I'm Too Sexy

As I slowly woke from my afternoon nap, I realized that my legs were dripping sweat. And as someone who avoids all rigorous activity, it's weird in my world when my legs sweat. The last time my calves were this wet, I was fooling myself into thinking I could do bikram yoga. Soaking wet, my pajama bottoms were clinging to me and my shirt was plastered as a second skin. My hair clung to the back of my neck. I think all this means my fever has broken. Spiking at 102.6 this morning, I am now, thanks to my damp sheets, at a cool 101.9 and I think it can only lower from here. In the meantime, I'm going to take yet another bath, pretend to eat, and go back to bed.

You know what the worst part is, other than the fatigue? This lackluster inability to do ANYthing. I look around my room from the vantage point of my bed, and I think, 'I should hang up the clothes on the back of the couch. And pick up the dust bunnies attacking the cords under the computer. Oh, and vacuum up all that dirt I spilled on my floor when I was indoor gardenening.' But I got nothin', people. NOTHIN'.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've been out of bed for a record fifteen minutes and everything in me is screaming to get back in.

I hope to post again soon. Kisses.

THIS. IS. AWESOME.

Holy sh*t, friends, I know this is a cop-out of a post given my nigh-two weeks of non-posting, but this was sent to me today and it's my new favorite site. EVER. The guy actually uses phrases like 'advanced white people.'

If you have not already discovered this (perhaps this is one of those 'I'm the last to know' situations), please go there now, and be prepared to wet your Depends.

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

K is for Kite / on Marina Green

K is for Kites
on Marina Green,
where all the kites go
when they want to be seen.

It's like a kite dance club,
a discoteque in the sky,
the kites dipping and diving
and soaring so high.

And While We're on the Subject...

Can someone PLEASE tell me why adults can't buy footy-pajamas with little frogs as the booties? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? IS IT? No wonder so many people are depressed, is all I'm gonna say.

On Dogsitting the Nut

This is Peanut, also known as The Nut. He's the one I almost impaled with an imaginary spear last weekend when I mistook his midnight presence for a warthog. Oops.

One of the best parts about watching the Nut, other than a warm body in my bed hogging the pillows like oh so many boyfriends of yesteryear, is where he resides: the Loft. The Loft is a place I like to fancy my own while I'm dogsitting. I sprawl out on the huge expanse of sofa, a sofa the likes of which one could not even fit up my stairs, let alone through the World's Narrowest Doorway leading to the World's Smallest Living Room, and luxuriate in my surroundings.

At the Loft, where the huge, two-story, floor-to-ceiling windows grace my chic, lounging figure with sunlight and warmth, I command the Nut to bring Mother a drink. I am Urban, I tell him, and I am Hip. I own a LOFT and as someone so young and sleek and rich and good-looking, the LEAST I deserve is to have a DRINK brought to me. The Nut just looks at me, like, "RIGHT. All over that." Something else he has in common with the boyfriends of yesteryear. Then he immediately goes back to his ever-occupying hobby of throwing his bone in the air. He's usually just relieved that I'm not spinning in circles in my socks on the polished concrete floors, singing 'I am sixteen, going on seventeen!' or hanging over the balcony belting out the entire score of My Fair Lady. Although I'm not gonna lie: if I bribe him with a treat, he'll do a pretty good Professor Higgins.

Timothy and Cameron's First Photo Shoot (by me, that is)

Tonight I met Cameron and Timothy for the first time. Timothy was sweet and sleeping the duration of my visit, making for an easy portrait session composed of one pose that he NAILED. Way to stick your landing, little guy!:


I also like this one, which I feel shows the perspective of baby-size to crib-size:

I really can't wait to photograph him again when he's awake. I'm gonna go to TOWN with that gorgeous face.

As for Cameron: either I have insanely large manhands, or she is the tiniest baby girl in all the land:

And can I please point out their porcelain skin, their even coloring, their beautiful half-Korean, half-Carolinan features? I swear I see babies in strollers every day that are like splotchy little aliens and whoa, sorry about that, no bueno.

