Thursday, April 29, 2010

Domesticity at it's Finest

I am in love. With this cook book. Seriously, it's the best cook book I have ever used. What's to love, you ask? 
  • It has pictures for every recipe. My "versions" obviously look identical to the pictures. In case you were wondering, I have provided a picture below.
  • The recipes are broken up in SEASONS. How cool is that? It's Spring. So I go to the Spring section and off I go - making a festive Spring meal. 
  • I can follow the recipes without screaming half way through. And they are good! I have made the apricot/goat cheese stuffed chicken. A cinch. I made the dried cherry spinach salad. Even easier. I made the grilled asparagus. Devine. 
Here's my attempt at the Spinach Salad with Dried Cherries.

Voila! See? I did pretty good, right? Right??

    I have gone through this "I like to cook" phase before. Don't be fooled. I have tried being domestic prior to marriage but it never really stuck. However, a year into being hitched, I think maybe, just maybe, I have found my new calling. Domestic Goddess.

    Want proof?

    Wait for it... 

    Isn't this the cutest thing? Please note, the very first card Ty ever got me was covered in those little hearts. He has toned it down over the years, trust me.

    Don't tell him I posted this. I'll never get a card again.

    Monday, April 19, 2010

    Just another romantic evening...

    Ty and I had quite the romantic evening.

    Setting: Ty coming into our room after he took a shower (in his bathroom of course) ...
    Ty: Hey Babe! I have a suuuuuuuuurprise for you! (right as he enters the room) ...
    Me: What?!?! (As I glance over his bod up and down) Something for me to pop!?!?
    Ty: No! (As he comes to give me a smooch...) I got a really close shave goin' on here!

    Needless to say, I was pretty dissapointed. My favorite thing to do is pop a zit or an in grown hair on my poor husband. That's love. I do need to mention that Ty never (ever, ever, ever) volunteers himself to get something popped. I always notice it and attack!

    Setting: An hour later. I am in scrutinzing every square inch on my face while I soak my stinky feet in the sink in his bathroom. (I wouldn't dare do such a thing in my sink!)
    Me: Honey! My mustache is out of control! As are these hairs on my chin...
    Ty: Yah! Your chinny chin chin hairs are longer than mine!
    Me: (Completely unphased) Can you get my Sally Hansen hair remover out of my top middle drawer? I need to do something about this pronto!

    Pronto, as in I am sitting here writing this blog as I wear a white fu man chu.

    Time to rinse!

    Note: There is no picture to post this go 'round. Sorry folks...

    Friday, April 16, 2010

    Obsessions / Addictions

    When I was 5 or 6 I was addicted to these creepy little baby dolls that crawled... and Barbies. Obviously. The thing that is hilarious to think about is that the babies were about twice the size of my Barbies. Yet, I would have the Barbies carry the babies around. You know Barbie's arms - up ... or down. That's all you've got to work with. The babies were in a perma-crawl position. I would jam the over-sized babies onto Barbie's poor toothpicks arms. Luckily Barbie is made of rubber.


    When I was 10 I was obsessed with American Girls. Molly and Samantha to be exact. I got Molly first - and while I hated to admit it, she was the one most like me. She was the nerdiest. 

    Over time, I tried to convince myself (and others) that I was a girly girl by asking for Samantha. (Plus she was the one EVERYONE wanted. The popular girl.) Note the attire... the bow, the purse, and the velveteen hat in particular. All I can say, is thank God they didn't make "big girl" sizes because we all know I would have had my own matching get-up. 

    I just recently looked at a catalog with Lindsay. In case you were wondering, they don't even make Samantha anymore. The "popular girl" fades away once again. Just like high school.

