Weekend happies: Tumblrs I want to eat with a spoon.

Sad Keanu is kinda played out. Here's what you should be viewing right now.



Fuck Yeah Liz Lemon. No further commentary needed.

Nostalgia! Everything new is old! Dads: The Original Hipsters. (Thanks Joseph!)

Bro tips. Sage advice for Bros.

Boy candy. Cute trash.

Scanwiches.
Noms.

Fuck Yeah Rooms. Great for the design-bent.

Adorably hilarious Brittany helps you not suck at makeup @ Makeup Always Fits.

DUHMERICANA: The tumblr! (duh.)

Dark Lord Day Survival: Drink the beer, avoid the feces.

Image via flickr


April 30 2011 marks the annual release of Three Floyds' coveted Russian imperial stout, Dark Lord. This shit is apparently so money (yeah, I said it) that an entire day is devoted to the celebration, complete with bands, bbq and craft-beer swapping. It will take place in a relatively small Northwest Indiana industrial park. Six thousand are anticipated.
6,000 fools + high alcohol content beer + 12 hours of drinking = Prepare for the crazy, kids.

This is not about enjoyment. I am a Dark Lord Day virgin. For me, this is about survival.


1.Dress for Chicagoland's unpredictable weather. And the vomit of strangers.

You're going to be outside all damn day. 12 fucking hours. Chicagoist recommends sunscreen, rain gear. I've got some dope rainboots on the way. Rainboots are key for keeping out the mud, spilled beer, and miscellaneous vomit/feces.

Also: I picked up a parasol. A PARASOL is key for rain/sun protection and maintaining your bourgeois image amongst the rabble. PARASOL. Get in on it. I've picked out this fancy pink daisy version.

I really wanted to wear my favorite romper but...the idea of getting completely nude in a humid porta-potty smeared with bodily fluids is something I've decided to avoid. I'm gonna go with layers. Comfy skirt, obligatory brewery t-shirt, hoodie. My parasol and eye makeup will bling that shit up. Parasol.


2. Avoid the come-ons of nerds.



Likely choads and their empties. Image via flickr










While I'm thrilled that the expected ratio of men to women at the festival will be approximately 500:1, I anticipate a large amount of The Uncouth Dork types. Think indie metal, with bad skin and man boobs. Picture your average World of Warcraft player stereotype. Remove game. Add craft beer. Done.
The drunker this species gets, the more confident and assertive they become.

I have three weapons at my disposal:
a). My ability to projectile vomit.
b). Pointy-ended parasol. (Did I mention this parasol and how you should get one?)
d). A tazer.
d). Unyielding cruelty.

Any of the above methods (or combination thereof) should send the creeps back to their loser peers.

3. Be prepped and ready for natural disasters.

I am a delicate flower and shudder in disgust to think about all of the e.coli, bronchitis, and syphilis floating through the air at the this festival.
You need:

a). Condoms. I would double bag that shit.
b). Industrial-sized hand sanitizer. There's no TSA to be afraid of here, bring assloads.
c). Rolls of toilet paper. Ladies, we don't want to be stuck without.
d). Wet naps. At some point, a peasant WILL drool on you.
e). Earplugs. Metal bands will play. The wall of sound will hit you and your
drunk ass will try to headbang. Then you will barf. Avoid it all and plug
your head up.


Let's do this! I'm ready to sample your amazing home brew, new friends! I'll be the blonde girl sprawled on the ground, stroking the asphalt. Lemme know if you need to borrow my tazer.

Cartagena and North Colombia: My Romancing the Stone fantasy.

Image via Glam Chic


I remember seeing Romancing the Stone with my mom and her best friend around the ripe young age of 8 or so. Nothing makes moms swoon like Michael Douglas's feathered 80s hair and dramatic knife-brandishing. Even then, I fell in love with the idea of traveling to the exotic Colombian land.
This is my fantasy vacation. Feel free to donate. ;)


Camping in Parque Nacional Tayrona
Supposedly one of the most picturesque beaches in South America. So, you know, up to my standards.





Images via NY Times

Beach camping leads to a layer of sand, salt and muck at all times, so I might as well have a pretty toenails. I love this color by Scotch for humid, mosquito-y nights.



Dancing in Cartagena

Remember Joan and Jack finally made it to Cartagena to shower and dance? This is where I'll be washing off the jungle grime. The Hotel Aguamarina.





