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Last weekend was our city’s annual race, the Sunburst. They have several events; a 5k, 10k, half marathon, and full marathon (which is a Boston qualifier). A lot of people like to run, apparently, because they had a huge turnout.
I, however, am not one of those people. Me and running do not get along.
Have I ever mentioned that before?
I have mastered the art of spectating, though. Which is exactly what I did on Saturday, while my sister, mom, dad, hub, and our best man Carlos ran.
Mom and Maddie ran the 10k, Rob and Dad ran the half marathon, and Los ran the full marathon. They all did a great job, and made it to the finish while still breathing (and smiling, nonetheless), which is way more than I would be able to handle.
This is Rob and Carlos.
Los did an especially amazing job that day. His goal was to run the Sunburst marathon and qualify for the Boston marathon. This meant that he had to complete the race in under 3 hours and 10 minutes. Which equates to running 7:15 minute miles. For 26.2 miles.
Are you having a heart attack just thinking about it? I am.
Anyway, he ended up finishing in 3:08! HOW PERFECT?! We were all ecstatic for him, and plan on following him to Boston in April. Because we are his groupies.
And finally, this is Corby, mom’s puppy. He was a spectator, too.
Nice job, everybody!
I’m writing this post having just walked in the door from taking Oliver for a walk. In case you can’t tell from the title, yes, there is steam coming out of my ears at the moment.
Today was the fourth time in just the past couple months that a dog has bolted out of its yard and out to get Oliver. Half of those times the dogs were not friendly, a.k.a. not just trying to sniff Ollie’s butt and become buddies. Which means that fifty percent of the time the dogs are mean and growl and show their teeth.
Which would mean that I am pissed (that is not a swear word, I am doing good so far, thankyouverymuch).
People, if you have a dog, take responsibility and GET A FREAKING FENCE. Because guess what? If your dog is attached to a tree with a chain/rope/leash/fishing line they can get loose. I am experienced in this area. Fifty percent of the time, if you know what I mean.
And I find it extremely interesting how, in my particular neighborhood, many people have a dog, if not a few dogs. And yet, not very many houses have fences. Can someone please explain this phenomenon with me? As far as I’m concerned if you get a dog, you get a fence.
Oh, and this really baffles me – there is a house near ours that just last week put up four (FOUR!) “beware of dog” signs. And yet, of course! No fence! I may be wrong, but if you feel the need to put numerous DANGER, MY DOG IS A NUTCASE signs all over your property, then a fence is probably in order.
And in case you’re wondering, no, I am not a big fan of those electric fences. So when I refer to “fence” anywhere in this post, I am talking about a real, out-of-ground barrier around your yard. Because did you know that dogs can get through those electric fences?
Yeah! They can! Like, just for example, if they saw a little dog walking on the sidewalk, they could actually run straight through it and into the street! Oh, they might feel a little pinch for a split second around their neck, but then it’s all over and guess what? THEY’RE GONE!
(Wow, I am really impressing myself. No four letter words. Well, I mean, at least they got deleted.)
Anyway, I’m done. For now. But just in case you skimmed this post and didn’t absorb the whole thing, here is the bottom line: if your dog happens to run out of your yard to get my dog, and does ANYTHING to him, just know that Rob is really strong and has big muscles. And knows how to use them.
It seems rather odd, considering that my mom is an artist and my dad is an architect, that the creative gene skipped over me and forgot to settle in my DNA. For some bizarre reason I came out of the womb very right-brained; I like facts rather than ideas. I am extremely organized and have a hard time just going with the flow. I’M ANAL. AND COMPULSIVE. Sometimes even… OBSESSIVE.
If you know me you are not shocked.
However, I do have my days when something comes over me and I just need to get artsy. But instead of taking my time and just letting it flow, I want to do it. And get it done. And clean up! And move on.
Remember? Anal?
Last week I decided I felt artsy, and wanted to spruce up my back patio, so I decided it would only be right to go pick up a metal trash can and paint it really flashy and colorful. And although I am definitely not the artist in the family, it does look pretty cool, if I may say so myself.
Want to see? Here’s how it all went down:
First, when painting on metal, it is important to prime the area that you will be painting, so head over to Menards and get some white metal primer.
