Who gets the last bite?

Anyone who’s ever spent some quality time with me knows that my meals are sacred. I have to eat regularly or I succumb to what my sister calls LBS: low blood sugar. LBS is another way of saying I am a raging beyotch when hungry (i can admit it…the truth hurts sometimes).

I also carefully plan my eating pattern so that the end of my meal is also the best of my meal. This means if eating a salad, for example, I save all my chicken for the end…if eating a dessert I save the bit with nuts…etc. Often this means the first half of my meal is mediocre- something I am okay with as long as the final bites are perfect.

That being said, I am also pretty damn good about offering to share my last (read BEST) bite with Adam- that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Wrong. Today we had an argument about this (I didn’t even want the last bite…just a bite!) and I’m now curious…who gets your last bite? From now on I bet you can guess who will get mine… 🙂

xx- victoria


It takes 3 to make a tripod

For 6+ years my sisters/soul mates/best friends and I have been separated in some way or another. Away at school, out of state, out of the area…just plain APART. Well, all that’s about to change and I can’t freaking wait!

My sister and her fiance  (hiiiii brother) are moving to good ‘ole California from Illinois and are going to be a few…wait for it…HOURS BY CAR away.

That puts Katie in Simi Valley, me in Venice and Liz/Wayne in San Diego (3 hours total drive time for a reunion!)…let the shenanigans/wedding planning/celebrating begin!!!!!


Renovation realities: helicopter crates and a storage wall

I am starting to feel a little bit more like a grown up, especially because I spent the whole weekend doing a DIY home project (I am 22 going on 45, apparently).

It all started with a ton (only a slight exaggeration, really) of Adam’s crap. I’ll admit it: I get most of the closet space in the bedroom. I need it- I have more clothes. Just so we are clear, I get more space in a cave-like room (no more than 10 feet long by 4 feet wide) that I still have to share with Adam. Adam, the crafting, DIY, designer, live-in-lover of mine gets quite a bit more space throughout the apartment. He has box, after box, after box, after pile…of stuff. Surf boards, wet suits, bike parts, art supplies, deflated volleyballs, a few softballs, tools, and DOZENS of Communication Arts magazines take up all the spare storage space and then some. The biggest issue of contention in this disagreement?- the damn magazines. Why?- because I have been with Adam for 2.5 years and I have never once seen him open a single one. It is honestly the beginning of “Hoarders: Buried Alive” and I am the one being suffocated by it. Currently, we are in negotiations over these magazines. I’ll keep you posted.

The above anecdote is actually relevant to our weekend DIY project: we decided to make a wall long storage/seating area to hide all of Adam’s excess stuff. Craiglist came up big for us, and on Saturday morning we drove to the Camarlilo airport and picked up 2 helicopter shipping crates. One crate was 9 feet, the other 8 feet, and Adam assured me they would fit. After a parking fiasco- which involved someone blocking our driveway for the better part of the day and ended with us having the car towed- set us back 5 hours we knew Sunday would be a long day. And we were right– 14 hours long.

We sanded and cleaned the crates first- tedious, but not too bad. Then, we started painting. And we painted. And painted. and painted, until we gave up any hope of making the crates look 100% perfect (they were free, after all). A Home Depot excursion to get supplies for the lids and feet set us back another hour or so, and by the time we got back it was time to lift the pint-sized (…right) units up the stairs, through the window and into our apartment (PIVOT, anyone?). This part of the project went surprisingly well…until I looked at the size of the wall vs. the size of the crates: the crates were a foot too big to fit in the allocated space. So, at 11:00PM last night Adam used a hand-saw to chop a chunk off the crate, then re-pieced the end back on. Success. 2 more hours of organizing and rearranging and VOILA! we had a custom wall unit, already packed to the brim with crap. Eventually it will have cushions and some more decorative features, but for now this will do just fine. Oh, the wonders of sharing a space :).



We’d been talking about going to the Rose Bowl swap meet forever. Now that we finally have a space worth decorating we figured it was finally justifiable to make the trek out to Pasadena and shop.

Before I get to the good stuff I [of course] have a few rants. First, swap meet-goers should pay attention to the time. If you arrive anytime after 9 admission is $8.00/person. If you arrive earlier the price goes up depending how early. For example, if you enter the buying area from 8-9 it costs $10. And, ticket sellers will in fact charge you $10 up until the clock reads 9:00. WHY would you pay extra for 5 minutes?! The extreme swap-meeters who got to the grounds at 5:00AM already swooped up the best deals, anyway. PAY ATTENTION!

Secondly, I know “antiques” are trendy, and I like a weathered piece of furniture as much as the next blog-reading, i-live-with-a-designer, i-want-a-cute-apartment girl. But, more than I want a cute piece of furniture, I want a good deal. Just because you call something “vintage” doesn’t make it so. Buying something off Craigslist for $2 to turn around and sell it for $50 does not make you a business-person…it makes you greedy (and often, dumb- there’s a reason YOU STILL HAVEN’T SOLD that shitty dresser).

Shockingly enough, despite the above sentiments about swap meets, I did really enjoy our outing. And, we even managed to snag a few old ammunition boxes we plan on turning into unique end tables. Stay tuned for updates and pictures of the finished product…that’s our project for the 3-day weekend (I am predicting our first big fight will occur as a result).

xx- Victoria



Thank God we won’t have to do this for another 12 months

It’s official: Adam and I are now residents of Venice Beach, CA. Though it’s awesome to be here now, anyone who has ever moved knows how not fun the entire process is. And, anyone who has ever moved to the second story of a house, apartment, condo, etc. without an elevator knows how REALLY not fun moving is (you guessed it…we do not have an elevator).

Saturday morning we got down to Venice early and started unloading (special thanks to my wonderful parents for the help). We didn’t even have to run Venice that day for a workout– our stairs handled the whole exercising thing for us that day (butt and thighs, get ready for a showdown). Even though it seems like the manual labor part would be the most difficult, it’s really not. This might be due in part to the fact that I am a much better supervisor than I am worker. Regardless, the worst part about moving is the never.ending.pile.of.boxes. Seriously, we’ve been in the “unpacking and putting away” phase for 3 days and we are just barely done emptying everything (and so far from any real organization).I am ready for the fun part- the decorating part. Oh the arguments that are begging to be blogged about…

Did I mention we also had basically no furniture when we moved in? In theory this was a brilliant idea- we both decided to get rid of anything we knew we didn’t want to hang onto because we didn’t want the hassle of trying to get rid of it later. In reality, however, this was perhaps not our most genius plan– we now have nowhere to put anything (did I mention that we Adam has a lot of stuff?).

In the past few days we have managed to get the most important furniture taken care of: dining table and couch. Papers are on the ground, books are boxed in plastics bins, everything else is stacked in piles, and, at least for tonight, it doesn’t matter. It’s starting to look like a real house- even though we are both trying to shake the feeling that we are on vacation. Is this real life?…When did we get old enough for this?