Happy Tuesday

Happy Tuesday! It was so nice to get that extra hour.  Upside? Feeling rested.  Downside? 4 year old up at 6am.  I’m getting excited about the holidays and decorating the house.  I can’t believe there was Christmas stuff out before Halloween was even here.   Next year, we’ll see ornaments and Christmas lights in September.

The new issue of Lonny is out.  Nice feature on Alexis Traina and some beautiful food photography.  The November issue perfectly captures the coziness of fall.

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I don’t know if you remember the “Million Dollar Decorator’s” episode where Kathryn Ireland was redesigning Lindsay Lohan’s house but never showed the final reveal due to Lindsay’s car accident? Well, here they are courtesy of Domaine Home.

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Tonight I’m going on a “date night” with Straw which I’m looking forward to since we haven’t been to dinner in a while.  We’re also going to see “Bad Grandpa” with Jonny Knoxville (love him!).  We love to go to an early dinner and then wander around the local bookstore before the movie.  I have a stack of books I need to read and I’m currently reading “The Never List” which is hard to put down.

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Hope you have a nice Tuesday! C

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Pass the Margaritas

Cindy Crawford, her husband Rande Gerber and George Clooney have built side-by-side villas in Los Cabos, Mexico where they’ve created stunning retreats from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood.   I love the design, can’t get over that Cindy Crawford hasn’t aged, and I pretty much would live anywhere next to Clooney.

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(photos courtesy of Architectural Digest)

This & That

Because I love “H.O.V.A.” (a.k.a. Jay-Z),  “Made in America” is a must see.  It didn’t disappoint.

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These J.Crew pumps are stunning.

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And these Marais USA flats would look great with a pair of boyfriend jeans

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I’m wearing this Zara dress Friday night.  Just need some gardenias for my hair and some simple glittery jewelry.

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Digging this geometric rug from Anthropologie

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If you want a fun read about an American writer living in Paris, check out Haleigh Walsworth’s blog

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Couldn’t resist getting this t-shirt for Straw

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Love these clutches from Clare Vivier.   Might have to put the maroon one on my Christmas wish list (with monogram of course).

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Wild & weird.  This deadly lake has turned animals into statues  (photos by Nick Brandt. One of my favorites….)

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I love NY socialite Olivia Palermo’s street style

Man, I’ve been in a hole.  Having to take care of a soon-to-be 4 year old with a husband out of town and a knock you down flu almost had me in tears.  I almost threw up in Safeway (which would’ve been kind of funny and ironic since I hate Safeway) and I had sinus headaches all week.  I couldn’t even sit upright.  Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.  And it’s hard when you can’t bribe a 4 year old to sleep when you want to.   I still feel crappy, but not close to what I was feeling last Monday.  And why is October so crazy busy? Birthdays, photo shoots, engagement parties, black tie events, and there is no end in sight.

Enjoy your day…..

C

Going green

Happy Friday! Where did the week go? Hope you enjoy this beautiful fall weekend.  Still too hot for cute jackets and jeans but excited as this is my favorite time of year.

Here are some of my green faves:

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Chelsea flats by Tory Burch ($185)

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Asymmetrical bracelet by Tai ($95)

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Stripe shirt by PLAY Comme des Garcons ($150)

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Teal Ariel Wreath necklace by Bauble Bar ($34)

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Green quilted jacket by Burberry Heritage ($595)

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Pashli leather satchel by 3.1 Philip Lim ($895)

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Nail polish by Butter London ($15)

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Spectator silk crepe dress by Tibi ($385)

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You can’t beat $17 camo flats from Target.  To quote Rachel Zoe “I die.”

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Outbound jacket from Madewell ($148)

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Color block v neck top from Banana Republic ($79.50)

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Green clutch by Givenchy ($962).  Would look great with an all black outfit

Also, check out contributing Vogue Magazine editor Lauren Santo Domingo’s killer Pinterest page

Enjoy the weekend! C

What Lurks in the Trees

I was almost murdered Saturday night.

Well, not murdered. Maybe bound and gagged.

Or stabbed.

Well, not bound, gagged or stabbed.

But very, very scared.

