Like A Lion In The Ocean

Katie from Domestiphobia asked, "He doesn't really break your nose, does he?"

If we were playing Jeopardy backwards the answer would be, "The tuna punches herself in the face."

For $600.

My New Favorite Version

Our Bright, Bruised Future

Despite the bruising around my eyes, Andrew is not a wife beater. He's hit me since early on in our relationship, though it's usually when he's deep asleep and mumbling something incoherent like, "Bump the dishwasher so the spiders won't look ugly." One time he sat straight up and just pushed me out of our bed entirely. He remembered nothing the next day.

The other bruises come from when he hits me with my own hands. Sometimes we mock fight over the sheets or get into a tussle for the remote control, and he uses his insanely strong biceps to hold my arms away from my body. When I try to imitate Mike Tyson by swinging with all of my might, he redirects my blows right for my face and BAM.

I've broken my own nose at least twice. Which should reasonably mean that I win by Technical Knockout, but we don't keep score. Because we can't stop laughing long enough to. And because, well, you know, my nose is usually broken.

But anyway.

About an hour ago we finished having paella for lunch at Taverna, which is right around the corner from our house in San Marco Square. We went there for brunch over the weekend and I thought I'd give the restaurant one more chance before deciding to be officially unimpressed. Which I am. I wouldn't go out of your way to try it.

In the end I was just happy to have his company, since lately Andrew's ears have been permanently embedded with cell phones, which I should note - aside from the huge amount of success he's been having - is a constant reminder of how seriously he works each and every day. My best friend always tells me, "Andrew is the hardest worker I know. Second to you."

She's right about the first part.

In our two years together, we've gone through more than some couples do in decades, and I believe it's made our relationship deeper than anything I've ever experienced. I don't think I can even explain to you how excited I am for our future or how grateful I am for the time that we've already had together. How grateful I am for him.

The last few days I've spent a lot of time contemplating our next steps, including what our plans might be after we wrap up this renovation project and where his corporate career might be taking him. It makes me think about how proud I am of him. Of us.

When we were out at the restaurant earlier, I pinched him under the table, and when our server approached she gasped and looked horrified. Probably because she overheard him say, "Go on, keep it up, and you'll get another broken nose."

Or maybe because I just smirked and said, "It's okay. I'm looking forward to it."

This Is Love: Cross Stitch

Check out more of what I love over this-a-way.

Good morning!

While we were supposed to be painting the hallway, Andrew and I stumbled upon a perfectly strange little flea market the other day on our way back from breakfast. I had hoped to find a small wooden farm table or maybe a stained glass window or even a few worn poetry books, but alas, no such luck.

I did find a framed vintage cross stitch piece that I wanted, though, and it inspired an idea that I'm working on.

For now, I'll share these clever designs from Etsy.


Moustache


Too Long Dachsund


Emily


Hi


Girl Silhouette


Home Sweet Home

We're Still Playing Hopscotch On The Ladder

A step closer to a lighter and brighter Stairwell + Hallway.

Cheery pun intended.

Shoes I'd Buy This Autumn

From top to bottom, left to right: Equestrian Rain Boots, Rockport Barbarella Boots, Madden Defiant Pumps, Sebago Boat Shoes

Perhaps I'm not doing myself any favors by publishing this a day after getting this email but, to be honest, I didn't even realize the duh factor until I'd already put this post together. Duh-er.

But still. THIS IS MY PARTY AND I'LL CRY IF I WANT TO.

Or, you know, post shoes.

Whichever.

Before + Progress Pictures: The Historic House By The Water: Hallway + Stairwell, Part 1

So I asked Andrew how he planned on reaching the ceiling in the Stairwell and he asked me not to peek on the other side of the plastic sheeting and said something like, "JUST LET ME WORK, KELLY," and I was all, "Fine, whatever, but if you kill yourself playing hopscotch between the ladder and steps six and seven just know that, I will kill you."

I've already mentioned safety precautions to him more than once today, like after he narrowly missed beheading me while removing that mirror in the hallway, and I started hyperventilating and yelling, "This is a job for mirror professionals, WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME DO THIS?!"

