The Christmas Card We Didn't Send

I'm not really the kind of girl who wears toe rings.

When we moved in to our house five years ago, I found this broken earring in the carpet. We had out-of-town company shortly after we moved in, so I have saved it all this time in case someone asked me if I found their sterling silver and sapphire earring.

Imagine my surprise when Shirley taught me the real purpose for this "earring."

I'm a Sidewalk Surfer

Aren't these shoes cute? I've wanted them for a couple of years now, and tonight the Des Crew headed out to go spend a gift card. Imagine my surprise when I found the last pair of these babies...one size too big. I took them to the customer service guy and he looked them up for me. He determined that there might be one pair left in Berkeley, California, but I would have to have the customer service desk call and confirm.
I took my little slip to the front desk and she called California. I admit, I was concerned that some California girl was already wearing my shoes, but I remained hopeful.
The call took over ten minutes during which we (yes, "we." I bonded with that CSR tonight!) got put on hold and transferred three times and I got sent back to the shoe department to grab the pair that was too big, and then the computer froze up, and everybody panicked because the store closed ten minutes ago, but in the end, the Berkeley store is sending my new shoes to Roseville early next week. I got the very last pair in the entire company. The whole country. Maybe even the whole world.

28!

While I worked out tonight, I watched two girls goofing around, daring each other to lift weights, racing each other on the treadmills, that kind of thing. I guessed them to be either seniors in high school or freshman in college. Somewhere in the 17-19 range, possibly older, but definitely not younger. (This information will be important later.)
Over all I had a really good night at the gym tonight. I reached a personal goal that I really thought would take at least another month. I lost two more pounds. I can feel myself getting stronger and more confident by the day. Lots of milestones all around.
After my fantastic work out, I was literally smiling on my way into the locker room, thrilled with my progress, just ACHING for someone to tell.
I was washing up in the when one of the girls I had noticed earlier said to me, "Hey, are you Bella's mom?"
I said, "No, why? Is someone crying in the nursery?"
She said, "No, uh...Bella's my friend."
Now, I ask you, interweb.
Am I so frumpy that I could so easily be mistaken for a 40+ mother? REALLY? I don't try too hard to be stylish when I go to the gym, but maybe it's time to start. I don't mean to offend my 40+ readers, but COME ON. I am TWENTY-EIGHT years old.
Oh well. I guess she saved me from getting a big head or something.

Vitamins and Minerals: Need MORE!

I have great luck with skinny little guys who cut my hair.

To wit:

Hair Cutter Guy (while combing out my wet hair): So, how often do you swim?

Erin (looking down at GI.GAN.TIC. belly): I don't do much swimming these days.

HCG: Oh, really? You totally have the body for it.

E (looking down at E.NOR.MOUS. belly once again): Yeah, I look a lot like Michael Phelps.

HCG: Well, you have a lot of mineral build-up in your hair.

E: Oh. My secret is out.

What the WHAT?!?

From our house to yours...

Happy Thanksgiving!

I just woke up from my turkey stupor, and am finally able to blog...

My mom made all the chefs and sous chefs matching aprons for the big day. Don't we look great??

Shortage

We've been on a closet-cleaning kick at our house lately.
By virtue of the fact that Richard is a man, three things are true about his wardrobe:
1. It is MUCH smaller than Shirley's or mine.
2. His clothes get dirtier, faster than Shirley's or mine.
3. His laundry turnover is faster and more important than Shirley's or mine because of #1 and #2.

It seems as if there is always a shortage of clean clothes for Richard to wear to work. To be fair, his requirements are not much--he only needs a pair of "nice" jeans and a shirt bearing the name of his company. By my last count, he had three shirts that work for work.
As you can imagine, this sometimes adds stress to our Sunday nights, trying to locate a clean shirt for Richard.
So...imagine my surprise and happiness when he found FOUR of them stuffed at the back of his closet this morning!
Just four more reasons to put off doing laundry!

Snob with a capitol SNOB.

