Hi I'm Aimee, this blog is about a gypsy girl trying to live the city life and all my adventures in between from reporting my latest encounter with domesticity, reviewing the newest pop song, or just life in the moment. One day it struck me that I was constantly planning for tomorrow or what was coming next instead of living for today. Here is where I record the adventures of today.
Last weekend our neighborhood held one of the two annual community yard sales. Basically it is awesome because they pay for all the advertising and signage and all I had to do was lug my junk out onto the carport at the crack of dawn (okay, more like 7:30am). I combined my unwanted items with some of my aunt's things. My mom and sister Emily came by with some of their stuff too.
It was by no means the snazziest sale I've been to, but it made me enough to take my husband out for a night on the town! But more importantly, my neighbor traded me some jars for her old wheelbarrow!! At first Clayton was giving me his skeptical look mixed in with his "humor her" eyes. After a quick trip to Home Depot I transformed the old wheelbarrow into a lovely front yard addition.
I drilled/hammered a few holes in that sucker and planted an assortment of pansies and petnunias. I fell for the little white pansies with the sweet purple faces, which turned out to be a great color contrast for the new (old) green planter.
What was that? You noticed something in our carport in the background of one of these photos? It's another project we are working on, also purchased on the same day as the Willo yard sale!
Across the road from work is the most lovely little sandwich shop, Sacks Sandwicherie. I am a usual lunch customer (except not very much lately... dang budgets!!) and to expedite my service I almost always call my order in ahead of time. The manager Mike works the cash register during the lunch rush and when I pay with my card he always remarks that they spelled my name wrong. I never give them the actual spelling of my name over the phone mostly because it in no way affects the outcome of my sandwich or that I will be the one receiving it.
Today when I went in to pick up my usual (the cajun chicken salad with romaine lettuce only and one feta yogurt) I was given this.
I couldn't help but give the biggest smile. They really are trying and I appreciate that someone who doesn't even know me is attempting to get the spelling right. (Perhaps this will help justify the amount of money spent at this establishment...)
Let me start this post by telling you about my obsession for the wonderful dairy product cheese. If you have ever read any post of mine you already know I have a food obsession, but today I would like to focus on items that include actual cheese, a cheese flavoring, and foods that taste delicious with cheese.
After our wedding was over we found we had about 378 glass jars of shapes and sizes from hand picked center pieces and drinking cups that were left behind. I gave a couple cases of the smaller Kerr jars away to our friends to be used for canning. Karma did me right! The the reward was a jar of sweet and slightly spicy green tomato chutney!
They recommended we serve the chutney over lamb chops, but since I've only ever eaten lamb inside of a gyro we decided to try it on something a little more basic...
Yes, we decided to add it to our grilled cheese sandwiches.
We sliced sourdough and melted provolone, pepper jack, and colby (I think, it was a yellow cheese anyway) with a generous amount of butter slathered on both sides of each slice of bread.
I could only serve this caliber of sandwich with a superb soup (have I mentioned I also have a passion for awesome alliterations?), sundried tomato basil from the Safeway Select brand. Yum!
p.s. all those empties were not from the same night this dinner was concocted...
Due to my fashion sense and tendencies only an old soul possesses, I have earned the nickname "Diane Keaton" among my family and closest friends. I apologize, this post is about to scream "overprotective religious teenage mother"...
I have never been a fan of music that is graphically explicit (i.e. Rhianna's "S&M") and I would never be caught dead listening to it in my car, especially when my three little sisters are in tow.
(Note to readers: my sisters are 21, 16, and VERY recently 15. Ridiculous, I know)
I am however a huge fan of catchy music, even when the lyrics don't make sense or are not offering up the best advice. The most recent example, amazingly famous (as in, it's amazing that she became famous with what little talent she actually possesses) Ke$ha and her new hit single "Die Young". Let's have a quick listen, shall we?
