If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?
If a blogger spends two consecutive evenings drafting thoughtful, well constructed content but posts nothing, does it count for anything?
Food for thought!
PS: Happy Anniversary, Will & Kate. I love you.
Happy Friday, all of you beautiful butterflies. How was everyone’s week? I am happy to report that I made it through seven straight days without spilling ANYTHING on my clothing. A new record for sure.
That said, a friend of mine informed me that she dropped a meatball down the front of her top and the first thing she thought of was not how she was going to get the stain out or whether or not the meatball was still edible but ME. My life is complete. Blogs (and you know, personal writing in general) are such a weird thing and it’s not unusual to question what exactly you hope to get out of this exercise in narcissism and I realize now, that is just what I want: to be the first thing on anyone’s mind when they spill food on themselves.
Also: to have a movie made about my life.
Just two simple, realistic goals.
My week was a little meh, I must be honest. I’ve been struck by severe seasonal allergies/ a spring cold and my head has been beyond stuffed up. I feel like I’m supporting a bowling ball on my neck and am totally fuzzy and lethargic and having a difficult time focusing, none of which is made much better by the Zyrtec I keep slamming, which just adds to my general air of complete confusion. So if I’m even loopier today than usual, forgive me. Between mother nature and allergy pills, I’m high as a kite.
ALSO, breaking news, I might have to take back what I juuuuust wrote four second ago about not spilling, because literally as I sat here typing this dumb post, our mail guy came in to give me a package and in reaching for the package I knocked a mug of tea all over my desk including my calendar and work notebook. Live from New York, I’m makin’ a mess!
So…Days Without Spills: seven ZERO
It’s a rough life over here. Why don’t we see what else was keeping it awkward this week:
This Elevator:
On Monday I was riding down for lunch, standing in the back corner of the elevator, just totally spacing out. I guess I zoned so far out that we reached the ground floor and everyone else exited, leaving me just standing there staring into space. I came to and found myself facing a group of women staring at me curiously, debating whether they should just get on the elevator or say something to me or I don’t know, check my pulse to see if it was dead.
I said “Oh geez, whoops!” and gave a THUMBS UP to the crowd of onlookers and then ran away.
Also, this just happened: I needed a photo of said elevator, so I went out into the elevator bank on my floor and surreptitiously snapped an image of a closed elevator door with my phone, and was going to just turn around and go right back in, but then decided I should make it look like I was doing something normal, in case the receptionist was watching me (she wasn’t), so I boarded the next elevator to arrive – there was one other passenger, a guy, aboard – got to the lobby, exited, stopped and made a whole scene of patting my pocket and said “oh, no, I forgot my wallet” to the other passenger slash thin air, but I needed to make the whole scene look realistic in case anyone was wondering what I was up to (again, no one was), then got back into an empty elevator, rode it up four floors and took this selfie on the way up.
NORMAL STUFF. Workin’ hard.
Also: It’s hard to view in this image but I am straight rocking this mint green zip up hoodie that I have had since 2001 and is now covered in weird rips and stains. I brought it into work to wear to the gym but instead left on the back of my chair and now have been wearing every single time I feel cold, which is every day. So, yes, today happens to be casual Friday and I happen to be wearing a highly professional flannel, but even days when I’m looking corporate chic, I end up covering it all with a ripped sweatshirt.
Employee of the Century.
These Flats:
I got them at Urban Outfitters a few years ago and never ever wear them and this week was like hey! these shoes! who do I never wear them? And so I wore them…and remembered why. They’re cheaply made and feel it – the soles are terribly thin and offer no support, so I added an insole. Except the insole makes my foot stand too high in the shoe, so I can’t walk without them falling off of my feet.
I lost them walking down the hallway at work. Coming up the subway stairs (ew). Crossing the street to get home.
You’d think I might have switched out for one of the five pairs of shoes still under my desk, but unfortch that idea did not occur to me until right now. Too late.
If anyone wants a pair of crap flats that look cute when standing still but are 147% impossible to move in: they’re alllll yours.
This Combo:
Some night over the weekend I was going to meet a friend and wanted a slim book so I could read on the subway without having to lug around anything too heavy at the bar, so I tossed The Great Gatsby in my purse, figuring I’d been meaning to re-read it anyway, and would be all caught up just in time for the movie, so I could fully engage in any highfalutin debates about why the book was better or how the themes didn’t translate to big screen or how Baz Luhrman really missed the mark on using 3-D to engage viewers with the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg or whateverrr.
I forgot how much I love that book. What a great read!
Also, I realized on the subway mid-week that in addition to reading TGG I was carrying around my Gatsby tote bag (which I won as a door prize at a work event, booyah), basically looking like some kind of F. Scott Fitzgerald Super Fan slash Super Huge Nerd slash incredibly fashion-forward literary type who matches all of her accessories to her novel. I’ll go with the last one.
I guar-an-teeee you there is at least one weirdo working in publishing who does/could, in fact, pull off this nerdalicious fashion trend. I aspire to be that person.
This Sidewalk Crack:
Did I trip on it this morning? Yes.
Did I fall and rip my jeans? Blessedly, no.
Did anyone see? Tons.
Did one of the witnesses say “Be careful and god bless you on your journey today”? You betcha.
This Tree:
Because it is gorgeous and possibly the cause of my cotton head and also smells like semen.
Say wha?!
You heard me! These beautiful trees blossom all over NYC and the first spring I was dating Brian, he pointed out how smelly they were and told me how he & his buddies always said they smelled like sperm.
To which I turned up my prim nose and said ‘you, sir, are an immature boar” and pranced away. Just kidding, I laughed and laughed and LAUGHED because I, too, am an immature boar and how funny is the word semen? tee hee!
