Hey, do you remember when I found that bar cart at an estate sale for ten bucks and had my husband stand there with his hand on it—like those Keep Your Hand On The Car competitions they used to have at state fairs, except with fewer deep-fried Twinkies—so that I could run and find someone to give me a price on it before another bargain hunter bought it first?
It is not, perhaps, my most noble goal, but one of the things I've always wanted to do is to throw a New Year's Eve party. I know, I know; some people have long-held dreams of running marathons and writing novels, but for me, it seems, the pinnacle of achievement is wearing a sparkly dress, hoisting aloft a bacon-wrapped date, and toasting the impending year underneath half a dozen handmade tissue pompoms.
What, it's not like I'm proud.
Sometime around this time last year, I made a committed decision to try and read two books a month. Two books a month? you're thinking. That's child's play! Why, I read two books before I've even had breakfast in the morning, and then I read a third while I'm brushing my teeth.
(You're not really thinking that, are you? And how many times have you accidentally splattered your toothpaste on the pages? Do you wear a bib when you do this? You're crazy, man.)
Look, I didn't think it would happen either. I didn't think anything would replace my beloved Cover Girl Lipslicks in Daring, which I have written about here and here, and which I fully believe looks fabulous on anyone.
I spent the second half of last week in Salt Lake City, first for the Alt Design Summit—which was wonderful and inspiring and full of people far more fashionably dressed than I will ever be in my life—and then for a quick two-day ski trip, during which I decided that I do not particularly like skiing. Here is the thing about skiing, see: you are cold a lot. You fall down a lot. You wear unflattering clothing that goes swish-swish-swish when you walk.
Alright, let's settle this once and for all: what mascara do you use?
One of the things I've always wanted in my house—and forgive me for my silly aspirations; you might want an original Saarinen but I aim a lot lower and dream a lot smaller, apparently—is a sunburst mirror.