Our bed broke, and we had to pull it apart and chuck it (I say “we” like I helped! Ha!) I am actually kind of happy, because I love that the resulting sleeping solution, a bedless boxspring and mattress, is low to the ground. This will make it easier for Matty, who is getting older, to climb in for a snuggle, and also, I can lay in bed on my stomach and look out of the window. Before, the headboard covered half the window so I couldn’t see out of it, and also, the room was darker than it needed to be. I like a sunny bedroom.
I tried to make the bed pretty before I took a photo, but it’s not going to get unlumpy without a lot of fussy effort, and, for the love, I just don’t have that kind of time.
Japanese designer Naoto Fukasawa made a series of fruit juice packages that look like fruit. I’m not clear from the article if they contain the actual fruit juice inside, as I can’t imagine drinking JUST strawberry juice. Maybe it’s a blend?
Here’s the banana one, which must be a banana blend of some sort.
This kiwi one is pretty cool, although I can’t help but think it contains “Teddy Bear juice”.
In the middle of my being sick the door bell rang. Rob had gone, so I was home alone and, for some reason, I felt duty-bound to answer the door. Why I didn’t just ignore it, I don’t know, but this was in the absolute worst of it, when I was fevered and having acid-trip like visions of Jesus sitting at the foot of my bed playing the banjo while Matty rocked out on the harmonica, so my priorities weren’t perfectly aligned.
I pulled on the first thing I grabbed, Rob’s robe, brushed past Jesus and hobbled down the stairs screeching, “I’m coming!” which was totally unnecessary, but I didn’t want to put all this effort into answering the door only to find myself alone when I finally got there, weakly mumble-whispering “Come back.” to the retreating delivery truck. I made it to the bottom of the steps, threw open the door, and scared the shit out of the UPS man. My hair was seventeen different directions of crazy, my face was mushed from a pillow and had drool dried all down one side of it, drool that was drying and crusting off into white flakes that I could feel, and rather than speak in complete sentences, I grunted. To top it off, when he handed me the package my robe fell open revealing cockeyed granny panties, one sock slumped glumly around my ankle, and two sad boobs that hadn’t seen the inside of a bra in days. I couldn’t see his face because I didn’t put on my glasses, but there was horror in his voice as he stammered “Uh… have a good day.”
“Ya don’ nemeta sign?” I asked.
“No!” he shouted over his shoulder as he made a retreat. I heard him running for his truck, and then he peeled out of his parking spot and was gone.
“He didn’ ne me ta sign.” I said to Matty, who had taken a break from his jam session to see who was at the door.
The worst part is that I have no idea what he looks like, so I’ll never know which one to hide from when he comes again. Maybe he won’t recognize me.
When I was 15 I wrote a small list of things to do before I die. When I was 23 I found it and added to it. Two years ago I got my first (and current) laptop and typed the list into it, saved it, and forgot about it until a few weeks ago. That makes this list is about 12 years in the making and officially the longest running creative project I have ever endeavored.
I’ve been changing it these few weeks and still might in the future, but for now, this is it. Some of the things were outdated, so they got cut: I don’t need to be on Oprah anymore, and even though it would feel awesome, I don’t need to climb Mt. Everest, either. After adding and subtracting, I scrambled everything so they wouldn’t be all childish dreams on top and serious, grown-up lady dreams on the bottom. (Hehehe!)
Surprisingly, a lot of them revolve around travel and athletic endeavors, two things that I don’t normally associate with myself.
Have you done one? Has it inspired you? Think you’ll finish it before you kick it? What’s on yours?
Save a life.
Buy my grandparent’s house.
Hike through a rain forest.
Learn to take great photos.
Write a book and have it published.
Learn to throw pottery.
Visit Ireland and drink a pint in a pub while singing an Irish bar song.
Get good and kissed on top of the Empire State Building.
Walk across the Golden Gate Bridge.
Do really expensive tequila shots on a beach in Mexico at sunset.
Visit Argentina and eat dulce de leche.
Visit Australia to see the bush and the great barrier reef, pet a koala.
Make a blueberry pie from blueberries I picked.
Go “real camping”, with no showers, and bathe in a river.
Learn to drive stick.
Own an old Volkswagen bug. (close enough!)
Make a bed-size quilt out of re-purposed fabric.
Run a marathon.
Float on a row boat in the middle of a lake and star-gaze.
Road trip from New York City to San Diego.
Spend Christmas on the beach in a bikini.
Ride in a hot air balloon.
Fall madly, hopelessly in love.
Witness the Northern Lights.
Catch fireflies in a jar on a summer night.
Play in the ocean until I am completely exhausted.
Adopt a dog from a shelter.
Visit a redwood forest and hug a sequoia.
Yell a secret into Niagara Falls.
Get a tattoo.
Learn to play a song on guitar.
Sponsor a child in a third world country.
Visit Nelson, British Columbia.
See the bioluminescent waters in Puerto Rico.
Backpack through Europe.
Gallop a horse.
Have a vegetable garden.
Speak fluent Spanish.
Swim with dolphins.
Have a picture of me taken while standing underneath the Eiffel Tower.
Live in New York City.
Be a really snappy dresser.
Snuggle a manatee.
Go whale watching.
