Did you hear? Today is my birthday. Praise, celebrate, text, post, drink because today is MY DAY! In fact, I have been known to say things like, “but it’s MY MONTH!” or “it’s MY BIRTHDAY WEEK” or the classic, “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!” Phrases that are telling of my combined single-childness and obnoxiousness that my closest friends endure throughout April.

Except my Mom. She embraces and promotes this behavior.

While you may find my birthday attitude a combination of narcissistic + self-centered, I invite you to review the name of my blog and hold your tongue.

So, in honor of me (me, me, me…) here is a list + links + PICTURES of my favorite things:

1. Michael Kors Fulton Moc Flats in Fuschia: because LOOK AT THE FUSCHIA? Don’t these just say, “wear me with jeans!” Also, because I live in Seattle I will tell you that MK’s leather doesn’t lend itself well to rainy days. Like, you might end up with ombre shoes if you aren’t careful. (The good news is you can usually replace them via eBay. #BidsWhileDrinking)

Image2. Everything at Anthropologie, specifically this dress (Vernalis Maxi Dress): ok SPOILER alert, HBD me because I bought it. Yes, yes I know, I didn’t wait and see buuuut you guyssssss all the sizes were selling out and I needed it. I thought if I tried it on in the store in a size too small I would be all, “no way, jose” but instead I lusted for days. And when the store associate (is that what they are called these days?) said, “where are you going to wear it?” I said, “EVERYWHERE” maybe a little too quickly.

Image3. Black Puffy Vest w/ Hood: did I mention I live in Seattle? Where it’s currently 60 and raining [hard]. No, I didn’t wear open-toed wedges because, “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!” and I wanted a cute outfit and everything else I had was dirty. Or on the floor. Anyways, it’s time for a new puffy because the one I am rockin’ now is beat up, faded and blah.

PS: if it had faux fur trim, I wouldn’t be mad.

4. Stylish Home Goods: ok, Boyfriend and I are 3+ years into this thing and I am going to call it pretty close to almost permanent. I have been nesting up a storm in his house (#keeper: owns his home), painting rooms, painting furniture, secretly moving in – the usual. And I continually find things that will make his (OUR) house a little more homey. Like this mirror, which is upsettingly no longer available:


Or this summer quilt with shams + throw pillow, which had to be purchased immediately after the aforementioned mirror trauma:

ImageOr these bowls – ooooh these bowls! Anthropologie gets me again with their delicious kitchen goods. Also, can I just say that their online shipping is completely ridiculous? Can I say that? Because it is. I can barely bring myself to buy a $200 dress (bday discount + gift card, cha-ching!) so don’t throw salt in my credit card wound with your $15 shipping. Rude.

Back to these bowls, perfect for ice cream, top ramen or…err..a salad..


5. And finally, my all time Kryptonite: Trophy Cupcakes. Holy Mother of all that is good and pure. My co-worker knows where I stand on celebrating myself and my deep-rooted obsessionlove for Trophy Cupcakes. Not just any ol’ cupcake will do, for if I am going to spend the calories it better be the best cupcake Seattle can give.

Ok, not true. I will definitely eat any cupcake. Anyways, I came to work and found the following:










A cupcake with a crown? AAAAAW. NOM NOM NOM NOM@#!@!

2014: Huzzah!

This happens every year, did you know that? I sit down and think, “I am going to write more.” Then I tell you (yeah, YOU) that I am going to write more.

And I turn to my co-worker and say, “I AM going to write more.”

Then I don’t.

It’s not intentional. Things like that never are, rather I think we set out each January with new goals and a clean slate. A fresh start that isn’t bogged down by the memory of last year’s resolution(s) and when you decided that a cupcake > the gym and gave up all hope of losing 12 pounds.*

I bet that cupcake was good, though. I freaking love cupcakes.

Generally my resolutions are similar variations of one another:

1. Write more.
2. Gym more.

They kind of sound like yours, don’t they? Do something more or less. Drab.

