Apartment Living in the 405

When I moved to Oklahoma City, I moved into an apartment complex.  I’d been living in houses since about 2009, so apartment living came as a bit of a shock.  First, I had accumulated a lot of crap in the last 6 or 7 years, so downsizing was a challenge.  I am one of those girls that keeps everything.  People like to throw the word “hoarder” around, but I prefer to call it sentimental.  In fact, I still have a baseball some guy gave me in college.  Do I remember who gave me the baseball and why?  No.  But it was important to 18 year old me, so it goes in the keep pile!  Literally, I’ve spent almost two decades holding on to a baseball that no longer has any meaning….wait, maybe someone should put a call into A&E.  Or is it TLC that does the hoarder show?  I don’t remember, let me go check my stack of TV Guides.

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Proof. Also, Jules would make an excellent shortstop.

The point is, it’s been a while since I’ve been in a communal living situation.  No, Dad, that doesn’t mean a nude artist’s colony, don’t worry.  I’m saving that for retirement.  And truthfully, the only thing communal about my apartment is the gym area, pool, and parking garage, but this is the first time I’ve shared any space with other people in a really long time, so…there have been some growing pains.  Lucky for you I put together a pro/con list.  First off, the pros.

1.) I don’t have as much space to hoard.  (They say admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?)  When I moved I had to get rid of what felt like EVERYTHING – except the baseball, don’t be ridiculous.  I sold a lot of stuff, but finally resigned myself to leaving a few things on the curb, or just shoving items into the hands of random passerby.  I also paid a restoration company several hundred dollars to come take an entire garage of junk that had been ruined in an unfortunate flooding scenario.  I wish I could hire those guys in general for my life.  For example, my relationship is a mess, can I give you guys some money and while I’m inside you can just make it all go away?  Legally, of course.  Wait, we’re getting a little dark here, but seriously if there is a service for that, let me know.  If not, then, trademark pending, y’all.  Anyway, I don’t have a lot of space, so even a hoarder has to make some cuts.  Which has sort of simplified my life. I guess.  But sometimes, in the dark of night, I miss that stack of bills from 2003.

2.) The Gym.  I am lazy.  So so lazy.  I try to act like I’m not, but I am.  Honestly, from the second my eyes pop open every morning the first thought that comes to mind is “NO NO NO NO NO NO NO .”  My alarm goes off, and I am literally this dog.  So, naturally, working out has to be EASY in order for me to even attempt any type of fitness regimen.  As I mentioned in my earlier post, I have actually been able to find a workout groove since I’v moved to OKC.  That’s because the gym is in the same building in which I reside.  Otherwise it wouldn’t happen.  That, and Spotify.  OHMYGOD Spotify.  Spotify is my jam, or my spirit animal, or my bae – whatever the kids are saying these days.  When I like a song, it’s like a 14 year old girl that just discovered One Direction.  It’s all I care about for at LEAST 5 days.  And I listen to it obsessively until I cannot hear it again.  Enter Spotify.  Not only do they have other people’s playlists you can listen to, but you can also hear any song you want to AT ANY TIME.  Like, just now, I wanted to listen to Irene Cara’s “What a Feeling” and I did.  I also listened to a weird cover of the same song.  Heaven, I tell you.  (They have that song too!)  The other best thing about Spotify is you can listen to music based on the activity or time of day.  So for me, I go to the workout section and find a playlist that looks fun and off we go.  I have extended several workouts since living here just because I wanted to finish out a playlist.  You can, of course, make your own list too.  My current favorite playlist consists of Ryan Adams and Taylor Swift both performing 1989.  Taylor for the workout and Ryan for the cool-down. And no this post is not sponsored by Spotify, but I wish it was.  #squadgoals.  So the lesson here is, a centrally located workout facility + streaming music = Fit and Fab Dammit Suzanne.

Will someone please buy this for me?

3.) It was new.  Nobody lived here before me.  The OCD in me was doing Beyonce hair flips when they gave me that bit of info.  No germs!!!  Let me get a pen real quick to sign that contract…oh, you want blood?  No problem!

4.) The Pool. This one goes into both the pro and con category.  Pro: IT’S A POOL AND WE LIVE ON MARS.  So it’s nice to have a body of water in your vicinity.  Con:  The people at the pool.  Seriously, why are they still filming MTV Spring Break? Is that still even a channel?  Every time I’m there,  I feel like I’m periscoping Las Vegas.  FYI – That link is ALMOST NSFW, but you should be okay as long as a coworker doesn’t walk by, in which case, you’re going to HR.   And if you clicked on that link anyway, something tells me it’s probably not going to be your first time.  You rebel, you.  What I’m saying is, the pool is a major party scene.  Which is fine and all, but I am pretty sure that at least 79% of the people at the pool are people that don’t live there.  And they probably pee in it, let’s be honest.  It’s just gross.  At the beginning of the summer, I asked one guy what floor he was one, and he said “Naw, man, I just got the key code off a Facebook post.”  Great, don’t mind me if I steal this lawn chair since I’m paying rent for it.  GET OFF MY LAWN YOU DAMN KIDS!  But, if you’re looking for a new pattern for that tribal tatt you were thinking about getting, or you want to talk about the Cross-fit WOD, you should swing by.

#truestory

Other Cons:

5.) Neighbors.  But seriously, IS that a bowling ball?

