Outdoor living.

The new issue of Dwell came in the mail the other day and I had a chance to delve into it, finally. It's all about outdoor living. What I wouldn't give for a porch! Justin and I are constantly bemoaning the fact that we don't have an outdoor space. Yes, we live at the intersection of two very outdoor parks, but it's just not the same. I have these dreamy images in my head of watching the sun set on our back porch, drinking a bottle of rose and smelling dinner cooking in the house. Back to reality...we have a fire escape in the front, off of our bedroom, and stairwell in the back. Bleh. It is extremely hard to find a backyard in San Francisco unless you are willing to sacrifice, well, just about everything else that is great about living in the city and move to the Sunset. Even then, good luck.

I've been perusing the web for some inspiring pictures. In an ideal world, this is what summer would look like to me.

This is what a Seattle summer looks like to me. Cozy cozy.

These may strike some as cheesy or overdone, but I'm still a sucker for these lights strung outdoors. They are so simple and cast such a magical glow.

I would most definitely either purchase one of these living wall kits or commission Flora Grubb to do one. So pretty.

Lovely for lounging in the sun with the latest US Weekly.

Perhaps with a bottle of this? A perfect summertime wine. We drank this when we went to Piccino last week and it was delightful.

And hopefully, in this idyllic outdoor life, my hair will have returned to its original glory and my ugly years will have ended. That's all.


This is bad. Really bad.

Whoa. I think I had forgotten what it feels like to do something so extremely horrible to your hair. I've had it in my head that I wanted bangs for months. I have a relatively large forehead, er, fivehead. I just wanted something breezy and longish and French inspired. Well, I blew it. Or, rather, my hairdresser blew it. Really bad. Not only did she cut the bangs about a full inch too short (an INCH!!!-do you know how much an inch means on your forehead?) but I told my colorist that I was wanting to go back closer to my original ashy brown color, she concurred, and then proceeded to apply black dye to my newly ugly mop.

Sheesh. Talk about a bad day. I don't often think of myself as ugly, but damn, I'm ugly right now. I called her this morning in tears and she left me a packet of some sort of de-dyeing mixture to try and at least lighten the color so I look more like myself and less like Elvira. I've spent my first day off all week de-dyeing, crying and thinking of ways to get out of work this week so I'm not brutally crucified by the commentary. This sucks.

I'm now curled up on the couch, browsing the blogs and feeling sorry for myself. I came across these images a few months ago and rediscovered them today. They make me extremely happy.

I found them on several blogs and then went to the Flickr stream of Juliana Santacruz Herrera to source them directly. I love it. I lived for several years in New Orleans and, as anyone who has ever lived there can tell you, the potholes, oh the potholes!, they are horrible. I can't help but think how beautiful it would be if someone took the time and lovingly filled the potholes of New Orleans with these.

And at least I forgot about my hair for a minute. Toot-a-loo.


La deeeee daaaaa!!!!!

Been a long week working, crazy busy every night, which is both a blessing and a curse. Good for the wallet, bad for the soul. I love the restaurant industry. Really, love. I love food and wine. I would rather eat a good meal and enjoy the company of people than do pretty much anything else. But, god DAMN, do I hate working for other people! Justin and I have been looking at spaces for a few concepts of our own since the month after we started dating, to no avail. Opening anything food or drink related in San Francisco is an incredibly daunting process. It always leaves me feeling unworthy or completely and utterly inexperienced.

Which leads me to the newest book that I just downloaded to the iPad. Written by none other than my absolute favorite, Bethenny Frankel, "A Place of Yes," is my reading material for the next few weeks.

I, very reluctantly I might add, have developed a minor obsession with Bethenny. Probably very faux pas to admit in this hipster-vegetarian-alternative loving-mainstream hating city that I live in. But f*ck it. She's awesome. I love that she is so candid and real. Plus I think she is hilarious. Personal life aside, I also think she is a brilliant businesswoman. She started with a very small idea and made it into something huge. Skinnygirl sold to Jim Beam for over $100 million. That is serious cash money, folks. Serious bling. And on top of all that, she loves what she does. Um. Isn't that what it's all about? Because I'm not going to pretend that I'm one of those people who wants to do what they love, making no money and living in a closet, just for the passion of it. Nope. No thanks.

My main reason for wanting to read her book, aside from the aforementioned obsession, is that I really feel like I need a little push from my stagnant, beyond stagnant, beyond!, space in life right now. I have these moments where I know exactly what I want. A lot of moments like that. But I'm stuck. I don't know how to put it all in place. I don't know how to unstick myself. Let's see if this lil book can push me along.

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