CREATE & STYLE: The Collection

There are many things that I collect. As a direct descendant of a pack-rat (hi, Mom!) it is in my blood to keep, stash, store and treasure those things that I adore most. This usually includes a wide range of goodies, such as: friends, books, wine, photographs, jewelry, old magazines, ballet flats, coffee mugs, magnets, perfume, handbags, bud vases and voicemails.

This photo encapsulates so many of the things I love. A few rows of lovely wine, which I often discover during memorable dinners out with friends and then go and find for my home collection. A stack of thick books to prop up the lamp. A photo that always reminds me of the moment we took it and how much fun we were having. And the wine rack itself, which I triumphantly painted a deep violet after getting frustrated with a never ending search for the perfect place to store my bottles and finally deciding to just do it my damn self.

All grouped into one colorful little area that makes a trip up the stairs well worth the effort and occasional huffing.

Singing her praise

Here she is folks. My friend, my work-wife, the one that I can have a full conversation with through a series of squints and eyebrow lifts...Stacy.

There are a million reasons why she is the greatest, but one in particular is something that is just so...her. She likes to send cryptic messages via texting that say things like, "Just bought us concert tickets for the 14th. You WILL be there." Then she refuses to let you pay her back for the tickets, because according to her, you had no choice in the matter and were forced into a fabulous evening against your will. As though the whole event was soley to entertain herself.

At the end of weeks in Europe this fall, there were only two viable reasons for returning to the land of George W. Bush; seeing Teen again and the long-distance promise of a surprise concert with Stacy.

Concert + drinks + friend = FU-UUN.

Tomorrow night she, Adriann and I will be going to see Kate Nash in Hollywood. Another one of Stacy's text message surprises. And I cannot wait.

The journey is the reward

Here's the thing: I'm tenacious when it comes to doing what I've set out to do. I moved to California almost three years ago by myself - no friends, no idea what I was doing, only the resolve that I would figure it all out and make it work. It turns out that figuring it out and making it work is a never-ending adventure.

After all this time, I still think to myself on a disturbingly regular basis, "What am I doing? How do I still not have a plan?" I'm all about plans; not having one drives me insane. But the little devil on my shoulder is constantly reminding me that the unplanned events in my life have usually been the most fun. So, I try to take a deep breath and go with the flow. Maybe a couple deep breaths...

Two weeks ago I gave up the fight at work at 8:00 p.m. for the third night in a row and dragged my tired self out into the dark night toward my car. Since my phone doesn't get any reception in the office, it beeped back to life in the freedom of the outdoors that I had a voicemail. It was Teen. "Hey, you want to go to Nugget's this weekend? Let me know. We'd leave on Friday night." I hung up, dialed Teen and responded with an unwavering, "Of course. I'm in. Hmmm... I'm going to need to find my bikini..."

That Friday night when I finally arrived in Palm Springs I was met with an 80's dance party, a glass of wine and a smorgasbord of gas station candy bars. Things were looking up...

The next morning we sat with our hosts pouring over the morning papers and cups of coffee before heading out to the Jacuzzi in the front yard to take advantage of the crisp desert morning air. As the jets worked on the small of my back and I laughed with Nugget and Teen while constantly throwing the dog his tennis ball, I realized that I wasn't having to remind myself to take those deep breaths.

The rest of that Saturday passed by in a blur of swimming laps, cannon balls, grilled shrimp and blended margaritas, reggae and disco blaring through the house and yard, moments of dozing on pool floats and relaxing in the late afternoon shade with a couple of Coronas while wrapped up in beach towels. If only every day could be so wonderful...

By the time we were having pre-dinner cocktails and watching the sunset, I was totally exhausted; truly relaxing can really wear a girl out! But it was the good kind of tired - the kind where you want nothing more than to stay seated, sipping champagne and grinning through heavy eyelids.

