirlwind of excitement since she's been here. And by whirlwind, I mean lots of long walks, cooking, good beer, and talking.

I know. I live a tough existence.

When she arrived, we made yummy pork chops on Sunday afternoon, delicious steak on Monday, chowed down on salty potato chips, artichoke dip, pot-stickers, and bell peppers & hummus on Tuesday (hey, we got lazy) and the ended the cooking/eating spree with tacos last night. Well, they would have been tacos if we remembered to get tortillas, cheese, and sour cream at the store. Instead, it was more turkey taco meat and salad, with guacamole and salsa on the side. As a former pesco-vegetarian (for 15 years) I am fairly new to this meat-eating business. It's pretty exciting.

However, I have very sensitive eyes (I'm a delicate flower, what can I say?), so I really struggle to cut onions. Even if someone else cuts, my eyes get all sorts of crazy if I'm within 20 feet. Solution: remember those nice goggle I got Amos for his birthday?

I wear them cooking. I'm a problem-solver.

Ahm. Continuing on... I introduced my mom to the local microbrew of Manny's Pale ale, the semi-local microbrew of Rogue's Northwestern ale, and the not-local-at-all Spaten Oktoberfest (add some international flavor you know? We cultured.)

While I was at work, my mom entertained herself by running a (rather humongous) set of stairs by my neighborhood, watching DVDs of Mad Men, being introduced to Modern Family, and reading Lipstick Jihad. She also went on a bike ride, where she got caught in a rather strong downpour. As a caring daughter, I called to check in once I heard the rain.

"Hi Mom. You want me to come pick you up?"

"No, it's fine. I made two friends. We're going to keep riding!"

Oh yes, did I mention that my mom makes friends wherever she goes? She gets it from my grandfather. I think it's genetic. Anyway, she returned to my house all muddy, tired, and generally proud of herself. I'm proud too: riding in the rain is one of those things that authenticates you as worthy of this perennially damp city. Kudos to her.

This morning, I dropped her off at the Amtrak bright and early. My friends, if you are ever in need of traveling from Seattle to Portland, I highly suggest the train. It's not much longer than driving, there's no traffic, and it's picturesque and relaxing. (I swear, Amtrak paid me no dinero for that endorsement)

She is going down to Portland to visit my younger sister, who turns 24 today (happy, happy birthday Megs!) I'm following her down this weekend, where we plan to go to an 80's night (costumes are REQUIRED), enjoy a carrot cake (that I'm baking as we speak, or rather as I type), and just generally have a good time.

Sigh - Life is Good.*

*Man, I wish someone hadn't made that a slogan for a t-shirt company. It kind of makes it sound commercial-y instead of just corny, which was the way I liked it.

poetic self portrait

2010-04-29T01:13:00.000+09:00

A yearbook's endpages, filled with promises
to stay in touch, stand as proof of the uselessness
of a teenager's promise. Not like I'm dying
for a letter from the class stoner
ten years on but...

Do you remember the way the girls
would call out "love you!"
conveniently leaving out the "I"
as if they didn't want to commit
to their own declarations.

I agree that the "I" is a pretty heavy concept
and hope you won't get uncomfortable
if I should go into some deeper stuff here.

excerpt of the poem Self-Portrait at 28 by David Berman.

thanks to ill seen, ill said for introducing me to david berman.
Image from le love.

why do i wait until the last minute?

2010-04-28T00:25:00.000+09:00

Have This:

(Desperately) Looking for This:

Stupid dell printers are making this procrastination habit of mine a touch more difficult. Or stupid dell ink, rather.

I have an old dell printer, back from the dark ages (read: college). It's huge. It's one of those 3-in-1s that is supposed to scan, print, copy, and fax (wait... that's 4 functions... maybe it's a 4-in-1). Anyway, it only prints now because it's hardware doesn't get along with Vista. Sidenote: Yes, still running Vista because I believe in doing things the hard way, not the easy way (The easy way would be Windows 7).

It EATS ink. I've always had a problem with the whole "cheap printer and expensive ink" thing. I know it's a business strategy called the Loss Leader (aka razor and blade) pioneered by Gillette who realized that they could take a loss on the razor and make it up by ripping everyone's eyes out on the blade prices. Those b*stards. I'm more in the camp that I like to buy an expensive things to get marginally better prices in the future (I have dubbed this the "Prius Hybrid Strategy.")

So it was Saturday night, I had to print off something by 8:30AM on Sunday and I. Had. No. Ink. I usually order my ink online, but as it's liquid gold, I was putting it off and spending my money on other, more important things (nail polish, wine, and picture frames).

