hey, so when we have our own place...

This is how I begin ninety-nine percent of the things I say to Mitch as of late. Sooo, when we have our own place, can we get Netflix? When we have our own place, can we throw parties just because? Heyyy, when we have our own place, can I be in charge of decorating?

If he's not sick of it...he's a saint.

But what can I say? I'm a planner. I'm a woman. AND I'M ME. I love to nest even when I have no nest to nest. Such is the burden I bear. Sighhhh.

Anyway, all that to say that I'm obsessed with these birch tree wall decals and we will have them (heyyy... sooo...) when we have our own place.

I want you.

things i need to get better at in 2011

It’s a new year which means there’s no excuse to not at least make an attempt to revamp myself, right?

No, but seriously, I’ve never really been one to make resolutions (probably because I know I don’t stick with anything longer than a couple weeks…hey, at least I’m honest). Of course this is the year I want to be a runner, fifteen pounds thinner and overall a healthier version of myself. However, I have a borderline codependent relationship with Mexican food (it needs me, too), so the chances of a thinner/healthier me? Slim to none.

Acceptance, y’all.

And as far as running goes, I unfortunately associate running with punishment and, therefore, loathe it with every particle of my being. Thanks, junior high (TOWNSEND, TAKE A LAP.).

Nevertheless, in the spirit of embracing new beginnings, I came up with a list of things I need to get better at this year. Presenting:

Things I Need to Get Better at in 2011

1. Hiding my tattoo from my grandmother

Okay, this one is actually null and void now that my mother’s let the cat out of the bag. One of my parents’ conditions to not disowning me for getting a tattoo was to never, under any circumstances, let my grandmother see it. She’s old-fashioned, which is really just a nice way of saying incredibly uptight and judgmental. Sorry, Grandma. Anyway, I have gone to great lengths to always be wearing long sleeves or a bracelet that I have taken the time to TAPE INTO PLACE ON MY WRIST so as to not upset the delicate balance that is my family life, all to have this ruined on Christmas, when my mother loudly announced SHOW HER, ANDREA. SHOW YOUR GRANDMOTHER WHAT YOU’VE DONE. The she laughed at me. She may or may not have also called me white trash (and may or may not have been kidding). Well, you know what, Mom? Jokes on you ‘cause Grandma didn’t even care. SO SUCK ON THAT.


2. Managing my money

This’ll be short and sweet, lest I begin weeping at the thought of my financial state. I’m horrible with money (admittedly, it’s probably by choice…) and therefore end up spending money on things like beer and Whataburger at 2am as opposed to, oh, you know, gas and dog food. There comes a point every month where I literally find myself crying in Walmart because I’m broke and know I can’t buy that bag of Cheetos. Props to Mitch for always listening to the conversations that begin with OH MY GOD MY LIFE IS OVER OH MY GODDD. I’m a real treat.


3. Texting back

When it comes to communication, I’m the kind of person I love to hate on: I suck at answering calls, listening to voicemails and even taking the time to text someone the hell back. I KNOW. It’s awful. I really don’t even know why I do it. What makes it even worse is that nothing bothers me more than when someone doesn’t answer MY call or text. I’m all WHAT THE HELL, DUDE. Hypocrite, I am. So, to all my lovely friends, consider this my formal apology for sucking so bad AND my formal promise to rectify my wretchedness in 2011.


There you have it, y’all. I’m just going to do my damndest to be better this year at a lot of things that kind of matter.

Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, my only New Years resolution is to try everything on Taco Bueno’s menu. I decided that today when Mitch and I were at lunch (guess where) and he wasn’t terribly impressed. Weird.

twenty-ten, over & out

Two thousand and ten, you were quite the challenge when it came to life post-grad. I turned 23, fell in love, tried my hand at accounting (wtf?), dealt with unemployment, terrible employment, and unemployment once again, spent a lot of money enjoying a summer I didn't expect to have, thankfully attended more weddings than funerals, got a tattoo, watched too much Jersey Shore while drinking too much wine, made new friendships while rekindling the old, became the proud mother of two (count 'em, TWO) dogs and kissed my sanity goodbye.

Thanks for the ups, let's forget the downs, and here's to a fantastic year ahead of us all!

BRING IT ON, 2011.

for Christmas my grandmother decided to dress me like a pimp

My grandmother, God love her, has the strangest taste.

I should qualify that statement by saying that when it comes to dishes, home décor, and her own clothing, she has impeccable taste. Really just fantastic. But because we (she and I) are such different people, the things she chooses to buy me are often...iffy.

Or in this case, pimp-like.

Shudder.

