Falling from the sky.

This morning I woke up before my alarm for some reason. Stumbling down stairs in my slippers, something bright a fluffy caught my eye outside. Lo and behold, the most gorgeous snow was falling from the sky right before my eyes. If I had slept 10 more minutes, I would have missed it.

I have not seen such big, beautiful, fluffy, cotton-candy-like snowflakes in longer than I can remember. It took all my willpower to not jump into my Uggs and dance like a schoolgirl across the yard, across the other yard, right up to our wooden swing in the open space. Upon sitting I would open my mouth with my tongue sticking out, catching as many of these million-dollar snowflakes as I could.

If you were lucky enough to witness Mother Nature's magnificent display this morning, count your blessings... good things shall come your way!

Access denied.

After much worry and anxiety over donating plasma, I finally scheduled an appointment. This afternoon I threw on some comfy clothes and drove myself to BioLife. I read the statement out loud, read the packet, got my picture taken, did the fingerprint thing, and I go to the back so they can check my veins.

"You can't donate, your veins are too small."

And I'm all, what the hell does that mean. I KNOW what that means, but really, what do I do to make my veins bigger? Apparently lift more weights and drink more water, as if I don't do enough of that already.

A very frustrating car ride home found me pissed that I got worked up and nervous for something that I wasn't even qualified for. Maybe in a few months I'll give it another go. For now I'll stick to donating blood with my next appointment being Wednesday afternoon. I figure I've gotten myself worked up enough about needles that I actually need to go through with some kind of torture to justify my childish anxiety.

Once I get stuck, I breathe a sigh of relief and silently curse myself for being so immature. There's something about the waiting and pending future donation appointments that get me all worked up. As if the phlebotomists are going to have an "off" day and decide to attack me with the hollow needles. Who am I kidding, it's times like this, late at night, when I let my imagination get the best of me and my stomach proceeds to tie itself in knots once again.

Grill master.

It doesn't matter if its
steaks
chicken
turkey
hamburgers
ka-bobs
salmon
tilapia
halibut
rockfish
ribs
pineapple
peppers and onions
or
corn on the cob

No one grills better than this man right here. It might help just a tad to have a grill worth more than my entire wardrobe (which doesn't say much, I suppose... hehe.... ), but Lance is the ultimate grill master. If I could come even close to perfecting his indirect-heating-so-the-juicy-flavors-stay-trapped-in-the-filet style, I would consider myself golden.

Jamba-laya

I'm thirsty. I'm torn.

Yes, I'm semi-hooked on Jamba Juice smoothies. Going in for my random fix with Molly this afternoon, I have to weigh my options. Do I go with the berry-rich Strawberries Wild? Or the creamy citrus blend that is Orange Dream Machine? Occasionally I'll sway to a Mango Mantra for a healthier swig or a Peenya Kowlada when I'm feeling tropical.

Nevertheless, I have a business idea for Jamba, and that is to start selling Jamba shots. These little guys would be great. it would be the same power of a normal Jamba Juice but in the size of a shot glass and designed to be taken down in one slider-from-"Top-Gun"-bar-scene-in-the-beginning-where-he-meets-maverick-and-goose motion. These would all be pre-made. You pay, you take, you slam, you leave. Whose with me?

Hands down.

You can't fit anything else in this sandwich. It's chock full of all my favorite veggies, avocado (being #1). We went out to dinner to Good Earth tonight and this was hands down, the best part of my day.

Better than the great workout this morning. Better than the red letter day I had in the studio. Even better than the fact that today is Friday.

Absolute madness.

The phenomenon that grips the national sports psyche is upon us. These tournaments send millions of fans into a synchronized frenzy each year that, to me, is not all that different from a 50% off sale at Apple or The North Face. To be honest, I've never been into college sports or professional sports. Especially not enough to throw money into a pot in the hopes that I choose the one winning team out of sixty-four invitees.

There's nothing wrong with it and I'm not degrading those who are fanatics (not even you Michael), by all means, play on playas. I really think it boils down to me just not having enough energy or patience to sit in one spot and watch other people live their lives while mine's passing me by. It feels like watching paint dry, or maybe watching grass grow.

Every time I open my mouth to request a change of plans, I ponder the reaction I might get... it would probably be a pretty strong response as though I had literally walked over to the TV, turned it off, and proceeded to take a shit in your Cheerios.

As if that would EVER happen.

Voga vino.

What are these empty Voga wine bottles doing on my shelf? Am I planning on filling them up with my own vintage some day? Hurl them against a concrete wall in pure frustration? Probably not, I don't now why I continue to collect them. I have no clue. But what I do know, is that this my favorite white wine in the world. It's a Pinot Grigio that pairs well with everything. Pasta. Grilled cheese. I'm sure it would even go well with pancakes. Being a busy girl usually means a quick bowl of cereal or starvation until noon, and frankly, I'm sick of it! I want to wake up to an enormous goblet of Voga and a fresh Belgian waffle every once in a while (preferably with fresh fruit and whipped cream) - is that too much to ask? Sadly, until I get my personal chef, or I convince my boyfriend to wake up before me, I guess I'm stuck dreaming.

