I always joke that my favorite movies are ones where things blow up. The more bullets spent and explosions there are the better the movie in my book. In reality, what I’m trying to say is I enjoy action packed movies. Making me watch a slow drama is equivalent to shoving bamboo shoots under my finger nails.
I didn’t realize how violent my movie tendencies were until I logged onto Netflix the other day. One of the things I like about Netflix is it will tell you that since you liked X movie, we think you might also enjoy Y movie. It will also create entire categories of movies it thinks you will like. Imagine my surprise when I go to check my queue one day and Netflix informs me it has created a “Violent Thrillers” category based on my taste in movies. Seriously, violent thrillers.
At first my thought was, this can’t be right, where did Netflix get this idea? And then I started scrolling through the movies under that category – yup, all movies I’d seen and really enjoyed. All movies with lots of bullets and explosions. Movies like American Gangster, Kill Bill and Wanted. Who knew I had such violent tendencies?
To be fair, I should have seen this coming. I’m the only girl I know who can keep up with the boys in discussing James Bond films. This morning in fact we were arguing over how many times Pierce Brosnan had played 007 (4) and which film had the character Solitaire (To Live and Let Die). I was right on both accounts. Now James Bond films aren’t the most violent movies on earth, but let’s be honest, the guy has no qualms about killing people when necessary.
What does it say about a person, when their most watched moves tend to be of a violent nature? Now I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to bet that if I ever went off the deep end and started shooting up my office, one of things people would say was “well, she did prefer violent movies.” I’m also willing to bet that if I ever get married people wouldn’t think to say “she was a big fan of the romantic comedies,” which I am also a fan of. Hey, I may like explosions, but I’m still a girl.
Really I think it means I have a very short attention span. Movies where things blow up are loud and tend to keep you from falling asleep or diverting you attention. The same cannot be said for quiet movies that take place in the English country side where girls prance around the garden and drink tea for fun.
So thank you Netflix, for creating a category just for me. Although I’d prefer it didn’t use the term violent to describe my movie preferences, I’d be way more upset it the categories “Animation for Grownups” (a real thing!), “tearjerkers” or “super swashbucklers” had come up instead. After looking through the list of genera’s available, suddenly violent thrillers no longer seems so bad. Bring on the BOOMs!
June 22, 2009
June 9, 2009
Labels Are My Crack
It all started when I moved to Portland. Suddenly I had a different group of friends, ones who had jobs and money, not the poor college kids I’d spent the last four years with. At first, I just watched from a distance, wondering what it was like. Eventually I received some of my own as gifts, just to try. Before I knew it, my normally frugal self was spending my own hard money on it. When I made an impulse purchase last week on my way home from work, the severity of the situation finally hit me. My name is Heidi, and I am an addict. Designer labels are my crack.
Growing up in rural Montana, I thought labels were North Face and Levi Silvertabs. I knew nothing of the world of Coach, Kate Spade, Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo. That all changed when I moved to Portland, where every girl in the city has at least one Coach purse. For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom why labels mattered so much and why people spent so much money on them. And then I fell in love. No, not with a man, with a purse. It was a black, satiny, box-like Kate Spade. I have no idea what the actual name was. I call her Kate. The best mom in the world gave it to me for a birthday one year. The best mom in the world also gave me a small Coach and small Prada to start my collection. From then on I was hooked.
I have girlfriends who update their designer duds with the same regularity as their underwear. I tend to go with classic things I can use for a long time. Because lets face it, even though I love my labels, my frugal side usually wins out. For the first time this past December, I spent my very own money on not one, but two Kate Spade purses. To be fair, I bought them on sale through a crazy discounted website and got two for less than the price of one regularly priced purse, but I bought them none the less. I call one Kate the Second and the other Party Kate.
Buying designer labels is like taking up running. The first time is the hardest and it just gets easier from there. Since December, I’ve managed to acquire (i.e. purchase with my own money) two pairs of Coach sunglasses and a Coach coin purse. I did hold off on the Kate Spade wallet and another Coach purse. Why all the Coach and Kate you ask? Because as far as designer things go, they’re the bottom of the rung and I can’t even justify spending money on those. I can’t imagine the heart attack I would have if I bought something at full price, much less if I ventured into Louis Vuitton or Manolo Blahnik and actually purchased something.
Last Friday was when I realized I had a problem. I stopped by Nordstrom Rack on my way home and there they were. They called out to me as soon as I saw them. The perfect white sunglasses. My brother had recently informed me that girls who wear white sunglasses are hot. I figured I didn’t have anything to loose testing out that theory (besides a couple bucks) so I had my eyes open for a pair. They came home with me.
It’s a slippery slope I tell you. The first time, you’re sick to your stomach that you actually spent that much money on a purse or a pair of sunglasses and before you know it, you’re impulse purchasing them on a rainy Friday afternoon like it was nothing. I’m starting to seriously worry that Coach and Kate are my gate way drugs. Because from where I’m sitting, a pair of Manolo’s would look pretty fabulous on my feet.
Growing up in rural Montana, I thought labels were North Face and Levi Silvertabs. I knew nothing of the world of Coach, Kate Spade, Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo. That all changed when I moved to Portland, where every girl in the city has at least one Coach purse. For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom why labels mattered so much and why people spent so much money on them. And then I fell in love. No, not with a man, with a purse. It was a black, satiny, box-like Kate Spade. I have no idea what the actual name was. I call her Kate. The best mom in the world gave it to me for a birthday one year. The best mom in the world also gave me a small Coach and small Prada to start my collection. From then on I was hooked.