Images via Destino Antioqua,
Trip Advisor






Cartagena images via NY Times

I'll have my lovah pick up a linen maxi dress like this one from Victoria's Secret to put on my clean bod before dancing, Kathleen Turner style (i.e. lots of hair-tossing).



Alcohol and Drugs in Taganga.

I'll close out the trip with some cocaine (hey, it's Colombia, right?) and local suds followed by stimulant-induced flirting in this dream-like beach town.


Image via Wikipedia

For sipping beers as the boats slide by, I'll flick my wrist wearing these light fabric bangles from Modcloth. And little else, darlin'.



I'm aiming for February 2012. Men with chiseled features are welcome to apply.

Anatomically beautiful.

“The human heart stripped of fat and muscle, with just the angel veins exposed.”
via and via


Brainbow: Cerebellum. TamilyWeissman, Jeff Lichtman and Joshua Sanes (2007).
via


CT Scan: Back of the nose.via


High-heeled.
via

NOTW: Toothy.

My lovely cousin Katie posted a similar necklace on her tumblr (via) and I loved it...but couldn't find the source. I found the posted bad boy on Etsy, natch. It reminds me of those early tooth fairy days. I remember one whiny childhood night when I had a tooth hanging by a last nagging root. My dad threatened to tie a string around my tooth and a doorknob and...SLAM! Luckily he is a liar.

I kinda wish I had saved my baby teeth. I feel like they'd make great good luck charms. And Lord knows this bitch needs all the luck she can get.

Week-end Happies

Photo via Boo Abbott


Love your mother. Gorgeous earth day photos.

I still want you to use your thermos, but these are some damn lovely paper coffee cups.

Deliciously bad idea: A chair made of lollipop sugar.

Minimalist movie posters. Want so bad. SO BAD.

This artist takes the 20th anniversary of Ice, Ice Baby farther than I would. Yeah.

Super easy, no-sew DIY rockstar market bag.

Joey the Junior reporter. Watch this. Then read this. Kinda makes me want one. A kid, not a disrobed NHL player. Wait...

EGG Porn: Easter Edition! Kind of.

One of Giorgia Borroni's "Uovo" portraits.

I'm kind of an egg junkie. I desperately want chickens, but this asshole I live with won't let me get them. To be fair, his argument that he will have to do all of the maintenance, while I do all of the chicken-petting, is likely accurate.

In addition to eating eggs pretty much every damn day, I find the shape soothing and peaceful. It pleases my brain when egg-shapes pop up in unexpected locations.

So EGGS.

Cracked. Gugkaev's Omlamp.



Goofy Egg Sculptures by Mark Cawood.




Cooler than your fort. Baumraum Egg treehouse.



My next boyfriend will make me this: Black Sesame Egg Yolk Mooncake.




Sexytime Roca Cocoon egg shower.



Elaborate Virgin Mary mosaic made of 15,000 eggs. For realz.





Make a heart-shaped eggggg.
(Thanks Rose!)



Thug life: KasaUovo Houses




Egg Workspaces!




This video never ever ceases to disappoint me.
(Embedded below, but click on the link for ultimate pleasure. Thanks Nina!)



Afterword: My philosophical position on eggs.
Since I can't get em via the vaginas of my own chicken pets, we get eggs through various local farms. My favorite eggs come from Tempel Farms. Local eggs are 100 times fresher and tastier than mass-produced store varieties. Big, creamy, no salt needed. Not to mention that by purchasing locally-sourced eggs, you avoid contributing to vast amounts of waste and cruelty (i.e., grinding up male baby chicks) that coincide with factory-farmed eggs. Pretty much all eggs found at your average chain grocery store tend to come from factory egg farms.
Not all local farms are guaranteed to be cruelty-free by definition, but I have yet to come across one in the Chicagoland area that utilizes the practices of mass-produced egg farms. It's just not practical or necessary in a smaller context.
Yes. I'm a hippie. I also find local, happy-chicken eggs to be a basically cruelty-free source of animal protein. The chickens don't need em, it doesn't hurt 'em, and chicken embryos don't have a brain for shit. (That is the technical explanation for the poultry central nervous system, incidentally. Note also my expertise on chicken vaginas.)