Down to the wire (ug, this is the story of my life lately...) I headed out to Target, where Yahoo Search told me Dell ink was located.

Liars.

Target said Best Buy may have it. I headed to Best Buy.

Liars.

The Google search engine told me Staple would have it.

Staples was... closed. (It was almost 9 on a Saturday night, to be fair to the Big Box Store.)

F Word.

I truged home, where (my hero) Amos found some color ink we hadn't used. He put it in and -- volia! -- I was able to print. Granted, it was bright blue but if anyone has a problem with it, I suggest they take it up with Dell.

That's it. There's no real ending to this story.

me likey.

2010-04-27T00:58:00.000+09:00

Amos, can we please have one of these? Please? We can hang it in our living room until we get a place with a porch. (I've already thought this out.)

{swinging bed by timlaursen on etsy}

I know it costs $1,800... but I still love it. If you would like to build us one on the cheap, I'd be okay with that too.

not the gold-medal winner of blog posts.

2010-04-24T01:31:00.000+09:00

{via fffound}

I'm sorry. Maybe I should start there. I meant to have a wonderful post for you today. A good one: slightly funny, a bit self-depreciating, a tad hopeful - you know, my shtick*. I especially wanted to have it for you today since my posts have been every other day instead of every day. I feel committed to providing excellence for you. I hope you know that this - a crappy, photo heavy post - hurts me as much as it hurts you. Just know that.

See, my mom is coming to visit me on Sunday and I'm SO excited I can't really focus on much else. I was going to write about it, but I couldn't find a picture of a happy kid for inspiration.On an especially disturbing note, why is it when I google "happy kid" I get a picture of Michael Jackson?

You know what, I don't want an answer to that question.

Long story short, I lost all inspiration for a "My Mom Is Visiting, Yea!" post. You understand.

I've been thinking of what in my life would be good fodder for a post. My bad bang day? Meh. Um... my drippy faucet that finally got fixed? Wah. How much I like Sugar in the Raw? Well, that may work, but I don't have the energy to make it work today. Sigh.

Sorry.

So here it is. A crappy, picture heavy post of things I found while searching for inspiration. Until next week, when I promise to get my sh*t together.

{caramelo paralelo on fffound}

{a_a via fffound}

i wish my hair looked like that. my bangs are all sorts of wonky today.

{jacuqueline riveria via ffffound}

{via 9gag}

{via dark roasted blend}

{via ffffound}

wah, wah - what a cute little monster.

{.picapixels via ffffound}

wow.

There wasn't any theme or anything to those photos and they are all from one source. For a minute, I thought this dark horse of a post was going to make it. Nope. Dah. Stopping. See you Monday.

*um, how great of a word is shtick?
** stop reading. This shiznit isn't getting any better.

dear dishes.

2010-04-22T01:27:00.000+09:00

Dear Dishes,

I feel we need to talk. To level, if you will. You have positively taken over my life. I feel we are spending too much time together. You're there when I first wake up in the morning, and you're staring me in the eye when I grab a glass of water before bed. You don't appreciate the amount of time I spend with you. Every day, I scrub, I rinse, and I repeat. You seem oblivious to this fact. You insist on multiplying like inantimate rabbits, and it's not okay with me.

So please stop. You're making me fantasize about one of these:

I hope you understand my concern.

Best Wishes,
Sarah

PS - Rust stain under my faucet, you're next on my letter writing campaign. You need to clean up your act.

just call me suzy homemaker.

2010-04-20T03:54:00.000+09:00

last week was a busy, CRAZY week at work (story of my life these days...), but Thursday was Amos' birthday and I wanted to do it up right. In my family, we don't do birthdays, we do birthweekends, unless that's not enough time. Then we resort to birthweeks.

I wanted to kick-start the birthweekend off right. I had finally decided what I was going to get the boy -- my first two ideas, while fabulous, were prohibitively, mind-blowing, I-wish-I-was-a-kabillionaire expensive -- so I was down to the wire. Late Wednesday night, I ran out to REI and snagged some gear to support his newly acquired triathlon habit. I mean, I didn't hold back. The kid got the Cadillac of goggles.

Then came time to wrap it. It was Thursday afternoon, and I hadn't gotten wrapping paper. I looked in the drawer and we only had duct-tape. Amos was due home any minute. I remembered some fantastic, crafty blogger out there who had wrapped all the Christmas gifts with paper grocery bags. Eureka! I was going to show create beautiful wrapped presents while saving the planet. Goooooooooo me!

Except my brown bag wrapping job looked like crap. It looked like an intoxicated 5-year old wrapped it.

Amos was due home in T-minus 3 minutes...