Then you've got a baby like this, only five days old. Talk about raising the bar:

Valentine's Babies

Timothy and Cameron are here!! I can't possibly describe my excitement at getting to meet them. Can you believe that these little people were INSIDE A BELLY just a week ago? How crazy is that?? And I am SO relieved that we did Sara's belly-photo-shoot on Sunday and didn't put it off another week, because come Valentine's morning, they were OUTTA there!

This is a pix-message the parents sent me of Cameron:



And Timothy!


You HAVE to go to their blog and check out the photos.

A Red Letter Day

Scent of Water Photo Swap 2, originally uploaded by Providence Handmade.

Friday heralded two pieces of mail that made my freakin' day. One was a Valentine from my gramma with a five dollar bill taped inside. I LOVE my gramma's annual five-dollar valentine. It's a recent upgrade from the dollar-bill valentine that I got all the way through college. Apparently she's taken into account San Francisco's cost of living. And even BETTER than the bill I instantly and excitedly pulled off the card? The note underneath: "love you the most." There you have it, folks. A truth I've suspected my entire life, in writing: I am my grandmother's favorite. I felt like sending a mass email to my entire family: "I'M THE FAVORITE, JUST SO YOU KNOW." But then I opted to post it on the world wide web, instead. You know, keepin' it discreet as a good Gramma's Favorite would do. I think I also need to make a t-shirt so that people know how to treat me. And a coffee mug. I definitely need a 'Gramma's Favorite' coffee mug...

The second item of KICK *SS MAIL were two photos from a complete stranger who I now want to be my very best friend (Deee, you will LOVE her). This stranger got my mailing address because we were both participants of a photo swap (theme: 'simplicity'). And I am SO GLAD Stephanie (you like how I just dropped her name all casual-like, like we're best friends? Just tryin' it on, rollin' it around...) got my name, because I was more than a little worried that a bad photographer would get my name and I would receive a picture of someone's heel or dog or desk at work.

But I got these! And I'm not gonna lie: I am the luckiest girl in the WORLD. And you know what else is super sweet? In her accompanying card, she writes that she hopes they aren't smudged because her little guy touched them. And dangit, I LOVE IT THAT HER LITTLE GUY TOUCHED THEM. They weren't smudged in the slightest, but even if they were, knowing that somewhere across America there was a picture drying for me and someone's little person decided to grab it, well SHOOT. It's like icing on the cake. A total baby benediction.

So now I'm totally blog-stalking her, right, as one does when they're in love, and seriously? THE WOMAN IS RIDICULOUSLY TALENTED. She's made pillows for her couch and a custom suitcase for her little girl and oh? you want a shirt with a birdy on it? let me applique you one! and then there are the cookies and the photos (OH THE PHOTOS!) and my head is going to explode with adoration for this woman. How can ANYbody do all this?! And with children?!

I wonder if she would make me a 'Gramma's Favorite' apron or picture frame...

Lord of the Flies

So I'm dogsitting right now, and last night I slept so hard I forgot where I was. I forgot I wasn't in my bed, I forgot there was a small dog in the bed next to me, I forgot that wasn't my pillow that I was humping.

And then in the middle of this sleep, the dog snorted and shifted.

Had I remembered where I was, this tiny innocuous sound would not even have disturbed my slumber. But as it was, I woke up and my heart stopped.

Instantly I thought THERE IS AN ANIMAL IN MY ROOM LARGER THAN A BREADBOX. I seriously--seriously--thought there was a warthog in my room. And that it was going to attack me. I started groping next to my bed for my imaginary spear. I was about to get all Lord of the Flies on my new shuffling friend. Or all "Oklahoma," as it were.

And then the window shades of my mind snapped open. And my invisible hog turned into a white, fluffy dog curled up against the back of my legs. And my heart resumed its beating.

Good thing I couldn't find that spear.

Try not to be jealous, ladies...

