tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78197859856437518642024-03-04T23:00:33.562-08:00Doehle BreadMusings from an open heartJessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-80796366070918252142011-01-17T20:30:00.001-08:002012-01-16T10:57:37.384-08:00The Hunger<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Q5-poSxp2WrW45u2RtgA5H2z2IzyfY3AQennGrmNKXGEmNDTznUA_POhZkihMZH4WQlIeRf6tLfmeBLIOZjcjMjq6IODDeRQ050BJvZvwBYP7nrzuZp3NSKmF4B-4Kg6_mfOw7nf31U/s1600/wyeth.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563378726928172066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Q5-poSxp2WrW45u2RtgA5H2z2IzyfY3AQennGrmNKXGEmNDTznUA_POhZkihMZH4WQlIeRf6tLfmeBLIOZjcjMjq6IODDeRQ050BJvZvwBYP7nrzuZp3NSKmF4B-4Kg6_mfOw7nf31U/s400/wyeth.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 283px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">I don’t know what started it, or where it began—this deep, gnawing in my heart of hearts for family and togetherness. I grew up in a feast of family, raised by an army of mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. Not always functional or healthy or saying the right thing, but every fat man knows that any almost any food eaten in enough quantity will make you full. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">I grew up fat—fat with family, fat with love, fat with dysfunction and plenty of painful memories sure, but full. My own family was almost always wonderful. Mom had a way of constantly guarding our hearts—protecting us and calling us great, making home the ultimate safe place— and Dad consistently knew how to say the right thing, calming any storm. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">We were encased in this womb of greater community, and at any moment I knew I could go to my Alabama mommy for decorating advice or “What’s the best china?” or the best banana bread this side of the Mississippi; there was strong mommy who was solid and safe and steady, whose house was everybody’s home—I would go to her for relationship advice, questions about how to deal with difficult people, and “What do I do in this weird situation?” Uncle Troy who called me “Lady Jessica” and always teased me about marrying a man shorter than me, and Mommy Gail who gave the best hugs and left the best voicemails and was never, ever unkind…</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">So you see, I grew up in wealth. And one day, whether very suddenly or very slowly I can’t say, it all changed.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">I can’t remember specifically the moment, the hour, the day, when I all of a sudden felt alone, but I know that it was jarring. I know that I was in LA, and I was probably in my car, either driving home after school or Bible study or sitting parked outside my apartment building, when I realized… I’m lonely. It was such a foreign feeling, such an utterly obscene concept to my consistently well-nourished soul, that I must have almost questioned its appearance. “Lonely, you say? Who are you?” But it was true. I was lonely. I had plenty of friends, my social circle was growing every day, but something about it was different, something in me had changed… My soul was alone.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">You see, after I moved away from home to go to school, everything about home changed. Mom died: immediate family demolished. Or at least, severely damaged. Church falls apart: my safety net, my resting place, my greater womb of family, disintegrated. It was all gone. And all that was left in its place were little jagged fragments—tiny blocks of ice to cling to, all drifting away from a center where the solid iceberg used to be. Home was gone.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">And that’s when Lonely came.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">I don’t pretend to think I’m the only person in the world who feels this way, and I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I’m the only 20-something who’s moved away from home and feels alone in the world, but often I think of my friends who are married, or married with children, or people who still live in the small, tight-knit towns that birthed them… I wonder, do they feel the same kind of stark aloneness that I feel? When these women my age fall into bed at night, warmed by their husbands beside them, do their hearts feel as clanging and tinny as mine does as I turn out the light? Or have they simply gone from one meal to the next? Nourished by one family, and on to another of their own making. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">If this is so, then I am utterly and insanely jealous.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">But if it’s not, then good God what is this? And how do we make it stop?</span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 16px;">Recently I moved to what I have now come to believe is the greatest city in the world. I live a life deemed glamorous by some—I work in a high rise on a famous street at a great job, I live in a beautiful apartment I love… What could I possibly need? Please understand, I am so unbelievably blessed and thankful to live where I do and work where I am, but underneath it all there is this vacuum of desire for family, for home. And no amount of fabulous dates or high heels from Bloomingdales or dinners at the Plaza will ever be able to ease it. I just want… home. And some day, God willing, I’ll get it back.</span></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-25099271128460327212010-08-23T20:14:00.000-07:002010-08-23T20:16:11.148-07:00City Soul<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcM3_ZYYsDL6PTJBqUE2gkRIbV1nkBNYGBiPqu_X32ClTYEyhF9iKHUEBtQc1fTQ2ehi_zxQjRaEzkr5YVEyj2ltq1xMWofUCjZBKbQCrFhf44gHABNlsL0wE-81GUzDF7V5JUFPeqBI/s1600/Sunset_over_New_York_City_1932.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcM3_ZYYsDL6PTJBqUE2gkRIbV1nkBNYGBiPqu_X32ClTYEyhF9iKHUEBtQc1fTQ2ehi_zxQjRaEzkr5YVEyj2ltq1xMWofUCjZBKbQCrFhf44gHABNlsL0wE-81GUzDF7V5JUFPeqBI/s400/Sunset_over_New_York_City_1932.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508809807035902034" /></a><br /><div><br /></div>There’s something about New York that still feels like a dream to me. Not a fuzzy, warm romantic fantasy, all hazy at the edges and softly swaying to Frank Sinatra music… But a weird, disorienting, unreal yet happy existence that can’t possibly be true. There is nothing about this life that my soul can grasp, that my whiplashed mind can wrap itself around. Occasionally I’ll be walking through the streets, plodding along between tall concrete buildings that look like nothing I’ve ever existed with before, and it’s like my mind has to separate in two—one half gripping the other by the shoulders, shaking firmly as it says, “This is real. This is REAL. This is New York, and you live here.”<br /><br />I don’t know what to say about New York that hasn’t been said before. Any attempt at originality would be a regurgitation of songs and literature, stories and poetry and slogans I’ve ingested over the years about this myth of a city in which I now reside. I have nothing new to add to a dialogue about this strange and weird and wonderful and unreal metropolis that I now call my home. It is what everyone says it is. Everything you have heard of New York City, every whisper, every anecdote, every limerick and lyric… everything is true. And yet somehow, it’s still a mystery, still a complex Rubik’s cube of experience and transportation and love. This city has a soul that is infinitely explorable.<br /><br />The things I’ve learned are small—seemingly insignificant when faced with the task of conquering this mountain of a city. But they serve as touchstones, little pieces that make this Xanadu world seem real… Never forgetting one’s umbrella, walking with purpose and economy, knowing when to flash a warm smile at the man behind the counter at the corner market and when to set your face like flint when the woman behind a table on the street calls out to sell a handbag… These are things, however small, that make up a life in New York.<br /><br />However cold and unwelcoming the city may seem, my experience has proved just the opposite. Beside every crass construction worker cat-calling and sneering as you walk to work, there is a sweet old Italian man who shouts, “Good morning!” as he leans from his second-story window. There is the sweet woman at the flea market who wants to know your name and tucks an extra pair of vintage earrings in your bag because they looked “just divine” on you. Amidst all the awkward shuffling and purposeful avoiding of eye contact on the commuter train, there are the moments you lock eyes with the person across from you when something funny or weird or awful happens and you smile together.<br /><br />This is what I know New York to be. It’s not that the city is cold, she’s just not easily won over. And I can respect that.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-7916510147114038312010-08-10T18:38:00.001-07:002010-08-10T19:02:45.549-07:00HeatI’ve lived in California my whole life. I thought I knew what summer was like… I considered myself an expert on warm, sunny, flip-flop weather. Bathing suit weather. Air conditioning weather.<br /><br />But I was not prepared for summer in New York.<br /><br />The air is thick with sweat. Dense and still, it presses in all around you as soon as you step outside. A thick hot mist envelops with every step you take to the train station and back again. Descending into the dungeon-like, fiery, still heat of the subway station is even worse. You stand waiting—praying—for that long golden light to come plunging from the darkness, for the cool silver bullet to open its doors and whisk you away from this hell-like hotness.<br /><br />Beads of salty perspiration make their way in rivulets down your back, neck, legs… Puddling against your neckline, waistline, back of your knees. You are sweating. But so is the ground you walk on, the buildings you cross between, the air you breathe in and out. The city sweats too. Everything seems damp with this omnipresent, all-encompassing Heat. And when it rains, it’s as if the sky itself is weeping from the smoldering sun, spontaneously bursting into fat, lukewarm tears that rain down, dampening already damp bodies. Even rain does nothing to cool the swelter.<br /><br />Last week I was walking home from work, crossing the final blocks until I reached the solace of my cool room and my cool bed, where I was planning on dropping everything I was carrying, peeling off every layer of clothing, and laying scantily clad beneath my beautiful, gorgeous, magnificent, wonderful, holy air conditioner, when I saw two children standing behind a table on the sidewalk. The air was thick with 6 o’clock heat, and I wondered what two adorable kids in a rich neighborhood were doing standing outside voluntarily. I had to see.<br /><br />So I crossed over to the side of the narrow, tree-lined road and saw that they had tall, icy pitchers of lemonade and iced tea and were pouring them into little clear plastic cups. Now, I am a firm believer that children should never stop selling lemonade, and will consider it a great societal grievance if young ones ever lose the entrepreneurial ambition to pander watered down beverages to passers-by, so a smile began to play on the edge of my lips when I saw them there.