It's like the most painless way to have a baby.

For about nine months now, Nick has been collecting parts, genetically engineering his little uberbike.



Yesterday his rims arrived, and Nick was so anxious to try out his new truing stand that he jumped from the car before I'd fully stopped in the driveway.

After several hours of labor, I was tired. Watching someone try to braid a couple dozen spokes into a round frame, man, it really wears me out. Putting on the tubeless tires went well. I'd been a little nervous about that part, ever since Nick told me that when his friend Steve had attempted it, the pressure had blown the sticky stuff ALL OVER THE ROOM, in what Steve described as resembling a 40-man jizz fest.

A hilarious mental picture perhaps, but not one I wanted recreated in my living room.

Eventually, I wandered off to bed, and without the aid of an epidural or any other drugs, fell fast asleep.

And when I awoke, we had our new baby.

She's pink and shiny and the most perfect bike ever. We can tell already that she's going to be smart.

There will be lots of pictures to follow. Lots and lots and lots, if I know my Knickers. Pictures here, pictures on his flickr page, and probably pictures in his wallet. Next to the ones of Luca.

I shouldn't have started looking.

Because suddenly I don't know how I ever lived without these.Don't look at me like that.
Sure they're shiny and odd looking, but frankly, so am I.
We belong to each other.
Shoes like this deserve to be worn, and I think I'm the girl to do it.
If you agree, er ............ send money.

Mo' money, mo' problems?

Something happened while Nick and I were doing my taxes, something that shook me to my core, that messed with my very sense of identity.

It came right down the wire about whether or not I would end up OWING state taxes or getting a refund.

Either way, it was going to be a small enough amount of money that it didn't really matter. It's more the principle of the matter. Since when do I make enough money to be in that income bracket?

Ok, there is an answer to that question, it pretty much dates back to my last raise. Like, it adds up when I do the math, but like my age, it's sorta crept up on me.

I suddenly feel like such a grown up.
Lets see if that feeling lasts until I get my refund. (And yes, it worked out that way, I'll be getting a small refund.) Lets see whether or not I use it for student loans or ............... this.

Oh who am I kidding. The federal refund I'll use sensibly, but they might as well send my state refund right over to Anthropologie. With a note in the memo section, with my shipping info and the words "for these".

New Earrings!

Art

I've always loved the art of Ted De Grazia. Somehow he manages to be subtle and colorful, all at once.







One of my favorite necklaces is handpainted with this design, titled Beautiful Burden.





The necklace was a gift from my Tiny Gramie, who lived near this artist as a child. She said he was cranky. You wouldn't think it to look at his work, would you?
I always feel so happy when I wear it.

Happiness is new earrings.

I bought them at a flea market a few weeks, and they make me feel ......
.... like myself.
Like I match my own blog.

The Race is on.

Nick and I are racing a pair of candles. First one to burn down completely, wins. Nick insists his (on the left) with the sword-wielding angel will win. I think my giant hand with people standing on the fingertips will win.
I think that because I cheat. I pour wax out of mine when he's not looking.

And best of all, I can twirl it like a boobie tassle.

I saw this pin at a flea market a few weeks ago. My Nick saw me eyeing it, and said it needed to belong to me, and bought it for me.

I make it a point to surround myself with people who want nice things for me, and I mean that in as small and literal a sense as that pin, and as large and encompassing a sense as life itself.

A place to wear my boots!

While Nick was at the Tour of California, he stayed at a place called the Madonna Inn. He told me it was the strangest place he'd ever been in his life, and that we HAD to go back, that I HAD to see it.

Today I looked it up, and boy howdy. My boy knows me.

Words seemed to fail him as he resorted to hand gestures to describe it's ......... see, I'm having trouble too.

Perhaps it's best for you to see for yourself.



Each room has it's own theme. Meaning that every room is different, and only one room has a horse chandelier.

