Monthly Archive

Last night Jen and I met up for dinner and drinks. We went to our favorite Chinese restaurant and ordered the Dragon Bowl. A bowl of mystery liquid with two gigantic straws. It is heaven.

It is also potent. 

Note to self: don’t go to Marshalls after drinking a Dragon Bowl. You will buy a purse. Moving on…

I made the mistake of going to Starbucks this morning. On a Friday. In the summer. In the tourist town that I work in. On the first day of a huge event we’re hosting. Twenty minutes at Starbucks. Insanity!

However, it was worth it. Because now I have my grande soy, no water chai and it’s Friday. Yay Friday! This weekend I plan on going to the beach and sleeping. Maybe even sleeping while at the beach.

And also, despite the ridiculous humidity, my hair decided to look nice today. A little curl cream and it was good to go. Thank you, hair gods.

A crappy up the nose cell phone picture to prove that really! Hair behaving! Yay! (Also, am not in bad mood…was concentrating on picture and forgot to smile.)

Happy Weekend!

Remember when I talked about the bad music that I can’t help but love? Well, it extends to TV, too. Most recently, I’ve been completely hooked on Hidden Palms, the nighttime soap that started a few months ago.

The show centers on a group of teenagers living the luxurious and privileged lifestyle in Palm Springs. Johnny, the main character, is fresh out of rehab after the death of his father (suicide) and is struggling with staying sober, adjusting to his new home and his mother’s new marriage.

He learns from his neighbor Cliff, a smooth talker with a decidedly dark side, that the boy who previously lived in Johnny’s room, Eddie, took his own life. After Johnny gets wrapped up in the pretty girl in town (Greta) and the mystery behind Eddie’s death, he finds he has to figure out what really happened. Murder, mystery, betrayal and sex. This show has got it all.

Did I mention it’s on the CW and targeted to, oh, I don’t know, 16-year olds? And that it’s so bad that at even though it started in April, at the end of last night’s episode they announced that next week is the series’ finale?

Yeah. Bad. Yet so good. Although Michael wouldn’t agree. So bewildered that I was voluntarily watching something so bad, he went outside and did yard work. In the dark.

So now it’s your turn. You’ve admitted your musical sins, now cough it up for TV.

What’s the worst show you’re watching right now that you can’t help but love?

I have 12 days to go and I’m already like a kid waiting for Christmas. Twelve days till Vegas, baby! I can no longer contain my excitement about it and have started making packing lists (how many pairs of shoes is too many?), bugging fellow bloggers for tips and emailing daily with Boobeski and Jen, who are equally as excited.

We have a loose itinerary that includes a show (Cirque du Soleil “Love”?), a drag show, mechanical bull riding, club hopping, karaoke and sun bathing. And despite it being 105 degrees, with no humidity I can be assured the my hair is going to look good.

Operation No Eating? It’s going pretty well. If you consider being hungry all the time “well”, because fruits and vegetables? Not all that filling. But my God will I look good by the pool. (I hope.)

Michael has taken to asking often how many days until I “leave him” for Sin City. He’s going to missssss me, he says. (Cute!) But I know that part of the apprehension lies in the new fitted (read: cleavage enhancing) dresses lying in the spare bedroom and the “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” commercials that seem to be on all the time. Not that he has anything to worry about, but three hot ladies out on the town? Of course we’ll get hit on! (Modest, I know.)

The one downside? Clink will be flying to Vegas the very day I’m flying home. We’re actually going to be in the air at the same time, probably passing each other over the middle of the country. We’ve promised to wave, but will not resort to sending Gmail chats via cell phone, I swear. We may be geeky bloggers, but we’re not that geeky. At least not yet. (OK, maybe just one chat message.) (Geek!)

12 Days!!!

The summer after my sophomore year of high school I was part of a touring orchestra. We went to Australia, New Zealand, Tahiti and Rarotonga in the South Pacific for a three week whirlwind tour. It was amazing.

