The Scene In Which The Words Are Back

When you used to blog all the time and haven't really in, say, more than a year (with minor exceptions), starting off a post can be sort of weird and awkward. It's like running into someone you used to be super good friends with and then didn't talk to for awhile and then ran into at the market and you're like "oh....hi...." and then some weird conversation ensues about how nice the weather's been, and if you're like me you sort of sway awkwardly from side to side because what you really want to do is blurt out something like, "Did you ever break up with that one dude that was totally an asshole and screwing with your head? Also, it's weird you never called me back, right? Are we just pretending that didn't happen?" and you're talking, but mostly just resisting the socially unacceptable word vomit urge.

.......um, anyway.

So for awhile there I had tons of stuff to blog about, and everything seemed like a funny story, and the words would pop into my head faster than my little fingers could type (which is saying something if you've ever seen me type: my husband refers to it as "violent") and then OUT OF NOWHERE, the well ran dry. Thank god I make my living in flowers, not words, because it was just gone, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. And not only that, but I started putting all this weird pressure on myself to KEEP DOING IT, and BE FUNNY, because that's "what my thing is" and then one day it sort of occurred to me, hey, eff it. IT'S A BLOG, and on a good day, like three people read this.*

I mean, really. There was no drama, people! There was no strife! There was no complaining, no crazy house stories, no insane travels, no hilarious pratfalls! I was a happy newlywed living in my cute little house and working on my gardening and decorating projects in my spare time between puttering around my flower shop and cavorting with my hunky new husband and our adorable puppies. Had I any tendency towards pastels and soft, wavy haircuts I was an Estee Lauder "Beautiful" ad**.

That is, until I decided it would be a super bright idea to not only re-do all my website and print design pieces but also found myself looking for a new studio AND packing our old one AND renovating the new one AND moving during wedding season AND hiring a new employee AND doing all this when we aren't really working too much AND meeting with new clients AND, AND, AND....and for awhile there really nothing that didn't involve flowers or paint or moving boxes or figuring out cash flows was really first and foremost in my brain. If "Beautiful" had a sister perfume of "Tired, Stressed and Financially Insecure" I was wearing it this winter, at the shop. (Sidenote: wow. Many thanks to my husband for still loving THAT version of me all winter.)

Also, because this post is nothing if not about rambling thoughts, I turned 30 this winter, and with that came not the mounting dread of getting older, nor the mental berating of myself for not completing everything on my "bucket list," but an honest to goodness sense of "oh thank god." Rather than dreading it, 30 to me represented the ability to completely rock my own sense of person (which, I believe, if you're lucky you spend your 20s trying to figure out- or at least figure out enough that you claim to be able to own it at 30), embrace what I am and what I'm not, and say eff it to the rest.

HECK YEAH, my brain told me, you  made it through that crazy-ass decade known as your 20s. Congrats, kid. You got a degree. Hell, you got two. And then you got a job, and then ANOTHER job, and then you decided to heck with it, and opened a business, and it WORKED! And you survived dating! And found THE ONE, and somehow managed to convince him to marry you, WOW. And you had a condo! And now you have a house! And rent another house to work in! You're like a FREAKING LAND BARON, and you have dogs to boot. AND you get to do stuff you like doing and you don't have to pretend to like stuff you don't like because it's the "cool" thing to do! WAY TO BE. You earned a decade of rocking it out.

It's sort of incredibly freeing, right?! Be yourself. Be TRUE TO yourself. Yay thirty.

Also, I pierced my nose to mark the occasion, or at least that's the excuse I used when I was in the situation where I could finally get it done and didn't have any  major life event (i.e. my wedding) coming up in which I'd be forever scarred by my adolescent bad decisions in having random facial piercings in my eternal memory.

So far it hasn't been a bad decision. Even my mom, who answered my "Guess what I did!" photo text with a voicemail saying, "So.....you stuck a diamond in your face." thinks it's cute.

(where was I going with this? Oh yes) so all that happened and STILL NO WORDS.

Honestly, for awhile there I wasn't sure I was going to have the words, ever again (spoiler alert: you're reading this). I even went so far as to think about deleting this blog, because I just thought it was sort of sad that it just kind of tapered off....into....nothingness....

And then. AND THEN.

I was baking yesterday, because in my spare time I'm a housewife, and I was thinking to myself that I wanted it to be the last time I was baking these items using boxed mixes, because of course this whole "we are eating food that's been genetically modified and packed with riboflavin, and who the hell knows what that actually is" thing has been really hitting home for me lately, and I've been trying to figure out how to cook more, and it occurred to me, "I should totally blog about this," which seems completely normal except that it's a sentence that hasn't entered my brain in 8 months and HOLY COW, THERE WERE THE WORDS, and there were LOTS OF THEM, and there was a WHOLE POST before I knew what was happening and then my rational brain took over and was like, "Whoa. You haven't blogged in like ten months, you can't start out with life lessons in blueberry muffins, chill out."

And then I got my first CSA box today and, people, I have been so freakin' excited for this since we signed up, but also a little bit nervous, because I'm new to this cooking thing and I knew there would be things I didn't know how to use and MAN, did I jump the gun, because when I opened that box today there are things I don't even RECOGNIZE, and I'm in for it now, because I'm going to have to Google Image search my food.

And then HOLY COW, THERE WERE THE WORDS, and there were LOTS OF THEM, and there was a WHOLE POST before I knew what was happening and then my rational brain took over and was like, "Whoa. Ok. You might be on to something here, but you need to go warn these people first."

So, there you have it. I lost the words. I planned a wedding. I turned 30. I pierced my nose. I'm still happily married. I'm still happily self-employed. I'm learning to cook. I found the words.

And I'm not sure what this blog will be about going forward, to be honest. Maybe it's part of the whole thirty-thing but I don't feel the pressure to be always funny, or always have some major story, or always....anything. It will probably mostly be happy, because I think there's such a thing as oversharing, especially when it comes to problems and/or marriages and/or struggles, and that works for some people, but I really don't feel like I need to document that all for the internet (see: awkward blogs about marriage problems that turn into awkward blogs about divorces and DUDE, YOUR KID READS THAT). Everyone's life has unfunny parts from time to time, but to be perfectly honest, this blog is probably going to read more like the highlight reel of my person, lest my potential future children ever stumble upon it. I feel like I should warn you that a good portion may be about cooking, so if you're like "oh god, is she going to turn into one of those people raving about how Monsanto is ruining our lives or how awesome her bread pudding turned out," I mean, I don't know. Probably. They pretty much suck***, so you're not going to find any sympathy for them here, that's for sure. I may write about work. I  may write about music. I may write about awesome things.

All I know is that the words have returned, and I'm hopping on board. Join me for the ride, won't you??


*I'm fairly certain more than three people read this. Maybe like 8.
**I can totally make fun of it 'cause I wear it. BAM.
***"They" being Monsanto, of course, because nothing about bread pudding sucks, except people who do it wrong.

The Scene In Which My Summer Soundtrack Rocked

I'm slightly embarassed to report that one of the things I realized this year- and granted, I'd realized this before, but not realized that I'd still been doing it in certain aspects in my life- is that you should do or like what makes you happy, not what everyone thinks you *should* do or like.

Duh, right?

Strange as it seems for someone who loves music as much as I do, but it wasn't until this year that I realized that all the "cultural stuff" I'd been trying to do and convince myself that I oh-my-gosh-super-loved was, in fact, something that I kindofsortof enjoyed doing....occasionally. On the other hand, experiencing live music was something I loved, but had never really thought of as being important, because it wasn't "cultural."

And then I realized, screw that.

Because really? you should do what makes me happy, and music makes me happy (happy slash a total geek), and seeing my favorite artists and singing along or dancing around any damned way I want without worrying how I look to others is pretty much amazing.

So there.

My completely unoffical concert season officially closed last night (whoa. timeout. can something unofficial officially close?) and if I do say so myself, it was a great season.

