Repeat 10 times: I will take pictures during Mardi Gras.

I don’t take photos.  I feel like I am disrupting the organic flow of an outing, party, conversation, etc when I get everyone in to say cheese.  Does it bother me when others take photos?  Not at all.  It is just my own little idiosyncrasy that lights up right when I think “this would be a great time to take out my camera….”

And you would think, living with a photographer and all, that he would take charge and snap photos all over town with all of our friends.  Nope.  He feels the same way.  That and he doesn’t like taking photos of people.  Period.

But I have to get over that.  Why, you ask?  Because it’s Mardi Gras and not only that, it’s our last Mardi Gras.  I believe someone else took maybe 4 photos of us at Mardi Gras last year, posted them on Facebook, and then proceeded to get rid of Facebook, therefore we have no photos from last year (side question: do you feel like Facebook has made us photo lazy?  How many families have physical family photo albums as opposed to Facebook albums?).

Flynn bought me a camera for Christmas and I believe I have 5 photos on the camera right now.  It is time to exponentially multiply that number.  I am ready to be a photog.  Every night, I will take photos of Flynn, friends, and floats and I will look back at all of them, old and gray, in actual physical albums because I refuse to let that tradition die, with fondess and nostalgia for our little blip in New Orleans, Louisiana.**Taken in our drive way after the St. Patrick’s Day parade.  I’m not sure if I even took a photo with this camera.  Thank God someone else did – happy there is documentation of all the trash in the street and, of course, my awesome outfit.

Too much Wes Anderson!

Last night, I had a dream that this Bill Murray

called me a “charming moron.”  Hey Wes Anderson, get out of my head but before you go, I do think I just found a little tid bit for your next script!  That sounds like it is right up your melancholy, monotone alley!  Let’s discuss soon.

Raffia Represent.

This gallery contains 3 photos.

“I was telling someone that I can’t go to Burning Man cause I’m a bridesmaid in my best friend’s wedding and it sort of hit me.” – my bridesmaid, Lilly You and me both, sister. I do not want to … Continue reading →

Brined with Bacon Fat

I have found my new thing for the Thanksgiving Holiday: the turkey.

I thought that I was always predestined for this delicious old school favorite, but I guess my relationship with birds is proving to be even more twisted than ever expected (another blog post worthy explanation).

Flynn and I hosted our first Thanksgiving dinner in our little apartment in New Orleans this Thanksgiving.  It is no secret that I love lists and if given the opportunity, I can get real OCD real fast with organization skills.  Case and point: my Thanksgiving grocery list!

I’m actually quite embarrassed to show you this as I usually will use highlighter to differentiate, as I find it a lot more distinctive, and of course, gratifying.  But I couldn’t find any highlighters while I was comprising all lists.

After multiple trips to the grocery store, strategic time management of the oven, and an early morning crisp run to calm the turkey cooking nerves, my lists and OCD were all systems go for a Thanksgiving feast.  T’was the season for the O’Brien Family Jalepeño Cheddar Cheese Rolls, the favorite Green Bean Casserole, Joy of Cooking Stuffing, Flynn’s Bourbon-Cranberry Compote, and the most unreal turkey that I never thought would come from my loins.  For how escalated the turkey task is, the pinnacle of the holiday menu, I never thought I would amount to anything close, especially not on my first go ahead.  Vegans, Vegetarians, and all together fat and/or sodium-phobes beware!  My secret?  I don’t know if it was a strange Paula Dean influence, the amount of pork and/or pork product I have consumed while living in Louisiana, or the constant smell of fry in the air, but I got the most insane idea to smother the entire bird in bacon fat after I brined it in a salt and brown sugar solution for 24 hours.

And it was fabulous.

“Don’t ever buy me a turtleneck” – a Christmas shopping tip

I actually really like a classy turtleneck.  I do think the turtleneck is an acquired taste as I don’t recall any specific love or admiration for them as a kid.  And I think the real reason why they are so great is because it is a legitimate article of clothing to wear to the office that you, get this, don’t have to iron.  And considering I spent 2.5 hours last night ironing pants, button downs and blouses while watching the Saints game, any break from it is welcomed.

But Flynn on the other hand, has such disdain for the article of clothing.  Knowing that I am directly helping his mother with his Christmas list, Flynn took it upon himself to look me straight in the eye and say “don’t ever buy me a turtleneck,” as if that gift would make or break our relationship.  I said alright and proceeded to let his mother know, that along with anything red, anything with buttons, anything with a graphic on it, anything with irregular pockets, anything with too deep of a V-neck, anything with an irregular collar, don’t get him a turtleneck.  And I thought that I was the picky one in this relationship.

Here is a tip: Don’t buy a turtleneck or risk serious ramifications.

A note from the office:

“Come, let’s be a comfortable couple and take care of each other! How glad we shall be, that we have somebody we are fond of always, to talk and sit with,” – Charles Dickens

Parties on my mind

Tis the season to party.

With gut wrenching heat already gracing it’s presence in the South, I have a few things to keep me distracted from the sweat beading down my face at 11pm at night.  Parties.

Ah yes, I love them so.  All of them.  BBQs to fancy weddings.  And I got those and everything in between in the next few months in THREE different states.  And of course, there is the ever-looming party that I am supposed to be planning for 200 people on Sept. 2nd 2012, but, that is another blog entry.  Or 20 blog entries.

With all of these parties in my planner, my omni-present desire to buy fabulous dresses has grown stronger and stronger.  But being the bargain shopper that I am, I keep my eyes peeled.  Accompanied by a friend last weekend, I was shown the 25 dollar rack at a boutique/stationary store (beautiful marriage of two things I love, pretty dresses and beautiful cards).  I immediately gravitated towards a gorgeous, perfect, Chloe & Reese turquoise strapless dress with a sweetheart neckline with a fullish skirt ending right above the knee.  It was beckoning my name and I was instantly in love.  When I tried it on, I flew out of the dressing room for all to see.  I, being a bride to be, have tried on many wedding dresses in search of “the one” that makes my heart go pitter patter and, before this day, I was beginning to think that I wasn’t that kind of person to be giddy over a dress, since I wasn’t getting excited about any of them.  But, this perfect dress on the $25 rack solidified the fact that I can be beyond elated for a dress.  My friend, Danielle, loved the dress, as did all the attendants and boutique owner.  But the experience took a turn for the very worst after Danielle exclaimed “and I can’t believe it is on sale for $25!”  The owner immediately and abruptly responded “That dress is not $25, it’s full price.”  My heart sunk, not even glancing at the tag to begin with, I still knew I was in for some really upsetting news.  I looked down at the tag. $460.  I asked her why it was on the rack with the other $25 dollar dresses.  She responded that there was no other room for the Chloe & Reese dresses so she placed them on the same rack.  I looked at her with an evil eye, hoping that her bad organizational decision would somehow transition into the realization she should sell me the dress for $25 out of guilt but it didn’t work.  I may or may not have also called the whole situation “cheating” but I was upset and I take no responsibility for my actions.  I took the dress off, devastated and heartbroken, and left.

Dear New Orleans, your organizational skills really kill me sometimes.  It’s ok, I have parties this summer to make me feel better.

Another idea:  If I was a professional party planner and I was assigned to plan a 1950′s old Hollywood glam party in Palm Springs, I would be very very excited.  Then, I would make sure that the venue had a pool.  Then, I would hire a synchronized swimming team to dance in the pool for all the guests to watch and admire.  Then I would ask them if I could be their water girl as a side job and in exchange they could teach me some moves.