Monthly Archives: February 2012

Retail therapy

Retail therapy 2

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My husband Scott is smarter than he looks.

I mean that as a compliment, honey.

He starts his new job tomorrow morning, and was brilliant enough to “forget” to pack most of his dress clothes in the three suitcases we were able to bring with us on the plane.

Our belongings have yet to arrive in Minnesota (despite an estimated delivery of last week…I’m growing slightly concerned), which means all of Scott’s work clothes are carefully tucked away in this bad boy.

ABF Moving Truck

It's filled with expensive clothes and cheap furniture. Priorities, people.

Naturally, a trip to Nordstrom was in order, so that Scott didn’t have to show up to work naked. Or worse, wearing only underwear and a bow tie.

The man is genius. Next time we move, I’ll have to “forget” to pack my handbags, shoes and Michael Kors watch.

I actually tried to hide a few items under the bed and claim to have mistakenly placed them in the moving truck. Unfortunately, when Jolie emerged from my secret hiding spot donning a Tiffany’s necklace, my cover was blown.

Dog wearing Tiffany's necklace

I think it looks better on me. Scott begs to differ.

It takes a lot for me to be angry at the dog, but this just about did it.

Until I realized that she had become the real-life version of Bruiser Woods, at which point I was just proud.

Now we just need to train her to do the “bend and snap”.

A few hours later, we found ourselves at the only place in the world that actually makes me dislike shopping.

Mall of America

I hate Mall of America almost as much as Bank of America

Mall of America

It's just too much of a good thing. Kind of like eating nothing but cupcakes for a month.

Er…not that I’ve ever tried eating nothing but cupcakes for a month. No, that would be silly, disgusting, and something I would never actually admit to on the internet.

Although if I ever had conducted such an experiment, It would have been nice if  Cupcake Royale had offered a punch card rewards system for frequent customers. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Navigating the Mall of America on a Saturday is easily more difficult and stress inducing than dredging along I-5 during Seattle rush hour. And that’s not even taking into account the slow-motion rat maze also known as the MOA parking lot. Things got a little hairy when I grew impatient and reached over Scott’s lap to honk the horn for approximately 8 solid seconds.

I remembered that I now live in the Midwest, where people are nice and don’t honk their horns in parking lots about eight seconds too late.

At this point, the car full of high school kids at whom my parking lot rage was directed towards politely rolled down their window and explained to us that they had worked out a verbal agreement with the owners of the minivan whose parking spot we had been patiently waiting for before they cut us off.

Apologies for the run-on sentence. It’s a symptom of my crankiness.

And of course the teeny-boppers had worked out an agreement. I suppose that’s the way things work here in friendly-mc-nice-people-ville.

Scott was able to draw on his cordial Nebraska roots and happily call out “That’s OK! Sorry to bother you!” while smiling and waving. He quickly rolled up the window just before I screamed out “We were here first, MALL RATS!”

Luckily, as soon as we maneuvered around them, we landed a parking spot in the very first row. Before Team High School Musical had even secured the spot they had bartered for.  Suckers.

Finally, we arrived at the Mall of America Nordstrom, which just may rival the Flagship store in Seattle. At this point I was starting to feel better.

Two hours, and a bajillion dollars later, Scott emerged with a new work wardrobe.

A wardrobe which consists of one pair of shoes, one pair of slacks, some J. Brand jeans and a Hugo Boss dress shirt.

For a bajillion dollars.

At this point I started to feel worse.

There was one point in the dressing room where Scott tried on an outfit, while actually uttering the phrase “What makes this look work is the contrast.”

So basically, I’m married to the straight version of Clinton Kelly.

Scott Taylor and Clinton Kelly

Brothers from another mother

The only difference is that Clinton Kelly can actually afford to drop a bajillion dollars on four pieces of clothing.

I’m trying to think of this as an investment. And a reward for Scott, who finally agreed to shave off the “unemployment beard”.

Scott Taylor with a beard

"Scraggly chic". Clinton would not approve.

I never thought I’d say this…but perhaps it’s a good thing we’ll be living 143 miles from Nordstrom.

