Finally!

I bought rain boots last MAY and today is the first day I have been able to wear them.  Stupid Colorado.  Everybody in Colorado looks 10 years older than their peers residing in habitable locales with air.  Also, the Nordstrom stocks only half the shoes they do elsewhere.  Don't move here.  See, exception, Aspen. 

Mystery Bun

Do you know what kind of fine (overexposed) bun this is?  This, my friends, is a semmel bun.  When I went to high school in Austria I ate two of these every day for lunch.  No more.  No less.  This also might explain why I am only 5'1" despite having parents of normal height.  Not much nutrition in those buns there.  Yet if you asked me what I miss most about Vienna (besides the culture, the art, the architecture, and the gummi smurfs), I would tell you I miss the semmel buns.

No, I am not in Austria right now, but my husband was and he brought me back two semmel buns. You know, because they are the pinnacle of breaddom, I don't otherwise eat bread.  It's true.  If I can't have a semmel bun, I don't want bread. It's like that with lamb too.  If I can't have the lamb from Bob's Steakhouse in Dallas, I don't want lamb.

Say.  This is funny. When we were in Hawaii, all the fancy restaurants had lamb.  My husband and I have never once seen a lamb in Colorado.  Of course this could be because they are all on plates in Hawaii.  I'm just saying.  The fine people of Hawaii may want to do some due diligence with their meat distributors. 

Nespresso

I bought a Nespresso so I wouldn't have to go to Starbucks.   Now I just have a coffee for my way to Starbucks.

That being said, I love my Nespresso.  What a fantastic little machine. 

Also, my new favorite phrase is, "I smell like a chain smoking goat."  That little gem comes from Honey Boo Boo's father. 

And, finally, watching Pop Up Video.  Whenever I catch the video for What's Going On I am always surprized by what the ladies look like.  I don't know why.  It was the grunge era.  I always expected them to be . . . well, blonde.

It really sounds like I watch a lot of t.v., but I don't.  Between the job, keeping the books for The Franchise, and having an 11 year old, I only catch t.v. when I am brushing my teeth.

Working For The Weekend

Sigh.  On Wednesday we got a note from the franchise Mother Ship saying that mid-year financials were due that day.  Guess what I am doing this weekend.  A balance sheet.  Sure, in my past life I was a tax attorney, but we had accountants for any number crunching that was required.  This all sounds very, very painful.

Has anybody been watching Gallery Girls.  I am embarassed to say I've watched two episodes.  Goodness those are some terrible young women.  I hope they are not representative of most young women.  However, I've known a few from New York and I have reason to believe there is some truth there.  That being said, Big Rich Texas was in no way no how representative of Dallas. 

Back to Reality

Coming back to TWO full time jobs after 8 days in Hawaii is hard.  Especially when, after a week of zen, your flight home is a red eye.  Don't do it.  The red eye.  Do do Hawaii.  It was amazing.  I, the self-professed city girl, even appreciated nature in Hawaii. 

There was something about it that felt peaceful and safe.  Being there, I was finally able to let my mom go . . . that is, I finally let her rest in peace.  My counselor tells me this means that she will come back to me now.  And I do have to say, there has been a peace and a happiness and a lightness about me I haven't known for a long time. 

Life Is . . . Better

The doctor took me off tamoxifen. And I did a three mile run today.  IN MAUI.

Really? Again.

I friggin' hate tamoxifen.  And, yes, this is another post about how I hate tamoxifen.  The regular migraines.  The weight gain despite eating less.  The irritability. 

OH THE IRRITABILITY.  (On the other hand, it's not too much to ask that all the laundry - the socks, the underwear, the pants the swimsuits and the sweatshirts don't all go in the same drawer.  I think most people have a reasonable expectation, and expedite in practice, the theory that separate items of clothing belong in separate drawers.)

My poor family.  There is nothing NOTHING they can say to me right now that is going to be a reasonable statement, comment, or question.  Because my hair looks terrible and I am very tired.  Ten hours just doesn't cut it anymore.  Also I want to petition right now that synchronized diving is no longer an olympic sport.  If that can be an olympic sport then so can Zumba. 