One for clocks, one for rocks, one for barrels and one for making my eyes hurt in a good way. Ok, several that make my eyes hurt in a good way, but each one terrifying and wonderful in a unique way. Although the horse one gives it a serious run for the money, I think this one might be my favorite.



I haven't even finished looking at them all yet, and I've already decided that this place is my home. Did anyone see that movie The Haunting, where Lili Taylor decides at the end that the big creepy haunted house had called to her, and needed her?

It's like that. I'm so in love.

This distinction should come with a trophy!

I am the 11th search result under "batteries taste like happiness."

I must be friends with the person who did this search.

It totally sounds like something I would say. It sounds like a good title to my autobiography, really.

I'm also the 3rd search result for "'my little valley' cleavage" but ew. That does NOT sound like something I would say.

Within a couple of blocks.

I have this theory that there is far more fascinating things within a few blocks of one's house than one realizes, until you walk around it on foot.

Driving doesn't count.

You're never going to find flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk while you're driving.

You're not going to talk to the fat old dog who seems so anxious to prove that he's still tough and intimidating that you reassure him that you'd never come in his yard, mostly just to soothe his feelings.

You're not as likely to wander down a sidestreet, following a yard sale sign on a whim, and finding a pair of gold(ish) elf slippers, which fit perfectly, for a mere $0.50.

Or to notice that plastic duck statues in the neighbor's yard are the size of labradors.

Or make the aquintaince of a nonsensical little blue that sprawls over the side of a hill with no rhyme or reason, just like houses in your dreams.

Or that half of the oranges on a neighbor's tree are plastic. What exactly are they trying to do? Show off?

Or that Luca is always happy when he recognizes home, but seems entirely turned around and confused that you're approaching the house from a different direction that whence you left. "How did the house get over HERE?"


What's within a couple blocks of your house?

Underneath it all, we're all the same. Perverted.

Colsy says: Do you think it would be fun or creepy to have a doll made in your image?

Sarah Smile says: FUN. Generally, if something is walking that line between fun and creepy, I find it fun. Partly because of it's creepiness.

Colsy says: I would probably do the first thing with it that I always do with a doll.

Sarah Smile says: Look to see if it has underpants?

Colsy says: Yuppers. Or that lovely skin bra.

Sarah Smile says: If it has boobies, do you run your finger between them? Like if it's a barbie? I do.

Colsy says: Same here.

Sarah Smile says: Is that strange?

Colsy says: It's curiosity!

Sarah Smile says: Thank god. I feel normal now. Well, not really. Not in general. Just about this thing.

It's a good motto, it's served me well.

Only Female Engineer and Really Tall Engineer - *in OFE's cubicle which sports a cardboard roof due to it's location under a hyperactive airconditioning unit*

Sarah Smile - "I forget the club password, but can I still come in?"

Really Tall Engineer - *does secret handshake*

Sarah Smile - "[OFE, you know what this Clubicle(TM) needs? Glow in the dark stickers. Star ones. I have some. I'll bring them in. OH! And glow in the dark pony stickers. I'll bring them in tomorrow! That'll be sweet!"

Only Female Engineer - "Actually, they're supposed to fix it today."

Sarah Smile - "What? Why? Wouldn't you rather have a Clubicle(TM) with glow in the dark pony stickers? If it gets you a pony, don't fix it!"

Only Female Engineer and Really Tall Engineer - *laughs*

Sarah Smile - "You know, that's actually the second time in my life that that has been my motto."

Slideshow! Mostly for 'Rezzie.

This is what happens when Dulce is sitting on your lap and you scare her. It's healing nicely. Also, guess the body part!



Old Navy got ahold of me. It happens. I call them my frog-leg pants. Would you believe people bring me things to be hemmed? Physician, heal thyself!



And this me. I just had an Orange Julius, so I am very happy. Also, high on sugar. Same diff.



