Feel Good Friday (I Scream, You Scream)

Even though I love food, I can't say that I consider myself much of a culinary queen. I seem to lack that overall creative skill set when it comes to the kitchen. Dicing? Chopping? Slicing? Sauteing? Boiling water? Oh heck no! No no no. Nope, I am not a queen of any sort of kitchen unless placing the frozen chicken nuggets onto the baking sheet counts. And if that happens to count, THEN I AM SUPER FREAKING AWESOME. But I really don't think that counts.

What if they're organic chicken nuggets, served with a side of honey for dipping? Awww yeah. That sounds good! I'll be right back.

Okay, back. Even considering my lack of talent when it comes to cooking I do love a good kitchen appliance. Give me a fun waffle maker, a handy dandy sandwich toaster, a cool quesadilla maker or anything that's a bit quirky and not found in every single household across the USA and I'm game.

One of my favorite appliances is my ice cream maker. In fact, I liked my old ice cream maker so much and used it so often that I upgraded to this heavy duty (bigger!) Cuisinart Ice Cream Maker a few months ago. It has found a permanent place on our counter- it never gets put away because there would be no point. I am always whipping up something to stick in there, it seems. I've made strawberry sorbet almost weekly this summer, turning out a new batch methodically every Sunday night after I get off from work for Husband and I to share while watching Daisy of Love (soon to be Megan Wants a Millionaire, hooray!)- and I'm still not sick of it, which is pretty impressive.

Ice cream machines are not only fun, but they're ridiculously easy to use. This is coming from a girl who can barely make ice cubes. If I can use one, anyone can use one. I could go out to the store and buy a tub of ice cream, sure, but it's the novelty of making your very own. It's your very own ice cream that you made! You made it! It's like the excitement of presenting an awesome finger painting you made in Kindergarten class to your parents all over again. Look at me! I can smear paint with my fingers! I can't do a cartwheel to save my soul! And I can make ice cream!

All of this talent (or um, lack there of) totally makes me a triple-threat, so watch out America. Watch out.

So I was all too excited when Stevie shared a recipe she had found for....drumroll please...cake batter ice cream. What?! Cake batter ice cream?! Oh my goodness! CAKE BATTER! ICE CREAM! YAY!

I finally gave the recipe a try a few days ago. I will warn you: it is very cake batter-y. So cake batter-y, in fact, that Husband gagged with his first spoonful. He outright gagged, oh yes he did, and choked out a barely audible, "Gahh!!! This ice cream tastes like cake batter!" in the midst of his commotion.

It had worked! The recipe was a success! Husband gagging on his first spoonful was the precise indicator I was looking for to gauge the overall success of the recipe, and he had passed with flying colors. For you see darling readers, I have somehow managed to snag the only man in America that:

1. Doesn't like ice cream.
2. Doesn't like cake.
3. Hates sprinkles and hates them more than he hates cake.
4. Hates frosting and hates frosting more than he hates sprinkles or cake.
5. Refuses to eat Pop Tarts unless they've been toasted.

And so given those five factors (maybe not the Pop Tart issue, but whatever- I maintain that IT IS WEIRD) Husband hated it. This ice cream is that creamy, that cake batter-y, and that awesome. He tried to choke down a spoonful or two, bless his heart. Gagging all the way.

Success!

(It probably didn't help that I also coated his bowl in about a pound of sprinkles, either. What can I say? I get a little carried away sometimes. I know, I know- shocking.)

So! Husband freaking hated it, I freaking loved it. Success. This recipe is also super easy- it only has five ingredients, none of which being eggs (which you typically have to temper, so nobody gets sick and dies because if accidental death won't ruin a recipe I don't know what will). You can also use any flavor of cake mix you want, with any stir-ins that you choose. Super easy, super tasty, super awesome. Chloe Tested, Husband (Not) Approved.

Enjoy!

---

CAKE BATTER ICE CREAM

INGREDIENTS:

• 1 cup whole milk, well chilled
  
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 2 cups heavy cream, well chilled
  
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 2/3 cup cake mix (any flavor- I used french vanilla!)
  

DIRECTIONS:
1. Place freezer bowl of ice cream maker into the freezer. It is better to keep it in there 24/7 that way it is always ready.
2. In a medium bowl, whisk the milk and granulated sugar until the sugar is dissolved.
3. Whisk in the heavy cream and vanilla to taste.
4. Whisk in cake mix, making sure there are no lumps.
5. Pour mixture into freezer bowl and let mix in the ice cream maker until it has thickened (about 25 minutes)
6. Remove ice cream from bowl and place in separate container.
7. Place ice cream into freezer to further harden (a few hours). Stir in frosting or sprinkles before placing the ice cream into the freezer, if you so wish.
8. Eat and enjoy!

