Making Up for the Nasties

To make up for the sad, sad pictures from my last post, feast your little eyeballs on these scrumptious babies:

Stripes, stripes, everywhere! And lovin' the greys and greens and creams.
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Oh, what I wouldn't give to have this oven in my house. Or to have a house. Obsessed with the red knobs. Obsessed with the copper pot on top. Obsessed with the red espresso machine on the counter. Obsessed.
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Rooty tooty fresh and fruity, hello pineapple lamps.
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Look. At.Those.Oysters. I'd hang this bad boy over my bed and call it a very good night. And the table...oh, the table. Loves it.
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When I was little, I had a friend who lived in a log cabin in the woods. In her log cabin, her dad hung the most awesome indoor swing from the exposed beams that let you swing to ridiculous heights. Ever since, I've been obsessed with indoor swings. Who wouldn't be?
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It's raining outside. And I'm not even near a window. Tears for everyone. Only 2.5 hours left until I'm free, free, free as a bird. Yessssss!

Just Another Manic Monday

**Please refer to this link as a view into my exact thoughts on the biz-cas. Thank you.**

So apparently there was a power outage in my office building over the weekend which has caused all the alarms to trigger and wail into this high-pitched ear-splintering

"eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkkkk"

that literally makes you want to jump off the 11th floor (but you can't because they've locked the doors to keep you trapped inside, so lame). Plus, the noise is the loudest over my desk, which is soooo funny seeing how I'm the only person who had to come in today/there's nothing for me to work on/my shitty iPod battery just died/it's only 10:00.

Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. My ears are starting to bleed, eff my life.

But, hopefully I'll escape for lunch with Delaney and possibly run away/never return.
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Moving on. Here's a tub for you. And a mirror that is humpalicious.
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This weekend I watched The September Issue, a documentary on Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue magazine. It was tres bien, suggest checking it out... although she was clearly not as fabulous as Meryl Streep--yeah I said it--nor as badass as her Creative Director, Grace Coddington.
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Whatever, look at this backspash/stove combo and just die of happiness.
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One day when I'm rich and nonfamous and even more fantastic than I already am, this is where I'll have a tea party with all my equally fuckingfab friends. Hello, barn aisle with million dollar ponies and and awesome light fixtures and super pretty flower arrangements and classy table settings and linen table clothes/napkins. Nice to see you.
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Ta ta!