Slice of Pink

Contracts and Cupcakes

A few months ago, Michelle and I joking decided to open our own practice upon graduation from law school. Our business would be called "Contracts and Cupcakes" and you could come on down and get yourself a contract while enjoying a scrumptious cupcake and a tall glass of milk in our bakery-styled law firm. Because wouldn't that be so much more fun than getting a contract at a boring old law office where everyone is all stuffy and dull, wearing suits rather than polka-dotted aprons?

Today, we practiced our baking in a five-hour baking spectacular.

Michelle did most of the difficult tasks including working the cookie press and running the hand mixer.

I pressed the Reese's into the peanut butter cookies. You guys, I am seriously really good at those peanut butter cookies.

In the end, we decided it was all an awful lot of work. Plus, we ate about a million of the little treats. So now what we are thinking is this: Wine and Wills. You come on down and get yourself a will, we'll serve it up with a nice glass of pinot noir.

Raise Your Glass

My friend Michelle and I hosted a Wine & Cheese Extravaganza on Friday night. We went to Trader Joe's after class and bought 8 bottles of wine, 8 types of cheese, plus crackers and all the ingredients for caprese, pumpkin dip, and Michelle's delicious bruschetta.

We were expecting thirty people or so and we were worried--as hostesses are prone to worry--that we wouldn't have enough food and drink.

(You know, somehow, men never have this same concern, considering a 12 pack of beer and a bag of chips sufficient to get the party started. You can always order a pizza, right?)

Of course, we had little to worry about because every single guest brought wine or cheese or wine and cheese or wine and another bottle of wine. Before long there was at least a bottle of wine and a chunk of cheese for every person in attendance.

There are currently five unopened packages of brie in my fridge. But, the wine? It is all gone.

One of the top students in the class puked in the gutter, there are several red wine stains on my hall carpet (spilled by yours truly), and I'm pretty sure the neighbors hate us, but there is a price to pay for being hostesses with the mostesses and we bore the burden. And looked cute doing it.

The photos are here. Cheers!

Party Food

As an undergraduate student, parties were mainly about drinking and involved copious amounts of cheap vodka or cans of bad beer. Now that I'm older, much of the allure of that kind of partying is gone, in large part because I don't want to wake up on Saturday morning with the type of hangover that results from drinking bottom shelf vodka mixed with Sunny Delight.

I am back in school now, but for the first half of the semester I avoided attending parties because I just didn't want to go down that road again. However, for two weekends in a row, Will and I have attended the parties we have been invited to and, I have to say, college parties as a graduate student are much different than college parties as an undergraduate student. Now, the parties are about food. Alcohol, yes, but also food.

The Friday before last, we went to a wine and cheese party where there was wine and cheese. Obviously. But it was good wine and good cheese. And there was also olives and homemade tomato soup and edamame hummus and pumpkin cake.

On Friday, we went to an Oktoberfest party where there was German beer, brats, cabbage, homemade German potato salad, German cheese and other sorts of German foods. Somehow, our resourceful hostess had received money from the German consulate to pay for these treats. I have no idea why the German government would want to pay for thirty college students to drink beer and eat fancy hot dogs in an apartment in Davis, but why ask why?

Sure, it's still about the drinking these days. But it's not just about the drinking anymore. A person has to eat, too, right?

Disapparate

Yesterday, Will and I were sitting around a hotel pool with my family in Santa Barbara, after a weekend that consisted almost entirely of eating and shopping, when our friend Zanon called to invite us to the Magic Castle. The Magic Castle is the world's most famous private clubhouse for magicians, is home to the Academy of Magical Arts, and is only open to members and their invited guests. Zanon, knowing one of last night's performing magicians, was able to get four guest passes.

It's not the first time that we had been invited to the castle, but it was the first time our schedules allowed us to attend, so we packed up our beach gear, said our goodbyes, and got on the road. And then we sat in traffic. And some more traffic. And some slower traffic. It became apparent that there was no way that we would make it all the way home with time to shower, get dressed in the required cocktail attire, and drive back into Hollywood to meet Zanon and Kelly for the 7:30 show.

So we did what any normal people would do in such a situation.

We pulled off the freeway into a shopping mall and dropped a few bones on some cocktail attire (dress, coat, tie, pants, socks, the whole bit). Will washed his hair in a sink. I put on my makeup and painted my nails during the remainder of the car ride. And, when we got to Hollywood, we stopped in an alley, stripped out of our beach clothes, and threw on our newly purchased formal wear. Presto Chango! We made it with five minutes to spare. I don't think I even have to point out how good we looked.