---

And here is a picture tutorial of the recipe. This is picture heavy. I'VE WARNED YOU.

My cookbook.


The ingredients.


Step 1: Pour the sugar into the milk.


Step 2: Whisk the sugar and milk together. It's not easy, whisking with my left hand while holding a heavy camera in my right. NOT. EASY.


Step 3: Check out the fat content of the heavy cream. Oh wait, that isn't part of the steps? Good. 'Cuz I'd recommend skipping that one, it'll make you never want to eat ice cream EVER AGAIN.


Step 3: Add the heavy cream (that is magical and not full of fat) to the milk and sugar mixture.


I freaking love cheap imitation vanilla. I mean it. It's enough to make Martha Stewart want to weep, I am sure.


Step 4: Dump half a bottle 1 teaspoon of cheap imitation vanilla into the heavy cream, milk, and sugar mix.


Step 5: Stir in 2/3 cup cake mix.


Ew. Lumpy.


Step 6: Betty Crocker the shit out of that mixture.


Step 7: Add more vanilla. Wait, what? That isn't in the instructions? IT SAYS 'TO TASTE', GOD DAMNIT, I THINK I HAVE A PROBLEM.


Step 8: Finish Betty Crockering the shit whisking, voila. It's ready to go.


Step 9: Stick the mixture into your ice cream maker and dangle your camera precariously over the very top, careful to not drop your camera into the ice cream mixture. Cameras never make good stir-ins.


Step 10: Set the timer for 25 minutes. Spend 25 minutes watching Peets and Kitty make their irked faces over the noise of the ice cream maker.


Step 11: PREPARE YOUR STIR INS. Or stack them prettily and take a picture.


I warmed up the chocolate frosting on very low heat for about 30 seconds, to make it easy to stir without being warm enough to melt the ice cream.


Step 12: Check the ice cream. A few minutes left, not quite ready!


Oh ho! At exactly 25 minutes- now it's ready!


Step 13: Slowly drizzle in some chocolate as the paddles continue to turn. You want to do this at the very end so it gets mixed in, but not too mixed in.


Step 14: Ohmygosh, yum. Wait, that's not a step.


Step 15: Allow the ice cream to harden in the freezer for a few more hours. Serve, eat, and cry over its cake batter-y deliciousness.

The end!

Doctor of Dentistry Doom.

I had another dentist appointment today, an appointment for my one filling needed. All things considered from the last debacle (root canal, cracked tooth, argh) my Sjogren's hasn't worsened anything past the point of a tiny bit of decay where I have a bad habit of tucking my sugary gum between my tooth and my tongue. Good news I suppose, again- all things considered.

I have to constantly chew gum because I constantly have a dry mouth. Drier than dry. Drier than drier than drier than dry. Unbearably dry sometimes. It is cotton-stuffed-in-your-mouth dry. Sometimes I stand next to the kitchen sink and wonder, as I refill my water bottle for the 100th time that day, what it's going to be like going through the rest of my life like this. It is that dry.

I chew the sugary gum (Stride Spearmint, always) because it lasts longer, therefore I'm not plowing through 100 pieces a day.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Before my dentist started working on the filling this morning I asked about my cracked tooth (root canal gone bad).

"Can I keep this tooth in until it starts hurting?" I asked.

"Is it hurting?" he asked me.

"Nope."

"Not even any pressure when you chew on that side?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope."

"You can keep it for as long as you want, then. Just as long as it doesn't start swelling. If it starts swelling, then we need to get it out of there. If it starts swelling above your eyeball, we need to get it out of there right away. I learned in anatomy that any swelling above the eye is bad, because it's too close to the blood vessel barrier up that way. Same reason you're not supposed to pick a zit on your forehead. You could kill yourself."

"Ummmgh." I said. At this point his hands were in my mouth, which gave him free reign to keep chattering.

"So if that's the case, then that means I should have been dead 30 years ago." he cracked himself up with this, muffled laughter coming through his mask.

"Ughghhm?" I asked.

"I know. I'll tell you what though, my son isn't a zit picker, but man he has big pores." he fiddled with the needle, "Okay, you're going to feel a pinch here."

And that's when I realized, darling readers- aside from the horror that is known as my mouth, I should have been a dentist. I should have! The amount of over-sharing most dentists do is spectacular, as they hold you hostage with your mouth cranked wide open so you can't respond, and perhaps that is why I never felt very comfortable around my old dentist.

