Last night, after a highly stimulating evening of watching New Hampshire’s finest strutting around my former high school in their bathing suits, I was excited to kick off my 5 inch heels and relax with some mindless tv. Fortunately, today just happened to be the premiere of Atlanta Real Housewife Kim Zolciak’s spinoff Don’t Be Tardy for the Wedding.
Let me preface this by saying that prior to a mini marathon today, I have never reall watched RHOA. I don’t know why, but I just never really got into it, and it wasn’t until the 17 part reunion special that I really started to take notice.
So even though I knew virtually nothing about Kim Z except for the fact that she wears a lot of wigs and used to have a boyfriend known only as “Big Poppa,” I somehow got suckered into DVR’ing this AT MY PARENTS HOUSE. Like this was so important, I couldn’t wait four days and watch it when I got home.
The show opens of course as all Housewives locales do, with a pan shot of her amazing house which is apparently filled with ginormous portraits of a naked, pregnant Kim. She is apparently a little bit lonely, as she is having a heart to heart with her barely a few months old son KJ (which does not exactly roll off the tongue) about how shiny her ring is, how it’s going to be really tough to plan this wedding, you know, all very high priority stuff for young KJ. And I have to say, despite her slightly… masculine features, KJ seems like just an adorable happy little baby. At one point I questioned if he was hers because he just seemed so damn cute and innocent. However a second later, KJ locked his eyes on the camera, dead center, and gave it a full on death stare down, then broke out giggling and drooling, which made me feel sad because this is already normal for him and the fact that he isn’t scared of this strange man holding a giant video machine in his house only proves that this literally is a new reality.
I found myself wondering why fame obsessed KJ was so cute considering that his mom looks like this:
who wouldn’t want to be legally joined with all of this?
And it turns out that KJ’s dad Kroy, is actually very cute and sweet, despite the fact that he has a very stupidly made up name. Apparently he is a football player, but like Lamar Odom, Reggie Bush, Kris Humphries and every other athlete that Kim Kardashian has once banged, I had never heard of him until he started appearing on a reality show. All I know is he plays for the red team. And apparently is partially blind/deaf, as he has somehow fallen for Kim Z.
So Kroy and Kim are talking about their impending wedding, which apparently has to take place on 11-11-11 despite the fact that is in the middle of football season and a mere two months away. She started spouting off about the moon, planets, numerology and some other confalooted excuses as to why it had to be that day, completely ignoring the real reason is because she only cares about herself and what she wants. But hey, she’s a bride. We all have our moments. And yes, I’m still referring to myself as a bride.
Poor Kroy. Like so many other unsuspecting athletes whose lives are ruined by reality whores, all he wants to do is get married in a wheat field in Montana. He even had this adorable idea about making an aisle out of cut wheat. How cute is that? And by cute I mean awful. Because who wants to get married in a field. Ick. But good for him for making an effort, and not just grunting along with whatever she says like Kris Humphries was contractually obligated to do.
To add insult to injury, since this magical date happens to be on a Friday, Kroy is only able to attend if it’s an evening affair because he has to you know, work. So he’s going to practice all day, grappling with a bunch of sweaty men in pads in the hot Atlanta sun, and then rush home and get married on his basketball court. Every man’s dream.
Apparently Kim was slightly considering her future hubby’s feelings and declared a Winter Wonderland theme in honor of Kroy’s home state. As sweet as that is, we have just all take a second here and remember they they are in Atlanta. But Kim’s pretty sharp, so she has that figured out too. So what are we having? Duh. A Mont-lanta wedding. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? That is, if you can ignore the fact that it sort of sounds like heartburn medication.
uh… montlanta is totally a real place. it’s right above massalanta & southwest of northlanta
Another innocent bystander in this whole thing? Kim’s poor mother, who showed up at Kim’s house to meet the wedding planner, ready and rearing to go with her little notebook and her most formal butterfly clips in her hair. However, Kim was a little resistant to letting her mom be involved, as they hadn’t seen each other in a few months and her mom is “like, kind of annoying sometimes.” I feel sort of bad for her, I mean, at this point the only thing she’s guilty of so far is having a slightly annoying laugh and showing her excitement with a series of mini claps.
Somehow Kim tricked celebrity wedding planner Colin Cowie into thinking she was someone special and he agreed to plan her dream wedding… for a mere seven figure price tag of course. But what really surprised me is Kim’s obsession with a $58,000 wedding gown that she almost bought three years ago despite the fact that she wasn’t engaged or even dating anybody. She was so desperate for said dress that she found it on a gown resale site and bought it from some other rich bitch who only wore it for an hour. After declaring that she also would only wear it for an hour herself (apparently, that’s the thing to do with $58,000 dresses) she convinced her matron of honor Jenny (who also appears to be nice and normal despite allowing Kim to refer to her as “bitch” constantly- where the hell is she finding these people?!) that it was totally okay to wear a used wedding gown.
The best part of this entire episode has to be when Kim is showing her young, seemingly normal as well daughters, what the backyard is going to look like on this glorious day. As they’re innocently strolling around the pool imagining what this runway or whatever monstrosity they’re building on top of it is going to look like, she up and shoves nine year old Ariana just right into the pool. Poor girl didn’t even see it coming. I mean, most people wouldn’t expect to be almost drowned by their parent, but Kim Z is a special kind of mother. I also loved how Ariana was clutching a towel around herself, shivering after recovering from this traumatic event, and Kim is just going on and on about rhinestones on her aisle runner or something like that.
So needless to say, I am totally hooked. And let me tell you, after seeing the preview scenes for the rest of this season, the best is yet to come. I cannot wait for the flowered pantsuit, the long awaited wig removal, the family drama, and of course nothing says happily married like a couple of police cruisers crashing your reception. I.cannot.wait
wait, so those cops weren’t strippers?
There’s a lot of surprising new celebrity couples hitting the interwebs lately. From Jason Segel and Michele Williams, to Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher (okay, I know they obviously have known each other a long time, but don’t you think she’s WAY too good for him?!), odd celeb pairings are the hottest things since… well, the celebrities themselves. And of course the most talked about/easiest to make fun of has to be the long awaited romance of Kim Kardashian and Kanye West.
that look of terror is her “i’m in love” face. duh.