Tonight I had the SUPERFUN (!!!) pleasure of going to see a midnight screening of New Moon with Masha. Remember ol' Masha?
The theater we were at sold out fourteen theaters! FOURTEEN THEATERS!
So, as you can imagine, things were a little crazy, and the girl in front of us was using her very beautiful purse to save a seat for a friend.
Out of my love for all things with handles, I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "You'd better guard your bag--I'd hate to see it get stolen!"
She replied, "Oh, NO one is touching my bag. This is a $500 purse. If anybody touches it, they're leaving. the. theater."
"Oh, right," I said.

Quietly, to Masha I said, "That's not a $500 bag."
She said, "I know, right??"
I said, "What do I look like? Some kind of schmuck?"
Masha said, "It's not even from this season."

Luscious Locks

Recently my friend was admiring Shirley's hair.

"I would just kill for this hair," she said. "What happens between here," she said pointing at Shirley, "and HERE??" Holding up a strand of her own hair.

"Men," I said.

An Honest Answer

Recently a question was posed for me:
Big hair, big purse, big boobs, big dreams. If you could only choose one, which would it be?
Let me answer you with a little story:

I met a friend (who shall remain nameless...let's call her Masha) for dinner the other night and handed her Shirley Jean over the table, who immediately reached for Masha's enormous Mountain Dew. Masha responsibly went to move the Mountain Dew out of SJ's reach, when everything went very, very wrong.
The Mountain Dew spilled - nay - exploded all over me. It was like a tidal wave of sticky yellowness that hit my body at first fast, then slow. Fast, because the shock of the cold was stunning, and then slow as I realized how much of me was soaked. It was amazing, really. It defied logic. It defied physics. It defied how much Mountain Dew was actually in the cup.
Instantly, both Masha and I cried, "THE PURSE!"
Instead of hopping out of my seat like a sane person, I sat in a pool of Mountain Dew, felt it soaking through to my underwear, felt it roll down my left leg...until I was assured that the purse would bear no stains.

So...to answer your question, I choose big boobs.

Soooooo Pretty

It all started when I got my Ulta catalog in the mail last week. Apparently they are now selling Benefit cosmetics. Big woop, right?

Well.

Little known fact about Erin: I really like playing with makeup. I know, right??? You have no idea how much I actually wear. It's not pretty under here.

Anyway.

One of Benefit's products interested me, so I went to check it out. I asked the girl wearing the smock to tell me about it and before I knew it, I was in a chair getting a full face of makeup making, "ah," and "ooh," and "I love it!" and "pretty!" noises. I left the makeover chair (conveniently and humiliatingly placed IN the entrance of the store) feeling very pretty and as if I could really do the face she taught me on my own at home (Ok, I lied before. I enjoy makeup, but don't wear much and new techniques intimadate me.). She only used FOUR products and I thought that was pretty cool.

I walked around the store for another half hour with over $100 (ONE. HUNDRED. DOLLARS.) worth of makeup in my basket. I found the same exact products from Neutrogena and CoverGirl, and paid $14 at the register, thankyouverymuch.

Of course, I had a moment of panic as I wondered if I would be able to get the same effect at home with a different product of an inherently lesser quality--I mean, the quality HAD to be less because the cost was less, right?

Well. It's 12:34 now, and I've spent the last 12 or so hours doing laundry, making dinner, changing diapers and wrestling with a toddler; and the nineteen-dollar-mascara* has smeared all over my twenty-eight-dollar foundation.

I think I made the right choice.

*NINETEEN dollars for MASCARA!!!

Sales girl: I mean, the mascara is a totally reasonable price! It's not even that much more expensive than L'Oreal! I think their most expensive mascara is, like, $10.

Erin: So...it's approximately twice as much?

Sales girl: Um...yeah.

Erin: Ooh! Ahh! Pretty! I love it!

My name is Erin...

