Be My Blog Valentine
I’m not into Valentine’s Day in the traditional sense. You know, the dozen red roses and fancy steak dinner and one day a month you wear sexy lingerie. This could be because I like my roses white and have begun to avoid beef and wholeheartedly think sexy lingerie deserves regular wearing, but it’s also because I’ve always appreciated a different kind of romance.
I’m single on Valentine’s Day this year, but to be honest, I don’t mind a bit. I mind being single*, sure, but that won’t make February 14th different from any other day.
Last year I gathered with other single girlfriends and, quite honestly, had the best night of the year. This year looks like more of the same, but I find myself getting into it. I want to get these for the girls tied to little JimmyJane candles (oh, hush–don’t act shocked!) with a tiny cellophane envelope full of cinnamon hearts. I want to get this for C (who will be in town for the weekend) and other small home items for some of my other besties. I want to bake heart-shaped cookies for my co-workers and go office to office hand-delivering them.
None of it will happen–or very little will happen–but I do get to give (and get!) a present this year. I’m participating in Be My Blog Valentine (masterminded by Ashalah). I’m already excited about what I’m sending off to my secret valentine, but in case someone is visiting and wondering what to get me (not so nice that I made you wade through three paragraphs to get to this, was it), here’s the deal:
- I kind of love anything letterpress. Like this or this.
- I’ve recently become obsessed with vintage clear glass coasters (random, I know).
- I do a happy dance for dark chocolate, seasonal M&Ms (i.e. in holiday colors), gummy cherries, and cinnamon bears. The happy dance may or may not involve a pirouette.
- Bookmarks are ALWAYS good and useful. Likewise anything that quotes Jane Austen. Or Dorothy Parker.
- And mix-CDs of music I’ve never heard before are welcome too.
To be honest, I will thrilled by whatever I get, but it’s always helpful when someone (especially when that someone is a stranger) gives you a direction in which to head.
*It still terrifies me to admit that.
Friday Four: Scheduled
I’m moments away from leaving work to go have Nepalese takeout, wine, and wedding planning discussions with a friend (squee! wedding magazines!*), so scheduling this post to appear tomorrow morning whether I make it home tonight (she has a guest room) or not seemed like the best course of action.
I’m listening to a monthly indie mix that is particularly good this time around. “Protection Racket” by Fionn Regan makes me happy.
I’m reading Department of the Interior, Design*Sponge, Design is Mine, and Decorno because I have now successfully rearranged my entire apartment in my mind (and on the Jordan’s Furniture Room Planner). I know I’ve only lived there for five months, but I just can’t help myself. This time there’ll be photos. Promise.
I’m craving a Fleur De Sel cupcake from Kara’s. Did I mention the cleanse begins on Monday?
I’m coveting this crazy cool table and insanely inexpensive european shams.
*Even when I was having that reoccurring nightmare about walking down an aisle to a groom I wasn’t ready to marry, I loved bridal magazines. Party, flowers, pretty dresses. What’s not to love?
Want for spring
STRIPES
Image from shopbop.com
Image from anthropologie.com
Image from asos.com
Image from neimanmarcus.com
Nanette Lepore Firecracker dress
PALE NEUTRAL BAGS
Image from Net-a-porter.com
Miu Miu matelasse leather hobo
Image from shopbop.com
Image from shopbop.com
LEATHER AND METAL (AND PYTHON) BRACELETS
Image from revolveclothing.com
Image from net-a-porter.com
Kara by Kara Ross Python Pyramid Cuff
Image from shopbop.com
Gorjana Graham Leather Wrap Bracelet with Studs
Image from wendybrandes.com
Wendy Brandes Hatshepsut Locket (as a single charm on a leather wrap bracelet)
Things I Shouldn’t Do Before I Turn 30
We are deeply into birthday planning for The Celebration (it’s like The Situation, but with a tad less fist pumping) when Future CEO, her family, and my family will gather in Wine Country for an extravaganza that has been years (seriously) in the making. Future CEO and I are talking dinner reservations, her little sister and brother-in-law are talking flights (and a night in my shoebox apartment), my father and I are visiting the wine cellar* to select from his collection of bottles from my birth year, and my mother just keeps repeating, “Whatever…I’m retired.”