I have girlfriends who update their designer duds with the same regularity as their underwear. I tend to go with classic things I can use for a long time. Because lets face it, even though I love my labels, my frugal side usually wins out. For the first time this past December, I spent my very own money on not one, but two Kate Spade purses. To be fair, I bought them on sale through a crazy discounted website and got two for less than the price of one regularly priced purse, but I bought them none the less. I call one Kate the Second and the other Party Kate.
Buying designer labels is like taking up running. The first time is the hardest and it just gets easier from there. Since December, I’ve managed to acquire (i.e. purchase with my own money) two pairs of Coach sunglasses and a Coach coin purse. I did hold off on the Kate Spade wallet and another Coach purse. Why all the Coach and Kate you ask? Because as far as designer things go, they’re the bottom of the rung and I can’t even justify spending money on those. I can’t imagine the heart attack I would have if I bought something at full price, much less if I ventured into Louis Vuitton or Manolo Blahnik and actually purchased something.
Last Friday was when I realized I had a problem. I stopped by Nordstrom Rack on my way home and there they were. They called out to me as soon as I saw them. The perfect white sunglasses. My brother had recently informed me that girls who wear white sunglasses are hot. I figured I didn’t have anything to loose testing out that theory (besides a couple bucks) so I had my eyes open for a pair. They came home with me.
It’s a slippery slope I tell you. The first time, you’re sick to your stomach that you actually spent that much money on a purse or a pair of sunglasses and before you know it, you’re impulse purchasing them on a rainy Friday afternoon like it was nothing. I’m starting to seriously worry that Coach and Kate are my gate way drugs. Because from where I’m sitting, a pair of Manolo’s would look pretty fabulous on my feet.
June 5, 2009
Storms and Showers
Ptown has been plagued by extremely hot weather in the past two weeks. High 80’s up to 90 degrees even, which is not the norm for this time of year. The worst part was it wasn’t just hot, it was muggy as hell. To the point that I stopped straightening my hair for work, because the humidity made it curly on my walk to work anyway. It got so bad that I actually wanted it to rain. Last night, I got my wish.
I was at the gym, finishing up my run, when I noticed that it had gotten pretty dark outside considering it was only around 530pm. Then the wind started to pick up. Ahhh, this is the storm that is being talked about on every single TV in the gym. I picked up the pace for the last mile, hoping to be able to beat the worst of the storm home.
Unfortunately, by the time I was ready to leave the gym, a torrential down pour had started outside. It even smelled like rain out, which is something I really miss by living in an area that is constantly dripping. When I had left the house that morning, it had already been 70 degrees out so of course I had no jacket and no umbrella. After running five miles in a very stuffy gym with no air, I was already dripping a bit myself, so I figured this was as good a time as any to make sure I still don’t melt in the rain.
Lucky for me, it was still warm outside, but I was soaked within the first block. I slowly trudged my way home, my feet sloshing around in my shoes after only 2 blocks. Rain drops stuck to my eye lashes and when I looked up, I even got smacked right in the eye ball with a big fat rain drop.
Ten slow and very wet blocks later, I made it home, sweaty, wet and starting to get cold. This of course is when the sky really decided to open up and provide Ptown with a very rare treat – a thunder storm. I wanted nothing more than a nice hot shower, but something held me back.
You see, as a kid, I had spent all my waking hours at the local swimming pool during the summers. Whenever it started thundering, the lifeguards booted us out of the pool until there hadn’t been any thunder for at least 10 minutes. As a teenager, I became one of those lifeguards, kicking kids out of the pool whenever the thunder and lightening started. So you can imagine my confusion as I tried to reconcile my previous experiences with my intense desire to take a shower right then.
So I did what any intelligent and independent 28 year old would do – I called my parents to ask them if I would be struck by lightening if I took a shower during a thunder storm. My mom responded with a chucking “no,” quickly followed up by “but let me check with your father.” My father of course responded with a “no,” in a tone of voice reserved for his “what the hell kind of stupid question is that?” moments.
So, I took a shower and did not get struck by lightening. All the guys I work with thought this story was hysterical – how could I not know that I could take a shower during a storm? But seriously, I’d spent a significant part of my life being not being able to get in the water during storms, what was a girl to think?
The next step was of course Google. As it turns out, the Internet community is very split among the pro-shower and no-shower. It’s all very dramatic . . . so much so that I imagine it will be a huge part of the next presidential election. Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but people have very strong opinions on whether or not you should shower during a thunder storm. It turns out that the issue isn’t the water, but the fact that the current will travel through the pipes and anything touching them.
Despite my years of training to avoid water during a lightening storm, I am making the educated decision to take a shower if I need one. Because ya, I’m a rebel like that.
I was at the gym, finishing up my run, when I noticed that it had gotten pretty dark outside considering it was only around 530pm. Then the wind started to pick up. Ahhh, this is the storm that is being talked about on every single TV in the gym. I picked up the pace for the last mile, hoping to be able to beat the worst of the storm home.
Unfortunately, by the time I was ready to leave the gym, a torrential down pour had started outside. It even smelled like rain out, which is something I really miss by living in an area that is constantly dripping. When I had left the house that morning, it had already been 70 degrees out so of course I had no jacket and no umbrella. After running five miles in a very stuffy gym with no air, I was already dripping a bit myself, so I figured this was as good a time as any to make sure I still don’t melt in the rain.
Lucky for me, it was still warm outside, but I was soaked within the first block. I slowly trudged my way home, my feet sloshing around in my shoes after only 2 blocks. Rain drops stuck to my eye lashes and when I looked up, I even got smacked right in the eye ball with a big fat rain drop.
