Thank you...

My Sweet Husband,

I went to the store to find you a card this morning. I spent an hour reading and re-reading every anniversary card available. And you know what? They sucked. None of them came even the slightest bit close to expressing how truly and deeply I love you. Not a single one could properly convey just how much being your wife means to me. No card could really say how thrilling, comforting, and awe-inspiring the past three years have been.

Letter to a Stranger

Dear Old Man,

You've come into the bakery almost every morning since I started. I hear it's been years. You order a cup of coffee and you sit. For hours.

And you're dying.

Every morning, I see less life in you than the morning before. When I first served you, you were able to mutter shakily, "Small coffee." Now, you can only shake. Luckily, I know.

Livin' the Dream

You guys. Seriously.

It's happened.

About a year and a half ago, I came home from work exhausted, weary, and on the verge of a complete meltdown. Every. Night. I told The Hubs, "All I want to do is frost cupcakes and write."

I wanted a life in which I made people, and myself, happy. I wanted something pure, something nourishing, something sweet, something filled with love. I wanted to actually have the time to do the things I loved. I wanted to love what I do. I wanted people to feel loved by what I do. I wanted to feed people. And write about it. Operation Frost Cupcakes became the dream.

Over time Operation Frost Cupcakes became our code for, "When Andrea finally gets to work in a bakery, write, move to a kick-ass part of town, and completely love her life." The Hubs and I talked about it all the time. I dreamed about it constantly. I told anyone that would listen that someday, someday. I put it out into the universe. It got me through the days. I wanted that new adventure so bad I could taste it.

It's been a tough journey. Really tough. Twists and turns and doubts and so many unexpected curve-balls made me come thisclose to giving up the dream. Almost daily I seriously questioned just what the hell I thought I was doing. Each hurdle made the dream seem further and further away.

But then it started getting closer. The Hubs, my friends, my family, YOU held my hand, dragged me kicking and screaming, and cheered so damn loud as the finish line got closer and closer. I wanted to give up. You all wouldn't let me. So I ran faster, dreamed bigger.

And then it happened. I crossed the finish line.

I'm here. Living the dream.

Working in a bakery. Freelance writing. Loving my new town. Drafting a book. Blogging. Laughing. Dreaming. Loving.

Living.

I love you. Thank you.

The Nice Fight

Have you ever niced your way into an epic fight? Does that question make any sense at all to you? Lemme 'splain.

The Hubs and I have this amazing habit of getting into arguments because we are being TOO NICE to each other. I know. It sounds completely stupid. And it probably is.

This fight almost always starts over snoring. Not in the way you think. I don't get mad when he snores. I don't see red when it sounds like I'm laying next to a wild boar making love to a chain saw. I don't get upset when the bed is literally shaking from his log sawing.

I get nice.

Rather than kick him and push him out of the bed (though it's sometimes it's very, very tempting), I simply grab a blanket and my pillow and move to the couch. Inevitably, he will wake up an hour or two later to discover my absense, wander into the living room to find me asleep on the couch or the floor, and then it starts...

The nice fight.

"Why are you out here? Come back to bed."

"You were snoring. I'm fine here. Go back to bed."

"No, I'll take the couch. You have a bad back. Go to bed."

"No, you have to work in the morning. You go to bed."

"No, no. I don't feel comfortable with you out here. You take the bed."

"No. Really. You're the breadwinner. I don't feel right kicking you out of bed. You take the bed."

"No, babe. TAKE THE BED."

"No, really sweetheart. I'M GOOD HERE. GO BACK TO BED!"

"But I love you and I don't want you to be uncomfortable. TAKE THE DAMN BED!"

"I love you, too. SO, TAKE THE EFFING BED!"

"What the hell is wrong with you? GO THE FUCK TO BED!"

"Why are you being an ass? GO! TO! BED!"

"How's it feel up on that cross? TAKE THE BED!"

"Cross? CROSS?!?! Ah HELLNO! I'M SO TAKING THIS COUCH! GO TO BED!!!!"

