I Heart My Animal Head

Ever seen those bumper stickers professing the driver's love of man's best friend? The "I Love My Corgi" sticker. Only it doesn't say "Love" or "Corgi." It's usually a cartoonish heart followed by a picture of the head of a certain breed of dog. Every time I see one I can hear my dad's interpretation of it: I Heart My Dog Head.

Well, I Heart My Animal Head.

I don't know where my fascination of animal heads came from (I'm sure there's some deep, sick meaning behind it), but I do love them. Not real ones though. That's just gross. I like ones like this little antelope fellow here. I like them so much I bought two.

I had been looking for something like this for over a year now after going down to El Lay and seeing some giant steer heads painted pretty colors with the antlers dipped in gold or silver. I didn't have the $800+ to shell out on one so I set out looking for a more affordable version. I looked and looked and looked, and kept hunting around. Finally these dudes sauntered into my line of sight and I pulled the trigger and bought them. I wanted to display them as soon as I got home, but my walls weren't yet ready for their magnificence, so I set them aside waiting for my redecorating frenzy to begin. Then when the dust settled, like a proud marksman, I put those helpless suckers up for the world to see.

Whoa-oh, I'm Halfway There

Oh man that was crazy. Since the last time I posted not only was my backyard uprooted but so was the inside of my house. The painter/drywallers/framers were in and out in four days and in that time they did exactly what I wanted them to, and some of what I didn't want them to do. By the time they were done, my house was halfway to dream-housiness and I was ready for a frosty (fruity) beer (more to come on the Bev).

I'll get to sharing the progress inside the house in the coming days. I have to work up to the big reveal once the flooring is complete! Until then I'll be showing small pieces of it, leaving most to wonder what the heck I'm doing in this little place.

But first things first: my tree, or lack thereof. As big of a tree as I thought that sucker was, the tree-trimmers were done sawing, chopping, dropping, dragging and raking in about an hour. I let them in at 8AM and by the time I was heading out the door my backyard was getting a new dose of sunshine.

Sure, I miss the privacy and shade it provided, but being able to sleep without being awoken by rustling of the leaves was worth the $225 right there.

There is still a lot of work to do until I'm happy with the house both inside and out, but until then I'm living on a prayer that it will all be over sooner than later.

And So It Begins...

T-minus 36 hours and counting! Work is finally about to begin on my house and I CANNOT WAIT! I spent this evening talking with the painter/drywaller/framer/father/son team about what to do on the inside, and the tree guy about what is going to happen on the outside. First up, the tree:

It may not look like anything crazy here, but trust me, this sucker is dangerous. And annoying. But nice too.

One of the first things my neighbors told me when I moved into the property was that they could not believe the previous homeowner did not tell me about this tree. What did I need to know about it? I had already figured out that when the wind blows at night, the proximity of it to my window and the bustling of the leaves wakes me up. I know in the fall it gets naked and sheds all of my backyard. I also know that in the summer it gets full of leaves and provides GREAT shade for the Sac heat and GREAT privacy from nosy neighbors. But alas, there's more. Kind of like Fox News, it's got evil roots.

Crap! No seriously, crap can happen when roots get involved and its not pretty. The portions of tree can break through sewer lines and cause back ups of all the lovely things you flush down the toilet. My tree is parked right on top of the sewer line in my little neighborhood and if something happens to that line, and in turns causes poop to hit the fan (or bathroom floor) in someone else's house-- it's my responsibility.

No one told me about any of this before I moved in here. Would I have not bought the house? No, I love my little nest. BUT, I would have either negotiated a drop in the asking price or for the removal prior to my moving in. But, that didn't happen. Poop happens. So now I'm playing George Washington and cutting this sucker down. OK, I cannot tell a lie. Actually 225 George Washington's will be going to work on Wednesday morning.

Eat Me: BEAT Salad

If I were to told you I craved beet salad, most of you would look at me all wonky-eyed or asked me if my name was Dwight Schrute. Except my Ma, she likes them purple suckers (come to think of it, she might be the only reading this. Hi Ma!). But I'm not talking about a beet salad, I'm talking about BEAT salad, containing some of the best ingredients on this earth: Bacon, Eggs, Avocado, and Tomatoes.



I found this recipe on this cave-man website (seriously) and made it last month for the first time for myself and a friendly cave-woman (seriously). We instantly fell in love with it. I mean, who doesn't like bacon and avo first of all? And if you serve it right after the eggs are cut up the whole salad gets all warm and delicious. So good, so so so good. All things considered, it's pretty healthy especially if you only use a little bit of the bacon (not Bacon Bits, those are gross. You should be ashamed for considering it). Since then I tend to make it once a week and share it with whoever hunts and gathers their way into my kitchen.

Eat Me: Vegetable Cocktail

Okay, so no one but my father really thinks of Rhubarb as a vegatable. He has a rule: you can't eat vegetables for dessert (he also has rule about not eating purple vegetables, but most of us remember "The Summer of the Eggplant" and know that's not true). So I wonder what he would think about drinking vegetables?

I can't wait to make this Rhubodka. Maybe I'll use a good vodka, not Popov's $8 Charcoal-Filtered vodka in plastic bottle (is that college I hear calling?) and sip it on the rocks or with a bit of club soda. Sounds like the perfect backyard drink. Next up: Fix up the backyard so I can drink in it.

I'm Good for the Economy

First of all, I'd like to start off by thanking Mr. Obama. Your idea of giving free money in the hopes that maybe- just maybe- someone will put back into this amazing economy we have right now while seemingly absurd (and socialist) to others... just made my day. No, it made my my life.

I (finally) got my tax return today. And in that tax return was a lovely first time home-buyers credit.



I'm not telling you this to brag about how rich I am right now, because trust me, I'm not. Every single penny of this credit is going to Home Depot, the flooring store, the lighting store, the local paint contractor and maybe a couple of design stores (CB2, here I come). No matter how much I would love to take a trip to Banana Republic or Nike right now, I'm using that $$$ to do exactly what is meant for. (Although, I would still be stimulating the economy even if I'm buying clothes, right?)

So today not only marks the first time I've ever seen 5 digits in my savings account (probably the last time too), but the true beginning of the joy and frustration that goes along with owning my first home, and making it mine and not the tract home (cute though!) it really is. In the coming weeks I'll show you step by step what I hope will really make this a place I never want to leave.

OK, I lied. I'm def going to want to leave when I start popping out more than child... but until then, this will be a place that really, really-- and I mean really-- reflects me.

Eat Me: Fat Tomotoes

I usually try to stay away from frying something in my own kitchen. In fact, I don't think I've ever done it. Not because I'm afraid of burning the house down (although that is a real possibility), but because I know that once I start frying my own food I'll be one fried Oreo away from Jenny Craig. Right now, I justify eating fried food when I eat out because "I don't normally eat this at this home." But this recipe might just change all that.

Tomatoes stuffed with mozzarella then quickly fried to get the cheese all melty.


There is nothing, and I mean NOTHING better in this world than melty cheese. Anyone got the number to Jenny Craig?