2016 was a pretty epic year for me: I got a dog, I switched jobs, and I got married to my BFF/soulmate.
Husband proposed on my birthday in a teepee befitted with twinkly lights. From the setting to the ring, the whole night was absolutely perfect. I even found out he had been secretly stalking me to try to figure out my ring size. (Like a normal person, he tried to measure my finger with string while I was sleeping. But unlike a normal person, he dug through our sewing kit to find string that matched our sheets so that if, by chance, I awoke and found him hovering above me with a tiny string in hand, he would pretend he miraculously woke up and found a string from the sheets.)
Boyfriend and I have come a long way since last summer. Last year, he refused to kill bugs. Then, after the incident with the mosquito where I nearly broke my finger, he begrudgingly agreed to kill them, after much cajoling. Now, he's a one-man bug-killing MACHINE.
This year, I spent Thanksgiving with Boyfriend’s family in Virginia. We bought our tickets well in advance, and Boyfriend warned me it might be a smaller plane than I’m used to. I made him look up just how tiny it was, and after a bit of searching, he told me it was a “normal-sized” plane. Him being completely undisturbed, I quickly forgot about it and moved on to other things.
Most people don’t like bugs. They cringe at the thought of a cockroach, feel a slight wave of discomfort when killing a spider, and do their best to avoid bees, hornets and other mean, stinging bugs.
I am not like most people. Unlike more balanced, naturally experienced, and reasonable people, I have a CRIPPLING fear of all arthropods, regardless of form or affinity for land or sea.
Remember a few months ago when I was eating cookie butter by the spoonfuls? Luckily, my dependence on cookie mush has since abated. But I have recently rediscovered my love for chocolate-covered gummy bears. Oh, have we talked about them? Chocolate-covered gummy bears (or CCGB) are the apotheosis of candy perfection. Part fruity, part rich chocolatey, CCGB satisfy every candy need. They’re wonderfully decadent in their chocolatey goodness first, followed by a refreshing fruity chewiness that leaves you wanting more. Yes, I am straight-up addicted to chocolate-covered gummy bears. It all started out so innocently. I got a handful from our local bazaar of all things tasty, Sahadi, thinking it was a nice treat to myself. But of course when you have one, there’s no stopping yourself. By the time I made it home from Brooklyn, the bag was empty.
It’s been a WILDLY exciting few weeks here. I know, I know, no one likes a gloater. But I love stories of near disasters that end fantastically and I’ve had a few of those lately. The one I agonized most over was my new KitchenAid Stand Mixer. I ordered it after fawning over its beautiful, metallic fuschia glow only to realize that hot pink online is apparently deep red in real life. After spending several excruciating months deciding whether I could really commit to a decent (but ultimately not perfect) stand mixer, I decided to get rid of it and haven’t looked back since. After all, stand mixers are for life. You can’t settle for a subpar one. And after a mere few days imagining my future with each of the rainbow of colors KitchenAid has to offer, I found the ONE. It’s perfect in every way. We’re so happy to have found each other, and hoping to one day expand our family of attachments and accessories.
It’s been a few months since Boyfriend has taken me out on a fancy date so when our friend told us he was visiting and taking us out to an extravagant dinner at Eleven Madison Park, I was overjoyed at the opportunity to get all dolled up.
Now, I love fancy. Fancy clothes, fancy gadgets, fancy furniture. But I just don’t love fancy food. I have the palate of a 4 year-old. I don’t really care for any kind of seafood or most meats or most vegetables for that matter. So when I heard that dinner was a 16-course menu based on seasonal ingredients (and the whim of the chef), I suspected that I might be a problematic dining companion. I was told that the restaurant would accommodate my preferences, so I happily gave them a ring to inform them of my picky palate.
I know, I know. It’s been a little while. But I promise, I haven’t been lazing about. We finally moved into our new apartment and have been reunited with our many exciting possessions that have been locked up for 3 months. It hasn’t been all fun and games though. There have been many (sometimes heated) discussions around how to fit our glorious 3-bedroom San Francisco apartment into a small 1-bedroom NY apartment. This afternoon I had to explain to Boyfriend that, as beautiful as his two bicycles may be, they’re not beautiful enough to bless our entryway, much to his consternation.
I spent my weekend in the charming, rustic countryside of…New Jersey. Since there’s nothing really to do and there are bugs outside, I spent most of my time baking. Naturally.