For nothing other than my own self-indulgence at getting to look for/watch videos, here's a compliation of all the artists I saw AND a favorite video/song of theirs, because if my summer had a perfect playlist, this just might be it. drumroll please.....

Dave Matthews Band - total toss up on a favorite song, but right now? 41.

Phish! No question. Farmhouse.

L.P.- song that you might actually know, Into the Wild. My current fave? Tokyo Sunrise.  We totally got to meet her after her show (here's that story).

Bad Boy Bill- a favorite EDM DJ of Cute Husband's. I actually don't know anything by him, so, here's a completely unrelated EDM song that I like that we played at our wedding.

Mumford & Sons! Traveled down to Louisville overnight to see them with a couple pals and had an amazing time. Truly can't pick a favorite (especially with a new album coming out tomorrow!) so here's one that gave me absolute chills: Roll Away Your Stone. (the musical break leading into "Stars hide your fires"- omg. I still get chills THINKING about it). The entire show was amazing. So worth it.

Jane's Addiction for Cute Husband's birthday celebration! Jane Says, hands down.

(and just a couple days later) Bob Dylan! I'd been told it was hit-or-miss with him, but since I can't teleport back to the 1960s and see him when I would have really liked to, it was my only shot. Alas, he didn't play Shelter From The Storm but he did play a few other of his hits (apparently?).

NOFX on a whim. Didn't play it, but my fave has to be Creeping Out Sara, because three years ago T&S were one of the bands Cute Husband and I talked about the first night we met, and then he sent me this song to listen to, and then we went on a date and then, well, he became my husband. So there you have THAT.  

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and  Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros! Great night to end my summer concert series, especially getting to hear Om Nashi Me which I will confess I totally absolutely thought was a shortened version of a meditation I used to do, but apparently, is just completely made up, because it turns out shortening the phrase in fact basically renders it meaningless, SO HEY, something else I've been wrong about in my life. However, it's still an amazing song and one that I was so jazzed to hear live and bounce around in a crowd with others chanting along.

The Scene In Which I Meet LP!!!! And Yes, Geek Out.

I wrote this post two months ago and scheduled it to post a day later and then I sort of went on about life and never actually realized it didn't post until I went to reference it in another post and OH HEY.

Here you go.



Every so often I get really geekily excited about a piece of music that I hear somewhere that isn't the radio, like a TV show, commercial, etc, and then I spend a ridiculous amount of time and effort trying to find it.

Sometimes these end disappointingly, like the Canadian Pacific Rail holiday commercial last year where the one brother grows up playing with tractors and the other brother grows up playing with trains and you fast-forward ten years and one is a farmer and one is a train engineer and they get together for the holidays and it's all like "we're brothers but we can't show emotion" and so they give each other's kids presents instead and the train guy gives the farmer's kid a tractor and the farmer's kid give the train guy's kid a train like THEY USED TO PLAY WITH, and then they shake hands but then they really hug, and then everyone cries (specifically, I cry).

You don't believe me? Here. Grab a tissue.

Anyway, back to the point, TELL ME you don't want to know what that song is after. I do, because I want to listen to it like two thousand times more because (as you'll recall) I'm a geek like that. So I spend 40 minutes stalking it online, and discover that it's NOT A REAL SONG AND THEY JUST WROTE IT FOR THE COMMERCIAL AND WELL, SHIT.

So when I first saw the Citibank commercial where the girl is climbing the rock and it's a kind of kick ass song with an amazing female vocalist that I didn't recognize, I didn't get my hopes too high. What were the odds that Citibank just didn't have someone write them a little jingle?

But I still turned on my geek and searched around. And then I found songwriter- and now singer- LP. and "Into The Wild," the song.

Her album wasn't out yet, so I spent a good half -hour scrolling through various "OMG WHO SINGS THIS SONG" links until I found a download of it, which I promptly listened to 10,000 times until her iTunes album was released, which I then proceeded to begin listening to 10,000 time, and then last week, I was backing out of my driveway one morning when my favorite local radio station, WTTS, announced they were doing a free show that night with a promising emerging artist named LP and I about backed into my mailbox.

In a fit of irresponsibility I cancelled a night meeting, put off some to-do items, and headed out for a night on the town with Cute Husband who agreed to come along to hear "some girl that sings some song in some commercial" with me, despite the outdoor location and less-than-pleasant temps.

She gave a freaking bad-ass performance (note: the description is actually Cute Husband's, and though I certainly concur, I say this to illustrate just how talented she is) and then HOLY SHIT, THIS HAPPENED:

which is that I GOT TO MEET HER, and I might have geeked out even more than the time I was the biggest Babysitters Club fan ever and got to go to an Ann M. Martin book signing and I had all these things I wanted to tell her about how much I liked the books and my favorite character and I waited in line for an hour and what I finally said to Ann M. Martin was, "Hi."

(Brilliant. Bet she'd never heard that one.)

So I decided to go all out and just be my geeky honest self, and what I told her was, "Hi. That was a great show. And I can't lie, I totally can't even be cool right now because I about crashed my car this morning when I found out you were playing here,"

AND THEN SHE SAID, "Ha. That's awesome. You actually seem cool,"

AND THEN WE TOOK A PICTURE AND SHE SIGNED A POSTED FOR ME AND IT WAS THE BEST MONDAY OF THE SUMMER.

All because some song in a commercial got under my skin.

So there you have it. Be a geek about whatever you're a geek about. Maybe if you're lucky you'll wind up meeting the very person who inspired it.

The Scene In Which I Think That Was The Holidays

So, the holidays happened.

I mean, I'm pretty sure they did. There was mid-November, and now it's January 1st, and I'm 99% convinced that in the six weeks between those two points I logged a couple thousand miles on my car, went to Detroit, went to Chicago, went to Detroit again, went to Toronto, wrapped a bunch of gifts, sent a bunch of cards, cooked a bunch of food, ate a bunch of food, and generally was merry.

The week of Thanksgiving I drove around solo a lot, and I spent a lot of that driving time listening to NPR, except for the one time I crossed a state line and the channel change and I totally thought I was still listening to NPR but in fact I'd tuned into the Christian Family Values network, and let me tell you, NOT the same.

We spent Thanksgiving at my parents house in Chicago with Cute Boy and his family, which was good for a lot of laughs and some very yummy food. It was Princess's first Thanksgiving with us, since we got her just after it last year, and she was amazed by the idea that the whole day was dictated by the process of MAKING, BAKING, and EATING FOOD.

We actually had to lock her out of the basement, where the turkey roaster was, for fear she'd pull a sneaky move a la the dogs in "Christmas Story" and we'd wind up with Chinese for dinner.

This, of course, from our dog with the, shall we say, discriminating palate, whose antics lead me to have to send texts like this:
Me -> Cute Boy: Princess just ate one of your socks and then barfed it back up. It's in one piece but it's really gross so I'm just going to throw it out.

After I thankfully was able to visit her just before Thanksgiving, my grandma passed away the week after the holiday and my family went to Detroit in early December. While I'm sad that she's gone, I am grateful that she was spared long-term suffering, and it was really nice to see some of my dad's immediate and extended family. I can't honestly remember the last time we all got together, even with just his brother and sister, and I was especially glad to get to spend some time with my only cousin on his side and am really looking forward to that relationship developing.

I hosted an end-of-year party for the amazing girls who help me out at lilly lane, for whom I have to thank for an incredible year with a record-setting number of weddings! The party was also a surprise baby shower for one of our gals, who is expecting the first lilly lane baby in January. We decked out the kitchen and living room in pink and Cute Boy demonstrated extreme tolerance for having a whole lot of estrogen in the house.

I watched Christmas Vacation and am completely, entirely convinced that Chevy Chase's character in the scene where he goes off on his boss for enrolling him in the jelly club is based off of one of my Uncle Bob's rants.

I got jelly for Christmas from Uncle Bob's daughter. Even though it was totally not a reference to that movie at all (she just knows how much I freakin' love Traverse City Cherry Jam) it was funny, because, um, see above if you don't know why that was funny.

