tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86239342441571313582024-03-04T22:01:22.963-08:00The Woman in TrainingAdventures along the bumpy road to womanhood.Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-51734434158341646462011-07-06T11:23:00.000-07:002011-07-06T11:23:11.814-07:00Adventure Smells Like Sunscreen and GasolineGracious! What happened to May and June? Well, actually, I can tell you what happened; in May, I moved and I went to Arizona for three weeks in June. The combination of unpacking mountains of boxes and battling the "dry," Arizona heat temporarily derailed the critical thinking center of my brain and I was unable to write. Luckily, July is here, I (finally) have internet access in my apartment and my mental faculties have returned!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture has nothing to do with today's adventure, other than I took it in Arizona...</td></tr>
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The first of many blog-worthy adventures I had in Arizona was four-wheeling with my step-dad. *Brief time-out to address this verbiage: I'm not really sure what to call my mom's husband. Saying "my mom's husband" is cumbersome and it implies a sense of cold ambivalence that I do not feel. But step-dad is also awkward because they were married just last year, when I was well into adulthood. He did not participate in my upbringing, and so I don't feel like he's really earned the "dad" part of that title. I do not have this issue with my step-mom, who's been around since I was young and has invested a lot of "mothering" in me. Any other grown step-children have advice?* <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Somewhere between Phoenix and Prescott. I can't tell you exactly <br />
where because we were <em>off the map</em>!</td></tr>
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Anyway, he is quite the quad enthusiast and I was super excited to explore Northern Arizona with him! I was particularly pleased that he chose to ride in an area called "Breezy Pines," because it sounded especially whimsical! <br />
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I made the womanly choice to wear SPF 45 sunscreen, forgoing a lovely, golden tan because the Skin Cancer Foundation told me to, we gassed up the quads and headed for the high country!<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We rode thru Breezy Pines (which was pretty darn whimsical and smelled dreamy, like a hot pine forest, a smell I always associate with summer) and over a very rough road, and suddenly we were off the map! Now, I am not a very reckless lady, in fact, I'm often annoyingly look-before-I-leap, but something about being on a quad in uncharted territory turned me into a wild woman! I was flying over jumps and barrelling full-force thru deep puddles - not something I'd recommend, unless you like being covered head to toe in dirty, smelly, standing water. I had only ever ridden a quad one time before, but I was driving like I thought I was a professional. And I looked good...at least in my own mind I did... </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, thinking I looked like a professional on the ride.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much the dirtiest I've ever been in my life!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My quad, Flipper, and I became great buddies as I rounded corners too fast and bounced up, over obstacles just a little larger than might have been sane. At times, I questioned my wild riding. On more than one occasion, I remember wondering whether my chiropractor, who I apparently consider the voice of reason, would approve of my choices, but in the end, I'm glad I rode with such wild abandon. It was a great adventure and I feel like I really embraced the "old West" spirit of Arizona. I explored the desert, ate a lot of dust and refused to let clear thinking stand in the way of a good time! I'm so glad my mom married that guy, so that I could spend some quality time with him, riding like a bat outta hell! </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-57311047690892578752011-04-16T20:20:00.000-07:002011-04-16T20:20:45.645-07:00HealthyPart of my journey to womanhood has been realizing that being a woman is about more than crafting cute things and being a whiz in the kitchen. It's also about being healthy mentally, financially, and physically.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Aside from a clumsiness-related sprained ankle or two, I have been tremendously healthy. I've always worked around lots of germs (first with kids and now at a kids' hospital), so I have an immune system that's roughly as tough as a mixed martial arts fighter. I've never had a major illness and rarely even catch a cold. I'm realizing now how blessed I've been!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">To make sure that my body stays on track, I took the ultra-womanly step of making 3 doctors' appointments in one day, the dentist, the eye doctor and my primary care doctor, who I hadn't seen since 2005.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The eye doctor was easiest; in, out, new geeky gasses! The dentist...anxiety, terror, poke, poke, scrape, scrape, scrape, giant bill, done.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNZz0SpzqRwJVZSre9a2DQfciNdHePPSpTOy0m0gmHiPPsByJKJ_HWOpcnvHWe7tjukNvVM-2_aG2lPKRLMeom5Z1P7fO4__OyDJU5Gx1PENsIr4iOSiNlbFaCoNqTB3FGBeg5GJ6pNC5/s1600/glasses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNZz0SpzqRwJVZSre9a2DQfciNdHePPSpTOy0m0gmHiPPsByJKJ_HWOpcnvHWe7tjukNvVM-2_aG2lPKRLMeom5Z1P7fO4__OyDJU5Gx1PENsIr4iOSiNlbFaCoNqTB3FGBeg5GJ6pNC5/s320/glasses.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Me + new, geeky glasses= <3 (Unfortuantely, </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>this picture a</em><em>lso = Me + Uneven Bangs.)</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em> Side note: how many pictures of yourself </em><em>do you get to post on your </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>blog before it becomes a fashion blog?</em></div><br />
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But oh, my doctor, amazing! I LOVE that tiny, Asian woman! She chatted with me for like 45 minutes about why I think 29 is too old for acne and how my deep, abiding love for baked goods is conflicting with my new love of jeggings, and then she drew blood and put me on a very sane and easy-to-follow diet.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ECmEaR3qeY0/TapYOzE9tGI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/RVCwXYDsmL8/s1600/vitamins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ECmEaR3qeY0/TapYOzE9tGI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/RVCwXYDsmL8/s320/vitamins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>My naturopath doctor did not prescribe a bunch of drugs, but she did recommend a bunch of vitamins! </em></div><br />
I went back two weeks later for my first weigh in and the results of my blood work. The great news is that I lost 5 pounds ! (My adorable doctor actually hugged me as I stepped off the scale.) Also good news is that my glucose was normal. After 20 + years of carrying some extra junk in the trunk, I'm terrified of Type II diabetes. <br />
Less great was that my liver function is a little bit "sluggish." (It must be from all those delicious margaritas that I <strong>haven't</strong> been drinking!) My doctor is not super worried about it, but she told me to eat "liver friendly" foods, including bitter greens and beets.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V2i2Cc5lNGY/TapYOnTa9YI/AAAAAAAAAYM/WWiG8gMAAUY/s1600/dandelion+greens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V2i2Cc5lNGY/TapYOnTa9YI/AAAAAAAAAYM/WWiG8gMAAUY/s320/dandelion+greens.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center"><em>Dandelion greens. A woman in the store stopped me to ask how I was going to cook them. I used </em><a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Spicy-Sauteed-Dandelion-Greens-107815"><em>this recipe</em></a><em> from Epicurious. Turns out "bitter greens" are appropriately named. Also turns out I'm not a fan of dandelion greens, but I choked back a whole bunch. You're welcome, liver.</em></div><br />
So, now I'm in week 3 of my diet, which I prefer to call a "life-style" change, discovering new vegetables to cook (brussels sprouts, yes! dandelion greens, no!), getting skinnier every day and so, so grateful for my health! Going to the doctor and following her advice feels like the most womanly thing I've ever done! (I'm also so, so grateful for normal glucose levels, so that I can continue to adore gummy bears and cupcakes!)<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">PS Can you tell I'm a little obsessed with my iPhone and used it for all these pictures? I also used Instagram on most of them. L-O-V-E!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">PPS I ran into <a href="http://michaelanoelledesigns.blogspot.com/">Michaela</a> today at the mall and told her that I follow her blog, then we talked about the fact that our nails are shellac-ed. She was very sweet; I was a little creepy. It was awkward.</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-41964412711499375942011-02-24T07:06:00.000-08:002011-02-24T07:06:12.305-08:00Compost Cookies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I really wanted to call this post "Why I Might Not Ever Make Plain Chocolate Chip Cookies Again," but in addition to the fact that it's quite a mouthful, I read that you should have blog post titles that draw people to your site from search engines, so I called it Compost Cookies. It would make me feel better, though if you'd try to keep in mind the real title of this post as you read on.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBjTCGB1BKMgSpb1J6yaSHhT0MwDRobCPUEoBc94R-ZWSampCV33603MOnKtPwQ5FU99nYo7M7di5IK-DDvpbBwjPcAMl5uF9X9E3c3I39Uqod_Li_Uq6D7YAczuoTzVFD4oury90ZbPI/s1600/compost+cookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBjTCGB1BKMgSpb1J6yaSHhT0MwDRobCPUEoBc94R-ZWSampCV33603MOnKtPwQ5FU99nYo7M7di5IK-DDvpbBwjPcAMl5uF9X9E3c3I39Uqod_Li_Uq6D7YAczuoTzVFD4oury90ZbPI/s640/compost+cookie.jpg" width="474" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you've read many of my blog posts, it's probably not surprising to you that I have a sweet tooth the size of Texas. When I was in college, I indulged my sweet tooth with gummi bears... so many gummi bears that I got sick... more than once. Actually, this happened with such regularity that my boyfriend at the time finally had to save me from myself by confiscating my 5 lb. Costco bag of gummi bears and dolling them back out to me a few at a time. That's not really a shining example of womanly-ness, and I chose to believe I've done a lot of growing since then....</div><br />
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...Except when it comes to chocolate chip cookies! These delicious morsels of refined sugar and white flour are pretty much the pinnacle of dessert perfection. They're so satisfyingly delicious that even now, in all my womanly glory, I always eat too many. However, my sugary world has been rocked by my <a href="http://thefatgurlchronicles.blogspot.com/">coworker</a>, who introduced me to Compost Cookies, which just may have dislodged good ol' chocolate chip cookies from their position as number one in my heart!<br />
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I'm super left-coast and have definitely never set foot in New York City, but apparently amongst all the trendy places frequented by the urban elite dwells Momofuku and their bakery, <a href="http://www.momofuku.com/restaurants/milk-bar/">Milk Bar</a>, where they create trendy, salty-sweet treats, including Compost Cookies. (They also created <a href="http://articles.latimes.com/2010/feb/11/food/la-fo-crackpierec11-2010feb11">Crack Pie</a>, but that's a little bit off topic. Let me just say I've made Crack Pie too and it did NOT change my life, like Compost Cookies did and I certainly wouldn't pay $44 for it.)<br />
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I found several different recipes for Compost Cookies on the internet, and they were all a little different. For my first go round with these delightfully eclectic cookies, I went with <a href="http://www.amateurgourmet.com/2010/02/momofuku_milk_bars_compost_cookie_recipe.html">this recipe</a> from the Amateur Gourmet, which for some inexplicable reason seemed most authentic, but I added a packet of Starbucks Via because it sounded good. They were good, very good, but whipping the butter and sugar for 10 minutes took a toll on my little hand mixer and waiting for the dough to refrigerate took too long for my impatient sweet tooth. I decided to make my normal chocolate chip cookie recipe but add in all the crazy extras that make Compost Cookies so very irresistible. I don't like to throw this word around, but the result was AWESOME! I'm pretty sure I've reached cookie nirvana! No seriously, these suckers are fantastic! They are so compulsively tastey that plain of chocolate chip cookies may never again fully satisfy me.<br />
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Just in case you're now dying to try my Compost Cookie recipe, Here it is...<br />
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<img border="0" height="267" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK64yYF1-Copufa5ylgG4XCqlBRGnnyzOWqZJvaPsljSD-ZFXOSt26qp-sc2D5NvuC9K3k_gAd7phHt0uCJE-Wxp0YOFh8omtf02zxMRdYDBV3Zy1doYQYijOGWb6HSr8H4iJa3JG4_kIP/s400/compost+cookie+ingredients.jpg" width="400" /> <br />
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3/4 cup Butter or Butter Flavored Crisco <br />
1 1/4 cup Brown Sugar <br />
2 Tbs. Milk <br />
1 Tbs. Vanilla <br />
1 Egg <br />
Mix well. <br />
Sift in: <br />
1 3/4 cup flour <br />
1 tsp. salt <br />
3/4 tsp. baking soda <br />
Once combined, add <br />
1 1/2 cup savory ingredients (I use crushed pretzels and tortilla or potato chips) <br />
1 1/2 cup sweet ingredients (I use 3/4 cup dark chocolate chips, 1/2 cup butterscotch chips and 1/4 cup coconut) <br />
Bake at 375 degrees for 7-9 minutes, until just golden brown. Then (this is the magical key), as you pull the cookies from the oven, drop the pan a few times to knock them flat. Move to a cooling rack right away and try not to eat the whole 3 dozen cookies all at once! <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbMLEBy7EwGQJ5mYR88Csrt5zrFkQ4gH9ESoJFR3iAKlaLNm9Ri18GRAQ5_lKEGLccI2ssjF_GxxPVFMT-NF9fzJ1PAPygqS_uVrGDqf9Xg1gf8EpOt-H8U-0yjwfmr_Hsw4Ll0FCeJ_P/s1600/cookie+dough.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcbMLEBy7EwGQJ5mYR88Csrt5zrFkQ4gH9ESoJFR3iAKlaLNm9Ri18GRAQ5_lKEGLccI2ssjF_GxxPVFMT-NF9fzJ1PAPygqS_uVrGDqf9Xg1gf8EpOt-H8U-0yjwfmr_Hsw4Ll0FCeJ_P/s320/cookie+dough.jpg" width="233" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(On a totally seperate note, I just got a new 50mm lens with a really big aperature. It's tough to get used to the fixed focal length, but look at that AMAZING depth of field!)</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKxjfp22gsAQhBrmvmXo5uPKiNm7FOAkxBo6QdXaSnbQxp__e4UhZyKZGSYofn-6ZDLtoANN0H96oQ6XE9_n78_xr3li94SIsUrlMS9s2sw63yixd3N-1dfBa5VXAXNHesLjMlQPZu5xD/s1600/cookies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKxjfp22gsAQhBrmvmXo5uPKiNm7FOAkxBo6QdXaSnbQxp__e4UhZyKZGSYofn-6ZDLtoANN0H96oQ6XE9_n78_xr3li94SIsUrlMS9s2sw63yixd3N-1dfBa5VXAXNHesLjMlQPZu5xD/s640/cookies.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Seriously, go make these cookies right now as a reward to yourself for making it all the way through this long, rambly post!</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-35196285961322824532011-02-14T06:10:00.000-08:002011-02-14T06:10:35.777-08:00Valentine's Day<div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitpYZoH-EE_cNGJHNC4slXMnRlxKyHhhLIjQQvWLx1lH8z29L4dqROHiLV9rFZQqtYWsCgdK_-zyujnnikU0oUaC4oS2Cl-_blm5lkmD4Jljp8f10nR6aEp-8ntlshNB0kY7P-ekdzkFlF/s1600/hearts.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitpYZoH-EE_cNGJHNC4slXMnRlxKyHhhLIjQQvWLx1lH8z29L4dqROHiLV9rFZQqtYWsCgdK_-zyujnnikU0oUaC4oS2Cl-_blm5lkmD4Jljp8f10nR6aEp-8ntlshNB0kY7P-ekdzkFlF/s320/hearts.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://zakkalife.blogspot.com/2011/01/craft-origami-heart-valentines.html">Origami hearts</a> I folded from Ikea napkins to decorate work for Valentine's Day!</div><br />