For anyone that has been following the Kardashians for some time now, you know that these two have known each other for a while. With absolutely no credentials whatsoever, Kanye made an appearance on the painfully boring Kourtney & Kim Take New York when they were first building their second Dash location to check out their space, which as the time was comprised of flooring and a couple of ridiculous lighting fixtures. Cause you know, he’s not just a rapper, he’s an artist.
Then Kim like, accidentally got married. And we all know how that turned out.
But don’t worry guys, she’s like, totally getting divorced now. And apparently is still looking for love, and seems to have found it in the form of Kanye West.
Now I’m not entirely convinced that this is based on anything real and that Kim isn’t just screwing her way through a list of guys names that start with the letter “K,” but so far she’s been pretty hush hush about it, which could be a sign that she actually likes him.
I know a lot of people are disgusted by the thought of these two joining forces, but I would like to personally congratulate them on their budding relationship. I think after long string of bad PR, these kids finally have it all figured out. Which is why I have put together this list of:
Reasons why Kanye & Kim K are the PERFECT couple:
1. They are both assholes. Seriously. These two just freaking love themselves to death, and could barely give two craps about other people’s feelings or emotions. I mean, really, who has time for that? She has an empire to run, and those award show people aren’t going to insult themselves. You know how sometimes you meet a couple, and one of them is a total douche and the other is so heartbreakingly nice that you just wish they weren’t together? That will never happen to these two. He thinks everything he touches turns to gold (or at least deserves gold… statues that is) and she doesn’t understand why anyone would let someone that they marry move a few boxes into their pristine house. If they got married, they could build one giant all white ginormous house, big enough to house his ego and her ass. If that isn’t a couple’s dream, I don’t know what is.
2. Kanye clearly has a type.
3. It seems as if all 54 1/2 members of the Kardashian Klan (the 1/2 being Kourtney’s unborn fetus) actually approve of their relationship, unlike their not so subtle hatred for Kris Humphries. Seriously. Khloe was on Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen the other day and when asked to say something nice about Kris all she could muster up was “he’s tall.”
4. He thinks she is as awesome as Beyonce is. Really. Nevermind that Bey has 16 Grammys and actual talent to back them up. Kim hocks QuickTrim and has what is probably the 4th best selling celebrity sex tape of all time. So clearly, yes, same level as Beyonce. But he’s trying not to rub it in. I mean, we all know what happens when people get compared to Beyonce.
5. They are both fame whores (and also, regular whores). All of Kim’s former lovers have expressed their utter hatred for being in the public eye, having cameras follow their every move, and what-can-only-be-orchestrated-by-Kris Jenner public photo ops. Kanye literally runs on attention and Hennessey. I personally love how they’re trying to hold back right now- you see them holding hands in NYC and they’re playing so coy like they’re shy teenagers that are clasping each other’s sweaty palms for the first time. We all know this ain’t your first rodeo.
So really, I hope everything works out for these two. They deserve each other.
Also, could you imagine their wedding?! Talk about Bridezilla. Kim would probably be a little on edge too.
~L
In an effort to become a more serious blogger, I thought it was time to give myself a weekly assignment of some sort. A lot of the bloggers I follow and admire have certain themes that they post on a specific day a week. As much as I love blogging on a whim (and sometimes that’s really the only way to do it), I think it’s time to hold myself accountable for some kind of regular posting. I mean, I can’t guarantee that one of the 47 Kardashians is going to do something embarrassing all the time.
So with that, I give you… Mall Madness Monday.
Yes, that’s right. Named after every 90’s girl’s favorite board game, this weekly post will feature all my favorite pics that I’ve snapped throughout my week as a retail slave/fashion enthusiast. Some week there could be themes, and I figured there was no better way to start than with my favorite theme of all time: Nautical.
This is the time of year where nautical items are EVERYWHERE. So clearly, I’m in heaven. Slash hell, because I can’t buy anything. I mean, after the closet post I’m pretty much banned from purchasing anything other than toilet paper. I was actually in J. Crew the other day, found two pieces in the clearance section that I had admired from The Pink Peonies and Chasing Davies (two of my favorite fashion inspirations) that were an EXTRA 30% OFF until the end of that day, and I walked away. I knew I just couldn’t live with myself.
So what did I do instead? I Instagrammed my way through the mall as if money were no object. And in doing so, I happened to discover that my favorite motif was just about everywhere, from shoes to clothing to the visual merchandising. Here’s some of my faves:
j crew
aldo
jessica simpson via lord & taylor
anthropologie
j crew
lacoste
forever 21
j crew
forever 21
Second goal (after posting regularly)? To post this well before midnight, unlike right now.
If you just can’t get enough of looking at artsy photos of things that I’m obsessed with, follow me on Instagram @ linzphoto731 and continue to feed my addiction by assuring me that all the things I admire are “totally cute” and that I “could so rock that look.”
Okay, no one has ever said those things to me. I was still pretending I was playing Mall Madness.
~L
I’ve been married for a little over a year now and one thing I’ve learned is that compromise is the key to any successful relationship. Also, cutting up one of your husband’s socks for your sock bun is one of the fastest ways to make him not trust you and possibly lock up your laptop.
So a couple weeks ago ago when Steve prepared spaghetti and meatball dinner that I thought could stand to use a hint more salt, we got into one of our teensy marital spats when he ruthlessly accused me of spilling salt all over the clean baking pans on the counter. Ordinarily, I would be hurt by such an accusation, but it was partially true because only minutes before had I sprinkled an accidental hefty helping from one of those giant Morton salt containers out of the cabinet.
It was only after this that he once again reminded me that we still don’t have an actual set of salt and pepper shakers. I don’t know how this got overlooked in the process of moving in together and registering for gifts, but somehow we just never got around to it.
