Project Park commences

I have decided to title our renovation series: Project Park. If this is your thing, then you can read this series alone by selecting the 'Project Park" category under the Topics to the right of this page. Brace yourselves.

We closed on the house this past Friday. It was quick and painless, and within half an hour we had the keys to our future handed over on a big old UK keychain (which we promptly returned to the previous owner).

After a quick dinner James and I headed to the house with a bottle of wine and some beer. We walked, working our way from room to room, and talked out our plans and layouts. Should we leave this wall? What about this door? How did I not realize this window was so huge? Do you think someone died here? We have decided the first thing we need to replace is the front door, which opens with an terrifyingly ominous moan.

After an hour or so and a few beers, we had been through every room in the house. We had decided upon which walls were staying and which were going. We took turns standing in a ceder closet, pretending to shower, to see if it would make a suitable addition to the master bath. We walked out the layout of our new bedroom. We talked paint colors, cabinet colors, and floor colors til we were blue in the face.

We finished back in the kitchen, surrounded by linoleum, metallic wallpaper, and faux wooden counter tops. We stared around us, in our heads we were already standing in our dream kitchen, cooking dinner, serving drinks.

It is hard not to get ahead of yourself at this point. Shiny new granite countertops dance in my head like gumdrops for Marie. I have already picked out a crystal chandelier for above the clawfoot tub in the new bathroom. James even helped me pick up some new furniture that will look great in the living room in my head.

"It's so weird to think this is where we will have ki... be married and stuff... someday..." James muttered.

Blowing up pumpkins

Today was the perfect introduction to fall: a high 60s, somewhat breezy and overcast, windows open kind of day. James and I used the day to catch up on our busy lives, most of which involved mopping the entire house and doing laundry. However, I did get to use some of the day to drag out my autumn decorations.

During my mini-decorating session I came across two little glass pumpkins that James and I were able to make at a local glass-blowing studio. A few years ago we went to Flame Run and met with a glassblower to start the process of creating some special fall centerpieces. I had been wanting to do a "blow your on ornament" session for a while but when the opportunity arose to make pumpkins instead I had to jump on it. I would much rather have fall than winter anytime, and the longer I can stretch out my pumpkiny, leafy, and cozy season the better.

So we headed downtown to get started on our pumpkins. We had come at the perfect time, in between larger groups, and thus, had the opportunity to work with the glass blower independently. We first started by perusing other blown pumpkins. Some were rather average - orange with green stems, however some were outrageous - pink with white stems, purple with blue stems, rainbow colored and clear. Now, you know us better than that... so traditional it was. We picked out our different shades of oranges and yellows and headed back to the studio.

It was a rather chilly day, but inside the studio with the glass ovens burning it was toasty and warm. We got started with our glass blower and he walked us through each step. First, he pulled a glob of hot glass from the pool of liquid glass inside one of the ovens. He rolled it up in the specs of colored glass that we had chosen and then stuck it back into the glory hole - the bright red glowing oven. This melted the glass specs to the existing clear glass and gave it some color. We had chosen two colors each, so he repeated this process again with our other colors.

After he had gotten our colors all fused together he stuck the hot glass ball into a mold, which would give the pumpkin its' ridges. He blew into the long pipe until it expanded into the mold and pulled it back out.

At this point it was time to get our pumpkins into shape! We each blew into the long tubes while the glass blower spun the pumpkin around in circles and shaped it a little bit more.

After we had plumped up our pumpkins to the right size they were pulled off the tubes. They sat there on a towel, glowing red hot, and waiting for their finishing touches.

It was at this point that the glass blower worked in our stems. He had gone through the same process as with the pumpkins, except rolling them in green specs. He took the hot glass and placed it on top of our still warm pumpkins. He pulled the glass out a little and started to twist the pipe, giving the stems the distinct ridges, as well.

When he had the base attached to the pumpkin, he quickly twirled it around another pipe, giving it a little curly stem. Adorbs. You can still see in these pictures how hot the glass stems are, they aren't even green until they cool.

Once he had made sure the stems were attached all the way, and had tucked them in, we had to wait at least 24 hours before we could pick them up. Since they were still so incredibly hot when we left them, we couldn't even tell what color they would end up being. Now, you know me and you know that doesn' fly for long. I am the most impatient human being on the planet, so, as soon as I got the call that the pumpkins were ready, I took my lunch break to drive downtown and pick them up. I love them so much! Mine is the bigger clearer one on the right and James' is the littler one. Not only do we have these perfect little pumpkins to set out for 2 months out of the year, but we have a great story, too!