And my poor son.  Never in his eleven years has he ever once been prepared for school or summer camp the night before.  But today, for the first time ever, I snapped at him about it.  (That being said, it's good to know he can be scared of me.  That could come in handy in a few years.)

Anyway,  my husband wants me to stop taking this drug.  I DON'T KNOW WHY HE CAN'T JUST BE FRIGGIN HAPPY THAT I AM DOING THIS SO HE HAS A BETTER CHANCE OF HAVING ME AROUND FOR LONGER. 

Party On

Y'all.  I'm hosting a big party.  The last time I hosted a party, jell-o shots played a predominate role in the menu, so you know its been awhile.  In my defense, they were white grape/champagne jell-o shots because I was throwing a classy party.

I am fairly confident, however, that the music will be the same. 

I wish I could tell you the theme but all my friends are so excited about the theme that they have been googling the theme and getting stuff to share at the party.  And we can't have them finding this blog, as herein we have discussed that at least one of them needs rehab.  And after much discussion with my counselor, it is not my place to intervene.  However, I can provide very small wine glasses.  Or, in reality, normal size wine glasses it's just at some point everybody I know started serving wine in water goblets so we could all say, "Oh I just had two glasses."  Two glasses that hold one bottle of wine.  Because if you actually look in the wine glass section at Crate and Barrel you wonder when they started selling glass thimbles.

Anyway, this was all just a big excuse to buy a pair of earrings and I couldn't justify the earrings unless I had a place to where them, and I wasn't going to come across that place unless I created it myself.  So, a pair of $35 earrings and here we are . . .

No Piggies

Can we say that if you are over the age of 60 you are not allowed to put your hair in pigtails.  In fact, can we say that if you are over the age of 5 you are not allowed to put your hair in pigtails.  Pretty much 60 is not close to 5 so there is really no room for interpretation here. 

If only I had my camera.  I promise that when I upgrade my phone on August 18th I will use said phone to record these things.  (Did I tell you my Nikon digital just died.  Just one day died.  May it rest in peace.  I liked my Cannon digital better anyway.  And my phone and the camera thereon is on its last legs, having nothing to do with the fact that for the past two years I have dropped it at least once daily because the ergonomics of carrying a chai and a cell phone in the same hand while opening a door are not great.)

I will also record my weekend trips.  You know I am not a Rocky Mountain person.

However.

I am madly in love with Steamboat Springs.  It is perfect.  There is a paved bike trail along the Yampa River, a waterfall hike, usually a hot air balloon taking off by the tennis center, and fairly decent Tex-Mex.  And do you know what I totally love about it - it is completely unpretentious.  This coming from me who never minded a little pretention (as in Dallas pretention, not I am cooler than you because I am outfitted for mountain climbing at a moments notice pretention).  Anyway, everybody is welcome and everybody is friendly in Steamboat Springs. (Except apparently for me who cannot abide by blonde old ladies wearing pigtails.  But come on.  That's just icky.  That's icky like the word panties or that scum that Robert Irvine is always finding in the places on Restaurant Impossible.)

Defies Belief

Last night I witnessed . . . AN ADULT LICKING HER PLATE.  Licking.  As in picked it up and licked it.  Today I have my review with my boss over lunch.  Could you imagine if I PICKED UP MY PLATE AND LICKED IT.  When my husband and I spend our anniversary at the Four Seasons in Lana'i, can you imagine if I PICKED UP MY PLATE AND LICKED IT.  Or just, say tonight at dinner, in front of my husband and my son . . . No.  No you cannot imagine.  Yet I saw something like it happen with my own eyes.  

