When I first started losing weight, I did it all by counting calories. That’s the only way to lose weight, I think. You can go on all kinds of diets, but I don’t think they’re worth doing if you don’t understand the science behind it. You only lose weight by losing excess water or burning more calories than you consume. Simple pimple. Once I figured this out, it was much simpler to lose fifty pounds. Took me a year. Good times. It was hard, though, to be on a calorie restrictive diet, so sometimes I’d go over. To make up for this, I’d fast on Saturdays. This wasn’t all that easy, but it really helped. This weekend, I decided to start that again and it was great. I felt much healthier by eating much less. Plus, it made me look gorgeous for my weekly picture. Definitely doing this more regularly.
Growing My Hair Out:
[That’s not me, #obvi. Bit more handsome over here. #holla.]
Ever since I grew my hair out long in high school and proceeded to chop it off, I’ve been meaning to grow it out again. I’ve finally decided to go for it. I’m really quite excited, but I takes so effing long. Growing your hair out is dreadful because the length can become rather awkward to deal with in the in-between stages. If you trim it or style it too much, you will cut out too much of your hard work. Thankfully, mine’s in a good place right now and I’m having a fun time. I could pass for Matt Bomer’s brother, I think. I’ve even started a folder of pictures of long hairstyles that I like so that I can emulate them later on. When I was in high school, with my massive hair, I wasn’t really sure how to deal with it, so it wasn’t all that pretty. This time, though, I think I’ll do a much better job of keeping it maintained. And then, when I tire of it — though I may not, I’ll just donate it. I’m also going to start using dry shampoo when it gets longer so that I can be like Karl Lagerfeld. That’s supposedly why he has white hair. I suppose this could be true. I would love having white hair. We’ll see.
My bedroom is turning out more elegantly than I had ever dreamed! It’s luxurious and relaxing and comforting and welcoming and I don’t even have the headboard in, yet. It will then be ever more opulent. There are gilded, antique mirrors on all of the walls and the sunlight reflects so beautifully as it bounces around and make the room glow. Even more delightful than all these luxuries that would not be out of place at a five-star hotel, is my chandelier. I had searched and searched for antique ones on eBay. I had scoured the aisles at IKEA. Nothing was meeting my exacting standards. Then I remembered that we already had two chandeliers in the family! One is ten-feet tall, worth thousands of dollars, and came when Ethan Allen was closing down. Gorgeous thing, and I’m trying to find a spot for it. I have hope to install it over my stairs eventually. Much too large for a bedroom, obviously. The other one was at my sister’s house. It’s brass and moderately sized and would be perfection in the room. Jessica is very lazy and wouldn’t ever get around to installing it, so I took it. I put it up with a dimmer and swooned. No easy task, that, since there are no switches in the upper level of my house. I’m working on fixing that. Once night fell and the light in the chandelier was gently illuminating the room, throwing geometric shadows on the cozy grey walls, I was completely in love. With that chandelier, I’m not in an outdated farmhouse in the middle of rural America, but rather a sumptuous Southern plantation, a chic Haussmanian apartment in Paris, and on a transatlantic cruise steaming toward Southampton. It’s utter perfection and worth all the frustration its installation caused. Every room should have wonderful lighting.
I don’t know why I have waited so long to use electric timers. I don’t know if that’s the actual technical term for them. It’s one of those massive boxes you plug into the wall and then plug a lamp into it and then every night at six, it turns on. Genius. I love that you never have to do anything with your lights. I’m going to get about a dozen more. My favorite use for one right now is the lamp beside my bed. Every morning at about 4:30, on it pops and slowly makes my mind think the sun is shining in on me. It’s not, obviously, it’s 4:30. I really enjoy this and the fact that it turns off again at 8:00 and then back on again in the evening time when it’s too dim to see. It’s like a psychic lamp. I want to put all of my numerous lamps on timers so that they are totally independent. How chic!
Pink eye is my new favorite disease, not that I ever had a favorite disease to begin with. Well, I’ve always been fond of gout — a very aristocratic ailment, you know? (Holla at the Keeping Up Appearances reference!) The other day, my eye was red, itchy, and swollen. A far cry from my usual beauty. Turns out I I had mild pink eye, so I stayed home with a bottle of eye drops and a bottle of gin. The best thing about pink eye is that you don’t feel ill, your eyes just hurt a bit and some gunk comes out. You can still do your normal things. So I had a lovely time. Breakfast in bed, cuddles with Edna, organized my closet, rearranged some furniture, I made apple cider and polenta fries, napped, read, wrote. Marvelous time. By mid afternoon, the drops seemed to take effect and the swelling and color went back to normal. They’re still a bit itchy, but much better. I recommend you all get pink eye. I also recommend you drink gin.