Most places we were paired up with a friend and stayed in home-stays. We stayed with a great family in Auckland that had a six year old daughter who knit sweaters, a slightly odd family in Christchurch who gave me my own suite and the weirdest of them all, the family in Brisbane.

—

We were jolted awake by the tour bus pulling to a halt. It was dark –just barely 4 a.m.– and we were exhausted. We gathered our things and shuffled down the steps to greet our next round of “house mums”. My best friend A and I were directed to a large woman standing in front of a small car. “In you go!” she laughed.

We arrived at her house soon after and were surprised at the appearance of her home. Everything was white. White walls, white furniture, white tile floors. And no artwork, except for a gigantic glamour shot above the fireplace of a big girl with even bigger hair.

“Why don’t you girls drop off your things and then take a shower before bed,” House Mum said. Shower? At 5 a.m.? We were tired…sleep seemed much more important. But she persisted and we didn’t want to be rude, so we showered before we slept.

I woke up hours later to House Mum’s face above mine, fingers wiggling in the air as she cackled “Riiiiise from the dead!” A screamed and I hid under my blanket. What was this woman doing?

“OK, girls! Up, up! Time to shower!” Shower? What? AGAIN? We had just showered five hours ago. She left the room and A and I stared at each other, unable to comprehend our wake up call and request to shower. A sighed and grabbed her towel. ”I’m just going to run the water this time,” she said. “I’ll be out in five and then you can pretend too.”

Breakfast was dry toast and Tang (yes, really!) before an orchestra rehearsal at a local school. When rehearsal had finished A needed to exchange some money. I was exhausted, so House Mum dropped me off at the house and took A to the bank.

I woke up an hour later and sat upright in bed. Standing in the doorway was a boy about my age that I’d never seen before. Staring at me.

“You’re in my room,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“Mum made me give it to you. I didn’t want to. It’s mine.”

“Oh…did you need something in here?”

“No.”

He turned and walked away. Now awake and curious, I followed him. I found him in the all white kitchen. He asked if I was hungry. I was and when he pointed to the fridge I figured I should help myself.

Inside was three jugs of Tang and rows and rows of apples. That’s it. Tang and apples. So I ate an apple.

That evening we sat down with the entire family for dinner. Us, House Mum and House Dad, the boy and another brother and the daughter (who was immortalized in her glamour shot) and her fiancé. They ordered six pizzas for eight people and laughed at us when we asked for a cheese pizza. Apparently they don’t do that in Australia.

We were asked to shower multiple times that evening and began to get suspicious that there was a camera hidden in the bathroom.

Before bed, A and I were talking in our room about how weird the family was, when suddenly a cockroach crawled under the door. Cue to screaming “House Mum! House Mum!” until she came in.

She threw open the door, took one look at it and said, “It’s just a cocky!!! And it came out of YOUR suitcase!” A’s face fell as House Mum pointed at her. “It did not!” she cried back. House Mum would not hear it. She stepped on the roach, turned to leave the room and said, “you girls should shower.”

A and I slept in the same bed that night, afraid of cockroaches and afraid of our House Mum. The next morning, standing above us like she had before, she woke us with “All aboard!!! Choo! Choo!”

As we packed our bags to leave that morning, she asked us again to shower.

We couldn’t have gotten out of there any faster.

Because I got such a positive response last time I wrote about this (and requests for more!), I give you the World’s Worst Shoes part deux.

The actual shoe isn’t awful, it would actually look sort of cute as a flat. BUT, it is not flat. Oh no, it has a heel. And I’m completely perplexed by this heel. Can someone please explain to me how I’m supposed to walk with a giant suction cup attached to my foot?

Five words: Rodger Rabbit or a clown. You pick.

Why? Why, oh why did Roberto Cavalli think that turning a saddle into a shoe would be a good idea. And $735? For that?! I think Italians must know where to get some good drugs.