I was completely asleep when a loud bang shot me straight up in bed.  Heart pounding, I listened and heard what sounded like 2 to 3 large adults (men, I’m sure in masks carrying machetes) stomping through the underbrush on the other side of our fence (our property backs up to a creek).  I listened and the noises were getting closer and louder.

I opened the slider and hung in the doorway for a minute or so.  “THEY’RE RIGHT THERE!” I said to myself.  I closed and locked the door, grabbed my cell phone, and with the rush of blood in my ears, called police dispatch.

At this point I’m rattling off my address, telling the woman on the phone that I heard “these people” signaling to each other that sounded like some kind of fake bird call.  They’re RIGHT THERE and I’m here by myself with my son.  Of course Straw was gone.

“Ok, we’ll send someone out.”

My adrenaline was pumping so badly at this point that I was practically hyperventilating. I stood in our bathroom which faces the street and saw the cruisers pull up (thank God.)  They had the lights blazing and were searching the area around the creek.  I wanted to run out “THERE ARE MURDERERS BACK THERE! WITH LARGE KNIVES!!!!”

They rang the doorbell.  When I opened the door, I told them in a rushed voice what was going on.  “There were definitely people back there, making some fake bird noise to signal to each other.”

“Can we go in your yard to check it out?”

I escort them in the back and we’re all standing in the dark, listening.  At this point, it’s 4:15 am. I heard the bird call, the men signaling that the police have arrived.

The cops hear it too.  “No, that’s definitely some kind of animal.”

Cop 1 to me:  “So you heard them talking to each other?”

Me: “Um…no.  Just the crunching of leaves.  I know it was a person!”

Cop 1 to me: “Have you noticed any property damage?”

Me: “Ummmmmmmm………..no.” (Silence.  2 cops staring at me, waiting)

Cop 1: “Well, we’ll take a look around and let you know if we find anything.”

This is where I’m standing there, twisting the sleeve of my sweatshirt, feeling like Kristin Wiig with an awkward expression on her face.

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So yeah………

I avoided disaster.  Getting murdered.  Had the cops come to my rescue.  And they left thinking I was  shrooming.   Did I dream the crash noise that woke me up? Probably.  The crunching of leaves? Large deer is my guess.  But they may have been wearing masks and wielding machetes.   Bucks can be very unpredictable.

Nothing like nearly shitting your pants in your own hallway at 4 am. And you’re alone.  And you’re sober.  And you have definitely seen your share of scary movies, like “The Strangers” starring a very naive Liv Tyler.

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Well, I’m happy to report that I’m alive and well.  And the police were super excited they rushed over here.

When Straw got home the next morning I told him we were almost held hostage.  He tried to stifle a laugh.  “Yeah, it’s mating season for deer right now.  That’s what you heard.  They can make a lot of noise in the ivy.”

Great.  Thanks “Adventure-man Straw” – the almighty powerful outdoorsman and expert on deer fornication.

“Well, I’m sure they were doing it with the intent to KILL!”

Out of Africa (and stuffed & mounted)

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Straw is leaving soon for a hunting trip to Africa.  “How about a full body mount hippo for the living room?”

For those that have actually been in my living room, you know that I don’t find that joke funny.  When you’re trying to watch trash TV surrounded by a bless buck, a Kudu, and a Tar, you often have the “how did this happen?” thought….as in, “how does my Pottery Barn/Restoration aesthetic get steamrolled by a guy who likes to hang up trophies?” “How in God’s name did my living room turn into a Alabama truck stop?” “How does someone who hunts animals marry someone who hunts at Nordstroms?” Instead of “Duck Dynasty” it’s starting to look like “WTF Dynasty” in here.

One time he called from Africa and actually said, “Hey….do you want a zebra rug for the living room? I can shoot one for you.”

Um no.

Animals, especially the ones roaming the vast open spaces of Africa are so majestic.  How could anyone shoot a lion or elephant? They’re not going to be around forever and I certainly don’t want one hanging on my wall (what little wall space I have left).  The plan was to build a cabin to move the heads.  After the cabin was built, I got “well, the heads are too big for the cabin.” Silence.

I need a drink.  Or a cupcake.

And my man needs a man cave.  Preferably far away from my living room.

So, pray that no “crates are on their way” after this trip.  No heads are heading into my house to haunt me.  Pray that my son would rather be enjoying a boat drink in his boat shoes when he gets older more than a Bud Light on a back road.