</div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Even though Valentine's Day is mostly a commercial holiday and even though some of my friends call it "Singles Awareness Day," I think the womanly thing to do is embrace it! So this year, instead of thinking about the hot date that I'm not on, I'm celebrating all the love that fills my life. I'm blessed with a wonderful (and eccentric) family and delightful friends who I love so, so much, and that really is worth celebrating. </div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjviXz8rpM-n32gAvfXRecsgSoP5qEsxZ9YjnOaKf870sWOdCo8N5Q6r10XfOLq9ylIlP6_v38OYZGMJL1LjrwXI20lBEEo6PF962yT1eYunciIHNc2spt7wTcrNnLw2cUMaG9qjg9doT1e/s1600/katespadevalentine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjviXz8rpM-n32gAvfXRecsgSoP5qEsxZ9YjnOaKf870sWOdCo8N5Q6r10XfOLq9ylIlP6_v38OYZGMJL1LjrwXI20lBEEo6PF962yT1eYunciIHNc2spt7wTcrNnLw2cUMaG9qjg9doT1e/s640/katespadevalentine.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's a Valentine from me to you courtesy of Kate Spade. (Seriously, if you haven't seen their amazingly adorable Valentines, you need to stop everything and go take a look!)</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-62677685578317063192011-01-07T05:39:00.000-08:002011-01-07T05:39:01.728-08:00Birthday Reslolutions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3bJgLMoEXcEIsXqEO98CYl3K9zodJKt_JEBMLBCogq0XzcudUinCxlgyZMp2qEdmfWWINIvfSkdZesHJy3v9MZ-erCFxGaVCBkcnebsi8vbliBStqYCwXnTc3qKa0nbiPtS131kp7k35w/s1600/candles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3bJgLMoEXcEIsXqEO98CYl3K9zodJKt_JEBMLBCogq0XzcudUinCxlgyZMp2qEdmfWWINIvfSkdZesHJy3v9MZ-erCFxGaVCBkcnebsi8vbliBStqYCwXnTc3qKa0nbiPtS131kp7k35w/s320/candles.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>I was born in early January. For my mother, this meant that she spent the fall and early winter slipping on icy Pullman hills with a belly so big that she resembled a turtle. For me, this meant that I spent most of my childhood disliking joint Christmas/birthday presents and feeling monstrously put-upon when the birth of Christ overshadowed my birth. As an adult, however, I love the fancy, spendy presents that come when Christmas and birthday resources are combined (Thanks for the shiny, new iPhone, Mom! [And also for giving birth to me.]), and I have grown to appreciate the proximity of my birthday to the beginning of the year. <br />
Firstly, I appreciate that it condenses my quarter-life anxiety into a brief time span. The turn of the year is a really natural time to take stock, evaluate your life and wonder where you're headed. In my case, this often leads to career related angst, single-ness angst, financial angst, biological clock angst and general feelings of "what am I doing with my life?" These thoughts also tend to surface at birthdays along with the bonus of long sessions in the mirror trying to detect new wrinkles or gray hairs. Lucky for me, I get this all over with at once and then get to settle back into my default cheerful mode.<br />
Secondly, I get to do a trial run with my New Years' Resolutions to see which ones stick. I make "rough draft" resolutions in the end of December and then by the time my birthday rolls around, on January 7, I have a better idea how new, better lifestyle choices will fit into my normal routine. I then make Birthday Resolutions. In theory, this leads to more lasting change....<br />
Here are my Womanly Birthday Resolutions for my 29th year...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2uYwg84TWckjYSU1dmnYScFpmUoOrt0xZbAx9eok9mHoIiKtZaUw4liTeaH-ucODVVxJdMdxsDcYumjL6W1k0hX24pAJU6fQIb3X_Td_ehUmXKadxGtKviqJop01kHPg4OwAfltwl1tBI/s1600/365+photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2uYwg84TWckjYSU1dmnYScFpmUoOrt0xZbAx9eok9mHoIiKtZaUw4liTeaH-ucODVVxJdMdxsDcYumjL6W1k0hX24pAJU6fQIb3X_Td_ehUmXKadxGtKviqJop01kHPg4OwAfltwl1tBI/s400/365+photo.PNG" width="266" /></a></div><strong>Take more pictures (especially with my shiny, new camera lens [thanks, Deb!]):</strong><br />
So far this year, I'm doing well. I downloaded an app on my iPhone that reminds me to take a picture every day. They might not all be masterpieces, but they are all a snapshot of my day. My gut feeling is that I'm going to have to get really creative about photographing my job in interesting ways.<br />
Another success in this arena is that I shot pictures for this very post. Good showing, but I think I will be more successful in this endeavor after my lease is up in April. My current apartment does not have great light, and I'll definitely be looking for more windows in my next place!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCcW1kvhSuHIG7GGCEjLVvBDmEtUTn1OifNyhFSlEHM-c4kC6OyqMdXyPKhc26U2l27IFCWWTUzpIJyhzKjEgJShdRjvLpRAJOeLJNj1PHUtS10dQLfBH_pzaZokagaHdTBlraYBDtg1sr/s1600/bibles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="544" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCcW1kvhSuHIG7GGCEjLVvBDmEtUTn1OifNyhFSlEHM-c4kC6OyqMdXyPKhc26U2l27IFCWWTUzpIJyhzKjEgJShdRjvLpRAJOeLJNj1PHUtS10dQLfBH_pzaZokagaHdTBlraYBDtg1sr/s640/bibles.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><strong>Read thru the Bible:</strong><br />
I give myself a C on this one. I downloaded a daily Bible reading plan and a week into the new year, I'm a day behind. Not stellar, but I have time to catch up and get better.<br />
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<strong>Create more:</strong><br />
Specifically, blog at least twice a month, which I know is setting the bar low, but look where I'm coming from, and more crafting. I think I'm on course with this one too, especially if you count the Christmas presents that I was too busy to craft before Christmas, and ended up making in January! In this category, I'm also working on my handwriting.<br />
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<strong>Be kinder to my body:</strong><br />
This one is super broad, but in my mind, it makes sense to group it all under an umbrella. Specifically, I plan to sleep more, eat healthier and get on a workout schedule. I'm gonna be honest and say that so far, this the "rough draft" resolution at which I have been least successful, but I'm not nixing it. I'm going to apply my hard-headedness in a positive direction and remember that I only have one body and treat it like the temple it is! (Starting Monday, after I've eaten all the delightful things that accompany a birthday!)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOFjKz-AFJOllffP6ikGOfBcsD9r9zMIqJ8CcMt_maTCmWuNyb6qCs6KzooNYLIkUHlhPQSJ1ZURb9g9_2wofu2YHWsQD8fuo4C9487EkLkqHbBiczFZHbnm_XmBBLuG-UuRIeWLBOvPwS/s1600/machu+pichu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOFjKz-AFJOllffP6ikGOfBcsD9r9zMIqJ8CcMt_maTCmWuNyb6qCs6KzooNYLIkUHlhPQSJ1ZURb9g9_2wofu2YHWsQD8fuo4C9487EkLkqHbBiczFZHbnm_XmBBLuG-UuRIeWLBOvPwS/s400/machu+pichu.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photograph of Machu Pichu courtesy of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/utzivan/">Ivan Utz</a> via <a href="http://www.flikr.com/">Flickr</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Someday however, I'll take a picture like this!</div><br />
<strong>And a couple pipe dreams:</strong><br />
Learn to: sew (better), play guitar, draw/paint, speak Spanish (well)<br />
Pack my bags and run away to South America<br />
Figure out what I want to be when I grow up<br />
Become independently wealthy and spend my days sleeping in, baking and volunteering for worthy causesNicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-37810737879692076612010-11-15T06:17:00.000-08:002010-11-15T06:17:01.745-08:00An Autumn Wedding<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiP4EEVYnL4v7ZCkf7kf1iGHHBmjTleXfaOowQrnaGV6JP6cAV4ODJojEuIkgio8GX9lc_TRQk4ffT0PAGLc1c05RQUCf-tdqcJxmOukKO6ml-3AopN1Hz2nircKLzf5EXejBFOHn2l9a8/s1600/DSC01545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiP4EEVYnL4v7ZCkf7kf1iGHHBmjTleXfaOowQrnaGV6JP6cAV4ODJojEuIkgio8GX9lc_TRQk4ffT0PAGLc1c05RQUCf-tdqcJxmOukKO6ml-3AopN1Hz2nircKLzf5EXejBFOHn2l9a8/s400/DSC01545.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In the middle of October, I ran away from the dreary Northwest fall to sunny, dry Arizona. Actually, I left behind crisp, clear fall mornings and changing leaves for sun-scorched cacti and highs in the 90s. It seemed like a great idea in the planning stages, but when I landed in Phoenix at 8 am and the temperature was already 88 degrees, I thought maybe I'd made a mistake. However, when I saw my mommy waiting for me at the baggage claim, the extreme (to a Seattleite) heat became irrelevant and I didn't care if I missed every beautiful fall moment for the sake of spending time with her and the other Arizonan immigrants that I love!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiNkCwklCHS78nvt45HBdySEoLu_sMgHMuqnb-ju38o4bvt4ChStpX9kZraIamOfrIzEtgCpHwbkumffFestPhUpE6iIcE9yKUV2buJS5Huenb_eROy3OhEFJJA6j7bdL9saI8aryq7AZ/s1600/mom+nic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="325" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQiNkCwklCHS78nvt45HBdySEoLu_sMgHMuqnb-ju38o4bvt4ChStpX9kZraIamOfrIzEtgCpHwbkumffFestPhUpE6iIcE9yKUV2buJS5Huenb_eROy3OhEFJJA6j7bdL9saI8aryq7AZ/s400/mom+nic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Then, Mom added the cherry on my vacation sundae by showing me a giant diamond sparkling on her left ring finger! "Surprise," she said. "The wedding is tomorrow and I need your help!" Some people may have been astonished that their usually painfully methodical mother was about to partake in a shotgun wedding. Some people may have taken a second to think about the potential groom (who is wonderful and lovely and treats my mom like a princess) and whether he deserves to marry their mother. Some people may have had mixed feelings about the shifting family dynamics and adding 4 new step siblings and a step parent, but I heard the words "wedding" and "help" and was excited instantly. I was ready to spring into action with thousands of ideas fueled by my <a href="http://thewomanintraining.blogspot.com/2010/07/wedding-obsession.html">wedding blog obsession</a>.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We spent much of the car ride home talking about what was important to Mom, and what was appropriate for a courthouse wedding. And of course, Mom had to rein me in a couple of times, when I started imagining all the beautiful and creative wedding things I could have put together within 24 hours. Mom had to remind me that her aesthetic is a little different from mine, and while sundresses with wildflower bouquets are adorable for brides in the 20s, she was interested in something a little more polished.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOxAS1OgjZKx54ZJtdYYyo7ocWHDd9OOHDfpYvtllf5ZR81EJkNLjcEWxqhQYJwhS6KP5SvqeTh4QcpqJitmRy9CrqFd8L-thig8xvCgBPjIadPu3SgZdOzmaQVWi03KEcmw9QCsygZwy/s1600/bouquets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOxAS1OgjZKx54ZJtdYYyo7ocWHDd9OOHDfpYvtllf5ZR81EJkNLjcEWxqhQYJwhS6KP5SvqeTh4QcpqJitmRy9CrqFd8L-thig8xvCgBPjIadPu3SgZdOzmaQVWi03KEcmw9QCsygZwy/s640/bouquets.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I thought Mom's shotgun bridal party should look like <a href="http://greenweddingshoes.com/real-wedding-lydia-joshuas-backyard-wedding/">this</a> group from <a href="http://greenweddingshoes.com/">Green Wedding Shoes</a>, with </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">adorable bouquets and sundresses, but the bride had visions of a more "mature" wedding.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The next morning, our first stop was the florist. Mom had a small nervous bride moment, when she was totally inarticulate about what she wanted in the bouquet, but I, like a good maid of honor, helped her clarify her expectations and communicate them. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7BjNGGhdMS6RNdyUPYt0ftK6pDC7JlNmXDxAYWJA83pJJH2Gqia9kP9Ihyphenhyphen_voPad1PctQ8qMwvOYlOdfrGEvUI6pIJgswvV59lAgkgdxIKn_XEhYxKlSj-eMzt3ktr4LNbOd-9e_g6UUa/s1600/moms+bouquet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7BjNGGhdMS6RNdyUPYt0ftK6pDC7JlNmXDxAYWJA83pJJH2Gqia9kP9Ihyphenhyphen_voPad1PctQ8qMwvOYlOdfrGEvUI6pIJgswvV59lAgkgdxIKn_XEhYxKlSj-eMzt3ktr4LNbOd-9e_g6UUa/s640/moms+bouquet.jpg" width="586" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Then, we went wedding dress shopping. I have watched so much "<a href="http://tlc.discovery.com/tv/say-yes-to-the-dress/">Say Yes to the Dress</a>" that I feel like I could be a Kleinfeld's consultant, so I knew I was up to the challenge! Of course, Dillard’s is no Kleinfeld's, and the only dress that stood out to us was something Mom would never normally try on. Just like Keasha (my favorite consultant) would, I encouraged Mom to stretch her boundaries a little bit and it ended up being the perfect dress. I indulged my inner Keasha, when I stood in the mirror behind Mom and said "Is this your dress?" It was so stinkin' fun!</div><br />
Then, it was time to get ready and go the courthouse for the wedding. The ceremony was quick and pretty standard, but there was a great moment when Mom was so overcome with emotion that she couldn't talk. Then, she cried a little. It was pretty sweet. Also pretty sweet was that she and my new step dad, Alan, let me pretend to be a wedding photographer and take a million pictures of them.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3gesrF-bMgKQqqE3Za1Ny5ofkp0oW8qPGHqadXIo6vQdWFdC_W9Q6Q2kHgtSwpNilYC3SxNiTmFOQiiFCvvJY-Hng5ofhI6LrNRit5Hy4NRYFxsNczh8hbQh8fbvbNnYO9zVT3OYP-T7/s1600/DSC01260+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3gesrF-bMgKQqqE3Za1Ny5ofkp0oW8qPGHqadXIo6vQdWFdC_W9Q6Q2kHgtSwpNilYC3SxNiTmFOQiiFCvvJY-Hng5ofhI6LrNRit5Hy4NRYFxsNczh8hbQh8fbvbNnYO9zVT3OYP-T7/s640/DSC01260+copy.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />
The whole wedding process was super quick and super fun and I was so glad to be a part of it! It was a great experience because it was so low stress, but it was also a great womanly adventure. I was glad I had a knowledge base to be able to help my mom on her special day, and I was especially proud of myself because I really listened to and focused on her. There was so much potential to try to take over or push my ideas onto her special day, but I didn't do that. Instead, like a mature woman, I was thoroughly helpful and pleasant and my mom got everything she wanted. I'm becoming so womanly!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBii4GLyoiVnyyxNJve-8YwUc3dSIYSASjfgaHgjJ_4gupG2hJobx6ylxt-9ogt4zXOdEbdAxRs-k6El7Fbd7Da17dTaYIpbD04K-ynrJ4KKVT7vQ0PuFX5XTwd2PNL9PeAiXzj4tWPPdN/s1600/DSC01363+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBii4GLyoiVnyyxNJve-8YwUc3dSIYSASjfgaHgjJ_4gupG2hJobx6ylxt-9ogt4zXOdEbdAxRs-k6El7Fbd7Da17dTaYIpbD04K-ynrJ4KKVT7vQ0PuFX5XTwd2PNL9PeAiXzj4tWPPdN/s640/DSC01363+copy.jpg" width="428" /></a></div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-49578153868137442532010-08-25T05:23:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:52:45.072-07:00Ten Years LaterI graduated from high school in 2000. Because of this, I've spent 2010 thinking vague and fleeting but none the less stressed-out thoughts about my 10 year high school reunion. In January, I thought, 'I've got months to upgrade my life, including loosing 20 pounds and finding a boyfriend and becoming rich and famous and successful.' In May, I thought, 'I'm a runner now, surely I'll be beautiful and fit by the end of summer and everybody from high school will be amazed by how amazing I am.' In July, I thought, 'Good Lord, the reunion is less than a month away! I haven't lost 20 pounds or found a boyfriend; I haven't become rich or famous; I'm not going!' In August, I realized that all of my stress and panic was silly, and the only thing keeping me from a 90s-music-filled evening of adventure was my own insecurity. I decided that I'm too womanly to let the small, ugly voice in the back of my head control me and decided to brave the reunion. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy7QKS1m6jAJrtOEqSsd_aNT_14hpjrqbnP_LnCgEawcZ7UPX9wfS0js__ObMXaO-2pr3Zthg8WPafN3xvxfiUQL13QTLcH2SlhHBuDq2usApyreBpBDcNwL_5rjPQUqiGytOsb8NyB-gz/s1600/nik+al+high+school.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="372" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy7QKS1m6jAJrtOEqSsd_aNT_14hpjrqbnP_LnCgEawcZ7UPX9wfS0js__ObMXaO-2pr3Zthg8WPafN3xvxfiUQL13QTLcH2SlhHBuDq2usApyreBpBDcNwL_5rjPQUqiGytOsb8NyB-gz/s400/nik+al+high+school.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me and my great friend, Al, the summer before our senior year. Based on this picture, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm pretty sure neither of us had a super cool reputation to maintain at the reunion.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bHintfp217B-1pd2pTnr4kur7bxh2wCwBqdCX9es75a6cm6fq8YLblTA8sG4f8dG9SbwqXFs7vvCBjvEownwEU6t4Qxdf2RABCBjpWBScPxpGy_d79ikf_pHt9NBPr13y_RHldQ804Wl/s1600/nik+al.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bHintfp217B-1pd2pTnr4kur7bxh2wCwBqdCX9es75a6cm6fq8YLblTA8sG4f8dG9SbwqXFs7vvCBjvEownwEU6t4Qxdf2RABCBjpWBScPxpGy_d79ikf_pHt9NBPr13y_RHldQ804Wl/s400/nik+al.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me and Al now, significantly cooler, except maybe the bad lighting and hair in Al's face.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My adorable and steadfast friend, Al, and I decided that together we could relive high school for a night, as long as it was preceded by some massive retail therapy. We dedicated a whole grueling day to shopping. Even though Al found her dress right away, she stuck with me through Macy's and Nordstrom and the Gap and H & M and little boutique stores, until finally I found a dress that suited me perfectly! Then, we repeated the whole process for shoes and accessories. Despite being tired at the end of the day, I was stoked because I felt like I was going to be able to walk into my reunion with a ton of confidence.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheMzRur2CBkNmg33BDyz5AidvVZkAvBI74tTNe2dmXPdjeIfDXRHuQmgzZcJ-mYZF2fcclhMIyo19LE-IYdJVj5ZNmgGY3V6z6PzgUSQ_9GNfZAn8pDw38tfuU_ynYd8A7JbS4TeIMkbC/s1600/DSC01079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheMzRur2CBkNmg33BDyz5AidvVZkAvBI74tTNe2dmXPdjeIfDXRHuQmgzZcJ-mYZF2fcclhMIyo19LE-IYdJVj5ZNmgGY3V6z6PzgUSQ_9GNfZAn8pDw38tfuU_ynYd8A7JbS4TeIMkbC/s640/DSC01079.JPG" width="420" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It took a lot of patience, but I found the exact perfect dress that's grown up but still super fun.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Wx6Q-RfF1uds-u6nHvwWSCIvfjPDswTmhmR8i3EQaTOoiYN_covRrCE_8pM6rJYPLwk-AevPOFLZJzp_VjNSjRjSsZBDrIqtbzxRGV-73ibyCXh279qBs2mEFAtQJF6CN0WlE5zRws1b/s1600/DSC01087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="381" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Wx6Q-RfF1uds-u6nHvwWSCIvfjPDswTmhmR8i3EQaTOoiYN_covRrCE_8pM6rJYPLwk-AevPOFLZJzp_VjNSjRjSsZBDrIqtbzxRGV-73ibyCXh279qBs2mEFAtQJF6CN0WlE5zRws1b/s400/DSC01087.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I even found shoes and a headband that are so totally me! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After shopping with me, Al defined my style as "Preschool Sock Hop,"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> which I thought was perfectly descriptive.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This burst of confidence melted into panic by the day of the reunion. As I got dolled up (with a serious amount of help from another <a href="http://www.forestwalkingguitartalking.blogspot.com/">friend</a>), I felt like there were giant, steroidal butterflies in my tummy. As I drove to Al’s, I had to call another high school friend for a pep talk. I thought about telling Al I’d been in a terrible accident and wouldn’t be able to make it, but then I thought she’d probably want to come visit me in the hospital. There was really no way to get out of it, so I sucked it up and went.<br />