But I'm spending Valentine's Day with Mr. Fantastic. That's right: Mr. Fantastic. This lovely valentine came my way via the sweetest little seven-year-old in all the land, the son of my coworker Monica. Monica, of the 'african-american persuasion,' always gives me messages from him, referring to him as my little brown boy. Today it was "Your little brown boy has a Valentine for you!" My little brown boy spent every morning last summer on my lap while he waited to go to summer camp. Although I'm not gonna lie--I think watching me work IS like summer camp.

Please meet Mr. Fantastic. The world's most perfect boyfriend. Look at those dark, dreamy curls, those unnaturally long arms... * swoon *

Words to Live By

I realized Monday that Valentine's Day was coming up and I HAD NO HEART STICKERS. How can anybody make it through V-Day without heart stickers?? An emergency Japantown run was called, and Wendy my panda was summoned.

Fifty dollars and an hour later, I was being handed a bag full of paper and stickers and notepads. I don't know what happened. I swear I blacked out. As I was coming to, I heard Wendy squeak, "Look at those business card holders!" Inside the glass case at the register, my new reason for living was sitting on a cushion waiting for my loving arms to take it home. It was wonderful, it was poorly- translated English, it was intended to be motivational and yet fell incredibly short of the mark. In short: it was me in the form of a tiny metal container.

Bright orange with a rooster sketched on it, it spoke wisdom: "We cannot fly, but we can walk as much as we want."

And I don't know about you, but that inspires me beyond comprehension. I feel that in a life full of disappointment and failure and lost opportunity, there's something to be said for lowering the bar. Forget that spreading your wings nonsense. Just hit the pavement. And keep walking.

*Please note that I couldn't justify buying yet another gift for myself, nor could Wendy, so we decided to buy each other's new card holders and then exchange them as gifts right there on the spot. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Writing for One

"That's the secret of how to enjoy writing and how to make yourself meet high standards. You don't write for the whole world, and you don't write for ten people, or two. You write for just one person. I don't put anything down on paper [my one] wouldn't find interesting and truthful." -Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard

Selling My Office

Sometimes you're given an awful task at work. Like, "Clean out the Bid Room." You're instructed to clean it out because the Powers that Be are going to be remodeling it soon, and it cannot be remodeled without some major housecleaning. And who better to clean out the company's biggest junk drawer than Go-Getter-Rona?

So you walk in this room that resembles a giant living and breathing junk drawer, very Heart of Darkness, and you're confronted with boxes and boxes of WHAT THE HECK IS THAT? There are calculators from a prehistoric age, there are architectural drawings from 1982, there are empty cabinets and torn chairs and OH THE DUST. WHO CAN SEE ANYTHING BENEATH THE DUST?

You are in charge of deciding what goes and what stays. And if you are me, EVERYTHING goes. But you also know that as soon as you decide to toss something, its owner is going to wander into the Junk Room in three months and go, "Where's my monitor stand?? I left it right here under this box of yellowing paper!"

And so you decide to sell everything in the room. Think "Office Yard Sale." You dive in, spend an hour on your hands and knees pulling everything out, and then you photograph it. And then you post every item in a company-wide email, charging five cents for every treasure.

Here's what went out:

"I’ve been put in charge of the Bid Room Cleanout. And while my instinct as a compulsive cleaner is ‘put everything in the trash,’ I’m reminded of the old adage “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Not to mention some of this stuff may actually BELONG to somebody. (Obviously not a devoted parent given the stages of neglect, but hey, we all forget our offspring at daycare once in a while.)

So we’re having a Bid Room Yard Sale! Naturally the legitimate owner gets first dibs, but if nobody speaks up, each item below is on sale for five cents. That’s right, folks! One shiny nickel. So dig deep in your pockets, see how much you can buy with that jingling change, and peruse the wares below! Please note that any item not purchased will either be tossed, recycled, or stored away appropriately.