A side note is in order... I briefly mentioned a surprise we have a'brewing... Well, James and I are waiting for confirmation (tomorrow) and your only hints are that... you can fully expect my pinterest to be blowing up and this is about to be a whole different kind of blog... 

Walking through NuLu

This past weekend my best friend came down to Louisville for a wedding. On Sunday, while she was nursing her celebratory hangover, we decided to meet up.

I decided to have her meet me at one of my favorite brunch places - Garage Bar. while it is normally more popular at night, this place has some badass breakfast potatoes and a waffle that could make you cry tears of joy. They also bring you simple syrup to sweeten your own tea and I kind of like that.

We sat outside under the old filling station's canopy because the day was absolutely perfect - here in Kentucky we happen to have a lot of those. We ate and talked and watched a family of birds share a fallen potato. After filling ourselves it was all but necessary to walk off the breakfast paunch, so we took off down Market St. in a little area of town now called "NuLu"... as in "New Louisville".

The street is wide and lined on both sides with those little cutesy shops I just die for. There are beer shops, taco stands, Why Lou Two - which has awesome novelties and too many t-shirts for me to make a decision.

There are jewelry stores, reclaimed furniture showrooms, record shops, and just about anything else you would want to enjoy on a Sunday afternoon.

We strolled and shopped, and if I hadn't been completely convinced that Louisville was the single greatest city on the earth (for the record - I already was), this walk would have converted.

The gardens behind Red Tree.

I understand that some people don't have a liking for this kind of place - the independence of it all, the uniqueness around every corner, and the complete lack of excuses to be "bored". It is my belief that these people just haven't found their neighborhood yet. Keep wandering, my friends...

Frankfort-ers

James and I had one of those rare weekends where neither of us had any work that had to be done (well, I know we both probably had plenty - but it's nice to procrastinate again once in a while). So on Saturday we decided to head towards Waddy and find something to do on the farm. Along the way we decided we should make a slight detour to Frankfort, our state's capital city, which is only 10 minutes past the farm.

Now, I have only been to Frankfort twice before - once in highschool for a tournament, and once this year for the Beekeeping Conference. James, although he grew up right around the corner, hadn't visisted Frankfort much, either. So we were all for exploring that day.

Knowing we had already missed the tour times for the distillery that was next on our list we found a candy shop that gives tours on the weekends. Who doesn't want to visit a chocolate shop?!

So we found our way to Rebecca Ruth candy shop. This shop is the birthplace of bourbon chocolates, and you all know how much I love bourbon balls already. I was all about this.

We pulled up outside of a small house with a bright red awning. I was slightly disappointed by the lack of chocolate smell outside. I was full on expecting a Willy Wonka experience. We went on inside and signed up for the tours, avoided the chocolate counter because we were saving ourselves for after the tour, then perused the gift shop until our names were called. There were two other people on our tour - almost exactly the same age as us we found out, and we scoffed at how ironic it was that two young couples would be found together touring a homemade chocolate factory, surrounded by out of date machinery and history.

We walked through the front of the house and made our way to the brittle room- yes, an entire room where all they do is make peanut brittle, bourbon brittle, and Kentucky creamed candy. We admired the huge table they used for cooling the taffy and the terrifying cast iron hooks on the wall - at a dangerous height - on which they stretch and aerate the taffy.

Next, we wandered into the chocolate room. This room, we learned, had been in operation since about the 60s. It was one long conveyor which ran the length of the small shotgun house. This is where the chocolate smell started to rise. We saw how each little bon bon would travel down this little line, through chocolate waterfalls and dippers to a point where each one had a pecan placed on top of it by hand - I Love Lucy style. Tubes and vats were filled with the rich, sweet, confections, and all of my Willy Wonka dreams began to turn into reality. I briefly considered Augustus Glooping that mess but reconsidered.

I was not allowed to take pictures during the tour - trade secrets and all - so this is the only chocolate tease you get!

We followed the line all the way down until we got to the small decorative boxes the chocolates were placed in before they were shipped all over the country.

We asked a lot of questions - more between the four of us than I am sure they normally get with much bigger groups: "How old is this oven?", "What's in this tube?", "How does this work?", "Is that all sugar?". We were experts by the time we had made our way back up to the front room.

We learned that Rebecca Ruth was started by two women: Rebecca AND Ruth. They were the first of their time to successfully infuse a candy with liquor. Cheers to that!