So what’s the hold up? Well, like anything else in life, I don’t want to be boring. I’d rather die than put out a set of those white cardboard shakers adorned with random vegetables on them. With that, I set out to find the perfect set of salt and pepper shakers that would represent our taste, style and personality as a couple. This is obviously an essential task, and unfortunately I had to put my search for World Peace on hold to tend to such a pressing issue.
In the past, this task may have been daunting. It might have taken me years of magazine clipping to even find one set of fun shakers, and probably would have taken me another year to locate the said clipping among my massive collection (and that’s just in the Decor section). But not anymore. Thanks to my trusty Pinterest, within ten minutes I had not only created an entire board dedicated to this crucial life decision, but had also posted a link on Facebook asking for opinions from my loyal followers who happen not to be sick of my constant barrage of Kardashian-related status updates.
So here’s a brief montage of what I deemed to be the most promising candidates to be Our First Shakers. Yes, it’s that important that the title needs to be capitalized.
Disclaimer: These pictures are clearly all from Pinterest as stated before. So don’t sue me. Trust me, I don’t have anything.
So for some reason, there are certain motifs that seem to be recurring when searching for salt and pepper shakers. Half of the ones I found were elephants:
$12.99 modcloth
$48 jonathan adler
Or birds:
$8 west elm
$9 z gallerie
Actually, animals are apparently HUGE in the shaker world. I don’t even like pugs, yet I still thought this set was totes adorbs:
$7 modcloth
Despite my utter discomfort in any woodsy our outdoor situation, I do sometimes like the look of nature-esque things, but only in small doses when appropriately mixed with modern pieces. Hence why I love this silver pinecone set. Also it reminds me of our wedding:
$18 west elm
These ones are uber nature-y, but yet I like them. Probably wouldn’t go with my Ralph Lauren Silk Ribbon Slate china set though. These are more of a basket-paper-plate-holder style set:
$13 modcloth
This set doesn’t match anything in our apartment, except for our bedroom and my half of the closet. Since we don’t eat dinner in there, this isn’t the most practical option, but I had to include it just because:
$64 takae
As much as I wanted my salt and pepper shakers to be cute and quirky and adorned, I also found something I liked in just a simple spherical design like these:
$32 etsy
$6 west elm
Which is weird, because I don’t even like eggs.
Obviously, if I was a movie star/didn’t live with a boy I would have these. I don’t care how ridiculous they are, I just love them:
$23 z gallerie
I really was searching for a set to appeal to both of us, although I guess you wouldn’t know it by all the jewels and tiny animals. This seemed like a good neutral pair, but there’s just something so manly and industrial about them. Also, they seem like they’re made of lead, and I would like to be able to have children someday:
$19 pottery barn
Somehow in this process I discovered this site called Godinger.com. I’ve never heard of this, and immediately it looked like a bunch of overly fancy stuffy things that I could not afford. But after looking around, it seems like stuff that just looks fancy and is actually kind of inexpensive for what the stuff is. Anyway, their shaker section is ENORMOUS and I loved everything and pinned five of them immediately. They were just the perfect mix of fancy and interesting. Kind of like me. I mean, us.
$25 godinger
$20 godinger
$30 godinger
$30 godiner
$20 godinger
After doing all this research, I basically discovered that Jonathan Adler salt and pepper shakers are the BMW of condiment holders. Meaning that they are way overpriced and Steve is probably starting to break out in hives, because deep down something inside him knows that I looked at a pair of $48 shakers even for a second.
But seriously. I know these are ludicrous, and clearly I am not going to purchase them… but how GORGEOUS are these?!
$48 jonathan adler
So what do you think? Other than that I have clearly gone of the deep end if I have devoted this much time to finding the perfect set of salt and pepper shakers instead of seeking professional help for my bargain jewelry addiction. Does anyone else have fun shakers or am I the only person that deemed this to be a determining factor for the success all dinners to be had as a couple forevermore?
Also I haven’t shown any of these to Steve yet. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to figure out a way to record his reaction to each of my very well researched suggestions. And if you don’t hear anything… well then I guess it means we got divorced over $48 elephant shakers.
~L
Oh my God. I’m a hoarder.
I am. I am a legitimate hoarder. I have long been a watcher of Hoarders and Extreme Hoarders and People Who Hoard Coupons So They Can Hoard Lots More Crap For Free so that I could witness people who were way worse off than me and revel in the fact that having a little laundry on the floor and an overwhelming collection of magazine clippings wasn’t so bad. But as it turns out, I was merely watching an extreme version of myself. I am… a fashion hoarder.
Everyone that knows me knows that I like clothes, jewelry, accessories and talking about/taking pictures of/buying said items. I’ve really been trying to control my tendency for spending, so recently I took it upon myself to do a little organizing, which turned into a full on retail store style inventory.
I would also like to point out that this was my last day off before a seven day stretch at work so this very quickly turned from a leisurely clean up game into an existential crisis as to how I got here.
It started small, as these things often do. Steve has been mildly hinting that he is literally out of house and home (wardrobe-wise… probably kitchen-wise too) and that my “section” of the closet had spread so far over to his side that his shirts were suffocating. I kind of laughed it off, until he stood in our once a walk in (I say once because at this point, it’s so full that there’s about a foot left of space to walk into) and started scanning my all white hangers for answers. He quickly discovered that I had many things hung that didn’t really need to be. Like tank tops, for example. Did I really need to hang my tank tops? No, I said out loud, while my inner monologue told me that the reason the tanks were hung is because there was no where to store them folded, either. But marriage is all about compromise, so I was determined to make it work.
Once I made a trip to The Container Store.
Before you accuse me of being a shopaholic, know that one of the best investments I have made in my wardrobe decisions was purchasing Our Deep Sweater Box. Our apartment has nine foot ceilings, so the top shelf of my closet had a ton of wasted space. A few months ago I purchased a retractable stool and one of those containers, and I was able to make room for all the bulky winter sweaters that seem to fit nowhere else. When thinking about how to eliminate a fraction of my stuff from his side, I determined that if I acquired just one more Deep Sweater Box, I could move my cardigans out of one of my smaller Ikea boxes and put the tank tops in that box. Genius. Also, it was the Spring Organization Sale, so the Deep Sweater Box was a whole dollar less. Point, Lindsay.
