Co-Habitation at First Sight.

As soon as I entered the room, I couldn't believe how cute he was. I was staring. He was so handsome! I don't think he saw me, which I am thankful for because I looked like an idiot with my mouth hanging open. I thought he looked at me once and I did an awkward wave thing. What was I thinking? Why was I waving? He doesn't know me! What would a wave mean? Stupid me. But I am pretty sure he didn't see me. 

But I couldn't stop thinking about him.

So I went back four days later to see if he was there again. I just wanted to see if he was there again. I my goal was to be casual and non-desperate. And I was working "on top of mind" awareness, like in a 'Hey there, I am here and I am smiling at you" kind of way.  I was on a tight schedule but I thought that would help me avoid a long awkward interaction but give me enough time to say hello and introduce myself and maybe get the ball rolling.

It totally worked. It was kind of like a first date. He has a really deep voice, it was unexpected but very attractive. We have a lot in common. We are both curious, at ease with new people and fun. He has really great green eyes and some gray hair, which I like. Before I left a friend of his gave me his contact information. I didn't know what to do with it, I wasn't usually that forward and I wasn't super sure I wanted to go through with it. 

But three days later, I went back again. We made eye contact and I learned that a lot of people were interested in him but some girls though he was too fat and old. 

So I asked him to move in with me. It was totally spontaneous. One second I was editing a film project the next I was on the phone with my landlord approving the new roommate.

I never expected it to happen this fast. I mean, I had only known him a week and a half. We had had two 'dates." I didn't even know his health history! And now he was in my bed! 

And he's already so comfortable that he pees with the door open. 

Romance is dead. 

And he totally hogs the bed. 

He's still pretty cute. 

Top of Queue: Adam Richman

I have a crush on Adam Richman, which is slightly more sane than the crush that lead to the great Fake Date with a Semi-Married Man of 2009.

But back to Adam Richman, the host of Travel Channel's Man v. Food show. Adam is enthusiastic, friendly, social and a culinary adventurer. I am also those things. He's appealing in a man-who-can-eat-giant-cheeseburgers kind of way. But he's not a bow(e)lful of jelly, even though his job is to eat massive amounts of saturated fats. Does that make sense? Probably not, Google him, you'll see.

http://www.travelchannel.com/TV_Shows/Man_V_Food/About_The_Show/Meet_Adam_Richman

And he has a Master's degree from the Yale School of Drama. I tried to get a Master's degree from the Yale School of Drama and they gave me a fancy letter saying 'there were many qualified applicants this year...' instead. I'll frame that and put that on my wall; Resumebuilder!

But I think I might be mainly attracted to his job. The premise of his show is to eat all the crazy challenges that restaurants invent like 'eat this giant burger made of a live goat in two minutes' or "eat these wings covered in battery acid for a t-shirt." He takes on those challenges. He doesn't always win.

Secretly, now publicly, I want to have that show. I would lose a lot, but I would win more than expected.

Case in point:

I recently went to New Orleans and had two goals; to eat a muffaletta sandwich and drink a sazerac. A sazerac is made like this:

• 3 oz rye whiskey
• 3/4 oz simple syrup
• Peychaud bitters to taste
• absinthe or absinthe substitute
• lemon twist for garnish

http://cocktails.about.com/od/s/r/szrc_cktl.htm

And a muffaletta:

1 10" round loaf Italian bread with Sesame seeds
1 Recipe Olive Salad
1/4 lb Genoa Salami
1/4 lb Ham
1/4 lb Mortadella
1/4 lb Mozzarella
1/4 lb Provolone
http://neworleanscuisine.blogspot.com/2005/03/muffuletta-recipe.html


In the resturant, I was given a look when I ordered the sazerac, a look that said, "you are going to need to be carried out of here, little lady.' And then when I ordered a whole not half muffeletta sandwich, I got another look that said, "Out of towner, you know nothing and now I have to carry a sandwich out here that is heavy and you will not finish."