6.) Being Nickle and Dimed.  You pay rent, which you think is going to include the basics – stuff like trash, water, parking,  and YOUR ANIMALS.  But alas, that is no longer the case.  My complex charges extra for allllll that ish. Including pet rent.  Yes, you are correct, Gig and Jules pay rent.  And since they are animals, and Jules still hasn’t made it famous on Instagram, that means I pay that money.  It’s not cheap either, but since I love them, what’s my option?  (Don’t answer that, Dad).  Unfortunately, most apartment complexes in even slightly large cities now charge a pet deposit and pet rent.  So unless your furry pal is that monkey from Friends, you might want to take that into consideration when thinking about moving into an apartment.

Despite my diatribe, I guess ultimately the pros outweigh the cons.  Also, moving sucks, so I will probably live here at least until the zombie apocalypse.  Until then, if you’re in the mood to get an STD from a body of water, call me and we’ll go swimming.

Ch-ch-ch-changes…

Well…first, I should apologize for being a terrible blogger. But WAIT, before I get  people yelling at me in the comments, or on text or Facebook posts or emails (or not at all because who am I kidding, like 3 people including my parents read this blog) I have a pretty good excuse.  Or at least I think I do.  Since my last post, a lot of things have changed in my world, and admittedly, it was hard to keep up with them all and write them down at the same time.   First, I moved from what has been my hometown for the past 20 years to a new city,  changed jobs, and ultimately downsized from a house to a really tiny apartment.  With 2 cats.  So it’s been a little crazy the last few months and I didn’t know how to put all that into a blog post.  I think I would have had an easier time conveying it with emojis (👩😳😭👋😾😾📦📪🍷💊🚙🌆💸📝). Yep, that WAS actually easier. But change is supposed to be good, right?   So, now that things have finally settled down and I’ve found my groove again, I wanted to give you guys a big update!  Because you miss me!  Awww, that’s sweet. I can practically hear all 3 of you nodding in agreement, thanks guys.  Anyway, here is a a short list of fun, weird and unexpected things that have happened to me since I moved.

1.) Moving.  I’m fully convinced that the moving process is a pretty terrible experience on the whole.   Right up there with a root canal or getting a flat tire in the dead of summer when it’s 105 with a heat index of 1 million.  Which is basically every summer day in Oklahoma, but I’ve learned that complaining about the weather is pointless (although satisfying). But, really, OH DEAR LORD why is it so hot???  I mean, I didn’t even have to look that hard for that link, I just googled “Oklahoma” and before I even got the whole state typed in, Google was all, “oh you mean the forecast for the surface of Mars?  Here you go.”

But, anyway, I moved on a Monday morning and started my new job on Wednesday, so it was kind of a super rushed and mostly stressful situation.  Thankfully, I had a lot of friends helping me pack over the weekend, but still, that morning one of my girlfriends had to come over and basically just stuff crap into baskets and wrap them with plastic wrap.  It looked like my whole house was a gift from Harry & David’s. I’ve moved several times in my life in the past decade, but this was the first time with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb, which added a whole new level of torture to the experience.  The movers came at about 8 am, and  I put Jules and Gigi in my bedroom so they wouldn’t get too freaked out before we got in the car to drive to OKC.  Jules decided the way to be the most helpful was to stand at the door and sing me the song of his people for 4 hours.  Then, they got moved to the bathroom, which worked out well for Jules because the acoustics are much better in there.  He pretty much sounded like Celine Dion.  If Celine was on fire.  It took about 6 hours to load everything up – oh wait,  did I mention it was raining?  Because it was.  Literally, pouring the whole time.  But, we finally hit the road with the cats in their carrying cases, which were carefully researched and purchased weeks before the move to make the entire process as painless as possible.  Naturally, they revolted like the kids from District 13, so to save my own sanity, I actually let them out.  While going 85 down a turnpike in the pouring rain.  Probably not the smartest decision I’ve ever made, but I was pretty frazzled by this point and it was either let them out, or pull over onto the side of the road and cry.  Fortunately Jules just curled up on my lap and Gigi found a spot in my bedding in the backseat where she could lie down, but still stare daggers through the back of my head, so it worked out okay.  We got to OKC, unloaded, and we were finally at our new home.  I made sure everyone was settled and went to a nearby restaurant and ordered the biggest cheeseburger I could find and drank about a pitcher of beer. Then I came back to my apartment, surveyed my new surroundings, and thought, what the hell have I gotten myself into this time?  Fortunately for all parties involved, we seem to be adjusting just fine so far, and loving the OKC life.

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It’s almost like the trauma from the move actually made them LIKE each other.

2.) Meeting famous people.  A few kind of fun and bizarre things happened in rapid succession when I came to OKC.  First, I went to my neighborhood bar the weekend after I moved and ended up chatting with a few Thunder players over a plate of nachos (I was eating my feelings, okay?).  I’m a pretty big fan of these guys, so even though I was trying to play it cool, I was actually kind of freaking out.  Like, “oh I’m just really interested in this article I’m reading on my phone”, but I was actually texting everyone I knew, and trying to figure out a sly way to take a picture.  I was especially excited to be sitting by Nick Collison, since I’ve had a crush on him since college when he played at KU.  I came home from dinner and told the cats I met their new daddy, but I haven’t seen him since so I guess that was not the future he’d envisioned.

