i never blog twice in one day.

but i couldn't help but share. have you guys heard of the Twitter account @BPGlobalPR? I'm a semi-finiky-fan of Twitter, but this account is darkly hilarious and witty. It's a fake BP account and it's so cutting, i can't help but love them.

Of course Real BP wants them to stop. But, in my humble opinion, Real BP should be focusing on the massive oil spill, not Twitter. Priorities, British Petroleum. Priorities.

Here's some Twitter genius for you. Remember, this is supposedly BP tweeting these:

Can we just start calling it the oilcean and move on please? #bpcares

Flying Rand Paul in to consult. Evidently he's an expert at keeping black out of places. #bpcares

Our company psychiatrists say now is the time to move onto the last phase of experiencing a tragedy, acceptance mixed with forgetfulness.

We plan on spending millions of dollars to fix this mess. We also plan on jacking gas prices so high that you'll wish you never complained.

A lot of people are asking if we could have prevented this mess. Honestly, we have no clue. Our hindsight is 20/80. #bpcares

They want to fine us $4,300 for every barrel of oil spilled? Umm, we're not spilling barrels, the oil is going directly into the gulf. DUH

Lots of people blaming this on Bush or Obama. Pph, we wish. The truth is Presidents don't have any control over what we do. 

Just saw new satellite images of the spill. Actually, it kinda looks like the Earth has a beauty mark! Ooolala! @CindyCrawford #bpcares

Eating at a very expensive restaurant and spilled salad dressing on my pants. Not sure how to tackle this.

The ocean looks just a bit slimmer today. Dressing it in black really did the trick! #bpcares

Jesus walked on water and soon you can too! (Please pray for BP, we're losing a lot of oil).

Please do NOT take or clean any oil you find on the beach. That is the property of British Petroleum and we WILL sue you.

Catastrophe is a strong word, let's all agree to call it a whoopsie daisy.           

You know what they say about the ocean... Once it goes black it never goes back! JOKING - the water is brown. 

and finally:

@SpillBabySpill #BP wants Twitter to shut down fake account mocking them. Twitter wants BP to shut down #oilspill ruining the ocean.

I guess I like the Twitter account because it feels like we're speaking out in some way, doing something. Because pictures like this are breaking my freaking heart.

i'm so sorry, World.

memorial day weekend.

{cheapoair}

{mit}

{igougo}

Friends, I'm finally heading out to the Olympic Peninsula for the long weekend -- a little backpacking trip is in my future. I've wanted to go explore the Peninsula since Amos moved out here and I would visit, eons and eons ago. Now I'm getting the chance to traipse around the rain forests and beaches and glaciers. I don't have much attention to blog right now. It's all focused on food, gear, and organizing. This last minute trip is a reminder to me to get off my duff and enjoy the beauty of where I live; too often I get caught up with ideas that travel has to involve a plane, rather than a ferry boat, 4 wheels, and a decent sized pack. And who knows... maybe I'll even get to see Edward or Jacob as I drive through Forks.*

*Can you tell I haven't read the books? I do however know Team Edward v. Team Jacob. I don't live under a rock.

growing up. made tangible.

 {trip advisor}

during this weekend's window film debacle, i windexed my bedroom windows... for the first time since I lived here. I've been here over 2 years. Honestly, and I'm saying this as a very clean person, it hadn't crossed my mind to windex them. I haven't ever lived in a place this long, so I always let the move-in / move-out clean be enough. This was my first time I needed a maintenance clean of the ol' winodws. So I did it. And you want to know what? They looked freaking fantastic. All the dingyness - gone! Here I was, thinking Seattle is all gray and depressing, but it's actually just my windows. Sorry Sea-town.

