An American cousin of mine (that's him on the far left) fronts a band called Fleet Foxes. Hailing from Seattle, they just released an EP which promptly got a glowing review from primo music website Pitchfork. Sun Giant, their five song debut, got an 8.7; the same rating given to Arcade Fire's first full-length album and we all know how that turned out. Take a listen and if you like what you hear consider seeing them when their tour with Portland's Blitzen Trapper comes through your town. I've seen them play a few times and they put on a damn good show. I'm completely biased, but don't let that affect the validity of truth.

Oy vey. It's been a crazy couple of months.

The performing arts festival I work for just wrapped a couple weeks ago and then (don't hate me) I took a hot holiday in Hawaii to recoup. I had never taken a summer vacation in winter before and now I know why the people who do never shut up about it. It's the bloody crack cocaine of travel. No schedule. Fruity concoctions to be drunk on all hours of the day. Beach, beach and more beach. It has completely and utterly spoiled me. I want one every year now. And I want to go for longer. And when I'm at the office, I'm dreaming about being back there. It has become so bad that I've actually become one of those people who uses an idyllic beach vista for their desktop background... on both my home and work computer. I know, such a cliche. I have no shame. But like a nicotine patch, it's helping me transition (or so I think). I never thought I suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder, but now that I've tasted of the temperate weather I'm missing elsewhere in the world, I think I do. If this keeps up I may have to buy one of those sun lamps and redecorate with palm tree patterns and play Serene Sounds of the Ocean 4 at all times.

But the real travesty here is that there are worse, much, much worse problems in the world and I'm complaining about the after effects of taking a hot holiday. Shoot me please, I'm too far-gone.

Me, making a complete ass of myself.

A couple Christmases ago spent down in Georgia, I reenacted a memorable dinner table scene from the holiday classic, A Christmas Story. If you wish to maintain the illusion that I'm sexy and mysterious, don't watch.

Yesterday morning my sister Petrina brought her third bundle of joy into the world. Here's a picture my sister Kara snapped of me and my pops doting on our newest family member, the gorgeous Sage Malaya. As the youngest of three myself, I have a feeling my new niece and I will have lots to talk about.

It was a goal of mine this summer to conquer a mountain in my life. Although there are always figurative ones, this one was literally a mountain. It's called the Grouse Grind. Everyday locals and tourists, the fit and unfit, traverse their way up what's been dubbed "Mother Nature's Stairmaster." In essence, instead of leisurely skiing down the ski hill, you climb a grueling path straight up to it. By the time you reach the top you've ascended 2,800 ft. This past weekend I did it and I'm not going to lie, it was brutal. There are times I thought I was going to die. That my heart would just stop beating and my lungs would explode and my legs would simply give up and fall off. By the time I reached the top however, I had almost forgotten all the hardship I'd endured to get there. I felt such a sense of accomplishment. In fact, on the way up I was cursing under my breath, "I am NEVER doing this again. EVER." But at the end, I felt this rush to go again. Uh, not right away or anything, but you know, someday.

Not surprisingly, the whole literal mountain experience gave me some pretty good perspective on the figurative ones. Not to pack it into a couple trite sentences, but it can be really hard to see any whys and hows in the midst of difficult circumstances; to keep on truckin' when all you see is more mountain in front of you and you don't know how you could possibly take one more step. But hindsight really is 20/20. And there is no feeling quite like pushing through to the end, refusing to give up, and being able to look back at how far you've come.

I do have to confess that I had a little help on the way up though. Just so happened that Tom Welling, the tall, dark and handsome man who plays Superman on Smallville, was traversing the steep cliffs at the same time. At one point, as he came up from behind me and my climbing party just as we were tempted to stop, he exclaimed, “Keep going girls!” Must say, a little encouragement from a very attractive man sure helps a gal reach her climax.

Designer denim is a gift from God, but there are times in life when a gal has to forego a $200 price tag on pants in exchange for eating food that week. That's why when I heard Old Navy was introducing new styles for only 30 bucks a pop, I got hopeful. Not too hopeful though. When it comes to Old Navy, I find great expectations are best kept low in order to allow for pleasant surprises and minimal disappointment. Especially since many of their pantaloonies have left a lot to be desired in the past. But the ads looked saucy, so last week I decided to try on my luck with the new funnily-named fits.

First was The Diva. Too low for my liking. Seemed to hit me right at the special place that fosters muffin-topping, and as much as I love a good love handle, I'm just not down with any unnecessary overhang. Not to mention revenge of the butt crack. Next was The Flirt. Its rise was better. Doesn't come in a straight or skinny style, so that's a bummer. But the bootcut seemed do-able. Last was The Sweetheart. The best of the bunch in my opinion. It fit nice through the hips and thigh area. Didn't have any gapping in the back, surprisingly, since I get that a lot when jeans meet the sands of my hourglass. It comes skinny and in candy apple red or faded hipster gray too. Paired with patent ballet flats and a long loose tee, no one would know I paid next to nothin' for 'em.

One of the great things about all the styles is they played it smart when it came to back pockets. None of them had fussy or overly fancy stiching which helps them all look a little more classic. Overall, Old Navy did a decent job of creating wearable, ridiculously affordable denim.

This little sequined delight from Dolce & Gabbana made me LOL. Here's the longshot. Looks to me like that nipple is a diamond stud. Hehe. MAJOR (that's for you killa)! What a way to go bare without baring it at all. Sure to be a, uh, attention grabber wherever you go. And begs the question: Would you dare to wear it?

An impromptu poll for you Splendora sisters. When it comes to finding love (and even keeping it), there are certain behaviors, characteristics and quirks that we'll overlook. Compromise, baby. But I'm curious, what are those things, big or small, that you just won’t stand for? If you have a true tale to accompany your deal breaker, do tell.

Fashionista.com just posted a bit of news that made me smile. Kate Moss will no longer be the face of Agent Provocateur lingere, and who they've apparently chosen to replace her is so wonderfully unexpected. Actress, mother and my future in-law: Maggie Gyllenhaal. I'm absolutely smitten with their decision. In my opinion, there's nothing sexier than a smart lady with more than just tits 'n' ass up her sleeve.

Crafty gals who've had to walk down someone else's aisle will want to check out this article on bridesmaid dresses from Blueprint Magazine. It shows you how to make standard 'maid fare more wearable after the big day. Most of them look pretty chic if you're willing to put in the work. I'm diggin' 4 and 5 the most, but 2 looks easiest. I like easy.