What’s in my bag? ⁴

One of the best parts of my Us Weekly subscription is having the opportunity to take a peek inside rich people’s designer handbags once every seven days.

LC would fill her Rebecca Minkoff bag with cute little ziplocks full of almonds, wouldn’t she?

Alright…that’s a lie. I usually skip over this page and head straight for the section filled with photos of Suri Cruise shopping at Saks in a $5,000 sailor dress.

Priorities, people, Priorities.

Still, I’ve always secretly wanted to have the opportunity to do a cute little write-up about the contents of my handbag. And if you can’t pretend to be a celebrity on your very own blog, then I don’t know where you can! So buckle up, ‘Sota readers. I’m sharing the completely unedited (not to mention slightly underwhelming) collection of ‘ish I tote around on a day-to-day basis.

Laid out on a calfskin rug, obviously. I be fancy like that.

1. My trusty coach wallet

This was the first “nice” wallet I ever purchased. I was a poor graduate student, and didn’t really have the money for it at the time, but was in Vegas and felt compelled to buy something totally indulgent. Little did I know it would be one of my most practical investments to date! Five years later, I’m still rocking the wallet and have no plans to replace it. (A true anomaly for this shopaholic!) While the style I chose is no longer carried in stores, this version is quite similar.

2. Sixteen tubes of lipstick

I think this means I have a problem…right?

3. Doggie poop bags

Because you never know when Jolie’s gonna drop it like it’s hot in the middle of someone’s carefully manicured lawn. (Or when I’ll spontaneously need to toss my cookies in the back of someone’s car.)

4. Versace sunglasses

One night, I was seated in the front row of a New York City comedy club when John Mayer decided to show up for an impromptu set. While I love John’s music, his ten minutes on-stage may have been the worst attempt at stand-up I’ve seen in my entire life. (Picture really snobby gripes about being ‘above’ dating someone who worked at The Olive Garden.) To be fair, he did have one redeeming joke:

“When I get into heaven, I better get all my sunglasses back.”

I could totally relate as I had a serious problem with misplacing my sunglasses.

Needless to say, biting the bullet in investing in a pair of designer shades seemed a little bit risky. Yet Scott had a theory that if they were a really nice pair–complete with a fancy case, of course–I might be able to hang onto them for more than a couple of months.

As is typically the case, Scott was right. (Normally I hate when that happens…but if him being right means I get designer sunglasses, I’ll find a way to manage.)

5. Ray-Ban sunglasses

In an attempt to transform into a hipster, I decided these Oversized Ray-Ban Wayfarers were a complete essential. (You can read the story behind them, here.) What started out as an impulse buy quickly became on of my best purchases of the year. I wear these everywhere, and love them so much, I’m finally ready to part with my Versace sunglasses. Anyone interested? I’ll sell them to you for a great price! And I’ll give you an extra discount as they did fall in a gas station toilet that one time…

6. Kleenex

No…I’m not slowly turning into a grandma who stockpiles tissue and Werther’s originals for a rainy day. These are leftover from my horrific sinus infection and I’ve been too lazy to toss them out.

7. Starbucks VIA

Reserved for caffiene emergencies. (Which happen more often than I’d like to admit.)

8. Express Coupons

Reserved for shopping emergencies. (Which happen even more frequently than caffeine emergencies.)

9. Orbitz Gum

This is less about my quest for fresh breath and more about having something to shove in my mouth at a restaurant before I end up eating my weight in cheesecake. For some reason, I’ve always been loyal to the Orbitz brand. Need proof?

“Dirty mouth? Clean it up!” (Halloween 2007)

10. Scott’s empty contact lens package

I’m truly shocked there wasn’t more of Scott’s crap lurking in my handbag when I emptied it out last night. I swear, the man has never heard of pockets, and begs me to tow around all of his stray belongings. The worst is when we go shopping, and he declines any sort of plastic bag in an effort to save the environment, which leaves me shoving three t-shirts from H&M into my handbag. Not only does it make the purse bulky and cumbersome…I suddenly appear to be a shoplifter.