Next, I met Lindsey Buckingham on a downtown street in the middle of the day while waiting for a cheeseburger with my uncle and cousin (see above re eating my feelings).  Being the classy broad I am, I yelled LINDSEY at the top of my lungs and ran and took and picture with him. Then I told him that Fleetwood Mac was one of the top 5 concerts I’d ever seen.  At the time it seemed like a huge compliment, but I’m pretty sure he was thinking, “Seriously?  We’re one of the greatest bands of all time, but glad we made your top 5, lady.”  But he would say it with a British accent and it would sound charming instead of sarcastic.  Anyway, picture proof below. Please don’t comment on the fact that it looks like I’m about to eat him.

He seems pleased, don’t you think?

3.) Changing my habits.  So, I’ve managed to lose 12 pounds in the last 2 months. Seriously.  After literally eating my way through OKC – see picture above – I finally got a grip and started leading a much healthier lifestyle.  My blood pressure even went down 20 points! And yes, I am at the age where BP counts.  The nurse who took my last reading must have thought I was insane because I made her take it twice to be sure it had really gone down that much.  Having said that, one of the things I want to start doing with the blog is to feature some posts that focus on healthier living…or at least what that means to me.  I’m going to start posting workouts I’ve either found online or cobbled together from Pinterest, or maybe even exercises I remember from old basketball practices. (Suicides and defensive shuffles anyone?).   I also want to post some recipes I’ve found that have helped me stay on track, although I’m not much of a cook, so don’t expect miracles.  But I can make a mean overnight oatmeal!  I still have a long way to go to becoming fit and healthy again, but I’m happy I’m at least on the right track, and I know we could all use some extra tips and tricks that can work for real people.

12 pounds down! Also, loving getting to spend time with this girl now that we share the same zip code again!

Plus blogging about healthier choices will serve as accountability for me.  And since we all know I like to pound grape* with the best of them, I need all the accountability I can get!

Glad to be back kids, and for those who have asked (Kristin), LA Story Part II is coming up soon!

*I’ve been watching a lot of Cougar Town reruns lately.  Just wait…it’s in there.  And stop judging, it’s funny.

But really, who wants wine???

LA Story (Part I)

While most of you were busy watching the basketball games over the weekend, I know there was probably a pretty large percentage still trying to knock out the new season of House of Cards.  I’m about halfway through, but I keep falling asleep toward the end, which I do with MOST shows at this age, so I have to go back and re-watch about 1/2 of it, and it just becomes a whole thing.  But my favorite part of House of Cards dominating my newsfeed again is the fact that I get to retell my Kevin Spacey story.  (I just heard an audible groan from my friends who have heard it 50 times, but when you get to the end, you’ll be surprised I didn’t make T-shirts).

Back in 2006 I was still working in sales and my friend Sara* owned a clothing boutique.  One summer Sara was going to “Market in LA” (whatever that means, I’m still not sure ) and we decided to make it a long weekend and stay out there to see my little brother.  It turned out to be the best, most ridiculous weekend ever.  And I do not say that lightly. We spent the first two nights in Santa Monica eating amazing Italian food and shopping, then we headed into LA to stay one night at the Chateau Marmont, because even after scraping together all of our pennies, one night is all we could afford.

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View from Sunset Boulevard. Photo cred: http://offroaduruguay.org/img/chateau-marmont-history.html

View from Chateau Marmont

Th Chateau boasts some pretty amazing views, especially at night. Photo cred: http://simonbatters.com/chateaumarmont.html

One we checked into the Chateau,  Sara and I immediately put on our swimsuits and went to the pool to scope for celebrities and enjoy the LA weather.  My brother and his former gf met us at the pool, and we started ordering drinks and “charging them to the room”, because why not?  They can’t be that expensive, right?   Wrong.  I don’t remember exactly how much the tab was, but I do remember it was more than the cost of our entire room.

One of the main reasons we wanted to stay at the Chateau was because at the time the bar in the hotel was the LA hotspot, and Sara and I had an unhealthy obsession with all things US Weekly.  Our plan was to get a room, because then they would have to let us into the bar area.  Brilliant! Problem was, the bar and restaurant were completely shut down because of the wedding of some studio big-wig.   We were understandably devastated.  However, we decided right then and there (or maybe the pool margaritas decided for us) that we would go back to our rooms, change into our fanciest clothes and try to sneak into the reception, which was being held out in the garden area.  Where, incidentally, we had seen Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz eating a few hours earlier.  I use the term “eating” loosely, Cameron was more like angrily pushing her salad around and cutting it into tiny pieces like the lettuce owed her money, and JT was just staring at his phone.  Celeb love is so romantic.

Terrace at Chateau Marmont

The scene of the reception and JT and Cameron’s super tense lunch. Photo cred: http://simonbatters.com/chateaumarmont.html

Back to the reception.  I’m petrified because I’m 6’1 and don’t do a very good job of sneaking anywhere, but my brother was convinced it was going to be fine.  Plus, he and his ex were both models, so they looked the part.  Sara was also in wedding attire, but I was basically wearing a pin-striped shorts version of a “smart pantsuit”, so I stayed in the back until we made it all the way in.  To this day, I have no idea what we were thinking, but I guess we thought – worst case scenario, we get kicked out, or not let in at all, and we go back to our rooms.  This was shortly after the movie  “Wedding Crashers” came out, so naturally I blame Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson.

