Friday, April 18, 2014

Friday Wrapup

It's that time again! Let's get to it.


A lot of you may have already seen this, but I think it's safe to say I wish this flight attendant was on all of my flights!


Before the book of the week, I just wanted to acknowledge the passing of Gabriel García Márquez. He wrote one of my favorite books ("One Hundred Years of Solitude" - which other members of my family have been like 'Um, that took me one hundred years to read.' But whatever.)

And now.....

BOOK OF THE WEEK. This is a book that, according to the review, could be read in a day, which always puts it up at the top of my list (and is beautifully written, winner of the Man Booker Prize, yadda yadda). Click here and check it out and browse around the rest of the site for more great recommendations!

Also, I'm reading a book at the moment that was touted as the UK's version of "Bossypants." Stay tuned!


And now, the Video of the Week! Because I heart Coldplay. The End.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Conversations from cohabitation (and texting)

After getting off the subway the other day, I sent this text to CB:

Me: I just saw a couple go through the PATH turnstiles holding hands over the turnstile. Thank you for never making me hold your hand while going through a turnstile. That would make us the worst.
CB: I love you for not wanting me to hold your hand through a turnstile. This is why we work.
Me: Indeed. We're MFEO.
CB: Conversation over. 


And this morning, this text conversation happened with a friend:

Mary: Are Ice T and Coco still together? I figured you would know since you are neighbors.
Me: I love that you know what to come to me with. Yep!
Mary: That is good!
Me: Speaking of which, did you see that Tori and Dean have a new reality show where they're in therapy trying to save their marriage after he cheated? As a human, I feel dirty, but as me I have already set my DVR.
Mary: Don't be mad, but I don't like her/them.
Me: How are we friends? I can't believe I never knew you didn't like Tori Spelling. It's like not knowing that you hate chocolate or something else I'd assume you'd like right along with me.
Mary: You gonna be ok??
Me: I mean, I suppose I’ll get over it. It’s like I never knew you at all.
Mary: I mean…I don’t hate her. I find her annoying in a big-eyed kinda way. Hated her character on 90210.
Me: Yeah, that’s a legit reason, big eyes and everything. And I seriously hated Donna Martin. Even though I love my Donna Martin Graduates t-shirt. I’m a mystery. I’m glad we had this little talk. We’re obviously very important people with big jobs and lives. 

Happy Wednesday everyone!

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Friday, April 11, 2014

Friday Wrapup

My hair is noticeably puffier, which means it must be getting warmer/more humid. Thanks, spring! I've missed you. Let's get to it.


I know this guy bugs some people but I laugh out loud every time I watch one of these.


This week's book is "The Boys in the Boat" by Daniel James Brown. I am reading this book after reading the review if for no other reason than the comparison to Laura Hillenbrand, who wrote "Seabiscut" and "Unbroken," which is one of my all-time favorite books (and blogged about!) So click here to check it out and browse around for other inspiration!


Um, I can't believe CB and I didn't think of this. And also that I don't have those shoes sort of breaks my heart.

I should also mention that I'd probably volunteer to miss my own wedding to go to this one. (j/k CB!)


And now, the video of the week! I apologize ahead of time to CB and my dad who, every time I highlight the National anywhere in my life, they're like 'Seriously, are you depressed? Is there something we need to talk about?'

I can't help it. I love dark, depressing music. It balances me.

Happy Friday! (on that note)

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

I'm Famous! And sweaty.

I don’t know about you, but when I’m working out and having my alternate-universe thoughts about living in Beyonce’s dreamy, kind of sexy-time-these-days-filled world, I lose track of the time and the day and specifically what I look like. Which is helpful, because I sort of look like a swamp monster who’s emerged from the lagoon (that’s where they live, right?) after years below the surface and everyone’s like “That girl does not own a brush and/or has too many sweat glands on her body.”

Anyway, it’s useful to live in my world at these specific moments because you are immune to looks and questioning side-glances while also getting a killer workout and listening to Drake sing to Mrs. Carter. It’s win/win all around.  

Until, of course, someone breaks the Bliss Bubble and talks to you at the gym and you’re like “Aw snap, people can see me.” (full disclosure: I’ve never actually said the out loud words “Aw Snap.”) Which is exactly what happened to me yesterday. And it was incredible.

First of all, I go to the gym at the same time – give or take five minutes – every single work day of my life. It’s what flexible and breezy people do who need structure in their lives so they don’t crumble before you. And I’ve been doing this for about three years now, seeing the same 40 or so folks each day, some of whom I think use the gym to check their emails while fake-lifting weights and lay on the stretching mats to comfortably play Candy Crush (note to us all: this is why we’re an obese nation.)

But mainly, we’re all there for the same reason: to wear cute workout outfits and burn calories. Which is why I wear my Friendapalooza shirts about every other day with whatever shorts are the least dirty.

So yesterday, while hopping off the treadmill, a woman I’d not seen in my gym routine world before, approached me as I was sweat-walking over to do some circuit training (do I sound like Jillian Michaels? Goal achieved.)