Mother Eff. My back was up against the wall. Panicked, I decided it was time to embrace the siutation. I needed to wrap my hands around the fact that I am not yet the type of person who stocks their house with wrapping paper, ribbon, tape, or even sharp sicssors. I began a staring contest with my abominably wrapped present. I waited for inspiration to hit.

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock. Slowly, I started to unroll the duct tape. Unroll lots of it.

I made a duct tape bow to compliment my paper bag wrapping paper.

You know what? It kind of looked cool.

I also got balloons, broke out the Mud Slinger beer, and ordered the meaty-est meat pizza there is, just to really get the party started.

Score: Suzy homemaker is up by one.

meet nikki.

2010-04-17T01:43:00.000+09:00

My blogging friends, I want to make an introduction. to Nicole, but you can call her Nikki. She is an Artist, capital A.

Nikki and I went to high school together, and I only have fond, fun memories of her. Back in the day, it was obvious that Nikki was blessed with some mad talent. Authentic talent. Talent which she has honed over years. She is now prepared to take the world by storm.

Our paths have crossed a couple times in the years since GJHS (go Tigers!), and I'm so excited to find out that Nikki has launched her website: Nicole Arcieri Design

Check it out. It's pretty amazing, and it also has all her contact info in case you or your loved ones are in some need of art in your life, which I (obvs) highly recommend.

makes me feel all good inside when i see cool people doing cool things.

my mom meets modern technology

2010-04-16T08:08:00.000+09:00

a recent quote from my mom:

"Sarah, you can Google anything."

birf-day.

2010-04-16T00:32:00.000+09:00

happy birthday amos.

welcome to 27.

shhh! can't you see i'm reading?

2010-04-15T01:22:00.000+09:00

Last Wednesday night, my dear friend A. (of A Little Soft Shoe) and I were supposed to go to a lovely little dive-ish bar in my neighborhood and enjoy $1 PBR and $1 taco night (um, were close enough to college age that it's not that trashy. don't judge.) But then she sent me this and I immediatly forgot all about PBR. Books? Reading? While Drinking? In a bar with Swanky Dark Wood Paneling? Yes. Hell Yes.

So I bust out my Kindle (oh yea, I take my reading seriously), grabbed A, and we headed off to the Sorrento hotel to read some books. I was excited. I was going to be surrounded with... no, I was going to bask in... no, I was going to luxuriate in the presence of other bibliophiles enjoying happy hour prices.

When A. and I got there, it was beautiful. And quiet. Really quiet. The waitress whispered. We whispered back. The table was at the perfect height to hit your knees on every time (ow.) We ordered what were expensive glasses of happy hour wine and realized that swanky hotel bars have to pay for all that wood paneling and fancy schmancy seating somehow. I was starving and ordered macaroni and cheese too.

A. and I hadn't seen each other in days, but we couldn't really bring ourselves to whisper and disturb the other (silent) patrons. Instead we just kept looking at each other while we pulled out our books (A Staggering Work of Heartbreaking Genius by Dave Eggers for her and No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July for moi).

We read. And drank wine. I ate my heart-breakingly small and devastatingly mediocre mac 'n' cheese. Everywhere was silent and the bar quickly filled up. Only in such a wonderful city could a silent reading night fill out and have a queue. I kind of loved it, and I kind of thought that maybe us Seattleites need a friggin' life.

After a good hour and a half, I started to get antsy. Started to have fantasies about screaming on the top of my lungs or flipping over plates of unsuspecting customers. It was time to split. Luckily, A. seemed to be feeling the same way. We packed up, leaving the others to enjoy their communal silence.

As we walked to the bus stop to head home, A. and I were talking (trying to catch up on the lost time) and I realized that I read plenty when I'm out. At coffeehouses. At coffeehouses that serve alcohol. At coffeehouses that serve much better, more reasonably priced alcohol than this place, with better food to boot. I looked at A. and she looked at me. Um, why did we think that would be so exciting?

Not trying to shift blame here, but I think we allowed ourselves to be misguided by The Stranger, who's author wrote a compelling piece about the completely-fantastic-nature-of-such-an-event. After all, he argued, it's just so hard to read and have a drink sometimes. But then... thinking back to the article...wait a sec, he was reading where?... of course he was bothered while reading in a popular gay bar that's known for its jello shots and dance parties. I would probably wonder what the heck he was doing he was cracking The New Yorker there too. Geesh.

I returned home to Amos, who was incredulous when I told him that the night wasn't as awesome as I would have hoped. (You mean it wasn't super fun to sit in a silent bar and read a book while drinking expensive cocktails?! No way!)

I rolled my eyes and went to go get ready for bed, and that's when it struck me.