And as much as I don’t want to resolve that I am resolving to do the things I always resolve to do, the fact is they are both things that I enjoy doing and allow myself to forget. So this year, rather than listing out all of the things you can list out on a fresh medium, I am going to keep it to one simple resolution:

To remember.

I will remember that my time is valuable, and work isn’t my life.
I will remember that doing what I love, whether it be traveling or writing or napping or eating an extra cookie or going to a gym class (yes, they are listed in priority) is important for my well being and mental health.
I will remember that technology isn’t second nature to everyone, and that patience is a virtue best embraced with open arms.
And finally, I will remember that life is too short to be spent dwelling.

Resolve on, friends, readers and weirdos! I hope you have a wonderful 2014 and that you kicked it off with bubbles, sparkles and kisses – I sure did! I totally spent more than$6 on a bottle of champagne, then drank it from a plastic glass.

*Now it’s more than 12.

Friday for Thought: World Tourism Day!


(Found this gem of an image on, I need a giant poster in my office, no?)

Happy it’s Friday. I am counting down the days until my next adventure (the French Alps!!). Did I tell you it’s Boyfriend’s first trip abroad? Passports, Brie and romance – oh my!

We are going to have an amazing time “shredding the gnar” in Chamonix, eating our way through Paris and capping our trip off with 48-hours in Iceland. Obvi I will give you deets, pictures and my “Top Things I Ate” list when we get back, but until then, you shall listen to my incessant babble about HOW EXCITED I AM! and HOW IT WILL BE THE BEST TRIP EVER!@$#! (Until the next one…)

Currently, my places to go in 2014 looks something like this:

1. Kauai: no explanation needed. ever.

2. Chile: happy 30th birthday to Boyfriend! more international skiing!

3. The Philippines: this one is ever so slightly out of my comfort zone, but it made the list.

Where are you going in 2014? Wishing YOU a happy World Tourism Day! Au revoir! 


JoAnn Fabrics: Girls Only

Did I ever tell you about that time I took my Manfriend to JoAnn Fabrics? Probably not because it was equal parts stress and frustration. At one point I thought I was better off just cutting my losses and leaving him there.

To be clear, it’s not like he was acting like a small child (“ugh, can we goooooo”, “I’m hungry”, “I have to pee”) in fact he was being extremely patient as I ooo’ed and aww’ed at fabrics, batting, etc.

We were there for foam. Foam? Foam.

Four inch thickfoam that was on sale 50% off and I needed for my pallet-turned-ottoman project. Yes, I know I have referenced this twice now (that’s it?) and I swear I will post a tutorial once I complete the damn thing.

Anyways, we were in JoAnns surrounded by crafty, older ladies who were noticeably without husbands/boyfriends/lovahs. Not like they were single and/or widows, to be fair I didn’t question their FB status, but more like their sig-others knew better than to even set foot inside JoAnns.

And because I’m me, I did not have a schematic or blue print of my to-be-ottoman or how I was going to build it, which meant I was trying to pull up my Pinterest page and find the link to go to the page and then read what this other person wrote and did I mention I hadn’t eaten in awhile? Like a long while.

And how was I supposed to know how the foam was going to be sold? Why would I look that up online? I needed to SEE it.

So when Manfriend said, “Don’t you think you should have figured this out beforehand?” I literally almost lost my shit. I’m not positive what my facial expression was but I can only imagine it read as, “fetal position, protect yourself!”

I’m not sure what happened next because I was either so annoyed or so hungry I blacked out that portion of my memory. (I know what you’re thinking, I wish I was drunk too.) I calmly (yaright) walked back to the wall ‘o foam, pulled two pre-cut pieces and decided that would do.

Luckily, I am almost a mathematician (yaright x2, I was not math major) and figured out how to machete those pieces to fit together for my little project.

And because M was so happy to get the hell out of dodge/JoAnns and also knew there was a high probability I would try to pull a praying mantis, he promptly took me to Taco Time. Win.

(Writer’s note: I swear we went to Taco Time but M says we went to meet my parents for dinner. whatever.

