Tastes of Pink Champagne

100 Tiny Potatoes

2014-08-08T16:33:00.000-04:00

Every week my mom brings me a large haul from the farmer's market around the corner from her shop.

Over the past few weeks, I've accumulated more potatoes than God ever meant for one person to eat. (Also, four onions, about a hundred apples, and countless peppers, among other things.) As such, today I decided to cook some things to freeze or give away to friends and family to use some of it up, as I absolutely cannot stand to see food go to waste.

So, after a lengthy call with my mother regarding what I might do with a million small potatoes, I decided on potato soup, since it can be divided up and frozen quite easily. I am a big fan of being able to throw something together without heading to the store by using what you have on hand, so keep in mind as you read the recipe below that it can certainly be altered as you go.

Here's what I used:

An undetermined number of small potatoes of varying types (Yukon, sweet, and Idaho all included)
3 Large carrots
1 Large Vidalia onion
1 Cup 2% milk
4 Tablespoons butter
Garlic to taste (I used finely chopped from a jar, but fresh would of course work also - but I am lazy)
About half a container of vegetable cream cheese
Lots of water (amount will depend on how many potatoes you are using)
Approximately 1/2 cup of grated Parmesan and cheddar cheeses (I would have used more if I'd had more)

Start by chopping up all of your potatoes into small, bite-sized pieces. In a stock pot or dutch oven, boil enough water to cover the amount of potatoes you are using. I let the potatoes boil for about 20 minutes before I threw in my other ingredients, but you can base the amount of time you do so for on how soft or hard you'd like your potatoes to be. I wanted mine to be softer.

This is what three weeks worth of farmer's market tiny potatoes look like chopped into small bits:

And this is a potato that I thought looked like a thumb:

Moving on.

Next I finely chopped one large white onion (I didn't even cry!), and I grated three large carrots. I REALLY hate grating. I believe it is comparable to shaving corn off the husk for me. It is truly impossible not to splatter carrot bits or corn all over my beautiful, clean kitchen when doing so. Hate.

Upon determining that my potatoes were on their way to an appropriate level of softness, I poured out just a bit of the water and reserved the rest. Then I dumped in the carrots and onion. Next went the milk, the butter, and the cream cheese. After the butter and cream cheese have melted, stir everything together. Remember that this soup will thicken, so if it seems a bit watery, you are probably OK.

Once you've done all that, you can use salt and pepper to season to your taste. I used a LOT of both. Potato soup can be a bit bland if you are not heavy-handed with the seasonings. This can also be done after the soup has cooked for a bit.

When it was all said and done, my soup was on the stove simmering with the lid removed for about an hour. I then turned the gas completely off so that it would thicken a bit more. You can base how long you let it cook on the firmness of your veggies and the thickness of the soup.

The only step left is to enjoy! My batch ended up making a little less than what I was expecting, but if you make a lot, this will freeze well for quite a while. I recommend garnishing with green onions and cheddar cheese! I'm now off to figure out what to do with the overflow of apples. Please leave me a comment with any suggestions!

Happy Cooking from my Kitchen to Yours!

Back Again

2014-07-16T12:21:00.000-04:00

Well folks, it seems that the last time I updated this little blog of mine was May 20, 2013. Something tells me that's not exactly good for my "following."

And so, at the encouragement of several close friends, I would like to make an effort to resurrect this little blog of mine (have I said that before?) and catch you all up to speed. In my defense, it's been quite a wild year. In 2013, I quit my job, got a new job, got a new car, adopted another chow who might actually be a tiger, and... bought a house. Yep, you read that right. Not shoes. Not a bag. (Well ok, maybe I bought some of those too.) But... a house. It's true. I became a first time home buyer on August 16, 2013, at the ripe old age of 26. Real life.

As I am almost at the one year mark of being in my little cottage, I have decided it is time to start recording the tales of woe and wonder (and trust me, there have been plenty) of this journey before I forget any of the moments that have made the house the home it is. And so, upon the resurrection of Tastes of Pink Champagne, I will be adding a section: Nest. I'll still be discussing all the great things in life that I wrote about before: personal style, cooking, books, pets, and the like. But it must be known that The Cottage now occupies a large piece of my heart.

So, welcome back, old friends. Please share me with your friends, with your grandma, or, if you find this blog to be something irritating that grates on your nerves, share me with that colleague you don't like as a secret form of torture. I'll take whatever I can get.

For now, I'm off to determine which tale to regale you with first...

*Insert evil laugh here*

Mystery and Romance FTW

2013-05-30T15:32:00.003-04:00

I have found the perfect summer read. Karen White’s House on Tradd Street incorporates all of the essentials: intrigue, romance, history and comedy into one praise-worthy novel.