House Husband's Pink Salad

A half-eaten pink mess o' joy.



I keep trying to talk the fella into starting a cooking blog. He's like, that awesome. But lazy.

So instead, I will continue to occasionally share his wizardry. I've been forcing him to make salads a lot lately as part of my never-ending quest for a 20-year-old body.

This one is phenomenonally savory, sweet, crunchy, hearty, and pink as hell. You will eat this.


House Husband's Pink Salad

red cabbage (large) - 1/4 head julienned
green cabbage (medium) - 1/4 head julienned
red onion - 1/2 very thinly sliced
walnuts - 1/2 cup coarsely chopped
chick peas - 1 can rinsed
beets (medium) - 3 roasted, quartered, and sliced
rice vinegar - 3 tbs
olive oil - 4 tbs
soy sauce - 1 tbs
Parmesan cheese - 1/4 cup finely grated
salt & ground pepper to taste

Mix all ingredients except beets & cheese in a large bowl and let sit for 10 minutes for flavors to meld. Add beets & cheese, toss & serve.

Emo: Animals can do it too.

Currently tearing up over Isa Lesko's portraits of elderly animals. As my Elsie and Emma puppies approach the ages of 11 and 9, respectively, and my creepy foster turtle approaches 30, I am all-too cognizant of their mortality.






I linked TeenAngster's profile of Martin Usborne's piece on Friday but it's so moving, it deserves another look. My husband and I always wonder how much our dogs understand the car at all. Is it like a magic teleportation device to them? How much do they understand that they are really moving? Is it like a temporary home? We try not to leave our dogs in the car ever, more for fear that they would terrorize others rather than be terrorized, although looking into the eyes of these pups it's hard not to feel dog-mom empathy.



Emo Animals in art and design:

Pensive Raven via Etsy

Crying bunny double brooch via Etsy

"Humility" via Etsy


Now, to cheer you up- visit Animals with Emo Haircuts on Smosh and Emo Animal lolz on The Daily Green.

Today's dose of beauty: The Mountain by Terje Sorgjerd

I always find everything in slow motion to be incredibly beautiful. Then someone pointed out to me that speeding things up can also yield stunning results. This time-lapse video is so gorgeous and soothing that I may have cried a tiny bit. Also note that I am exceptionally hormonal, so maybe it's not that great.

Wide-screen recommended.
(Thanks Scott!)

The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.

NOTW: Lockets in unexpected shapes.

I want them all. One for Bieber, one for Stephen Hawking, one for that popular internet opossum. Available from HHH Designs. Add a chain and swoon.

Week-end happies.

Photo via National Geographic



Ohhh. A book you can sleep in.

Lovely, sad photos. On the emotions of dogs.

This gif. I mean, Bill Murray, you guys.

Interactive penis size map. Surprisingly SFW. Bottom line: Midwest ladies, might as well head up to Windsor Ontario to get laid.

Bruschetta orgy.

Important meme this week: Cute Roulette and That Can Be My Next Tweet.

Absinthe Suisse: The sexy comfort food of cocktails.

My experience with this cocktail comes from from a work outing at Lüke, a brasserie in downtown New Orleans. I found that I just needed 2 to tolerate networking.
Damn delicious, like ingesting a minty cloud. Although Herbsaint is anise-flavored, this drink does not taste even remotely licorice-y, so don't worry, haters. Pair with some good dark chocolate and I guarantee nudity.


Lüke's Absinthe Suisse

1 1/2 ounces Herbsaint (can sub Pernod, Ricard, or other absinthe)
1/2-ounce orange flower water
1 large egg white
1 teaspoon white or clear crème de menthe
Ice

In a cocktail shaker, combine the ingredients and shake vigorously until frothy and well blended.

Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and serve.

Recipe courtesy of NOLA's favorite, Emeril Lagasse.

Hot boys in Varsity jackets.

The cougar in me is purring. The big thing in men's jackets? Varsity-styleee.
I see this backfiring hard on me. Instead of chatting up the fashionable restaurateur in a dark lounge wearing said jacket, I will end up accidentally molesting a sophomore quarterback with good skin.


But you know. DAMN. Even J.Peterman has a version, so let's make it work, men. Bouffant optional. Bonus points for vintage originals. Guess what? Also hot as hell on the ladies.










Pics via NY Times, Black Mary Jane