And then this happened:

Gym Woman: “Excuse me…”
Me: “Yes?”
GW: “Does your shirt say ‘Friendapalooza’?”
Me, laughing awkwardly: “Oh…yeah…why?”
GW: “I know this sounds weird, but do you by chance write a blog?”
Me, hearing buzzing from happiness in my ears: “Yes….”
GW, excitedly: “Stories About My Underpants?!”
Me, looking around for Ashton Kutcher to pop out from behind the bushes (I know there aren’t bushes in the gym, just go with me on this): “….yes…..”
GW: “Oh my God! I read you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday!”
Me, losing all sense of reality at the realization that I’m completely famous now: “Really? That’s crazy! How do you even know about it?”
GW: “A friend of mine sent it to me when you wrote about that time you sang at the boy when you were younger and we though it was so funny. I’ve been reading ever since!”
Me: “Oh my God that’s crazy! Who’s your friend?”
GW: “INSERT NAME OF FRIEND HERE” (admittedly, I don’t remember it).
Me: “Wow, I don’t know her either…” (in-my-head-thought: I’m famous to one person!)

And then some other things were said that I honestly don’t remember. Except she did ask to see my ring and then complimented CB. And CALLED him CB, which totally told me she was a fan because she didn’t even know his real name! Which is awesome.

Of course, I emailed CB right away and I’m pretty sure the subject line was “I’m famous.”

Sidebar: I’ve become unbearable to live with now that I have new-found fame. I have begun demanding that we only have blue M&M’s in my trailer at all times and only white roses, not red, or I totally won’t perform!

Anyway, it was pretty much one of the coolest things that has ever happened to me – I’m even going to go so far as to say that it’ll likely overshadow the birth of our first-born, and pretty sure CB would agree. However, my peg was brought back down to the first notch when I gleefully bounced into the locker room and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was like “Oh crap. That’s what you looked like when you were discovered.”  

It’s good to stay humble.

So, if you’re reading this, Girl at the Gym Yesterday – thank you for making my day. And reading this blog! And now I suggest that each of you forward this blog onto a friend so I can be approached at the supermarket, in the women’s public restroom at work, and on the subway. I’ll be the girl wearing my rotation of Friendapalooza shirts from now on to make me easier to identify.

You’re welcome, world.

Happy Wednesday! 

Monday, April 7, 2014

Matching and almost losing your underpants at the Lincoln Memorial: A Step-by-Step Guide

As serendipity would have it, we’d planned to be out of town this weekend with some friends in our nation’s capital, which I must say is a great way to distract yourself from a quiet, kitty-free apartment for a few days. So, we made our way down to DC for what we assumed would be more low-key, kid-appropriate fun since we were traveling with eight adults and five children between the ages of 9 years old and 3 months. I mean, we’re a little older, wiser, more mature now, and so we were basically planning on seeing monuments and educating ourselves on fun, historical quotes about war. You know, setting a really good example for the impressionable minds of the youth among us.

But then we got together and gave the kids junk food and drank lots of wine and ended up wearing matching, glow-in-the-dark t-shirts all the way to the Lincoln Memorial. Exactly as we all remember family vacations from our childhoods, right? 

To be fair, we’re a good time and those kids love us. Also, when we get together we sometimes like to match and call it “Friendapalooza.” However, we typically have actual Friendapalooza t-shirts made for the occasion (obviously), but since this was sort of impromptu and involving children, I think we thought for a minute that we weren’t us and wouldn’t need to match.

We were so wrong.

Now, I must admit that there are some in the group who, on the surface, appear to be against matching.

He clearly got over it.

Shockingly, Courtney and I didn't listen to them and so, by the time we got out of the Air and Space Museum, we were like “Wait, we’re not matching. How did this happen?” And we started bartering.

Also, when I say “we,” I mean “Courtney,” since I went to two t-shirt stands and was like “How much are the awesome, glow-in-the-dark tshirts with moustaches and sunglasses?” and the guy was like “Eight dollars.” And then I attempted to do math for 12 people (the three month old got a pass) and got tired and went back to the group and was like “I think eight dollars sounds like a lot of money to spend on something only two of us want.”

Likely where we began scheming.
They agreed and begged us to keep walking and so Courtney was like “Let me handle this.”

Again, it’s possible that we dragged her nine year old with us for the cute factor, and she proceeded to get 12 t-shirts for six dollars a pop. Also, theoretically she was about to get the kids' t-shirts for five dollars, but when the guy was like “Yeah, I don’t think I can go that low” and Court was about to bring her power of negotiation, I was like “Ok! No problem! We’ll take them all for the same price.”

Cut to five minutes later, 12 t-shirts in-hand:

Courtney: “Um, next time don’t interrupt me when I’m negotiating. It doesn’t help to be on his side when I’m trying to save four whole dollars.”
Me: “But I felt bad.”
Courtney: “And that’s why you were about to spend eight dollars on a three dollar t-shirt.”
Me: “But they’re the best.”
Courtney: “They really are.”
Me: “Everyone else is going to be so excited!”
Cut to three minutes later when we started handing them out to the rest of the gang: 
Matthew, age 3: “Becky, I don’t want this t-shirt. Take it back.”
Me: “But it’s awesome!”
Matthew: “No thank you.”
Me: “Put it on.” 
(future Mother of the Year?)

And then this happened.

However, as happens with most interactions concerning me, by the end of our afternoon, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, every single person in our group was invested in how exactly my underpants had found themselves planted firmly against my upper thigh and not, you know, where underpants should be.

