Wish you were here, havin' one of these too.

Just to rub a little salt in the wound, or should I say on the rim of our margarita glasses... I sense you might be angry?!? Come on now, no hard feelings. If you take it all back we will bring you back a pack of, "Chiclets," and some of those friendship bracelets those bambinos make. Gotta go, time to flip-we wouldn't want to tan unevenly.

Wish you were havin' one of these.

Incase you forgot. MOM and I are laying on the beach, sipping an icy cold cerveza since we won't drink the water... Lord knows we don't want to spend the next tree days in the banyo with the trots. We still wish you were here, BUT since your not... We'll be sure to have another round JUST for you.

PS Don't forget your mittens, I wouldn't want you to frostbite your cute little fingers.

Wish you were here.

Hate me, hate me, hate me. MOM and I are just chillin' (or warmin' I should say) in Mexico. Yup, I packed my spf 70 sunscreen and I am acting as an imposter with my spray tan. I'm sure we will have lots to report when we jet set back to the Midwest. Until then... wish you were here.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, sure hope your sh!tter isn't full... a good plumber or Roto Rooter is hard to come by on Christmas morn. Just like my holiday card said, "I hope Santa brought you all the things you don't deserve." I mean come on, he knows about all those shenanigans you pulled in 08. Whatever, enjoy the day with your family and friends.

"Roll," out Christmas Eve

Happy Christmas Eve all you Santa wishin/hopin/wonderin bloggers! Ya know it just wouldn't be the hip-happy holidays without some calorie laden cinnamon rolls. Alas, a new tradition has been born. Hank's mom and I are all about spreading the cheer. This year we created homemade, from scratch, whatever that means, cinn-a-li-cious, maple frosted rolls to dole out to our respective neighbors. We gave em to the cute couple next door who bonfires with us, the three neighbors with snow blowers, the one with season tickets to the Wild and the ones whom we backed right into their car. fa la la la, la la la, la la lahhhh! "Wook-it," us, as Hank would say, with our Leave It To Beaver (our husband's wish) aprons on. Ain't we the sweetest little suburban wives you ever laid eyes upon?!? I have a feeling some of the neighbs have no idea that A. We know you see us waving, wave back ya loser. B. We know which one of you called the cops. C. We are the best damn thing that happened to these hoods. And D. These rolls are a labor of L.O.V.E. Here's how it unfolds, or should I say un-rolls... We have to start by taking a Friday off (we deserve it). We then scald this mixture of oil, flour and sugar. Wait 45 minutes and DRINK WINE. Add yeast to the now cooled mixture and a boat load of flour. Wait an hour or so and DRINK WINE. Add a titch of this and a titch of that (while making dinner reservations)and roll out the hand crafted dough. No one likes a dry roller, so avoid getting parched by DRINKING WINE. Spread enough butter to cause insta bum cellulite and sprinkle (more like pour) on the cinnamon and sugar. Roll em up, slice em up, bake em up and frost em up while acting like you still care after DRINKING TWO BOTTLES OF WINE. Wrap em up all cute and deliver your tin of peace, love and holiday bloat to all those not high enough on the list to get a real present. Merry, Merry! See you Christmas morning!

One year ago...

... I had the worst Christmas to date. It was December 23rd (dah, one year ago) and I was at the gym, grabbing one last pre-holiday workout, (like it really mattered) before I began all the cooking/cleaning for the 16 people I was hosting for Christmas Eve. It was snowing, the roads were slightly greasy, and as far as I knew that would be the biggest challenge of my day. I speed dial my cute hubby to check on the status of his end of the bargain (getting Miss Kato her daily dose of exercise). "We had an accident, but don't panic, it's all gonna be fine." It must have been pure hell to have to say those words, and besides he knows I'm the panic-er... one of us has to be. "Kato got a little slice, and we are at the emergency room. They are checking her out now." I smell his lie like his farts in the car. I 34b-line myself right to the best veterinary emergency room in the West metro (Eden Prairie-bless those folks) to meet them. He DID lie. It's not just a, "slice," she has been impaled by a unseen steel fence post sticking out of the snowy turf at a 42 degree angle. Forty-two must have been our unlucky number as this was the number of stitches it took to mend her torn hide. Gulp. I know. It makes the 8 stitches I had on my bum sound like a day at the park. Eight hours later the Doc surfaces and tells us she has completed the difficult task of putting Miss Kato back together again. We had already cancelled the holiday festivities and left 16 others without Christmas Eve plans too. I can't even write about taking care of her that night. It makes my tummy turn and flop. It must be what MOM's feel when they are taking care of a very ill child, who can not communicate or understand where this pain is coming from. They all broke it to me lightly. If Dr. Silverstein had told me right away it was about the worst he had seen, I would have lost it. If I had known it would be 2 weeks of sleeping on the air mattress in the living room, and another 4 with my hand tucked under her chest (in case she tried to move or lick) I would have lost it completely. Completely as opposed to being about 10 seconds away from loosing it everytime I saw gunk coming out of the drainage tube she had in her tummy. It was about as blue as I have ever been. So, anywho to make an already long story short... Now, I scratch her chocolate brown head, tickle her salt and pepper chin and trace my finger along the long and jagged scar and hope she doesn't remember one year ago. Then, I dream about the Louis Vuitton handbag I could have had instead of paying those vet bills. Ahhhhh, what the hell, she is totally worth it.