Dear Nordstrom Personal Shopper

1.  Never say, "You're a lawyer, you can afford it." 
2.  Never say, "Sorry my breath smells like peanut butter."  Just carry mints.
3.  When I ask in advance to see three specific things, I would like, at some point during that appointment, for you to show me those three things.
4.   Fake your approval when I tell you I want Frye cowboy boots, not riding boots.  Asking me why in disgust is not appropriate, and then brining me riding boots anyway is just annoying.
5.   When the sales associate next to you tells me that you should pre-sale the items to me so I can get double Nordstrom points, you don't act put out and say, "You have enough points already."

I returned the items I got that day.  Nordstrom I expect better.  I am inclined to go back to the Mother Ship.  (Neimans)

Intervention

I have a friend who needs an intervention.  For more than one thing. 

Living large is fun, only then its not.  Then it is the same story every time.

But is it my role to say something?
Shouldn't her husband be stepping up?
At some point don't you have a responsibility to yourself and your children?

I Have Seen the Crystal Light

I thought I would take a moment to explain my hiatus.  I had a migraine that went off and on (mostly on) for the better part of two weeks.  I was so tired of being in pain that I began to take big steps to address anything that might be causing the pain.  I cut out coffee.  I know, right?  I was seriously in that much pain.  I cut out artificial sweetners, except for two sips of Coke Zero every night because Coke Zero is about the only thing that sounds good when I am in pain.  All I drink instead is Crystal Light Pure, and lots of it.  (I know two things about myself- I will not drink just plain water and I will not eat lettuce).  Despite the pain, I joined a gym with lots of great yoga classes because the doctor said to do yoga.   The first yoga class I thought I was going to throw up.  But I didn't.  Slowly I started to have more moments where I felt normal than when I felt piercing pain.  (Finally I felt well enough to take an Africa Jazz dance class.  And it was so much fun!  Until we danced to a jazzed up version of The Circle of Life, which was a bit too on point.)  

Anyway, things are much better these days.  One Starbucks I know just took a giant hit on their bottom line, but on the other hand I would buy stock in Crystal Light Pure if I were you.

I'm fairly certain this has a lot to do with the tamoxifen.  You know what would make me feel even better?  A puppy.  Y'all.  There is this sweet little french bulldog at the french bulldog rescue page that, according to her story, was given C-Sections with a craft knife at her former home, yet she is still so sweet at her foster home that when another puppy takes her Snausage she just politely asks for another one.  Someone in the blog world has to adopt this dog.  Her name is Lilac.  You could call her Lila. 

Well At Least We Know Who To Blame

It doesn't rain in this State.  Ever.  Sometimes it will threaten to, or even start to, but it is so dry that the drops never reach the ground.  And it certainly didn't rain when the State was on fire and before they got those fires contained.

But then it did rain the weekend of the festival.  The very expensive festival where The Franchise had a booth.  It rained so hard that there was a river going through our booth and our pans floated down the street.  They shut down the festival early.  And none of the vendors expected to break even - this being a big festival,the entrance fee was outrageous. 

And I am fine, but I got in an accident in my husband's truck.

Clearly you know whose fault this is.  George W. Bush.  Anyway, I remember once them saying that with global warming that Aspen was going to become the temperature of Texas.  Well guess what.  The fires and the floods and the heat.  The Gods are angry my friends. 

Burning Down the House

The State is on fire.

As much as I prefer a big blue Texas sky or a Carolina beach (or, really, the entire South) to these dry red mountains, it makes me sad that they are on fire.  We have friends who have been evacuated, and places we know and visit and hike have burned. 

I don't think it is helping my headaches, but at least our house isn't in the line of fire, so I can't complain.  I am not going to complain here about the migraine I worked through today.  Nope.  I'm just sayin'. 

Everyone is staying inside to stay out of the smoke. I am watching a new Chopped where all the chefs are from New Orleans.  New Orleans natives are lovely, aren't they?  And while we are on the topic of the Food Network, is everyone else on board with the hipster winning Food Network Star?  Love the hipster. I forget.  What did people watch before Food Network? 

No Thanks I Have A Headache

Y'all.  I've had a headache every single day since we've been back, with three of those days being migraines.  South Carolina was better.

