On the Hunt

I hunted for Dove Milk Chocolate Eggs for three weeks. I couldn’t find them at Albertson’s, Broulim’s, Target or even Wal-Mart. Sold out everywhere. I had Danny search online. The phrase, Not in stock, appeared on every website. Desperation began to sink in. So I called my mom to share my plight.

These creamy chocolate eggs are an essential part of my commercialized Easter celebration. I don’t want to dye speckled, pastel or plaid eggs, I want to gorge on perfectly sized miniature chocolate eggs. I’m not a chocoholic like many women, but those round little candies call my name. And they conjure memories of my grandpa Leavitt sneaking me extra eggs when my grandma and mom weren’t looking. And you can’t resist the brightly colored, shiny foil wrappers. Lime, robin’s egg, fuchsia.

Just as I was about to give up the search and resign myself to the hideous fate of no Dove eggs on Easter, I received a miraculous text from Lindsay:

Hey the dove eggs that u like—are they individually wrapped?

She found them at Winco. And bought me two bags. Then a few days later, I got a package from my mom that included two more bags of Dove eggs. Joy! My dinner for three consecutive days consisted of Dove eggs. Only Dove eggs. Now I’m in rationing mode because I’ve got make less than half a bag last until Sunday.

But. Has anyone else noticed the packaging and wrappers this year? It’s all purple and silver. Nothing against purple and silver, but I prefer a mix of bright, fun, spring-ish colors. Not a fan, but I will eat them just the same. The packaging in the picture above is from 2009.

A Monster

Over the weekend I bought a few skin care masques. You know, one for hydrating, one to reduce the appearance of pores, etc. I’m running around the house with my moisturizing mask on and talk Danny in to let me apply one on him.

“Oh your skin would react so well to the clay masque,” I say. 

So he lets me apply it. He takes it off a few minutes later, no comment, and continues watching his soccer game. The next morning in the middle of a church meeting he leans over and whispers, with a sheepish but concerned look on his face, “Um…does my skin still look good?”

I’ve created a monster.

…Stay tuned for 100 Ways to Kill a Peep, coming soon!

First Impressions

Gone are my days of in-between semester temp jobs. The job I have now is my first legitimate, fulltime, salaried, post-college job. Needless to say, I was pretty nervous for interviews and then my first week or so of work.

On the second day, I found myself sitting in the office of the head of a department. This was a man who the first words out of his mouth in my presence were, “I never smile. I don’t like the way I look when I smile.”

I had a bit of a cough that week and was trying not to cough all over my hands because I was shaking hands all day long. It’s just common decency. We were talking about Japan, I think, when the urge to cough struck.

Unfortunately, I was chewing gum and as I tried to cover my cough with crook of my arm, the force of the cough launched the bright blue gum out of my mouth. It sailed high and straight over my new boss’ desk and landed next to a bookshelf, stuck to the carpet.

Mortified, I jumped out of my chair, squealed, “Excuse me! I just shot my gum across your office!” and snatched the slimy wad off the carpet and flicked it into the trash.

This man is no longer my boss, but surprisingly, we’re friends. The other week I reminded him of this incident and miraculously, he didn’t remember. Turns out, lots of embarrassing things happen in his office…like a grown woman pooping her pants and then forcing him out of his own office because she didn’t want him to look at her.

Couples Date Night

Danny and I are just beginning to emerge from our newlywed “If-you’re-not-my-spouse-I-want-nothing-to-do-with-you” phase. Over the past week we’ve had our first married people dates. We were a little nervous and tried to scale back our um…‘unique’ personalities so as not to scare away new potential friends.

We ate pizza and played games at Megan and Neekis’ house. I know, games, not my favorite or my forte but it was actually really fun. They have a beautiful home with gorgeous dark wood floors (I wish I would've asked what kind of wood) and some lovely cabinetry made by Neekis himself.

Saturday night we did the classic dinner and a movie with Lindsay and Ronnie. Lindsay is a good friend from work, so naturally we were talking about the iffy work potluck from the day before. She mentioned a rather fragrant chicken and Little Smokies dish someone brought, to which I remarked, “Ew. Meat on meat is always gross.” 

'Meat on meat is always gross’? Obviously didn’t think about that one. Bah. At least there was laughter instead of silence, right?  The worst part is that I have a track record of making meat remarks. About a month ago in the carpool (that's right, I carpool) we were talking about sandwiches and someone said they liked ham, turkey and pastrami on their sandwiches. Me: “I don’t like to mix my meat.” 