As that big birthday approaches, I’m trying not to think about what I wanted to accomplish by that lovely round-numbered age. So instead, let’s think about all of the things I shouldn’t do before I turn 30 in four months.
1. Develop a meth habit. Just messy.
2. Sleep with Tiger Woods. Just dirty.
3. Date Chris Brown. Just dangerous.
4. Marry Heather Mills. Just crazy.
5. Faint three times during my birthday week. Just been there, done that.
6. Catch up on old Seinfeld episodes. Just don’t think it’s funny.**
7. Fall down an elevator shaft. Just bloody unlikely.
8. Compete in any Miss Universe-associated pageant. Just sleazy.
9. Pretend to like LL Cool J for his mind. Just not believable.
10. Get pregnant. Just not interested yet.
11. Visit the slums of Calcutta. Just depressing.
12. Join the US Army. Just not sure I can pull of that shade of green.
13. Spend a night in jail. Just not that into handcuffs. Ahem.
14. Camp alone. Just too afraid of deer.
15. Become a Yankees fan. Just not happening.
16. Wear Crocs. Just say no.
17. Date another 24-26 year old boy. Just prefer men.
18. Perform Backstreet Boys at bachelorette party karaoke. Just a “Livin’ on a Prayer” girl.
19. Move away from San Francisco. Just still in love with my city.
20. Drink a 30-year-old bottle of Caymus. Just kidding, I’ll totally do that.
*And by “wine cellar” I mean the completely packed extra fridge in the garage and the wine chiller that holds the really good stuff.
**Seriously.
Friday Four
You know when you begin to notice a sleep deficit in your cognitive functioning and not just your body? This post is brought to you by that.
I’m reading…very, very little.
I’m listening to…Frank. And more Frank.
I’m craving…hot tea. A warm hand on my hip. A pile of down comforters. And a week of Saturdays.
I’m coveting…nothing. I’m too tired to care.
Jewish
Dancing Roommate and I went to a favorite bar last night for a drink. Despite bone-deep fatigue and my own certainty that I’d regret the outing when my alarm went off at 6 am, I was having a good time. DR chatted with a slightly slow Tom Hanks-type and I made friends with the 6′7″ manboy to my left. I can’t say I was interested, but he seemed to be checking his Blackberry in a way that made it obvious he was uncomfortable at a bar alone.
We sat, we chatted, Tom Hanks bought us a second round. The manboy proceeded to get drunk.
Somewhere after his fifth beer (sixth? seventh?) he began to joke with the bartender and other patrons. Suddenly he busted out a “Don’t be Jewish about it, man” to someone, somewhere.
Now I grew up where this is typical. My high school boyfriend AND my high school best friend required some teaching to correct their ignorance, but in a stranger? I don’t handle it very well. That many beers in, I doubt manboy felt the icy chill coming from my direction (which only intensified when he proceeded to make fun of a British woman a few stools down for having “English teeth” — complete with a chipmunk-face immitation), but I didn’t see any reason to either address it or continue my conversation with him.
An hour later we were ready to leave and I called over the man behind the bar.
“I never paid for my first beer,” I said. Because preying on a bartender’s distraction is stealing.
“You’re so honest!” manboy interjected with a tone of incredulity.
“Well, it’s how I was raised,” I replied.
What I should have said was, “It’s because I’m Jewish.”
My Brilliant Idea
Why is it that when I get into bed with the covers tucked up under my chin, my thoughts turn to blog posts? I have brilliant brainstorming sessions BUT, since I already have more than my fair share of trouble falling asleep before 1 am, I never reach for my laptop and put idea to screen. When I wake in the morning, it’s gone. And so you get this.
The only things on my mind lately are hot guys and puppies.
Not any one guy in particular or any puppy in particular, but those two topics. Work Friend’s narration of the puppy cam via IM is certainly a contributor. Matt Morris* singing “Hallelujah” with Justin Timberlake on the Hope for Haiti telethon might be another. (Because a crush on another gay dude is JUST what I need. No wait, a crush on another married gay dude.) So I was thinking, wouldn’t it be great if I could begin a regular segment of hot guys with puppies? I’ll just stop men on the street, hand them a puppy (once I find a secret puppy supply store), snap a quick pic, then kiss them** and run off. You all would appreciate that segment, right?
It took a single google search to realize that, like most of my great ideas, someone already thought of it. And she? he? it? is funnier than I am. I bet you still want to thank me.
