Gotta Blame it on Something...

It has been 12 days since my last post and I know that this is unacceptable. I try to take responsibility for my wrong doings, I really do, but today as I come to my dear readers in an attempted act of contrition apologetic words escape me. Instead of "please forgive me" all I can hear repeating over and over in my head are the wise words of Fab Morvan and Rob Pilatus (or Mili Vanilli for those of you not in the know). These words, a pet maxim of mine, are "... whatever you do, don't put the blame on you. Blame it on the rain."

When I moved to Seattle in the summer of 2009 I was well aware of the city's gloomy reputation but always being one to give the benefit of the doubt I ignored warning and dove in with abounding optimistism about our future togheter. Who needs the sun? Rain boots are hot!

A year later I can honestly say that my time here has been filled with bliss. The only real issues to have arisen stem from the shoddy roads, terrible infrastructure, and clueless motorists that plague the streets rather than the damp climate and my new vitamin D difficiency. But even saints have their limits and these past few weeks known around here as "June-uary" have really taken its toll and left me feeling miserable. It is a drizzle induced despondency that not even a good cathartic cry during Toy Story 3 could ease. Finally today the sun has emerged and we are promised a high of 72 degrees! But instead of sighing with relief and allowing the healing to begin I am filled with panic. Tomorrow we're probably right back where we were yesterday (which was a summer solstice with no sun!!) and so what am I doing inside? I must immediately go hiking, running, kayaking, and sun bathing (these white legs are surely not helping my quest to fight off old maid status!!). At any moment these rays of warmth will disappear indefinitely!




I know I am not alone in these feelings of gloom, doom, and subsequent anxiety. I suppose at some point I will have to weigh out the mental taxation of the weather against my own love of the city and decide "do I stay or do I go"? Until then I must admit that it is nice to have a scape goat in common with the majority of Seattle-ites. Tomorrow when once again I am feeling lathargic, angsty, and self-pitying all at once and someone says "Hey. What's wrong with you?" it's comforting to know that all I need to do is cast a finger towards the sky and say "I'm sorry. It's not me, it's the rain." And the thing about this particular scape goat is that "the rain don't mind and the rain don't care. You gotta blame it on something. So blame it on the rain."

Beer Me!

One of the best things about living on top of this hill...

Is a view like this...


And a great thing about riding your bike while living on a hill like this is the thrill of going down it. Unfortunately what goes down must come up again if she wants to get home to devour her roommate's homemade fajitas. And this is the biggest drawback I have found to living atop this handsome hill...

I was recently gifted a hand-me-down bike and it was not until today that I had the time (and the helmet) to get out there and try it out. I had been renting hybrid bicycles from a local bike shop and these bikes had been dreamy. When I moved to Seattle I brought with me my beautiful, apple red, Schwinn beach cruiser (named Harvey, thank you very much). Unfortunately, after being tied to the roof of my sport utility wagon, Harvey is a little worse for the ware and his 3 speeds are not quite enough to get me around Seattle. The bike that I was gifted is a hybrid bike similar to the ones I had been renting. The big difference? My hybrid bike has a distinct lack of upkeep but a definite excess of rust. But I figured since it's a hybrid it will ride with the same ease that the rental did. Oh ho ho! What a foolhardy little troll I can be! With confidence in my "new" bike I decided I would make its inaugural ride's destinatation be Magnolia. To my non Seattle-ite readers this means ALL the way down the west side of the hill across a bridge and then TADA another hill to ride UP! Well getting to Magnolia was not a problem but once I was I came to find out that my new friend is prone to making mountains out of mole hills. The slightest incline felt like a spinning class from hell. Shins, hammies, and lungs were burning! Defeated, I turned around. Back at the base of Queen Anne I had a mountain to ascend. The bike, currently nameless, and I had an awkward and silent (I use silent loosely as the huffing and puffing were defeaning) walk up the hill. Now sitting here in my apartment, sweating something fierce, and doubting my level of fitness (I ran 16 miles on Saturday for goodness sake but this nearly killed me?? How can it be?) I am craving a cold one to soothe the aches and bruised ego. Me and Mr. Nameless Bike are not on the best of terms. Perhaps once the wheezing subsides we'll be on speaking terms again, but I don't think I will be taking him down the hill until he decides to get a major tune up!