On the drive home Sunday night I realized that I may not have the husband and the kids that so many of my friends are starting to acquire. And maybe I am still fighting and pushing to reach that turning point in my career, but I am constantly collecting experiences...and I remain hopeful that someday I will have that husband and those 2.2 kids. And just maybe, for 10 minutes of their lives, they will be impressed that crazy Uncle Nugget has a fancy award and that I've tested out just how hard it is to raise it above my head in mock-triumph (though by that time, Auntie Teen will probably have a whole house full of them herself)...maybe they'll think it's cool that mom and Auntie Teen used to jump in the car for weekend adventures in Palm Springs and San Diego...or maybe not.

For now though, I'll just keep reminding myself that the current stretch of my path seems to have me in the role of a wanderer - collecting stories, friends, pictures and experiences in a million different destinations. And when I put it like that, well, that doesn't sound too bad at all. Deep breath...

"To dream of the person you would like to be is to waste the person you are."

Why?

Because right now things feel out of control and for the past few days it seems life has passed by in a haze of americanos, spreadsheets and conference calls.

Because it's almost the weekend, and that means that I get to spend more time with Teen.

Because sometimes it's nice to be back in the shadows laughing and dancing.

Because when I saw it tonight, this picture made me laugh on a day when almost nothing else did.

Because, hey, why not?

There's no place like home

It started sometime last week. I was rushing around the house trying to make coffee, put on my shoes, pack a lunch and track the time on the stove clock so that I could get to work just a mere 20 minutes late...when it hit me.

I don't want to do this.

I don't want to rush off to my thankless job. And I don't want to drive to the valley to do it. I don't even want to be in California right now. I just want to be home. I want a lazy morning with my Mom and Popi drinking multiple cups of coffee at The Bean followed by a stop at the Co-Op and eventually an early evening with my feet up while sitting on the deck listening to the birds chirp their arrival back for the summer season...

And therein lies that annoying saying of the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence proving to be true.

And since I sometimes like to fancy myself as both an adult and a professional, I squashed all my homegrown Stillwater, Minnesota longings, poured some almond milk into my coffee, drove over the hill and walked into another 11-hour day of marketing madness.

Then today during the same make-the-coffee-put-on-the-ballet-flats routine, my phone rang. The screen read Mom's Cell...she probably thinks I'm on the road already, but I'm late...as always. Do I answer, or do I call her back? I answered. I'm a daredevil like that.

Mom: Oh, hiya Sara Lynne! Listen, I'm at Aveda right now...
Me: Hi, mom.
Mom: and I know you said you wanted one of their mascaras... but they have TWO mascaras!
Me: (under my breath) Huh? Wha?...Need. Coffee.
Mom: So, there's a Mosscara and a Mascara. One thickens and one lengthens.
Me: I use the Mosscara. In Black Forrest, please.
Mom: Oh yeah? Sooo, you knew there were 2, didya?
Me: Huh? No. I just looked at it last night. It said Mosscara Black Forrest.
Mom: Oh, ok then.
Me: And thanks for getting that for me mom!
Mom: You bet. No problem. You have a good day, ok?

I hung up the phone, and there it was again. The urge to get in the car, drive to LAX and fly home for a little R&R, Mom and Popi style. I don't know if this is a normal affliction among others, but if not, then I blame it on them. I blame them for being too fabulous in the role of parents, thereby making me long to return to them whenever times get rough.

Wait...isn't the first thing crazy people do is blame their parents?

Crap.

Cheers, mate!

I would look around filled with anticipation and take a quick little sip. I'd follow that will pulling a face, spluttering and then trying my hardest to look like nothing had happened. I was somewhere in the age of under 10 years old and waiting for my Popi to momentarily walk away from his Saturday night can of Old Milwaukee or Miller High Life. It was disgusting and I silently fretted over the fact that I was the offspring of a crazy person.

Fast forward to those drinking-formative years of college. And not just any college, but the University of Colorado, where we not only like to pump out the most NASA astronauts, but also some hardcore partiers. Actually, it's the latter that CU is most notorious for - and if you don't like beer, then you gulp down Cosmopolitans in Nalgene bottles during tailgate parties (of which, it must be said, I recommend nothing LESS). I never really took to either.

