I'm sure it comes as no surprise that one of the things I'm most looking forward to about moving into our first house---seriously, a house, with things like (gasp!) a staircase and an office, and yes, these things are such novelties that the italics are totally required---is all the redecorating we're going to get to do.
Did you ever see my living room in Charleston? It looked like this:
Oh, I have so much to tell you about! I don't even know where to start. First of all, I'm back from London, which I guess is probably obvious, though I did not escape without doing something majorly embarrassing in front of all my fellow countrymen and also a few Americans too.
You guys, I'm sorry, but I think this is the best thing on television. Well, actually it's not really on television here (unless you have BBC America and don't mind starting on season three), but take it from me: it's hilarious.
I cannot abide a seat kicker. Seat kickers should be strung up by their seatbelts and forced to watch Bride Wars repeatedly on a flickering screen the size of a postage stamp. Seat kickers should be force-fed six dollar "breakfast snack packs" until the bile rises in their throats after one too many slices of Hormel meat.
Internet, I have loved living in this apartment, I really have. I've loved the hardwood floors and the big, breezy rooms and the original crown molding and the checkered tile in the bathroom, and I have really, really, really loved the dishwasher, but today someone put a bag of cocaine into the panel of our intercom system and Internet, I think that's the universe's way of saying "you've booked your movers for June 24th, you say? Not a moment too soon!"
Last week, I took a whirlwind 36-hour trip to Oklahoma to film a video for BlogHer at the Pioneer Woman's ranch. I wasn't sure what to expect: of Oklahoma, of the Pioneer Woman, of her ranch, or even of Karen, with whom I was going to be shooting the video and---way more awkwardly---sharing a two-hour car journey from the airport. But guess what?
Oh, snap! That was a bit of a misleading title, because as it turns out, I don't actually have any. Moving sucks, and we are right in the middle of the suckitude, and I mean smack bang right in the eye of it. And I know the next thing you're going to say is "well, wait until you do it with kids!" but here's the thing: I kind of am a kid when it comes to moving. I procrastinate and sigh heavily and throw bedsheets into boxes with cereal bowls and I'm constantly asking are we there yet? are we there yet?
There are many things for which I strongly believe I have now become too old. Those really short tiered skirts, for instance, or overnight music festivals where you have to camp in a field. I am also, at thirty, too old for standing in bars. I’d like to sit, please, if that’s okay. Could you move your beer for me, young whippersnapper? I need a place to put my Metamucil-laced glass of sherry. And my false teeth.
So I have this bathroom in my new house. That's a good start, right? All houses should have a bathroom, I think. Call me crazy! Anyway, despite what I have rather dramatically suggested above, this bathroom isn't quite the bathroom of doom, but it sure ain't particularly pretty either.
So we've all heard of Groupon, right? I've become a little obsessed with Groupon, if we're honest. While I couldn't seem to get into Gilt or Ideeli or any of those fancy clothes shopping sites, there was a time earlier this year when I bought a Groupon almost every week. Oh, alright, almost every day.