So far, my warnings have not worked.

I am wearing safety goggles and three jockstraps as I type this.

It's kind of horrific.

Thirty First Bag Of Mail: Toe Whore

"Hello, Kelly, how are you? I want to go out on a limb and make an offer to you. If you are not interested, it's fine, I in no way wish to offend you. I am guessing that you like to take good care of yourself, and therefore your feet, and am wondering if you enjoy having them massaged? Would you be interested in a discreet, slow, soothing, relaxing, partial or full body massage? I'm a white male, not overweight, with brown eyes and brown hair, and well groomed. I'm very clean, and drug and disease free. I can come to you. It would please me to totally satisfy you by helping to relieve any stress or tension in any way you wish. The favor would NOT have to be returned. My talented hands await your response and hope you would like your toes to curl on end like never before."

I think there are websites for that sort of thing. In case it's not clear, THIS IS NOT ONE OF THEM.

Also, you should have blocked out your email address.

I watch Law + Order.

Be Still My Tender Heart

Halloween is almost here.

This is me trick-or-treating circa 1983. My mother made our costumes that year, and I'd like to confess at this point that I don't even know how to sew. I was an angel, my brother was an ewok and my sister was a ballerina.

The next year, being the resourceful homemaker that she was, she sewed a heart on my brother's ewok costume and VOILA! It was totally reborn into Tenderheart Carebear.

And stuffed to the brim with pillows since there was no other way that I was fitting into that beast.

(I like how I'm the easiest kid to find in old pictures, because I'm always front and center. That's where they put the short kids.)

Yesterday, I was browsing through some of the Halloween gear on Etsy and I found this terrifyingly close costume at Bang Bang Crash. I broke out in a cold sweat.

It reopened all kinds of traumatic scarring from that day, like the scene where I fell over on the bus to kindergarten and had to ride three blocks lying horizontally because I was so fat from the pillows that I'd wedged myself between the aisle seats tightly enough that I had to gasp for air just to breathe. It's amazing that my lungs didn't collapse.

I probably suffered brain damage.

THE HORROR.

What's your most frightening Halloween memory?

Your Questions Answered Again

So, uh, a few of you may have noticed that I've fallen a little behind on my email. Which, no offense, has been so worth it.



Doesn't this make you want to chuck your laptop into the Atlantic?

Maybe it's just me.

Anyway, most of your emails revolve around questions or comments that are similar to one another, so I thought I'd just simplify and respond to some of the sort of generic ones here. Feel free to leave anything more specific in the comments.


Should I refinance my five year adjustable rate mortgage or ride out the low interest rates?

I've gotten this question so often lately that I'm already typing, Is yours based on the London market? before I read the entire email. Because if it is, then it's time to start paying attention to the changes, projections, and nutcases who swear there's going to be an eight percent rate hike between now and next Christmas. This is a good place to start. Do I think brisk rises are right around the corner? No. So what would I do if I were you? Nothing. Absolutely nada. Does that mean I'm advising you to do the same? Not necessarily. It depends on your specific financial situation, your personal goals, and what happens with the LIBOR or whatever market your Index is based off of. Sorry, I don't have a crystal ball.


What motivates you?

Living with my hot husband. And our four peanuts. And The World's Ugliest Kitchen.

No, seriously, I don't know. Please stop asking me.

I will say that I can recall three or four elementary school report cards that had extremely self motivated written into the section titled Teacher's Notes, though one of them was right beside a reminder that I would be strictly disciplined if I ever kicked Principal Osterlo in the shins again.

So I may have always been this way.

What paint brand do you recommend?

I don't. Though quality does vary quite a bit based on brands, application technique and care are more relevant to the value.

How can I protect myself when choosing a contractor?

I guess I could launch into a conversation about contracts and referrals and deposits and such, but to be honest, they don't necessarily always matter. Whether it's a general laborer or a master tradesman, you can easily interview three or four dozen of them, before you meet one that's fantastic.

