A few snapshots from my weekend, during which Will and I had a date night at Sable (and he should love me even more now that I introduced him to the awesomeness that is cheese curds), I pretended to be a style blogger (which did not go well, as you can see, but that pleated skirt made me feel really twirly), red as an accent color was worn in abundance (thanks in part to my great find on Thursday), and we had friends over for the wine festival down the street (followed by our own little “wine festival” at our place afterwards). Also, I did some relaxing too.
We’re heading home from a fun long weekend in St. Louis. Gatsby is passed out in the back seat and I’m about to pass out in the front. Will is in the passenger seat. (Just kidding! No passed out drivers here, I promise.)
Now get away from your computer or wireless device and go out and enjoy your day off!
In case you were curious, here’s where I spend every weekday:
My only complaint is that there are no windows, which kind of makes my soul die a little each day, especially during the summer. But besides that, it’s cozy.
In my previous space, I was confined to a cube with no windows and assaulted by fluorescent lights directly overhead, which I think sounds like some sort of prison torture. Sitting there made me feel like a dying plant that was turning a sickly shade of light green and drying up around the edges. So yes, these current conditions are an improvement.
So what’s your workspace like? Does it make your soul die or fly? Just curious!
Does anyone else get overly excited about changing your calendar to a new month?
Like I mean so excited that you were on the bus this morning eagerly awaiting your arrival at the office to see what pretty picture the month of September would bring while trying really hard not to smell the man two rows ahead of you who was wearing a winter hat and coat (on a 90+ degree day) and sitting on a trash bag? Hypothetically?
(The September picture did not disappoint, by the way.)
Yay! Pretty! <clap><clap><clap>
Like the calendar? I got it from this cute Etsy shop.
Apparently he’s filming the new Superman movie near there. So if you live in the area, keep an eye out. It might have to be a pretty keen eye, at that. I have to say, he looks decidedly UN-movie-star-ish here. If I passed him on the sidewalk, I’d probably think he was just finishing up his shift at Carlson’s Hardware.
The high points of my weekends often involve food. Which is why the low points of my weekdays often involve working out.
I topped off this Weekend of Deliciousness (CBA, Greek food, and a slice of pizza and Dunkin’ Donuts breakfast sandwich somewhere in between) with a good ol’ fashioned Chicago hot dog.
YUM. Couldn’t be better if it was real meat!
And speaking of dogs…
Someone was experiencing a little food envy. But can you blame him??
Sunday night, I saw a Beatle. My favorite Beatle. IN THE FLESH.
Granted, from where we were sitting, he was a beetle-sized Beatle, but I came face to massive-jumbo-tron-sized face with Sir Paul McCartney. We were breathing the same stale, humid, city air for OVER THREE HOURS. I’ll never wash these lungs again.
Paul McCartney at Wrigley Field. Oh yes, it was as epic as you’re imagining.
Yes, even though we were that far away, it was still awesome.
And while I wasn’t spastically shrieking and pulling on my hair like the girl sitting in front of us (that’s so 1964…), I did freak out a little bit internally. Which is pretty much the only way I ever freak out. (No, you can’t read my poker face!)
I really can only describe it this way: Anticipation. Lights! Paul! Crowd roaring. Waving. Guitar playing. Hello, Goodbye! Jimmy Hendrix and Eric Clapton storytelling. Paperback Wriiiiiterrrr (wriiiiterrr…wriiiiterrr…). Sweating. Piano playing. Maybe I’m Amazed. Live and Let Die. Explosions! Fireworks! Hey Jude! Encore #1! Encore #2! Thank you, Chicago! AND… I’m spent.
Not to rekindle those “Paul is dead” rumors, but I’m not entirely convinced that the Paul McCartney we saw onstage was not a genetically engineered clone or an impressive illusion created by light and mirrors. (Also, this website is mildly convincing.) Otherwise, this guy turned 45 and immediately stopped aging. No way he’s in his late 60’s. He spent three hours playing various instruments and screaming into a microphone on a humid, 90-degree night and the man did not take a single break. Or a drink of water. EVER.
Upon fruitlessly searching for an IV line trailing from his arm, we became concerned that we might witness the dehydration and subsequent death of a superstar.
But who were we kidding? He’s Paul Mc-freakin-Cartney. He doesn’t NEED water. He gets his strength purely from the sheer force of his rock-and-roll legendary-ness that leaves others gaping in its wake. And pot.
And just in case you’re not convinced that it was kick-ass concert, check out the Hey Jude awesomeness below.
Carlie Crash 