Then I started pulling out my tank tops. I started with the whites, and there were quite a few, which is to be expected, because who doesn’t need multiple white tanks? But as I made my way through the pale pinks, yellows, oranges, reds, purples, blues, greens, grays, browns and finally into the blacks that I realized… I have a hell of a lot of tank tops. So many that they literally engulfed my queen sized bed.
i guess you can just refer to me as tank girl from now on.
I started to freak out a bit, calming myself only by the reassurance that it just looked like a ridiculous amount because the weren’t neatly color coded and folded. But once I rolled them and arranged them into a rainbow-like pattern, I felt the overwhelming need to determine exactly how many I owned.
tank roll ups. like fruit roll ups, but take up a hell of a lot more space.
And there were thirty. As in three-zero. THIRTY TANK TOPS. I am only one person. How could I possibly own that many shirts that are barely shirts?
Then the obsession really started.
If I had somehow acquired that many of a most basic under layer of clothing, how many of other items did I have? Am I really that bad a judge of numbers or do I have a problem here?
I don’t think I have to tell you what happened next. But I will, because that’s what blogging is about.
I went Rainman on myself and began counting everything I own. And not only counting, but documenting the process so that I could remind myself later what something like, oh I don’t know… seventy five t-shirts look like?!
so.many.rolls.
That’s right. Seventy five. Also rolled, because I’m convinced that’s the only way that things will ever fit. I think the real question is… when was the last time you even saw me in a t-shirt?
I figured I might as well go all out and head to the dress closet. Some of you may know the story of the beloved dress closet. This was a particular amazing find from a random Wednesday night Ikea trip when I still lived at home in New Hampshire. My parents and I drove to Ikea in search of extra storage for some of my closet overflow. We found this armoire in the As Is section, which if you didn’t know is an extra 10% off on “Wacky” Wednesdays. I ended up taking this piece home for a whopping $36! We barely had enough room in the car, and I rode the whole way home in the passenger seat with my knees hugged against my chest, pressed up against the glove compartment, armoire digging into the back of my seat. But I didn’t care, because it was such a good deal. If that’s not bargain shopping, I don’t know what is.
Oh wait, this is:
all my favorite gals. hello, ladies.
I always knew I had a lot of dresses. I mean, I think it was implied by the fact that I needed an entire extra receptacle to house the collection that had to be kept in my parents room because it didn’t even fit in mine. When I was living at home I want to say I had about seventy five total. I figured I still had that amount, give or take some. Believe it or not, I have given away a few things over the years. Emphasis on few.
Looking at this closet, what would you guess was in there? Eighty? Eighty five? Personally, I think it looks like thirty, which probably explains a lot about the way I am. But you’re all wrong.
IT’S ONE HUNDRED.
That’s right. There are exactly one hundred dresses in the closet. Now that is including all types- sundresses, coverups, formal wear, wrap dresses and more. But what are the odds that there would be exactly one hundred?!
Next I moved on to the roommate of my dress closet, the black skirt. Now I have to wear solid black bottoms to work, so this does seem like more of an essential, but fifteen? Fifteen black skirts. I may as well work at a funeral parlor.
back in black.
From there, one can only go downhill and see how many black tops are being combined with those skirts. And the answer surprised and depressed me:
oh wait, more black.
Fifty seven. Fifty seven black tops. Granted, a few patterns snuck in there, but please look at the rest. Even Johnny Cash would be like “giiiiirrrrrl you have too many black shirts.” That is, if Johnny Cash were a homosexual who happened to be helping me organize my closet.
house of cardigans.
At this point I figured I should go back to what started this whole thing. So even though I had already neatly organized my cardigans, I grabbed my stool and almost decapitated myself trying to bring down my new Deep Sweater Box, probably because the weight of twenty two cardigans is one that no woman should be allowed to bear alone. And yes, nine of them are black. While I like to organize by color, for the sake of time management, I thought it best to keep the black ones on top.
Here’s one that just baffles me. I didn’t even count this one, because I don’t understand how it’s physically possible to have so many pajamas that your drawer doesn’t close. Also I was afraid if I took them out to count them, I would never be able to get them all back in. Let’s remind ourselves- this is an overflowing draw of articles of clothing that ONLY ONE PERSON sees.
what, didn’t you think the pj’s would be rolled, too?
After this I just couldn’t take anymore of the clothes, and for some god forsaken reason, I thought it was a good idea to move on to accessories. It was there I found myself knee deep in oversized tote/beach bags (18):
this is straight up terrifying.
Clutch purses (14):
just a hint of a clutch obsession.
And of course, earrings (107):
okay, well we all knew this was a problem.
It really couldn’t get any worse. Until I looked at my nail polish collection (75):
four minis should equal one regular sized nail polish. 75 polishes equal one regular size crazy person.
If you think that there’s no way there’s seventy five bottles of nail polish in this photo, you’re right. Because there’s an overflow of about sixteen full sized and seven minis chillin on top of this container as well. Also I counted these not realizing I had lent four bottles to a friend.
After all this, I did semi achieve my original goal of providing my darling husband a little extra real estate in the closet area. I didn’t think to take a before picture (and actually showcase something POSITIVE in this post), but I happened to snag an after. That teeny tiny amount of white hangers towards the back? That’s all that is left of me on that side.
make room: the striped polos & hockey jerseys need their space.
… Minus the shoe wheel hiding underneath. Now Steve can actually move his hangers around, which is really helpful when he’s on the desperate search for his colonial night shirt. I wish I was making that up.
I was so proud of myself, I decided it would be a good idea to tell Steve when he got home just how productive my day was. As I verbally explained to him my voyage into my closeted past, he saw the list I had made out of the corner of his eye where I had recorded all the numbers of things I had counted. He glanced at me as I stared back at him, and we immediately beelined for my Glee notepad. Since I was obviously tired from the road to reformation and he apparently possesses cat-like reflexes, he got to it first.
And then he exploded.