 We made it in and honestly, no one even seemed to really care or notice.  There were approximately 400 people milling about, and Jackson Browne  was playing and singing on the piano, so I guess it’s not crazy that the bride and groom didn’t notice four kids from Oklahoma standing in the corner.  At first we didn’t branch out much – we didn’t want to be even more rude than we already were – so none of us drank the champagne or ate the food, but as the night wore on, we got a little braver and all of a sudden we were mingling.  With all these studio execs and Hollywood people in the middle of the Chateau Marmont lawn.  Then, I spot him.  Kevin.  Spacey. Talking to my brother.  Lester Burnham from American Beauty, John Doe from that one movie I don’t like to talk about because it scared the crap out of me, Verbal Kint from The Usual Suspects (one of my all time faves), and finally, now all these years later, the greatest character he will ever play, the formidable Frank Underwood.

Frank is cool with wedding crashing, obv

 

Of course this was years before House of Cards, but Spacey was no less impressive.  He was talking to my brother in casual conversation, so I walked up and asked him to light my cigarette.  Partly because I wanted to come home and tell the story about how I asked Kevin Spacey for a light, and partly because I couldn’t find my lighter and I really wanted a cigarette (sorry Dad, yes I smoked a cigarette with Kevin Spacey).  He looked at me a little surprised, lit my cigarette, then I introduced myself as Justin’s sister, and he continued to chat us up.  He had obviously figured out by then that we didn’t belong there, but he apparently didn’t care, and proceeded to take us under his wing for the rest of the night.  He brought all of us champagne and asked us about Oklahoma, and our jobs at the time, etc.  He would even get up to use the restroom, or talk to someone, then come right back with more champagne and sit back down on this little couch with us.  It was so surreal, and he was just so nice.  I’m glad that he wasn’t Frank Underwood yet, because honestly, even though it’s just a character, there is no way I would have had the guts to talk to him after what I’ve seen him do on that show.

At the time he was the artistic director at the Old Vic in London, and also acting on stage in several productions.  He told us all about it, and talked about how much he enjoyed being back in London and acting on stage.  I was all, I know, right???  Then, and this is the best part, he asked me if I’d tried any of the sushi at the reception.  I said no, because I didn’t really want to eat these people’s food, but he told me it was incredible and that I had to try some…then he offered me a piece of sushi from his own chopsticks.  Although it was probably only a few seconds, I felt like I sat there contemplating that strange turn of events for several minutes.  Look, I am a grade A, certifiable germaphobe.  I’m not as bad now, but back then, I wouldn’t eat or drink after anyone, not even a family member or someone I was dating.  I just wouldn’t do it.  So, I was sitting there, at the Chateau Marmont, with Kevin Spacey offering me sushi, and I’m staring at this piece of fish on his chopsticks and finally I just said to hell with it and dove right in, to everyone’s complete shock.  Later, towards the end of the night, as everyone was saying their goodbyes, he handed me a big candy heart like the ones from Valentine’s day with a little message on it.  It said Be Mine.  I kept it for a long time but it finally disintegrated in my drawer, as candy hearts most often do.

Sara and I went back up to our room going over and over what had happened so we wouldn’t forget. It’s too bad we didn’t have smart phones or Facebook in 2006 or there would have been photos and status updates, but instead I have to remember that night the old-fashioned way, by telling and retelling the story until everyone wants to punch me in the face.  The next morning Sara and I both woke up really late and really hungover, put an exorbitant amount of money on her credit card, and almost missed our flights back home.

Stay tuned for LA Story Part II – it involves talking our way into a party at Paris Hilton’s house, knocking over someone’s really fancy motorcycle, riding in Allen Schwartz’s Bentley, and smoking cigarettes with Courtney Love.  I told you it was the best weekend ever.  Maybe I will make a t-shirt…

tshirt

Thanks Imprint.com!

*Different Sara from St. Patrick’s Day – you can tell by the missing “h.”

The Luck of the Irish

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!!  Hope everybody is well into their third green beer by now and you’re trying to read this while crowded into an Irish pub.  I personally choose to avoid St. Patrick’s Day celebrations when it falls on a weekday, namely to avoid the dreaded work hangover, but I hope all you crazy kids out there who’ve been at it since noon drink responsibly and remember to Uber home tonight.  

I also have kind of a hard time with SPD because I don’t really like the color green all that much.  I think it stems from playing T-Ball when I was a kid.  My team colors were green and white and I was called the Jolly Green Giant all the time because I was tall and skinny, and well, as we know, my hair looked a bit like roughage.  I also had a green cardigan with leather elbow patches that  I wore with brown stirrup pants (I don’t know why) and all the kids told me I looked like a tree.  This is not a joke.  So I think I just subconsciously gravitate away from anything green.  BUT, I am a total stickler when it comes to wearing green on the 17th.   Growing up, the kids in my elementary school in Ardmore took St. Patrick’s Day very very seriously.  And should you choose to ignore the tradition of wearing green, their pinching was NO JOKE.  You wake up late and forget it’s St. Patrick’s Day…you came home looking like you’d been in a car wreck from the neck down.  These kids were animals.  They didn’t even care if you were wearing a variant on the color green; if you didn’t have on something that looked like it was designed by the leprechaun on the Lucky Charms box, some grubby little kid’s fingers were digging into your skin by the end of first period.  It was horrible.  So, even when I don’t want to, I always begrudgingly wear some sort of green on March 17th because I have some form of PTSD from elementary school.