Matt: “There is something called ‘elastic’ that goes in underpants. You should try that.”
Courtney: “If you make me touch your weird underpants line one more time, we’re not friends anymore.”
Beth: “I feel like this topic is discussed a lot for one person. Seriously, you are wearing the wrong size.”
Mike: “How is this a thing that happens to you all the time?”
CB: “Is it too late to run?”
(answer: yes. Shhh, don’t tell him.)

Ahhhh, friendship. Just what the doctor ordered.

Happy Monday, everyone!

Friday, April 4, 2014

Friday Wrapup (kind of)

Let's get to it.

This is not going to be our typical wrap-up, but it DOES include a video, and so I think that counts.

As some of you know, we had to say goodbye to our little guy, Oliver, yesterday morning. It was the absolute hardest thing I've ever had to do, but it was definitely the right thing and he was a stoic through it all, purring all the way.

So, in honor of our lil' bud, below is a video from exactly one month ago, on his birthday, when he was in his happy place - playing with his new bday gift and laying in the sunshine. Does it get any better than that?

Enjoy your weekend, everyone, and I'll be back at you on Monday!


Monday, March 31, 2014

Conversations from Cohabitation

While prepping a hospital gift bag for a friend who just had a baby.

Me: “Thank you so much for getting the junk magazines for her to read. Which ones did you find?”
CB: “I think I got People and U.S. Weekly.”
Me, laughing: “U.S. weekly?”
CB: “What, isn’t that what it’s called?”
Me, still laughing: “No, it’s called ‘US’ weekly.”
CB: “Oh. Well, how would I know that?”
Me: “Everyone knows that.”
CB: “I can honestly say I’ve never read that magazine before. You don’t read that stuff, so how would I know?”
Me: “Right, and I’ve never read The Economist, but I still know what it’s called.”
CB: “Not the same thing.”
Me, holding up the People magazine: “It’s like saying ‘Oh, I got the Pea-o-play magazine you asked for.”
CB: “Um, I know the word ‘people.’”
Me: “But you don’t know the word ‘us’?”
CB: “It’s different! The U and the S are different sizes!”
Me: “You are my all-time favorite person for so many reasons, but one is because you’re 87 years old at all times. Please never change.”
CB: “I stand by it. US is a dumb name for a magazine.”
Me: “But U.S. Weekly would be flying off the shelves.”
CB: “Conversation over.”
Me: “Shh, quiet. I have to go read my Pea-o-play magazine.”


While going through a magazine mailer CB got on wedding suits and tuxes.

Me: “It’s creepy to me how all of these companies know that we’re getting married even though we don’t sign up for this stuff.”
CB, silently reading the cover of the magazine and making a face.
Me: “What?”
CB, holding up the magazine: “It says ‘9 trends grooms are into now.’ I’m not gonna’ lie, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be into these 9 trends.”
Me: “How do you know?”
CB, getting very passionate: “Have you seen some of the styles on guys these days? I don’t know who decides what’s fashionable-“
Me: “-fashion designers…”
CB: “-but I gotta’ tell ya, they’re living in an alternate universe.”
Me: “You’re very passionate about this.”
CB: “Seriously, you know what doesn’t look good? Your thighs being the same size as your calves. Who finds that sexy?! But they walk around with these super tight pants on and I’m like ‘you’re a guy. Nobody wants to see your chicken legs.’”
Me: “So no skinny suits for you?”
CB: “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a skinny suit.”
Me: “At least you know what you don’t want, that’s a start.”
CB, flipping through the magazine and holding up a picture of a skinny suit: “I mean, really.”
Me: “I know, grandpa. I know.”

Friday, March 28, 2014

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!


This week's book is "The Presidents Club" by Nancy Gibbs & Michael Duffy. I actually think that CB would love this (having not yet read it myself) based upon the review and sounds like something I and a bunch of you would dig, too! Click here to read more about it and peruse the site for other inspiration!

Um, and thank you to my dad for posting because he knows even when I'm not sitting cat-vigil, I'm only 50/50 on posting in a timely fashion on the book blog. Thanks, dad!


"The Mindy Project" finally comes back next week, you guys! (if you're not watching it, how are we friends?) CB is somehow containing his excitement by not talking about it at all and refusing to watch anymore YouTube video montages I send him of the obvious love between Mindy and Danny.

However, you have not been burdened with living with me, so all I can say is that you're lucky I don't have all of your email addresses or you'd have to quit your jobs to watch the more-than-friendship love between the two of them that I'd send you approximately every 1.5 hours.


So last night a commercial came on TV for Build-a-Bear Workshop. And then this conversation happened.

Me: "Please don't ever make me go to a Build-a-Bear Workshop with our kids."
CB: "Have you ever met me?"
Me: "I know. But you're really good at, like, being selfless and doing things because you think kids would like it, even if you don't, necessarily."
CB: "Yeah, but kids are easily manipulated."
Me: "God we're going to be awesome parents."

And now, the video of the week. Which, I must say, came in no way from CB. Because last night I was like "What should tomorrow's video of the week be?" and then CB sat there staring at puzzle pieces (which isn't weird since we were doing a puzzle) and was like "Hmmm, let me think on it." And then we never spoke of it again.

So, in honor of the newest little member of  our (my soon-to-be) family, welcome to the world, lil' Cam!

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

And then CB gave Superman a run for his money.

