Friday . April 04 . 2003 . 4:33pm bold new look, same great taste Dig my new design. I just had to do it. The last time I redesigned was more than a year ago, and I was in this Woody Allen circa "Manhattan" mode, romanticizing the city out of all proportion. (Post 9/11 ardor, you see.) But all that black and white was just making me really, really depressed. It's spring, dammit! The spring of my youth! I can't decide yet if all this pink is making my teeth hurt, but I'll just leave it for now. We went out to dinner last night with my parents to go over the seating chart details, and didn't get home until late. I was so tired, I was just ready to collapse into bed. But I couldn't, because we had just laundered the sheets that morning, so the mattress was all naked and the sheets were all in a pile and it was all such chaos that I was going to cry. So I had to make the bed, which is not such a big deal, except when your fitted sheet doesn't quite fit your mattress, so every time you get a corner anchored on, the opposite one goes flying off, forcing you to scuttle back and forth like a movie where they show someone making a bed with the film playing in super-fast motion while merry saloon piano music is playing. And then I had to cram our gigantic down comforter into the duvet, which is not that bad until you get to the fluffing out part, at which point it is impossible. You know, where you take the ends of the blanket and fluff it up into the air, evenly distributing the down and blanket within the cover? Well, I can't do it with our comforter. It's too heavy for me. (I know. Shut up.) So instead of having it fluff out nicely, all I can do is rapidly lift up and flap down my end of the comforter with a strained look on my face, while the rest of the comforter just lies there. It looks like I'm playing peek-a-boo. I guess I just don't have the skills to be a Maid in Manhattan à la J. Lo, working at the plaza, fluffing the comforter of the rich patrician Ralph Fiennes. Speaking of down comforters, it's so cold here right now that I'm going to die. How can it be thirty degrees in the middle of April? It would be a perfect day to just stay in (clean) bed, except that our high maintenance dog dictates outdoor excursions at least QID. (That's four times a day, you lucky non-medical civilians.) Sometimes I wonder if we're feeding this dog enough. We are, technically, according to the book, but every time I take her out, she eats every single last piece of garbage on the floor as though she were some depraved, starving beast. She ate spilled Skittles. She ate a piece of pig vertebra out of the garbage behind the supermarket. She wolfed down an escaped fry off one of our neighbor's front stoops before I could even see what she was doing. She even licks at damp spots in the sidewalk on the off chance that they might be food-related stains. And then she licks my mouth. I started reading Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About a few days ago, sort of on a whim, charmed by its pretty cover, and have really been enjoying it. It's a fun book, sort of a hybrid between Helen Fielding and Dave Eggers, and my only rue now is that I should have saved it for the honeymoon, to read on the plane. Now all I have left are The Frickin' Nanny Diaries, a piece of popular fluff that I'll probably finish before the plane even takes off. If anyone has any good book or play recommendations, send them my way. xo Michelle Countdown to the wedding: 23 days |
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Friday . April 04 . 2003 . 4:33pm bold new look, same great taste Dig my new design. I just had to do it. The last time I redesigned was more than a year ago, and I was in this Woody Allen circa "Manhattan" mode, romanticizing the city out of all proportion. (Post 9/11 ardor, you see.) But all that black and white was just making me really, really depressed. It's spring, dammit! The spring of my youth! I can't decide yet if all this pink is making my teeth hurt, but I'll just leave it for now. We went out to dinner last night with my parents to go over the seating chart details, and didn't get home until late. I was so tired, I was just ready to collapse into bed. But I couldn't, because we had just laundered the sheets that morning, so the mattress was all naked and the sheets were all in a pile and it was all such chaos that I was going to cry. So I had to make the bed, which is not such a big deal, except when your fitted sheet doesn't quite fit your mattress, so every time you get a corner anchored on, the opposite one goes flying off, forcing you to scuttle back and forth like a movie where they show someone making a bed with the film playing in super-fast motion while merry saloon piano music is playing. And then I had to cram our gigantic down comforter into the duvet, which is not that bad until you get to the fluffing out part, at which point it is impossible. You know, where you take the ends of the blanket and fluff it up into the air, evenly distributing the down and blanket within the cover? Well, I can't do it with our comforter. It's too heavy for me. (I know. Shut up.) So instead of having it fluff out nicely, all I can do is rapidly lift up and flap down my end of the comforter with a strained look on my face, while the rest of the comforter just lies there. It looks like I'm playing peek-a-boo. I guess I just don't have the skills to be a Maid in Manhattan à la J. Lo, working at the plaza, fluffing the comforter of the rich patrician Ralph Fiennes. Speaking of down comforters, it's so cold here right now that I'm going to die. How can it be thirty degrees in the middle of April? It would be a perfect day to just stay in (clean) bed, except that our high maintenance dog dictates outdoor excursions at least QID. (That's four times a day, you lucky non-medical civilians.) Sometimes I wonder if we're feeding this dog enough. We are, technically, according to the book, but every time I take her out, she eats every single last piece of garbage on the floor as though she were some depraved, starving beast. She ate spilled Skittles. She ate a piece of pig vertebra out of the garbage behind the supermarket. She wolfed down an escaped fry off one of our neighbor's front stoops before I could even see what she was doing. She even licks at damp spots in the sidewalk on the off chance that they might be food-related stains. And then she licks my mouth. I started reading Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About a few days ago, sort of on a whim, charmed by its pretty cover, and have really been enjoying it. It's a fun book, sort of a hybrid between Helen Fielding and Dave Eggers, and my only rue now is that I should have saved it for the honeymoon, to read on the plane. Now all I have left are The Frickin' Nanny Diaries, a piece of popular fluff that I'll probably finish before the plane even takes off. If anyone has any good book or play recommendations, send them my way. xo Michelle Countdown to the wedding: 23 days |
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