Weekends. Sanctuaries.

Coming at you with a weekend.

I play music as I do things around the house on this unrushed, mostly unplanned Sunday morning. Lately I think I’ve been trying to catch the wind. Futile most likely, but for some reason I can’t seem to stop. Wind, leave me alone. Come back when you’re a pleasant breeze.

Sunday is pancake day. This morning pancakes broke me. (Sorry Joy the Baker, I cannot get your single lady pancakes to work!) In one stupid moment pancakes almost ruined my entire day. Just breathe, though, right? Turn to a favorite pancake. Funny how the same food that brought me to tears one minute, is perfectly golden and doused in maple syrup the next. Sometimes it’s good to stick to our favorites.

Sunday needs to relax, because Saturday was spent being busy. When one of your best girls is getting married in August some Saturdays are busy. Find bridesmaids dresses, have margaritas and beers, accidentally make off with diamond bracelets from my parents’ jewelry store, visit the reception location.

This is The Sanctuary on Penn.

Stained glass windows everywhere.

Even the bathrooms were lovely.

Have you ever been somewhere that just breathes a person? The Sanctuary on Penn fits my friend and her fiance perfectly in the history, the stories, the details, the scuff marks, the light, the many rooms, the leather chairs and dark wood bars, the fact that I can say bars plural.

Good luck penny floors.

Perfect. Wandering around this old church and picturing it filled with their guests was easily my favorite part of the day.


I vomit when…

Weddings make me want to puke. I’m sorry to anyone who has had a wedding. And I mean no offense to anyone’s wedding that I’ve attended. They’ve all been lovely and I’ve had fun. But weddings make me want to puke. The super-expensive white dress you’ll never wear again, the wedding colors, the flowers, the tables, the decorations…

Pictures of engaged couples at weddings with the caption “You’re next!” also make me queasy.

Status updates regarding your wedding make me want to cry. I don’t give two shits if you found your dream dress. I don’t need reminders that you’re getting married in two months.

Engagement photos, especially when posted on Facebook, make me feel like banging my head on my desk. I understand that a lot of photographers have packages that include engagement photos, so you’re kind of obligated to do it. I also understand that sharing a few of these photos may be fun. But good God, I do not want to see you and your beloved in virtually the same awkward and unnatural pose 40 times, half of which include you kissing. Share with me the cream of the crop and I may even comment how cute y’all look.

I would probably hate weddings a lot less if Facebook didn’t exist.

Then again, the thought of marriage itself makes me swoon a little.

I have a nice pie post coming up with a secret ingredient that may blow your mind.

Car Cozies and Woodsy Weddings

I found this picture on Etsy’s Tumblr and it kind of made my day. (well so did a certain announcement from my favorite band ever Guster, but more on that later…) I like the word “cozy” in reference to a knitted item that you put over an object. I think it describes a cozy’s purpose exactly. How cute and cozy and awesome does that car look? I would like to ride in it. (photo credit here)

Smart car cozy

Also, a few weeks ago, Etsy posted this photo on their Tumblr. I can’t stop thinking about it for some reason.

Woodsy wedding

They just look happy and with the dogs and in the woods and so un-wedding-y. She’s sitting on a log in her wedding dress for God’s sakes! I love it. Photo by Leah Verwey.


Let me take  you on a journey.

It’s 9am on a Friday morning (this Friday morning in fact). I’ve just opened my internet browser at work and my homepage slate.com opens up. “Introducing Flutter” it says, “because 140 characters is 114 too many.” Huh, is there something cooler than Twitter out there? Doubtful I clicked and was taken to this video. Have you watched it? Because it’s fairly hilarious. I obviously have to see if this Flutter exists, so I Google it. Nope, it’s just a cruel joke that the good staff of Slate came up with. But I did find a website called Flutter that sounded suspiciously like Etsy (LINKS EVERYWHERE OMG!). Upon browsing the site I came across chandeliers.  My first thought was “Oh my God these are awesome! Now I know where I’m going to buy my next chandelier.” My next thought was “wait, when the hell will I need a chandelier in the near future?”
Good Morning!
Oh have you noticed there’s a plague going around? It’s called the baby plague. I think it’s a side effect to the better-known marriage sickness. I felt behind when my friends all started getting engaged and married. Now that they’re all going to Babyland, I feel like the runner in last place who can’t even see the guy in second-to-last place. Apparently I have a lot of catching up to do, but I’m not going to start sprinting anytime soon.
I moved successfully into my new and fabulous apartment. Fabulous because I can actually cook in the kitchen!! I will be posting pictures soon hopefully of not only the apartment but of my most recent baking adventure in said kitchen.
I’ll leave you with this delightful conversation I had with a man while answering the phone at the front desk at work last week.
Phone rings.
Me: Saturday Evening Post.
Man: Yes, hello ma’am, I want to report a child support fraud.
Me: Ok, um, this is the Saturday Evening Post, we’re a magazine.
Man: I need to report a child support fraud. Can you help me?
Me: Well this is a magazine. We publish a magazine here.
Man: Do you know who I can call?
Me: Um, I, no, I really don’t, I’m so sorry.
In retrospect I probably should have told him child services.