<br />
<br />
The reunion turned out to be WAY less scary than I had anticipated! It was great to talk to people I haven’t seen since graduation. I loved that there were people who hadn’t aged a day, although many, like me and Al, have grown significantly more attractive in the last 10 years. My classmates are all at such different stages. Some people have kids or spouses, some have been much more career oriented, and many are still searching for their passion. It was so good for me because I’m not really where I thought I’d be 10 years ago, and seeing my peers shows me that I’m not “behind.” <br />
<br />
Instead of focusing on how impressive my life is not, I spent the evening trying to really connect with people. I found out even the super cool and together people were nervous. Despite not thinking my life was a perfectly polished package to show off, I feel great about going to my reunion. It showed me that I’m happy with who I am, where I am, and the choices I’ve made to be here. It also reminded me of how glad I am not to be 18 anymore.<br />
<br />
</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-59887208426146175052010-08-12T08:18:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:54:03.734-07:00Grown Up?I read blogs as a pleasant escape from the mundane, so I think blog-land should be mostly sunshine and rainbows and general frivolity. As such, I like to maintain a low-whine threshold here at the Woman in Training. Today is going to be a bit of an exception.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/desireecherisse/4326286849/" title="Untitled by desiree cherisse, on Flickr"><img alt="" height="500" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2804/4326286849_86a15c2d03.jpg" width="327" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This picture, from <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/desireecherisse/">desiree cherisse's</a> photostream is a great illustration of how I often feel:</div><div style="text-align: center;">like a little girl, playing dress up.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Every day I get a little more comfortable with the fact that I am a grown up. I'm pretty proficient at going to work and paying the bills. I'm much better than I used to be at getting regular oil changes and rotating my tires. I'm even good at keeping my shower scrubbed and soap scum free, but every so often adult responsibilities are really lame! Sometimes I catch my self feeling outraged or put upon because I have to do something that millions of adults do every day.<br />
I especially dislike being a grown up with tasks that involve creepy crawlies. Most of the time when I see a spider in our two-woman apartment, I ignore it and hope Roomy is the bigger person, who kills it. If it's in my bedroom though, I suck it up and smoosh it, but you'd better believe that I'm grumbling to myself the whole time about how it should not be my job to kill spiders. <br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A couple winters ago, when I lived by myself in the basement of a house with absentee landlords, I had a rodent problem. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQ_1xHLxD6Klb_xtobkcS_mVfj91uc7jedCvZG1I6CXLZ7Wnbt2fni24CoSi6Bo9UfarO6nhyphenhyphenbmEj-KfiBjUbNaasCQGPjEpKUcMJ7A5_c9Qap_bIhoqu_bSOJR3eD_9goZs6MGmTd_ca/s1600/mouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQ_1xHLxD6Klb_xtobkcS_mVfj91uc7jedCvZG1I6CXLZ7Wnbt2fni24CoSi6Bo9UfarO6nhyphenhyphenbmEj-KfiBjUbNaasCQGPjEpKUcMJ7A5_c9Qap_bIhoqu_bSOJR3eD_9goZs6MGmTd_ca/s320/mouse.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Rodents have no place in my semi-adult life! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It should DEFINITELY be someone else's job to deal with this!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">First of all, it made me mad because I had a terrier at the time. Terriers were specifically bred to kill rodents, so that stupid dog was NOT earning his keep! Secondly, I felt like it was <em><strong>so</strong></em> not my job to deal with a rodent carcass after it got caught in the trap that was <em><strong>so</strong></em> not my job to buy or set! I was so horrified about the whole situation that I actually called my dad crying. He gave me advice about which traps to buy and how to set them, but he was very firm about the fact that it was most definitely very important that I, his adult daughter, deal with it myself. I started with the no-touch/no-see traps, because they obviously have the lowest gross factor. When those didn't catch anything, I moved onto the old-fashioned snap traps, which also proved futile. Then, I tried glue traps, even though I almost passed out at the thought of a live mouse with its feet all stuck down, crazed and trying to bite my fingers off when I disposed of the gluey mess. God must've stepped in there and protected me from myself because while I caught a lot of spiders and even a set of mousey footprints on the glue traps, I did not catch my rodent invader. (My coworker says it must've been a Jesus-mouse because it walked on the glue like Jesus on water.) </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDGSTC87WtM_o46ayn7HWiMKVtJ2ym1Uxpw7_5ZJNXL2FN7oMrpEEnRpolM19lIc8KmAmp0O5g86XGMywR-z1CosEnF8LKdTAUMb2dQ7WF6stYQ7XiIpD5uFlnREb13VbQ9OI7mDisUl5/s1600/mouse-trap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDGSTC87WtM_o46ayn7HWiMKVtJ2ym1Uxpw7_5ZJNXL2FN7oMrpEEnRpolM19lIc8KmAmp0O5g86XGMywR-z1CosEnF8LKdTAUMb2dQ7WF6stYQ7XiIpD5uFlnREb13VbQ9OI7mDisUl5/s320/mouse-trap.jpg" /></a>Then, I thought maybe it was a rat (I still shudder even typing that!), so I bought some giant rat snap traps. As I set them, I prayed hard that 1) I didn't accidentally trigger the trap and sever a finger and 2) the rat traps would not catch anything because I might actually die if faced with a dead rat, or a live one for that matter. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Whatever this creature was, it was smart enough to avoid every trap known to man! Finally, I was so desperate to get rid of it that I tried poison, even though my dad assured me that it meant I would probably find a dead, smelly, partially decayed rodent. After spending approximately a billion dollars on rodent traps and countless hours obsessively bleaching every surface in my house, my little rodent genius quietly disappeared. I'm not sure where it went, but I never again saw any evidence of rodent. The whole situation left me feeling 1) grossed out beyond belief and 2) ready for a vacation from adulthood. I did not sign up to deal with this kind of thing!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Sometimes general housework makes me want to stop being a grown up too. You've all <a href="http://thewomanintraining.blogspot.com/2010/02/goofus-and-gallant.html">seen </a>how hard it is for me to keep my bedroom clean, but it's also really hard to take out the trash. In my head, I think up lots of reasons why it should be Roomy's turn to take it out, not mine, but I force myself to do it because that's the grown up thing to do.</div>When I was younger, I kept waiting for the magical moment when I would finally feel like a grown up. Having a full time job and my own apartment didn't do the trick. I still felt like a kid playing house. I still held my own tiny pity party when I - instead of my dad - was stuck with dentist bills, or faced with a giant pile of laundry. Now I realize that magical moment isn't coming. I'm resigning myself to adulthood gradually. Every time I kill a spider or take out the trash, I grow up a little. (I was super grown up the other day when I cleaned my oven!) With any luck, by the time I'm ready for retirement, I'll have stopped looking around for whose job the yucky tasks really are. Fingers crossed that by then I'll have a husband who kills spiders!Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-77189947240487701362010-07-26T00:59:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:52:33.635-07:00Wedding ObsessionThe other day, I received an invitation to my adorable and amazing friend's wedding to her unbelievably perfect fiance. I'm over the moon for them and can't wait to see their lives grow together, but it has really shined a light on my (not-so) secret obsession, weddings.<br />
<br />
I'm seriously wedding obsessed.<br />
So obsessed that I recently sent the following email to a friend (and hopefully future bridesmaid).<br />
<blockquote><span style="background-color: white; color: #134f5c;"><em>I have a totally hypothetical and irrelevant question for you...if I were to get married in the next 6-8 months, how long would you be able to be here to be a bridezilla buffer for me? I ask not because I have any intentions of getting married in the next 6-8 months, or even a romantic lead in my current life narrative, but because I was thinking today about how I came down to Arizona for a week and it was lovely and I really had time to say good bye to single you, but some of your other friends had significant others and commitments and they were not able to be there for a week. Since you now fall into the "having significant others" category, does that mean you can't be here to play for a week? Once again, this conversation is totally hypothetical and irrelevant.</em></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #134f5c;"><em>I heart you! </em></span></blockquote><blockquote><span style="background-color: white; color: #134f5c;"><em>N</em></span></blockquote><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: black;">I'm so obsessed that I stalk Etsy to find the best products for my potential future wedding. My current favorite are to-die-for paper sculpture wedding cake toppers from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/concarta">Concarta</a>. I dream about a custom made, all white one with a dress that will match my future wedding dress. Sort of like this one...</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kIxWElMmhWuJB5bLC3CwvTRTyO2pFifH3G2h4ArBI53mXnKoRSffjGfBjfPpIAZ9L98MGITfSOtx_2n4Poc-2wk6UeqBX7h4NY3Yn6-A6DLao4uiRO_uDfchysLdxle2xlujLfR734wp/s1600/concarta+cake+topper.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kIxWElMmhWuJB5bLC3CwvTRTyO2pFifH3G2h4ArBI53mXnKoRSffjGfBjfPpIAZ9L98MGITfSOtx_2n4Poc-2wk6UeqBX7h4NY3Yn6-A6DLao4uiRO_uDfchysLdxle2xlujLfR734wp/s400/concarta+cake+topper.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So obsessed that I used to have an idea binder complete with tabbed dividers for center pieces, favors, dresses, etc. Now though, my obsession has moved into the digital age and mostly involves "starred" posts in my Google reader.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvqjADUIu2rYc5J3YqfEBgqwg7D0pPobRkbbaK5Dh7eoQQfULH9dZ-GnfFsyBpiZafnZEQN82gx8EHBU3Qkve5BMHERWQhFqPYRQLnWTzNEpqFc8BfApmWWQHJrUybaaGqOqqHuZsyPpn/s1600/minted_weddinginvitations_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvqjADUIu2rYc5J3YqfEBgqwg7D0pPobRkbbaK5Dh7eoQQfULH9dZ-GnfFsyBpiZafnZEQN82gx8EHBU3Qkve5BMHERWQhFqPYRQLnWTzNEpqFc8BfApmWWQHJrUybaaGqOqqHuZsyPpn/s320/minted_weddinginvitations_6.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip8CqS_29hgND6v0tYROLsVIOha_qhkG8fgwDfAfVP932A-V4dVQEFkerjdowwOVDTG4RYdoLhFNXEJHf4-e1DPQfZSnw15rUrHHZ1AuBApZT0uiPczs0-9qfdoEaz07PGS3ALy9rVxVnJ/s1600/minted_weddinginvitations_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip8CqS_29hgND6v0tYROLsVIOha_qhkG8fgwDfAfVP932A-V4dVQEFkerjdowwOVDTG4RYdoLhFNXEJHf4-e1DPQfZSnw15rUrHHZ1AuBApZT0uiPczs0-9qfdoEaz07PGS3ALy9rVxVnJ/s400/minted_weddinginvitations_2.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Like these starred <a href="http://www.hostessblog.com/2010/07/fabulously-unique-wedding-invitations/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+hostessblog+%28Hostess+with+the+Mostess%C2%AE%29&utm_content=Google+Reader">wedding invites</a> from <a href="http://www.hostessblog.com/">Hostess with the Mostest</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_DV2mtZ2Wq527rWy7_5NaZb6Yi8LpD1ZTjeuHgY9nYWkSy9wZcWoKbEoRtT6AFkQ0f72rrmF3rCER-bnXXfInUBHxsrVgCCQ_o56e7FPcECOLnb_x0hm5vE2H9XTCOSEOwci74S8XnFwJ/s1600/favor+ideas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_DV2mtZ2Wq527rWy7_5NaZb6Yi8LpD1ZTjeuHgY9nYWkSy9wZcWoKbEoRtT6AFkQ0f72rrmF3rCER-bnXXfInUBHxsrVgCCQ_o56e7FPcECOLnb_x0hm5vE2H9XTCOSEOwci74S8XnFwJ/s640/favor+ideas.jpg" width="444" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">These great <a href="http://giverslog.com/?p=7843">wedding favor ideas</a> from <a href="http://giverslog.com/">Giver's Log</a> are also starred.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYuF8nLpMMmZSHZ1zo28dKrKTNp6MuBDzKAavJMEwmKa3h_7hKQpkhOS9VX0gVZEsxWbbuOnpaaMKqDBIWGE2ZQSguT3WI_9nmJV01QSCPGdN3iSuT8XEB7Sy_pAdoGGHZfvaboO9jnzA/s1600/back+yard+wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYuF8nLpMMmZSHZ1zo28dKrKTNp6MuBDzKAavJMEwmKa3h_7hKQpkhOS9VX0gVZEsxWbbuOnpaaMKqDBIWGE2ZQSguT3WI_9nmJV01QSCPGdN3iSuT8XEB7Sy_pAdoGGHZfvaboO9jnzA/s400/back+yard+wedding.jpg" width="266" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINoqMiGCTHYdE2zELRz6M3PrYxZTXnJHeJeyBugVZgWdAdJ4zRUNVPsqmo_zQuJEZoz2v-ljdH3XDOG7b8onhAo8s5bm9aNnS6W4Q3mJWW0R5cn65YkWOg5I-LpopiQwkXw1nt6cjTjmz/s1600/pink+and+yellow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINoqMiGCTHYdE2zELRz6M3PrYxZTXnJHeJeyBugVZgWdAdJ4zRUNVPsqmo_zQuJEZoz2v-ljdH3XDOG7b8onhAo8s5bm9aNnS6W4Q3mJWW0R5cn65YkWOg5I-LpopiQwkXw1nt6cjTjmz/s320/pink+and+yellow.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiagHwgA5_5INofuKeiNQo5zZ4l3mWzHTb6xwsy1LKljgp9TZpend3VTMaaxLtSBwbVKcD5qOcTKHV78D_bAlvltTc0z5n7ZHN086q3hpWemn9UjYvzFqqgD8EFcG9rP16iUNe3GiPq1lnD/s1600/ribbon+balls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiagHwgA5_5INofuKeiNQo5zZ4l3mWzHTb6xwsy1LKljgp9TZpend3VTMaaxLtSBwbVKcD5qOcTKHV78D_bAlvltTc0z5n7ZHN086q3hpWemn9UjYvzFqqgD8EFcG9rP16iUNe3GiPq1lnD/s640/ribbon+balls.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">And pretty much The <a href="http://mybridestory.blogspot.com/2010/06/summer-bicycle-inspired-wedding.html">Whole Bicycle Inspired Wedding</a> from <a href="http://mybridestory.blogspot.com/">My Bride Story</a>.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">And while we're talking about My Bride Story, if you're planning to propose to me any time soon, I definitely wouldn't say no to this ring...</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7JEh748Xk_8zXiWQVBoN7cAK3NOl0Ur59L6cnCwd-I9xYuw9Ez4aLyhlKA916GwpHGrZL4_4ea9-ucpWPQhyphenhyphengMRD_bmuJ2g28s-bRsalDmXLya9qOmoE0ReyMnB1JFH02mhGginCQ8_D/s1600/ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7JEh748Xk_8zXiWQVBoN7cAK3NOl0Ur59L6cnCwd-I9xYuw9Ez4aLyhlKA916GwpHGrZL4_4ea9-ucpWPQhyphenhyphengMRD_bmuJ2g28s-bRsalDmXLya9qOmoE0ReyMnB1JFH02mhGginCQ8_D/s640/ring.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Actually, the whole site is pretty obsessable!