For those of you not on instagram, here’s my month of photos.

*******

If you’d like to join, here are the prompts for February.

First some photos.

Welcome to our apartment. This is what it looks like when you enter.

To the left when you enter the apartment is our bedroom. It's slightly messy near the craft corner which is apparently code for "place to dump our crap". I didn't photograph that section on purpose.

Behind this door is a shoe rack and a bunch of scarves and a laundry basket. I am sparing you the view of that. You're welcome.

To the right when you walk into our apartment is the bathroom. Many of you are familiar with that shower curtain as it is the backdrop to most of my self-portraits.

As you head down the hall there is the kitchen. Do you see now why I dream of a big kitchen? With butcher block counter tops and lots of open cabinet storage?

The hall leads to the kitchen on the right and the living room/office/dining room on the left. Here's the view from the kitchen into the living room.

We don’t always have our furniture like this but when we’re entertaining, we feel this layout gives us more space. Can you see why I am desperate for a dining room in our new home? I want to throw dinner parties and I need space!

See also: swords.

This is the left half of the room where we've set up our "office" and where I blog to you all.

And this is what our hallway looks like as you leave the living room and head back towards the front door/bathroom (on left)/bedroom (on right).

Here’s a quick 2 minute video through our apartment starting with walking in the front door. Bonus- you get to hear our squeaky hardwood floors! Special appearance by Dot the cat.

Casa de Sizzle y Darcy

I apologize if it’s too much information but this is important to note for the sake of the story:  Mr. Darcy is naked in this scenario.

Me: Don’t rub your penis on the couch!

Him: My wiener is not dirty.

Me: All wieners are dirty. (I was raised Catholic. This is what they taught us.)

Him: My wiener is cleaner.

Me: Vote for wiener! Your slogan can be- my wiener is cleaner!

Him: It’s an erection year.

Day 1: Layering

I’m not big on layering. Let me say this plainly- bigger girls don’t look to add padding. Plus, I mostly wear dresses so the whole layering a t-shirt with a button up shirt with a sweater thing wasn’t going to work for me as I don’t have a lot of that in my wardrobe. (Dress: Target, Belt: Target, Vest: Thrifted, Tights: Unknown, Boots, DSW, Awesomeness: All Me (JK))

Day 2: Monochromatic

I went with shades of purple/fuchsia for this challenge because I own a lot of bold colored clothing. I think it suits my personality. (Dress: Target, Tights: Lane Bryant, Scarf: Old Navy, Coat: Thrifted, Boots: The Avenue)

Day 3: Embrace a Trend

For as much as I love fashion, I am not a trend follower. I had to look up what the current trends were to see if I had anything that could suffice. I ended up with metallic shoes, an animal print sweater and an orange scarf (which my research said were all current trends). I needed something easy to change in and out of since I had yoga at lunch and dance after work. (Sweater: Target, Trouser Jeans: Lane Bryant, Scarf: Gifted, Shoes: Unknown)

Day 4: Channel Someone

I was worried about this challenge. I’m not really big on emulating other people’s looks but then I remembered I had this pencil skirt just hanging in my closet and a new pair of blue heels. I channeled Christina Hendricks of Mad Men fame. I think she is super sexy. I love how she embraces her curves. Ba-bang! (Confession: I haven’t watched any episodes of Mad Men yet.) (Skirt: Target (old school), Heels: Steve Madden, Sweater: Thrifted)

This challenge made me want to buy a new red lipstick and tighter clothes.

Day 5: Mix Patterns

I confess- I wear this outfit a lot. It’s very comfortable and is my go to outfit when I can’t figure out what to wear. I really need to get some new clothes because this dress has pockets that are ripping. (Dress: Old Navy, Sweater: Target, Boots: Target, Belt: Thrifted, Scarf: Old Navy Earrings: a gift from Mr. Darcy from Etsy)

This post is apparently brought to you by Target since the majority of my clothes seem to be from there.

I was dating The Tomato in high school. There was a TV show we watched called Anything But Love that starred Richard Lewis and Jamie Lee Curtis (yes, it was the late 80′s). There was one episode where Richard’s character stands out in the rain to fill up a bottle with rain water. There was some romantic symbolism to this gesture that went along with the plot but I don’t exactly remember it now. What I do recall is that Tomato had collected a small jar of rain water for me soon after that, probably after we had a fight (we argued a lot- two drama queens should not date). Tomato left it for me with a long note and we were back on good terms again.

It was my birthday and James Dean and I were dating. He took me out for a nice dinner and then drove us to the ocean.  He left the headlights on and as a Frank Sinatra song played, he asked me to dance. And we did, caught between the beams from the car and the ocean tide as people walked by.

This is the same guy who would frequently call my answering machine just to leave snippets of songs or would drive over to leave love notes on my car.

