Breast wishes

Today is my boyfriend’s 30th birthday – a HUGE milestone!

Personally, I believe birthdays are super special because it’s the day you get to celebrate YOU. Not your mom, not Jesus, not a dead Irish saint, not secretaries – YOU – the one person you’ve had around, and always will have around, for the rest of your life. That’s a pretty important person, so I think birthdays are cause for a big celebration.

But, boys tend to be lackadaisical in the party throwing department, especially birthday parties, so I’ve decided to throw a celebration for him because he’s grande. Tomorrow night we’re co-hosting a “Dirty 30” birthday part at a dirty dive bar in Seattle. Because I am a theme party WHORE, I tried to squeeze in a little bit of the dirty theme… Last night I went to a fabulous store in Seattle called Archie McPhee’s – a novelty item store with kitschy gifts and trinkets – and picked up some fake mustaches for everyone to wear (dirty ‘staches). They even had a set of PINK fuzzy mustaches for girls. How perrrfect. If I am going to sport a ‘stache, it had better be pink.

And then there was the cake. I wanted to pick up a “dirty” cake from The Erotic Bakery – a shop that creates cakes and cookies in the shape of man and lady bits. I was going to post a few of the options here and take a vote on what to order, but when I called last night, I was too late for a rush order and they were $50 a cake anyway. Boo purdue. But then I realized, that’s really okay because they put vaginas on their cakes, and who knows what that would taste like anyway.

So I scrambled for plan B.

I started calling the party stores within my general area and asking, “Um. Do you have boob cookie cutters?” Not gonna lie; it was kinda awkward. But after calling a few places, even Lover’s Package, there were no boob cookie cutters to be had!

Time for plan c.

I started Googling, “How to make boob cookies.” No luck. Then, “How to make a boob cake,” brought up this result, and I was like, “Hey! I can do that!” So I was up until 12:30 a.m. last night, making boob-shaped cake pieces and flesh-colored frosting for Baby Daddy’s birthday cake. I’m SUPER excited to bust it out at the party… get it, bust it out. Haha. I think boobs and mustaches are a great pair. Well, unless you’re a lady with a mustache, then that’s just gross. Or, if your boobs are being tickled by some guy’s mustache, that’s gross too… uh boob cakes and fake mustaches are a great pair. Here’s how I did it:

First came the flesh-colored cream cheese frosting – a couple drops of green, red and yellow food coloring.

To make the boobs, you bake cake batter in two round mixing bowls and the base cake in a 9×13″ pan.

I saved some of the frosting and added a little more red and some blue food coloring
for the nipple area, which was made with a Peach-O ring with a Dot stuck in the middle.

I frosted the cake, then placed the breastesses on top, frosting each, and then finally the nipples.

TA DA!

Currently Feeling: Fancy in leopard print, a pink silk bow and my hair straightened for the birthday dinner tonight!
Currently Anticipating: All the surprises I have up my sleeve. I love surprises! And giving gifts!
Currently Loving: Mrs. Meyer’s Lemon Verbena Laundry Detergent. I picked it up on a whim last week, and while it’s a bit spendy for detergent, it’s SUPER fab and worth it! It makes my whole house smell great every time I do laundry!

Sometimes I laugh like a hyena

Packing, moving and unpacking all went well this weekend. I missed a Bacon, Bacon, Bacon Saturdays for Breakfast post because I was busy doing the latter from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. on Saturday, so forgive me, all two of you who look forward to those.

I was too busy having mini orgasms from the dishwasher and washer/dryer in my new place this weekend to do anything fun. Or have real orgasms, apparently. My boyfriend now has to fight for my attention. I am in love with my appliances. (He already feels inferior to one “appliance,” so I might just lose him over the new additions. I might end up a lonely spinstress with my cat and my appliances. God help me.) I have been washing things that were always deemed not worth the dollar or time it took in my last place – and everything is so shiny, sparkly and CLEAN. I feel so unlike myself. Dirty is my middle name. But onward and upward! I am a changed woman!

*Riiiight*

The move-in went as smoothly as I could have hoped, I suppose. Minus the fact that my beautiful CREAM micro suede couch had to be moved in BY ROPE to the FOURTH FLOOR BALCONY. I managed to catch it on the Flip video cam. You will probably be mostly bored by this video since my videography skills are lacking, and clearly I need to learn how to “talk to my audience.” However, you might want to watch it if you would like to hear me snort like a hyena or a squeeky see-saw. Kinda like this: hahaha HUUUH. HUUUH. HEEE HUUUUH. That happens somewhere around 1:18.

