double ew

today feels like the last day of school before summer vacation. okay, not quite that fabulous, but close enough.

last night, i met the bf and his family for coffee in st.paul. i was exhausted. i love hanging out with his fam, but the evening was emotionally challenging because i was so tired. additionally, i was introduced to a new species of bug. similar to a dragonfly, except the colors were more amber and mauve. i was terrified. i think dragonflies are pretty. during the day. and not up close. at night many things that may appear harmless seem menacing to me (i.e. leaveless trees). but this one, this - what did they call it - mayfly was everywhere. dizzyingly large and content to rest on anyone. so unsettling. bf picked one off his shirt and held it up. i almost passed out while i seriously considered never letting him touch me with that hand again.

most bugs terrify me, mostly because they flutter. makes me nervous. birds are okay, until the rapid-flap. where are they going?! my worst is the grasshopper, because they look like an accident put back together inside-out. and they flutter at you. evil little things.

you know how some entomologists predict that insects will take over the world someday? the thought makes me want to scream. and squish every bug in sight. we cannot let them win.

here's to a bug-free holiday weekend!

p.s. i love fireworks

the bf

20 things i have learned from my boyfriend:

1. how to change a tire
2. the importance of lawn maintenance
3. being laid back does not mean being a pushover
4. the body tangle
5. to let someone love me
6. relationships take work
7. to want to give the world to your family
8. age does not always beget maturity
9. the difference between confidence and arrogance
10. nobody can make me feel anything
11. what a french cuff is
12. to embrace my laugh
13. stubbornness can be counterproductive
14. reasons not to run
15. someone is always thinking of me
16. luxury is more than a nice hotel room
17. to unwind in work clothes and black socks
18. how to clean the gutters in a skirt and heels
19. to love just being near someone
20. to not let go when you have found it

for all this, for every day, thank you.

mexicorn fiesta

poker night with the girls was a good time.

the theme was 'mexican fiesta' - i was, surprisingly, responsible for bringing a side. i called p. to see what she was making, told her i was going to bring salsa. funny. we got to m.'s, took the wraps off our bowls, and looked down at a similar mix of corn, tomatoes, and black beans. mine was a salsa. hers was a salad. both complete with tortilla chips.

i learned last night that if you 'make' a tortilla (aka heating it in a pan), and it bubbles, that means your mother-in-law likes you. it might be that it was meant to indicate that one makes great tortillas from scratch, therefore meaning one is a good cook, therefore inspiring love from the mother of one's beloved, but that didn't stop us from trying it out on store-bought tortillas.

s.'s bubbled and we all cheered, especially since she has been seeing j. for about 7 weeks. i wanted to try it, and everyone was nervous. m. bit her nails in anticipation of a non-bubbling tortilla. ah, ye of little...i put mine in, sprinkled it with chocolate, and slowly, the-little-bubble-that-could appeared. when it was over i wondered what all the fuss had been about. like i would break-up with the bf over a bubble. offended that perhaps my friends thought i might actually entertain the thought. so i thought about it. but no, not over a bubble.

then we went outside and smacked the hell out of a butterfly pinata until s. finally decapitated it and we devoured its' yummy chocolate guts. yes.

wink wink

whenever i have an annual appointment (and girls, you know what i'm talking about), i have to look my best.

have to as in, i have to shower and put on makeup and dress as if i am going to an interview versus a doctor's appointment.

why? i don't want to look like one of those girls. you know, the girls that do it on a regular basis. i am pure, see? just look at my nice black pants and top! do slutty girls wash their hair? i don't think so! do hookers cross their legs? certainly not!

so i dress as if i am going to a very important person's meeting instead of a slut check-up. i wear black, pinstriped pants. and a demure top. and some sort of cover-up. and i brush my hair. and lovely, day make-up with sheer gloss (no! not gloss, that calls attention to your lips!). and light perfume. i smile innocently with wide eyes and say, 'a uti? oh my! how does that happen?'

because if i don't take all the precautions, they'll know.

hey, shout out to all my hooker friends! HOLLAH!

good news day

the good news comes when you least expect it.

the bad news is that i need my friends to understand the concept of etiquette.