My old dentist was tight lipped and morose. She was young (30's?) but with old eyes (ex-tanning bed addict?). She was not a talker, my old dentist. She would give you the very brief details of what you needed to know (sometimes) and then enough silence to make your inner ears feel like they were crushing in upon themselves. It was that eerie deafening silence, a silence that should have been filled with mortifying, sordid details about her life or her kid's lives or that-old guy-that-came-in-yesterday, man was he a nightmare.

Instead it was filled with nothing except the sound of drilling, and who wants to listen to that when they're at the dentist? Silence? Drilling? Ugh. I never liked her, and I think that is why.

She did have really good magazines in her waiting area though. I'll give her two bonus points for that.

There's simply something wrong with a dentist that doesn't like to talk. Dentists are (or rather- should be) the ultimate in conversationalists, keeping a one-sided conversation going for minutes, hours as they work inside your mouth and only receive mumbles and "mummmphs" in reply. The rambling! The babbling! The yammering! The stories! The gossip! And much like a dentist, I realized as I sat tilted back in that chair as he drilled in my mouth, I hold you hostage every single second you're here reading my thoughts, darling readers, figuratively jamming my hands into your mouth as you're trapped and unable to fully respond.

HA! HA-HA! I BET YOU NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT THAT WAY, HUH!

I totally missed my calling in life. Oh fart.

So I left my dentist, numbed up and feeling quite happy over the good news that I now know dentist's son has huge pores, the biggest pores ever (er wait, that I can keep my tooth for a bit, yes that's the good news here) and my day is officially complete.

I went to Target after my appointment (my dentist is a block away from Target, handy!) and tried some cute things on, including this dress. As per all Target things, it is much cuter on me than on the internet model, I promise. It is as if Target.com tries to make their stuff look horrifically awful. Target I just, don't, get it.

I tried these on, too. Very cute and surprisingly comfy. I walked out of the store empty handed (gasp!) but pay day is tomorrow, so perhaps I will reconsider then. Cut hours at work means I need to actually watch myself a bit here. The good times are temporarily over on hiatus. Right.

Red Robin tonight for dinner (Whiskey River BBQ Chicken Wrap with extra steak fries, heck yes).

I just turned the heat on 'cuz it's that cold outside.

I have a movie off of Netflix to watch.

I have two chihuahuas snuggling on my feet.

Life is good.

...naptime!

Outfit Of The Day (Featuring Those Round, Pokey, Metallic Things)

I told you Husband doesn't know what sequins are called.

Top: J Crew Tissue Sparkling Rose Tee in Champagne, AE Lace Tank
Skirt: J Crew Denim Pencil skirt (from last summer)
Shoes: J Crew Augusta Peep Toes
Bag: Large Tumbled Leather Odile Bag in Coral
Necklace: Target (Merona)
Chihuahua: Snuggly and warm, freshly plucked from napping

Outfit Of The Day (The Day Is Dark And Dreary)

This is my first week of working less hours and truthfully, as you can likely see...I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I apologize for the over-abundance of blog posting, but the fact that I suddenly have extra time on my hands coupled with bad weather means I am currently bored out of my little gourd.

I am so very sick of this weather- it is slowly sucking my will to live. But I will always use a good opportunity to drop a line (or two) from my favorite poem, so perhaps it isn't all bad:

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all;
Into each life some rain must fall;
Some days must be dark and dreary.
-Henry Wadworth Longfellow

Coat: Anthropologie Allihop Slubbed Terry Jacket
Tank: American Eagle
Jeans: American Eagle Artist Jean (short inseams, heck yes!)
Shoes: J Crew Lulu Metallic Peep Toes
Purse: J Crew small Odile bag in Gray
Necklace: American Eagle
Umbrella: Gap (a steal for only $3.99!)

Wednesday Wants - Cirque 21

Forever 21 launched their "exclusive design collection" Cirque 21 today, a collection with a definite circus theme available only in very limited supply.

I at first looked at the collection with a bit of dismay, mostly because I'm terrified of clowns and could only imagine a high pitched violin going, "REE REE REE REE" that makes me want to hide underneath my bed forever and ever mostly because the looks seem to appeal more towards the young crowd (and well, sadly- I'm now more with the old crowd sob). But! But. As soon as I uncrossed my eyes (and tilted my head up from its stuck cocked position) and really looked at the collection, I mean really looked at it, I found several darling pieces that would work quite well in my wardrobe. Perhaps not paired with knee socks and bobble-adorned headbands per Forever 21's interpretation, sure, but I did end up ordering a few things and I'm excited to see them in real life.

