Freezer Full of Bread:
I enjoy baking artisan breads and I’m very, very good at it. No need to be humble about the truth, you know? Bread baking is one of my favorite things in the whole world. It’s rewarding and delicious and fun, but it’s time consuming, so I don’t get around to it as much as I used to. If I get right to it after work, I can churn out a couple loaves or on a lazy weekend. I’m truthfully the laziest person in the world, though, so I don’t often get around to it and don’t eat any bread of any kind since I refuse to eat anything that isn’t made by a real baker. Why do people eat that horrible sandwich bread that feels like a sponge and tastes like death? This has concerned me for the better part of a decade now. Have they never had good bread? There is absolutely nothing in the world that is more satisfying than good bread. (Other than money. Or getting paid a vain compliment. Or book a trip. Or singing with Beyoncé.) In Paris, biting into a piece of baguette aux pavots is truly orgasmic. Anyway, the other night I was in that monstrously large HyVee in Des Moines with the unreasonably good bread bakery. It was late at night so all the remnants were being sold off for $1.99 a loaf. BARGAIN. I bought a bunch, sliced them up, and tossed the delicious wedges into the freezer. That’s a secret that many people don’t seem to know — bread stays perfectly fresh in the freezer. Just pull out as much as you want, stick it in a hot oven for about five minutes, and it tastes perfectly fresh. There’s a gift from me to you, yours free. Go buy bread, reader, or bake some bread, just have lots and lots of bread.
I effing love my boots. I never thought that I would be the kind of person to wear them, but ever since I saw Harry Styles wear glittery Yves Saint Laurent boots on Saturday Night Live, I’ve been rather in love with this style of footwear. I found a pair that I really wanted from Zara, but I’ve been trying to be more reasonable with my spending, so I had to stop myself. It was hard and uncomfortable and totally unlike myself. I was not at all happy. I don’t like being frugal. I need to marry somebody with loads and loads of money that enjoys spending money. There’s nothing more fun than shopping. If it were an Olympic sport, I’d be crushed under the weight of all my gold medals. That’s a fact. When I was at Target last week, I found a pair of boots on sale! They weren’t my size, they were just a size too small. I normally wear a 12, but will I squeeze my foot into a reasonably priced 11? Yes. I did. I love them. They’re beautiful. I never want to wear any other shoes. Other than my leopard print shoes and my studded shoes of course. Everybody should have a nice pair of boots to wear and look slightly hipster and slightly punk and totally fashionable. Go buy boots!
Trader Joe’s Indian Food:
Indian food is a rather new love of mine. Before becoming a vegetarian, my palate refused to let me enjoy new things. All I wanted was white rice and chicken and chocolate. Nothing else. Popcorn, too. I was basically reared on popcorn. I’ve no complaints about that. Popcorn is the best food in the whole world. I’ve often thought that it was my duty to bring good popcorn to Europe. They don’t have a clue what they’re doing. In England, you can buy microwavable popcorn, but it’s covered in sugar. No thank you. In France you can occasionally buy it in obscure aisles of Monoprix. You can get it in the theaters, too, but it’s doused again in sugar. You’ll find a few bags of it with only salt — thank you, Beysus! It’s weird, you just pick up a bag, they don’t scoop it for you. I’m off topic. Ever since I decided to forego the meats and dead animal matter, my mouth has learned to adore all sorts of thrilling flavors that it would have zero things to do with in the past. Indian food is one of those things. It is fabulous. I love that it’s spicy without being painful. I love all the naans, especially garlic naan. Palaak paneer is my jam and jasmine rice is the shit. It’s so good. Sadly, I’ve never found it turns out very well in one of those microwave meals. No good at all. I was always incredibly jealous of the Indian meal in a box that was featured on my favorite British sitcom, Miranda. Well, happily, I’ve finally found something that compares here in my homeland. It’s at Trader Joe’s. It is dirt cheap. It is better Indian food than I’ve had in some restaurants. The microwavable rice blew my mind. The garlic naan made me moan. The palaak paneer was truly one of the best ones I’ve ever had in my life. The chan masala was also excellent — such tender chickpeas! I need to go stock up on them all. They were impressive, easy, and truly delicious.