Today’s #ootd courtesty of Anne Taylor Loft, otherwise known as my work clothes mecca. This shade of green would have been a death sentence at Lincoln Elementary.

My St. Patrick’s Day outfits in the past have been pretty half-assed because I never own anything green.  It’s usually something I throw together last second, like mardi gras beads around my wrist, or maybe a green scrunchie.  Then, there was 2004.

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It’s too bad we didn’t have camera phones back then because unfortunately all I have from this evening is this head shot of me and my friend Sarah.  We don’t get to see the outfit in its entirety, which is partly a blessing and partly a real damn shame.  But I’m going to try and describe it and then recreate it below so you can use your imagination.  Bottom line, I should have never been let out of my house.

Let’s assess:  First up, green Von Dutch T-shirt.  (Was Von Dutch even still a thing in 2004?  Wait, don’t answer that.)  The version below is a little brighter than the one I had, I think my color was called “heathered green”, but you get the point.  Your style maven didn’t stop there, though…next I paired the green tee with a white khaki skirt.  Finally, I finished off the outfit with the pièce de résistance – WHITE  PUMPS.  To add insult to injury I think I also carried a black furry purse that night too.  You guys, this outfit is so bad, it’s embarrassing even for me.  At least you can still purchase both the skirt and heels today (J.Crew and Steve Madden, respectively) but the Von Dutch tee is long gone.

                                              

That night, after I got all gussied up, I marched my tail down to the local Irish pub where I promptly bumped into my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend, who just so happened to NOT be dressed like a slutty keebler elf.  After that I took way too many Irish Car Bombs, gave him an hour’s worth of side-eye, then called it a night .  Ahhhh, memories.

Lazy Single Girl takes on Pinterest. Alternatively titled: How to Handle a Pinterest Induced Anxiety Attack

I’ve been a bad blogger.  I haven’t posted in, well, longer than I care to admit for having a new blog.  BUT, I have a good excuse, and it’s called Pinterest.  I decided a few days ago that my next post was going to be about someone like me, the Lazy Single Girl (or LSG for short…because, I’m lazy) taking on something like Pinterest.  Which is NOT a lazy endeavor. At all.  In fact, I’ve decided that maneuvering through Pinterest is harder than complex math.  Maybe even harder than figuring out COMMON CORE, which is basically gibberish (sorry not sorry, math people).  I promised myself I wouldn’t post until I got an account set up and figured a few things out, which consisted of several days of panic attacks, a few episodes of throwing my phone across the room, and a lot of “NO ONE’S HOUSE REALLY LOOKS LIKE THAT LADY”.  But, finally, here we are.  Don’t get too excited, there’s not much, but by God I have 6 boards and I’m proud of it.  Except the photography board has a baby on the cover, which sort of freaks me out, because every time I open it up I’m like, WHY IS THERE A BABY IN MY PINTEREST, but then I remember it’s just an article about how to take good indoor photos.  Which is a must have for, you know, cats.

Pretty adorable kid, but WOW look at that lighting. Photo cred: doeadeery.blogspot.com

I have a “fitness” board, and a “food” board, which are both in “quotations” because I don’t currently cook, and I don’t currently fitness, but someone once told me Pinterest was like a big online vision board a la The Secret, so it stands to reason that if I pin a bunch of dishes to cook, and exercises to try, then one day I will just magically begin to do those things, correct?  One can only hope.  If that’s the case I also need a board for cleaning and getting places on time, and learning to avoid run-on sentences, but…baby steps.

I also have a board for Products because, hey tiny little bottle that costs a fortune, if you say you’re going to get rid of the circles under my eyes and make me look like Blake Lively, then you are coming home with me.  My last two boards are titled “Humor” and “The Lazy Single Girl” and both are empty, so read into that what you will.  My next plan is to add one for travel and maybe one for blogging because BOY does Pinterest love bloggers (and vice versa).  FYI – it took everything in me not to have a board just for cats, but so far I’ve refrained.  Take THAT cat lady rumors.  (OHMIGOD YOU GUYS THAT LINK I’M DYING).

I’ve learned that the Pinterest search bar is kind of like Google, so that does make it user friendly.  You can basically just ask it a question and it comes ups with all these little ideas for your vision board, like magic.

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This pretty much sums it up

I, for one, think I will sort of miss having a bulletin board because at least with pin tacks I can just stick myself in the eyes when somebody talks about making easy DIY headboards.

So what about you guys?  Are you avid Pinners?  Is that what it’s called?  What do you pin and why?

Happy Pinning everyone!