    When I was 12 I was obsessed with acrylic nails. There is something VERY wrong with this, I know. My whole life, up until college, I chewed my nails down to the quick. I always wanted nails. (The obsession with nails in general actually started much earlier in life with the stick-on nails from Drug Emporium. It would go a little something like this. I would beg and beg my mom for the $3 nails. I would go home, put them on myself. The left hand always looked much better than the right, as you can imagine. I would wear them for 5 minutes, pry them off and stick them in my pockets. My mom would of course wash the pants with the nails tucked away in them... with my dad's underwear. My nails would then end up on my dad's underwear, and then on my dad's ass.) My grandma would go to the "nail place" and get a set of acrylics put on. I actually convinced her to let me get them. (The difference this time is that it wasn't a little pasty of glue attaching the nail to my miniature and damaged nail bed. They were soldered on. I was stuck with them. For at least 2 weeks. I would then paint them. Myself. We all know that a 12 year old is not patient enough to let the paint dry. They'd look a little something like this... (The pinky finger is my favorite.)

    Moving onto 15 years old, I started my addiction with J.Crew. Boot cut jeans to be precise. In 9th grade I ordered them and they were back ordered for about 6 months. Every day, I would check the mail desperate for these jeans. My addiction with this store continued up until recently. Recently, as in this time last year when we decided to buy a house. 

    Which brings me to my most recent, most expensive, most distracting addiction of all. 

    Need I say more? 

    People. Nobody warned me. I wait for this catalog (weekly, thank you PB for adding feul to the fire by publishing about 15 new catalogs per season) just like I waited for my American Girl catalog when I was in Elementary School Junior High. (OK, I admit it. The addiction carried on a little too long.) I flip through it, folding corners, just as I did with my J.Crew catalog. The difference this time is that I don't have to get to go ask my parents to place the order with their Visa. Instead, I place the order. I drive to the store. I carry the bags (and bags) of goodies into the house. All things I need of course. Like the decorative pillows in all three of the bedrooms. Or the lantern that holds a candle in it you can never burn because it will stink up the house. Or the three tier hoer d'erve holder I just recently found in a closet because I use it so much. The thing that I find most annoying about this addiction is it's never ending. You could buy everything in the dang catalog but your house still won't look like freaking Pottery Barn. They're pretty smart. They must know that 90% of their shoppers aren't Martha Stewart. They must also know that 90% of their shoppers WANT TO BE Martha Stewart. And there it is.   

    I can't imagine what would top this addiction. 

    To be continued...

    Monday, April 12, 2010

    Lazy in Love

    I've recently realized something that is both very annoying and very attractive to me about Ty.

    The guy doesn't have a lazy bone in his body. I, on the other hand, am made up of about 99% lazy. If I am not being lazy, it's all an act. It's fake.

    Below are two re-occurring conversations that take place in our house.

    Setting: Cloudy, cold, maybe even rainy Saturday Morning
    Me: I don't want to do anything today. It's so gross out. What should we eat for lunch? (By lunch I mean whatever leftovers we have from dinner out the night before, Mac n' Cheese, tuna sandwiches or all of the above.) 
    Ty: I know, it's so nasty out... [in the same breath] I think I am going to take the pups on a walk. 
    Me: Really?! Why? (Why would you actually leave the house on a day like this?!?!?!)
    Ty: Because they've been cooped up all week. 
    Me: But it's so gross out.
    Ty: [As he looks outside] Not really, it's just cold and cloudy. It's not raining.
    Me: Yet. It's not raining yet.

    Out the door he goes... while I sit on the couch, the same exact place I've been since I woke up and meandered down the stairs to a bowl of cereal and coffee 2 hours ago. (By coffee I mean French Vanilla creamer with a splash of java.) 

    Setting: 7:30pm on a Monday night right after dinner.
    Me: Guess what's on tonight!! (Read this in a very excited tone - like I am about to tell Ty that some car show is on that I know he's obsessed with.) 
    Ty: What!?!? (Got him!)
    Me: Dancing with the Stars! (Obviously)
    Ty: [Silence followed by a very long, yet very polite pause]
    Me: Aren't you so excited?!
    Ty: Not really. Are you watching it upstairs? 
    Me: Yes, why? 
    Ty: I am going to watch COPS and (wait for it...) go to the gym. 
    Me: It's practically 9pm (it's 7:35) - You are actually going to the gym this late!?
    Ty: I gotta go. I gotta get sexy for you, Babe! 