the W word

I got two Christmas cards in the mail yesterday, one from my aunt and uncle and one my grandparents. I opened them before I had even taken off my coat because getting real in-the-mail mail these days is exciting. (that’s not a hint, I’m just as guilty of sending 100 times more emails than snail mail.) The card from my grandparents started out innocently enough with my grandmother’s note, followed by my grandfather’s note, which took a sudden turn when he wrote this sentence, “maybe in the new year you will be planning a wedding.” That was followed by this sentence, which escaped loudly from my mouth, “What the fuck? That is not OK! Why?!”

It seems as if the whole world (besides my close friends, and for that I thank you) is planning my wedding. Oh, and the two most important people in said imaginary festivities, and the w-word has not even crossed their lips. Not once. I know it’s in fashion these days to get engaged after a year or less of being in a relationship, but I’m not a fan of being fashionable. I’m more a fan of doing things at my own speed and knowing that if they’re meant to happen, they will.

I’ve never been the wedding obsessed sort of girl. I know people who have had their weddings planned out since they were little girls, dress, colors, place, table settings, the whole deal. Oh I played my fair share of “wedding” and my friends and I even forced my brother to participate in a pink tutu, even though he was the obvious and logical choice for the groom. My cousins had the most beautiful wedding dress that had been their grandmother’s in their dress up box. It had long sleeves and a long row of tiny buttons up the back. I loved that dress.

The second I realized Adam was awesome though, I did not start to plan our future. I have no timeline, except for the one which involves moving back to North Carolina. I’ve thought about the future, but only in an abstract sort of maybe someday sort of way. Honestly the thought of being the center of attention in a white dress, which I would obviously get dirty immediately, makes me feel like puking. Walking down the aisle with my dad is hysterical. Being sentimental in front of lots of people is unthinkable. And the planning? Holy yikes. The only fun part in my mind is the party. Ask me to elope and come home and have a “HAHA we got married and you didn’t know” party and I’ll be yours forever.

So don’t mention the W-word around me unless I bring it up because I’m sick of people making assumptions about a relationship that they are not in. Plus, you’ll probably give me a heart attack:)

Purple Wandering Jew

Oh my goodness, I am a giant hypocrite. We went to a wedding (two of Adam’s friends got married) this weekend. Lovely time overall. I loved meeting all of Adam’s friends from school. I know how important they are to him and I’m glad that I finally got to see that part of his life. Anyway, I kept my camera tucked in my purse most of the night since I had just met the majority of these people and felt inappropriate snapping lots of pictures. I did want a picture of the two of us though since I thought we looked all nice and dressed up. Plus my hair was miraculously straight! So end of the night rolls around, we’re waiting for our ride back to the hotel and I ask if one of the girls would mind taking a picture. She did, and then told us to do another one, this time kissing. And this is how I became a hypocrite. I’ve posted it on my Picasa page because, much like this blog, I think only a few people look at it. Oh what have I become?

(ok secretly, but don’t tell anyone please, I think it’s a cute picture! Eek!)
My dad continues to be my hero. He raised money for the relay for life in Zionsville this past weekend. To entice people he said he would paint himself purple if a certain amount of money was donated. He then told the Zionsville Merchants Association that if they could raise $1,000 he would shave his head. All necessary money was raised and my dad spent Friday purple and bald and insanely hyper. Plus he was able to donate at least $1,300 to the Relay for Life. Kicking cancer’s ass one purple bald dude at a time.