one of my biggest peeves (i hate that word) is when people do not rsvp, and i am forced to hunt down a response. come on, i send you a nice invitation with all the details, and you can't muster up a phone call? i'm inviting you to a lovely evening with good friends and good food and you can't bring yourself to respond?

to me, manners are essential. please. if you don't know which fork to use, fine. but if you chew with your mouth open or answer your phone during dinner? no.

and what's up with maybe? what kind of an answer is that? a firm yes or no would suffice - i promise i won't be mad! i will be mad, however, if that maybe is never followed-up with a real answer. or "i don't think i'll make it" - what the hell does that mean? you don't think? you don't know? if you don't think, will you eventually not know? if you don't think now, will you know later? what am i supposed to make of maybe?

it gives me a headache. i wonder if it's a minneapolisnice thing. politely declining an invitation should not be the monstrous effort that it is. it is an art. be gracious. be sincere. be yourself. or f* it all, and just say no.

love, sophie*

*oftentimes, my rants contain a smattering of swear words, wild gesturing, and punctuated with my signature: love, sophie (i believe it softens the blow. see how you still love me when i say that?).

you don't own me

my bf is used to doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants. (not with me, that would be stupid)

he works for an airline, and with a free ticket to anywhere in the world, he takes full advantage. i don't blame him. if i were in his place, i'd probably be blowing this root beer popsicle stand for oh: cornish, new hampshire, to have my picture taken in front of j.d. salinger's mailbox, or albuquerque, new mexico, for the hot air balloon festival. but he can actually do all those things whenever he wants.

and therein lies the botheration.

i love that he is a traveler. but my darling bf is not a planner. i am a hyper-planner. i believe that i can have 4 dates in one night and make them all. nay, not simply make, but shine.

a typical conversation between us:
me: i'm thinking about throwing a dinner party on saturday, june 24!
bf: oh? i might be out of town that weekend.

and when the date nears, he will still not have a firm decision made. a variety of factors will influence his decision, including: flight availability, what he had for breakfast, friends, what color he is wearing, me, social engagements, weather patterns.

[when we first started dating, i asked him if he and d. would like to join me and n. for a performance at an art gallery on friday. on that friday, he called me from the airport to let me know that he would not actually be in town. oh? oh?! his rudeness was greeted with coldness. needless to say, i didn't speak with him the rest of that weekend.]

flash forward nine months. my dinner party was supposed to take place tomorrow. since then, my bf has decided to: a) go to south dakota because his sister might go, b) not go because the weather is nice here, c) go because he wants to see his dad, d) not go because his sister is not going, to finally e) go because he feels like it. it's a loves-me-loves-me-not game come full circle.

funny, our relationship is a full circle, loves-me-loves-me-more game.

dress stress

i have been doing a lot of research lately on what to wear to an evening wedding with the dress code: 'black tie optional.'

and hell if i'm not still confused as ever. what is a girl supposed to wear to an evening ceremony that begins at 6 o'clock? in napa valley? and what if that girl were to wear the same dress (gasp!) to a wedding in boston that begins at 4 o'clock? does napa valley chic clash with new england prim? thinking about wearing a black satin dress that i have (moan for the color black, moan for 'i already wore this dress to plenty of weddings'), but i'd like to wear something new.

i love new dresses. note: i love new dresses.

i always have the perfect dress in mind. and i can never find it, because the dress that lives in my dreams rarely exists in real life.

sigh. i wish reality lived up to my dreams.

summer solstice

it's here. the longest day of the year.

i feel like i should take advantage of all the daylight. how to celebrate? i'm not sure.

summer to me:

* dining al fresco (wonderful in theory, if the world was free of wind, humidity, and bugs)
* drinking al fresco (blissful enough to have its own line) my faves: arnie palmers, pinot noir
* water with heart-shaped ice cubes (best. purchase. ever!)
* getting out of work early on fridays (3pm happy hours, anyone?)
* long hair and tank tops (both of which i hate on boys)
* walks around the lakes (good friends and good talks)
* long, lazy sundays (let's lay like broccoli)
* summer storms -- i especially like the ragers that light up the night

i am looking forward to this summer. my planner is full and so is my hope.

why i love him

because we kept trying to 'pants' each other last night.