Ten slow and very wet blocks later, I made it home, sweaty, wet and starting to get cold. This of course is when the sky really decided to open up and provide Ptown with a very rare treat – a thunder storm. I wanted nothing more than a nice hot shower, but something held me back.
You see, as a kid, I had spent all my waking hours at the local swimming pool during the summers. Whenever it started thundering, the lifeguards booted us out of the pool until there hadn’t been any thunder for at least 10 minutes. As a teenager, I became one of those lifeguards, kicking kids out of the pool whenever the thunder and lightening started. So you can imagine my confusion as I tried to reconcile my previous experiences with my intense desire to take a shower right then.
So I did what any intelligent and independent 28 year old would do – I called my parents to ask them if I would be struck by lightening if I took a shower during a thunder storm. My mom responded with a chucking “no,” quickly followed up by “but let me check with your father.” My father of course responded with a “no,” in a tone of voice reserved for his “what the hell kind of stupid question is that?” moments.
So, I took a shower and did not get struck by lightening. All the guys I work with thought this story was hysterical – how could I not know that I could take a shower during a storm? But seriously, I’d spent a significant part of my life being not being able to get in the water during storms, what was a girl to think?
The next step was of course Google. As it turns out, the Internet community is very split among the pro-shower and no-shower. It’s all very dramatic . . . so much so that I imagine it will be a huge part of the next presidential election. Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but people have very strong opinions on whether or not you should shower during a thunder storm. It turns out that the issue isn’t the water, but the fact that the current will travel through the pipes and anything touching them.
Despite my years of training to avoid water during a lightening storm, I am making the educated decision to take a shower if I need one. Because ya, I’m a rebel like that.
June 4, 2009
Sardines? Coming Right Up.
A couple years ago, I decided to take a very long flight to visit a friend who had recently moved to South Africa. Being that it was a few years ago, and I hadn’t quite achieved my travel snobbery that I currently have, I went for the cheapest flight option possible. The cheapest option possible at the time included flying out of Seattle (instead of Portland), connecting through London and then going on to Johannesburg. All in all travel included 40 hours in the air, six in the car, and I can’t even remember how many in layovers.
Now, I am not a tall person and fit relatively well in airplanes, but after 40 hours in an airplane, even I was complaining about the small accommodations. Upon my return, I emailed my friend who works for Boeing to complain about the leg room. She informed me that while Boeing builds the planes, each individual airline chooses their seat sizes, layouts, etc. After hearing this, I decided to forgive my friend for being part of the uncomfortable airline industry. Now I could focus my irritation on the airlines themselves.
Since that trip to South Africa, I have become more of a travel snob. I like direct flights at decent times, even if it costs more. I recently went with a friend to Hawaii and instead of meeting up with his flight in Seattle and having to deal with a layover; I went for the direct flight and met him at the airport. I just bought a plane ticket to Vegas, and although the flight down has a very brief layover in Seattle, it was at the time I wanted. I have decided in my old age, that comfort and convenience is well worth a few extra bucks.
With the memory of being stuffed like a sardine into an airplane still fresh in my memory, even at my vertically challenged size, you can imagine my surprise when I saw in article in the WSJ today. Turns out, airlines are again making the decision to reduce leg room. Airlines are buying the same size planes, but squeezing 10-12 more seats in each plane! Some are even taking food galleys out of planes and putting in smaller chairs. Again, I’m not a large person, but I barely fit in an airplane seat.
The one benefit of the planes with smaller seating areas is that many offer bigger over head bins. Great idea, since they all now charge for checked luggage. Anyone else noticed that it takes longer to board a plane since everyone is overstuffing a carry on suitcase and still trying to stuff it into a tiny bin? Although with more seats on the plane, more people will bring more suitcases and be fighting for space.
I understand that traveling is a privilege (as long as it isn’t for work), especially being able to afford air fare instead of having to drive places. And while I’m small and can actually fit into an airplane seat without an excessive amount of discomfort, I always end up next to the giant on the plane who has to overflow their body parts into my space. Not comfortable to start with, but imagine if you have an exceptionally large personal space bubble too.
If I barely fit into an airplane seat, I can’t fathom being around 6 feet tall and having to fit into an airline seat for hours at a time. Is it really in the best interest of the airlines to for go customer comfort to squeeze in a few extra people? All of our previous air privileges have already been taken away to save a buck – do you really have to treat us worse than sardines too?
Now, I am not a tall person and fit relatively well in airplanes, but after 40 hours in an airplane, even I was complaining about the small accommodations. Upon my return, I emailed my friend who works for Boeing to complain about the leg room. She informed me that while Boeing builds the planes, each individual airline chooses their seat sizes, layouts, etc. After hearing this, I decided to forgive my friend for being part of the uncomfortable airline industry. Now I could focus my irritation on the airlines themselves.
Since that trip to South Africa, I have become more of a travel snob. I like direct flights at decent times, even if it costs more. I recently went with a friend to Hawaii and instead of meeting up with his flight in Seattle and having to deal with a layover; I went for the direct flight and met him at the airport. I just bought a plane ticket to Vegas, and although the flight down has a very brief layover in Seattle, it was at the time I wanted. I have decided in my old age, that comfort and convenience is well worth a few extra bucks.
With the memory of being stuffed like a sardine into an airplane still fresh in my memory, even at my vertically challenged size, you can imagine my surprise when I saw in article in the WSJ today. Turns out, airlines are again making the decision to reduce leg room. Airlines are buying the same size planes, but squeezing 10-12 more seats in each plane! Some are even taking food galleys out of planes and putting in smaller chairs. Again, I’m not a large person, but I barely fit in an airplane seat.