But really, this wine is perfect. Crisp, clean, sweet bottle, even sweeter price... you best join in this revolution.

Keep it coming.

Rain keeps falling from the sky and I'm not entirely against it. This afternoon I treated myself to a few hours at a bookstore. It gave me the ability to read my book alone forever without anyone, even once bothering me, except to offer me more iced tea. I'm reading "The Spontaneous Fulfillment of Desire" and my mind runs rampant as I turn page after page. It's all about everyday coincidences providing us with glimpses of the vast infinite possibilities that lie at the heart of all things. Deepak Chopra has got me believing that we can literally rewrite our destinies in any way we wish.

Wouldn't that be amazing? In retrospect, I think this rain is falling to help our lake raise it's level. I kid you not when I say our mucky beach extends an extra 30 feet compared to last summer. At this rate, we will have no boat to sleep under the stars, no dock to tan on, and certainly no sufficient swimming. Now, how can I rewrite my summer destiny to include those much needed summer treasures?

Perfect end to a perfect weekend.

This weekend was spent in Chicago at Michael's parents'. Nervous doesn't even begin to explain that feeling in my stomach, you know, the kind before you meet your new boyfriends parents? Similar to talking in front of an audience? Or the moment right before you free fall on a roller coaster? They exceeded my expectations and I had absolutely nothing to get anxious about. We toured a zoo, scootered around, wined and dined, laughed, and had pretty much the best weekend I've had in awhile. You know when your boyfriend's father says, "She's a keeper!" that you've made a good impression.

Our last night out was spent at the Anvil Club where I dined on the most delicious fire roasted Atlantic salmon I've ever tasted. A memorable night with a few of my new favorite people. My luck continues.

Rockstar.

I'm betting that the majority of the Northern Hemisphere is busier applying SPF than they are bundling up with scarves. But for the rest of us not fortunate enough to escape to exotic locales, spending entire days on white sandy beaches with a MaiTai in hand... here is my plan of attack. Dress like a rockstar in eye-catching scarves such as this exciting number. Pretend you aren't stuck in chilly Minnesota, and dream of those palm trees baby. Dream big.

Love story.

As girlie and mushy as the stereotype for this movie is, I wouldn't change one thing about it. There is nothing wrong with a feature-length film devoted to true love and intense heartbreak. *sigh* I long to find my "Noah" and commence a lifelong journey of amazing boat rides amongst white ducks... oh and lovemaking, of course.

Lucky me.

Today, I'm a pretty lucky girl. Actually, every day I'm lucky, but since it's Saint Patricks Day, I'm double lucky. I have family and friends that are amazing, I'm never hungry, always clothed, there's a roof over my head, I have opportunities to succeed everywhere I look, and I have one of the greatest guys in the world, all for my own. What more could a girl want?

Intruder.

Check out this little fella. I wanted to whisper in his atom sized ear that the windowsill is a much safer spot to lounge, but decided to let him live his life dangerously. After all, ladybugs need to have a little thrill in their lives too.

I bet you don't got two of these.

Every year, right before the ice on the lake is about to melt, two big white swans make themselves at home on Snail. I'm pretty sure they catch-up on the gossip with the Canadian geese and stretch their wings a bit. It's like they're getting the party started. Bring on the summer, the grilling, the starry nights, the bonfires, the volleyball, the drive-ins. Soon enough, we'll be walking on sunshine.

Cupcakes. Part Deux.

Let's be clear, they're not just pint-sized cakes. Cupcakes are something else entirely and my cupcakes bring all the boys to the yard...

Sprinkles.

You really don't realize the size of your lips until you cover them with a rainbow of sprinkles and peek in the mirror. There's nothing wrong with the fact that they look a little-bit ghetto, in fact, I embrace them.

Coming up with this photograph made me wonder what it would be like to run away with the circus, something I've always been fascinated by. Sleeping in a dilapidated train car with the contortionists, midgets, and the woman with the biggest boobs ever? Eating cotton candy and mini doughnuts until your belly button pops out from the pressure? Spending the days entertaining clueless little kids and each night huddling in a circle gambling with fellow carnies while smoking a stogie? I could dig it. For a little while.

I encourage you to run to the nearest grocer, purchase a bottle full of colored sprinkle dots, lick your lips, kiss the sprinkles, and smile for the camera. :]

Dog nap.

There's nothing special about this particular photograph, I just thought Oliver was positioned in a way that resembled bliss.

Chairman Bob.