 

 

Fangirl Friday – Love and Sapphires

It’s been a few weeks since my last Fangirl Friday, so I thought I would bring it back with a bullet.  Today’s post features my friend Laura of Love and Sapphires.  Laura and I go way back to the Kappa house at OU.  She was my “little sis” and we roomed together because we shared a love of sleeping.  Because college is exhausting, right?  Who knew years (and years) later I would be writing about her on my new baby blog.  Laura is doing AWESOME things over on Love and Sapphires and because I am so fashion…well to put it kindly, averse, I read each of her post’s with the awe of a kid reading about space for the first time.  I mean, I blog in over-sized sweatpants and a T-shirt with the neck cut out of it (you can say my style lands me squarely in the 80’s), and she probably blogs in Balenciaga – and yes, I had to Google that. The other thing I love about Love and Sapphires is the fact that Laura herself is featured in each one of her posts.  It’s such a real style, you aren’t just seeing clothes displayed strategically against a white background or on a runway, you’re seeing the outfits Laura wears every day.  I clearly should have paid more attention when we were roomies.  It also doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous!   I love how she will either a) link to where she got the item, or b) show you where to get something similar.  And she also uses the same staple pieces and accessories in a ton of different ways.  It makes me think even I could be a fashionista one day.   I’ve clipped in some of my favorite looks below.

Laura explains on her blog how she came about starting Love and Sapphires and her “blog beginning” has always really resonated with me.  Her father, who was indeed such a kind man, battled cancer for about 9 years before finally succumbing to the disease.  She named her blog Love and Sapphires because of the loving imprint he left on the world and the birthstone they both share. As I mentioned earlier in the blog, I also have a mother who passed away from cancer and similarly to Laura, she too been such an inspiration for my writing and even the name of this blog.  As written by Rumi, “Don’t grieve.  Anything you lose comes round in another form” and I think that’s so true for both of us.  He also said, “cats are awesome”, but I might be wrong about that last part.

Congrats Laura!  Can’t wait to see what’s next!   Don’t forget to follow her on Instagram, Twitter and Pinterest.

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And then he blessed me and I think we had a moment

I have a rabbit “leopard” fur coat.  It’s stunningly beautiful.  I received it as a gift from my brother from his gorgeous clothing line two Christmases ago and I adore it.  BUT, Oklahoma doesn’t exactly have a lot of places you can wear a leopard fur coat, so when I wear it, it definitely makes a statement and I have to admit, I feel a bit conspicuous.  I basically look like a 6 foot 1 part-woman-part-animal coming straight at you.  I can only  imagine its terrifying.  I wear it to fundraisers and gala-type events (when I get invited), big nights out, and then I always wear it on Christmas Eve for Midnight Mass.

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The coat in all its glory. Jules thinks it’s faux. Shhh.

A few years ago I was in LA visiting my brother right before the holidays and he gave me the coat as an early present.  We were having a cold winter so when I got home for Christmas Eve, I bundled up in black tights, and black skirt, tall suede boots and a red top (very Christmasy if you ask me) and topped it off with red lipstick and my leopard coat.  I was running late that night, as I often am, and I misunderstood what time I was meeting my family at the church.  I thought we were going to a quick come-and-go communion at 7:30, but they went to communion about 15 minutes before.  So, I’m late, and when I walk in, communion is over, and almost everyone has left.  I should quickly point out that I have an extreme need to take communion anytime it’s offered (blame my Catholic baptism and Episcopalian upbringing).

I see that the minister is starting to put away the wine and the bread, so I sprint down the aisle in my Christmas outfit, leopard coat flapping behind me in the wind, to try to get him to give me communion at the last second.  The minister stops and sees me coming, probably wondering if there’s a wild animal that’s escaped from the zoo and is now terrorizing downtown Tulsa.  I know I look distraught because I’m late and out of breath from running (in heels thank-you-very-much), and I can imagine he’s watching me and thinking, apparently this girl REALLY NEEDS TO TAKE COMMUNION.  He stops what he’s doing and I get to the front of the aisle, all out of breath and disheveled, and he puts his hand on my head and blesses me right then and there and gives me communion, no questions asked.  I think we kind of had a moment.  I leave and meet my family for dinner, and start thinking back on the evening’s events, realizing that the minister most likely assumed I was some sort of working girl coming in off the streets in my leopard fur coat and red lipstick asking for last second forgiveness of all of my sins.  Eh, probably not that far off.  Anyway, leopard coat -1, Me – 0

The next time I wore the coat, it was to a fundraiser.  I had it on over a short navy long-sleeved dress.  Problem was, the coat was longer than the dress.  I had the coat clasped together in the front and bundled up around me, and only then did I realize, along with everybody else  (yes lady, I DID see your side-eye) that I looked like I was wearing my leopard fur coat…and nothing else.   And it was too cold to take off my jacket until we were seated for dinner.  Leopard coat – 2, Me – 0.

I thought about it over the weekend because I went to another fundraiser on Friday night and had on the same coat, which was still longer than my dress (maybe that’s my problem?)  But, at least this time I had the good sense to keep the jacket open so people could tell that I was wearing clothes.  Leopard coat – 2, me-1.  We still have a few weeks left of winter so stay tuned for more of this developing saga.  Also – on the same night as the aforementioned fundraiser, I slipped and fell on the ice (in my leopard fur coat)  and now have a hole the size of a half-dollar in my knee, but that’s a blog post for Wednesday.

By the way, this is why I can’t have nice things.