We eventually stopped interrogating our tour guide and let her send us back to the chocolate counter, where we picked out everything we wanted to try.  James and I left with almond bark, chocolate charlies, puffamels, bourbon chocolate cherries, Kentucky Creamed candy, and, of course, bourbon balls.

While we were checking out, our tour companions mentioned they had just visited the grave site of Daniel Boone... and you say it's just around the corner? Onward!

Saving dogs and shaming owners: A guest post from James!

Here's the deal:
James texts me around 8am, long after I had left for work, the message simple states: "Just saved a dog's life'.
Of course, I am like, "wtf?"
Then he sends another text... a picture... of blood splattered over his white T.
Of course... I am like, "WTF?!"
The response I get? "Something to do with popcorn'

Then nothing...

I waited... for 3 whole hours before he got to work and was able to email me the story. And what a doozy it was. So here you go... a surprise guest post from James. Now, he doesn't know that I have posted this email, but I thought it was incredibly entertaining and why not share it?

I may not have mentioned before, but James has already proven that he is the man of my dreams, many times over, by stopping to let turtles cross the road. Seriously. Any girl who isn't wooed by a stone cold hunter, outdoorsy, manly man who stops his F-250 in the middle of the road, gets out, and carries a little turtle from one side of the street to the other, is simply unwooable.

So here you have it: The story of Lucy the Labrador and her Lame Ass Owner, as told by James...

I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard something that sounded like thunder. I waited…. then I heard it again. "What the hell... that’s someone knocking at the front door!" I wrapped my towel around me and went to peak around the corner. Sure enough someone was standing out on the front porch (I was making water and it looked like the were messing with my buckets). I ran back into our room and threw on some boxers, shorts, t-shirt and Sperry’s and sped to the door. When I got there this lady was in the yard with a bucket, bent over something. She turned around, saw me and shouted “My dog is dying! It’s bleeding out of it’s mouth!” She comes running over to the porch. “It ate something while we were walking through the movie theatre parking lot and now it’s coughing up blood!”

Now the dog manages to stand up and starts walking towards the porch. It looks like it’s possessed and probably has rabies. It stumbles up to the porch and I can see the blood coming out of it’s mouth. She starts splashing water from the other bucket on the porch into the dogs mouth. Doesn’t help. It stumbles and almost falls off the porch.

I told her, “Lady, you need to take this dog to the vet! It’s going to die if you don’t! Bring it around to my driveway and put it in the back of my truck and I’ll drive you home so you can go to the vet.”

She says, “It’s too heavy I can’t carry it.” So, I go back inside, grab my wallet, keys and phone, and run out to the building to grab the wheel barrel. I wheel around to the porch and yell at her to put the dog into the wheel barrel. No surprise here…the dog is still too heavy. At this point the dog was coughing, obviously couldn’t breath and was starting to shit on itself. I yelled at her to grab it’s back end and I would grab the front end and we rolled it into the wheel barrel. She said that she only lived just down the street. I sped off with the dog in the wheel barrel running down the sidewalk with her behind me hysterically crying, “Her name is Lucy and she’s eleven years old!”

We get to her house (she lives next door to Roman) and I pull around to the driveway and tell her to open the car. She runs to the back yard, going on and on about the baby pool and water and getting the dog to drink so it could throw up. I said, “Lady, you’re taking this dog to the vet. Get over here.” She’s still running around acting crazy. So, I go over to the deck with the dog and she throws down the baby pool and turns on the hose. I told her to lift the dog out and put her in the pool. Surprise again, it was too heavy. So I wheel barrel dumped the dog in the baby pool and called Johnson Animal Clinic while this lady ran off into the house.

Johnson Animal Clinic told me the situation was an emergency…(Really? I hadn’t guessed that.) and instructed me to call and emergency center located on outer loop (where Mason died.) I told her the dog would never make it that far so she gave me the number of a place in Fern Creek, I think. I called them they said to bring the dog in immediately.

I looked around and couldn’t find the lady. Finally she came out of the house and I said “Hey. What are you doing? Do you not have the money to take the damn dog to the vet or what?”

She said, “No, I can’t afford it.”

So I told her “Well. Get over here and watch this damn dog die then. I’m not going to sit here and watch it die while you run off and hide!”