When I was younger, I had romantic notions about what love was. I mean, they weren’t so much my notions as they were the notions of Nora Ephron and any movie that Julia Roberts was in (except, like, the one she was in with Nick Nolte and that other one where she dressed up like an old timey lady.) Basically, if you were holding a stereo up over your head and playing tremendous 80s love songs, or exchanging witty banter with your best guy friend who didn’t know he loved you until you took off your glasses, you were speaking my love language.

However, as I got older I realized that those notions were so 80s-slash-90s (and some 2000’s) and that love was more than just the stuff in movies – it was about being able to have long, intellectual conversations about life, and politics, and philosophy (just kidding, I’ve never had a conversation about philosophy because OH MY GOD have we met?) It was about being so deep and completely insufferable. Or, what’s more commonly known as “your twenties.”

So when CB and I met, I’d been through all of the puppy-dog, swooning love stages that one goes through to reach the point in their adult life where they can recognize a real connection when they see it. I mean, sure, it took us five-plus years and a lot of back-and-forthing before acknowledging that recognition, but whatever, we got there is the moral of the story, you guys.

But this past weekend, love was redefined yet again – except the beauty of it this time around was that it was redefined with the same person. I mean, thankfully, right? Otherwise, there are a few non-refundable wedding deposits that would totally sting and also, I’d have to come up with another code name for my new boyfriend and it’d just get all kinds of confusing for you regular readers who don’t like change.

You see, as I eluded to in my last few posts, we’ve been having some tough times with our cat, Oliver. He’s had a rough go of things over the last few weeks, and if we’re being honest, I thought we were upon the last of his last days.

A proper superhero
wears a bow tie.
I, of course, was the picture of stability, grace, and constant steady emotions, true to form. I mean, stability, grace, and steady emotions are emitted via hysterical crying, chapped noses from the tissue fort you’ve built around yourself, and not sleeping or eating steadily for 5 days so that the dark circles under your eyes are accentuated only by the new cry-wrinkles that have appeared around your orbital sockets. Right?

Ok then.

But as I slowly declined into a cat-mom-and-nothing-else, CB quickly grew into, well, the best of everything else. He’d sit next to me on the bed while I cried, rubbing my back and knowing that words would be lost on me. He’d wake up periodically to check on Ollie and find me on the couch trying to hand-feed him anything he’d take, never judging or ridiculing, but instead, trying to come up with a new way we could get him to eat. He’d go into the city, then back to New Jersey, then into the city and back again for vet visits, never blinking at the thousands of dollars we were dropping and reminding me that Oliver is more important than, well, anything else. He’d crawl under our bed to where Ollie had hidden himself so that he could spoon-feed him tuna or Gatorade or basically whatever he would take during his hunger-strike.

And he’d even go so far as to risk his own life and suggest that I should “maybe run a brush through your hair?” before going back to the vet. Apparently, not showering for 36 hours and crash-napping next to a feline for 20 minute stretches does not a trendy new hair-do make.

CB: “I mean, the front and sides look fine. I just know that you can’t see the back of your head, so I just thought I’d mention it….”

Every day, without fail, we’d wake up and devote those hours to keeping Ollie alive. Every day, without fail, CB was there when we needed to make tough decisions, get good and bad news, and jump at a moment’s notice when the situation changed yet again.

And every day, without fail, I’d look at him and realize that this was the first time I understood the true meaning of partnership. And also that I should probably brush my hair because he’s pretty handsome and there are other non-cat-ladies out there who could totally appreciate him while also not smelling like Friskies.

Basically, I finally understood that the Beyonce-themed dinners and romantic proposal and surprise birthdays are inspired and fun and whimsical, but that the real romance happens when the fan has been hit, when the chips are down, and when the hair has gone unwashed so it stands up on its own. Which, if I’m being honest, is a roll I think Julia Roberts would TOTALLY nail, you guys. It’d be the rom-com of the summer.

So thank you for your comments and emails and text messages and Facebook posts. The love was felt, absorbed, and redistributed to a little 12 year old cat who, I'm happy to say, is no longer hiding under the bed. 

Happy Wednesday, you guys! Thanks for waiting. Glad to be back. (and that will commence the sappiness. On Friday we will resume our regularly scheduled hilarity.)

Monday, March 24, 2014

Worst blogger ever.

BUT! The good news is that I'm back from my business trip and Ollie seems stable and so I'll be back at it for the rest of the week! Thanks for your patience and nice emails and comments.

Thursday, March 20, 2014


Sorry I haven't blogged the last few days, you guys. We've been in and out of vet hospitals with Ollie and have some more days to go. Send as many good vibes as possible and I promise I'll write more next week!

Monday, March 17, 2014

Conversations from Cohabitation

While getting ready for work the other morning:

CB: “You’re looking good this morning.”
Me: “What can I say, I’m a looker.”
CB: “All that working out is paying off!”
Me: “It’s keeping me very fit and youthful, it’s true.”
CB: “Yeah, you look great for 37.”
Silence and a death stare from me.
Me: “I will punch you in the face.”
CB, laughing too hard to speak.
Me: “I hate you so much.”
CB: “Well, it’s not that far off.”
Me: “OH MY GOD. I’m not going to be 37 until the end of the year! Quit aging me! I look good for 36!”
CB, wiping away tears from laughter: “And you look even better for 37!”
Me: “We’re pre-divorcing.”


