I wrote you a poem:
I just wanna be me, but I’m a little scared you see.
What if someone’s looking when I take a wee wee?
Will they call me names, or say I look so lame?
When did being me, become such a strain?
Clearly, it has absolutely nothing to do with the Sugar Shack, but I jotted it down this morning so I thought I’d share.
And in the land of all things Sugar and Shack, things have been a bustling! Summer’s been good to the Shack. Reeaaal good.
Here we have the family room, complete with computer desk cabinetry. You know, for all that important computering we do.
Here’s the living room, complete with bar cabinetry. You know, for all that important boozing we do.
Speaking of boozing, my husband, my mother and myself drank approximately $220 worth of red wine last night (3 bottles: Andrew Murray Terra Bella Vineyard Syrah 2007, Chateau Montelena Estate Cabernet Sauvignon 2006, and L'Aventure Côte à Côte 2009). I didn’t even think that was possible, but I’m glad I lived to tell about it. Now excuse me for a moment while I do penance for my gluttony.
Whoops! How did that photo get in here? I wasn’t supposed to reveal how we dispose of all our dead bodies and use their blood for laundry room floor waterproofing! But don’t worry, once we get the nice tile in you won’t be able to see the red anymore.
Here’s the garage where my husband plans on electrocuting himself because he covered the top of the work bench with sheet metal. Men, I tell you. He thinks it’s more “industrial” or something like that.
And now we’re back in the important part of the house. The kitchen! If there’s anything I love more than boozing, it’s eating. Speaking of eating, last night I asked my daring husband if he had to choose between having sex or being able to eat wine and cheese for the rest his life (we were only on the first bottle of wine too), which one would he choose. Without hesitation he said sex (men, I tell you). When he asked me the same question, I said I’d really have to think about it. THAT’S how much I love my eating and drinking.
And to round up this riveting tour, we have the master bathroom, complete with vanity cabinetry. You know, because we’re so vain.
Come back next time to see if the pool’s graduated from being just another giant hole in the ground!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Things you can tell by this picture:
1) I am generally optimistic before starting my run.
2) I am very, very in shape.
3) I also have a perfect hourglass figure.
4) Whatever body issues you have can be completely erased in Adobe Illustrator!
Things you can’t tell by this picture:
1) It was 100 degrees when I commenced my run yesterday.
3) I have been battling an insidious case of
4) There is a black hole where my abs are supposed to reside. Well… it’s not an actual black hole, but the lack of any stability and support coming from that region put it on par with one. I really think running would be easier if I had strong abs, but that’s not enough to actually make me do crunches.
5) I have a nice, golden, summertime tan, which is both an exciting and scary scenario for a white girl like me (ya! I look good! vs. ahhh! I might die of skin cancer!).
So now you know how things in the land of Jelly have been going lately. Later I'll share the conversation my body had with itself DURING the run (it wasn't pretty). And maybe I'll even show you my mental and physical state AFTER the run (it wasn't pretty).
Good news is, the run made me skip the emotional eating and drinking I had planned for myself that night (my dear, sweet, Lovies is out of town). Sometimes I can be a glutton for punishment, but last night, I couldn't take it to that level.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
I’ve resorted to pimping out my sister and my nephew as content for this blog. But how could I possibly resist? He's got such a cute, squishy, baby face.
"Oooo, and look! We're matching Mom!"
"I don't mind the Indiana humidity at all! I'll just work on my suntan."
"Oooo, and look! We're matching Mom!"
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Feel both the crisp air of new opportunity and the gentle mist of nostalgia envelop your body...
You are at a turning point in your life AND THERE'S NO GOING BACK. Isn't this exciting?!
It's official. Both federal and state agencies are heralding in the new me! It's time to shed my maiden identity and embrace my new one. And since this is such a momentous (if not incredibly confusing) occasion, it's time to celebrate!
In honor of New Identity Day, I will share a little story about how I became this "new" person…
It's an early evening in November. The setting sun reminds me how much I dislike daylight savings time. Tonight I am going on my first blind date; well, semi-blind date (at least Facebook's good for something). Although the guy I saw on Facebook seems like a handful; tall, blonde, oozing masculinity. Certainly not like anyone I've ever dated before. I try to stay away from guys whose egos are bigger than their IQs, and if I've learned anything from my brief stint on the frat party circuit in college, blonde dudes are the worst. But what the hell. My aunt thinks he's a fine gentleman, and really, what do I have to lose? I most certainly will be wearing flats though. No matter how tall I guy says he is, they always get shorter standing next to my 5'10" frame.
We're scheduled to have dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in Studio City, a tapas bar called Olé. I figure it's a good choice for a first date; they have drinks, small plates to share, plus it's dark in there. I try to put the hustle on my primping so I won't be late - first impressions are important after all - but it doesn't look like I'm going to make it. I'll be "fashionably" late as always.
Luckily, I find parking on the street in front of the restaurant, so my tardiness is minimal. As I walk to the entrance, last minute nervousness floods my thoughts: "Oh boy, here we go! If something awful happens or he turns out to be a complete weirdo at least I'll have a good story to tell! Let's try and enjoy this. Dates are supposed to be fun, aren't they?"
I open the door and spot my unmistakable date before the hostess can even greet me. "I'm meeting him" or something like that comes out of my mouth. He rises to reveal that yes, he is indeed tall, but no, he does not do laundry. Paint splatter decorates his jeans and boots, and I get the feeling he didn't pay some high-end designer to put it there. His shirt is pressed and he looks clean shaven, and I might have even let the thought "Ya, he's cute" cross my mind.
We exchange "Hello's", sit down at the bar and start talking about how he knows my aunt, what we do for work, where we're from, and what schools we went to; normal, boring first date stuff. When I hear he rides dirt bikes, I make sure to share my own experience of riding on weekend trips with my Dad and sister. Sure that was over 10 years ago, but I can still talk the talk. At least I think I can.
We don't order much for dinner, just some appetizers and drinks, and despite his outspoken conservatism, he seems tolerant of the predominantly liberal, election night crowd. What better way to get to know your date's political views than on election night? Not that political affiliation has any effect on my potential-boyfriend screening process.
Throughout the evening his whole demeanor exudes confidence, but I make sure to put on an unimpressed face. If there's anything the 23 year old Jocelyn prides herself on, it's not being a bubbly-headed, gullible, bimbo. This guy's going to have be more than just confident to impress me. But in a way he does. The casualness of the conversation combined with his in-your-face personality is intriguing. He is certainly not like anyone I have ever met before.
Soon it's nearing 10 o'clock, and he has to get up early for work in the morning. He walks me to my car, which is actually a truck, and he seems impressed by this fact. Although he makes a comment about the bed not being rhino lined, indicating that I don't transport anything heavy. I tell him it's a truck and the bed can handle whatever I put in it as is.
Since this is the end of the date, I start to wonder if there is going to be a kiss. I certainly don't think I gave off a warm, inviting impression so I doubt he will go for it, but before I can conjecture any longer he goes in for the hug. "It was really nice meeting you. We'll have to do this again soon." he says. "Ya. Sure." I reply as I get into the car. "We'll see about that" is what I'm thinking.
I can't put a finger on whether I liked him or not… "The whole night was so… interesting." I think. The more I try to figure out how I feel the more confused I get, so I try not to think about. "We'll just see if he actually calls me and that will decide it." I tell myself.
And guess what?