Jeeeeesus. I can’t even manage a post on my damn birthday. The Candyman gave me kick-ass gifts though. I found this in the kitchen at 6am. He rocks.
I have this great post I want to write about my couch. Yes, my 13 year old couch that we gave to the lawn guy who charged me $500 instead of $800 for clearing the fuck out of our yard. Fair trade, I say. The Candyman was sad though. It was an excellently comfortable couch, perfect for afternoon naps. Alas, it had seen better days. I have pictures I took of the couch that I planned to share in my fantasy couch-post, but doing so would require me getting my camera, uploading the pictures and dealing with all that. Way too much effort for me these days. How sad is that?
There is actual wedding stuff going on, believe it or not. A few months back, I worked with a bride on a mantilla style veil and a belt. You can check out the photographer’s post about it here. Here’s a sneak peek:
And you know what happened to the gorgeous dress? Red wine spilled on the damn thing. The dress is now hanging in my studio – I’m going to try to fix it, but DAMN. It’s not just a few spots, it’s like a full on glass dumped on it. Ladies, for crissake, watch it with the red wine already! In case you do have a spill, remember this post (it’s super-long, look for the stain fighting tips down at the bottom).
Back to the birthday thing. I’m 43 now. I’ve definitely come to the realization that I’m aging. The dark circles I’d have under my eyes after a particularly liquid Thurfriday are now an everyday occurrence. There’s like less elasticity in my skin and I’m all “What the hell is this?” And I keep expecting things to go back to the way they were. I think to myself, “My boobs will be perkier tomorrow. They’re just tired today.” But the next day, after a full 8 hours sleep, they still seem a little tuckered out. Poor things.
Last weekend, after the aforementioned couch-lawn-guy finished with our yard, I had pulled some weeds and laid some pine bark mulch around some front yard bushes that I had been DYING to mulch. The front yard looked fabulous. The Candyman got some sweet tea and I got a glass of wine and we sat in our rocking chairs on the front porch and waved to passing neighbors, talking of nothing much. I said to The Candyman, “It doesn’t get much better than this.” And I was right.