Move it along now, move it along

I think I might have mentioned a bit in the last couple weeks that I’m moving. I’ve lived in my apartment in Seattle for more than two years now. It’s officially the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place since I’ve been 18, and I’m slightly attached. It’s walking distance to everything, has “Old World Charm,” hardwood floors, two walls of windows that overlook Puget Sound and a rooftop patio with 360-degree views of the entire city. BUT, it also has the tiniest closet you could ever imagine (I’ve opted to use my bed and floor for increased closet space, so that’s getting really old), no dishwasher, coin-operated washer and dryers, and a kitchen so ancient that I’m pretty sure it predated my grandparents. (The color of my appliances is actually called Harvest Gold, if that tells you anything).

So, when a great new roommate came along, I bit her bait when she asked if I’d be willing to find a new place, rather than have her move into my soon-to-be vacant second bedroom. The decision to move out is something I feel both super excited and super bummed about. I’d been holding out on signing another lease because of that whole “wanting to move out of Seattle this year” thing. Le sigh. But, the prices available right now for renting were too great to pass up. If the bad economy is doing one thing – it’s making everything cheaper and more affordable. It’s hard to be bummed about signing another lease when I’m moving into a place that is newer, even closer walking distance to everything, with a washer, dryer, dishwasher, two balconies, my own bathroom and my own garage parking spot – for LESS than I pay now. And I didn’t even have to give up the water and Space Needle view. Can you believe that?

I’ve spent the last two weeks saying things like, “I can’t believe I’ll never have to do another sink of dishes again!” “I’m SO excited to never have to pay for laundry again!”

So this week I’ve been futilely attempting to pack up my “life.” In this apartment, I’ve acquired a lot more STUFF than I’ve ever had before. Each box I fill and each box I tape, I ask myself, “Why in the HELL are you moving out, again?!” I know I don’t have to tell you that moving is seriously the most miserable thing. Right up there with oh, um, funerals, stubbing your big toe and Hillary Duff concerts. Which makes me second-guess signing another lease even more because the thought of doing this again in less than a year makes me want to pluck my eyelashes out one by one. Or dry shave. (Are those enough metaphors to get my miserable point across?)

The weirdest part of packing is going through all the drawers you rarely open, finding stuff you didn’t know you had, sifting through the memories… I’m not a pack rat, but I do carry sentimental value with few items that I’m not ready to let go of. Last night I cracked a bottle of wine and allowed myself to linger and look through things while I packed. I read pages of journals from college about feelings I don’t remember having. I read love letters, break-up letters, birthday cards, poems I wrote, college essays (I actually wrote a persuasive essay for English 101 about how Eminem is the greatest artist of all time), and looked through pictures that I think were of me; it was almost an out-of-body experience. I looked at a girl who I know was me, but I don’t really remember being that girl. Life is so weird. I can’t tell you how much I can relate with the whole “life is like an onion” comparison. I feel like I’m continuously peeling away layers of myself to find a new self inside.

So this is the first time that I’ve moved since college where I’ve taken a look at all the sentimental college stuff and asking myself why the hec I still have it hanging around… Do I really need a desk chocked full of all the magazines I was Editor in Chief for, or all my newspaper article clippings? Do I really need rainbow candles, snowboard company stickers or a penis figurine? I finally boxed everything up that I haven’t needed or looked at in years, and am trying to be super picky about what I don’t throw away. I want one of those clean, uncluttered, “adult” rooms that have everything in their proper storage bins ala Trading Spaces or Real Simple.

So, the time has come to let go of all those college items and memories that are really lovely inside my head, but don’t necessarily need to be outside of boxes anymore. Time to peel away another layer…

Currently Feeling: Cheerful, bright and sunny.
Currently Anticipating: Signing the lease and getting my keys tonight!
Currently Loving: TextsFromLastNight.com So freakin hilarious; it’s made my Friday.

Swapping blog spit

[Today is the day for Twenty-Something Bloggers fourth annual blogswap. I know I've been doing a lot of guest posts, giveaways and other things that have deferred from the regular scheduled programing, so after this, I will be returning to the norm for awhile and get back to my basics.