Rose Polka Dot Top - $19.80
This polka dotted corset is topped with pretty black rosettes. Not only does it look kind of neat paired with the skirt in the picture, but come on! ROSETTES! I ended up passing on this, however, simply because I find polka dots offensive. They offend me, those jerks, in all of their polka-dotty, perfectly round glory. But I'm still thinking about it because I do love a good rosette. It really depends if my stabby hatred of polka-dots can outweigh my love of a good rosette. I might pull the trigger in a few days, if it's left in my size. We'll see.

Ruffled Petal Dress - $27.80
How darling is this dress? It combines the best of everything (ruffles! petals!) in a pretty purple hue. I love it. I didn't buy it, though, mostly due to wearability- it's a fall/winter color, so it'd likely need to be paired with a cardigan. In theory it's a great idea, but it's also an idea I almost never execute very well in real life. Most girls can pull that look off, sure, but I can't. I always end up looking like a little lost street urchin hiding in layers of clothing. Cry.

Ruffled Over Dress - $29.80, Pleated Baby Doll Dress - $22.80
This is another look that could easily look too young, but the pieces on their own would work well with other garments to help add a bit of maturity. The Ruffled Over Dress would look great with a simple pair of flats; the Pleated Baby Doll dress would look awesome tucked under a plain, belted trench coat. I also ended up ultimately passing on these, although I think I might have to reconsider the Pleated Baby Doll dress. I need another dress like I need a hole in the head, but it's shimmery! It's purple! What's not to love?

Pintucked Bow Chiffon Dress - $22.80
I know I just said that I need another dress like I need a hole in the head, but I said nothing about purple dresses with adorable bows on the front, framed with cute, ruffly sleeves. This one will look great belted or unbelted; with flats or with boots. I can already imagine it with black tights and my Frye Fionas. (Yup. I ordered it).



Bow Front Skirt - $19.80
Last but not least we have the pièce de résistance- this beautiful purply-pink skirt with layers of ruffles, topped with a swooping bow. I totally ordered this. Did you even need to ask?



Baby Chihuahua #1 - $$$, Baby Chihuahua #2 - $$$
Um, so these aren't actually part of the F21 collection. But wouldn't it be awesome if they were? I was going to totally Photoshop some clown hats and clown noses on to them so they'd work with the overall theme here a little better but I know how this internet thing works. These two pups are actually Petunia's siblings that are for sale right now (EEEEK!) and the last thing I need is for the breeder to figure out I'm yanking her pictures and altering them so they look like little clowns. I was simply just showing them to Petunia late last night so she could see her siblings and wave and say hello, and I feel she'd be able to relate to them much better if they were adorned with clown hats and noses. Anyone who owns a chihuahua totally gets this. Anyone who doesn't thinks I've totally lost my freaking mind. LOOK AT THE LITTLE GUY ON THE LEFT HE'S TOTALLY SMILING AT ME 'CUZ HE WANTS ME TO BUY HIM AND ALL FIVE OF HIS LITTERMATES SQUEE!

I apologize if many of the links I included don't seem to really link anywhere- many of the pieces in the collection don't quite seem to have their own page yet, but all can be found by looking at the Cirque 21 collection right here. The only item I couldn't seem to find was this pretty black skirted jacket, which is being sneaky and hiding from me. Which is probably a good thing- I also need another jacket like I need a hole in my head, but I do live in Colorado which has begrudgingly provided me nothing but jacket weather for the past 200 days straight. We get good use out of our jackets here, boy do we.

So, darling readers, what do you think of the collection? Yay? Nay? Hit? Miss? Are you going to order anything, or are you going to pass? Share in the comments!

Well. Whew.

*lets out a big sigh of relief*

A few of you pointed me in the direction of the wonderful Neiman Marcus a few days ago, which is (er, was) having an additional 25% off its sale (and lots of Nanette Lepore!). I love it when you guys enable me to feed my gluttonous vices, oh man it makes me so happy. It makes Husband so happy too. I ask him about it all the time, how soooo happy it makes him- and he just twitches in response. And it's funny, that twitch- he just developed it over maybe this past year. I'm not quite sure when it started, that twitch of his; maybe it's the organic milk I have been forcing him to drink lately. I keep asking him if he's had the doctor check it out and he just looks at me and twitches. I guess that's my answer.

I'm pretty sure his twitches are just little spasms of joy. Yes, sure of it.

So anyway I had already discovered the Neiman Marcus sale by the time you guys showed me (be quicker, my minions!)- in fact, I discovered it mere hours before it actually happened.

How, you ask? A-hem, this is how:

Much like what happened with the Lazy Daisy top, Neiman's likes to do this really sneaky thing to me where as soon as I buy something, A MERE FOUR HOURS LATER it goes on sale for an additional 25% off. It never fails. It happened to me with the Lazy Daisy top (argh!) and it happened again with the beautiful striped Trellis corset (!@#$%^&!!!).

