Did you try the Sag Aloo? It's to die for and then be reincarnated and die for again.

Today I went to visit my old office, at their new office. Jim and Tom are still renovating the building, but the majority of the structural work is finished and it looks amazing. Almost made me want to go back to work. Almost. On the way home, I stopped for some fast food. Normally I make lunch, be it sandwiches or some other simple yet nutritional dish, but today I was feeling particularly lazy and McDonald's was sounding pretty darn good. It'd been a while since I'd had McNuggets so I ordered a six pack meal. Normally I don't rave about my fast food experience, but everything about today's Mickey D's was oh so right. Words like "hot" and "salty" and "crispy" spring to mind. It was too good... I even raided the Happy Meal leftovers.

I would trade fast food for some Minar Palace or Dmitri's any day of the week. In a pinch, though, the perfect guilty pleasure is just around the corner.

*Title by Doug

Thank you for your time, Mr. Mayor.

I'm tapped out. I just did the longest ever bedtime feeding with Olivia. We started at 9:34 pm and it's now 11:18.

I keep threatening to keep track of how much time I spend nursing the baby every day, just so I can see it on paper. At least with Nico I can pile some peas and mini bowtie pasta on his plate and he'll pretty much take over. Feeding Olivia is a job unto itself. It offers very little opportunity for multi-tasking. The best I can do is try to read a book while nursing, but even that's asking too much most of the time. It's like she senses I'm not devoting my full attention to her, and responds with frustrated kicks to my midsection. "Hey. Stop that reading, you. This is MY time, get it?"

It's hitting me that it's almost 11:30 at night and I still haven't eaten dinner. The pork chops are still marinating in the fridge, and the spinach is still just spinach in a bag instead of the salad it was supposed to magically turn itself into. I suppose cereal and a banana will do. Dinner of champions.

*Title spoken by Nancy, to Esteban, as she's leaving his limo.

And they all look just the same

There's a happy trend among the women I know. Lately it seems everyone is looking the same around the midsection. From bumps to chub, we ladies are sporting baby tummies aplenty.

I currently have four pregnant friends, and six who have babies less than a year old. I also know two people besides myself with the infamous 'two under two' thing happening. So what's with the baby boom? Does this happen to everyone when they reach their early thirties, this whole 'everyone I know is prego' thing? I wonder.

One thing I like about all this is that I don't feel like the only person struggling with a baby weight issue. This is the first time I've ever even thought about my weight, let alone about losing chub and purposely getting in shape. Before, exercise was fun. Now, it's work. I'd go to the gym and run for an hour just because I liked to crank up the music on my iPod and get sweaty. I did it to challenge myself. These days, the real challenge is finding the time. I work it in somehow, usually by getting up early for walks, then by using the kids' nap time for an ab routine or to lift some weights. Some days it's fun, but lately it mostly feels like a chore. And who wants another f*ckin' chore?

*Title is from the theme song "Little Boxes".

Welcome back, Swisscake Mama!

This week I'm having a five day blogathon with Jen. Our inspiration will be quotes taken from the Showtime series Weeds.

Now, you all know how this works. The titles will all be quotes from Weeds. Any of the songs used in the show are also fair game, and each of us has to write once a day for the next five days. At the end of each entry, we'll remind you of where the quote comes from.

Jen's page is swisscakemama.blogspot.com. Hang onto your Botwins, here comes another blog challenge...

Not too hot! Serious yowza.

When I had that cute little apartment in Collingswood, there was one thing I purposely did not have -- a microwave oven. I hate them. Loathe, actually. Anything that comes out of the microwave, even popcorn, might just as well have come out of the garbage disposal. That's about how appealing I find microwaved food.

I don't know when or how it started. It wasn't always such a big deal. Probably going vegan for a while changed my mind. Reading all the literature that goes along with such a finnicky type of diet can put your mind in a different place, and your mind takes your food along for the ride. I quit the microwave cold turkey and never looked back. When we bought our condo, the previous owner left hers behind for us. It sat unused for a good year or so. Then Frank started using it, then I did too, but only once in a while. To melt butter, heat up leftovers when I was feeling too lazy to dirty a pot, or zap a cup of coffee.