We went to a holiday concert at Butler, my alma mater. It was on the same night that IU, Cute Boy's alma mater, beat Kentucky. Pretty much every single IU alum was glued to the TV.

He watched the score auto-update on his phone while chatting with other alums during the pre-concert reception.

That's love, folks. I'ma marry that boy.

I surfed the Interwebs and Etsy and found approximately eight million adorable, easy holiday crafts that I wanted to make and I bookmarked them all and then I made exactly ZERO of them, which is fine. And then my aunt, who is awesomely crafty when it comes to knitting, actually made me one of the crafts that I had had the idea for last year except that it never left the idea stage for me whereas she actually DID IT, and I LOVE IT, IT'S SO AWESOME, and I am totally going to try to do more of my ideas this year, and by more I mean AT LEAST ONE.

I earned major awesome-future-wife points by buying Cute Boy skis for Christmas, and let me tell you, I am going to remember this for the future, because this is how THIS went down:
1) I told Cute Boy I would buy him skis and gave him a budget
2) He went out and did all the research
3) He went out and bought the skis
4) I paid for them
5) He put them out on display in his "man-room" and told everyone how awesome I was
6) He wore them around the house and told everyone how awesome I was
7) He booked a ski trip with a pal (code for: girls weekend for me at home!)
8) He put them by the tree and I stuck a bow on them.

Guaranteed love of the gift + no wrapping + no shopping +points for me = CHRISTMAS AMAZINGNESS.

I also got him a calendar. It's a tradition.

We spent Christmas in Indy with my parents (visiting from Chicago) and brother, Cute Boy's folks and sister, my aunt, uncle and cousin, and "Grandpa Ed," the neighbor we got Princess from when he went into a nursing home last year. Which, if you're keeping tally, means that yes, I hosted Christmas Day Dinner for 12 people in our house.

Unfortunately, I was apparently convinced that we had, in fact, already recieved the kitchen and cooking things we registered for recently, like, say pots and pans and baking pans? Which led me to do a whole lot of dishes and scrape together a whole lot of interesting cookware solutions and have to send a couple texts to my future sister in law that looked like this:
Me -> Sister: Can you bring some water glasses? Ours all say Coors Lite.

Me ->Sister: Also, can you bring some spoons?
Sister -> Me: Like, regular spoons? Or serving spoons?
Me -> Sister: Yeah.....both please.

I talked to my Grandpa on Christmas Day, which was sad because he was missing Grandma, but then just sort of odd because I'm pretty sure he thought I was actually my dad the whole time I was talking to him, so either he wasn't listening to me or my voice has hit a new low, no pun intended, in sexy huskiness. Either way, meh, it's cool.

My brother learned to cook and made an amazing roast and a couple side dishes, and my mom brought a ham, and I made the rest of the meal and breakfast and snacks and they actually all turned out OK and it miraculously ALL CAME TOGETHER at the right time and then at the end of the night after everyone left or was outside or was passed out I poured my mom and I shots of rum and made her drink one with me because I never realized how freaking hard it is to host a huge holiday party.

We went to Toronto for New Year's to visit Cute Boy's pals and family who live there (Cute Boy is Canadian, eh? Have I told you that yet?) and, as always, I discovered something new about the city, namely:

While out to dinner at Pangea, an amazing, amazing, amazing restaurant that Cute Boy's best friend (and best man) is chef at:
*rumble rumble rumble rumble rumble*
Me: What the eff is that? Is there some sort of freaking underground train here that I don't know about?
Cute Boy: Ummmm........you mean the subway?
Me: Get out, Toronto has a subway?
Cute Boy: *hysterical laughter*

Whatever dude, I didn't grow up here, the subway is effing UNDER THE GROUND and I just totally hadn't noticed it yet.

And then it was midnight on December 31st and 2011 came to a close and I got to kiss this really adorable blonde dude and I realized that HOLY HELL, we are getting married in less than four months, and if you think the HOLIDAYS went by fast- well, hang on, sister.

Happy New Year to you all!

The Scene In Which I Did Stuff This Summer. When, You Know, I Totally Didn't Blog.

Instead of ignoring the fact that I pretty much just neglected to do anything on this blog for, oh, four months out of the year, I decided I'd take you all on a little sneak peek into what I called "The Summer I Was Totally Busy, Yet Nothing New Happened," and by that I mean, we just sort of spent a few months doing the exact same things we'd been doing the months before.

Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely grateful for the summer I had! Cute Boy and I got to move into our new house, spend some time doing repairs, I was thrilled/ amazed/ humbled by all the weddings we did at the studio, and of course, we've been planning the wedding....and I managed to do most of it without causing bodily harm or hilarious damage to myself. Hence, no blog.

So here's what we did:

Went to the 500. Bought a house. Took a picture of it before we ripped it up. Ripped up yarn. (Princess.)

Celebrated a fabulous friend on a fabulous fortieth!

Made a ton of flowers.

Rolled right through the big one- and kept on going! Totally unrelated I'm sure, the car spent at least two days of every month in the shop this summer for assorted issues.

Went to see Peter Gabriel and the New Blood Orchestra in concert. Totally geeked out hearing Solsbury Hill live (with a transition to an orchestral Simple Gifts at the end. Gah. OMG). Nearly cried. Took zero pictures.

Tore out the weird pass-through, tube-TV, 1980s wannabe entertainment center. Ripped up the vaguely off-white-long-ago carpeting. Searched for new flooring. Bought new floors and had *help* transporting them home (Finnigan).

Made some flowers. Put some in bouquets. Put some around cupcakes. Put some on cakes.

Power washed the porch. Thanks Dad! Admired the cool stylized power-wash-sprayed name. Realized that the amount of dirt on our new porch was such that my dad could literally spray my name into it. Kind of shuddered.

Went to see Dispatch in concert. Totally geeked out hearing Elias, Carry You, The General, and pretty much every song they played live. Had a discussion with my fellow concert goers about how the youth of today have absolutey no pot-smoking-concealing skills. Debating blogging about that. Forgot. Took zero photos.

Made some more flowers. Some went in a tent. That was a long day.

Organized all my books into alphabetical order (Whatever, OCD.). Counted the number of each book (by author last name) to see which I had the most of. Debated writing a blog post about said counting. Forgot. Hung with some pals for 4th of July and checked out the new Tiger Forest at the Zoo on a quick break from a Zoo wedding setup.

More flowers.
Got new floors! Got a rug from Old Time Pottery. Got towed from Old Time Pottery. Got to experience Mom's first tow truck ride with her. Got the bill. That was fun. Debated writing a blog post about it. Forgot.

Made some brides happy! These four plus (in June, July, and August only) 31 more. Love happy brides!

Though I guess you'd be happy too if you got to eat cake. More flowers on cakes. Yum........

Got a fireplace! Got framing around a fireplace. Got walls around a fireplace. Took a nap.

Went to go see Indigo Girls in concert. Totally geeked out hearing Devotion live. Took zero photos.
Went to an EDM festival. Finally remembered to take some photos. Went backstage. Thanks future seeeeester!

Went to Atlanta with Brother for the second (hopefully annual) Cousins Trip. Got stalked by Earl Grey. Saw whale sharks at the Atlanta Aquarium. Crawled through the kid tubes. Went to a Twin Peaks themed bar that did not have pie. Heated discussion ensued.

More flowers for tables and bouquets. Tons of amazing flowers this summer.

Took naps on the bed. Took naps on the chair. Took naps on the floor. Went to the groomer's. Went swimming. (I want this life.)

Got paint. Put it on walls. Put it on clay pots. Stopped painting, had guests in town, and went to an Indians game. Caught the game winning ball- great shot I got of that, huh?!? Yeah.