Then go to Wal Mart and pick out some acrylic paints, in all of your favorite colors:
Then prime the area you are going to paint. My plan for the design was big, old, funky polka dots. And since I didn’t want to prime the entire can (I wanted some of the metal to show through) I only primed the polka dots that I would be painting over:
After I had put two coats of primer on, and after it was dry, I began to use the paint to color over the primer:
And voila! There she is! DONE AND DONE.
Now, I thought it needed some kind of coating, like a polyurethane or something, but apparently the dude at the hardware store disagreed, and said that it would actually pull the paint off of the metal. (Something about how polyurethane is actually meant for wood, and not metal…yada, yada.) So anyway, I didn’t use anything. Don’t know how it will hold up… but it’s only for me, so whatever. If it starts to rot away tomorrow, I’ll let you know.
I’m pretty pleased with the end result. Mom loved it, too, and said that I could sell them in her store if I wanted to. And I would! Except that, would you believe it took me about five hours to complete this? That’s a little too much time, that I just don’t really have.
But in case you are ever feeling a little do-it-yourself-y, here is a project you should try. And if you are hesitant at all, please rest assured that if I can handle it, you can definitely handle it.
… Jacinda! Congrats, girl! Email me so I can get your email address and I will send you your B&N gift card online 
And to everyone else, thank you so much for your ideas. Hawaii, Maui, Cancun, Capri, St. John, Bahamas… all of them sound delicious. Oh, and we can’t forget Tampa, thank you Los
Now, where to go….?
Yesterday was the day. I had no more excuses to use in order to avoid my first ride on my SA-WEET! bike. Biking clothes? Check. Shoes? Check. Sunglasses, gloves, helmet? Check, check, check.
Confidence? Oh, whoops, that one was missing somewhere. Probably left that back in the garage with my training wheels and kick stand.
Overall, we had a great time and and there is a slight possibility that cycling will become my new obsession. I started out a little shaky for the first five miles; getting clipped in and out required some practice, but, yay! no falls! But, unfortunately, it was windy – and, interestingly enough, the wind seemed to be coming from every direction, so no matter which direction we rode it felt like we were riding straight into the howling wind. In addition to this, the roads we traveled were hilly. As a result, I was having a hard time keeping up with Rob.
So wind+hills+my first time inexperience resulted in me being a smidge whiny to my hub. Something like, how dare you take me out on my first ride on a day like today! with wind! and hilly hills! you b*#$*!!
I just wasn’t feeling pooh-pooh’d enough. That’s all I wanted. Some sympathy maybe a small pity party. With whine and cheese, please.
Luckily, probably 25 minutes into our ride, I got ahold of myself (an achievement in itself) and was able to gain some confidence on the bike. My legs finally felt strong and I was able to pick up my pace and attack the hills the way they had already attacked my burning quads.
Oh, and should I mention the wind finally was at our backs at this point? Because that may have had something to do with it.
By the time we got back home, we had ridden (rode?) 12.5 miles in 48 minutes. I don’t think this is good by any means, but all I know is it was a good place for me to start and I felt pretty proud of myself for overcoming my fear.
Tonight Rob and I are planning on staying home, cooking some steaks on the grill, and enjoying just being home. We both were gone this week, on separate business trips (although I’m not sure if my trip actually should be classified as ‘business’…) and are feeling the need to hunker down and relax. Me especially. Because I have come to find out that I am very much a homebody. Really, as much as I love to travel, I love being in my cozy house even more, with my dog and my hub.
Anyway, I digress. What I am trying to say is, what kind of steaks should we have tonight? Rob and I are both pretty new to the whole grilling thing, and the only thing that has ever touched our grill is chicken. BORING. So what should it be? Filet? New York Strip? Ribeye?
And if you happen to be a vegetarian, I hope I haven’t grossed you out too much. My apologies.
What? You’re tired of seeing my post about the hub’s birthday, aren’t you? Did you think I forgot about you? So sorry about that – I am back now.