I should stick to things I know. Perhaps even Things I Know for Sure (sorry Oprah)
1. Tights are not meant to be worn for more than 10 hours. Home to car to train to bus to work to bus to train to car to happy hour with the Men Who Wear Suits? Too much tights. Also? I have a feeling they’re inherently unsexy. If sexy is about access, then tights say, “Back up about 15 feet and yell at me from over there.” They also say, “There’s an additional layer between you and where you want to go.” Then again, most men love a challenge.
2. I’ve managed to double-book myself for Thursday and yet I have no Saturday night plans. Tequila and kitchen dancing, here I come!
3. Amy & Brian’s All Natural Coconut Juice with pulp is too expensive to have after every workout, but too yummy not to want after every workout! Natural sports drink and damn tasty.
4. I effing LOVE Tough Love on VH1. Sometimes it’s a little Jersey Shore and sometimes it makes me want to stab my eyes out with a lip liner and sometimes I’m actually touched by what these women are learning about themselves. Like how to use a knife and fork.
P.S. Team Anyone-but-Taylor
5. The fact that I’m out of coffee scares me much more than the fact that I’m out of food.
*The scruffy hipster look I typically abhor looks HOT on him. I don’t understand myself either.
**If I’m already accosting men, I might as well be COMPLETELY inappropriate…and get something for myself out of it.
New Business
1) Something is wrong with Open ID. Or it just decided to stop working for me. That happens. So if I’m not commenting, it’s not because I’m not reading and it’s not because I don’t have things to say (I always have things to say).
2) You may have noticed (but probably didn’t) that some old posts are now password protected. There will be more in the future. Why? Because I’m not brave enough to attach a name and a face to every single post over the last five years. Baby steps, people. Email me for the password for future posts if you’re interested.
Randoms and reveals
I still have a raging crush on Neil Patrick Harris. It’s like a whole new level of impossibility. So, yeah, 2010 is beginning much like 2009.
I was more attracted to the kind soul who caught me when the MAX train lurched than I was to the ex-Army bartender/volunteer fireman with the killer abs. Manners > abs. Wow, I really have grown.
This stuff is A-DDIC-TIVE. My mom tells me it tastes like bad beer, but I’m pretty sure it’s miraculous sour fizziness that makes me not crave sugar. If only I could get it in California. I’m considering a trip to visit Colorado Friend just to stock up.
Does anyone else feel like the only difference between one eye cream and the next is gel vs. cream and expensive vs. really ridiculously expensive? I’ve tried Murad, Darphin, Philosophy, Peter Thomas Roth, Kiehl’s (and Kiehl’s), and Neutrogena. I like the first Kiehl’s and the Darphin, but I’m pretty sure it’s mostly because they’re gels and not because they have any effect whatsoever on whether or not I look like I stayed up past 3 am watching Oprah and chugging Grey Goose.
I’m taking a class at a community college (seriously, did you know you can take a college class for $110?!) and it’s turning me into a crotchety old woman. I spend most of the three hours wanting to smack the over-cologned 19-year-olds who are texting during the lecture. In myyyyyyyyy day, students were focused and engaged.
I will be doing the Glamour Magazine cleanse/detox beginning on February 1. Before you get all “cleanses are bad for you” and “it’ll fuck with your metabolism” on me, you should know that the Glamour cleanse is basically a week of eating as I should be eating: 1) Three small meals plus two snacks a day 2) Fruits and veggies galore 3) Lean protein in small portions 4) Portion control on starches, which you’ll only be getting from whole grains or 1/2 a potato 5) Small amounts of fat from olive oil, nuts, or avocados 6) No processed foods. I can do anything for a week, I’m sure, but this one sounds particularly reasonable. I’ll basically be giving up cheese, sugar, pasta, and booze. Easy-peasy…for a week. I’m hoping the cleanse can give me back the feeling I got while drinking the miracle fizzy drink.
P.S. Hi, I’m Sara.
Red lipstick on New Year's Eve!
Friday Four
I’m listening to classic Alicia Keys.
I’m reading about MTV’s next show, Massholes (like Jersey Shore, but with a better baseball team)
I’m craving Cream of Wheat. I don’t get it either.
I’m coveting a sexy dress for some of those upcoming weddings.