Set in Charleston, S.C., this book stars Realtor Melanie Middleton, who lives her life by the rules. She’s logical, organized and disciplined. She can also see ghosts—a talent that tests her patience when one ghost enters her life uninvited. When Melanie suddenly comes into ownership of a house she had only been interested in selling, her life is immediately turned upside down.

To make matters worse for Melanie, Jack Trenholm enters the picture. A gregarious and handsome man, Jack writes historical novels, and the house Melanie has just inherited intrigues him—as does she. Jack is searching for a crop of Confederate diamonds that purportedly lie hidden in Melanie’s new house, and his search for the stones awakes a seemingly evil presence that lurks in the house. Jack has his work cut out for him from the beginning, as he attempts to woo Melanie and the ghost simultaneously.

Jack’s apparent cockiness is tempered by his charming Southern flair, and his recent career hit over a discredited book earns him sympathy. The relationship between these two is anything but static. From the start, Jack gets on Melanie’s nerves, and she does everything she can to keep him away. Unperturbed, Jack repeatedly saves Melanie from the ominous presences lurking in her living room and eventually earns the independent woman’s trust. Together, they must unravel the mystery of the Vanderhorst family, whose house Melanie is now living in.

White’s characters are dynamic throughout. The novel is riddled with painful notes from Melanie’s less-than-perfect childhood as she struggles to reconcile her past with her present. As she battles the memory of a mother who left, Melanie’s estranged father simultaneously insists on helping renovate the house on Tradd Street as he battles alcoholism and is reacquainted with his daughter.

Background characters including a scruffy dog named General Lee, Melanie’s hippie best friend Sophie and an affectionate housekeeper warm the pages of the book and each add personality to the story.

Praised for its Lowcountry appeal, The House on Tradd Street is a hit. Luckily for me, there’s a sequel, and my favorite characters will be back for more mystery solving as their romance heats up in The Girl on Legare Street.

Accessory Explosion

2012-01-24T23:39:00.005-05:00

Yesterday at work I put one too many enamel bangles in a glass jar.

It wasn't my fault. I was at work by 5:30 a.m., waiting for our shipment (149 boxes of clothes) to be delivered early as promised, in preparation of kicking off our first big spring store set. Instead, our driver decided to be precisely 2 hours and 56 minutes late.

Needless to say, by the time I got around to the tedious task of dealing with tiny things such as bangles and the like, I was feeling somewhat brain dead. I was entitled to a crazy moment.

I thought the jar would be able to handle the overflow, that the last little bangle would sit there on top of the mountain of bangles like a little extra water does on top of a glass cup. But unlike a too-full glass of water, which is bound by some law of science that I never understood to not overflow, the canister couldn't take it, and overflow it did.

The bangle in question slid from the mountain, ricocheting off the edge of the table before tumbling to the hardwood floor. Another bangle followed. And then another, and another, and another. Before I knew it, I was Daniel Radcliffe in Harry Potter, The Deathly Hallows: Part 1, in the scene where he sets off a brigade of exploding robotic critters to distract a group of Ministry of Magic slaves outside the door of Dolores Umbridge's office. Bangles were reproducing, bouncing around on the hardwood floor, a bunch of unstoppable accessories come to life.

And distract I did, as all of my store set helpers scrambled around, chasing after bangles as I watched in horror as the mess I needlessly created seemed to multiply before my eyes. I myself was seemingly glued to the spot, unable to pitch in and help.

Instead I laughed. Sometimes, when you've been working your butt off (if only this weren't just a figure of speech!) for hours on end and something so ridiculous happens that makes a thought like "bangles come to life" pop to mind, all you can do is stop and laugh.

One for the Collection

2011-11-29T01:44:00.011-05:00

I secretly don't like to share my books. Or at least, I don't like to loan them out when I think there's a question of whether or not they will ever make their way back to me.

You see, I like to collect the books I read on my bookshelves so that I have a tangible memory of all that I've read. I often find myself having fallen in love with the characters in a book, and giving away their recorded presence seems too harsh a departure for me to handle. Thus, I steer clear of library books and book trading parties and things of the like. I can recommend a good read until the cows come home, but my collection is mine and mine alone.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy was given to me as a birthday gift, and I devoured it within days. It's one of those books that stays with you long after you've read it, sort of like Life of Pi or Crime and Punishment (if in fact you stuck it out until the end).

There are two important characters. Never does McCarthy bestow upon you either of their names. I always find it interesting when an author chooses to present their characters as nameless. It sort of detaches you and pulls you closer all at once. An interesting writing mechanism, for sure.

There's a father and his boy, and the book is an intimate explanation of how nothingness can become everything and be one in the same. You are presented with post-apocalyptic America- the ruins of which are all around you as read, all the time. It is impossible not to worry as you read that this event is looming in our near future.

Once I got past McCarthy's use of fragmented sentences in his descriptions, I was hooked on his use of language that made the pair's delicate relationship jump from the pages:

"He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke."

