Christmas In July & My Least Favorite Saying

No way! So I was just listening to Sufjan Stevens' Christmas album, (yes, I'm listening to Christmas music in July... I just had a hankering to hear Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming), and I heard the craziest thing ever!!! My least favorite saying ever, in the whole wide world, "Did I make you cry?" is actually a Christmas song!!!!!

No way! Sacrilege! Catastrophe!!! Curses!!

First, I want to know who else in the whole entire world would have the audacity to ask such a wretched question, as "Did I make you cry?" That question was put to me once, by someone I love, when in fact he had made me cry, and the tone in which it was asked was not one of remorse or concern, as much as gleeful sarcasm. URGH!!! Yes, as a matter of fact, you did make me cry. Does that make you happy? (I actually asked him "does that make you happy" right back, to which I got NO answer). Turd, thy name is man!

Anyways, I'm sure you can imagine my surprise, as one minute I'm singing along to O Come, O Come Emmanuel, and the next minute Sufjan is asking "Did I make you cry on Christmas Day?" To be exact, the song goes:

I stay awake at night

After we have a fight

I'm writing poems about you

And they aren't very nice...

...Did I make you cry On Christmas day?

Did I make you cry

Like every other day?

Did I make you cry

On Christmas day?

Did I make you cry?

Why, oh why, in the history of man and woman, would you ask such a question? Men, listen to me, listen now, never, I mean NEVER, ask a woman that question. Or maybe you like 4 inch stiletto heels embedded in your shins, in which case, ask away oh Sufjan, and other insufferable males. Check out the picture that was with Sufjan's Christmas album... he doesn't look too happy does he? But check out his wife... she looks pretty happy. Pain, the reason is pain. She has her fingernails dug deep into his shoulders in that picture, and I think I know the reason why!

Seriously, a woman's tears are nothing to be taken lightly. To incorrectly and unabashedly quote the Bible, here, God collects our tears, in a little jar. And I'm sure that the ones that have been shed because of unrequited love are especially precious to Him. And I wouldn't mess with God. I'm pretty sure He doesn't like that question, so if you're smart, just don't go there. Ok?

The answer, by the way, is "No, I will never shed another tear for you, ever again. And especially not on Christmas Day!" Blast you for even asking!

Check Out My New Poll, On The Sidebar!

I'm a bit geeked... I put up a poll. It asks the life altering question:

If you could be any Muppet, who would you be?

I think I've got the heart and general sentimentality of Fozzie the Bear, the random eclecticness and klutziness of Gonzo, and the girly high maintenance of Miss Piggy (minus the voice like a buzz saw in my ear).

Your turn. Answer the poll??

Joy Divine & Eternal

In all the world, I have no more favorite piece of music than the Ode To Joy, taken from Beethoven's 9th Symphony. Today as I was listening to it, and wondering what these loud, robust German voices could be proclaiming, I remembered an article from The Moral Compass, about Beethoven's last days, and the writing of this symphony.

That article ascribed to Beethoven an exemplary faith of one facing his last days, where he says "...Indeed, a hard lot has fallen upon me! But I resign myself to the will of destiny, and only ask God constantly to grant through His divine will that, so long as I must still suffer death in life here, I am protected from penury. This will give me the strength to bear my lot, however hard and grievous, with resignation to the will of the Almighty". Sounds pretty faithful to me. It was based on this quote, as well as my love for the Ode To Joy, that I decided to look up it's lyrics today, and got a big fat shock.

Beethoven was deaf, from his early twenties on and upon the diagnosis of this malady, he went through a period of suicidal tendencies. He was also thought to be bipolar. His childhood was troubled, as the son of an alcoholic father, who's mother and siblings died early on from tuberculosis and who was forced to raise his two younger brothers. Yet that never stopped the amazing work that this freelance musician composed. In addition to writing some of history's most notable works, he was also a skilled pianist, who began performing as a child and was declared by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to be a musician who would "astonish the entire world".