All my life, I’ve only ever wanted to be an internationally beloved celebrity that is frequently mobbed on the streets and battles the tabloids after they keep printing pictures of my naked body. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? I thought it might happen in Hollywood, but no luck. Everybody there thinks they’re on the verge of celebrity. Some of them are, I suppose. Not many, though. I wasn’t there long enough to make much impact, sadly. Anyway, ever since I left Hollywood, I’ve refocused on my writing. I published a novella on Amazon that barely sold. That’s irrelevant because I just got notification that I’m getting a royalty check next month. I’M THE KIND OF PERSON THAT RECEIVES ROYALTIES! Oh, it’s a great, great feeling. I don’t care if it’s for a few dollars or a few cents. I’m probably not even going to cash it. I’m going to frame it and hang it in a place of honor in my library. It’s a really rather amazing feeling to have sold your art and to have people appreciate it. Very odd feeling, but great! I’m so pleased with myself. Reader, have you purchased a copy of my novella, Haskell & Eudora? It’s on sale for $1.99 until Monday! Go, reader, go!
Rich Kids of Beverly Hills:
I knew that I would love this show from the instant I saw the first promo. Also because Lady Gaga’s “Donatella” is the music in the commercial and that song is my jam. “I’m skinny. I’m blonde. I’m rich. And, I’m a little bit of a bitch.” Genius lyrics! I haven’t been keeping up on the television lately, so I just finally got around to watching the premiere episode. It’s a triumph. I know that the viewer is supposed to be absolutely repulsed by the characters and their lifestyles, but I’m not one bit. Am I envious? Absolutely! When they go power shopping (a phrase that needs to be used much more often in my everyday life) on Rodeo Drive, I smile reminiscently as I recall window shopping on Rodeo Drive last summer, dreaming of owning a Louis Vuitton duffel bag. I can’t wait to get one. I’m going to be so full of myself. I haven’t decided if I want to get it on Rodeo, in NYC, or in Paris on the Champs-Èlysées. They all have a certain charm, no? Paris is chic. NYC is hip. Rodeo is just fun. I’d go get a cupcake at Sprinkles, think about taking a hike in Runyon canyon, decide against it, call up an Uber to take me to Melrose so I could get a nice salad at Fred Segal. I really adapted well to LA, guys. Not my favorite place, but I was one with the lifestyle. That’s surely why I absolutely adore the show. I get the cast. I empathize with them. I understand them. Watch the show, reader, it’s reality perfection.
I don’t understand how everybody is so fat if we’re all so poor. Food is so amazingly expensive. I went grocery shopping for the first time in ages the other day — I usually just have my comestibles delivered and I pay the bill without looking at it. Did you know that a container of grapefruit costs $11? Madness! I bought some chocolates that I like and the bag was $5! Blatant theft! I need not mention that ridiculous sums of money I spent on cheese. Shouldn’t the high quality nibbles that I purchase be more reasonably priced than the junk that is designed to kill? Why aren’t their government subsidies on nutritious fruits and vegetables and the like so that everybody is better off? Vote for me for governor! At the checkout lane, I handed over my card in alarm. It was too much for me to bear. I’d happily pay hundreds of dollars for a shirt, a thousand dollars for a bag, but nearing a hundred for groceries is too much for me. This probably says something about my mental state, but I think it makes sense. I’d be a waif with excellent clothes.
I’ve told you about my love of the word madcap, haven’t I? I think I’ve dedicated a post to it. I love it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. It’s the perfect word. Let’s say it together, shall we? One…two…three…MADCAP! Such fun! Anyway, the weather has been rather madcap as of late. Work was cancelled yesterday because of a freak little ice storm that we had in the morning. A few hours later, it had all melted away and was nothing more than a slushy memory. In fact, I went for an absolutely lovely walk through my familial forest. Do you have a familial forest with a charming stream, peasant? Anyway it was nice and sunny and almost warm. Now, there is supposed to be some ridiculous blizzard on Thursday. I ain’t got time for this. I just want the springtime to come now with flowers and arugula and birds and sunshine and I want to lounge around in my vineyard whilst tanning and reading a book. Do come springtime!
