Throwing Crap Away:
Few things fill me with greater glee than filling up a sack with junk that I don’t need. It’s so rewarding to cart out the piles of unnecessary flotsam and jetsam that have accumulated over the years. I have long believed that you should live a life free from clutter; your house should be your vacation home; you should know exactly what you own. I’m a minimalist in my head, but not really in my life. I like having things, I just know when enough is enough. Tonight, after work, I’m working on cleaning out the room I’ve declared to be my gym/walk-in closet — both of which I’m desperately in need of! There is just the most ridiculous assortment of nonsense in there. I don’t even know where it came from. I can’t believe my parents would cultivate a collection of antique faux fur coats, but there’s a plentiful number of them in there — here’s hoping one fits me! I cannot wait to empty it out, scrape off that hideous popcorn ceiling, and toss up a new coat of paint. There is absolutely no reason that a room should ever be carpeted in pink and have the walls painted green. Oh, the nineties were a terrifying time for design. Once I get some Sharkey Grey on the walls and rip up that carpet, it will feel like home. But first, I have to clear it out. Good god, am I ever glad that I didn’t inherit the hoarding gene!
I have never taken to sugar in my beverages. None in my tea, no thank you. I used to put a lump in my espresso, but no more. I love strong and bitter flavors. I don’t want something overly sweet ruining it for me. A few weeks ago, I bought a sample sized bottle of agave syrup since I’ve always been curious about it and because it was Bethenny’s brand. I’m a big fan, like huge fan, of her Skinnygirl margaritas. #yum. Then again, I’m a fan of any margarita. I’ve never met one I didn’t love. I completely forgot about this purchase until the other day when I had my cup of mint tea. I was looking for some honey to stir into it like they do at Teavana, but my honey was crystallized. I rarely use honey. I don’t like the way it tastes. I’ll put a bit in my baking if it’s called for. Next to my crystallized honey sticks was the little bottle of agave! I squeezed a bit in and tasted — wonderfully sweet. Not sickly sweet like with granulated sugar, but a slightly enhanced sweetness. Marvelous. I’ve since learned that you must be very careful with it, as it can become cloying and overpoweringly sweet with a heavy squeeze.
“Midnight Memories” by One Direction:
The other day, the boys’ new album leaked and I definitely didn’t listen to it. I definitely didn’t listen to it seventeen times and dance around my house and have a great time. No, I definitely didn’t do any of that. I don’t support illegally downloading albums! Especially those you plan on buying. Especially those of bands’ that you love dearly with all your heart and have gone to their concerts and have spent ridiculous sums of money on their merchandise. Definitely no. So, I have NO IDEA how good the new album is. I don’t know how good “Little Black Dress” is or “Midnight Memories” or “Don’t Forget Where You Belong.” I didn’t get teary-eyed listening to “You and I.” I definitely don’t have those memorized and sing them all day long in my head and dance a little as I work. Absolutely not! That would be wrong. I’m not going to say the entire album is perfection or that it’s genius. HOW WOULD I KNOW? I know nothing of the boys walking around with only one shoe and going to therapy for a girl addiction or any of that. NO WAY BECAUSE I HAVEN’T HEARD IT YET. (I have, lol, buy it, reader. It’s #amaze. JK!) Look forward to my review next week.
The person that I am is a culmination of various influences, and though it’s strange, my greatest influences were Simple Life and Absolutely Fabulous. Here, I’ll focus on the latter. If you don’t know the premise of the show, I don’t want to know you, so get off my blog. (Kidding, come back.) It’s all about Eddie and Patsy, two incredibly inappropriate London women who live for fashion, celebrity, and all that comes with it. They are vulgar, crude, drugged most of the time, but eternally hilarious. I love them and identify so ridiculously with them. I understand Eddie’s longing for fame and celebrity, for the perfect body and for the adoration of those around her. I fully comprehend Patsy’s passion for fashion and for living life to the fullest. I get their relationship and their cruelty to the others they don’t want in their crowd, like Eddie’s daughter, Saffy, who is the butt of all their jokes. The program is marvelous and I rarely shake my head in disbelief, only in jealousy. For example, one of the programs that influenced me the most was entitled “Door Handle.” In this, Eddie must start redecorating her kitchen, but can’t find the inspiration. She remembers seeing a door handle she liked at a New York Hotel, so she and Patsy hop on the Concorde to America to look at it. Makes complete sense to me. While there, they have a marvelous time and Eddie gets a piercing because Patsy says, a quote that has inspired me more than anything ever said by Ghandi or Jesus or the Buddha, “If you don’t do it, you won’t have done it.” Is that not the most perfect statement? If I were more fond of text tattoos, I’d probably get it on me someplace. Hell, I might anyway.
Reader, I implore you to watch the show, I beg you to laugh at the gags, I defy you to not fall madly in love with these wonderfully horrid women.