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I would happily look through wedding photographers' portfolios all day long, or spend hours browsing centerpiece ideas. Don't even get me started on <a href="http://www.amyatlas.com/index.php/main/portfolio/">dessert tables</a>! </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> Because I'm a little perfectionist and a lot detail oriented, I think planning a wedding just might be the funnest thing ever, but I do worry that these characteristics might also lead to me alienating my closest friends with bridezilla tantrums. I also wonder whether my future groom-to-be will be thrilled with the idea of being slotted into the groom-shaped space in my totally preplanned wedding. How will I cope if he has an idea about napkin rings that doesn't match my perfectly designed table scape? I understand that there is no economic sense in having a down-payment-on-a-house sized budget for a wedding, and I know that trying to micromanage every detail of a 300 person event would probably lead to a nervous break down, but I have been dreaming about this day since I can remember. I want it to be special and memorable and perfect. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Much to the consternation of my parents, I'm pretty much the most single person I know. By the time I'm ready to get married, I know that I will find a balance between my dream wedding and the manageable (but still pretty special) wedding that I and my talented, crafty, adorable family and friends can throw together, and if the man I love wants plaid napkin rings on my floral, polka dot table top......I sure hope that I'm womanly enough to smile and compromise.</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-68490540069344549002010-07-24T05:42:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:54:13.373-07:00Sugar Cookies and Failure<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd like to begin this post by addressing the elephant in the room....It's been over a month since I last blogged and I am deeply apologetic to my loyal readers for leaving you hanging. In my defence, I've spent the last few months in a relationship that was rapidly spiraling into dysfunction. I was spending a lot of my time and energy dreading the moments we would be together. Then, when I couldn't avoid "quality time" any longer, I would be antsy and impatient until it was over. Finally, I admitted that my needs were just not being met and moved on. I broke up with my old laptop that made blogging and photo editing a SLOW chore and upgraded to my new love, a super fast, super sleek Dell with a giant HD screen! I can't wait to really put it through it's paces with some hard core picture editing, but in the mean time, here's a little something that I've been dying to share with the blog world.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">When my friend decided to have an Independence Day potluck, I knew immediately that I would be bringing chips and<a href="http://www.thepioneerwoman.com/"> Pioneer Woman's</a> <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2010/01/restaurant-style-salsa/">Restaurant Style Salsa</a>, but I also wanted to bring a cute 4th of July themed dessert. I browsed my go-to favorite blogs until I saw <a href="http://inchmark.squarespace.com/inchmark/2009/6/24/star-cupcakes.html">these beauties</a> on <a href="http://inchmark.squarespace.com/">inchmark</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZgj2bbkSFCyaDJblOyZsln246MUmvWP9_wGUKomFMIkeuT7PyfOzujUe3xMfBl6VbELQBk1erltikrr0iUH8LFOzgIYl0D9JaDiTaYhwL7zfvy48TKREJ4XEBRfj6SXPBTeQ-YPkK1nD/s640/inchmark.png" width="512" /></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of<a href="http://inchmark.squarespace.com/"> inchmark</a>, where Brooke shows off her cupcake </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">(and pretty much all-around) adorableness.</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't often make sugar cookies because they do not taste good enough to justify the amount of work involved. I mean, seriously, rolling out, cutting, icing, flooding....Who has that kind of time or patience? I am a WOMAN in training, not a SAINT in training! I found a <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2007/12/my_favorite_christmas_cookies_from_childhood_and_beyond/">recipe</a> (on Pioneer Woman's blog of course, do you think she should be concerned about me as a potential stalker?) that seemed easy-ish because it made use of an egg-yolk glaze pre-baking for color, instead of icing. I felt much more up to painting on a glaze than trying to flood a cookie with icing. I'm not really sure how to flood, but it seems fairly hard and impressive to me. PW warned that they weren't "Martha worthy" cookies, but after seeing her pictures, I thought they'd be okay for my purposes.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZNDQPYbLqP8TfU1CGyfIkfHRnzoChsGLI4hH-4VIskbI6AThMsOo2dHVrn1yP8YCCgjgJDMARPIDhhP4uwulnFxqhfnb_gN9woQktfWL02Pyd29SHPXVfy39s2QbwQDWK_AAdtNHPH6y/s1600/pw's+cookies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZNDQPYbLqP8TfU1CGyfIkfHRnzoChsGLI4hH-4VIskbI6AThMsOo2dHVrn1yP8YCCgjgJDMARPIDhhP4uwulnFxqhfnb_gN9woQktfWL02Pyd29SHPXVfy39s2QbwQDWK_AAdtNHPH6y/s640/pw's+cookies.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Christmas cookie photo courtesy of Pioneer Woman.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The process began well. The dough was so good that I could have happily eaten the whole batch raw. Of course, I couldn't because I was working toward the noble goal of making impressively adorable cupcakes to make my friends think I'm super cool and womanly. The rolling out process was alright, although I let the dough get a little warm and it was sort of mushy. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> Inserting the skewers provided the first hurdle. I thought I'd be really smart and soak my skewers in water before baking them into the cookies. You have to soak them so they don't get black on the BBQ, right? I thought it would be the same thing in the oven. Wet skewers + mushy dough = slimy, gross, mushy dough. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Then I tried to apply the egg yolk wash with a tiny water color brush, but it would not stick to the cookie dough. So, I brought out my big silicone pastry brush. Still no luck. Finally, I decided to be really smart and efficient and pour the egg wash on top of the cookies. This coated the cookies but definitely created a gross, eggy crust around the edges of the cookies.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0NmDk0TgR58nQfLGSX0Fg244SaDDRrmo4hfnkn9wxcY30pveMbX5nn9ISA1IMIsZR9AMXlMrqcR1ykIOx-pzav1glDmYbARtonSqpEl_xxK3eCZvORuhMIIDp_2lZSZiaeyWJSVhp8Ms/s1600/cookie+sheet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0NmDk0TgR58nQfLGSX0Fg244SaDDRrmo4hfnkn9wxcY30pveMbX5nn9ISA1IMIsZR9AMXlMrqcR1ykIOx-pzav1glDmYbARtonSqpEl_xxK3eCZvORuhMIIDp_2lZSZiaeyWJSVhp8Ms/s400/cookie+sheet.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I tried trimming the crusty egg wash, but it was pretty happy clinging to the cookies.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3djSy8m8FHpvGFVJAA3VywuDnlxt8z5sXaiOn82Y3NPTYQmBfPOWy02SXQ76j5Ameewk70nSReMr1DdJgqFaSOz0-sDEwLtxlV_NFNtPq5E7VLtrzqUmmUKu-lABHi3BjCa8e7XoCVjid/s1600/pile+o+cookies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3djSy8m8FHpvGFVJAA3VywuDnlxt8z5sXaiOn82Y3NPTYQmBfPOWy02SXQ76j5Ameewk70nSReMr1DdJgqFaSOz0-sDEwLtxlV_NFNtPq5E7VLtrzqUmmUKu-lABHi3BjCa8e7XoCVjid/s640/pile+o+cookies.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">If you don't look too close, they turned out alright, but they definitely did not help convince my friends that I am adorable or womanly. I thought some simple, white powdered sugar icing might improve the situation, but I added too much milk and it was too runny to add much detail. Also, my skewers were much too long, so the stars flew high above their cupcake bases. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Given that the end product was tasty and enjoyed by all, it might be a touch on the dramatic side to call this adventure a failure, but I am a bit of a perfectionist, especially when it comes to cupcakes, so I'm going to go ahead and say it was a sugar cookie failure. You can keep your sugar cookies, I'll stick to baking the good old chocolate chip variety!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2uaEZeHOystFGnP0w-8GSVI3sqZtGY2kc2lZPud1aO5aTpy6lFjTgfTNuJv4ORRJZ0pQY6GV0XkqDz8G8HDqGHozjo1xPEFEtiz1FXfiy35ZGQ2JaFpADp6Zb7tMDciPMx0X_qYt35aK2/s1600/4th+cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2uaEZeHOystFGnP0w-8GSVI3sqZtGY2kc2lZPud1aO5aTpy6lFjTgfTNuJv4ORRJZ0pQY6GV0XkqDz8G8HDqGHozjo1xPEFEtiz1FXfiy35ZGQ2JaFpADp6Zb7tMDciPMx0X_qYt35aK2/s640/4th+cupcake.jpg" width="372" /></a></div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-75814464633896139422010-06-25T05:11:00.000-07:002010-06-25T05:11:31.229-07:00Blog Redesign<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Don't you LOVE my new look?! It was lovingly created by Jackie at <a href="http://www.memoriesbydesign-studio.com/">Memories by Design</a>. She is amazing and helpful and let me be super knit-picky and detail oriented. I really enjoyed working with Jackie through the design process. I especially enjoyed getting her services for free because I won an online raffle!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_BfIyvGCXOJXf31GQi6hDhuBHNBLwUsKWbzhakVsUpZAktrVXZGzCuQnkk3wGQs398kzMOyHJdBKss1IeyHBmxu1VlDl02_KbCWoddKjGPicIyxShdrL4TcSRR6cVKajSMKQFml6rbKO/s1600/Simply_My_Thoughts.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_BfIyvGCXOJXf31GQi6hDhuBHNBLwUsKWbzhakVsUpZAktrVXZGzCuQnkk3wGQs398kzMOyHJdBKss1IeyHBmxu1VlDl02_KbCWoddKjGPicIyxShdrL4TcSRR6cVKajSMKQFml6rbKO/s320/Simply_My_Thoughts.png" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicpUIUww-puQvXGBe_ULfY6Qgaf5pMzLk87i0POldPRmCxFq4BDT-kCJDKhpdkdaZIHjp6cae5FAjSKLiLJmOGSIYixcB05GM5Im8xuLdMx1y6lcD7oI-y0hEr5VxbZ1qdfVMQ880eaRSK/s1600/Macey's_Daily_Parade.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicpUIUww-puQvXGBe_ULfY6Qgaf5pMzLk87i0POldPRmCxFq4BDT-kCJDKhpdkdaZIHjp6cae5FAjSKLiLJmOGSIYixcB05GM5Im8xuLdMx1y6lcD7oI-y0hEr5VxbZ1qdfVMQ880eaRSK/s320/Macey's_Daily_Parade.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvE6CoMGIr6yyRm8HhQzm7EqLaoosVmfYq5f6j3FPIvtn0JnAcbmModhcalij9T22mWe-Tpi0jzZQQTueQTAita50eGmQQLs84_E3nWoP6EarAzukYARjMbXUHcC2WVuEZxq-canqNdhOW/s1600/In_His_Hands.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvE6CoMGIr6yyRm8HhQzm7EqLaoosVmfYq5f6j3FPIvtn0JnAcbmModhcalij9T22mWe-Tpi0jzZQQTueQTAita50eGmQQLs84_E3nWoP6EarAzukYARjMbXUHcC2WVuEZxq-canqNdhOW/s320/In_His_Hands.png" /></a><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTl9nDcqdLU_qah7UhyphenhyphenlulbaachukfLLxOu2VG2n1E8Q9CdmsFiQutCMcJlC4x0ECZOrxH1p5aucApwc-PQCq8kV0d-shGayKNH3eBho3FqWtYn5QqFAf6L3JjkAblClDIaC-RIv1Yvwz/s320/The_Bayou_Belles.png" /></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">A few of my favorites from Jackie's <a href="http://www.memoriesbydesign-portfolio.blogspot.com/">portfolio</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Back in January, I bought a few random raffle tickets at <a href="http://www.hope-for-haiti.blogspot.com/">Hope for Haiti</a>. I thought it would be a nice way to donate some money to a worthy cause, but did not really expect to win anything. Imagine my surprise when Jackie emailed me to let me know that I had won her blog design package. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Ummm...great news, but I wasn't even a blogger yet. I had been toying with the idea of blogging for a few months, but wasn't sure I was ready to commit to a blog. I took my raffle win as a sign that the universe was desperately hungry for my voice. Providence was telling me to start a blog. So, I did. And now the blog I started to be beautified by Jackie is officially beautified. Thanks, Universe, for compelling me to start blogging. I'm really enjoying it so far!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-66055164368752762792010-06-11T07:07:00.000-07:002010-06-11T07:07:17.639-07:00The Last Frontier<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTMjWevVKEc_vm1t3LKzEIYJtPz6t452jVaPLFe68QRWqQ-WwzSbajQ2TOkLlpOGvCZ9kd5dTPtK_EfYg17LIlP_GwLlo7u8bPb-iVE5XQQInFxbYGT6owhWI20rg1iAffp1w-TaZRfkU/s1600/DSC09578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTMjWevVKEc_vm1t3LKzEIYJtPz6t452jVaPLFe68QRWqQ-WwzSbajQ2TOkLlpOGvCZ9kd5dTPtK_EfYg17LIlP_GwLlo7u8bPb-iVE5XQQInFxbYGT6owhWI20rg1iAffp1w-TaZRfkU/s640/DSC09578.JPG" width="428" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Please excuse my long absence. I was away for most of May and I'm having trouble adjusting to being home. In fact, the other day I woke up super confused about where I was. I spend several long seconds analyzing the painting above the bed and the contents of the bedside shelves before I realized that I was in my own bed. Then, I got in my car, which felt oddly foreign, reached for the gear shift in the wrong spot, and had to think really hard about how to turn on the windshield wipers. Living in the Seattle area, windshield wipers are a feature of the car that I use quite frequently, and it pretty much freaked me out that I was discombobulated enough to forget how. I've decided that I was away much too long and I promise not to do it again any time soon!</div>If you've forgiven me for abandoning you, let's move on to the "How I Spent My Vacation" portion of this post.<br />
My aunt and uncle, who have a home in beautiful Anchorage, just had TRIPLETS (That's <span style="color: magenta;">three</span> brand new babies!), and asked me to come up and help out.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh27HCD6zMcLZh935kAtJmqGP8nUMGxtj4ZkK-WKotOdg2qBu1fzH-1nr-ja1F8ot5BdzVvvzXhkE3cTnHrDZcFI12AE0loVebUXEjqY1aSxqULqNVDPu4K0hh0KDSz7wZzfZ622VfaDlQ-/s1600/DSC09556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="374" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh27HCD6zMcLZh935kAtJmqGP8nUMGxtj4ZkK-WKotOdg2qBu1fzH-1nr-ja1F8ot5BdzVvvzXhkE3cTnHrDZcFI12AE0loVebUXEjqY1aSxqULqNVDPu4K0hh0KDSz7wZzfZ622VfaDlQ-/s640/DSC09556.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Precious new-born triplets. Just looking at this picture makes me want to fly back to Anchorage to snuggle up to one or two of them!</span></div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">They mostly wanted help with their two year old during the transition home. So, I pretty much got to practice being the mother of a two year old for three weeks. Let me just say that I gained a WHOLE new appreciation for parents of toddlers!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VsU5-y0B8Tiginewsqiz6RBXT2eDggBKDdbHf8lUtyu-wcd_IaYrX4jI-aybNEZsfmodhzAz1Huf3urbJQD9uT2FO6cHiPneWEiwGAuKDMxGB4H0xMkkDW3YzofsVxIilErYeMZWVn-5/s1600/DSC09529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VsU5-y0B8Tiginewsqiz6RBXT2eDggBKDdbHf8lUtyu-wcd_IaYrX4jI-aybNEZsfmodhzAz1Huf3urbJQD9uT2FO6cHiPneWEiwGAuKDMxGB4H0xMkkDW3YzofsVxIilErYeMZWVn-5/s640/DSC09529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Isn't she ADORABLE?! But watch out because, given the chance, she will EAT YOU ALIVE! (PS Please excuse the fact that her cute, little pig tail is the only part of the picture that is in focus. She's speedy and this was my very best shot of her.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Initially, I thought it would be a very "Woman in Training" idea to write a post with all the tips and tricks I learned about caring for a two year old. Then I realized that there are approximately 1 billion "mommy blogs" out there. I'm pretty sure that my meager three week experience, harrowing as it was, did not lead to a level of expertise on par with most of those lovely and talented women.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Instead, let me share my reflections on Anchorage.<br />
Before I arrived, Lonely Planet told me of the fantastic wilderness in and around Anchorage. My mom and my step mom warned me that Anchorage is smaller than I would anticipate. My grandparents, who lean towards the crotchety end of the spectrum, told me that Anchorage was not nearly as beautiful as one would expect. In a way, they're all right.<br />
