Thanks to my dear and talented friend, Shelby (check out her blog: http://bronette.net/), Husband Joe and I went to the Walker Art Museum After Hours Party last night. In a text message exchange beforehand , I asked Shelby what we should wear. Her response was "I'm wearing jeans. It will be the artsy-hipster crowd. You know the type". She's right: I know the type. Well, I know of the type.
Style has been on my brain lately (as well as one of my other friends, who is a blogger too, http://hjshaunt.blogspot.com/). I would never classify myself as a "fashionista" but I do like to be aware of current trends and I like to dabble in them. Only lately have I decided that I prefer quality over quantity. In that, I'll buy an eighty dollar pair of shoes over three ten dollar pairs like when I was younger. Getting in shape and losing sizes has also help perptuiate my latest fashion craze (not to mention reek havoc on my fun account balance--all worth it, though). I subscribe to a couple different fashion magazines so I have something mindless to distract me during my workouts. However, lately Husband Joe has found me reading an article, dead stop on the treadmill or bike. Even Husband Joe has had style on the brain. If we were financial affluent, we'd open a clothing store for men ages 25-40. Joe has found that he is no longer interested in wearing polos with a big eagle on them and can't yet put on the loafer and sport coat/button down outfit.
So last night both Joe and I observed the artsy-hipster style while in search of our own late twenty-something style. Head to toe Leopard print, large 80's glasses that I wore in 2nd grade, sport coats with massive emblems on the back, and of course, the short purple 80's dress. While we stood in our jeans and black tops we agreed: the artsy-hipster style isn't for us. So onward we go, searching for our style. Joe's currently at a hockey game and I'm on my way to the theater. Maybe we'll find our style there?
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Check. Uncheck.
2 cans tomato soup. Check!
1 onion. Check!
1 lb hamburger. Check!
1/4 cup uncooked rice. Check!
1/4 cup milk. DOH! uncheck.
In a rare moment, I decided that I was going to make dinner tonight. I verified with Husband Joe that he didn't eat said meal for lunch (I should have known he had a burrito) and stopped at our friendly neighborhood Lunds (I should write a blog about this place) for a few of the ingredients. Once at home, I called mom for the instructions. I'm feeling great at this moment. I'm cooking a nice dinner! Yet it was short-lived as the dreadful news came to light--I forgot to get milk (which, ironically, I finished this morning, and admit that in a rush, put the empty container back into the fridge. Yes, I am that person). Since I have to be somewhere tonight, I didn't have time to go get the milk. It was now onto plan B. At one point as I was standing in the kitchen, trying to create plan B (I was not about to call Husband Joe in defeat yet), I thought to myself "think outside the box, Stacy". I had spagetti last night, and Triscuts and cheese was dinner the night before. The ribs are frozen solid as are the Talipa Pinwheels (but they have been that way since, oh about a year ago). Could I make Southwestern Chicken Skillet without chicken? Nothing was coming together. So as I type, Husband Joe is ordering off of the McDonald's dollar menu.
1 onion. Check!
1 lb hamburger. Check!
1/4 cup uncooked rice. Check!
1/4 cup milk. DOH! uncheck.
In a rare moment, I decided that I was going to make dinner tonight. I verified with Husband Joe that he didn't eat said meal for lunch (I should have known he had a burrito) and stopped at our friendly neighborhood Lunds (I should write a blog about this place) for a few of the ingredients. Once at home, I called mom for the instructions. I'm feeling great at this moment. I'm cooking a nice dinner! Yet it was short-lived as the dreadful news came to light--I forgot to get milk (which, ironically, I finished this morning, and admit that in a rush, put the empty container back into the fridge. Yes, I am that person). Since I have to be somewhere tonight, I didn't have time to go get the milk. It was now onto plan B. At one point as I was standing in the kitchen, trying to create plan B (I was not about to call Husband Joe in defeat yet), I thought to myself "think outside the box, Stacy". I had spagetti last night, and Triscuts and cheese was dinner the night before. The ribs are frozen solid as are the Talipa Pinwheels (but they have been that way since, oh about a year ago). Could I make Southwestern Chicken Skillet without chicken? Nothing was coming together. So as I type, Husband Joe is ordering off of the McDonald's dollar menu.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
#19: I'm a horrible speller, but I demand people to use correct English and grammar.
Recently I filled out one of those time-sucking Facebook "all about me" surveys. Number nineteen says:
I'm a horrible speller, but I demand people to use correct English and grammar (yes, even on Facebook). It's a hazard of the job, I guess.
I just spent the last two weeks teaching my AP Composition students that when they write "you" in a paper it really means me, and I'm not their intended audience. I've spent endless hours circling all of the pronoun issues and repeating in class that if a person writes, "one can not understand", he/she has to write "his/her" instead of "their" when he/she finishes the sentence. Now I believe they all think that I'm being psycho English teacher about this issue, but I really do believe it does matter. However, when I wrote number nineteen on that Facebook survey today, I realized I'm a hypocrite.
I readily admitted that I'm a horrible speller, but I demand others to be perfect. How is that fair? It's not. It made think this morning about how it is so much easier for us as people to be editors in life, than our own writers. It's easier for me to point out someone else's errors/faults, than for me to really acknowledge or accept my own. Or in my case, I acknowledge my own fault, but don't cut other people slack if they are bad spellers or if they didn't learn the correct way to write out numbers.
It also made me think about my two students this week who were debating whether perfection exists. One student said, "If we know perfection can't really exist, why do people say 'practice makes perfect' and why do people strive for perfection?".
I guess this makes sense then about my request for people to use correct grammar: If I can't be perfect (and I know I can't), than I demand someone else try to be.
I'm a horrible speller, but I demand people to use correct English and grammar (yes, even on Facebook). It's a hazard of the job, I guess.
I just spent the last two weeks teaching my AP Composition students that when they write "you" in a paper it really means me, and I'm not their intended audience. I've spent endless hours circling all of the pronoun issues and repeating in class that if a person writes, "one can not understand", he/she has to write "his/her" instead of "their" when he/she finishes the sentence. Now I believe they all think that I'm being psycho English teacher about this issue, but I really do believe it does matter. However, when I wrote number nineteen on that Facebook survey today, I realized I'm a hypocrite.
I readily admitted that I'm a horrible speller, but I demand others to be perfect. How is that fair? It's not. It made think this morning about how it is so much easier for us as people to be editors in life, than our own writers. It's easier for me to point out someone else's errors/faults, than for me to really acknowledge or accept my own. Or in my case, I acknowledge my own fault, but don't cut other people slack if they are bad spellers or if they didn't learn the correct way to write out numbers.
It also made me think about my two students this week who were debating whether perfection exists. One student said, "If we know perfection can't really exist, why do people say 'practice makes perfect' and why do people strive for perfection?".
I guess this makes sense then about my request for people to use correct grammar: If I can't be perfect (and I know I can't), than I demand someone else try to be.
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