What I find most fascinating about Ludwig van Beethoven, however, was his religious beliefs (huge surprise, I know). Some think that Beethoven was a Freemason, but others have called him an atheist, as well as a Deist in the fashion of Goethe. Upon a closer look into both his statements and the themes of his music, it seems to me that Beethoven was at best, a Deist (though in direct contradiction to his words above about the will of the Almighty), if not a Pantheist. The guy's music rocked, but his faith was not so rock solid.

A close look at the words sung in the Ode To Joy show that the song is about the "brotherhood of man" and though references are made to God being worshipped in the heavens, by the cherubs, never once is man shown to give God such regard, but instead man's role in this ode is to turn to one another for solace and peace and joy, and then to the wine poured by the pagan god Elysium.

This theme is repeated throughout as is this sentiment, "Joy, beautiful spark of the gods, daughter of Elysium, we enter fire imbibed, heavenly, thy sanctuary. Thy magic reunites those whom stern custom has parted; all men will become brothers under thy gentle wing."

What the ?*%$??? Talk about disappointed. Here in my head, I had always idealized this dramatic and moving piece of work as being a hymn to the Lord, praising His attributes amongst creation, much like Francis Of Assisi's "All Creatures Of Our God and King" (probably in my top 5 favorite hymns of all times). Sigh! Well, we all know what happens when you assume...

Man was clearly created to worship and praise the Sovereign, Almighty Father, through the merits of the Son, and with the aid of the Spirit. Yet, as I searched for more lyrics of Beethoven's, never once was this alluded to, much less written about. All I can do is hope that the last words of this famous composer, "Not yet! I need more time!", which were accompanied by a shaking face aimed at stormy skies, were in response to a call to salvation rather than any unfinished business, musical or otherwise, here on earth. Till the day, in heaven, when I can worship with songs never before heard, and of such great worth and talent, that they are only divine, I think I will continue to delude myself by ignoring the meaning behind Beethoven's works and add my own words of praise, eternal and divine to their beautiful sounds.

Pool Of Death

No, I'm not talking about the communicable disease buffet that is most waterparks....

I'm talking about bamboo. I bought a bamboo this week. Well, Home Depot has so many of their plants on sale, and how could I resist? It's pretty cute, and a little twisted (hehehe, like me!). So I say someone should start a pool to see how long I can keep it alive.

My own guess is one month. Any takers?

Gettin' Ready For The Move

So, guess where I'm sitting right now? In my new chair - an overstuffed one at that. I have my feet up on the ottoman, but there isn't much room between the top of my legs and the bottom of the desk. See, I'm also sitting here using my new computer.

Wow, I'm blessed. So today, for FREE, I got a new computer (well, it's new to me, and only a year old really), an overstuffed chair (reeaally nice, big enough for two people squishy style, and it's going to be THE chair for Sunday afternoon naps, I can tell you that right now), the matching ottoman and a microwave. I friggin' love Craigslist!

I'll post pics later, cuz after moving around all this stuff, I'm pooped and ready for bed. The only bummer is that all this stuff is moved into the old place, and in a month's time I'll have to move it into the new place. At least it isn't very far.

If You Can't Say Something Nice....

....Well, we all know how that old adage goes. Thumper, the cutest rabbit to ever live thankyouverymuch, said it best. "Mama says, if you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all"

So, in all honesty, if I haven't posted lately, it's not for lack of anything to say. It's for lack of anything nice to say. In between roommate drama, feeling a bit friendless and alone lately, questioning my own stubbornness in wanting to become a pastry chef, missing an old friend that I used to love, my recent diagnosis (and frustrations) with Celiac's Disease, and more roommate drama, I've just not been a very cheerful me.

I came to that realization last night when I was having dinner with my best friend, and I could sense her losing patience, albeit nicely, with me. She didn't have to say anything, I could just tell that my cynicism wasn't anything she wanted to hear. So I did my best to shut up.

And so, I haven't posted this week. And I might not post this coming week too. I have written tons, trust me, but then when I proofread them, I realize that nothing I have to say is encouraging or upbuilding or anything I want associated with my name a month from now, so I delete the posts. I might not have much to say, but at least I'm not saying anything I'll regret.

And that's all I have to say about that! For now.