In college I had a good friend, Jeremiah, who worked with me at The Wherehouse. We were great pals for a long time until I was suddenly single and he finally asked me out to go see Mighty Aphorodity (he knew I loved Woody Allen films). We started dating and my birthday came along. He called me up to wish me a happy birthday and asked if I’d been outside. I had not so he said, go outside on your porch and then call me back. Okayyyyy. I did and there hanging from our porch awning was a hand made wind chime. He’d twisted fishing line around glass blown marbles that hung down from little puppeteers made out of wire. It was beautiful and thoughtful. Weeks prior I had mentioned in passing how I loved wind chimes.

Once he drew a comic strip depicting himself coming across a French man who asked him to carry out a mysterious plan that required him (Jeremiah) to fly to France on this man’s behalf. At the end of it he asked, “Care to go to France with me tonight?” When he picked me up later that night he walked me down through our neighborhood where he’d hung signs in French that we had to translate with a pocket French to English dictionary. When we got to the spot, he laid out a blanket from his backpack and pulled our French food from a local restaurant plus a disposable camera and a small bottle of wine.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! How is that for overture? He was a sweetie. I hope he is happy wherever he is.

When Dumpling and I were an item he once invited me over to his place. When I showed up, I was greeted by a sign at the front door that told me to come in. There were rose petals strewn along the floor making a path to his room. He had Etta James playing, candles lit, and my favorite movie cued up (When Harry Met Sally for those not paying attention).  Later when we were no longer dating but were friends we had a standing Friday date. We’d usually go grab sushi and watch What Not To Wear with James Dean and Natalie Wood (we were wild, I tell ya!). He’d always bring me flowers “just because”. I’ve never forgotten that kindness.

When Mr. Darcy and I were first dating, I took him to the Central Cinema to see Jaws (his favorite movie). I bought tickets in advance and when I checked in at the counter and said my real name, the guy looked very confused. Apparently he thought I was asking for the movie by MY NAME. I joked, “My life hasn’t been made into a movie yet.” We all had a good laugh about it. A few weeks later it was Valentine’s Day. Mr. Darcy came over bearing this:

My life as a movie poster.

Not the best photo but if you click on it I think you can see that at the bottom it even lists characters. And there you go, now you know my real name.

Since it’s almost Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d share these and see if you had any to share. Let’s inspire each other. Please feel free to share your romantic stories in the comments!

Same street with 3 days in between shots.

The snow has nearly all melted and I can’t say I am sorry to see it go. Being home-bound for 3 days was a bit crazy making. We watched a lot of movies and I basically cooked the entire contents of our kitchen.

No. Seriously! Here’s what I made:

Peanut butter & chocolate chip cookies- delicious, dangerously delicious

Oatmeal coconut cookies- mmm good (too good!)

Chicken Curry- I didn’t love this recipe. It lacked flavor. Next time I will try this one.

Cheddar-Beer Soup- very beer-y but Mr. Darcy liked it

Crusty bread- always good except if you try to make it with spelt flour then it won’t form a ball so stick with white flour or a mix of white/wheat for perfect bread

Roasted vegetables

Braised Brisket Stew- I will totally make this again- easy but needs all day to cook

Energy Bites- yummy!

Can you see why I desperately needed to go to dance class?! I feel like a sludge. I can’t wait to get back in the swing of driving (I didn’t drive my car for 4 days), working in the office (haven’t done that since Tuesday), not eating sugar, going to dance class 6 days a week, putting on a bra and make up and seeing people other than my wonderful Darcy.

On one of your snow jaunts we came upon this Slayer snowman.

Snow love.

I’m so grateful to her for the music she made. Her legacy will live on through her songs. Personally, I will never forget the time I saw her live. It was almost 3 years ago to the day actually. I’m reposting that story here in her memory.

***

Jan. 29th, 2009

Let me just state for the record that I adore Etta James. I L-O-V-E her. Many of you might know her for her famous song, “At Last”, which you’ve probably danced to at one or twelve weddings  or heard in a movie. But that’s not even her best song in my opinion. She’s got sass and attitude along with her amazing voice and her undeniable presence. If I could be any singer, I’d probably want to be her. She’s like Mae West meets B.B. King.

She is, in a word, a legend.

Last night I went to go see her (third row, center, HELLO!) and I walked away traumatized by the experience. It wasn’t the scantily clad whorebags talking loudly in front of us that did it (though seriously, shut your pie holes). Nor was it the lady with the cane sitting next to me rocking the entire row with her “dancing” who, by the way, smelled like a strange mixture of drugstore perfume, dog shampoo and Chinese food. It wasn’t even the young guy behind us wearing the Obama hope shirt that kept yelling out like he was Her Biggest Fan (we GET IT dude!). It certainly wasn’t my “date” for the evening, the always gracious, amusing and charming  Dave2 from Blogography. Oh no. It was none of these. It was Etta James herself.

