razzle bedazzle

[recommended tune: #186, "be be your love" by rachael yamagata. not because it's relevant. just because i really love it.]

location: my bed. (i've really gotta start blogging in more interesting places. like the hanging gardens of babylon, the pyramids of egypt, or ... downstairs or something ...)

what i see: the laundry basket of treasures from my car. which reminds me, i need to vacuum my car out so i can put all my treasures back.

but on to the topic of this post ...

someone sign this girl up for project runway.

i found this little number at a thrift store. i looked at it with a discerning eye. it looked back. i saw potential. it looked into the face of its new maker.

so last friday, i busted out my sewing machine ... which i've just decided to name sophie ... hit up joann's (i simply adore that place) with my coupons in hand, and got to work.

behold the metamorphosis:

a closer look at the top:

key embellishments to note:

the fold-over collar is now a stand-up collar (my favorite kind of collar, you must know)

the ill-fitting, 3/4 sleeves are now short and prim and snug

the waist is bedazzled with a lovely little belt

the hemline is no longer wide and drab, but bubbled and fab

(yeah, i should totally write informercials. i'm well aware.)

look out, world. sophie and i are on the move. i've already got a new vision for our next domestic rendezvous.

p.s.

if you have a craving for tacos at 9:30pm, it's okay to act on it.

p.p.s.

if you get lazy and decide it's easiest to adorn said tacos with 5-layer bean dip from ... 7 days ago ... you should probably not pay heed to that lethargy. i've learned an unfortunate lesson.

baby you're all that i want

[recommended music: anything by bryan adams]

location: my bed again, resenting the AC that's blowing on me

what i see: a half-eaten package of wafer cookies that my roommate left on her desk

i must begin this blog with a confession. i, katie e. hawkes, blatantly made fun of twitter for the first year or so that i knew it existed. i made statements such as, "who the heck cares where lindsey lohan is eating lunch?" and "it sounds like an outlet for narcissism."

fast forward to today. i have officially had a twitter account for a year (@K8Ehawkes, if you care). i relish reading tweets from my favorite bands & celebs (hello, @ralphmacchio). i want to own a shirt i saw that says "i'd tweet that." i've been paid to tweet for a national charity w/ 22,000+ followers (hanging on my every word, i'm sure).

i can hear you laughing at me.

before you shake your head too vigorously or let a "tsk" escape your mocking lips, let me point out my favorite facet of this online outlet: free things. i have won a veritable treasure trove of complimentary goods from my little pal twitter.

allow me to illustrate just a few of my more notable successes:

a plethora of free sprinkles cupcakes (you can get one per day, if you know the secret word. which i always do. because twitter tells me.) (no, i don't go every day.)

two fish tacos from rubio's

two tickets to an award-winning play at gammage (it sucked. that's besides the point. i just can't enjoy a play where they smoke on stage. if i ever find tar in my lungs, i'll rethink my praise of twitter.)

two tickets to a Suns playoff game (yes, really)

And today, drumroll please....

two tickets to the Bryan Adams concert next tuesday!!

let's just put it this way: i have been known to utter the phrase "sexiest voice in existence" in conjunction with his name on more than one occasion.

my next dilemma: determining who is worthy to accompany me on such an experience. i can't have a half-hearted fan at my side. no dabbling allowed.

i sent out a sleuthing text to a handful of friends/roommates: "i have an important question. what are your feelings on bryan adams?"

the first 4 responders disqualified themselves by saying, "the singer?" no question marks allowed. sorry, kids.

more acceptable responses included:

"main crush of my formative years. lustrous voice."

"everything he does, he does it for me."

that's more like it. i'll let y'all squirm away as to who i'm taking. don't you worry, i will be sure to blog (and tweet) about this life-changing musical experience.

the point is.

laugh away, my non-tweeting amigos. i'll be 8th-row center with mr. adams.

lumberjack

[musical stylings recommended for this post: #168, silver trees by mr. rocky votolato]

location: my kitchen table

what i see: the whole-wheat, cinnamon-coconut bread i just invented, baking blissfully in the oven

well, technically i can't SEE it. but i know it's there. baking faith.

