February is for Lovers (and Black History)

Unfortunately, my lover isn't black.

But fortunately, he's decided to stick around awhile--Forever, in fact. Or so the current agreement stipulates.

That's why we got pictures taken. Well, that and to ensure that all our family and friends have a glossy black and white of us stuck on their refrigerator.

We're classy like that.

Musings Upon the Close of Another Year

Unlike less-pleasant events that take place on a yearly basis (i.e. DMV visits and OBGYN appointments), I thought it fitting--and dare I say amusing--to seal up a year concluded with my thoughts, questions and reflections of our dear 2010.

Buying drugs in Mexico is not as easy as everyone makes it sound.

Smuggling avocados into the United States may produce dire consequences.

In 2010 I received both cosmetic surgery and a large, perfectly-cut diamond. The relationship betwixt these events will remain one of the great mysteries of our time.

I've realized that my greatest fear about marriage is that I'll no longer be allowed to eat cereal in bed at 6 in the morning.

A 7-mile run really will solve most, if not all, of life's problems.

You don't have to be registered to run in the Hungtington Beach Turkey Trot if you pin a paper to your shirt and look like you mean business.

Friendships ended when both of you are on Percocet are usually repairable.

I am most popular among the under-12 and over-50 crowd.

Agreeing to marry a 33 year-old Mormon boy will guarantee his parents love you. For life.

Making it to the last week of December does not let you out of the woods. You could, for instance, receive two traffic tickets and a failed clutch that week. Maybe.

Lots of people care whether or not you wear a wedding dress to your own wedding.

Ocean water less than 74 degrees may as well be the North Atlantic.

If you're getting married in March, don't quietly reflect, once Christmas is over, that you have nothing to look forward to now.

Sometimes it takes 2 years to officially change your residence to a new state.

I will forever wonder how I succeeded in life without a Kitchenaid.

FroYo addiction is a very real and personal problem in our society today.

Just because you quit blogging doesn't mean you have to quit blog-stalking.

Most things are forgivable; even taking a week off for a surf trip but nada for your honeymoon. Sometimes.

Here's to a new year - maybe being a Mrs. will give me something more exciting to blog about than my paltry life alone.

Trading Breadcrumbs for Bread?

So lately I've been thinking about boredom and how I have it. Not with life - I'm a busy girl, a full-time marketeer, a freelance writer, an (almost) daily runner, a wanna-be personal shopper (so I practice - personally) and an amateur baker. Not to mention there's always miles of San Diego beaches, a handsome boyfriend and - when all else fails - Costco to keep me entertained.

But lately - and don't take this the wrong way - I've been thinking about blogging and how it's sooo two-thousand-and-late. Yeah, yeah, it's like a journal - well, I've never been organized enough to keep one and cataloging my life at this point could only lead to unwanted liabilities down the road (don't read this, unborn children). So I'm moving on to something that interests me more:

Food.

Namely the fluffy, frosted, sprinkled, rolled, cut, iced, folded, piped, and filled kind.

The BAKED kind.

So I bought a web site (name to be divulged when it's up and at 'em), and will try my hand at the online baked goods business (you know, in my spare time). Luckily, I have at my disposal a web designer (hope you're reading this and get the hint), and a businessy-accountanty boyfriend who also doubles as a very willing critic of all things baked.

But for added motivation (and for my journal, wink-wink), I'm displaying a few of my bake-reations (that's not a bad name, huh?)

California Summers: A Photo Essay

Yes, I'm posting pictures. Because I've finally realized just how odd it is that one as self-absorbed as I rarely engages in the obnoxious over-illustrating of her blog page.

Well, I'm turning over a new leaf. At least long enough to disburse the following pseudo-glamorous happenings in and about Southern California.

Mexico - nothin' says third world like a sombrero, a poncho and a Via Spiga bag.


Graduation - he's smart, handsome, funny . . . AND now - a master.


Sorry, I can't remember the month of July. But I DO know it involved Utah, painkillers and some much-needed (24/7) time with my BFF. Sadly (and fortunately), there are no pictures to post.

But back in California, I spent some time hanging out with wallabies (I know, I'm such a cliche).

Not to mention BOTH of my surfer boyfriends:

Bring us something good, August.

"Changing" their Oil

What couldn’t come sooner for most Gulf-coast residents (not to mention millions of sea creatures), British Petroleum today announced that the now infamous, record-breaking oil leak in the Gulf has stopped.

Whew.

While this might be an obvious relief to the world’s population and (no doubt) BP executives, it’s quite obvious to the world that this situation’s timetable was . . . less than ideal.

Well, not to play the devil’s advocate, but I’d like to take a moment to defend the oil-lords of British Petroleum and assume that the company wasn’t irresponsible, just misinformed. I’d rather suppose that while the blue-green waters of the gulf were (horrifically) polluted for nearly 90 days, BP was just under the impression that they had to “change” their oil at the same intervals as the rest of us: Three months or 5,000 miles.

Well, it’s too bad (or good?) the oil only made it 600 miles. I propose that instead of demanding reparation and responsibility, we simply advise BP to revise their oil-change stickers. After all, we don’t want to buy a new engine –er—ocean, do we?