that's right. at the ripe ages of 29 and 28, respectively, the bf and i lunged at each other. the objective? to get a pair of black knit boxsies on the floor.

the standoff was in the kitchen (where else?). with widened stances and mimicking 'standing like a girl' we batted at each other like sumo wrestlers. we attacked each other with determination amid peals of laughter and gasps of breath. he got me once, i got him once, i lost track after my victory lap around the coffee table.

the kicker came when i was brushing my teeth. standing in front of the mirror, minding my own business, the bf stood behind me. one swift yank and my shorts hit the floor. giggling like a maniac, pumping fists in the air, another pyrrhic victory for the bf. hmmph. i suppose, if that even counts as a victory. if you're into that sort of thing.

and then i showed him what all good girls know. how to pull up your shorts without using your hands.

i cannot imagine a sillier way to spend an evening. and i love it.

master of the kitchen

dinner went fairly smoothly.

i had to stop at the grocery store after work to pick up the ingredients. i forgot to actually look at what i needed ahead of time so i didn't know about the 'dry, white wine.' oops. add an extra stop to the liquor store, and the bf made it to his house before i did. minor snag #1: i'm a girl who loves the presentation; if i had made it to his house first, i would have put flowers in a vase, lit some candles, turned on some sinatra and then started.

i made it to his house and started cooking. minor snag #2: cooking in someone else's kitchen can be daunting because it's not yours. i'm all, 'do you have a large skillet?', 'do you have a cover for this?' and trying to maintain an air of 'get out of the kitchen, baby, i know what i'm doing!'

so i had no idea that four 6oz. fillets of halibut would cost $28 (isn't dining at home supposed to be more cost-efficient?) and discovered that they were not minor snag #3: skinless. helpless, i looked up at the ceiling and wondered why i didn't tell the butcher that i needed skinless fillets. the bf said, 'do you need me to fillet the skin off?' i said, 'is it easy? does it take a long time?' and bf said, 'it isn't the easiest thing in the world, but it'll take me 2 minutes to do it.' i took that to mean that he didn't want to do it (fine! don't do it) and just threw the fish in the skillet anyway (HUFF). i know, i know, my sensitivity screws me every single time.

the problem with the real simple cookbook is that the instructions are in one big paragraph. meaning, for a complete novice like me, reading it becomes one big task versus steps (i like to check things off: number one DONE, number two DONE, number three ON IT) so i was confused as to whether i should do things simultaneously or not (cook the potatoes and then green beans and THEN start the halibut? cook the potatoes and start the halibut and THEN add the green beans?). the fish was done 15 minutes before the potatoes and green beans, natch.

ultimately, the alleged '30-minute meal' took me about 45. not bad, considering.

bf raved about the meal. i believed him.

cooking is for chumps

tonight i am attempting to make dinner for my bf. for the past 9 months he has been making me wonderful pastas and salads, and i have been bringing him flowers and wine. time to switch it up!

i have the real simple cookbook, and i pray that it really is simple.

a couple of years ago, my friends and i started a "poker night" as an excuse to prepare meals together. after watery tropical coleslaw, an upside-down cheeseburger pizza, dough-y 'dough gods' and other fantastical mistakes, i am now the designated "drinks" girl.

however, i intend to rise above it, as i am positive i can make the halibut, potatoes, and green beans appear much like they do in the cookbook. getting the taste right, however, is quite another thing.

i must remind myself to pick up a bottle of very, very good wine.

cats and dogs

they say in relationships people are either dogs or cats. i am a cat. my bf is a cat in denial.

i am a cat because i tend to withdraw in relationships, versus falling in.

i don't always believe in telling people how i feel.

i am defensive.

i will scratch your eyes out.

i prefer my own illusions.

i want to run when i get scared.

i believe in my power and intuition.

i am sensitive.

i like sparkly things.

i can keep myself amused.

i am not easy to love.

i pretend not to care.

deep down, i want someone to love me in spite of myself.

all the glamour

as marketing assistant/office manager (read: i create junkmail and answer phones!) in the warehouse district, i am rarely surprised by things that happen in my "professional" life.

today (in no particular order):

1. a magazine telemarketer called and asked if he could verify our fax number. i politely gave it to him and he said, 'great, i just want to make sure that we have the correct address for you.' he rattled off our old, no longer valid address, to which i responded, 'perfect.' he said something about needing my month of birth to continue receiving blah blah magazine at no charge except if you don't cancel blah in blah days you will blah blah something rate of blah blah.' i said, 'umm...?' and before i could object he said thank you and hung up. blahst! swindled again!