Dear Mom and Dad, today at summer camp I made a Native American Dreamcatcher in the arts and crafts shed. My counselor said it was looking a little boring, so I added some yarn from the scrap bucket. I hope you like it!

You know those woven plastic/rubbery lawn chairs that you accidentally leave outside all year, causing their shiny whiteness to turn gray? I turned mine into a shoe for you.

Hurt your foot? No problem! It’s a shoe and an ankle brace in one!

Oh…so that’s what happened to my oven mitt!

It’s like sticking your foot in the arm rest of grandma’s couch.

This morning I put on my cute white capris and headed off to work. As lunch came around, my coworker and I decided to take our food and head down to the water to eat on the rocks.

We walked about 15 minutes until we reached the spot. Breezy, but sunny, the hour was relaxing. Until I stood up. Brushing myself off I joked, “did I sit in anything?” The look on my coworker’s face told me…um, yeah. You did.

I turned around to see a big reddish-orange spot of something–who knows what–smack in the middle of my left cheek. Great. You know that if I had been wearing any other color I’d be fine, but I chose white and now I have a big spot on my butt. And when people see a big red spot on the butt of white pants, they will not think I sat in something. They will think I got my period.

Great.

Not only did I sit in something, but being that it’s so nice out I did not bring a sweater or a jacket. Therefore, I had nothing to tie around my waist. Which means I had no choice but to walk through the town with a big red spot on my butt.

There was no point in hiding it. I’d look like an even bigger idiot walking down the street with my hands on my ass. So walk down the street I did. I walked and walked and walked until I made it to the little drugstore that had ONE Tide to Go pen left, tucked discreetly behind some bottles on the bottom of a dusty shelf. It was like it was waiting for me.

Back at work, I ran into the bathroom, stripped off my pants (woo-hoo!) and went to work on the stain. I have to say I’m impressed. I now understand why Kelly Ripa is so damn excited about this product. It works!

While the spot is gone, I still can’t leave my desk for awhile. Because in place of the stain is a nice, round wet spot. Smack in the middle of my left cheek.

And when people see a big wet spot on the butt of my white pants, they will not think I sat in something.

They will think I peed myself. 

What does one wear to a wake in the summer?

That was the question I was pondering over as I stood in front of my closet this morning. What is an appropriate outfit to wear when paying your respects to a family going through an awful time?

What an insignificant problem to have, worrying over what to wear. As I sit here, I am thinking about my boss. Thinking about the range of emotions he must be going through. Welcoming the birth of his beautiful daughter and suddenly saying goodbye to his older brother in the same week. I can’t comprehend it.

To say that tonight will be hard for me is unfair. It’s not me that is mourning the loss of someone I love. But attending a wake always brings me back to the same place, my grandmother’s funeral. While most of the day is a blur–the drive to the cemetery, the service, the eulogy–the memory of walking through the chapel doors and into the sun is crystal clear. That was the moment her death finally hit me. Momentarily alone with no one to hug me, I fought back my emotions until someone was there. Only then did I collapse.

A few years ago I attended a wake for the father of an acquaintance with Michael and some friends. We sat in the back, the soft light reflecting off the brass buttons on the boys’ dress uniforms. I held it together until the family filed in. Then I cried. I cried because I remembered what it was like to lose someone.

Maybe it’s selfish, but tonight I will cry. I will cry for my boss, for life lost and for lives left behind.

But I will also cry for me.

It’s only day two and I’ve failed Operation No Eating. (See yesterday’s post for actual please don’t yell at me title.) I went out for pizza with coworkers. Fun, yes. Healthy, no. So as I sit here staring at my food baby, all I want to do is erase the last hour and start over with the healthy lunch of chicken, carrots, strawberries and blueberries that I brought today.

I hate that I have a three weeks to be skinnier. I hate that I’m letting myself think that I have to be skinnier. I hate the pressure to be skinny that I’m already feeling, even though I’m not yet sitting at a pool surrounded by tall, skinny, beautiful (probably cosmetically enhanced) people. And I hate that even if I’m feeling all hot by the time my flight leaves, I’ll probably feel not so hot when we sit down at the pool.