Now this little microwave of ours sits on a shelf right above the stove. Every time we boil water, the front of it gets all steamed up and evidently it's starting to effect the nuts and bolts because when you put something in, you never know how hot it's going to come out. 30 seconds for your coffee will yield one of two things, either 30 more seconds or something so hot it blisters the skin inside your mouth. So I'm once again completely off nuking. I'll deal with the lukewarm coffee in the morning, or I'll heat it up on the stove. Water goes in the tea kettle, pizza goes into the toaster oven. And popcorn goes where it should, in a pot on the front burner.

*Title spoken by Andy, while teaching Shane about the finer points of using a banana peel for... uh... recreational purposes.

When life hands you bananas...

Banana-ade? No, that sounds gross. Banana bread!

Tonight I made two loaves of banana bread. Doing that requires me to double all the measures in the recipe, so I stand in the kitchen adding, re-adding, and re-re-adding to make sure 3/4 cup plus 3/4 cup equals a cup and a half. Here's how that looks inside my head: 3, 3, 6, and 6/4, 1 and 1/2. 3/2? 3/4? What is that? 1 1/2. Yes. 1 1/2. That's the 1/2 cup measuring cup, three times. 1/2, 1/2, 1/2, 1 and 1/2. Really? Okay. Let's go with that. Okay. One 1/2 scoop... two 1/2 scoop... wait, is this going to be scoop two or scoop three... that looks like two already in there... make this one number three... okay. Looks fine. Now the eggs.

It's my own private mathematical hell, but it's worth it.

Shit-magnet

Today I ended my vacation early by chatting, then blogging. This afternoon I was briefly discussing with my friend Jackie the way my house always fills back up with junk minutes after I throw bags of chatch in the dumpster. She wrote something like, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm a total shit-magnet." and it just struck me as so damn funny I could barely contain myself. I, too, am a shit-magnet. I could swear I cleaned the house today, but you'd never know it to look around this place. Slobs must have broken in and rolled around, arms flailing, making junk angels on my kitchen counter while I was out. Why else would it look so bad in here?

I could promise myself I'll clean up this weekend, but honestly who wants to spend the weekend cleaning? Even half-assedly, it seems like that's all I do, so putting in an honest effort doesn't hold any promise for getting me much further along. Is that what this life is? Perpetual slobitude? Well then so be it. I'll save the real cleaning for when we move.

Farts and poop? You got it!

Thanks to Mom, Nico learned to hold his nose when he smells something stinky. It's his heads up to everyone when he toots, and he also does it when he poops. Thanks to baby sign language class, Nico now knows the sign for diaper is to pat his hip. Put them together and when Nico has done his poops, he holds his nose, then pats his hip. Smart little monkey!

Taking the week off

I'm going on vacation this week. No, no... not to some luxurious island retreat. While I could truly use a real vacation, I'm afraid the best I can do this summer is to give myself a break from the computer for a week. I'll be checking email a few times, and if I have to pay a bill I'll turn the machine on and then right back off again. I just need a break from it for a while. This thing sucks up a bunch of my free time, which is now at a premium. For instance, at this very moment I'm ignoring the tea and cookies I've been waiting to have for snack. I boiled the tea about 40 minutes ago, wound up doing something else around the house, then got online to pay some bills. And now here I stand at the kitchen counter, still not relaxing and still not getting my snack and not getting any close to the night of sleep I've been looking forward to all day.

So I get a vacation from my computer, and you get a vacation from me. Enjoy the week, try not to miss me too much, and we'll chat soon.

U.S. Women's Roughhousing

We were watching some women's soccer tonight. US vs. Brazil. The US team was switching out a player and when the new girl was running out onto the field, she did just about the weirdest thing I've ever seen a pro player do. She ran up to a group of three opposing players and smacked them all on the shoulders and chest as she jogged by. Kind of like the way you'd go up to a big dog and jump around in front of it, and bat playfully at its upper body if you wanted to get it excited about roughhousing with you. It was so unexpected.

