Hello world. Did you know that there has only been one black female senator in the history of these beautiful United States of America? Did you also know that there have been zero Indian senators, male or female, in said gorgeous country of ours?
Did you also also know that Kamala Harris is both black and Indian and just got one step closer to making those facts void?
That’s pretty cool. Glad I could help with that.
In other fun news, for the first time ever, it seems that two Democrats will make it to the California senatorial showdown come November. And not just that, two LADY Democrats. AND NOT JUST, NOT JUST THAT–TWO MINORITY LADY DEMOCRATS.
Way to go, California. You’re making your girl proud.
I’ve had to wait longer than usual to have a beach day this year. While most Mays can jump up into the high 80s and even 90s, this past month really seemed set on proving the whole “May Gray” theory. So when I pulled back my curtains this morning to reveal a sunny sky, I grabbed my bathing suit and a book, and headed to the beach.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was full and bright and there was a constant cool breeze to keep me from getting too warm and packing up early. I lounged on the sand, happy to be outside, happy to be young and alive! I laughed and shook my hair in the salt-tinged air like a woman in a shampoo commercial. I was beautiful! I was invincible! I was so comfortable, so delighted to be soaking up that much needed vitamin D, that I didn’t think twice about the fact that I had forgotten the most important thing to have on one’s first tanning-session of the year.
Sunscreen. I had forgotten sunscreen.
Fortunately for my delicate face, I was wearing my SPH-infused foundation. The rest of my body was not so lucky.
As per usual, my hubris was struck down swiftly by the forces that be and instead of feeling like a honey-dipped Gigi Hadid, I look like a walking ad for skin cancer screenings.
Let this serve as a cautionary tale to you all this weekend. Forget the book. Grab the sunscreen.
I had a creative writing professor my last year of college who told me I was one of the greatest students with whom he’s ever been blessed; however, he thought I could benefit from exploring literature and poetry. Though my writing was already bold and exciting, he believed I could only improve if I allowed myself to be influenced by as many authors and styles as I could expose myself to. In short, he told me the best thing I could do after graduating was to read A SHIT TON OF BOOKS.
A few years have passed since I received my degree so it’s possible some of that information is slightly exaggerated by a combination of elapsed time and my fragile ego–we may never know. What we do know is, like with all my other assignments, I procrastinated and opted to instead watch A SHIT TON OF NETFLIX. But like those other assignments, I found my way back to it, just a bit (ahem, six years) later than I probably should have.
This is my way of bragging that I just finished my 18th book of 2016 and have read just over 5,000 pages this year.
Holy fuck, right? See, my professor was onto something. I’m getting more eloquent already.
You know how in my last post, I talked about how much I adored my apartment and decorating and making it a home? Well my current roommate has told me she will be moving out come July 1, and as most of the furniture in our shared living space is hers, she will be taking it with her. I was fortunate enough to find a new roommate quickly and with great ease, so the stress level has receded, but financially, I was not yet off the hook. When I said most of the furniture is hers, I wasn’t kidding. The couch? Hers. The tv and tv stand? Hers. The lamp? Hers. The chair, the pillows, the dining table, the beautiful grey and yellow rug? Hers, hers, hers, half-hers (we thought splitting that one would be a good idea, and see in retrospect, it was not). The thought of my once-comforting home being depleted into a vacuous room was stressing me out. I’d still have my record player, but no chair in which to sit and enjoy the music. I’d have my book case, but no couch on which to read my books. And what would we do about the rug? Pull a Solomon and cut the thing in half?
Clearly, the whole thing was getting to me. Fortunately my new roommate has again soothed my anxieties because she also loves decorating and also also loves vintage, old lady, kitschy chic. Our house may come together much quicker and with less a financial burden than I worried it would because as it turns out, orange floral couches are relatively inexpensive.
Excited by the prospects of turning my home into a living museum, I found an adorable bar cart at an antique store in OB. She was put in their warehouse and simply forgotten about. I related to her neglect and knew I had to give her a good, loving home.
I love my apartment. I really do. When things are going bad, as they regularly tend to, I sit back and think, “well, at least I have my home.” Three years ago, I quickly had to move out of my quaint back house on account of an animal dying and flies swarming the property, and moved in–what was supposed to be temporarily–with my then-boyfriend. His one bedroom apartment was far too cramped for the both of us and a year and a half later I finally left…and moved back into my parents’ house. Nothing humbles you quite like moving back into your childhood bedroom, especially if it was quickly converted into an office and your bed has been replaced with a futon.
After being displaced for so long, I am forever grateful that I found the apartment I am in now. Not only is it my own, but it’s pretty great for North Park standards. With a garage, fireplace, and vaulted ceilings, it has a particularly homey feeling that I needed. I love to decorate and my roommate and I have slowly been adding touches here and there to warm the place up, but the biggest difficulty has been in decorating the walls. Though vaulted ceilings open up the apartment and make it feel even larger than it is, it’s incredibly difficult to fill all that extra space, especially on a retail-manager’s budget.
After some (read: a year of) contemplation, I’ve decided to paint small canvases with my favorite things and mount them on the wall above my desk. What better way to personalize my space?
My first painting is titled, “Artichoke,” because it is an artichoke. While painting it, I became curious about the vegetable I love so much and decided to look it up. Here are some fun facts I learned about them:
1) artichokes are actually the flower part of the plant. If one does not devour it and allows it to bloom, it blossoms a pretty indigo. I don’t know who discovered that, but I applaud their willpower.
