Hey Mr. Talisman

I remember the last time I carved a pumpkin was in elementary school-over fifteen years ago.

Since then, pumpkins and I haven't been that tight and I'm sorry to say I have neglected them.

But in the spirit of making changes and beginning traditions, last night marked year one of carving the Great Pumpkin Powlie.

Pumpkin + Pal + Owlie = Powlie

Even though it's been a few sleeps since I've been up to my elbows in pumpkin guts, I have not forgotten that stringy texture. Or that smell. Ohhh, that smell.

It's that initial waft you catch as soon as the lid is lifted that really brings the onslaught of dry heaves.

After fighting the gags (á la Sweet Dee), I passed the torch (thumb scraper) to Chris to let him have a go.

René cleaned the seeds for baking while Chris showed that gourd who was boss- and it wasn't Tony Danza.

Although, I would be a little worried if Tony Danza was at our house.

Any-hooters (get it? Hooters. Like an owl)...

Chris completed carving and I prepared Sir Owlie for his coronation. After saying a few words about our great times together and how lucky I am to have a talisman such as him, it was time to watch owlie glow.

Drum roll please...








Thank you, Owlie, for being with me on this journey.

Yours forever,

Emily


- Posted from my awesome iPhone

The secret life of an American twenty-something

Maybe I shouldn't admit to this, but then again, who gives.

I was perusing Target the other day and happened to wander down the toddler aisle. In all fairness, I was with the MIL and SIL looking for a one-year-old's birthday gift, and don't usually do that for funsies. The first part of that was a truth, but the thing about not doing it for funsies may or may not be a complete lie. Sometimes I can't help myself.

The point is, I came across something that Chris and I needed.




Yes. Yes, that is a new born onesie with guitars and lightning bolts. And yes, I bought it.

Sadly, I am not pregnant, but I do have intentions of one day being a mommy. I see no wrong in starting a wardrobe early.

Worried how Chris would feel about this purchase, I contacted him with caution:

Me: So, I'm about to buy something, but don't get weirded out.

Chris: what is it.

Me: after sending the above referenced photo: sorry, I had to.

Chris: just for the hell of it?

Me: Our future babe will wear it.

Chris: I love it.

Me: can we have one?

Did you hear that? That was the sound of my mom hitting the floor, fainting from the thought.
What, you can't handle a fourth grandchild?

It's okay, she'll get over it. Thank goodness she doesn't read this, right?

Being 'round babes, onesies, and pregnant women just gives me a fever. I sweat it out eventually, but it comes right back.

Just don't expect me to be expecting any time soon. I don't know how my current dependents would feel about that.




- Posted from my awesome iPhone

Re-hash birthday bash

Let's talk about my birth, baby. Let's talk about you and me.
Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be.

Technically, I was born on the 15th, but don't think I didn't celebrate on the 14th and 16th as well.

Thursday was magical.

A pumpkin spice latte and vanilla scone sat patiently on my desk as I shuffled into work. I perked up at the sight of my treats because A. René knows me all too well and 2. Starbucks is a delicacy in these parts.

I rushed home from work that evening to fancy myself for dinner with Chris when he presented me with the first part of my birthday gift.



A Betsey Johnson owlie to keep lovingly around my neck.

This gift is an example of what dropping hints and having a cute obsession can get you. I suppose I can also credit my attentive husband. Thank you, oh precious lover of my soul.

Still no hug from Drew Brees, but there's always Christmas.

Fast-forward to Thursday night during dinner and to my second husband-gift for the evening: two Friday passes to Voodoo Fest next weekend. Does this guy know me or what? Muse and Weezer in the same town on the same day at the same place and I'm going to miss it? No ma'am.

Later that evening, we headed to the airport to pick up my nephew who was flying in to visit my sister's dad for the week. Let me tell you that this kid is seven and flew all by his little self from Colorado to Louisiana. What an independent little bad-a.

The parents decided to make an appearance in the greater NOLA area for my birthday weekend, but I think Jackson was the main cause.

Nevertheless, Friday was quite the event as we took advantage of the weather and I took advantage of my day off.

French Quarter stroll, brunch, Aquarium, Zoo, dinner, oatmeal-cake-eating on a rooftop terrace.

A well-rounded celebration, if I say so myself.

Move to Saturday where precious time was spent with my precious friends, Lane and Jordan. So kind of them to be here and celebrate, making turning older a little less painful and little more memorable.