Me: “I think I pulled a butt muscle today. Is that a thing?”
CB: “Butt muscles? Yeah, your glutes.”
Me: “Well I think I pulled my glute today on the treadmill. It’s making me walk funny.”


Me: “Will you massage it?”
CB: “Your glutes?”
Me: “Yes. I realize it sounds like I’m asking you to rub my butt muscle, but…”
CB: “But you’re asking me to rub your butt muscle.”
Me: “Pretty much, yeah. But don’t get the wrong idea.”
CB: “What idea am I supposed to get?”
Me: “I’m just saying, we still have a few more episodes of ‘House of Cards’ to watch tonight so I’m not trying to pull a fast one on you. I just need a butt massage.”
CB: “Nothing has ever been less enticing than this conversation.”
Me: “Ooooh baby baby. Now come rub my butt.”
CB: “Oh Lord, it’s going to be a long life.”

Happy St. Patty's Day, everyone!!

Friday, March 14, 2014

Friday Wrapup

Alright, Mother Nature, you've officially confused me into submission. First, you jack the time up by an hour, but make it lovely and sunny and warm and so I'm like "Cool, who wants to sleep when it's so nice out anyway?"

And then you make it drop into the single-digits and the wind starts blowing so hard that I start saying things like "It's a twister, it's a twister!" at work because everyone always finds me and my anachronistic film references funny.

And then I sadly put all of my spring clothes back into the pile on the floor, making room for my sweaters, and so you decide to jack it back up into the 50s for the weekend so that I'm totally confused by how I should be dressing and feeling.

You win.

Let's get to it!


These always make me laugh. People are mean and don't know how to use spell-check.


This week's book is called "The Happiness Project" and is one that I read a while ago but have chosen to re-read again. Maybe you can read it with me! Click here to read the review and check out other great book suggestions that you might also enjoy.


Ok, so for the Video of the Week, I've chosen a song simply because it's pretty and I love it. Enjoy and Happy Friday!

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

And then I became the sixth or seventh Kardashian.

So last night was my hair and makeup trial for the wedding, you guys, and apparently I’ve been doing hair and makeup wrong for pretty much, well, my whole life? Or at least from late teens onward. Before then, I think I pretty much nailed it.

Exhibit A. I rest my case.

Anyway, I learned quite a few tips and tricks, some that I’ll share with you all now because I’m altruistic like that.

Here we go:

Blonde people can do things with their hair that brunettes/lesser people cannot.
Ok, so one of the tips the hairdresser sent leading up to the trial was to pick hairstyles matching the same hair color as my own. I was like “huh?” and then took a poll of about 7 people randomly to be like “Do blonde people have different hair than me? Why do they get hair styles that I don’t?” Which really struck people on the street as odd, and so then I asked some friends and co-workers because I’m never a distraction in the office and always the consummate professional.

The consensus was the same: this was dumb and I almost knee-jerk picked a bunch of Carrie Underwood/blonde celebrity photos just to be a rule-breaker. But then, of course, that gave me anxiety and so I literally googled “brunette hair styles” and called it a day.

However, when we got to the trial last night, I had to know - inquiring minds and what have you.  I’m like a regular Hardy Boy (the brunette one).

Me: “So, I have a weird question for you about hair.”
Stylist: “Sure.”
Me: “Why did I have to bring photos of only people with my hair color? Do blonde people have different hair?”
Stylist, laughing: “No, but the style will look different on you than on someone with lighter hair. Typically, styles with braids and twists show up better on people with lighter hair because you can just plain see it better.”
Me: “Oooooooooooh. That makes total sense!”

Light bulb moment. (Oprah)

Don’t talk about “The Golden Girls” to people under 70.
First of all, I need to say that I’m pretty sure the makeup artist wanted to be best friends with us because she spent the hour of makeup application laughing and telling us about astrology. (more later) However, I made a few comments that revealed far too much about who my inside self is to perhaps give her pause on actually showing up on the wedding day.

For example, while talking about makeup application and foundation, as ladies are prone to do in these situations, Beth asked if there’s ever a need to apply makeup below the jaw line so things match more evenly. Katie, the makeup artist with a tool-belt of brushes, was like “No, I just match the jawline to the neckline. Though sometimes older women in their 80s or so will ask me to  apply it down to their chest, which is always a bad idea.”

So, first of all, I’m pretty sure Katie is getting hit on by 80 year olds and doesn’t know it. However secondly, and more importantly, I then said “Yeah, on the Golden Girls you could always tell that they had makeup on down to their collar line.” And then Beth mouthed “You just said that out loud.” And then I was like “oh crap, an inside thought got out” and Katie pretended like I didn’t just talk about Blanche and Dorothy as if they were people I hung out with (wishes could come true).

Don’t drool while in public/near a stranger/when you’re not sleeping.
So the anxiety dreams I was having leading up to this evening were basically firmly planted in the idea that I would lose an eye and/or somehow eye-seizure my way right out of being able to have mascara or eyeliner applied anywhere near my face. Which really is quite challenging if you know anything about proper makeup application.

Anyway, I felt it necessary to warn poor Katie that I have a habit of eye-seizuring (that rapid blinking and squirming thing you do when someone comes into the room with a liquid liner) and sometimes panic-closing my eyes when I’m supposed to “look up and to the side.” But Katie – who basically acted as my personal makeup counselor/therapist all evening – was like “Oh, that’s totally normal” and would then say “you’re doing great” after every time I didn’t close my eye or start to cry as she applied mascara to the bottom lashes. It was like having a labor coach for eye makeup, which I highly recommend.