The one benefit of the planes with smaller seating areas is that many offer bigger over head bins. Great idea, since they all now charge for checked luggage. Anyone else noticed that it takes longer to board a plane since everyone is overstuffing a carry on suitcase and still trying to stuff it into a tiny bin? Although with more seats on the plane, more people will bring more suitcases and be fighting for space.
I understand that traveling is a privilege (as long as it isn’t for work), especially being able to afford air fare instead of having to drive places. And while I’m small and can actually fit into an airplane seat without an excessive amount of discomfort, I always end up next to the giant on the plane who has to overflow their body parts into my space. Not comfortable to start with, but imagine if you have an exceptionally large personal space bubble too.
If I barely fit into an airplane seat, I can’t fathom being around 6 feet tall and having to fit into an airline seat for hours at a time. Is it really in the best interest of the airlines to for go customer comfort to squeeze in a few extra people? All of our previous air privileges have already been taken away to save a buck – do you really have to treat us worse than sardines too?
May 31, 2009
Let Them Sleep
For as often as sleep often eludes me, it is one of my very favorite things. Sleep can recharge you, heal you, and is really just pretty overall amazing. In my world, one of the best parts about vacation is sleep. There’s no stress from work to keep you up, nothing pressing that you absolutely have to take care of the next morning, a person can get some good quality sleep in while on vacation. So imagine my surprise, and a bit of disgust, when during my recent vacation I did not get to sleep in even once.
The trip started as I expected, with me getting up really early to catch my flight and then not sleeping on the plane. There seems to be a mental block between me and sleep on a plane. I’m not sure what it is, it just has never happened for me. Some women can’t play sports, I can’t sleep on a plane. I was staying with a favorite relative the first two nights of my trip so I was expecting to get some quality sleep in, despite the fact that there would be a small child in the house (and we all know they tend to be early risers).
To be fair, my cousin did warn me about what was to come in the morning, but I figured I’d be very tired and sleep right through the commotion. I was wrong. And by commotion, I mean devil birds that start chirping at 4am. Seriously. At the time, I had some much less kind words to describe their morning songs than chirping, but we’ll stick with that for the time being. Once I finally got used to the devil birds (this is not their actual name, just one I came up with for them out of the goodness of my sleep deprived heart), I got yet another treat. Garbage trucks. And these weren’t your typical garbage trucks that came and went quickly. Oh no, the garbage trucks seemed to be there for at least 45 minutes. So day one of my vacation, I was out of bed by 630. AM.
Day two of the vacation also gave me the special treat of waking up to the devil birds, but eventually I was able to tune them out and go back to sleep. Fortified with a couple very large cups of coffee, I was up and ready to go bright and early.
The second part of my vacation had me meeting up with a friend and staying at a hotel in Waikiki. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in and waking without the assistance of the devil birds. My friend has never been a morning person so I figured the next few days would be a perfect mix of sleeping in and sitting on the beach.
The first rude awakening I got was upon checking into the motel. They informed us that there was a continental breakfast (yay!) from 630-830am (boo). People are on vacation in Hawaii and you expect them to be up and able to get breakfast by 830 in the morning? I decided that if I was up, great, and if not there was a Starbucks on every other corner so I was clearly not going to starve or be deprived of my caffeine habit.
The second rude awakening I got was the next morning. Where I was woken up by my friend getting in the shower. At 7am. I have never known this friend to a) be awake before me or b) be functioning enough at 7am to actually be getting in the shower. I lay there in bed thinking “SERIOUSLY?!” Which I’ll admit was quickly followed up with a “WTF?” As it would turn out, this annoying little habit continued over the next few days. To this day I'm still trying to figure out how my friend turned into a morning person for vacation.
Eventually it was time to head back home, where once again I did not sleep on the plane, got into town late, and had to be up and ready for work the next morning. All week I kept imagining how great it was going to be to sleep in on Saturday morning. And then I realized that I had made a hair appointment for the first thing on Saturday morning. Sigh.
After a sleep deprived vacation and a terribly busy and exhausting week at work, sleeping in this morning never felt so good. I woke naturally at about 815 and thought to myself, if I was still on vacation, I totally could have still made it to breakfast. And then I did what any sane and exhausted person does . . . I rolled over and went back to sleep.
The trip started as I expected, with me getting up really early to catch my flight and then not sleeping on the plane. There seems to be a mental block between me and sleep on a plane. I’m not sure what it is, it just has never happened for me. Some women can’t play sports, I can’t sleep on a plane. I was staying with a favorite relative the first two nights of my trip so I was expecting to get some quality sleep in, despite the fact that there would be a small child in the house (and we all know they tend to be early risers).
To be fair, my cousin did warn me about what was to come in the morning, but I figured I’d be very tired and sleep right through the commotion. I was wrong. And by commotion, I mean devil birds that start chirping at 4am. Seriously. At the time, I had some much less kind words to describe their morning songs than chirping, but we’ll stick with that for the time being. Once I finally got used to the devil birds (this is not their actual name, just one I came up with for them out of the goodness of my sleep deprived heart), I got yet another treat. Garbage trucks. And these weren’t your typical garbage trucks that came and went quickly. Oh no, the garbage trucks seemed to be there for at least 45 minutes. So day one of my vacation, I was out of bed by 630. AM.
Day two of the vacation also gave me the special treat of waking up to the devil birds, but eventually I was able to tune them out and go back to sleep. Fortified with a couple very large cups of coffee, I was up and ready to go bright and early.