And then we're in a huge fight.

What is wrong with us? Who in their right mind gets into arguments because they are trying to out-nice each other? Does anyone else do this or are The Hubs and I certifiably insane?

And it doesn't end there. We get in the nice fight more than any other fight. We've got conflicting events on the same day? Watch us battle over who will cancel their plans to accommodate the other. An unappealing errand to run? We'll go ten rounds over who gets to do it so the other doesn't have to. A mess to clean up? Literally clawing our way to said mess to get to it before the other person can. And the best part? Neither of us even necessarily WANTS to do the nice thing. We just can't stand the thought of the other being put out so we'll gladly play the martyr card in order to feel nice.

What the hell is that about? Does anyone else have nice fights?

Ready to feel old???

George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" was released TWENTY-FIVE years ago today. Yeah. I'll let that bit of craziness sink in while we take a trip down memory lane...

Love in the Time of Cameltoe

Actual exchange between me and the Hubs:

*It should be noted that prior to this exchange, I gave him a mistaken mohawk, made him a kick-ass dinner, and shared two bottles of Cab Sauv with him.*

Hubs: *from bathroom* Babe, can you come here?

Me: *from living room* Hang on!

Hubs: But I need your help! There's a wonky part in the back! *of the mistaken mohawk*

Me: *silence*

Hubs: BABE!

Me: Hang the FUCK ON! I'm looking at Mariah Carey's cameltoe!

Hubs: *enters living room to find me on laptop staring huge-eyed and drop-jawwed at said cameltoe*

Full thirty seconds of silence till I look up at Hubs, WHO HAS TEARS IN HIS EYES.

Hubs: You've never been more my wife. *seriously, tears in his eyes, you guys*

Me: Huh?

Hubs: I'm serious. You're just the perfect woman for me. You gave me a mohawk, made me that delicious dinner, we're drunk and you're yelling about Mariah Carey's cameltoe. You're just so my wife. I love you so much.

Me: Awww, babe. But, seriously, DID YOU SEE THIS CAMELTOE SHIT?

And that's true love, folks.

PS But seriously, did you see this cameltoe shit? Mariah, girl, that looks downright PAINFUL! 

PPS Mariah Carey's stylist should totally be fired. 

PPPS So should Mariah Carey's vagina.

Lady B's in Love

 It finally sunk in the other night. The first couple of weeks were a SERIOUS adjustment, but it really and truly hit me this weekend, standing in front of the Kibitz Room at Canter's Deli as a light rain drizzled down on The Hubs and I, making the Hollywood lights glow a welcoming orange in the night sky. Hit me like a ton of happy, fluffy, warm and fuzzy rainbows and unicorns. And maybe a little Jack Daniels.

My new home is RAD.

Seriously, you guys? I wasn't sure if I'd get used to living over the hill. I know it sounds dramatic but this was a GINORMOUS change for Lady B. I left my safe Valley bubble for the frenetic, crazy energy that is Hollywood. And I downsized from a sprawling house to an apartment. I have to admit that the first week left me feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, out of place and scared to come out from under my covers. And then a list of awesomeness started to write itself:

• I have not moved my car in over two weeks, yet I've gone out multiple times every single day. 
• I've lost ten pounds from all the walking, jogging and exploring I've done in my new 'hood.
• The Hubs and I now unwind by sitting in our rooftop jacuzzi, looking out over the entire damn city.
• That's the same rooftop my bestie and I gossiped, ate stupid-delicious Crumbs Bake Shop cupcakes, and were treated to a surprise fireworks show from Dodger Stadium last Friday night.
• We live across the street from the historic El Royale, former home of Clark Gable and other legends. I'm obsessed with its Art Deco architecture and it's green neon sign shines down into our pool in the sexiest film noir kinda way.