However, what I was unaware of is that sometimes, when people who aren’t you are applying lip liner and then lipstick and then lip gloss to your lips - and your mouth is at that half-mast thing they make you do so they can find your narrow lip line – you start drooling.

I couldn’t help it, you guys, it was taking forever and I started awake-dozing!

The problem, though, was less with the fact that a little drool escaped and more that I was like “Oh sorry, I just drooled a little” and then Beth was like “Seriously? You just said that out loud.”

And then Katie laughed and talked more about water signs.

My love is not as stable as I thought it was.
This has less to do with makeup/hair tips and more to do with the fact that poor CB is in for a long, hard life with me.

So Katie was asking about CB and I mentioned that our wedding day is the day before his birthday. Immediately, Psychic Katie was like “Oh, he’s a Leo?” And then I paused, looked at Beth, and was like “sure?”

I have no idea.

So then she started telling me all about Leo qualities and then was like “What are you?” And when I said “Sagittarius” there was a half-second where it looked like maybe her expression was saying that a Sagittarius and a Leo should never be in the same room together.

However, she reassured me that it actually was pretty good, and after breathing a sigh of relief, I explained to Katie that we were all lucky she saved that one because I’d have to go home and tell CB that we were doomed and to just end it now. The upside is that I learned a lot about CB, especially because Beth was like “Yeah, that sounds like him” and I was like “It does?” and at one point Katie was like “Have you met your fiancé before?”


Don’t hide who you are.
This is the final tip I learned, and probably the most important one. Because let’s be honest – for those of us mildly-to-moderately-to-excessively interested in presenting ourselves to the world in a way that seems socially acceptable (no time to debate all this, Gloria Steinem, that’s for another day), the main goal is: “I want to look like I’m not wearing makeup while wearing makeup so I look glow-y and natural.”  Which may have been verbatim how I described the “look” I was going for and then I whipped my hand in the air like a wand and said “Go Katie, create magic!” and she laughed nervously because usually people who do that are crazy.  

However, the first round proved that, when in doubt, let your true colors shine through. You see, Katie thought maybe we’d “even out” my skin tone by applying a slightly heavier foundation to my rosy Irish completion, which basically just made me look like I was getting ready for a stage play where the closest audience member was a football field away and wouldn’t know that I wasn’t naturally kind of tan.

Katie: “I don’t think this is quite right for your skin.”
Me, relieved: “Yeah, I’m ok with my natural skin tone coming out. I want to look like me. Nobody will buy that I’m the sixth Kardashian anyway. CB’s seen me when I wake up, so any of this will be an improvement, rosy complexion and all.”

Cut to: 20 minutes later, a lot of makeup remover, and new, lighter foundation and BOOM. There she is, ladies and gentleman, Rosy Becky with shimmery cheeks and eyes!

So obviously I picked up the picture of Hayden Panettiere and her “dewy” makeup look that I’d brought for inspiration and said (not at all like a crazy person): “It’s like looking in the mirror.”

And then Katie laughed some more and didn’t respond because she was raised right.

But honestly, you guys, it was kind of way more fun than I expected, I looked like myself “just way better” (goal achieved), and Beth took notes on the tools she will need to curl our eyelashes and apply mascara with a brush instead of a wand.

Me: “I don’t think they sell that at the Dollar General.”
Beth: “I bet they do.”
Katie: “Well….these are M.A.C. brushes, so….”

Sorry, Katie. We’re new here.

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Go let your true colors shine! (but bring a pressed powder compact with you just in case). 

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

I'm here! I'm here!

Sorry I was missing from the blogging world yesterday, you guys. Our cat, Oliver, has been a little under the weather and I spent my morning guaranteeing that CB is definitely Ollie's favorite and maybe getting the silent treatment from him (the cat..not CB. I don't think?) for most of the day.

Anyway, we think he's alright but are just waiting on some bloodwork to come back and confirm it. So...good thoughts? Send 'em our way!

I'll be back tomorrow!

Friday, March 7, 2014

Friday Wrapup

I audibly gasped when hearing the news that we have to move our clocks ahead one hour on Saturday. Thanks for starting off my Friday on a low note, morning news.

Let's get to it.


I think this cat is how CB feels most of his days?

Since we all know how I like to keep up on the latest trends, I was pleased to see that one of the runway shows during Fashion Month (is that a thing?) was quite similar to the look I've been sporting all winter called "Winter can suck it and so can any fashion choice when it's -18 degrees."

Fashion Would You Rather: Hulking Sweater Monster vs. Elegant Loofa
Also, I'm pretty sure we can all agree that fashion is pretty much
just putting a bunch of things you own on at the same time and being like
"I'm a genius."


This week's book is a throwback from a few year's ago but kind of timeless and timely. Also, my dad wrote it (the review, not the book) and refers to me as "Beckie" throughout, which will always and forever make me laugh. 

He's referred to me as "Beckie" since I was a kid, through my teens, and into adulthood. I'd comment and say "Um, dad, it's spelled with a 'y'. Also, you named me...shouldn't you know?" and then he laughs good-naturedly and my mom and I never drop it, which he appreciates.

