Monday, September 29, 2014

Architecture for cats who can't see good.

As discussed last week, in lieu of important landscaping I bought I new dorky glasses.  It was kind of a spur of the moment decision but I think we can all agree they look pretty good.

The irony that all eyeball-challenged people will understand is that in an attempt to update my prescription, I currently can't see shit with my new lenses.  My depth perception is like trying to drive on Rainbow Road inside an actual kaleidoscope after funneling a gallon of Fireball.  When I encounter a curb or a stair or just a change in floor materials I have to first paw at it with my foot like a drunken show pony to make sure I don't plummet to my death.  

Haha just kidding I fall all the time no matter what glasses I'm wearing.  (Fortunately when I fell this weekend - trying to dig more holes in my yard, of course - it was behind a bush so I was shielded from the neighbors.  But not shielded from the sandpapery brick of my foundation...)

So I'm trying to wear them around the house but if I turn my head too fast I think I travel to another dimension.  

It's been a weird day.  

Perhaps it's my vision or perhaps my questionable taste in design but I'm not sure how I really feel about this lakeside villa designed by Viennese architect Alexander Diem.

Do I like it or can I not really see it?  Having a hard time focusing...  

Well it's the first modern house that I've seen in awhile with actual landscaping so that's good.  Or is that a very small circus in front?  Did these glasses also come with acid?

Now THIS I do like.  At least I'm pretty sure I do when I squint...  From what I gathered from the apparent shapes and hieroglyphics that are trying to be words at Dezeen, the wood screen surrounding the house creates privacy while allowing for light because we live "in a time which supposedly knows no privacy."  *makes jacking off motion while rolling my crossed eyes*

Shutters are, as we all know, a completely modern invention as all people before 1947 were savages who ran around nekkid all the time and had to poop in communal troughs in the city square.

Those poor celebrity women who had their nude photos stolen just needed an intricately carved screen around their iClouds.

Apparently my impaired vision makes me bitchy as well as dizzy.

via Dezeen
The fretwork is said to highlight harvest themes in keeping with traditional Alpine style detailing and I do admit to totally squeeing over it.  This is what I would classify as a modern gingerbread house.  And since it's half fairy tale, half art history, half drunk on new glasses, I can't be wrong!

I'm thinking Hansel and Gretel are graphic designers lost in the forest.  Led to the house by the promise of powerful wifi and gluten-free snacks, they immediately Instagrammed the shit out of such an architectural beauty.  An evil witch had unfortunately lured them to the villa to steal their iPhone 6+s but they were able to bludgeon her to death with them instead and escaped to talk about kerning or some shit.

I'm really good at fairy tales and relevant pop culture references.

Not so much at architectural criticism.

Kittehs here
Or is it the other way around?

Monday, September 22, 2014

14 going on 34 going on 84

I'm not sure if you felt a gentle breeze on Sunday tickle you in all your naughtiest places but that was probably Mother Nature letting you know it was my BIRTHDAY!  

The leaves are changing, the air getting cooler, like sands through a still-86-degree summer hourglass, these are the years of my life.  Or something… Look, I’m 34 now.  Don’t feel a day over my emotional age of 14.

So what does one get for her 34th birthday?  An incrementally smaller mortgage, a greater feeling of ease about your place in the world and plantar fasciitis. 

Sigh…  I’m 34 going on 84.

I’m at the age where I don’t ask for a lot of gifts for my birthday and instead want “just to spend some time with my friends and family.”  I totally understand now why my grandma used to say that even though young me felt that grandma was throwing away a perfectly good opportunity for some Bath and Body Works lotion sets or Guess jean shorts.  

Even though I only require a nice brunch and hug from my friends, I do try to give myself something special to mark such a momentous moment in time.  Besides, I have enough organic coconut oil and raw shea butter to keep me positively greasy until my existential crisis when I hit 40.

The past few years I've tried to give myself the gifts of tackling a long-held fear, a new experience or stepping out of my comfort zone (with a Glock).  This year I just wanted leg warmers and comfy socks.  This is unrelated to the plantar fasciitis - socks just feel nice.  Although I should probably look into getting some arch support...  

I ordered from the premier sock source on the internet (yes, there is one) appropriately called Sock Dreams.  They have a every kind of sock/leg warmer/thigh high available and a large and active community of customers.  I’ve never seen reviews this specific and impassioned outside of sex toys.  They have every size imaginable (of socks not sex toys - different site) so no matter what your calf-to-ankle ratio is, they have you covered.  COVERED!  Sock puns, y’all.

