There are some things I want in my life. I want the weather to be warm. Until I want it to be cold, of course, for the holidays. I want to give more than I take, celebrate more than I complain and sweat my ass of in yoga every single day. I’d like cats and children and some mismatched-yet-somehow-perfectly-paired dishes. I want friends who drop by just because, family who live in the same time zone and mornings when my cell phone isn’t the first thing I reach for.
I’d like to travel far and often, to start a magazine that doesn’t suck, to teach yoga, to open a restaurant. I want a home that’s small but comfortable with lots of windows (and screens) and a garbage disposal and a dishwasher and a washing machine and a garden and a magical as-of-yet-nonexistent contraption that cleans all cat hair without me noticing or doing anything at all.
Today I’m picking up (and signing, presumably) the lease for my new place. It has none of the things on my list. None. OK, cats. Check and check. It’s small and dishwasherless and a little rougher around the edges than the last place. But it’s also cute (oh so cute) and the neighborhood is walkable (and full of restaurants… and bars) and I’ll have an office (an office) and room for a little raised garden. I’ll decorate it (I promise, self, I promise.) and I’ll clean it and I won’t let Ralphie scratch anything of importance.
I’ll drive two miles to yoga instead of 27. I’ll make my humble little kitchen a Food Network set. On Saturdays, I’ll bike to the market precariously balancing the coffee and muffin I grabbed at the bakery down the street. And on my way home I’ll eat lunch at this place.
Crisp (Charlotte, NC)
That’s where I am now. Eating a build-your-own with romaine, chickpeas, carrots, artichoke hearts, olives, char-grilled tofu and roasted lemon vinaigrette and overthinking the hell out of the paper I’m about to sign.
It’s just a lease. It’s just a move. It’s just the next step.
All sandwiches should be consumed in the middle of a large body of water. Am I right or am I right?
Despite the impending doom of an afternoon closing shift at work on a holiday (just kidding–I asked begged to work; time and a half, y’all. time.and.a.half.) I insisted on pretending like I was on vacation for the first half of the day.
We took Waldo to the park...
Drank beer on the boat... (Stew did)
And lunched on the water.
I’d call it a pretty perfect Memorial Day… even if it did end folding pants for six hours.
Flawless pant wall brought to you by Katie
Work hard, play hard. Chase salads with shots of buttercream frosting. Balance, my friends. Balance is what I’m after this year.
In case the 90-degree temperatures weren’t proof enough, last night I saw my first lightning bug of the season, which means summer is officially here. To celebrate my favorite season and my favorite fruit of my favorite season (you following me here?), I whipped up this super simple, light, refreshing watermelon lemonade.
I made this virgin because, well because it’s 9 o’clock in the morning. But that won’t stop me from serving it over mottled mint leaves with a shot of vodka. You don’t mind, right?
Oh, what a marvelous weekend it has been. It started yesterday afternoon when my new friend Rachael and I made a beeline straight from work to Cowfish for cocktails. OK, maybe there was a detour at Anthropologie on the way. Did you know I have never stepped foot inside an Anthropologie until this week? It’s true. Did you also know that I want everything in the store? I do. This is what working in the mall does to me.
Our waitress sized us up pretty quickly as “those girls who probably want the rejected drink orders that were messed up at the bar and will tip well upon receiving them.” And boy are we ever. I got a margatini (which is basically just a margarita in a martini glass and is no longer on the menu but if you ask for it they’ll make it), which was accompanied by a key lime martini reject. I graciously accepted both.
Coconut crusted onion rings
I snacked on some of the world’s greatest coconut onion rings but saved myself for dinner later with Stew at a middle eastern restaurant. Speaking of which, how would you pronounce THIS:
If you’re thinking foul as in foul ball and maddam “Oh, hello madam” then you would be my friend. You would also be WRONG, my friend. It’s FOOL MA-DAH-MAHS. WHAT. Learned that one the hard way.
Fattoush, hummus, grape leaves
Today we had an, uh, “exciting” morning? And then I went to pick carrots out of the garden.
And eat lunch with Stew’s family.
So many chips.
And round out the day on the lake with my brother.
Finger-licking–no matter how mind-blowingly delicious a food is–is, in my opinion, always completely inappropriate. I don’t care how much you enjoyed your meal. Now I can’t enjoy mine because you’re sucking remnants off your hands (and God only knows where those have been).
So it pains me a little bit lot to confess that I just used my finger like a damn squeegie to salvage the smear of banana coconut cream from my leftover breakfast cupcake plate. I’m embarrassed. And oh so satisfied.
Everyone knows that “muffins” are really just cupcakes without frosting but some brilliant person had to come up with a new name so people wouldn’t have to admit that they’re eating cupcakes before noon. Kind of like how someone had to come up with mimosas and bloody Marys to make drinking champagne and vodka before noon more chic.
Naw, don't worry about it. I'm a MUFFIN.
The muffin… cupcake… muffcake (??? ew.) I made this morning is definitely more breakfast than dessert. It’s whole wheat, refined sugar free and fat free (until adding nuts and toppings) AND it has chai in it. Chai = breakfast.
Naturally, this baby is a twist on Katie’s single lady cupcake. And by “twist” I mean I used her exact recipe but swapped chai concentrate as my liquid. I’m so talented.