Anyway, it's called "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch and I listened to the audiobook and was really moved by it, so I bought it for my dad. I think my dad's review is spot on - except for the ego part - Randy had one and it was not reminiscent of my dad. So no fear. 

Click here to check it out - I don't think you'll be disappointed! Enjoy!


Um, I want to warn all of you that I may be incredibly boring on Monday's post because a friend of mine loaned me the entire first season of "House of Cards" and I plan on not getting out of my pjs, eating pizza and probably some popcorn, and binge-watching it. I'm so excited!'ve been warned. Kevin Spacey or bust! 


And finally, this week's video is from one of my favorite bands. But it's one of those bands, like the National, that when I put it on for too long, CB is like "Why are you one of the happiest people I know yet listen to music that makes people want to kill themselves?" And then we debate good music and I always win because, obviously. 

Anyway, here is a throwback from The Editors. Happy Friday, don't forgot to grudgingly turn your clocks forward and I'll see you Monday! 

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

My Life According to Google

Last night on my way home from work I was deleting the browsing history on my iPhone. It’s something I like to do every now and again, but not because it’s all filled up with pornography and pictures of Scott Speedman with his shirt off. I mean, maybe the second part, but who would want to delete that?

Anyway, I do it because I have mild OCD and also because you know how I sometimes have irrational death fantasies that lead me to making the bed every morning and always making sure the counter-top is clean before leaving for work? Well, I also have irrational death fantasies about being dead, having the paramedics look for my contacts in my phone, and then getting bored on the ride over to the hospital and starting to figure out who I was before I got trapped in a manhole by my new Gucci shoe and not rescued by Matthew McConaughey (“Wedding Planner” was on this weekend, you guys!)

And it would be terrifying and ultimately sort of sad. Because, while I have friends who literally have jobs that are actively helping people better their lives, educate today’s youth, and design websites that make all of our lives more fun, I spend my days asking Google what a papaya tastes like.

Oh my God I’m not kidding.

So below, ladies and gentleman, are the last five things I searched for on my phone before deleting everything and pretending this never happened. Unabridged and unashamed (the title of my first book in a trilogy that is yet unnamed), here we go:  

What do papayas taste like?
Ok, this might seem ridiculous, but I’m reading a book right now that is talking about Bali, and apparently papayas are, like, falling from the sky. And since I was late to the fruit game and just got on board with oranges, I got nervous that I would be fruit-offensive when CB and I go there later this year. However, I also didn’t want to offend my palette with a fruit that was the worst. So, I googled it and the consensus seemed to be that they’re bland? Which I can handle. Especially if I’m eating them while sitting next to a pool in the Balinese jungle and playing with monkeys (it’s possible that my interpretation of what our honeymoon will be like is quite different than CB’s. Or that of reality. However, that’s never stopped me before, so let’s move on.)

Things to wear in Bali in August
Duh. I'm sensing a trend. 

Dangers of getting peppermint in your eye.
This was a legit concern, and one that was typed using one hand as the other was cupping my eye wondering if I’d permanently blinded myself accidentally by delicious hard winter candy.

How does one get peppermint in their eye, you ask? By being a child who lives in an adult world, that’s how. You see, we keep a bowl of peppermints by the door in our apartment because it’s the best. And so I usually take a couple and put them in my coat pocket for later and snack on them throughout the week. However, apparently there’s some sort of inner peppermint battle going on in my coat pocket, because the other day, one got loose and was just hanging out all broken up into pieces and out of its protective plastic wrap. A rogue peppermint!

So of course I put my hand in my pocket, pulled it out to itch my eye and  all of a sudden a hunk of peppermint was stuck to my hand and started scratching at my cornea!

Hence, the Google search.

Luckily for all involved – especially that peppermint – my vision appears to be normal at the moment, but I'll keep you posted.

Is Bono from U2 short?
This was prompted by the Oscars the other night when I pointed out to Beth that Bono seemed to be wearing heels.

Me: “I think he’s super-short, like 5’5”, 5’6”?
Beth: “Really? How did I never know this?”
Me: “Well, I’m kind of making that up. But he looks short. And he’s wearing heels.”

Result: he’s 5ft 6inches. BOOM. Thanks, Google. (I still love you, Bono. And as I've explained to CB several times when he points out that celebrity men I love are likely short: "Short doesn't matter when you're laying down." I'm such a lady. Best Future Wife Ever.)

How do they make glass? 
The other day at work, while sitting in a meeting in a conference room made entirely of glass, I was like "Glass is the best. How do they make glass?" And then remembered to Google it on my way home that day and felt all proud that I'd remembered. 

Of course, I couldn't tell you how they make glass because then I got distracted by a comedian I found while googling this who had a whole stand-up routine around googling about glass.

And then the world as we know it ceased to exist because we're all the absolute worst.

So…what’s the last thing you googled? Am I alone here? 

Happy Wednesday! 

Monday, March 3, 2014

Throwback Monday? Is that a thing?

So I've become like a hibernating bear who has to nap at least once a day on the weekends in order to make winter end sooner. Or at least this weekend, where I'm pretty sure that the moments I was awake I was just waiting until an appropriate time to fall asleep.

Hence, my brain is still turning on for the week and I'm not at all interesting or humorous or even necessarily wearing matching socks. SO, I've decided to throwback this Monday (as you do) to a post from last year. Especially since CB brought it to my attention this weekend that I was not properly considering the possibility of moving to the Carolina's because I thought he was having one of those "You want to live in Vermont, I want to live in the South" conversations we have and laugh about. I was incorrect. Apparently the winter has gotten to us all!

