October 2, 2011

After months of temperatures well over 100 degrees, today was something out of my recent day dreams about fall weather.  Although there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the sun was just strong enough to warm your skin, countering the gentle and cool breeze meandering through the city.  After brunch downtown, there was absolutely no justification for not taking full advantage of this beautiful weather.  After walking up and down Second Street, we took a familiar stroll around Town Lake, testing the limits of my bold assertion regarding my most comfortable heels.  Next up was a brief visit at Mozart's, where we enjoyed a cupcake, apple cider, and my new favorite drink, a pumpkin spiced latte.  It was a perfectly relaxing way to spend a wonderfully lazy Sunday.  If only the entire week could work this way! 

October 1, 2011

Wearing a pair of boots signifies you don't intend to fade into the background.  In fact, there is little in the way of going about one's day in an understated manner when boots are involved.  They are bold, tend to be loud, and almost always make for a classic appearance.  With these attributes, it is no surprise they are my footwear of choice on Longhorn football game days.  Coupled with my No. 12 Jersey, a pair of dark wash jeans, and a Shiner Bock, they complete my  game day attire with a punch of a reserved, yet distinctly competitive, attitude.  Whether it's the consistent thud of the wooden heels on the ground as I walk into the stadium, or the pounding of those same heels as I celebrate a particular play, my boots make themselves as vocal during game day as I tend to be.

September 30, 2011

This is the result of me cooking, plus an old apartment, plus an absurdly tiny, and even more absurdly hot, oven.  I'm no stranger to grazing the top wall of my oven as I cook.  Never, though, have I actually been burned.  As I pulled out a pan of the best rendition of my manicotti shells I've ever made, my wrists, almost deliberately, pushed into the top wall of the oven, conveniently preheated to 450 degrees Fahrenheit.  Not realizing the extent of the burn quite yet, likely due to my tendency toward stubbornness about pain, I went about final preparations for dinner.  As each moment passed, my wrists lent themselves to searing pain and blistering.  At this point, I stood down and accepted an ice pack to soothe my poor wrists.  Naturally, however, I added insult to injury by pulling the garlic bread out of the oven with my bare hands (how hot could the bread really get in three minutes?) and eating a bite of dinner before it had enough time to cool (credit this one to pure impatience).  I suppose if I end up with a scar, I'll just think of it as a reminder of one delicious meal.