ANYWAY. this post is not about baking nor spiritual principles, but something ELSE very near and dear to my heart.

behold, the plaid flannel:

in addition to a certain addiction i might have to moccasins, cardigans and thrift-store dresses ... i have an incredible soft spot for the ol' stylings of Al Borland.

something about wearing a plaid, flannel shirt calms my soul. it fits quite nicely in my dreams of a) porches, b) treehouses, c) baking pies, d) gardening, e) not the city, f) not the city, g) sewing quilts, h) autumn-scented candles and i) a bearded man.

the point is. i think i should own this shirt in about five colors. and Target happens to be selling just such a thing right now.

what's that, bank account?

oh. well. i will just wear this one every day. like a cartoon character.

like doug funny and his green sweatervest.

which, come to think of it, i could also be game for.

p.s.

holy mother of pearl, my bread smells amazing.

parmagiano italiano

location: my bed, hiding under a blanket from the AC vent.
what i see: my roommate, marking up a paper with a pink highlighter

SO my newfound only-chained-to-the-desk-for-20-hours-per-week lifestyle has afforded me a blessed privilege: fridays off.

how i spent my first one...
lunch at a quaint little italian restaurant with my papa. staring out the window of the restaurant, pondering the universe and such.
the highlight had to be when i overhead the owner’s conversation with the patron in the next booth.

owner: thick italian accent. crocheted shawl. large, thick-rimmed glasses. plus a dash of sass and pinch of vintage sophistication.

what my ears beheld (i attempted to apply the appropriate italian accent)...
owner: my husband, he-a cooks-a back in the kitchen
patron: so did the two of you meet back in italy...?
owner: yes, i decide to-a marry him-a when i was-a four.
patron: oh wow...
owner: yes, i-a flirt-a much but he no understand
patron: so you finally just proposed to him, eh?
owner: oh no! i-a let him think-a it was-a his idea.

oh canelloni. the things we shared.

bucket list

"down here, it's our time. it's our time down here. that's all over the second we ride up troy's bucket."

nothing like an applicable Goonies quote to really kick off a blog post.

OK now go read my new tagline under my "scruples" heading. now come back down here and keep reading this post. good.

here's the deal: i'm doing it. it? yes, it. all of it.

a year into my grown-up, cubicle existence ... i'm breaking free like dr. leo marvin and the death therapy. case in point: it's 3:27pm on a thursday afternoon and i am currently sitting in a hipster coffee shop with my feet kicked up on an antiquated coffee table.

i have to thank the economy for cutting my working hours in half and handing me this opportunity. i might not have gotten around to this of my own volition.

but when better to be dirt-poor and act on my elusive SOMEDAYS than right now?

someday i will...

be a freelance writer. because i have just enough faith in my skills.

live like a minimalist.

really dedicate myself to my service endeavors.

spend some substantial time in coffee shops.

write my book.

maybe write another book.

think seriously about becoming a legit runner.

become a resident expert on Isaiah.

record some music. maybe start a band.

perfect my homemade pie recipes.

and by "someday i will," i mean ... TODAY i will. right now.

p.s.

today's view from my coffee-shop perch:

one girl studying for law school.

one dreadlocked man studying a "Meteorotics" textbook.

one well-dressed, spectacled young professional equipped with a laptop and a book of matches.

one girl pulling off a pixie haircut like no one i've ever seen.

p.p.s.

now i really want to name my band dr. leo marvin & the death therapy

eat your colors

more for my own validation than for any other reason, i need to point out that, YES, i am quite capable of feeding myself real food.

weekly excursions to Del Taco notwithstanding (39-cent tacos are the only thing that can so effectively sway me toward fast food. i have weaknesses, ok??), i am usually quite kind to my body and its corresponding organs and arteries.

case in point:



whole wheat pasta. veggie tomato sauce. carrots. spinach. apples. cashews. poppy-seed dressing.

assuming that there's some form of dairy in dressing ... i do believe that's every major food group in one shot, kids.

note: i did not neglect our little friend "sweets" at the top of the pyramid. i ate an entire otter pop later that night. cha-ching! you can all now rest easy.

huff & puff

so i guess someone decided my blogging is worth sharing with more than....the smallish amount of you that may actually read THIS blog.

the point is. the point IS...

you can now read my stuff on The Huffington Post. i am proud enough to admit that it's "kind of a big deal."

(okay...okay now i feel sheepish. but i'll let it stand.)

but anyway. check me out. subscribe. leave me some comments. tell all your friends. hoo-rah!

my first two entries:

An Overactive Subconscious Meets the Dream Dictionary, Round One

and

How Britney Spears Prepared Me for Grown-Up Life

pick your poison. i mean, humor me and read both.