We watch soccer almost every day at our house, but it's almost always men's soccer. Technically men's soccer is not my favorite; I much prefer to watch fútbol or football, but soccer will do if there's some Beckham involved. I could watch a game or two happily, except when the men are acting like babies. Sometimes they get bumped or trip or fall down and try to blame it on someone else, rolling on the ground in mock agony, hoping to get the ref to notice. Sometimes it works and I get so agitated that the official falls for the act. Tonight, though, during the women's game I noticed there were no such shenanigans. Plenty of people fell, plenty of people got pushed and knocked down. But not one of the girls lay there on the ground until someone blew a whistle. Each one bounced right back up onto her feet and got back to the business of running or chasing or whatever she had been doing.

I'm not at the point where I will purposely turn on a women's soccer game, but I really hope these ladies keep it up. The recent visibility no doubt has something to do with the Olympics, but big deal. At least it's on.

She makes it look so easy!

It seems all the time I've been spending outdoors so far this season is providing me with an effortless tan. By effortless, I mean I apply sunscreen and step out to perform the activities of the day, and when I return home my skin has that slightly tightened feeling which tells me my skin has been tanning. When I think of the word tanning, and how that applies in a very real sense to the actual leatherizing of animal hides, it's not quite so desirable. Nonetheless, it's nice to have that outdoorsy, active person feeling and besides, it makes me feel like I'm really enjoying the summer.

For years I didn't get a tan at all. Maybe a day on the beach here and there, but no lasting color. I guess for the rest of the summer I will just keep doing what I'm doing and see where it ends me up. I hope you're all getting out to enjoy the sun, too. Soak up all the heat before winter hits and your chilly bones are saying to themselves, "W-w-we can't-t-t wait-t-t for s-s-summer!" (those are your chilly bones talking, with chattering teeth)

How do you tell if your pigs are racist?

I think we all know the slang term for the heat, the fuzz, the po-po. It cracks me up when we're driving along and someone sniffs the air and says, "I smell bacon!" Sure enough, you look around and there's a cop car nearby.

The nickname for the street around the corner, Willow Turn, is Ghetto Turn. Mind you, my town has nothing that even remotely resembles a real ghetto. Still, there are those who fancy the thought of how urban and tough living in the projects must make you seem, and some in the neighborhood do act accordingly. My opinion is, if you really are from the ghetto, the last thing you have to do is explain to people that that's where you're from. But if you tell people you're from my town, or any town anywhere near it, people will automatically know you're a total cream puff. So good luck to you, teenage boys down the street, sporting your white muscle tank tops (sans muscles) and your too-baggy denim shorts.

Now, I'm sure this neighborhood has, on occasion, some real criminal action. The closest thing I know about is a neighbor who went off his meds, got cuckoo, and kept calling the police about gamma rays or micro waves entering through his windows from neighboring homes. This guy made a list of units on our street that were "affecting" his well-being, and mine was on it so the police knocked loudly on my door one morning to question me. A tip to all you wackadoos out there -- calling the cops in on this sort of thing will be the first tip off that you're the dangerous one in the bunch. They hauled the guy away, then a week later a bomb squad did a night time stealth mission at his place (I only saw because I looked out the window to see why there were barking dogs out front), and that was the last I heard of it. A little scary? Yes. Remotely resembling gang activity? No.

At any given time of day, I can usually spot a police cruiser trolling the streets of the development down the way. It's got, for this town, what I'd call a higher than usual concentration of non-caucasian residents, many of them under the age of thirty. But does this a ghetto make? How much sh*t could truly be going down if I've never heard a gunshot in the past four years, never seen anyone getting cuffed, let alone arrested? So why does it always smell like bacon around here? *side note: half of The Turn's residents have manicured lawns and freshly painted shutters. I never see cops stopped on this section of the street.* There are plenty of McMansions down the road, too, but I never see so much as a pig riding a pony down there. And so, residents of Ghetto Turn, my advice to you is thus: mow your lawns once a week, stop leaving your trash on the curb three days early, and peel that ridiculous blackout tint off the front windows of your cars. In no time your neck of the woods will smell a lot more like roses and a lot less like pork.