<br /><br />As I approached the little propped up table I saw a hand-crafted sign, as child-run lemonade stands are wont to have. Except this one said, “Free Lemonade and Iced Tea.” …What? No quarter? No dollar? You don’t want any money for video games or comic books or Frappuccinos? You’re standing out here in this heat, pouring iced tea for strangers, and you don’t want anything for it?<br /><br />I walked up to the little boy, his blonde hair swooping across his forehead, blue eyes lowered shyly to the ground, and asked for, “Lemonade and iced tea together—half and half. Is that okay?” He nodded his head and poured me my special Arnold Palmer. I asked, “Is it really free? …What are you doing this for?” Still avoiding my gaze he shuffled and said, “It’s for the church. We know it’s hot and we want people to be cooler.” I looked back at the “Free Lemonade” sign and saw that at the very bottom was scrawled, “Donations accepted,” and my gaze traveled up to see a little blonde girl come tumbling out of two wide wooden doors. Church doors. I hadn’t noticed until just right now that we were standing in front of a church.<br /><br />I pulled out the biggest bill I could find, and handed it, folded, to the boy. “Thank you very much,” I said. His eyes still fixed on the ground he shuffled his feet and smiled softly, “Thank you.”<br /><br />As I continued my walk home, only two blocks more at this point, I sipped from my sidewalk purchase and thought, “I’m happy to be in New York in the summer."Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-81683794221922197492010-08-01T21:04:00.001-07:002010-08-01T21:29:37.926-07:00"Home"<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">So here I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’m really here and it’s already been a week.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s hard to shake the illusion that this is just a trip—only a few more days and I’ll be home again with the California sun on my shoulders, driving my convertible through traffic on the freeway, falling asleep beneath the soft whirs of the fan above my bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But it’s not true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My car is sold, my bed is filled, and here I am sending off the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>…It’ll take a few hours for it to get to you.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m in New York.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m in.... New York.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll sink in to my jet-lagged brain that yes, I really did move across the country in a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And yes, I really am living in the most beautiful apartment I’ve ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And yes, I did go from working as a hostess at a restaurant where I had to wear pants that smelled like meat and orthopedic shoes to an office on Wall Street where I wore a red dress and four inch heels two days ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It really is… real. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Last night I climbed the steps of my five-story walk-up to rest on the beautiful roof-deck atop my building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The cool summer breeze whipped around my shoulders as I turned to gaze at the Empire State Building in all its lit-up, regal glory, and I thought, “It’s good to be here.” Yes, it still feels like I’m on a trip, and yes, I still miss California and my friends and my car and the weather (!) and the beach… And Home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But for now, I’m here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> I'm "home."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The night I moved in, I took a tiny calendar from the top of one of my boxes and flipped it to the date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Each day on this calendar has a little saying or inspirational phrase, and it always makes me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And last Saturday, July 24<sup>th</sup>, my move-to-New-York day, it read: </p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>So be truly glad! There is wonderful Joy ahead.</i><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">1 Peter 1:6</span><br /><br />Lord, let it be true.</p>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-36337943651954435742009-09-25T01:11:00.001-07:002009-09-25T01:12:27.148-07:00These are the days<div>These are the days. These are the days that rattle in my chest against the clanging of my tinny heartbeat. Soft thuds beating mercilessly against the cage of rib bone.<br /><br />This is when every breath hurts. Every sigh feels full of the dust of broken glass. This is when every moment, every movement, feels false and numb. Dumb and lifeless. I want to run away, busy myself into a frantic tizzy to match the torrents swirling inside, but my body, my legs, my back, are made of hard cement and I can’t seem to go anywhere.<br /><br />So please, let’s walk and get frozen yogurt. Let’s go to the beach and lay against the silky sand, bodies stretched beneath the fading sun. Let’s curl up on the sofa, you and I, and fall asleep heads and arms and hands tangled and intertwined. Let’s let the love soak in until I’m drunk and it’s dry.<br /><br />These are the days when I can’t believe that I can’t believe she’s gone. And it’s the moments when I wish I didn’t still miss her, that I miss her most of all.</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-25260581688557086772009-08-03T21:39:00.000-07:002009-08-03T21:50:05.147-07:00I Don't Know<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXo6M3pPwCY-dBNQDjetXewvg6KJv65F5waT6AaymbtColzXs4Uzt4u7twQM6n_xCmLKJAfZcIGYkAIq3tLUskNSRgOFRfgfSCzd1YSkz6edBxLymCQo7nAqKN6jIx15Nc_p41y2Jpp4/s1600-h/Wc2Lb8SJHq1ox0oedsyZetwJo1_500.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365966117098836514" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 318px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXo6M3pPwCY-dBNQDjetXewvg6KJv65F5waT6AaymbtColzXs4Uzt4u7twQM6n_xCmLKJAfZcIGYkAIq3tLUskNSRgOFRfgfSCzd1YSkz6edBxLymCQo7nAqKN6jIx15Nc_p41y2Jpp4/s400/Wc2Lb8SJHq1ox0oedsyZetwJo1_500.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I don’t care if you have a Ph.D you earned at Yale or in Scotland. Just stand in front of the mirror, all alone, nobody around, shrug, and say “I don’t know…I really don’t know.” You can add, “I can’t tell you why that happened. I don’t know.”<br /><br />The great news is that God never shrugs. He never says that. With acute perception He says, “I know exactly why this happened. I know the way you take. I know why. I know how long you’ll be there and I know what will be the end result.”<br /><br />Shrugging and deity are incompatible.<br /><br />While you’re shrugging in genuine humility, saying “I don’t know,” He’s saying, “Good for you. Rely on me in the mystery. Trust me.” God never promised He would inform us ahead of time all about His plan. He’s just promised He has one. Ultimately, it’s for our good and His glory. He knows- we don’t. That’s why we shrug and admit, “I don’t know."<br /><br />But I do know this: The death of His Son was not in vain. And I do know this: Christ died for you. And I do know this: If you believe in Him, He will forgive your sins and you will go to live with Him forever. You’ll have heaven and all the blessings of it, I do know that. It’s a tough journey, getting there. Full of a lot of confusion, a lot of struggle, a lot of shrugs followed by a lot of “I don’t knows.” But when the heavens open and we’re there, hey, there will be no more shrugs.<br /><br />“Now I know.”<br /><br />-<em>Job: A Man of Heroic Endurance</em>, Charles SwindollJessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-81387781515479307722009-07-18T00:00:00.000-07:002009-07-17T17:05:51.309-07:00Julie and JuliaAre you ready for another big announcement? Because brace yourself-- this one's pretty big. <div><br /></div><div>On Monday (as in two days from now), this here humble little blog will be the featured "Blog of the Day" on the website for the amazing, gorgeous, hilarious movie <a href="http://www.sonypictures.com/movies/julieandjulia/site/">Julie and Julia</a>. </div><div>*<i>cue </i><i>adolescent girl scream</i>*</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZtcMjJdBMDw36m60blho3mwHW1TEr6bvSd59kkPmeXD1euhYzq-l_UvyVQ5JXhF7XUGonNe0EgitfmyFmkiei0o7oEvqgQDyAqW5G4-tKaGtYSM-78NR_hWiAq4HsAsKWc4X0oZa5TY/s1600-h/julie.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZtcMjJdBMDw36m60blho3mwHW1TEr6bvSd59kkPmeXD1euhYzq-l_UvyVQ5JXhF7XUGonNe0EgitfmyFmkiei0o7oEvqgQDyAqW5G4-tKaGtYSM-78NR_hWiAq4HsAsKWc4X0oZa5TY/s400/julie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359580647369905650" style="cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>You can watch the trailer here:</div><div><br /></div><div><object width="500" height="300"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NQQRIYsXW50&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NQQRIYsXW50&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="300"></embed></object></div><div><br /></div><div>I have been so excited to see this movie ever since I heard about it coming out, so needless to say I was pretty thrilled when I was contacted to be featured on their website this month!</div><div><br /></div><div>On Monday if you go to their <a href="http://www.sonypictures.com/movies/julieandjulia/site/">website,</a> it'll be my name in the cute little box on the bottom right corner where it says "Featured Blog."</div><div>*<i>cue adolescent girl scream*</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Sorry. I couldn't help myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, we all know I love to cook. And I'm already about to pee my pants thinking about Meryl Streep's face being next to my name. (<i>It's a stretch I know, but just work with me here.</i>) It's just so COOL!</div><div><br /></div><div>Okay that's it. <i>Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!</i></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-57939759399788271042009-06-26T00:51:00.001-07:002009-06-26T01:11:05.494-07:00The Princess<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/barandalla/481979049/"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 375px; height: 500px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/201/481979049_88c7f6887a.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/barandalla/481979049/"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><i>The Princess of the Castle / La Princesa del Castillo by </i></span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/barandalla/481979049/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><i>Barandalla (via Flickr)</i></span></a><div><div><br /></div>Sometimes I think about princesses. The ones in fairy tales that scores of princes came to prove their valor for. I think about how a princess must have grown up, always knowing that someday this test would be placed before the men of lands near and far because her hand wasn't just any hand-- it was worth fighting for. I think about what it must have felt like to stand at the window and see them all parading up to the castle door, seeing what each one brought, what tools or props were packed to aid in the test before them.