The second part of my vacation had me meeting up with a friend and staying at a hotel in Waikiki. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in and waking without the assistance of the devil birds. My friend has never been a morning person so I figured the next few days would be a perfect mix of sleeping in and sitting on the beach.
The first rude awakening I got was upon checking into the motel. They informed us that there was a continental breakfast (yay!) from 630-830am (boo). People are on vacation in Hawaii and you expect them to be up and able to get breakfast by 830 in the morning? I decided that if I was up, great, and if not there was a Starbucks on every other corner so I was clearly not going to starve or be deprived of my caffeine habit.
The second rude awakening I got was the next morning. Where I was woken up by my friend getting in the shower. At 7am. I have never known this friend to a) be awake before me or b) be functioning enough at 7am to actually be getting in the shower. I lay there in bed thinking “SERIOUSLY?!” Which I’ll admit was quickly followed up with a “WTF?” As it would turn out, this annoying little habit continued over the next few days. To this day I'm still trying to figure out how my friend turned into a morning person for vacation.
Eventually it was time to head back home, where once again I did not sleep on the plane, got into town late, and had to be up and ready for work the next morning. All week I kept imagining how great it was going to be to sleep in on Saturday morning. And then I realized that I had made a hair appointment for the first thing on Saturday morning. Sigh.
After a sleep deprived vacation and a terribly busy and exhausting week at work, sleeping in this morning never felt so good. I woke naturally at about 815 and thought to myself, if I was still on vacation, I totally could have still made it to breakfast. And then I did what any sane and exhausted person does . . . I rolled over and went back to sleep.
The Perfect Kiss
Is there such a thing as the perfect kiss? Or is it just that the timing, the situation, and the other person can make it seem like such a thing exists? And what about the times you think you’re about to have the most perfect kiss, only to find yourself disappointed?
The first time I ever kissed a boy, I remember not being all that impressed. This is what everyone thought was so great? Where were the fireworks? The music? Turns out those things were still in Hollywood and had neglected to make the trip to my backyard. Despite not being all that impressed, I elected to give kissing another shot as the years passed. That turned out to be a great decision, because I’ve decided that kissing is like wine, it just gets better with age.
Throughout life we get to experience all kinds of kisses, the good, bad, and disgusting. Lucky me, I’ve had my share of all of them. When I was in college, my girl friends would do the hook up with a new guy every weekend thing. Not wanting to feel left out (but not wanting to be completely slutty), I attempted to kiss a few strangers at parties. Unfortunately, I managed to find all the bad kissers. This really slows down any motivation for kissing, let me tell you.
Eventually you find some decent kissers in life and you start hoping for what even a slightly romantically inclined girl does – the perfect kiss. I personally am a big fan of the perfect kiss. Not the kind that you set up in your mind with the powerful music and slow motion like in the movies, but the kind that just happens spontaneously. Clearly since Hollywood didn’t make the trip out for my first kiss, I’m not expecting them to make the trip for much less significant kisses.
What I’ve decided is that there are many versions of the perfect kiss. There’s the perfect first kiss with a new fellow kisser (which is rare but can happen), there’s the perfect break up kiss, and even the perfect spontaneous kiss in the rain (I’m still waiting for this one), etc. The most perfect kiss in my mind? Remember when Ross kisses Rachel at the end of Season 1 in FRIENDS? I like to refer to it as the no handed swoop. As far as TV kisses go, that one is my fav.
The best perfect kisses are the ones you aren’t expecting and therefore, have no expectations for. The ones you build up in your mind are never as good as you hope they are and you’re somehow left wanting. I recently was at the airport and had to get on a plane. I was trying to get my suitcase off the stupid shuttle bus, trying to figure out where I was going and turned around for a quick goodbye hug/kiss, my mind being completely elsewhere. Instead of the hurried, distracted, and unfulfilling kiss I’d been expecting, I found myself on the receiving end of the perfect good bye kiss. I have no idea if it was a good bye for now or good bye forever kiss, but as kisses go, it definitely gets a place on the perfect list. And that is what gives a girl the inspiration to keep on kissing.
The first time I ever kissed a boy, I remember not being all that impressed. This is what everyone thought was so great? Where were the fireworks? The music? Turns out those things were still in Hollywood and had neglected to make the trip to my backyard. Despite not being all that impressed, I elected to give kissing another shot as the years passed. That turned out to be a great decision, because I’ve decided that kissing is like wine, it just gets better with age.
Throughout life we get to experience all kinds of kisses, the good, bad, and disgusting. Lucky me, I’ve had my share of all of them. When I was in college, my girl friends would do the hook up with a new guy every weekend thing. Not wanting to feel left out (but not wanting to be completely slutty), I attempted to kiss a few strangers at parties. Unfortunately, I managed to find all the bad kissers. This really slows down any motivation for kissing, let me tell you.
Eventually you find some decent kissers in life and you start hoping for what even a slightly romantically inclined girl does – the perfect kiss. I personally am a big fan of the perfect kiss. Not the kind that you set up in your mind with the powerful music and slow motion like in the movies, but the kind that just happens spontaneously. Clearly since Hollywood didn’t make the trip out for my first kiss, I’m not expecting them to make the trip for much less significant kisses.
What I’ve decided is that there are many versions of the perfect kiss. There’s the perfect first kiss with a new fellow kisser (which is rare but can happen), there’s the perfect break up kiss, and even the perfect spontaneous kiss in the rain (I’m still waiting for this one), etc. The most perfect kiss in my mind? Remember when Ross kisses Rachel at the end of Season 1 in FRIENDS? I like to refer to it as the no handed swoop. As far as TV kisses go, that one is my fav.