As he read each number, I could feel his blood pressure rise and tiny bits of steam escape his ears. When he got to the nail polishes, he lost it.
“Seventy five?! You have seventy five nail polishes?! You have TEN FINGERS and TEN TOES. You will physically never be able to use all of that nail polish again in your entire life. THAT’S $500 WORTH OF NAIL POLISH. You are never allowed to ask for nail polish ever.”
In my defense, I think he was just a bit testy on the whole issue because he had to desperately search for a particular color and brand of lavender polish that I had asked for for Easter, which caused him to have to go on a mad dash through the mall the day before in between working at the restaurant and going to the Bruins game.
After this, Steve felt it was necessary to make his own version of my list, outlining how many of each of these pieces a sane person without a shopping addiction should have. His “notes” are written in black on the left side. The green is the chilling realization of what I already own.
the figures on my notepad are trying to tell me something.
As I was organizing, I posted pictures of my progress and current counts on Twitter, thinking I would get some sympathy or at least like a “girl, I feel you” style support from my fellow fashionistas/bloggers. It turns out that even those that care the most about clothes took one glance at my pictures and were like “girl, you have a problem. Seek help.” So apparently, it is just me.
I got rid of an oversized tote bag worth of stuff that day. I donated the tote too. And I know that I should part with more. But I actually genuinely like most of the stuff I own, even the pieces that I haven’t worn in two years or that still have tags on them. Because they motivate me to have the kind of life where I will wear all of these things on a daily basis and never have to repeat an outfit twice.
I might as well sign a lifetime contract with TLC. Or just, you know… buy less.
~L
He’s baaaaaaaaaaaack.
To be fair, he probably never went anywhere. In fact, it was me who disappeared. I literally can’t remember the last time I went to the gym. If I had to guess, I can’t think of any occasion within the past month and half where I have even pretended like I am interested or care about my physical well-being. For some strange reason, I had a whim at 1:30 am last night (or I guess, this morning) that I should go to the gym today. I made the mistake of saying this aloud to Steve as we were falling asleep, and despite exhaustion he somehow remembered my promise this morning (but when I ask him during the day if he could just refill the Brita after he uses it last, you would have thought that I asked him to recite the Declaration of Independence. Scratch that, he would probably remember the words to that) at 7:30 am.
After much prodding, I finally awoke and pulled on one of my three sets of gym clothes, (which by the way live on the very highest shelf in my closest, obviously for a reason).
Steve: You can see your underwear through those pants.
Me: *inaudible mumble* meh, who cares?
Steve: Okay. Just wanted to go on record as having told you.
Finally, we make it out the door and soldiered on the long walk to the clubhouse. Okay, it’s not that long, but everything feels slower and longer before 8:00 am. And of course it’s like a freaking Gold’s Gym in there. Or what I imagine a Gold’s Gym looks like. And by that, I mean there’s three other people there, two of which are on the only machine I actually use. The third early rising gym-goer?
I almost forgot about my dear friend, as many moon cycles have passed since I last saw him, although Steve does tell me about him every time he makes a morning trip to the gym, to which I tell him he is a terrible husband because he refused to take a picture of him for me to share with my loyal readership (I’m talking about you, Mom). As Steve headed to his usual corner treadmill, I followed closely by him as I couldn’t even figure out what to do with myself since my trusty elliptical was occupied.
Me: Can you show me how to stretch?
Steve: You know the stretches. It’s not hard, just do the same ones we alway do.
Me: I can’t remember. I don’t know what to do.
Steve: Well, why don’t you use the bike? You might have to lower the seat.
Me: I don’t know how. Can you do it?
Steve: Are. you. serious.
Me: *dead in they eyes, still not a fully functioning awake adult* Yes, fix it.
So just as I was about the get on the bike, Steve informed me that in fact my one and only piece of equipment was suddenly available. I immediately woke up and hopped over to my trusty machine. I set up my water bottle and most recent Entertainment Weekly, determined to make the most out of the fact that I was here, possibly turning over a new leaf. Maybe. Okay, probably not.
I set my phone down and pulled my headphones out of my pocket. It was then I discovered that I grabbed Steve’s ear buds that came with his iPod, which clearly do not fit my tiny delicate earholes.
Me: *across the room* Uggggggggh.
Steve: What?
Me: I took your headphones. My life sucks.
Steve: Can’t you just use them?
Me: No. I have small ears.
Steve: *ignore*
I decided that this particular workout session was cursed. There was really no way it was going to go up from here, after all, I hadn’t even started actually exercising yet and I was off to a terrible start. The only thing that would save me now would be if I finally achieved one of my all time fitness goals:
To get a picture of the elusive WL Man.
Okay, so it’s not like an actual “fitness” goal, and I’m sure that Bob and Dolvett would encourage me to aim much higher, and you know, do something to actually help myself physically, but I have been trying to prove this man exists for months. What better time than with plenty of witnesses around to attempt to take a photo?
Let’s just say I’m not used to being “discreet” when it comes to taking pictures. I’m normally screaming at people, trying to get them to pay attention to me or not hide every time they see my giant camera. When I started my usual half hour elliptical cardio workout, he was behind me. I thought about using my reverse camera to take a picture behind me, but I thought it was even weirder to take a picture of myself in front of all those people than to continue my inadvertent stalking of this person that I don’t even know. Since he uses a lot of machines, he walked by me multiple times for antibacterial wipes to cleanse his circuit training machines. I figured that would be the best opportunity to attempt to capture a photo. Since I’m normally texting/taking notes for later blog posts at the gym anyway, I thought maybe it wouldn’t be suspicious if I was just tapping away at my phone. I made sure the sound was off so I wouldn’t get that little clicking noise and tried to hold my phone as low as possible. As he stood there, tearing wipes out of the dispenser, I bit the bullet and clicked the tiny camera icon on my iPhone.
And of course, the flash went off. Oops.
Turning off the flash is like, lesson #2 in Taking Sketchy Photos of People You Don’t Know 101. I should probably sign up for a class with those perverts that submit photos to Girls In Yoga Pants. I immediately began to fumble with my phone like I was an old person who “accidentally” took a picture when they were really trying to text or something.