And so, this post seemed appropriate. Enjoy!


Last night I was putting on my eye mask and inserting my ear plugs when I looked over at CB, who was opening the window and wrapping himself in a quilted blanket, when it hit me: “Wow, we must really love each other.”

Which I know sounds really weird since I was essentially creating, as I do every night, a sensory deprivation chamber on my own head while he was voluntarily freezing himself out – if anything, we sound mildly psychotic. But if you think about it, so much of couplehood is managing your needs with those of your partner, and then picking and choosing your battles. I mean, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is!

Also, it should be noted here that I may just have no idea what love is.

You see, I was single for a few years prior to dating CB, which obviously means that I was just incredibly choosey and totally beating them off with a stick. Of course, he was single, too, and the other night, he explained why:

CB: “After a while, girls would just sort of get on my nerves and it wasn’t worth it.”
Me: “So you stayed single for so long because people bugged you? You’re, like, the most easy-going guy I know, that doesn’t make any sense.”
CB: “Yeah, but if I’m going to be spending most of my time with someone, they have to not get on my nerves after just a few days.”
Me: “It’s shocking to me that I was your choice. Like, I don’t even mean that in a sarcastic or self-depricating way.”
CB: “Yeah, I was sort of floored, too.”
Me: “I guess that’s why we work.”

Ahhh, love.

But seriously, after thinking about it, I realized that our relationship is sometimes an exercise in compromise and/or sacrifice without ever really feeling like it (to me. And also CB, since I'm going ahead and assuming we're on the same page here.)

  • I wear ear plugs every night. And this is as much for CB as it is for me, since prior to this, I would lay awake every single night and contemplate smothering him with a pillow so he’d stop his bear-like snoring. Also, I sometimes wouldn’t let him sleep if I wasn’t sleeping, and so I’d nudge him approximately every 17 seconds to make him turn over or just cut it out already. So, with the earplugs, we both sleep more soundly.
  • CB will sleep with the window open and/or the heat off when it’s 50 degrees and below on most given nights because I’m like a radiating hot box that groans, tosses, and complains if it’s mildly warm. Also, he used to get many more head colds because of this decision until realizing that I would sometimes share the comforter and/or he could put more layers on. I know, I’m a monster.
  • I cook.
  • CB grocery shops.
  • I listen to numerous stories about the Mets, random golfers, how terrible the Jets are, and any other stray fun-fact about sports during most of my waking, non-working hours.
  • CB watches Bravo shows, even though I think he may have called Cablevision to see if maybe Bravo didn’t have to be included in the basic package. And sometimes the shows involve matchmaking, interior decorating, or gay fashion stylists. Those are just a few of his favorites.
  • I try to stay up past 9pm on weekends so we can have “movie night.”
  • CB puts a movie in at 6:15pm so I can make it all the way through.
  • I clean the bathroom.
  • CB pulls the grody stuff out of the drain in the kitchen sink because my skin can’t touch food-water.
  • I wake up to a rather grouchy, profanity-laced diatribe about how mornings suck about 3-5 times per week.
  • CB attempts to get into bed after I’ve fallen asleep. Also, once in a while we’ll have the “your side of the bed” conversation and I’ve insisted that I stay on mine. (see photo)
    This is me sleep-wrestling the comforter. 
  • I’ve been commuting from his apartment – one mile away – to mine for a year and a half, every day.
  • CB will get into the very corners of the sofa so I can sprawl out and lay on him. “Seriously, when we get a bigger couch, I know that, somehow, you’ll still end up in my corner.” I tell him it keeps our love strong to be that close. He says it could be stronger if I’d go sit on the loveseat. But he still scoots over every day. 

And obviously there are many more. Some that, I’m sure, I’m not even aware of. 

But at the end of the day, isn’t that what it’s all about?

Happy Monday, everyone!

Friday, February 28, 2014

Friday Wrapup

Oh good, more snow on the way! I was worried. Let's get to it!


Let's all sing along!


This week's book is "Arc of Justice", which centers on a famous race-related trial in the 1920's and "focuses on the history of the KKK, the NAACP, Clarence Darrow, the major trials of the era, and culminates in a good depiction of the trials" that resulted from the initial incident that brought us to that trial in the first place. Click here to read more about it and browse around for some other book suggestions!

Earlier this week I experienced the best time of the year, which is when a friend has bought some Girl Scout cookies and I go into her refrigerator and eat one.

You see, I pride myself on having the self control to not purchase Girl Scout cookies each year because I realize that some people (i.e. me) cannot eat just one (sorry, Pringles). Instead, I blink and all of a sudden a sleeve of cookies is gone and my stomach hurts and I fall into a shame spiral that lasts until I get a taste for some peanut butter and chocolate again. Rinse, repeat.

ANYWAY, all of that is out the window now that they've created a GIRL SCOUT COOKIE LOCATOR APP. What is this world coming to? And why are we just figuring out that this is what humanity has needed for decades? I need to download that app immediately go back to work and stop thinking about it.


And now, the Video of the Week! I can't help it - this song FORCES me to bop along, and potentially clap along out in public, leading people to switch to the other side of the street. C'mon, people, clap along!

Happy Friday!