..........that's all folks! Thanks for checking out the summer! :)

The Scene In Which If You Are What You Eat, I'm An Astronaut

Sooooo.....among the disproportionately long list of completely unhealthy things I've been feeding myself lately as I've worked long days getting all the centerpieces done for tonight's event would be today's lunch: a hot dog from Dairy Queen.

Seriously, they are SNEAKY FOLKS, those DQ people. They KNOW you want to check out the drive thru line. They KNOW you won't committ if it's too long. So what do they do?!? PUT A BARRIER UP. I literally HAD to order food, after turning into the parking lot.

So I got a hot dog. On the scale of unhealthy things I could have eaten for lunch, this probably ranks about a 6.

Fortunately, here in the state of Indiana we still surprisingly allow some things to not be deep-fried, so I avoided that. But I couldn't avoid the little hot dog factoid on the DQ box, which informed me that "In a single year, Dairy Queen sells enough hot dogs that if placed end to end, would reach from the Earth to the International Space Station and back....six times."

Huh. Really. Cool.

-stops. thinks. -

Wait.

-stops. thinks. -

Gross.

-stops. thinks.

- I mean, really. That's a LOT of hot dogs.

-stops. thinks. -

And they're cheap, too.

-stops. thinks. -

WHAT AM I EATING?!?!

aaaaaaaand there you have it. Whatever the reason may be, whatever provokes you, it's time to start thinking about these things we're eating that we call food. And maybe stop eating some of them.

The Scene In Which We Did Not Buy A House

You win some, you lose some. You love some.

But some have asbestos.

And roofs that weren't installed correctly.

With warranties that don't transfer.

And electrical hookups that could potentially light your house on fire.

Which you might be able to put out with water from the shower, but you can't use the shower, because it needs to be totally re-grouted.

Which probably means there's water in the walls.

Beyond the water you already found in the walls.

Which only adds to the moisture in the attic.

Which is there because all that moisture from the bathrooms hasn't been venting out correctly....and in fact is in your attic.

And to top it all off, the seller? Scares the crap out of you.

Because he's the kind of person who talks about how home inspectors scare buyers by "pointing out things that aren't really important."

Like asbestos.

And bad wiring.

And bad roofs.

So you decide that you love the house, but you don't love all the problems with the house, so you walk away. And you try again. To be continued.......

The Scene In Which We Buy A House!!

We bought a house!!!

After several weeks of searching for homes (and one unsuccessful, adrenaline-pumping 24-minute mad dash to submit a bid for a house we wanted that had gone up for auction that day) Cute Boy and I finally narrowed our search down to four, two smaller homes we liked in an area we loved and two larger homes we loved in an area we liked, about 10 minutes away from the first area.

The day before we were scheduled to look at them all, we learned that House #4 had sadly accepted another offer. Since we had loved that one, we asked Realtor Brad to find other houses in that area that might be on the market. Unfortunately, there isn't too much out there right now- apparently, folks tend to stay longer in those homes. (Green light!)

We did schedule one "mystery showing" for the end of the day, and took our parents and Justin's sister to see our top three choices. Each had their pros and cons, and let me tell you, they're easier to see through the eyes of others. (We didn't end up liking house #4, so I haven't included it.)

House #1:
My mom: This is cute!
Me: Yeah, I really like it.
My mom: The yard is nice, but are those businesses you can see over there?
Me: Yeah...that's the Mousetrap.
My mom: Whaaaaa?
Me: It's a bar.
My mom: Oh.
..........
.........
My mom: Well.......

House #2:
My dad: This is nice. I have a few ideas for easy ways you can make the rooms bigger, too.
Me: Yeah?
My dad: Yeah! See, I don't think this is a load bearing wall.....
Me: Uh huh.
My dad: So what you do is cut this wall out....
Me: Uh huh....
My dad: ......move it over here, move this door, move this window........
Me: Uh huuuuuuh....
My dad: .....then in THIS room, move THIS door here.......
Me: Um, I think we should go to the next house now.

House #3:
My dad: I like this house.
My mom: I like this house.
My future mother-in-law: I like this house.
My future seeeester: I like this house.
Cute Boy: We love this house.

So the next day?

We bought that house :)

Or I guess I should say, we put an offer on that house, it was accepted, and we are currently in the process of inspection/finalizing/insurance/preparing for closing in LESS THAN A MONTH!! Keep your fingers crossed for us that everything goes well!

The Scene In Which We Are House-Hunting! (Advice, please!)

It's official- Cute Boy and I are shackin' up!

We've been on the hunt for a few weeks now, checking out properties in and around Indy, and to be honest, I'm a little surprised at how well it's been going.

I think it's because Realtor Brad was due for some good house-hunting karma with me. A few years ago, Realtor Brad toured my brother and I around a couple places within our budget.

Including one with bullet holes.

We were due for some good houses, is all I'm sayin'.

But back to our search! Cute Boy and I are looking at a few different neighborhoods in town, and over the course of looking at about 15 or 16 different houses, have narrowed it down to two areas we like, with two houses in both areas.

And this is where, YOU GUYS, I am struggling.

I love them all.

There are things about them all that I don't love.

But there are lots more things I love.

In an ideal world, I want the adorable paint colors and awesome finished basement of the first....along with the neat 1930s features and neighborhood proximity of the second.....along with the backyard, deck, master bedroom bathroom & extra vanity of the third, with the open layout and split-level features and kitchen of the fourth......

.....but I can't have that.

Which is fine.

But I need some help, pals! When YOU were looking for the house you are in (especially if this involved purchasing/renting/obtaining said house with your significant other), how did YOU decide which one was the best for you? What features did you find you valued most highly? And, following the choice you made, what things did you realize later you didn't really care about?

The Scene In Which I Am In A Book!

Hey kids!

Just your average Monday morning...did a little laundry, checked email, caught up on a few blogs, and OH HEY, I'M IN A BOOK!! It's called Single.Women.Entreprenuers and it's available on Amazon!

I'll back up.

Several months ago, I met the amazing Erin Albert by chance via another Indianapolis entreprenuer, Tiffany Benedict Berkson- friend, neighbor, entrepreneur and history guru- as they grabbed a cup at Starbucks.

As Erin was in the process of speaking with Tiffany about the book she was currently working on (single women entreprenuers) Tiffany shared with Erin that I'd spent the past few years working on my own business and was now self-employed.

Erin and I exchanged info, and several days later she contacted me about sitting for an interview for her book!

Needless to say, I said yes.

The premise of the book, I learned, was to profile successful women entreprenuers who had all been unmarried (single, widowed, divorced) at the time they began their own business and print the interviews they gave.

Despite the fact that I started dating Cute Boy about, oh, thirty seconds after quitting my job to pursue my business full-time, I was single at the time I started lilly lane, and single at the time I left my full-time job, so I qualified.

And was interviewed.

And got really excited about the book.

And then realized that a LOT of women in the book are passionate female entreprenuers with years of experience who can speak eloquently, forcefully, and factually about statistics, trends, and a myriad of other topics on why women are better entreprenuers than men and why single women make better entreprenuers and why women need to be considered authorities and a LOT OF OTHER STUFF THAT I DID NOT TALK ABOUT, because what I DID talk about was how I really liked flowers and didn't like fundraising and my dad started his own business and I was like hey, this seems cool, I think I'll go do this now with NO experience and NO training and NO real foresight, but hey, it worked!

So I'm a little bit worried that next to these other women, I'm going to sound a little different.

Which I'm OK with.

Because if I'm being honest, I DIDN'T have a ton of experience when I started my business. I hadn't, and still haven't, read eight thousand books about the subject. If this book had existed prior to my starting, the odds that I would have stumbled across it, purchased it and read it are probably pretty slim. I'm just not that person. I didn't take a class, didn't write a 90-page business plan, didn't raise capital, and didn't do a whole lot of other things that maybe some other people do.

Which is actually pretty fantastic, because at the end of the day, I'm thinking this book exists to show women that you don't have to fit a mold to be a successful entreprenuer- you just need a good idea and decent work ethic.

You might learn a few other lessons, too.