Two weeks later, M went out of town and I was able to go to BOTH JoAnns AND Michael’s IN THE SAME DAY! It was the best day.

And while I was trying to pick fabric to upholster what will be the most badass ottoman of all time I was sure to text M a picture of each and every single fabric I liked until he finally said, “whichever one you want, sweetie.”

And now I think I found a new strategy to getting my way. This is what I decided on:


The smart lady that posted a how-to on making this ottoman said it took her four hours total. I couldn’t even tell you how many hours I’ve logged thus far because its taken my for-ev-ar to compile all my supplies.

And if you even think the words, “don’t you think you should have figured this out beforehand?” I will hunt you down. Hunt. You. Down.

Challenge Accepted.

Ok you guys, I have a few things to tell you. First of all, yesterday while I was trying to make my pallet-turned-ottoman (I’ll explain later) I was innocently putzing around in Manfriend’s backyard. In my spandex, naturally, since it was the weekend. 

Then out of nowhere, I was stung by a bee. A BEE. Confused, I started screaming, jumping and panicking while trying to pull my pants away from my leg. Manfriend, also confused by my circusing-about, began panicking because we are good, bee-fearing folk who just don’t get STUNG BY BEES.

I made it inside at which point he said, “do you want to take you pants off?” Smooth, Manfriend. And, yes I did want to take my pants off but as I was afraid the bee might try to attack me from it’s grave (aka the stinger was stuck in my spandex) so it was a bit of a process. I scuttled upstairs and waited for him to DO SOMETHING since all I could do was not cry.

Then, my parents showed up. And there I was, sitting on my Manfriend’s bed without pants on holding an ice pack against my thigh moaning, “Mooooooooooom I got stuuuuuuuung.”


I can’t even believe I wore pants today to be honest. Jeans, nonetheless. I had to apply 80 million layers of a Benedryl/Cortaid cocktail in order to survive the day without going mad. Then I was going to go to the gym, but my bee sting itched so I didn’t. (Love that excuse? Me. Too.) Redic. 

Since I feel as though this bee attack was unprovoked (it’s not like I dropped my pallet soon-to-be-ottoman on top of the deck under which it seems these little b-holes are living), Mother Nature and I are having a little bit of friction. I mean, ok, I threw away a few plastic bottles and sometimes I get plastic bags for my groceries when I am out of Seattle-proper but a bee-sting? Poor me.

So then, tonight, three-ish days before I leave to go camping with Manfriend and his high school “bros” I realize that I am going camping. But it’s ok because I am a camping pro. If “camping” is defined as staying anywhere that ends in “motel” and is classified under 3-stars on TripAdvisor.

Since it’s not, here’s how the conversation went:

Me: there a store near this ‘camp site?’

Manfriend: no. well, like 10+ miles away.

Me: how are we supposed to eat?

Manfriend stares. Then stares some more. I am pretty sure he was suppressing a smirk.

Me: does that mean we have to pack all our food? then cook it…over a…fire?

Manfriend: …yes…

Me: but what are we supposed to pack?!

Note: while I am not an idiot, I am really not acing the ‘play it cool, you can camp’ in front of my Manfriend.

Manfriend: beans, corn, steaks, hot dogs…

Me: oh, so this is like REAL camping?

5-minutes later…

Me: but we can shower right?

Manfriend continues to stare…and smirk…

I wouldn’t lie to you, when he pitched (hah! i’m so clever) this to me he told me it was like car-camping, which in my defense means there is access to a car which go on roads which lead to Starbucks.

Oh, shit. I just had the coffee-epiphany. Eff.

Except, yknow what? I was a Girl Scout. I can totally do this. Even when my troop mate picked a spot for our tent on a hill (what.the.hell) on a night that it monsooned (srsly.lakes.) I stuck it out.

So, I am going to pack me some Via, dry shampoo and bug spray and head to the “woods.” I use the “” because I feel like it’s going to be a clearing where there are no bears, snakes or things that bite…right? RIGHT. 

Challenge accepted, Manfriend.