The best perfect kisses are the ones you aren’t expecting and therefore, have no expectations for. The ones you build up in your mind are never as good as you hope they are and you’re somehow left wanting. I recently was at the airport and had to get on a plane. I was trying to get my suitcase off the stupid shuttle bus, trying to figure out where I was going and turned around for a quick goodbye hug/kiss, my mind being completely elsewhere. Instead of the hurried, distracted, and unfulfilling kiss I’d been expecting, I found myself on the receiving end of the perfect good bye kiss. I have no idea if it was a good bye for now or good bye forever kiss, but as kisses go, it definitely gets a place on the perfect list. And that is what gives a girl the inspiration to keep on kissing.
May 26, 2009
Mom, I Don't Feel Good
For the most part, I’m pretty tough and I don’t let a lot phase me. I’ve played sports injured, refuse to let colds get the best of me and in general don’t let anything slow me down. So imagine my surprise and disgust when I ended up so sick that a trip to the bathroom was taxing. And all this while on vacation . . . in Hawaii.
On my last day in Hawaii, I woke up really ill. It has been years since the last time I felt so terrible. Sitting up felt like a death sentence, so you can imagine what actually trying to walk somewhere was like. I even attempted to sit on the balcony for a while so that I could still enjoy Hawaii. That turned out to be a very bad idea. I felt so sick that I did what any grown up, independent 28 year old does – I called my mom.
I’m not sure what it is, but somehow moms can make everything better, even with an ocean between you. She couldn’t do anything to make me well of course, but there is something in that mom gene that makes you feel better just by having the chance to cry to them “I don’t feel good.”
Hours later, subsisting on Pepto Bismol, ginger ale and sleep, I was feeling well enough to actually leave the hotel room. I was moving pretty slow, but managed to sit though dinner with some friends (I watched them eat) and was feeling almost human again by the end of the day.
Sometimes I used think it would be nice to just get a nasty case of the flu instead of having to eat healthy to drop a few pounds. I officially retract that thought with every fiber of my being.
On my last day in Hawaii, I woke up really ill. It has been years since the last time I felt so terrible. Sitting up felt like a death sentence, so you can imagine what actually trying to walk somewhere was like. I even attempted to sit on the balcony for a while so that I could still enjoy Hawaii. That turned out to be a very bad idea. I felt so sick that I did what any grown up, independent 28 year old does – I called my mom.
I’m not sure what it is, but somehow moms can make everything better, even with an ocean between you. She couldn’t do anything to make me well of course, but there is something in that mom gene that makes you feel better just by having the chance to cry to them “I don’t feel good.”
Hours later, subsisting on Pepto Bismol, ginger ale and sleep, I was feeling well enough to actually leave the hotel room. I was moving pretty slow, but managed to sit though dinner with some friends (I watched them eat) and was feeling almost human again by the end of the day.
Sometimes I used think it would be nice to just get a nasty case of the flu instead of having to eat healthy to drop a few pounds. I officially retract that thought with every fiber of my being.
May 6, 2009
A Necessary Evil
I love summer. I love everything about it: the sunshine, the heat (within reason), the extended daylight, the reduced amount of rain in Portland, and most of all I love summer vacation. As an adult, summer vacation has turned into sneaking a few days away from work here and there instead of three months off we got as children, but vacation time in the summer is still amazing. My favorite types of vacations tend to involve water, whether is a river, lake or ocean, water is a must.
This summer I have three vacations centering around water planned: Hawaii, Lake Shasta (CA) and Priest Lake (ID). The only downside with all of these water vacations is obvious. The swim suit. In January, I found a swim suit that I liked and actually fit so I bought it. You heard me right, I am such a planner that I bought my swim suit in the middle of winter. I figured if I waited until I actually needed one, I would never find one. So now at least I have a cute swim suit for my summer vacations.
The next problem following finding a swim suit, is actually wearing the damn thing. No matter how cute the suit, if you’re not built with a model-like stature, they always squeeze in just the wrong places. And because I’m not built like a model, and am actually short and curvy and have some, let’s say a few extra cookies stored up for winter, swim suits are not my favorite attire to don.
I’m not entirely sure where this swim suit dread came from. Having been a swimmer and a lifeguard, I spent most of my summers growing up in nothing but a swim suit. For the most part I am pretty comfortable in my own body. Naked doesn’t phase me (this is what happens when you spend so much of your life in a women’s locker room), so why are swim suits so intimidating? Is it because they are tight in all the wrong places? Speaking of which, why haven’t swim suit makers figured out how to not make the waste band of a swim suit squeeze the love handles, even on thin people? That should be fashion 101.
Despite the fact that I have a very cute swim suit and that I’ve shed most of my tail gating weight from last fall (hey some people do holiday weight, I apparently do tail gating weight), I am still not looking forward to putting on a swim suit in Hawaii in two weeks. Which is completely irrational because when have you ever been on a tropical vacation and not seen women on the beach in a bikini who out weigh you by 100 pounds? What is their secret to swim suit confidence I wonder?
So for the next couple weeks I plan on increasing the vegetable intake and decreasing the cake intake. Anything to give myself a bit of that mental swim suit edge. And really, once I’m in the swim suit I’ll be fine, it’s the constant thinking about it that is the worst part. Besides, I’ll be in Hawaii! What can possibly go wrong in Hawaii? Besides a rogue wave taking off the swim suit on a public beach. Hmmm . . . . that will have to be another worry for another day. Bring on summer vacation. And I guess the swim suit.
