On Saturday morning, I got back to San Francisco from Chile, via a brief two-hour detour in Peru, where I'd been delayed until 2:30am and had sent out a series of awkwardly desperate messages on Facebook Chat to various friends and family members I was trying to engage in conversation in the middle of the night.
Are you going to BlogHer? I think we should have a drink together. That's if you want to have a drink with me, of course. Me, I'd love to have a drink with you: I think we could have some pretty good conversations about Tim Riggins if left in a room together with a bottle of wine, although if you switched the topic to nuclear engineering or sixteenth century Renaissance poetry halfway through, I guess I'd probably try and keep up. Don't expect too much, though; I'm much better talking about fictional television characters.
One of the things that’s been so thrilling about moving into our own house---apart from the fact that we can finally justify buying one of those awesome metal tape measures; you know, the kind that you can pull out really far and then snap back with a satisfying zhhhhhrppppp---is the knowledge that we can paint the walls any color we like. Sure, we painted a couple of rooms in our old apartment, but they were safe, small spaces---the bathroom, the hallway---that we could whitewash back to rent-friendly conditions the weekend before we moved out.
Think of some things that give you a sinking feeling. Here, I'll help you out: pouring yourself a nice cup of coffee and discovering you're out of half and half. Shutting the front door behind you and realizing you've forgotten your keys. Getting ready to pay the taxi driver in rush hour in the middle of Manhattan and not being able to find your wallet in your purse. Ooh, did that last one make you shiver with horror? Welcome to last Thursday night!
Am I the only person who chooses paint colors based on their names? I mean, I can’t be, right? Judging by all the suggestions you guys gave me for my bedroom walls last week, I’m not the only one won over by the wonderful-sounding Birdsong Blue, the evocative Wet Pavement, or the whimsical Roaming Pony. Must be the word nerd in me, because I do this with nail polish too: ah, Sweet Aubergine sounds so delightful, who cares if my new manicure makes me look like I’ve slammed my hand in the car door?
Man, it’s non-stop excitement up in this joint. Two weeks ago, you suggested a wealth of paint color options for the boring white-walled bedroom in our very first home, then we narrowed them down together to six possible shades. This week, I’m going to show you which color Sean and I have chosen, announce the winner of last week’s Lowe’s gift card, give away another Lowe’s gift card, and show you a sneak peek of the room in progress. We’re getting there, Internet, I promise.
To see which color we ended up choosing, read on...
Your eyes do not deceive you, I do indeed have a new website. Well, not a new website; more like a gently and professionally buffed-up one. A redesign, I believe the kids are calling it, though I prefer to call it a small cosmetic surgery: the equivalent of calf implants, perhaps. Just a little boost!
I know it sounds like I can't shut up about my new commute---I've only been doing it for a few weeks and I've already written about it here and here---but there's a part of it I enjoy more than any other part, and it's this: the seven seconds it takes me to walk up the stairs from the underground platform to the slightly-less-underground station. (I have vowed to always take the stairs, see, instead of the escalator.
Internet, welcome to the fourth and final week of my month-long makeover, wherein I’m painting the walls of our bland and boring bedroom in our very first home and transforming it—if all goes according to plan---into a room that’s sophisticated, comfortable, and just a little bit rock n’roll.
First of all, thank you so very much for all the lovely comments and compliments on our bedroom makeover. I read and relished every single one---even the one from the person who said it looked like a jail cell! Yes, even that one!---and it filled me with a particularly bubbly sort of glee that you were as delighted with the revamp as we were. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your enthusiasm. I'd invite you all over for a celebratory drink, but aside from the logistical difficulties---plus the offchance that one of you is actually a mass murderer---it would probably be rather awkward for you to have to ask for the time off work so you could fly across the country to clink glasses of champagne in the bedroom of an Internet person you've never met. I mean, right?
One of the nice things about marrying a person you've known for six hundred bajillion years is that there's a pretty good chance his parents still live in the town where you met. My parents used to live there too, of course, which makes any visit back an exercise in fitful nostalgia. There's your old house, says Sean as we drive past it, and I crane my neck to peer into the kitchen. That's where my brother and sister used to wait for the school bus. There's the store where we bought our bread and our milk.
On Sunday night, I packed for a three-day business trip in ten minutes flat. Those are some good stats, my friends, and I didn't even forget anything crucial, like underwear or lipgloss. I've been traveling a lot this summer---mostly for work, but sometimes for fun---and I've managed to get the packing process down to a fine art. I could do it with my eyes closed. In fact, maybe next time I will. Oh, is that a challenge? Do I hear a challenge? Fine, next time I'll do it with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back. In seven minutes, how about that.