So she came over and by this time the dog had been wallowing around in the pool and I thought it was already dead once or twice. After a few minutes it seemed to not look as delirious and even started to drink a sip or two of water. Then another sip. Finally it sat up right and it’s breathing seemed to slow down, the bleeding stopped, and it was getting less frightening to look at.

Now, the lady proceeds to tell me that they were on a walk through the parking lot at the movie theatre, and the dog ate an entire bag of popcorn and started coughing. I’m guessing it got something lodged into its throat and couldn’t breathe. Remember now…Dog’s don’t sweat and they regulate their body temperature by respiration (panting) when a dog can’t pant they can’t cool themselves. I think the dog was choking on popcorn and couldn’t breathe which lead to it overheating internally and it essentially was baking from the inside out.

So, the water was cool enough to reduce the dogs body temperature enough that it didn’t die. And once it seemed to cool down it was able to drink some water and dislodge the popcorn that I assume was the culprit of this whole damn scenario.

By the time I started back home with my bloody wheel barrel. Eleven year old Lucy was standing on her own under the deck and out of the kiddie pool. She seemed like she was going to be ok. I’ll know for sure when I go to mow Roman’s yard this week. Lucy religiously meets me there to bark through the fence while I’m working.

Now... let me just say that on this particular day it was already over 90 degrees by 8 am, the heat index was up into the 100's, and James already hated popcorn. 

Saturday's Derby preview day date

My friend and her coworker came down this past weekend to run in the Derby mini-marathon. Go them! I am not all about the running, but I do appreciate the coming and going of the races as one of the major events leading up to... the Derb. That's right. We're so close that I have a nickname for it now.

Since Erin had moved from Louisville, things had changed. The city has been developing some different areas of town, and building them up to be more appealing. Butchertown is one of those areas.

So after their race they headed over to my house and we decided to find something to do. I suggested we go over to Butchertown and hit a few of the cutesy little shops and bars before we went out for dinner. It turned into the best little girly day date I have ever had!

We first stopped by the Butchertown market building, where we headed to Work the Metal. This shop is full of just about everything imaginable. They have great jewelry that is super affordable. They have homegoods and housewares that are both ironic and awesome. They have candles, foods, paintings, etc. The only problem is... I WANT IT ALL! I cannot walk two feet in that store without wanting to buy at least one thing I see. I have several pieces of jewelry from there and I have a few pillows, too. One has a big green bee and is made out of burlap. I love it.

It is absolutely the most adorable shop you will ever peruse. If you are from Louisville and haven't been, yet, go. If you are from out of town, put this on your list of places to visit. I am dead serious. I love bringing people here, especially out of towners, because I think it does such a good job of wrapping everything that Louisville is all about up in one nice little bow.

I ended up getting some ingredients for the Derby Brunch I will be hostessing on Saturday. Some bourbon smoked sea salt. Yum. It smells like smokey heaven. I want to rub it on my steaks. I also got some bourbon barrel aged vanilla. Uh. Yea. This is going in just about everything I am going to bake from now until I run out and have to buy another bottle. It is amazing. It smells so fantastic that I want to drop some in every corner of my house so I can just smell it everywhere I go. Um... new idea? Bourbon Barrel Vanilla Perfume? Make it happen.

We shopped and shopped in Work the Metal, then we wandered over to the Cellar Door chocolate shop that connects to it. Mistake. They have a whole case of different kinds of bourbon balls and truffles. They have chocolate horses, chocolate fleur de lis, chocolate jockeys, chocolate roses, chocolate turtles. I like all of these things. So, of course, I left with several different kinds of bourbon balls. My favorites so far are the pecan, brown sugar and honey varieties.

After we bought our jewelry, accessories, bourboney things and chocolate, we left the market and walked across the train tracks to the Blind Pig. I have written about the pig before, if you do recall. It is where James and I had visited before we saw Wicked.

Well, this time we were just stopping in for a beer. Celebratory post-run beers. Or, for me, just a beer. They were spectacular. We all tried something different and one beer turned into two... you know how it goes. We drank our beers and chatted about the upcoming weekend and everything that went with it. Erin is coming back this weekend for the Derby and we started making plans.

It was a perfect kickoff day for the week of Derby and just made me so excited about this coming weekend! There is still so much to be done- especially with my move going on at the same time, but if there is anything I know, the Derby comes whether you are ready or not, so saddle up!

Downs After Dark: Night racing

Every summer, for the past 2 years or so, Curchill Downs hosts a new event they call Downs After Dark. This event usually consists of turning the entire track into a huge nightclub with live music, night racing, and red carpets. James and I have gone several times.

