It's a Rexburgian Miracle

So it turns out that we have roses and daylilies in front of our porch. The roses were scraggly and barren all winter, twice I mistook them for an overgrown weed and tried to rip them out. Good thing I never finished the job.

The plant is a weird shape. Should I have pruned? I don't know, I'm just a renter who regularly polishes all the baseboards. They also look like poor man's roses, but I'll take what I can get. Especially here. If you click on the photo to see it up close, you can see a brownish smudge on the porch. That would be from when I got depressed this past winter and started blasting everything within arms reach with gold spray paint. 

One lone orange daylily.

We sat on our porch for good while tonight enjoying the fresh air, talking and eating grapes and brownies. (It was my night to cook dinner.) It stinks to be cooped up in an office all day long. Sometimes I feel like Pinky and the Brain with Danny. Me being Pinky, of course. If I weren't the one bringing home the bacon I would feel like a one of those not-so-bright humans I make fun of all the time. (You know, the ones that still write checks at the grocery, drive 25 in a 45, give their four-year-old a mullet.)

Baby bum for good measure. This is my naked nephew Asher. He likes to swim (hence the nudity). He is also anti-talking. He's stubborn and refuses to talk. I like that.

Also, is anyone else SUPER excited about 4th of July? I don't know what we're doing yet, but GOD BLESS AMERICA. 

Totally Awesome

Love these shoes. The heel is about 6-7 inches and the price is outrageous so I don't think I'll be getting them. Plus, I don't think Idaho could handle these babies. But thank you Dsquared for using your imagination. Nice that they come in both bootie...

...and sandal form--you can wear them all year round! 

I love bandage heels. Apparently people who tried these shoes on said they were comfortable! I can't wait to see pics of people wearing this shoe so I can live vicariously through them. However, I think cleaning the heel--especially in winter--would be worrisome. I'd spend the whole day trying to avoid puddles, snow, mud, etc.

Verdict: Worth it.

Seventh Grade Shame

I'm fairly sure no one is going to comment on this post, and I don't mean that in a reverse-psychology way. I mean it in a 'This post is gross' kind of way.

Today I woke up with a big, red, swollen zit on the top of my nose. One of those kinds that are deep and hurt. You know the ones. I massaged it with a wash cloth trying to get it to go down.

Didn't work.

So I packed on some makeup (concealer, foundation, powder, repeat) and went on my merry way.

By lunch it made it's debut. It had clearly doubled in size. The bugger was so sore! No more hiding under layers of meticulously applied makeup. And then, horror of horrors, it began to, you know, well... form a head.

Shame I haven't felt since seventh grade welled up inside me. How long had I been walking around like that before I went into the bathroom and noticed? How come nobody said anything? And then a more pressing question: Get rid of the beast and risk an even brighter nose than before, or attempt another cover up?

I rid myself of it. But there was nothing to do with the anthill on my nose that remained.

The first thing I did when I got home this evening was wash the little festering mound, and of course, my entire face. It feels so good to be makeup-less! And to have a pore refining mask on!

I get a few PMS flare-ups like anyone else, but never anything like today. At least not since seventh grade. I swear, if any of you reading this ever got a big zit and no one told you, I would. That's just the kind of friend I am.

P.S. You're all just lucky I decided not to put a picture on this post.

Happy Father's Day to Me

I have 58 cans of Diet Coke in the house. I am happy.

A blonde, a brunette and redhead

Fun photoshoot for Elle France. If you're unfamiliar with Lily Cole, she's naturally a redhead.

The Neighbor

I apologize. This blog has taken a brief hiatus due to the fact I that I’ve been wasting my vacation time roaming around the west coast attending birthday parties (An 80^th birthday party? Oh please let me die before I hit 80), jazz concerts, and weddings.

I’ve also been having neighbor issues. Last night marked the fourth time I’ve been woken from a dead sleep by our shiny red Lexus driving neighbor who comes home music blaring, headlights boring through our windows. He may as well shoot a cannon through our bedroom.

The clock on my nightstand shone 12:01am when I whipped out of bed, furiously threw on my robe, bounded down the stairs and flew out the front door. The look of terror that registered on the neighbor’s face as I rapped on the driver’s side window was precious. Scared out of his wits! I’m sure I looked a fright.

His window was halfway down when I began my tirade.

“Excuse me, but this is the fourth time—FOURTH TIME—that you’ve woken me up after midnight and I don’t appreciate it or your taste in music! I’m trying to sleep, and I like to sleep with my window open, and your music and your lights go right into my room! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anyone could hear it,” he cowered.

And then I stalked back into my lair house. Actually, that’s a lie. I had a few more choice words for him and then I went back inside. But we’ll omit that. It’s not exactly becoming of a lady.

Was I being absurd? Was it not rude? I’m all for loud music but not late at night. We’re not teenagers with our parents out of town or college freshman their first night away from home. Is it wrong to insist on sleeping with the window open? I get hot. It’s not fun to sweat in your sleep.

On a side note:

Lately I’ve been admiring the 63-year-old white woman at work who keeps a hair pick in her right front pocket for on-the-go fluffing of her perm afro.

Also:

If one more person asks me if I’m pregnant (I’M NOT EVEN GAINING WEIGHT RIGHT NOW, WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM?) I’m going to puke on them and blame it on morning sickness. 

Speeding is a delight

Tuesday morning at 7am I’m doing 75mph on the highway. There’s no hurry. I just enjoy going 75.  So when I see the Highway Patrol flip around with lights flashing, I just smile and pull over. I probably deserve a ticket.  If not for speeding, then at least for tailgating. 

Cop: Good morning. Do you know how fast you were going?

Me: 70

Cop: I clocked you going 75.

Me: Oh.

Cop: Can I see your license and registration?

Me (smiles): Sure, here you go.

Cop (looks at my CA license and then my CA plates): Where are you even going?

Me: To work.

Cop: Where do you work?

Me: _______________

Cop: What time are you supposed to be there?

Me: Um, 8. I just wanted to get there early, long weekend you know, lots of stuff piled up.

Cop: Well, how can I get you to slow down?

Me (laughing): A warning? I just really don’t want a ticket.

Cop (puts a thumb in his belt loop): Are you sure a ticket wouldn’t slow you down?

Me: I don’t know. Whatever you want.

Cop (beginning to smile): I’ll tell you what. I’m going to let you go today with a warning. But only because I like that sticker in your back window.

Get it? 'Flee Utah' instead of 'Ski Utah?' A special thank you to my sister Paige for making this sticker. Even if the sticky part is wrong side and I have to tape it to my car.

Me (laughing too loudly): Oh my gosh! I’d take Idaho over Utah any day!

Cop: You have a good day miss.

Oh Utah, you cesspool of clichéd misfits, the only good that has ever come out of your suckiness is me avoiding a ticket. For that, I thank you. 

And bless that cop for calling me 'miss' instead of 'ma'am.'