Shrimp Pasta and Finger Surprise

Tuesday night I was intent on making a meal for myself.

For those who aren't aware, the Mister travels four to five days a week. So, naturally, most of my dinners consist of dried cereal and the occasional vodka.

But on Tuesday I had high ideals:

Creole-garlic shrimp, tossed with an olive oil-y angel hair pasta.

I was already congratulating myself on making a vaguely gourmet dinner for one when, in the midst of de-vaining a shrimp, I sliced the tip of my middle finger clean off.

I mean, this fingertip, it flew across the room.

Horrifying.

So, I called the Mister. Not a friend to take me to the emergency room before I bled out in the middle of the kitchen, but the Mister, who was some 3,000 miles away at a conference.

And, I said something to the effect of...

::Sob:: I've lost a finger! A fingerrrrrr! ::Sob:: You are never here when tragedy strikes! ::Sob:: I really liked that finger! ::Sob:: ::Sob:: ::Sob::

He said...

GO TO THE ER.

Oh, right. 

I called my best friend to take me, who, like any good (fellow) hypochondriac, is quite familiar with the ER.

We hunted down my finger bit and tucked it away in a Ziplock with ice.

(She recommended the ice. Apparently, I was going to let my own finger tip shrivel. I would make a terrible organ thief.)

The tip was not worth reattaching, as it turned out. So, my friend kept it next to her in the waiting room as I bled profusely while waiting for the Doctor to glue and gauze me up in the back. 

And then, the unspeakable happened...

A woman sat on my finger tip.

Sat on it! 

Not that I was going to preserve it for posterity or anything. But I would have liked the option. 

I am channeling George Costanza with my fetching new bandage, in that I appear to be flicking off everyone I come into contact with; both advantageous and not-so in the city, depending on what you're trying to accomplish.

Also, I am typing like an eighty year-old man. You are lucky I made it this far. 

Sneakpeeq Giveaway

I am just short of obsessed with the high-end discount sites cropping up around the web. (How did they know I needed eighteenth century Japanese dessert forks!?) 

Seriously. 

I had to briefly ban myself from them--the operative word being briefly--after dumping nearly all of my disposable income on fancy pillows and tea cups last November. Ahem.

(When Sneaqpeeq contacted me about a partnership, it was really a no-brainer.)

On to the part you care about: 

Sneakpeeq is hooking you up with 20% off of your next purchase just for entering my giveaway, plus a chance to receive a $25 gift card to use on Sneakpeeq's fabulous style and home products.

Enter the giveaway by:

Clicking here and joining Sneakpeeq.

Earn an extra entry by:

"Liking" AGC on Facebook. 

All winners will be announced on 3/2/12.

Shabby Apple Review

I received the sassy little grey number pictured from Shabby Apple, an online boutique of women's dresses, a few weeks ago.

I think it's fair to say that I am in love. 

The brilliant thing about this skirt, and really, so many of Shabby Apple's garments, is that it makes all of the Ben and Jerry's I indulge in nightly look like pinup-y curves. Ahem.


A couple of days ago, I paired the skirt with a conservative top and low pumps for the office. Later, I wore it with stilettos and a v-neck for an evening out. It's totally versatile. 


If you dig what you see, I suggest "liking" Shabby Apple on Facebook. I've been enjoying SA clothing for nearly a year now and absolutely recommend it.

My Dog Ate My Gym Membership

Via

Let's talk about fitness. 

::Removes cookie from mouth:: 

Okay. Now.

Do you gym? P90X? Stationary bike in front of Real Housewives?

Or, do you scoff at weight-obsessed Americans because the metabolic gods have spared you from that particular concern?

(If you are of the latter camp, kindly move along.... )

Personally, I gym. Or, I did gym. Fancy like. At places that call themselves Athletic Clubs and have shiny equipment and spa services.

But then, I got a dog. And, would you believe that she demands to be walked every night?

My gym time has become dog time. One to two days a week, I do double duty and hit the gym after I walk the dog. Of course, one to two days a week doesn't touch what I pay in membership to strut my stuff--or lack thereof--amongst my urbanite brethren.