We’ll at least be able to save up money to afford some real therapy.

You know, to help us recover from the trauma that was this weekend’s, anything-but-soothing retail therapy.

Mall of America, this blog post is my official 8-second honk at you. Take that.

Now that that’s out of the way, we’ll see you next month at the Jessica Simpson trunk show event.

What? It’s not real therapy unless you spend a lot of money and don’t actually learn anything.

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Keep your friends close and your in-laws closer

Keep your friends close and your in-laws closer 0

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Several of you have been asking how the search for a home is going, so I suppose it’s time for an update.

Let me first say that Small Town is seriously lacking in the rental department. The cost of living (compared to Seattle at least) is quite low, and the vast majority of people own their own homes.

Homes that they are not willing to rent. Despite the fact that many of these houses have been on the market for well over a year.

Honestly, it would be much cheaper for Scott and I to bite the bullet and just buy something, but we don’t like the idea of committing to a mortgage quite yet. Particularly in a town that doesn’t have a Nordstrom.

Yes, close proximity to Nordy’s is a serious consideration for both of us. Don’t believe Scott when he blames it all on me. He has a secret addiction to their bow-ties and designer underwear.

Scott in his bow tie and underwear

Yes, I posted a photo of Scott in underwear and a bow tie. I said this blog was sexy, not classy.

I probably shouldn’t have just revealed that.

On Tuesday, after a quick stop at Caribou Coffee, we ventured out into the thriving metropolis of Small Town to search for our humble abode.

Perhaps humble is the wrong word. I had my eye on something flashy with hardwood floors, granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.

The city of Small Town had other things in mind.

After hours of apartment hunting, we’ve come up with two options.

The first is a slightly underwhelming, severely overpriced, granite-free condo.

Small Town apartment

I would describe it as "meh" meets "2001"

The kitchen is my least favorite.

I just don’t think I’m going to be able to microwave popcorn if I don’t have granite counters, stainless steel appliances, hardwood floors and a gas range.

I’m a serious chef in need of a serious kitchen.

I also think $1,200 a month for two bedrooms in a small town is beyond ridiculous. Especially when the floors are linoleum and there’s not even a hot tub.

On the plus side, we’d only have to sign a six-month lease and would be living right in town.

There’s also a pretty sweet deck where you can sit and watch deer.

Because everyone knows that deer watching is the new bird watching, which is the new shopping at Nordstrom.

So, when I’m sitting on this deck, sipping a glass of Franzia and sobbing quietly as Bambi eats grass in the distance, It will really be like I’m buying a pair of Tory Burch flats as soft piano music plays in the background.

Kind of.

Moving on to option two.

Miltona Minnesota townhome

This one is "wood" meets "more wood". Which is slightly better than "meh" meets "2001"

It’s not really our style, but I’m imagining a black and white Scandinavian decor scheme to make things a little more modern.

Did you notice the wood floors? They are heated wood floors. Booyah.

Plus, my popcorn will taste much better when microwaved in this deluxe kitchen. I’ll be able to enjoy it while gazing past the fireplace onto the golf course out the window.

Because golf watching is the new deer watching.

This place also comes with a pimped out garage, and we won’t have to hop in the elevator to take Jolie to the bathroom.

Speaking of which, she’s adjusting to the snow quite nicely.

Jolie peeing in the snow

Yes, I posted a photo of my dog peeing. I said this blog was sexy, not classy.

But back to the Golf villa–The downside is that it’s out of town.

Ten miles out of town.

This could mean working from an isolated home in the country, with nothing nearby but a golf course and gas station.

Not sure I’m ready for that.

Although the heated wood floors just might be worth it.

The good news is that I have three months to make a decision. As of yesterday afternoon, Scott learned we’ll be staying in St. Cloud through April so he can complete his dermatology training.

We’re probably not going to be able to find temporary housing in St. Cloud., which means at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, I’m shacking up with the in-laws.

I suppose I should mention that the in-laws have an awesome kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.

Thank goodness I’ll be able to adequately microwave my popcorn. Otherwise I might just go crazy.

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