But you'll have to get the book to find out!

The Scene In Which I Think My Dog Is Actually A Small Child

Our foster friend Princess has been with us for about three weeks now, and if the present situation is any indication, we're in for a lot of fun and snuggles with this one.

And a lot of patience.

I think she may actually be a small child, and by that I don't mean the "children of the four-legged sort," I mean there might actually be a small child going through her terrible two's while teething, crying and going through a destructive phase hiding inside my dog.

See, here's the thing. The last time I had a PUPPY was in the second grade when my family brought home Molly the Border Collie (yes, we'd actually refer to her as such on occasion). When I was in high school, we found Bennett, our first rescue golden, in a park. After Molly passed away Benson came to live with our family, another golden rescue. And when Bennett passed away, we took home Maggie, a -you guessed it- golden rescue.

Even Finnigan, despite his blindness and relatively young age at time of rescue (we think he was about two) came fairly housebroken and well-behaved. Sure, he peed in the house a few times, but he got over that pretty quickly, and he has been known to make some messes playing with a toy, but big deal.

So when we got Princess, I figured, "hey, whatever." She is at least 6 years old, so I figured the puppy-energy was gone, and as long as she was housetrained, we'd be fine.

Holy crow.

I was wrong.

In fact if there is any sort of good indication as to just HOW WRONG I WAS, it might be that I'm finding myself relating to my two favorite mommy-blogs as they write about all the weird things they've said outloud to their kids this week.

(Random sidenote? My favorite is "I don't believe you when you say you're afraid of corn." HILARIOUS!)

Because if she isn't actually a child, I'm pretty sure this dog, in fact, has been sent by the angels to teach me what it will be like to have toddlers one day.

Or she's a demon.

Either way.

Overheard at our house this week:

"Please don't bite him."

"No, that is Finnigan's food, not yours."

"My glove is not a chew toy."

"No, this is Finnigan's treat. You just ate yours."

"My hat is not a chew toy."

"NONONONONONONO!" (Peeing on the rug. AGAIN.)

"My hairbrush is not a chew toy."

"No, this is Finnigan's food. This is yours."

"What do you have? Put that down. Don't put it in your mouth."

"Hey! Drop that! Gimme that. Gimme that out of your mouth. Open your mouth."

"That's his food. I said THAT'S HIS FOOD! Hey, that's HER FOOD! Come on guys-that's not your food! Ok, if you want to eat out of each other's dishes that's fine. Whatever."

"My underwear is not a chew toy."

She's lucky she's stinkin' cute.

The Scene In Which We Kind Of Have A New Dog

In case you don't follow me on Facebook (which would mean I don't actually really know you)(which would be kind of strange)(which is fine), you may not be aware of the addition of a certain adorable blonde to our home.

A 60lb, shedding, kissing, barking, whining, cuddling, food-stealing, food-nomming, rug-pooping, toy-destroying, water-bowl-splashing, absolutely adorable little angel :)

SERIOUSLY, THIS FACE.

Did I mention she sleeps on the floor right next to our bed at night?

Sigh.

Did I also mention she's (justifiably, as she's spent the first five years of her life living outdoors) sort of just about, but maaaaaaybe not completely housebroken?

SIGH.

But it's still absolutely worth it. We are currently fostering her for an elderly neighbor. Though very, very loved by her owner, she has been an outdoor dog for her entire life. Despite this, she's rapidly become accustomed to two tasty meals a day out of her own brand-new ceramic bowl, a comfy bed to sleep on of her very own, and a bucketful of squeaky toys (Finnigan could care less about them, so they just sort of stockpile).

The squeaky toys are the best. This is a dog who (again, though very very loved) has probably not had many toys in her life. She loves them. ALL of them. ALL the toys belong to her.

She tosses them up in the air to herself.

She noses them around the floor.

She cuddles them.

And then she tires of them, rips their heads off, and disembowels them across the rug.

It's a little disturbing.

But seriously. THE FACE.

It gets me.

It gets Cute Boy too :)

The Scene In Which I Do Not Want To Fly

I have to get on a plane, and it's freaking me out.

Before you ask, no, it's not for Thanksgiving (tomorrow). It's not even for Christmas (a month away).

It's in MARCH.

More specifically, at the END OF MARCH.

But in my family there's something to being prepared, and kids, let me tell you, I am prepared to be completely f-ing freaked out, especially since I am already f-ing freaked out.

I haven't always been this way.

There was a time, and not all that long ago, when the idea of flying didn't freak me out. Airline travel was something interesting, even fun.

Then I moved to Indiana and my allergies got bad, which made my ears react sort of the way a five-year-olds might and develop weird vertigo-ish tendencies during take offs and landings.

Sort of making me feel like the plane was crashing at any given second during both events.

Super.

Then I was in a couple flights in a row where there was really bad turbulence. Also not helpful.

I'm pretty sure that my solo flight home from San Diego following an AFP conference two years ago was the actual first panic attack. Descending into Denver during a thunderstorm? Not cool. Still owe huge gratitude to the grandfatherly gent who talked me down (literally: he talked to me during the entire 20-minute descent into Denver).


Followed closely by my horrendous, weather-delayed, turbulent voyage to Omaha during which the on-leave, 19-year-old cute little Marine had to distract me (read: poor freaked out old chick) during the entire turbulent flight with stories about how he was injured by an IED. Seriously.

And then this happened.

(From a Scene in 2009 describing our flight home from Paris): "during which we encountered the type of turbulence that makes the pilots yell for the flight attendants to sit, the aforementioned attendants to squinch their eyes closed, and for half of the passengers to actually scream as we nose-dive several hundred feet in, oh, about two seconds."

Oh yes, that's right. I was ON A PLANE THAT FELL OUT OF THE SKY.

So it shouldn't come as a total surprise that I'm not that excited about getting into a TIN CAN and being LAUNCHED THOUSANDS OF FEET INTO THE AIR in the hands of WHOEVER THE DUMBASS AT THE HELM IS and being at the total mercy of the elements.

NO THANKS.

Since the lovely flight to Paris I've only gotten on a plane once, to head to Florida. I seriously didn't know how I was going to go through with it. Thankfully, Cute Boy and xanax came to the rescue.

But I'd like to avoid this in the future, particularly as "taking xanax" for the purpose of air travel might aaaaaaaactually mean "taking one xanax the day before, taking one xanax the day of, having a couple glasses of wine before the flight takes off, staggering out of the airport three hours later, and puking out the side of the car on the way home."

Theoretically.

I need a solution, kids. And I need one now. So I don't have to spend the next four months freaking out.

The Scene In Which I Review Things (Pillsbury Brownie Minis Edition)

Occasionally I have the opportunity to try new things, and as you'd expect, more often than not I have an opinion about those things. This would be one of those times.

I've been trying to be a little more cost-conscious lately, so when I saw a coupon for Pillsbury's new "Brownie Minis" I thought, well heck. Why not.

I finally got around to making them today, since I am (ahem, ahem) actually cooking dinner tonight and figured they'd be yummy to have for dessert.

With that, here's the Pros and Cons of Brownie Minis.

PRO: Two recyclable trays are included to make the brownies in.
CON: Two unreuseable, plastic, wasteful trays are included to make the brownies in.

PRO: Recyclable trays lessen clean up time.
CON: They recommend you put a tray underneath to catch drips, which you still have to wash.

PRO: You don't need to add eggs, just water.
CON: That means there's some kind of synthetic egg crap in them. Gross.

PRO: You can lick the bowl since there aren't any fresh eggs in them.
CON: You can't lick the bowl...unless you're willing to forfeit 1/12 of the mix.

PRO: You can make only half a batch at once.
CON: WHO THE HELL makes only half a batch at once?

PRO: They're neatly divided into 12 individual servings, and if you only eat 2, it's only 150 calories!
CON: WHO THE HELL only eats two??

PRO: With a coupon, they cost less than regular brownie mix.
CON: With or without a coupon, they produce less than regular brownie mix.