And then, at the age of 20, I was off to Australia for 5 months. After 24 hours in my new country I hadn't had enough water - in fact, dehydration was the technical term - but I couldn't worry about that. I made a new friend and we went out for a lunch of pizza and beer. I'd read parts of the oh-so-fabulous In a Sunburned Country on the flight over, so I knew exactly what I wanted; I would be ordering a VB.

In one sip, my mind was changed. This beer had taste. Actual taste. It was the sipping experience of singing the Aladdin favorite, A Whole New World. There was flavor in a chilled beverage with an alcohol content substantially greater than that of American pisswater... I swoon; I pine; I lament the fact that VB is yet to be exported from the magical land of Oz.

To my great delight it wasn't just VB (though my first love remained my true love, to be sure). There was Toohey's New, Coopers, Emu Bitter, XXXX...and those are the ones that 7 years later I still remember off the top of my Aussie-beer-loving head.

And then...I moved to Boston. Home of obscure microbrews (Magic Hat #9, I await our reunion with a thirsty longing) and Sam Adams, my time in Boston cemented that I wasn't just an expatriate beer lover... I was on the road to becoming a beer snob. Me! the daughter of a mother who wouldn't touch the stuff and a father who loved whatever was on sale for the cheapest price!

After college there was a period of time where I was working in Minnesota and living with my parents. On summer nights when I had just battled over an hour of traffic and the sun was still shining down warm rays, I would thrust the car into park, breeze through the garage door and kick off my heels while prying the cap off a cold bottle of Sunshine Wheat, my Boulder contraband that had crossed state lines in the caravan between Colorado and home. More than once my Popi exclaimed during this 30-second routine, "My god! You're such a LADY!"

I would always try my hardest to belch a response, but in lieu of that would settle for something along the lines of, "HELL YEAH I AM."

Since then I've cooled my consumption of carbonated brew in favor of wine. But there's nothing like 3 weeks in Europe to reignite the passion. And there's nothing like 3 weeks in Europe with your snobby-beer-loving-daughter to persuade a Mother who has spent her entire life shunning it, to not only try it, but to LOVE it and become a bit of a snob herself - correctly claiming upon first sip that one particular brand in Prague was "shit."

We tried it all. In each city - a new beer. In Amsterdam and Prague where we spent more time, we would sight-see...take a beer break; museum visit...find a sidewalk cafe for a new beer tasting; shopping...beer break; dinner time...beer time.

When Christmas came this year Teen and I were met with a case of Beck's bottles. It was the beer on tap during our river cruise portion through Europe and now Mom's bev of choice. We drank it out of champagne glasses while getting gussied up for the Christmas Eve festivities. Mascara on!...Cheers! Clink! Gulp! Hair dried!...Cheers! Clink! Gulp! Hey everybody, Popi put on his fancy shoes!...Cheers! Clink! Gulp! Needless to say, it was utterly fantastic.


Then, a few weeks ago during a mini-break in San (read: Man) Diego with Teen, my beer-loving life came full-circle. On a cloudy Saturday afternoon we abandoned window shopping for the cheap thrill of bellying-up to a bar to drink Mexican beer and blather on like the silly twits our fellow belliers might guess we were. But this was not just any dive bar. THIS was the "Sleazy Bar Scene Location" made famous in Tom Cruise's epitome of hotness, Top Gun. THIS was Kansas City Barbeque, where the beers were cheap, multi-sized bras whirl off the edge of ceiling fans and a gal can enjoy it all while sitting across from the aviator helmet (mask?) of the Holiest of Hotties, Maverick. GOD BLESS MAN DIEGO.

But there was more in store...of course there was. There was a little spot of heaven called Bondi Bar, where cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die I found for the FIRST time, Australian beers (besides the dreaded Fosters) for sale on American soil. IF YOU WISH FOR SOMETHING HARD ENOUGH, IT JUST MAY COME TRUE. It wasn't my beloved VB, but it was Tooheys New, which had been the beloved of many dear friends and which I had always found completely acceptable to get myself pissed with.