Just a little off the sides

Instead of continuing to "cut" my son's hair, I decided to make a trip to Kids Kuts. Nico got the Full Ceasar, and he looks really cute. Way cuter than any of the styles I've ever given him. Ok I'm exaggerating when I use the word styles. He gets one cut from Mom, and it's called a buzz. I start with the best intentions, channeling my best Jonathan Antin, but he always ends up with a uniform shearing.

Olivia also got a little trim, just enough to take away her infant mullet in the back and clean up the sides which were getting so long they were starting to feather. Aaah, the feathered mullet. What teenager wouldn't want to look at her baby photos and see herself with 70's hair? I promised Olivia she wouldn't have to go through that trauma, and I was delighted when the hairdresser said giving her a trim would be no trouble at all.

I know I keep writing about the kids lately, but I can't help it. They are both growing so fast, and I feel like if I don't take the time to write a little and repeat the memories back to myself, they will fade away too fast. Days flow right into one another, and before I know it the weekend is here again, and that too is over before I can blink. I ordered Nico a sign language potty training kit today (it's intended for kids his age). Liv's shoulders are getting too high up in the baby carrier car seat so I think I'm going to switch to a convertible seat soon. The sign language classes are starting to click with Nico and he's already doing four of the signs. Please, please... slow down a little you guys... let me see you being little and littler for a little longer.

Hi, we're new. And we like crayons.

Now that I am around other moms and their kids all the time, I find myself comparing my parenting style to that of the other moms. It doesn't take long to figure out who is trying to teach their kids manners, who still packs a full diaper bag for their toddler, and who lets their kids eat cookies for breakfast. I love it!

This morning we met at a local park for a brisk hour-long walk with four other moms and their babies and toddlers. The moms in my club are really, really nice and they're fun to hang out with. I've even been at non-club activities around town and when another member I haven't met hears me calling Nico's name, they ask me if I'm Karen because Nico is an unusual name, so they thought it might be me (and everyone knows I'm a new member so they make an effort to introduce themselves). Is that not awesome? I love it.

After we were done walking, the kids hung out on the playground and we ate lunch. Even though all the moms were nice and polite, it was funny to see the little hints of what goes on behind the scenes. One mom doesn't let her child watch much tv, and she was giving her kid lots of sharing instructions -- which I definitely prefer to the alternative. Another mom sat feeding her 14-month-old some jarred baby food and banana cookies after mentioning the child hadn't yet eaten breakfast. I found this comical, because on appearance alone I never would have guessed this would be the case with this particular mom.

I guess the point is that I've learned very quickly not to judge other moms, but rather to enjoy getting to know everyone and be able to smile at how different and similar a group of people can be. I wonder how many other moms this afternoon will look across the living room to see their toddlers chomping on crayons. Nico just bit off, chewed up, and swallowed a chunk of red crayon. When I went over to stop him, he squealed with delight, then did the same thing to the black crayon and rolled on the floor laughing. I wonder what they'd all think if they saw that happening, or how they would feel if they knew I don't stop my son from drawing on the walls of our home. After all, he's an artist, ladies, and I love it!

Tissues, please!

I just finished reading Marley & Me. And, just like Tammi, I cried my freakin' eyes out at the end. There was even snot dripping out my nose, like when a little kid cries. I must admit that even though I'd heard from many people what a good book it is, I didn't think I'd be this touched. It made me remember all of my dogs, and how loving and loyal they were. First Ginger, the world's best German Shepard. Then Scooch, the world's angriest Terrier mix. And finally Zowie, the sweetest Black Lab ever to walk on four legs.

I still remember the day my dad brought puppy Ginger home when I was about four years old. I lost my dad when I was nine, and Ginger became gravely ill when I was 14. When we had to put her to sleep, it was almost like losing my dad all over again. There was so much of him that I could still cling to with Ginger, and nothing will ever hurt me quite the same as having to say goodbye to her. No dog will ever top her in my heart.