That time I got lost: Toronto

I was lucky enough to get to go to Toronto this past weekend for work. There was a big event and it was the first my company participated in in Canada, so off I went.

Knowing my propensity to get lost, I opted to take a 6am flight out in order to get in earlier. I had never been to Toronto (woohoo, new city!) and even though 6am flights are my arch nemesis I sucked it up.

Did I get lost? Boy, did I ever.

I was in charge of bringing all of the sample product to the event, and I didn’t trust a 20-something even team to rent a van on my liability-watch, so I rented a full-size SUV. Now, I haven’t driven an SUV since the death of my dear friend Barney, a 1991 Ford Explorer, let alone a full-size SUV ever.

I ended up with a fully loaded Dodge Durango with less than 7k miles. I am so baller.

Rango was parked next to a pillar, naturally, and thanks to the side sensors (what rental cars HAVE THOSE?!?!!@#$) I navigated my way out of the parking garage.

Then I got lost 8 times. Even with a navigation system and a google maps print out, I somehow ended in a clover-like pattern first going north then west back south and then north again only to realize I needed to go west.

This went on for about 2 hours.

It’s important that you know there are signs that say “Toronto” and I chose not to follow them and instead listen to my nav system. It’s also important I tell you that I input the wrong address into the nav so it kept taking me OUT of the city rather than in.

My natural sense of direction took me to a Target, so I took a break from being lost to do some perusing. Targets are new to Canada, and this one happened to be quite deserted. (Note: Walmarts are also fairly new, but when I stopped of at Walmart it was like half the city was there. I couldn’t get out fast enough.)

I asked my checker at Target, “how do I get downtown?” and he said – get this – “hmm, I don’t know” and had to ask someone else who also didn’t know and so SHE had to ask SOMEONE else who didn’t know. This left my completely baffled as I was right off the freeway and, don’t these people LIVE HERE?!

It also made me feel slightly better about myself. And my directional abilities.

I gave the GPS one more try and ended up at my hotel almost THREE HOURS after picking up my car. Google maps told me it should only take 20 minutes.

So, that was pathetic.

I had some work to finish up and was so completely exhausted from waking up at 3am (again, 6am flights suck) that I couldn’t pull it together to go get food. To make matter worse, I was starving and having trouble making decisions.

I landed on ordering Thai food from this little spot on the next block that said they would deliver. I also looked like I hadn’t showered in 24-hours because I hadn’t, and if you know me you know that’s gross. My food (FRIED spring rolls, pad see ewe and coconut sticky rice – because my order needed to total $25 and also, yummy!) showed up around 930pm EST and by then I was completely ravenous.

I settled in to watch a marathon of Randy to the Rescue and I Found the Gown on TLC and realized that they DIDN’T GIVE ME SILVERWARE. No chop sticks. No fork. Nothing.

And even though the front desk SAID they would send up a fork they didn’t, so I still went ahead and ate my whole dinner, all three ‘courses’, with my fingers.

Bubblegum Barbie

Last week my friend Dub asked me to prom via text message. It was all so non-threatening and friend-like that I couldn’t say no. Plus, I love any and every excuse to dress up in sparkly things.

I excitedly told my co-workers, ran it by manfriend (yknow, in case he was all ‘no! you are mine and I will not share you on a Friday!’…yearight.) and frantically called my mom screaming, “gather the dresses! The time has come!!”

Yesterday I mentioned said invite in a small snippet of a post. But then you had no idea how whimsical adult-prom could truly be.

Though Momma Social Narcissist (forever now to be known as Momma SN) never said the words “stop obsessively calling/texting/Facebooking me, I will find your damn dresses” I’m pretty sure she thought it. She graciously had our local courier (read: Dad) drop them off for Dub and me the try on.

Who can still fit into her dress from junior year? This girl.

Anyways we were clearly unsatisfied with what we had, and rushed out to Ross the night before with 30 minutes before closing. Several gaudy, scratchy, tulle-layered dresses followed and I found my re-prom dress. Let me tell you, it is eighteen-dollars and ninety-nine cents of bubblegum pink goodness falling somewhere between my Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding and pure trashy. When combined with Vegas tan, I really look like a GTL-ing Jersey girl from the Shore.