In the past, I have gone on in extraordinary length about depression. I have learned so much more about the problem than I ever dreamed of. I never have suffered from it as badly as I have recently and so that has caused me to do tremendous amounts of research to help myself get better. That’s not the kind of statement I would have written before. I used to think that depression was just a state of mind that you could enter and leave willingly, but I’ve come to understand it’s not. It just drifts in, slowly and subtly at first, but then rapidly it surrounds you until you can’t help but succumb to the attack you weren’t at all expecting. Then, in the midst of this all, my mind slows down, my willingness to do anything and everything comes to a halt. I’m not happy with my word choice there — willingness — it goes far beyond that. It is as if there is a very real part of my mind that refuses to let me accomplish things that I should. It doesn’t let me think clearly. It slows me down and it’s just the worst. I’m in the middle of one of these episodes right now. I’ve felt it coming on since the weekend and here it is. I always forget how dreadful it is. People who don’t suffer from depression don’t seem to believe in it, they think the way that I did in the past. This is a very real disease that needs to be treated with much more respect than it is. I need to go to a doctor.
Guys, there was blizzard or something yesterday. We got off work at 10:20. It was fabulous. The week was absolutely bizarre: a freak ice storm that lasted all of two hours cancelled work on Monday, I was at a funeral on Wednesday, we got out way early on Thursday, and today, Friday, there’s no work at all. I was at work for a grand total of about 10 hours this week. Exhausting! When we are let out early, it’s usually a false alarm, but this time it was real! There was thundersnow! Drifts of slush fell down from the heavens. I looked around me like I was in Armageddon. Horrified, I hurried up to my tasteful suite and relaxed in the calming chamber with my curtains drawn and a pot of tea. Whenever I’d peek out, I’d gasp and throw myself back on the bed where I spent the afternoon doing very important work on the Internet — mainly scrolling on Tumblr and getting stuck in a Wikipedia loop. Then, the worst happened. The power went out! NO INTERNET. NO ELECTRICITY! What is the point of living in these situations? I was too terrified to nap. Thank Beysus my MacBook and my iPhone both have excellent battery life and that I can tether my phone to my computer for Internet. (So, it really wasn’t all that bad.) There was no heat, though, and you know how tragic that is for me. I had to put on more than expensive briefs and an undershirt. That’s not something I do in the comfort of my home! So, I got redressed and went back to the Internet. Finally, though, I realized that I had better preserve some of the battery life in case things became dire — it had been a few hours, and it’s never out that long. So, I went downstairs to gnaw on cheese and light candles. It was impossible to read by candlelight and equally hard to write, so I just gloomily took a bath surrounded by candles. Hours later, the power was restored and I rejoiced. Electricity is the greatest invention in the history of mankind.
The other day, I was thinking about this horrifying story we didn’t read in American Literature years and years ago. (I was also thinking about how ancient I am.) It was translated from some modern Spanish author about a woman who was taken ill and couldn’t leave her bed. Doctors couldn’t find what was wrong with her and she grew worse and worse and worse. When she eventually died, it was revealed that there was a monstrous spider inside of her pillowcase that was sucking her life from her — or something along those lines. I’ve been absolutely traumatized ever since. So, when I thought about it, I immediately had to go wash my pillows. I don’t think I’ve ever done this, so I made sure to do it doubly quick. I thought it would be a breeze. WRONG. I’ve been drying the damn things for the past three days. Two out of three are now only barely damp. The other is still flapping around in the dryer. It smells gross, too, which is weirding me out. I wasn’t sure what to do about that, so I spritzed a bandana in Chanel cologne and tossed it in the dryer with the pillow. Maybe that will work? A little Chanel fixes everything.