In a shocking twist of fate, my same friend who hooked me up with the GREATEST group of girls in Arlington has hooked me up with the very last group of girls I will ever live with, this time in dear wonderful Sugarhouse Salt Lake City. This friend, let’s call him, Veep, has never led me astray. I once worked on a campaign of his years and years ago, which he won, and he has been paying for it dearly ever since by doing me perpetual favors that I uniquivocally never could have done myself. From helping me move to going to my surgery to being a constantly good source of advice and stability, Veep has been there. From my earliest days in college, and he’s going to feel old when I say this, he has always been like sort of a second father to me. A really cool father you want to go on crazy adventures with. But I digress. It is shocking to me after 6 years of living with all sorts of random people, I’ve always been incredibly lucky in the roommate department. Moving in with friends, moving

When Dan and I very first started dating, we had this entire conversation about guns. I am a John Lennon loving, flower laden, peace sign carrying, product of farm country Pacifist Hippie. And Dan, well, owns guns. We have had a variety of tactful but adamant conversations about guns in the house, guns when we have children, guns for fun etc, the last chat of which I think devolved into a conversation of why I think Mr. and Mrs. Smith is a delightful movie, and why Dan never bothered to see it. (“you can have one of those underground gun places, like Brad Pitt!” and "You know I hate action movies" and "this is not an action movie, it's a chick flick with a car chase and guns!") But somehow I got trapped by my own brain in concocting a plan which will inevitably cause myself to have to handle a firearm and shoot it this saturday. It will be a delightful outing if only for the people involved, many of my absolute favorite people all at once in the Utah desert. Bu

Since I'm back to the apartment hunt grind, allow me to share a recent winner with you (craig, er, Mr. List and I go way back, you see)  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Room Mate with benifits (Cottonwood Heights) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Have large executive home to share with open minded female(s) on a trade bases. Private bed and bath, wireless Internet, workout facilities, all utilities and amenities included. Due to the spam, place "COTTONWOOD HEIGHTS" in the subject line if you want a reply. Thanks oh man, gee, see, this would work GREAT, but I don't share apartments with guys who can't spell "BENEFITS".  Also, "trade bases."  Delightfully, though, he did spell amenities right, which is pleasing.  And that's really too bad about the spam. 

If you’ve known me for any length of time, you’re familiar with the fact that I am somewhere between an extremely drab and plain dresser, and an abhorrently odd and overly colorful dresser. I’m not sure that much of anything in my closet is especially flattering, trendy, or well matched. And yet, I am tragically attached to nearly all of it. This is most especially true of everything that’s retro or vintage. When I was a sophomore in college, I bought this brown leather purse at a second hand store ($9), and that purse has subsequently been to every country I’ve been to, and I actually can’t picture my passport anywhere but in that ONE pocket of that purse. Best of all, it’s super ugly, and yet somehow I still get compliments on it regularly.  It was also regularly paired with my my tan London Fog raincoat ($11) from Moxi, a delightful vintage store that no longer exists.  Proof: There’s a peach skirt in that closet that’s polyester, handmade, and probably from the early 70’