The Magic Castle was fantastic. There was wine and big desserts, which would have made me plenty happy by themselves, but there was also magic. As you might imagine, there were many tricks involving cards and coins, rings and rope, silk fabric and doves. We whispered "Open Sesame" and a bookcase opened up to a grand salon. We met Irma, the invisible ghostly pianist. We got reserved seats and a VIP tour from Zanon's magician friend, Eric.

Finally, we must have looked good enough, because Will and I were asked to be the assistants in one of the shows (sparkle, sparkle). We sat with the magician for the whole show and got to do very important tasks like check if the coins were real and choose a number between one and ten. I did a very official job, I think, considering the two large glasses of Pinot Noir, but I may have slacked during quality control of the long string which was cut up into tiny pieces and put back together before our very eyes.

It was all very Harry Potterish which was decidedly apropos considering that we had just been at the book release party two days prior, all dressed up as Harry and Hermione. Somehow we worked magic and were the 7th people to receive the book despite the some 3,000 people in line (magic having to do with knowing the party volunteers and Barnes and Noble employees). Will had the book with him all weekend, sneaking in pages when he could, and was avoiding the Internet, text messages, and phone calls for fear of spoilers.

Now, if we could only get a disapparate spell. Traffic would be so less of an issue.

Pudding Cake

Yesterday, Will and I went with our friends Zanon and Kelly to Venice Beach and Santa Monica. Zanon and Kelly are both from Washington and, although they have lived here for almost two years, they had not yet been to a beach in California. They were both pretty excited and they had packed a backpack and a bag full of stuff--sunscreen, apples, water, sweaters, and other paraphernalia. I had my purse. Will had nothing except the clothes he was wearing. This is so typical us.

We walked the boardwalk in Venice and, in the evening, drove up to Third Street Promenade to have dinner. We ate at Ye Old King's Head and spent nearly two and half hours in the British Pub ordering lots of drinks and more dessert items than necessary. Kelly and I both ordered traditional English desserts--treacle sponge pudding and sticky toffee pudding--while Will and Zanon each ordered plain, old, everyday hot fudge sundaes. Boys are weird.

During dinner, Zanon was quizzing us on all of our favorites in life and asked the typical question: if you were being sent to the electric chair what would you request for your last meal? We answered that and then he asked what our last dessert would be.

Zanon quickly decided that it would be some dessert his mother makes that involves peanut butter and chocolate, Kelly would choose crème brûlée from a restaurant in her hometown, and I would go with decadent and dense Marvelous Market brownies. My husband? He would go with a Fatburger Oreo milkshake.

We want to know, what would be your dessert of choice?

Just Peachy

Yesterday a box arrived in the mail from The Farmhouse. Rachael always sends such fabulous gifts and this time was no different. I received an assortment of fun notecards, some of which were from an adorable company called Hoote + Annie. The timing on the package was perfect because I had actually just been thinking about my friends in Atlanta.

This past week--the week in which I did not post a single blog because it had come down to a nightly critical choice between three good hours of sleep or a post for y'all--we spent nearly every night in a hotel. Early in the week, we took a 36 hour trip to our state capitol in Sacramento, spending 14 hours of that time in a school van with our robotics team. We had a day to repack and spent the rest of the week at the Los Angeles Regional FIRST Robotics Competition where our robotics team won the most prestigious award given to a team at a regional event, The Chairman's Award.

Other than a big blue banner, two giant trophies, and medals for the whole team, the award granted our team a place at the Championship event in Atlanta, Georgia this April. I'm feeling a craving for some chicken and waffles, some grits, and some sweet tea.

Ringing in the New Year

I didn't drink much at the New Year's Eve party we attended. There was plenty of alcohol readily available but our hostess, who is three months pregnant, had made a delicious non-alcoholic sangria for all the non drinkers and pregnant ladies. There was an enormous punch bowl of the stuff with all kinds of beautiful fruit--raspberries, peaches, strawberries, oranges--floating in it and a slight hint of fizzy. I kept meaning to switch to wine or something, but the punch was just too good.

The picture must have been taken after the champagne I started drinking at midnight. Lots more where that came from here.

Happy, happy 2007. Cheers to a new year.

Almost Foolproof

We went to two holiday parties this weekend and both of them involved that stressful gift exchange game where people are allowed to steal other people's presents. It is often referred to as a White Elephant Exchange and it is usually not fun at all because somebody inevitably gets stuck with a shitty gift and that somebody is usually me.

Until this year.

After we got porn last year, Will and I devised a plan of attack. A plan that means you will never go home with a set of plastic margarita glasses or another decorative Santa.