•  Speaking of which, I feel the need to speak like a 40's dame living here. "That's the way it's gonna be, see." "Come 'ere, kid, and let Mama make a man outta ya." Know what I mean? Very Mae West.
• Oh yeah. I also look out over the historic Ravenswood Apartments, where Mae West lived for close to 50 years.
• The Farmer's Market is ridiculous and fantastic. There is a GOURMET SALT GUY, people! Fancy salt!!! Y'all know how much I love me some fancy-pants salt! 
• I have a GAS OVEN AND STOVE again! We're cooking with gas, folks! Oh fire, how I missed you.
• The Village Pizzeria is now our second home. A delicious, warm, cheesy home.
• Everything we own really does fit into this apartment! No need for a storage space as we'd feared! Boo to the YAH!
• There's a book store! A real, honest-to-goodness, not-a-giant-chain book store!!!!
• Our neighbors are NEIGHBORLY! Was totally not expecting that.
• The amount of eye candy in Larchmont Village is bananas. Sexy, scruffy dads getting ice cream with the kids your kinda thing? Tight spandex-clad butts walking to yoga? Down to earth, yet painfully gorgeous celebs? Salt-n-pepper Clooney types? Get. Down. Here. Now.

I could go on for days but I don't want hit the world record for exclamation points in a single blog post.You get it though, right?

THIS PLACE IS HOME! AND HOME IS FREAKING AMAZE-BALLS!!!!!!!

I'm, Like, Totally Gonna Miss The Valley

Why has the idea of leaving The Valley shaken me to my very core? Why is moving a measly 12 miles making me feel like I'm moving away?

I'm a Valley girl, through and through. Except for that awful 6-month stint in Arizona, I've lived here my entire life. It's all I know. And I love it. And I'm going to miss the holy shit out of it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm stoked for our new adventure over the hill. I can't wait to explore our new 'hood. The Hubs and I have always wanted to live exactly where our new place is and I keep pinching myself to make sure our dream is really coming true. But there's something absolutely terrifying about your dreams coming true. What if your dream was wrong? What if once you have it, you discover that you don't really want it after all? What if it just plain sucks?

Then again, what if it doesn't?

Still. I'm gonna miss the good ol' SFV. The 818. My stomping grounds. The smell of night jasmine in the air. Jogging along the Balboa path. October at the Tapia Bros. pumpkin patch. A frozen lemonade at The Sherman Oaks Street Fair. A movie at The Galleria. A Twain's pancake and a Dupar's pie. Orange and purple sunsets over the 101. A memory tied to each and every corner. My roots.

I've got 37 days left (Crap, it's still that far away? Is this not the longest waiting game ever?) as a San Fernando Valley resident. As a true Valley girl. And I'm going to make the most of it. I know I'll be back. It's only twelve freaking miles. My family and friends are still here. But there's something so bittersweet about leaving and I feel the need to respect that. So I'm going to spend the next five weeks indulging in some of my all-time Valley favorite pastimes. Want to join me?

Spring time at Lake Balboa

A Bob's Big Boy combo in Burbank

People watching over coffee at La Reina on Ventura Blvd.

Pool and darts with the gang at the Sweep.

Wholesome goodness at the Studio City Farmer's Market

Oh Valley, you're so pretty.

TV Dinners: Kelsey Nixon's Chicken Cacciatore

Internet, I have a confession to make. I didn't want to like the squeaky-clean, annoyingly chipper blonde host of The Cooking Channel's "Kelsey's Essentials." She's too perky for my taste. And too sparkly. And too perfectly young. And all know-it-all about telling me the essentials of my kitchen.

But internet, I can admit when I'm wrong. Dead wrong. 

I set out to make Kelsey's Chicken Cattiatore, scoffing when I saw the episode in my DVR. What could blondey know about true Italian food?