You have until next Monday to claim your prize. Should multiple bids arrive on any given item, the winner will be decided on a first-come, first-serve basis. Please reply only to me, not to ‘all,’ as the entire office may be alarmed by what you deem worthy of claiming.

Let the Sale begin!

Item 1: This is an unopened alphabetical expandable file! Before it gets banished to the office supply closet (a.k.a., the Orphanage), I thought I would give it a chance to be adopted into a good home. If you find yourself often sorting your piles in A-B-C order, this could be your tool!

Item 2: This is an exciting binder about Advanced Moisture Control! If you are the owner, nab it now! Otherwise this thing will easily sell itself!

Item 3: This is a lovely cushioned wrist guard for all those strenuous hours spent at your computer! Please note that it is intended for use on keyboard trays and does not sit flat on a desktop. Remember, carpal tunnel is not a video game: it’s a serious ailment.

Item 4: Feel like your plans are getting a little lazy and crowding your desk? Well, stand them up straight and keep them organized with this handy (possibly broken) impromptu plan holder! I’ve also seen two more lurking in the hallway by the Orphanage, so if you miss your chance with this one, there may be some others available!

Item 5: This handy piece of furniture can double as a file cabinet or a bassinet! And it comes with a free file tray/pillow!

Item 6: Ever throw a party and realize that you don’t have enough seating for everyone? Well, for the bargain price of a shiny nickel, you can invite one more friend over! Don’t let this ergonomic treasure slip away!

Item 7: Looking for a desk for that new home office? Want to give your kids a nice place to do their homework at night? Then buy now! Containing very few sharp edges, this desk is a modern design treasure.

Item 8: Not enough filing space in your cubicle? Want to get organized without breaking the bank? Perhaps you’re a supervisor and one of your employees has been whining lately about wanting more space? Well, here’s your chance to fulfill a dream! This two-drawer lateral cabinet is primed and ready to go. The high bidder also gets free paint submittals!

Item 9: Another trusty calculator on sale, this one comes in a sleek gray model, complete with a dusting of sediment carbon-dated back to 1982!

Item 10: Looking for just that right black metal bookcase to complete that cozy home library? We may have what you’re looking for! Act now! (Please note: books not included.)

Item 11: This box was labeled “Hardware Junk Drawer,” but I beg to differ! There’s nothing junk-like about THIS assortment of goodies! And no, I’m not charging five cents per item—you get the whole box!

Item 12: I’m not sure exactly what this contraption is, but according to the directions, it is easy to assemble! So if your hobbies ever included building model airplanes or constructing lego castles, this could be the toy for you!

Item 13: This is what we call a ‘five-fer’: five for the price of one! That comes to one cent each! You can’t pass this opportunity up! (Please note: the collection can be split up, but the price of an individual item will be two cents instead of one. A girl’s gotta make a living, you know.)

Item 14: When I saw this box of dinner-mint colored foam, I have to admit I felt my heart quicken in anticipation. What could be hiding in its mysterious depths?? And then I found it: a disk offering 50 free hours of America Online! It was like a dream come true. Don’t delay--this is going to go fast!

Item 15: Here we have a big black storage container! It’s great for holding things and in the dark it’s invisible! Can YOUR storage containers do that?

Item 16: This calculator was lurking in the depths, but don’t let its introverted nature scare you off! This one has accumulated sediment dating back to Pompeii, which locks down the five cent selling price. While appearing broken, don’t let this fool you: it can also be used as a paperweight or a doorstop!

Please respond immediately with the number of the item you would like to have. I will require the shiny nickel to hold your purchase, but financing can be arranged."



And the best part of this is? THESE ITEMS ARE SELLING LIKE HOTCAKES. And I'm leavin' work tonight with four jaunty nickels in my pockets.

Who Says We Don't Exist?