I had spent the past several weeks stalking the Neiman Marcus website, you see. It was a strict nightly ritual- before going to bed I would check, in this very dedicated order:

1. Neiman Marcus
2. Sak's
3. Bloomingdales
4. Random Google search
5. Random Ebay search
6. Praying to the Voodoo Gods while doing the Hokey Pokey and offering Petunia as a sacrificial lamb chihuahua cute, squeaky, fuzzy thing

To see if I could find the Trellis corset in my size. Mind you, this corset had stared me in the face for months and I didn't waste nary a second thinking about it- but as soon as it was sold out in my size and on a killer sale, I wanted it. I wanted it! I NEEDED IT! I NEEDED IT BAD. BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD.

Every night I would do those very six things in that exact order, all while holding my breath and waiting for a corset to pop back up in my size. It's a very stressful and anxiety-riddled life I lead here, readers. Please don't ever forget that.

So I was doing my usual routine late this past Friday night when, lo and behold- there it was! Gaaasp! The Trellis corset! And...and...and...IN MY SIZE! I shrieked and quickly hit the "checkout" button before it disappeared. The Trellis corset would finally be mine! AND MY LIFE WOULD BE COMPLETE FOR .05 SECONDS UNTIL I FOUND SOMETHING NEW TO OBSESS OVER and STALK as a POORLY EXECUTED PLAN to COMPLETELY ESCAPE THIS REALITY KNOWN AS MY STUPID, SICKLY LIFE oh HOORAY!

Feeling quite smug that my diligent hunting and stalking had finally paid off, I felt pretty good about things. I was a proud little peacock, oh yes I was. And I went to sleep that night dreaming happy dreams of teal and taupe stripes with a pretty ruched bust.

Everything was honky dory until I woke up on Saturday and decided to show Husband what I had found and ordered. Because you know, as my manly and macho Husband he really cares.

I was showing him the corset and, oh jesus, that's when I saw it-

NOW! TAKE AN ADDITIONAL 25% OFF! WITH FREE TWO DAY SHIPPING!

No. No! My jaw dropped as I wheeled around, in horror, to look at Husband.

Twitch.

Most of us know that Neiman's is quite fickle when it comes to price adjustments, even if you did just order something and it then goes on sale a mere 4 hours later. I mean, who do they think they are, god damnit? A business? Trying to make money?

So I did what I did with the Lazy Daisy. I did what is probably illegal and 46 states and would get me publicly reprimanded in several more. I hit the handy dandy "cancel this order" button (thanks Neiman's!), REFRESHED REFRESHED REFRESHED REFRESHED until my size popped back up on the website, and hastily re-ordered it with shaking hands. Except now for an additional 25% off with free two day shipping! Free two day shipping! Hallelujah, free two day shipping.

And the corset shipped out today, for an additional 25% off with the (hallelujah) free two day shipping. Free two day shipping, hallelujah! It shipped! It worked! My sneakiness worked! IT WORKED! HA HA! EVIL LAUGHTER EVIL LAUGHTER EVIL LAUGHTER RUBBING HANDS TOGETHER AND MORE EVIL LAUGHTER!

IT WORKED!

So my darling readers, that is how I knew Neiman's was having a sale before they actually began the sale. I hereby declare myself The Predictor Of When Shit Will Go On Extra Sale At Neiman Marcus. I think it's official- all I need to do is send off an order, wait about four hours, and voila. Extra sale. Extra shit. Extra awesome.

Just like how it makes Husband so very happy that you all enable my happy hankerings, it also makes Husband so very impressed over my amazing psychic abilities as to when Neiman's will have a sale. So impressed, he is. So very, very impressed. He married a very special lady, he told me tonight- yes, yes he did.

Twitch.



PS- Husband has requested that I give him a once-weekly column to allow him to rant about the abominable atrocity that is known as J Crew Men's and/or the equally awful trend of teenage boys stuffing themselves into jeans meant for 8-year old girls. Or if I don't give him the column, then I should discuss it. Let's see here. Allow him to rant with free reign, or allow me to rant (which believe me, I know you guys think I get all ranty over dumb shit but I've read some of Husband's emails and don't even get him started on this stupid shitty sequin trend for Fall, sequins fucking hurt when he tries to hug me) (except he didn't call them sequins, he didn't know what they were but they fucking hurt and he wants them to go away) (and oh god! those funny ankle boot things us women like to wear!) and um, yeah. I will have to think about this. Cough.

PPS- He's also requested that I take a picture of him in his "awesome" blueberry boxers to post as an OOTD. Awesome being his operative word, readers- not mine.

PPPS- I'm beginning to think that he doesn't take my blogging seriously at all.