Don't get me wrong, Anchorage is spectacular! It sits on a little bit of land where the soaring mountains meet the ocean. All over the city there are little birch woods, which become magical in the right light.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFoQwaJveujNjpglg5AzQT0rRLfkR3gOr9gHCAE5wow1OpBngtiAW0wI4k98H64_-cpZ-uPdwt0huJVVT7hi_Vwlmd6gJcNpE3c3DcsIP6HYg6WcuDPlRIPUBJU8zeCMzdEAtbL8uBGlN/s1600/DSC09522b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFoQwaJveujNjpglg5AzQT0rRLfkR3gOr9gHCAE5wow1OpBngtiAW0wI4k98H64_-cpZ-uPdwt0huJVVT7hi_Vwlmd6gJcNpE3c3DcsIP6HYg6WcuDPlRIPUBJU8zeCMzdEAtbL8uBGlN/s640/DSC09522b.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The mountains are rugged. The ocean is majestic. There are outdoorsy things to do everywhere you turn. Overall though, I probably would have been more awed by Anchorage if I was not from Seattle, where we have some fairly rugged mountains and majestic bodies of water.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The surprise hit of the trip was when my eighteen year old cousin and I decided to take a road trip to Seward to go on a half-day cruise. Not only did we see beautiful scenery and tons of native fauna, we had a great adventure getting there. In our minds, we barely escaped being eaten by both zombies and vampires. It was totally worth it though to see a pod of orcas swimming yards from our boat and mountain goats with their kids that were just days old!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCdqVnAXVpLA9fPUUmEQD4ZrahZYwl5_jrkb2uNgO-KOZkQJo_V1dJz4QApVmkydqpXeDJmWtyvHHfCHstA4UjIpgj5Coy3hZCILw_zji8tYDOnW60XzBgMKho2jfK0wc2YQ9rBN_0w0LH/s1600/DSC09655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCdqVnAXVpLA9fPUUmEQD4ZrahZYwl5_jrkb2uNgO-KOZkQJo_V1dJz4QApVmkydqpXeDJmWtyvHHfCHstA4UjIpgj5Coy3hZCILw_zji8tYDOnW60XzBgMKho2jfK0wc2YQ9rBN_0w0LH/s640/DSC09655.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">My cousins also took me to see Portage Glacier, which was both tragic and beautiful.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJ8obCejmzbu5_bsuSFqydYbAd4pqf68LGYjSHezXEyYIIE-FZM19e7UAnPN_CSSoweg_oLQ5khojLrQgVixAzDqTRHbbs4J7twDkYaSTPFdpojRwFYRgwVX8w7QyeFMQxx2G2Ni004Nl/s1600/DSC09727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJ8obCejmzbu5_bsuSFqydYbAd4pqf68LGYjSHezXEyYIIE-FZM19e7UAnPN_CSSoweg_oLQ5khojLrQgVixAzDqTRHbbs4J7twDkYaSTPFdpojRwFYRgwVX8w7QyeFMQxx2G2Ni004Nl/s640/DSC09727.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Tragic because the Portage Glacier visitor center was built on the edge of an iceberg filled lake with an amazing view of the glacier. There is even a viewing platform with those kitschy quarter operated binoculars. Unfortunately, the glacier has melted so much that it's no longer visible from the visitor center. You can't even kind of see a tiny corner of it. I don't want to get political here, but I'm pretty sure that alone is significant evidence of global warming. It's definitely enough to make me sad.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I cheered up outside, however, when we went down to the water's edge and threw rocks at the chunks of ice. The water is an amazing milky light blue color and the biggest ice blocks maintain their vibrant, eerie, glacial blue. Playing by the icy lake was surreal. Especially when you take into account that it was in the 60s outside.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I had a great time in the Last Frontier! I loved visiting family, chasing two year olds, snuggling babies and all, and I got to spend some time communing with some pretty incredible natural sights!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgqy610ljelq9PwQElqzg0iItlRSbfCztvjPh72xVhhV7tFLr5Ul9wfe99cgiGsNHbGyoLFFtae3V4xdgCPH7VvoVbxFuUJBd_Hn2_QdC2V5UdCDPVvG7IJluD-MHe_E86n0IgUtgSTEq/s1600/IMG_0272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="438" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgqy610ljelq9PwQElqzg0iItlRSbfCztvjPh72xVhhV7tFLr5Ul9wfe99cgiGsNHbGyoLFFtae3V4xdgCPH7VvoVbxFuUJBd_Hn2_QdC2V5UdCDPVvG7IJluD-MHe_E86n0IgUtgSTEq/s640/IMG_0272.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Okay, since this is supposed to be all about being a woman in training, let me share the top 3 things I learned about dealing with a two year old.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">1) Preparing for transitions is vitally important! One day I forgot to remind my cousin 75 times that nap time was coming and trying to put her in bed caused a Chernobyl-style melt down. Lesson Learned!!!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">2) A full toddler is a happy toddler. I learned the hard way that food deprivation leads to whiney tantrums. Of course, I probably should have know this before I went to Alaska; I get cranky when I'm hungry too.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">3) Stay calm! When my cousin got belligerent, it was so tempting to get belligerent right back at her, but I found out pretty quick that the more worked up I got, the more worked up she got. It was sometimes tough to keep my cool, but I only had to put myself in time out once!</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-67086532383274935462010-05-06T06:15:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:51:53.599-07:00Viva La Diva<span style="color: red;">Main Entry: di·va </span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Pronunciation: \ˈdē-və\</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Function: noun </span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Etymology: Italian, literally, goddess, from Latin, feminine of divus divine, god </span><br />
<span style="color: red;">1 : a usually glamorous and successful female performer or personality ; especially : a popular female singer <pop divas=""></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">2 : a vain or undisciplined person who finds it difficult to work under direction or as part of a team</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAfsfZHjuMNt3g3JyPRivS0E3HtbG4TU2euUhFneOqco6JqMeMIcaAphdJM1Latlm0b92XT8zMN_D7IyV0B2TiTDPM2uKwjWrhKcZxloKbdqO0Va5Hw4-8fQNktVyLY-L8pQ9bryBOShBt/s1600/divas+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAfsfZHjuMNt3g3JyPRivS0E3HtbG4TU2euUhFneOqco6JqMeMIcaAphdJM1Latlm0b92XT8zMN_D7IyV0B2TiTDPM2uKwjWrhKcZxloKbdqO0Va5Hw4-8fQNktVyLY-L8pQ9bryBOShBt/s400/divas+copy.jpg" width="400" wt="true" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A Diva bride, but DEFINITELY not a Bridezilla!</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Divas are my very best friends from college. There are 5 of us, all with vastly different personalities and interests that somehow compliment each other perfectly. Sometimes when we hang out I feel like we might be characters in a <em><a href="http://www.whatclaudiawore.com/">Baby-Sitter's Club</a></em>-esk series of novels. Each of us fits well into an archetypal fictional role. Dianna is the perfect one, but in a TOTALLY lovable and not alienating kind of way. Sarita is the organizer and a <a href="http://web.me.com/davidanddianna/Flowers/Welcome.html">small business owner</a>. Jello is outrageous and politically active. <a href="http://www.madebymolly.blogspot.com/">Molly</a> is adorable and crafty and a Catholic school teacher. I'm not really sure what my role is, but I think it mostly involves creating zany situations.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgILqOfhyN60aGmY9OO9QSrjBgqhckTA0Qla_pscOWfQyFQpj8-y54MCNjiLZu6vzeL7DdqWSOiMUEtndaXWYegWDj0cECNklFkLBc5EWkw07Mp1ovGpjl_MYwdvC258S1cQ0607tUPGIP4/s1600/babysitter's+club.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgILqOfhyN60aGmY9OO9QSrjBgqhckTA0Qla_pscOWfQyFQpj8-y54MCNjiLZu6vzeL7DdqWSOiMUEtndaXWYegWDj0cECNklFkLBc5EWkw07Mp1ovGpjl_MYwdvC258S1cQ0607tUPGIP4/s400/babysitter's+club.jpg" tt="true" width="275" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Baby-Sitters club cover courtesy of </span><a href="http://www.whatclaudiawore.com/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">What Claudia Wore</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">, </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">which is one of my new </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">favorite time wasters! If you are a child </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">of the 90s, like me, and devoured these </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">books, like me, you've </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">GOT to check out this blog!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">If this was a picture of the Divas, I would probably be the one kneeling with </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">my mouth wide open.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I'm not exactly sure why we started calling ourselves the "Divas" - the word certainly has negative connotations that do not fit any of my lovely, talented, smart friends- but now that I see it's the Italian word for goddess, it makes PERFECT sense!<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The initial Diva bonding began my second year at Washington State University, when we were all RAs together. Despite being so different, we found that we had much more in common than just a passion for dorm living and a dislike of underage drinking. We became pretty near inseparable that year. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Diva Dinners became a Friday night tradition. Every Friday, a different Diva hosted a themed dinner party, complete with a minimum of three courses and coordinating outfits. I hosted a "spring" themed night, where I served spring mix salad, spring rolls and desserts topped with caramel springs, and everybody dressed in floral attire. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In my mind, the most memorable Diva Dinner was Greek night, hosted by Jello. We wore togas and ate an obscene amount of garlic, but the baklava was the highlight of the evening. It sort of caught on fire in the oven. Sarita sprang into action, pulled it out of the oven and ran out the front door with it. Jello, trying to keep the rest of us from seeing the flaming baklava, ran out of the apartment after Sarita shouting "Everything's normal!" They stayed outside a few minutes and then came back in, acting just like everything WAS normal. They had pulled the top layer off the filo and expected us to eat the dessert that filled the whole apartment with smoke. To this day, we all shout "everything's normal" at each other, despite the fact that it is a poor diversionary tactic.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6nBFAsPLyj5Hm3-8CMOTkj_sa2acs4gi2dNI7F79B4o_REZeQyTAfB8FZB2b1y_dNAUDquCssdN6Hmp1-H_Mp1Nqwxdn0W52RhxXj-T3HfD4qBDWBIVlfesZtDYlqbycSPMbhkZ0IX96/s1600/baklava.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6nBFAsPLyj5Hm3-8CMOTkj_sa2acs4gi2dNI7F79B4o_REZeQyTAfB8FZB2b1y_dNAUDquCssdN6Hmp1-H_Mp1Nqwxdn0W52RhxXj-T3HfD4qBDWBIVlfesZtDYlqbycSPMbhkZ0IX96/s400/baklava.bmp" tt="true" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jello's baklava pretty much looked like this one, except,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">you know, on fire.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Since college, we've all gotten pretty wrapped up in our big-girl lives and we definitely don't see each other as often as we'd like, so we've decided to reinstate Diva Dinners! This time, we're doing them potluck-style. To avoid more flaming baklavas, I was assigned to dessert. To match the Mexican theme, I made <a href="http://monstermama-monstermama.blogspot.com/2010/04/mexican-fried-ice-cream-cupcakes.html">Mexican Fried Ice Cream Cupcakes</a><span style="color: red;">, </span><span style="color: black;">which I found to be both impressive and delicious!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilAVvvpXUsJulmSA-msJeLw_CQ6tA52UTxtnDQzuILHNLGQUk9zFrv-4HvmE4wHJQSZwK6d3G0r9eaJjjifPEDlp3cuU5nWP4YKKX-wP6fNOx8JNjBYZN7UZryYZoJFmpmI3vVJUGLwWoy/s1600/mexican+cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilAVvvpXUsJulmSA-msJeLw_CQ6tA52UTxtnDQzuILHNLGQUk9zFrv-4HvmE4wHJQSZwK6d3G0r9eaJjjifPEDlp3cuU5nWP4YKKX-wP6fNOx8JNjBYZN7UZryYZoJFmpmI3vVJUGLwWoy/s640/mexican+cupcake.jpg" width="427" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am so thankful for my lovely, fabulous friends and for the adventures we've shared and all those yet to come! And I L-O-V-E that we've decided to bring back Diva Dinners!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">-Elizabeth Foley</span></div><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span></span>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-12203175139012367662010-04-27T23:31:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:52:33.635-07:00Week 4 is KILLING me!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Recently, I came across the <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml">Cool Running Couch-to-5k</a> training program. I had been toying with the idea of trying to become a runner for awhile. I have a few friends who are runners and they seem so fit and happy. I wanted to be fit and happy too, so Roomy and I left our couch behind and decided to become runners.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0gHcbp-NNYZG8nB1HbfHZN0VCbGBGcaA-RRPt2-pFPfYUWAu41X9rYNPyBqMWmPQ3WTkHCvEkZAxmkJJ8oBAFvdbVy37r7kRH7gQWxP_WdCMJN9lc8H3h2hQ-bouPbO0wz_CMiB-Zvt0/s1600/shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0gHcbp-NNYZG8nB1HbfHZN0VCbGBGcaA-RRPt2-pFPfYUWAu41X9rYNPyBqMWmPQ3WTkHCvEkZAxmkJJ8oBAFvdbVy37r7kRH7gQWxP_WdCMJN9lc8H3h2hQ-bouPbO0wz_CMiB-Zvt0/s640/shoes.jpg" tt="true" width="491" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">My pink, extra wide, New Balance balance cross</div><div style="text-align: center;">trainers and my pink I-pod, the accessories that</div><div style="text-align: center;">belong to my new runner lifestyle.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The first day was MISERABLE! I mean MISERABLE! It was eight intervals of 60 seconds jogging and 90 seconds walking. After the third jogging interval, I literally thought my chest was going to explode into flames! Every breath felt like a million tiny knives shredding my lungs and esophagus. As I jogged at a snail's pace, questioning my decision to try this insanity, I chanted to myself, "I'm not a runner. I'm not a runner." I did not think there was any way I could make it up the steps to our third-floor apartment. I'm sure it was a pain greater than child birth! I vowed I would never run again.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">A few days later, Roomy somehow convinced me to try again. And it was easier! In fact, every day it got easier to run. I felt myself getting fitter and stronger and my lung capacity increasing. My gasping chant to myself changed to, "I am a runner. I am a runner."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwyPdrOkgnfYP5gPXExPR4KVp1yNd3Ag28puJBw5lK8018oApfeOJyftma3kQQAbRN3xXzM1popxpYHvlR3lUQ0bGSWLBuw_DeWZDxESN82NdG1WvFAoQXTRZbrTY1_6KBmwNarq_rpQo1/s1600/running.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwyPdrOkgnfYP5gPXExPR4KVp1yNd3Ag28puJBw5lK8018oApfeOJyftma3kQQAbRN3xXzM1popxpYHvlR3lUQ0bGSWLBuw_DeWZDxESN82NdG1WvFAoQXTRZbrTY1_6KBmwNarq_rpQo1/s640/running.jpg" tt="true" width="434" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Roomy's totally in the "runner zone." It's just her and the track! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">It was so motivating that I became a sort of Couch-to-5k evangelist. I couldn't stop telling everybody what an amazing program it was! I waxed poetic about the greatness of the gradual increases and how nice it was to have a program to follow. I almost begged people to download the podcasts (specifically the <a href="http://www.chubbyjones.com/entertainment/news/chubbyjones/">Chubby Jones</a> podcast). I told everybody they needed to be awesome, like me, and become runners. I looked with scorn on all the people I knew who weren't tenacious enough to be a runner like me. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">And then came week 4. It is HARD! It involves "running" 5 minutes straight... more than once! I know jogging for 5 minutes does not sound like that long, but seriously, I know I haven't done it since at least high school. It is HARD! I think I've reached what they call a plateau. I'm stuck on week 4 because week 5 is even HARDER! Seriously, I've attempted the week 4 workout at least 5 times and only successfully completed it once! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">I guess I have to celebrate the victory that I have been able to complete week 4 one time. If I did it once, I can do it again. And of course, I really appreciate the chance to look back at where I was when I started and see where I am now. I feel so close to my 5k goal, but stupid week 4 is KILLING me!</div><br />
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</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-28761387748109834162010-04-19T18:48:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:53:31.321-07:00Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!I am so sorry for...#1 that EXCELLENT song embedding it self in your head for the rest of the day, and #2 the horrifically cliche title for a post about an 80s party. I couldn't resist! <br />
Roomy had an 80s bowling party for her birthday because she's, you know, from the 80s. It was super fun and super silly and all our friends got super into it!<br />
My outfit started with a trip to the thrift store, where I found a lacy H&M mini dress and an over sized, acid washed sweatshirt. I wanted to channel vintage Madonna, but I think the look ended up a little more mish-mashy.<br />