With a Louis Vuitton bag.

It’s like I’m Minnesota’s version of Winona Ryder!

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Pimp my plaster (teeth) ¹³

Can you believe it’s once again time for the Young House Love Spring Pinterest Challenge? Time sure flies when you’re ~~having fun~~ playing Prom BINGO.

It’s no secret I failed the last few challenges miserably. After much reflection, I’ve determined this is a result of me, trying to live up to lofty Pinterest standards that are simply above my own personal level of DIY-prowess. The solution?

I could come up with my own original pin! Truly, it would be a win-win situation…there would be no previous benchmarks for me to live up to, and when my brilliant idea when viral, I’d be lauded as the creative crafting genius behind the entire scheme. (Insert evil craft laughs here.)

And so…without further ado…

Step One

Remember all those craft supplies and the custom set of plaster teeth you threw out when you decided to go minimal last week? Dig those puppies out of the trash…it’s time to repurpose them! (Thanks for the brilliant idea, Tove!)

Don’t worry. I rinsed ‘em off.

Step Two

Paint the teeth your favorite color while trying your best to sing along to your Lil’ John song of choice. (You KNOW I love me some Lil’ John.)

Naturally, I went with “Crunk Juice”

Step Three

Attach rhinestones in various shapes and colors while your husband rolls his eyes and tries to figure out what possible childhood trauma could have led you to create a pink, bedazzled grill at the ripe ol’ age of twenty-eight.

I think it was the fact that I never got an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas, Scott.

Step Four

Allow your masterpiece to dry overnight, while you peacefully dream of all the street cred you’re about to accumulate. (There may or may not also be a nightmare involving that elusive Easy Bake Oven…but mostly it will be dreams about street cred.)

Step Five

Try on your grill. Enter a state of denial as you desperately try to ignore the fact that it wasn’t quite what you were going for.

It's less "gangsta" and more "ill-concieved Frankenstein"

When “gangsta” becomes “ill-conceived Frankenstein”

Step Six

Freak out upon realizing you probably just poisoned yourself with a set of plaster teeth covered in toxic paint and rhinestone glue. (Such are the risks of thug life.)

Step Seven

Violently rinse out your mouth in the sink while debating possible uses for your less than desirable grill. Find a small amount of comfort in the fact that it could be repurposed as an abstract Mother’s day gift, or donated to one of those poor little girls on Toddlers and Tiara’s who can’t afford a real flipper.

If both of those options fall through? At least Sheila can wear it.

Pinterest challenge, you win again.

*****

Speaking of street cred, here’s a rundown of my long-standing track record of failed Pinterest Challenges

The Litterbox Chronicles - The painfully pathetic saga of unsuccessfully litter box training my chihuahua

When Pinterest Gets Creepy - Possibly the most disturbing family portrait to ever be pinned

Epic Pinterest Fail - When life hands you a failed Pinterest project, say “eff it!” and go buy yourself a pair of shoes

I Accidentally Became a Cartoon – And not just any cartoon…an UGLY cartoon

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Life of the party ¹

When Scott’s Saturday turkey hunt in Nebraska was postponed due to weather, we quickly adjusted our weekend plans. The cold, rainy day was a perfect opportunity to visit his sister and her family, who live just one hour south of where we were staying. The catch? Scott had forgotten to actually tell his sister we were coming to Nebraska–you can imagine her husband’s surprise when I called the house that morning.

“Hey!” I chirped energetically. “We’re in town! What are you guys up to today?”

And then it was my turn to be surprised.

Apparently, it was our niece’s fourth birthday party. (Cue the forgetful Aunt and Uncle of the year award!)