Here's the scoop. You see this little comic-figure peeking out of the trash can? It's Bob. Chairman Bob. Located on every plastic bag from Rainbow Foods. Turns out, this style bag is the only one Ceil likes to use to line the trash cans. Thus, as I sit and do my business (like a lady, mind you), he is ALWAYS starring at me. He's creepy and no matter which bathroom you're in... he's there. Until I get my own place I'm stuck with Bob, in my bathroom, watching me take care of things. Awkward.

Otto Man.

This lovely black leather ottoman was the source of quite a bit of discussion in the Hill household when it first arrived. My mother, bless her heart, couldn't part with it after web shopping for days on end... somehow she fell in love with the $400 one. Let's be honest here, as asthetically pleasing it is, it's sole purpose is to hoist our stinky feet off the floor during marathon tv-watching sessions of Amazing Race and Survivor. But, Ceil doesn't ask for too much, and when she finds something she cannot live without, more often than not it's a purchase worth making. I wish that were the case with the $1.59 million house I fell in love with two weekends ago.

Leathers.

Once again, Costco to the rescue. These fruit leathers come in super packs, in all of their glorious flavors... summer strawberry being my number one. In the morning on the way to the gym, I munch on one of these leathers just so there's SOMETHING in my stomach and I don't get fatigued on the treadmill like a goofball. Even on a shopping trip, if I'm forced (because I don't like shopping for very long...), these are awesome while your deciding whether to waste your money on the black stilettos at DSW or the orange zip-up hoodie from HoCo. I'm not even doing them justice really because you just can't understand, unless you go, go now and get some.

Decor.

This wooden star sits on our mantel and reminds me of all the funky-artsy stuff I can't wait to decorate my future house with. This star included. As well as small vintage clocks and metal lanterns whose sides are carved into pine tree shapes, with vanilla candles burning in the middle. The star reminds me of Pottery Barn and how I always get that feeling the instant I step into that store, I can hear my bank account dwindling by the minute. Do you need another piece of home decor? Of course you do.

Me first.

Oliver still sleeps in a curled-up-caterpillar-ball on my bed, and up until I caught on to the fact that he was manipulating me I would let him out in the morning at the sound of his first cry thinking that he desperately needed to go wee. But when I clumsily make it to the back door and suffer the cold morning air on my bare legs, he would casually step outside, wander along the perimeter of the patio, leisurely stretch his legs and then lie down. Like, oh, I'm sorry, were you in the middle of something? Because I just wanted to get a head start on being an asshole.

In all seriousness, Oliver is not an asshole. But some mornings, at the crack of dawn, with the -5 degree air flying up my bathrobe, I swear he has ulterior motives. This morning, I refused to throw his ball until I consumed my daily bowl of the new Banana Nut Cheerios.

No, he's not deprived, I just wanted to make myself a priority for 2.5 seconds before I went back to catering to his every whim. Play ball.

Where for art thou?

Last night Michael and I went to the Children's Theatre performance of Romeo and Juliet... one of the greatest love stories of all time, and one of my favorites. The Capulets and Montagues... the fighting... and love making... its romantic. Epic. Classic.

The show was performed in promenade, where they acted around and throughout the audience. I've never been to a play in this fashion, and it's much different than a normal Guthrie-sit-down-intermission type show. I absolutely loved it.

We were so close, the sexual chemistry emanated from Romeo and Juliet. I'm surprised at how passionately they kissed and tore each others close off. I wasn't complaining but I'm sure the parents of smaller children were a tad shocked. If I had a lick of acting talent, just one bit, I would drop everything I have going on and try out for a play. Then you can all come watch me perform in all my glory, and throw roses at my feet when I'm finished. Or tomatoes. But I prefer roses.

Domain.

6 AM rolls around this morning, the sun is just beginning to rise in the East and it took me all of two minutes to jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, and make a latte. You wanna know why? Because my weekly One to One Apple session started at 7. Yep, I got to be there before anyone whose not an exclusive, special member can even step foot in the big silver box of imagination. And the very thought of having a Creative (the name they call the Über-smart employees who know everything about Apple), all to myself, for an entire hour... made me wake up in 1/16th of the amount of time it normally takes me to rise from the dead.

I am what is commonly known as an Apple Fanatic. I swoon over new products in the similar fashion a typical girl does over a Tiffany & Co diamond ring. To me, this company is the epitome of fantastic design and seamless integration. To me, they rule above all else in the realm of gadgets and megabites. This store is my domain.

In any other sense of the word, I'm absolutely not a follower, but I will literally follow Steve Jobs to the end of the earth. Even further if he will keep doin' what he do so well.

Priorities.

