Locked Out

    I saw my Leasing Agent for the first time in awhile today, and although he probably can't recall my name, he does remember that I somehow locked myself out of my apartment, which is almost impossible seeing that the front and terrace door must be physically locked.  You are probably wondering how I committed such a difficult task, so here's my story.
    It all starts back in graduate school almost a week after I had moved into my first "on my own" apartment.  I was on the balcony organizing my outdoor storage closet when I heard the air conditioner kick on.  Being the economical person that I am, I decided to close the sliding glass door.  The security bar, which my father had to have installed for me and my safety (reminder: I was on the third floor so I guess I needed protection from someone like Spider Man), came crashing down preventing me from opening the balcony door any more than three inches.  I had no phone and the parking lot was empty of any superheroes who could relieve me from my ridiculous situation.  Of course, images of the fire department arriving to set up their trampoline for a successful rescue mission or thoughts of me scaling down the side of the building all Mission Impossible style came to mind.  Instead of relying on others to get me out of this embarrassing position, I MacGyver-ed my way back into my apartment by using skinny arms and a broom.
    This brings us to Arlington, VA on a cold, rainy day when our Leasing Agent took us on a tour of our new home.  As you very well know by now, a tour of our 715 sq. ft. apartment shouldn't take long, but he lengthened this excursion by showing us how certain items worked such as turning on the garbage disposal, starting the dishwasher, and using the security bar on the sliding glass door.  When this portion of the tour arrived, PDub and I couldn't help but look at each other and laugh, requiring a full explanation for the Leasing Agent.

Stupid security bars.

    A couple weeks after we moved in, PDub decided to enjoy a beautiful spring day by going on a bike ride (leaving his phone and keys behind) while Maya and I relaxed on the terrace, reading and soaking up some Vitamin D.  When I heard the air conditioner kick on, I went ahead and shut our terrace door only to see that horrible bar come falling down once again.  The people grilling out in the common area were surprised to hear me yell such a vulgar term.  Instead of leaving Maya on the terrace to cry and bark, I picked her up, climbed through the jungle, asked a sunbather (who was a little overly fascinated with Maya) to sneak me into the building, and depressingly walked down to the front desk.  Who's face did I see?.....Our Leasing Agent!  About an hour after I was let back in, a maintenance man came to rig up a different type of security bar, so such a thing would never happen again.

The terrifying jungle!!!!

The Dub's Terrace

    I will forever and always have "gets impossibly locked out" on my record.  The Leasing Agent asked me again today if I had locked myself out on the terrace lately, and of course, another individual in the hallway overheard, smirked, and told me he wouldn't tell anyone.  So, here I declare to the world that I am a professional when it comes to getting locked out.  Just let me know if you need to read my notes....

Mary Kay Solo Session

    Last night I pampered two lovely ladies completely by myself.  In the past, I have brought guests to a Mary Kay meeting where a well-trained consultant will do the speaking and pampering while I get to sit back and enjoy.  Last night was definitely a first, but unlike most firsts, it was not a complete disaster.  I ran around all day like a chicken with my head cut off cleaning my apartment, gathering materials, and setting up for this huge turning point in my Mary Kay career.
    I spent some of this time walking over to Staples, purchasing some cute pink paper and some "Hello My Name Is..." tags.  Of course, when I returned to print off my documents in our office center, the entire place was torn up and under construction.  Just the perfect day for such a task.  Luckily, our concierge allowed me to print on her computer, but being the tail-between-her-legs type of girl I am, I did not have the courage to change the printer paper to my lovely new pink....or see if she wanted to try some Mary Kay.  So much for my trip to Staples.

Suited up with my pink bubble attire.

The playing ground.

    Needless to say, I prepared everything to a "T", and the night ran fairly smoothly.  The only big mistake I made was to be expected and that was one of color matching.  Who would have thought that foundation color matching would be the toughest part of my job.  I can develop a DNA profile from completely invisible prints, but I cannot for the life of me match a foundation.  I can make it through an entire Insanity work-out, but I am unable to find the correct color for a face.  The night before my first solo session, PDub and I spent about 30 minutes in the bathroom matching each other's faces to the correct foundation color.  PDub loves my new job!  Last night, out of the two people I pampered, I was 50% successful in sending them home looking like they weren't wearing a mask.  One girl was very, very white, but no worries, I didn't send her home without letting her know that we should darken her color. I sold some product, made more bookings, and received some referrals...A successful night in my list of firsts!  Pink Cadillac (Barbie car as she shall be called thus forth), here I come.....matching face or not!