Dub had some trouble finding a dress, and because she likes fashion-fueled stress and sheer panic of not knowing what to wear, she decided to purchase multiple (yes, multiple) dresses day-of. Ballsy.

Her top choice, a black and hot pink glittered gem, much like my own attire, was about three sizes too big. But really, it was just so perfect for the event. She showed up at my place looking like a taffeta hoarder. We established that yes, in fact, the dress was three sizes too big and could we a) tighten the elastic b) tie some extra tulle around her waste like a poor-trannies belt or c) possibly add straps? Then, the answer became obvious.

“I’m gonna take it in,” I said coolly and headed off to find my free-from-the-Sheraton sewing kit. It was about 6:30pm and our date was due to pick us up at 8:20. Which is a joke because, duh, what girl is EVER on time? ESPECIALLY on re-prom? I stitched up the left side, admired my hand work and proudly said, “See! I told you it could be done. Now I need to eat” then devoured an entire order of pad see ewe. The clock was ticking, I still hadn’t showered and Dub’s dress wasn’t finished. I got back to sweat-shopping and took in the remaining side – surprisingly with no needle-stabs (go me!).

And then, we were right back where we started. Dub pulled the three-sizes too big dress over her head and I went to zip her up and…

“Ut oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘ut oh’? Tell me it’s going to zip.”

I was laughing so hard I think I peed (thankfully, I still hadn’t showered), “It’s not going to happen.”

“What do you mean? This dress was THREE SIZES TO BIG!” Yup, I took it in about six inches.

I quickly removed the sticking from one side and said, “asymmetrical is so in!” then zipped her up (on the left.) Sure, she couldn’t breath but really, who can?

Our date was on time, and so we quickly threw ourselves together, iPhoned for an Uber and headed to prom! (OMG, PROM!) After much discussion, Dub declared that yes, in fact, the crown was too much and I should leave it at home – much to my chagrin. I decided to wear my sunglasses (at night & inside) for the majority of the night to make up for the loss.


Ok, even though I never plan on turning 30 (because I think 29 is a perfectly acceptable age), if I do bite the bullet and go for it I hope to have a party as fun as this one. We walked in, in all our glory, me with sunglasses (duh) and a boa and Dub with her gloves to find faux-flower corsages and boutonnieres waiting for us. After awkwardly and unsuccessfully trying to get Date’s boutonniere on, we took on turn for pictures.  Still waiting on those btw.


Then a table of jell-o shots happened. And Dub was busy socializing, so Date and I went ahead and helped ourselves.


So that happened. Maybe a little too much.

The rest of the night consisted of dancing, dancing without my shoes on, Dub removing her glove WITH HER TEETH and then more dancing.


I chose to wear these silver shoes I got as a bridesmaid gift years ago because they were the most prom-esque shoes in my closet. They have like a 2 inch heel so I was all, “I can rock these all night!”


After taking them off, my second mistake (the first was wearing them), I couldn’t put them back on as my feet decided to reject the idea of shoes entirely. There is essentially NO padding and it felt like I was balancing on wooden dowels.

I am pretty sure everyone at the party either kicked me or stepped on my feet at one point – which did not bother me at the time. However, when I awake with a scrape on my ankle I quickly remembered why steel-toed boots would have been a better choice, though less fashionable. (Or, maybe not?)

The party broke up around 1 am and Dub was set on having beers at her co-workers house. I was set on being home. We stopped at Dick’s (another duh) and I then proceeded to ask and ask and ask if they could just please please please drop me off at home. They did, and I woke up at 9am in a pile of boa feathers with a wounded-soldier-chocolate milkshake on my bedside table. I was awake long enough to let Dub in to get her keys, before claiming the world was too bright and pulling out my eye mask. It’s amazing how late one can sleep when all light is blocked out (1pm).

Re-prom was the exact OPPOSITE of my real prom. Thanks and happy 30th to our host, who threw one bitchin’ party!