McCarthy weaves their journey south using scarce and uneven meals as little mile-markers along the way. As I read, I found myself taking my food with new appreciation. Each morsel was important.

"Are you okay? he said. The boy nodded. Then they set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other's world entire."

This book will take you on a journey- one that you hope will end triumphantly- and force you to question whether or not your problem of the day is truly worth grieving.

I urge you to go buy a copy and read it immediately. Because I certainly won't be loaning you mine- it's already settled into its place among the greats on my shelves.

Thankful

2011-11-24T12:20:00.003-05:00

Holly, I am thankful for you. I am thankful for your poofy hairs and the way you bark viciously at anyone or anything who even thinks about knocking on our front door, right down to the UPS man. I am thankful for the way you bounce out from under the bed and around the room every morning. I am thankful for your sweet brown eyes and your furry paws that look like little boots. I am thankful for the way you eat one little piece of dog food at a time- what a good example you are for your brother who swallows his whole! If only he would slow down long enough to watch you.

Paddington, oh how I say so many thanks for you! I am thankful for your wet nose that is forever and forcefully nudging me for attention. I am thankful for your eye mole (and for the fact that it seems to be staying the same size). I am thankful that your waistline is slightly smaller than it was this time last year (down 3.5 pounds!). And most of all, I am thankful that the vet seems to think we will one day kick these heartworms once and for all.

Love,

Your Mom (who you two better be thankful for too! Not everyone would let you sleep ON the pillows, you know.)

Hell Week Day 1: Splenda

2011-11-21T20:59:00.003-05:00

Apologies

To those of you who actually follow this blog, I apologize for my lengthy absence. In terms of the journalism world, it's absolutely inexcusable to abandon one's writing outlet for such an extended amount of time and expect readers to rejoin you at some undetermined moment in the future. For my laziness, I apologize.

Some of you may know however, that over the course of the last few months, I've had some major life changes: New job, new city, new apartment. Some of you may also know that I am not the best with change. I am a full-fledged, self-proclaimed creature of habit. I have a favorite thing on the menu at each of my favorite restaurants that I order each and every time, without fail. Some may see this as predictability; I see it as stability. You just can't go wrong with what you know is right. (Don't even get me started on the day I got froggy at Starbucks and decided to try the latest of-the-moment fall-flavored drink. Two sips and that $5 was chucked in the trash can. But that's another tangent for another time.)

Having said all of this, it's been somewhat of a tumultuous few months for me, frappucino-related crises aside. However, I am settled, I am decorated, and I am determined to resurrect this little blog of mine if for no one else than my little sister who recently pointed out to my father in a most matter-of-fact manner, "Key has not updated her blog since MARCH."

And what better time to begin (again) than at the beginning of the most interesting retail week of the year? Hell week. That's what we call it, those of us behind the counter. Why? If you have to ask, you must not have ever been to a mall the week of Thanksgiving before.

Splenda

In keeping with the former tone of my blog, I will suffice it to say without naming any names that I have switched from one brand to another since I've last written. Interestingly enough though, not much in my daily life has changed. I'm still always on the verge of maxing out a store card, I'm still merchandising and styling fabulous clothes and I'm still behind the counter processing returns for a large portion of each of my days.

Sunday of Hell Week began similarly to many others, with productive Sunday errand-runners making their returns to the various locations at which they had online shopped at their desk while at work all week.

I'd like to stop here to point out a phenomenon I can't quite wrap my mind around: the productive Sunday errand-runners. They are a breed all of their own, and I could never be a part of the herd. I dream of Sundays. Sundays were always my favorite day, before I committed to a life without them. Eating brunch in bed, snuggled up with my pets and the Sunday paper and some magazines, taking an afternoon nap... Ah. It just doesn't get better than that. How someone could willingly choose to give up their Sunday for an afternoon of errands is beyond me.

But I digress. Early in the day, a middle-aged woman in a normal outfit approached the desk with a return in a medium-sized shopping bag. I found nothing abnormal about the situation and proceeded with her return, delighted that it appeared to only be a thing or two. However, upon reaching into her bag, I found not only a pair of pants to be returned, but hundreds upon hundreds of packages of Splenda.

I looked up and met the woman's eyes, sure that she would sense my confusion and offer a funny anecdote as an explanation for the contents of her bag. She said nothing though, only looked back at me as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

This reminded me of course of a great episode of Friends in which Monica and Ross' grandmother has passed. In this episode, Ross is helping his mother choose an outfit for the woman to be buried in and in the process gets roped into going through her closet. Along the way, he finds shoeboxes upon shoeboxes of nothing but packets of Sweet 'N Low. He spills one box while pulling it down from a high shelf and suddenly hundreds of tiny pink packages are raining onto his head as he stands laughing, remembering his grandmother's strange collecting habit.