I am going to tell you the secret to the White Elephant exchange. The secret is: you must Always Steal. If you open a gift from the wrapped pile, there is a chance that you will open a box of Tupperware and, since nobody will want to steal Tupperware, you will be stuck with that damn Tupperware for the rest of your life or until you regift it. That is why you must Always Steal. That way, you will be choosing amongst already open gifts. No surprises. Always Steal.

Unfortunately, you cannot always steal. If you are among the first to choose a gift, there may not be anything to steal or all of the stealable items could majorly suck. Which is when you default to Plan B. Plan B is tricky because in Plan B you must Open Your Own Gift. You know what it is. You picked it. It shouldn't suck. However, the Open Your Own Gift Plan requires a bit of pre-planning because you must sneak your gift into the pile when no one is looking, that way nobody knows you are opening the gift you brought.

The plan worked well for us this year. At both parties we came home with the exact gift we brought. Kinda tacky, yes. But, also, good gifts! Yay! We did make an attempt to get a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, but alas, we got jacked, and had to default to our own gift because it was that or the great unknown under the tree, where Tupperware and scented candles were just waiting to be unwrapped. You just don't want to go down that road.

Let's review:
1. Always Steal
2. Open Your Own Gift

Drink wine, take home a fabulous gift, kiss the dog. Good times.

Star Spangled

Lauren and I became friends after we discovered our mutual obsession with hand lotion. We both carry tubes of lotion in our purses and would rather hold our pee than have to use a public restroom without lotion to use after washing our hands. Dry hands are a serious matter.

We've driven around town in pajama pants and high heels, danced on a stage at a nightclub, broken a mixer making 500 first lady cookies, and once, against our better judgement, chaperoned six teenagers in Las Vegas.

And we are still friends.

Happy, Happy Birthday, Lauren.

Grizzly

Stephanie, Lauren and I are hanging out in our pajamas in our hotel room in Fresno with Malibu Rum and pineapple juice in little paper cups. We've been out shopping and drinking and have eaten 50 tons of food and gossiped all day long.

Stephanie brought Lauren and I some of her famous cookie bouquet cookies. They were adorable butterfly and daisy cookies, which we originally were going to keep forever and take a million photos of, but then Lauren dropped them on the floor causing them to break, so we ate them up which was totally fine by me because they were lovely to look up, but even better to eat.

Gotta get back to the gossip before the gossip becomes about me.

Chillin'

The hat does not belong to me, but I kinda like it.

Sweets

Our 4th Annual Valentine Open House

The Birthday Continues

Four amazing mixes have arrived from Aidenn, Hey Lucy, Katey, and Bethany. I have been listening to them non-stop since they have been arriving and it has been completely refreshing to have some new and fabulous music playing these last few days. You ladies are the queens of music mixing; I grovel at your feet. Thank you, thank you!

Kathryn brought me a lovely collection of Philosophy Grace goodies and not one, not two, but three birthday cards. Even though we see each other several times a week and live less than 5 miles apart, Kathryn and I often send each other funny or stylish greeting cards. On her last birthday I couldn't choose between two cards and so I gave her both. Apparently she could not choose between three this year for me. Her son, Drew, also made me a card bringing the total to four cards and then I found another card from her in the mailbox, bringing the total card count to five cards from Kathryn in a single day.

It was Kathryn's sister, Carrie, who sent me that adorable felt birthday cupcake!

The weirdest gift I received this year was a box of straws. A Costco-sized box of straws. As in: 500 straws, minus a handful. It came from a student and went like this:

Student: Happy Birthday, Mrs Wallace! Yo, I got you a box of straws!

Me: Nice. And where did you get these straws?

Student: Cafeteria.

Me: You stole them from the cafeteria?

Student: Well, they locked the window and forgot to put them inside.

Me: So they left them out and you took them?

Student: Yeah. Pretty much.

Me: Uh, thanks?

And, finally, the Nikon D70s in action:

The camera and I are just getting to know each other, but I can already tell that I am in love.

Champagne Mauve, aka Pink

Thank you, thank you, a million times thank you to Mr. Honeydew who not only sent me these amazing spatulas which make me want to whip up some cupcakes right this very moment:

He also sent me this "Champagne Mauve" Dr. Grip, which finally brings closure to the case of the missing pen:

Best of all, he included a lovely note. I am tickled pink, and I don't use that term lightly.

$60 Richer

This month's InStyle magazine features one of my friend Georgie's handbag designs, a snazzy little lambskin leather wristlet.

We play bunco together and she always shows up looking absolutely beautiful and dressed to the nines and she is amazingly kind. In fact, all the bunco ladies are fabulous and generous, so I almost felt bad last night when I won the most games and took all their money. Almost.