Tempted, But I Won't Give In

Unlike millions of other geeks who dressed in wizard robes with fake owls glued to their shoulders and stood in five-hour long lines, I waited till the day after to get the new Harry Potter book. That doesn't cancel out the fact, however, that as soon as I got off my shift this afternoon I beelined for Target, and made straight for the "literary" section (chick lit, brain candy abundance, spare me), barely stopped at the end of the aisle display to pick up the book, pivot-stepped to the shortest line and was reading it by the next stoplight. Yes, in the car, at the stoplight.

It was there, on Hiawatha and Lake, that I did what I always do with a new book. Urrrrrrrr...screeeeeech!!! No, I didn't cause an accident. I did the vastly unthinkable. I turned to the last page and began reading.

Wait a minute. Hold up a sec. This is the book that half the literate world has been waiting for, and that the author and publishers have implored major metropolitan newspapers to keep mum on. I can't read the last page. I don't care if I do do that for every book. (I'm not quite into the fourth chapter of Matthew Pearl's The Poe Shadow, but I know that Edgar Allen Poe was involved in some pretty heavy stuff there in Paris.) People have lost their jobs over leaking the end of this series (that guy with the blog), and yet, as nonchalantly as other car habits (singing, checking my teeth, scrutinizing my hair), here I was reading the end of this great mystery.

Unthinkable!! You have to understand though - I hate surprises. In life, books, movies, love, you name it. I am not a surprise kind of girl! (Just a word of warning, surprise parties are a surefire way to incur massive embarrassment and slight irritation. I know, I know, it's the thought behind it, and all. But really, I would much rather be able to control some element of a situation, or at least believe that I do.) Anyways, back to Harry Potter. I had to ask myself, there at that stoplight, as the book covers came smashing together on my finger, whether or not it was worth the o.c.d. habit, to read the end?

I decided, there and then. At 759 pages, this is going to be a long wait, but I think I can manage it. Wait, who am I kidding? This is going to take every ounce of self control I have!

A Brief Update, Really Not Terribly Interesting

I have to laugh, because a few years ago, when I first met Peggy Johnson, I had to try to convince her I wasn't all crafty/homey. She just thought she knew that I was a Martha (Stewart that is). These days, as I think of refinishing my new bathroom, all I can hope is that she'll offer some advice, or at least a few pointers, on the linoleum, caulking, paint, etc. She's the Martha Stewart, and I'm hoping she lets me ask her ten million questions as I get to work on the new place.

I wish I was a Martha Stewart. I'm so not and for once, I really wish I was. I have my work cut out for me in the new place, and I need vision, style, talent.

I have finally decided on some paint colors, at least. I'm leaving the adorable green in the kitchen, and have decided to leave the Tobacco color of the living room as well. I'd really like to accent it though with like, a Tiffany's blue. Come on, who doesn't love Tiffanys? The bathroom is going to be a pretty color called Peach Bud, a light blush color that should shed some light in there. And the bedroom, egads!! Right now it is bright periwinkle blue. Excuse me while I go spit out the barf that came up just now. It's new color will soon be Ruby Ring. Although, I'm worried that red walls, red sheets, red lamps, will it be too red? Should I think of doing a different color? But I like red. It's so warm. Hmmm.... the verdict is still out on the bedroom.

Ok, speaking of lamps, I FELL IN LOVE with some lamps at Pier 1 tonight. Y'all would be so proud of me. I went to Marshalls, TJ Maxx, Home Goods and Pier 1, and I only spent $8. On picture frames, of which I'm convinced you can't have too many. Eight dollars. I did so good. Pier 1 had some amazing deals though, and I was soooo tempted!! I especially fell in love with these adorable lamps. They're still a tad out of my price range, but by next week, well who knows? Anyways, till I know exactly what I want, I'm not going to spend money needlessly.

So, coming home tonight, I thought, I could use some inspiration. So to get in the Asian mood that I hope will gently permeate my new abode I ordered my favorite Mandarin Beef with gluten-dork friendly white rice and am watching a great Kurosawa masterpiece, Rashomon. Nothing says "get ready to decorate" like Samurai films!!