I am the first to admit, I cannot get enough of this song. When I hear it I want to turn my speakers up as loud as they will go and promptly dance around my living room like a crazy banshee.
AND I WANT TO DO IT FIVE TIMES IN A ROW.
I do not, however think it is a good idea to literally tell yourself "let's live tonight like we're gonna die young" while holding Valentino in your arms and simultaneously consuming copious amounts of alcohol (because honestly, no one is really taking advice from Ke$ha unless they have been drinking). Let's review why this would be a bad idea:
1. What if you don't actually die young? That's right ladies, say you wake up the next morning. Now you have to withstand the walk of shame, buy some plan B, and get tested for every STI (we're calling it that now, right?) on the planet. You were under the impression you were not going to live to see the dawn of a new day. Lord knows what Valentino talked you into doing or not wearing.
2. Speaking of "wearing" items, have you seen the outfit pictured above? Enough said.
3. I know what you're thinking, "YOLO". You Only Live Once. Yeah, I get it but now you may be saying YOLOS. You Only Live Once (and now you got) Syphilis.
4. Ke$ha sings: "Looking for some trouble tonight - Take my hand, I'll show you the wild, side - Like it's the last night of our lives - We'll keep dancing till we die" While I have already stated my position on the "dancing until we die" I do believe that if you go looking for trouble you will find it.
5. If it really was the last night of your life would you be worried about "Young hunks, taking shots - Stripping down to dirty socks - Music up, gettin' hot - Kiss me, give me all you've got"?!?!? No ma'am! I would much rather snuggle up on a blanket underneath the stars, or slow dance in the moonlight until I couldn't feel my toes.
While I will bump this jam to dance around our teeny tiny home for the next three weeks in my dirty socks I would like to make it clear that I do not endorse the actual message the song puts out there. Instead of actually living life every night like it is the last one and doing god-knows-what with only-god-knows, find a Valentino worthy of your time and fabulous dance moves. And then hold on to them tight, like it's the last night of your life.
This week has been one of "those" weeks. It seems the world is falling apart and just as you are patting yourself on the back for being so calm and collected you realize you are the craziest one at the party. It was best described to me as an out of body experience. That is a great way to put it, suddenly becoming conscious of a situation in the middle of a screaming match with your 14 year old sister.
I guess it is in these trying times when we find our flaws that we have a decision to make. I can berate myself for the nasty words or irrational decisions made and try to make up for it with gifts, words, or affection. Or I can take a stern look at myself in the mirror and have a come-to-Jesus of sorts. I can grow from this, choose to alter my actions and my mindset. I can ask for help and loving reminders from my family, friends, and that of a higher power. I can continue to strive for who I want to be by surrounding myself with others who radiate the qualities I aspire to posses. I can make this about me, or about them.
Growing up the oldest of four girls has had both its advantages and trying times. I struggle on a daily basis to walk the line between sister and parent. My relationship with my mother and father are not conventional and with that I am in a constant state of tug of war between child and peer. I am going to take the lessons I have learned from this week of insanity with my family and use it to help myself grown instead of stint my relationships with them.
One of the best parts of my job is working with all different kinds of people from different cities and unique backgrounds. For some, therapy is getting back into the kitchen and doing what you love. It is my patient' s turn to teach me something when we are in the kitchen. I have learned to make some of our favorite dishes from watching and listening as these people heal.
Today I pieced together a recipe from an old shopping list I found in my binder at work, a hazy memory, and some (actual) recipes found on Google. The dish is pho (pronounced "fuh?') and I chose to make it with chicken like the original woman who showed it to me, but it can be made with beef or vegetables.
Clayton and I first tried pho at Rice Paper, a Vietnamese restaurant close to our house. It is especially delicious on a cold night! I was so excited to try and make something that we enjoy so much, and something that was never served in our family home growing up.