I DO have respect for beer. Hell yeah I do! So does kissy-face Teen...

Teen didn't know what to do with my euphoria... OVER A BOTTLE OF BEER. She's so used to watching me try to pull my hair out from career-induced stress during my normal life, that the amount of smiling a mini-break + Aussie beer induced was rather startling. So she settled for taking an obscene amount of pictures. It is a fact that grannies don't take as many pictures of kiddies dressed up for Halloween. The first Tooheys New I'd laid eyes on in almost 7 years was subjected to a full-on photo shoot.

My friends from Australia will be so jealous.

Oh yes, I love beer. I love the way that it has peppered my memories of this last decade. And I love the vision that I have, of me and Teen, with white puffy little hairdos, taking photos of VB's triumphant arrival to the States, in what I grimly imagine to be many decades from now. A girl can always hope...

Le sigh.

The things I hear...

Brunette: What's a PCP? What the hell am I supposed to write in here?
Red head: It's a primary care physician.
Brunette: A what?
Red head: You need to write in your doctor's name.
Brunette: I don't have a doctor. Can I write in my gyno's name?

(Red head takes a pause to let her mouth gape open.)

Brunette: (shouting out in a loud voice) Sorry everyone! I said, "gyno."

(Pause)

Brunette: (mumbling under her breath) Shit. I said it again.

The manly man that I love most

If Sex and the City and my own experience have clearly taught me anything, it's that it's hard out there for us single gals; a good man is damn hard to find.

However, my search has ended. I've found him and...not to brag...he's perfect. He's everything me and my girlfriends have ever said we've wanted, including...

Being nurturing and unafraid to tackle the roll of caretaker...

Appreciating those little things that women hold so dear...accessories...

Oh yeah, he's a keeper all right. And now with this new hairstyle of his, ChaCha is on the fast track to break not only my heart, but hearts all over the world.

I saw the sign & it opened up my eyes

I was late already. Traffic wasn't moving, as clearly it's completely reasonable for it to take a half hour to traverse the 2 miles from my house to the freeway. And all I wanted to do was take my travel mug and throw it (and my coffee) at the head of the driver next to me...the one who was listening to his heavy metal so loudly I could feel my earrings vibrate.

It was one of those mornings where you can't help but think, "My god, this day is going to seriously suck." I wished that I was in the midst of a Saturday, or still in bed...or at least still in the shower. And then, while stopped at that red light, the universe sent me what I like to think was a little sign.

First, my mouth dropped open. Then, I suffered a full-body shutdown as I was trying to laugh my ass off while also manically digging with my right hand to find my camera buried in my bag.

Now, usually I would never do such a thing...trying to take pictures while also driving on a L.A. freeway...but THIS was too good. Plus, Teen would NEVER believe this without photographic proof, so sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Sometimes, a girl has got to take 6 pictures of the truck in front of her - and say THANK YOU UNIVERSE FOR MAKING ME LAUGH.

Maybe there was someone traveling on the 405 that morning who saw this and thought I DID ALMOST FALL THIS MORNING. AND I WAS WEARING MY TOWEL WHILE IN THE SHOWER TOO. SHE COULD BE ME! Or, maybe I wasn't the only one taking pictures while wiping tears of laughter away.

Click. You won't regret a close-up.

On the side of a truck a picture of someone slipping in a shower would have likely been worth 1,000 words, it's true. But a fully portable mock-shower complete with green curtain, shower head, shampoo placed in a shampoo caddy, yellow loofah and a mannequin wearing a towel who is about to stiffly slip and crush in her plastic head? Well, that is absolutely, laughably, make-my-crappy-morning PRICELESS.

Modern day Cinderella

When she wears a sandwich board on the side of the road it reads: WILL WORK FOR PARTY DRESSES, PINK HEADBANDS AND A DORA THE EXPLORER DOLL. You'll recognize her as the one who's waving and blowing you kisses. Should you still have reservations, her resume speaks for itself.