It is usually a fun time, since, because of our jobs, we are rarely able to enjoy the weekday races. While Churchill Downs by day is a fun, exciting, casual event, Downs After Dark is a completely different animal.

The people dress as if they, themselves, are competing for something. The lights flash, drinks are everywhere, music fills the paddock, and horses ramble down the dirt track, lit by huge overhead spotlights. It is an interesting mix of both horse racing and clubbing at the same time.

Once I went with my friend, Maggie. We were going to meet up with James later, he had gone, separately, with his friend. We paraded down the red carpet into the paddock. Disco balls twirled and drinks poured. The band was getting set up in one corner and lounge areas surrounded the usually standing-room-only paved brick.

We actually were able to run into Mine That Bird's trainer in 2009 when he miraculously ran away with the Derby win.

It is always hot, it is always crowded, it is always loud, much like a regular nightclub, but here you share the spotlight with excited, anxious thoroughbreds, ready to race.

Another time James and I attended the Downs After Dark races was with my former employer. We were able to get suite tickets, inside. This meant not having to stand in line for drinks, and air conditioning. Whew. We were also able to step out onto the rood of the stands, where they had arranged the area to look a lot like a posh South Beach nightclub. The breeze blew billowing gauzy curtains around the seating areas, filled with plush, white chairs. We bet on a few races, but came up empty.

It is always interesting to attend these night races because the atmosphere and experience is so much different than what we are accustomed to. Although I still prefer the day races, night racing is definitely something everyone should experience at least once.

Onion volcanos blow your mind and your gut

When James and I were invited to help celebrate our good friend's birthday we accepted without hesitation - even though it meant eating sushi. Neither of us had ever had sushi. Well, I take that back.. one time at a grocery store in Florida my mom encouraged me to eat a piece of sushi. It was disgusting. But James had definitely never had it. Weird little chunks of raw fish are a tad outside of his comfort zone.

We met our friends at the sushi bar and hibachi grill on Bardstown Road, Sapporo. We had gotten one of the grill tables. Where I am from, going to the hibachi was one of those special event things: birthdays and dances. There is something unmistakable and undeniably delicious about hibachi rice. I can't get over it. 

Our chef came over to the table and started pouring out the oil over the top, steam swelled and rose over our group. The chef started his routine, swinging the knives and spatulas around, flipping them in the air, slapping them on the table, generally making a lot of show and noise. He did the signiture spin-the-egg-then-throw-it thing and everyone clapped. I love the show, but I love the smell better. Mmm... hibachi rice...

I looked over to say something to James about what we had ordered and saw him staring back at the chef. His eyes were practically popping out of his head. His mouth was gaped open slightly and he was oblivious to everything else going on. I stopped mid-sentence and blurted out, "Have you never been to a hibachi grill!?"

It was another one of those fun big-city experiences. Oh geez. He had never been to a restaurant like this. He was in for a treat. 

He watched with amazement as the chef threw some rice around. I poked him in the ribs and laughed as I told him to watch out for the onion volcano. The wha? And sure enough, the onions were all stacked up and cooked for a few seconds before steam started erupting from the top ring. By this point our sushi rolls had come and the table next to us was enjoying their hibachi chef, too. He grabbed my arm and pointed across to their table, "LOOK!" The chef was popping little clumps of rice into the girls' mouths with impressive accuracy. This amazement went on for quite a while. James watched with a combination of joy and skepticism. Of course. 

After our chef had finished his show and served our table, we finally got down to eating. We had ordered a sushi roll that had a little bit of everything - steak, crab, and something else I couldn't identify. It was delicious after all. I watched as James poked around at it with his chop sticks. He clumsily tried grabbing it and eating it but it was too big. I had been taking bites of mine as best I could without letting the rice, and whatever the unidentified sea creature was, spilling out. 

After a few bites I turned to mention how delicious it had turned out and saw, to my horror, James attempting to saw his sushi roll in half using his chopsticks as a knife and fork. He had pierced part of the roll with one stick and was slowly mashing and tearing through the middle with the other. If the sawing was unsuccessful he grabbed them in both hands with his fists and stabbed each end, ripping the roll apart. Each time he ended up with a pile of unidentifiable steak, rice, seaweed, and crustaceans. 

I politely asked for a fork. For the both of us. 

The night went on and we enjoyed our food with friends. The company, atmosphere and drinks were great. We ended up all passing around shots of warm sake, another new experience for James. Is it supposed to be warm? Yes? Gross.