I’ve often been afraid of polenta. I have seen it used in so many cooking programs, but the way it looks has always rather disturbed me. It’s corn and yet it’s gelatinous. Creepy. I think we can all agree on that. Months ago, I bought a copy of Martha’s glorious cookbook, Meatless, and saw a recipe for artichoke hearts and polenta that looked rather appetizing, so I picked up a bag. I promptly shoved it into a cupboard and forgot about it. Recently, I have been hearing people talk and talk about polenta fires. They’re popping up on menus at restaurants I frequent. It was finally time for me to try them. So, I made a batch of the stuff — which was strange, the ground corn is amazingly expansive. Three to four cups of water per cup of polenta. I don’t think I did it correctly because mine was still a bit coarse. I read later that I’m supposed to cook it for a bit longer and some people even toss it into a blender. I’ll try that next time. I chopped the chilled polenta into fry shapes and tossed them into a hot oven with a bunch of tomatoes and garlic to turn into a dipping sauce. Both turned out divinely. It was a triumph. They’re really quite good and taste like a steak fry. Strange. I assume it’s healthier. More experimentation will be needed, of course, but I foresee good things.
The Incredibly Difficult Job of Getting Published:
I always thought that writing a book would be the hardest part of writing a book, but Buddha was I wrong! After you write the story, you have to go through multiple edits which are soul sucking. You have to format things in certain ways that make your mind numb. Then, once you have a manuscript that you’re comfortable with, you need to query agents. This has proven to be the hardest part of all. You have to find an agent that is a fan of your kind of work, which is not easy at all. Then, you have to research them and send a letter, which they might respond to, probably not, though. If they’re interested, they may request a bit of your manuscript. Then they probably won’t respond. Eventually, you may get a contract with an editor. It’s miraculous if you do. I’m researching agents right now, and I’m trying not to be discouraged by it. I shan’t be. I’ll persevere. I shall succeed.
Not Being a Supermodel:
Don’t you just hate it when you discover your calling, but can’t seem to make it work as a career? I should be a model. There’s little doubt of that in my mind. I’m not being vain or anything, I know that I’m not hideous and that I wear clothes well. What else do you need? I love being photographed and I enjoy posing. I think I’d have a great time as a model. Jetting from location to location, walking in Fashion Weeks all around the world, being a guest judge on a modeling show, having a well respected podcast, releasing a book, an auto-tuned album. Oh, the possibilities are endless once you’re a supermodel. I was taking some pictures for my ab blog last week (ok, is ab not a word? It is constantly being underlined. #annoying.) and I was really rather delighted with my appearance. I still need to do more work, I’m not an idiot. But I think that I might actually find success with that if I tried. I should probably work on that.
Washing the Dishes:
There is no household chore that I hate more than washing dishes. Don’t get me wrong, I hate lots of chores. I don’t like lawn mowing, so I don’t do it. I thought there were more, but that’s it, it turns out. I’m rather a domestic god, tu sais? But, amazing though I am, I still passionately loathe washing the dishes. It’s so time consuming and vile and common. Why can’t I have a dishwasher? I must buy one. I’m owed one for a birthday gift, but I have doubt of ever receiving it. (I’m looking at you, Lady.) It would be amazing to just toss some dishes in with a bit of soap and pull out clean, dry dishes. I’ll weep on that day. My first apartment in Paris was rather high-tech as it had it’s own narrow dishwasher. It was life changing. I just hate washing dishes so much. I hate seeing them dry on the he counter. I hate everything about them. I got up early to wash a load because I couldn’t bear to do it last night. It’s horrible.
Credit Card Not Accepted:
I love my credit cards. We’re besties. I’m looking into getting another one for my upcoming European holiday. One of those wonderful ones with the little microchip that you can deal with at the table when the charming waiter brings you your addition. (French for bill, you know?) Yesterday, I got online to order a new suit for my friend’s wedding and to parade around Paris in. I put in all the customizations I wanted — a gentleman always need a boutonniere — and went to pay, but the site didn’t accept Discover. I’ve been discovering (see what I did there?) that quite a number of places don’t accept it. I don’t care for this. Love that card, though I do, I am thinking we may have to part ways. I have my eye on something by American Express. It has a chic feeling to it. “Here, Pierre, take my AmEx, charge the latest Burberry trench. Thank you, darling.” Then again, I’ve been told that you can get steep discounts at high end stores if you pay in cash. We will certainly see.