The ingredient list is fairly basic, I only needed a few things to throw it together. After a brief trip to the market I came up with the following:
Pho:
6 cups chicken stock
2 tablespoons fish sauce
4 cloves freshly chopped garlic ( or to taste)
2 clove star anise
1 chicken breast
1 package rice noodles (I used udon noodles because it's what we had)
Toppings:
bean sprouts
cilantro
green onion
sweet chili paste
hoisin sauce
First I mixed the chicken stock, fish sauce, garlic, and star anise in a pot and brought it to a boil and then reduced heat and allowed it to simmer. Simultaneously, I boiled the chicken breast. Some recipes called for boiling the chicken in the pho, but I didn't want any weird stuff from the chicken coming off into the broth. Also, I am a total freak about undercooked chicken. My chicken turned out a little dry, but I am convinced I am going to get salmonella poisoning. If you have been doing this longer than me (anyone) you probably won't have this problem. After boiling the chicken I shredded it into generous chunks and added it to the pho.
Don't forget about the noodles! I nearly did! Mine took 13-14 minutes to simmer, so depending on how long you have to allow your pho to simmer on the stove you can start the noodles first for a quicker dinner or after for more flavor.
I chopped the cilantro and green onion and mixed the two together, however they can be served separate. I rinsed the beans and the toppings were done!
The best part about the dish is that everyone gets to dress their own to make it sweeter or spicy depending on preference. I added a handful of bean sprouts, about half a tablespoon of hoisin sauce, a heap of chili paste, and finished it off with cilantro and green onion. The bean sprouts give it a nice crunch, and the chili paste gives it a sweet and spicy flavor.
Recently I inherited a bundt cake pan. I will be honest, I have never baked a bundt in my life. I haven't even baked a 9x13 cake that turned out like it was supposed to. As I was rambling to my mother-in-law about what exactly I was going to do with said pan, she pulled out a cook book called "The Cake Doctor" and sent me home. The book is written by a woman who spent years testing recipes made by fixing up cake mixes. In the last two or three weeks I have already made three bundts, all of which turned out moist and delicious!
I have to give the credit to the recipes, for my reading/following instructions abilities have not vastly improved (if anything they are declining). I snapped some photos of the most recent cake, a breakfast cinnamon cake.
I started by putting the walnuts on the bottom of the pan so they would have a chance to toast while the batter baked.
Pictured is the fabulous book (I now must go and buy my own copy instead of holding this one hostage), some ingredients, the batter mixture, the cinnamon sugar mixture, and my amazing hand mixer!
Just out of the oven
On the cooling rack, you can see the toasted nuts and the two layers of the sugary filling. Also my MIL gave me the pictured owl towel for Valentine's day. We literally own four towels that do not have owls on them.
Final product with the glaze
(Clayton was not patient enough for me to take the picture before cutting out the first slice).
Despite being a "breakfast" cake, it is delicious at all times of day. The best part is, since I am adding additional ingredients like pudding or sour cream I feel slightly closer to making some thing from scratch.
After the cake was finished and the dishes were washed I was tapped out on the "good little wife" front.
Lately, I have found I have a weird and until recently subconscious obsession with going to the grocery store. More specifically the Safeway at 7th Avenue and Osborn. Between shopping for cooking groups at work and fulfilling my personal cravings for Luna Bars and puffy Cheetos I am at that establishment about twice a day. Is it weird that other customers ask me where to find items? Even weirder that I know exactly where to find the frozen cornish hens? (They are in the frozen aisle on the bottom shelf near the other frozen meats)
Recently I confronted myself with the idea of being a shopaholic. Not in the sense of that movie with the cute red head girl or the even more popular book series by Sophie Kinsella, but that I literally HAVE to buy something everyday. Even if it's just half and half or a Country Living magazine. Or maybe it is just that I like the smell of the Starbucks coffee in the air and the feeling of familiarity. Either way, something amusing and essential can always be found in the seasonal section.