For the blogswap, I was paired with the lovely 20-year-old James, who lives in England and writes for his blog, Jeimusu-kun. James needs to know, from the plethora of lovely ladies here, your opinion on flowers on the first date. Be so kind to offer up your advice to him. The man could use some of your lady opinions.

I was sure to give my dating advice to James - for my blogswap post, I shared a very important lesson I learned while dating Old Balls, aka The Brit, aka the British 35-year-old. Be sure to check it out!]

So, typically, I’m writing this drunk at 3:15am on the day it’s due. I feel I’ve earned the right to this however – dissertation all handed in and whatnot.

Anyway, I thought I’d give a guy’s perspective on dating. Well, I would, except most guys are assholes. I’ll admit this – most are the biggest hypocrites I’ve ever seen; they’ll moan about how girls cheat on them and fuck them around, and then do precisely that to other girls. Vicious cycle ensues.

I’ve always tried my hardest to avoid that. I’ve slipped up a couple of times, I will admit – but by the whole one of my aims in life is to not be one of those guys.

One night, fairly recently, I was a bit drunk and actually mustered up the confidence to ask a girl if I could buy her a drink. Disclaimer: I wasn’t trying to get in her pants; I merely thought it would be a good way to initiate conversation. Surprise surprise, she thought I was trying to get in her pants. This is the real problem of the assholes: they act like nice guys to get laid and then all the girls thus get suspicious of the genuinely nice guys as they think they’re just out for sex. Vicious cycle ensues. I need to stop using that phrase.

Anyway. Why I’m exactly complaining is beyond me, seeing as I ended up making out with the girl in question (who is very pretty) and am taking her out to dinner next week. Score.

Anyway, I’m obviously out to impress – I’m thinking, turn up at hers (on time, preferably), give her a nice lily from a proper florist wrapped in some greens (yes, I actually sought out advice for this, shock horror), walk her in, keep the conversation flowing and off volatile subjects i.e. past relationships, politics, etc., offer to pay, walk her home, and kiss her goodnight if all’s gone well.

Interestingly, I’ve had an incredibly varied amount of feedback regarding this. Some say only take one flower, some say none at all, some say don’t pay. Well, why the hell not? It’s a gesture of kindness, surely – anyone who knows me in the slightest knows I’m not remarkably sexist in any way. I was brought up with manners and I don’t see why I should be discouraged from using those. I’m interested in this girl and surely being a gentleman is a good way to show that?

Especially seeing as I’m out to differentiate myself from all the users and cheaters and liars out there.

Chocolate-chip sunsets

Last night I walked up three blocks from my house to a park in Seattle with a view that spans the entire city, surrounding water and mountains in the distance.

It was sometime around 7:30 p.m., and as the boyfriend and I reached the crest of the hill the park was at the top of, we noticed 20 or something other people sitting and standing around the small area of grass and benches. As we took a seat and cracked our bottle of wine, more couples holding hands, families with strollers and individuals with cameras continued to approach the park, which is located at the crossroads of four roads in my neighborhood.

“Sheesh, it’s like a freakin neighborhood party here,” I said.

The weather was warm enough for a light sweatshirt, the grass perfect to lie on and the sun swiftly setting in the west left a golden glow above the hills far in the distance. When I was little, my mom used to tell me that the angels were baking cookies when the sky was the color of glowing orange embers, just as it was last night.

I’m not going to go on and on about the weather, and how it’s changing, and how that is oh so lovely. But I will say this, I love what spring does to Seattle. It’s like the whole city defrosts and everyone comes alive. The streets seem busier. The parks are jam packed. There’s a bit more bounce in steps. A bit more laughter. And, it seems, a bit more loving.

Keep on baking those cookies, angels. Seattle looks amazing in your glow.

Currently Feeling: Relieved my entire day of team “strategizing” at work is over, but bummed I have to do it all again tomorrow. Sitting in a dark boardroom when it’s this nice out is agonizing!
Currently Anticipating: My first Mariners game of the season tomorrow.
Currently Worried About: The 20-something blogger swap – what am I going to write, argh!

Ah shiznit, I was caught….

…in a “tagged” meme. Dammit! Apparently I’m supposed to post a pic of me HERE and NOW. So, here’s my after-weekend, packing, cleaning, snacking and watching Desperate Housewives face, sans make-up, with extreme back pain, in a crappy Webcam pic! I match the wall in my apartment…I think I came out of the womb, matching.