    Upstairs I go, to the same exact place I will remain until it's time for bed. 

    Should I read into "I gotta get sexy for you, Babe"? -- as in, "Babe, get a clue. I am going to the gym. You should come too. I'm tired of watching you do 15 yoga positions every morning as you try to squeeze into your jeans." 

    I wasn't always this way. I used to try and impress Ty.

    Blame it on my engagement ring. Blame it on the wedding. Blame it on my elastic waste juicy sweats that I live in (that Ty bought me). Blame it on my Kitchen Aid mixer that makes THE BEST cookie dough in the world (cookies Ty frequently asks for). Blame it on our new king bed. Blame it on the 42 inch TV we now have in our room (that Ty bought me us). Blame it on DVR. 

    While I am ridiculously lazy, Ty is always on the go. Always busy, always movin' and shakin'. As annoying as it is, it's nice to know I married a guy that won't let me be too lazy for too long. He lets me do my thing and be me (you know, lazy) but secretly knows that his movin' and shakin' makes me feel like a chub that can only tolerate the sight of myself in velour sweats for so long. 

    PS. I bought a new pair of juicy sweats this weekend with pockets. POCKETS PEOPLE!

    Wednesday, April 7, 2010

    Poor Judgement

    I may have made a really bad decision last week. While I hate to admit it, I went out and did something I probably shouldn't have done.

    For me, my hair has always been a topic of conversation... with myself, in my head of course. The question, "What should I do with my hair?" often includes additional follow up questions like "How much will that cost?". 

    Let's do a breakdown:
    • Hair cut - $60 (keep in mind this typically involves a simple 1 inch trim)
    • Boliage -  $120 (this is where they put cotton and suran wrap on your head and put you under a space like dryer for 20 min before making you rest your neck uncomfortably in a sink for another 15)
    • All over color - $80 (which by the way, if I was gutsy enough, could totally do myself for about $5)
    Instead of sticking with the usual ridiculously priced trim and very over rated Boliage treatment, I went ahead and stuck with the over-priced trim and did the less expensive, yet still ridiculously priced, all over color. Because I know you care about this as much as I do, let's talk about this in more detail. 

    "Why did you do this?!", you are of course asking yourself, I'm sure.
    • I may have had a few drinks at happy hour prior to walking into Gene Juarez. 
    • I may have been stuffed to the brim with happy hour food and in desperate need of a nap. 
    • I was in need of a hair cut. It had been over three months since my last one. Color treated hair that gets sizzled and burned to a crisp daily often breaks and looks like an 80s rock star wig after awhile. 
    • I had done all over color before, and always liked it.
    • It's cheaper.
    I hate it. 

    And so does Ty... look at his face.

    Ty isn't stupid. He doesn't put his life in danger and tell me he doesn't like it. However, this picture is telling me straight.

    It's turning red. (Due to my "state" at the time, I forgot to constantly repeat to my hair lady every 5 minutes, as I normally would have, that I don't like red undertones.)

    And that's what I got. It's black. With red undertones. (For the record, I hate the words "red" and "undertones".)

    Sunday, April 4, 2010

    I'm No Julie Andrews

    Those of you that were around me about 4 years ago know all too well the ex that people [i.e. my adoring parents] fondly refer to as "Steve-O". Lucky for Ty, he came in four months after that saga came to an end and didn't have to meet the jackass. Pun intended. In that four month period, there is an experience I've suppressed and I think it's now worthy of sharing with a broader audience. Before I go any further, I need to out myself. After things ended with Steve-O, I was in this "I'll try anything" phase. (The phase lasted exactly one week.) One of the things I was dying to try was and The commercials talked about finding someone you were compatible with. The people were always walking on the beach hand in hand. Who wouldn't want to try it?

    It didn't go very far, and you'll soon see why.

    Let's go back to May 30th, 2006. Below is an email I sent to my mom and Lindsay after a first date gone ___________ [insert any word reflective of a horrible experience and then multiply it by 100,000,000,000,000,000].  