<br /><br />I wonder if the princess ever picked a favorite, ever had one she was really rooting for. I'm sure it must have gotten tiring watching them all come, and how she must have secretly hoped for some of them to fail. But I wonder if any of them ever caught her eye. I wonder if there was ever something about the way one of them looked at her, or the way one bowed before her father, or a certain something in the way another one stood that captured her attention. How her heart may have started to race with the idea, the thought, the hope and the anticipation that finally-- finally!-- this could be the one! This could be the one brave enough and strong enough and smart enough to tear down the castle walls that kept her royal prisoner.<br /><br />...And how it must have felt to see them fail. To see them drop in the middle of a race or tap out in the middle of a fight. The grief and shame they felt were probably no match for the flood of lonely disappointment that must have filled the chambers of her heart.<br /><br />Oh the pain. To know one's worth and know no one worthy enough to own it. Is there anything more wounding to the heart?</div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-67325053974898567492009-06-22T12:45:00.000-07:002009-06-23T00:35:21.365-07:00SpinSo I just got back from my first spin class. I've been trying to be more physically active lately (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">blah de blah... white noise... aren't we all...?</span>), and when I heard about a free spin class being given by a friend of mine who's a personal trainer, I decided to gather my nonexistent cajones and give it a shot. I had only ever heard painful, torturous things about spin class, but looking for a new way to boost my booty, I figured 45 minutes sweating my brains out in a dark room for free would at least be educational. <div><br /></div><div>Here are my thoughts.</div><div><br />1. I didn’t know it was possible for a human to sweat out their body weight in 45 minutes. Much less did I think it was possible for ME to sweat out my body weight in 45 minutes. But it is. Apparently. (I mean, my WRISTS were sweaty… What?!)<br /><br />2. There was a point about 2/3 of the way through the class when the searing pain was not in my thighs, calves, arms, or abs… But a VERY centralized location where I didn’t realize numbness could be so scandalously painful. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.<br /><br />3. I was, by far, the youngest person in the room. And I was also, by far, the slowest.<br /><br />4. If we are, on any level, friends, I’m really glad you weren’t there. I hit a point, trudging up that imaginary hill listening to Freddie Mercury sing about my "bottom", that brought out some very animalistic qualities… Let’s just say there was some grunting and snarling.<br /><br />5. I stink. I mean, I really stink. But I guess that’s a repeat of #1.<br /><br />Currently I’m curled up trying to move as little as possible. My body feels like an abused refugee. I could hardly walk out to the car, let alone climb the steps to my apartment. But if it doesn’t kill me, I’ll be back on Friday. Let's do this.<br /></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-84805593389819235692009-06-11T00:18:00.000-07:002009-06-11T00:50:44.117-07:00q&a<div>The incredibly talented Tracy at <a href="http://www.shutterbean.com/">shutterbean</a> posted this <a href="http://www.shutterbean.com/tagged/">lovely little q&a</a> yesterday and I was so inspired by her answers I had to respond to her open invitation to fill it out for myself. Let's go!</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what is your current obsession?</span><br />-Mediterranean food and pictures from the graduation fiesta I went to on Saturday night. Ole!<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what is your weirdest obsession?</span><br />- Cereal<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what are you wearing today?</span><br />-Black yoga pants, gray deep-v, and my yellow wrap/ hoodie/ sweater<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what’s for dinner?</span><br />-Trader Joe's pizza, split with Zo. Extra Tapatio please.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what would you eat for your last meal?</span><br />-Chocolate cake. Extra frosting.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what’s the last thing you bought?</span><br />-A slip. Yep, like the ones your grandma wears.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what are you listening to right now?</span><br />-The new <a href="http://www.myspace.com/hillsongunited">Hillsong CD</a>. And the fan softly whirring above my head.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what’s your favorite ice cream flavor?</span><br />-Brown Butter Brickle from Scoops in Los Feliz. You have no idea...<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">if you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would it be?</span><br />- A big, beautiful, sweeping plantation-style house Savannah, Georgia with a wrap-around porch and a hammock and a big beautiful kitchen with lots of windows. Or just a fatty mansion on Lake Como, right next to George's house.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">if you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour where would you go?</span><br />-The beach on the north shore of Kauai, belly full of fish tacos I just ate with my dad.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what language do you want to learn?</span><div>- Love and grace.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">What’s your favorite fruit?</span><br />-Apples. Chilled please.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">what is one of your favorite daily/weekly rituals?</span><br />- Making breakfast.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br />if you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?</span><br />-New sneakers. Embarrassing.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Do you admire anyone’s style?</span><br />-Whenever I'm stuck trying to decide whether or not to buy something, if I'm really honest I always think, "Would Marilyn Monroe wear this?" If she wouldn't, I don't.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Describe your personal style?</span><br />-Relaxed, easy glamour. I never want to look like I'm trying too hard, or like there's been too much effort put into what I'm wearing--not too "done"-- but I like looking put-together and a little romantic. Feminine. Relaxed. Glamorous. An outfit has to have that magic. I want you to think *I'm* beautiful, not what I'm wearing.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">What are your fave films?</span><br />-Gladiator and Pride and Prejudice are tied for first. But more recently, I just watched Tootsie and it rocked my world.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">What inspires you?</span><br />-Romance. Seeing people's hearts peek out in unexpected ways.<br /></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-16468576696485844552009-06-05T18:18:00.000-07:002009-06-05T18:35:24.900-07:00Cobbled Together<div>This was a hard week. A really hard week. Things were said, things were not said... And I wasn't prepared for any of it.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCWCu4tkZ0P-2m4bux_QL_e9AdNgxujwDcqhOhCVAsjXfXh7KY_UfuiU4Iw4J3synPn2ohP3RqnXKbaz0uIjCCBemLEReQr8p_vRZwV0l6LyNIo1ffcWK5t3zZ4G5MCkKy_l6IeaLOuo/s1600-h/DSC_0074.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCWCu4tkZ0P-2m4bux_QL_e9AdNgxujwDcqhOhCVAsjXfXh7KY_UfuiU4Iw4J3synPn2ohP3RqnXKbaz0uIjCCBemLEReQr8p_vRZwV0l6LyNIo1ffcWK5t3zZ4G5MCkKy_l6IeaLOuo/s400/DSC_0074.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344018350848348130" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But then all of a sudden something broke. Or rather, something broken was suddenly reset and stitched together again. And then everything felt (mostly) all right.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIoUgdM638SdeRmA9RWLQs_daSFRhg4Ku0FtrKsLSKofxb9nrnPTwA5WkMpf_GZZXuqLijgG4rrv381CclTRUnQsj6T8fPP_E9SM9OkhKPcmqf2G9GFe5UGHr3VEVKKxw8hiCMQnVvQq0/s1600-h/DSC_0065.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIoUgdM638SdeRmA9RWLQs_daSFRhg4Ku0FtrKsLSKofxb9nrnPTwA5WkMpf_GZZXuqLijgG4rrv381CclTRUnQsj6T8fPP_E9SM9OkhKPcmqf2G9GFe5UGHr3VEVKKxw8hiCMQnVvQq0/s400/DSC_0065.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344018348507274690" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My friends Sean and Melissa (yep, the <a href="http://jessicadoehle.blogspot.com/2009/05/vampire-baker.html">same ones</a>) are leaving for several months. After spending a large portion of this painful week at their house, I am even more sad to see them go. Tonight some of us are getting together for games, togetherness, and a whole lot of laughter, and I've made this Strawberry Graham Cobbler to add a little sugar to the festivities.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYNjQNWIt32_pKKiG1LeC4BdWIy1K8FWjdfSVklm6jlrnH9UFyw3FcHq4gDQhETqkuWQvbERpIsnthUmWZmRWZ6yjDl3VdvROI8b0YsRm7Qq9Ihb716ATSmnrsSZ4skQbwVbX8zeAhj8/s1600-h/DSC_0056.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYNjQNWIt32_pKKiG1LeC4BdWIy1K8FWjdfSVklm6jlrnH9UFyw3FcHq4gDQhETqkuWQvbERpIsnthUmWZmRWZ6yjDl3VdvROI8b0YsRm7Qq9Ihb716ATSmnrsSZ4skQbwVbX8zeAhj8/s400/DSC_0056.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344018340863706418" /></a><div><br /></div><div>It's warm and oozing with sugary strawberry goop, and topped with a brown sugar and graham cracker crumb topping that's really more of a streusel than anything else. I hope it adds some sweetness to our time together tonight.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_uA1HGrLIEmCJByihhVdzVFD6aIZyeTRdVdHvth1NiTnqvsYoXPHDX8HPt6cD7s9QfAKysA9Ex5LX70r6-MCm134ww6J5QTufWgR3Q0vCaDonkm1R-U8oQBhtkDJTrT3aJtTl_WfeacY/s1600-h/DSC_0030.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_uA1HGrLIEmCJByihhVdzVFD6aIZyeTRdVdHvth1NiTnqvsYoXPHDX8HPt6cD7s9QfAKysA9Ex5LX70r6-MCm134ww6J5QTufWgR3Q0vCaDonkm1R-U8oQBhtkDJTrT3aJtTl_WfeacY/s400/DSC_0030.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344018338829130642" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Strawberry Graham Crumble</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Filling:</div><div>32 ounces frozen strawberries</div><div>1/3 cup sugar</div><div>1 teaspoon salt</div><div>3 tablespoon flour</div><div><br /></div><div>Topping:</div><div>1 cup brown sugar</div><div>1 cup flour</div><div>1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs</div><div>1/2 teaspoon cinnamon</div><div>1 teaspoon salt</div><div>1/4 cup (1 stick) butter, chilled and cut into small cubes</div><div><br /></div><div>Preheat oven to 375 degrees.