All in all it was a spontaneous and exciting night. The food was amazing. To sum it all up: the sake shots turned into sake bombs, which turned into jaeger bombs, which turned into straight tequila, which turned into the casino, which led us to get home no later than 5:30 a.m., $400 richer. See what trying new things gets you into?

Free goldfish

You may recall me mentioning that, for James' 25th birthday, we took a trip to Chicago. It was his first time in a big city, other than Louisville or Cincinnati, which I don't really count as "big" cities.  The trip was my treat to him. I paid for everything but our drinks, which we had a lot of.

Part of the appeal of the trip was that we stayed in a boutique hotel. I always prefer the boutiques over the big chain hotels because of their decor and atmosphere. I happened to get a really good deal on Hotel Monaco. I didn't know much about the hotel or it's location but it turned out to be perfect. We were right on the river, within walking distance of everything we had planned, and the hotel was amazing.

I love hotels where, no matter how many times you visit, you always get a different room. Different bedding, walls, decorations, everything. It is part of the appeal. Well, the Hotel Monaco was more than just different decorations.

We arrived in Chicago later in the afternoon and we met with my mom's friend who lives downtown. He was going to be out of town for the weekend so he let us use his parking spot while he was gone. The little time we spent with him was the perfect window into fast paced city life for James.

We met this friend on the street in front of the huge high rise condos he lived in. He hugged us, without hesitation, and ushered us into the building. We chatted while we ran behind him, following him into the building and up to his condo. We sprinted down the halls to keep up with him. Once inside, he tossed us both a beer and said he only needed to gather a few things and he would ride us to the hotel. We sipped the beers while we stood on his balcony, admiring the view of Willis Tower and all of downtown from at least 15 stories up. James didn't have much to say. It was his first time in Chicago and he was still in shock over seeing so many buildings all on top of each other.

While we stood on the balcony, drinking the beer, the new friend ran through the condo tossing things into his bag. He called us back in and he chugged his beer and threw the can into the recycling. James and I glanced at each other, took the hint, and chugged our full beers too. We were off!

We ran behind him again, even with his luggage he was faster than us. Faster at everything - thinking, talking, walking, and... driving.

We climbed into his range rover for the ride to our hotel. I let James ride up front so he could see more of the sights. We set off with a jump out of the garage and leaped straight into the swift moving traffic. He sped around cars, honked, swerved, and told us a little bit about Chicago in between curses.  I even caught James holding on for his life as we dodged in and out of the traffic.

Finally, we pulled up to a screeching halt in front of our hotel, here we are!  I got out of the car when our bellhop opened my door. James went around back to find that someone was already taking his luggage out of the car. He grabbed it from the luggage cart, and I gently put it back down for him. We said our quick goodbyes and shuffled into the hotel.

We checked in at the counter and were asked if we would like a goldfish for our room. Apparently they keep a stock of goldfish for each room, just in case you are traveling alone and need some company. Much to my disappointment, we passed on the goldfish. We did, however, accept the offer to return to the lobby for the happy hour that night.

We were given our keys and we scuttled into the elevator to find our room. Once we found it, we entered, our luggage already set about the room.

We took the next hour or so to settle in, explore our room for the next few days, shower and clean up after our long drive, and sip on a bottle of champagne. I have a habit of bringing champagne on road trips. There is nothing sweeter than a sip of champagne in your new hotel room after a 6 hour drive. I highly recommend you pick up this tradition, for me, it is the official start of "vacation".

James approves of vacation champagne.

Once we had cleaned up and rested we began to wonder what we should do for dinner. We had become huge fans of the Chicago-style pizza place in Louisville so I suggested we try some authentic chicago deep dish. But where? We got to googling, of course. The goog was giving us mixed results. I had been to a good place around the city before but couldn't remember the name of it now. So I suggested we call the concierge. What?

What do you mean call the concierge? James wondered. I explained that a concierge is someone who's job is to take care of your every wish and desire whilst you visit. A concierge is something I wish I could use every day. James asked how it works and what it costs. I then explained further, that when you stay in hotel like this, it is included.

I picked up the phone and dialed "0". Immediately a man picked up the other end. James listened in as I requested a deep-dish authentic Chicago pizza place within walking distance of the hotel. He gave us the name of the restaurant and directions, and, again, invited us down for happy hour.

After I hung up James looked at me, pondering some more, what else could we ask him? Will he do anything we ask? Can he bring us things? Can he rub his belly and pat his head at the same time?