Falling into Autumn

    The calendar may not declare it, but to me, fall has arrived on our doorstep.  And yes, I am inviting him in!  I have recently planted colorful mums on our terrace and opened up the windows to allow the crisp, cool breeze flow through our tiny apartment.  In addition to purchasing the mums, I also spent a little money on an autumn-scented candle, a bag of orchard apples, and ingredients for a hot bowl of chili.  There's nothing like snuggling on the couch, watching football, and eating a spicy bowl of chili with a cold glass of apple cider.  This is what fall is all about for me.

Just need to add some pumpkins!

You know it's fall when you see mums on the NYC subway.

Schnuggling.

    Although most people flee from the cold weather to warmer climates, I am looking forward to experiencing the four, distinct seasons again.  It has been three years since I have watched the leaves change at one time, trudged through a foot of snow, and emerged from the bitter cold to see the earth come back to life with lilies and tulips.  I missed these moments in Texas and am looking forward to cherishing them this round.  Plus, I now have PDub and Maya to share these memories with.

Fall foliage on the campus of Butler University....how I miss this!

There's no autumn without bonfires, s'mores, ghost stories, and weenies!

Some of my favorite memories happened in the fall....our engagement.

Autumn ignites static electricity!

Cardinals Baseball

    I was born and raised in Cardinals nation, so without any doubt, I became a Cardinals fan at a young age.  I recall meeting Fredbird for the first time where ImposterBro and I treated him like royalty (I still treat him this way!).  I remember taking our ball gloves and sitting in right field hoping to catch a baseball, getting a sugar high on our intake of cotton candy, covering my ears when the fireworks shot off after home runs, and being truly amazed with Ozzie Smith who would arial onto the field.  Throughout the years and even when I lived outside of Cardinals country, I have remained a proud supporter of our team, welcoming the boos from opposing teams and high-fiving the few Cardinals fans.

    There's nothing like attending a Cardinals game in St. Louis where you can be lost in a sea of red, consume beer brewed just next door, view the Gateway Arch, and participate in polite fan spirit by yelling "Charge!" or doing the wave.  Booing is either prohibited or just flat out unheard of in this stadium.  During the seventh inning stretch, you will belt out "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" while replacing the lyric "home team" with "Cardinals," and it is likely you will see some Clydesdale horses gallop around the stadium. 

St. Louis skyline from the stadium.

Clydesdale Horses!!!

    After the game, the saxophone player will be playing just outside the stadium for some tips, and chants will still be heard, especially if we won.  If you take the Metrolink home, don't be surprised to wait for a few to pass before being able to get on.  However, it shouldn't matter because you will be surrounded by fellow fans still doing the wave and cheering.  If you drive home, the parking garages will be filled with honks, not out of fury but out of complete joy.  The Cardinals are unlike any other ball team, and their fans have much to do with that.  I am proud that I was raised there, and I will forever be a Cardinals fan!

The Gateway Arch before a game.

A Cardinals family; our kids and pets will be raised Cardinals fans as well.

Fashion Victim: An Introduction and a Hatisor

    Since I have begun writing this blog, I have started taking pictures of individuals who break the cardinal rules of fashion while hoping to share these great sins with my readers.  In the future, I hope to introduce a new fashion victim and possibly give you a little fashion sense.  First, I must define what a fashion victim is.  According to wikipedia, the term "fashion victim" was coined by the great fashion designer Oscar de la Renta and defines a person who is unable to identify commonly recognized boundaries of style.  For a simple example, an individual who wears a black belt with brown shoes would be a fashion victim.  Anyone who follows the guidelines of style or just wears clothes in general should know this unspoken rule.  Of course, it is obviously spoken of in our household.  Maya would never go out without matching her collar to her harness!
    When it comes down to it, I hope to prevent breaking the fashion laws instead of policing them.  I'm not the type of person to go up to someone and tell them that their belt and shoes don't match, but I can stop you, as my reader, from committing these acts in the future.  Please allow me to introduce you to our first victim (drum roll):

A tourist in NYC

    Although there is much to be said about the plaid outfit, tall socks, and tennis shoes, I shall focus my time on the thing attached to her head.  First of all, I believe this item to be a hatisor which happens when you breed a hat with a visor.  Second of all, the size of this thing is outstanding.  I feel that a plane could make a landing with ease on that wide brim.  When speaking with her, you must take a few steps back so as not to intrude on her extended bubble.  An attack from above would go unnoticed.  The sun completely gives up on burning that face....oh but those arms.  Her turning radius is greatly wider making it difficult to clear nearby walls.  Fashion rule: Never wear a hatisor large enough to shade two faces.  Well, I think that about sums it up.