</div><div><br /></div><div>Combine filling ingredients in baking dish, stirring until the strawberries are fully coated with the sugar/ flour mixture.</div><div><br /></div><div>In a separate bowl, combine all the dry ingredients for the topping. Then add the cubes of chilled butter and integrate into dry ingredients using a pastry cutter, fork, or your fingertips, until the butter is thoroughly mixed throughout and feels like damp sand. There should still be small clumps of butter, about the size of a pea.</div><div><br /></div><div>Spoon the topping onto the strawberries and bake for 35-45 minutes, until the strawberries are bubbling and the top is golden brown. Allow to cool for at least 20 minutes before serving.</div><div><br /></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-29028174658540211562009-05-28T00:54:00.000-07:002009-05-28T01:06:15.154-07:00Learning to Stand<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3428/3305160218_bfddd24391.jpg?v=0"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 334px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3428/3305160218_bfddd24391.jpg?v=0" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Photo via</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/streetghost/3305160218/"> Mario Mitsis</a></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">They were kissing. Put like that, and you could be forgiven for presuming that this was a normal kiss, all lips and skin and possibly even a little tongue. You’d miss how he smiled, how his eyes glowed. And then, after the kiss was done, how he stood, like a man who had just discovered the art of standing and had figured out how to do it better than anyone else who would ever come along. <span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Neil Gaiman</span></span></span></blockquote></span></div><div>This is so beautiful... I can't stop re-reading.</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-58670587458022924072009-05-26T12:56:00.000-07:002009-05-26T14:07:53.237-07:00Come Fly With MeWe went flying...<div><br /></div><div>(For the full experience, go<a href="http://doehlebread.tumblr.com/post/111376244/come-fly-with-me-frank-sinatra"> here</a> first.)<br /><div><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVovPlyVP_cacMH6Yt8YNOTdxpS1BATmhGwc_nvBdXszPl8LkofUzUHEw9aHHpBrxxTGdfaASM918wJuGhqY23ur84ezHfECCCItDDASdct9n9zGq6D12EiKR7EgZwfYjPE_bA0D7Y4eM/s1600-h/P1010176.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVovPlyVP_cacMH6Yt8YNOTdxpS1BATmhGwc_nvBdXszPl8LkofUzUHEw9aHHpBrxxTGdfaASM918wJuGhqY23ur84ezHfECCCItDDASdct9n9zGq6D12EiKR7EgZwfYjPE_bA0D7Y4eM/s400/P1010176.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340226687054636498" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Sxhfcm_kb1Mz8QKQ1hj37VReMsAc6pWmgOxr198JynOINPMrwP2Np_SvswZQxQ6ojCIYaHq7jLxuHmBYU0AmhvOmnsTQtBpckRXaHpwj9A4YV40Y5N81CknQnOdgpd7Hw8-WK3Obed8/s1600-h/P1010169.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Sxhfcm_kb1Mz8QKQ1hj37VReMsAc6pWmgOxr198JynOINPMrwP2Np_SvswZQxQ6ojCIYaHq7jLxuHmBYU0AmhvOmnsTQtBpckRXaHpwj9A4YV40Y5N81CknQnOdgpd7Hw8-WK3Obed8/s400/P1010169.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340226679205070626" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="">We started here. (No, not the RV... Thankfully.)</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1_4YBIJMveDU0DnCRVFGgMHgWRARJzb8emBU7fTfz_2oBeArlIeUcjhWo8ZVXc1WGMYB1lZjpnTT5nCmwS4qlGh33baEUOGwN0cTbwKHVkbZHydOizo_dy9-Qom9cTUtbUks5Ev8hUA/s1600-h/P1010170.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1_4YBIJMveDU0DnCRVFGgMHgWRARJzb8emBU7fTfz_2oBeArlIeUcjhWo8ZVXc1WGMYB1lZjpnTT5nCmwS4qlGh33baEUOGwN0cTbwKHVkbZHydOizo_dy9-Qom9cTUtbUks5Ev8hUA/s400/P1010170.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340226682813220258" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I feel like something out of Casablanca. Jarrett feels like something out of Borat. ("Verrry niiice!")</span></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7-bw6UicEuKO_6uYFtEGcMuqU-mXdHT2DXYbRAdEVo7houEEUMGNYZGWGdVWbE897n9s9x2bGW_T9Yl3dTwnsjYvDiSJ42FZR_93UMCZIEW9PJl-Q9LfG7ajj23WJqCWoSBtHxplsDc/s1600-h/P1010188.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7-bw6UicEuKO_6uYFtEGcMuqU-mXdHT2DXYbRAdEVo7houEEUMGNYZGWGdVWbE897n9s9x2bGW_T9Yl3dTwnsjYvDiSJ42FZR_93UMCZIEW9PJl-Q9LfG7ajj23WJqCWoSBtHxplsDc/s400/P1010188.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340234580434671346" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Amping up.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-MXmooxTODjIuSeY-Gkuv9ycmGJcTz5RvMKeTkyjRE1BzWCDLJO9x-afQptK71tLQG2eOAMeB1V57STw6Lh8hL15u6b2_yZXVSKqLDkQ_JovQ18BSwAluuJhA9FDX_HWqvuWHttDdMk/s1600-h/P1010173.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-MXmooxTODjIuSeY-Gkuv9ycmGJcTz5RvMKeTkyjRE1BzWCDLJO9x-afQptK71tLQG2eOAMeB1V57STw6Lh8hL15u6b2_yZXVSKqLDkQ_JovQ18BSwAluuJhA9FDX_HWqvuWHttDdMk/s400/P1010173.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340226687042310946" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Here we go.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErDcS2wCZlwvZoB_EO9DO0kOQE1njgsgOh_vHRcFd6I_6xdDliVxQ-MicBUxoQQqPqN0kTgIwa2ePiHfUUsi9BNWqT2I_-Fhc5K7d_aL_1sIZiZATu_ukzme2ARgU_dlldQvc_LUttec/s1600-h/P1010187.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErDcS2wCZlwvZoB_EO9DO0kOQE1njgsgOh_vHRcFd6I_6xdDliVxQ-MicBUxoQQqPqN0kTgIwa2ePiHfUUsi9BNWqT2I_-Fhc5K7d_aL_1sIZiZATu_ukzme2ARgU_dlldQvc_LUttec/s400/P1010187.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340234580919595954" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Does it always make that sound?"</span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAZxahu4CVqEnRdDMJs5uc1FZTism_Z50cnou8v11seWS0poGvKUOrowvtq4ad04N7FVC5P6oK1GllX6kwrs28niqwd31Z0gNlB53hu1b6eS7wDEJVgfD_iBfSsBCRJxHnGvOkNsG3XU/s1600-h/P1010181.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAZxahu4CVqEnRdDMJs5uc1FZTism_Z50cnou8v11seWS0poGvKUOrowvtq4ad04N7FVC5P6oK1GllX6kwrs28niqwd31Z0gNlB53hu1b6eS7wDEJVgfD_iBfSsBCRJxHnGvOkNsG3XU/s400/P1010181.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340234572699087698" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Griffith Observatory.</span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuTqyxIaNJ5u4TgxB0qEPlhyphenhyphenbtrF_Fe071CoCESXzuXQNfw7pXJBBl6gpAa8pSiM0MCJXy0qIb2Wa_nL_swjyph-dINPiEusHaUrtforjkckSiMlCXBUk0O_FzBR-1Mj2BKTQKV9z3No/s1600-h/P1010180.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuTqyxIaNJ5u4TgxB0qEPlhyphenhyphenbtrF_Fe071CoCESXzuXQNfw7pXJBBl6gpAa8pSiM0MCJXy0qIb2Wa_nL_swjyph-dINPiEusHaUrtforjkckSiMlCXBUk0O_FzBR-1Mj2BKTQKV9z3No/s400/P1010180.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340226690498404370" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNF52aaGl5Sz2ad7byb3oDxd4dbVoOH8Yh5HhTx8Le6nuyedB8K5wno9T2VailXiHT7vU1HD0WghslkYSe6uHSpa5CqUIO6hyIptFFRE0gPoXML7sHuCp78fdn2CPqoGgo2cxdHFBId0/s1600-h/P1010185.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNF52aaGl5Sz2ad7byb3oDxd4dbVoOH8Yh5HhTx8Le6nuyedB8K5wno9T2VailXiHT7vU1HD0WghslkYSe6uHSpa5CqUIO6hyIptFFRE0gPoXML7sHuCp78fdn2CPqoGgo2cxdHFBId0/s400/P1010185.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340234576719089890" style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You've never seen LA like this.</span></div></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-40104727012073915612009-05-19T11:04:00.000-07:002009-05-19T13:08:49.327-07:00Vampire Baker<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">"You are a vampire baker. You come out at night." -</span></span><a href="http://bunkercomplex.tumblr.com/post/102907465/you-are-a-vampire-baker-you-come-out-at-night"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Andrea</span></span></a></div><div><br /></div><div>When I heard my friend Sean's birthday was coming up, I knew no ordinary cake would do. He and his wife Melissa are some of the<a href="http://jessicadoehle.blogspot.com/2009/03/new-friends.html"> new friends</a> I've made at church, and while Sean may not be the first guy you notice when you walk in a room, his wisdom and kindness are coupled with a wicked sense of humor and killer skills on the dance floor. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(No joke. Here's a video of the HILARIOUS </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4BJdPuX4Jc"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">first dance</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> at their wedding.)</span></div><div><br /></div><div>I've loved getting to know him and his wife because it's been like finding a $20 bill in your jacket pocket-- an unexpected treat. So when I was talking to Melissa and asking about his favorite dessert and she mentioned his penchant for pizookies-- those giant warm, oozing cookies baked a pizza pan and covered in melting ice cream-- I knew I had found my inspiration.</div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of making a giant cookie and topping it with ice cream, I decided to make <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">five</span></span> giant cookies and pile each high with whipped cream cheese frosting. The components are simple-- chocolate chip cookies and cream cheese frosting lightened with a bit of whipped cream-- but add them together, turn up the volume a bit, and you've got one show-stopping celebratory confection. </div><div><br /></div><div>It just seemed like the right thing to do.</div><div><br /></div><div>The night before the party I flicked on the kitchen lights around 9 and set to work creaming the butter and sugar, shaping the dough into five 9" discs (a process made infinitely easier by using a the ring of a springform pan as a mold, natch), whipping the cream... And by about 2am I had finally assembled it all into one colossal tower of simple nostalgia. It's like your favorite after-school snack stacked into the perfect birthday treat.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy birthday, Sean. </div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTy9Bqe1VzkoYNWcQDpl0ITGCSPGiWE3pIC19fnwFuYvAI98G9YRRn5c4yEsqHucCh8aR_gPzxqs9AecSJyHeB3v_Z-5fYYAu7Gb47LJdvNv3uUWfhGZExh7rrNv3qnBDlZlhtno862s/s1600-h/DSC_0139.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTy9Bqe1VzkoYNWcQDpl0ITGCSPGiWE3pIC19fnwFuYvAI98G9YRRn5c4yEsqHucCh8aR_gPzxqs9AecSJyHeB3v_Z-5fYYAu7Gb47LJdvNv3uUWfhGZExh7rrNv3qnBDlZlhtno862s/s400/DSC_0139.JPG" /></a>Like a giant cookie cutter.<div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0EjTFN9J-x9qddPLNij7cr7WmjKtTn5sKIZFpAodclb5v51tDmHTnT_h3PWH-jsYpqzIvKBT51h7wboJi5gM9nmFUvspi3q1wuVe3rtpr9CgAKoU_DK6lfsXDUGzVtgPfT-kBb5rF-Uk/s1600-h/DSC_0144.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0EjTFN9J-x9qddPLNij7cr7WmjKtTn5sKIZFpAodclb5v51tDmHTnT_h3PWH-jsYpqzIvKBT51h7wboJi5gM9nmFUvspi3q1wuVe3rtpr9CgAKoU_DK6lfsXDUGzVtgPfT-kBb5rF-Uk/s400/DSC_0144.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV3mAAFOW7Z1DJHo2AOaSQfGZuGXthKcASVJ890fJs9kssm1Sy8QncPGE73NA-Ru20R4N3s1MizGDeLtIZu_qypdX5VXYrHoBjfdvcl9rbqSBG-U0B1wxUrWsL4LT6yDY-jcJopCAuZ1s/s1600-h/DSC_0147.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV3mAAFOW7Z1DJHo2AOaSQfGZuGXthKcASVJ890fJs9kssm1Sy8QncPGE73NA-Ru20R4N3s1MizGDeLtIZu_qypdX5VXYrHoBjfdvcl9rbqSBG-U0B1wxUrWsL4LT6yDY-jcJopCAuZ1s/s400/DSC_0147.