I had just attended a very, very upscale study hall.*

Update: Amos just informed me that, for the last 12 hours, I had a typo in my title. whoops.

*ok, so this was actually a comment a poster had left on The Strangers comments. But I didn't know/believe him until that exact moment. But to include such a line in a story makes it clunky, so I took artistic license.

upcycling.

2010-04-13T01:44:00.000+09:00

have you all heard the term before? i certainly hadn't until (the always fantastic) etsy introduced me to it. it's like recycle, except you bring the said object up a level, make it a bit classier... i think. to make sure, i looked it up on wikipedia (what did people do before such a thing existed?)

Upcycling is the process of converting waste materials or useless products into new materials or products of better quality or a higher environmental value.

Brilliant. Look at these charming, creative, and darn crafty upcycled things.

Repurposed Lightbulb Beta Fish Bowl

yava glass upcycled leninade sode bottle glass

bottle stopper made with recycled vintage valve knob

recycled sail messenger bag

upcycled repurposed eco friendly home decor little bird from felted wool

i am in awe of these people.

TGIF, thank the Lord

2010-04-10T01:29:00.000+09:00

It's been a crazy week. The bike accident. Busy deadlines at work with crazy clients. A frantic 30 minutes searching for a set of keys that had fallen out on the sidewalk in a frantic attempt to run & catch a bus.

I'm ready for the weekend.

No big plans set in stone yet, but here's what I'm hoping for:

A movie night with fun friends. the big question - do we see Mother, the psychological thriller showing at the boutique theater by the university, or do we go and scare ourselves silly with The Shining, at a theater where we can drink beer and eat pizza in the theater?

on saturday, i want to go on a bike ride (the bike doctor said it was okay to ride!) and i love how a long ride makes me feel totally satisfied and tired. i know i'll be tuckered out and sore early, since its one of the first rides of the season for me.

after that, i hope to play in my kitchen and attempt my first roast chicken. I got a new (to me) cookbook the other day, Tyler Florence Dinner at My Place and it has a yummy looking recipe for Roast Chicken with Wilted Lettuce and Peas. Before playing in said kitchen, I need to get over and grab some veggies at the Farmer's Market... I just couldn't bring myself to buy them at the store.

Sunday afternoon, there's a benefit concert over at the Tractor Tavern, a great venue in Ballard. The Blackberry Bushes String Band is playing, and I do love me some bluegrass. They have lyrics like 'hold back time, start the day with kisses and end it with wine,' which I think it a life-philosophy to which I can subscribe. Also, I'm hoping a good friend of mine will come and bring her new boy, who I have not gotten to spend nearly enough time with...

Doesn't it seem like the weekend comes just when you cannot. wait. another. day.
See you all on monday!

things that would UP my class factor

2010-04-09T00:29:00.000+09:00

i've gotten myself into a bit of a dilemma. it's nothing new, really. it's been a bit of a problem my entire life.

um, i like expensive things.

it's a bit of a talent, really. i can walk into a store and WHAMO, pick out the most spendy thing in the store. it's not like i have a radar for glitzy either. too bad this talent of mine doesn't make me any money... rather, it ends up costing me a pretty penny.

i try to lock up my spending habits and stick to low quantity, high quality sort of wares. Nice basics, especially while i'm renting. i figure the time for expensive things is when i own a place. and with the price of seattle real estate, that's going to be when i'm 55.

until then, i'm contenting myself with delicious, detailed, vivid fantasies. here are my latest obsessions, mainly centered around chairs, tables, and kitchens. (i'm sensing that i may need to have some friends over for dinner this weekend. my thoughts are all centered on food, sitting, and room for company...)

Barcelona chairs, to slip into with a glass of wine and good conversation

via ma belle

via the lennox

Philippe Stark ghost dining room chairs with a heavy wood table, classic shape with a twist

via cococozy

via six in the city

Eames rocking chairs, meant to sit in a sunny window and enjoy morning coffee

via sfgirlbaby

industrial chandeliers over a big table for loads of company

via design sponge

bubble chandelier by jean pelle on etsy

well, these pretty much speak for themselves...

via apartment therapy

via design*sponge

is the weekend here yet?

we've all had a boss like this one:

2010-04-08T01:10:00.000+09:00

one of my previous jobs was awful. it was one of those rigid-button-up-take-yourself-way-too-seriously-jobs where the appearance of working was way more important than actually working. all day i'd be busy doing little tasks that didn't matter but my boss thought were super duper important. this sign was a humorous little reminder of the general absurdity of those type of situations.

via i can read.

i was taken down by the SLUT.