A few hours before everyone was supposed to arrive at our house for Christmas Eve festivities, my grandmother swung by to drop off all her gifts (because they were already in her car and she just couldn't bear the thought of leaving them in her trunk unsupervised). Sweetheart, I found the most fabulous outfit the other day. I thought you could wear it to a New Years Eve party!, she gushed.

Now, I was wary because I know her penchant for purchasing interesting items, but really, I wasn't prepared for the reality of the situation.

I'll just kiss my dignity goodbye and show you this:


HOLY SHIT, GRANDMA.

I.

Look.

So.

Fat.

Also, I'm planning on stoning my mother later for making me pose this way. That angle does not work for my body. Wtf.


In case you're having a hard time taking your eyes off the ensemble as a whole, let me break it down for you. This fashion-forward look can be yours by stopping at your local Dillard's and purchasing:

one silky black top
one black COMPLETELY SEQUINED Tuxedo jacket
one black fur "bomber jacket"
one pair gray-black JEGGINGS
one jaunty black cabbie-style cap, complete with black sequined band & bow

My mom said I looked like a hooker. I really felt more like a sassy gay cab driver, possibly native to Reno. Mitch said he still loved me, so he's obviously a keeper, although the next thing he said was could he please also try on the jeggings?

Mitch had just come from the ballet, where he was starring in Peter Pan. Also, check out those sexy tennis-toned legs. Meowww.

Marry me.

You see, my grandmother had bought two pairs, being unsure what size I wore.

This was clearly the perfect opportunity for Mitch and I dress like a lesbian couple.


Merry Christmas!

We showed my grandmother these pictures later. She apologized and took the clothes back. Thanks, Grandma.

a weary world rejoices

Here's to sweet time spent with sweet family, hot chocolate with mini marshmallows, puppy presents, hideous purple bathrobes gifted from great-grandmothers, and another wonderful holiday all together. Merry Christmas, y'all!

i'm alive, i swear

I feel so out of touch with the real world.

And by the real world I, of course, mean the internet.

My parents, Mitch and I just got back last night from a family hunting trip out in Hickville, USA (aka. West Texas) where there is absolutely no cell phone service. Also, coincidentally, there was absolutely no hunting for me as I prefer to read and nap. Hunters, hunt your hearts out. Just leave me out of it.

But isn't this a great look for Mitch?

I promise that in real life he looks much hotter. And less like Elmer Fudd.

Anyway, since Christmas Eve is tomorrow (tomorrow!!) I'm spending this evening quietly enjoying a homemade facial mask and tons of free foodstuffs from my Neiman Marcus assistant buyer friend, Eileen (who, in case you couldn't tell, has the coolest job ever).

Happy almost Christmas! Enjoy this picture of my two (TWO!) puppies, please & thanks. And no, it never makes me feel pathetic to talk about my dogs as much as I do. It's fine.

Hello, we're the Townsend-Baker dogs and we're pretty damn adorable.



Oh, and PS: just to be totally anticlimactic, my big "secret" of last week was that my two very dear friends Kelsey and Harrison got engaged this past Saturday. I was overly excited to find out a week before Harry proposed and despeartely wanted to tell the world; however, I am pleased to say I was able to keep it to myself. Look at me, I'm growing up. Anyway, congratulations, Kelsey and Harrison! I can think of no two people more deserving of true love and happiness. :)

a proper introduction

Well, World, meet Pete Townsend.*

Pete, the World.

Hello.

It’s about time the two of you were introduced since you’ve been a part of our lives for over twenty-four hours now (and a taxing twenty-four hours they have been). But now that we’ve made it through our first day together, things have calmed down long enough for me to sneak away to write this.

Pete is my new puppy.

He’s a seven-month old hound dog I adopted through a rescue and adoption organization here in Dallas called Paws in the City. I feel a little insane adopting a dog this close to Christmas and when I’m, oh yea, not steadily employed, but something in my gut told me this was the right decision. About a month ago I wrote about my other dog, Clark Kent, and her diagnosis of Shar Pei fever. Episodes of fever and swelling (associated with Shar Pei fever) are thought to be brought on by stress, whether physical or emotional, so my thought process is that I can reduce Clark’s emotional stress by providing her with a playmate. I just can’t be home every second of every day, so she needs another dog to play with and keep her company.

Enter Pete.

Ummmm...hello again.

He’s a bit of a mess, all lanky puppy arms and legs, scavenging for food in the trashcans and pissing all over my carpet. But he and Clark seem to love each other, and that makes me happy. All the kinks will get worked out in time and, of course, with extensive training. So get ready, Pete, because come January, I’m enrolling your ass in Puppy Kindergarten.

My new Christmas wish is for patience.

And for Pete to not destroy my house.

Yea, that's right. Eat your bone, but nothing else. Except maybe food. Dog food.


*Not to be confused with Pete Townshend, although the similarities are uncanny.