I love me some cattiatore. It's good ol' simple Italian rustic goodness. I've literally consumed gallons of said goodness in my life, but I've never attempted to make it myself. Internet, I also confess that I lack patience. Anything worth simmering in a Dutch oven requires a lot of waiting, and a lot of patience. Somehow Kelsey's "essential" version claimed to take only 95 minutes. Silly, Kelsey. You can't rush such goodness! Braising takes time. Dutch oven goodness takes time. *This is where my husband would make a Dutch oven joke. I'm pretty sure the only reason he bought me one was so that he could make these jokes whenever I use it.* Getting simple rustic flavors to truly reach their full flavor potential means giving them the respect, and time, they deserve. I take this shit seriously. *That's where The Hubs would say "I take Dutch ovens seriously" and probably fart.* I started preparing myself for another lackluster TV Dinner, already grumbling about the lack of any real flavor from these TV recipes and apologizing to you in the blog I was writing in my head...

I gathered up the ingredients. Simple ones. With wine. Yes. I opened the wine immediately. So it could, you know, breathe. In my mouth.

I salted and peppered chicken thighs before dredging them in flour and browning. The online recipe doesn't tell you to, but you should always pat your chicken dry before doing this. Use paper towels and blot, blot, blot. Dry chicken = crispy golden crust. Trust this. The recipe also calls for a whole chicken. I was lazy and the thighs were on sale. Trust in improvisation, too.

I browned a few pieces at a time to avoid overcrowding. While you wait for your little chickens to get all goldy browny, you may start to look at the clock and think to yourself, "Huh. Hour and a half? Riiiiiiggght." Just me? Fair enough. But I was highly doubting this dinner would really only take 95 minutes to make. So I passed the time by letting some more wine breathe. In my mouth.

See? Perfectly golden brown. Power of the paper towel pat down.

I took the thighs out of the pot to rest and started adding all kinds of happiness in my beloved Le Creuset. Even though it does require so much of that patience I've confessed to not having, I really do love any excuse to use it. It's a good calming exercise for my mental state. And my mouth.

Internet, I have another confession to make. I wasn't exactly sure what cremini mushrooms were. At the market, I guessed and got the little white ones. When I got home I asked the mighty Google and discovered I was wrong. Oh well. I will also confess that I forgot to add them until the last second. Improvisation, folks.

 

I added the happy golden chickens back into the pot to simmer and set my timer for 40 minutes. When it went off, I glanced at the the clock. And then my picked my jaw up from the floor. GUYS. It ACTUALLY TOOK 95 MINUTES. Exactly. Whoa.

Also, it looked like this:

And tasted like this:

Source: crunchybetty.com via Andrea on Pinterest

You know, if that kind of heaven were a flavor. Damn. That would taste good. Like this cattiatore.

Kelsey Nixon just made me compare chicken to Ryan Gosling. It's that good, people.

As The Hubs stuffed his mouth, I told him "It's a TV Dinner ya know."

Hubs: Oh yeah? It fucking rules. *shoved more bread and sauce in his face*

Me: Yeah. You have Kelsey Nixon to thank for this.

Hubs: Well, I'd like throw her on this table and make a woman out of her to thank her for this.

Yup. It's that good.


Lady B’s Final Say So:

• Ease Factor: 5 out of 5 noms (And clean-up was wicked easy, too!)
• Taste Test: 5 out of 5 noms
• Truth in Advertising: 5 out of 5 noms
• The Hubs’  Vote: "Possibly 5. But I'm also a little drunk."
• Yeah, but is it pretty?: 4 out of 5 noms. Served with crusty bread, it's nothing fancy looking. But it's so pretty in your mouth.
• Overall: Kelsey, will you marry us?

Glam or Gaudy?

So, I'm moving. I may have mentioned it. I may have also mentioned that I'm a teensy bit scared of the big change.

But my Hubs is a freaking knight in shining moving armor. Moving armor? That doesn't even make sense. You get the gist, right? Like my adorably handsome bearded husband all made up in an armor suit made of moving and packing supplies? I guess that really wouldn't be decent armor though. You could just tear that to shreds if you were a moving supply dragon or something. Or could you? Cuz then you'd be made of the same stuff as the armor, which we've already established isn't very armor-y. Huh. Anyway.