It's 2am and I'm shopping for purses on eBay.
I can't hide it anymore. I have a purse sickness. An addiction.
I. Can't. Stop.
I bought my first Coach purse my senior year of high school (gray, shoulder strap, magnetic closure) and since then I have lost count of how many handbags I own. I'm not kidding. Instead of counting sheep, I count purses.
There is just something about that soft, fragrant leather that I am completely unable to walk away from.
[Leeeaaaaathhhhhherrrrrrrr...]
Where was I?
While we were in Florida, we went to the Coach store, and many handbags were an additional 50% off.
I don't mind telling you, interweb, I cried.
I ran around the store with no less than seven purses on my arms, modeling for the mirror, asking strangers which ones they liked best. It was better than DisneyWorld.
Lately, I've been dipping my e-toes in the REALLY expensive purses. The Fendi and Louis Vuitton's out there. (Did you know that only one store in Minnesota carries Louis Vuitton?)
I'm willing to start small. Buy vintage. We can make this work.

Other people drink. Smoke. Snort. Eat. Gamble.
Some people shop. For purses.
Someone help me.


p.s. My bags have names.
p.p.s. I am only admitting this to you all now, because you know me well enough by now to know that my purse addiction doesn't mean I'm a jerk. Or materialistic. Or a snot. Really. I just can't help myself.
p.p.p.s. StoptalkingErin.

p.p.p.p.s. Will you still be my friend?

Of course it rained today...

...on the day I worked so hard to straighten my hair.
Having long hair is a new experience for me.
It's very easy to just put it in a mommy-tail and go.
Does anybody have any tips for a pretty, mommy-friendly, long-hair-challenged gal?

And I thought I'd never use algebra.

If x=time, then y=(1%of time)

If it takes 30 minutes to put pink foam curlers in your hair, it will take 18 seconds to rip them out in the middle of the night.

Frumpy Butt

In the past month, I have been called old three times.

1. A stranger at Target:

Stranger: How old are you?

Erin: 27.

Stranger: Oh, I would have thought you were older.

2. A cousin:

Erin: Are you on Facebook? You should look me up.

Cousin: You're on Facebook? It seems like a lot of older people are on Facebook. Imean,I'mnotcallingyouoldoranything.

3. My friend's girlfriend:

Girlfriend: You are what I'm going to look like in a couple of years.

Erin: Well, how old are you?

Girlfriend: 25.

Is it me? Is it something I'm putting out there? Is it my clothes? My hair? My makeup? Is it because I don't show stomach skin? Or back skin? Is my idea of modest dress actually frumpy?

Someone help me. I didn't THINK I was old, but I'm starting to.

Happy Halloween from the Sailorman's

Pre-Children Halloween

We really knew how to party way back in 2005.

Sideways Corduroy Pants

"At last, horizontal corduroy pants. Made in San Francisco and only sold online, Cordarounds are the most aerodynamic pants on earth."
Not to mention, no more thigh-rubbing-induced forest fires!

Magic Beans

I discovered something today at a popular department store:

I don't need a new bathing suit to make me look like I just had a baby.

I can do that in a bathing suit I bought last summer.

Aaaaany old suit will do.

In the Spirit of Things

I finally found my Halloween dish towels last night. I figure better late than never.

Richard and I also made caramel puff corn last night to get in the fall spirit. Actually, I made it and Richard morally supported me from the couch. Then I had to hide it from him to save myself some for tonight. Remember the Little Red Hen? Anyway...

This morning I decided to try to dress a little bit festive. I'm wearing my peachy-orange corduroy blouse (that I only wear once a year), black pants, and halloween socks. I think I look pretty cute. I thought for SURE that others would dress similarly--you know those appliqued sweaters with pumpkins or SOMETHING like that.

But no.

I'm officially Ugly Betty.

At least I didn't wear cat ears or something like that. Or paint my face. Oh, Lord, how humiliating would THAT have been?

Well, Happy Halloween, everybody. I'm expecting major trick or treating action tonight. I always like to see everybody's costumes.

Can you believe it's almost November? Seems like I was just complaining about changing my calendar to October... : )

Also, if you don't watch Ugly Betty, how can you not watch Ugly Betty?! It's totally one of my favorites.