Author Archives: carlieblissirwin

Toddlers. On the rocks.

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Yes, my plans last weekend involved spending time with some toddlers.

No, a “toddler” is not the name of a specialty cocktail at the trendy bar down the street.

I’m talking about small humans. Who have tricked-out strollers and enjoy eating grapes and goldfish out of plastic cups.

I know this because on Sunday, I got to observe them in one of their natural habitats – the zoo. It was all very meta.

I also got to practice some mommy skills like holding a toddler, pushing one in a stroller, and finding a restaurant for lunch that provides highchairs.

Let’s pretend like sweet little Brooklyn doesn’t look scared to death of me in the photo above. She’s obviously planning her escape from my arms. But being held 4 feet in the air by someone who has only held two, maybe three, children in her entire life? I wouldn’t blame her for needing a diaper change after that.

Cuteness above provided courtesy of Tyler Hoff and Brooklyn Torkelson.

Carlie has crashed

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Lately, I’ve had a love/hate relationship with this blog.

Let me rephrase that. Lately, I’ve had pretty much NO relationship with this blog. I haven’t been writing, posting, checking the stats or doing anything that would lead anyone to believe that I do, in fact, have a blog.

I don’t even update my Twitter feed anymore. Basically, I have completely withdrawn from the worldwide web. Except for Facebook because at some point in my life it might be useful to have a running total of the people who are willing to publicly associate with me.

Don’t worry, nothing is wrong. The opposite is true – everything is right. As far as my life goes, I don’t have much to complain about. (Just don’t get me started on the current season of The Bachelorette!)

I think maybe I just got a little tired of spewing out my thoughts all the time. I’m usually a pretty private person, a somewhat secluded soul, a basically bashful being – with a penchant for alliterative synonyms and a tendency not to spew things (thoughts or otherwise).

Maybe I just got tired of talking about myself, which I never really thought was possible. Because let’s face it, I’m fascinating.

I don’t know.

Really, I think I just needed some “me” time. I needed to be able to read a book, go to the beach and catch up on all the TV shows on my DVR (8 episodes of Desperate Housewives left, God help me…) without feeling like I should make time to write a blog post.

Blogging also makes me feel a little egotistical sometimes, and I prefer to be self-absorbed in private.

So basically this post is just to confirm the obvious – that I am taking an impromptu hiatus from blogging. Because I feel like it.

But I WILL be back. I might start posting regularly right now. Or I might wait another week or two. But I’m not done. I get a lot of compliments on this blog, and getting compliments is fun. Also, I’m hoping to get a book deal out of this. And maybe I actually enjoy writing just a little bit too.

RIP, my feet: 1982-2011

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Over the weekend, my feet died.

I think they walked one too many miles in my arch-supportless shoes.

I’ll always remember them for their selflessness, willingness to put up with those impractical four-inch hooker heels I recently wore to a bachelorette party, and that one weird hair that I always had to remember to shave off my right big toe.

TMI? Sorry. I’ll stop with the dramatic eulogy. My feet are actually still viable appendages. Or they will be in a day or two once they’ve had a chance to recover.

Let me explain:

On Friday night, my feet happily walked me around downtown Wheaton with my family and right through the doors of Graham’s Chocolates so that I might have the pleasure of consuming their peanut butter chocolate chip ice cream. It was a grand time for me, my feet and all parties involved. Little did my feet know what was in store for them a mere 12 hours later…

The next morning, we ran the “Run for the Animals” 5k in Wheaton, and my feet kicked ass (not literally). They pounded the pavement in running shoes that are old enough to certainly be a health hazard and hardly even complained.

Later that night, my feet schlepped me all over Lincoln Park when Will and I decided to do a mini bar crawl, just the two of us. (That’s mini bar-crawl, not mini-bar crawl. But there’s an idea!)

I think by this point, they were starting to get a little irritable, like a toddler who needs a nap. My arches were aching a little, but it was nothing four beers couldn’t fix. (There’s a joke in there somewhere about Future Me handling my irritable toddler by drinking beer, but…eh. Let’s not ruin this post with talk of having babies. Kids will probably ruin my life, but why let them ruin this post? Mom, please direct all objections to that last sentence to the comments section. My response will include a definition of the term “tongue-in-cheek.” Thank you.)

But back to my feet.

Now here’s the kicker. (Ha! Kicker! Foot joke!) Today, just as my feet were finally feeling like themselves again after a good night’s sleep, I made them carry me 8 miles all the way from our apartment to Montrose Beach and back. Let’s just say my dogs are barking. And can we also say that that might be one of the most random, nonsensical sayings ever?

Obviously, after I write this I’m giving myself a foot massage and wearing shearling-lined Crocs with gel inserts to work tomorrow.

Ok no, that’s just ridiculous – Will will be giving the foot massage.