And then suddenly, you'll find yourself compelled to name your firstborn after the plumber.


So I think that covers it. I love those of you who care enough to write me, and I apologize for not getting back to you sooner.

p.s. If you'd like to ask me a question feel free, but I may have already answered it here or here.

UPDATE: For those who have asked, that suit is by Paula Hermanny for Vix from their 2008 collection.

Before + After Pictures: The Historic House By The Water: Guest Bedroom Closet

I can't believe how much I managed to fit into this closet in our Guest Bedroom. Is it just me, or does it seriously look like it grew in square footage from the Before pictures? I had some extra paint lying around, so I only spent around eight dollars on the hooks for the purses. Not bad, right?

Check out some detail shots.




So what do we think?

You Don't See Vanilla Ice Everyday

Ohmygawd, That Seems Like You

Jeremy Renner, who played the bomb disposal specialist in The Hurt Locker, was featured in September's issue of Men's Health, which might have interested me if I'd seen the movie or, for that matter, any of his work ever, at all. But, nope. I haven't.

Andrew was reading the article at the beach last week, and his smirk was followed by a half mumbled, "Ohmygawd, that seems JUST like YOU," in what he thought was under his breath, and it told me that I might want to take a look at what the thirty nine year old California native and I were perceived to have in common.

So I think that it's this.

"After moving to Los Angeles in his early twenties, Renner needed all the wisdom he could summon. He wanted roles that were nourishing and authentic, not mindless fun, a standard that left him teetering on the brink of indigence. While holding out, he survived on twenty nine cent burgers from McDonald's.

'You could call it making sacrifices," he says, "but those sacrifices have made me who I am, so I don't know if I'd consider them sacrifices or blessings."

These days there are more opportunities, but also more opportunities to go astray. He refused to settle when times were tough. Now that he is in demand, he is even more determined not to let money dictate his choices. 'My plan is to be able to do what I want to do when I want to do it, and not because I have to,' says Renner. 'I call it my Pull Chute Plan. That's a military thing, you know. Time to pull the chute, like, time to kind of float and enjoy the view.'

That may sound risky, and maybe it is, which is why Renner some years ago turned to real estate. Even in a depressed economy, he earns more money gutting, remodeling, and designing houses than he does making movies.

'During the Academy Awards, I was sleeping under painter's plastic in a guest apartment with no plumbing, and had to brush my teeth at Starbuck's,' says Renner."

Hm.

Well.

I've never been to the Academy Awards.

Look Who's Coming To Live With Me

I used to own this Eames Plywood Molded Chair. When a boyfriend ran off with it years ago after I broke up with him, I was more devastated about the chair than the boy.

But lookie what I found on Craigslist this morning for less than a hundred billion dollars.

TRY SEVENTY FIVE BUCKS.

I've Spent Too Many Years Sleeping On Concrete Floors To Work With People Who Aren't, Well, WORKING

It's okay.

That he finished a fraction of what he was contracted to finish and that it took three weeks longer than it should have taken and that it turned into a painfully exhausting task of babysitting.

And, yes, I am aware he never delivered several hundred dollars of materials that I paid for.

The thing is, I know that if I had reacted the way that I wanted to react, I would have only given him more control of the situation, and besides, I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But I've decided on a new direction.

Have you ever moved forward on a project without someone that you hired?



p.s. A few of you might be wondering why I don't just use one of my Usual Guys, 'cept (in case you're new or you don't remember) they're all in South Florida, and I'm having to start with a brand spankin' new database. Cry. It's been the hardest part of the move, by far and away, things like not knowing everyone at every Special Services desk at every Home Depot in a four hundred mile radius. No more twelve dollar sale faucets stashed behind the returned paint cans for me, no sweet talking urgent shipping for special orders, no ten percent off coupons slipped into high fives just for showing up. DARN YOU, JACKSONVILLE.

p.p.s. What the heck, I'll throw in a totally unrelated shot of this from last week. Just because it makes me happy. (And, by the way, you can see all of our South Florida places in this photo and where we got married!)