This summer I have three vacations centering around water planned: Hawaii, Lake Shasta (CA) and Priest Lake (ID). The only downside with all of these water vacations is obvious. The swim suit. In January, I found a swim suit that I liked and actually fit so I bought it. You heard me right, I am such a planner that I bought my swim suit in the middle of winter. I figured if I waited until I actually needed one, I would never find one. So now at least I have a cute swim suit for my summer vacations.
The next problem following finding a swim suit, is actually wearing the damn thing. No matter how cute the suit, if you’re not built with a model-like stature, they always squeeze in just the wrong places. And because I’m not built like a model, and am actually short and curvy and have some, let’s say a few extra cookies stored up for winter, swim suits are not my favorite attire to don.
I’m not entirely sure where this swim suit dread came from. Having been a swimmer and a lifeguard, I spent most of my summers growing up in nothing but a swim suit. For the most part I am pretty comfortable in my own body. Naked doesn’t phase me (this is what happens when you spend so much of your life in a women’s locker room), so why are swim suits so intimidating? Is it because they are tight in all the wrong places? Speaking of which, why haven’t swim suit makers figured out how to not make the waste band of a swim suit squeeze the love handles, even on thin people? That should be fashion 101.
Despite the fact that I have a very cute swim suit and that I’ve shed most of my tail gating weight from last fall (hey some people do holiday weight, I apparently do tail gating weight), I am still not looking forward to putting on a swim suit in Hawaii in two weeks. Which is completely irrational because when have you ever been on a tropical vacation and not seen women on the beach in a bikini who out weigh you by 100 pounds? What is their secret to swim suit confidence I wonder?
So for the next couple weeks I plan on increasing the vegetable intake and decreasing the cake intake. Anything to give myself a bit of that mental swim suit edge. And really, once I’m in the swim suit I’ll be fine, it’s the constant thinking about it that is the worst part. Besides, I’ll be in Hawaii! What can possibly go wrong in Hawaii? Besides a rogue wave taking off the swim suit on a public beach. Hmmm . . . . that will have to be another worry for another day. Bring on summer vacation. And I guess the swim suit.
April 21, 2009
The Maxi Dress and Me
In high school I played three sports a year, which means for three seasons a year there was a piece of paper floating around at games with my name and stats on it. What is one thing that everyone looks at in a program? The height of the athlete (they don’t put weight on a program for girls athletics, that would be cruel). So it wasn’t shocking that at one point in my high school career that I tried to talk the athletic director into putting me down as 5’5 on the programs for sporting events. His response was to laugh at me and walk away shaking his head, still laughing. In actuality, I am a very tall 5’3 . . . . with my shoes on. Aside from sports, the only bad thing about being as short as I am is trying to find clothes. I buy pants that are labeled “short” or “ankle” or “petite” and they all still drag on the ground. And as you can imagine, every once in a while a fashion trend comes along that is just not designed for short girls.
Enter, the maxi dress. All the stars are wearing them, my tall friend Lindsay wears them, and I want to wear them too! They just look so comfortable and perfect for those warm sunny days at the beach. Normally I wouldn’t be so obsessed with a fashion trend, except for the fact that I have a lot of beach and/or boating days planned this summer which requires me to be in a swim suit. And since I don’t have the body of Heidi Klum (which lets face it, if you’re going to look like a Heidi, she’s the one you’d want to look like) it would be nice to have a cute, flowing, comfortable dress to toss on over my swim suit.
So I went hunting for the perfect maxi dress. I’ve tried probably a dozen on and have come to a conclusion. If you are short and curvy, there is no such thing as the perfect maxi dress. Every version I have found to try on has left me feeling and looking fat and frumpy, which is so not the look you’re going for while wearing a swim suit. At this point I am assuming that I will never be able to wear a maxi dress, but that doesn’t make it any less irritating.
I’m not super trendy to start with but this was a trend I was ready to hop on board with. I do not have Heidi Klum thighs, so I have jumped on board with summer clothes that cover them up. Capri’s and Bermuda shorts are thick thighed girl’s dreams come true! No, they don’t hit me in the right part of the leg for the most part, but I don’t care. They are comfortable to wear and most importantly, I feel much more comfortable wearing them than the 2” inseam shorts that fashion has tried to force on us in years past. So what could be more perfect than a trendy, comfortable, flowing dress that looks good and covers all those problem areas?
Alas, the maxi dress is not perfect for me. I have vanquished all hopes of finding the perfect maxi dress. Instead, I found a cute, flowing, comfortable skirt to wear over the swimsuit instead. It wasn’t the dream maxi dress, but it still covers what needs to be covered, is comfortable and best of all, it was only $12. So I got two. Take that maxi dress.
Enter, the maxi dress. All the stars are wearing them, my tall friend Lindsay wears them, and I want to wear them too! They just look so comfortable and perfect for those warm sunny days at the beach. Normally I wouldn’t be so obsessed with a fashion trend, except for the fact that I have a lot of beach and/or boating days planned this summer which requires me to be in a swim suit. And since I don’t have the body of Heidi Klum (which lets face it, if you’re going to look like a Heidi, she’s the one you’d want to look like) it would be nice to have a cute, flowing, comfortable dress to toss on over my swim suit.
So I went hunting for the perfect maxi dress. I’ve tried probably a dozen on and have come to a conclusion. If you are short and curvy, there is no such thing as the perfect maxi dress. Every version I have found to try on has left me feeling and looking fat and frumpy, which is so not the look you’re going for while wearing a swim suit. At this point I am assuming that I will never be able to wear a maxi dress, but that doesn’t make it any less irritating.