Yesterday, after experiencing a bit of cabin fever and lamenting our out-of-shape state, my mother and I decided to go to a Zumba class. I had never done Zumba before and I had plenty of doubts, but she swore it was very fun and even did an excited little body wiggle to prove it. I indulged her and put on my fancy new exercise clothes. I was all set to shake my booty to skinnydom until I realized that all I had were flip flops and my only option was to wear my mother’s sneakers which were a size and a half too big. Add to that the tribulations I’ve been facing with this awful haircut I have. Needless to say, I didn’t feel all that cool wearing an old, broken hairclip on the side of my head to try to tame my weird, manly haircut, robed in hot pink skin-tight exercise clothes, and a pair of casual sneakers that resembled clown shoes more than exercise shoes. Trust me, it was not a good look.
Happy 4th of July, dear friends! Today is not just about having a barbecue cookout with friends and watching the fireworks. No! It’s about celebrating our nation’s independence from the rule of those who sought to control us with taxes and deny us representation. Sovereignty is not something to be taken lightly, people. And lest we forget what oppression feels like, I offer my own personal experience.
Remember when you were a kid and on long summer nights you’d run around and capture fireflies, mesmerized by their awesome power of illumination? Yeah, well I do not. I grew up in New York, where (luckily) fireflies are few and far between.
Last night as my friend and I were walking to dinner, we noticed the women in front of us stop and point at something in the air. Lo and behold, it was a firefly.
I’ve never really been in shape. To be honest, I really can’t complain because I’ve inherited very good skinny genes. But the sad truth is I’ve always kind of known I’m a mess ever since 7th grade when I joined the swim team and was limited to 25 yard sprints because of my pathetic stamina.
I’ve wanted to chop all my hair off for the past 5 years, ever since I went through my unhealthy Edie Sedgwick obsession and my drink-wine-and-watch-obnoxious-Godard-films phase. I’ve been CONVINCED I would look absolutely adorable in a cute little pixie cut, despite all my friends’ strong remonstrations. I even once made my friend Photoshop my face over a picture of Sienna Miller in Factory Girl to prove it. But I’ve never quite had the chutzpah to go through with it.
Thursday was Boyfriend’s and my 4th anniversary. 4 years is a long time, mind you. We’ve survived two years of long distance, two cross-country moves, and countless wolf spiders. As much as we’ve been through together, there are still a number of firsts. Like today when Boyfriend yelled for me through the closed bathroom door, imploring me to fetch him a roll of toilet paper. I opened the door a smidge, covered my eyes with one hand and blindly threw in the roll of toilet paper. After 3 botched attempts and several “I can’t believe this is my life! I told you to always refill the toilet paper when you use the last!"s later, I decided he owes me. Big time.
There are many wonderful things about living in New York: incredible restaurants, renowned museums, amazing nightlife, reliable public transportation, and countless opportunities to educate, improve, and entertain yourself. You might have noticed one omission from that list: the New York rental market.
A little known fact about me is that I’m a crazy tea fanatic. I have a cupboard, in fact, dedicated solely to my collection of fancy teas. Pure teas, blended teas, green, black, white, red. You name it, I got it. So naturally, when we went to Thailand, I felt it my duty to drink a Thai Iced Tea at least once a day. Which I did, until one day (on one of our many 102 degree, humid, marathon temple-going days) I nearly passed out. Turns out super sweet Thai iced tea on an empty stomach is maybe not the best way to regulate your blood sugar. After that, I scaled back and stuck to moderation. But naturally, when I saw some Thai iced tea mix at the local market, I felt compelled to buy it…to complete my collection, of course.
Dear friends and followers, I have exciting news. I quit my job, up and left my cosy, quaint apartment in San Francisco and am living a thrilling life in New York after a whirlwind adventure throughout Thailand and Singapore. See? I always deliver.
I’m a big lug. Like, really. I have no stamina whatsoever. One time I decided I would be a runner since so many people seem to love it. And after a month of abject misery (a.k.a. training), I worked my way up to .8 miles. Another time I went to spin class and halfway through I literally started passing out.
I live in a luxuriously big apartment. So big in fact that we have a “study” (which is really Boyfriend’s man cave) and a completely unnecessary but totally delightful tent room (which is obviously my room). BUT when my parents come to town all 1,000 square feet begin to feel a bit cramped.
So I’ve recently discovered that I actually love cream puffs. You’re probably thinking “DUH, I could have told you cream puffs are friggin’ amazing.” I guess I had never really given them a chance, but once I got a few bites in, I was sold. Those delicate little pastry puffs filled with fancy creamy goodness always seemed way beyond my baking expertise. But recently I had a hankering for cream puffs, so I gave it a go.