So, with great reluctance, I have traded in my yuppie gym card for an in-home elliptical machine, free weights and assorted aerobic videos. (Now, to invest in proper window shades, lest my neighbors see me prancing like a fat Barbie.)

Who else works out at home? Especially former gym goers, I need your encouragement...

Weekend Link Roundup

A gorgeous photo by Kaylynn Marie, the photographer booked for our one year anniversary shoot in New Orleans.

My dog ate upwards of a dozen of my very favorite books. You know, the ones that I would never, as an adult in her mid-twenties, read, but which I did read (once) in college and keep around in order to prove my intellectual prowess to guests. 

Also, there is water leaking in our bathroom, from upstairs. I expect the ceiling to cave-in at any moment, leaving my horrid neighbor to use the hole as a garbage shoot. Or something.

It has been a week of small disasters.  And, as it turns out, a terrible time to start limiting my alcohol consumption...

Some links: 

Jackie and her fabulous table. 

Is it summer yet?

Mugs for coffee addicts. 

Baked halibut with sour cream, parmesan and dill.

Vintage circus pictures. 

A wall of dresses for a little girl's room. 

How to occupy a mischievous dog. 

I have no words for Eli Saab's spring 2012 line. 

I made this lemon poppy-seed pound cake last week and it was incredible. (I used two sticks of butter verses what the recipe calls for...which is less...)

Ten new ways to cook quinoa.

Thoughts on Responses to "Why Put a Bumper Sticker on a Ferrari?"

Looks like a Ferrari to me. Via.

If you haven't already seen them, I encourage you to read the following:

-Lisa Khoury's response to the negative feedback she has received with regards to her article, "Why Put a Bumper Sticker on a Ferrari?"

-Her managing editor's response, "Tattoo This, Haters."

It is incredible to me that Khoury has the gall to defend the opprobriously assumptive and sexist article she wrote. Perhaps she is too young to know that writing an "opinion" piece still requires research of the subject at hand. Above all, perhaps she is too young to know that writing an opinion piece requires tact; of which she exhibited none.

From a PR standpoint, I am shocked that the paper allowed her to temper her apology with several paragraphs defending her words and also, painting herself as a victim. Lisa Khoury is not a victim. Lisa Khoury is simply learning the tough lesson that willfully writing for an audience subjects one to both positive and negative feedback, on any scale.

Am I saying that the hateful feedback she received is morally right? No. Certainly not. What I am saying, however, is that this feedback is a direct result of reckless journalism.

The managing editor, Edward Benoit's response is nearly as ridiculous, in that it discounts the overwhelming sexism present in Khoury's original article to suggest that anyone responding to her words is wasting his time expressing anger over a non-issue like tattoos. 

Wake up, Benoit, Khoury reduces women's worthiness to their fit physique and makeup-or lack thereof. THAT is the main issue here. And, the last time I checked, the cultural perception and treatment of women is-and has been-a highly pertinent issue, for say, the last ninety years.

My sincere hope is that both journalists  receive some sound counsel from seasoned faculty. Because, no professor of mine would have stood for such negligence.

Wherein I Express My Confusion at Everything

It's a circus out there, folks. Via.

Wow.

Is it just me, or is the world on crack this week?

Let's see, there was that whole business of Susan G. Komen pulling its Planned Parenthood funding... 

Wait, what?

Oh yeah. That really happened.

I guess it's too much for folks to heed the numbers, which would tell them that only 3% of Planned Parenthood's work is abortion-related. Or, maybe they just choose to ignore that particular factoid. Because, if they  acknowledge it, they must simultaneously acknowledge that the other 97% of Planned Parenthood's business is basic healthcare-like breast exams-for thousands of women all over the country; basic healthcare which they would have to assume responsibility for taking away.

Broad blanket funding cuts are a reductive solution at best and a highly dangerous one at worst. 

Pro-lifers, if you want to decrease the abortion rate, try working towards comprehensive and realistic sex education. A friend of mine can tell you all about that in this stellar article he wrote for Salon: "I'm pro-life and I support Planned Parenthood."

What else happened this week...

Oh! This highly intelligent, well-researched journalist wrote an evocative piece about how women who get tattoos are classless and unproductive. 

Yeah...