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I wasn't really old enough to wear makeup or style my hair in the 80s, so I did an exhaustive Internet search to make sure my outfit was authentic. I'm glad I googled because I had TOTALLY forgotten about the stripe of bright blush! I also was inspired by multicolored eye shadow, so I did the inner halves of my eyelids <span style="color: magenta;">pink</span> and the outer halves <span style="color: blue;">blue. </span><span style="color: black;">Heavy, black eyeliner and bright lips completed my totally 80s face! We all felt like we had WAY too much makeup on though!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKS5sEOO6h1NTG3Yakc0b1d307mLgNRz1jVbCj83U5gLvW-neC07leRC579g2k5ah_BgQIaZwt93QS9Hg1N7_-ACCY7CYlieb3mL-hBZfvdLHf7AUanm1Ss__byMBUztm0XgrdOTx9oh3L/s1600/makeup1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKS5sEOO6h1NTG3Yakc0b1d307mLgNRz1jVbCj83U5gLvW-neC07leRC579g2k5ah_BgQIaZwt93QS9Hg1N7_-ACCY7CYlieb3mL-hBZfvdLHf7AUanm1Ss__byMBUztm0XgrdOTx9oh3L/s320/makeup1.jpg" width="246" wt="true" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm not sure why 80s Party = mouth open so big, but at least half of the pictures of me from this night have this EXACT facial expression. Maybe it's a tick? Also, PLEASE note my fabulous bowling pin earrings inherited from my great grandmother!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div> I realized that 80s makeup was so bright because it had to compete with all the<span style="background-color: white; color: magenta;"> BIG</span> hair. That was a tough one for me because my hair is stick straight. Seriously, it's fine and straight and barely stays in a pony tail, but I had a plan to make it big! Roomy is lovely and generous with her time and graciously agreed to put my hair in french braids while it was wet. The one flaw in my plan was that I had to wear the braids all night and all day so that my hair could dry and look crimpy. I rocked my three french braids at the track, when I went for a jog. I even felt okay with them in at the grocery store, but I definitely felt awkward with my three french braids in at work. When I mentioned it to a coworker, she said it looked fine. Then, I asked, "Really? Who wears not two, but three french braids?" <br />
She replied, "Snoop Dogg?" Who is EXACTLY the person I should be channeling on a regular basis. I'm SO hood!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Overall, 80s night was a smashing success, even though I had to wear Snoop Dogg braids to work and plaster my face with outrageous makeup colors. I think Roomy should have birthday parties more often!</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-38152723985415990462010-04-16T14:39:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:52:33.636-07:00The Lost Art of Ironing<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT03-401so88JhyAcI6t71wHgB9tmSpmfPRqezft7g6t0iaIYUoNT4LyEMMrsWIvgpf49iOSg5_7_9z_hW3L8E0tr20TqP4-xD8cIXRX5_gQDdSl_rdCq1vvvbGy-F7cZS3cMltiYa-AvJ/s1600/wrinkley+jesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT03-401so88JhyAcI6t71wHgB9tmSpmfPRqezft7g6t0iaIYUoNT4LyEMMrsWIvgpf49iOSg5_7_9z_hW3L8E0tr20TqP4-xD8cIXRX5_gQDdSl_rdCq1vvvbGy-F7cZS3cMltiYa-AvJ/s400/wrinkley+jesus.jpg" width="242" wt="true" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">On Easter, one of my friends dressed up as the resurrected Jesus and took pictures with all the Sunday school kids. Some might call that irreverent, but I call it good, clean fun. Part of my job was to help "Jesus" get ready for his photo ops. When we pulled the costume of of storage, it was REALLY wrinkly. I tried to fix it with a steam wand, but it definitely needed a good old fashioned iron! Even though many of the pictures are adorable and quite kitschy, ALL I see when I look at him is the wrinkled robe! For the love of all that is holy, somebody get Jesus to an ironing board, STAT!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Actually, this is not the first time that my pictures have been ruined by wrinkled clothing. My iron and I are not really friends. In fact, I don't know when I last used it. Part of my problem is that I only have a baby-sized ironing board. It's tough to maneuver woman-sized pants on it. The larger problem is that I have NO IDEA how to iron! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Seriously, I am kind of a nightmare around that hot, heavy thing. Best case scenario, I end up with creases in weird, inappropriate spots. Worse case, I often end up with burns and one particularly memorable time, I glued the iron to the ironing board with a pair of brand new pants that melted when I used the "cotton" setting. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Living with Roomy has made me realize that this might be a generational problem. She irons more often than I do, but definitely prefers to de-wrinkle her clothes in the dryer. Her ironing nightmares include melting her carpet with the iron because she too dislikes the baby ironing board.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Why didn't our mothers teach us this valuable woman skill? In the case of my mom, it's because she doesn't really know how to iron either. So, I'm searching for an ironing mentor. If you are an accomplished ironer, please share your tips and tricks!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">With sincere thanks,</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Hopeless with Heat</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-73758330043525537252010-04-06T17:45:00.000-07:002010-09-10T06:54:03.734-07:00On Coworkers and Whimsical Thinking<span style="color: orange;"><span style="color: red;">This post is dedicated to Kate and Allison, who follow my blog even though they are not obligated to do so. They are both coworkers; Allison is mine and Kate works with Roomy. Ladies: Thanks for reading and making me feel like a real blogger! I sincerely hope you enjoy this. :)</span></span><br />
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Coworkers can make or break a job. Even the worst job in the world can be bearable with great coworkers! I'm super fortunate because I work with a really fun group of people. Despite the fact that I work at a hospital, where things can get busy and intense, I spend an inordinate amount of time laughing. My coworkers are definitely one of the best parts of my job.<br />
Part of the greatness of coworkers at the hospital is that I have a whole bunch (honestly I think the hospital has 3,000 employees!) of them from many departments. There are people from some departments that I see frequently, but never really interact with. I sometimes make up stories about them.<br />
Specifically, I make up stories about the staff members of the Inpatient Psych Unit (IPU). In my mind, if the hospital was high school, they'd totally be the cool click. They're all attractive and cool and always look like they just stepped out of an Anthropologie catalog. When someone from the IPU gets on the elevator, one glance at their cute little outfit and their amazing accessories tells you where they work. The fact that they work on a locked unit really adds to their air of mystery and coolness. It's like they're all members of an exclusive club from which I am excluded.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg24NbZOLPE6kYwaMa5BsSee47u9u37oTxMFFUGdiuGNUdGyOpOjOotsq8HMZjQuAohW2tGCz3q17p_jCzXMZVg_V0thyphenhyphenkVMecm_aoW0bMKkJSv5WIuMwn_AEDjeMd3jqs_jUkpkiEurvla/s1600/anthropologie+dresses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="363" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg24NbZOLPE6kYwaMa5BsSee47u9u37oTxMFFUGdiuGNUdGyOpOjOotsq8HMZjQuAohW2tGCz3q17p_jCzXMZVg_V0thyphenhyphenkVMecm_aoW0bMKkJSv5WIuMwn_AEDjeMd3jqs_jUkpkiEurvla/s400/anthropologie+dresses.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">The IPU communal closet where they all find their adorable outfits.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7fV0QZTXLLX0pfQ7eDmqCQSDNS5IJHTHpOYWLWCdmZCY9QXeKma_QT4BzIXDv6wgsBzRTyAZc6eeQNDC6lQ7cWrQx3nuNQUQpY0R73DQmbuB2PM1mIOB0q-LD1vdJv0L6MPOA-YlGcN8z/s1600/anthropologie3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7fV0QZTXLLX0pfQ7eDmqCQSDNS5IJHTHpOYWLWCdmZCY9QXeKma_QT4BzIXDv6wgsBzRTyAZc6eeQNDC6lQ7cWrQx3nuNQUQpY0R73DQmbuB2PM1mIOB0q-LD1vdJv0L6MPOA-YlGcN8z/s400/anthropologie3.JPG" width="283" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">An IPU staffer hanging out, waiting for group therapy to start.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjHBdnDgU5BhQTPf3KUWt3Or8_35q6jW1FxfWGTVpL9U2c40zQD591uN0d-mn6l0dXS3hFka0nNzXX8N45Oo5PwodDF9BNoW6kEAFOu-0Zx37XtGGh9qFxHtXa4kzzatmSvnUoJlOaYQo/s1600/anthropologie+outfit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjHBdnDgU5BhQTPf3KUWt3Or8_35q6jW1FxfWGTVpL9U2c40zQD591uN0d-mn6l0dXS3hFka0nNzXX8N45Oo5PwodDF9BNoW6kEAFOu-0Zx37XtGGh9qFxHtXa4kzzatmSvnUoJlOaYQo/s400/anthropologie+outfit.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">An IPU charge nurse getting ready to round on patients.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55knS1WUVzzF3YWWLjASJfD25yS_5h9t5-Yh5BEX6Pu-9tpO7UlS1FT7hfsU8E7u8qkDO_dhYoC5ogiY0sxczuLNSGF2f4qrp3AZXJ52I3pX2FQFNBZdu0KKb844gx6ZX3gzzgnuEjKG_/s1600/hipster2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="356" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg55knS1WUVzzF3YWWLjASJfD25yS_5h9t5-Yh5BEX6Pu-9tpO7UlS1FT7hfsU8E7u8qkDO_dhYoC5ogiY0sxczuLNSGF2f4qrp3AZXJ52I3pX2FQFNBZdu0KKb844gx6ZX3gzzgnuEjKG_/s400/hipster2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The whole IPU gang.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just kidding! Although many of the people who work on the IPU seriously dress like this - at work - the above captions are totally made up and all images are in fact from <a href="http://www.anthropologie.com/">Anthropologie</a>. In reality, there is not some hipster version of Grey's Anatomy happening in the super-exclusive IPU. Actually, they do some amazing work with tough patients and every time I talk to any of them on the phone, they are lovely and kind.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My own unique brand of whimsical thinking extends past the end of the work day. A good example of this is occurred when Roomy and I first moved into our apartment. I kept seeing a small shadow out of the corner of my eye. Naturally, I decided we had a ghost cat. Roomy sort of humored me and it was sort of a peripheral inside joke for a while. Then, late one night, I noticed some smudges on our sliding glass door that looked like someone had written us a note. I squinted and turned my head and I thought I read "LET ME OUT." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I looked at Roomy, who was getting ready to go to work and leave me home alone for the night and said "I think something is trying to get out of our apartment." I began that statement with a casual flippancy, but by the end, I realized that it was a statement that really belonged in a horror movie. I started to freak myself out. Then I thought about the spectral shadows that I had seen and I really started to freak myself out. Of course, as a grown woman, I do not believe there is really a ghost cat in our apartment, but what grown woman doesn't have a small remnant of a little girl lingering inside, and Little Nicole is terrified of ghosts! "Roomy," I said. "You CAN'T leave me home alone all night with Ghost Cat!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We all know that hysteria is catchy, so within a microsecond, Roomy, our friend, Christina, and I all went from casually hanging out to genuinely scared. I was about to beg Christina to stay the night so that I didn't have to be alone, but decided to suck it up and investigate the lettering on the sliding glass door more carefully.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It turned out that it actually said "LET ME IN," which scared me significantly less. It is much less scary to have a creepy thing lurking outside the apartment than inside. Then Grown-Up Nicole started thinking about how words might have been written on the outside of our third-story apartment. I thought back to a few months before, when we had a party and some of the boys locked another boy on the deck. I suddenly recalled that he had breathed on the door and written LET ME IN and made a sad, puppy dog face until they unlocked the door.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mystery solved. But Roomy and I decided it was much more fun to imagine that we had a Ghost Cat than to own up to the reality that we do not clean our sliding glass door very often. Since then, Ghost Cat is the official third member of our household. He's the destructive, messy one. He's constantly doing naughty things, like spilling bleach on the carpet, eating the last cookie and bending the tips of my expensive knives. He's a jerk. He's also a whimsical figment of my imagination.</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-55944688670936118812010-03-31T15:32:00.000-07:002010-04-07T00:18:16.451-07:00Board Games and Mini Pizzas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjxQ-GCxwm2egR6WdWeKaAC7GOIS0fSKlb8KeK8lJ5PuILhmp4tDPB7Qsoc16cr6TYsQ6DXwXAVCdKO-BqPwpuNE90fnb6_NZ8rXwSnw4Qb91Ee8R3hd3-Dwk7T0pR6GVuNHC2RdVydQ0/s1600/board_games.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjxQ-GCxwm2egR6WdWeKaAC7GOIS0fSKlb8KeK8lJ5PuILhmp4tDPB7Qsoc16cr6TYsQ6DXwXAVCdKO-BqPwpuNE90fnb6_NZ8rXwSnw4Qb91Ee8R3hd3-Dwk7T0pR6GVuNHC2RdVydQ0/s400/board_games.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Roomy and I had a gaggle of friends over last weekend for a board game night. We played Taboo and Mad Gab and Roomy's new favorite, Quelf.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0lRheOiN7mlZUUOEHguH_BTmBBme0lCEexQ_RUl6n_Mj9zQ5MMhK5I38LNiHIt520KLvFWRZzJsCYVXxMN-0PpLKYrWBGOhkreE4Dd3y3JQCLYwY6ppEkGRbO5P97ljkwbUgkp91cKdv/s1600/quelf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0lRheOiN7mlZUUOEHguH_BTmBBme0lCEexQ_RUl6n_Mj9zQ5MMhK5I38LNiHIt520KLvFWRZzJsCYVXxMN-0PpLKYrWBGOhkreE4Dd3y3JQCLYwY6ppEkGRbO5P97ljkwbUgkp91cKdv/s400/quelf.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Quelf was really good for my friends (and especially Roomy) because it's not really competitive. The description states that Quelf "gives random a new name," and that is certainly accurate! There are quiz cards and category cards, but the best are the action cards. My personal favorite actions from game night included having to toast "to ancient times and distant music" every time we drank and when one of my friends had to pretend he was a cowboy riding an ostrich around a beached whale, giving a monologue. Hilarity ensued!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course, it would not have been a womanly party at my house without food. A while ago, I saw <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2010/03/caramelized-onion-prosciutto-pizza/">this</a> caramelized onion and prosciutto pizza made by my hero, <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/">Pioneer Woman</a>. I knew it needed to be in my mouth! It gave me a brilliant idea for party food, mini pizzas! I knew most of my friends would not be interested in high-brow toppings, like caramelized onions, so I provided lots of different topping options and let people make their own pizzas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOvxpApfiXsV2K8XtIr-7DUCc73d-b1ZUkPg-REuHcRYGqln3e3Ob9sxLi40nMoAiEDt5lVlZrTxJKCKIvS3LLghDHUVu0PBR4pogSdUKyvYqyCLRkEclh7LfcQuoYVs5NwnN6K4B9qIM/s1600/topping+tags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOvxpApfiXsV2K8XtIr-7DUCc73d-b1ZUkPg-REuHcRYGqln3e3Ob9sxLi40nMoAiEDt5lVlZrTxJKCKIvS3LLghDHUVu0PBR4pogSdUKyvYqyCLRkEclh7LfcQuoYVs5NwnN6K4B9qIM/s400/topping+tags.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9g7UmVFLA9OC_4cuByDAq10w4kAPN2xSaMb_27AnGj4jiZiGIgsSwA4nCHi3v9ub8HvsZ9I4AW9iC8AFoqHCfWRm946ib_40AnjQdmuz6NkDH9JSVYRXZR5TuCctOraejuE9KatcFvUA/s1600/toppings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9g7UmVFLA9OC_4cuByDAq10w4kAPN2xSaMb_27AnGj4jiZiGIgsSwA4nCHi3v9ub8HvsZ9I4AW9iC8AFoqHCfWRm946ib_40AnjQdmuz6NkDH9JSVYRXZR5TuCctOraejuE9KatcFvUA/s640/toppings.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was so proud of my whimsical tags! I don't think Roomy thought I was as cute as I thought I was, but she was secretly pretty impressed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was leery of Pioneer Woman's dough because there was no kneading involved and in a trial run, her crust turned out really average. It killed me to do it and it felt like a betrayal, but I went with <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/pizza-pizzas-recipe/index.html">Alton Brown's Pizza Crust</a>. I'm glad I did because it turned out great. (I'm sorry, PW, can you ever forgive me for not being in love with everything you do?)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLxPbFK4U8cdwmPf7i6uTxbYvg6_Za_GzLMs10BnqVuOLwwvJoJiGxhLaPKNJ5dpppb4D-B8nTM2ASYPkVn4ZMzqYBe3abE9xzP4iZpsv8-l4SlOGwoGY1EJO3MXik-ywh_JRmmIDPAFu/s1600/pizza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLxPbFK4U8cdwmPf7i6uTxbYvg6_Za_GzLMs10BnqVuOLwwvJoJiGxhLaPKNJ5dpppb4D-B8nTM2ASYPkVn4ZMzqYBe3abE9xzP4iZpsv8-l4SlOGwoGY1EJO3MXik-ywh_JRmmIDPAFu/s640/pizza.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Would you forgive me if I tell you that this pizza was just about perfect? The balance of the sweet and salty, the flavor of both parmesan and mozzarella cheese....Delectable!