I noticed those looks. And knew what the unspoken challenge/doubt was. I had to eat that entire sandwich and drink my drink of demons.

The sandwich was huge, think about a football size loaf of bread and stuff it full of rich meats, cheeses and olives. Very filling.

And the sazerac made me do the head shake everytime I drank it.

I cut the sandwich in quarters and began eating, I could tell each time the waiter came out to check on us he was checking on my progress on my mountain range of sandwich. Soon I was down to one last quarter of sandwich, and I was full. So I downed the rest of my sazerac and put the last bit of sandwich in my purse. I didn't need to eat until I was uncomfortable, but I did hide the sandwich so the server would think I had eaten it all. And he did, he was so excited that he told me, 'Rarely does anyone order a whole let alone finish the  whole muffaletta, I (the server) can't even make it through half."

I knew I was sightly fraudulent, but I know my abilities and I made his day. And he wasn't ugly.

Back to my eating challenges. When I went to Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville in Cozumel.

Here is me and my mom! We are pirates!

(I know it is upside down, turn your laptop over, dummy)

After the pre-dinner chips and watery ketchup salsa were brought out, I asked for the spicer salsa that was offered but not brought out (because my mom is afraid of spices, but she did tell me she uses oregano.). The server looked at me as if I was a wet kitten and said, "We use jalapenos in that ma'am.'

My pale skin shone brightly and my northern prairie woman features tightened: this was another, underestimating challenge.

"Bring it out." I said, knowing now I would not only have to eat the salsa, but eat all of the salsa and wear the bowl as a dental dam. (too much?)

The salsa did show up and it was very spicy. And I ate all of it.

Here I am before the salsa and in the middle of a festive drink

Not because I was that hungry, but because I was that proud.




Naomi thought this blog should just be a photo of Adam Richman with kissy lips all over it. Obviously, I am way deeper than that and I don't know how to use Photoshop. 

How to Fashion show: Part 2: What to do after you are dressed.

The doors to 1st Avenue opened at 8pm. We arrived at at 7:15pm to a line of three jeans and winter-coat clad Minnesotans. We thought we might have been in the wrong line, did you see what we were wearing? (Scroll down to the previous blog if you didn't). But maybe they were going to get tickets and then go change into something spectacular, what do I know? I am a pretend fashionista. We wait ten minutes and watch the eager Twins fans try to find there way to the new Twins stadium. They all stare at us (again, hello short skirts in magenta and orange stripe!). I finally found out from the winter-weather prepared co-line waiters that tickets are being sold until 8pm. Then why were we in line?

So where to fashionistas go to before the biggest event of Minnesota Fashion Week?

The Hard Rock Cafe, of course.

On our way there, some lost Twins fans ask us how to get to the new stadium. Here is the script, read it along with friends:

Mid-Forties Blond Woman:
Where is the Twins game?

Me in orange mini-dress:
I saw a lot of people in Twins shirts go that way. (pointing west)

Mid-Forties Blond Woman in Black V-Neck Sweater:
How do you get there?

Me in orange mini-dress and turquoise jewelry:
 I would just follow those other groups of people in Twins shirts.

Mid-Forties Blond Woman in Black V-Neck Sweater and diamond earrings:
But how do you get there?

Me in orange mini-dress, turquoise jewelry and major eyeliner:
I don't know, I am not going there.
(Gestures to outfit)

Woman wanders away to ask the traffic cop, he waves her off, or he might have been waving traffic through.

Lesson learned: Everyone assumes you are going to the Twins game. Even when dressed like fancy hookers. Wait, my fault, everyone should have been assuming we were going to the Twins game.

Hard Rock Cafe it is.

Yes, they still exist and they still try to sell you T-shirts. We were very fancy with out potato skins and tall drinks. Most fashiony.