Lent

As many of you know, the Lenten season is upon us.  It started last week with Ash Wednesday, which is right after Fat Tuesday (incidentally, I really think we should call it “Big Boned Tuesday” or “Pretty in the Face Tuesday”,  but I don’t make these decisions, unfortunately).  Anyway, I was baptized Catholic, and raised Episcopalian, so every year I feel the need to give something up for Lent.  I wish I could say these sacrifices revolved around something good for society, like abstaining from gossip.  Or added something good to my routine, like regular church attendance or kind words to my neighbors.  But, usually, my Lenten offerings revolve around me trying to lose weight, or something else involving my appearance, like nail-biting.  In my defense, the things I give up are things I eat/consume/do on a regular basis, so the sacrifice is there, it’s just probably for the wrong reasons. Last year it was wine.  Which was really horrible (thank God for vodka, am I right??). This year, I decided to go with fried foods (and biting my nails.  Again.  It’s like peat and repeat over here).  Now, I’m 36 years old, you would think that fried foods wouldn’t necessarily be a staple in my diet anymore, but, I’m single, I don’t cook, and I live like a frat guy.  So giving up fried foods is actually kind of hard.  Do you realize how much stuff is fried?  Pretty much everything delicious.  Chips, french fries, and for the love of God, donuts.   DONUTS?!?!?!  I could have just given up donuts on their own and had my work cut out for me, but I deleted all fried foods from my diet like a psychopath.  The deck of onion rings is definitely stacked against me.

My favorite part of Lent is talking to all my Catholic friends about what they’re giving up, and then also learning all the little Lenten tricks.  Like, for example, Sundays don’t count, and you can eat/consume/do whatever you want.  But that feels like cheating to me.  As one friend put it the other day, so on Sundays Jesus wasn’t wandering around in the desert anymore?  He made a solid point.  So, no Sunday cheating for me.  Unless I’m  really hungover and the only food in a 5 mile radius is nachos or french fries, then It’s every man for himself.  But, here’s to the Lenten season, may we all stay strong in the face of lunches with coworkers and take out food.  By the way, if anyone offers me a donut in the next 5 weeks, you’re dead to me.

This is how I look when someone orders fries around me

#Oscars

Ahhh, the Oscars.  That exciting time of the year when the stars come out in full force and somebody gives Khloe Kardashian a microphone and lets her talk about fashion and whether a dress is “Oscary” enough.  When Jennifer Aniston reminds us all that even though she did a movie this year where she wore no makeup, she’s still hot as hell and don’t you forget it.  And when Lady Gaga manages to beautifully pull off a Sound of Music tribute reminding us that, yes, sometimes she wears a dress made of meat and shows up in a space egg, but the girl has some serious pipes.  Also, the fashion was pretty amazing, here are some of the looks I loved.  It really helps you appreciate these dresses if you watch the Oscars wearing sweatpants.  Just a tip.

                                     

All in all I thought the 2015 Oscars were pretty good.  Some of NPH’s jokes fell a bit flat, for example, the show-long running joke about his Oscar predictions in a glass case that was never more than just kind of funny (and only when Octavia Spencer was looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind).  Or his attempt at teasing Oprah regarding her insurmountable wealth, to which Oprah responded by throwing some pretty serious shade.  But he started off the show with a great joke about the lack of diversity in the Academy’s nominees, and then NPH did what NPH does best and broke out into song and dance with the ever lovely and talented Anna Kendrick.  The only thing that made their performance even better was Jack Black doing a mid-song rant, only to be shooed off stage by Kendrick’s flying Jimmy Choo.

I would go into the highs and lows of the entire show, but  that is what E! Online is for.  What I will say is that there were some pretty great acceptance speeches, so if you didn’t watch them, definitely click the link above and read the recap. From Graham Moore’s “Stay different. Stay weird” mantra when discussing how teenagers can feel so out-of-place growing up and his own attempted suicide when he was 16 (please please please, always remember, it gets better),  to Patricia Arquette’s “I am Woman Hear Me Roar” demand for equal pay, to the moving performance and speech by John Legend and Common after they took home the statue for “Glory” from Selma, the Oscars were pretty touching last night.  And when Julie Andrews took the stage after Gaga’s performance my heart exploded just a little bit.  I have to admit I never thought I would see Fräulein Maria talking to Lady Gaga, but hey! That’s the magic of film making, right???

PS – Khloe, if you ever talk s*** about my girl Anna K again, we will have to street fight.  Can someone please let her publicist know?  K, thanks.

Men v. Women

I was at lunch the other day with a group of guys I work with, and then two days later I went to brunch with a few female peers, and maybe it was because they two events were so close together, but it really struck me once again how different men and women are.  I mean, I always had my suspicions, but I guess Men really are from Mars and Women from Venus.  I’m glad the author of the book didn’t pick Pluto for either of the genders or that could have caused some controversy.  At lunch with the guys, we discussed normal topics at first and then somehow ended up discussing the plots of the Rambo movies.  I thought I’d seen Rambo as a kid, but when they started talking about it, I felt like I was listening to aliens (see what I did there?).  Have you guys seen Rambo?  I still don’t think I understand exactly what happens so I decided to Wikipedia it.  Ok, my first mistake is apparently there are 5 Rambo movies???  Regardless, here’s my summary for all you ladies, because this is information you are going to WANT TO KNOW when your boyfriends, husbands, coworkers, partners, or co-parents start talking about these movies.