When constructing shopping lists I make organize them in geographical order starting always with produce and wrapping up with bakery and deli items. The most annoying part of this little revelation is that my memory for the new found favorite-place-of-mine is only good at that specific Safeway store. The same grocery chain near both my mother and father's residences are completely backwards and jumbled. Of course I would be the one to devote good brain power to a completely useless cause based on convenience.
While were on the subject of grocery shopping, I have to admit that I have about seven reusable shopping bags but only use them about 3% of the time. Even when going on planned grocery trips and leaving from home I forget to bring them. My Willo neighbors totally judge me when I unload my groceries, as they are usually doing something annoyingly wonderful like jogging or taking out their recycling in a Trader Joe's paper bag.
I tried shopping at Trader Joe's, but it was a joke since it's about six miles away. The nearest Sprouts is just about that far away, and if I went to AJ's twice a day I would be homeless. Homeless, but I would have some damn fancy cheeses that's for sure. The other nearby chain grocers are too scary (Bashas and Liquor Mart) or don't have enough variety (Fresh and Easy).
I guess for now I am fated to take the "Safeway" which is darn fine with me.
On my 24th birthday I made a '25 before 25' list of things to do. One of them was to blog weekly. Obviously not checking that one off, but I have been making more of an effort to throw pictures up of what I am doing or post a blerb of recent happenings. In an effort to attempt to blog more I have even downloaded the blogger app for my android mobile device.
I have unfortunately uninstalled the app due to not being able to access RLA and post (that was the whole flippin' point!!!) all the amazing stuff I do. I guess this was just the world saying I shouldn't be treating my blog like a facebook status update.
Currently, the Nelson household is gearing up for a fabulously busy week full of back to school dinners, testing out a new bundt cake pan, and spending time with my momma and sisters before she ties the knot next weekend! Woohoo San Diego here we come!
Lately life has been something like this equation:
living life > blogging
But I am here to report that our stab at refinishing a desk has festered into somewhat of a hobby. I was at a second hand furniture store and found this sweet little night stand for an amazing price of just $2! I knew I couldn't beat that deal, so I handed over a couple crinkled up ones and jammed it into the back seat of the cavie with ideas buzzing about.
I made the impulse purchase just a few days before our Salt Lake City trip, so I brought it home and it sat until we made it back. Upon our return we realized we had committed ourselves to house sitting, so we brought it along and had glorious amount of space to redo the piece.
We had picked up some paint samples while on our trip from various Walmart type stores, but in the end I scratched what we had found and went with "Fern Gully" from the locally owned Ace Store. Thanks Paul!
Quickly we found out why the nightstand had been so heavy, it wasn't
actually comprised of wood but made with some particle board type stuff.
I mean, technically it is wood but not the kind I was hoping for.
Eww.
We basically followed the same steps used for the desk, except I forgot to water down the paint so it took a little more elbow grease to make the night stand look "roughed up".
In less than three days we were able to get from start to finish. I am so excited to have more drawer space in our room now!
Hello my friends! I have a new and very exciting hobby to report that I have recently taken up. Clayton and I really wanted a different/more practical look for our little bungalow. We settled on the idea of finding older furniture and re-finishing it instead of spending gobs of money on something we'd come to hate in about 2.5 years. I'd have to say for our first attempt we did a fantastic job! I had a rough start, but after one week, a handful of blisters, and four separate trips to Home Depot we have a lovely piece of furniture living under our window in the new sitting room.
Yay for us!
We found the desk at a little antique trove in the Melrose District at a place called Magpies.
Before it just had a finish on top of the original wood and a little leftover red paint from a previous owner.
Step one was to strip all the finish and old paint from the desk and drawers. I used a citrus stripper because it was less caustic.
After scraping everything off we sanded the wood down so it was nice and smooth.
Thank god for power tools, it made this project much easier!