I've now added "clean windows" to "things that constitute a clean house" checklist. And for all you older/wiser folks out there: this is what it is to be in your 20s.... "Ooohh, i should clean the windows? Gotcha."

an ad campaign I can get behind

{emeco with coke} 

About 4 years ago, Coca-Cola came to the furniture design company Emeco with a proposal:  they wanted Emeco to help them demonstrate the value of recycling, especially considering they had a new recycling plant in South Carolina that was processing thousands of bottles a day. Together, with some smarty pants scientists and some sharp designers, they created the Emeco 111 Navy Chair, made from 111 recycled coke bottles.

Emeco worked with chemical company BASF to create a special blend of rPET (Recycled Polyethylene Terephthalate, aka recycled plastic bottles) that, combined with glass fiber and pigment, created strong, sturdy, and all over good looking chairs.

Let's pause for a stat, shall we? Around the world, 80% of plastic bottles are recycled. In the US, it's around 20%. (20%!! Hey US: The Pacific Northwest is frowning at you. Get your sh*t together.) Emeco estimates that they can use about 3 million bottles a year. Let's type that out so you can see the zeros: 3,000,000. What's more, these chairs are giving people a tangible, real-life result of recycling. If someone is like "Recycling is a load of bunk, it's dumb, and there's no point," you can now say, "Listen up jackass: there is a point, it takes product that was going to go to landfills - where it can't decay and which eats up valuable real estate - and instead uses it to create this beautiful chair." Man, that makes me feel good. Go ahead - say that last sentence out loud. How do you feel? Good huh? I knew it.

Anyway, all of this makes me want to drink Coke. It makes me want to drink Coke as I walk over and drop cash at Design Within Reach, where these chairs are sold.

 

Read about it here. Go buy them here. Even better? They are half the price of the traditional Navy Chairs (which still ain't cheap, but it's something.) Innovation like this makes me all sorts of happy.

Stepping of my soapbox now.

i like expensive things and it really, really sucks.

My Weekend Plans - Mini Bedroom Makeover

I wanted to add window film to our bedroom windows, which have a fantastic view of our neighbor's kitchen.

{not martha}

{brume}

{door sixteen}

well, our windows are 4 panes of 28x26, which will come to a grand total of $100. I did not realize that the windows were so large until I had already bought the film, opened it, filled a spray bottle with soapy water, and windexed the glass. FML.

I wanted to wallpaper the top of a dresser, which I was going to paint white:

 

{apartment therapy}

but I wanted to use this paper, which from Target costs $69 (!!). There is no cheaper wallpaper out there, and Target does not carry any wallpaper at their stores, and neither does Home Depot. I did not realize this fact until I had already visited both Target and Home Depot. FML, twice, than three times.

{target}

And I wanted to replace my bedside table lamp with a clear lamp, which the cheapest one I found was $70. I searched eBay, Craigslist, Overstock, and Target.

{target}

And Target doesn't carry the lamp in store. FML... I've lost count, but you get the picture.

So I saved my $240, didn't buy anything . returned what I had purchased, and felt sorry for myself / angry at Target for being so expensive / annoyed Craigslist had nothing good. Back to the drawing board on the bedroom makeover.

Gaw. On the other hand, I went to the Mariners and Sounders games, and while they lost, the beer I drank and the hot dog I ate were very, very delicious. So it wasn't a total loss of a weekend.

oh, hello!

It arrived yesterday afternoon, dropped off at the corner coffee shop.

Full of goodies, some were even sticking out of the top.

You know what i'm talking about:

my inaugural CSA box.

Amos and I (okay, way more me) decided that we should join a CSA program, where local farmer's markets drop off weekly (or bi-weekly, in our case) boxes chalked full of seasonal veggies and fruits. It's pretty reasonable, super convenient, and uber-hippie.

Of course I signed up.

It was so exciting -- we hauled in cucumbers, broccoli, bok choy, peaches, mangoes, strawberries, zucchini, lettuce, carrots, and oranges. we were supposed to have tomatoes, too, and I was assured they would be making that up to us next box. It was a bit of a stretch to fit them all into our small fridge (which lacks crisper drawers and sits, literally, on top of our counters), but my geometry skills did not fail me. The thing is packed to perfection. I wanted to take a picture, but the fridge lacks a light bulb. Please use your imagination.

