Victoria Elizabeth Barnes

Holiday gift guide— AND a giant fancy giveaway.

I hate getting presents.
It’s an extension of my fundamental hatred of surprises.

And if I want to extrapolate that to a deeper level of self-analysis: my hatred of surprises is actually a hatred of other people’s expectations.

I hate all surprises. At all times. From all people.
Unless you are giving me a kitten.

In which case, thank you. But I cannot accept it… I can only accept gifts of stray, elderly cats with medical issues.

However, since now is the time of year when we are socially obligated to participate in joyful gift-giving, and I am obligated by blogger code to speak of nothing but the holidays and how I graciously bring warmth and elegancy (not a word? Think again.) to every element… I decided to do a gift guide.

(If you’re only here for the shiny giveaway, you’d better just go ahead and scroll already.)

vintage christmas ads

a scale? let me know how that works out for you…  Ladies Home Journal, 1955 Colt ad, Joelle Jones

Wow. This is totally fascinating… keep reading.

Whoever said less is more… clearly never had enough more.

If you have been reading me for a while, you remember my giant pearl necklace of invincibility.

The way it works is that it is so giant and irritating, that the entire time you are wearing it you are distracted from anything that might give you anxiety, intimidate you, or make you feel less-than.

You will never wonder if people are judging you or looking at you weird, because they are.

But you get to decide what for.

DIY double pearl earrings… Dior knockoff and other giant pearl jewelry!

hanging out with Diana. I am the subtle one, incase you were confused.

*aside* I am so tempted to run the retouching brush over the corner of my eye where it is weirdly lumpy… but I am still debating how much of an ass I want the internet to allow me to become. *end aside*
Wow. This is totally fascinating… keep reading.

Kitchen planning frustration — I’ll be William Wallace. Paul can be the Irish guy.

Paul and I spent Saturday discussing the kitchen… Or rather, we began a conversation about the kitchen which morphed into generalized irritation, which seamlessly merged into every fight we have ever had about anything house-related.

The kind of irritation that makes you want to lay down on the floor in surrender and say– I give up. You win. This entire conversation is all yours.

Knock. Yourself. Out.

But instead you tiredly suit up for combat because for some reason you must defend the honor of your irritation.

Planning our DIY kitchen remodel – let the relationship-stress begin.

Braveheart/our living room

Wow. This is totally fascinating… keep reading.