I’m going to exercise my heart out these next three weeks. I know that I should be doing it because I want to be healthy and fit, but the truth is I just want to be skinnier. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m annoying you. I’m annoying myself.

In other news, I need shoes for Vegas. Comfy for dancing the night away, yet still cute. Perhaps wedges? I don’t want too spend too much on them since I’ll have more important things to spend money on (like, well, Vegas!) but I don’t want them to be so cheap they fall apart. Suggestions welcome.

The best thing about weekends is they make you forget a hellish week. My weekend was perfect. Boobeski arrived Friday night and since we were both beat, we used that time to catch up and relax. Oh, and within 20 minutes of her arrival I had convinced her to join me and Jen on our Vegas trip. And with 25 minutes, she had booked her flight. Awesome.

Saturday was a productive morning of grocery shopping and working out, followed by…a nap. A glorious, two hour, no-need-to-wake-up-and-do-anything nap that I haven’t had in ages. Later, we met up with Jen for yummy dangerous martinis and Vegas planning. It was decided that Operation No Eating has begun. (OK, before you flip out on me, it’s really Operation Eat Less Crap and More Fruits and Vegetables So We Will Look Good in Our Bathing Suits While Sitting by the Pool in Vegas.)

Sunday was shopping day and I actually mangaged to find a bathing suit relatively painlessly within an hour. A word to the wise, you’ll look much hotter when you try it on at home in natural lighting.

Which brings us to today. Good old Monday. And what would Monday be without a snag? The photographer I was supposed to meet at 9:15? Didn’t show up. The guy who begrudingly came in on his day off to help me out? Is majorly annoyed. My boss? Is still out. (But he totally should be, what with a new baby and a death in the family all in the same week. My heart is totally breaking for him, but if I talk about it too much I will cry again. Moving on…)

So hear I am, dealing with Monday and downing my big cup of tea (instead of snacking on something chocolaty and delicious, which I would much rather be doing right now) and hoping this week is quiet, because if it’s anything like next week, I’ll have to extend my Vegas trip indefinitely.

(Just so you know, “Umbrella” is playing right now. I’m hooked, I can’t help it.)

Hi, weekend. How are you? I’m so very happy you’re here. This week has been a long one and the thought of going to the beach, partying with friends in Newport and sleeping in the next two days has been the only thing keeping me going. Well, that and soy chai lattes.

Some of the highlights?

• I spoke with a writer from Finland who had the worst breath ever. AND he was a close-talker. Every time I leaned back to avoid the smell he would lean in closer. A vicious circle, I tell you. It’s very hard to hold your breath and talk at the same time.
• I gave a presentation to a group of interns who were funny and very attentive. Especially one guy who found my chest much more interesting than the topic of PR.
• My boss, the self-proclaimed Vegas King, has yet to give me any pointers for a great trip. (Advice and recommendations welcome by all!) Apparently, being home with a new baby is much more important than helping me. Fine, I see where his priorities are.
• Kodiak rolled in/rubbed against/got sprayed by something skunky. It’s only in one little patch, but it is slightly oily and STINKS.
• The stitching gave way on my favorite pair of black capris. Now it’s one leg capri, one leg pedal pusher. Hot.
• We’ve put off grocery shopping as long as possible. We are officially down to lemonade, three yogurts and Worcestershire sauce.

Weekend, work your magic.

I was tagged by Crystall to write seven random things about myself. Alright, let’s see…

1. When I was 13 I broke my big toe playing ball in the house with my cousin. (See, Mom was right. No playing ball in the house!) I lunged to catch the ball and my foot got caught in the tassels of the throw rug, causing me to fall forward and my toe to stay where it was. OW. It turned purple and swelled up the day before I had to go to someone’s Bat Mitzvah, so I couldn’t wear my pretty shoes. I had to wear flip flops. The agony. Today I have a light ridge in the toenail that never goes away. I blame my cousin.