But seriously, thanks to my feet, I had an absolutely fabulous weekend. See below for proof. Notice not one photo includes my feet, poor guys. Being the base of my selfish body is such a thankless job…

Hellllooooo summer!

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My view from North Avenue Beach yesterday.

Summertime tip from a very white girl: When applying sunscreen, do not neglect your kneecaps. Both of mine are now a shade of red similar to the swim trunks of the dude with the itchy stomach above. I look like I’m wearing clown noses as knee pads.

BUT where there’s a sunburn, there’s sun. And warm weather. So I’m not complaining! 🙂

Saturday night’s alright for mimosas

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What’s my idea of the perfect Saturday night, you ask?

THIS:

Hanging out with fun people at a cute little bar in our neighborhood. This is the Chicago summer I’ve been waiting for!

Last Saturday, we went out to dinner at the legendary Twin Anchors, the mere mention of which makes Will immediately yell out, “Ribs! And keep ’em coming!”

No, Will doesn’t have Tourettes – this place is actually known for their ribs and *supposedly* (according to the historical facts section of the menu) that’s how Frank Sinatra ordered one time when he was hanging out there with all of his movie star/crooner/gangster friends.

I opted for the BBQ pork sandwich because ribs are too messy and I just hate to stain my white kid gloves. But everyone else confirmed that the ribs were really good.

After dinner, we headed down the street to a little Irish bar. We got a table outside and proceeded to order approximately nine different drinks, even though there were only six of us at the table. Shots of Jameson were involved, and Will wanted a mimosa with his gigantic PBR. I also got a mimosa. They were on special for $3, if that makes it seem a little less weird. I’d like to thank the server for going along with it and acting like this was a normal request at 7:30 on a Saturday night.

Later, after I was well on my way to drinking waaaaayyy more than I had planned, we headed inside to play giant Jenga and Connect Four.

Jenga! Connect Four! And they were giant!

Not pictured: Connect Four

I apologize for the blurriness of the photos. But I think they pretty accurately represent the way I was seeing things at that particular moment in time.

I’d also like to mention that this bar had free popcorn AND a jukebox. So we stayed there Lionel Ritchie style – All. Night. Long. (I can’t take credit for that – I think I just heard it on TV recently?)

The best thing is that this obscene amount of funness (I’m not going for a Pulitzer here) is all within a quick walk from our house!

I might just have to borrow my friend Dan’s shirt:

Pretty city

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Date: May 10, 2011

Time: 12 p.m.

Weather conditions: 80 degrees and sunny

Me: Getting the HELL out of my office!


Yeah, I’m the creepy girl in Millennium Park taking pictures of herself and other people eating their lunch. So?

Yeah, I’m the creepy girl in Millennium Park taking pictures of herself and other people eating their lunch. So?


Fun with my new phone!

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A few weeks ago, I doused by BlackBerry Pearl smartphone in gasoline, blow-torched it, hurled it against a brick wall, sent it through a trash compactor and drop-kicked it into Lake Michigan.

At least that’s what I wanted to do with it. I hated that thing so much. It was the Toby to my Michael Scott.

What actually happened was that I got a new phone (the HTC EVO – not an iPhone, but I’ll take it!), and I threw that stupid, stupid BlackBerry in my closet somewhere. That way I knew I’d never find it again.

Ever since that day, I’ve been able to receive phone calls and text messages, go on Facebook and do general things that all smartphones do (except for really dumb and ugly BlackBerry Pearls).

Also, I’ve become obsessed with taking retro-looking photos using the FxCamera app.

Recently, I went to my friend Renee’s bachelorette party at Lucky Strike bowling alley in River North and decided it would be the perfect event to document in blurry, saturated 1970’s fashion. (Ok, maybe the blurriness was just me not knowing how to hold my phone still, but I’m going to pretend it adds to the effect.)

About that scoreboard – “CARB” is me. And yes, I did knock down 146 pins that game. For the win. SKILLZ.

So the bachelorette party was a great time (congrats Renee and thanks to Kelly and Kim for planning!). And thanks to the pics from my sweet new phone, I’ll always have fake-retro memories that make me and my friends seem a little more hipster than we actually are (which is not at all).

What happened in Vegas

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Over 6 weeks ago, Will and I went to Las Vegas. Around that same time, I told you there would be a post about it coming soon. Relatively speaking, 6 weeks can be considered “soon.” So get off my back, Mom.

Ah Vegas…

We decided to go there because it was pretty much the best option when booking a last minute trip at the height of spring break season. We thought it would be a good place to relax by the pool and get some sun. I even brought a book.

We didn’t think it would be cloudy and 50 degrees the whole time. But, surprise! If I were a gambling woman, I would have lost money on that bet. And that would have been a real shame, since it would cancel out the $2.75 I won at the nickel slots while we were there (big money!).

But despite the weather, we still had a good time.

Here I am a few hours after we arrived somewhere in between the Bellagio and Caesar’s Palace. You know, just hanging out by a hand rail.