Please note in the above photo my favorite earrings. Also, the box of cookies on my desk, which were given to me by this guy.
("Oh, my BOYFRIEND loves these! Thank you! I'll make sure he knows they're from you! So sweet.")

I just hope they don't kill my toes.

I just bought the most ridiculous, absurd pair of boots imaginable.

Because I can.



I think I'll add sequins.

Because I can.

Add to wishlist

I've always desperately wanted an Afro.

Is that strange?

I wanna decorate it with seashells and flowers and sequins.

I can't believe I painted my nails green.

Oh wait. Yes I can.

More valuable a lesson than how to touch my foot to my ear. From three different angles.

Although I don't want to underestimate the worth of that lesson. At all. It's served me very well over the years.

But the most valuable thing I learned in all those years of ballet was how to take criticism.

Taking criticism comes about as naturally to me as having hips that face my kneecaps out as sideways as my ears. I sure as hell wasn't born with it, it took a lot of work to get that ability, but it stayed with me.

*flashback effect ripples across the screen*

I was nine years old, and bawling my eyes out, swearing I would NEVER go back to that class. It's funny how certain you can be of the word "NEVER" when you're nine. As you get older I think you learn not to use that word so much, that you'll be surprised how often you'll have to take it back, except that then as age thirty looms in the distance, it's beginning to slip back into my vocabulary, mostly in reference to certain types of liquor.

But I was CERTAIN then, with all the hormonal fuel of encroaching puberty. Miss Hatch was so hard on me, I could never get the steps right, there was ALWAYS something to fix, my fingers were too stiff, my chin was tilted wrong, my grand jetes were sloppy. NOBODY got as much criticism as me. I must be the worst dancer, and this was her way of telling me.

That week in the mail I got a card from my teacher. On the front was a beautiful sketch of a ballerina. Inside Miss Hatch told me that this was her favorite stationary, which she only used for her favorite ballerinas, because the drawing was of one of idols. A dancer who was very good and very famous, but not PERFECT. Because NOBODY was perfect. So I was in good company, she said.

And she went on to explain that she pushed me because she saw promise in me. Promise which she tactfully and roundaboutly implied she didn't see in just everyone. Suddenly pieces of the picture fell into a completely different layout. She thought I was GOOD, not hopeless.


It was then that I realized that in much the same way ballerinas practice in front of a mirror to get better, constructive criticism was someone's way of holding up a mirror to you and say, "I think you can do better." If they didn't see that potential in you, they wouldn't waste their time.
With a little nudge from someone who gives you that picture of yourself, you can stretch yourself in all sorts of way. Foot to ear, even.

And I keep that card, even to this day, displayed on the bookcase in the living room.
Because unlike the ass I had then, so firm you could bounce quarters off of it, this lesson is something I never want to loose.

Meet Winston!

Despite the fact that he says "Cricket" I find that he looks more like this.

And I must say, I was sorely disappointed to find that none of the ring tones on it are an actual cricket noise. That would have rocked.

Ok, so because this is a new phone, it's a new number. No, I know you think you have my latest number, but you don't. Trust me. That one you think is my current one? It isn't.

And since I can't seem to get the charger on my old phone to work, I can't get your number out of it. So I don't have your number either.

Please, email me your number. Even if you're certain I have it. Trust me, I don't, I only have like four numbers in Winston, and they're like Nick and the vets office. If I die in traffic on the way home tonight, the medical examiner will think I'm such a lame-o.

And then I'll email you my new number and life can go back to the way it was, when I wasn't calling you because I AM a lame-o who never remembers to call anyone back.
But I'll text you. Pinky swear. Waaaaay more than you'd like, prolly.
GAWD I love the text messaging.

PB, J and Conditioner sandwich, anyone?

The hazards of thinking about your handsome boyfriend coming home while unpacking the groceries aren't always apparent until you realize you can't find the conditioner anywhere.
Until you try the fridge that is.
Right next to all those onions.

I miss him.