Sleep With The Fishes

Alert! New crafting attempt. I will be making my own concrete vases. I have recently come across a "recipe" to make these awesome containers, in which the possibilities are apparently endless! Aside from all the different shapes that can be utilized, you can even use stain for color variation! The materials needed cost a grand total of $20. First attempt will hopefully be this weekend, I will keep you all posted.

Bye Bye Birdie

Last weekend I stopped off at my favorite antique store in all of Southern California, The Pasadena Salvation Army Antiques and Collectibles. There happened to be a storewide sale of 50% off(lucky me) so I picked up a few things here and a few things there. The one random object I bought that I am really excited about was this weird brassy gold tree stand that held these truly hideous bird statues of various color and species. Seeing the potential behind the ugliness, I bought the stand, broke the birds off, stripped it down to its nitty grits and repainted it with a matte acrylic brown. For under $10 I not only purchased the stand, but completely revamped the whole thing and scored an amazing jewelry tree in the process.

Juicy Juice

Never in my life would I have imagined that buying a juice container could be one of the most difficult tasks to successfully complete. My husband and I are avid coffee and soda water drinkers and we recently veered off that path to explore the wonderful world of juice and iced tea. In order to create and house the liquid refreshements, we needed our very own fully functioning pitcher. One that both dispenses juice in a timely fashion and doesn't fall apart at the seams. Sounds simple right? Wrong.

Our first attempt at owning our very own pitcher started with our wedding registry. We found a nice recycled green glass vessel that suited us both and we added it to our list. Someone was kind enough to fulfill our wish and gifted us with this aforementioned pitcher. We liked it, roomy, unique, it seemed as though it would have no difficulty living up to the simple expectation of holding liquid.

After a few uses, I noticed that there was the beginnings of a crack near the base of the handle. I began to have all these horrible images of me picking up the pitcher only to have the body of it snap off and smash to the floor spilling Pomegranate/Blueberry Passion Juice all over while at the same time cutting up my hands, fingers and feet. I immediately emptied the pitcher and headed off to Crate and Barrel for a prompt return.

As I approached the woman at the counter and explained my situation she replied. "That's odd. Did you happen to put any hot liquid in there?".

I turned a deep shade of red and perhaps too quickly answered, "Nope, not at all".

I was now completely embarrassed, was this MY FAULT? For I often did indeed put hot liquid in there to make iced tea. Had I caused the downfall of the pretty green pitcher?

"I'm pretty sure this one here is just faulty. Do you mind if I exchange it?" I politely asked.

I was eventually cleared to take home a new pitcher to replace the old one and I was damn sure this one would last. How could I have been so stupid and careless I thought to myself. This was my fault. From now on, only cold and room temperature refreshments would be poured into our pitcher.

As time passed and a few uses were had from our container, I noticed the same thing. A small little crack along the base of the handle.

"Oh no!" I thought. It IS the pitchers fault! It is too fat and heavy to hold. This was a full on Sir Mix A Lot container. Now I knew I had done nothing wrong. Once again, I packed up and headed off to Crate and Barrel. Thank God there was a new lady at the counter. A lady who asked no questions, but rather agreed with me that this vessel was INDEED faulty and should NOT be cracking under any circumstances.

At this point I gave up on the recycled green glass pitcher and instead exchanged it for a fancy splatter screen, which by the way, has been quite a nice addition to our kitchen accessories. I began to set my sights higher, perhaps we didn't need a pitcher, what we needed was a dispenser. I could see it already, a gleaming, shiny refreshment dispenser with a really cool spigot that we could use for sangria, lemonade, tea you name it and it would deliver.

By this time, Christmas season had rolled around so I found a nice juice dispenser complete with a shiny spigot and added it to my wish list. Santa granted and on Christmas, Keith and I were the proud parents of our very own liquid party device. We were stoked! After grocery shopping we put the thing to use and made some bad ass raspberry lemonade, mixing it up just right, placing the lid back on and placing it in the fridge. Later on in the day when I went to get a glass of juice, I turned the spigot and, nothing. Perplexed, I turned it more and more until I couldn't turn it again and still, nothing. The effing spigot didn't work at all!! It was some sick joke. Not even a drop of delicious flavored lemonade would come out.