In keeping with the theme of old people gifts, I was also going to gift myself some yardwork from some very handsome and well-mannered twin boys who live in the neighborhood.  I feel like I should make a dirty joke here but I just can’t lust after guys whose ages end in -teen and call me ‘ma’am’ twelve times in under five minutes.  They are children and it makes me feel gross.  Besides, how can I fantasize about working out my daddy issues on someone who isn’t old enough to drink?

Unfortunately instead of yardwork I made a spur of the moment decision and bought myself some new glasses.  I can't pass a 50% off optometrical flash sale.  Steel yourself for the upcoming selfie, Instagram followers.  

Since my landscaping help is pushed out til Spring I treated myself to some DIY landscaping.  I’m not sure I understand the concept of gifts…?  It was definitely less glamorous than drinking a cocktail and watching twin 18-yr-olds work in my yard but dirtier.

First, I gifted myself a few Wench irises!  Look how cute these ladies are.

I ordered them from Zulily so I might get a box of twigs sometime next April, who knows.  I'm not really interested in having a lot of flowers for my yard but I like the ballet pink and dark plum color combo.  And the fact that irises are tough as nails helps their survival prospects.  

Goat's beard, Tennessee coneflower, Arkansas blue star, prairie dropseed grass and seersucker sedge
I also hit up a few plant sales for some new goodies…  Still working on getting these into the ground but I like looking at their potential.  Notice how I always have a lot of pictures of new acquisitions like this and not in the ground…?? Ahem...

I also got myself the gift of follow-through by buying some Limelight hydrangeas as we discussed previously this summer!  You may remember I had exposed a side to my house previously blocked by a rotting mini barn and now I’m filling it in.

I'm still digging so this is not my yard but maybe in a few years?  Here.
Happy birthday to me now go dig some giant holes while being eaten alive by mosquitoes wheeeee! Digging holes in my dirt is a painstaking two-day process so I really suck at celebrating.  Six inches down my shovel hits the solid wall of clay and I reverberate like a cartoon coyote. Fortunately, I only slipped off the shovel once and I’m a spry 84 so I recovered quickly.  Hope my neighbors enjoyed my muddy tumble.

Your gift to me is to please pray to your god for me that these guys live.

Not to be outdone, Charlemagne found a nest of bunnies and brought them ALL to me this weekend.  *sob* A dead bird on occasion I can handle.  The rare chipmunk is hard but it is the natural order afterall.  But the bunnies?  THE BUNNIES?  Pretty fucking miserable.  

They were too far gone for me to save or find a vet for a mercy killing on a Saturday night so I just had to listen to bunnies SCREAM on my patio while I tried to draw winged eyeliner on teary eyes.  Apparently turning 84 also hardens your heart because to drown out their screams I had to turn up the music and take another shot of Fireball to dull the pain. I mean, shit, Charlemagne…. 

So even though I cleaned up murdered bunny carcasses and dug holes on my birthday, it wasn’t actually like the prison sentence it sounds like.  It was really pleasant and there was much drinking and laughing and french fries and Beyonce concert footage to be had.  

Murdered bun buns aside, I gifted myself socks, glasses, plants and most importantly a sense of accomplishment.  And that’s the best gift of all, says this grandma!  

Other than literally anything else on the planet.

Monday, September 15, 2014

A quick note on blogging...

Blogging about blogging is the absolute WORST thing a person can do other than flicking babies in the ear or making fun of a dog to its face but here we go.  It'll be relatively painless, I promise.  But I had a come-to-Jeebus moment during my blog break about how much time I was willing to spend blogging and some things had to change.  

My life in perpetuity. Here.
Proper sourcing of images is really important to me but thanks to shitty pinners and bad blogging manners finding the true original source of ONE image can take up to fifteen minutes... twenty minutes... if ever at all.  I'm a master reverse image googler by now, I assure you.  I sometimes get distracted by cool internet adventures during these hunts *cough* tumblr *cough* but I didn't include that time in the number above.  Swearsies.

Now multiply twenty by the number of images in yesterday's post... I'll give you a minute...  yeah...  I have often spent HOURS just sourcing pictures (not including the time for gathering the images) for a post it takes less than two minutes to read.  This is not a humblebrag of blogging life (too late?) or a criticism of readers - my posts are meant to be absorbed quickly without a lot of effort and easily forgotten so you can go back to eating your bagel.  