Me: Ahhh omg what is going on… this is so weird *nervous laugh*… my phone… guess I need that update… *more word vomit*
Everyone else: *continues working out, ignores me completely*
Luckily for me, the four other people in the gym, including WL Man, continued about as if a crazy person wasn’t sniping mid-workout session photos while attempting to not fall off the elliptical machine.
I have to warn you: this is possibly the worst photo I have ever taken. But it’s sort of appropriate, as this man has become my own personal Bigfoot, which is exactly what he resembles in this picture. A large blurry figure that really could be anyone or anything. Except you must trust me when I say that it is in fact, him. I hope you’ve prepared yourself, because this is a moment many posts in the making. Without further adieu, I give you… WEIGHT LIFTING MAN!
yep, definitely the worst picture ever taken… in the gym
Okay, now that I’ve seen this, I guess it isn’t really all that exciting. I mean he looks like a normal guy, right?! Except you can now clearly see all of the things I’ve been describing to you all along. From the jeans to the shoes that clearly aren’t sneakers, the fleece jacket to the Under Armour skull cap, this is clearly not someone who belongs in a tiny clubhouse gym. I haven’t yet decided if he wears this outfit everyday or if he has followed Glamour’s advice to invest in multiple pieces of something that you really love. Unfortunately for you, you cannot hear the noises. If I survive this encounter, hopefully next time I can move up to capturing a voice recording.
Of course after the photo snafu, I feared for my life for the remainder of my workout. I tried to act normal, and cool, but since I don’t spend a lot of time exercising this proved to be really difficult for me. I thought I was doing okay until he approached me. Immediately I was like this is it. This is how I’m going to die. He is here to kill me. He just all of a sudden realized ten minutes after it happened that I had taken his photo and was going to broadcast it via the Internet for tens of people to see. You’d think that I would find solace in knowing that my husband was on the treadmill a mere 20 feet away, but he was so blissfully mesmerized by the NHL Network that I knew he would even notice if I did all of a sudden disappear. Just when I thought my life was about to end, he spoke.
WL Man: Can you move that? *pointing to my sweatshirt*
Me: *nervous fumbling wreck again* Oh, uh… yes of course! Tee hee, oh yeah, that’s my sweatshirt. Just needed a place to put it. Ha hahahahahaha…
I always place my sweatshirt on the machine next to me because no one is ever using it. Well, unless you know who is around because he uses ALL of the machines. I was so flustered that I immediately grabbed my purple Lululemon sweatshirt and threw it ON THE GROUND next to me, which he probably sweats on EVERY DAY.
I felt like my skin was burning the entire time he did presses or curls or whatever the hell people do on those machines. Not just because he was his usual lovely self, grunting, panting, sweating (you know, all the things that ladies love), but because I kept imagining that any second, he was going to jump out of his seat and pummel me into the ground. By the way, if there happen to be any men reading this, do yourself and the ladies a favor- if you are having a particularly strenuous workout, please just keep the noises to yourself. Nobody needs or wants to hear them. I don’t care if you feel like it helps. Unless you are like a crazy serious athlete training for the Olympics, there is no need to express yourself in that way when there are people around you. It’s gross and weird, and if I ever made those noises at work or walking down the street, people would grab their children and run and I would be committed. Because.it’s.weird. And if you are single and were hoping to meet someone at the gym, I can tell you right now that not one female I know has ever thought that a guy that makes those kind of noises in the gym is attractive, because if he’s making those kind of noises in public, just imagine the kind of sounds he reserves for when there’s no one else around.
Whoa. Sorry to get all political on you. That was my public service announcement. I’m done. But seriously, guys. Cut it out.
But wait, there is an addendum to this story. After the experience I had just had, combined with the fact I had to be at work, I hightailed it out of there so I could spramp myself in time to be on my way. Steve returned to our apartment about twenty minutes after I did, and informed me that I probably should have stayed at the gym. Turns out that after I left, WL Man and the other 2 people that were still there began discussing celebrities… Kim Kardashian… and Facebook. Those three are at the top of my list of things that are important to me, especially when it involves having discussions with other people. Had I misjudged? Were WL Man and I destined to be best friends due to our glaringly obvious common interests?!
No, I decided, almost immediately. There’s no way I could be friends with someone that wears the same outfit everyday.
~L
I have a habit of becoming obsessed with a particular fancy (i.e. expensive) item that I cannot afford. Most of these obsessions are in direct relation to pieces of jewelry from Kate Spade. And how could you not?! Even just looking at their website makes me happy. My “Baubles” board on Pinterest is 80% full of things from Kate Spade alone.
So when you combine that with Glee, we have a real problem. Thanks to the website Fashion of Glee, my addiction is not only fed, but encouraged. You see, thanks to this obsessively accurate site, you can see every piece that a character is wearing and find out where it’s from, from tube socks to headbands. They even find pieces that the actors are wearing out and about or on the cover of magazines. It’s borderline ridiculous, but then again, so am I.
Speaking of obsessive, our favorite guidance counselor Emma Pillsbury can often be seen wearing all kind of fabulous pieces from Ms. Spade. I know a lot of teachers, and I’m pretty sure that the majority of them can’t spend $245 on a short sleeved sweater, but hey, these kids also break into song in the middle of the school day, suffering no disciplinary repercussions whatsoever.
I love almost everything Emma wears, because it’s always bright, slightly weird and adorable, which is how I feel about myself sometimes. So when I discovered a necklace that she had worn on an episode earlier this season that featured a hefty pair of gold glasses hanging from a chain, I knew I had to have it. Not only because she wore it, but because I’m a little bit obsessed with glasses and have always wanted to need them myself.
i’m so distracted by my curly-haired beau that I accidentally bought this crazy expensive necklace. oops
Of course I looked it up and was horrified to discover that the necklace was $148! I don’t have glasses, but I’m pretty sure that people don’t even pay that much for functional specs. I showed them to Steve, and he did this thing that he does when I show him ridiculous things that I want. He yells “HA HA!” really loud like someone just told a hilarious joke, then stares me right in the eyes and shakes his head while defiantly saying “no.”