I totally missed out on a few in between pics... we painted a coat of brown before putting on a bright blue. We sanded the parts we wanted to look worn (edges, corners, and bits that are supposed to be worn over time) and put a dark wood finish on it. The last step was to put a matte varnish on it and move it inside!
i hope you know husband deserves almost all the credit :D
At the hospital I work at we have automatic everything and hand
sanitizer everywhere. As a result we have automatic flushing toilets
(the last thing you want to think about is putting your hands all over
the handle of a toilet that's been the victim of a scary spraying
situation/been stomped on 1000 times). I know this is probably not a new
technology to anyone, but it is not the "automatic" bit I am having
trouble with. My friends what my problem is, is the timing of these
flushing systems.
On almost a daily basis I find myself
flying into a stall and attempting to arrange the magic paper buffer on
top of the toilet seat. This is usually fairly difficult for me as I am
also doing the "potty dance" writhing around like a two-stepping snake
on crack (shut up, it makes sense). I always have to use two of the
complimentary hygienic barriers because I rip the first one in half
while trying to separate the middle circle part from the section that
actually covers the toilet seat. (If you do not complete this first step
and attempt to use it, you will have boomerang reaction with whatever
you were trying to keep off of your pants in the first place.) After
arranging the covers on the toilet seat, you must carefully balance them
so that they do not slip off and fall into the toilet water. This will
cause you to begin the potty process all over. By the time I turn around
and yank my pants to my knees I hear the dreaded clicking and "whoosh"
of the toilet. All my hard work literally goes down the drain and I must
start from the beginning, this time with my pants down.
A
few times my bum has made contact with the toilet seat just before the
mass of paper is sucked away and suddenly I know exactly what it must
feel like to be using the loo right as the pilot of an airplane flushes
everything out. What I can't help but wonder is how the censor bot
sitting on top of the toilet is mistaking my routine of cleanliness
while attempting not to wet myself for someone actually peeing into the
toilet. Is the bot being overworked? Have its censors gone mad? Maybe I
am just in the slow category when it comes to getting my tush on the
seat. In any case I will continue to perfect the potty process until one
day I dance so much I acquire the thigh muscles to hover my self above
the toilet seat.
The thing about puffy Cheetos besides the fact that the orange dust accompanied with the tasty snack stains your fingers, clothing, and all furniture in a close vicinity is that they are addictive. Also, it is not a snack you immediate think of when choosing a terrible-for-you-but-absolutely-delicious snack. Right away my mind skips to sweets: peanut butter m&m's, milano cookies, reese's peanut butter cup blizzards. This puffy snack makes it attack at Superbowl parties and 4th of July celebrations. It was at a similar event where my taste buds were captivated.
Mistakenly, I purchased a rather large sized bag of puffy Cheetos twists, far superior to their straight counterpart in my opinion, for a sweet 16 party. (The large bag was warranted, there were seven girls.) I may have had one or seven of those tasty twisters, and ever since the only food that has been on my brain (except for chimichangas, which lets get real, can't really be surpassed by much. except for maybe a fairytale brownie sunday...) is puffy Cheetos. Even the straight ones. Clayton literally had to pull me away from a display of Cheeto sale items set up seemingly to tempt my weakness for junk food last week on a beer run.
Note to self: Last sentence may contradict itself....
Anyway, since last Thursday I have been dodging the bags of orange goodness. Lord knows I would open a bag to have "a couple" and the entire contents would be finished in under an hour. Despite my futile attempts to replace the cheesy snack with popchips I still find myself day dreaming about consuming handfuls of Cheetos and then riding off on the back of Chester Cheeto's motorbike (I know he isn't technically featured with a motorbike on the packaging, but those sunglasses give it all away) and into a smoky orange sky.
But today my friends, is a day of weakness. For fear of my job, health, and general safety of others I have every intention of marching into the grocery store and stopping only until the largest bag of Cheeto twisters is safe within my death grip. Maybe then the weird dreams will stop...