"What the hell?" I shouted. "Keith!! What kind of bullshit is this!? Our spigot doesn't even work. Now we can't get the juice out! It's stuck."

"Let me see." Replied Keith, he tried everything and this thing was absolutely 100% useless. After fully accepting the fate of both our juice and new dispenser, we removed it from the fridge, cleaned it and retired it to a bottom shelf in the kitchen cupboard. At this point, I had enough of hunting for the perfect pitcher, I resigned myself to plastic bottles and cans. Until...

Two months later and eleven months after our wedding, we received a belated gift. It was one that we already happened to have so, once again, off to Crate and Barrel for yet another return. This time I had done some pre shopping research and found what Keith and I believed to be perhaps the perfect pitcher. It was a glass and plastic combo, had a turn lid, compact body for shelf storage complete with an easy grip side so I no longer had to worry about that glass handle snapping off and the added "Meggie likey" bonus of a retro design. Could it be? Was it even possible?...Wish us luck, who knew juice could be so difficult.

She's Such A Snob

"She's such a snob."

"Who is?" I asked, half asleep.

"Your Mom." Keith mumbled from the right side of the bed. My eyes shot open. I was immediately wide awake and on the defensive.

"You don't even know my Mom." I snapped, now sitting upright and ready for a verbal altercation. I looked over to my right and realized that my future husband had been talking in his sleep. "That's weird" I thought to myself. "Keith." I said. Nothing. "Keith". Silence. No response. He was completely, absolutely 100% asleep. After a few failed attempts to elicit a response from the slumbering talker I laid back down and eventually drifted off myself with no more disturbances during the remainder of the evening.

The next day over coffee, I asked Keith if he remembered the sleepy incident from the night before and he swore to have no recollection of any of it. We laughed it off and thought nothing further of the matter.

In the dead of night a few weeks later, Keith shot out of bed around two or three in the morning as if all hell had broken loose. He made a mad dash for the bedroom door yelling "The bathtub's overflowing!! The bathtub's overflowing!!!" Practically tearing the door from its hinges, he ran down the hallway only to return moments later, shuffling his feet along the carpet, not saying a single word. He slowly made his way back into the bedroom, crawled back under the covers and within thirty seconds, light snoring was audible from his side of the bed. My eyes open and brain completely confused, I remained lying on my side,"What the ---- is going on?" I silently asked myself.

It was during this time, that I also began to notice some strange "goings on" in the kitchen. My mornings would start off as normal as any other. I would wake up, get out of bed, wipe the sleep from my eyes and paddle off to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, but things were never left the way they were the night before. Only occurring between the hours of 11p.m to 7a.m, a mysterious mess would be made and left for clean up as if someone had cooked something, but failed to finish the task. Peanut butter smears would jump out at me from the countertops, my eyes would lock onto fingerprints made of jam and chocolate pressed onto the light switches and refrigerator door, cereal boxes torn open with no regard for the crispy flakes inside. It was as if some sort of "Wild Planet" animal eating frenzy had unfolded just moments before I rounded the corner. God forbid if there was ice cream in the freezer because it wouldn't last more than 24 hours. Cartons of Chocolate Moose Tracks and Fudge Ripple left on the kitchen counter practically licked clean, housing nothing more than a lone spoon hidden well below the confines of the sticky sided containers. Did we have mice? Were there kitchen gnomes living in our walls?

"Keith, what is up? Why are you eating all of our food?" I asked one sunny morning over breakfast.

"What are you talking about?" He replied. "I didn't eat anything."