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyUy4M_53he9xLxAT-jZQjVr7SmMU9RGzNB4wgNA_clRJGsvhT9R2ikuQAvSYSyc3tyEEhTijLlpIeL-aNkfN84-wSl8t_90gBjEZ8fxdzs36VYCNziy_6JNjO0-Q5UKGpwazTZsN0Sk/s1600-h/DSC_0153.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyUy4M_53he9xLxAT-jZQjVr7SmMU9RGzNB4wgNA_clRJGsvhT9R2ikuQAvSYSyc3tyEEhTijLlpIeL-aNkfN84-wSl8t_90gBjEZ8fxdzs36VYCNziy_6JNjO0-Q5UKGpwazTZsN0Sk/s400/DSC_0153.JPG" /></a></div><div>Homemade whipped cream, step 1.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS794Lh2EGyQvrRBoUmIPHRbqrLWZUeK2xRYwB6Xk3HilOT4LoRjtEL4YOzaPwMRGHeMT29gZUNZU9XAoTf3yQNHxa1dquTg-XaSY_LjuhbZGUgwSiC5GC9uG9nzPCYqF1XSjTELvm-NE/s1600-h/DSC_0182.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS794Lh2EGyQvrRBoUmIPHRbqrLWZUeK2xRYwB6Xk3HilOT4LoRjtEL4YOzaPwMRGHeMT29gZUNZU9XAoTf3yQNHxa1dquTg-XaSY_LjuhbZGUgwSiC5GC9uG9nzPCYqF1XSjTELvm-NE/s400/DSC_0182.JPG" /></a></div><div>Cool Whip? What's that?</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlCdPr-Nhr2JYg0wCO1Kio3BrYsaqQ0sgsLJK0-2Y86_GgBgvj8q9avYfSChwDYeHEXEdsr-I_bBTBHCJccSkwQV9RwvC4Pk5tSLv9nRkXiMmEG30lqCONi2-iT2onBXGcUHb4ybU7hNQ/s1600-h/DSC_0193.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlCdPr-Nhr2JYg0wCO1Kio3BrYsaqQ0sgsLJK0-2Y86_GgBgvj8q9avYfSChwDYeHEXEdsr-I_bBTBHCJccSkwQV9RwvC4Pk5tSLv9nRkXiMmEG30lqCONi2-iT2onBXGcUHb4ybU7hNQ/s400/DSC_0193.JPG" /></a></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqKUfOYP-rC4NcMz-0Q9vTl0fqvhgI93vlZumWPQTKytTGVBWxDlbr5knb4UOKvqkQ_Mq4oRZX-_Y4TwFAjM0uFKRwUs5peWu6TC382U-KTKyycuIDHWHwpRXgUrVu3TZyA-Fo_qoPHo/s1600-h/DSC_0196.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqKUfOYP-rC4NcMz-0Q9vTl0fqvhgI93vlZumWPQTKytTGVBWxDlbr5knb4UOKvqkQ_Mq4oRZX-_Y4TwFAjM0uFKRwUs5peWu6TC382U-KTKyycuIDHWHwpRXgUrVu3TZyA-Fo_qoPHo/s400/DSC_0196.JPG" /></a></div><div>Assembly station.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGIqElH7rep9qDDOvj3b1AfnJNFGA-MGT04yIzP0lSVVbZV5XeKZAxuTRMZzrdGNMXce0LB1-RWwZeQeyQg9x1_jYptCvWC12o76p6U7wlBtsco5KB-0UYuWFCuZdf424xSnV4J0_Wns/s1600-h/DSC_0200.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGIqElH7rep9qDDOvj3b1AfnJNFGA-MGT04yIzP0lSVVbZV5XeKZAxuTRMZzrdGNMXce0LB1-RWwZeQeyQg9x1_jYptCvWC12o76p6U7wlBtsco5KB-0UYuWFCuZdf424xSnV4J0_Wns/s400/DSC_0200.JPG" /></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGIqElH7rep9qDDOvj3b1AfnJNFGA-MGT04yIzP0lSVVbZV5XeKZAxuTRMZzrdGNMXce0LB1-RWwZeQeyQg9x1_jYptCvWC12o76p6U7wlBtsco5KB-0UYuWFCuZdf424xSnV4J0_Wns/s1600-h/DSC_0200.JPG"></a></div>Layer 1.<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGIqElH7rep9qDDOvj3b1AfnJNFGA-MGT04yIzP0lSVVbZV5XeKZAxuTRMZzrdGNMXce0LB1-RWwZeQeyQg9x1_jYptCvWC12o76p6U7wlBtsco5KB-0UYuWFCuZdf424xSnV4J0_Wns/s1600-h/DSC_0200.JPG"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7bniNtEQw6TO3qRBVqx5RpW-Fzq_edAEFDrbIosH4ADOTrXSxyhuWyDIZLfuxOB7jOmvIyNKoumOeqsJr5NkmBA_4aYNduww94kGpFZA3QsDZQOloKhQ1YMOktq_aqFj_JhyphenhyphenISWCDa0/s1600-h/DSC_0205.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7bniNtEQw6TO3qRBVqx5RpW-Fzq_edAEFDrbIosH4ADOTrXSxyhuWyDIZLfuxOB7jOmvIyNKoumOeqsJr5NkmBA_4aYNduww94kGpFZA3QsDZQOloKhQ1YMOktq_aqFj_JhyphenhyphenISWCDa0/s400/DSC_0205.JPG" /></a></div><div>Looking good.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJw18IrerHjivW6GI8L5J7kT_jw57qSmOaLliKCN_tE43Y_-8uNA3j763uwiFSD3cXkaH6rMpIjAz2NyiUFhEo1oGx-sS5TNaH2MIPZ3zk-00nTpSpNygem2k8ozdwFAMLz-2culu967Q/s1600-h/DSC_0208.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJw18IrerHjivW6GI8L5J7kT_jw57qSmOaLliKCN_tE43Y_-8uNA3j763uwiFSD3cXkaH6rMpIjAz2NyiUFhEo1oGx-sS5TNaH2MIPZ3zk-00nTpSpNygem2k8ozdwFAMLz-2culu967Q/s400/DSC_0208.JPG" /></a></div><div>And then there were two!</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyeqXYcDDMc2X6XshUfmyZ1l8NfBPI38ju9dDXqW3wt2FjXCRzBe0NLTwm9EKtK3mF6ECTlQXG7VGywMhnOVlJNigY_gTBaRWQSRrioMlXnck4AR4QwBD0XHMjMpNmERaDG50pA7xGH0/s1600-h/DSC_0210.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyeqXYcDDMc2X6XshUfmyZ1l8NfBPI38ju9dDXqW3wt2FjXCRzBe0NLTwm9EKtK3mF6ECTlQXG7VGywMhnOVlJNigY_gTBaRWQSRrioMlXnck4AR4QwBD0XHMjMpNmERaDG50pA7xGH0/s400/DSC_0210.JPG" /></a></div><div>It's like magic.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLchHQW6SdAgyHpoY-5l4jpxaswhID2NAWr0Itw2mnOzh9T-kKLDw-m0a8Nm9RDwHFEHdMmKAq0JpeR74KwwUN88XHtpT3dTRiv1Ubr8deZnUVq3hkedbGRgEi32RxNiq8uiNi5EbL2YY/s1600-h/DSC_0212.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLchHQW6SdAgyHpoY-5l4jpxaswhID2NAWr0Itw2mnOzh9T-kKLDw-m0a8Nm9RDwHFEHdMmKAq0JpeR74KwwUN88XHtpT3dTRiv1Ubr8deZnUVq3hkedbGRgEi32RxNiq8uiNi5EbL2YY/s400/DSC_0212.JPG" /></a></div><div>Oh momma.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG98JwRSdFhPyVWxzlcscCRYbv6TPGmJFxikgxbwWeyhPhKJAAeU3PebYZwjEkUPAJyH18dhcQqmyVsacIilmnZFXuxW_YGHiTcyfIiF1hO8-gPuViRE5ZLqU6FFRt_Tifg3VBiL6xHOc/s1600-h/DSC_0217.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG98JwRSdFhPyVWxzlcscCRYbv6TPGmJFxikgxbwWeyhPhKJAAeU3PebYZwjEkUPAJyH18dhcQqmyVsacIilmnZFXuxW_YGHiTcyfIiF1hO8-gPuViRE5ZLqU6FFRt_Tifg3VBiL6xHOc/s400/DSC_0217.JPG" /></a></div><div>Now we're getting somewhere.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzWXpv9PUJgiqxOSudTltPZpWV-fd5uMB5g34D9xogMbTBUEZ_SRSYT7QVEo8VyF_sU2qQhyMIlYTA4oZhG0gTlvovUZKcoPsDZY8fzWZA1I05sC5HllkYZGUBs-jAQJFbdlEVzCnWuk/s1600-h/DSC_0229.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzWXpv9PUJgiqxOSudTltPZpWV-fd5uMB5g34D9xogMbTBUEZ_SRSYT7QVEo8VyF_sU2qQhyMIlYTA4oZhG0gTlvovUZKcoPsDZY8fzWZA1I05sC5HllkYZGUBs-jAQJFbdlEVzCnWuk/s400/DSC_0229.JPG" /></a></div><div>Vampire baker.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjjD4vnX9olu1vsJG0vchCGL7984ssZDVzvlNpVz0fMTwLiJ1NxskE6cfxYLzlVEQRcs5cF-O32oiasJsDc6cEEiVYbMk24WRn__WLikzCbM874s7x3nMQQp2VPJX-MuV136g4aPnvZY/s1600-h/DSC_0232.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjjD4vnX9olu1vsJG0vchCGL7984ssZDVzvlNpVz0fMTwLiJ1NxskE6cfxYLzlVEQRcs5cF-O32oiasJsDc6cEEiVYbMk24WRn__WLikzCbM874s7x3nMQQp2VPJX-MuV136g4aPnvZY/s400/DSC_0232.JPG" /></a></div><div>We've arrived.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLL25fCOI2sBvO_9nuzuxHtXCGE0S5fhgVisvddOE7GDjWsOu9m3oFpuopdMjeQG5wX2_g-3zgDMgIWDAZq787IUmVaKhoBXyw3Mc-FIi074zABYCCDStHulXzZU5sPBMHVzm0BRsn0g/s1600-h/DSC_0233.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLL25fCOI2sBvO_9nuzuxHtXCGE0S5fhgVisvddOE7GDjWsOu9m3oFpuopdMjeQG5wX2_g-3zgDMgIWDAZq787IUmVaKhoBXyw3Mc-FIi074zABYCCDStHulXzZU5sPBMHVzm0BRsn0g/s400/DSC_0233.JPG" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Do yourself a favor: make this cake as soon as possible.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Giant Cookie Cake</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(Adapted from a recipe by Martha Stewart)</span></span></div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Cookie</span><br /><div>4 cups all-purpose flour<br />1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda<br />1 1/2 teaspoons salt<br />1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened<br />1 1/2 cups packed light brown sugar<br />3/4 cup granulated sugar<br />3 teaspoons pure vanilla extract<br />2 large eggs, plus 2 egg yolks<br />3/4 cup heavy cream<br />2 cups milk chocolate chips<br /><div>1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips</div><div><br />Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Whisk flour, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl. Put butter and brown and granulated sugars into mixer bowl; mix on medium until pale and fluffy. Mix in vanilla, eggs, and yolks. Reduce speed to low. Add flour mixture in 2 batches, alternating with the cream. Stir in chocolate chips.</div><div><br />For each of the 5 layers, drop 1 level cup batter onto center of a greased baking sheet. Using the ring of a 9" springform pan, press dough down into an even disc. Remove springform ring and bake until edges are pale golden brown, about 15 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool for 5-10 minutes before transferring to a wire rack.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Frosting</span></div><div>1 1/4 cups heavy cream</div><div>2 (8 oz.) packages cream cheese, softened</div><div>1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened</div><div>2 tsp. vanilla</div><div>16 oz. powdered sugar</div><div><br /></div><div>Whip heavy cream until soft peaks form. Set aside. Beat cream cheese and butter together, then slowly add vanilla and powdered sugar. Fold whipped cream into cream cheese mixture in 3 parts until fully incorporated.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Assembly</span></div><div>When cookies are fully cooled, spread a small amount of frosting in the middle of a cake plate. Place a cookie on top and spread with about 1 cup of frosting. Use a long spatula to create an even layer of frosting before topping with another cookie. Repeat for the next three layers, and then top with the final cookie. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cover and chill until ready to serve. Can be stored in the refrigerator for 3-4 days.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(Note: I refrigerated mine overnight before serving to allow the frosting to soften the cookies a little bit so they were easier to slice. I recommend you do the same.)</span></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-72061324609247754112009-05-08T12:49:00.000-07:002009-05-08T12:53:27.986-07:00It's That Day in May<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhftHvPNjjK96c5A1jKqxhNSZNOhU-BUvPLaT1oE3p94Oq3eE6JewjqclRIDleIdAcKoGroBXpVYVYEnwRNPbgz8Dcc7lugqZFr2Zu1i0plxsxIO8QVVcwnv5H1OVXM1_221mgImEVjjI/s1600-h/IMG_0009.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhftHvPNjjK96c5A1jKqxhNSZNOhU-BUvPLaT1oE3p94Oq3eE6JewjqclRIDleIdAcKoGroBXpVYVYEnwRNPbgz8Dcc7lugqZFr2Zu1i0plxsxIO8QVVcwnv5H1OVXM1_221mgImEVjjI/s400/IMG_0009.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333543388915646194" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://tinyurl.com/pfsv5o">Happy Mother's Day</a>.</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-7838731956123152972009-05-03T23:09:00.001-07:002009-05-03T23:28:06.807-07:00Rundown<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Currently loving:</span><div><ul><li>Soft and stolen v-neck tees.</li></ul></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ct8ScP85YIE_Z32ac4NORirkV0dVFt_s8mI1cxF33yYmqFBdVWLT6NtiUzNoTZUX6xwfmDvMraUBBFMdgDbw9T1BFZ9d8yP-U3ZXEEWdChDKLqhPRtS7ohWttgztZUey2MRqnuAE7Ns/s1600-h/Photo+84.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ct8ScP85YIE_Z32ac4NORirkV0dVFt_s8mI1cxF33yYmqFBdVWLT6NtiUzNoTZUX6xwfmDvMraUBBFMdgDbw9T1BFZ9d8yP-U3ZXEEWdChDKLqhPRtS7ohWttgztZUey2MRqnuAE7Ns/s400/Photo+84.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331848205501020770" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div><ul><li><a href="http://doehlebread.tumblr.com/post/103213963/strawberry-swing-by-coldplay-so-happy">"Strawberry Swing"</a> by Coldplay.<br /></li><li>Carrots and hummus for dinner. (Followed by cookies and milk. Obviously.)<br /></li><li>Smooth and silky summer legs.<br /></li><li>My new <a href="http://www.stevemadden.com/item.aspx?id=48600">snakeskin sandals</a>.<br /></li><li>How shiny and whole and wonderful the world looks after I talk to my best friend.</li></ul></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">[This new smile.]</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Never stood a chance:</span></div><div><ul><li>Stirring the oil into the peanut butter.