Hrm, I’m only going to tag one person…Lily! I need to get back to wrapping glasses in newspaper, which is way too much fun to waste anymore minutes on the Interwebs. Happy last night before we go back to the sharks tomorrow!

-Je

Ever heard of Passion Parties or Pure Romance? They’re companies that allow women to host sex toy parties, in the comfort of their friends and home, where products can be tasted and tested. I threw one sometime last year, and during, they passed lube and various tingly lotions around in flavors like vanilla frosting, apple pie and strawberry cheesecake. Sugar, sugar and more sugar. Now, if they would have given me something to choose from that’s a little more savory…like baconlube™…”a delicious personal lubricant designed to “keep it sizzlin,’” well, then that’s a little more something I can wrap my hand around! Er, head. Have your bacon and lick it too!

And the winners are…

All right – the contest for one of five copies of Thanks for Coming: One Young Woman’s Quest for an Orgasm is closed, and I’ve picked the winners!

In case you’re wondering how the process worked, I numbered the list of comments, adding a comment for those who were so kind to Tweet about my contest (an entry for each Tweet you made) and subtracted the comments I made in response. This was so each numbered comment would correspond with a person who entered. I then used Random.org to generate four random numbers (the first copy of the book went to Katie from Don’t Call Me Kathleen for being the first person to comment). The numbers that were generated corresponded with comments from the following people:

2. Novelwhore (Her odds were up there – she had five entries because she Tweeted about my contest every day.)
3. Nicole Antoinette from More Is Better (More ORGASMS are better! Fitting she won since she was the first person to actually respond with how many people she slept with.)
4. Single Twenty Something (Send me your address!)
5. Megan from Somewhat Voluble (Also fitting – she won this book on her blogoversary.)

I will be contacting each of you separately – except, Single Twenty Something, you’ll have to send me your address or contact info because your blogger profile says it’s private. I will try to send out the books this weekend. Thanks to all of you who entered. Honestly, I wish I had a copy for each and every one of you! I recommend picking up the book even if you didn’t win! (And those friends of mine who are located in Seattle and didn’t win, you know you have a private, reserved copy at my house).

Happy Friday!

Currently Feeling: Disappointed the weather is so gorgeous and I can’t do much.
Currently Anticipating: Possible first Mariners game of the season tomorrow. I hope my back magically feels better when I wake up!
Currently Loving: My new roommate and my new apartment!

What I want…

…I buy.

Personal mantra. And one I wouldn’t recommend. It’s expensive.

Anywhoo, enough about that. Let’s move right along and continue to talk about SPENDING MONEY. Today I bought myself two pretty cute items that I thought I’d share.

This beautiful little jewelry box I purchased on Etsy from a seller called Sister Butterfly. My first Etsy purchase! I tried super hard to ignore the Etsy hype. I need to shop online more like I need a hole in the head. (My parents use that saying. Is this where I say I’m turning into them?) But I was searching for a present to purchase for my BF’s 30th birthday (rapidly approaching), and I found this little gem. It was too pretty, and too Je, to not purchase. Plus, I’m going to try to do some reorganizing for the impending move, so this’ll be perfect. (More on the move later).

And these cute white capri James Jeans for spring! If you’re not a member of Rue La La, you must sign-up immediately. It’s the best site ever for designer duds. They feature one day “boutiques” of designers such as Betsy Johnson, Coach, 7 For All Mankind, French Connection, Tracy Reese, etc., etc., etc. for like 50% off or more! My lovely friend Jana got me hooked. BUT, it’s invite only. So, if you want me to send you an “invite” through my account, send me a message and I’ll hook a sistah up!

[Also, don't forget to enter the contest a couple posts below for one of five copies of Thanks for Coming: One Young Woman's Quest for an Orgasm, if you haven't already!]

Currently Feeling: Grumbly. I can barely walk or sit – but I’ve been to the witch doctor chiropractor, so all should be healed with the back soon? *Fingers crossed*
Currently Anticipating: Catching up tonight over dinner with Bestie Amanda.
Currently Loving: Change. Even something minor, I love change.

The few, the strong, the braaaave

[If you haven’t already, please enter my blog giveaway for five copies of Thanks for Coming: One Young Woman’s Quest for an Orgasm. Contest closes Friday.]