"What do you mean you didn't eat anything? Half of our groceries are gone, dude." We looked at each other, both equally confused. "Are you eating in your sleep!?" I asked, half accusatory, half bewildered. It was then that he admitted to me that he has, in the past, occasionally and unknowingly partaken in an eat/talk/walk whilst sleeping activity, oftentimes not remembering any smidgen of his "nightly adventures". He even revealed that he has eaten so much at times that he has become physically ill, the end result culminating in an upheaval of any and all stomach contents the following morning.
I accepted this quirky trait actually finding quite a bit of humor in the various "sleep/eat incidents" until it spilled over to our then roommate's fine European chocolates...

Our roommate Cortney had studied abroad in Sweden during college and while she was there, she developed quite a taste for a certain Swedish candy bar unavailable to us in The States. One summer, a friend of hers that she became acquainted with overseas had come to Los Angeles for a visit. Her friend was considerate enough to remember her affinity for these particular chocolates and brought an ample supply as a gift. Cortney was ecstatic, completely through the roof with sugared excitement. Parading through the house she exclaimed to us all how much she simply adored these chocolates, that they could not be beat. They were the best things on earth.

A few days later, I heard her cussing up a storm from the other end of the apartment. I walked down the long, narrow hallway leading away from the living room and towards her bedroom. Timidly peeking my head through her half opened door and said, “Hey Cort, you okay? What’s up?”

She looked up at me, the box of chocolates in her hand, “My brother Kyle is an asshole. He knows how much I love these chocolates and he ate one. Asshole.”

“Dude, that does suck. What a bummer.” I replied, feeling sorry for her chocolate plight. After a brief discussion regarding the greedy actions of her brother, I turned around and headed off returning to my previously interrupted activities.

The rest of the day passed as any other and I eventually relayed the story to Keith of how Cort’s selfish and unthinking brother ate some of her nearly impossible to obtain chocolate treasures. “That sucks.” Keith stated. “Cortney really likes those chocolates.” He then reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, but instead of extracting his Parliaments, Keith pulled out a certain wrapper to an incredibly hard to obtain Swedish chocolate candy bar. My mouth hung open in horror. Keith looked up at me, terror in his eyes. The wrapper slowly fell from his hands and silently dropped to the carpet, our eyes glued to the evidence now lying on the floor.

“Oh no.” I gasped. “What are you going to do?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t say anything.” He whispered, “She thinks Kyle did it.”

“You can’t let Kyle take the fall. You have to tell her what happened. Explain that it was an accident and you didn’t know.”

“You’re right.” Keith said. He resigned himself to the fact of having to come clean, to "take it like a man". Gathering all of his strength, he stood up, pulled his shoulders back, took a deep breath and prepared for war. As he reluctantly headed off towards Cortney’s room I hoped that I would see him again someday.

A Room Without Books.....

When I heard that my neighborhood was getting a brand new library, I was ecstatic. As I child, I lived for the library. My Mom took me all the time and I read any and everything I could get my hands on, but as I got older, I changed and the library, well it stayed the same. Until recently, I was convinced that libraries had become a thing of the past, ancient relics long forgotten, left to fend for themselves, eventually, over time eroded down to nothing more than broken walls and rubble like a modern day Pompeii. So, as the libraries fell into disrepair and Boarders and Barnes and Noble(the library-esque fancy bookstores)were springing up all over, I, in time, dropped out of the library circuit and flew solo.

This new library however was changing things. It had restored my faith. I wanted to return to borrowing books. I yearned to take advantage of all the free materials available to me. I was shocked that a city located in a state as broke as ours was actually going to spend real money on a house of books. Spend they did, yes indeedy, twenty one million dollars in fact. That amount of money can work some serious magic. It was unbelievable and I was so thrilled it was a mere mile from my home. With it finally built I must convey to you how beautiful the structure is, they really spared no expense. The landscape gets two enthusiastic thumbs up. It even has a fancy pants glass rock garden in varying shades of blue nestled along side a crafty little succulent garden(my current fave foliage). The building itself resembles something mid century modern with lots of windows, open and airy. Clapping my hands together in library induced joy, I just couldn't wait to get in there and procure my very own library card.