    You can all thank Lindsay for sending this back to me. I had apparently double deleted it immediately after I hit "send" 4 years ago. No idea why.

    OK everything went fine until I realized I would be playing a part in Mary Poppins...

    So, we met at Redmond Town Center's Starbucks. From the moment I saw him, I knew nothing would ever come of it - he simply was not my type. Tall, skinny, awkward, incredibly huge Adam's Apple (I thought people with those actually had deep voices... his is very Canadian and high pitched), high water jeans because I don't think they make jeans for people that tall, skinny ankles, upper lip much larger than bottom lip.... OK... if I didn't know by just the sight of him, then I would have known when he whipped out a piece of folded paper (after I introduced myself to him, and awkwardly - get ready, because that word is going to be included in this more than just a few times - half hand shake half hug him). Written on the outside of the paper says, "You can never say I am not romantic..." and when I open it I see it... A color copy red rose... Yes. I said it - the jolly green awkward giant handed me a paper rose within the first 20 seconds of meeting each other. I am sad to say, this is what I expected. Someone who writes that good of e-mails has to have good writing skills when their in person skills are this awkward.

    We go into get coffee... I order a coffee frap, he orders a white chocolate mocha... that's my favorite hot drink, and so we had something to talk about. We wait for the drinks, I can't get my straw in, and we laugh... oh ho hum!

    We walk out; he wants to see Maddie... We go get her out of the car... Everything's fine... until he wants to play the game of "this or that"... You know the one... Chocolate or vanilla, les mis or phantom, sweet or salty, rolling stones or beatles, and the list could go on and on... and it does. Until he looks at his phone and decides it’s off to the next spot of what is FOR SURE the most awkward date I have ever been on.

    I go in and change at Claim Jumper - my short jean skirt and tennis shoes. I knew we were going to a park or something to walk Maddie... He had already given it away, so I came prepared. I leave him with Maddie, change, come back outside and I can't find them anywhere. After a 10 second freak out that he stole my precious dog, I see him playing with her around the corner. Phew...

    We get in his TWO SEATER TEAL (the tealest I have ever seen in a car... tealer than Tealeta) Benz. I am not kidding... They actually come in that bright of color... We speed off into the sunset. Maddie on my lap, scratching the shit out of my legs and practically lifting up skirt to nanny length for the whole world to see.

    We get to Marymore, where he opens the door for me, and gets a MAN PURSE out of the back seat. Lord knows what is in there. He then says, "We need to find a place that has both sidewalk and grass." Ooooook...... I let Maddie off her leash and she is in heaven... running around chasing the birds (this was the most fun I had all night). We find the spot he has been imaging all day, I am sure. He sets his purse down and brings out... SIDEWALK CHALK. No, I am not kidding you... (I have experienced rocks and sticks before, but this was new for me). Then he asks me (I can only imagine what my face looked like...) "Have you seen Mary Poppins?" I say that I have but I have no idea what he is doing... Then he says, "Do you remember the part with the sidewalk chalk and pictures?" Shit. I know what he is talking about, but he can't be doing what I think he is about to do... I ask him what I am supposed to do with the chalk and he says, "Well, where are you taking me?" No, I am not kidding. I wish I was. So having no clue what I am doing, I draw a picture of waves and a palm tree and sand, etc. He then has me stand up, WHILE WE JUMP INTO THE PICTURE like they do in the movie.... I am not joking. We do this twice before he asks me to trace him. He gets on the ground and has me trace him with white chalk as if he has been murdered. I ask him to close his eyes, so he won't look up my skirt as I stand above him and straddle him so he can be traced like a 5 year old. After this I am beside myself. I decide its time to find a stick and play with Maddie. We do this for awhile - he is telling me really weird and awkward (yes, that word again) stories about his friends... Oh wait, before I walked off to play with Maddie, he decided to draw a penis on himself on the sidewalk because his "friend did that once and it was really funny". That must have been why I decided it was time to step away from the chalk. After we throw the stick, we sit down. Things are fine... more of "this and that" and then he tells me the things that drive him crazy. He pulls my hair back and smells my neck, rubs my arm, the back of my leg... This is my queue - it's time to get the hell out of here. I stand up abruptly, telling him I am getting eaten alive my mosquitoes, (which I was - I can still feel them all over me... yuck) and I tell Maddie it's time to go.