2. I have very vivid dreams. I can usually recall exactly what happened and some from years ago still stand out in my mind. The strangest (and scariest) one happened in college. I dreamt I was in my car and someone was trying to get in and attack me. I remember banging on the car window for help…it was then that Michael woke me up because I was pounding my fist on the wall. Weird.

3. One summer my camp took us on a trip to Six Flags. We were let loose in the park, the only requirement being that we return to meet the group at a certain time. Twenty minutes before we had to go back, the “cool guy” in the group suggested we all ride the new rollercoaster. The responsible, always on time side of me freaked, but the 15-year old girl in me wanted to be cool. We all stood in line forever and finally took our ride. When we got off the ride we were 20 minutes late and still had to make it across the park. On the run back we came up with a plan…tell the chaperones that the ride got stuck. We couldn’t possibly make it back in time if we were stuck in the air!

The girls in the group even threw in a few tears. We so got away with it and it solidified my place in the cool group.

3. Last night I learned a very valuable lesson: do not go bathing suit shopping during period week. You will be bloated and feel fat and looking at your reflection illuminated by florescent lights will not be good for your self-esteem. Not really a random thing about myself, but a lesson well learned.

4. I can’t sleep in pajama bottoms. Shorts, pants, socks…forget it. Everything tangles up in the sheets and I get hot and can’t sleep.

5. In elementary school I wrote a poem about winter. It was featured in the newspaper. I think my mom still has a dozen copies of it somewhere.

6. I could eat grilled cheese every day. I know I’ve said it before, but it’s true. It’s the perfect snack…toasted, buttery bread and melted cheese. Mmmm.

7. In middle school I had a black and white poster of Kermit the Frog wearing jeans. You could see the elastic of his underwear and it said “Kermit Klein”. Cool, I know.

My boss recently welcomed the arrival of his second child, a totally adorable, absolutely squishable baby girl. The great part is baby! is here! The not-so-great part is that since she was 10 days early, we hadn’t completely prepared for his departure.

Needless to say, work as been more than a little busy. Doing the work for both of us has made me appreciate his job a lot more. There’s so much to do! I’ve got a pretty good handle on it, but as to be expected, there’s been a couple wrenches thrown into my day. One being the unexpected arrival of a writer from Finland who wanted to talk about a story RIGHT NOW. I managed to convince him to tour the museum for an hour until I was ready to sit down with him, but it caused me to rush around a lot.

And huh. I just realized I didn’t eat lunch yet. Great.

So long story short (or not so short, I guess), it’s been a busy week. But tonight it all gets pushed aside. Tonight Jen and I are buying our plane tickets for three fantastic days in Vegas. Visions of lying poolside with a big, frosty drink in my hand, followed by nights of dancing are getting me through the week.

Vegas countdown: one month!

Yesterday was Jen’s birthday, so to celebrate we went out to dinner with two of her friends and her sister. We ate yummy food, joked and laughed and got ourselves nicely tipsy on two pitchers of sangria.

Afterwards, we piled in the car and drove by the beach, windows down, hair blowing in the wind, music playing. We discussed our plans for the weekend, down to our outfits and shoes.

Later, we tumbled out of the car at Jen’s parents house and joined her eight year old brother at the kitchen table.

Five 20-something, professional women sat in quiet anticipation as Jen’s mom served us birthday cake and ice cream. Which we proceeded to stuff into our faces.

Grownups shmownups.

Friendships are a funny thing. They grow, they change, they live and they die. Lately I’ve found myself re-evaluating the people in my life and I find it really interesting to see where I ended up. My friendships can be divided into a few distinct groups.

The Lifers:

The lifers are the ones I’ve known and loved since the early years. One that I’ve known basically since birth (we were born 12 days apart), one since the tender age of five (I fell off her bed, hit my head on a mirror and our friendship was solidified) and one that was my first friend on the first day of first grade. (Got that?)