The interior of the building was equally as impressive as the exterior. The entryway displayed smartly designed grey stone modern steps and beautiful wood accents. The downstairs housed a few closed off meeting rooms, one of them claiming to have Scrabble Night. I though it was kind of a cute idea, but Keith pointed out that you might want to reevaluate your social agenda if you live in LA and come to the library to play scrabble with strangers.

This was no library from my youth, you know the ones, constructed out of that familiar old depressing red brick. The inside housing the grossly outdated burlap orange and red chairs, the cheap middle of the road stained wooden tables, the berber carpet colored some heinous shade of gold. The heavy drapes, the American flag proudly displayed near the drinking fountain. It was as if they spent half their time as libraries and the other half as the local DMV. This sleek, brand new beauty had self checkout, lots of computers and overall a very modern uber-hip look as if I myself walked into a Dwell photo shoot. As we hit the top of the stairs we were there in the nerve center, the real inner workings of the library, and it was.............. about as big as my living room. This was the smallest, sorriest excuse for a library I have ever seen. I had just about as impressive of a collection as they did and I assure you I did not spend 21 million to obtain it. Nowadays at the library, you can rent dvds, books on tape, magazines leaving even less room for the actual books, you know, those things with paper and print. NO ONE was looking at the books anyway, but boy oh boy were the dvds flying off the shelf. I'm sorry. Did I mistake my local Blockbuster for the library? The only somewhat impressive book section was the Children's(which is good because I plan on using it as much as possible) but really. Twenty one million dollars and I swear they only spent about $2000 of it on actual reading material. Obviously that glass rock garden that I stopped to admire outside was worth every penny.

In the meantime, why don't you kick the Scrabble Club out of that conference room and put some books in there!!

Soap Chips for Lunch, Anyone?

I do believe that my first official craving has kicked in. Frozen yogurt. Not the kind that you buy at the grocery store, but the kind dispensed and made to order with copious amounts and varieties of toppings. I have actually always liked frozen yogurt, but now I find myself thinking about it morning, noon and night. When I got up today and was contemplating what to make for breakfast, I found myself secretly yearning for a chocolate, coconut twist with fresh berries and chocolate shavings.

As far as cravings go, I don't think I have made the worst possible choice in the books. I have heard it all from chicken livers to cottage cheese. Gross. There are even some women who apparently crave things that are entirely unedible, like dirt and soap. There is a term for this, what I consider to be "disorder". Sorry, ladies if I offend, but with all the delicious foods out there why in the hell are you craving dirt? This condition(to put it lightly) is called pica

"Pica is the practice of craving substances with little or no nutritional value. Most pica cravings involve non-food substances such as dirt or chalk. The word pica is Latin for magpie which is a bird notorious for eating almost anything.
Some speculate that pica cravings are the body's attempt to obtain vitamins or minerals that are missing through normal food consumption. Sometimes pica cravings may be related to an underlying physical or mental illness. (get out, really? Mental Illness you say?)
The most common substances craved during pregnancy are dirt, clay, and laundry starch. Other pica cravings include: burnt matches, stones, charcoal, mothballs, ice, cornstarch, toothpaste, soap, sand, plaster, coffee grounds, baking soda, and cigarette ashes."

So see, yogurt ain't so bad. There is one thing however about my current sub zero obsession that I do have a problem with. In this city, the only type of yogurt I can readily get my hands on is corporate.

Starbucks(the evil empire which has succeeded in running practically every independent coffee shop out of town) apparently has an evil and crafty younger sibling, Pinkberry. These two horrendous beasts have the same M.O. They find a small Mom and Pop establishment, set up shop just a few doors down and proceed to bankrupt, bleed out, and stomp any and all related competition. I firmly believe that these products are no better or of higher quality. In fact, I despise Starbucks coffee and will avoid it at all costs. I think it tastes horrible, like burnt sludge. Also, while I'm at it, why can't you just name your sizes S,M,L? Does one really need to say "grande" when ordering? Oooh, what a clever and witty marketing ploy. Are you trying to make me feel"wordly" as if I am in a foreign country ordering coffee?