    As we are leaving, he says, "Well I told you what drives me crazy, what about you?" I don't understand what he is saying because I didn’t know that was what he was doing until now. I don’t know what to say, so I ask if he has ever heard of "goin' on a treasure hunt..." he never had, discussion over... I am walking ahead of him pretending to catch up with Maddie when he says, "what about this... wait you are running away from me..." I turn around, to see him gently headed for me head first with his hands out, ready to grab my ears when he dives in for the kill. He kisses me! I laugh, push him away and say, "whew, wasn't expecting that!" he holds my hand the entire way to the car while I make awkward conversation. We drive to my car, where he proceeds to do the same thing again - in which I react the same way, laughing and gently pushing him away. Thank you and goodnight.

    To this day, I don't think I ever told my dad about this date. He would have bought me a tazer gun and a lifetime supply of mace. 

    Needless to say, I learned VERY quickly that it wasn't ANYTHING like the commercials. 

    Or Mary Poppins. I'm no Julie Andrews.

    That's Maddie in the orange dress.

    Saturday, April 3, 2010

    Annoyed Much?

    Prior to kicking off this blog, I attempted a previous blog - which I have since deleted (largely due to the fact that I only posted once and allowed only 2 people to see it.) However, I wanted to save my "first ever" blog posting. I am sentimental like that.

    Ty and I just recently opened up about what each other does that annoys us. (In all honesty, I have opened up and Ty hasn't ran screaming yet, so we're good.)
    • When Ty decides it's cocktail time during my all time favorite show (this translates to anytime I am watching Food Network, HGTV, Bachelorette, WE Platinum Weddings, Grey's Anatomy, Travel Channel, or anything else "reality") and has to get ice out of the ice bin in the freezer. This involves taking the never full-enough bin out of the freezer, emptying the frozen ice trays into the bin, then taking ice back out of the bin and putting it into his glass -- only after he drops several ice cubes on the wood floor, which leads to 12 long nailed dog paws scrambling for each already practically melted cube.
    • When Ty comes home after I am already "asleep" (I use this word lightly because often times I have just about fallen asleep or am trying to fall asleep or trying to be fake asleep). The "shhh, dad's sleeping" message never quite hit home for him as a kid. Doors slamming, loud clunky shoes on the wood floors, teeth brushing, etc. Ty also sometimes thinks this is a great time to take a shower. Thankfully, in our new house he has his own bathroom so it's less noticeable... This killed me in our 427 dump.
    • Ty's constant "in, out, in, out, in, out, in..." Door slams, alarm alert chirps, dogs cry while he's outside, dogs bark when he comes in... picture this times 100, on Sunday's especially - It's God's Day for Heaven's sake -- a day of rest.
    • When Ty drives like he is 30 going on 75. I am tempted to take his license away on days like these. However, that would mean I would have to drive. No thank you.
    • When Ty goes silent -- this of course is only after I have pissed him off to the extreme.
      While Ty may not have run screaming yet, he has opened up (like me - in a really sweet, non confrontational way) about the things that I do that annoy him. For example:
      • He has a difference in opinion as it relates back to my threshold for dirty sheets. (Ty believes sheets to be dirty weekly. I could easily go a month + without even thinking about them.)
      • He finds my hair brush offensive. (I typically go about ten years before buying a new hair brush. The reason is usually because I lost it or left it at a hotel. Rarely does it have to do with the state the hair brush is actually in.)
      • He would prefer I not "help" him. You know what I am talking about. I like to "help" him cook dinner. (This typically involves me telling him how to cook a meal I have no experience making. He loves that.)
      • He doesn't prefer I clip my toenails on the couch or in our bed. (What's so wrong with that?)
      I'm positive that's about it. 

      This won't be the last time I blog about being annoyed. It's my favorite word. It's my thing. 