Well clearly I wasn’t going to buy it. Even I know that’s outrageous for a piece of jewelry that is really more of a conversation starter than anything. But sometimes you just want to admire things… and then think about how many pints of blood you’d have to sell to get it.
So I forgot about said glasses necklace. Until Cyber Monday when my friend Patty posted on her “Things to Love on a Monday” series that the necklace was ON SALE for less than $50. And then a little piece of me died because it was 11:30 pm and it was totally sold out. Also, my husband still laughed at me and told me that’s it’s not really in the spirit of giving to buy yourself things barely a month before Christmas. It was then that my dream of owning a tiny pair of glasses on a chain was shattered.
Until January.
I was at work, preparing for inventory, when my former associate Sarah (who has moved onto bigger and better things out in St. Louis- HI SARAH!) informed me that she had something for me. Never one to turn down a gift, I giddily accepted, until she pulled out a tiny white satchel with the name Kate Spade emblazoned in its signature green across the bottom.
Me: No, Sarah, you didn’t.
Sarah: No, wait, there’s a story.
It was then that she informed me that this find was from TJ Maxx for $4.99. $4.99!!! I didn’t think it would be physically possible to even purchased the lid to a Kate Spade gift box for $4.99. As I opened it, she informed me that while it wasn’t the necklace I had been coveting, she thought that I could possibly turn it into one with the right tools.
Behold! My very own… Kate Spade keychain!
cuff be gone
But not for long. Because I grabbed my tools and got to work.
yes, i have tools.
I was going to take off all of the links except for the one connected to the glasses, but I was worried it would sit correctly. I decided to undo the second circle ring, but I basically needed the jaws of life to pry it apart. Also I felt like I was chipping it the more I poked at it. So I settled for the ring at the end, because at least if I ruined it, I figured it would be easier to get rid of it later without screwing up the whole thing.
I had purchased a cheapo necklace at Forever 21 to use just for the chain. I just went and looked for something that I wouldn’t care about taking apart. It almost broke the bank.
tiny glasses are way cooler than tiny trumpets
chain chain chaaaaain
My finished product ended up much longer than the original inspiration, but I like it.
golden-colored glasses
The thing that I love about Kate Spade stuff is that there are hidden messages. Like all the bangles have little sayings inside them. Of course, they are useless because no one ever knows those things are there but you. But it’s kind of like having a secret… with yourself.
read between the tiny tiny print
done & done
Of course I can’t just wear this necklace have people compliment me on it and be like “thanks, it’s Kate Spade, of course.” Well, hopefully I wouldn’t say that anyways, because I would be a huge tool. But no, when I wore this on Saturday to work I had to let everyone and their mother (including Sarah’s actual mother, who works there as well) know that not only did I make this, but the materials all together combined cost less than $10. But that’s sort of my favorite part.
~L
Former child/teen star Amanda Bynes was arrested in the wee hours yesterday morning on suspicion of a DUI (you know, just another crazy Thursday night in Hollywood).
Let me just say that this makes me really sad. Not just because I thought she was funny and genuinely liked some of her movies, but because her mug shot is SO BAD it may go down as one of the worst in the celebrity mug shot hall of fame:
sad doll
I mean, even Paris Hilton knew that celeb mug shots go viral almost immediately and had enough sense to pull her hair over one shoulder and give her signature smirk:
i just got arrested. but i’m still hot
I think many people were surprised to hear of Amanda’s little kerfuffle with the law as she has been off the radar for quite some time, probably since she announced her “retirement” from acting at the ripe old age of 24. I mean, I’ve heard about wealthy people who save money so they can like, buy a vineyard or something when they retire, so can you really blame a girl for enjoying her non-working years?
Apparently, Amanda has chose to retire to the Capitol, as she is currently sporting a frothy pink dye job only seen on the likes of a one Miss Effie Trinket. And the makeup. Oh, the makeup. I’ve always though that she wore a little too much makeup the past few years, and if you’ve seen her post-Hairspray there were some points where she was starting to turn a particular Snooki shade of orange. I know she’s probably used to having a makeup artist, but hasn’t anyone ever informed her about the importance of blending?! It’s like she painted on her foundation and her neck was like “hey, what about me?! Hellooooo…? I’m down here!”
I sort of feel bad for her. Not because she got in a car after consuming mass amounts of alcohol because clearly that is just plain stupid and more than her reputation could have been damaged because of it, but because she just seems like kind of a hot mess. I mean, my face hasn’t been that puffy since I got my four impacted wisdom teeth removed. Also, she celebrated her 26 birthday on Tuesday, and if this is how she looks at 26, then there may be some competition with Lindsay Lohan as “Worst Aging Celebrity” ever.
Girl, get it together. You’re at a crossroads in your life. Take it from me- 26 is kind of transitional, and it’s your last year before 27 which to me has always been the age where if you haven’t already, it’s time to get your shit straight. You’re clearly smart and funny, which can take you far when you’re surrounded by a world full of famous people with the personality (and IQ) of a tin can (I’m looking at you, Kardashians). Maybe just disappear again for a little bit, drink about a thousand gallons of water and invest in some of those face-blotting tissues they sell at CVS. Trust me, you won’t regret it.
come back to us, hot amanda. we know you’re in there somewhere
~L
In my first “Sh*t My Husband Cooks” post, I raved about his Crockpotted Asian Ginger Beef that has become a staple in our household. But because I was so consumed with eating it, I didn’t go out of my way to take any quality photos of my delicious meal. However, when Steve came home one not so special evening with a very colorful arsenal of ingredients I grabbed my Rebel and obsessively followed him around the kitchen pretending I was a photographer for the now-defunct Gourmet.
Steve does this thing where he doesn’t like to tell me what he’s making, he wants to “surprise” me, which I normally oblige. Unless of course, I am being a food paparazzi.