Pinkberry you smarmy little brat, are no better. Over the years, I have borne witness to all the little indie yogurt shops one by one, hanging their heads in defeat and closing up shop. There is only one I know of who has survived this corporate brutality(even with a Pinkberry newly opened right around the corner). This beautiful yogurt shop is in the Valley and it is hands down one of the best I have ever visited. Studio City Yogurt. When I lived in that area, I used to walk over there at least four times a week. You just can't compete with these Peter Parker-like dispensers of frozen goodness. No one can. They are the masters, the king of kings. Every day, five flavors, one dairy free, one sugar free. When you request toppings they put them in the bottom of the cup AND on top of the yogurt. Not to mention, their frozen yogurt is a far better consistency than Pinkberry's(which I think resembles ice milk) and you can always change it up with crazy, fun new flavors. The shitty part for me is that I no longer live in the Valley and the only yogurt shop near me is Pinkberrry's.

So time and time again, there I find myself eating my yogurt while listening to horrible tween pop piped into the seating area. At least I know I am much safer there than in the backyard eating handfuls of burnt log or dirt.

The Piece de Resistance

On the second Sunday of every month a magical occurrence happens in Pasadena. R.G. Canning's Rose Bowl Flea Market. This is the flea market of all flea markets. It is so huge that you literally cannot complete it in one visit, and you can forget about it being inside the stadium, it is way too big to put inside the Rose Bowl. Instead it sits on each and every parking lot in and around the monolith playing field. I have been living here for 11 years and still look forward to it every month. You never know what you are going to find and whatever you do, I guarantee you won't find it anywhere else.

My latest mission at home has been a decorative overhaul on the living room including the mantle. I don't really know of a name for the style I have been going for, but I kind of wanted a "vintage natural history museum" type feel. I had decided that the piece de resistance needed to be either some type of rogue or vintage taxidermy. Being that no one in my family or any of my friends were, or currently are, interested in trekking into the woods dressed in camouflage, waiting for some innocent woodland creature to cross their paths so they can kill, skin and eat it, I was out of luck. In addition to that fact, I also have this little voice inside me that prohibits me from buying one new. You see, with rogue at least you know the animal was found dead or donated and with vintage you are buying something that a hunter or taxidermist is not making a direct profit off of. Whatever old school item you purchase generally surfaces from someone's basement or estate sale.

In considering the piece, I did a little perusing of ebay and craigslist and what I saw was cool, but also accompanied by a pretty hefty price tag, usually around $200, so I knew the only place I could turn to, the only place I could trust was the Rose Bowl. It was decided and Sunday in the late morning, my friend and I headed out on our monthly excursion, not sure what we would find, psyching ourselves up to maneuver between the slow moving folks and carts. Excited to uncover some type of "I have to have this" treasure.

I hit the motherfucking jackpot. I had found it! Vintage deer antlers mounted on a small plaque of brown velvet that I'm guessing were about 50 years old and I scored it for only $40 dollars. There was going to be some work involved, don't get me wrong, but the total cost would be far less than what I had been seeing around and I was recycling. After I bulldozed my way back to the car(you would be surprised how fast a crowd will part when you are headed their way holding a huge set of antlers) my friend and I headed off to Michael's. I had to buy a few more things to complete my masterpiece.

Back at home, I had a pile of vintage flocked wall paper from the 50's and I thought one of the prints would work perfect as a backdrop for the antlers. So, for $1.99 I bought a plain 9X12 piece of wood with beveled edges and a wall mount. Then headed back home to put it all together.

Upon returning, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. I carefully glued the wall paper to the wood, drilled the antlers to the plaque, turned it over, nailed in the wall mount and "voila" my centerpiece was complete.

Hello Bambi.