Having nothing else to go on, I was obviously left to assume that this woman is also a collector of artificial sweeteners. I quickly processed her return and rather than throwing away the empty bag for the client as I normally would, I made sure to hand it back to her, the receipt neatly tucked in among the multitude of small yellow envelopes.

As I went through my day, I appreciated the woman for giving me something to smile about this week. I think I'll always wonder what her offspring will find in her closet when her time comes.

Noises of the Clothing Jungle

2011-03-25T20:04:00.006-04:00

Some days it's easier than others to block out the hub of the chaotic environment of the clothing store where I spend my days. Today was not one of them...

10:37 a.m.

A mother pushes a toddler in a stroller as she shops. The young girl spasmodically yells out at an alarming volume, sounding like a cross between a car honking and a foghorn. Boss Lady's eyebrow raises. Interestingly, the mother seems unruffled.

11 a.m.

UPS man arrives with a large shipment of stockroom supplies. His head is bleeding. He is cursing under his breath and intermittently muttering "Dadgummit!" He refuses my offer of a Band-Aid.

12:35 p.m.

I look around anxiously, sure that the clients around me can hear my stomach grumbling as I count down the minutes to my lunch break. No one seems to notice, but I mentally give the growler a warning.

2 p.m.

Music that blasts unevenly from our overhead speakers grates on my nerves as clients complain about price adjustments and coupons. I am inspired by Cee Lo's wise words and desperately want to yell "Forget you!" at all the moaners and groaners. I refrain.

4 p.m.

The store is full of clients. A strange spitting sound is repeatedly coming from the front of the store and is hard for me to identify. Without thinking, I say aloud, "WHAT is that noise?!" Clients look around with me. All eyes fall on a mother/daughter duo. The child seems to be imitating an animal of some sort, asking that her mother guess what sort of creature would make this awful noise. She sounds as though she were trying to hock a big loogie from the back of her throat. If there's truly an animal out there with that as its signature sound, I can only hope that it uses a different mating call. Did I mention the girl looked to be about 13?

4:42 p.m.

Manic laughing shatters a fleeting moment of peace as a woman finds something near the accessories table to be hysterically funny. The "something" remains undetermined.

5:01 p.m.

Is it 5:30 yet? Hangers clatter to the floor as clothes fall from the end of an overstuffed rolling rack.

...It's 7:29 p.m. My phone rings. It's my best friend calling to catch up, but I miss the call- I've already put my earplugs in.

Nicole Foo, this is for you...

2011-03-20T20:07:00.007-04:00

One of the major advantages of working in retail (of like, two advantages) is the discount. Most major retailers will offer employees their products at a discounted price to tempt them into sporting the clothes or using the products in their own lives. Thus, they sneakily turn their employees into loyal (and big-spending) clients as well as knowledgeable sales associates. For the big corporation, it's a win-win situation. For the destitute employee with the maxed out store card, it's a daily struggle of I must buy this now/I kinda like that now even though I thought it was ugly when I pulled it out of the box/Should I buy that just because it will be so cheap with my discount?

Along the same lines, sometimes companies will run contests in which free products are offered as the reward. Recently, our store ran a pant contest for associates. Pretty straightforward: sell the most pants, win some free pants. As exciting as this was, I don't really like pants. Not that I don't wear them. I do. I promise. I just don't like dress pants... or chinos... or cargos (unless they're slim!)... or shorts... you see what I mean. I'm pretty much in some variation of denim at all times. Sometimes I throw a pencil skirt into the mix when I'm feeling snazzy. Anyway, I'd much rather have been winning a free blouse, but since I like to be the best at things, I sold a lot of pants. In turn, I won some free pants. I was excited.

I took a week to choose my freebies. On the very last day of the "voucher redemption period," I chose a new pair of boyfriend denim as a pant last resort. Not that I needed more jeans. I've got like, 15 pairs, and I have two of all of my favorites. However, my favorite, ultra-lived in boyfriend jeans have holes dangerously close to the crotch area and a knee flap the size of Mars, which makes them a tad inappropriate for the sales floor. So, new boyfriend jeans it was.

Today, I pulled out my free pants for the first time. I ripped off the tag and pulled off the size sticker and yanked them on. With my chartreuse pocket tank and navy cardigan with white baby polka dots, I thought I looked pretty darn cute. Some rose gold accessories topped it all off.

I went to work and got on with my day, which passed in a flurry of stocking the store and working with clients, a few of which were close personal acquaintances. Consider that at a job like mine, there is lots of reaching upward and bending over for things... The outfit moves. Consider also that my cardigan was not of the longer variety. Just regular hip-grazing length.

I came home this evening and immediately stripped down (as always). As I flung my free boyfriend jeans onto the bed and reached for my PJ pants, I noticed something peculiar... And then I realized what I was seeing.