Seriously though, this is a classic. It has even defined a psychological phenomenon, when people can't discern truth, from conflicting accounts of the same event. IMDB gives this synopsis:

"The film depicts a rape and murder through the widely differing accounts of four witnesses, including the perpetrator and, through a medium, the murder victim. The story unfolds in flashback as the four characters—the bandit Tajōmaru, the murdered samurai Kanazawa-no-Takehiro, his wife Masago, and the nameless Woodcutter recount the events of one afternoon in a grove. But it is also a flashback within a flashback, because the accounts of the witnesses are being retold by a woodcutter and a priest to a ribald commoner as they wait out a rainstorm in a ruined GateHouse. Each story is mutually contradictory, leaving the viewer unable to determine the truth of the events."

In any case, I have seen it once before, and it is a lot to follow, so I thought I'd try it again tonight. And, I was hoping to find some good black and white stills of the samurai and his wife, for framing in the living room. Sweet!

The Man Curse

Ok, here's the other thing, I mean besides my recent trips to Home Depot bringing me great joy & mirth (keep reading, you'll get there)....

I am a mental case today when it comes to guys. I talked to the non-chivalrous ex today, and we putzed around verbally, as I tried to get up the courage to tell him once and for all that I don't even want to be friends. Mission so not accomplished.

The thing is, he's a nice guy, and sometimes he can really turn it on But other times, well, other times he's just not such a nice guy to me. Did I mention, in my post earlier (uh huh, keep reading, you'll get there), that he made this comment the other night about how the only girls who ever wanted to date him have horribly low self esteem. I just looked at him. Looked. For a long time. He didn't get it. Urgh!!!

And the other thing is this, I had a horrible dream last night. A nightmare, that woke me up sweating, angry and scared. I dreamt the guy I've been in love with for the last three years (yeah, not Mr. Knight above, not even close!) came home to a family reunion between our two families (as likely as flying pigs bringing me $5 million in a Louis Vuitton bag), and he was MARRIED! I mean, I have reconciled myself to the fact that since he thinks we're just friends, that some day he really will come home married to someone else. But in the dream, he was married to some white trash, bus station skank with a kid. An ugly kid with Kool Aid stains around it's mouth and dirty clothes no less. And her, with her overly bleached hair and pallid skin and Wal-Mart knit dress, really she wasn't winning any prizes in the anything department. URGHURGHURGHURGHURGH!!! He was all playing with the kid, as DimWit sat in the corner not talking to anybody. And he had married her. HER!! I woke up so angry, at like 3 in the morning, just angry, swearing that if it was the last thing I do, I need to get over him.

Seriously though, this dream like, ruined my morning. I woke up and I had a craving for rusty nails with a side of Beastie Boys for breakfast. I didn't even crack any jokes in the kitchen at work, and the girls were left without mirth and dork dancing. All because of the thought that he could end up with someone, well someone lesser than me.

Now, like I said, I know the day will come when he will fall in love with someone other than me, and marry her. I've always pictured that woman as head & shoulders above me. And, I kind of thought, too, based on the little twits he's expressed attraction to, that he would pick some hot little blonde Britney Spears lookalike (wait, Britney Spears...white trash...I'm making a connection!) I mean, if it were character or personality he was after, he has someone who's been in love with him for three years right here. I'm ready to love him with all my heart.

But I've figured, since we're just friends, that it must be a lack of attraction thing. And I can deal with that. I mean, like Popeye said, "I yam what I yam". I'm dark & swarthy & chubby, kind of a like a cross between Jack Black and Captain Jack Sparrow (come on, I know you can picture it). But heck, I like me. I've got great hair, and I tan fairly well, and even Mr. "Chivalrous" says I have a great smile (though, can he really be trusted?). Anyways, I like who I am, and someday so will someone else.

But today, it wasn't the man of my dreams (literally), and it definitely isn't Mr. Manners either. What the heck? Am I man cursed? Stay away friends, I'm contagious.... I've got the man curse! I swear!

Adventures In Wonderland aka You Can Do It, We Can Help

So tonight, I made the trip. To Home Depot. I spent, like two hours in there, just wandering the aisles like a lost sojourner, searching for the way home, ur, that is to the check out line.

