Russian Navy Blue, I love you
I finally found OPI's Russian Navy blue nail polish. It is gorgeous - a rich, lustrous blue that isn't goth at all. Or at least, that's what I'm telling myself. I almost got J-Ditty to get it on her nails too for her mani-pedi*, but she went with a lighter blue - Sapphire.
J-Ditty was in town this weekend. She'd already been to San Antonio (for our wedding), so this time she just focused on shopping and hanging out. I introduced her to several of our SA faves - Bobby J's burgers (where Bobby J insisted on carding me. Teehee), puffy tacos at Chi-cha's, and BBQ at Rudy's. Oh, and of course there was the requisite boot shopping at Shepler's. Plus she got to see multitude cat-on-dog fights in our living room (verdict? tie).
She and I went yesterday to Fredericksburg, a little faux-German burg in Hill Country so she could see some of Texas that wasn't urban sprawl. Despite one small snafu where I swear to god we were going perpendicular to the way the map said to go and yet we ended up exactly where we needed to be, it all worked out as planned.
I couldn't take her to the airport this morning because I was expecting not one, not two, but three sets of contractors to come work on the house. (Two out of three actually showed up - not a bad turnout, considering how flakey a lot of them are.) (And I say that out of bitter experience. If I have given you a credit card, let you charge half the predicted cost of the project on it, and arranged for a starting date, you can be DAMN WELL SURE that I will not have changed my mind. Jackasses.) But we got to watch Regis and Kelly before she left, as well as make fun of the Today show, so it's all good.
* Why hasn't the memo about not cutting cuticles made it to the nail salons? Every single magazine article I read about that says that for the love of everything that's holy, do not let them cut your cuticles, unless you want there to be a fungus among us. And without fail, at every single salon I go to - and they're not *all* trashy - I have to wrestle the cuticle-cutters out of the stylist's hands. This time it wasn't anything different. She was severely wounded that I wouldn't let her cut my cuticles and kept messing up while applying the nail polish, then blaming my apparently grossly-overgrown cuticles on why she screwed up.
J-Ditty was in town this weekend. She'd already been to San Antonio (for our wedding), so this time she just focused on shopping and hanging out. I introduced her to several of our SA faves - Bobby J's burgers (where Bobby J insisted on carding me. Teehee), puffy tacos at Chi-cha's, and BBQ at Rudy's. Oh, and of course there was the requisite boot shopping at Shepler's. Plus she got to see multitude cat-on-dog fights in our living room (verdict? tie).
She and I went yesterday to Fredericksburg, a little faux-German burg in Hill Country so she could see some of Texas that wasn't urban sprawl. Despite one small snafu where I swear to god we were going perpendicular to the way the map said to go and yet we ended up exactly where we needed to be, it all worked out as planned.
I couldn't take her to the airport this morning because I was expecting not one, not two, but three sets of contractors to come work on the house. (Two out of three actually showed up - not a bad turnout, considering how flakey a lot of them are.) (And I say that out of bitter experience. If I have given you a credit card, let you charge half the predicted cost of the project on it, and arranged for a starting date, you can be DAMN WELL SURE that I will not have changed my mind. Jackasses.) But we got to watch Regis and Kelly before she left, as well as make fun of the Today show, so it's all good.
* Why hasn't the memo about not cutting cuticles made it to the nail salons? Every single magazine article I read about that says that for the love of everything that's holy, do not let them cut your cuticles, unless you want there to be a fungus among us. And without fail, at every single salon I go to - and they're not *all* trashy - I have to wrestle the cuticle-cutters out of the stylist's hands. This time it wasn't anything different. She was severely wounded that I wouldn't let her cut my cuticles and kept messing up while applying the nail polish, then blaming my apparently grossly-overgrown cuticles on why she screwed up.
posted by Her Ladyship @ 4:09 PM
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