Rambo First Blood.  In this first installment we learn that Rambo was a soldier with the United State Special Army Forces in Vietnam and has some pretty serious PTSD.  After roaming the United States for a decade, he decides to track down a war buddy only to learn he died from Agent Orange exposure, which really bums him out.  He tries to settle in this town called Hope, only to have the sheriff, Brian Dennehy, be a complete jerk to him and arrest him for vagrancy.  He gets roughed up in prison by the guards and allegedly they try to shave his beard, which triggers flashbacks for Rambo and he loses it, beats everyone up and escapes prison, then flees to the woods where he is “in his element” (that’s actually a quote).  The sheriff and his deputies head into the woods and get their asses kicked, but then Rambo throws a rock at a police helicopter and it explodes, killing the guy, so now Rambo is really screwed, like felony murder screwed. The National Guard gets called in, but his Vietnam general Sam Trautman shows up and convinces the sheriff to leave Rambo alone or he’s going to flip major shit, which he does anyway, and destroys half the town. Rambo goes to jail, but it’s cool, because jail provides him the stability he needs to deal with his PTSD.  End of movie.  WHAT?  Fun fact: Kirk Douglas was originally supposed to play the part of Trautman, but he didn’t like the ending.

The locks of an angel

Second Blood, oh wait maybe it’s called First Blood Part II, which is sort of the same as Second Blood, but whatever.  In Second Blood, Rambo is in jail and Tautman comes to get him to send him back to Vietnam to rescue POWs because that sounds like an awesome idea.  He goes over there, saves some people, but then gets double-crossed by the government, so he and the POWs he saved get left in Vietnam and recaptured.  There’s a hot girl who helps him escape, then Rambo steals a Soviet helicopter and saves all the POWS on his own, while shirtless and coated in a quart of some kind of body oil.  He gets a presidential pardon for his heroics, but decides to stay in Thailand and meditate at a monastery.  Rambo thinks his fighting days are over, but NO, because then we get Rambo III.  I am don’t know why it can’t be Rambo Third Blood, but fine.

Rambo III starts out with Rambo meditating in the monastery and Trautman comes to him and is all, hey let’s go to Afghanistan, it’ll be fun!   And Rambo says no because he’s building a temple, and Trautman says whatever, I’m going alone then to help the Afghan freedom fighters.  He gets caught and tortured, naturally, so Rambo sets off to rescue him.  He tries to get the Afghan freedom fighters to help him rescue Trautman, but they’re like, screw that, the Soviets just laid waste to our village, you’re on our own.  So, after several plot twists, Rambo is by himself again saving the guy that keeps getting him into these horrible scenarios.  Rambo also saves a bunch of other prisoners, then steals a helicopter to fly to safety, but the chopper goes down.  The other prisoners bail and run to safety leaving just Trautman and Rambo (Trambo) to fight off the Russians alone.  But wait!  Just before all hope is lost, the Afghan freedom fighters arrive and Rambo steals a tank and drives it into the bad guy’s chopper and it’s all over.  Then Rambo and Trautman (who’s like the WORST FRIEND EVER), leave Afghanistan and Rambo goes back to his Temple.

Rambo is the 4th installment.  It’s 20 years later and Rambo has been eking out a peaceful existence in Thailand.  The Temple, I’m assuming, was successfully built.  The movie opens with the crisis in Burma, and Rambo just so happens to be currently living on the border between Thailand and Burma.   He’s making a living capturing and selling snakes, and also “transporting roamers by boat” up and down the Salween River.  Personally I would probably lead with the boat thing being my job, then call capturing snakes a hobby, but that’s just me.  Rambo is asked by a missionary to take him over to Burma and he says no, which I kind of don’t get because I thought that’s how he made money?  But finally a hot girl convinces him to do it.  They set off for Burma, but are ambushed by pirates who try to kidnap hot girl.  Rambo’s all, “this is my fourth movie and I finally want to get some action”, so he kills all the pirates in quick haste.  Missionaries usually aren’t cool with murder, so they get super freaked out by Rambo’s ease with which he killed a bunch of people and decide to go it alone.  They get captured, because of course they do, and when they don’t return to Rambo’s village within 10 days the village pastor asks Rambo to accompany some mercenaries and go get the missionaries back.  He agrees to go, because duh, hot girl, and the mercenaries all think he’s just a boat guy, but then he’s all, “watch what I can do with this bow and arrow!”  and I don’t really care what else happens, because THESE PLOTS KILL ME, but the  bottom line is, they save everybody and Rambo decides to go back to America because hot girl told him to.

OH MY GOD HOW ARE THERE ARE FIVE OF THESE???  Rambo V.  Oh wait, no it’s called Rambo Last Blood.  Which pisses me off, because they should have all had blood in the title, but whatever.  Apparently, this movie’s not been made yet, so don’t worry, this post is almost over.  I just read that Sylvester Stallone will be writing it, directing it, and starring in it, which I guess makes sense since Rambo always has to do everything by himself anyway.

Switch to brunch on Sunday.  Here were the topics:  Michael Jackson’s autopsy, C-Sections because someone’s brother thought that they were spelled Sea Sections and that that was the only way women had babies, Jem & the Holograms, best picture movies, dating/not dating (that one was me), Chris Johnson the NFL football player, creepy ads Facebook displays on your page, dogs eating birth control (good news! not alway deadly!), books (for 5 seconds), Bill Cosby, breastfeeding and homemade salsa.

Men = Mars, Women = Venus.  Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t become extinct.

PS – Yes, I linked to almost every Julie Benz page.  PPS – I do realize this will most likely alienate all 3 of my male readers.

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