Exhausted,
OLIT

I Dreamed A (miniature) Dream in Days Gone By...

Some of you who know me are probably aware of the Great Dollhouse Disaster of 1995 and the 15 year old festering chip on my shoulder that resulted directly from this tragedy. If you have not yet heard this tale of shattered dreams and a child's first experience with disillusionment then please lend me your ear. (If you can already recite this tale verbatim then please feel free to scroll down and look at the pretty pictures):

My story begins in the summer of 1994 at the California State Fair. All I really wanted to do was check out the livestock and ride a death trap or two but instead I was dragged into the expo hall to see which 4-H member had the most ribbons and who had grown the largest tomato that year. I was in for the surprise of my life when I stumbled upon an exhibit on miniatures and dollhouses that would ignite a multi-month long obsession. The vignettes on display were more than I could have ever imagined were possible in the world of miniatures (granted I was 9 at the time and this was the first time I realized there even was a world of miniatures). After my mind was blown all I could think of were the hundreds of ways I would style my own diminutive abode if I had one. There would be chandeliers and window dressings, wallpaper and canopy beds, Viking ranges and tiled backsplashes! If my parents would not heed my advice and invest in lime tulle curtains and red velvet chaise lounges then I would get a dollhouse and style it my way! As a child of nearly 10 it is hard to ask for only one thing for your birthday but that was how badly I wanted a pint-sized design project of my very own. It was the only item on my wish list. I wanted this dollhouse stat so that the luxe rooms of myimagination could be created and the complex (not to mention sordid) lives of its itty-bitty inhabitants could commence. I could not care less if the house's exterior was shingled or finished at all. I wanted it immediately; I wanted it pre-fab. My father, on the other hand, thought, or pretended in an effort to save money to think, that the building of the dollhouse was half the fun. I objected. Not only did I not want to waste hours of decorating time building the dollhouse but I also did not trust my father to build the dollhouse in a timely fashion. My parents were insistent and so the dollhouse was purchased in the form of a build-it-yourself kit and I was promised that in no time at all my Allison Model dollhouse would look like this:



I didn't buy it at the time and 15 years later it's no surprise that instead of the above image my dollhouse looks like this:


How do I cope with the dissapointment, the shattered dreams, and the disillusionment of a young girl? The way you must cope with everything: suppress and repress. I don't entirely blame my parents. I should have put up more of a fuss. I knew better even if they didn't and so I have lived the past 15 years shouldering my fair share of the blame and trying to pretend that life is just as rich without that particular dream coming true. But I am only human and every so often my rage comes out. When I go home I will occassionally dump all of the pieces on the craft table and gather the tools to start building my masterpiece but the directions confuse me. Last time I even looked up local dollhouse stores to answer my questions. I drove to the only one in town and found out that it was out of business. Those are the moments I curse the day I acquiesed to a build-it-yourself "fun".


This entry was brought about because today has been particularly trying. In an act of massochistic stupidity I googled the words "miniature" + "interior" + "design" and practically drowned in the beautiful images of mini-lives and small scale design. I am posting the following images with a healthy dose of concern for you my readers. Please do not hold it against me when you fall in love with these pictures, ask your parents for a dollhouse of your very own, and find yourself in 2025 still waiting for it to be built.

{the house of lisa (thanks for the correction!)}

{dream dollhouses}


{design sponge}

{the house of lisa}

{courtesty of fabric of my life, my latest blog-session}

Have a larger than life weekend!

OLIT

Cranky With Envy...

My neighbors (well the people in the stately home next door to my apartment building) are doing some serious gutting and remodel work. I am happy for them. That is until I am attempting to make my own shelves out of salvaged crown molding and am trying to get a GIANT nail through an even GIANTER piece of wood and I can hear their construction workers and their electric tools working away with ease as I incur wrist injuries.

That's all. Hopefully I will have pictures to post when (and if) this project is finished.

OLIT