But frankly, I just don't have that kind of time anymore and I'd like to eat a bagel too.  And have a life.  So my new rules for sourcing are:

-In the case of image dumps, "mood boards"/ inspiration posts or lengthy illustrated stories of some kind (hey, it could happen) I will credit in the caption where I got the image regardless of supreme ultimate source.  If the pin where I got the image has information I can't verify but think you might like then I'll link to pin (or We Heart It page or Tumblr post or whatever).  It might alert you to a cool pinner person anyway.  The Design for Mankind graphic is smart and I can't argue with it but not necessarily practical for these kinds of blog posts.  I also sincerely doubt a single person actually uses it. 

- But if there isn't any more info and the "source" isn't almost immediately known, then it's captioned as 'unknown.'  Done.  Sorry.

- If you know of a source and I don't please let me know and I'll be happy to fix it.  Random images are the hanging chads of the internet and it drives me fucking crazy.

- If I'm featuring the specific work/thing/artist/designer/etc then I will absolutely source it to the best of my abilities.  

I don't think anyone will actually care about this since very few people actually click through to the source in image dumps but blogging is a community that I enjoy being a part of and I believe in manners. Thanks.  *curtsy*

And although I know that everyone reading this blog is supremely intelligent and amazing, please tell your less fortunate friends to PIN FROM THE SOURCE, YOU GAWDDAMN FILTHY ANIMALS!!  If the URL to an image says 'media-cache-i3ur2ij3lkjerojweirj' or 'tumblr.3rujefkwejrouoru' that is not a fucking source.  Do NOT pin from that.

Or note this other example of pinning fuckery.  I found this image on Pinterest and loved it for my bedroom and wanted to exchange money for this bit of merchandise.  

Source? Unfuckingknown.
It is actually for sale, I was surprised to find out, because I was indeed taken to Etsy only to discover it was pinned from the general search results and not the photographer's shop.  So now this artist who I, and possibly thousands of other appreciative internet people, would like to give my money to will not receive my money.  Way to go, original pinner.  You make this world a terrible place.  I hope the dressing for your kale salad is actually made of piss and vinegar, shit-for-brains.

So the TL;DR version of this post is that I'm spending less time on sourcing and this will impact you in no way whatsoever.  Except that it might help me post more often...!  Consider this my confession just to clean my soul.

Now, back to our regular scheduled and partially-sourced programming!

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Soft Fall. Like summer but more beige.

I know our almanac Starbucks has already declared it Fall as well as my grocery store with its cinnamon brooms and mums but I'm not there yet.  For ONCE in my adult life I'm clinging on to Summer with all its boob sweat and thigh chafing glory.  

It's certainly not because I enjoy the heat - I've crafted a plastic bubble suit to get to and from my car so I don't have to actually feel the humidity or outside air.  Maybe it's because I've actually had a really enjoyable summer thanks in part to having a seasonal bucket list.  I traveled, I soaked up the sun underneath my hat and SPF 70, I saw Beyonce, I drank a LOT, I wore a lot of white and pretended I was warm, chubby fairy.  

I wasn't able to fly into the sun and become immortal but I guess that's rollover bucket stuffs for next summer.

Whatever the reason, I ain't feelin' your punkins right now. My summer flowers are still blooming, there's still ice in my coffee and my thighs say nay there is chafe left to be had here.  You'll have to drag this season out of my limp, sweaty hands.

I'm all about a pre-Fall right now.  It's like a soft opening to a new restaurant - slower pace and quiet.  Possibly with bad service?

Wait, even pre-Fall feels too much for me.  Maybe we'll say the sun is setting on summer.  I don't know if you got that from the incredibly blatant images above...  

It's not because your'e obtuse - I have the bestest and smartiest readers on the innernets.  I just have a great need to over-explain myself and ruin a perfectly good thing with more me.  It's a curse.  I'll add it to my autumnal bucket list.  #1 is less me in all things I do.

I love traveling this time of year because your legs don't stick to car seats as much and it's the last bit of freedom before holiday season demands all of your money and weekends.  

This bag is really speaking to me and I'm sure I can't afford it but maybe Santa should bring me some new luggage.  My current weekend bag I got from Chinatown about seven years ago and is literally falling apart.  A nice man helped carry it for me last month and a piece of the pleather came off in his hands.  He tried to act nonchalant about it but I could tell he was like "gross, never doing that again sorry all future ladies of travel."