      I realize I have blogged three days in a row. I doubt I will blog daily moving forward, but for now, this is just so stinking fun. Poor Ty. Every time he turns around I am blogging again. I keep telling him, "It's for us Babe, it's for us."

      Friday, April 2, 2010

      Eat, Drink, and be Married

      About a month ago I came to the realization that it's fun to drink beer with my husband... on Friday nights. Beer is somewhat new for me and it tastes different on Fridays - obviously. Ty loves cocktail time at our house, and I never really played with him until recently. Since this turn of events, I've gained a lovely 10 pounds that I could live without. With that said, the "more to love" version of me wouldn't take back all of the fun we've had together. I don't know what it is about drinking a beer with Ty. It's different than drinking other alcoholic beverages, like wine, together. A beer is so casual - a nice cold one (see? I am such a dude now!) sets the tone for a laid back, light-hearted conversation. I now totally get why guys often "go grab a beer" together. Granted, when they go out I am sure it never really is just one beer - with me, it most certainly is. A beer isn't threatening. It's not intimidating like wine. I mean , do you have red? or white? or a blend? one from Oregon? Washington? California? It doesn't come with a headache like champagne. It's not disappointing like most mixed drinks and cocktails. You know what you're going to get. It's straight forward. After a long week, the best thing that can kick start a fantastic weekend is a brooskie with your best friend. (In my case, I prefer Corona Light - with lime of course!)

      Bottoms Up!

      Thursday, April 1, 2010

      And so it begins...

      Many people often told me that the first year of marriage was the hardest. This time last year we were moving into our first house, and counting down the days until we said "I do". Six weeks later we were on the most beautiful beach with the most amazing friends and family there to witness us start our lives together. Easy... and breezy! And so it began, our first year of marriage together. My grandma has often relived her first year of marriage with my adorable grandpa, telling me how she thought she had made the biggest mistake of her life. Seeing them now, 50+ years later, you'd never guess it was ever hard. Let's take a few things into consideration:

      1. My grandma was 12 years old when they tied the knot.
      2. My grandpa left the next day for the Korean War.

      OK, this is how I remember the story. I think she was 17 and it was actually the following month that my grandpa left. Let's get honest, what's the difference between the facts and my reality?

      Here we are on our wedding day, May 20, 2009.

      Our situation was/is a bit different.

      1. I was an extremely mature 27 year old when we got married. By mature I mean, emotional and moody.
      2. Ty did not leave for a war the day after we committed the rest of our lives to each other.
      3. We lived together before we were married so we were able to agree that all chores were Ty's responsibility moving forward.
      4. We don't share bank accounts. I pay the bills and he pays me. I'm that good of a wife.

      I would like to think that Ty would agree that our first year married has been easy. It's right in line with what I learned about Ty as a partner early on. Life should be easier with that person, not harder. We "fight" about stupid things and laugh about it later. I will admit though that I do go to bed mad. Gasp! I know, I know - I have broken the cardinal rule of all marital advice, but hey, that's me and it works. I wake up in the morning, laugh and kiss my husband, always acknowledging that I was mad last night and we both laugh at how immature I was. Or he'll admit to being wrong and apologizing too. We're so cute. (Let's be clear on what I mean when I write "fight". I get annoyed and tell him how I annoyed I am [with him], right or wrong, and he listens. He may leave the room afterward, he may stare at me blankly and he might, just might, put me in my place right there. Nine times out of ten, he listens unemotionally and let's me vet it out and move on, never "adding fuel to the fire", as my mom puts it.) The reason this first year has been easy has largely, if not all, to do with the fact that my husband is amazing and lets me be... happy, sad, annoyed, frustrated, fat, ugly, awkward, sexy, inappropriate, rude, drunk, or a complete and total wreck. It must be fun for him to live each day not knowing what version of his wife he is going to get that day. I, on the other hand, know exactly what I am going to get - a steady, handsome, showered, funny, positive, adorable husband. Like I said, easy... and breezy, for me anyway!

      I know what you are thinking.

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