P.S. Blogger is infuriating sometimes. Lately, no matter what I do, it publishes the font in whatever size it feels like, so sorry for the inconsistency. 

Beverly Hillbillies 90210

The truth: We ghetto-ed it up last weekend. Again. 

We ran down to Ikea in SLC to get some couches for the second weekend in a row. Not exactly our idea of a good time but what do you do when only one couch will fit in the car, and shipping them would cost more than the couch itself? 

We twined the couch in, then used bungee cords, then bungeed the hatch down all during a random blizzard that lasted just a few hours. Freeway noise aside, just the wind whipping and rattling the plastic packaging on the four hour drive home made us both want to permanently plug our ears. I told Danny we were the "Beverly Hillbillies 90210." I couldn't remember which was the hick show so I melded the two. Having never seen either, it's an easy mistake to make. Of course, he made fun.

Beverly Hillbillies 90210: A little drama, a little scandalousness, and a whole lot of white trash.

The finished product + some art I want to replace + the Persian rug I now dislike. It's hard being fickle.

Okay, so the second one isn't a couch but a loveseat.

I think they look great for being from Ikea, and the fabric wrinkles will go away quickly with use. I love the fact that I can slip the covers off and wash them, or just get a new one for when I'm feeling especially fickle.

On an unrelated note, I blew out the speakers in the back of my Camry listening to Lady Gaga. Whoops. To my credit, the volume dial never indicates if it has reached its max. Listen to Monster, Alejandro, or Dance in the Dark--you'll blow your speakers out too! Love Gaga.

Sart thinks he rules the world

About a year ago I read a post where Scott Schuman (the Sartorialist) publicized his inner struggle about whether or not to have his pajamas tailored. Ever since that fateful day, I've thought that he was getting too big for his perfectly pressed britches. 

I love learning about, looking at, and pining over fashion, including the photos on Sart's blog. But sometimes, he is just too much! Takes it too far! Things have to be too perfect for him, it seems like too often he has a very rigid sense of what is "right" or what can look good in the fashion world. 

So anyway, I enjoy the old Refinery post below that mocks his "beloved" sense of style and eye for design. While I'm most likely going to continue frequenting Sart's blog, it's good to take his posts and advice with a grain of salt. 

Click here if you'd like to see the whole post from Refinery. 

Ode to Paige

If there’s anyone who trumps me on the family craziness scale, it would be my beloved little sister. As a tribute for her 21st birthday (March 16th), I’d like to dedicate this post to

Paige Sierra Sroufe.

Paige is loved by all, but especially the very old and the very young. She puts them under some sort of spell, as even the most hard-nosed adults are almost instantly endeared to her.

Paige and Baby Cole Woodland.

Paige believes that she has redneck roots.

She wears wranglers and boots.

She drives a black Jeep. “You don't understand. That Jeep makes me feel like I can do anything.”

Paige and her Jeep on the beach.

Paige shops through websites that give her Nascar race points.

She posted a sign by the computer asking others to do so.

Someday, Paige wants to line the inside of her wedding gown with Realtree camouflage. *

She is a fanatical door lock-er. She’s paranoid about people walking in on her while she’s going to the bathroom/changing clothes/any miscellaneous activity people do on a regular basis.

Just for fun, Paige went on the Barry Bonds diet at age 11. She posted a sign in the kitchen, written in vibrant colored markers, announcing the rules of said self-imposed diet: No starches, and certainly no sugar.

Paige goes out of her way to make or find the perfect gifts.

Paige planted carrots right next to the front door of our parents’ house. Shortly thereafter, elderly people from our church began coming over to talk gardening strategies with her. “Have you planted any lettuce or cabbage?” they would say.

Paige wanted to send the LDS missionaries to Franklin, Tenn. to find Kenny Chesney. "We would just work, he just doesn't know it yet," she claimed.

She wishes she owned a larger than life painting of Lebron James.

Paige can be artsy and wild, taken by creative moods that churn the lives of her family and friends into chaos.

As a baby, she was a lovable grump.

Look at those furled eyebrows.

Paige is fearless. She goes where she wants, does what she wants.

She invented her own currency, Paige Bucks, in an effort to hoodwink younger siblings Ian and Raeni into doing her chores. If they completed a chore, they earned Paige Bucks, which they could then use to purchase the old trinkets and junk she had accumulated in her room.