For one hour, she played a total of six song which means we basically paid $10 a song. That’s okay, honestly, because she is a phenomenal singer and besides, the woman is 81. Remember that. It’s an important fact. During the first song everyone was pumped, hooting and hollering, as she came out on her scooter.  She broke out into song and started gesturing- fondling her breasts, motioning to her crotch, rubbing on herself. I look at Dave and we’re like woah! but we’re laughing and enjoying it with the rest of the crowd. It makes sense because the song is a bit racy. But then then next song starts and she starts making kissing noises into the mic and then wags her tongue at it and again with the sexual gestures and I’m like um, what is going on?! And for the next two songs, the same thing.

I started to wonder if she was an oversexed 81 year old or I was just a prudish 35 year old. I mean, I’m all for getting some into your senior years but what is WITH the sexual gestures? Even when the song isn’t actually sexual? It started to feel dirty and wrong. She could be my grandmother! She’s on a scooter! She’s touching her vagina on stage!

Then she announced she was going to sing “At Last” so the crowd went predictably wild. She said something about someone and how they can fuck themselves. Turns out, Etta was ripping into Beyonce. She seemed pretty pissed at her singing her song at the Inauguration Ball and probably, I’m guessing, portraying her in the recent film, Cadillac Records. There was a lot of “fuck her” over and over. I will say though that that was the first song of the night where she did not fondle herself- a welcome relief to my bleeding eyes.

I’m still a little agape at the whole experience.

I still love her but maybe if I were to be her, I’d keep the sexual overtones to one song. And I wouldn’t pretend hump a chair.

*Note: I clearly had her age wrong since she was 73 when she passed away. She wasn’t 81 but rather 70 when we saw her.

*****

Here’s my favorite song of hers:

I like to keep busy.

I hear that our weather has made it past local news so you probably know that yesterday Seattle was dumped some 4-8 inches of snow, more in outer-lying areas. There were absolutely no flakes when we went to bed Thursday night and I asked Mother Nature to deliver snow because I really wasn’t feeling like working. Selfish, yes. And then when we woke up, white everywhere!

My snowy corner of Seattle.

Mr. Darcy’s work didn’t close yesterday despite constant snowfall which prompted all schools to close and garbage pick ups to cease among other things. The nerds need their products! We actually got in a bit of a tiff over him going into work. He doesn’t have snow tires or chains and despite having grown up in worse winter storms, our streets are not that well maintained for these types of weather and we’re in a neighborhood full of hills. He managed to make it across the water to the east side along with five other co-workers. They were there all of 30 minutes when the powers that be closed the office. Ridiculous! So then he had to risk life and limb to get all the way back. He tried again this morning but only got as far as the driveway when the freezing rain drove him back upstairs. I’m selfishly happy he’s here because I kinda like him and would appreciate him staying alive a long time. Though come this weekend we’re going to need some alone time away from each other because this is a lot of togetherness.

Snow days mean lots of lazy. The cats approve.

It’s been a really weird work week since my office was closed on Monday for MLK, Jr. day and then everyone was watching out the windows all Tuesday to see if they should run to the store before heading home to beat the storm. I stopped at a store on the way home and it was a madhouse. I’ve never seen so many people shopping on a Tuesday afternoon. There were a lot of single-looking guys wandering around looking lost holding cans of ravioli and sacks of bread with packages of lunch meat. Maybe the rains will stop being freezing and will wash away some of this ice and snow so I can return to normal life- going to dance class and work and, you know, putting on a bra and make up.

Not pictured: high winds!

It was a blast. Of course, I had absolutely no snow gear. I borrowed snow pants from one friend, socks from another and boots and gloves from yet another. I never learned how to ski so I’ve not invested in any of the gear. I’m not what you would call “outdoorsy.”

Bring it, snow.

I should back up to the beginning. When my friend Carly invited us I immediately said yes. I left the planning to her and Carah who were more seasoned snowshoe-ers. I’m trying to be less of the planner all the time. I am not a spontaneous person who is comfortable going with the flow so this is challenging for me but necessary for personal growth. Plus, I feel like a lot of my relationships continue to exist because I take the initiative to make the plans or send the invite. I’ve been trying to let people reach out to me or even see who bothers to. Because of this I’ve been re-evaluating a lot of my friendships because I’m seeing which relationships I was carrying.

I digress. Sort of.

Shoeing on snow

It’s important to note that I wasn’t “in charge” because as I walked up to Carly’s at 8:45am on Saturday at the same time as my sis, I saw that she carried snowshoes in hand. I did not have snowshoes. Out of all the things I thought to borrow, I had assumed that we were going to a place where snowshoes could be rented. I never asked about this specifically because as I said, I assumed, and thus made an ass out of myself.  Because yes, I was supposed to have snowshoes.

Snow picnic where we ate chips and string cheese while freezing our hands off.