Scoochie was Ginger's little annoying buddy, and she was 13 when she got out of the yard and we never found her. She was going blind and deaf and getting wobbly, and I just know that she didn't want us to see her die so she ran away and chose where she wanted to lie down for the last time. Zowie was quiet, sweet and the biggest lap dog we've ever had. She also made it into double digit doggie years before she suffered a cancerous lump in her throat and we decided the most humane thing would be to put her down. Mom and I went together and stroked her salt and pepper fur as we said goodbye and felt her drift into sleep and out of the room. I don't remember how long we stood there crying, but I still miss her terribly. I found her old leash and thick chain collar the other day in my closet and my eyes welled up.

One of the reasons I don't want another dog is that I'm cleaning two poopy butts every day, and I'm not looking to pick up after a third. Mostly, though, I fear the first three times were a charm and I couldn't possibly be so lucky again. Marley & Me was great, and if you haven't read it, you should, even if you're not a dog person. This book reminded me of all the wonderful times a good (or bad) pet can carry into your life. Thanks, Liz, for lending it to me. It's going back to Mom on Wednesday.

All that being said, I'm now free to read the book my mom and Frank both gave me for my birthday, When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris. I've blown my nose and dried my tears, and now I'm ready to laugh my ass off.

A good big brother, he is

Today I am still fixing up the kids room. I had Olivia in the crib, and when I went to the living room she started crying. Nico was bouncing around the house so I called him over to me and asked him to go to Livi and keep her company. He walked down the hall and disappeared around the corner. I heard him say hi to the baby, and then I heard "The Farmer in the Dell" chiming out from a little plush sun Nico got when he was a baby. It's cute, it has a big sunny smiley face and lights that blink with the music. Olivia stopped crying. When I went in, Nico was sitting near the foot of the crib, still playing the music and Olivia was smiling and chewing on her fingers.

Other cute happenings so far today... Nico saying milk and cereal (or moh and see-oh), and making the "buh" sound for the letter B. Olivia is making a bunch of noises of her own, but mostly she likes to sit propped up, looking too cute for words.

Funny hat day

This afternoon we spent a little time at one of the nice big parks near our house. Nico was running around and he led me over to one of the "rock walls" where three little boys were climbing. Two of the boys were clearly brothers, as they were both wearing the same large, floppy, safari-style hats to keep the strong sun out of their eyes and off their fair-skinned little faces. I figured their mom got such wide-brimmed hats and the boys wore them grudgingly, like oh jeez mom do we really have to wear these? And the mom said heck yes boys, now get out there and climb a fake rock wall and for Pete's sake have yourselves a good time in those goofy giant hats.

So along comes a dad type guy, and -- wait a minute -- he's wearing the exact same hat as the two brothers, only in a dad size. I couldn't help but giggle. At that point I couldn't decide if it was the dad or the boys who thought these hats were such a great idea. But I had to admit it was cute. The three of them walked off the playground and back to their car to get some water, and then they drove off, presumably to admire their matching hats in a giant family-size mirror.

The Buddha in my living room

Since we've rearranged the bedrooms and living room, I have rediscovered some of my favorite things. Two of them are wedding gifts from friends of ours. Lauren and Jackie gave me a pouch of rocks, each chosen for its special purpose to bring good fortune to my life, and a large chunk of an amethyst geode. For a while, I had it on top of a bookcase at the top of the stairs. When we moved the bookcases into the bedroom, I put it on top of the one next to my bed along with some other special things, like my wedding album, my funky milk glass lanterns, some vintage kimono panels I got when I went on vacation with my mom, the red satin wrap and Hello Kitty pin from my bridesmaid bouquet from Fay's wedding, a handkerchief that belonged to my Mom-Mom, and my collection of first edition hardcover David Sedaris books. It's one of my altars, and I really like the way all these things seem to fit together and remind me of people and times that are special to me.

George and Irene gave us a large Buddha statue when we got married. It stands a good foot and a half tall, and is hand-carved from a single piece of sandalwood. So not only is it a really cool Buddha, it also smells amazing. I have the baby's pack 'n play bassinet right next to the shelf where the Buddha now resides, and every time I go to pick her up from a nap there's a very peaceful aura and the smell is a lovely blend of baby and pure sandalwood. You know I'm not too big on worldly possessions. They come and go. Just the same, it's nice to have a few things you really, really like to help make your house a home.