In an act of unconscious sabotage, my recent business cards came back with my name listed as 'Sharon Sebly.' I don't know how well you know me, or how detail-oriented you are, so I will go ahead and tell you what is wrong with this: NEITHER OF THOSE NAMES ARE CORRECT. That is not my first nor my surname. So I was forced* to bring my personal cards to last Thursday's architect party. My personal cards have me listed as a Designer of paper-mache birds for a fictional paper-mache bird-making company. I cannot tell you the name of this fictional company as I can imagine a half-dozen architects googling the name of it soon and I'd rather them not be directed here.

Deee and I created this company (let's call it WUBs) when we went through our paper-mache bird-making phase. We are of course still willing to create our birds based on commission, but given the labor of love and alcohol that goes into these and the consequent price markup for the buyer, we're on a current sabbatical.

Now cue a room full of fabulous architects, known for high-end commercial and residential interiors. And this particular party was an awards party for the best of the best, so we're not schmoozing small-time here. Now cue Rona handing out cards indicating that SHE DESIGNS PAPER MACHE BIRDS FOR A LIVING. Talk about a ruckus. They ate it UP. They were INTRIGUED. They wanted to know if we made OTHER animals. I told one probing architect, "Well, we were THINKING about doing cows, but if you really pay attention, lobsters are soooooo going to be the next hot design animal. But can you IMAGINE paper-mache'ing a lobster claw? Not gonna happen. But COWS! Cows we can do." He nods earnestly, "Right, RIGHT!"

Another architect, Mr. X of a recently merged X-Y Architects, wanted to know how BIG our birds are. "Oh, about this big," I say, circling my hands into the shape of a baseball. He persists: "Can you make them THIS big?" He circles his hands into the size of a small Volvo. "No, they're really at their best about this size," I reply, re-circling my hands into the shape of a baseball. "NO," he repeats with the confidence born of a man who owns his own company, "Can you make them THIS big?" He re-circles his hands into the size of a watermelon. "Yes, THAT we can do." He nods in satisfaction, as though we have just bargained the price of a car down: "That's what I thought."

Others wanted to know if they were free standing ("we make wire legs for them") or if they just sort of squatted. Some were thinking they'd make good gifts, others were inquiring as to where they would see our work on display. "Do you do retail?" "We could do retail. Right now we're more into high-end residential**."

I feel like I just did some kind of bizarre market research. So I'm just gonna say, if you're thinking about launching a business but aren't sure about the audience, DO EXACTLY WHAT I DID. Put the cart before the horse and see if it gets pushed. And even if it doesn't, because everybody who is in love with your product is drunk, WHAT A GOOD TIME YOU'VE HAD.

*I use 'forced' loosely here.
**Natalie, you're officially our 'high-end residential' client.

If I had all the money in the world...

1. I would be in Memphis on May 17th.

2. I would be in Oklahoma on May 23rd.

3. I'd be in Vegas on June 13th.

4. I'd be in NYC the month of July.

DANGIT. I need a benefactor. A Miss Havisham, if you will. And I shall be her Pip.

Premature Recovery

So, my head, it is still congested. And my nose, it is still stuffy. My throat, it still tickles me. I cannot tell if my ears are open because my world is a quiet one. Apparently I was on an early morning high thanks to my 13 straight hours of sleep. But you know what feels damn good? The fact that I ate a sandwich an hour ago AND IT'S STILL INSIDE ME. Oh, yeah, baby. TAKE THAT.

Hawaii Chair

Forgive me if you've already seen this, and forgive me for thinking that a youtube link constitutes a blog entry, but I'M NOT LYING WHEN I SAY THIS IS THE GREATEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN.

And the jingle! Oh, the jingle. Please spare a minute of your life and love this with me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E9_amg-Aos4&eurl=http://consumerist.com/352629/the-hawaii-chair-freaks-us-out

I'm...I'm alive!

I've done it! For the first time in a godforsaken week, I don't feel like bashing my head against the wall in stuffy, congested agony. My ears, they can hear. My nose, it can smell. My tummy, it has decided to quit rejecting food. My throat, it is coughing fit to beat the band, but I feel like that is PROGRESS. My voice, well, I don't know if that is back yet as I have no one to talk to. Oh, wait, I have myself. Hold on...still talking...wow, I have a lot to say...okay, my voice it is struggling. And apparently I need to medicate.