Operation Find A Dress

ETA: Never mind! We figured it out, the mystery has officially been solved. Thank you so much to the wonderful Midwestern Cliche for letting us know that the dress is by the very awesome designer Catherine Malandrino! ♥

Okay! A darling, lovely reader of mine emailed me last week (yay!) requesting help on finding a dress that she spied in a recent Brighton catalog. I think most of my readers know how much I love a pretty dress, even if it spends 99% of its lonesome life hanging in my dark closet. There's simply nothing better to me than a beautiful dress to twirl around in, and it always makes for the best pick-me-up when I'm not feeling well.

Screw you Lupus! I say. I have a pretty dress! AND LUPUS, YOU CAN'T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME! Well, technically you could take that away from me if the medical bills ever got bad enough. But let's not think about that right now. You can't take my pretty dresses away from me in the near future- and that's, um, all that matters.

I digress. Even being the Sleuth And All Around Obsessive Dress Owner that I am, I actually have no idea where this dress is from. Not a clue, sadly. And not only does my darling reader need to know, but now I'm quite curious as well.

And no no no, it's not because I want to buy it. Oh gosh guys, stop being so silly.

I just want to see the dress. And touch the dress, maybe. And try the dress on, perhaps. And mash my face into its soft fabric, just for pity's sake. And then I'll walk away from the dress with absolutely no feelings of wantonness or regret.

(Riiiight.)

So! Help two girls out; solve the mystery if you can. Where in the world is this pretty little dress from?

Dear Neighbors To The North:

Dear Kickity Ass Kick Ass Canadians,

I realize a few of you were upset over my post a few days ago, where I had posted a Canadian fashion designer (a gorgeous Canadian fashion designer) and then poked a bit of fun at your people.

I did not mean to be...well, mean. I often post with a bit of self-deprecation and tongue-in-cheek, but beating up on myself gets old sometimes and I occasionally have to move on to other targets. It is only fair, I feel, to unleash of my innocent rankling on to other groups of people.

For the record, I would like to state- I meant absolutely no harm by my post. I simply wanted to showcase an awesome designer that I had found. I love Canadians! I met my first Canadian last year, a real live Canadian that said house like "hoose" and out like "oot". He was a nice guy, old in his years and a retired professor. He thought I was funny. Hence, all the rest of the Canadians should think I'm funny, too. Duh.

If you took offense to my post, then I'm not quite sure what to say except consider the source. I'm a freakishly pale, scrawny white girl that can't climb up a set of stairs normally and is going bald. I grew up in South Dakota, for pete's sake. I feel slightly flattered that a few people were so irritated by my innocent ribbing, but I meant absolutely no harm. Absolutely none.

In all honesty- if you ever take offense to what I have to say, then perhaps this isn't the blog for you. I post only in good humor and nothing more. One of the great things about living in the United States (or Canada) is that our web browsers have a little "x" in the upper right hand corner that you can click and voila! Just like that, I'm gone. I don't want you to click that little "x", but if you're being insulted by my incessant babbling, then perhaps it's only for the best.

If you want me to stop poking fun, if you want me to start being PC- I sure can. But it's going to make for one heckuva boring blog.

Love and Lots of Maple Do(ugh)nuts,
Chloe




PS- And to the poster that seemed quite upset that the recession hasn't left me homeless in a shanty, I would like to say this. Husband's business has picked back up again over the recent months, hallelujah. Husband puts in long hours at his business, oftentimes working 12, 13 hour days 5 to 6 to 7 days a week. As the saying goes- you don't own a business. The business owns you.

I also have parents that have, in the past, put in 12 hour days, 5 days a week of hard work to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. I also understand that just because you're a good, hard, dedicated worker doesn't mean you always come out on top in this world. Morally, perhaps- my parents are great people. Perhaps even the best people you could ever know. But they have worked hard their entire lives and will continue to work hard while not always reaping the financial benefits due of their hard work. I realize how fortunate Darling Husband and I are for our situation in life and everything we have and I think about it almost daily.

This recent upturn with Husband's business has allowed us to hire 40 people back. Forty people that we had laid off earlier this year! So if you want the recession to really impact me, if you want my husband to close up his small business (that gives FREE HEALTHCARE TO ALL OF THEIR EMPLOYEES- find another small business that does that!) and lay those 40 people off again, we sure can. If you want me to stop spending money (again, stimulating the economy in the most simplest of ways), I sure can. If you want me and Husband to stop donating to charities (again, spreading the little wealth we have), we sure can.

But I'm pretty sure that isn't going to help the recession, I'm pretty sure that wouldn't make you very happy either, and I'm pretty sure that's what they call cutting off one's nose to spite one's face. Not sure if you've ever heard of that little phrase in London, Ontario- but think about it.