PRO: They cook in half the time of regular brownies.
CON: There's really no con to that. But seriously, who cares about the extra 10 minutes? Are you THAT desperate for brownies?

My verdict? Skip the minis, buy a regular mix, and use a reuseable mini-cupcake pan to bake them if you want the individual sizes. Better overall for your wallet and your world. Plus, FTW, the clean-up time you'll have burns calories, which means you can eat more brownies!

This review was unsolicited and uncompensated. Pillsbury definitely did not request that I try or talk about this product. KThanksBye.

The Scene In Which Jane Has An (Everlasting) Heart Condition

Meet Jane.

Jane's got a dream. She's got ambition. She's got "that thing" you can't help falling in love with.

Which brings us to another thing Jane's got.

A heart condition...one that many of you are probably familiar with.

Love.

And Jane? She fell hard.

She wrote about the experience and let me take a sneak peek into one of her diaries. This entry, from 2009, was written shortly after Jane moved to the Big City of Chicago.

-------------------------------

October 15th, 2009

OKAY! So I have officially living away from everything I've ever known and loved for exactly 2 months 5 days and 4 hours...something like that! I am finding myself to be someone that I don't recognize anymore, sort of. Does that make sense?

My roommates Becky* and Les are great, well I don't see Becky that much but Les is one of the best friends I've got here. He is amazing! The other day he was making me breakfast, which was awesome by the way, he was saying something and I just remember getting lost in what he was saying all I could see was (prepare yourself for some awesome cheesiness) his giant smile! Seriously he just.....just...he brings me to a loss! He is one of those people that walks into a room and makes that room just a little more enjoyable to be in. When he's not home all I wonder if or when he's gonna get home....and who he might bring home(which is a whole other thing). I am sure I am just feeling this way because of the recent break up with Noel and moving to a new city blah blah blah. I mean just because I think he's amazing doesn't mean we have to "be" together ya know? Plus he is one of those guys/people that breaks your heart over and over again!

So my two goals this month are 1. Put Les in the friend zone 2. Find publisher in Chicago 3. Word of the Month: feckless.

-Jane

PS: Noel won't stop calling me!
PSS: Noel has made feckless attempts at getting me back....(I think that's right...hmmmm...)

*Becky who writes this blog is not Jane's roommate.

--------------------------

Now, if you're anything like me, you want to know what happens to Jane. Does she get back with Noel? Does she fall for Les? Is Les the guy who breaks her heart? Does she use "feckless" correctly?

I know I want to find out what happens to Jane, but if you want to know, here's what you have to do:

Fund the ending of her story.

You see, while Jane is a love-loving loveable gal, she's also the brainchild of writer Stephanie Wyatt, director Drew Pientka, and producer Kelli Weber.

And without YOUR help, Jane may never find her love....or finish her film.

So what can YOU do? Log on to Kickstarter.com and pledge to donate $10, $50, $100, $1000, or whatever you can afford towards Jane's condition. The film needs to raise $15,000 between now and July 18th.

If they do, you'll get to find out how Jane's story ends.....and if they don't, you'll be left wondering forever (though, as a cool Kickstarter feature, if they don't reach their goal you won't be charged what you pledged).

You can watch an unedited teaser of the film, plus an interview with Stephanie Wyatt and "Les" (Matt Devine) on the site, plus learn more about what they need- namely, as Matt says, for everyone to "pony up some dough!"

Please join me in backing Jane in her crusade for love!!

The Scene In Which We Have A Perfect Day (And Then Lose Some Brain Cells) And Other Random Things.

Today was a lovely day!

Following some drunken debauchery fun times at a wedding last night, Cute Boy was feeling a bit rough this morning. Having enjoyed myself as well - on top of delivering two events and setting up a wedding that morning - I was a little slow on the upstart too.

(Random side story? I did NOT have sore feet, because at the wedding last night, they had awesome baskets full of flip-flops for all the girls to change into! BEST IDEA EVER!)

Back to the morning.

First off, I slept in.

Which means "later than 7AM."

It was awesome.

Then I made amazing french toast with the world's best cinnamon bread and we crashed on the sofa, tuning into and then (wait for it) actually watching the entire "Amy Fisher: My Story."

I blame french toast coma.

At any rate, around hour 3 of laying on the couch I started to feel like I was in danger of my ass becoming permanently glued to the seat, so I dragged Cute Boy up and we headed to Holiday Park for a walk with Finn, who, ohmygodLOVED running in and out of the river.

(This exists!! In INDIANAPOLIS!! Doesn't it make you think of strolling around in European parks?? Love.)

(On the pillars at Holliday Park - my new favorite quote!)

(Finnigan is so stinkin' cute!!)

We met up with Cute Boy's sister and her pup Olly and then had a looooong late lunch at Plump's in Broad Ripple, which BTW? two thumbs up on the wraps.

And then we came home and turned on - wait for it - The MTV movie awards.

And for the past hour have been watching and listening to such brainiacs as Nicole "Snooki" from Jersey Shores (who, when outside on the red carpet, presented an award prior to the show and then looked behind her for the celebs to appear to collect it ROTFLMAO) and Kristin Stewart, who is really excited about winning her award "I guess."

I really, really, really do not want to watch Jersey Shores in Miami this summer, but I have a sinking feeling I'm going to wind up hooked.....if only so I can see it if that crazy short girl gets punched again. Who's with me???

The Scene In Which I Review Books

A little over a year ago I started my first blog, "Just Can't Stop Reading," with the big, shiny idea that I was going to review books. And eventually find fame and (possibly) fortune as an online book reviewer. In my dreams, that fortune came in the form of free newly released hardbacks, a thought that still makes me shimmy a little.

I lasted approximately three months and about four book reviews.

Ahem.

As many of you know, it's been a crazy year doing this whole "be my own boss" thing. But I feel like that's finally getting under control. So last night, I finally got back on the book review track.

And if I last long enough to write another review, I hope you'll join me over there in reading them, commenting on them, and otherwise participating in the cool online world of blogging.

Happy Reading!

The Scene In Which I Am NOT Going To Be A Retail Florist

Recently, I had the opportunity to shine up my selling skills and host a small "shop" for my florist business during the Decorators' Show House. For two weeks and three weekends, I had the opportunity to interact with the people who came to the house.

For those who do not, and have not, worked in retail- may this post serve to educate.

For those who already operate successful retail businesses, this was my christening of sorts into that world. And yes, I can hear you laughing already.

Let me first start by saying that there were many nice people that I met, handed out business cards to, and who purchased merchandise from my area. And for that, I am grateful beyond words that my handmade products are considered worthy and valuable to people other than my mom and grandma.

And then there were these folks. In each interaction I will refer to them as PB (Potential Buyer).

To give you a slight bit of background on my booth - I am a wedding/special event florist. I relaxed my normal "no cash and carry" offerings to provide silk wreaths and decor, kalanchoe and azalea plants in potted ceramic planters, and a "Fresh Flower Bar" where people could pick out and take fresh flowers home in an arrangement I would make for them on the spot. That's it. That's what you've got to choose from in my area.

Customer 1:
PB (reaching out to touch, then squeeze, head of $2 rose right over the "DO NOT TOUCH" sign): Are these real?
Me: Yes, they are.
PB: Oh. I thought they looked too good to be fakes.
Me: Would you like me to make you a little bouquet to take home?
PB: Nope! (touching roses. touching daisies. touching all the flowers)(because darn it, if she's not taking them home, no one is!!) (seriously these crazies killed about two dozen roses this way).

That interaction happened about eighteen times a day, no exaggeration. I had SEVEN "DO NOT TOUCH" signs posted within a 3' x 3' area. Apparently FOR NO REASON.