2. a client came in for a meeting today. as he was leaving he introduced himself "hi, i'm rj!" i smiled and said, "i'm sophie."
"dotie?"
"no, sophie."
"oh, dothie!"
"no, sophie."
"dophie. nice to meet you, dophie."
are you serious? there's someone in this world who actually thinks my name is DOPHIE?! really? really?
what the hell kind of name is that anyway?

oh shoot. fine, the name is lovely if you are an award-winning alpaca but otherwise, it is not okay.

3. the guy who has an obvious toupee walks by the office every single day. and every single day, i smirk. like we have a secret, he and i. an obvious, badly-placed, awful-colored secret. hey! you look great! wink.

what can i say? my life is awesome.

oc @ work.com

right now, i am obsessed with marie antoinette. and not just because the movie came out. let them eat cake, indeed!

a couple of days ago, i was wildly googling napoleon and josephine. oh! the love! the love and fire and passion!

but some things have me every week.

every sunday:
postsecret
modern love column

every wednesday:
dara moskowitz and dan savage in citypages

daily:
gofugyourself
thesuperficial
stephanieklein
thecompanybitch

wow. work is hard.

vincent a restaurant

the only thing i like better than eating is dining.

there's nothing quite like planning a date: going home to shower, starting the makeup over from scratch (it's really not the same to touch-up) and getting dressed up to make me feel, i don't know, ready.

ready for a lovely evening.

last friday, the bf and i had a date. i believe that dates are important, that it doesn't make a difference how long you've been together, that quantity time is never equal to quality time.

6:30pm i made my way over to his house to pick him up. as i was turning onto his street, i spotted him in his car (apparently on the way to pick me up). somehow, in my saying, "i'll pick you up at 7", our signals crossed (read: his signal was crossed) and he thought he was supposed to pick me up.

we arrived in downtown minneapolis, circled the block only twice to find a parking spot (despite being 'beyond staying at hostels' my bf is opposed to valet-ing, to which i respond 'everywhere we go has valet!' with cher in cluless gusto).

vincent a restaurant is all white tablecloths and families dressed up to dine together. everyone was elegant, and i loved the old-fashioned feeling. i ordered the halibut and bf had the steak. in true us style, we ordered fries for an appetizer. everything was wonderful, and i eagerly awaited the angel food cake (i wasn't disappointed). christian, our waiter, was delightfully french and even cracked a smile as bf made him guarantee the steak's goodness.

we toasted to 'falling in love in napa' and finished dinner with a game of hangman. so like us.

sigh. i live for lovely evenings.

big step: sharing passwords

the little things we forget to think about.

my bf and i spent the weekend apart (great for me, sad for him), and on sunday we traded stories (even though we talked about 18 times from the moment he left for the airport until he got back).i wanted to show him some pictures that i had taken from a party that i went to, and he didn't have an account with kodakgallery, so without thinking, i gave him my username. and then, i breathed, my password*.

oops. to top it off, he was all, 'no, you don't have to change it.' and sure, my bf happens to be one of the most laid-back, easy-going guys on the planet (who else would put up with my crazy ways?!), but i quickly interpreted that to mean: 'no, you don't have to change it, but if you don't, i will certainly always remember that your password is your exbf's last name, and i will store that information for use in the future in case you get any weird double standards about my having my exgf's baby, or the like. moooahhahhahahaaa.'

i changed my password this morning. whew. take that.**

*note: said password is actually the last name of a guy that i used to know, or kind of saw for a while, or dated a little bit, for a short time in my life, er, for a couple of, three and a half years.

**following the reading of this post, my bf will probably be in awe of how i can fight with him without him actually being a willing, or knowing, participant. we will both marvel at my skillz. then we will probably break out in song: '...and even though we ain't got money, i'm so in love with you honey...' think we won't?

why i am

clueless. because i don't always seem to know the difference between what's good for me and what's not. i always want to try the stuff that's not.