These women might as well be a part of my DNA, because they make up a huge part of who I am. They are intertwined with my earliest childhood memories and although I don’t get to see them often, they are the true blues, the forevers. 

 The Class:

A) High school

They were there for the awkward years, the first loves, the proms, the cars, the dance recitals, the sleepovers, the movie marathons, the orchestra rehearsals, the SATs, the college acceptance letters, the graduation.

In all honesty, I don’t talk to these friends much anymore. An occasional IM or Facebook message has now replaced the passed notes and daily phone calls. But if I needed them, they’d be there. I know it.

B) College

A different strain of The Class, but the roots are the same. Behind classroom doors and the cinderblock walls of dorm rooms, lifelong friendships were built. The shared feelings of excitement and fear of being away from home bonds people quickly. A drunken night in a hallway, a bond over an awful roommate, a pledge of sisterhood. These moments gave me more than just friends.

These are the ones that know who I am now. That watched my relationship grow from a crush to a future. That helped me through some awful times and joined me in celebration of the best. The ones that held on to each other and sobbed as we stood in an empty house, the memories and stories of the last four years packed into various cars. The ones that joined me in one of the hardest goodbyes I ever had to say.

The Next Steps:

Post-college, two women have become my rocks. Both can actually be crossed referenced with The Class, because we met in college, but the bulk of the bonding has come after graduation. With one, summers on the beach made us close, but it wasn’t until after college that the friendship moved into best-friend territory. She knows my daily activities, my work stories, how many shoes I really buy and how many mojitios is one too many. Her family has become a second family to me and our upcoming Vegas trip is going to be ridiculous.

The other and I bonded over, believe it or not, blogging. This woman, who I was friendly with in school, has become the one I email daily, gossip with over drinks and call for confirmation that I am not a blogging dork. She’s smart and sassy and I am eternally grateful for the events that caused her to stay living down the street from me after she graduated.

And finally,

The New Wave:

It’s been nearly a year since I began blogging, and in that time I have developed relationships with people that are dealing with the exact same things I am. Be it thoughts of an engagement, a shoe obsession or a desire to eat a really giant brownie, these women are there. While many of our relationships are based on comments, there are a few that have become more like confidants. Who know more than just my words. These are the women that read my Gmail away message and ask if my day is going OK. That offer advice for no reason other than to help. Such an awesome group.

If you made it to the end, I’m impressed. My self-reflection on the friendships I keep has made my day take a turn for the better. I really am lucky to have such wonderful friends.

In my daily quest for cute shoes, I often come across some duds. Usually it’s just a bad pattern, an awkward heel height or an uncomfortable strap. But sometimes…sometimes it’s almost too painful to look. And I can’t help but wonder, what were these designers thinking???

These gems aren’t even high-end designers made for runway. These are everyday, buy them at the store, shoes. Gah!

Dear Betsey Johnson, if I wanted to wear a wine cork on my feet, I could do it for the price of a good vino. $92 for these? No thank you.

Proof that even Kenneth Cole makes mistakes. Some very major mistakes. It reminds me of an ace bandage on crack:

It’s a sneaker! It’s a bandaid! It’s spaghetti! It’s….oh man, it’s just God awful:

Um…zebra? Beetlejuice?

What happens when you add a strap to a kayak:

What Minnie Mouse wore when she went bad. The brand is called Pleaser USA. Enough said:

And my personal favorite. Ahoy, matey!

There must be something in the air that’s making all these women toss aside their laptops in favor of a mixing spoon. I’m not judging, I’ve caught it too. Much to Michael’s enjoyment.

Last night I came home, kicked off my shoes and got to baking these delicious blondies. While they were baking, I fed the dog, picked up clutter and vacuumed the house. And as they cooled on the stove top, I made guacamole.

Then I hung up my apron, smoothed my skirt, fixed my hair and made Michael a dirty martini, which I placed lovingly next to the paper and his slippers.