My Hubs. He's amazing. He knows exactly how to make scary changes magically transform into wonderfully exciting changes with just a few simple words:

"How about we just sell all the living room furniture and start over with brand new stuff?"

What the WHAAAAA?!?!?

Yeah. Knight in moving armor. For reals.

Then he did one even better. He threw me in the car and ignored my whiny complaints about driving sooooo far as we made our to almost-Culver City. "I swear you're gonna like it," he promised. I pouted and whined some more. Cuz I'm awesome like that.

And then we arrived. And ohmyfuckinggodareyoufuckingkiddingme what is this magical place?!!

One hundred fifty THOUSAND square feet of sheer furniture heaven. Heaven, I tell you!!! Sure, most of the items in this interior design mecca are well out of our budget. But they have deals, people! And an outlet space! And just plain inspiration for DAYS!

It's rare when The Hubs gets into shopping of any kind. Ask him to go to the grocery store and it's like you've asked him to drop his pants and cough. But whenever we move he gets oddly excited about new furniture. And then surprises me with some secret magic furniture store juju. Reason #76492 why I adore him. And then dragged him around for 4 hours until we both couldn't look at another damn sofa.

Which brings me to this. We both adore the looks of hotels like The Viceroy and The Riviera in Palm Springs. Yes, we're also kind of obsessed with Palm Springs getaways. Whatevs. So we love the look. Kind of Hollywood Regency meets Mid-Century Modern meets just plain cool. But we don't want to look like we're living in Liberace's place. Okay, The Hubs doesn't anyway. I could totally rock that.

After our trip to what we now can't stop calling "HR Pufnstuf" I came home and ran to the laptop, happily researching budget-friendly options for our new Larchmont Loveshack.

And I discovered Polyvore. Are you on this, yet? Think Pinterest but you can make your own little bulletin inspiration board thingys. And I made THIS:

hollywood regency dream living room by ladyb29 featuring wide rings

Interwebs, I ask you: Is it just the right amount of glam? Or too gaudy? Be honest. I love it. I adore it. I want it. But I don't want to wake up three months from now feeling like old Hollywood threw up on my living room, ya know?

Glam? Gaudy? Just plain awful? Got a better idea? Wanna just go to HD Buttercup with me and drool on everything?

Yay!

Larchmont by Lady B

Lady B is leaving the Valley.

Yeah. I'll let that sink in for a minute. Oh wait, except it really hasn't for me yet. Cah-razy, I tell ya.

But 'tis true. The Hubs and I are packing up the Mammoth Manor and moving over the hill. Something I thought I'd never, ever ever do. But I'm doing it. And I'm over the moon excited. And just a teensy bit scared. But mostly I'm just counting the days till all of this kinda awesomeness is literally steps from our front door:

Check out REISGroup.org for the story on our neighboring building

The Hollywood Forever Cemetery. (David McNew/Getty Images)

Lady B, Miss Pacman, and Jack. The local Barcade brings friends together.

We don't move for another 5 weeks. Five long, excruciating weeks. It's like waiting for Christmas morning and the first day of the school. Which would actually really suck if those ever happened on the same day but whatevs. You get it.

Larchmont, HO!

TV Dinners: Rachael Ray's Fettuccine Primavera

Veggies, y'all. Veggies are super good for you. Good for your guts. Good for your taste buds. Good for when you're thinking that you should add more veggies and healthish stuff to your life. Since you're life's changing so much. Which isn't scary at all. Nope. No, siree. Not one bit terrifying or overwhelming. Like veggies. Not scary. Not scary at all.

So Rachael Ray, let's talk about veggies. Veggies in pasta. Let's talk about the yummy and healthy looking Fettuccine Primavera you whipped up on 30 Minute Meals. Let's chop and peel lots and lots of pretty produce to keep our minds off the nagging doubts and excited questions. Let's cook veggies. Healthy. Not scary.

Also, let's drink wine while we chop veggies. Not scary. Okay, a little scary so let's only sip the wine. Then let's thank Rachael for including wine in the recipe.