<br /></li><li>How long my hair is getting. ("WHAT is touching my NECK?!")<br /></li><li>The Check Engine light in my car.<br /></li><li>Standing in the middle of Trader Joe's and having no idea what I want to eat for the rest of the week but Caramel Nut Brownie LUNA bars and Ranchero Egg White Salad.<br /></li><li>Being out of flour and sugar. Sad story.<br /></li></ul></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-57213211571288656162009-04-23T18:54:00.000-07:002009-04-23T19:53:47.409-07:00Honey, I'm Home!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">ne·glect (nĭ-glěkt')</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">1. to pay no attention or too little attention to; disregard or slight<br />2. to be remiss in the care or treatment of<br />3. to omit, through indifference or carelessness<br />4. to fail to carry out or perform (orders, duties, etc.)<br />5. to fail to take or use</span><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, um, yeah. Sorry about that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Things have been a little crazy around here lately. Crazy wonderful and just crazy crazy... Sweet new friends who make life a whole lot sweeter, late night dinner dates, long afternoon hikes, banana pancakes, car mechanic wrangling, ruthless job searching... There's been a lot going on.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4wULnoMPuxkD5MG2hkLz3igSpBWGfUHT4oeGGbHTy4KPD29cYKRRqB8UEASLJz42aI4bax2k65M1rWqlcddH09YsCLJxQhJPW7l6dkQjUUezibA_5bVgUIv_IBcNKyDdogSP3FDFQpk/s1600-h/DSC_0052.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4wULnoMPuxkD5MG2hkLz3igSpBWGfUHT4oeGGbHTy4KPD29cYKRRqB8UEASLJz42aI4bax2k65M1rWqlcddH09YsCLJxQhJPW7l6dkQjUUezibA_5bVgUIv_IBcNKyDdogSP3FDFQpk/s400/DSC_0052.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328071491581780034" style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You may have noticed that the "Latest Celebrity Sighting" feature on the right side toolbar has been replaced with a slideshow/ link to my </span><a href="http://doehlebread.tumblr.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Tumblr profile</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I've been giving that little extra attention-- it's where I'll upload a picture I think is pretty, or jot out a thought or quote that's been circulating in my head all day. Much more spontaneous and rapid-fire than this here blog which actually requires coherent thought... Check it out every once in a while for a little tidbit of what's going on in my brain that day.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWR3VeKmDojHUpP6-uXjaggqjbbMdok38OFowDJGJtSRBS3KbuyLihXLw-FWchhfX4wkabG4J17VpNFwVxEDXvrc3bKHkXDnCyIyQolzUtCQXLcA8dzGyyNTd1gyOluVY9LWRpUp2GAk/s1600-h/DSC_0004.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWR3VeKmDojHUpP6-uXjaggqjbbMdok38OFowDJGJtSRBS3KbuyLihXLw-FWchhfX4wkabG4J17VpNFwVxEDXvrc3bKHkXDnCyIyQolzUtCQXLcA8dzGyyNTd1gyOluVY9LWRpUp2GAk/s400/DSC_0004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328071498189572354" style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But now that we've got that covered, let's get down to business. I baked you cupcakes. What can I say? I'm sorry it's been so long. And I'm here to woo you back with frilly, festive, frothy cupcakes. Pink and blue, purple and yellow... Sprinkles and swirls of homemade buttercream sit atop moist vanilla cake. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvYCm6qySnT0_axR66npiCucahLTH2nxEyBbSe9_HuDz1by_cYgHepS99Rm9MUjpaPqXDIEaJ10XtWgBxOA_3D76Yaa2XeAd2_n__CabKCT_f3cnPNzc_zgQ8KQDT_i5K5qAnmGy2cfc/s1600-h/DSC_0037.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvYCm6qySnT0_axR66npiCucahLTH2nxEyBbSe9_HuDz1by_cYgHepS99Rm9MUjpaPqXDIEaJ10XtWgBxOA_3D76Yaa2XeAd2_n__CabKCT_f3cnPNzc_zgQ8KQDT_i5K5qAnmGy2cfc/s400/DSC_0037.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328071486096969474" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm glad you're here. I'm sorry I was gone so long. Please stay.</span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Perfect Spring Cupcakes</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The best cupcakes I've ever had or made. A tight, moist crumb with just the right amount of sweetness, topped with a creamy twist on traditional buttercream. This is a recipe I go back to time and again, and am never, ever disappointed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFMTWyG2GPQAvglkFBAD5ogUEWbXrlNM7PBFQ2FT-ZB89yccA1U0zCjCE4d6clG6NAUpKDq_8uhPULeil50LQ7I_Jsyx3zLWAtbKAKbbfZ99OYaRV6S9dcDFDdcSD2qiRImTgZ85geiI/s1600-h/DSC_0061.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFMTWyG2GPQAvglkFBAD5ogUEWbXrlNM7PBFQ2FT-ZB89yccA1U0zCjCE4d6clG6NAUpKDq_8uhPULeil50LQ7I_Jsyx3zLWAtbKAKbbfZ99OYaRV6S9dcDFDdcSD2qiRImTgZ85geiI/s400/DSC_0061.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328085622978914434" style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Cake</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">2 cups sugar</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">4 eggs</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1 cup milk</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1 tsp. vanilla</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">2 3/4 cups flour</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">2 tsp. baking powder</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1/2 tsp. salt</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line two 12-cup muffin tins with paper liners.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In a stand mixer, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, making sure they become fully incorporated. Then add the dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, salt) in three parts, alternating with the milk and vanilla. With each addition, beat until the ingredients are incorporated but do not overbeat.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Fill muffin cups 1/2 to 2/3 full and bake for 20-25 minutes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Frosting</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1 1/2 sticks (12 oz.) unsalted butter, softened</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1 pkg. (8 oz.) cream cheese, softened</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1 box (16 oz.) powdered sugar</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1 tsp. vanilla</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">liquid or gel food coloring (optional)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Using an electric mixer, beat butter and cream cheese together until combined. Slowly add the powdered sugar until fully absorbed, then add vanilla.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Frost cupcakes when fully cooled and decorate with the cutest sprinkles you can find.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">** For colored frosting: separate frosting into small bowls and stir in a few drops of the food coloring of your choice. Have fun and go slowly-- you can always add more. But don't be afraid of color either!</span></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-80704782501495915292009-04-10T12:55:00.001-07:002009-04-10T13:05:31.334-07:00Here and There<div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHgfGxt8nqLJLy0hIrlqmM_BDdigAwQsTR-xRNYF6X09VBfKM27URiQyw_lr-G4-f-xRuDFeEAnhC_cBAsFFVOJN1RqL62V5dpZhyphenhyphenebOOqu0mvizcv95ZJX9UrfT7HNLKRWDaqzaTo_Q/s1600-h/P1000908.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHgfGxt8nqLJLy0hIrlqmM_BDdigAwQsTR-xRNYF6X09VBfKM27URiQyw_lr-G4-f-xRuDFeEAnhC_cBAsFFVOJN1RqL62V5dpZhyphenhyphenebOOqu0mvizcv95ZJX9UrfT7HNLKRWDaqzaTo_Q/s400/P1000908.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154637533041890" /></a><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpdLNd8TDyml3IyTlbAlZqnjH3J4IH8iSHOOtoDf1Pa0BNRDFKxweYFZsr9f2EhpfIUBC_Gxk-sQNEMk4meVAMX-KZ1geWjUsWhNeuxGwIIdBNC0-C8dHdxUS0Yff35e0YMkoOm2Z4Esc/s1600-h/P1000905.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpdLNd8TDyml3IyTlbAlZqnjH3J4IH8iSHOOtoDf1Pa0BNRDFKxweYFZsr9f2EhpfIUBC_Gxk-sQNEMk4meVAMX-KZ1geWjUsWhNeuxGwIIdBNC0-C8dHdxUS0Yff35e0YMkoOm2Z4Esc/s400/P1000905.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154635260826946" /></a><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPMHGZvI86vugTBd1lhvPM_nyJwFVT-zExUGLr1165qDrzk6NjSmVBj50RKnVbYYrRK9yLV7ONrNWDeMmDXQL2-A8bIEmgX1whleaw3FS66fuo47KZKqaJzkdLaG049mKCsGBjMy_DYFs/s1600-h/RFwzWcVcZm15bkzeZCvDsUrho1_1280.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPMHGZvI86vugTBd1lhvPM_nyJwFVT-zExUGLr1165qDrzk6NjSmVBj50RKnVbYYrRK9yLV7ONrNWDeMmDXQL2-A8bIEmgX1whleaw3FS66fuo47KZKqaJzkdLaG049mKCsGBjMy_DYFs/s400/RFwzWcVcZm15bkzeZCvDsUrho1_1280.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154638203013122" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhb_ShCMCvvXSfSFx91zx1NERfL4hZUStSTP_4FzEQBaO1SvFVe4LqvYVaX1Uiw6-liALhuF6hraFFC5rCFwv8FcZUMsmUhppwIPyx0lDYI7uAUmH4heFGCpHV63AcDWzldjqOsgq9sw/s1600-h/P1000901.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhb_ShCMCvvXSfSFx91zx1NERfL4hZUStSTP_4FzEQBaO1SvFVe4LqvYVaX1Uiw6-liALhuF6hraFFC5rCFwv8FcZUMsmUhppwIPyx0lDYI7uAUmH4heFGCpHV63AcDWzldjqOsgq9sw/s400/P1000901.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154273988511538" /></a><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDzKQvLXqGPpv5u_TcJbv_FrG85ba054eErZ_hARDFRBjDz1_cDf428tuIRXcjm5PfnbS0TvWgnvkq-1_K5-gSj54umJ2FHV1e5JxMjkxybS-DAejFJTIbwDreDCDbF0Cj4q9ibaCqLI/s1600-h/P1000896.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDzKQvLXqGPpv5u_TcJbv_FrG85ba054eErZ_hARDFRBjDz1_cDf428tuIRXcjm5PfnbS0TvWgnvkq-1_K5-gSj54umJ2FHV1e5JxMjkxybS-DAejFJTIbwDreDCDbF0Cj4q9ibaCqLI/s400/P1000896.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154270668489010" /></a><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkS0S_YDqZ5BeznFhrxbgztUACn694zWAqY1x5_wgkAaHCqMM6MkO-xhoa728hONJElmA0J6hlyVCBpqZXEgl-FUqU9X30anH4ZjdkZkw1Li_lK5Tftp5IhfuvFej944W9bxXVY9F2ng/s1600-h/P1000893.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkS0S_YDqZ5BeznFhrxbgztUACn694zWAqY1x5_wgkAaHCqMM6MkO-xhoa728hONJElmA0J6hlyVCBpqZXEgl-FUqU9X30anH4ZjdkZkw1Li_lK5Tftp5IhfuvFej944W9bxXVY9F2ng/s400/P1000893.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154267162801682" /></a><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAj-Rbu9hNmXL-UJ7Qo-oBl7rlZqaNhOGngx5OveaeTs3YEfaYonk-QKhXd_SdgaR37DgN4VHgdO3GgcNZryQZM7BUg76Q6FZK_qpNy7qGHX1pwg8UDjxTG0wKNHCQ_ByfSDkvTgNzBk/s1600-h/P1000891.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAj-Rbu9hNmXL-UJ7Qo-oBl7rlZqaNhOGngx5OveaeTs3YEfaYonk-QKhXd_SdgaR37DgN4VHgdO3GgcNZryQZM7BUg76Q6FZK_qpNy7qGHX1pwg8UDjxTG0wKNHCQ_ByfSDkvTgNzBk/s400/P1000891.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154265537137570" /></a><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKfa5lqu1uWrr4DdzXncn-HtrNxx2DlM9zwPgT-on2yy66c4jcjjLCEOKoqVxZ1bL_ZB4Ec_Pqm-CQvzk8rlqa20CnvwGhzr-qe0PRxXoEIs4JFPahkRmH3U2D0ObRRTTThqKB4oxh40/s1600-h/P1000890.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKfa5lqu1uWrr4DdzXncn-HtrNxx2DlM9zwPgT-on2yy66c4jcjjLCEOKoqVxZ1bL_ZB4Ec_Pqm-CQvzk8rlqa20CnvwGhzr-qe0PRxXoEIs4JFPahkRmH3U2D0ObRRTTThqKB4oxh40/s400/P1000890.