Have my own weekly or daily radio show. (I’ll cross this off if my podcast is even a tiny bit successful.)
Help build a house in a third world country.
Fly a plane.
Learn to make a really great cake from scratch (with homemade frosting).
Hike in Hawaii and jump of a cliff while yelling “Geronimo!”
Eat a bowl of fish stew in an outdoor restaurant on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean.
Smoke a joint in an Amsterdam coffee house.
Drive through the Tuscan countryside in a tiny two-seater car.
Own a 100% sustainable, zero-impact beach house, with room for a dozen friends.
Be independently wealthy.
Ice skate on a frozen-over lake.
Dance in Brazil.
Shake Barack Obama’s hand.
Crochet an Afghan.
Do something I absolutely LOVE for a living.
At a party during SxSW I met a representative of Foodzie, Emily Olson, who I bounded up to and said, “I don’t have a lot of time to talk to you, but I’m really excited about what I’ve heard of your company. Can I have a card?!” She gave me one, and a lollipop, too (I turned down the bacon flavored one and got “salted caramel”, a flavor whose recent booming popularity is sweet, sweet justification for the years and years I spent putting salt on the strangest of things while my friends *coughJencough* looked at me with their eyebrows raised, shaking their heads and going “That. Is. Disgusting.”)
I was interested in Foodzie because I overheard it described as “the Etsy of food”, and this got me SO excited. Small business, artisan products, and good photography. Love!
Today was the first time I got to poke around the site (which is well-designed and easy to navigate) and there are a lot wonderful things. I pulled out a few that really made my eyes light up.
Clockwise from the top left:
Easter Sugar Cookies from Little Laura’s Sweets, $24 per dozen
They’re organic and wrapped in eco-friendly plastic bags with bright bows. So cute.
Classic Gift Pack from Rick’s Picks, $40 for 4 jars
I really love the label design on these, and I love pickled things. Check out the name on the beets: “Phat Beets”. A pun!
Vegetarian Savory Tarts from Little Pots & Pans Co., $28 for six
I bet these are way better than the frozen, preservative-laden ones in the grocery store.
Das Lolli All-Natural Lollipops by Das Foods, $6 for 12
This was the brand of lollipop Emily gave me. I haven’t tried it yet, but it looks wholesome. I have the Caramel Lavender. They also have “Naughty Ginger”, “Fab-O-Pom” which is pomegranate and orange, and “Maple Bacon” which they describe as “Man Bait” and I describe as “spew”. Still, if you try one, let me know how it is.
Smoked Sea Salt – Quoddy Mist Bold by Quoddy Mist Sea Salt, $8 a jar
I’m betting this would be amazing on salmon. Or straight off the tip of your finger.
Single Malt Scotch Bars by BonBonBar, $15 for 3
These look incredible.
Organic Ketchup by Happy Girl Kitchen, $6 a jar
No high fructose corn syrup in here. As a life-long ketchup devote, I’m guessing this would ruin me for all others.
If you order something from them, let me know how it is!
Rebecca came over a few weeks ago on a Sunday night to record her new podcast (because we are all podcasty here in New York). I was on the couch clutching my middle; I have issues with my left ovary, so every other month when it’s ovulating I wind up clawing the walls in pain . (All male readers are now gone, btw. Sorry, dewds.)
So I’m all, “Mer, my ovary!” and I started yammering about it because I was trying to figure out what to do, having passed the recommend weekly dose of Advil hours earlier. Mid-sentence I stopped and realized that “Eww, no one wants to know.” but she took it in stride, blinked a couple of times from behind her black rimmed glasses and was all, cool as a cucumber, “Have you tried Alieve? Because it won’t make your intestines bleed like lots of Advil might.” And I was all, “No!” and I went and got some and felt better and she was all, “Aw, now I feel like part of your family!”
I like her, that Rebecca. Check out her podcast. She and Rob came up with the format on the fly, so he’s in it, too.
I feel better! I’m not 100%, but I’m at a level of functionality I haven’t had in a week. I’m taking the day off of blogging to piece my life back together. Do you know that if you’re sick your bills don’t magically pay themselves? Who knew?
It’s a nice day, too, and I’m going to try to get outside, like this bunny that Nancy made. He’s for sale in her Etsy shop, just in time for Easter.
Rob hates driving in the city. HAAAATES. (For those not hip – “the city” is Manhattan. Brooklyn driving is cake.) He also hates paying parking garages. Still, I asked if he would consider driving me to Heather Armstrong’s book signing. I figured if I could sit in the car, slither out of it and into the bookstore and then slither back into it and be driven back to my bed, I could go for the hour or so. Taking the subway in this state of sickness is out of the question.
“No way!” he said. I figured.
But later: “If we leave now, we can be there on time.”
Yes! He is so awesome.
I put on pants (torture) for the first time in ages and dragged myself to the car.
It was so worth it.
I didn’t bring my camera because it would be a picture of Heather all dressed up pretty signing my book while I smiled pitiful and pale, with a bird’s nest on my head (I’ve got about half the knots combed out, by the way, but there are dreadlocks that are going to need a lot more time, attention, and possibly scissors if the universe decides to really stick it to me).
There’s a mini movement on Twitter to bump her book over Ann Coulter’s on Amazon. Go help.