We finally got to the show, ticketed it up and Naomi got her photo taken by the Vita.MN crew. (check it out http://www.vita.mn/tag_detail.php?d=view_responses&show=all&tag_forum_id=1859)

This is the photo I took of Naomi!

The CityPages took our photo, but only after we signed up to win Lady Gaga tickets. And I am pretty sure the photographer tells everyone she likes their outfits. 


We knew somebody there! Madde! We felt cool. The we visited the restroom as fashionable women do. I accosted a designer I sort of knew! She remembered me, I liked her stuff SilverCocoon (http://silvercocoon.com/), really cool felt accessories, I want one of the giant bracelets!


Then the show started. 

BlueSky Blackout was the first band and I liked them the most. The fashions were..fashions. I don't know anything about fashions so I will just call them like I see them. I thought the first show was called "I am a skinny vampire" followed by "GARDENING" and then I couldn't see anything so I found the live Twitter feed monitor and spent the next two collections getting my tweets and fashion tips on the big screen. Then I saw the one with the hats, but since I could only see the models from the neck up I will call it "Hat Party 2010." We soon found were some 'fashiony" girls were sitting but could only see there behinds when the kneeled on their chairs so the rest of the show was "Back of Slacks and Heels."


Then we got bored and left. 

And went to Cold Stone Creamery and got smoothies. We should have gotten ice cream but smoothies seemed more fashiony. 


Voltage: Fashon Amplified.  Done. 

How dress for a Fashion Show or How I did not get kicked out of Voltage

How to dress for a fashion show:

Lesson #1: There are no mistakes. Seriously. Fashionistas are all about risks, so wearing blue painter's tape and a tiara will make you fit in.

Lesson #2: If you want to blend in wear black. If you want to stand out wear ANY OTHER COLOR! I wore color and stripes, meow. The dress I wore I recently purchased off of a new and awesome Etsy shop http://www.beesybrand.etsy.com/. Orange, blue, white and stripes. Yes, I was there.

Lesson #3: Make sure something you are wearing is questionable. To accompany my sporty, striped halter dress, I decided to be a earth mother and  I piled on most of my turquoise jewelry: huge sunburst cuff from my mom, giant ring from my grandmother and and the strands and strands of fake turquoise that I bought for .50 at a garage sale in North Dakota. Most of the comments were on my giant fake necklace.

Ta-da!

And take that jacket off and make a modely face!!

I wore the necklace mainly because the neckline of my dress was oh-so-very-daring and since I couldn't get the double-stick fashion tape to work, I needed something to cover my not-so-grand Tetons. The necklace worked pretty well for this, sure if I bent over enough people could see thing but I figured if they were trying that hard to see some sweet A-cups they deserved it.

I wore black tights because I felt too naked, the tights chosen out of function not fashion (but it looked like fashion.) And the boots, I could walk in them that is why I choose those.

Denim jacket? Yep, for the weather.

And that cool hairdo? Just bend over and hairspray your hair and done!

Here is Naomi! She was much more fashiony.

Nice work! The Vita.MN photographers were very excited about her, so she's now famous!

Another job that uses my enthusiasm for enthusiasm

Do you love supporting people dreams?

Yes!

Do you love helping out crazy ideas?

Yes!

Do you love telling people yes?

Yes!

Then become a Venture Capitalist, all you need is a love of new ideas, a passion for startups and a bunch of money to give to those new idea people.

So looks like I need to be this job, the only job that requires you have a bunch of money before you get to be it.

I think.

Where is the MFA program in becoming a Venture Capitalist?

Another Puppet-Why does it look like a man in drag?

I made this puppet!

I tried again to make a girl puppet, but this one is very manly. Except for his pink crimped hair.

Look at those eye lashes, totally fake. Puppet in drag!

Sparkle eyes will hypnotize you!

Uptown Easter! A Photo Essay...and words, I guess you can come too.

Detective Heather.
Objective: Find Easter
Go.