Fortunately, Danielle adequately summed up my feelings about THAT.

On a lesser note, the planets in my own little universe have jumped axis, or whatever planets do. I can't provide details, but suffice to say, I was forced to punch my hand through a window in order to enter my home. It was my own personal Hulk moment. There was blood, there was glass, there was PANDEMONIUM.

But, I survived. And, I will go on to provide you with useful content around here once again. (The term "useful" is subjective in this case. Ahem.)

Quit Washing Your Hair

Even in this god-awful cell phone picture, my hair still looks good. I haven't washed it in five days...

When was the last time you washed your hair? Yesterday? Two days ago?

Three days ago?  ::GASP::

Well, let me tell you something. I have not washed my hair in five days. FIVE DAYS!

And, at this rate, shampoo and water may never grace my scalp again.

Because, I have discovered Klorane Dry Shampoo. 

It has changed my life. Or, at least, my mornings. To the tune of 45 additional minutes of shut-eye. 

I know, I know. It seems too good. But, I swear, it's the real deal. Just spray on, let set for two minutes and brush out. 

BOOM. Soft, shiny hair full of sexy volume. 

I used it after working out last night, drenched in sweat.

I recently ordered  The All Nighter, which is a competing product. It should arrive soon and I will post a comparison. 

In the meantime,  go buy yourself some Klorane and sleep in tomorrow.

Weekend Link Roundup

Dressing up on a Sunday; my attempt to combat winter blues.  
Sweater, Banana Republic. Skirt, J. Crew. Blouse, Target. Tights, Calvin Klein. 

I am going to get a sun lamp. I have decided.

Every year I forget that I think that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, only to greet mid-January by pestering the Mister about how irritable I am (for no reason!) and how I think that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Maybe I am being melodramatic.

Seriously though, when I lived in Portland, where the sun shows its face far less than in the (dreary) Midwest, I basically went catatonic for a year.

Fat and catatonic.

Something has got to be done. And, since I have resolved not to make unnecessary purchases this month, I can't just drown myself in expensive bubble bath...or something.

Has anyone out there ever bought a sun lamp? Thoughts? Recommendations?

Some links:

I die for this All Saints dress.

I'm digging the fringe bikinis for 2012.

Sweet Tea Cocktails.

A digital measuring cup. Brilliant.

I can't wait to get my All Nighter styling powder in the mail. (And quit washing my hair...)

Kim Noorda for Ellery Resort Campaign.

A DIY I might actually do: copper leaf candles.

A cupcake shortcut.

Exercises for hard-to-tone areas.

11 beauty pick-me-ups for under $11.

Slow-cook tomato-basil parmesan soup.

Meal Planning For The Hopelessly Disorganized

Via

Chicago is doing Chicago today, at a balmy nine degrees, snow shooting down in sheets. Days like this, the streets are just magical. What with the hundreds of cursing commuters, waddling to their trains in sleeping bags masquerading as coats.

Let me tell you something: Life slows down when the city hits single digits. We stop working out eating out, in favor of stuffing ourselves with industrial-sized boxes of macaroni and cheese and watching regrettable television. For days--maybe months--on end.

This year, I've vowed to be prepared. Because, if I don't start planning meals, I will be an elephant by the first thaw. It's happened before, people.

It should be noted that, as a working woman, I have been rather anti-meal planning. Who needs the additional stress? At my house, on any given day, you might be fed an expertly roasted, Spanish chicken with sauteed garlicky greens...or cold cereal. 

Because, like my approach to  most everything in life, my cooking style is stubborn All or Nothing.

Anyway, I've noticed a lot of chatter around the blogosphere about meal planning. Folks offer a myriad of tips and tricks for doing it successfully, some of which are probably useful. Yours truly, however, was not swayed to meal plan until she found How Does She Do It.

Here's how the site works:

• Select recipes for the week from a giant database or input your own. 
• Add selected recipes to your calendar.
• Print your shopping list--which is generated FOR you based on the recipes that you select. 

Genius, no?

Here's what really sold me on this site: The shopping list is organized by sections in the grocery store. Hours of my life have been saved. Because, as a nearly 25 year-old woman, I have yet to master the proximal difference between milk and shaving cream.