2) they are related to the sunflower, which makes COMPLETE SENSE because I love both artichokes and sunflowers very much.
3) California produces nearly 100% of the country’s artichokes, which makes COMPLETE SENSE BECAUSE I LIVE IN CALIFORNIA. Clearly everything revolves around me.
That’s pretty much it. I realize that really wasn’t all that interesting after having written it, but hey, now when you’re out at a dinner party where artichokes are being served, you’ll have something to add to the conversation you were otherwise awkwardly avoiding. Check back next week for round two of My Favorite Things and Other Worthless Information courtesy of yours truly.
I was at Target the other day, and I came across some really adorable plain wooden letters. I know some of you are thinking, “how can plain wooden letters be adorable?” To you I say, you obviously have never seen other plain wooden letters. These wood blocks are to others on the market what Kendall Jenner is to her sisters–sleek, elegant, and not super fucked up in comparison. Here’s a visual–at Michael’s, you can choose between this guy who is a nice font, but made of paper maiche, something that should have no place in this world outside of a middle school science fair:
Or this guy, who I don’t even need to generate an insult for, because look at it:
Even Comic Sans would be embarrassed to have this hanging in its home. And lastly, you got this pasty mess, courtesy of Joann’s:
So obviously, when I found a good one, I had to invest in it. Because it’s Halloween or, more accurately, because I’m obsessive about Halloween, I bought myself a “B” and two “O”s, picked up some orange, white, black, and gold paints from Michael’s for only $1 a pop (they may have dropped the ball on letters, but are still clutch on all other craft supplies), and headed home to decorate.
I don’t have a palette because I’m not a real artist–in fact, I literally had to google “thing artists put paint on” to find out what to call that–which is actually a really common google search–I only had to type “thing art” and it came right up–
See, I’m not lying, it’s true–so I’m not dumb–I just don’t remember stuff I learned in high school art class–or ever.
Anyway, since I’m not fancy enough to own/know of a palette, I just ripped open an empty Digiorno box I had from the night before and, voila, instant, makeshift palette. You know, this is actually a pretty great display of my resourcefulness, recycling something most would see as useless. That’s pretty cool of me.
Onto the letters. I didn’t really have much of a theme in mind; all I knew was that I wanted them to be different patterns, but have the same color scheme. After playing around, I ended up with an ombred B, one chevroned O, and one polka-dotted O.
Ugh, too cute. Because they’re the greatest letters of all, the bottoms are just flat enough for you to be able to stand them up; I put mine on our game/book shelving unit next to a jar of candy corn.
At $4 a piece, the letters were a little pricier than some, but sometimes you need to invest in nice things. Embrace the Halloween spirit, girl. TREAT yo’self.
It’s a hundred degrees. And I’m not just exaggerating like that time I said I would LITERALLY KILL MYSELF if Nicholas beat Nina on Top Chef New Orleans. No, it is actually 100 degrees in October and I will seriously BURN THIS CITY TO THE GROUND if it doesn’t cool off soon.
Because it is too hot to go to the pumpkin patch, I have decided to celebrate Fall in a way less likely to make me collapse of heat stroke. I have decided to throw on a scary movie, and make an Autumnal wreath.
First things first, set up your fans. Grab every last one in your home, and position them inches from your body. Have an ice pack in your freezer? Grab that too. Dab it lovingly on your face; clutch it dearly to your breast. You already feel better, now don’t you?
Okay, now turn on Netflix and peruse the selection until you find something worthy of background noise, something you’ve seen before but it’s been a few years now and you really kind of miss it. My choice? Scream.
Now here’s what you’ll need:
A plain wreath
Some faux foliage
Your trusty hot glue gun
About 12 inches of twine
Step One: Remove the berries from the stem and glue them to the wreath. Now don’t worry, the berries are attached to the main stem in little segmented stems; think of the large stem as an artery, the small stems as veins, and the little berries as capillaries. You don’t need to cut off every berry individually and glue them to the wreath; Lord knows I don’t have the patience for that. Just slice the veins from the artery and glue the vein to the wreath. This allows our little capillaries flexibility around the foliage you add in the following steps. I went and used two whole stems worth of berries because I like them so much.
Step Two: Now remember when I made those mason jar candleholders and told you that some of the materials would go toward a future craft? THIS IS SAID FUTURE CRAFT. Any leftover leaves I had from the garland got glued onto the wreath. They’re malleable and easy to tuck under the berries, so do that when you can. I decided to cover the full surface of the wreath, but feel like just a handful of them to add some color? Great. Do YOU.
Step Three: Decapitate your flowers, and affix them to the wreath. I used some faux mums and peonies; they added a nice bright pop of color and, yes, I know it’s a Fall wreath and one would expect pinecones for the larger, statement pieces, but we do live in San Diego–florals are appropriate year round.
Step Four: Take your twine and tie it to the back of the wreath so you can easily hang it. Put on your front door and induce jealousy.
Alright, now for the cost:
Garland of leaves: $3.99
Two berry stems: $4.98
The cost of the twine was negligible, probably about five cents or so, as was the glue for the glue gun. So all in all, you made your very own Fall wreath for under $20, AND got to watch a scary movie at the same time, AND didn’t pass out under the glare of the defiant, blazing sun! That is literally the greatest triumph in the history of mankind. And no, that is not an exaggeration.