To my long haired, freckled faced, silly little sister with an amazing sense of humor and killer fashion sense,
You were born 16 years ago today at 12:34 in the afternoon. You were scheduled, not as in Mom and Dad had planned you necessarily but as in the doctor told Mama to show up at 6:00am on the 29th to be induced. Haleigh and I were on a field trip that day and playing in a pool when my teacher announced that our baby sister had arrived safe and sound. Our sunburned arms ached to hold you. After Dad had collected us from our day of fun, we posted pictures specially laminated in our "Big Sisters in Training" class to the inside of your incubator so you could recognize us when you got home. I'll never forget how excited we were planning for you, picking out names we loved and choosing the outfit you wore home.
I can't believe the last sixteen years have gone by so fast, I am so proud of the beautiful young woman you are becoming and the responsibilities you have taken on. You are goofy and brave, fun loving and thoughtful. I am honored to call you my sister and am thrilled to watch you blossom into adulthood. Continue to follow your dreams and defy the norm.
By nature I'm not a scary movie type of person, the suspense in the movie the Davinci Code is enough to keep me on the edge of my seat and my mind wandering long after I should be in dreamland. I have however been victim of cheesy horror film re-runs on TNT when visiting my Dad. They ALWAYS have a scene where the girl is running from the uber creepy guy and can't start the getaway car in time because she has the wrong set of keys, a weird alarm system, so on and so forth. In my head I'm thinking "yeah right, in real life you would just start the car and drive away and that would be the end of the movie". Then I'm usually annoyed by the ridiculous plot line.
This last week my Dad was out of town and dropping him at the airport left me in possession of the big white truck he drives. It was awesome, I was ramping curbs and taking turns so wide I felt I was in a semi. Late one night I was on my way out to visit my sisters, racking my brain for a clever nick name to be used on a CB system when I realized I could be the star of a horror movie. The keychain my Dad had left me had four small keys looped on it. Two of these keys were GMC and the others looked like they opened front doors and office cabinets. My arms were loaded down with an overnight bag, my blue Nalgene bottle, my shoulder bag, and my cell phone. I carefully chose the square GMC key and shoved it in the lock. No dice. I reassessed and tried the round one. Bingo.
Note to self: This seemed really weird because my GMC automobile is opened with a square key (the round one is only used for the trunk).
So I haul myself and my belongings into the cab of the truck and stick the round key in the ignition. The car won't start. I pull the keys back out tried the square key to start up the massive engine. After a bit of turning, the truck roars to life.
I have flashes of myself in a dimly lit WalMart parking lot at 2:30am being mugged/raped/having someone taking a photo of me and posting it on people of WalMart all because I can't remember which flipping key opens and which one starts the white monster truck.
My life theory about scary movies was quickly disproved and left me feeling all too vulnerable. I considered the options and risks and decided to drive the hunk-of-gleaming-white-junk to my Moms. Besides, my car doesn't have air conditioning and going down tragically in a website post is not near as bad as sweating.
i hope your imagination isused on more productive thoughts.
As you may have read here, I am not an expert in the bike riding department (which probably has something to do with the mysterious disappearance of my lovely pink beach cruiser). Despite this unfortunate fact I have recently inherited a blue beach cruiser from my new mother-in-law! While it is not as new or shiny as my old bike, it rides wonderfully. Well, as wonderful as the person who happens to be steering it. On the weekends Clayton and I ride our bikes to our local coffee spot and during the week we sometimes ride them to happy hour. I have most recently started riding my bike to work. And this my friends is where the return of my bike riding tales begins:
It was a fine morning just a few weeks ago when I set out on my blue cruiser. The early morning air (okay, it was a little after 7...) was still refreshingly cool on my skin. I was running just the teeniest bit late and had decided to save myself a few minutes and take my coffee on the go. I had been riding my bike to work for approximately three days, so I felt like the challenge of balancing a scolding mug of precious mocha coconut coffee freshly brewed from my Keurig (Thanks Sara, TC, and Lane!) would be a piece of cake. It was a shaky start but once I reached the bike lane I was set: left hand steering the bike, owl mug in my right fully extended arm, and my brown Coach bag slung over my left shoulder. I was admiring myself for not veering too badly when I came upon my first obstacle, speed bumps.