This past weekend my mom, my sister, and I went to NYC for a stationary show. We thought it sounded like a good idea to go to a show that exhibited nothing but paper products, you know, considering that “Specialty Paper” is one of the three things listed on our Orange Tree business cards that we claim to sell in our store. And now here I am, back from the trip, to confess my new hatred of any and all paper products on the face of the Earth.
Oh, I kid. It wasn’t that bad. “Hate” is such a horrible, strong word. Maybe I was just excruciatingly overwhelmed and utterly surprised at how many variations of the same Thank You card were out there in the world? Because really, you wouldn’t even believe it.
Besides our eyeballs bugging out of our heads after only about two hours, we had a really great time together and bought some really cool invitations, cards, and note pads. I am anxious for when all of these things get shipped to us, so we can then remember what the heck we bought and hope to high heaven that we didn’t buy something else that was too similar.
Because that is very possible, you know. I saw “similar things” for two days straight.
Outside of going to the show, we pretty much ate, ate, and ate some more. Which, let’s face it, is really one of my favorite hobbies. We also shopped a teeny bit and got our nails done, but really, I’d rather talk about the food.
So everyone, if you are ever in New York City, please, please, please, go to Dos Caminos. It will make you a happier person and make your life in general much more complete.
It’s a Mexican restaurant, but not your typical Hacienda – it’s very funky, hip, and classy. They are known for their guacamole and margaritas, so really, we had no choice but to indulge ourselves.
Their house margarita was KILL-ER. Best I have ever ever had. Makes my toes curl just thinking about it. And they had a menu that resembled a wine list, but was a Tequila list. Over 100 different kinds were listed, and were described as, “nutty, smokey, with a hint of vanilla”. WE’RE TALKING ABOUT TEQUILA, DON’T FORGET. Call me naive, but I had no idea there were that many tequilas in the world without the name Cuervo.
Jose, you are still my main man, don’t you worry.
Now, the guac. Look at this, please, and make sure you don’t get drool all over your keyboard:
THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN ABOUT! It is made fresh to order, and will put any other guac to shame. And now, now my mouth is watering.
You know, I could really go for some of that guac right about now.
I bet you could too. And you should. Indulge yourself in some of life’s little pleasures.
And I hope you all are into sending Christmas cards, because they will be coming out of our little Orange Tree ears next fall.
(Photo taken in Grand Cayman)
Today is the hub’s almost-30th birthday. Meaning he is 29 years old. But basically, he is practically 30. We’ll call it his twenty-ninethirtieth birthday.
To start off this day of celebration, yours truly got up at 5:30 to make my man breakfast.
Because, as I said, this is a special day. And making breakfast doesn’t happen on just any old ordinary day. And as this was the first birthday being celebrated since we have been married, I had the opportunity to, you know, Set The Bar. High.
(KIDDING! I would never think of doing such a thing.)
So then it was presents and sending him off to work with his favorite sugary snack of choice, Twizzlers. Again, The Bar, you know.
Anyway – Happy Birthday, Baby! I hope you have a great day. I love you!
I hope I haven’t kept you all up these past few nights, pondering where else my sorry little commit-a-phobe butt has been employed. But, alas, here we are again to finish up this (seemingly never ending) list.
While I was still working part-time at Jo-To-Go, I also began nannying for a local family. Their three-year old boy Charlie was just the cutest, and to help you imagine what he looked like, just know that my nickname for him was ‘Charlie-Bear’.
SO CUTE, RIGHT?!
Anyway, I babysat him a few times a week while his parents ran their photography business which was just a hop, skip, and jump away from their house. Like, right across the driveway, actually.
So after awhile of both babysitting and drinking obscene amounts of espresso – I mean, SERVING obscene amount of espresso to CUSTOMERS – I then quit working at Jo-To-Go about a year after I started.
(Remember that sentence back in Part I? Something about how it was the most horribly run business I have ever, ever, ever seen? Yeah, my reasoning was because of something like that, anyway.)
That left me only babysitting for Charlie, and clearly my Starbucks and Target habit would die on simply that income alone, so I finally asked his Dad if I could not only babysit, but also work in his photography studio.
Thus began my new job as a photographer’s admin assistant. I really liked working there; he and his wife were cool people that I enjoyed being around. And probably the best part about that job was doing what I do best – BEING NOSY. What I mean is, I JUST HAD to scrutinize every wedding photograph that passed my fingers while in production, and – you know – study the dresses, the flowers, and the people I recognized. It was all very fun and entertaining to say the least.