I'd left the giant "size 14" cloth tag stapled right there to the back pocket. All day. We saw 118 shoppers today, and not a single one of them took it upon themselves to let me know that I was confirming the size of my rear end to the world. Nor did any of my co-workers, of which there were three. Now even if I could convince myself that perhaps none of the other associates saw, I simply cannot believe that not one of 118 clients (some friends!) failed to notice. It seems to me that more than a few people are walking around with some bad shopping ju ju now. That's what you get when you don't tell someone that they have a booger hanging from their nose or a "size 14" stamped across their bottom.

So next time you get a pair of free pants, take a moment to inspect them as you put them on... Just because they were free doesn't mean they're going to do the work for you and cut off their own tags.

Ode to an Eyelash

2011-02-25T00:23:00.009-05:00

There are a lot of things I would change about myself, given the chance.

How big my cheeks are, for instance, or the size of my rear end. Or perhaps my OCD tendencies and my lust for all things expensive.

My eyelashes, though, are not one of these things. I inherited full, long lashes from my mother and am eternally grateful to her for this trait. We like to joke that we wear enough mascara between the two of us for an army of women. It's probably true, but I'm not ashamed. When faced with the old "stuck on a desert island with only three things" question, a tube of mascara will always be on my list. A tube of L'Oreal Voluminous mascara (with a curved brush!) in black, to be exact.

They get me into some interesting situations though, particularly at my job where I am surrounded by women on a daily basis. Men don't appreciate eyelashes. When they see a woman whose eyes stand out, they don't consider her eyelashes... They just think, "Beautiful eyes!" Women, on the other hand, think... "Look at those lashes! Wonder if she's born with it or if it's Maybelline?"

Needless to say, the comments I've gotten on my eyelashes while on the job pretty much run the gamut. Now, I don't mean to sound ungrateful. The way I see it, there are much worse things I could be known as among clients than "the girl with the really long eyelashes." I'm ok with it. A compliment, no matter how convoluted it is in its delivery, should always be accepted with grace (doing so has never been my strong suit, and my mother has forever lectured me on this issue), and I appreciate them all.

For instance, the woman who once deemed my eyelashes "butterfly wings" quickly made her way to the top of my list of favorite clients. She even has a flapping motion she makes with her own lashes to demonstrate her point whenever she talks about them.

A co-worker of mine prefers to call them "finger eyelashes." She also has a movement she makes with her fingers seemingly protruding from her eyeballs in order to demonstrate the effect my lashes supposedly have on onlookers. Somewhat scary, but quite funny nonetheless.

Others aren't as playful. The compliments sometimes get lost in the awkward stares, during which time the person is undoubtedly weighing the realness of my lashes in their head. Most don't seem to find it rude to ask and blurt out, "Are those real!?" I've had to bite my tongue several times to control my urge to ask if some of their assets were real. What really gets me, though, is when they ask if I'm wearing eyelash extensions. Extensions? Eyelash extensions? I didn't even know those existed.

And then there are the ones who stand in front of me and swear up and down that I'm using Latisse. Hello! Do you think I'd admit it if I were?! It seems to me that that would defeat the purpose of going to all that trouble and risking your irises turning ten different shades of murky brown in the first place.

Today almost beat them all, though. I was working with an older woman, helping her choose a spring blazer for her granddaughter. Once she actually turned her attention to my face and away from the jackets we were choosing between, she leaned forward and peered closely at me. I looked at her in confusion as she said, "Your eyelashes are beautiful!"

Before I could say thank you and steer the conversation back to the sale, she continued:

"Do they stay on?"

Me (confused stare): "What?"

"I mean, do they fall off?"

Me (forehead wrinkling in further confusion): "What?"

"Your eyelashes!"

Me (still confused and now somewhat perturbed at this interrogation): "Fall off?"

"Yes! You're wearing tips, right?!"

Me: "Tips?"

"Yes! I just learned about them from a lady down at TJMaxx. Apparently you can have tips put on your eyelashes for just $15o!"

Me (now trying to hide indignance): "No tips for me, ma'am. Just regular old eyelashes that stay attached at all times." And, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, "Which blazer do you like better?"

This is just one of many bizarre conversations I've had on the sales floor regarding my eyelashes. Before my career in retail began, I had no idea that eyelash extensions existed, and I certainly didn't know about "tips." (Or maybe they're the same thing?) Falsies, sure, but tips? I don't think so.

I'm just glad I've got long enough eyelashes that "tips" don't have to be one of my three things I get to take to the desert island. My mascara will do just fine.

Tequila

2011-01-12T18:18:00.003-05:00

Trouble.

For the past three days, I've been holed up in my condo with my two besties and my two pets, hiding from the blizzard that has ravaged the South. Naturally, three consecutive snow days practically beg for several consecutive batches of margaritas. (See below for our special recipe.)

As I was bringing my glass to my mouth to enjoy my first (of quite a few) frozen margs, I was shocked when Paddington, who had been peacefully curled with his head in my lap on the couch, lifted his head and stuck his snout directly in my goblet and began to eagerly lap up the tequila-laced margarita.