Goofy kid

Isn't it a little early for Nico to give up his afternoon naps? The past few days it's later and later in the day before he falls asleep. He gets into his bed and lies down, snuggles up under the blanket, and closes his eyes. Then he pops up, climbs out of bed, and runs over to his toys. Arrrgh.

The weirdest thing about being home with the kids is that once they have a routine, they stick to it only for a few weeks before they change it up on you. Olivia is being kind with her changes. She's sleeping through the night and smiling all day long. Nico, on the other hand, is growing restless and more rambunctious by the hour. Tomorrow we are going to the library to listen to the firefighters from our town read stories. After story time, the kids will get to climb on a fire truck and hang out with the firemen (and women?). The change of scenery will be nice, but will do little to tire him out. The kid has boundless energy.

Having never babysat or been an older sibling, I had no idea how children were supposed to behave at any given age. I always thought little kids ran around occasionally and played nicely, and sat for stories when you whipped out a book. Crap, was I wrong. They delight more in doing what they want to do at any given moment, and they refuse to accept anything less. So how do you communicate to them what they're supposed to be doing? Where is that middle ground where you can both meet happily, without screaming, without tears, without hitting? The line moves every day, and hell if I know in which direction.

Happy Birthday, Beck.

One of my favorite musicians and I share the same birthday. Actually I think he's a few years older than I, but we both blow out our candles every 8th of July. Try to disguise the look of shock on your face when I tell you that I am actually fully aware that he is releasing a new album today. See? I'm getting better. Happy birthday, Beck. You picked a fine, fine day on which to be born. I should know.

Sidearm

I'm lying down on my left side, typing with one hand only. I can't really see the keyboard so this will be a short post. It's funny how I modify what I'm doing when I don't want to disturb the baby. She just fell asleep on the bed next to me and I can't put her down for the night until she's sleeping a little more soundly, so I'm stuck like this for a few minutes.

There are three very powerful words we use around here. No, not 'I love you', although that runs a close second to the phrase that trumps all phrases in the Rivera household. Here, nothing puts a halt on time and space like someone whispering loudly, "Shh! The baby!" I love how everyone has the same reaction to a baby being accidentally awakened. I know the posture well... shoulders hike up to the ears. Pair that with a sheepish grin and puppy dog eyes. And scaredy cat jazz hands. Just yesterday I dropped a pot in the kitchen and startled Nico out of a hard-won sleep. It took a half hour to get him down for a nap, and I spoiled it in less than a second. I was alone in the kitchen, yet I still did the shoot-I-woke-the-baby thing. hehe.

Ok well the baby is off to dreamland, and I'm off to stuff money into envelopes so they don't shut off my electric and take my house back. Nighty night. Sweet dreams. Kiss kiss.

Happy 4th

I got a haircut today and it's sooo nice. It's the Posh cut, only not that short in the back and without the bleach, and with some swoopy bangs. I love it. You should have seen all that hair on the floor. My head is at least five pounds lighter. My neighbor's daughter saw me outside after I came back from the salon and asked me, "Do I know you?" It was cute. Like she knew my face but not my hair, and came over to make sure she introduced herself whether or not we had already met.

Hopefully the weather will hold out this weekend because we have a very important barbecue to attend. Has it really been 16 years since that 4th of July when my girlfriends and I snuck out of the house with cups full of my brother's slushy, delicious Rum Runners? My God, sometimes I used to think I had it so tough as a teenager. Sometimes I wish I knew then what I know now. But I guess that's what happens when you grow up a little. I wonder what kinds of things my kids will be into when they're teenagers. Relatively speaking, I was a pretty tame kid... yet there are things I look back on and think, holy cow, I hope my kids don't do that! Shoot, I'm still doing some of the stupid stuff I did in high school. And I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

Green tourmaline rocks the house

I'm a big fan of rocks. Crystals, if you will. They have a special place in my home and in my life. You can call me kooky if you wish, but I am just one of those people who believes there's an energy and a purpose for everything on this planet. Every time I set out to get a new stone, I prefer to let it find me, and not the other way around. I believe that whatever I need will come to me.