Please keep in mind that this photo of us sharing a milkshake was after he poured a packet of sugar in his Coke and right before his consumption of a sno-ball.



Little poser.



He said to "tell anyone that I'm your son, if they ask." sorry, sister.



Missing my mum and dad.



Monkeying around. Monkey business. Monkey-see monkey-do. Monkey...I'm all out.



Birthday donut with pink strawberry glaze. You can't blame me.

My parents left with Jackson Saturday morning and Jordan and Lane took off Sunday. Now Chris is gone until next week and all is quiet on the Southern front.

You know that feeling you get after an eventful few days, being surrounded by friends/family, and then they've all left? Hate it.

Luckily, René has picked up where Chris left off and has been my running supervisor.

Chris and I began running together a couple weeks ago and boy do I feel sorry for him.

Tennis, golf, basketball, I can do. Throw a ball my way and I know what to do with it.
Soccer and running are Chris' sports and it's a bit hard to keep up with someone who was a former track and cross-country star. But by-gosh, he's there, one step behind me, probably giving me some kind of look that says "my God, why did I agree to this?"

In his absence, I've also found comfort in a new book:




It's an Eat, Pray, Love-ish account of the author "test-driving" a variety of ways to improve her life and reach a higher levelof happiness. But instead of uprooting her life to globe-trot and find serenity in pasta, she searched for ways to make changes in her day-to-day, right where she was.

The author wasn't depressed, and neither am I. Just interested in learning how to "look for happiness under my own roof" and take advantage of what I've been given.

Lord knows I don't want to wake up one day and say,

"What a wonderful life I've had! I only wish I'd realized it sooner."
(Colette)

- Posted from my awesome iPhone

Mahvelous things

Oh, what did I do this weekend? Why, I thought you'd never ask.

Let's start with Friday.

Chris and I made our way to the Mahalia to experience the comedic musings of the always-offensive Daniel Tosh.

My expectations for the show were fairly high, seeing as Tosh.0 is a staple on the McPeters DVR. And, let's be honest, I grew up in a Gallagher household and the only other comedian I've seen live was Bill Cosby when I was ten. So, to gauge my expectations by those comparisons wouldn't really be fair.

I was impressed with Daniel's ability to keep the chuckles coming-it takes a lot for me to LOL in public. And maybe it says something about me, enjoying tasteless jokes and vulgar punchlines, but I can't help myself. That mess was hysterical.

Move to Saturday.

After savoring my first hot pumpkin spice latte (all previous lattes were iced due to the unbearably unseasonable humidity), I went out and purchased my first adult pumpkins.




One for carving, one for baking, and one to complete the grouping because things look better in threes.

Now, Owlie patiently guards our pumpkins, so don't go try anything foolish. He tells me everything




After spending the early afternoon adoring our gourds, the McPeters and Beaubouefs experienced the Bridge City Gumbo Fest. We were disappointed to learn a cover of the Cupid Shuffle had ended mere seconds before our arrival and moseyed on over to the gumbo pot to eat our feelings.

Of course, the temps eventually reached the mid 90s and forced (and I mean FORCED) us to cool off with a sno-ball.

And then it happened.

I found him. The second love of my life. The one I've spent all these years looking for was waiting for me at the sno-ball stand, taking the form of a French Bulldog.



Meet my new mate.

For some reason Enzo's owner saw an issue with me taking him home and snatched him out of my hands before I could make a getaway. Rude.

You'll always be in my heart, Enzo.

After an overnight bout of grief, I was finally relieved when we arrived at Tipitinas Uptown to see Eisley perform.

Chris introduced me to this band shortly after we began dating and I haven't been able to stray since. What we can't figure out is, why, after opening for Coldplay (Rush of Blood tour), they haven't become more well-known.

I'm not opposed to keeping them our little secret, but if you're into a band comprised of three singing sisters, brother, and cousin playing indie-shoegaze-melodic tunes, you may find solace in Eisley.

And if for some reason you're STILL pondering what to get me for my birthday but coming up short, please send Drew Brees hugs in lieu of gifts.

- Posted from my awesome iPhone

Martha McPeters

Let me tell you the story of how I/we Martha Stewart-ed our apartment:

This one time, at Ikea, I bought a few yards too many of pretty lellow fabric.

I used the majority to cover the canvas stretchers for our large "art" piece.




