What It Is.


Hey there, world! Remember “What It Is”? In case you forgot, it was this brief heading I would apply to me yammering on for a brief period about whatever was wading around in the shallows of my brain.

But, before I break into that great and glorious list, check out that image up top. I was doing some internet research and came across this original advertisement for the ultra-popular, must-have, perfect-gift-to-give-and-get “DAMN I’M GOOD” bracelet. 1977! How neat! The internet is a beautiful vortex. It has also been my sole source of employment for the past four years and counting. Life in the future isn’t so bad.


Maybe it’s because I lost some of my precious body fat running around the block so many times this summer. Or, maybe it’s because I’m getting up in years. Maybe it’s because I cut off all of my hair the other day (more on that, next). Regardless of the whys, I’ve been feeling a little more cold than usual. Thus, “being cozy” has stepped up its place on my list of priorities. The other day, my pal Jesse asked her blog readers, “What do you wear when you regress?” My ideal cozy outfits are much the same as my ideal “regression” clothes: thick, wool socks (sorry, Jesse!), thick, spandex running tights (black), wool, turtle neck sweater (shrunken. also black. also sorry Jesse), and a small, tight skirt (often black!) for modesty and to guard against wearing tights as pants. So, black= soothing, even. Tight= ever embraced in a loving hug.

But, more so than cozy clothes, I’m talking all the trappings of cozy- save for the warm bath. I hate baths. But I’m talking soup. I’m talking scarves. I’m talking staying in and hanging out in the living. I’m talking quilting and warm bevs and a pinch, just a pinch, of nutmeg. By far, my best cozy investment of the past few years has been an old, red, rubber hot water bottle. It looks like a cartoon but, when filled with boiled water and placed at the foot of my bed, feels divine.


There is now a lot more of my face in the world. And it is awesome.



Last month, Dave’s sister and I started talking about, despite being snobs currently engaged in polishing off a 5 course farm-to-table dinner, that there was something so wonderous about a hot bowl of 14 cent ramen. Not even Oodles of Noodles or anything they sell at Whole Foods. More like Top Ramen and Maruchan. The next day, I made a bee-line for the corner store by my job and exited 30 seconds later in victory, small, red package labeled “beef flavor” in hand. Since then, I have invested in a large pack of the strange and mysteriously named “oriental flavor”. What is “oriental” supposed to taste like, rugs?



Attend yourself to those two beauts up there. The A/V cart came from the flea market and was kind of a godsend as it matches our gross, pastel yellow walls perfectly and our former tv-holding situation was getting kind of desperate. The metal cabinet on the right was actually a godsend. Like, it might have been sent for me by a god or deity. I found it abandon in a bush, down the street from my house. With exception to the couch, which cost a pretty penny (and almost cost me my entire relationship. Furniture shopping brings out the worst in me, it seems) and the two lamps from Ikea, everything in the living room has been bought 2nd/3rd/4th hand, was a gift, or was found in the garbage. Actually, you could say that about our entire house. Many of our furnishings were fished out the waste stream with a metaphorical safety pin tied to the end of a shoe string. It’s how we roll.


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