Pray that I can somehow get us OFF the Cabela’s mailing list.

And pray that I don’t get any phone calls from this trip with offers of decor made from animal hides.

(photo courtesy of Nick Brandt)

Bangin’ Up the Boomin’ Buick

So, a few weeks ago my blog came up with a couple of my friends and they said they liked the personal stories better than the curated lists.  I go back and forth about whether to make this blog totally personal or keep it a fun, fashion-y type of thing.  I figured I’d do a story about me  on Fridays.  That way I don’t run out of material and overdo it.

When I was a kid, we used to go to Tahoe every summer. It would be me, mom, dad, brother, and sometimes my uncle, aunt and cousins, friends.  We we usually stay in the same place for two weeks in August.  It’s where I became infatuated with “Mike” (I’ve changed his name) who was the same age and would rent a house near us with his family.

I adored him from afar.  He was cute and reminded me of a young Tom Cruise (but before the couch jumping and Scientology) and every summer he would always tell me about his current girlfriend.

One summer, when we were seventeen, he was single.  This was it.  This was the vacation I was on a mission to make out with him.  And I did.  And we kissed everywhere.  In the sauna at the pool while his parents and my mom sat in the sun (nothing like having your summer boyfriend fall backwards with a bathing suit boner when your mom opens the sauna door to tell you she’s going back to the house.) Oh my God I remember we were sitting on the curb one night talking when I heard his mom yell out the door, “why don’t you get into the car?” Great.  Nothing like pushing your teenager to dry hump in the back of your Pathfinder.

He was a “tongue fucker.”  (Apologies in advance if you just spit out your drink.)

It was awful.  He would be kissing me, and I would pretend to be in some John Hughes movie and throw my head back, and then all of a sudden, his tongue would be rapidly going in and out of my mouth at warp speed.  No pun intended, but I was speechless.

But that’s not my story.

It was tradition that after dinner we’d go get ice cream in town.  Tonight I was driving and couldn’t be more excited.  And I was driving my dad’s Buick Park Avenue, or “Boomin’ Bu” as we coined it (because of the awesome bass on the stereo).  It was me, Mike, my brother, my cousins and one of my girlfriends.  I was super excited Mike was riding shotgun.  We headed out, down the windy hill to the main road.  Thinking I was cool and unfortunately not paying attention, I tailgated the car in front of me.  Next thing I knew, the gate – one of those long striped painted numbers that move up and down – came down on the car.   I drove through the gate and under it at the same time.

When you go into shock, everything moves in slow motion.  As I realized what was happening, I turned around to see everyone wide eyed – like they were on a roller coaster – and simultaneously mouthing the words “HOOOOOOOLY SHHHHHIIIITTTTTTT!!!!” I slammed on the brakes.  This was not good.

I got out and burst into tears.  There were two streaks of white paint over the entire hood and top of the navy blue car.  And you have to understand something.  My father was the toughest there was when it came to his cars.  “Never park it where it can get scratched!” “Don’t stay out to late or something will happen to the car!”  “You don’t know how to drive!”  The fact that I even got to take the car out that night was a miracle.

And now I was in deep shit.

Everyone got out and stood around, surveying the damage, completely exasperated.  Then they burst out laughing.  We went on to ice cream, only to face sudden doom later.

When we arrived back, I snuck in (thank God my dad was asleep) and said to my mom, “I need nail polish remover and rubbing alcohol.”  You should’ve seen her face when we told her what it was for.

Can you picture this? Five teenagers trying to mask evidence by wiping nail polish remover on a Buick Park Avenue paint job? I wish I had this on film.

We said nothing.  No one said a word.  Luckily we got the paint off (well, sort of) and surprisingly, by some divine intervention, my dad never found out.

The best part was the next day my aunt and uncle drove up and my uncle said, “some asshole took out the gate!”

Yeah.  That “asshole” was your niece.

It was a good lesson.  Never let your teenager pack too many kids in the car.  Remind your young driver not to tailgate.  Warn you daughter that it’s not cute to flirt when she’s behind the wheel.

And always keep nail polish remover with you.

PS – Oh, and I laughed when I realized Mike went to college with my husband and whenI saw him at the reunion, I looked at him and thought, “tongue fucker. His poor wife!”

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