Tomorrow, a much more cheery post. You needed a little break from all this holiday cheer didn't ya? Anyway blue skies (and yummy rolls) tomorrow. Scouts honor.

Eau du BK

I'm so gonna puke. Have you heard about what shenanigan (or dare I say Whopper) Burger King is trying to pull off? Fire Meets Desire, "Behold the scent of seduction with a hint of flame broiled meat?!?" I am seriously going to barf. For a limited time only (thank God) BK is selling, "Flame," it's own personal fragrance. If you are completely recession proof and have nothing better to spend $3.99 on then we should have a chat. If you are in need of an extreme white elephant gift OR if you are looking for that special-something-kind-of-gift for someone you really despise, proceed to BK, this is the answer. So it's the week before the holiday, you need a good chuckle 'round the office... Follow the link above to the, "Fire Meets Desire," site for some relatively funny footage. I swear, if you bring it anywhere near me, you'll see my gag reflex in full action. Go on check it out. Don't be the, "one," who doesn't get the Saturday Night Live skits that are sure to follow.

R.E.M.

I'm a loud talker. I know it. I talk loud on the phone, I talk loud in person and when I am paired with another loud (and fast) talker I can really get the decibels crankin. I'm sure this paired with my preferred method of filing (piles. piles on my desk, piles on the floor, piles.) does not make me candidate for the, "Cubicle Mate of the Year Award." But come on now, this is a whole nother deal... Now I chill at my, "home office," in the lower level of my little shanty. You remember my associate, don't you? She doesn't talk much, and if she starts take me to the closest padded room, but she snores. And dreams. And kicks and flails. And makes weird slobbery, lip smacking noises while she naps... all day long. How's a girl supposed to get anything done when you have this kinda ruckus going on? And yes, she's on the furniture and so is all her pesky little brown hairs. It's a different topic for a different day. So anyway this goes on for 4, 5, 6 hours sometimes (broken apart by potty/treat breaks) and wouldn't ya know it? I try and get a video and this is all she gives me... Riveting, I know.

Who you callin' a (pit) bully?

Dogs are dogs, are dogs, ya know? I mean sure, some breeds are predisposed to being loud mouths like the Beagle. I'm not sayin', just sayin' some are more likely to bolt like the Greyhound. Sure, sure some are perhaps predisposed to be a bit more high strung like the Weimaraner or more chill like the Newfoundland. But the idea that one breed is mean to the milk-bone??? I don't buy it. I mean take my pals Moses and Menina. These two knuckleheads think, well actually they are, lap dogs. Menina is so sweet, she'll lick your ears so clean, she'll make a Q-tip nervous. Moses will do the, "Labrador-lean," right up against you, so you can't resist giving his muscl-y body a rub down. All in all these two turkeys are sweeter than some Bichon Frises I know. I think it's all about how they are A. Loved by their K-9 mamas. B. Loved by their breeder. And C. Loved by their owners (homosapien mamas and papas). So when peeps say a particular breed should be, "banned," it really stikes a nerve with me. Yes, it is true... The Staffordshire Bull Terrier, otherwise known as the pitbull, was originally bred in the 1800's for dog fighting and ratting. But, according to my Encyclopedia of Dogs, by Dr, Bruce Fogle, "The modern Staffordshire Bull Terrier is brave, intelligent, and tenacious. It is affectionate with people, trustworthy, and stable." Now tell me how many co-workers you have that are brave, intelligent, trustworthy and stable? Exactly. I rest my case...

PS Ames-thank you so much for having us over AND for THE BEST homemade pizza I have ever had!

Fashion Friday: So bad it's good.

Happy Fashion Friday you-holiday-jingle-bellers-you! Today, a few words about the best/worst holiday outfit evah: the ornamental sweater. It's all about embellishments. Buttons, fringe, sequins and bells, oh my! A personal fav is this frosty (shown left) who is apparently playing a little peek-a-boo from inside this cardigan. Cute and sassy all rolled into one... just like me?!? Be sure to match this little number with your holiday dickie and a pair of ornament dangle earrings. Now, even tastier is the ever popular circa 1984 sweater vest. Goes perfectly with a holiday turtle neck and a pair of Uncle Eddie polyester trousers. If you've held onto one of these festive classics since the 80's, congratulations you are officially a bonafied pack rat. If you yearn for the sweater of decades gone by, don't fret. Stop by the nearest Ragstock for a plethora, "piled out," options or swing by the local Goodwill for a look-see at what folks have finally decided to part with. Just don't miss your opportunity to sport this classic at the office party, block party or local-yocal-towney bar. It's sure to be a hit.

Go Elf Yourself!

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Halls: decked.