The Graham Norton Show:
As I’ve told you multiple times in the past, I’m an old Londoner tragically trapped in America’s midwest. It’s so unjust! I live off of British culture. One of my favorite things — and I’m so happy that it’s imported here via BBC America — is The Graham Norton Show. It’s the most brilliant — see? I’m #totesbritish — chat show on television. Here in America we have a bunch of old dudes talking away. I don’t include Craig Ferguson in this because he’s a Scottish fellow and his show is decidedly untraditional. Good fun to go to, too. Have you ever been to a late night show taping, reader? No? Sad. I have. Graham Norton is also a man, but he’s hilarious and wonderfully gay. I think gay people should host everything. #sorrynotsorry. The show is absolutely perfect and grand and it makes me laugh uproariously the entire hour. There is the most marvelous combination of guests that all come in on the same time — none of this nonsense we have here with just one guest at a time. No, on Graham’s show, all the people come out with their drinks and commingle (I love that word, I always spell it wrong though.) and have a fantastic time. The last episode had Lady Gaga and some wonderful old woman from Eastenders that seemed totally drunk and out of it the entire time. Gaga and I were in heaven. How is it that I’ve not seen Gaga in person, yet? Strange. The combination of guests is almost always extraordinary and the conversations go off in strange places you don’t expect. Musical guests pop up and have very well shot numbers. It’s just perfection. Tune in.
Sans Serif Fonts:
I take no issue with a lovely sans serif font if it’s in advertisement or book cover or something of the like, but I take umbrage when it’s used in literature. I am seeing more and more books printed in Helvetica and this angers me. Nothing wrong with Helvetica, it’s all over the place, but when I’m reading a novel, for me, it takes away from it. A serif font declares itself on the page and anchors the prose, it’s grand and beautiful. Not a sans serif font, though, swimming along the paper with its lithe forms and alarmingly simplistic design. I crave serifs. My eye needs them. Can we please banish them in the publishing industry? Vote for me as governor and I’ll do my best to eradicate this pest from the face of the planet.
Since the middle of the afternoon yesterday, one of my teeth has been incredibly sensitive to heat and cold. This has never happened before and I don’t like it. I drink at least a gallon of hot tea each day, no joke, and when the lovely liquid slides over my tooth, I wince and want to cry. I don’t want to go to the dentist. I have no issue with going to the dentist — I rather like going to the dentist. It’s nice to have somebody brush your teeth for you. I’m very lazy. Last night, even the refrigerated temperature of cheese was too much for me. I have to chew on the other side of my mouth and this is awful. It’s a travesty. It was difficult. Pray for me.
Not Having A Trip Planned:
Last year, on this day, I had one of the most joyous times of my life. I was in Paris and went to the Grand Palais to attend the Karl Lagerfeld exhibition entitled “The Little Black Jacket.” I had a marvelous time looking at the massive photographs and mingling with the other fashionistas. As soon as I finished there, I wondered what I should do and decided to take a detour along the Rue Saint-Honoré and stop in the Chanel shop on Rue Cambon. Oh, reader, I’ll never be able to tell you just how magnificent that time was, how often I think back of my time in that magical shop where so many people I admire have lingered. Karl Lagerfeld, one of my heroes in life, is often there working in his offices several levels up. Victoria Beckham has been there, Lady Gaga, too, and even my beloved Miley Cyrus. I have, too, but nobody knows who I am. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t a person of note when I was there because the gracious staff treated me like the celebrity that I feel I am and know can be. It was perfection. They chatted with me and helped me and even made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time when I was allowed to approach the famed mirrored stairs where so many celebrities have stood, where Coco herself would watch as her fashion shows paraded up and down the same steps. I stood in a place of incredible fashion history and I will never forget it. And so, I think back on days like that, which were truly out of the ordinary, and it fills me with longing and sadness. Why can’t every day be like that? Why can’t I be exceptional at all times? Why am I doomed to just be here? I need to go places and see the world as a job. I’m not a sedentary person; I need a trip planned to keep my sanity. I’m losing it, you know?
Death of Sylvia Browne:
I won’t ever get over the passing of beloved psychic, Sylvia Browne. I wrote a blog post about all the ways she changed my life a little earlier, please do refer to it if you’d like a more in depth eulogy. I’m just very sad that there won’t be any more books or television appearances or lecture tours to attend. Mourning is a very selfish thing; you don’t really feel sadness for the dead person, you’re sad because of the way you’re life will change. I loved reading her latest publications and seeing her pop up randomly on infomercials for blenders. She was such a vibrant and interesting woman. I’m not sad for Sylvia herself, she is surely now on the Other Side, reveling in all the things she now understands that she couldn’t on this mortal plane. I no longer have a “go to” psychic, for which I’m rather devastated. I’ll have to do some research, I suppose. I don’t often mourn, but I feel as if I should be draped in black today. It’s a sad, sad time. I’m quite devastated that I can’t go to the visitation on Monday night in San Jose. I’d love to be there, celebrating her life with all those who loved her.
I have a wide variety of teacups. I have one celebrating the Queen’s Jubilee, another from the marriage of Prince Charles to Lady Diana, one from Cher’s farewell tour, one from Skullbone, Tennessee, and yet another from the Café du Monde in New Orleans. Irritatingly, all of these cups are beginning to collect an annoying stain from the amount of tea I drink. I guzzle that stuff. I wash and wash and wash and still the stains stay. I feel like I live in some third world country with my stained china. I can’t serve guests in these cups! What would they think of me? I’ve been researching solutions — something about toothpaste or baking soda. I’ll have to give it a go. I wonder though if it will damage the glaze? Will it get the cups even uglier? These are the struggles of my life.
Grandma says dishwasher soap will clear up those stains.
LOL at you referring to a dishwasher. BUY ME MY VERY LATE BIRTHDAY GIFT.