Hey just bathroom selfie-ing at The Smith
Last night I was packing up to fly back home (and was upgraded AGAIN on the way back, btw, which either means that I am a freaking genius capable of hacking the algorithm, on the receiving end of some bizarrely coincidental good karma, or Beyonce), when I realized that I haven't really explained what I was doing in New York.
A year ago today, when we marched in Los Angeles, the size of the crowd floored me: thousands and thousands more people than were expected showed up, and the march spilled out into what felt like the entire city. As exciting as it was, I remember thinking that it - meaning all that energy and rage - wouldn't last. We'd promise ourselves not to start feeling like this presidency was normal...but then, inevitably, "normal" would become exactly how it'd feel.
This year we decided to stay put and march in San Jose alongside our neighbors. I expected to see a few hundred people; maybe a thousand.
The march spilled out into what felt like the entire city. Nobody went anywhere, and they certainly didn't shrug their shoulders and go back to their couches. I think the part that really got me - beyond the man holding a sign saying that he was there for his granddaughters - was just how many kids there were. I am so excited to see what all those children marching alongside their parents, in strollers and on shoulders, hoisting signs that they'd clearly made themselves, will grow up to do one day. I'm pretty sure they're going to be the ones saving us.
This is not me, obviously, but given the sweatshirt-and-no-pants vibe, it totally could be.
My luggage situation, I think we can all agree, is completely unacceptable. I'm not even talking about the "not arriving at the desired location, ever" part; at the moment I'm specifically referring to the physical luggage itself.
Which is terrible.
Now that's how you dress for a flight.
In the past few days, a few posts have popped up on my newsfeed with “insider tips” from flight attendants; namely, tips on how to be the kind of passenger who gets upgraded. And because today marked the first time I have traveled sans children in a good long while - and you know nobody with kids is going anywhere except the very back of the plane - I figured what better time to do a little experiment and see if I could score myself a few hours of free food and extra recline?
Caveat: I am a Delta Skymiles member, so I have to assume that factors into upgrade decisions. But I’m only a Silver - which really isn’t that big a deal - and I’ve never been upgraded before, so frequent flier status, in this case, doesn’t feel like a game-changer to me.
The #twinsies thing happening here was my fault.
Me: Faux Fur Slides | Sunglasses | Cashmere Turtleneck | Amazing Travel Mug
F: Floral Embroidered Denim Jacket | Sneakers | Sunglasses
Francesca came to visit for the weekend, and our plan for what to do was pretty exhausting and intense. Here goes:
Being someone who has suffered from chronic anxiety for well over a decade and who is writing a humor book about anxiety is a bizarre experience. So much of what I've gone through has been decidedly less-than-funny, but now, as part of the writing process, I've been scrolling back through old posts I've written on the topic with a new perspective. I mean, I hallucinated tiny banana-shaped people sitting in my linen closet and telling me they could help me sleep. (True story.)
Come on. That's funny.
But re-reading these posts is doing something else: it's making me remember just how rough that (extremely long) time period was, because it's easy for me - a person who is now capable of sleeping through the night without bolting straight up in bed at 3AM, wide-awake and sobbing because DEATH IS REAL - to forget how out of control my life used to feel, because I simply couldn't rely on my own brain to do what I wanted it to do.
This is the general look I'm going for in our hall bath.
(Minus...you know, the space and light, because my bathroom is a cave.)
I've started working on our (first) bathroom renovation, and am paralyzed by the most ludicrous of decisions, so I'm going to have to ask for your help. I'm trying to pick out a white vanity, and I can't do it: I've spent hours and hours scrolling through websites past bazillions of different options, and am super annoyed at myself for wasting this much time on something when I need to be doing other things that aren't ridiculous, like going to sleep at a normal hour or finishing Fire and Fury. Except for some reason I cannot make a selection, because a) bathroom vanities are something that I have literally never in my life given any thought to, and b) oh my god, they're so expensive.
If cats have nine lives, Lucy basically has nine cats. (Kendrick gave this joke a B. Whatever, I think it's funny.). To explain, allow me to briefly enumerate for you the situations in which my twelve-year-old, eight-pound teacup shih tzu has eluded death:
And now?
Now Lucy has cured herself of blindness.
Crate & Barrel 2-Piece Lounge Sectional | Gray Malin "Viareggio Pool" Print
One of my most frequent recurring dreams: I suddenly discover a series of rooms in my house that I've never seen before, and am overtaken by a sense of simultaneous frustration (why didn't I know these rooms were here all this time?!), excitement (new rooms!) and anxiety (what will I do with all these rooms?!). Apparently dreams like this symbolize that the dreamer is discovering untapped potential, or moving beyond what they previously saw as their limitations.
To me, they've always felt slightly more literal.
Skirt | Heels | Blazer | Blouse | Purse*
I took these photos a couple of weeks ago, planning to write something about office holiday party attire, but now the holidays are over. So why am I posting them anyway?
Well, first, because I like this outfit so much. It's comprised of a few pieces that I wear much, much less often than I probably should (especially that Helmut Lang blazer - which, FYI, is totally on TheRealReal for $59 right now, so if it's your size hurry up and grab it).
But mostly it's because I have nothing else to post. Because I have had both of my children at home with me all week long, and have been trying to write a book while also trying to convince a three-year-old and a six-year-old that "Poo-poo diaper face" is not an acceptable way to refer to one's sibling (and even if they do call you a poo-poo diaper face, that DOES NOT MEAN THAT YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BITE THEM I'M SERIOUS DO NOT BITE YOUR BROTHER).