"Scarf season" is something I'm actively rejecting as well.  I actually had a scarf picture in this image dump and took it off.  Fucked up my flow.  Know what IS my flow?  More white with some beige.  Gotta have a beige outer layer this season.  

What are we calling this season now?  Summertime slumbertime?  Soft Fall?  Um... September?
Mexican feather grass here
One thing I'm pretty stoked about is grass.  Late Summer and Soft Fall means all the grasses are at their prime and grasses are to me what flowers are to other people.  Some people like gardens of color but I'd like gardens of beige muppet hair.  

Don't you just want to snuggle with that grass up there?  I bet it tickles.  That's the kind of feeling I want from September.  Sunsets and tickling.

Also, this feeling.

But mostly this.  All about that beige, 'bout that beige, no color.

And this.  Fall seems like something that would require you to wear a bra and I'm DEFINITELY not ready for that kind of structure in my life.

Some old linens though...?  Soft Fall is also about wrinkles.  Wrinkles and sagging boobs.

I think this is also Mexican feather grass.  An appropriate name for tickling.  Oddly, grass makes me more excited for this season than pumpkin spice dick.

This is what being a homeowner does to you... 

I could talk about grass all season so I'll spare you the additional grass I bought at a plant sale this weekend.  UNTIL MY SOFT FALL GARDENING POST MWAHAHAHA!

Me, working in the yard and gettin' tickled by grass probly.

Something about this room is speaking to me right now - maybe it's the nice neutrals and contrasting styles but also a hint of cozy fire.  It's certainly not the abundance of weirdo chairs wandering around the room...

It also doesn't have a rug but this kind of space needs a cold floor.  

I may not be ready for scarves but I'm very pro-socks right now.  Could be that my feet are looking for moisture again or that my tap shoes look best with funky socks.  Possibly both.  Prepare for lots of Instagrams of me in legwarmers and tap shoes next month.

Regardless of toe situation, I can manage this.  Well, I mean I can't manage to look as effortlessly Soft Fall Casual but I have a beige leather-ish jacket and tshirts.  And some weird socks and tap shoes so...  somebody call Bill Cunningham!

Nothing says Soft Fall like ankles.  Yeah, I'm wearing two shirts but keeping my ankles nice and breezy.  Fuck your sweet potatoes and cinnamon, me and my ankles are living the beige dream right now.

Soon, my punkin-headed friends.  Soon.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Dream cars and pastel bombshells.

During my blog vacation I went out and "did" things like a "real" person and one of those things was a trip to the High Museum in our favorite city of Southern sprawl, Atlanta.  

I'm so cultured.

You may remember my unexpected lust for automobiles this summer where I squeed myself sore over some cute motorized cartoon cars.  At that time I learned that the High Museum was having a dream car exhibit so I vowed to go.  Thanks, serendipity!    

So I got in my very sensible, boring and completely-paid-for car to go visit some fantasy rides and it was entirely worth it.  They extended the exhibit through THIS Sunday (the 14th) and I highly recommend you go if you're in the area and have $20.

Feel free to hum the Dreamgirls song while viewing the cars.  I couldn't stop myself.

Remember, I don't even like cars but look at these beauties...

Here's the Edsel Ford Special Speedster looking like a badass alligator.  Oddly, it was my favorite color of all of them - a deep, saturated olive green.  I'm partial to green right now so I'm sure it was a boring color to everyone else but I found it incredibly sexy.

Imagine a smartly dressed WWII blonde bombshell in military uniform and bright red lips - that's what this car is.  I have a whole Indiana Jones thing going on in my head.  Nevermind that this is from 1934 and perhaps too early to fight Nazis but time has no value in my fantasies.

I took a surprising amount of wheel shots.  I just can't resist a good detail.

1948 Tasco
Or butt.  Nothing but car butts for me, please.  The one above is kinda smiling.  Cheeky little bastard.

You may have thought the Apple Watch was an exciting piece of future design but this 1953 Firebird looks like a jet so kindly fuck off, Apple.

Also, here's the "Electric Egg" designed by French artist and industrial designer Paul Arzens in 1942 as his personal car during the war.  An electric car more than 70 years ago so think on that for a bit...

Also, look at how cute that little silver butt is.  I'm in love with this little teardrop.  It was fairly rusted and definitely showed its age which made me like it more.

If you're interested in something more traditional-looking here's the 1941 Chrysler Thunderbolt.

It has a roof and headlights controlled electrically by buttons on the leather-covered dashboard.  