Now I’m no Emeril (clearly, judging by the fact that that’s the only chef I can recall by name), but from peering over his shoulder I could deduce that there was some sort of sauce featuring tomatoes, capers, kalamata olives (which are one of my current obsessions), spinach and other good-smelling things.
At this point I started to wonder if this sauce concoction was my actual meal, as there was no “real” food in sight. Which I probably would have been okay with, because let’s face it- I’ve consumed a lot worse. 
But hark! There was non-sauce component- tilapia! Which by the way, was on the list of foods I automatically didn’t like until I tried it at work and was made a believer. 
And it kept getting better. The tilapia was served on a bed of fluffy orzo, which is the closest I will get to eating rice. A little bland looking, until you add…
The sauce! Oh, the sauce.
I took probably 40 pictures of the completed dish alone because it was just so beautiful. I don’t normally feel that way because everything I eat comes out of a box or a can.
I felt like I was in a restaurant because Steve even garnished it with a slice of lemon. If that doesn’t scream fancy, I don’t know what does. Although I do know what doesn’t, and it’s probably the fake carnations.
Also, it tasted really good. Even if it didn’t, I probably would have eaten the entire thing because it was so visually appealing. Plus I have to eat whatever is placed in front of me or else I don’t eat. But it definitely helps when it’s pretty.
~L
Guess what I did today…
I MADE SOMETHING!
Not just something, food! I made something that people can eat. It was outrageous.
Well, it was outrageous for me. I am not a cook. I guess I’m what you’d call a microwaver. Which is like cooking, but faster. That’s the real thing I hate about cooking: it takes FOREVER. Maybe not for normal people, but for me, I literally cannot prepare a meal unless I have the entire day off, because the process of cooking is so foreign to me that it consumes my whole day.
Obviously, my husband is the cook. But this morning as I was doing my daily Pinterest cruise, I discovered a recipe that my friend Amy had pinned Easter themed cookies featuring Cadbury Mini Eggs (the chocolate ones with the shell, not miniature versions of the Creme variety). And I don’t know why, but all of a sudden I was like “hey, I can do that,” which is completely the opposite of the reaction I normally have to a recipe.
I checked the ingredients, and miraculously we had all of them. Well, except for the most important one:
Since I was heading to Walmart anyway to pick up a few other things, I figured I would just grab a bag of these while I was there. Unfortunately, Walmart had other plans for me and decided to carry every other Cadbury product on the market except for these. Not a good start.
After finally finding them at Target, I was able to take out my frustrations on eggs:
In retrospect, I probably should have gone about this a different way. The instructions said to coarsely chop them or something like that. How the hell do you chop a Cadbury Mini Egg? The shells are harder than actual eggs! Plus that sounded like it would take way too long, and my time is precious. So I figured I would just take a meat pounder to the bag. Unfortunately, I didn’t count on the fact that beating it with the sharp pointy side would puncture tiny holes in it, releasing the cracked shell dust all over my kitchen. Oh, well. Lesson learned.
Despite my incessant beating, I opened the bag and was horrified to the eggs had barely even broken! I couldn’t put those whole pieces in a cookie- someone would end up suing me for chipping their tooth or something.
So I grabbed my chopping board and cut those mini eggs like the pioneers used to do: with a knife. It took FOREVER.
I did realize that once the shells were broken a little bit, it was much easier to sink the knife into the chocolate to cut them in half.
Oh, did I mention while I was doing this, I was also cooking dough?! Well, not cooking it. Preparing it. Mixing it? Ah, whatever, it was being made.
This process was kind of a bitch because it turns out it’s very hard to pack 3/4 of a cup of brown sugar when it has somehow taking the form a millions of tiny brown sugar rocks even though you bought the stay fresh container from The Container Store to help it… stay fresh. Fortunately, Domino assumes that idiots like me will run into this predicament and printed special instructions on the bag of the bag on how to soften it. I had to heat it up in the microwave at 30 second intervals with two damp paper towels covering it, wrapped in cling wrap. In between these intervals, I had to take it out and break up the chunks with a fork, and repeat. And repeat. And… repeat. Eventually I decided that it was enough and just tossed it it. By the way, this is the first time I’ve ever used our KitchenAid. In case you were wondering what color it is if only to make sure you didn’t register for it by accident, it’s Persimmon.
While Persimmon did most of the heavy lifting, the recipe told me that I had to mix the chopped egg pieces in by hand. I don’t know why, maybe they assume that the recipe only tastes good if it has a tiny amount of sweat in it, but regardless, I’m glad I didn’t go to the gym today.
Next it was time to make the little dough balls (yes, I can hear you laughing because you just read “balls.” Get your mind out of the gutter please, I’m being domestic here). This is the hardest part for me because I always always ALWAYS make them too big and the cookies meld into each other to become a giant cookie blob. Which unless you’re going for a large cookie, is a fail.
I made like, four pans of these. All different sizes, just for good measure.
Also, cooking generally takes longer if you have to stop to take artsy photos in between every step. Just an FYI.
I have to say, my favorite part of the cooking process is watching stuff cook. I know, that sounds really weird because of my complaint about wasting time making food. But my favorite thing to do if I do happen to ever put anything in the oven is to turn on the oven light and watch it cook. It makes me feel like I accomplished something more than actually eating it. I don’t know why. Back in the olden days when we didn’t have an oven light, my mom used to yell at me for opening the oven too much. Apparently it’s counterproductive.
This is the part where I get nervous that they look terrible and not like cookies at all. But once I took them out of the oven (ten minutes for the first batch, nine for the second two), the little doughy pillows settled down a bit and started to look like something that people would eat. 
So I ended up with a billion cookies. Well it seemed like it, because there are way more than what’s in a Girl Scout box. And even though I was really full from the tortellini salad I treated myself to for lunch, I ate one just to make sure they weren’t poisonous or anything.
And they were pretty good! Although I have to say, I think I chopped the eggs so small that they almost just taste like regular chocolate chips. And the shell dust I think had pretty much baked in. I mean you could have practically snorted it out of that bag.
But all in all, a very successful experience in the kitchen.
And then I remembered why I really hate cooking:
ugh.
Get Snappy
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