We rushed to Target and bought the frilliest, sparkliest gift we could find before rolling into the four-year-old fiesta just in the nick of time. The look on our nieces’ and nephew’s faces when we made our surprise debut was priceless. I was so glad we had been able to attend the gymnasium-themed party, and was really looking forward to spending the afternoon catching up with everyone.

I turned to express my excitement to Scott, but he was long gone. Apparently, a gym full of toys = his kind of party.

But the fun didn’t stop with Scott’s scooter antics. Moments later, I found him hula hooping with his new BFF.

The two were later spotted coloring in the cake room.

A bromance with a slightly inappropriate age gap.

Much to my surprise, Scott is quite the coloring book prodigy. Although I suppose his art could be considered a little bit “dark”.

This could be worth a pretty penny someday.

Just go back to sleep, Aurora.

In a twist of irony, Scott had his own mentally unstable Disney princess moment at dinner later that night. Lipstick and all. In an attempt to fill the awkward silence with some laughter, he grabbed my new tube of MAC Ruby Woo and hastily started applying.

No offense honey, but that's not really your best color.

No offense honey, but I think you’d look better in “Candy Yum Yum”

The good news? His impromptu makeover broke the ice and put everyone in high spirits.

The bad news?

I’m married to the 30-year-old equivalent of a toddler with gender issues.

(But at least dinner’s always interesting.)

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Bedside Manner

Mmmmm. Pheasant. ⁰

I’ve been planning a post all weekend that involves Scott coloring pictures of Sleeping Beauty, getting confused for Captain America, and wearing red lipstick. And yes, these events all occurred in the same extremely confusing yet ridiculously fun day.

Unfortunately, I was way too exhausted/busy/behind schedule to crank it out in time for today, as we just returned home from a weekend of fun in Nebraska.

The good news?

I’ve since stumbled upon a restaurant you simply have to experience. (If you’re willing and/or able to travel to Nebraska, that is.)

Roosters at Pheasant Bonanza is a 1950s hunting style bar and restaurant located at Pheasant Bonanza Hunt Club in Tekamah, NE. Our dear friend is the General Manger of the resort, and had invited is for a weekend of turkey hunting (I stayed back for that part) and fine dining at the new restaurant. Let me just say that I had ridiculously high expectations, which were completely blown out of the water. This place is, for lack of a better gangsta phrase, off the chain.

Enjoying dinner at Roosters at Pheasant Bonanza in Tekamah, NE

This photo of my friends and I will have to suffice. I would have taken a picture of the food, but I was too busy scarfing it down while making inappropriate “yum” noises. There was simply no time for photos.

Roosters is open Thursday and Saturday evenings, and features a prix fixe menu that changes weekly. For twenty-five dollars a person, you’ll enjoy an appetizer (smoked pheasant, cheese that is more addicting than crack cocaine, and some homemade focaccia that I’m sure Scott will attempt to recreate this week.) Our entrée included the best scallops I’ve ever eaten, jumbo prawns, smoked pork belly and a creamy polenta that pretty much changed Scott’s life. He cried out “polenta!” in his sleep last night, which I’ll take as a sign he was dreaming about it. Dessert was a deliciously dense pineapple upside down cake with a Tuaca-soaked cherry and some bomb-diggity cream cheese frosting.

(Food critics totally use the phrase “bomb-diggity” right?)

Other than purchasing Sheila, that meal just may have been the best $25 I’ve ever spent. The chef makes everything from scratch, uses only the best ingredients, and will prepare you something that is on par with meals you’d pay three times as much for in New York or Seattle.

Have I convinced you to travel to Nebraska, yet?

Oh…and don’t forget to tell them I sent you. They’ll make sure to give you a massive discount.

Alright…fine. I made the discount thing up. While I don’t think I can score you half-off your meal, the manager was Scott’s college roommate, so you’ll at least get some embarrassing stories from undergrad.

And honestly? Those stories are way better than a discount in the first place. (Especially when enjoyed over a platter of smoked pheasant and cheese that’s more addicting than crack cocaine. Take my word for it.)