 I started putzing in the kitchen and whipped up a little stir-fry and a rustic fruit tart that was very beautiful and astonishingly mediocre. Please note: Valencia oranges are extremely bitter when cooked. I picked them out and just ate the crust and goat cheese. Good enough for me. 

The day took a darker, or at least deeper, turn when I realized that not all the fruit was local -- all organic, but the mangoes were most definitely not grown in the Pacific Northwest in May (is it sad that it took a sticker saying "grown in Mexico" for me to figure that one out?) It brought up some tough questions: is organic, small farm produce good enough? Or is local more important? Is it bad to eat foods that are out of season and have to travel halfway around the world, even if they are sustainably grown? What happens to the Mexican mango farmers when I stop paying for his/her crops?

Gosh, this whole responsible global citizen thing is tough.

In the end, I think I'll be sticking with my little not-quite-CSA box, though if you know of any more local-centric options, please let me know. Can't stop now -- I have a feeling that bok choy was just the beginning.

out i say.

Dear persistent coffee spot on my kitchen counter,

I must admit that I admire your tenacity. You show up, every day,without fail. It's rather admirable, really. Sometime between my sleepy coffee-making routine and lunch time scavenger hunt, you appear. I have no idea how, exactly, you get there, and it doesn't seem to dampen your spirit that I wipe you away with a scant flick of my wrist. Does my coffee pot leak when I pour? Do I really spill that much? Is it a result of my putting cream and sugar in my cup and removing the spoon? Ah - so many questions, little spot, and so few answers.

You tricksy mixy. I'll figure you out one of these days. I'll beat you at your game.

Until then, see you tomorrow.

Sarah, Resident Coffee Maker




oh yea, I just made up the phrase 'tricksy mixy.' It's okay cause I'm a blogger.

well, hello again

{livvit}

I'm back. I sincerely meant to have a wonderful, beautiful post for you today. I thought about it in Vancouver, where I decided that I need to put more time into my posts -- this strategy of "putting sh*t up in between work emails and meetings" is perhaps not the road to success that I once thought it was.

{ffffound}

But then I took 6 1/2 hours worth of naps this weekend. It really cut into my blogging time, but there was no getting around it. I was the type of tired where I became a little bit cry-y. For instance, Amos and I went to our neightborhood breakfast place and my trusty Monetary Omelette was not as spectacular as usual. In fact, I'll say it, the eggs were a smidge overcooked. And, you know what, instead of telling the waitress or determining if it was a big deal, I started to tear up.

Over eggs. 
Yeah.

At this point, Amos suggested that I should maybe take a nap.

Again, cue the waterworks and the stammering "I'm just really tired and really stressed with work and I was looking forward to the omlette and my life is just so hard and nobody could possibly understand and you just feel like you can tell me what to do and..." Except that my life isn't hard, everyone can understand, Amos never tells me what to do, and apparently when I'm tired, I turn into a four year old...  with bad manners.

 {hot pants for shuffleboard}

So I took a nap on Saturday. And after another near melt-down in the AT&T store on Sunday, I decided I needed a nap that afternoon too.

I woke up this morning, somewhat better rested, and knew I needed to leap back into blogland but wasn't quite sure how. I haven't yet looked at my reader -- usually my source for inspiration -- because I think it will be a bit overwhelming. So all day, as I've putzed and worked and emailed, I've been thinking:

blog. blog. blog. BLOG. and...


For some reason, I just couldn't. I kept ending up here:

Now, mind you, I don't Twitter. Or Tweet. Or whatever the f*ck you call it. I already have a blog... what more do you people want? And I just never bothered to learn why everyone was putting the @ in front of everything. @ symbol this: @idon'tspeakin140characterbits

I think even that's too long for a proper Twitter name. Damn.