There I am! Easter must include a festive dress. So this is my wool dress from the now disappeared Lava Lounge (kudos to Mary C. for making me get it), denim jacket from Steph B. and those are my comedy shoes (that is what you wear to make comedy, closed-toe shoes).

Here's what I found:

You can't bake an Easter without cracking a few eggs! At least these were hard boiled. I wanted to eat them, but they already had a hard time today. 

And you can't have Easter without......

Compost!

Get it? The whole dying and coming back to life thing? It's just compost.

But if that metaphor still eludes you, how about this:

Death! Zombie Easter Christ Face! I bet Jesus was way better looking that this, though, he was only dead three days and he had divinity on his side, that's gotta have some great stylist contacts. This motorcycle was clearly dead for months or at least long enough for the flesh to pull away from the bone like award-winning barbeque before it re-animated itself. 

And the final sign of Easter:

My own personal stigmata! Take that Minneapolis. You're bleeding blue paint from your light posts, the sign of the second coming! 

I didn't really tag the post, it was already there.

But it is my initials. 

Maybe I've been sleep walking.

Why is there blue paint on my hands?

I wrote this a while ago and found it today!

June 32, 2009

The Internet just informed me that my epic High School/Grade school/Beyond crush was married in January. He is married. This really affects me. Why? I don’t know. I guess I always thought of him as a safe fantasy. But now he is married. I felt this way when Miss Eternal-Bags-Under-Her-Eyes took him to the prom. Why does the Internet know everything? Not that I ever really talked to this guy other than stammering self-consciously in 11th grade English class during an assignment about what would one need on a desert island. I said a swimming pool. I also remember having the fly on my black corduroy pants be down next to him during a movie in 10th grade and trying to figure out a subtle way to zip my fly back up, realizing now he wasn't ever looking at me and I could have just zipped it up and no one would have ever know but now I am telling the internet. I feel like I just missed some sort of deadline, like had I Googled him earlier, he would never have gotten married and could stay forever in my head as the guy I totally could have been with if I really wanted to. But he is married. I never would have guessed it. But I should have figured it out I have excellent taste. But I am a little bit vulnerable since I am coming off the best friend’s wedding thing where I was the most attractive and least married of all the bridesmaids and the only person that wanted to dance with me was the gay friend of the groom. I just wanted some Internet comfort food, some gazing at my untouchable crush and then he goes and gets married. Who am I to pine for now?

This is worse than my apartment manager thinking I have morning sickness when really I am doubled over from an intolerance to the dairy in the Caribou Coffee chai tea.

April 3, 2010

So maybe High School crush's marriage didn't work out....

Lights, Camera...Ladies, where's my car? or Bring unto me photos of my face

Once upon a time
in December 2009,
On a cool and frigid Friday  
things were going my way.
New photos of my face
taken at Cadence's studio place!

I drove to the studio amused
the parking was a bit confused,
because it was indeed day three
of the first snow emergency.

Camera flash and smile bright,    
we ended the session for the night.
Once outside, I look for my car,
empty street on the side that I par(k)

One curbside so empty, not one is left
except for a large taxi to help the bereft.
I can't see my car and I having a ride not
must spend my eve at the Mpls impound lot

"You need a taxi?" Squeeked a woman
sitting in her car as on out-of-place omen.        
"Look right there." She points across,
And I walk over feeling my auto loss.                                                  

The taxi-man pulls his cab forward to meet
me as I walk across the plowed street.
The six inches ahead he has moved,
reveals that my fears are soothed.
                                                                                                        
With a trick of the eye and odd forced perception,
my car had been hidden by the cab's full extension.
"No cab for me." I cooly and sheepishly explain,
just as I hear Cadence and Micheala's laughter in exclaim.

I laughed in the street and they did too,
impressed at what my conclusions could jump to.
The moral of the poem is if you car is what you don't see
it's only because the view is blocked by a taxi.

                                                       http://www.cadencecornelius.com/