But first, I shall eat. And eat some more. And then, when that is gone, I shall eat again. I'll show MY body who's boss. BOO YAW!

Ask Steve

Today I sent out the following email to the entire company ask for submissions to Ask Steve, our company’s newsletter advice column. This is one of the perks of being Editor in Chief:

"Are any of you still harboring issues from your painful high school experience? Do you feel that you went astray and aren't sure when or how? Are you too cheap to pay for therapy?

Or maybe your questions are of a more inquisitive nature! Do you want to know how long it takes to hike the Inca Trail? Have you been wondering what a daguerreotype is and whether or not you should buy one? And did anybody expect the Spanish Inquisition?

If any of these questions are keeping you up at night, give the burden to Steve! Let the questions keep HIM up at night! Remember: if you can ask it, he can answer it."

One coworker decided he wanted to test Ask Steve's skills and sent the following:

"This is a practice question and not for publishing. This is my way of checking out your credentials. I repeat this is only a test. The real question will be forthcoming if I am satisfied with your response to this question and am able to determine that you are not just some quack who’s only looking to satisfy his own perverted quest to know what his fellow coworkers' inner thoughts really are:

1) What color do Smurfs turn when they hold their breath?

Remember this is only a test."

Steve’s oh-so-scientific response:

“Bear with me….. Human blood is red, right? And I since I have no other evidence to the contrary, I must assume that Smurf blood is blue. Since human blood is iron based, it turns red when reacting with Oxygen. Of course Copper is naturally blue in color when mixed with Oxygen, so one must assume that Smurf blood is copper based. So naturally, if one removes the Oxygen content from Smurf blood, it, along with its host body, must turn green (reference the color of the Statue of Liberty now that it has oxidized).

It’s only logical…”

There you have it. Smurfs turn green. Logically.

I'll show THEM cad.

So this? This is a girl who's supposed to go to a party tonight to market for her company. A girl who's supposed to work the room, shaking hands and dispersing business cards and generally just making people feel warm and fuzzy. This is also a girl with a nasty *ss head cold, who will be coughing into her hand seconds before shaking someone else's, a girl who will require her token loosen-up martini, chased by a handful of ibuprofen and a shot of dayquil. This is a girl who can currently fall asleep standing up and has been known to spend the past couple of workdays staring at her computer screen wondering what exactly it is that she gets paid to do and when stumped, decides to refill her tea and use the restroom again. This is a girl who will single-handedly get the entire architecture industry sick in one evening using nothing but the power of her kilt and kleenex. And she is JAZZED about the opportunity.

Yes, my friends. Let the games begin. * hack hack *

Catch and Run and Throw Ball

So Sunday's superbowl party had Josh (friend of Deee and Brian--and ladies, before you ask, he's mawwied) and I attempting to re-name football, as very little of the game is spent actually KICKING and the term also has very unappealing American-centric connotations. We have it in a current toss-up between Gutenball (we're hoping Germany will be the first international contingent) or Catch and Run and Throw Ball, which, you know, flows nicely and says a lot. We found ourselves hollering at the many fumbles: "Come ON, this is Catch and Run and Throw Ball! GET WITH IT!"

Natalie--the most knowledgeable football fan in the room--made the world's BEST lil' smokies using a recipe from cerca 1977, down to the slow-cookin' marinade of ketchup and grape jelly, which surprisingly enough will have you eating so many lil' smokies you WILL never eat again. Ever. In fact it's Tuesday, and I'm still riding high. I see them when I close my eyes, I see them when I nod off at work, I see them on the sides of buses...I canna stop the Lil' Smokey Dream.