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154259476719954" /></a><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4m_pj_Sl5b0nF0xueYKc89RNMPPSaK8ov5XWqDg_LuW738wOAlpNcHlv4eV_YHSIvq9J3o35dLQtoMxQIPBgen1hoGVtx0DXSsN1Mq_i0_BPe4u1dXHSpZSZ-yVAN88TsIlWGk_AQdc/s1600-h/RFwzWcVcZm152hodjcEteKPSo1_1280.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4m_pj_Sl5b0nF0xueYKc89RNMPPSaK8ov5XWqDg_LuW738wOAlpNcHlv4eV_YHSIvq9J3o35dLQtoMxQIPBgen1hoGVtx0DXSsN1Mq_i0_BPe4u1dXHSpZSZ-yVAN88TsIlWGk_AQdc/s400/RFwzWcVcZm152hodjcEteKPSo1_1280.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154643259417922" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijG6kzR4dQ0SrY46L-hzMuwdqj2kbLmaes-aoAd5oaRKey800iaAUFGqZQNh43miLBayb6TFaACNNni5r3pX6IYlO6U9xLPGlGIU9oYfD7ON6RcimLaci0CCr2GG_zSRxf5P3-DTRRYHg/s1600-h/n747986062_2857070_5129485.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijG6kzR4dQ0SrY46L-hzMuwdqj2kbLmaes-aoAd5oaRKey800iaAUFGqZQNh43miLBayb6TFaACNNni5r3pX6IYlO6U9xLPGlGIU9oYfD7ON6RcimLaci0CCr2GG_zSRxf5P3-DTRRYHg/s400/n747986062_2857070_5129485.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323154644202613426" style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYZZCuC735neMcopktlSzl2WjkE9X5RHfgGxDyT49i8BR83x7EAflHuS0yit0PdSL-U0enMUopPwW7CfV33gA95jYU46m7RJo8BwzLFpPDG35iqBtM_envrwrofX_tjoGLaPoyouTj-I/s1600-h/n747986062_2857080_4787138.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYZZCuC735neMcopktlSzl2WjkE9X5RHfgGxDyT49i8BR83x7EAflHuS0yit0PdSL-U0enMUopPwW7CfV33gA95jYU46m7RJo8BwzLFpPDG35iqBtM_envrwrofX_tjoGLaPoyouTj-I/s400/n747986062_2857080_4787138.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323155161380123282" style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhViot8WVXlKwpFOvQY5h4hbBbo1eJfV-tpUHPQqCfs5_a2sh07oQTS29xHnxxrERfqut3h9AN3zOiqGKyHJx76jUuk8K_D5bLxirp6v3HoEkC-Fh063RPePm8h0f1WeJK_a4VyQ6qSdek/s1600-h/n747986062_2857079_4758914.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhViot8WVXlKwpFOvQY5h4hbBbo1eJfV-tpUHPQqCfs5_a2sh07oQTS29xHnxxrERfqut3h9AN3zOiqGKyHJx76jUuk8K_D5bLxirp6v3HoEkC-Fh063RPePm8h0f1WeJK_a4VyQ6qSdek/s400/n747986062_2857079_4758914.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323155158907107602" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6cI17ZUou6H6C294v_4rf9djegl4MP_Q93EiZWg6CwffntOmevM1etpc7qiNrccLa5dmlhckB8W3SfVvBnBg2jTYD9DO1ZAB5bUcmwHBKe7Ak4MH8Um3Zz5nAfdEMaRhQiy7Vo8qB7hY/s1600-h/n747986062_2859385_3418984.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6cI17ZUou6H6C294v_4rf9djegl4MP_Q93EiZWg6CwffntOmevM1etpc7qiNrccLa5dmlhckB8W3SfVvBnBg2jTYD9DO1ZAB5bUcmwHBKe7Ak4MH8Um3Zz5nAfdEMaRhQiy7Vo8qB7hY/s400/n747986062_2859385_3418984.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323155160819427330" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I've been busy.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-57216411489436539172009-04-02T00:34:00.000-07:002009-04-02T00:49:48.961-07:00Gone Too Long<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUktmqEHY5g8-mQ4OXWQOcdr0CPJvb_JRQWrL2yA0nPM0k1h71irJXyk0QWqb2ZF7YTsVVTOPlFSiLf5kY3Z7Mm2UfyRfPdlhYvtkKzCA9Sw309YS29IyED7emXdi2BWIZPxGDUMy710w/s1600-h/Nap+Face.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUktmqEHY5g8-mQ4OXWQOcdr0CPJvb_JRQWrL2yA0nPM0k1h71irJXyk0QWqb2ZF7YTsVVTOPlFSiLf5kY3Z7Mm2UfyRfPdlhYvtkKzCA9Sw309YS29IyED7emXdi2BWIZPxGDUMy710w/s400/Nap+Face.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319994253105100194" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Justwokeupfromanapface.</span></span><br /><div><br /></div><div>This just about how I feel every day. Happysweetsmileypeacefulrested. Be back soon.</div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-86438774474137502182009-03-19T20:07:00.001-07:002009-03-19T23:13:22.885-07:00New Friends<div>I've made some new friends lately. And they're incredible. Seriously, legitimately awesome. They welcomed me instantly and wholeheartedly... And they're freaking COOL! None of this weird/ tentative/ "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I'm going to be nice to you and we'll talk awkwardly in public settings, and then wave from across the room the next time I see you</span>" crap. We were basically family from day one. And I like it.</div><br /><div>This is Daniela.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6QgZHqtR5GYTgdsWDcdk7MTBAj_1QSmJOYORLBDexI2HDeR-cgTS9eCRtu-RGDMOolwvXAYyZ8vY4qohahRR3WoRPiuKUK9rYstKw8wP3yoSDTnxIsEE0HhgFPqMDO0PBFM2Czh_bVo/s1600-h/daniela+vertical+collage.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6QgZHqtR5GYTgdsWDcdk7MTBAj_1QSmJOYORLBDexI2HDeR-cgTS9eCRtu-RGDMOolwvXAYyZ8vY4qohahRR3WoRPiuKUK9rYstKw8wP3yoSDTnxIsEE0HhgFPqMDO0PBFM2Czh_bVo/s400/daniela+vertical+collage.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315130349464241458" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 368px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>She's got a gorgeous smile and I told her the minute we met. Which, incidentally, was on a Sunday. By a stroke of fate, I ended up at her small group on Tuesday, and by Saturday night I was singing "Happy Birthday" at her party as she blew out her candles. She's just that awesome. (Oh, and did I mention she's married?! I LOVE married people!)<div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of birthdays and awesome, Daniela shares a b-day with her best friend Tiffany whom I have come to love and adore. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpiUcny6A9DRj2OSKLGJaRVMhwrYsn4_eMG1LJ_YBEfc35krXo_kUr4-naUvW0EN9yWWx3PZ2DbBJGz_hOAslI-a1jVGJgVvLP3QyQEsyza09qdSAqVj2Ay7EtE9nGveBGakGkRpcusQ/s1600-h/Tiff+Collage.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpiUcny6A9DRj2OSKLGJaRVMhwrYsn4_eMG1LJ_YBEfc35krXo_kUr4-naUvW0EN9yWWx3PZ2DbBJGz_hOAslI-a1jVGJgVvLP3QyQEsyza09qdSAqVj2Ay7EtE9nGveBGakGkRpcusQ/s400/Tiff+Collage.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315130362614536818" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 183px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>She's smart, beautiful, and wise with this incredibly big heart that cares deeply without a hint of mush. In other words, a badass.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUltqRuiV8VPApL87-iZHkjtc4wS5B5AQfqmXYvtmxcTteKIKVgCwCpVVp2sHoPFFa0Vc25E0f8e9GW7b6AtARuWdGoi0tISMcgs_8nPTwzf-QkY6hjHZugykp6v2s1FX0ihqh9agS3AY/s1600-h/Tiff+and+Daniela.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUltqRuiV8VPApL87-iZHkjtc4wS5B5AQfqmXYvtmxcTteKIKVgCwCpVVp2sHoPFFa0Vc25E0f8e9GW7b6AtARuWdGoi0tISMcgs_8nPTwzf-QkY6hjHZugykp6v2s1FX0ihqh9agS3AY/s400/Tiff+and+Daniela.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315133601138225186" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Tiffany and Daniela on their birthday trip to Disneyland.</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SewwfQNXfSYEAJTTidwofwpyzMOnK5tHEwNvhjOJJc72Ai7ybQIqFploJJuBMtRdGjJleN37U85qooMB31m6adc9ubUNkXZREH77dPlGO1XUnUeronS3xhXX9mVlGw82fkdAW9cu7FI/s1600-h/RFwzWcVcZitbfr3gj9qVLvMEo1_500.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SewwfQNXfSYEAJTTidwofwpyzMOnK5tHEwNvhjOJJc72Ai7ybQIqFploJJuBMtRdGjJleN37U85qooMB31m6adc9ubUNkXZREH77dPlGO1XUnUeronS3xhXX9mVlGw82fkdAW9cu7FI/s400/RFwzWcVcZitbfr3gj9qVLvMEo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315133596968861202" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I don't know when or where this is, but they look hot.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>(Sidenote: most of these pictures are from Tiffany's <a href="http://www.dailyjunkla.com/">rad blog</a>. Yup. Rad. I don't even say that word.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Next, I'd like to introduce Zoë. She's incredible and incandescent, fun, HILARIOUS and has a big beautiful heart. Oh, and she's six feet tall, British/ South African, gorgeous, and used to model. No big deal.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLX4WJQx8mtKC6ofXKqBsjM6ZMF5dz5rhCBB17vEUGhsQat4lbGI7Bz85xKv5YTtgmBVkKnGGYhTJUSgYxxHBmoTtFGN_3IVAjmFMFGna1r6_0NnmLwOOOO9rfmepL_TBbT4VqrtnxgA/s1600-h/Zoe+collage.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLX4WJQx8mtKC6ofXKqBsjM6ZMF5dz5rhCBB17vEUGhsQat4lbGI7Bz85xKv5YTtgmBVkKnGGYhTJUSgYxxHBmoTtFGN_3IVAjmFMFGna1r6_0NnmLwOOOO9rfmepL_TBbT4VqrtnxgA/s400/Zoe+collage.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315130358338456098" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We go on hikes and get banana pancakes and generally can't stop yammering each others' ears off. I really, really love her.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yup, all three amazing, Jesus-loving hotties were at the Bible study I stopped in on with a friend just a few Tuesdays ago. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's led by Evan:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiLXLJtOHJS4HMNsvYfAt0t1801MNHaNQtCUG5ebzCKsCK04Kco10m3kOnaPsmMp7hflCuzXMhyh953FZHNMTTzpXgQpR2TIAC9m9U-Nj_gSDBTqbtB7A9IpKyII0nkgh9Ur0LB7CDZtQ/s1600-h/Evan.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiLXLJtOHJS4HMNsvYfAt0t1801MNHaNQtCUG5ebzCKsCK04Kco10m3kOnaPsmMp7hflCuzXMhyh953FZHNMTTzpXgQpR2TIAC9m9U-Nj_gSDBTqbtB7A9IpKyII0nkgh9Ur0LB7CDZtQ/s400/Evan.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315136447845024146" style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Whom I've actually known for a little bit, and who is also, for the record, actually as tall as this picture makes him out to be: 6'7, or as he is fond of saying, 5'19. He does a seriously awesome job.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wish I had more pictures of the rest of the crew: Josie and Peter, Melissa and Sean... Some incredible people are in this Bible study, and I'm so glad I know them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Blog roundup!</div><div>Daniela: <a href="http://djcominatcha.blogspot.com/">All I'm Sayin' Is...</a></div><div>Zoë: <a href="http://confessionsofawanderer.tumblr.com/">Confessions of a Wanderholic</a></div><div>And Tiffany: <a href="http://www.dailyjunkla.com/">DailyJunkLA</a></div><div>... ie: my latest obsession, ie: I really love it, ie: I check it multiple times every day and have created a bookmark on my homepage because I love seeing what sassy little tidbits she posts throughout the day. It's fine.</div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-50992429701754501872009-03-11T01:13:00.000-07:002009-03-11T10:24:44.918-07:00Ten<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhli9mceYI8lR66R_DYgX3NqzkBCBNqt-P-zQVal8eSXPTspaZUsiEbWi4ivGrxvvuOCJ_XYo3DEEpkHFt4K7ix_Lnq4sB2o1TQ1a4pHNEeMrRbtUz2W-wxiSWwgvd22u3HJmPU8rWeItw/s1600-h/DSC_0005.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhli9mceYI8lR66R_DYgX3NqzkBCBNqt-P-zQVal8eSXPTspaZUsiEbWi4ivGrxvvuOCJ_XYo3DEEpkHFt4K7ix_Lnq4sB2o1TQ1a4pHNEeMrRbtUz2W-wxiSWwgvd22u3HJmPU8rWeItw/s400/DSC_0005.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311981673991081970" /></a><div><br /></div><div>If you had logged onto Facebook a few weeks ago, you wouldn't have been able to escape the news of everybody and their Aunt Berta (literally) posting a list of "25 Random Things About Me" (er, Them). I was tagged repeatedly but never acquiesced. Until now. </div><div><br /></div><div>But instead of bombarding you with 25 I've narrowed it down to a classy, even 10.