At that point, there wasn't much to do except quickly pull the glass away and laugh, accepting that fact that my dog has a taste for tequila.

Lauren's Special Margaritas

1 package Minute Maid frozen lime juice

1 bottle Corona Light

2-3 shots of tequila, (preferably top shelf, of course)

1/2 blender full of ice

Nose Hairs

2011-01-08T23:34:00.004-05:00

To my seven (official) followers, I apologize. It has been inexcusably long since I have written. Unfortunately for my little blog, the holiday season in retail has not been good to my creative juices; instead of leaving me with funny, lighthearted anecdotes to share, it left me feeling frustrated and bereft.

But it's over now... and I'm back!

I hope that the following story will be a small pick-me-up for all of you. It certainly gave me a much-needed belly laugh.

Today, I stood at the front of the women's clothing store I work at, putting out some replenishment merchandise after a harrowing holiday season. My team of co-workers has long since decided that I am the best at handling the husband/boyfriend/lover/brother/father demographic, so when I saw a 30-something man walk in the door, I braced myself for the project ahead.

I greeted him, and he briefly skirted the front of the store on his own, seemingly scoping out his prospects. I approached him, asking if he needed any help.

"Yeah, do you have a mirror?" was the response my question elicited.

"Um, sure... Right back there," I said, pointing as I did so to the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back of the store.

Apparently feeling the need to explain himself, he said, "Thanks, I think I've got something in my nose." He then proceeded to take a few steps in the direction of the mirror before turning back to me, asking "Do I?" and lifting his nose to the air for my inspection, evidently deciding that crossing the store was too much of a trek.

Now, in my four years in retail, I've been subjected to some strange things. I've dealt with more than one kind of bodily fluid, I've helped a 90 year-old woman try on and purchase a camisole and I've had a pair of pants thrown at me. But never before have I had to inspect anyone's nose for foreign objects.

Naturally, I was a bit taken aback.

Unfortunately though, it's January, and anyone in retail will tell you that this is the time of year when you will do just about anything for a good sale. And usually, a husband/boyfriend/lover/brother/father equals a good sale. And so, without getting too close, I peered up into the man's nose.

Fortunately, I saw nothing but nose hairs.

"I don't see anything, Sir, but you are welcome to use the mirror to investigate further," was all I could say and manage to keep a straight face.

However, he (and his nose) seemed satisfied with my response, and he went on to tell me that he wanted to surprise his girlfriend with an outfit to wear for a party they plan to attend tomorrow evening.

I will spare you the details of the rest of our interaction, as it took approximately an hour and was filled with comments like the following:

"I mean, she's got a real good figure. I'm talking 36" 26" 42" " and "She's a size 2, but she's got a ghetto booty on her. I like it though, don't get me wrong" and 'They come out to about here."

All this to say, I'll be going to sleep tonight wondering if having to look into a middle-aged man's nose was worth the $117 I eventually convinced him to spend. I just hope the imminent Snowpacolypse doesn't keep her from wearing that outfit.

...But if for nothing else, I think it was definitely worth the belly laugh.

What Black Friday Means to the Ones Behind the Counter

2010-11-28T23:26:00.006-05:00

The following are some memorable tidbits from my Black Friday experience:

1. I got to use my French skills on two different occasions to eavesdrop on different groups of clients. In turn, I was able to help one woman find the right cut of pants for her body despite a language barrier. I knew that major would come in handy for something.

2. I witnessed an old man in a white Honda Accord maul the UPS man's big brown truck while the driver was inside our store making our daily delivery. I said, "Sir, you might need to go check on your truck. It just shook. Violently." His response? "I'm sure it's fine." ...He didn't think it was so fine when he went outside and realized I was right.

3. Granny panties. Need I say more?

In sum, please let this post serve as a gentle reminder to be kind. Not just on Black Friday or during after Christmas sales, but each time you shop. Consider the people who stand on their feet for hours on end and do their best to please you. For that matter, consider this any time you go anywhere. The world would be a better place if we all took just a second to breathe before getting irritated. In the end, we're all just trying to make it through the day.

A Few Things I'm Thankful for...

2010-11-25T20:36:00.020-05:00

It bothers me that this post does not fall into any of my labeled categories, but I will try to put my obsessive compulsive tendencies aside for the sake of Thanksgiving.

The following are just a few of the things that I am thinking of thankfully this holiday season, in no particular order at all...

1. Dance parties - any time, any place:

2. My pink KitchenAid mixer, which has been put to an extraordinary amount of work in the past 24 hours:

3. Diet Coke, because what else would my hand hold?

4. My dysfunctional family, in all of their individual parts:

5. Five-star hotels with concierges who greet you with phrases like, "Oh, nice to see you again Ms. Buttimer" and "These chocolate-covered strawberries are on us, happy birthday" and "Oh, we don't have the room you booked available quite yet, let's just upgrade you to our suite." Le sigh.