And if you want to know the REAL reason I chose Deee's party, aside from undying love and devotion, it's because I knew it would be a room full of artists and musicians. (Read: nobody who gives a flyin' lick about Gutenball). I wasn't lookin' for a party full of shushers and diehards yelling at screens, loyalties and stats raging. ("No flying hot dogs," as a friend aptly put it.) Please note where half of the party spent their time, and the proximity to the food:

And of course, the view...

I get first dibs when they sell, just for the record.

The Master Cleanse

So this is funny: my friend Brian has been reading Dinana's blog about the master cleanse (unbeknownst to myself) and today at his Superbowl party brought it up. He's interested in doing it! And the funny thing is, if you READ her description of the cleanse, you'd see a WHOLE lot of sh*t-smearing and anus tattering and lemonade poos and not a whole lot of warm fuzzies. But yes--because we are masochistic, this appeals to us. WE MUST ABUSE OUR BODIES FOR THE GREATER GOOD.

Meanwhile the entire room gets involved in the discussion ("I've heard good things about it!" "Oh really? I've heard it wasn't so great!" "Hey, someone google to find out if anyone's died from it!" "Is it okay if you eat an apple? Just, like, one? I mean, I hike for a living!" "Man, I get CRABBY when I don't eat!") and next thing you know, four of us are semi- seriously- maybe- not- seriously- at- all contemplating giving it a whirl together. Three out of four of us have blogs, so maybe we could document our adventure together here. Or, depending on our level of comfort in discussing our poo's on the worldwide web, maybe not. Deee says we should combine this detox-fast with a prayer-fast and kill two birds with one stone. I mean, why not, right? And discussion is on!

Another Gem from Little Cousin Hope

I just received the following email from little 5-year old Hope. My favorite line: "Okay no more jokes."

"Dear Sharona I really really miss you. I miss you so so much. I,m going to sing a song. oh I miss you so I really miss you oh happy day happy day I,ll never be the same! For ever I am changed! I just sang a song. I hope you liked it? I,m going to do some math.What is 3+9=12 ha ha ha. Okay no more jokes. I'm serious. 3+3=6 7+7=14. Lot's of love. Hope"

Best Text of the Week

"I got you a marimekko bag from their booth..."

I just puked inside my mouth. I AM SO EXCITED.

Overheard

"She believes in flaxseed tremendously."

I have so much to learn.

Alison McScotland has a theory that everything in the world is originally Scottish: "'Hasta la vista! Let's get some haggis.' See? Scottish!" She also informed me that the Scottish invented the Incas. We were at the wine bar when I was enjoying such a history lesson, with two of her friends--one British 'cheeky wanker' as she called him, and one Swede. When our winetender came to take our drinks, Ally made an introduction: "Jason, meet Roger! He's only in town for the night." Jason was naturally gracious: "Wow! Great to meet you, Roger. Welcome to the Wine Merchant!" This of course was a lie; Roger lives here. All the time. Every night. Alison says she likes to introduce people like that because "it makes their reception so much WARMER."

Gotta go! My Scottish cheeseburger has arrived...

"Nobody Knows How to Drive in the Snow"

I think I have heard this statement at least three hundred billion times since arriving in Tahoe on Thursday for the company ski trip. And it makes me laugh, because it doesn't matter WHERE you are, you will hear this utterance. I have friends scattered across the north and I hear them say such things frequently: "It took me an hour to get home because of the snowstorm. Nobody knows how to drive in the snow!" And what I want to know is this: if people in MONTANA don't know how to drive in the snow, who DOES? I mean, is there any place in U.S. where someone will say, "Look at that agility! Did you see the way that driver took that icy curve?? Such precision! Great handling! Now THAT is how it should be done." If there is, I want to know. Instead, if a driver is too slow, he is inexperienced. If he is too fast, he is inexperienced. It is as though the person who is complaining is the Only Person in the World who knows how to do it properly, and so they lecture to no one: "You're not supposed to use your brakes in these conditions! Don't people KNOW this?? He's supposed to...!"

My only conclusion is this: mankind is doomed behind the wheel.

Another picture of my new niece

Yeah...we are DEFINITELY related.