So. Please go spite your own face, you big baby. I don't often resort to childish name-calling or addressing snarky commenters, but I have never read a more asinine or poorly thought-out post in my comments in my life. Did you really think about what you were saying there? Really?? Obviously not?

But thanks for taking the time to type it all out anyway. It gave me a bit of a good chuckle and really made my day. I mean it. ♥

Outfit Of The Day (Lazy Sunday)

The weather here has been so darn weird this summer. Gone are the endlessly long toasty days of scorching hot sun; instead we have the rain, we have (ugh!) the humidity and the mugginess, and we have (ugh ugh ugh!) an official high of 71 degrees in the middle of July.

Seriously?

Seriously.

Hello summer in Colorado- where the heck are you? I'm still waiting for your impending arrival. AND LET ME TELL YOU, summer darling- I am beginning to grow impatient. And if this is some sort of set-up for a really bitterly cold, wet winter...well, I'm not going to be very happy with you. Oh no, not very happy at all. And by not very happy I mean that I might kick a few things (like the carpet) and shake my fist angrily out the window.

I will probably scowl a little too, and I might even get my "mean wrinkle" going. My "mean wrinkle" is a perfectly formed vertical line straight in between my eyebrows. And it makes me look...well, mean.

I oftentimes wake up with in the mornings with my "mean wrinkle" because Husband says I'm a mean sleeper and that I scowl angrily into my pillow in my sleep. Unlike him, of course, who falls asleep happy-happy-happy and wakes up happy-happy-happier and isn't ridiculously panicked over booking his first Botox treatment by the age of 30 to obliterate any and all signs of meanness.

I'm not even trying to fend off old age, darling readers. I'm trying to fend off mean age.

See? So you don't want to piss me off, summer. YOU DON'T. Because I'm going to have some Botox here in a few years and then you're not going to be able to tell when I'm even the slightest bit angry, mostly because I will be completely incapable of emoting any sort of mean expression (or any facial expression at all, really) (except, of course, a frozen expression of blissful contentment with just a hint of remote vagueness) and then I will be all stealthy with my meanness. You won't have any clue what's coming. I'll be stealthy just like a ninja. DO NOT MAKE ME ANGRY, SUMMER. DO NOT.

I already told Husband last year that I couldn't handle it anymore and was retiring a bit early (at the old age of 27) so I could move me and P-Diddly down to Arizona. He can come visit us whenever he finds the time.

The sun and hot weather can come visit us, too.

Top: American Eagle Sergeant Jacket in olive, American Eagle Tank Top in black

Shorts: American Eagle (sheesh, I'm repping the brand today apparently)

Belt: J Crew Perfectly Patent Belt in Dusty Rose

Shoes: J Crew Perfectly Patent Pumps in Dusty Rose

Clutch: Kooba Josie Clutch in Rose

That being said, I really like the color of this jacket (a muted, soft greenish brown- hence the word "olive" Chloe, duh) mixed with the white shorts and the dusty rose accessories. It makes me happy, this jacket- something about the bold, horizontal stitching on the front reminds me of when I was an Itty Bitty Chloe and I would color in a coloring book. I would color so carefully and so dutifully inside the lines, tongue firmly pressed in concentration to the outside corner of my mouth as I would first outline the very inside of the black preprinted lines with a bold strike of color before I would get down to business doing the actual coloring. I always had to outline with color; no drawing was quite complete without it. Funny how a simple detail on a jacket can bring you back 20 years in an instant.

And wow, 20 years.

And. I promise I'll move on to other accessories soon. ;)

Outfit Of The Day (Panicked & Pale)

First things first. I love this romper. I adore this romper. I ordered it from Lulu's last week, pleased to have found something so closely resembling the super expensive Sunner Florent romper for so cheap. This romper was only $47, while the original Sunner version will set someone back a hefty $273. Ouch. So I ordered the Lulu's version since I can't justify spending so much on a trendy piece (no matter how pretty it is), figuring it was a good deal and no one would be none the wiser.

Except...welllll...darling readers, I pretty much got what I paid for.

'Cuz I got stuck.

I was literally stuck inside this romper today, darling readers, and let me tell you- I've never had a very good repertoire with zippers, but I've never actually broke one while it's been on me. Fin, finished, finito, DONE, stuck inside.

And of course the more I yanked the more stuck the zipper became, halting in all of its stupid stubbornness and desisting in protest the more I tugged. It finally ended after a 20-minute struggle, 20 looong minutes of me pulling and cursing and jumping up and down and crying and breaking out into a nervous sweat fearing I'd have to cut the garment off of me so I could free myself and make it to work on time.