My driver side visor is broken and just flops around when I hit a bump.  Or when there's thunder.  

A highlight of the exhibit was the 1936 Stout Scarab - something I got excited about from researching this summer's post.

It was the precursor to the modern minivan, obviously, except this version's back seating could convert into a couch and a table.  I have a cup holder filled with sticky pennies.  Scarab: 1. Lacy: 0

The Scarab's smiling face.  I'd like to see that sunny disposition slide by me in oncoming traffic.   This handsome fellow really was modeled after the beetle with the same name as indicated by cute scarab detail on its nose in the center.

More wheel lust.  I do have pictures of the butt but I have to draw the line somewhere.

Not here!

This 1955 Chrsyler "Gilda" was said to be shaped by the wind. 

How come the wind always shapes me into a mess?  Fuckin wind, man.

Arrow door handles were shot by Cupid straight into my heart.

I also really appreciated a trio of American-made cars in the center of the exhibit.  Straight-up jet airplane meets Mad Men meets spy cars.  I actually felt very patriotic during much of this exhibit because 'yay America actually did contribute something positive to the world one time!' and it was very shiny.

1951 GM Le Sabre
One of my favorites was this ivory and cherry red 1956 Buick Centurion.  See a full picture of it here.

I'm dying over this all glass top.  It had a rear-mounted camera and a viewscreen on its dash...  In 1956.  Doesn't it kinda make the same features in today's cars seem less exciting?  I guess we spent the last 60 years working on improving "safety" and "efficiency" or something.

Of course, I can't even play my ipod in my car so I probably shouldn't judge.

Centurion jet butt.

Next to the Centurion is the 1959 Cadillac Cyclone butt.

I have a blurry picture of its headlights but it was starting to feel sleazy...

You know how there are those dudes you see on tv who are sexually attracted to cars and have sex with their mufflers and want to marry them?  Well, I totally get it now because if I had a dick I would totally try to put it in one of these cars.

For the dessert course of our exhibit we have the 2007 recreation of the 1935 Bugatti Aerolithe.  Only five were ever made and most likely they were stripped to create other models so this is what we get and I'm fine with it.

I would say staring at these giant scoops of pistachio ice cream is almost a spiritual experience.  My car also feels like a spiritual experience - more like a Winchester sending my soul to hell feeling but still a spiritual experience.

For the record, there's no way Rick Ross could have got in this car.  I'm pretty sure my ass would have to hang out the window were I to get a ride but I don't care I'd still feel sexy.

Some cars deserve petting and stroking.  

My car deserves a long drive off of a short pier into a lake of grenades.

The superfun detailing that I hope you can see is that it's assembled using rivets.  So it's sleek and pastel but looks like it was forged in a factory that made bombs.  Or an Italian Mount Doom.  

I would like this to be my new aesthetic - sweet pastel bombshell.  Emphasis on BOMB.  

First step in this new aesthetic is that I gotta get a new car.  My side mirror got destroyed by a daycare van driving towards me in oncoming traffic that sideswiped me and then drove off.  So now I have the shards of a mirror glued on and some dangling paper.  True story.  Double check where you send your kids to daycare is all I'm saying.

Now if it was a Stout Scarab that destroyed my side mirror I'd probably thank it just for saying hello and ask to take a picture of its butt.

So now my car lust has intensified dramatically.  

But I would highly recommend this exhibit even if you don't love cars but DO love design.  Or shiny things.  Or history.  Or America.  Or pastel ice cream bombs.  

See more about exhibit and the cars I didn't show you (and better pictures of the ones I did) here.  You will DEFINITELY want to buy your tickets online.  It's a crowded show but everyone was friendly and respectful when it came to picture-taking.  Except for the middle-aged white men who were completely unaware that their dad jorts and weird shoes were messing up my Instagram moments...    

I'd also suggest getting the audio guided tour - a few random strangers were stopping me and telling me about the cars as we walked around, that's how cool the extra info apparently was.  I was more like "yay shiny butts!"

If you actually do make it down to the ATL this weekend or soon, my fellow dream car dreamer and I went over to the Westside and hung out at the new Bellwoods Social House for refreshments and day drinking.  I think I might have been day drunk...

Who doesn't love a good bar shot?  I always feel so fancy.

And nothing seems fancier than shiny bars and shiny cars.

Rhyming is definitely not fancy.  

Neither is a hillbilly in the big city.

Gawd, I'm making this worse...

Enjoy the cars even if it's just here.