Then came the time when I decided I really needed to get myself a :::air quotes::: REAL JOB :::end air quotes:::.
Since I was a Junior in college, and an accounting major, people somehow convinced me that it might be a good idea to try and get an internship at an accounting firm. So I did, in Ft Lauderdale, Florida at one of the Big 4 Firms.
Sounds pretty and lofty, doesn’t it? It wasn’t. And well, the job, it pretty much did me in and gave me a really big dose of I WOULD NEVER WANT THIS TO BE MY CAREER, HOW DO PEOPLE LIVE LIKE THIS. Because things such as, 1) cubicles, 2) busy season, and 3) nothing but numbers kind of turned me off.
So when my internship for the summer was over, and after I sang my Hallelujahs and devoured an entire gallon of Peanut Butter Cup ice cream, what did I do?
I accepted a future job with another firm that would begin the September after I graduated college. At an accounting firm. Doing things like, you know, taxes. And auditing. And other things that would really make me rather be a professional toilet cleaner.
Clearly, I was thinking straight at the time. Or maybe the HR guy had me brainwashed by the numbers on my offer letter that came after the dollar sign. Either way, STUPID MOVE, KALEY.
However, during that interim time of my Senior year of college, I had NO JOBS! Well, only if you count babysitting here and there, but, nah, that doesn’t count. And being a T.A. for my professor, we won’t count that either. I had other things to worry about, those of which do not include school, grades, or school. Or jobs. Because I had a wedding to plan! And my priorities were very important to me.
Whew, wasn’t that fun? I just loved that. Oh, and if you want to understand what happened to me after I accepted that job with the accounting firm, just go here. And please, if you have any wacky, stupid, or hysterical job histories, do tell!
When I was in Jr. High and High School I was constantly changing my hair. I don’t know where I got the money to fund my habit, but it seemed like month to month my hair would change from blonde to red to short and spiky. Even when I was only in eighth grade I was ballsy enough to cut my hair into a very short pixie cut. I was always doing something new.
(Hey, this kind of sounds like my part-time job situation doesn’t it? Funny, the things you learn about yourself while blogging.)
Anyway, I was never afraid to try something different and never had a cut or color that I didn’t like.
Wait. Actually, that is a lie.
There was this really unfortunate time in high school when my mom and I went to Chicago for the night. I don’t remember the occasion, but it must have been something pretty cool because we stayed at the Ritz, went out to a good dinner & shopping, and had our hair cut at the Vidal Sassoon salon. Which was great. Except for when the stylist was done.
I. HATED. IT.
It was too short and not what I wanted. I knew it was just hair and it would grow back, but I threw a fit and was a dork about the whole thing for the rest of our time in Chi-town. (Mom, remember this?! FUN!)
Anyway, I finally decided in college that I wanted to grow my hair out because I was SURE that I wanted to get married sometime. Not knowing when I get married, or even who I would marry, that was not the issue. THE ISSUE WAS THAT I WANTED LONG HAIR ON MY WEDDING DAY, PERIOD.
So I set out to let my hair grow. I stopped coloring it (went dark brown, which is ((mostly)) my natural color) and didn’t cut it except maybe twice a year. I looooved my long hair. So much so that I become one of those people that gets way too attached and possessive over her locks. One of those people that I never wanted to be. But it happened. Ugh.
Then after I got married last summer I decided that, since my essential and burning need for long hair was now over, I would cut it and give it to Locks of Love. I loved my new Posh cut – you know, an angled bob, short in the back and longer in the front? NO BANGS? Because that was exactly where I drew the line. No bangs for me, honey. Heeeeeck no.
But then something came over me this morning, about five minutes before I had to leave for work. I saw this picture of my Mom and I from three years ago (and note: how cute/funny/wrong that we have matching hair? And scarves?!):
So then this is what happened at 7:40 this morning:
I like it. It is a new me, baby! See what a few little snips with those kitchen scissors can do to a girl? I hope Allison the Hair Stylist isn’t mad at me…!