2010-04-07T07:12:00.000+09:00

By SLUT, I mean the South Lake Union Trolley, which was renamed the South Lake Union Streetcar once the powers-that-be realized the unfortunate (and rather hilarious) acronym.

The SLUT rides (oh, i can't help myself...) on these skinny rails that are on the right side of the curb lane... where bikes ride. The rails are the perfect size for a road bike tire:

You get where this is going. Bike + skinny tire-grabbing rails = lots of sprawled out, cursing bikers.

Today, I became one of them.

I was heading back from a delightful lunch at FareStart (an awesome organization which you should look up - ahm, once you are done reading my post, of course), and I was biking the quick ride home when... BAM... I found myself in the other lane on my side with my bike laying feet away from me. A very nice gentleman in a suit ran over and picked me and my bike up and made sure there were no broken bones. ("ARE YOU OKAY? MOVE YOUR WRISTS! CAN YOU MOVE YOUR WRISTS?!" He was very sweet and very earnest.)

I walked my bike for awhile, waiting for my hands to stop shaking, and I gave a silent thankful prayer that no cars had been around me when I fell (car vs. biker is not a game I want to play). I then noticed that my chain had come off my bike, and until that was fixed, there was no way I could ride home. Mother Eff.

Baptism by fire: I was (slowly) able to figure out how to put my chain back on my bike and make sure my gears were working. Then I (slowly) petaled, grandma-style, home where I lugged my bike up to my apartment and sat down to check out my war wounds.

As soon as I scrubbed the grease from my fingers, I called my mom to ask: "Ma, how do I clean road rash?" (An really efficient way to get your mother's attention, btw.) Then I dunked my elbow, knuckles, and upper thigh in hydrogen peroxide. Which. Hurt. A. Lot.

Naturally, this is when I take a break to take some photos. Because if I'm going to have war wounds, I'm going to show you them, for shizzle. I'm no martyr. Please note: I was wearing a jacket at the time of this fall. Several layers of my skin came off upon meeting the asphalt, even through my jacket.

There's also a big road rash on my upper thigh, but I think I might regret putting a picture of my ass on the internet.

After I was done taking pictures of my what-I-can-only-hope-turn-into-badass-scars, I looked more closely at my bike, which now has bent handlebars and the left gear shifter is wonky. WAH WAH, guess I'm making myself an appointment with the bike tuner.

Let's just say that I'm driving anywhere else I have to go today.

Pictures (in order) from Zazzle and The Seattle Times.

learning curve

2010-04-06T07:34:00.000+09:00

if i was to sum up my early/mid 20s thus far:

some days:

Wow, I'm learning a lot!

other days:

F*ck me, I'm learning a lot.

Gaw.

Photo by Alex Brown Photography.

Jackson Riley

we are so middle class

Day 3.

stepping in, once again.

hello paris and tyler.

percolating.

right rights.

in the meantime.

there and back.

my life would be better with theme music.

organization motivation

my new craft goal:

mother f*cking rock star.

To My Future Husband.

my monday morning party trick.

like... woah.

merry merry. happy happy. where were we?

a broken clock is right 2x a day. or whatever.

polar bear on my chest.

My to-do list kicks ass.

things i am excited about - christmas edition.

holiday bunting

SNOW DAZE.

all right then.

More Enjoyable than Fine China.

getting old-a.

favorites folder.

sad puppy.

chills.

petition for a 37 hour day.

BOOYAH marriage.

It gets better.

they should call it sky falling.

dupped.

damn it seattle.

if a blog was a restaurant...

bee happy.

dancing with ira.

bathing beauty.

my first day bike communiting.

Snap, son.

prayers & thoughts, please.

best. photo. ever.

Doing Dishes with the Amos.

You're Kidding Me... right?

Frigidaire.

because French women are inspiring.

what to do when you're not writing a blog post:

dancing queen

my bad, Nan

planes, schmanes

paint it white

holy f*cking sh*t

9 hours, 33 minutes, and 55 seconds

PAM failed me.

GOAL! and SUN!

naked naked naked (and NSFW, obvs)

what's the shorthand for teeter-totter... the totter or the teeter?

donde esta Nan?

when my mother says "generic," she really means "genetic."

Sorry, I've been looking for my keys.

how to be Awesome.

the day after.

i never blog twice in one day.

memorial day weekend.

growing up. made tangible.

an ad campaign I can get behind

i like expensive things and it really, really sucks.

oh, hello!

out i say.

well, hello again

peace out peeps.

do not attempt before coffee

art patronage.

White Walled Woes.

committing myself.

non-buyer's remorse

good food, good drink, good goggles, let's eat.

poetic self portrait

why do i wait until the last minute?

holy fcking sht