25 August 2010

It's Official...I'm in Luv

Dear Blog,

We've moved! It took a lot of blood, sweat and tears (mainly blood, thanks to Jame-o's buddy Joseph slicing his arm off on our couch) but we did it. Well, Jame-o and his crew of swarthy gentlemen did it. I mainly just stood around agonizing over where my picture frames should eventually wind up. But whatevs, bro - we have a new place to hang our hats now! Ok, technically, we don't have a place to hang hats, so much as maybe a corner where a hat could be placed or a mantle where a hat could sit but srsly people: semantics!

The point of all this, besides the fact that I am so exhausted I am literally typing this with my eyes closed (I'm like the Helen Keller of typing, you guys), is that - despite the commute and the fact that a little part of me is still totes worried about getting beheaded - I get SUPERDOUBLEHAPPYPUMPEDUPSPARKLESHOESALEEXCITED every time I turn on to my street.

I mean, just look at this place:

Look at Mr. Bluebowl, chillin' with his buddies. He looks lonely but I think it's making him a stronger person...er, I mean bowl. I mean I'm not crazy, I swear...

We have HD now. Which means nothing to me except that now I can really be frightened by/ enamored with Rachel Zoe's face. I die for her. Bananas.

This is our favorite room because I give the best, most future-focused presents ever.

The bedroom is the same size as our last apartment. I could River Dance in here, y'all.

Just call me Decorator Genius Girl. No really. Do it. Please?

It's good times.

Come visit me, won't you?
Bring a hatrack.


12 August 2010

This Post Has A Lion King Reference

Dear Blog,

It feels like my face is melting off.

Wait, let me start over: so, yesterday I had a real bitch of a day and when I finally stumbled through my apartment door (or, 'The Gateway to Hades" as I like to call it), I was nearly knocked over by the smell of fumes. I began scanning the place for the family of graffiti artists that I assumed must have recently taken up residence in our dining room. When no such artists were immediately apparent, I started to panic. I mean, I don't know about you, but when I come home to weird, toxic fumes and there aren't a bunch of punk kids spray painting on the walls, my next thought is "OHMYGOD, A GAS LEAK! THIS PLACE IS GONNA BLOW!!" Then I remembered that everything in our apartment is electric and panic subsided, due in large part to the fact that, thanks to all my speculating and huffing around looking for the source of the smell, my head was beginning to feel a bit light.

Cut to 3 hours later when Jame-o finally gets home to find me half unconscious on the couch watching the pre-finale to SYTYCD.

Jame-o: Buddy, what is that smell? This is terrible, how are you even sitting in here?!
me: ...............uh............hmmm..............um.............what?
Jame-o: come on, let's go sit on the porch while I call maintenance.
me: *eyes rolling back in skull*

He drags me outside and calls maintenance and as we sit in the suffocating 197 degree Atlanta evening air, I begin to regain control of my motor skills. After maintenance provided little more than a shrug in our general direction, we climbed into bed with the windows open, the fan full blast and fell asleep around 1:45am.

I was a little bit loopy at work today.

When I arrived home this afternoon and flung open the door, the smell was gone. Probably because it had been vaporized by the heat of the kiln that we once knew as our apartment. Apparently, we'd blown or shorted or exploded some precious part of the air conditioner and I am not shitting you when I say that it is hot in here. And not in the Nelly "I'm gonna take my clothes off" club jam kind of way.

It's hot.

It's sauna hot.

It's tank top sticking to your skin, sweating on the backs of your knees hot.

It's Johnny Depp before he got all old and turned into Keith Richards hot.
It's Paris Hilton "that's hot" circa 2002 hot.

It's nature channel African safari where flies are getting stuck in hyena eyeballs hot.

James called our old pal Mr. Maintenance Man again.

This was his solution:
Temperature regulation fail.

Yes, that my friends is a 4' tall & unforgivably noisy window-unit air conditioner. I think that the true beauty of this machine, aside from the deafening racket and the fact that it might as well be spooning with me since it's positioned so close to the bed, is that it only cools the air in the 5" or so immediately surrounding the vents. Step away from the air conditioner and you are likely to spontaneously combust.

I'm not happy.
I'm hot.



03 August 2010


Dear Blog,

Sad story: this weekend, I dragged Philly to the mall to visit Sara as she skillfully managed her underlings at 'thro. There, standing in the kitchen vignette, my eyes were immediately drawn to the most beautiful pool blue latte bowls EVER! There were a ton of little baby-sized ones and only 3 big-sized ones. No babies here, obvs, so I reach for the grown folks sized bowls and then forced myself to lower my hand.

You see, every time I go shopping now, I hear this little Jame-o that sits on my shoulder saying "Hey buddy, is this really something that you need or is this just something that you want? Hmmm? Let's be honest with ourselves and put the ruffled eyelet safari hat down, ok?" The voice gets me every time. It has taken all of the fun out of shopping for safari hats. I digress...

This particular time, the Jame-o voice said "Kate! You do not need any more bowls you crazy moron! Step back IMMEDIATELY!" and, since I always have to do what the voices tell me to do, I backed away slowly, Philly starring at me all the while - a look in his eyes that said "Ah, so, she's finally lost it."

All weekend my mind went like this: bluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowls
bluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowls
bluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowls

I rationalized that if I got rid of 4 of the crappy old bowls currently occupying prime cupboard real-estate then I'd only have 4 bowls. At the rate that James and I eat cereal that would mean running the dishwasher, like, everyday thus wasting 1000's of gallons of water over the course of a few months. Sloths and geckos would die out as the rain forests dried up and the whales - won't someone please think of the whales?!!? By this afternoon, I had no choice but to buy the damn bowls. I don't want some poor humpback's blood on my conscience...

I sped to the mall after work today and ran to the kitchen vignette and guess what:


I almost fell to the floor weeping. Luckily, Sara was there to hold my hand and help me pick out other colors of bowls in addition to my single, solitary blue bowl and it was ok, I guess. But the wind had definitely left my sails a little bit. This is why you should never listen to the little Jame-o voice when it tells you not to shop.

So, I have a quest for you, internet friends. Find me this bowl!

It's the gorgeous one, on the bottom left.

Apparently it's a spring color. Which is so ironic, because I'm an Autumn, but anyway. If you see it, think of me. Think of how I would love it forever and tell it everyday how special it is. If you really love me, convince Anthropologie to send me one.

In the meantime, here are pictures of the happy home that the beautiful blue bowl and his brothers and sisters will be living in. Hold on to your jaws, peeps:

I think this is where we're gonna sleep. Or have all night dance parties.

This is where we'll have our guests go to powder their noses.

Jame-o is a huge fan of natural light. Clearly.

If you buy me a bowl, I will invite you to a dinner party in our dining room. Bay windows, people. Think about it.

This is where the bowls will be honored with a shrine. Won't it just be the bee's knees?

These curtauins will be replaced with something by this lovely person. Ahmahzing!

What's under the tarp? Oh, it's just our HOT TUB TIME MACHINE, BITCHES!

I know what you're thinking: the only thing this place needs is more blue bowls! It's like we're sharing a brain.

God speed on your quest, internet.