I'm soooo on it this year. I drug the prelite 9' tree outta storage, plugged her in and covered every square inch of it with bling. The stockings are hung from the chimney with care and 70% of my shopping is DONE, wrapped and stuffed under the fake fir branches. My holiday photo has been taken, cards are addressed, stamped and in the mailbox with the flag up. My card stand (which is actually a retro bar-chip-rack-holder-thing) is up waiting for all ya'll slackers to get er together and send me mine. If I hear the Herberger's commercial one more time, "Give jooyyy, Give jooyy, Give jooyy, Give jooyy. GIVE JOY! Come to the right place!" I swear I'm gonna put my size 10 right through the screen of the TV (so, everyone has a little holiday aggression, right?) My exterior lights are up and flip on and off manually until I can figure out how to use the damn timer... again. My window boxes are billowing with $106.00 of spruce tops, rose hips and other coniferous branches (hi-way robbery, if I do say so myself). And those little indoor/outdoor white light manufacturers? They are a bunch of damn liars. One light goes out and the rest stay lite? I call B.S. on that! Once I get my tail in gear and throw these out I can officially sit back sip a, "hot toddy," and wait for Santa to squeeze his big, red, butt down the chimney.

We're freakin' nuts...

The alarm clock rang at 6:45am. The grind-n-brew did it's thing at 6:50am. I could hear old man Winter's frosty breath rattle against the bedroom windows. The thermometer registered at 8 lonely degrees. On any other morning it would have been torture to consider crawling out from under the pile of flannel sheets and quilts. I slithered out from my cozy nest, brushed my bucks, slapped on a little lip gloss and began the layering process. Five, count em, five layers of dry fit on the top and three layers of running tights on the bottom. One pair of cotton socks covered with some wools ones and a fleece lined stocking cap to boot (this is one way to work up a sweat). Cue the snow. I know, if we weren't from hearty Midwestern stock we woulda turned right around and called it quits. But, it's tradition, and debatably child torture, all in the name of a great T-shirt. Our second annual Reindeer run was 5 kilometers (3.1 miles) of undoubtedly, "fresh," air and fabulous company. I mean listen, if St. Nick can make his way through the white and wintery snow, so can Hank's all terrain stroller! In theory it looks like a day started in the right direction with a healthy does of outdoor exercise... Until we capped of our adventure with a greasy Chammps burger and two rounds of bloodies (don't forget the side cars). Well, afterall we certainly thought we deserved it. AND, just because my hubby LOVES it when I, "roll," my own home videos...

Will Design For Food.

I've been outta touch, I know. But I'm back and in rare blogging form. So, I know you are asking yourself, "what in the sam hell is going on with that crazy chicka?" I, like thousand of other have found myself without my old 8-5 due to the,"R," word. Now, close your mouth, it's really not a good look for you. I kinda didn't tell you right away, and I hope you aren't mad. The heads up was a good thing. It gave me the time to have a minor melt down with a side of a nervous breakdown. But now, mentally I am ready to tackle this job-less-ness head on. (Head on, apply it directly to the pain, head on... remember that terrible commercial?!?) Anyway, I'll spare you all the gory details, cuz there aren't many, and just say on all accounts my departure could not have been more amicable. Ok, so now what, right? Now, I design for food (preferably money if ya have it), and try to make heads or tails about how to start a little ole interior design biz of my own. Maybe call it 34B & Associates? Only problem is this is my only associate and she's not real great at answering the tele. Then I thought 34B Design With Me, but it sort of leaves the door open for competition to rebut with 38DD Design With Me, and we all know I can't compete with that. So I'm gonna keep it simple. Call it like it is... Brooke Voss Design. Ok, now what? As soon as I figure it out I'll let you know.

But now seriously... Have you ever heard the phrase, "Friendship is like a bank account. You make as many deposits as you can cuz you never know when you will need to make a with drawl." I'm not sure what I did to hornswaggle all these great people into friending me, but without a doubt I have made some serious with drawls lately. For you who diffused my initial panicked call and who offered, "lean on me," (I almost needed to after our afternoon into evening bar stint) without you I am sure I would still be crying in my beer-thank you-you have no idea how much you have helped. For you who spend hours on the phone with me telling me how you did it and how I can do it to-thank you made me see the light and helped me move on. For you who called from Lakefield EVERY SINGLE day to just say, "how ya doin today?" your call always left me feeling loved and at ease-thank you. For you, who has been my, "side-car," and free lance designer since 1996 your friendship is like those of folklore-I am eternally grateful you moved into 810,Gage B. For you, who I initially didn't want to tell about the woes of the time for fear you would fret-thank you MOM for everything always-now stop worrying. For you, who lived through every wave of emotions, no doubt I married up. I can honestly say without you and your CONTINUOUS support I would be nothin. For you, my family, who is stuck with me for life thank you for being there, and I didn't really mean your mom should return you. For everyone, you know who you are, thank you for your emails, your phone calls and your pep talks. Now, Monday, back to your regularly broad casted 34B cup nonsense. Thank goodness. Happy Friday.

I'll be back...

Listen... Cut a gal some slack. I've got a million and one things on my mind which is why I have been totally slacking in the blog depo. But, I'm back on the wagon and will have an update of what the heck is going on with me later today. Blog with ya soon...

XOXO, 34b cup