I was good, I only bought a magazine (Oprah at Home) and a few plants (two orchids and two bamboo). But what I gained cannot be measured in monetary fashion. Who could measure knowledge? Who could confine wisdom? Muahahahah!! Muahahaha!!!

I just have to say, I am so excited to move into the new place. But even more exciting than moving in is getting it ready to be moved into. I am going to paint the kitchen cupboards, and see if Jon will help me refinish the hardwood floors (since he's such a pro at it). And I'm painting the bathroom, and the bedroom, and the living room. Pretty much the only walls that will remain untouched by my color driven hands are the kitchen ones, but we already know that I adore their shade of Kelly Green. Yeehaw!!

Also exciting tonight, I went to Kramurczuks and got "sassage". Andouille and Polish, and tomorrow a Jambalaya will go in the crock pot to feed my newly gluten intolerant self.

Ok, I have a confession - I don't believe in Karma, but if I did, it'd be a bitch right about now. See, I recently found out I'm gluten intolerant. Yep, that's right, a baker who can't eat wheat. Look at me laugh, see. I'm laughing.

So what does this have to do with Karma. Well, an acquaintance of mine used to be allergic to like, everything, and I used to make fun of him mercilessly. Seriously, the first time I met this friend of a friend was at a Thanksgiving dinner where I had done all the cooking. All twelve courses of it. There were brussell sprouts with bacon and chestnuts, two kinds of stuffing, an infused & brined bird worthy of the pages of Martha Stewart, two kinds of pies, mashed potatoes that would make you cry, from scratch gravy, the list goes on. And this poor guy couldn't eat any of it. At first I felt sorry for him, but then he got on my nerves a little bit and inside, I admit, I was making fun of him.

Fast forward 5 years - I am lactose intolerant. I can't eat cheese, ice cream, milk, sour cream, cream cheese, cheesecake, cheese curds, grilled cheese. I am gluten intolerant. I can't eat pizza, pasta, bread, pancakes, soy sauce, waffles, muffins, croissants, cakes, you name it, if I can bake it, I can't eat it.

I kind of deserve it though. Maybe. For making fun of him. But I'm sorry, I really am. I know now what a pain in the butt this is, and I'm sorry. I just want my gluten back! I do!!

Well, I guess all that money I save on frozen pizzas and Bertollis 10 minute pasta dishes I can put towards home repairs & remodeling. Really, who needs bread when the food I will nourish my body onwith will be the labor of my hands as I transform my new apartment into a sanctuary of warmth and style. Muahahaha!!! Muahahahaha!!!!

A Lesson In Chivalry

So, I don't really do the helpless female thing very well. Some friends I know have it down to a science. CoughcoughKatrinacoughcough. (Don't worry, I love you just the same!).

It seems to me, though, that guys love that sort of thing. They just eat it up, since they feel so important when us women need their help. I just have never been able to pull it off with any sense of credibility or sincerity. Really, most of the time, for the stuff that people see, I'm really not that helpless. I've pretty much been on my own & independent since I was 16, so I've had to learn to fend for myself, and independence can really put a damper on coy flirting.

Whenever I have felt helpless, and truly desirous of a man's help, well there tend to be none around, and I end up, out of force of necessity having to change that tire/move that treadmilll/fix that cable/push that car all on my own. It's not that I don't want the help - I want it so very much. It's just that, well I'm convinced guys never think I need it, and so it's never really offered.

But last night, I had a moment of true female helplessness. Hallelujah, it was like Haley's Comet, coming around only once every 80 years!

So I was over at a friend's house. Said friend who, in an earlier post, was indicted for dumping me quite unscrupulously. All is forgiven though, and we've gone on to hang out, as friends, with enough of a moderate amount of attraction to at least keep things lively & entertaining, if not enough to actually date each other.