Christmas Party Recap #3

The Book Lovahs Club

What I wore: jeans and a sweater. What's new?

What I drank: water, but only because I drank a LOT of Coke today.

What I ate: a salad, but only because I ate a million cookies, candies, and a cup full of pretzels before heading over to the dinner.

Hostess gift: none! We meet at a restaurant and hallelujah for that!

What I gave for the gift exchange: books

What I got from the gift exchange: books

Summary: Reading Lolita in Tehran and The Autobiography of Santa Claus added to the ever growing pile of books I plan to read.

Miss Trailer Park 2005

We spent Thanksgiving like most people across America: eating turkey and yams, watching football, spending quality time with family and friends, and parading around the house in big ass crowns.

When Kathryn and I discovered my sister-in-law's Miss Teen crowns, we knew it was not going to be your ordinary Thanksgiving.

More here, if you can stand that much grandeur and majesty.

We Finally Got a Piece of the Pie

Well, we got this in the mail today. We don't actually drink coffee or anything, but maybe we should start now that we have to wake up when IT IS STILL DARK OUTSIDE. Do you realize how hard it is to put together a decent outfit when IT IS STILL DARK OUTSIDE? Things that match in the artificial light of the closet do not always match quite as well when the sun comes up.

Last night, some teachers came over to play Millennium Trivial Pursuit. My team won. The winning had nothing to do with me and my horrible memory, although I did earn us the pink slice of the pie and, really, do any of the other slices even matter? Exactly.

Cheeky

So today, for the first time this summer, I got up before 8am, which is good practice because in one short week I will have to get up at the ungodly hour of 6am. For the past two months I have gotten up around 11 and I drink a Coca-Cola around 12 because it’s already lunchtime. Today, I was craving a Coca-Cola at 9am, which is not a good thing because I don’t want to be buying a Coca-Cola at the vending machine in the teacher’s lounge at 7am next week. It’s not really great when you need a Coca-Cola to get the day started.

I know it is annoying, but I have to clarify that it is Coca-Cola (and not simply Coke) because I don’t want to confuse my mom and get her all frazzled and distressed thinking that I have a drug abuse problem.

At least I’m not starting off the day with a gin and tonic.

The one picture in the universe in which I have cheekbones! Cheekbones, I tell you. Also some serious red-eye. And maybe a little too much lip injection going on. But, ah, the cheekbones. This is why I drink everything from a straw.

More photos, although none with quite so much cheekbone.

Hot Peppers

This is the photographic evidence of a comical and amusing night out for my friend Jose’s birthday. I’d actually put a picture of people on here, but Gavin says he doesn’t want his picture on the Internet.

Oh, screw it. If you’re friends with me you've gotta face the reality that someday I’m probably gonna talk about you on Slice of Pink, and you really ought to feel fortunate that I am saying nice things and not talking the smack.

Gavin is the one on the far left. Everyone say hello to Gavin.

The can of Mancini’s Sweet Roasted Peppers is from Buca di Beppo. Stolen. On a dare. I shouldn’t even point out that the boys asked the waitress if they could steal the can. I am sure they have the story all worked out in their own minds and I am sure that their version contains covert operation planning and stealthy strategizing, not to mention a crafty and compromising mission to get the can out of the restaurant. Which it did not, because the waitress said it was totally fine. Boys.

I went out with my girlfriends on Saturday night to negate any testosterone-induced affection deficit disorder that might have occurred from a night out with the guys. Girls don’t show they care by giving each other the finger.

Run, Janet, Run!

My friends want me to do a (so-called) mini triathlon with them. This means that they want me to swim 700 meters in Lake Mead (which is pretty disgusting—have you seen the fish they have in there?), get out of the lake and ride 12 miles on a bicycle (a bicycle which I will have to purchase for only $500 or so), and then, as if that were not enough already, they want me to run 3.2 miles in 90 degree weather. Because that sounds like fun.

Are they joking? No, in fact, they are not. Last night they gave me a training schedule. An actual schedule by which I should train. All I have to do today is swim for 40 minutes straight and keep my aerobic heart rate at 220 minus my age divided by how many milkshakes I had this week plus pi squared. Or something like that.

You know, I really love my friends and I would love to participate with them in this celebration of our dedication to physical fitness, so today I put on a cute gym outfit, put my hair in a cute gym ponytail, and put on my cute gym shoes.

And then, when I was all ready to hit the treadmill, I went ahead and poured myself a glass of wine and watched an episode of Friends. Atleast I looked sporty while I sat on the couch.

Does anyone know if the gym would object to me bringing wine in my sports bottle? Now that could be fun.