Back in the Trenches

Another day, another dollar, kids. My life as a barefoot, carefree, wind in my hair Malibu-an was not to be. Georgia Power called and said, “Bitch, don’t try us.”

Also, in a moment of profound insanity, I promised my friend’s kids (ten and eleven) that I would take them to Six Flags (among other idiotic promises I can’t believe I made) on their spring break, which started on Saturday. Although I am the queen of canceling plans, there’s no way I could or would do that to children. If you’ve ever been a disappointed kid, you know how it feels. So I took the little jerks to Six Flags, and it wasn’t as heinous as I thought it was going to be. The lines weren’t that long and the kids were funny enough and the weather was pretty pleasant. Aside from spending a bazillion dollars on hamburgers, it was a fun day.

On Sunday I steam-cleaned my floors to prepare for my upcoming move, and I was able to coax them into a little child labor in exchange for some ice cream and Ariana Grande. This magical combo doesn’t just work on kids, though. I’m also highly likely to do most things if Rocky Road and Ariana Grande are involved. Tomorrow, I promised to take them swimming at Chastain Park, and I just… I don’t remember why I made these promises! Was I drunk?! In a really optimistic mood?! I think because when I made them April seemed so far away that it was almost in the abstract. Well, April’s here and it’s time for me to pay up, I guess. It’s really not that bad except for the initial realization that I have to get out of bed and put on pants on my day off. Everything else after that is a breeze. But public pools? God help me.

Okay, I’ve gotta get back to work. Much to my chagrin, electricity ain’t free.

Bisous !

This Weekend In Malibu

Chrissy Teigen has highlighted Instastories of her cooking recipes in semi real-time from her cookbook. I made the pan-seared fish this weekend. I followed it step by step, and my fish (sea bass) turned out beautifully. It was perfect. Like an actual chef had cooked the dinner.  I’m not the kinda girl to brag, but… My sea bass could be served in restaurants. I don’t think that’s bragging as much as it is just plain, ol’ facts. I substituted garlic & basil butter (from Whole Foods) instead of plain butter, but that’s the only thing I changed. If you like to cook and you’re not following Chrissy Teigen on Instagram, what are you even doing? She is single-handedly responsible for taking my cooking game from a seven to an eight. I’m at an eight, guys.  With some dishes anyway.

This past weekend we drove to Malibu and stayed at an AirBnB for the weekend. It was picturesque and relaxing. I don’t really think of myself as a city girl because I’m happiest and most relaxed barefoot and away from people. But… But I need to be close to the action. And I think that the distance from L.A. to Malibu is just right. When we used to visit my grandma every summer in small town Mississippi during my childhood, I don’t think I ever put on shoes. And my cousins and I used to beg my grandma to let us ride in the bed of her pickup truck, which of course is illegal now. I mean–I know that some of that was just the ridiculousness of youth, but–I still don’t care for shoes much. I’m just a country girl who likes the city sometimes! Malibu would be perfect for the rest of my life if the weather was colder during the winter. Also if it were cheaper.

Spring in Malibu is something special, though. The Bae and I went sailing, and although he was loathe to get on a boat with me as the lone sailor, he knew that it was best to at least pretend that he believed in my sailing skills if he wanted a conflict-free weekend.

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Guys, I took sailing lessons for like three years as a kid in Chicago. And again for another couple of summers as an adult in Chicago. CHICAGO IS ALL ABOUT SAILING IN THE SUMMER. I’m very good. Even better than I am at parallel parking. You can trust me.

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Wear your life jacket, though! #trustbutverify

Last weekend, I also binge-watched the entire season of Selling Sunset on Netflix. It’s a reality show about realtors in L.A. selling multi-million dollar properties. I usually hate most reality shows, but this one was catty without being too catty. Ya know? Like the perfect amount of drama combined with stunning and jaw-dropping real estate. I happily consumed every second, and now I want more. Who knows when they’ll drop the second season, though. I’ve been patiently waiting for the next season of Narcos, and…nothing!

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Talk soon, kids! Bisous!

What I Did Do

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.

Buenos Días

 

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!