I brushed off his other questions about concierge responsibilities and we headed downstairs to the lobby before our pizza. We enjoyed complimentary glasses of red and white wine, hot toddies, and music from a cellist. We sat amongst other hotel guests, some who had clearly just arrived. After a few glasses we headed out into the frigid city air in search of deep dish pizza, with our concierge's directions at hand.

Our room also came with these badass robes.

One of the things I may need to explain is that not all fancy hotels come with goldfish, but maybe, just maybe, if you ask the concierge, you can get one.

Valet say what?

Every now and then James and I will pull out all the stops and have a nice night out on the town... every now and then. He'll pull his suit out of the closet and I'll put on a long dress. We'll pick out a tie and shoes and really go all out. Watch out! High rollers up in here.

We even do red carpet appearances. 

Usually these nights consist of a nice dinner, a special event, and then a few drinks at a bar. For example: dinner at The Blind Pig, Wicked at the Kentucky Center, then The Troll Pub for a beer. Out of all of our routines, this is my favorite. I love getting gussied up and going out. I'll spend an hour on my curls, perfect my lipstick at least three times before leaving the house, try on five different pairs of black high heels... you know, all of the things that keep men waiting on their women. James will shave, throw on his suit, waffle over his tie for five minutes, then drink a beer while he waits, trying to avoid every single cat hair in my house (They will find you...).

Well, for me, going out means a little bit of extra service. I expect our wait staff to be attentive, our drinks to be delicious, the food to be exquisite, and our entertainment to be supreme. Expectations, people. Have them. Another one of the things I have come to expect growing up, is that when we get dressed up and go somewhere nice, there better be a valet.

Growing up around Cincinnati meant going downtown all the time. Now, Cincinnati isn't as bad as some other cities I have been, and may even beat Louisville, but parking is still scarce and scary. There. I said it. I don't like parking my car downtown because I am afraid someone will stab me and take my $20 and my iPhone. Sorry, but that's all I have. Ever. So... potential thugs be warned.

Back on the subject of parking... it sucks. Everywhere. I don't even live downtown downtown and I fight with my dickwad neighbors about parking all of the time (They have a GD driveway!). So, when we go nice places, I expect a valet. I love the valet. I wish everywhere I went had this level of service. The only problem I have ever had with a valet is when I went out in Newport and tried to valet my car. The youngin' couldn't even get her out of first gear. "I swear I know how to drive a stick!" Give me back my keys, my $5 tip, and my 23 year old car, damnit, I'll do it myself.

Well, as you know, James isn't accustomed to these types of services. I am sure he has seen valeting on TV before... but then again I know they didn't have cable growing up, so maybe not...

James and my mom and I went out for dinner one night to celebrate her birthday. We went to the nice restaurant on the river I had mentioned in a previous post. The kind of place where they clean the crumbs from your table between each course and escort you to the bathroom. My kind of place.

You an put pearls on a donkey. Is that a saying?

Well, when we pulled up my mom stopped the car in front of the long walk to the floating restaurant. James looked around, as if to ask "You just gonna park it right here?" She started digging through her purse and someone ran up to her door and opened it. James flinched a little, I am sure he was expecting some sort of assault, being in this big city and all. But, to his amusement the man helped my mom and I out of the vehicle and took the keys. James watched all of this, hesitant. I am sure he was bewildered as to why he was witnessing the most polite carjacking ever. He finally got out of the car and came around the other side to stand with us, while the young man drove off with our car. He looked at us, befuddled. "Where are they taking the car?"

Mason's new toy and James' best shot

Shortly after James and I started dating he got into the house-flipping business. After having several of the houses broken into, as well as my own, James decided he needed an alarm system. After my house was broken into the police told me the best thing to do would be to get a dog. So we rescued Mason together.

A boy and his rescue.

Mason was a very special kind of dog, which I won't go into too much detail about just yet. He just recently passed, and we realize now how much we miss him, even his giant stinky doberman ass sleeping in between us in the bed every night. Mason had been abused since birth until he was rescued at age 2-3. He had scars around his neck from being chained up to a tree most of his life. He was terrified of thunderstorms, strangers, and electrical cords. We were not allowed to rearrange the furniture because he would refuse to enter the room if it looked different. He would act like he was standing on slick ice if he walked into a room with hardwood floors that were too shiny. For the first year that we had him, he would stand in the corner facing the wall. He wouldn't make eye contact until year two. But by year three he was sleeping in the bed with us, stealing food off the counter tops, jumping right into my car for trips to the pet store to pick up a new bone, and so on. It took a while, but eventually he turned into a somewhat normal dog.