So let me fill you in on the things that have been occupying my mind this week. I intend to start filling my life with love. Love here, love there, love everywhere. More love towards my family and friends, spending time with them and really being involved in all of our lives. Showing more love to my kids and husband every day, so that they will know how much I care about them. A few times this week, something kinda scary happened to me. I had chest pains. The kind of pains that stopped me in my tracks and made me think holy shit, I'm having chest pains. I thought of my Mom-mom, who suffered two heart attacks, had triple bypass surgery, and ultimately died of a stroke. And I thought of my dad, who died of a stroke at the age of 47. He's been on my mind so much lately anyway, and now more so because he was so young when we lost him. Not that much older than I am now.

I've also been considering going veg again. Not totally vegan, just regular old vegetarian. I'm focused on getting us moved up to North Jersey (which, in my opinion, should be a state all its own) and increasing our net worth. I'm not a materialistic person, but I do have financial goals for myself and my family, and I have been doing little things behind the scenes while Frank keeps the big wheels churning.

There is money Frank set aside for me to get a new wardrobe after my two year prego stretch (thanks, Love!) and today I decided to use part of it to buy myself an early birthday present. Jewelry. I visited my favorite rock store, Gary's Gem Garden. Best selection of rocks and rock-related jewelry in this area. It's not a fancy schmancy new-agey type of place. It's more like ok, you know which rocks do what, and here they are, and your match is in here somewhere so just stroll around. And so I did. And just when the kids had reached their limit and I feared my energy must not be in the right place today, a pair of green tourmaline earrings fell into my hands and ultimately made a home for themselves on my pretty little earlobes. Tourmaline is one of my favorites and it's good for a lot of things, so check out this description from my rock book Love is in the Earth:

Green Tourmaline
This mineral can help to teach the user a way of "seeing with the heart" [i.e. opens the heart chakra]. It may be applied in endeavours of visualization and to assist in the attunement of the energy between the third-eye and the heart. Green tourmaline holds the essence of the plant kingdom. It is also quite useful in facilitating the study and practice of herbalism and for increasing the effectiveness of herbs and plants in healing. It also acts to inspire creativity, and to attract success, prosperity and abundance.It can also be used to facilitate weight loss and to regenerate the heart, thymus, ductless glands, and the immune system. The energy of green tourmaile can also assist one in rectifying psychological problems associated with the father and/or other male forces in ones life.

We couldn't be a better match if we tried, green tourmaline and I. Happy birthday to me.

PSA

When I was majoring in psychology, I did my work-study in the PSA building. Psychology, sociology, and anthropology. Or psych-soc-anthropology. Some people majored in one of the three, others chose two, and the big smarty pantses were known simply as PSA. When meeting someone new in the building, the first thing you asked or got asked was, "So, what are you?" to which you answered either psych, soc (pronouncing the 'c' as 'sh'), anthropology, your double combo, or PSA. For some reason the was no anthro. It was always anthropology. So damn fancy it had to be at all times.

I've been clothes shopping online and I see that Anthropologie is still as fancy pants as ever. Just like regular anthropology, there's no abbreviating, especially on the price tags. As lovely as their clothes are, I still can't see how a cotton blouse could cost $149. I was looking in the jewelry, in the sale section, and saw a really cute pair of earrings for $80. In my mind, if they're putting earrings on sale, they're going to have to do better than that! Granted, they started out at $169 but come on. What kind of rich bitch crap is that?

I've been to several Anthropologies in several states, and yes the clothes tend to be quite lovely in person. I could spend hours window shopping there. Now that I'm out hunting online for some new things to wear, I keep wondering if it's really worth it to spend so much money on one item. Who's going to ask or even care where I bought my blouse? *side note - I feel so silly using the word blouse, but I am in fact hunting for cute short sleeved dainty shirts that button down the front and blouse just happens to be the technical term.* Nobody I hang out with would disown me for wearing a WalMart blouse, nor would they be the least bit tempted to kiss my ass if I showed up wearing a snooty Anthropologie number. Cute is cute, no matter how much you spend.