</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-69802598272442370162010-03-29T01:07:00.000-07:002010-04-07T00:18:29.137-07:00Roommate Date NightLast week, Roomy and I decided we needed a reason to be cute and girly, so we took ourselves on a Roommate Date on Friday night. We decided to really do it up! Roomy had a new dress to wear that she recently bought at a <a href="http://www.buffaloexchange.com/">consignment shop</a>. I did not have a new dress because I hate to shop for clothes. Luckily, Roomy has a closet full of clothes that are stylish and fun that she is super generous with. She always lets me borrow great stuff. I really like and appreciate it, but a small part of my brain thinks she is enabling my dislike of shopping and that it may not be healthy. The rest of my brain tells the little part to shut up though and I get to wear new clothes without having to shop.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhHHLRGIol7xlPTatp9nCD67MPxuQ1Fi5xwzsFsVgkQgQ5c5fxEN0glHQxpWrEHENXf5QN-VA9bzi7Aerk3G2vq3wcqE8ISIL4azKyS6AjHjXV_CY1CLWC-URG23EFJurbUWt4Lz1MAdIn/s1600/ambs+dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhHHLRGIol7xlPTatp9nCD67MPxuQ1Fi5xwzsFsVgkQgQ5c5fxEN0glHQxpWrEHENXf5QN-VA9bzi7Aerk3G2vq3wcqE8ISIL4azKyS6AjHjXV_CY1CLWC-URG23EFJurbUWt4Lz1MAdIn/s640/ambs+dress.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Roomy's new vintage dress</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WApaIhKgCvT3zkcFegnRradhnmafGm90ACOu6VC7Twzw1-15OCUwLGTK-o-0LODqGAAdxebCwrtS7f82_xUkIYME9ebYGIiGfFKw7GdCidU6x87UHWZH6nFjnX5wfcQ7I93M-ocr9Dfg/s640/dress.jpg" width="618" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Roomy's other dress that she let me borrow, thus enabling me to continue refraining from shopping.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Seriously though, if you got to borrow clothes like these, would you spend your own time and effort looking for other dresses?</span></div><div align="left">We spent ages getting ready, making our hair and make up perfect. Roomy curled her hair. I ratted my bangs. I wore sparkley eyeliner and glittery make up. Roomy went with a more adult look. To compliment my whimsical make up, I broke out the whimsical accessories.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLex6wIY5YW7DEWPhRzOXnz01KLYpdeySD_IcMo3XvsP5opMOKLT_bJdJkoVV8_EDRuU2U5YsLWBNwPZBLwd6MyxuyBsgKBLxz55EolRiguz4fJyPo1LpaQPl5ERL9v7f1M7nToNudo-yl/s1600/accessories.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLex6wIY5YW7DEWPhRzOXnz01KLYpdeySD_IcMo3XvsP5opMOKLT_bJdJkoVV8_EDRuU2U5YsLWBNwPZBLwd6MyxuyBsgKBLxz55EolRiguz4fJyPo1LpaQPl5ERL9v7f1M7nToNudo-yl/s640/accessories.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1. A cute little clutch with a bow that always makes me think of the wedding I bought it for. 2. A hair bow I decided to make at the last minute that turned out adorable. 3. Bow earrings that belonged to my great grandmother. When she passed away, I inherited 130 pairs of earrings! 4. A necklace that also belonged to my great grandmother. I love wearing her jewelry and thinking about why she bought it and where she wore it. My grandmother gave it all to me because she said it was meant to be worn and loved, so I try to honor that.</span></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="left">When we were finally ready - perfection takes a while - we headed into the city to go out to dinner downtown. We found a parking spot in a lot that we though took debit cards because neither of us had cash. When I tried to pay, the cute but mumbling and sort of awkward parking attendant told me that I needed cash and that I could get it from the ATM across the street. Roomy was still locking the car, so I left her and headed to the crosswalk.</div><div align="left">Because it was a special date night, I decided to wear high heels. I don't often wear heels because I'm a little on the clumsy side and heels make accidents more frequent. I really should have known better. The sidewalks downtown aren't very even and there are lots of spectators, and to top it off, these particular heels are just a skosh too big. Of course, just as I stepped off the curb, my heel got caught on something. I managed to take three or four wobbley steps. They were the kind of steps when everything is in slow motion and you know you're going to fall and you're trying to work out how you can kind of salvage the situation and fall gracefully. They lasted just long enough for me to get out into the center of the intersection, and then I fell. It was not just a small trip. No, I did a face plant into the crosswalk, in front of a line of cars and countless spectators enjoying their Friday night. <br />
When I managed to peel my dignity off the street, I quickly checked myself for bruises and abrasions. Miraculously, I was totally intact. I even managed to hang on to the debit card in my left hand! The woman in front of me in the crosswalk asked if I was alright and then exclaimed that she had been afraid that I was going to fall on her. A couple sitting outside a bar told me that nobody had seen. Countless drivers stared open-mouthed. So much for graceful falling. I wonder exactly how many people got a peek at my pretty, pink panties.<br />
I made it to the sidewalk and looked for Roomy, who I was sure must be on the other side of the street laughing her head off. She wasn't laughing. She wasn't even looking on with concern for my safety. She was too busy flirting with the parking attendant! She totally missed the whole incident, flying limbs, short skirt and all!<br />
Since Roomy had no idea I had fallen, I decided to play it cool. I didn't have to tell her that I was not capable of walking across the street. Instead, I would act like I'd managed it, just like any other normal person. I went to the ATM fully intending to return with the cash and act like nothing happened. <br />
There was just one problem. When I got to the ATM, I realized that I had suffered a casualty in the battle with the street. My poor, old debit card did not survive. I only made it through with one half in my hand. If you find the bottom half of an ATM card on the street in Belltown, it belongs to me. Tell it I appreciate its sacrifice and that it was all worth it because I didn't scrape a knee or an elbow.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-2434937506354576752010-03-23T02:19:00.000-07:002010-03-23T02:19:32.123-07:00Hello Cupcake!There is a cupcake themed give away going on at <a href="http://mayhemandmoxie.com/hello-cupcake-giveaway/">Mayhem and Moxie</a>. It's cute and fun and right up my alley! One of the ways to enter is to blog about the prizes. 'I have a blog,' I thought. 'And I could do some pretty womanly stuff with those prizes!' <br />
So, here goes!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://mayhemandmoxie.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/cupcake-party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://mayhemandmoxie.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/cupcake-party.jpg" vt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Prize #1 Le Poppy Design Party Package</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu1pT36MkODiF3ePOGQ3HH3Aw5A-poBZSsdD2TlZKh91cXqvhkUVD7hrzdjvDEu2joY5temc2iy1ywTRfw0UIDATOVptqRs_aqJDv4ARK8R69pL49qhpe2gMljltee1-rOiu-d94wVZ6M3/s1600-h/sweet+shades.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu1pT36MkODiF3ePOGQ3HH3Aw5A-poBZSsdD2TlZKh91cXqvhkUVD7hrzdjvDEu2joY5temc2iy1ywTRfw0UIDATOVptqRs_aqJDv4ARK8R69pL49qhpe2gMljltee1-rOiu-d94wVZ6M3/s200/sweet+shades.jpg" vt="true" width="200" /></a>Roomy's birthday is coming soon! She's definitely older than the little cutie in their sample picture, but I have a feeling that <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/LePoppyDesign">Le Poppy Design</a> could rock some sweet 80s themed decorations for Roomy's bowling party! I can just see the hyper colors now! Seriously, if I win this, I need all decorations to center around these stylin' shades!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwbam1DDsg1i4ORqW4tgkHtQ9jNc3ZRkfaLjpicN7NlqvUXiSeBZKeAkG1WMBfk6m3K4lTKrXC8sHKclsQiAD9p_o3oFdjF6lEUlsfXW9_Md14EJcYF8lXGmc7lNe0GWm00j1pBHqY2nqv/s1600-h/cupcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwbam1DDsg1i4ORqW4tgkHtQ9jNc3ZRkfaLjpicN7NlqvUXiSeBZKeAkG1WMBfk6m3K4lTKrXC8sHKclsQiAD9p_o3oFdjF6lEUlsfXW9_Md14EJcYF8lXGmc7lNe0GWm00j1pBHqY2nqv/s400/cupcakes.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Prize #2 Wilton Cupcake Package</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;">If you've been following my blogging adventure, you know that I really heart cupcakes and I really heart making them. My deep, dark, guilty cupcake secret is that I'm a cupcake perfectionist. I'm almost never happy with the way my cupcakes turn out. My last batch for St. Patty's Day went well until the purple frosting. I should have known better than to dye it, but even if I had left it white, there's still an issue with the application. It was a little sloppy. My mom actually forbid me to <strike>talk</strike> whine to her about the state of my cupcakes ever again when I wanted to throw all of my Halloween cupcakes away last year. It's hard to be as perfect as I want to be!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Prize#3 A Story written by Mama Kat</span></div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This prize from <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/">Mama Kat</a> is the hardest for me to imagine using myself. It's a really cute concept and Kathy is a fun and engaging writer, but it's definitely for kids. Maybe I could use it for a prize for one of my Sunday School students?</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dWfne9TeXIFntloZh8yRD39-UGUsP49dXn8018F5Ai5INRIPDaRKVU7plYUQGj9P7jB-eT3L_jP99UzURY7lyO7adUbH6TQ-RYHnybr1IZsuBRTT66JqgNkp-OqeUm8uOVTC7X2tkwst/s1600-h/KitchenAid-Professional-Stand-Mixer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dWfne9TeXIFntloZh8yRD39-UGUsP49dXn8018F5Ai5INRIPDaRKVU7plYUQGj9P7jB-eT3L_jP99UzURY7lyO7adUbH6TQ-RYHnybr1IZsuBRTT66JqgNkp-OqeUm8uOVTC7X2tkwst/s400/KitchenAid-Professional-Stand-Mixer.jpg" vt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Prize # 4 KitchenAid Professional Stand Mixer</span></div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh, what couldn't I do with this?! Actually, as un-Womanly as it sounds, I don't even have a hand mixer! All my cookies, cakes, etc. are mixed by my strong arms and a wooden spoon. It has put a damper on my icing choices. If I had this baby, I would make fluffy meringue pies and pavlovas and fancy frostings and I might even try those <a href="http://www.bakerella.com/macarons/">macarons</a> that everybody is so crazy about, even though every recipe I find is in grams. I've also always wanted to make marshmallows ala <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/peppermint-marshmallows">Martha Stewart</a>.</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stand mixers seem so grown up and Womanly to me. Even though I've wanted one for quite awhile, I've only felt worthy of one for the last few years. This Christmas, I seriously considered asking my parents for a red KitchenAid to match my new red dishes that I bought myself. My chef step-mom would have probably jumped right on that and been happy to do it. She likes to enable my kitchen ambitions. I decided against it though for a very silly and slightly embarassing reason. I've been saving myself for marriage. I mean, KitchenAids are such a great wedding gifts! They last forever, they're used all the time and a shiny red one is a great focal piece on the kitchen counter top. How romantic would it be to get to remember your wedding day everytime you mixed up a batch of your husband's favorite cookie? I think it's my friend, Leisha's, fault that I idealize them so much. When she moved out of her parents' house, she inherited her mother's "wedding" kitchen aid. After 30 years, her mom decided to upgrade. Leisha now gets to use it and think about her parents wedding and all the recipies they made together with the extra ingredient of love. I want <em>my</em> daughter to inherit <em>my</em> starter KitchenAid and think about <em>my</em> wedding, <em>my</em> love!</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fortunately, practicality has overcome my romanticism and I'm now ready for a KitchenAid! (Did you read that, Kacey and Francesca?)</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/”http://mayhemandmoxie.com/”" mce_href="”http://mayhemandmoxie.com/”"><img mce_src="”http://mayhemandmoxie.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/mm-cupcake.png”" src="http://www.blogger.com/”http://mayhemandmoxie.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/mm-cupcake.png”" /></a></div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-62653787316628493212010-03-22T20:51:00.000-07:002010-03-28T13:34:52.031-07:00Chips and Salsa<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My womanly knitting friends asked me to stop baking for knitting nights. I think they enjoyed the baked goods a little too much and it was not good for the snugness of their pants. That's what I'm telling myself any way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNetU6vtZM18EhmOM8ZoeiF5lDC_Iu3FpJ44J8qmAR_dVaQrHobwFviKZr8yjzHeWhEyproAL5jbiVVo5ajK7qdd_9ol0uKYr-waM-9TWdcYIKcW803cA7Qt0-AxoI6_uqUE3yJtjX617h/s1600-h/chips+and+salsa+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNetU6vtZM18EhmOM8ZoeiF5lDC_Iu3FpJ44J8qmAR_dVaQrHobwFviKZr8yjzHeWhEyproAL5jbiVVo5ajK7qdd_9ol0uKYr-waM-9TWdcYIKcW803cA7Qt0-AxoI6_uqUE3yJtjX617h/s400/chips+and+salsa+2.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This week, I decided to switch things up a little and make one of my favorite snacks that I'm really good at convincing myself is healthy: homemade chips and salsa.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When Roomy and I did a Daniel Fast, we discovered the greatness of making our own tortilla chips. We cut regular corn tortillas in quarters, sprinkle them with vegetable oil and salt and bake them in a single layer on a cookie sheet at 350°. I never set a timer; I just bake them until I can smell them, usually about 12 minutes. This method occasionally leads to trays of burnt chips, but it works out around here because burnt ones are Roomy's favorites.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEUVXcsi9e4AlPYVQN-nXIDA4ieJHnupgzHjep34kQjtvGjfxmTH7DmgoRvCnXY4NZ6jO5U_g83qU1w0mSrvmPqNTfB6Y0TPNZKicjfDbm94TT_usR8-SvjiMoRticl9ult_t6Xo6fpjh/s1600-h/burnt+chip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEUVXcsi9e4AlPYVQN-nXIDA4ieJHnupgzHjep34kQjtvGjfxmTH7DmgoRvCnXY4NZ6jO5U_g83qU1w0mSrvmPqNTfB6Y0TPNZKicjfDbm94TT_usR8-SvjiMoRticl9ult_t6Xo6fpjh/s400/burnt+chip.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Why I like making my own chips: 1) They are delicious! 2) The crunch factor! They are thicker and crunchier than say Tostitos. 3) They are baked, not fried. 4) I have total control of how much salt and oil go on them. 5) Because they're thick, they hold up well under the mountain of salsa I pile on top.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Why I don't like making my own chips: 1) It takes quite a while. I usually spend most of an afternoon rotating cookie sheets of chips in and out of the oven. 2) The crunch factor! I literally chipped a tooth on one of these babies.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'll admit that I'm a total salsa snob! I generally hate store bought salsa and won't even go near Pace or it's jarred buddies. I make pico de gallo often, but in the winter, it scares me. Pico de gallo is so easily ruined by unripe or overripe tomatoes. Thank goodness my hero, <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/">Pioneer Woman</a>, has a salsa recipe made with canned tomatoes to help a girl out! <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2010/01/restaurant-style-salsa/">This recipe</a> is amazing! (Was there ever any doubt?) Roomy declared that it's the only salsa she ever wants to eat again!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">It turned out great! (Please note that this picture is Almost Womanly because my chips are in an aluminum bowl because I'm seriously lacking in the adorable serving bowl department and both bowls are sitting on the carpet in my living room to catch the light.)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4FUnFVPeBZldeiF-4x-r1clD5J6z_ewj5Enm11J60MWULeMdQJhsWAXMGwDRjgTSxDH-djVja1EP56NZqMRbAirphlDEaJUp4MvSGhbGhXkcQam2x85riLPICNtIwDlIZwktX6kxQ8gBC/s1600-h/chips+and+salsa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4FUnFVPeBZldeiF-4x-r1clD5J6z_ewj5Enm11J60MWULeMdQJhsWAXMGwDRjgTSxDH-djVja1EP56NZqMRbAirphlDEaJUp4MvSGhbGhXkcQam2x85riLPICNtIwDlIZwktX6kxQ8gBC/s640/chips+and+salsa.jpg" vt="true" width="640" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I also enjoyed making PW's salsa because I got to use one of my best friends in the kitchen, my super old, cracked almost on it's last legs food processor. I inherited it from my step mom, the chef. Unlike most people, when I moved out of my parents house and into my first apartment, I had a fully stocked kitchen, thanks to hand-me-downs like this!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKktFAjNHPMZZBc26xvA9r-pGvrksJr_3dHta-1IE7i3PyEYqv0PPe0qfEOB8RTBNHexoBqFflovUUbJ-lrIO_4yBN8v75it9l05iXnhyphenhyphenUzNvpZY_55acoWvn5QKgAmEVk_47D80fAv84/s1600-h/food+processor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKktFAjNHPMZZBc26xvA9r-pGvrksJr_3dHta-1IE7i3PyEYqv0PPe0qfEOB8RTBNHexoBqFflovUUbJ-lrIO_4yBN8v75it9l05iXnhyphenhyphenUzNvpZY_55acoWvn5QKgAmEVk_47D80fAv84/s400/food+processor.jpg" vt="true" width="353" /></a></div></div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-5959789427014661202010-03-20T17:59:00.000-07:002010-03-22T20:02:50.272-07:00the Luck of the Irish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZcVc33sphShovzThNoW1koXch2fhZSMWhANvS4yqxa4btmkeVBUSVlYVpF-7givLnNafBJa9FmHB6PK7-do307bFT0cT2-HiEdpc0mmJtAWTt7gT4npstfSysA2iHDJdfonDaYClYtIc/s1600-h/rainbow+capcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZcVc33sphShovzThNoW1koXch2fhZSMWhANvS4yqxa4btmkeVBUSVlYVpF-7givLnNafBJa9FmHB6PK7-do307bFT0cT2-HiEdpc0mmJtAWTt7gT4npstfSysA2iHDJdfonDaYClYtIc/s640/rainbow+capcakes.jpg" vt="true" width="640" /></a></div>In honor of St. Patrick's Day last week, I baked these adorable cupcakes that I copied from a <a href="http://www.livinglocurto.com/2010/03/st-patricks-day-rainbow-projects-free-printables/">cute blog</a> I follow. She copied them from <a href="http://familyfun.go.com/recipes/taste-a-rainbow-cupcakes-842128/">here</a>. They were rainbow-tastic and delicious. I tinted the frosting purple to sort of complete the rainbow, but in retrospect, I wish I had left it white. But you know what they say about hind sight.<br />