6. My besties, for whom I am so lucky:

7. Fashion and all that it inspires:

8. Stink, her Loch Ness Monster tendencies and these paws:

9. Paddington, his health and his never-ending need for both affection and naps:

10. My grandmother, whose hands I love to hold and who is a constant source of guidance and inspiration to me, and who I hope to one day be just like, down to her snowy white hair:

11 (Because 10 would just be too easy). Shoes like these... I realize this last one's a bit shallow, but I do write about fashion, after all. And I AM thankful for my shoes!

Cute Alert

2010-10-30T14:28:00.004-04:00

Happy Halloween weekend to all!

As I am in a celebrating sort of mood (my birthday is on Halloween and so I always feel extra festive this time of year), I want to share with my fabulous readers an exciting fashion opportunity.

Beginning November 1, LOFT will be hosting an exciting giveaway featuring 10 (count 'em: TEN) pairs of their super popular Peter Over the Knee Riding Boot. They'll elect two winners a day for a week to receive the style that has sold out both online and in almost all stores.

Visit LOFT's facebook page for more details and to learn how to enter. And if you win, leave me comments on how you're wearing them!

Oh, the tears...

2010-10-21T18:54:00.004-04:00

I had to repost this. Please, please take a moment to read this touching story. It brought big, monster-sized raindrop tears to my eyes before I was beyond the first graph.

http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2010/10/21/man-saved-by-god-and-by-dog-who-says-grace/?hpt=C1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNvmAw2Tp5c

If this isn't the perfect display of the old man's best friend mantra then I don't know what is.

These two save me each and every day.

...Right after they finish arguing over the remote.

Breast Buddies

2010-10-20T21:08:00.004-04:00

We're thinking pink for Breast Cancer Awareness Month... Are you???

Polka Dots or Spots?

2010-10-20T20:59:00.007-04:00

What do you call them? Polkda dots? Or spots? I call them polkda dots, but I've found that some call them spots. Certain men in my life, for instance, which I in turn find very endearing. Either way, I love them. I love them on shirts, on skirts, on dresses... I love them mixed with stripes, which I've previously shared my affinity for as well. The top pictured in the following photo is one of my favorites, and I love to find new ways to mix and match it. Cream with navy "spots," it's lightweight and can be layered in a variety of ways to make cute new looks.

Shirt: LOFT

Open-front cardigan: LOFT

Modern skinny denim leggings, worn cuffed: LOFT

Sandals: Ann Taylor

Belt: LOFT

Watch: Fossil

What do you think of polkda dots? Love 'em? Hate 'em? Get a headache when you see 'em? I want to hear!

The Eyeball

2010-10-12T00:27:00.003-04:00

I see you. Why are you still awake? Go to sleep.

Mixin' and Matchin'

2010-10-04T18:55:00.005-04:00

My outfit was really cute today.

...But I forgot to photograph it.

So here's my outfit from the other day, which was also really cute and which I did remember to photograph.

Dress: Target

Cardigan: LOFT (current)

Belt: Target

Boots: Target

Panther bracelet: Vintage, purchased at Agora

(http://www.myspace.com/iheartagora)

Watch: Fossil

I love mixing and matching the different elements found in this outfit. I'm also loving this new hair up phase I'm going through. I don't wash it these days since it's still teased from the day before... I just pin it up in a loose, messy bun and hairspray the heck out of it. So easy... it doesn't move all day and I don't have to worry over it. Fabulous!

Chartreuse Love

2010-09-30T18:27:00.003-04:00

I've got a thing about chartreuse. I completely love it. Some people turn their noses up in disgust at this unique color. I, however, run towards it with open arms.

Therefore, I knew this shirt was a must for me, from the moment I first laid eyes on it. The slightly pre-wrinkled silky material, the gathering, the exposed back zipper... It was calling out to me.

Yesterday, I thought I lost this shirt. I almost died. My heart sprang into my throat as fear grasped at me. You see, I almost never lose anything. That being said, when I do lose something, I lose it good... It's usually gone forever, or until I find it years later in a suitcase I must have neglected to thoroughly unpack.

Needless to say, as you can see that my top is featured in this post, I found it. This experience was a testament to the state of my closet. Not chaos, just completely packed-os. This fashionista's closets are maxed out, and sometimes things blend into one another! Fortunately I didn't freak out for long before my shirt and I were reunited.

Chartreuse silk top: LOFT

Modern skinny denim leggings: LOFT

Mid-heel sandals: LOFT

Pearl necklace: J.Crew Factory

What did YOU wear today?