I’m not super trendy to start with but this was a trend I was ready to hop on board with. I do not have Heidi Klum thighs, so I have jumped on board with summer clothes that cover them up. Capri’s and Bermuda shorts are thick thighed girl’s dreams come true! No, they don’t hit me in the right part of the leg for the most part, but I don’t care. They are comfortable to wear and most importantly, I feel much more comfortable wearing them than the 2” inseam shorts that fashion has tried to force on us in years past. So what could be more perfect than a trendy, comfortable, flowing dress that looks good and covers all those problem areas?
Alas, the maxi dress is not perfect for me. I have vanquished all hopes of finding the perfect maxi dress. Instead, I found a cute, flowing, comfortable skirt to wear over the swimsuit instead. It wasn’t the dream maxi dress, but it still covers what needs to be covered, is comfortable and best of all, it was only $12. So I got two. Take that maxi dress.
April 19, 2009
Parents and Marriage and Grandkids, Oh My!
Parents impart a lot of wisdom, knowledge and rules over the years. Don’t play in the street, quit locking your brother outside, go practice the piano, etc. There were a lot of rules. For as long as I can remember the “rule” that stands out in my mind most of all though is our family’s version of the golden rule. Thou shall not get married before the age of 25.
This was so ingrained in my brother and I that we never actually considered getting married before that. I had a boyfriend in college and when people would ask me when we were going to get married, I silently thanked my parents for the perfect response, “I’m not allowed to get married until I’m 25.”
By the time the age of 25 rolled around, I had decided that 25 was still much to young to get married. Despite my brother being 3 years younger than me, we both started thinking that 30 sounded like a much better age to start thinking about marriage. Now, with 30 looming, I’m starting to lean towards 35 myself.
For the most part my parents have been pretty good about not pushing me to date and get married in my old age. Every now and again though, they go one step further and put the cart in front of the horse. Everyone I know likes babies. You don’t have to want your own babies, to enjoy them as a general rule. So it should come as no surprise that a pair who are great parents eventually starts thinking about the next generation. That’s right . . . grandkids. I recently started hearing the phrase “When we have grandkids . . .” As in when they have grandkids they’ll get one of those fancy play structures and take them on vacation and buy them the really cool toys.
I really wanted one of those play structures when I was a kid. We had the swing set that wasn’t even cemented into the ground and just about fell over if you swung too high. But I digress . . .
My standard response when my mother brings up grandkids is “Talk to your son,” who is not remotely close to getting married either, much less thinking about kids. In fact, when my brother and I recently had a conversation about who was going to have kids first, it quickly turned into a game of “NOT IT!”
Lucky for us, about 9 months ago my parents acquired a dog. I was shocked when I was at home for Christmas to discover that this was no ordinary dog. This was a child. It got really cold one day so my dad took the dog to work. I’m not entirely sure my dad would have taken my brother and I to work because it was too cold to leave us outside when we were kids. I’m kidding, but I’m trying to give an example of the degree of how child like this dog is for my parents. My mom lets the dog inside, and doesn’t even get super upset when the dog inevitably leaves her mat. The dog can even frequently be seen riding shotgun on the four-wheeler with my dad. To this day, I’ve never even seen the four-wheeler.
You know all those married couples who start thinking they might like to have kids some day so they get a dog as a test run? I feel like this dog just bought my brother and I some serious time on the grandkid front. How long do labs live for? I need to make the most of this get out of jail free card.
This was so ingrained in my brother and I that we never actually considered getting married before that. I had a boyfriend in college and when people would ask me when we were going to get married, I silently thanked my parents for the perfect response, “I’m not allowed to get married until I’m 25.”
By the time the age of 25 rolled around, I had decided that 25 was still much to young to get married. Despite my brother being 3 years younger than me, we both started thinking that 30 sounded like a much better age to start thinking about marriage. Now, with 30 looming, I’m starting to lean towards 35 myself.
For the most part my parents have been pretty good about not pushing me to date and get married in my old age. Every now and again though, they go one step further and put the cart in front of the horse. Everyone I know likes babies. You don’t have to want your own babies, to enjoy them as a general rule. So it should come as no surprise that a pair who are great parents eventually starts thinking about the next generation. That’s right . . . grandkids. I recently started hearing the phrase “When we have grandkids . . .” As in when they have grandkids they’ll get one of those fancy play structures and take them on vacation and buy them the really cool toys.
I really wanted one of those play structures when I was a kid. We had the swing set that wasn’t even cemented into the ground and just about fell over if you swung too high. But I digress . . .
My standard response when my mother brings up grandkids is “Talk to your son,” who is not remotely close to getting married either, much less thinking about kids. In fact, when my brother and I recently had a conversation about who was going to have kids first, it quickly turned into a game of “NOT IT!”
Lucky for us, about 9 months ago my parents acquired a dog. I was shocked when I was at home for Christmas to discover that this was no ordinary dog. This was a child. It got really cold one day so my dad took the dog to work. I’m not entirely sure my dad would have taken my brother and I to work because it was too cold to leave us outside when we were kids. I’m kidding, but I’m trying to give an example of the degree of how child like this dog is for my parents. My mom lets the dog inside, and doesn’t even get super upset when the dog inevitably leaves her mat. The dog can even frequently be seen riding shotgun on the four-wheeler with my dad. To this day, I’ve never even seen the four-wheeler.
You know all those married couples who start thinking they might like to have kids some day so they get a dog as a test run? I feel like this dog just bought my brother and I some serious time on the grandkid front. How long do labs live for? I need to make the most of this get out of jail free card.
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