Stay stylish, my friends.

Golden Rings of Melt-in-Your-Mouth Goodness

    It was beautiful living in Texas where donut shops could be found on every street corner.  In our town of 7,300 people, Dayton had three donut shops in addition to the two grocery stores and several gas stations that sold these light and fluffy, golden rings of goodness.  Of course, PDub and I would bless our dear bellies with this not-so-good-for-you breakfast at least once a week.  When we had returning visitors (mostly parents), their first request for food wasn't for the ever popular Tex-Mex or chicken-fried steak but instead for Happy Donuts, a chain owned by some very happy Vietnamese people.  When entering the shop, you would be energetically greeted, and if they had not seen you before or they just forgot who you were, they would proceed to say, "Long time no see," making you feel genuinely missed (even if it was your first time visiting).  There's nothing like covering your face with powdered sugar or digesting one of their special twists.  I say "special" because these twists were not only filled with cinnamon and sugar and then glazed, but they were also topped with the chocolate most of us know from long john's.  A sugar rush if I dare say so myself.
    I grew up in a small town where the donut shop was a thing of the past.  For a short period of time, we had The Donut Shop where I still remember visiting with my dad, eating a chocolate long john, and washing it all down with a paper carton of milk.  The Donut Shop closed far to quickly in my opinion because then my Saturday mornings were filled with not-so-good donuts from the surrounding grocery stores.  No worries, I would get Krispy Kremes whenever we ventured over to St. Louis, but the lack of these was insufficient to satisfy my needs.  Luckily, Texas fulfilled this hole within me.
    Spoiled, that's what I was after living in Texas because now the nearest donut seller is a grocery store.  We have fancy bagels within walking distance but no donuts.  I seriously question myself daily on why we moved to such a donut-less place.  After three weeks of neglecting my need, I fired up the stove-top, heated some oil in my cast-iron skillets, and got to work on perfecting a recipe to satisfy my appetite.  Although it's difficult to mess with the kitchen every Saturday morning, I still take it upon myself that these donuts must be made to continue my way of life.  You will find my simple recipe across the tabs above.

Donut.....Do not mind if I do....Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone into law enforcement.....

Maintain Class in your Work-Out Clothes

    My mom was and still is one of those women who will never be caught in public without being properly dressed, hair nicely combed, or make-up neatly applied.  I remember I would get so frustrated when we needed a few things from Wal-Mart, and my mom would take the time to change out of her sweats and into something presentable.  It's not like we were doing the catwalk down the aisles.  Wouldn't that be a sight among the people who probably hadn't showered in three days?  However, she still took the time to look nice.

My beautiful mom and me.

    I, on the other hand, have led my life in a different way.  These days it's hard to catch me not in my work-out clothes, or since I don't actually work-out, you can call them sweats.  And yes, it's your lucky day if you catch me wearing mascara.  Okay, okay, sometimes I feel that I should put a real shirt on instead of my homemade sleeveless shirt just to get the mail, so sometimes, I use my mom's methods.  It's not that I don't like getting glossy-ed up; I just don't feel like a nice outfit and a done-up face is necessary to impress Maya....or PDub for that matter.  Bonus, when I do put on real clothes, de-pony-fy my hair, and apply make-up, they are both surprised at how well I clean-up.

    I wasn't always like this.  Growing up, I remember sneaking into my mom's make-up drawer to apply blue eyeshadow, and of course the methodology in eyeshadow application at age five includes a dirty finger dipping into the product then thickly applying from the eyelashes to the eyebrows.  Needless to say, I was caught.  I guess the natural look I was going for didn't exactly work.  Come to think of it, it may have worked out for a clown.  I also loved going to the mall for back-to-school shopping where my parents would purchase me several new outfits, and I would proceed to model them for my dad whenever we returned home.  I still do this when I am at home, and my parents are generous enough to take me shopping.

My stylish family....

    Recently, I decided to stop sitting in the apartment for any longer, and open my own little business selling make-up.  It's official; I have been a Mary Kay Consultant for 6 days now, and it has caused me to dress up like three times already, meet new friends, and actually exit my apartment.  It may not be my dream job or one that I attended six years of school for, but no worries, I can work as I want and when I want.  If a new opportunity comes along (interview next Wednesday....AAAHHH!), I will be able to manage both.  Although my mom doesn't realize it and she may not support me completely in my choice, she has taught me to be a classy lady even if I am in sweats.  Cheers to looking good and feeling good because of it!