The Power of Cuffing

2010-09-25T00:16:00.003-04:00

Lately, I find that everything I own looks better when worn cuffed. I wear my denim leggings messily cuffed to balance out the skinniness. I wear my sweater sleeves cuffed. I wear my pant legs cuffed. I turn up my blazer sleeves without a second thought. The list goes on and on. It just seems to me that it shows you put some thought into styling your outfit, and it gives my preppier cardigans just enough messiness to suit me. Here, I've cuffed my destroyed boyfriend chinos to show off the ankle straps on my wedges. Sorry for the poor picture quality!

Tiered ruffle shirt: LOFT (current)

Destroyed boyfriend chinos: LOFT

Cognac-colored wedges: LOFT (online exclusive)

Tassel necklace: Costume jewelry from my great-grandmother

Watch: Kenneth Cole, purchased at TJMaxx

So tell me: What do YOU think of cuffing?

What to Do when Your Mom Mails You the World's Largest Zucchini

2010-09-14T18:13:00.007-04:00

My mom loves to send me care packages. In fact, a lot of people do. From one aunt, I receive a loaf of freshly-baked bread from a delicious bakery at home about once a week. I have more bread in my freezer than any one person (especially any one size 14 person) should ever eat. My grandmother's packages are in a league of their own. She's been known to ship everything from biscuits and homegrown tomatoes to full-size bed pillows and pincushions. (Pincushions, you ask? Yes. Pincushions. Come to think of it, the pincushion was actually shaped like a tomato.) I thought this phenomenon might end when I graduated college when I lost my broke-as-a-joke student status, but I was wrong- I still arrive at home to find a random package on my doormat about once a week. (These are not to be confused, of course, with the packages that arrive weekly-ish due to my online shopping habit. But that's another story for another time.) Now, I don't mean to sound ungrateful- I do love these packages. They keep life interesting. You just have to be aware when opening the box that you never know what might be waiting inside.

A particularly hilarious care package arrived from my mother in a wide, flat box one afternoon this summer. Floating around inside was an assortment of things: some magazines, all of which had dog-eared pages of the articles she thought I might find enjoyable, some Nestle chocolate chips she had found on sale at the grocery store and got for me to bake with, which had then melted into one large chocolate chip hunk en route to Athens in the Georgia heat, and, this enormous zucchini:

She grew it herself. She made sure to include a note stating this, of course.

So, I decided to do the only logical thing when faced with the world's largest zucchini. I sliced it up and got out my casserole pan. After all, a southern lady doesn't like to see food go to waste!

The following is what the casserole looked like when assembled, before I put it in the oven. Apparently I got so excited upon taking it out of the oven that I forgot to photograph the final product. Oops.

Anyway, you get the idea. It was completely delicious. I didn't like it as much right away as I did when I was eating the leftovers throughout the week... It almost tastes like a breakfast quiche, with that sort of spongy consistency. I ate mine with cheddar cheese grits and biscuits from Mawmaw :-) What'll you eat yours with?

Zucchini Casserole

1 large zucchini*

1/2 cup oil

4 eggs

1/2 cup flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 cups cheese

(Cheddar and mozarella were my weapons of choice, but you choose!)

Salt and pepper to taste

*World's largest not required

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Slice fresh zucchini into rounds. (You may cube it if you prefer!) In a bowl, combine eggs, oil, flour and other dry ingredients with shredded cheese. Mix together well. Arrange zucchini slices in a 9" x 14" casserole dish. Pour batter over zucchini and ensure all slices are well coated. Bake for 15-20 minutes or until browned.

A Love that Encompasses (Almost) All

2010-08-25T23:34:00.003-04:00

Holly left a whisker in my bed.

Not a hair, mind you, a whisker. A spiky, black whisker.

Now, normally, between my own copious amount of hair shedding and that of my pets, I am not one to be grossed out by these sorts of things.

But a lone whisker left in my bed? This was hard for even me to deal with.

I just had to tell someone.

The Red Dress

2010-08-23T01:04:00.003-04:00

Four times a year, we receive a look book at work that contains sneak peeks of the upcoming collection. Four times a year, I die and have fashion orgasm after fashion orgasm as I boldly proclaim each new collection as the "best ever."

All the fall collection had to do to earn this honor from me was show me the following red dress.

100% silk in a vivacious red with cascading ruffles and delicate gathers, it was love at first sight for this dress and me. Diamonds, loud gold chain link bracelets and my Chanel earrings were all it took to make me feel like a movie star. A skinny black snakeskin belt pulled the look together. Flat sandals kept it casual and comfortable for work. My dress and I started the day out together with my hair looking fabulous:

Unfortunately, my hair did not want to support my role in the movie of my life, and it fell flat immediately upon me stepping outside my house. (Hate you, Georgia humidity.) So I had to pull it up:

I actually ended up not minding the look so much, and have worn it like this several times since then.

The key of course is to maintain just the right size bump in the back.

After all, the bump is all important. Kind of like my red dress.