Carolyn Creative

This is my favorite Greensboro headline ever: “New Garden Widening Just About Done”

You know all that work they were doing on New Garden?  Over there by the new Target?

Well.  It’s just about done.

Thursday is Kevin’s jam night.  It’s his opportunity to put forth funky bass lines into the universe.  He also throws down a few beers.  Well.  He’s not the only one to let loose.  Check out my Thursday night debauchery.

I know.  Next time I might not put the candy corn in a bowl.  That’s right.  I’m an animal.

I wholeheartedly agree with this article on Gawker about the 10 Phrases That Should Never Be Spoken on Reality TV Ever Again.  They’re right — there’s got to be another way to say “I’m on the chopping block this week.”  It seems like the designers on Project Runway — one of my personal faves — overuse this expression quite a bit.  When they could say, “I’m at the end of the spool,” or “My design isn’t cutting it,” or “I’m going to have to go back to Cleveland and sew hot pants in my Grandma’s basement again.”

However, they left out my personal favorite: “I’m not here to make friends.  I’m here to win.”  It’s the classic line to explain why one acts like an ogre at the expense of another person without actually apologizing.  Ah, reality TV.  Bringing out the best in humanity.

This summer, I went to the NC mountains to join my family for some cool air and luscious blue views.  I returned home to a monster.  In my absence, my husband became obsessed with a phenomenon called P90X.  Heard of it?  It is a hardcore exercise program obtained from an infomercial.  Not only had Kevin cleared out a room in our basement, he’d dragged down mats, weights, and towels.  And in typical Kev-style, there were spreadsheets.

For, um, both of us.

I was confused.  What made him think I had any interest in joining him in this adventure?  My usual regimen of Mom and Baby Yoga class and super strolling?  I mean, I haven’t done exercise that made me jiggle since … high school.  I still had some baby weight hanging around.  What was he implying and more importantly, did he want to live?

The thing is — I’m one of those people who will try anything.  Belly dancing?  Sure.  Pottery painting?  Cucumber margaritas?  Right on.  Jeggings?  Well, not so much on the jeggings.

Before I knew it, Kevin and I are in the middle of Week 8 of P90X.  He is far more disciplined than me.  I have taken a few days off for a). extreme sleep deprivation and b). my birthday.  Are we fit, toned, glossy hardbodies?  Eh.  Not yet.  We do have stronger butts and we don’t get as sore anymore.

The biggest change is that Tony, the trainer behind P90X, has become part of our family.  When you spend an hour a day with someone, every day, you get close.  Tony’s cheerful encouragement and catch phrases now permeate our everyday activities.  For example, we now describe taking out the trash as “excellent” holding up our hands in an “x.”  A hiatus in spooning the baby applesauce is noted with “break!” and “break’s over!”  And we have several ballistic stretches such as “shakers” and “huggers,” which we bust out at inappropriate settings, like Yum Yum Better Ice Cream.

Will we make it all the way to Week 13?  Stay tuned …

Since Kevin and I don’t know where we’re going in the Triad, we’ve decided to make our way through “the best” stuff, according to the News-Record and YES weekly.  And hopefully find other groovy gems along the way.

This Saturday, we were celebrating Kevin’s official job offer from Polo (and impending discount which will probably lead to a decreasing bank account) so we checked out Skippy’s in downtown Winston Salem for their legendary hot dogs.  My husband is a man of simple food needs.  Sandwiches, hot dogs, and tacos.  These things make him happy.

The dogs were solid.  Let me share most magical thing about Skippy’s — the pretzel roll.  It provides the perfect buttery and slightly sweet complement to the dog.  Expectations met, we were delighted and pleased.  We even returned for extra pretzels for the ride home, but they were sold out!  Until next time, delish pretzel heaven …

Note: We learned that Skippy was actually a chubby three-legged dog who is no longer with us.  I can relate because I used to have a hamster named Scoopy, also no longer with us.

We’re here!  We made it! We successfully transplanted ourselves to our Sunset Hills rental in Greensboro!  We’re … exhausted.

Although it is a relief to know that our belongings are now where they belong, there were a few surprises in our new home.  Let’s just say the landlady has a different idea of, ahem, clean.  Coming from me, who self-admittedly occasionally channels Pig Pen from Peanuts, that’s saying a lot!  She also left us a few presents.  Some furniture she thought might be helpful, dozens of lawn chotchkes, and my personal favorite — twenty plastic tropical birds pausing in mid-flight in the kitchen.  In case we don’t make it to Disney World, now we have the Tikki Room in our own home!