Veggies are pretty. Not scary. Not like change. Change is scary. Healthy carrots and zucchini are not scary. Peas are not scary. Easy peasey.

Boiling water. Natural. Familiar. Easy. Not scary. Add pasta. Calm and cool. Stir it around. Stone cold chillin'.

Add veggies to boiling water. Okay. Kinda weird. Just boil 'em? Boiled veggies. Huh. Still, not scary. Definitely not scary.

Saute up some EVOO (that's Rachaelese for extra virgin olive oil), butter, shallots, garlic, peas, wine, and stock. Not scary. Not like drastic career change and moving OVER THE HILL scary. Not like that. Nope.

 Mix it all together. Decide it's too boring and that's scary. Add grilled chicken.

Lessons learned? Veggies are not scary. Boring pasta is a little scary but easily remedied with leftover grilled chicken. Rachael Ray's Fettuccine Primavera really does only take an easy 30 minutes to make and is totally not scary. Facing giant life changes as 31 is lurking right 'round the corner is SUPER scary. Veggies, and wine, are good when things are scary.

Lady B’s Final Say So:

• Ease Factor: 5 out of 5 noms
• Taste Test: 3 out of 5 noms (would have been less without the chicken)
• Truth in Advertising: 4 out of 5 noms
• The Hubs’  Vote: 2 out of 5 noms ("But I'm giving one of those points cuz of the chicken. This is boring. Solid. But boring.")
• Yeah, but is it pretty?: 3.5 out of 5 noms
• Overall: Meh. It's easy and healthy. But almost scary boring.

Vegas, Baby. Vegas!

The Hubs and I are back from a kick-ass weekend in Sin City. Although, can I really call it that knowing that I went specifically to catch The Fresh Beat Band in concert? Hmm.

No. I'm not a crazy lunatic. I know I don't have kids. So why on earth would I be SO FREAKING EXCITED to have tickets AND VIP passes to The Fresh Beats show? Well for one, the hilarious looks we kept getting from parents thinking The Hubs and I were weirdo adult fans of the Nick Jr hit.

But really because our dear friend IS Marina! We're so damn proud of and happy for her, it's crazy. I'll admit, I totally teared up when I saw her on stage. And again when I looked around the room and saw literally thousands of kids cheering for her. And again just now as I typed that. Sheesh! Ball of proud friend mush, I am. Love you, Tara.

Since our gal was playing a huge gig at Planet Hollywood, we decided to make a weekend of it. Vegas, baby. Vegas.

Stellar view from our Aria room.

His & Hers

 

Jean Philippe Patiserrie ~ gorgeous!

A completely edible creation

 

Good morning, Vegas.

Aria. Perfection.

Yes!!

Can you spot the celebrity fan?

"It was a great day!"

The Fresh Beats meet a very important fan!

Beauchamps & Fresh Beats!

Luck be a Lady B?

Lucky in love, anyway.

I know, I know, I know...

I went radio-silent for a minute there. Sorry about that. I didn't forget you. I swear.

It's not you. It's me.

I've just been crazy busy.

I'm just in the phase of my life where I really need to focus on...

Ha! You totally thought we were breaking up, huh? Silly! We're not breaking up. Never ever. I heart you. A lot. Like for reals.

But seriously tho, I HAVE been crazy busy! Covered in sugar, Paula Deen amounts of butter kind of busy. Yumminess day in and out kind of busy.

Like this!

Piano Concert Dessert Table for Nicole

And these!

Superbowl Cake Pops

And how cute are these?

Hello Kitty Cake Pops for Maddie's 3rd Birthday

 There were also these...

Wait, are those...?

Which led to these:

Boob Cupcakes!!!

There's also been a little bit of this:

Hire me for a dessert table. I'll jump in your bounce house, free of charge. You're welcome.

And some of this:

Catered creations for the lovely Lagatta's anniversary.

And maybe a little of this:

Whiskey-induced TLC dance party

Life's good.