My Life

Pop-Up Birthday

We like handmade around here. Geo made me a handmade card with a pop-up cake and candles. Clever! 

Don’t Eat the Snow

Taking a late night walk and eating snow in 2007

 

I’m sitting in the pink room, on break from work… trying to summon up the energy to go downstairs to make a cup of tea. But I’m watching CNN’s coverage of Nemo; it just  makes me want to curl up with a warm blanket in front of a cozy fire. Maybe coax someone else into making tea. It looks COLD out there. And crazy blizzard white already. Brrr…

I hope if you’re in the path of this storm, you are safe and surrounded by loved ones. I’m holding good, warm thoughts for you. Praying your power will stay on and that you have a someone to bring you tea. Stay safe and warm and INSIDE friends. And, um, maybe don’t eat the snow. 

My Kingdom For a Red Dress

Anthropologie is taunting me. Again. 

This falls underneath the “Darn it, I can’t wear silk and can’t justify $200 for a dress right now” column. But, in my imaginary closet of impossibility: this dress is the reigning monarch.  (And that wall is pretty impressive too.)

At Last

At Last by Lollia

 

For Christmas, I bought IZ a fragrance sampler from Sephora. He’s worn the same fragrance for years and he was looking for a change. But differentiating colognes at a mens’ fragrance bar is a next to impossible task. It all starts to smell the same. And even if you can find something you prefer, there’s always the acid test of wearing it. 

Sephora and a trip to Portland to the rescue. The sampler lets you try 20 different colognes and gives you certificate to trade in for a full size bottle of the cologne you like best. It seemed like a good way to try something new without  making a committment to a fragrance in the store.

How pretty is that packaging. . . and I have a new appreciation for yellow all over again. Maybe I should reconsider the paint?

Being IZ,  he’s keeping detailed records about each sample. Mostly based on my reactions. Let’s face it, when you’re in a relationship, fragrance isn’t a unilateral decision. Not if you’re smart, anyhow. Not if what you adore makes your sweetheart sneeze or curl their nose or make them say, “Oh, my grandma used to wear that!”  The choosing of scent becomes this subtle negotiation. Do I love it. Does he crave it?. . . Do I smell uniquely like me? Will she notice?

So far, there have been a couple of real winners: but I’m still waiting for the the ultimate cologne that will past my litmus test: will I follow you, or a strange man, around a store just to catch a whiff of it. I’ll never admit to doing this, of course; but if I’m being honest, there is something lovely about a great smelling man. Ahem. 

I’ve worn Lollia’s Wish since 2007, I think. Maybe 2008, I forget; I just know I’ve got several empty bottles stashed away because they’re too pretty to toss. (hoarder!) I layer the fragrance with bath gel and lotion and  I am not tempted to follow women around stores if they are wearing a pretty perfume. That would be creepy. When it comes to my fragrance, I can’t even be tempted by pretty packaging.

It’s soft and floral and reminds me of sunshine. Lollia sells smaller tubes for about $8–an inexpensive way to try a fragrance. 

However, lately, I’m jealous. IZ gets out of his shower smelling like a different man, a new man. Somedays, a man I make up excuses to talk to during work, just so I can catch a whiff of his cologne. He’s not driven by his nose like I am, and he says he loves my perfume, but he’s not following me around the house. I’m delusional, but I may be in a rut as well. 

Yesterday, we walked around Cannon Beach. It was 50 degrees, sunny, and we desperately needed a break. There was a tester tube of this lotion in a store. I had seen the packaging online and I’d wondered what it smelled like. I never pass up an opportunity for hand lotion in the winter or ever really,  so, I dabbed some on. I was immediately intoxicated. 

“Here,” shoving my hand under his nose, “smell this. . . ” 

“Uh-huh… pretty.” 

(Short of wearing a fragrance that smells like prime rib, I probably need to let it go.) And then I spent the rest of the afternoon smelling my hands and sighing so much, that IZ went back to the store and bought me a tube of the stuff before we left.

It totally feels like I’m cheating–but I don’t feel like me, either. I feel new. At last. 

Dear Brain, Have a Piece of Chocolate

Let’s call this an incentive. 

 

Like most Americans, weight loss is on my mind this time of year. Losing weight and getting more exercise are the top New Year’s Resolutions in this country. And looking at my expanding waistline, I’m not surprised. However, this is not going to be a whiney post about how much I’ve packed on due to my now sedentary job and extreme lack of sunshine. This is a post about chocolate.

I have a serious love affair with chocolate. Certain times of the month my obsession is downright pathological. I need it almost as much as I need tea. But unlike tea, it’s not exactly sugar free or diet friendly.

And exercise? Um…  I tell myself that I enjoy exercising. Every day. “Self, you love this. Yes, you do.” But my brain knows that I’m a big fat liar. My brain wants proof. Or a distraction. So, I’m giving it an incentive. You want chocolate, then exercise. 

Now, the only way to earn one of those tasty (and only 42 calories of sin,er, goodness) pieces is to put in 20 minutes of high-powered activity. Which is an euphemism for exercise, just don’t tell my brain.

There is some evidence that the brain stops being a part of the decision making process once a habit is formed. And the best way to form a habit is to make whatever it is you’re doing enjoyable. If exercise isn’t: then a reward of chocolate after the fact–might just short-circut my “you swear to tell the whole truth” brain’s say in the process. Eventually, with a habit in place my brain won’t know I’m lying to it. I’m counting on the fact that habits are hard to break and that my brain doesn’t stand a chance.  

If this sounds delusional, well, it’s January.  We’ll talk in June. M’kay?