When I first met my boyfriend, a little over a year and a half ago, he was a commercial fisherman in Dutch Harbor, Alaska. Yes, like Deadliest Catch. It’s a running joke between us because every time it has casually come up in a group conversation, someone will go, “OHMYGOD. Like the DEADLIEST CATCH. That is SO SCARY/cool/dangerous/insert adjective here!” which I usually laughed at and rolled my eyes while he answered all their questions. I had never seen the Deadliest Catch and could never really commiserate with them, even though it was my boyfriend they were talking about, and I probably should have been able to say something like, “Oh my God, I KNOW. He’s so strong, brave and amazing.”

When I met him, I knew that commercial fisherman made a lot of money, but I could only focus on how it meant he was gone six months out of the year doing what some will deem the “most dangerous profession.” He left two months after we met each other, and we decided to do the long distance thing even though we were barely official. But, this wasn’t just any long-distance relationship; this was three months with only a two minute, choppy phone call once a week via satellite phone. One time, he didn’t get to call me for two weeks solid and I was sure he had died – swallowed up by the waves of the Bering Sea.

To say it sucked is an understatement. Luckily, he had made the decision to quit before I met him, so the three-month trip we endured was his last. And since, it’s been really hard for him to let go of. It was a profession that he and others respected, and one he was good at. It was a lifestyle and a community he became a part of for five years of his life. It made him feel accomplished and manly and proud. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I think a small part of him died when he decided it was something he couldn’t do anymore for other personal reasons, even though his decision brought me a huge sense of relief. I couldn’t imagine myself the other half of someone who was only home six months a year. I imagined myself a lonely and widowed wife of a fisherman. Uh, no thanks. So while he’s longed for it sometimes, I’ve told him he needed to move on. Oftentimes not so nicely. I recognized the way he felt about fishing, but I didn’t really understand it.

This last year or so of our relationship has occasionally been peppered with reminders of his past boat life – he’ll point out ships in the Seattle harbor that were fishing boats he delivered catches to; he’ll make a reference to “boat lore” or superstitions they used to follow; I’ll tease him about a particularly worn-out and stained pair of socks or underwear, and he’ll say, “They’re boat socks! I need to do laundry;” or I’ll often poke fun at him when he wears his sweatshirt around the house that says, “Bering Sea Fisherman: The few, the strong, the brave.”

“The FEW. The STRONG. The BRAAAAVE,” I’ll say in a deep, dramatic breathy voice, and make a face like this:

(I’m such a jerk).

“Shut up,” he’ll throw back.

Being a fisherman is a part of him. It makes up the DNA of his past, whether or not I understand it or ever will. So although I might have inwardly groaned last night when he asked if we could watch the season opener of Deadliest Catch, I agreed. I guess I decided to unravel one more strand of that DNA.

And I’m really glad I did.

For maybe one of the first times ever in our relationship, I felt totally engrossed in something HE was teaching ME. A part of him that I knew nothing about. I asked him hurried questions – I couldn’t get them out fast enough.

“What’s a skipper??? I mean, besides Barbie’s little sister…, ha ha” (I like to laugh at my own jokes frequently).

“A captain. The captain of the boat,” he answered.

“Why do they have zinc on the bottom of the boat? Do all boats have that?!”

“Yes. The salt from the salt water attacks the zinc instead of the boat so it doesn’t erode.”

I watched as they baited the crab pots, dropped them, and pulled them up, searching for Dungeness crab. And he patiently explained every detail I wanted to know. As I watched the show, totally engrossed, I kept glancing at him and I could see the excitement in his eyes. The knowledge. The longing. The manliness. Rawr. I finally understood the magnitude of this profession. The magnitude of what it meant to him. It was almost, for an overly dramatic effect, like watching a caged animal in their natural habitat. I don’t know that I’d seen him quite like this before.

Anyway, it a special moment for me. In day to day life, there are very few moments when we are in total awe of our significant other. So when it happens, I feel it should be grasped onto and remembered, so the next time someone says, “OHMYGOD. Like the DEADLIEST CATCH. That is SO SCARY/cool/dangerous/insert adjective here,” I won’t roll my eyes. I’ll say,

“I know.”

Currently Feeling: Like I have the worst back pain in the world. I can barely sit at my desk or breathe. What the hell?
Currently Anticipating: Viewing this apartment tonight that I think is PERFECT. I’m so anxious that someone else is going to snag it!
Currently Needing: Drugs. Lots of drugs. And some Bestie Amanda time.