Customer 2:
I look over (from about five feet away) to see this woman yanking flowers out of the Flower Bar (yep, the one with the DO NOT TOUCH signs all over it). Petals of other flowers she is destroying in the process are literally raining down on the floor.
Me: Can I help you make a bouquet?
PB: I want these flowers.
Me: Yes, that is great. Can you allow me to help make them for you? (aka STEP DOWN, CRAZY, you're killing everything in your path!)
PB: Well (yank) I just can't (yank) get these couple (yank) ones out without (yank) touching them, so I saw the do not touch sign (yank) but how am I supposed to get them otherwise?
Me: Ok, please stop. Please. Please let me help you not to damage any more flowers while we take those out for you.
PB: (Notices floral carnage) Oh. (Mercifully stops).
Me: Thank you. Now, what can I make for you?
PB: Well, I really just wanted this $1 worth of wax flower.
Me: ......................................(buries head in hands at sight of $20 worth of destroyed flowers).

Customer 3, 4, and 5 (through 8 million)
There was a lovely, if I do say so myself, silk wreath hanging in my booth. I'd used several high-priced silks to make it, and it was completely covered in large blooms, so the cost was $80. Not terribly unreasonable, given what it cost to create it. I also marked it down to $70 during the show. Approximately EIGHT MILLION PEOPLE touched, squeezed, shook, pulled on, and literally groped this wreath during the duration of the show. Here are just a few of them.

PB: This is lovely! How much? (I'd like to point out, the price tag was bright red and affixed to the wreath in a very obvious place.)
Me: Thank you. It's $80.
PB: $80! (Turns to her friend but continues to look at me, speaks in stage whisper) It's AMAZING how much they upcharge these!

PB: (Touch. Squeeze. Grope.) This is really cute. Is it really $10 marked down from $80???
Me: No, sorry, it's $70 marked down from $80.
PB: Oh.
-Pause-
PB: Well, I'd give you $10 for it.
Me: No. (Seriously? No.)

PB: (Touch. Squeeze. Grope.) I like this. Would you take less for it?
Me: Nope, sorry. 15% is a donation to the cause and the silks are high quality and cost quite a bit to produce.
PB: Ok. (Literally starts yanking at the blooms trying to pull them OFF the wreath).
Me: (Staring) Can you please not damage the wreath?
PB: (LOUD, IMPATIENT EXHALE) I'm just TRYING to figure out where you GOT these so I can go MAKE my own!!!
Me: Riiiiiiight....still, please stop damaging it.

The potted plants were also a high source of consternation. Apparently, once upon a time at another Show House, a landscaper offered large potted plants for your deck/steps and large potted hanging baskets for the home. I don't do that. Apparently I should.

PB: Where are you selling hanging baskets?
Me: I'm sorry, I'm not. That vendor is not here this year and I do not offer that service.
PB: (Staring me down)....Why NOT???
Me: I just don't. I'm a special event florist, it's not my specialty, I don't carry the supplies.
PB: Well, why NOT???
Me: Yeeeeeah. It's really just a "no."

PB: Are these potted plants?
Me: Yep.
PB: (To her friend, in another "stage whisper"). Remember when they used to have the NICE potted plants?
Me: Um, I can hear you.

PB: (Currently manhandling azalea plants with big "SOLD" signs around them)
Me: Can I help you?
PB: I'd like one of these azaleas.
Me: Those are sold, but I have two more of the same plants over here.
PB: (Sighing as if COMPLETELY weary of having to deal with SUCH incompetence): I KNOW. But I don't WANT those, I WANT these.
Me: Well, those are sold, but I have these two.
PB: I don't WANT those two. I want the ones that are SOLD.
Me: Yeeeeeeah, I'm not going to sell you those, they are sold.
PB: (SIIIIIIIIIIIIGH). Fine. (Flounces off).

Then there were the ladies who, inexplicably, treated all other shops as shops and my shop as a rest area/lunch spot/waiting room.

Me: (to a woman standing in my booth, staring at the fresh flowers, standing about an inch from me) Hi! Can I make you a bouquet today?
PB: (LOOK OF DEATH bears down on me) UM, I'm all-ER-GIC.
Me: Oh, sorry! We do have some silks if you're interested.
Her: (LOOK OF DEATH gets worse) Silks? Ugh. Silks are SO awful.
Me: Ohhhhkay, well, I don't know that there is anything here for you, then.
Her: (Condescending doesn't even begin to describe it) Well, NO, of COURSE there isn't. But I am WAITING on my FRIEND."
Me: "Riiiiiiight."

Me: (to a woman who has not only entered my booth, but has SAT DOWN in my chair and is leafing through her booklet): Hi, can I make a bouquet for you?
PB: (looking at me like I've just crawled out of the garbage heap): No? I'm just FILLING OUT MY BALLOT.
Me: Riiiiight, ok. (Continue to stand near her in her personal space so maybe she gets the hint).
PB: (Clues in to where she's sitting and what I've asked her. Looks at the flowers next to her and inquires scathingly) Did you mean with THESE??
Me: Guess not.

The discount ladies were another story altogether. Seriously, folks, it cost $20 to get into this event. It wasn't like it was some freebie off the street. These ladies treated the shops like they were a personal yard sale.

PB: I like that wreath. It's $60, right?
Me: Yep.
PB: Would you take less for it?
Me: Nope, sorry. 15% is a donation to the cause.
PB: Well, you know, it's the last day and all. I'm sure you'd rather sell it than take it home....?
Me: Nope. I'd rather sell it for $60. It's ok if it doesn't sell today, it's silk.

PB: Those flowers are nice. How much are the roses?
Me: Thanks! They are $2 each.
PB: Oh. Would you take $2 for two?
Me: No, sorry.
PB: What would you bargain on?
Me: Ummmmm.....prices are as marked.

PB: I think I'd like one of these $15 bouquets. How much are they?
Me: $15
PB: Oh. You're not selling them for less because it's the last day?
Me: No, sorry, that actually IS a discount from what they're worth.
PB: So what do they cost?
Me: $15
PB: Ok, but I'm a *insert membership in various organization here*. What does it cost for ME?
Me: $15
-blank stare-
PB: Um.....ok.

And that settles it, folks. If I had any aspirations of ever wanting to subject myself to this on a daily basis, I'd become a retail florist. My hat goes off to anyone with the ability to do this and NOT murder someone, 'cause I came close around the same time the nine thousandth person fingered that damn $70 wreath.

In closing, I want to thank the girls around me who shared in the incredulousness that was our PB's, and urge you to patronize their cool businesses!

Twisted Sisters
The Blue Door (65th & College)
Sew Divine
Periwinkle Paper and Home (on Guilford in Broad Ripple)
Ruth's Gifts (At Shows Only)
Friends (Hazel Dell Crossing in Noblesville)

I'd love to hear YOUR stories of retail craziness. Leave a comment and we'll publish some of our favorites!!

The Scene In Which Something Big Descends From Heaven

Something amazing has descended from heaven just in time for the upcoming Christian holiday of Easter, and it's not Jesus.

It's better than Jesus.

(Folks, it's called creative license. Go with me here.)

Recently I was having a discussion about Cadbury creme eggs with someone (for the life of me I can't remember who) and the conversation turned from their chocolatey, soft-fondant filled supreme gooey yummines to, well, their not-so-awesome packaging and size.

Practially guaranteed to melt and drip all over your fingers, these little eggs also come wrapped in a pathetically small amount of oft-ripped foil, making you cringe as you realize that you've mistakenly grabbed one in the store that has been exposed to not just your grimy mitts, but those of everyone who reached into the container before you.

Sidenote- I remember who it was that I was talking to. It was the checkout guy at CVS, because I was getting one of them as a splurge when I went in to pick up some things for my trip. It was the one that always chats to everyone about what they're buying, and the reason he lit on the Cadbury eggs was because, um, the other items in my basket were a bottle of shampoo, my no-baby pills and Tampax. (Which, as we all know, you Do. Not. Make. Conversation. About. with the checkout folks. Seriously, it's bad enough that people who graduated from my university work at the pharmacy and I have to go in there and be all like oh hey, I used to have astronomy with you! Um, yeah, I need a refill of my no-baby pills. Thanks.)