Needless to say, I panicked and as my sister was ringing Carly’s buzzer to let us in I was already bowing out, feeling totally embarrassed that I hadn’t understood I was supposed to get the snowshoes BEFORE we left. I felt like a total idiot, very ashamed of my error. My sister insisted that I was coming and that we’d figure it out. Carly was equally encouraging. When we got to Carah’s car she went so far as to call a friend and drive us over to borrow hers. A friend who was in the middle of making pancakes with her young son and husband while they were still lounging in their pajamas.

Happy and snow-drenched: Carly, me, my sis, Carah.

I was and am humbled by their flexibility and support. They never let me wallow in my feelings of inadequacy and I appreciate it so much. I’m so glad I went with them. It was just a really fun day full of good conversation, laughter and beauty. I’m so lucky to have great girlfriends and to live in such a gorgeous place. Every day I am learning to loosen up, take risks, forgive myself, and be open to what comes.

The fact that these two landscapes can exist less than an hour away from each other is kind of wild to me.

I can’t wait to go snowshoeing again.

That was 1995 for those counting back.

Jenny Two Times and I were in my upstairs bedroom of the condo I was renting with a high school friend of mine during my first year at UC Santa Cruz. It was a massive room with a walk in closet that could have doubled as a small child’s room. I’ve never had a room that ample since. This was the year I wore a lot of overalls and smoked a lot of pot.

Let me remind you: IT WAS THE EARLY 1990′s.

Santa Cruz is about a 30 minute drive over a windy, wooded mountain so my old friends and I were able to still hang out despite the fact that I’d gone off to college. Jenny had come over for one of our marathon hang out sessions. We were listening to music as we did ALL THE TIME when we were that age. We’d lose hours to albums we’d pick up at thrift stores (hello, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Brown, Van Morrison) and cds we’d scoured Tower Records for. We’d drive around with our windows rolled down and the tunes cranked just singing at the top of our lungs. It felt like we had all the time in the world.

This day we were kicking back in my luxurious, spacious room smoking weed and listening to Blues Traveler at high volume. My roommate was out which is why a) the music was loud and b) we were freely enjoying a smoke. My roommate was adamantly against marijuana. I understand- her brother had quite a problem with it and it was a trigger spot for her. I tried to not do it when she was home or to mask it by burning sage.

HA! As if sage covers up pot smoke.

Anyhow we were stoned and singing along to Blues Traveler when Jenny says, “Listen. Do you smell something?” WAIT. WRONG MEMORY. That’s actually from Ghostbusters. My bad. Jenny says, “Listen, did you hear someone knock?” So I turn down the volume on my stereo and we listen as hard as our stoned ears can listen. I don’t hear anything so I turn the tunes back up and we rock out. A few minutes later she says it again, “Did you hear someone knocking?” I went downstairs and checked out the peep-hole and saw no one so I went back upstairs. A couple minutes later she asked again and so I went back downstairs and opened the door this time. No one. Back up to the bedroom and what happens a few minutes later? Jenny thinks she hears a knock again. And again, I go downstairs. And again, no one is there. It became highly amusing to two people who were stoned. And looking back I can’t believe I went down and checked so many times.

By the way: No one was ever there.

Here is where I confess that I am the one who got Jenny Two Times high for the first time. It wasn’t this time with the knocking and the Blues Traveler but it was a few years before that at her junior high school parking lot. Cliche much? Ha. And later we went to our favorite local coffee shop where we spent a million hours hanging out with friends, discussing life, and ogling cute boys. While at the coffee-house a cop came by. There was a curfew instituted in the city of San Jose at that time and kids under 16 had to be home by 11 or something. We were at least 20 so there wasn’t anything to worry about except Jenny was freaking the hell out because she was high and was going to have to interact with a cop. I tried talking her off her pot-induced paranoia ledge by coaxing her to get her license out and how to just hand it to him without looking directly in his eyes. We had to go over it multiple times as he made our way over to us. It was fine- he checked our IDs and moved on- but this story is one Jenny told at my 30th birthday party roast.  I’m pretty sure the re-telling of it at my party lives on in infamy more than the actual origin story.

The roast was my idea- let’s get all my friends together and you can share embarrassing stories about me. Brilliant! Um, what?! It was an awesomely fun party and some very embarrassing tales were told and somewhere I have a vhs tape of it. YES VHS. When Jenny got up to share this story she’d had a few drinks (we all had) and she got kind of stuck on the middle part. Like, she told the part of being at the coffee shop 3 times just like a broken record because she kept forgetting where she was at in the story. I jumped up to help her wrap it up and after Tomato, the emcee, got on the mic and said something like, “From now on all stories must have one beginning, ONE MIDDLE, and one end.”

Why am I sharing these stories from my youth? Because sometimes all it takes is a song and the hook brings you back.

Also, this: