Solara.

Here's the scoop. Having a convertible is all well and good. It's pretty awesome. I'm a fortunate girl. But I'm not going to pretend like it isn't similar to, if not exactly the same as getting caught in a tsunami when I drive the Solara through the car wash. I learned my lesson the hard way a few years ago after going through the Mister Clean. Let's just say I had to drive home and put on an entire new outfit, redo my hair, and makeup. For some reason, the canvas top is not tight enough to keep all the water out; therefore, I'm forced to wash her by hand when she needs a good cleaning. And on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, I took the liberty of giving her a good scrub. A little elbow grease never hurt anybody, now she sparkles!

Peek-a-boo.

Yesterday AM I took a shower and luckily had my camera in my canvas bag. Guess who cannot be anywhere without me? This little guy.

Harmonica.

I've already posted a daily photo of GB but, let's be real, he's worthy of more than one. Last night at O'Garas we joined a pretty intimate crowd for some fabulous music. Never before have I been interested in harmonicas but when Brian plays his, holy cow it's like an enlightenment. I kid you not. It's the ultimate sound to an already perfect setup. I wonder how much they would charge to play at my wedding? :]

Par? Not quite.

On Thursday Michael and I went mini-golfing. This may be his attempt to tell me I need to step up my golf game and get out on the links, we have to start somewhere. Usually, a friendly game of mini-golf is cause for humorous putting, unbelievable high scores, and the jokes quite often on me. For some reason, I've never been a stellar golf player. But, this summer, that must change. I want to do business on a nice, fancy golf course. Put on a golf pleated skirt, matching polo, and some snazzy golf shoes. Before I buy a new wardrobe, I need to know how to swing properly. I'm learning the fine qualities of a good beer, and now I must learn to golf. I held my own Thursday afternoon and I'm pretty sure the only reason we tied is because he was keeping score, and I never got a change to double-check his calculations... otherwise I'm fairly certain I would be the mini-golf champion. For the first time in my LIFE.

World, meet William.

I am lucky to have a family of four children living next door. Ever since they adopted William from Ukraine, I've done a complete 180 in my interest with children. And now, I want four as well. He has curly blonde hair and eyes the color of the most bluest ocean on earth. He's still working on his English and every now and again it's mostly garble and a lot of Ukrainian words that we aren't familiar with. This afternoon, he came over for a quick neighborly "chat" and proceeded to mumble and pantomime the fact that there is no sun outside and what seemed to be the idea that his shirt is better than mine. But I couldn't be positive on that one. He giggled, his bright blue eyes sparkled, and then ran back to his yard to throw a ball around. It was one of those moments people point to when asked why they want children.


(better photo will be updated tomorrow)

The bubble.

I've got all these ideas and plans in my head, none of them too elaborate or insane, just simple things like the rearrangement of my photographs and collages on the walls of my bedroom and capturing one totally crazy thing each day, through the lens of a camera. This right here is going to be my awe-inspiring thing for Tuesday, May 25th, 2009. The bubble on top of my Dawn soap container. Something about the sphere of a bubble is spectacular to me. But try as I may, it kept popping. Over and over, and OVER I squeezed air out of the container, into the bubble, grabbed my camera, stilled my hand and tried to capture it before it burst into a bazillion little bubble atoms. Guess what? The twelveth times a charm my friends.

Air stealer.

Oliver is quite the character. Some may call him a shadow, a nusiance, even a pain in the @$$. But he's mine nonetheless, and I cherish his every characteristic. One of which being that he has to be within 4 feet of me at all times. The other day I was laying on the deck, soaking up a little UV action and he would not stop whimpering through the screen. I knew he would die in the heat, so I set up a little carpet patch, a ceramic bowl of water, and pointed underneath the deck, in the cool shadows of the May afternoon. After plopping his 10.6 pound body next to me for all of 3 minutes, he realized it really is just a tad too warm for furry friends in direct sunshine, so he took my advice and the waddled over to the carpet. It's as if he can't stand to breathe any other air than the air that's coming out of you. He's an air stealer, and a darn cute one at that.

Swimming season.

Before hauling chocolate-covered mulch for the better part of my not-so-relaxing Sunday afternoon, I organized my swimming suits. Or bathing suits, if you will. My favorites are these ones here. I like colors, browns, greens, rainbows, everything. The serious lack of lake access in my backyard will not hinder from me wearing these beautiful garments throughout this season. Even if it is just in a shallow plastic fish-muraled baby wading pool.

Knobular.

On Saturday, like most of Minnesota, I was enjoying the beautiful weather, part of which involved sunning on the deck. We have this exotic hibiscus flower tree (plant?) and upon a closer inspection, I noticed a gathering of little knobulars extending out from the center of the flower. You know what they reminded me of? Those cute hair-covered knobs on the top of giraffe's heads.

Bachelorette

Friday night we all went out to Chino Latino to celebrate Megan soon becoming a married woman! Holy crap, I feel like I'm getting old. We aren't supposed to be getting married yet?! Are we? I don't think I'm ready for the domestication that role involves just yet. Maybe in four years, maybe. They stamped a "congratulations Megan" on the bottom of our menus...a personal touch, we were dropping a good amount of money, it's the least they could do. With a crown of penises atop her pretty head, we enjoyed a meal of laughing and rowdy behavior. The first of many. I love this girl!

Yet another load off the semi-truck.

As if this time of year isn't busy enough around here, Lance decided to tack on a few landscaping projects. Two of which involve a large amount of versalock stone block that was so conveniently delivered to us this morning. Even more interesting than the 18-wheeler in my driveway was the very front of the semi. Its grill so to speak. I was shocked there weren't more bugs murdered on the silver grate during the journey over. And then I daydreamed for 20 seconds that this semi was mine, it was hella hot pink, my name was painted on the door in cursive, and the front of this grill sported a 1.5' tall titanium silver trident that shined as a I sped down 35W to my next destination (insert Bubba Sparxxx "Deliverance" here).

Solid advice.

Flipping through a magazine this afternoon, I excitedly started reading the E. Jean question section. This older woman has the greatest advice about the most random things and God bless her for the creative answers she comes up with each month, making me laugh out loud as I read 'em. Who doesn't keep fuzzy slippers and a slingshot in their clutch for a romantic dinner out?

Actually, funny story, I remember one of the first times my mom found a condom in my purse. For the following twenty minutes, she grilled me as if I were a suspect in a gruesome homicide: how long have I been buying condoms? Was I planning on using it anytime soon? Did I want to hear the "sex" story again or was I just going to take my chances and SUDDENLY GET PREGNANT? Actually, that's what I was under the impression that condoms were there for... to prevent pregnancy. But if you really wanted to know my intentions with this particular rubber, Mother, I was going to fill it up with water and be the champ at the afternoon water balloon fight. Seriously? I mean, c'mon, times have changed! The ladies can't always bank on the gentleman to be prepared in the heat of the moment...

It's the little things that make life worth living.

Nuff' said.

Monday evening.

Sabrina and I had a promo at Tria in North Oaks this evening for Opulent Vodka. It was the Grand Opening of their patio and the weather could. not. have. been. better. Despite our ice luge melting at a rapid rate, restaurant patrons were in love with our Pometini's so much that they literally had probably five or so each. There's nothing wrong with that. Two chefs were grilling corn on the cob (score!), steaks, salmon, chicken, and baked potatoes on the massive patio grill and a talented Joey Stephens was playing acoustic guitar while serenading us all. I literally got paid to be there?! With the scent of the most amazing food wafting through the air, a little Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" playing... the sun shining on our backs as a light breeze floated amongst us. I couldn't image my Monday evening going any better.

But it did. One of the chefs leaned over the stone divider and asked Sabrina and I how we liked our steak.... "Medium Rare" of course.... towards the end of our event he made us a steak, baked potato, and grilled corn on the cob. One of the waiters brought it inside so we could devour it like animals at the bar. The most friendly bartender in the world, John Kelley, made us two stellar martinis, a blue hawaiian tequila somethin' and a French martini with chambord and raspberry liquor.

This Monday evening set the tone for what I hope to be one of the best beginning-of-summer-weeks.


*Due to the events of yesterday I had to wait until this morning to post the daily photo.

Corn on the cob.

You know that contemplative question people ask to get to know one another better, "If you could eat one type of food for the rest of your life, what would it be?", well as of this day, May 17, 2009 I'm officially changing my answer from 'pineapple' to 'corn on the cob'. This may or may not be influenced by the delicious, hazy stupor I've been in for the last half hour due to the over-consumption of this delicious white and yellow corn on the cob.

Disney movie.

We made eye contact as I peeked around the lilac bushes to capture their presence. They remained frozen in these positions for about 2 minutes straight, Daddy Deer sort of pretending that he wasn't interested in me, Mama Deer sort of pretending that she didn't notice that Daddy Deer's full of shit. Their lives are so refreshingly simple. And this image looks straight out of some Disney princess movie that I have yet to watch.

I was waiting for some jolly, short leprechaun to run up and steal my digital camera on the back of a miniature fire-breathing dragon and then all hell really would have broken loose.

3+4=7

Rewind to last week. All around the Hill estate we've been landscaping like crazy in preparation for a busy summer season with the studio and all that jazz. There is a giant mulch pile for spreading amongst the hostas and other plant species. On top of that mulch pile was a nest of some sort, it looked like a cracked-out-sand piper-bird's nest but I'm at a loss for its official name. Anyhow, we had to move the nest with four eggs inside, and the mama abandoned her little babies.

Have no fear, we found a similar nest, with similar eggs, and a much more cracked out mama bird, farther up the driveway. So, Heather and I, being the animal lovers, were all, "oh no those four babies can't grow up without a mama.... much less even crack themselves outta those paint-splattered shells without being sat on for quite a while longer." So, I put on some gloves and we relocated those 4 orphans to the new, comfy digs. The mama was all "hell no, I ain't takin more babies, I already got three of those things and four more just ain't gonna cut it". If push came to shove, and it didn't, Heather would have brought the babies home to her place and tried to hatch 'em. But luckily, the new mama decided she wanted to be all Angelina Jolie for a bit and arranged the new eggs in perfect formation around her original three.

I wonder if, when they hatch, they're going to look all crazy different and she'll be able to tell whose daddy was whose based on the scruff of their feathers or the way the babies chase after the skanky lady birds just like their father did.

Random and that's okay.

Sometimes, you have to get creative. On summer Thursday nights, you might really have to get creative and that brings me to my daily photo. Showcased here is a margarita in a large, blue Medieval Times goblet seated next to a chilled rum and coke in a mason jar. We enjoyed a little bit of the evening on the patio as the sun set. The fact that he didn't consume the entire chocolate chip cookie we shared, in one giant bite, was one of those sweet, quiet gestures that suggests he'd like to stick around.

Blue moon.

The increased consumption of this particular beverage may or may not be attributed to friends coming home from college. Squeeze a wedge of orange into one of these babies and it's as close as you can get to summertime bliss. For now anyways.

Rainbow dishes.

On this particular busy morning, I was pleased to open the dishwasher, yes, the dishwasher and see this sight before me. A rainbow of dishes. This was not planned, I assure you and the fact that they are in just about the perfect rainbow formation put a smile on my face. An unexpected one. It reminds me of a statement my parents always shower on us girls, to enjoy the little things, for one day we may look back and realize they were the big things. Calling these rainbow dishes a big part of my life may be a stretch but for today, it made a difference. And that counts for something.

What's in a name?

I've been passed up. This name, my name, Emily, spent twelve years in the #1 spot for baby girl names. Now little Miss Emma comes into the picture and I'm bumped down to third. Which is fine. Because I've been more interested in rare, crazy names that aren't so mainstream anyway.

One time I met this woman named Soleil. When she first introduced herself to me, I was positively mesmerized just by her name alone. I tried to be patient but I wanted to know the story behind it, the history, does she have brother's and sister's with unique names? Is she the only one? She had this attitude, not that she was better than us but that she was as good as us - and that simply was not true.

For some reason, I hold those with exotic, rare names to a higher standard. They've been blessed with a pretty sweet gift. A name. And it might not seem too important, but to me it is. My favorites? Kale, Soleil, Cohen, Tryg, Elle, Trey, Aero, Leif, Traeh, and many others. Call me crazy, but just because my name was the #1 girls name for most my life doesn't mean my kids are going to be plain jane. In fact, I plan to name them anything but.

Minneapolis Farmer's Market.

Ten years ago my family used to frequent this market on Saturday mornings, closer to 6 AM than 7, just because we wanted to be the FIRST people there. We took a trip to the past and started the tradition all over again yesterday morning. We arrived, the flowers were beautiful and so fresh, not to mention the ridiculously wide array of vegetables from farms all over the state. We mingle with the locals and taste test different dipping oils, cheese curds, and the most amazing bread pudding ever created. Who knew they would sell bread pudding at an urban farmer's market? It seems like a product that doesn't really belong with the flats of Rhododendrons and cherry red tomatoes.

The one thing they do need at the farmer's market are fresh, custom omelettes. They currently have spicy bratwursts, huge cookies, juicy corn on the cob, and cinnamon roasted almonds, but they do not have omelettes. If I'm going to haul myself out of bed in the wee hours of the morning, drive down to Lyndale Ave, park amongst the 3,000 other people trying to beat the rush, and walk my way through the crowds from booth to booth, I would love an omelette made to my liking... including, but not limited to, three egg whites, fresh basil, avocado, tomato, green pepper, and a sprinkle of cheese. Not only is this the correct form of morning consumption, but it's healthy, and guaranteed to fuel the energy needed to shop and converse with the Hmong dairy farmers selling pints of fresh milk down aisle 5.

Promotions.

It's one thing to be serving shots of tequila or ordering whiskey drinks for bar patrons. It's a whole 'nother story to be sampling a product line in a liquor store. Picture this, three entire hours inside a liquor warehouse. Nothing but talking to customers about your products (Mike's Hard Lemonade), and observing what they decide to purchase. Throughout my shift I made a list, much like a grocery list, except it was all alcohol.

Now I know why liquor stores enjoy having promos... because the promo staff tend to purchase more liquor than they could possibly need, thus increasing their sales. After I piled my cart with many flavors of Mike's, Blue Moon, Corona, UV Vodka, a few bottles of wine, and some Bacardi, I headed for the checkout. The guy in front of me had the most interesting purchase of the evening.... a beautiful, expensive bottle of Milagro Reposado Select Barrel Reserve tequila. Now, I'm no fan of tequila, but the bottle was stellar. I'm the kind of girl that buys her wine by the wine label... the more creative, interesting, and colorful, the better.

Nevertheless, I wanted to chase Mr. Tequila Chico out to the parking lot and ask if he was looking to get his ass handed to him on a silver platter this evening. Because that is exactly where he's headed with that beverage choice. My lack of energy prevented me from doing so.

Brown.

Frosting on the top of a three-tiered chocolate cake. Rich soil beneath a rose bush. A shot of espresso in my morning latte. All things deep and rich and worthy. Brown, dark brown to be exact, describe the color of my eyes.

They've seen tragedy, love, humor, marriage proposals, funerals, shooting stars, tears, puddles of rain, victories, blue skies and intimacy, to name a few. The best is yet to come.

Underwear. Everywhere.

There is a bathroom in a house within a 20 mile radius of mine. And for whatever reason the floor is constantly littered with many pairs of fashionable underwear. Boxers specifically, men's boxers. Express. Ralph Lauren. Banana Republic.

Not everyone could execute this, not everyone would try, but it's crazy what a few pairs of scattered undergarments will tell you about a person. It takes total self-confidence to pull this off and he's got it in spades.

You know who you are, rock on with your bad self.

p.s. i know you don't do this on purpose. you're just lazy and prefer running naked from la shower to la bedroom. :P

Cinco de Lance.

My dad is officially a sally. Is that not the most pathetic thing you've ever heard? Let me give you one reason. Here is the photo I captured this morning. It is the result of a solid hour and a half of chopping, dicing, and seasoning of at least 8 different delicious, organic foods. Also known as The Best Damn Salsa Emily's Ever Made.

This afternoon, I announced that the bowl was mine. All mine. I put the ingredients together, chopped, diced, you get the picture, it's the same story as the hen who baked the cake. I made it, I get to enjoy it.

Lance lasted until this afternoon when he started following me around for a good half hour, trailing my every move, and treating my salsa like gold dug up from the bottom of the ocean floor. Cute, right? You can't buy that kind of attention. Except that apparently he got mixed signals from yours truely. He was under the impression that by eating my salsa while I was away at my Cinco de Mayo promotion this evening, that he was doing me a favor. Like, is this helping? How about if I just consume the rest of this deliciousness and leave you nothing for the end of your shift when you're starving? Is that okay? Here, let me literally lick the bowl clean in it's entirety.

After passing out shots of Hornitos Tequila all evening, the least I could do is enjoy a little homemade salsa a la Cinco de Mayo. But no, that dream was crushed. The hunger pains are so strong right now that the adrenaline rush I just got from making a veggie omelette was not unlike snorting an entire eight ball of cocaine.

Softball season.

The great thing about softball is, usually, it's low-key. No one really gives THAT big of a hoot whether they win or lose... at least I don't think they do. Yeah, it's nice to win and be hotshot summer softball league players, but the real highlights of the game, from my point of view, would be eating sunflower seeds (shell and all) until your lips are so salty you can't even lick them without a slight 'salt-sting'. Oh, and there's the running around diving onto bases, getting your uniforms covered in sandy dirt not unlike the same dirt found on the feet of aborigines. Don't forget the sweat-filled baseball caps, and dogs roaming around the bleachers filled with spectators. Just today I saw a golden retriever, a boxer, a poodle, a lab, a pug, and a daschund. That alone is a win in my book.

The highlight of my softball-watching experience thus far? Boys so dirty they have to strip down to their undies for the car ride home... that event alone secured my answer that, yes, I could and I will spectate all summer, actually.

Cinco de Mayo.

Clearly it's not the official date of Cinco de Mayo but not everyone can get plastered on tequila and salsa shooters this upcoming Tuesday. I had a promo event at Boca Chica downtown yesterday for Rosangel Tequila and it was pretty crazy. Mariachi music was playing and we were passing around 'complimentary tastings' of tequila margaritas infused with hibiscus.

Jalapeno Eating Contest? Check.
Salsa and tortilla chips galore? Check.
Salt-rimmed glasses of tequila margaritas? Check.
Mexican warrior masks? Double check.

d.Roland

"I’m going down to the liquor store
I’ve never had these kind of blues before
Don’t you know that this was supposed to be
The most important night of my life

I can hear the radio playing songs from
When we danced real slow
Don’t you know that this was supposed to be
The most important night of my life

Wishing on a wishing star
It won’t tell me where you are
Or how far you plan to go"



We love you. We miss you. Always.

Chocolate underground.

Little known fact about Emily Hill, I’m a HUGE yogurt fan (huge). There isn’t a single flavor of yogurt that I don’t love. I love lemon with strawberries sliced on top, peach with granola sprinkled in, and the one I love the most these days is this one, Chocolate Underground. Not only does it make me think of a badass, shady, not-well-known club on the streets of New York, but it is dessert, breakfast, and snack all mixed into one.

This specific flavor is made by Stonyfield Farm, whose business practices are pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. They have all sorts of goodness... pomegranate, banilla (yes, banana/vanilla... I know, it's genuis), all of which whose deliciousness is the perfect start to a productive day in the Hill house.