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because that's how I roll.</div><br /><div>1. I love seeing men walking with flowers in hand. It makes me feel like there's still romance in the world.</div><br /><div>2. Whole Foods is my Starbucks. I realized one night while trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep that I'm probably in here 5 out of 7 days a week. (And by "here" I really do mean here... I'm sitting in a Whole Foods cafe as I type this)</div><br /><div>3. Sometimes I think about how much I love my best friend, and how thankful I am for her and our amazing friendship, and my heart gets so full it feels like it could literally burst. After my last trip to visit her, I was left with this feeling like my whole body had been filled with warm milk-- all full and peaceful and satisfied.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDMLrfvWvx8RQRlHe8X9vtrx94L73XCVoLfxcIMU0_hAjCPLZCJ_L3uBu9DZUJJiDXXrq7EYQbqjHDzvCqCO0rfCtxo6tyBcNE3q4tYOWQZuQVKqkANZG29dNvuXPoi21M9cZxrrt9ms/s1600-h/DSC_0006.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDMLrfvWvx8RQRlHe8X9vtrx94L73XCVoLfxcIMU0_hAjCPLZCJ_L3uBu9DZUJJiDXXrq7EYQbqjHDzvCqCO0rfCtxo6tyBcNE3q4tYOWQZuQVKqkANZG29dNvuXPoi21M9cZxrrt9ms/s400/DSC_0006.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311981679890081906" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 162px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>4. When I was young and homeschooled we only had one car that my dad would take to work every day. My mom would occasionally get so stir-crazy that she would take us on walks to the 7-11 at the corner just to get out of the house. We were each allowed to get a treat. Lisa (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">my best friend at the time who was homeschooled with me</span>) and James always got Slurpees, but I shunned them for a little package of Reese's peanut butter cups. We'd squat on the curb outside eating our goodies, James and Lisa sipping away and me letting the sun melt the chocolate on the Reese's cups until they were soft and barely oozing, before devouring in small, careful bites. Then we'd walk home and steal daffodils from people's yards along the way.</div><div></div><br /><div>5. I would like to marry someone who has big hands.</div><div></div><br /><div>6. If I could, every day I would eat a thick slab of homemade whole grain bread, toasted, and slathered with a warm, oozing layer of Jif Extra Chunky peanut butter. Trans fats be damned.</div><div></div><br /><div>7. There is something so EPIC to me about Jay-Z's music. The Black Album? Please. I could listen to that for the rest of my life and continuously be floored by the nuanced cries for help I hear.</div><br /><div>8. A pickup line that still tickles me: "Are those your real eyes?" <em>No, the right one's glass, sir.</em> ...Yes, they're my "real" eyes. What does that even mean?</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9n_Jofo15s8ITDEQPTwf5QgaFT-w3VaFZDhIzZecgeGsJOOjvod8y4NhC4Os04dByTyHXnyJ2shS8swjBas-b4mBFxs4QZJX6X9RpDKJG6brFbVkIYh5-NLdwaJGywn-5OrNON6i0as/s1600-h/DSC_0008.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9n_Jofo15s8ITDEQPTwf5QgaFT-w3VaFZDhIzZecgeGsJOOjvod8y4NhC4Os04dByTyHXnyJ2shS8swjBas-b4mBFxs4QZJX6X9RpDKJG6brFbVkIYh5-NLdwaJGywn-5OrNON6i0as/s400/DSC_0008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311981678353470786" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>9. After my mom died it took a long time for me to be able to read books or watch movies. I just didn't have the focus or attention span to stay with one continuous plot or train of thought for more than 45 minutes. Truth be told I'm still building up my endurance, but as it stands I've got a solid 2-year block of entertainment and media that I pretty much missed out on.</div><div></div><br /><div>10. I think my favorite feeling in the world is laying on the beach while the sun is setting, body pressed into the warm sand as a breeze picks up and it feels like a long silk sheet being drawn across your skin. I can't think of anything better.</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-22814420857503074472009-03-04T22:45:00.000-08:002009-03-04T23:10:44.247-08:00Water in the BasementIt's a rainy day here in LA, and I'm cooped up inside listening to music with my phone turned off. I just cancelled my cable and don't know whether I regret it. My hair is getting really long.<br /><br />Just yesterday it hit me how hard the last several years have been. First Mom got sick, then was gone, and after that the only church I had ever known shattered and home base was obliterated. I graduated from college and spent long, lonely days alone in my apartment, searching for my life's purpose or something, anything, to set my hands to.<br /><br />Talk about a one, two (three) punch.<br /><br />It's been harder than I realized. I miss my mom now in a deep, low way that I spend most days trying to ignore or stuff away... But it never really works. There are long stretches of numb, almost-happiness mingled with real, genuine good times that are so good I want to grab life like a bottle with both fists, turning it upside down and drink drink drink until it's dripping dry. But then it crashes down and I find myself crying in church, gaze locked on a woman who has hands like my mom's.<br /><br />I'm tired of saying it's hard. I'm tired of fighting the same old battles with the same old rusty armor. My sword has lost its shine in my weary hand on my weary arm, the onslaught is subsiding but never ceasing. I just want it to go away. I want to be the bright and shiny, happy girl that people want to see. Oh to be lighthearted! I've gotten pretty good at smiling again, inviting people in to see my sparkling new floors and pretty drywall, but this house still has water in the basement.<br /><br />The thing the Lord spoke to me about this time is that it's my "under pressure" season-- like I'm in a slow-cooker, steeping not stagnant. I am still because deep work is going on in my heart, and the reward is a richness, a depth, a spectrum, encyclopaedia, and library of heart-knowledge that couldn't be acquired any other way. And I'm okay with that. Lord, please let me be okay with that.<br /><br />I just want to know Him.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-51067590645726453292009-02-20T00:23:00.000-08:002009-02-20T00:48:40.079-08:00KC<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJj-Ucem9Gn0W9cFF6kb5tUlinhrxDnb3OADyQ0GThqfj8gR3-gF9-IS8D2HSo8e-T-qgjltYxFJDSpghbGCo8H5naj12mj_gg-nem5XL-t56YiimkUTHH4R3UnhcQz5ImcjDpIZUlYs/s1600-h/DSC_0147.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJj-Ucem9Gn0W9cFF6kb5tUlinhrxDnb3OADyQ0GThqfj8gR3-gF9-IS8D2HSo8e-T-qgjltYxFJDSpghbGCo8H5naj12mj_gg-nem5XL-t56YiimkUTHH4R3UnhcQz5ImcjDpIZUlYs/s400/DSC_0147.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304796023702917394" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Last weekend I spent my Valentine's with some true sweets indeed: my best friend Catherine, her husband Mark, and their baby who we all affectionately refer to as Bubbie. (Or Bubs, or Bubbkins, or Bubbsie...)</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBA55V5RQLbJ5pj1iVZXMtw6mjGIjmNbNAWOQTMoeg-rXFInon15rmpyqGb1otMi8Mem3cVuRvVxcRNmqOki3lrfWzKebVo4FUuVqnqdWbNi4emZ5Xtko3vRPSevG4fa5C84vaU85UMw/s1600-h/DSC_0074.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBA55V5RQLbJ5pj1iVZXMtw6mjGIjmNbNAWOQTMoeg-rXFInon15rmpyqGb1otMi8Mem3cVuRvVxcRNmqOki3lrfWzKebVo4FUuVqnqdWbNi4emZ5Xtko3vRPSevG4fa5C84vaU85UMw/s400/DSC_0074.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304796007069067122" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Spaghetti night.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><div>I had planned to fly home Monday afternoon after my extended weekend stay, but when I found myself wretching on the floor of their bathroom Sunday night, body wracked with the effects of food poisoning, so my extended stay got a little more extended! </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ33_HmSyV9_WThjAPP_DFYjiklgxl0TNAE9jGjV2UFm14rgAo8pwAKVAIyFWod4MtrAqkAZw5lJjWhxGgJSsaYvr6CDzeFTsVOew_eoVXmUPUjRmKCoY-wYXGecCaLDPitxpxNB28kYs/s1600-h/DSC_0161.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ33_HmSyV9_WThjAPP_DFYjiklgxl0TNAE9jGjV2UFm14rgAo8pwAKVAIyFWod4MtrAqkAZw5lJjWhxGgJSsaYvr6CDzeFTsVOew_eoVXmUPUjRmKCoY-wYXGecCaLDPitxpxNB28kYs/s400/DSC_0161.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304797156373084994" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Checkin' out the pedi.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWVPYVfsdhksO1bqi3zraDCx9OmzFmKQ5ps8lq9UXXR5WFr9nmKqqI2kcNeupejgzyTNy4iTfUZ4568jrV11tYhoi4mqj-glPbJ_lI7B37kqJyLLnWOelftXlEVFQd5p5gnZRO7Ikt2xQ/s1600-h/DSC_0138.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWVPYVfsdhksO1bqi3zraDCx9OmzFmKQ5ps8lq9UXXR5WFr9nmKqqI2kcNeupejgzyTNy4iTfUZ4568jrV11tYhoi4mqj-glPbJ_lI7B37kqJyLLnWOelftXlEVFQd5p5gnZRO7Ikt2xQ/s400/DSC_0138.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304796015893904178" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px; font-style: italic;">Lashes</span></div><div><br /></div><div>We played Monopoly, watched movies, and basically just played with the baby all day. In other words, it was heaven.</div><div><br /></div><div>By the way, have I ever mentioned how I have the BEST best friend on the PLANET?</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nhvDCuXX6UaGeXFvXkKA5TQkilVdWAKzQOJ0bGCwn_a9JLVgZAXGIpZI-NQa0Z_83ZW8VlOfMpsblXBMEn-KUhoXL40NrmZgCm9edzWz3-9op5fvQVTfc3QiQFak72Y9uhSsTh-uw14/s1600-h/DSC_0136.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nhvDCuXX6UaGeXFvXkKA5TQkilVdWAKzQOJ0bGCwn_a9JLVgZAXGIpZI-NQa0Z_83ZW8VlOfMpsblXBMEn-KUhoXL40NrmZgCm9edzWz3-9op5fvQVTfc3QiQFak72Y9uhSsTh-uw14/s400/DSC_0136.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304796012523486994" style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 284px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Because I do. Even if she does live in Kansas City.</div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-22981151243400094782009-02-09T13:09:00.000-08:002009-03-02T13:34:52.593-08:00Single Lady<div>Sunday night. Just a single girl folding a little laundry.</div><div><br /></div><object width="320" height="240" ><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/713389045496" /><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/713389045496" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="240"></embed></object>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7819785985643751864.post-23883645796530792362009-02-04T00:50:00.000-08:002009-02-04T00:53:32.476-08:00Coming Soon...<p>This may or may not be the trailer for the second season of the INCREDIBLE web series called <a href="http://www.dorm-life.com/">Dorm Life</a>, which may or may not be making its debut on March 2nd. Also, you may or may not see a tall blonde girl that you may or may not know in a few episodes at the end of the season. Maybe.</p><p> </p><p><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BFFRCtnHqmg&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BFFRCtnHqmg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00990410873022860805noreply@blogger.com7