It was either that or I would have had to go to work and explain what I was doing with a rumpled romper half zipped-up on me. And while I am fairly sure that while rompers are cute and rompers are darling, I am also fairly sure that rompers are also completely inappropriate work attire. Even if it is casual Friday, and even if it is summer, and even if I do work with a bunch of people that think it's perfectly fine to wear Tevas and running skorts in the office. I work at a gym for fuck's sake. I sometimes stand behind the counter in my sweaty, awful workout gear after 45-minutes on the elliptical and get asked if I'm actually working. Ugh.

But a linen romper with shorty-short-shorts with a big gaping hole near my ribcage where it wouldn't zip up would definitely be inappropriate to wear to work, even if I had topped the outfit off with a lovely strand of pearls and oh yeah two bonus points for me.

I would never get this romper off, I decided hysterically in the middle of my tugging. I'd grow old in it. I'd die in it! I'd die in this romper and I'd be buried in this romper, still half zipped up around my midsection and wrinkled and sweaty from the frenzied tugging. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

So all of this unfolded while Kitty and Petunia and Streak sat and watched, offering nothing except their little fuzzy blank animal stares-of-confusion while I whirled through the house freaking the fuck out. Fuck, shit, fuckity fuck, fuck fuck fuck, SHIT, god damnit. The zipper pull snapped completely off, the zipper was stuck, and I was reaching for the scissors when I decided what the hey- let's give it one final, hard yank. I had nothing to lose except, you know- my clothes.

So I balled the fabric up in my sweaty hands, yanked as hard as my arthritis would let me, and ta da! It came undone with a pop and I was free- albeit now with a completely broken, crappy zipper.

Cry.

The garment itself is still fine though, except for some wrinkles where I was clutching desperately at the fabric while trying to pry the zipper down. Downey Wrinkle Release to the rescue, I guess.

So. It looks like I'll be taking this one to the tailor ASAP to get the zipper replaced. I love the romper enough to invest money into fixing it but how much is this going to set me back, I wonder? How much does it cost to replace a zipper? How long will it take? I want to wear this beautiful baby now, not two weeks from now. Hm. I will find out soon enough. If anyone could give me a guesstimate, though, I would be happy, before I haul down to my tailor and they tell me $50. Gasp.

Moving on here. Looking at the pictures below I would like to say this- I swear up and down that I use self-tanner almost daily and you all are so very very very lucky because can you imagine how white I'd be without it?

It's pretty amazing, lovely readers, how pale I actually am- and by amazing I mean completely horrifying. A co-worker of mine grabbed my arm at work tonight as we discussed tanning and said, "But we're Midwestern Norwegian stock! We don't get tan! It's hard work being this pale!" and I laughed meekly in agreement, regrettably deciding to not inform her that while I might have a bunch of lefse-wielding Nordes in my family, there's a Native American floating around in there somewhere too. I am pretty sure he was a great great great grandpa. I'm not sure what his actual name was, but I'm hoping that his formal tribal name was River Runs Through Skin because sometimes I can sit and trace my blue veins shining and winding their way through my nearly translucent body.

Ew ew ew, ick, ew.

(OR MAYBE I BET his name was Whitey McWhite Sits In Snow Pants. They threw the "Mc" in there 'cuz he was so pale they thought he was Irish.)

(Or maybe...maybe...I bet...oh, I bet his name was Hank. And he was just a really boring old dude. THAT'D JUST FIGURE.)

I have no excuse for being this pale except simply that I am, and I swear I use the darkest self-tanner out there, and there are often days where I sit in our main floor sitting room and stare outside longingly at the sun through our big windows, tempting myself to sit in it for just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, Chloe, to let it heat up your skin and give you a bit of that skin-cancery-causing glow. Just a few minutes. Just a few minutes.

Oh glorious sun, how I miss you so! I actually can't sit in it (now because of TEH LUPUS) but if I ever show up on here completely rashy and awful and horrifying and red you'll know exactly what happened; you'll know that Chloe was weak and finally gave in to her demons. Waaaail.

Blah blah blah okay you've been warned, here we go:

Romper: Lulu's Platinum Halter Romper
Shoes: J Crew Perfectly Patent Pumps in Dusty Rose
Clutch: Kooba Josie Clutch
Necklace: American Eagle
Bracelet: Forever 21

Aren't you getting sick of seeing me in the J Crew Perfectly Patent Pumps and Kooba clutch? Let me state this loud and clear, my lovely lambs: while I might only change my accessories weekly, I do change my underwear daily.

And that is all that matters. Even if this is the only thing you take away from this entire ridiculous debacle of a post: that is all that matters.