Or not.

But I did (not so) secretly enjoy the role I had taken on. The role of the domesticated woman, keeping her home in order. And while part of me enjoyed watching Michael stuff his face with homemade treats, the other part of me was gagging. I imagine if I was watching one of my intelligent and savvy friends parade around in such a manor, I would hit them in the head with my stiletto.

So it’s the age-old internal struggle. Is it possible to be a strong, indepedent woman who also takes pleasure in taking care of her home and her man?

I think so. After all, despite her squeaky-clean and conservative 1950s character, Donna Reed was an anti-nuclear activist and anti-Vietnam protester. She even won an Oscar for playing a prostitute!

So while my fridge may be filled with baked goods, my closet is filled with power-shoes.

I think Donna would be proud.

I have to admit something. I think my taste in music is going way down hill. I have XM in my car and as I flip from channel to channel I find myself stopping on songs that if they came up in conversation, I’d probably mock them. If only to save face.

But I can’t lie to you guys. So here it is, the list of songs I sadly find myself singing along to while hundreds of other XM channels play perfectly good music:

Umbrella- Rhianna. The first time I heard it I was in the car with my boss and said, “what the hell is this?” He guessed Nelly Furtado. I guessed Rhianna (and was right) but thought it was just awful. Until now. I’m such a traitor to…myself?

U + Ur Hand-Pink. Just the fact that it’s spelled the way it is makes me nauseous to admit that I’m singing right along with her pseudo-bad girl lyrics.

Hey There Delilah- Plain White T’s. “A thousand miles seems pretty far/But they’ve got planes and trains and cars.” Sigh…so poetic.

OK, I’ve admitted that despite my outward appearance, I am really 15 years old. So now it’s your turn. Step up and admit it.

What’s on your bad song list?

Saturday afternoon, Michael called me out into the yard. He had set up the hammock and wanted me to test it out.

I plan to spend my entire summer in that hammock.

There was a warm, gentle breeze and I spent the remainder of the afternoon lazily swaying back and forth as I read a book. Even the dog enjoyed it, because he’s a big people dog and could lie right under me.

I was just about to drift off to sleep when I heard the neighborhood church bells ring out five times. Five o’clock. Time to get up.

I got ready and headed back to work. On Friday we had hosted a twice-annual press tour and it was time for the farewell dinner. Which meant amazing food. (Remember last year’s menu?) I think this meal was even better.

Michael and I both climbed in the hammock on Sunday, and as much as I longed to stay there, I had made plans to see Knocked Up. Go see it, it’s funny. When I got home the temperature had dropped, so I curled up on the couch with season one of Gilmore Girls (now that it’s over I have to own them all…only four more seasons to buy!) and enjoyed the rest of my weekend.

Today it’s raining, but you can bet that on the next sunny day you’ll be able to find me swaying gently in the breeze as I doze on the wonderful hammock.

I love summer.

I was starving when I left work last night, which is never a good thing when a 40-minute commute looms ahead of me. All I can think about his how hungry I am and what I want to eat. And Michael was working late, which is even worse, because then I can eat whatever I want without considering whether or not he’ll like it.

When the craving hit it was clear and strong. I wanted macaroni and cheese.

I think it’s important to say that as a child I hated mac and cheese. Wouldn’t touch it. It wasn’t until years later (two years ago, actually) that I tried some off the plate of the kids I was babysitting for. And LOVED it. In some cheesy, smooth, slightly-disgusting way, it was delicious.

I had never made mac and cheese in my own home–partially because Michael would probably vomit at the mere smell of it–but mostly because it you really think about it, it’s kind of gross. I mean, it’s Cheesefood. Not just cheese. Yeah, ew.

Anyway, for some reason my stomach was saying mac and cheese, so I stopped and bought it.

And not even my thighs protested, because it was so good.

(And slightly gross.)

It was even better for lunch today.