Perhaps I just require sweet tea and "yes ma'am" to feel well.

However.

The fact remains we have to live here for the next ten years minus three month and here gives me a headache.  A constant, sicky headache that no amount of Kate Spade sale on sale can solve.  Trust me.  I tried. 

The Primary Flaw with Fifty Shades of Grey

We are reading Fifty Shades of Grey for book club.  Not the Pi Phi Book Club, naturally, but The Other Book Club.  My sister-in-law read it on family vacation.  She wouldn't hang out with us because she couldn't put the book down.  My other sister-in-law read it through and thought it was so good that she read it again right away. 

Wha?

Because The Other Book Club girls are so excited about this book and are already discussing it ahead of schedule, I figured we would actually be discussing said book on book club night and I made a promise to myself to read it.

I got to page 400 on the plane back from vacation.  My friend can't wait to lend me books 2 and 3.  No.  Please No. 

Because SERIOUSLY.  Did you note the part about where she was dressing for her date and she used a comb to put up one side of her hair.  GIVE YOUR READERS SOME CREDIT.  No woman since the mid-70's has used a comb to decorate/hold up her hair.  And then you think well, hey, wait a minute.  Maybe the book takes place in the 70's.  But no.  The main characters converse via email in parts of the book.

And also I feel a bit wierded out by the fact that so many people are so excited to read about the kneeling and binding and submissive stuff.  Do they not have cable?  Are their lives more exciting than mine?  Am I missing something?  Am I normal?  Because, frankly, I just don't want to read any more about this woman in the play room.  I don't care AT ALL what happend to her in there next.  Or what happens to her and him outside of there.  I could care less about this book.  Someone explain.  Obviously I don't get it because I have used shouting caps and italics to try to describe my confusion here in this post. 

Mmmmm Savannah

I love Savannah. I am a misplaced Southernor. I could live here. I love orange. I could live in the house with the orange door. However, Mizz Paula. Mizz Cora Faye on Colfax Avenue in Denver, Colorado, gives your fried chicken a run for its money. Also, my tummy hurt when I left your restaurant. Also, my vegan stepdaughter could not find anything to eat in your restaurant. That being said, you make a fine biscuit. And my husband declared your peach cobbler the best ever and he knows from peach cobbler being from the South and having it every Sunday after church. Tomorrow, Charleston. Although I was not born there, I was married there, so I reserve the right to be a Carolina Girl. Tomorrow we will visit the beautiful house where we got married, and the cupcake store that catered our wedding. By then the kids will be grumpy and we will head back. But right now, off to start Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

I Want To Ride My Bicycle

When we were riding bikes around Hilton Head I saw many fantastic purses alligators.

How much fun is riding a bike?  I had a blast and now I want a bike when I go back home.  Except back home there are helmet laws.  It is also hotter back home than it is here in the South (stupid Rocky Mountains) (OH AND ALSO ON FIRE) and I imagine once I attempt to undertake said activity with a helmet I will no longer be a fan.  It's not vanity.  I even really like hats.  It's just that I don't like to exercise while wearing headgear.

Anyway, here in South Carolina where you can be stupid if you want to, I am loving cruising around on a bike, the wind in my hair and the purses lurking in the ponds. 

Shoes! Glorious Shoes!

I only brought one pair of shoes on vacation.  Dort.  Look how artfully they are styled.  If this law and/or franchise thing doesn't work out, I can always become a stylist.  Look out Rachel Zoe.  I am smaller, blonder and smarter than you, and I can also go bananas, literally.

Where were we.  Oh, yes.  These love Coach jelly gladiators that are now on sale for only about 30 bucks. You can wear them with dressy little sundresses, shorts, jeans or even down to the beach because you can just hose the sand right off.  Having brought only one pair of shoes has left me lots of room for bangles, and I am a bangle whore.  Who can resist a Kate Spade bangle that says Rock the Casbah.  Note the lack of question mark as that is a rhetorical question.