I read four books this quarter. I didn’t even complete half of my goal of ten books. But, you know what I did do?
I hung out with my closest friends. I behaved like I was ten years old. I leaped off boats under a scorching sun and into cool waters. I made juvenile jokes and laughed at them myself. I drank Shiraz and woke up at eleven in the morning with pounding headaches. I drank champagne and woke up at eleven in the morning with pounding headaches. I drank rosé all day. I went to sleep when the sun came up. I forgot sunblock when I went stand-up paddle-boarding and didn’t worry once about crow’s feet. I made my friends laugh and got sore stomach muscles from laughing at their jokes. I skipped the mani and pedi. I spent twenty minutes on my winged eyeliner and eye shadow. I went four consecutive days without checking the news. I wore six-inch heels. I walked barefoot on wet grass and hot sand. I ate authentic Italian food and saw centuries-old art. I spoke in French. I cried. I volunteered. I committed. I swam at midnight. I ran at dawn. I test-drove a Lamborghini. I sailed a boat.
I did all the things you can’t do while you’re reading ten books.
I just spent an hour and a half reviewing makeup on Sephora’s website. Turns out when I’ve had a glass or two (or three) of wine at 2pm in the afternoon, I really like to give my opinion on all the things. If you’re wondering, YSL’s Touche Eclat brightening pen did nothing for my under-eye circles after a night of drinking. Nothing.
Aside from that, I’m having quite a miserable day of unyielding allergy symptoms, and I’m torn on wanting April to pass to get rid of these allergies and wanting to remain in a month in Atlanta that isn’t unbearably hot. I don’t do well with sweltering weather and humidity. It’s bleak for me. But then again, I used to really like winter temperatures, and now I can’t even handle that. If I’m snowboarding or skiing–yes. If I’m minding my own business trying to get to work at 7am–no. Guys–just give me 65 degrees year-round, okay? I think that’s comfortable.
Oh, man. I’ve had so much wine that I don’t even know how I’ve reached the topic of weather. Onward.
At the top of the year, I made a goal to read forty books this year. That’s ten books per quarter. That seems ambitious, right? But that was after I talked myself down from fifty-two books for the year. One book per week. I mean, that’s pretty unrealistic, right? And then I had the argument with myself that I used to churn out book after book when I was ten years old. A book per day or every other day when I was in fifth grade. On summer break. This is how irrational the conversations I have with myself are. Like…I’m holding myself to practices I utilized when I was ten? Maybe I want to make sure I store my Barbies away really neatly, too.
Guys…I don’t have Barbies anymore. I also don’t have unlimited time to read books, though I’d like to! So forty per year is what I believe is a fair but challenging goal. Currently, I’m on my twelfth book: T is for Transformation by Shaun T. I love Shaun T. I wouldn’t say I’m a Stan. But I am a fan. See how good I am with the slang, still? Hashtag: young.
I typically don’t like books about people’s personal accounts of abuse and trauma. I still don’t. To be honest, I kinda skip the parts that are too heavy. I’m a lightweight about those things. I mean, it’s hard enough to deal with my own baggage and not become entirely hardened without reading about someone else’s. I consider this a personality flaw. I should be able to take in others’ life experiences without becoming angry or depressed, I think. Sometimes I’m able to. Other times…I’m working on it.
I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m reading Shaun T’s T is for Transformation, and I’m really inspired by it. I’ll let you know how it goes.
You know what’s weird? How you get really used to autocorrect while texting, and then you write on a blogging platform that doesn’t correct your mistakes. Apologies in advance. Maybe learn from my mistakes and don’t have three glasses of wine at lunch.
Do you know how much a toilet costs? No–a good toilet. A lot more than you’d expect to pay for something you poop in, let me tell you. My feeling is that the only toilet worth five hundred dollars is a toilet that I don’t have to clean–a self-cleaning toilet, if you will. But according to the folks at Home Depot, “that kind of toilet doesn’t exist,” and according to Lowe’s, “You’re probably thinking of a housekeeper, girl.” But am I? I’ve had a lot of wine, but I think I still know the difference between a self-cleaning toilet and a housekeeper. One of those options a housekeeper doesn’t have to clean. Also–me. I don’t have to clean it either.
Anyway. There is such a thing as a self-cleaning toilet, but it costs more than $500, and I don’t really trust that it’s self-cleaning. Like…am I really not going to clean my toilet? Ever? That sounds like a set-up.
You know how you’re twelve and you’re lounging in the backyard daydreaming of all the ways being an adult would be amazing? Then twenty years later you actually become an adult, and you spend a good portion of your weekly paycheck on silk pillowcases to prevent crow’s feet AND come to the realization that the rest of your paycheck will have to eventually go a self-cleaning toilet that you will still have to clean?
No one prepped me for this part of adulthood.
Also, it’s been more than two years and I still don’t know all the French words. WTF.
Here’s a little-known fact about me: I make the best breakfast burrito in Georgia. I know that I don’t know everyone in Georgia, so I can’t really say with certainty, but—I MAKE THE BEST BREAKFAST BURRITO IN GEORGIA. Maybe even in the southeast. Also, Chicago.
Most people don’t know this about me because I only make breakfast burritos for certain people and at certain times. Like when I want to impress men’s family members with my cooking skills. Or when I want to spoil loved ones on their birthdays with unforgettable, perfectly seasoned deliciousness. Or on Sundays when I invite people over for brunch and want to appear to be a fully functioning adult.
As a teenager, I had a friend, Valerie, who was of Mexican ethnicity. When I would sleep over at her house, I always helped her make breakfast in the morning, and she taught me how to make what is the best breakfast burrito you’ve ever put in your mouth. Seriously, it’s the best. The only reason I don’t say that I make the best breakfast burrito in the United States is because Valerie makes the best ones. And her mom. And her sisters. Even her brother. But then me. They taught me everything I know. Aside from her family, I also make the best Mexican hot chocolate and huevos rancheros.
Guys… I hope all of this bragging didn’t mistakenly lead you to believe that I was going to share Valerie’s recipe with you. Because…no. It’s mine. I can’t give up the “best breakfast burrito in certain parts of the U.S.” throne. I can’t and I shan’t. If you did think that, though, thank you so much for believing that I’m capable of such selflessness. It’s been a while since someone has had that level of faith in me. Anyway, you guys have your fancy lasagnas and family mac and cheese recipes. LET ME HAVE THIS!
It ain’t Valerie’s, but this recipe from Chowhound will get you very close. Enjoy! And only make it for those who deserve it!
Unless you’ve spent the days leading up to Christmas with me, it’s impossible to grasp just how much I love this holiday. I love buying and wrapping gifts. I love going to Christmas parties. I love Christmas decorations, watching Home Alone, being around friends and family, eggnog (and Bailey’s!), snow, trying to cook, Christmas music, playing games, everything! I. Love. Christmas.
I’ve been to five holiday parties this month. That’s five times I’ve put on real clothes and makeup and left my house. Willingly. That’s huge for someone who spends January through November weekends like this:
And those five times don’t even include my birthday party, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and New Years Eve! Guys…December is my month.
I hope all of you have happy, laughter-filled holidays rife with cocktails, cookies, loved-ones, and Kevin McCallister.
Joyeux Noël !
Joyeuse Fête de Hanoucca !
And if, by any chance, you still want to brave making mousse au chocolate, here’s a great recipe.