In any case, I had gone over a bit late, and was pretty tired from being at church and with friends all day. The glass of whisky he poured me didn't really do much to wake me up either. So, we hung around, having a nice evening, and then around 1:30, when he dropped a (not so) subtle hint, I got up to leave. I gathered my purse, and put on my adorable patent leather sling backs, and walked myself (dealbreaker #1) to the car. As I was walking out, I tripped on a rock, twisted my left ankle, landed hard on my right knee, spilled my purse out all over the pavement and pretty much flashed the entire empty parking area a lot of leg. As I sat there, humiliated, frustrated, tired and did I say frustrated, I started to cry. My knee hurt, and I could tell, even in the dark, that it was bleeding.

So, what did I do? Did I go home, knee bleeding, achy, crying and irritated, as I should have? As any independent, self respecting girl would have? No, in a brief fit of female helplessness, a real cry for chivalry and help, I hobbled back to his apartment, knocked lightly, and then stared up at him like a puppy dog when he answered the door. As he stood there, in his pajamas, I managed to quietly sob out "I fell, and I skinned my knee. Can I come in and wash it off?"

Now here's where the scenario starts to play out a little differently in my head. In the Bizzaro world of opposites, where everything is backwards, he actually would have been a hero. A real knight in shining armor. And he would've helped me. He would have led me to a chair, and went & got a wet towel, and knelt down and gently wiped off my knee for me, asking me if I was ok.

But in the real world, in a universe where, I'm convinced, real manners are a thing of the past, and only previous generations of men knew how to treat women as they desire, well things went a lot differently, and quickly downhill at that. He just stared at me, as I stood in the doorway, and then after a moment said "Yeah, come in. You can use the main bathroom". So I limped up the hallway, to the main bathroom, and sat, as gracefully as possible on the sink counter. Then I unraveled a bit of TP, and ran it under the faucet, and began to wipe at my knee as gently as I could, all the while with an audience. An audience that just watched me, and then, in a really not so smooth move, blurted out "Well, that's what happens when you wear dresses and heels all the time".

Really? Really, that's what you say to a wounded female, sitting bleeding in your bathroom? You insult her sense of style and femininity, as she's bleeding from a major joint? Really?? Because, wow, seriously, that's not the right answer. Although, I should add, in his defense, he did pull some Neosporin and a painfully small band-aid out of a drawer for me.

Needless to say, at that point I sucked it up, apologized for the inconvenience, and made my way out the door, making sure not to let it slam me in the ass. Then I went home, wounded knee, wounded pride and all. Urgh!

Now I know I'm a klutz. I know that I tend to wear shoes, that by Minnesota standards, are a bit impractical at times. What can I say? I grew up in Los Angeles, where we can get away with that kind of frivolity and call it class. As for the clumsiness - I have no excuse. To know me is to buy me Shout Wipes, and love me, hopefully. But please, as I'm hurting and bleeding on your counter, please don't insult me and then leave me to fend for myself, when I'm trying, really really trying, to be a woman here.

I just want to be something I'm not. Helpless. Coy. Flirtatious in a way that makes men want to rescue me. I'm not however, really, any of those things. Yeah, I'm confident, and strong, and capable and really want to help people who need it. Does that mean though, that in the rare times where I truly am a damsel in distress, that I deserve to get treated the same as every other day? I hope not. I want my moments. They feel good. Because, really, it does feel good to have a guy come to my rescue. Not that I know from much personal experience, but really, short of bodily injury, a girl can dream, right?

Sentimentality

I am being sentimental today. I want to go back to China. Oddly enough, I miss Beijing. The few days I spent in this foreign place, last year, did not seem enough, and I long to explore every nook, cranny & crevice.
In my sentimentality, here are some images that are making me even more wistful. Oddly enough, they're all cityscapes, though the rolling hillsides of the country in Hailar and Hulun Beier are equally missed.
I envy those friends who get to/got to spend months there, and wish God would call me out of the pastry kitchen, into something bigger/grander. Till then, these are the images that strike me tonight.

Another Craigslist Exclusive

Ok, so how awesome would this look in my living room? Hahahah!!! I love you Craigslist!