Paige hates the sound of vacuuming and flees the house when anyone attempts to vacuum.

Paige goes by many names, some of which include; PSS, Paigie Wagie Puddin’ Pie, Pagina (PAH-hee-nah), Heeni, and Peege (the last being instigated by Miss Aubrey A.).

She is a stickler for manners. No belching, farting, or talking with your mouth full. Ever. And especially not at the table.

Paige’s charming cheeks may deceive, but she is almost solid muscle.

Paige sans cheeks.

She loves to pester our father until he says, “Paige, I’m gonna thump ya! If you’re not careful, I’m just gonna thump ya!”

Paige is a penny pincher. We were at Disneyland. I was 12, she was 8. Out of money as we left the park at the end of the day, Paige refused to loan me $1 to buy a cookie— even though I was going to pay her back as soon we got to the hotel.

She gets obsessive about shows like ‘Rob and Big,’ and movies like ‘Italian Job’.

Paige loves you!

Me and Paige.

Happy 21st Birthday Paige!

____________________________

*I don't know the technical terms for camo, so it may not be Realtree, but it's definitely NOT Army camo.

Yellow is for Spring.

I painted our kitchen table yellow. At first I faced opposition, then Danny said he was humoring me, then went with me to buy the paint all the while mumbling that my whole life is based upon "whims." This wasn't a whim, this was necessary. A yellow table is necessary.

How do you think it looks? I feel it's spring-appropriate. Cheery. I don't feel like I'm going to get sick of it any time soon either.

I had a bit of trouble with the distressing. Any tips for distressing the edges? I've never refinished or painted anything before, I feel so very domestic.

More distressing. The milk glass bottle I found at D.I., the ampersand from Anthropologie, flowers from Danny, and the framed poster with the unfortunate glare is something Mother Teresa and I picked up in Paris a few years ago. The cake stand in photos below is from Pottery Barn and was a wedding gift from the Thawley's.

Happy little Danny face. "At first I just thought you were being controlled by your whims, now I think you're a genius." He loves it.

Doesn't that fruit look scrumptious? We ate all of it. Except the lemon in the middle. It got hard.

Some Valentine's Day bounty from Heidi's Fudge. I'm not a fan of caramel apples, but these are the best I've ever tried! The apple pie flavor is delicious--it's the perfect mixture of homemade caramel and white chocolate with cinnamon and sugar. Mmm!

All I really ever need: Coke, a treat, flowers. In that order.

The Hair That Haunts.

Remember when I lived here? Kicked out of student housing—a welcome relief, I assure you—because I was no longer a student, this was my temporary housing for four months until we married. After we got engaged in California and then I moved to this place in Idaho while Danny stayed in California for seven weeks. What a nightmare. And this was the place I found; excited, I thought it would be a dream.

It looks cute on the outside, a little porch, a little grass. No. It was filthy inside. The girls that lived there (menos Siobhan [SHA-VON, it's Irish] who was only there the last little bit) were a nightmare. Rowdy, unintelligent deadbeats who were, gasp, dirty. This unsuspecting little townhome was covered in grime, crumbs and hair. Hair, hair, everywhere! Long, black, kinky clumps and strands of it. Floating along the kitchen floor, worming down the bathroom drain, sneaking under the crack of my bedroom door.

That first night I stood in the gray, scum-covered shower and began to cry as the water rose to my shins. How do you avoid such hair? You don’t. You have to eradicate it. And so I tried. The following night I donned yellow rubber gloves and scoured every inch of the bathroom on hand and knee.

“The bathroom was clean. What? Are we not clean enough for you?!” menaced the owner of the long, black, kinky strands.

A few similar incidents resulted in my installing a new lock on my bedroom door for when I wasn’t at home. The beginning of a beautiful relationship.

I think people thought I was exaggerating when I described that place and how it made me feel. Then Ze Bobbie came to visit. She is fairly normal. Not an OCD clean freak, like yours truly, but she concurred: this place was sick. It made you feel like the walls inched closer every time you turned your back. Breathing was nearly impossible in the clutter and grime. It was summer—isn’t everyone supposed to feel happy in the summer, and not claustrophobic?

Anyway, anyway, long story short, I was thrilled to move out of there and into my little love nest with Danny.

El Fin.