Mason, guarding his yard.

As a doberman he was very intimidating. Once he realized that James' home was his forever home he protected it with everything he had. He loved his yard and he loved to keep strangers away from it.  He was very friendly, in his own way, to anyone we invited into the house, but if someone he didn't know reached their arms anywhere near his fence, they better hope their fingers could be sewn back on.

One day James received a call from his sister, from their house. James had just left the house for work when she called and she was frantic. Mason had caught something and blood was everywhere. James turned right around and drove straight home to figure out what the problem was and make sure Mason was ok.

When he got back home he saw it: the giant doberman dragging a huge groundhog around by the neck. Blood covered both of them as they bit and scratched at each other. Obviously the groundhog had walked through the wrong yard. James couldn't tell who was bleeding worse. He could tell mason had snapped the groundhog's back, but the groundhog was still fighting. He needed to get the groundhog out of Mason's mouth without being injured, himself. The groundhog was obviously in a bad position and was not going to make it through this fight.

James snapped into action. Without thinking (obviously... the next few things you read are undoubtedly illegal), he ran to the back room and grabbed his bow and an arrow. James threw open the sliding glass door of the kitchen and took aim. The noise of the door startled both animals just enough to freeze them for a few seconds and *thwack*! James took his shot.

From inside the house, through the kitchen sliding glass doors, across the yard, James shot the groundhog out of the dog's mouth, simultaneously putting the groundhog out of his misery and away from our dog. Mason approached the groundhog, and, without getting a response, had lost interest. James ran out to inspect the damage and found Mason with scratches all over his face. He immediately called the veterinarian.

We were told to bring Mason in, as well as the head of the groundhog for Rabies testing. Overall, he had a few new scars, but thankfully, no rabies. That groundhog had picked the wrong yard to walk through.

Ramsi's Cafe on the World

Every now and then James and I come across a restaurant that we need to add to our favorite's list. I might review some of them here. So, for those of you who are local, you can make sure you have been at least once, and, for those of you who may one day visit the 'Ville, you know where to go. One of these restaurants is Ramsi's on Bardstown Road.

Bardstown Road, in itself, is something of a spectacle. There is plenty of great people watching, for sure. It is also an epicenter of awesome restaurants and bars. Bam! That's my kind of place.

The street is crawling with hipsters, walking their dogs and drinking their coffee ironically, and punks, and sometimes zombies... we'll get to that later. Ramsi's is a great place to go because I think it does a great job of wrapping up everything I love about Louisville and putting it in one place. It is diverse and eclectic to the max.

Ramsi's is my favorite restaurant in Louisville for bringing out-of-towners. They get the experience of driving down the tree-lined Eastern Parkway to hipster central, the intersection of Eastern and Bardstown. They can see all the shops and bars and galleries on the way to the restaurant. Once we are there, the menu is so long and diverse that there is something for everyone. I especially love their tortellini graciella, tri-colored tortellinis covered in a rich, creamy sauce, but I can honestly say that I have never been there and not loved my food.

Friday and Saturday nights are the best. One time, when I brought a group of friends from Cincinnati there was an old man magician. He came around to the tables while we enjoyed our drinks and showed us all of his tricks. Another time, when I was there with James, there was a belly dancer who wiggled around the tables. There is rarely a time on the weekends that live music isn't playing throughout the crowded restaurant, the drums and strums bouncing off of the tapestries and artwork smattered all over the walls.

James has discerning taste and even he approves!

The restaurant is richly colored and decorated, slightly dim, and a different experience every time you go. If you go on a lovely Louisville evening you can sit outside in the courtyard. A fountain dribbles down the wall near where you entered and plants crawl up the others. You can hear the music from the restaurant and Bardstown Road all mixing together, and watch the hordes of people who walk up and down the street.

My mom, sister, and I outside of the courtyard. It's on the favorites list now, too!
Also, you can't even tell we're related, can you?

The food is amazing. The drinks are even better. If there is one thing I wish they would bring back, it is the mango sorbet champagne martini. Ugh. I still long for it. All of the drinks are great though, and in the spring and summer, they come with pretty little flowers floating around in them.

All in all, it gives guests a good experience and a good introduction to the type of independent dining that Louisville is so noted for.