But then, as I get all high and mighty, a status update pops up. Take a look at that first one...To love is to be vulnerable. The only place outside Heaven where you can be safe from the dangers of love is Hell. Well thank you, @CSLewisDaily. I'm glad now I can enjoy your thought-provoking-if-slightly-too-Christian-for-my-taste prose without having to pick-up The Screwtape Letters. I'll only meddle through that sucker once.

But before I can ponder too deeply, another one just came up!  I always say this; boys call girls complicated? Um, HELLO? Have they ever met themselves before. Ah, love that @TaytlorSwift13, even her endearing misuse of a semicolon... wait, something tells me that's not the real Taylor Swift.


Anyway.... sigh... that's how I now find myself watching the Twitters (I refused to call them Tweets; that's an unbelievably stupid word) pop up and it's... calming. Unnervingly calming. It's like a baby mobile but for adults. It stops the buzzing in my head that has been going since 5:30 this morning. I just all relaxed and loose. It's like the mind-numbing effects of alcohol without the hangover/stigma of doing it at 10AM.

 {stress management}

As we approach the end of the day... I pulled myself of Twitter and landed on Jackson Riley and here I be. It's not great, but it's jumping back in. This week I'm sure I'll catch you up on the the Vancouver trip (beautiful), my weekend (exciting when I was not napping), and the general blog-fodder that is my little life.

Until then, see ya. My 3PM meeting is about to start.

peace out peeps.

I'm out the rest of the week - have to take a business trip up to Canad-ia. You understand. I'll be back to the states, and blogland, next week.

I'm not going to lie, it'll be a bit of a much needed break. A couple things have picked up at work and I need to focus and get some sh*t done. And... it's beginning to be sunny, so my precious free moments are being spent outside where my pasty white skin can absorb some Vitamin D. Yes, it's true that sitting in the sun, drinking beer on a patio is done in the name of my health. I'm in discussion with my insurer to see if I can use my flex benefits on my tab. Seems only fair.

Sidenote #1: I bought orange polka-dotted sunglasses from a thrift store in Portland. They have improved my life immensely.

Sidenote #2: That picture was me working in a sweatshirt and boxers, while telling Amos to please not take a picture of me. I'm pretty. Check it.

God, this is a random and sub-par post. I'm still uploading it so you guys can really see how badly I need a break. See you Monday.

{vancouver image from here}

do not attempt before coffee

There are certain life lessons that I'm sure I should have picked up by now. One of the biggest ones: do not attempt much of anything before coffee on a Monday morning. Especially a rainy Monday morning after a long sunny weekend. Seriously, I hit the alarm for an hour and a half this morning (I wish I was joking). I could not open my eyes and kept rolling over and having really weird dreams, including one where Amos and I tried to put on as many sweatshirts as possible (Told you it was weird).

Anyway, I made the bed, put away dishes, opened up the curtains, and took a shower all without coffee this morning. Why? No idea. It came back to bite me though. My theory is you only have so much brain functioning ability that early (ok, not that early... it was almost 8 at this time) and I had spent all of it. Whittled it away. And when I tried to open up my delicious Trader Joe's half-n-half to add to my morning cup of joe, well....

Gaw - opened it up on the wrong fricking end. Boo.

I should have learned my lesson by now. I will have to add "opening containers" to my list of things to do only after coffee. Also on that list: tweezing eyebrows. That was a rough morning. Told you I should have learned this lesson already.

PS - spell check doesn't recognize tweezing? For real?

art patronage.

i may not take art as seriously as people along Seattle's Art Walk would hope.

That said, I think I'm a vision in this dress. Bawhahahaha.

(I hope you all appreciate how funny I am.)

White Walled Woes.

I am so sad.

Okay, maybe that was a touch dramatic. Let me start from the beginning, which is a very good place to start. (Is that line from Winnie the Pooh or something... and what, exactly, is a Pooh?)

Amos and I live in a wonderful, old apartment. It has lots of character, oodles of charm, a plethora of personality, and a fridge on our counter-top.