But snarkiness aside, we love the house and the neighborhood!  I’m trying to practice patience, taking on small projects at a time.  I’m pleased as punch that I have a little office now.  We have an ice-maker for the first time!  I’m sure that in no time, it will feel like home …

Miles isn't really pumped about painting.

Here is a new post from my Happiness Guru girlcrush, Gretchen Rubin, on Eight Ways to Tell Whether You’re Being Boring.  Some tips are pretty obvious; others, a bit more subtle.  Personally, I think drool is an excellent indicator of less than lively conversation.

That's fascinating. Wow.

When we found out I was pregnant, my thoughtful and thrifty sister quickly sent me an updated copy of Baby Bargains.  For those of you unfamiliar with this tome, it is a thorough and helpful review of all the baby products on the market.  And I mean all of them.  It can be a bit overwhelming for someone new to the baby world, perhaps, ahem, someone like me who was confused when the nurse guiding the hospital at the hospital kept referring to “coaches.”  I was really worried I didn’t have one until my husband pointed out that he, actually, would be the coach.  Back to Baby Bargains.

“Just start with one chapter,” my sister told me.  ”Like strollers.”

But the stroller chapter is fifty pages!  Ay yi yi.  Recently, NYT writer Lynn Hall’s wrote an interesting article in Salon about increasing stroller hostility in Brooklyn. Man!  I can’t even pick out a stroller and now I have to worry about anti-stroller sentiment? Hopefully, the Queen City will be a friendlier place when the baby and I hit the streets in our sweet ride …

We had to escape.  My handsome husband and I had been cooped up in our condo for too long.  Hunched over computers, finishing each other’s sentences, worrying how we were going to handle the guest hosts for the month of December after Regis’s hip surgery.  I mean, Kelly is cute and all, but doesn’t everybody watch for Regis?  That guy is hilarious.

Every day of fun should begin with Chic-Fil-A minis.

We planned an adventure.  First stop: Dish it Out Pottery.  Accompanied by the smooth grooves of some eighties jams, Kevin and I nourished our artistic spirits in the sweet pottery studio in Eastover.  His object masterpiece?  A shark soap holder he affectionately named Chompy.  I painted a psychodelic turtle.  We enjoyed quite a bit of attention from the ladies working there, especially after the toddler and his mother left.  That kid wasn’t really serious about his craft.  You could tell.

He's not like the other turtles.

For lunch, we dined at a new gem in NoDa — the Crepe Cellar.  Since my priority was my banana and nutella crepe for dessert, I went light with French Onion Soup, while Kevin got down on the special — an Italian sausage and goat cheese crepe.  It was delicious and reminded me of Crepes on Cole in the Upper Haight.  Also that I’m not really sure how to properly eat crepes.

Next, we launched Mazda onto 1-77 North for a journey into the wild.  And by wild, I mean the Lazy 5 Ranch in Mooresville.  Sure, it’s supposed to be for kids.  Sure, we’re thirty-something.  But doesn’t everybody need to hang out with the animals every now and then?

I knew there was a drive-thru section and a feeding/petting zoo.  What I didn’t get was these concepts were one and the same at the Ranch.  At the ticket shed a woman handed Kevin and I two buckets of feed and pointed our car to an entrance, where an ostrich and a few goats were waiting with anticipation.

This is your dance space, this is my dance space.

Now.  I don’t know if it was a slow day at the Lazy 5 Ranch or what.  But these guys were all over us.  I am still slightly traumatized by the eager ostrich who stuck his head through my window, plunged his beak into the feed bowl on my lap, sending kibble all over my maternity jeans and in every possible crevice in the car. Or who can forget the llamas whose technique included standing in the middle of the road with vacant stares until we handed over the snacks.  We did enjoy the company of a rather peaceful giraffe with surprising neck mobility.  And who can say no to the pigs, who trotted alongside the car with tails wagging like little terriers.

All in all, it was a delightful day.  Good to unplug.  We returned home safely with our elegant objects d’arte, memories of animals in our hearts, but relief that the llamas were far, far away.