With a substantial leftovers, I filled a mirror frame (Ikea) with the same fabric and fancied-up or dining area.



(wall sconces and candles from World Market)

And THEN (here's the good part), I used the scraps from that project to put in embroidery hoops, which are now part of a darling collage in our bedroom.






They need to put me on Design on a Dime.

My favorite piece:



Owlie once adorned a headband given to me by Chris, but the fabric band unraveled and left my friend without a home.

RIP



Thankfully, Owlie (as all my owls are affectionately called) was salvaged and is now cozy in his new living quarters.

Also, if you heard about me needing some pumpkin in my mouth, my prayers were answered. Last weekend I Martha Stewart-ed some pumpkin muffins.



Yea, they tasted that good, too.

And finally, a new hooter for our home is perched on our door, ready to greet and warm the cockles of your heart.




He wants to know if you'll come visit. Please?

- Posted from my awesome iPhone

Set your goals

Recently, Mrs. Brooke made a post regarding the onset of a new month/season and the opportunity to make (and achieve) personal challenges.

Then, during a visit from the brother-and-sister-in-law, Stacey and I discussed our impending birthdays and goals we want to reach during our 26th year.

With the better part of my twenties behind me, and another year closer to 30 descending, it has me thinking about personal goals and challenges I want to reach before I meet that mark.

Of course there are the "travel more, buy a house, get a golden retriever, have a successful career, have nine babies" goals; but for me, right now, that'd be a cart/horse situation.

I've always been a last-minute decision-maker, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, "the best laid plans of mice and men..." kind of person. Obviously, planning ahead and setting goals has never been my forte.

In fact, to some, the way I operate is a tad irritating and unreliable.

Usually it's easy to shrug and "shake them haters off," but there comes a point when you realize your habits have become poisonous to relationships and yourself.

It was easy to believe that moving would resolve whatever issues haunted me then, but it only gave them time to sink in further. They followed me down an unlit alley, roughed me up, and left me with some bruises.

Although I escaped with only minor injuries, and a better understanding of self, I never again want to confess to running from something just because I was scared.

I'm learning that I want to constantly live outside of my comfort zone while maintaining and nurturing relationships. Because, as as important as "me" time is, sometimes talking with a human is more important than ranting on your blog. And when I say "your," I mean "my."

I want to look at my 26th year as one of recovery from a not-so-perfect 25th.

Recovery of communication; including the rebirth of the letter/phone conversation and dissolving a feeling of detachment.

Recovery of relationships.

Recovery of self and rediscovering purpose.

Although I'll learn from my past mistakes, I'm no longer living there.

Cheers to the present.


I'd like to note that, usually, I type out these sort of "heavy" posts and eventually end up deleting them because I feel they stray from my light-hearted trend. As a step in the right direction, welcome to my uncomfort zone.

- Posted from my awesome iPhone

Rocktober

Welcome, favorite month of the year! You've really charmed your way into my heart today, with that amber sunrise and fall-ish breeze of yours. Please don't ever quit me.

It JUST SO HAPPENS that my favorite month is also my birth month. Coincidence? Absolutely.

And thank sweet goodness above that I was born in a month where opal is the birthstone because that just so happens to be my favorite gem. That statement also serves as a hint to anyone planning to purchase jewelry for any special occasion in which I am affiliated.

Bless you, mom, for having me fully baked sixteen days prior to Halloween so I never have to spend my day being outshone by world's largest costume contest-in which I have and always will participate*

If I MUST share my day with someone, I suppose my second dad (father-in-law, not Paul Riser) would be the person I'd choose, even though I had no choice.

*side note: Chris and I have planned our costumes and we're sure going to be cute for two ugly people

Speaking of (Chris, not ugly people)...

I tried to talk him into starting a husband/wife blog so he could journal tour stories from the road.

He unregretfully declined.

I don't think "unregretfully" is a word, but I give no crap.

I digress.

To Chris, keeping up with a blog would be similar to keeping track of his sunglasses. Easy to hold on to at first, but eventually they're forgotten on a counter, table, or men's bathroom sink.

He's been through at least six different pair in less than a year.

But surely (don't call me Shirley) he's got some good material, right? Probably a books worth.

In other irrelevant news: I'm craving P.F. Changs.

Never mind that I live in NEW ORLEANS and I want to eat at a chain restaurant (how gauche), but I need a dumpling in my mouth a-sap.

Aaand that's what she said.

- Posted from my awesome iPhone