Today I'm working on a big project for a client that needs it in an ungodly short amount of time. I spent the better part of the last 3 days starting, refining, and wrapping this project up so I could get a big fat check written out in my name. Now, I'm tired as hell and still need to burn the extensive files to a DVD and get it to the printer before sundown. I suppose I should be working on that, instead of posting this... but I've got priorities people, priorities. And my daily photo is right up there on my list of "important stuff to do today", right next to snuggle with Michael and make the world's greatest pasta.

001.

Each morning when I head to the gym, I silently pray that "my" locker is available. And by "my" locker I mean the one with the 001 gold metal circle on it. Because that locker is mine. It's tradition for me to hang up my pink Nike gym bag, my black North Face jacket, and stow away my purple mittens and Uggs in that very locker. You know why? Because I look at that number and immediately sing (in my head) "I'm the #1 stunna... wh-wh-what..." It's pretty much my pump-up-work-out-mantra that I hum throughout my stretches.

Today a lady stranger walked by me and asked why I was taking a picture of the lockers when it wasn't even the tiniest bit magnificent. I forgot that sometimes you overlook the little things in life and don't realize how unbelievably relaxing and calming your daily routine is, and that it took being forced to throw my crap in locker 003 yesterday for me to appreciate locker 001. So I told that woman, "Look, this is my locker, and it's kind of a tradition to have my stuff in there, and I'm taking a photo a day, so I thought this could be it... for today...." The look she gave me was not unlike one I would receive if I had been dancing around naked on the top of the wooden locker room bench. And as she walked away I wanted to tell her, THIS IS THE VERY DEFINITION OF MAGNIFICENT.

But, I didn't, because she probably has a crappy pump-up-work-out-mantra like "Let me hear you say this shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S..." and that alone means she has more important things to deal with.

Succulent.

Lo and behold the most beautiful container of super ripe, red strawberries I discovered in our fruit drawer this morning. I think I could hear them screaming my name as I walked home from the gym fantasising about my daily smoothie. It's items like these that are satisfying my longing need to consume colorful, fragrant fruit 24/7. And you know what else? The color is not unlike the lipstick choice of Christina Aguilera. Nothing wrong with that, though lipstick is not my favorite makeup accessory. I prefer lip chap, in all it's cheap, chappy glory. And yes, I did wash them off after Sir Oliver inspected and gave his approval.

Happy endings.

Fruity Cheerios are an alternative breakfast solution on mornings when oatmeal and smoothies don't float my boat. To be honest, the best part of this course is the end, once all of the Cheerios are gone. The fruity flavored milk left in the bowl sounds unappetizing but its better than sex. Sometimes.

Couture.

Oliver and Burberry invite you to view the Autumn/Winter 2009 outerwear collection fashion show presented in Shoreview on February 28, 2009. Oliver sports the cashmere solid stripe scarf with rolled edges and hand fringing on the ends. Dry clean only. $395.

No, of course I didn't buy a ridiculously overpriced scarf. This was found in the back of our coat closet and my model wanted to strut his stuff on the catwalk. Needless to say he's more of a beanie and mittens kind of guy. After I snapped this photo he looked up at me with those opinionated eyes as if to say, "F*** Burberry."

Kicks.

You are in need of a replacement. In fact, you should be long gone, but you're still here, in all your worn-in glory. Thank you for all the miles you've run with me. For letting me trip and fall, just to put a smile on my face. Thank you for holding on tight when I'm racing the clock in attempt to release the stress and frustration in my life. Some day you will be replaced, and donated to someone else who needs your support. Until then, thank you for every inch, every foot, every kilometer. Walk a mile in these and you might have a shot at feeling what it's like to be me.

Healthy?

Olivia would lose all respect for me if she saw me touching these nutrition bars. There is nothing grosser in this world to that kid than a healthy snack and every morning (when I nannied) and I cut one up to eat it with a glass of orange juice, she would pick up her bowl of cereal and dramatically move to the other side of the table. To get as far away as she could from the awful gore of it all. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me not to sneak into her bedroom at night and leave a piece of Toasted Nuts 'n Cranberry on her pillow next to her head? REALLY REALLY HARD.

Yum.

Oatmeal (with raisins, mind you) is delicious and nutritious. With flax seed, or craisins, chopped up banana, or a drizzle of agave nectar, there are numerous combinations. Apparently we have 10,000 taste buds on our tongue, I hope all those little guys appreciate the effort I put into making these concoctions in the early AM.

Uggs.

Whether or not you love them or hate them, they are a midwest Winter essential. I'm madly in love with my 3-year-old pair of Ugg boots and wear them just about anywhere... grocery store, movie theatre, on a date, to the gym... Plus, the imprint they design in the snow makes me feel like a superstar. No, I don't have enough money to buy Jimmy Choos or Christian Louboutins but that doesn't really matter because there's nothing more comfortable I can stick my feet in than these babies. Well, maybe a whirlpool foot soak in cucumber slices and rose petals at the Ivy Spa downtown Minneapolis...