The suave gentleman in this photo is my husband getting ready to consume a delicious lunch of sliders and sweet potato fries. This was our only outdoor meal of the trip. <sad face>

The Mirage – serene and peaceful and the outside, scene of a gruesome tiger attack on the inside.

This is inside our hotel, the Bellagio. I liked hanging out in here. If I didn’t look up, I could pretend that we were actually outside and not freezing.

Here’s the pool area where we were planning on hanging out for most of the trip. Completely deserted. Except for one crazy family we saw walking by with towels. They must have been from Siberia or something.

Here’s Will peacefully skipping through a quiet garden. I don’t ask questions. I just let him do his thing. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

After all that skipping, Will felt like he needed to reclaim his manhood, so he made me stop and watch college basketball for a bit.

This is the casino at Aria. I liked the trippy, sleek Alice and Wonderland vibe.

Will was thrilled to come so close to his lifelong dream of draping himself in crystals.

Paris! Just like the real thing. Or at least maybe that’s what I’d say if I’d never actually been to Paris. But as far as plastic-y fake recreations of foreign cities go, it was pretty nice.

More Bellagio.

Num num!

Sun on our last day! (Accompanied by even colder temps.) I was so excited, I had to take a picture from our hotel room.

The streets of New York, New York. Will and I helped to make it even more authentic by mugging a few people.

And one last glamor shot.

So there you have it! Even without the warm weather, a good time was had by all. Viva Las Vegas. Baby.

To dream the impossible dream

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If you had asked me last year what my “dream life” is, I probably would have said “living in Chicago and working in some sort of creative environment.”

Check. And check.

Hello, dream life!

But because the grass is always greener, yadda yadda yadda, and I have some sort of mental illness that keeps me constantly grasping for all the pretty shiny things that I don’t already have, I am still somewhat unfulfilled.

I guess it makes sense that since I’m now living my dream life, it can no longer be a “dream” life. It’s a “real life” life.

Don’t worry, this is not going to be a sappy post about achieving my goals, being grateful for what I have and living the dream. Please. I’m so much more shallow than that.

Basically, I have a new dream life now. It involves not working, lounging in a sun-drenched room with a glass of sauvignon blanc, perusing fashion and design blogs, writing when I feel like it and occasionally catching a few episodes of House Hunters and Ellen. And after a long day of all that business, it’s time to relax. All night. And probably go out for dinner. Also, I do all this while wearing super cute outfits. And my hair has a lots of volume.

I believe it would look something like this:

I think this kind of lifestyle might be called retirement. Is it me, or am I getting really close to retirement age? No?

Well, here’s to being relaxed and lazy…someday.

Now who wants to help me get one step closer to my dream and bring me a glass of sauvignon blanc?

Images from design*sponge, coco+kelley, A Cup of Jo, cupcakes and cashmere, MyRecipes.com

Recipe translations from someone who makes microwave burritos. Regularly.

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This morning, I was reading a recipe for Ginger, Coconut and Ricotta Pancakes. Because sometimes it’s fun to pretend that I’m a cultured, worldly woman with an eye for fashion and design who whips up gourmet dishes with more than five ingredients.

But, being that my experience with fashion and design is only through the blogs I read, and the only thing I tend to “whip up” is toaster waffles, I knew as soon as I saw the word “ginger” that I was never going to make these pancakes. In the kitchen, my motto is exotic ingredients = difficult recipe = DANGER! DANGER!

And I was right. One of the ingredients in this recipe is decimated coconut. To me, this means that I have to blow up a coconut using some forceful explosive device. Not safe.

When you don’t cook at all much, sometimes recipes sound like they’re written in a different language. Here are some examples:

Recipe: Cook bacon in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium heat, turning occasionally, until crisp. Drain on paper towels; discard drippings from skillet.

My interpretation: Find a skillet that seems pretty big and is hard to lift with one hand. Put bacon in it and turn on the burner so the heat coming out seems to be a medium amount (?). Flip bacon like pancakes whenever you feel like it. Touch bacon really quickly with finger – if it feels scratchy, stop cooking it. Wring out greasy bacon meat over paper towels. Wash skillet.

***

Recipe: Preheat broiler. Lightly oil a 17- by 12-inch shallow baking pan.

My interpretation: Pour oil (olive? vegetable? motor?) in a pan. Then dump most of it out. What’s a broiler?

***

Recipe: Toss together asparagus, oil, and a pinch of salt in a large bowl.

My interpretation: Put asparagus, oil (again, what kind of oil are we talking about here??) and several grains of salt in a bowl and kind of throw it around a little bit.

***

Recipe: Fluff couscous with a fork.

My interpretation: Stab couscous with a fork a few times. Check for fluffiness. This is stupid.

***

Basically, I have no patience for this lofty language of the kitchen. All I want to do is take something frozen and put it in the oven or microwave. And if I can skip that step? Even better.

Image from Houndstooth NY