Anyway.

Back to the important stuff.

Because today, I made one of the most important Eastertime discoveries since the tomb door rolled back and old Jesus wasn't inside.

Mini. Cadbury. Creme. Eggs.

By the dozen.

In a mini plastic egg container.

Love.

And not the ones we've all seen and THOUGHT were the mini-creme eggs but then turned out to be just plain milk chocolate Cadbury eggs or, worse, Cadbury knock-offs filled with peanut butter or crunchiness.No, folks, these were honest-to-goodness, bite-sized, no-mess, no-grimy-mitts-touching, Cadbury creme eggs.

It was like one of those moments where the clouds break, the beam of light shines down, and the chorus sings, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

It's good stuff.

Now if you'll excuse me.....

PS: Despite the blatant product placement, I was not in any way endorsed by Cadbury for the publishing of this post. But if anyone from Cadbury happens to read this, I'm open to the opportunity. Just send 3 samples of each item in your catalogue and I'll get right on those reviews!

The Scene In Which I Go Skiing and Other Winter Tales

Last week, Cute Boy had MLK, Jr. day off from work and decided it was time to do something fun.

Now, remember, Cute Boy is Canadian, so naturally his idea of fun is to throw on a significant amount of clothing and go do something weird in freezing cold conditions, like run around on ice with blades attached to your boots while you attempt to maim your fellow man with large blocks of rubber propelled by sticks and the occasional punch to the groin, nose or head- i.e.; hockey.

My idea of fun usually involves less cold and/or violence, but because I've been working on this "trying new things" thing, we decided to go skiing.

Or rather, we decided that Cute Boy would go skiing, and I would attempt to learn how to go skiing.

Cute Boy's sister decided to come along for the ride, namely because she was at risk of her Canadian citizenship being revoked as she hadn't been skiing in a number of years.

We donned (or, you know, stopped to purchase and THEN donned) our respective layers of ski clothes. In my case, I was looking to fill two objectives: 1)Insulation; 2)Padding. Therefore my clothing of choice included knee-high socks, padded hiking winter socks, hot pink long underwear leggings, sweatpants, waterproof ski pants, a patagonia level-3 shirt, a thin-cotton turtleneck, a thick-cotton turtleneck, my down coat, a hat, and fingerless mittens to wear under ski gloves borrowed from Cute Boy.

Remember that scene from "A Christmas Story" where the kid gets all bundled up by his mom and then starts freaking out and she unwraps the muffler and he goes, "I can't put my arms down!" and she tells him to put his arms down when he gets to school and wraps him back up?

Yeah.

We arrived at Perfect North, rented our equipment, and suited up in a reasonable amount of time, considering it was difficult for me to tell the difference between a right boot and a left boot, not to mention requiring a lesson in both putting on skis and putting on your other ski glove when you've already got one on.

Then we hit the slopes.

Or rather, the bunny slope.

Despite the sign warning "Friends don't let friends teach them how to ski," I was fairly confident in Cute Boy's ability to teach me the basics- my only concern was how quickly he'd become frustrated with my frequently anticipated falls.

I'll spare you the story of my three successful runs down the ridiculously steep sheet of ice they called a run gently sloping bunny hill, except to say that there were waaaay too many people on it for the fact that most people there don't know how to ski yet and seriously? I do not like being passed by 5-year olds.

Following the bunny hills we ventured to a higher start point on the bunny hill, and after one run of that, Cute Boy and Cute Boy Sister decided I was ready to go up on a lift.

Ummmmm, I'm not sure about this......

We went up the lift.

To everyone's surprise, especially mine, I was halfway decent at skiing! The hill we chose was fairly gentle and sloping, and my first "real run" was a success, despite one or two falls. Basically, I was having trouble turning on my left side, and would panic when I couldn't turn as fast as I wanted to. With the option of slowing down via tree or slowing down via snow skid, I was opting for the snow skids and sort of "control falling" as I worked on learning to stop.

Whatever, they're MY falls and I'll justify them any way I want.

After a couple runs down the nice hill, CB and CBS decided I was ready for my next challenge- another hill that was "just a liiiiittle bit steeper." What the heck! I was ready!

I was not ready.

I SOOOO was not ready.

To give you an idea of how not ready I was, the hill consisted of two parts: first, a steeper hill that ran about 50 yards or so before depositing you on a plateau, after which you went down the larger, slightly less steep hill.

Number of falls on the first part? At least three.

I should have learned my lesson from that much but noooooo, I tackled the run.

It wasn't pretty.

I was laughing/crying/trying not to die too much to remember all the details, but I'm pretty sure I fell at least twice in less than 5 feet, I think several other skiiers nearly ran me down, I know that on several occasions Cute Boy had to stand in front of me to help me get up, and I think my finest moment was somewhere around halfway down when I sat down in the snow after a fall, threw my poles about a foot in either direction, and announced to everyone within 50 yards that I was NOT. HAVING. FUN. ANYMORE.

I'm not sure how we finally made it down, but it was at this point that I wanted/needed/demanded a break, so while CB and CBS went on a few more runs, I headed into the lodge for a simultaneous cool-down and warm-up.

I'm pleased to say that after regrouping, I did put my skis back on and head back out for a few more runs (though no more down the Hill O'Death.) Sadly, I missed accomplishing my goal of skiing an entire run without falling by the narrowest of margins and by the misfortune of winding up skiing next to some shithead 16-year old kid who wouldn't get off my butt and let me do my "swishy S's" across the run and sent me plunging into my last fall of the day (punk).

At least I left with my pride....if not a bruise on my butt that would stay with me for a week or so afterwards. But despite the number of falls I took, I'm actually looking forward to going again!!

Little did we know that skiing day would lead to a most pleasant run of January weather, during which even I (aka the coldest person on the face of Earth) ventured outdoors in just a sweater and scarf. Sadly, this weather came to a screeching halt two days ago, and despite the fact that I enjoyed the gorgeous sun today, HOLY MOTHER it is cold out there. Poor Finnigan froze his paws three times on our requisite "walk" around the block- which today was more like a sprint, given that it was one of those days where your snot kinda freezes in your nose when you breathe.

Have I mentioned we booked our tickets for Florida in March yet? We did. I can't freaking wait.

Have I mentioned that we went to Toronto over New Year's? We did. It was awesome. I had the best time seeing the sites, drinking Tim Horton's, and hanging out with some of Cute Boy's friends and I am really really looking forward to going back in the summer when it isn't 4 degrees out.


We also spent a hilarious night with some friends last weekend where I continued the "trying things that I don't think I'll be good at and thereby don't try so I won't be embarrassed" trend, by playing both Sing Star and Wii Bowling and OH MY GOODNESS, I love me some Sing Star and some Wii Bowling. I am already pumped for a rematch of Sing Star with some of the girls and can't wait until Cute Boy wants to play Wii Bowling with me.

In other winter tales, I have been asked to participate in the "Super Knits for Super Bowl" project, in which myself and other Indianapolis-based knitters will be making nearly 8,000 blue-and-white scarves for 2010 Super Bowl Volunteers to wear while they help out with the big event! I'll keep you posted on my scarves and how they turn out......that is, of course, if the NFL doesn't wind up with a lockout season. Apparently we're in danger of that (though this could have been resolved since Cute Boy told me about it last week- since let's be honest, I would be clueless if he hadn't explained it.)

And in final winter news, I've spent several of these cold dark days looking at studio spaces for my home business to be, well, not a home business in anymore! Yes, fans, the dream has come true and we are officially calling the experiment of quitting my job to do "this flower thing" a success. Keep checking back for more info when I find a space- I'm sure there will be lots of fun opportunities for me to battle inanimate objects as I work to paint, build, move and otherwise set up a new studio!

Hope Old Man Winter is treating you well, and let's all hope the groundhog does whatever he's supposed to next week so that we don't wind up with more winter!