My Craigslist Addiction & Kate Spade Obsession

Did you know there is a Craigslist movie? I kid you not. It's called "24 Hours On Craigslist" and it is a documentary following the phenomenon that Craigslist has become. I feel like I have not been on this bandwagon long, only about two years, but seriously, that's better than some, who have just discovered the treasure trove that CL is.

Now, I owe my CL addiction to my friend Erin, who I used to work with at New Life, and who would be constantly scouring the CL site for cute shoes & purses. She'd call me over to her office & I would think I needed to notarize something or whatever and she'd just be gushing over a new pair of pumps she found. Heehee. Me? I'm into furniture right now, needing some soon, and all. So, tonight, since I can't sleep after a fun night out, I decided to do a search for "paint" and see if I could find some cheap white paint to paint the cupboards in my new kitchen.

What did I find instead? An adorable pair of ISAAC (the couture line of Isaac Mizrahi, not the Target cheapo line) of chartreuse green suede mules with a little bow, in my size. For $35. Don't worry, I didn't buy them. They're kind of impractical anyways, and not quite dark enough green for me.

Also for $35 (or around there, actually $40), I found an adorable vintagey looking bed frame, right out of the pages of Country Living. That I might consider.

And, I responded to an ad for a man looking to have artwork commissioned, as a barter. I offered him cake. I hope he will think it a tempting promise. I also found a really cute Hoosier style dining table, definitely vintage American, 1940's, but I'm not sure it's going to be what I'm looking for in the kitchen, since I want to go with a more Asian feel. Speaking of Asian, someone had a retro looking bamboo headboard, but it was a twin.

I seriously need to get rid of my twin bed and upgrade. A quest I'm hoping CL can help me with in the next month or so. I did post a Wanted ad, saying that I'm looking for a newish, full or queen size bed set, and so far I've been propositioned for sex twice. Ummm, yeah, I said I need a bed, not someone to do things in bed with. Riiiiiigght. About the only thing I do in bed (other than sleep) is blog. Quite exciting enough for me.

So anyways, I did find paint. But only in a cheap looking burgundy color, and another in Chesapeake Sunset (translate - yellow). Urgh. I just want white. Bright, crisp white. To offset the Kelly green of my kitchen walls in a way that only Kate Spade could appreciate!

Speaking of Kate Spade, so Kari and I were at Macys last night scouring the home department clearance racks (yes, now I am dragging good and patient friends along in my inane home goods quests). And I fell hard for this red & white Kate Spade china set. That is, until I saw these ones online. Green. Bamboo. Kate Spade. I digress.

Which brings me back to the question I posed to Kari last night, and that I myself stole from another Carrie (Bradshaw that is)... Why can't a single woman register for home stuff the same way an engaged woman would? I mean, am I to be punished just because I'm not getting married? What if I wanted to register for a few things that I need for my apartment, and throw myself a housewarming party, and pray that someone would show up & if they did, they'd have gotten the hint and bought me something off my registry? Why?

I mean, I know the reasons why. Ri.Dic.U.Lous. But come on, a girl can dream can't she? I mean, I would never be able to get that Kate Spade china set on my own (isn't that the accomplishment of the modern single woman? "I don't need a man to get home goods - I got this all on my own!" Blah! Call me old fashioned, but I think I like the retro "I got an engagement ring AND a Kate Spade china set out of this" deal much better!)

Ok, I'm going into a whole different state of being here, and I should get back to my CL obsession. I wish they had Kate Spade on CL. She's my new style icon and home goods hero, and if you don't believe me, read this write-up singing her Park Avenue praises. Tableware Today (why yes, I did say Tableware Today, heeheehee!) says her name is synonymous "with hip, classy, retro, and moderne all at the same time" Ummm... don't I know another wonderful blogger with a home goods fetish and a CL obsession that that could describe? Hahaha!!!! Dream!!

In the meantime, I will continue to pour over countless CL posts, a lot offering crap I don't want and you couldn't pay me to take. In search of the rare, ubiquitous retro find, or (dear God a woman can dream can't she) the miraculous name brand (Kate, do I hear a Kate?) china set in green & white bamboo, to complete my adorable, wonderful Asian/New York inspired kitchen to be. Aaahh, I'll sleep good tonight!