I was really happy with my decision to mix the colored batter in disposable bowls. It made clean up much nicer. The batter reminded me of Hook. You know, when they have the food fight?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvnfirEPullXyGkhU_eJLeLAbct7mZT_ELR14s_ZiZ944tZsGqUCxe_e0-WDcYKIACsGP1VaJJfp_1pLlAlJDUvG67Oz778m0kLcBSP0c2ocdZDBkLHFF-B4BMF8XrG8lllxHC2ZYg4-P/s1600-h/cupcake+batter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvnfirEPullXyGkhU_eJLeLAbct7mZT_ELR14s_ZiZ944tZsGqUCxe_e0-WDcYKIACsGP1VaJJfp_1pLlAlJDUvG67Oz778m0kLcBSP0c2ocdZDBkLHFF-B4BMF8XrG8lllxHC2ZYg4-P/s400/cupcake+batter.jpg" vt="true" width="345" /></a></div><br />
Also in honor of St. Patrick's Day, I'd like to talk about the Luck of the Irish, which seems to have missed my branch of the family tree. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining! I don't have particularly bad luck in general, but I am often followed by embarrassing and awkward situations AND I am horrifically clumsy!<br />
<br />
I submit to you an example of one of those embarrassing and awkward situations. I'm not sure what about this post is womanly, but it's a pretty amusing short story. You decide whether you think I've inherited good luck from my potato farming Irish ancestors...<br />
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When I was 21, I had the fantastic opportunity to teach English at a boarding school in Austria. It was a dream come true! Not only did I get to live in a castle on a lake in the Alps, but I got paid to do it!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQdd1yPXIdZRL2hhua5_fEMyZ0RFlnr9Xks4Rp6zz7ejutYoPnzrX-GKkF3Ljc2RjIMIhU1oLS8OY9IBEFw4QjugYu5JdVhLFj7shYLlc8ARwTKvxAeNuFpEFZNJj3OcoeBTyNem-6KYm/s1600-h/neuschwanstein.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQdd1yPXIdZRL2hhua5_fEMyZ0RFlnr9Xks4Rp6zz7ejutYoPnzrX-GKkF3Ljc2RjIMIhU1oLS8OY9IBEFw4QjugYu5JdVhLFj7shYLlc8ARwTKvxAeNuFpEFZNJj3OcoeBTyNem-6KYm/s640/neuschwanstein.jpg" vt="true" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnp4enXiz66QU92eQn-hqt_MsUd2OVe7WsT2SDpuzIfa5s8IML6BjktAfbNYCa1o7PmuUt0eFvDBabxo1hsX94HckUbnFkAFXeGPZ2hKFoW94-oRvVPx1hCQI41VRCK5uO1-dkPTpT3Eck/s1600-h/my+castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnp4enXiz66QU92eQn-hqt_MsUd2OVe7WsT2SDpuzIfa5s8IML6BjktAfbNYCa1o7PmuUt0eFvDBabxo1hsX94HckUbnFkAFXeGPZ2hKFoW94-oRvVPx1hCQI41VRCK5uO1-dkPTpT3Eck/s400/my+castle.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kHWU2aAEuv4dYrDAtbrJhhf9fOommZd5E64fowaOKhwxxCE-GkjNfE6u_l0oFC6Vo6zxXwUzmCveAOcLcLPvgCi4qBWmqiG119bmF8GP9iUqJv97da7QEzgNa_jL93xZ9Zr2fVfiUhyphenhyphenU/s1600-h/me+and+my+castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kHWU2aAEuv4dYrDAtbrJhhf9fOommZd5E64fowaOKhwxxCE-GkjNfE6u_l0oFC6Vo6zxXwUzmCveAOcLcLPvgCi4qBWmqiG119bmF8GP9iUqJv97da7QEzgNa_jL93xZ9Zr2fVfiUhyphenhyphenU/s400/me+and+my+castle.jpg" vt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">(I know at this point you are not seeing the lack of good luck, but it's coming!) The kids in my class were all a lot of fun, even if they were spoiled, little rich kids, and I loved the other teachers. I especially adored the sports teacher. By "especially adored" I sort of mean "was madly in love with." We often stayed up late together talking and on one memorable night,we laid out on the castle lawn and watched the stars until we both fell asleep. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">One weekend, we took a school hiking trip. Unfortunately, I am not very good at walking, even on flat, smooth ground, so I fell and twisted my ankle. It was pretty dramatic. I managed to limp down the mountain, but had to go to the emergency room. After x-rays and lots of conversations in German that I did not understand, I ended up on crutches and in a hard, plaster cast. The plaster cast in conjunction with the fact that I had no idea what the doctors and nurses were saying leads me to suspect that I may have broken something inside my ankle, but to this day, I have no idea what really happened.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">When I got back to school, the principal decided that I had to move out of the castle and into the boys dorm. The castle was just too far from my classroom for me to have to navigate on crutches. All the other teachers, including the love of my life -the sports teacher- were super helpful and supportive and offered to wait on me hand-and-foot.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Wrapped in a cocoon of their love and support and possibly a little high from European pain meds, I accepted the devastatingly handsome sports teacher's offer to move all of my belongings from the castle to my new room without even thinking. As he started to walk away, the wheels in my brain began turning and I remembered back to the previous week, when I had lead a group of girls on a raid of the boys dorm. Maybe it was all the teen-age-hormones floating through the air, or maybe it was a fleeting moment of insanity, I'll never know what made me do it, but in the confusion of the raid, I had stolen a pair of the sports teacher's boxers. They were currently sitting smack-dab on the top in my underwear drawer. I would DIE if he found them!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">"Wait," I called after him. "You don't have to do that. I can move all my stuff."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The sports teacher came back and looked right into my eyes. "Awe, you're sweet," he replied patting me on the head. "But it's no trouble for me and I don't think you could carry all of your stuff on crutches." He turned and bounded away again.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">"No, I have personal stuff in there! Somebody stop him!" I guess all the other teachers thought I was being overly modest, after all I am a puritanical American. Nobody stopped him, and when I tried to get up and follow him, I was pushed back into my easy chair. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So, there I sat, blushing deeper red every second, while the amazingly sweet sports teacher boxed up all my possesions and found out just how much of a stalker I was. He returned with all my stuff in one big box, with his green, plaid boxers sitting right on top. He set it on my new bed and walked out; he did not awknowledge the fact that he had found <em>his</em> boxers mingling with <em>my</em> undergarments. Maybe I dodged a bullet, I thought. Maybe he didn't see them and he doesn't think I'm a lunatic. He would have said something, right?</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Throughout the rest of my time at the school, my love for the sports teacher grew. He was amazing and lovely and adorable and as far as I knew, had no idea that I secretly had a pair of his boxers. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">When school was out, he graciously agreed to drive me to the train that was the first leg of my trip home. I stood crying on the curb while he pulled my backpack out of the car and set it on the sidewalk next to me, then pulled me into a tight embrace. "I'll miss you," I said between sobs.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">He leaned over and gave me two quick, European-style kisses on the cheeks. "I'll miss you too. You can go ahead and keep those boxers as a souvenier." With a mischievious grin, he hopped into his car. I stood there mortified. He'd known?!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">See? Awkard. And embarassing. And not very lucky, well except living in a castle on a lake in the Alps part. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-74504983275988001962010-03-10T10:21:00.000-08:002010-03-11T09:45:51.888-08:00Gluten Free BakingBefore I write this post, please note that it is not my intent to write a baking blog. I want to write about all kinds of womanly stuff, but apparently baking is the most common womanly thing that I do, which may explain my pant size.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">One of my womanly knitting friends has Celiac Disease. Every week, I lay out a tempting spread of baked goods, and she has to decide whether to cave in and hurt her body or to stay strong and resist. Last Sunday, I decided it wasn't very womanly to keep tormenting her, and looked up a recipe for my first ever attempt at gluten free baking. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAqxrQjze-qyIgGcXLxib8-4TNRjghhehC9KBt0PeXfxQrxBKxniG2foGt17ZhGICUi0RYUdhGeBie_zBrKzUXo0fEMdKr-ozCaToX8gyydBu2WJUa42frS-I48C6HhFXtIpXVUdni3AE/s1600-h/DSC07808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAqxrQjze-qyIgGcXLxib8-4TNRjghhehC9KBt0PeXfxQrxBKxniG2foGt17ZhGICUi0RYUdhGeBie_zBrKzUXo0fEMdKr-ozCaToX8gyydBu2WJUa42frS-I48C6HhFXtIpXVUdni3AE/s400/DSC07808.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I found <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Flourless-Chocolate-Cake-14478">this</a> recipe on Epicurious, which looked easy, had good reviews and only called for ingredients I had on hand, and I gave it a go. I melted the chocolate and butter in a double boiler, which I always love to use because they make me feel like a real pastry chef!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOlTRmevYBe1T49rU8vXtFMZ4_ed6xk7TgQyFWOI7Ec8ObYihkDyQCiVmOXGmiS-ErzJvzuAffFRXwNA_wcrMw7tIHtpDjBxRfUa-BnOC2shLOwocmBGgU4dvulABWecB87T5pLjUY7lN/s1600-h/DSC07823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOlTRmevYBe1T49rU8vXtFMZ4_ed6xk7TgQyFWOI7Ec8ObYihkDyQCiVmOXGmiS-ErzJvzuAffFRXwNA_wcrMw7tIHtpDjBxRfUa-BnOC2shLOwocmBGgU4dvulABWecB87T5pLjUY7lN/s400/DSC07823.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Then I mixed it all together. In less than 15 minutes, it was ready for the oven.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyCgaWCwhAZvx6TVq3XjgvyptkWVnCKNJ2nF3E7B7Ji0u6cRZhNt6yOJ9QadwcPEl2krj9uGhwigalwAhxHlIdjjAoCfqoKB75zHuQRATxxyFVGtHV6v35zWVYN_DHAh7YJH1jKet00q9j/s1600-h/DSC07837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyCgaWCwhAZvx6TVq3XjgvyptkWVnCKNJ2nF3E7B7Ji0u6cRZhNt6yOJ9QadwcPEl2krj9uGhwigalwAhxHlIdjjAoCfqoKB75zHuQRATxxyFVGtHV6v35zWVYN_DHAh7YJH1jKet00q9j/s320/DSC07837.jpg" vt="true" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWKR7f0Uidbv6b2zOpWGk5A7kTqmwG-LVImkg9JWjCGIdL4tJICUO-K2VfXMgpCKLU5kFrqcZhB5G4dn-6hCNQikwH2919wgkDy-y1YOop3JbmeQcYcsFWnKsXk05fJTEYzOLjSdDQfrn/s1600-h/DSC07839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWKR7f0Uidbv6b2zOpWGk5A7kTqmwG-LVImkg9JWjCGIdL4tJICUO-K2VfXMgpCKLU5kFrqcZhB5G4dn-6hCNQikwH2919wgkDy-y1YOop3JbmeQcYcsFWnKsXk05fJTEYzOLjSdDQfrn/s320/DSC07839.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Look how fast I stirred! It's like a whirlwind!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And it came out......really average. The flavor was rich and chocolatey, but the texture was not great. In fact, it was dry and crumbly. The moral of this story is that either I can't bake or 250 epicurious readers can be wrong. Don't worry though, we ate it all.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-21531783119876124642010-03-08T11:56:00.000-08:002010-03-11T09:46:01.963-08:00Spring Time: An ode to SeattleIt is officially spring time here! The birds are back singing outside my window; the enchanting, well kept grounds at the hospital where I work display a new splash of color every morning. It's wonderful, glorious. I feel like breaking out in song, even though some days that song would have to be "Singing in the Rain." It makes me remember all over again why I love Seattle!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfGHnHYcKvNF-qhogsgN_VW9cXrUggqBE9EQMHHn6lEj5tlqY2UmgT9SLG3rV15X70hdM6uEA7QU7m0gtzIVrJBQzb7hiwSxQVi_ToNUYwvE9gPvD7M1ELt6FIQb7fIK7rfd8HUyUUYfQT/s1600-h/cherry+blossoms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfGHnHYcKvNF-qhogsgN_VW9cXrUggqBE9EQMHHn6lEj5tlqY2UmgT9SLG3rV15X70hdM6uEA7QU7m0gtzIVrJBQzb7hiwSxQVi_ToNUYwvE9gPvD7M1ELt6FIQb7fIK7rfd8HUyUUYfQT/s400/cherry+blossoms.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Say what you want about the dreary, rainy weather in Seattle, I'll take it over the harsh winters and hot, humid summers the rest of the country suffers thru! In this Washington, the cherry trees started blooming by the first weekend in February! I took this sweet picture Super Bowl Sunday on a walk around Greenlake, when the other Washington was enduring record breaking blizzards.<br />
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</div><div align="right">Daffodils, the cheery heralds of the new season began popping up weeks ago. By the end of February, the whole city was colored yellow and white with the promise of impending spring! </div><div align="right"><br />
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Last weekend, I even discovered baby buds on a magnolia tree!</div><div align="left"><br />
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Now there are flowers everywhere!</div><div align="left"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yep, it's spring!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">The flowers are beautiful and hint at the out-of-this world greatness of summer in Seattle, but to me, they're not the best part of my city. Seattle is nestled snugly in the Puget Sound basin, hugged on all sides by the most marvelous sites nature has to offer. For me, the best part, the absolute best part is the mountains! I didn't really appreciate them until I was away from home for a whole year. When I came back, I realized how much I had missed them. As my plane circled the city to land, I looked out my window and gasped. I couldn't get enough of the rugged peaks of the Cascade and Olympic Mountain Ranges. They're so young (geologically speaking) and fierce! I vowed to never take them for granted again. Now, on clear days, I can see the Olympics from my driveway. I love to sit in my car and drink in their splendor! How can deny the existence of a good God in the face of such beauty?</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLT92_JhWr9YhWbsGJRGcS-s92l2KHYfQEK2kjg65UVVg8vFsBthlZPP09VvpPjQatu0WRgtxfTqGbKFMZhvVSPavDsJarn4d9PM851fxUULklZweT4aSPSfNcOZXNa1usKdceHGCyT5Sd/s1600-h/mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLT92_JhWr9YhWbsGJRGcS-s92l2KHYfQEK2kjg65UVVg8vFsBthlZPP09VvpPjQatu0WRgtxfTqGbKFMZhvVSPavDsJarn4d9PM851fxUULklZweT4aSPSfNcOZXNa1usKdceHGCyT5Sd/s400/mountains.jpg" width="397" /></a></div><div align="left" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8623934244157131358.post-52767040113607312242010-03-06T08:37:00.000-08:002010-03-07T04:28:41.108-08:00Favorite February Pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One of my womanly goals when I first decided to blog was to take more pictures. After all, a blog is a great place to stash all those pictures that you don't quite want to post around the house or scrapbook, but still enjoy sharing. With that in mind, I tried to bust out my camera every day in February to capture every-day moments. The result was many, many bad pictures, but practice makes perfect, right? Here are some of my favorite shots of "little things" last month!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">1. A beautiful winter sunrise </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">2. Ice cream at my favorite local shop, <a href="http://www.mollymoonicecream.com/">Molly Moon's</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">3. Old photo albums</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">4. A parasol in the rain</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">5. Cherry blossoms at Greenlake</div>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06077955297527062932noreply@blogger.com0