In case you don't believe me, evidence of the photographic variety:

As in most old places, we have our fair share of quirks (scalding hot water, windows without screens, don't even try to look for anything level) but those quirks offset by leaded glass windows, a big farmhouse kitchen sink, arched doorways and gorgeous wood floors.

But there is something that has been bothering me the 2 1/2 years I've been living here. Bothering me lots and lots.

The white walls.

Now, mind you, I know a good white wall when I see one. I'm not blind. And while I gravitate towards loud and warm colors or seek out soothing hues, I have very much come to appreciate a good white wall. They can be a perfect canvas, a warm, yet blank slate.

{desire to inspire}

{dear designer}

{apartment therapy}

See?

But my walls are not that white. They are dingy white. A white that my landlord told me 'could use an update' the day I was moving in. After visiting my sister last weekend and getting a high off painting her basement (both literally and figuratively, folks. Lesson learned: crack a friggin' window) I began to have fantasies about painting the apartment.

I knew I would have to keep it white. Our landlord pops in quite a bit to tighten leaky faucets, etc. so there was no sneaking-behind-and-painting-to-repaint-before-I-moved-out. Darn. But I could do white. I found several shades that were beautiful. I rather liked Benjamin Moore (who I affectionately call BM) White Dove (below):

{nest egg}

Oohh, but BM's Decorator's White is nice too!

{sunset magazine}

Thus, I emailed Bob the Landlord. Hi Bob, I wrote. Would you mind if I painted our place? I'll paint, your reimburse, and it'll be grand.

(I'm paraphrasing here...)

He wrote back. It would be grand. I have white paint in the basement, and I'll order more for you.

Ba....What? His white paint? The white paint that is on my walls. Flat paint. Lifeless. Less-dingy-than-now-but-far-from-spectacular.

A photographic reminder, shall we?

Okay, they look dingier/duller in real life - my photographic skillz are, apparently, amazing.

Anyway.

Friends, I am so upset. I know it's ridiculous and many a reader is shaking her respective head, saying "Sar, white is white is white." But, please understand,I had my heart on White and now I must paint white. While it will make my place look better (it is mega-dingy now), it ceases to be what it could have been.

Sigh. Maybe I'll distract myself looking at expensive Seattle real-estate for awhile. Then I'll appreciate my dingy-but-affordable-and-charming-white-not-White-apartment.

I know: I could use a dose of perspective. Shut your face.

committing myself.

  {image source*}

This is it, folks. I'm setting a deadline, drawing a line in the sand, posting it on the blogs, and making the darn thing official.

I am writing a novel.

Let me say it a little louder:

I am writing a novel.

There. I said it. So far, I have a couple finished(-ish) short stories and am one chapter in. I even like this chapter. It has a girl named Kerrigan in it, which is a name I am rather fond of.

I read somewhere that, in the running world, there's some empircal evidence that more people are completing half and full marathons when they post their goals on social networking sites, like facebook. They're committed -- if they punk out, then they have to tell people and they look silly. And people don't like to look silly.

So here's to me not looking silly and a manuscript on my desk within a year. The pacing? Two chapters a month.

Let it begin...





*I do not recommend clicking on this link. I Googled "line in the sand," which is my preferred method of finding images. It's straight up sophisticated. I liked this one, and wanted to source it. Well, the source is What Now: Right Wing Extremist. Huh. Really? Really. As a fan of NON-Extremism in just about everything, I do not endorse this site, other than to say I liked their picture. I am, however, positive that we would be on different sides of the line.

non-buyer's remorse

do you ever look back at your life, when your having an introspective, reflective moment, and just think:

why the heck didn't i buy that?

at the time, you thought it was too expensive, too impractical, too big for you place, but now, you know that's a big, fat lie and you totally could have made it work, Tim Gunn style. And, in the end, it would of improved your quality of life/street cred/apartment.

that's how i'm feeling about this guy. so much non-buyers remorse.

{inventory stockroom}