Note to self: Why? Why do my neighbors have to speed racer down third avenue!?!?! Don't they realize going over speed bumps with an almost-full cup of coffee is a terrible idea!?
Shockingly I made it over the speed bump and the next two without spilling a drop. Ha! I showed the citizens of Willow. I was on my way to becoming a bike master. Then I came to the crosswalk.
I mentioned I was running late, right? I decided to dismount my bike and pop up on the curb to press the 'pedestrian crossing' button in hopes that the light would change faster. The light was going to change and I was going to hop back on my bike and gracefully cross Thomas without being late. I hauled my body across my bike and after some arranging (it is actually quite hard to get back on said bike with a large shoulder bag and only the use of your left arm) I began to pedal across the crosswalk.
Note to self: Really Aimee? Do you need to haul the large bag to work EVERYDAY? Not only is your balance shot, no one even gets to see how fab it really is because all it does is sit in a locked cubby all day. Definitely switching into the smaller one ASAP.
Except the thing about beach cruisers is, is that they are only one speed with coaster brakes. Since I had only been riding my bike at short intermittent times, I had not mastered the ability to get a rolling start from the brake position I had left my pedals in (to be quite honest, I am still mastering that one). With a quick 22 seconds I begin to push my left pedal down and hop myself and my bike across the crosswalk, right arm still extended. (Imagine if you will a bike-pogo stick combination) Halfway across I get the pedals far enough around that I can finally bring my right foot up onto the bike and begin to make up some time. With 13 seconds to go I begin to race to the far side of the street not taking notice of the uneven asphalting in my path. With a bump, my favorite morning drink is hurled from the cute owl mug and into the air. My khakis have been rained on and a large stain sits on my right shin. The next bump sends coffee across my glasses and into my hair.
Once I reach the other side of the street I decide to walk my bike the remaining short distance into my building. (I have received permission to park my blue cruiser on the storage floor at work since one got nabbed off of the bike racks right in front of the security office) Once I get myself and what is left of my morning caffeine up the wheelchair ramp I found myself in the lobby. The seven minute ride from my house to work has demonstrated the lack of muscle and coordination I have, especially in my left arm. I place my bag on the floor so I may better balance the bike and the cup of coffee while pressing the 'up' button for the elevator. Bad move. Trying to compensate I lean too far to the left and my bike goes flying out from underneath me and takes out my bag and my left pant leg. There I was standing in the first floor lobby with my belongings sprawled across the floor, my bike completely on its side, my pants covered in black and brown stains, puffy pink cheeks, dripping hair, and a quarter cup of coffee.
All in all I learned that:
-Keurig don't make their coffee cold
-It takes me 10 extra minutes to ride my bike one handed to work
-Bike tire marks only disappear after scrubbing Coach bags for what seems like forever
i get married in something like 31 days, but who's counting? i haven't written my vows i haven't hired a florist or made a 'flower' plan i haven't received any RSVP's (if all this planning was for nothing i swear...) i think my sister's hate my soul because it has been taken over by all things wedding plus i don't have anything borrowed or any clue what to do for my EIGHT bridesmaids.
the entire time we've been planning this outstanding event i have had the goal of being done planning on month in advance in order to celebrate my sister's 21st birthday and bachelor/bachelorette parties totally stress free. which means i have four days to meet my goal.
this afternoon after getting released from a work training early (yay!) i decided to take some time for myself and hike to the top of Piestewa Peak. once i got up there i told myself all the smog was just fog rolling in off of a coast somewhere and it made breathing not seem so bad for me. and it wasn't.
we met in december of 2009 and were married last spring. he is patient when i whine and understanding when i am not. he loves to draw, wear green shoes, and ride the light rail.