Also, tis’ true, these trees do reek of man juice. (Just, no one question how I know that.) (Sorry mom!) Now every spring, we walk around and remark “my my, what a beautiful semen scented morning!” or “Spring and sperm are in the air!” and oh, how we chuckle.
It’s pretty sophisticated humor, you guys, keep up!
Turns out, we’re not alone: several news articles have been written on this very subject, including one in the ever illustrious New Yorker.
Sooo, with jizz in the air, maybe it’s a good thing I can’t smell this week?!
This Cucaracha:
Well, one of his real-life, much more disgusting counter parts, but I didn’t want to put a real photo of a real cockroach on le blog because ew.
So Tuesday morning I was at Brian’s house, he was in the shower and I was sitting on the couch in my towel, drinking my tea and reading the internet when I noticed a movement on the floor beside me and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a GIGANTIC COCKROACH scuttling all around the living room floor like he owned the damn place.
Now, allow me to make a momentary disclaimer lest you think Brian is some gross bug infested monster person, he is actually quite clean and if I do say so myself, adorable. But this is New York, the grossest city in the whole world and bugs (and rodents, yech) are basically housepets ’round here.
All of which might make you think I’d be unafraid of them, but you would be incorrect in that assumption. Apparently I am a squealy, squeamish, pathetic little girl for when I saw Old Roach Face, I immediately pulled my legs up on the couch and just started yelling “BRIAN! BRIAN!” but he didn’t hear me over the noise of the shower. I thought about throwing something at it, but the only things within my reach were a drinking glass and Biran’s work-issued laptop, neither of which seemed like good options.
So I just sat there like a baby and watched as the dumb bastard crawled around the floor and eventually underneath the coffee table, presumably into the running shoes stored under there, where he would live forever and lay eggs and mutate into a colony of one million killer cockroaches.
Brian got out of the shower and talked me off the ledge and I managed to muster up the courage to get off the couch and sprint over to the bed, where my clothes were tossed, so I could get dressed for the day. I had no sooner dropped my towel when this jerk of a roach came zipping out from under the coffee table, across the floor right next to me. Real impressive timing, perv, right when I was undressed!
I lept up onto the bed and stood there completely naked as the day I was born just flipping out. “Brian! Brian! He’s back! He’s going into your closet! He’s touching your belts!!” Brian bravely and calmly threw a giant math textbook (of course) at the beast and it didn’t kill him, but did seem to scare him into the deep recesses of the closet, where he has not been seen or heard from again.
It was horrific.
Not so much the bug, but my behavior. When did I become, like, Gloria from Modern Family? Not in va-va-voomishness, of course, but in shrill hysteria? I live in a dirty city and have encountered skads of creepies and crawlies in my day and will likely encounter many more in my future and yet this one bug sent me flying into a butt-naked freak out.
Quite the scene, my friends. Quite the scene.
I will do my best to work on my bug bravery, but I can’t make any promises. Yuck, yuck, YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKY.
And on that note, the end! What a week, guys. I have already had four cups of tea this morning, to flush out this cold, and my head remains stuffed but I’m running to the ladies room ever 20 minutes. Can you pee out a cold? Is that a thing? Starve a fever, pee out a cold?
Oy yoy yoy. Enough.
Everyone, I hope your weekend is full of semen blossoms and empty of bugs and a delight from start to finish.
xoxo Liz Ho
Hello, sweet friends. How is everyone doing today? I think we can all collectively agree this week was…not great. From Boston to Texas and back (not to mention the disappointing news out of the Senate) it has just been a chilling, sad, scary week and my whole heart goes out to anyone affected by any of this week’s tragedies and to all of us feeling a little less safe, less sure about the future.
One small light that has emerged from this week is the reminder that, even in bad situations, good people prevail. This article, this roundup and this moving facebook post have all brought a smidge of comfort to me in the last week, and of course, this funnyguy brings a bit of much needed laughter amid the tears.
Love to friends in Massachusetts, Texas and across the planet. And everyone reading this, wherever you may be, do me a favor today, will you? Hug someone you love. Or if they’re not a hugger, perhaps an arm pat. Pinch their behind. Smack them upside the head with a rolled up newspaper, gently, then laugh about it. Bring them coffee in the afternoon or a cookie at lunch. Snuggle a few minutes longer than usual. In whatever language works for you, show a little extra love today and this weekend. Life is short and scary and unexpected and impossible to predict, but it’s also full of a lot of wonderful, beautiful things. Like love. Embrace it.
————————–
Aaaaand moving on to excessively more trivial matters, life is also full of humor and ridiculousness and vain people who like to talk about themselves on the internet all the time so let’s insert a terrible segue from serious to silliness here (it absolutely destroys me that this is now the second time in under six months that I’ve had to make that joke) and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.
These Muffins:
My department made baked goodies to send to all of our sales reps this week, to thank them for their support and also to butter them up so they keep loving our books. Buttering up is probably what I should have done to these pans because my banana muffins (from a box) came out looking less than appetizing. I made it into the office with five semi-salvagable muffins. My teammates had beautiful boxes of cookies and brownies and homemade whoopie pies that looked professional and I had this hot mess. You’re so welcome, sales staff. Keep up the great work, I know I will.
Want to know where I got the mix for such delectable muffins? See below!
This Shopping Cart:
Last Friday night I met a girlfriend for happy hour and after a few glasses of wine, was walking to the subway when I realized, hey! I’m walking right past Trader Joe’s. And they’re still open! Why don’t I drunkenly go on a shopping spree at 9:30 on a Friday night. And so I did.
This is my life now. Gone are the days of late-night shenanigans and inappropriate romantic decisions and pizza bingeing. Nowadays, my boozy impulse behavior is apparently just pillaging the hummus aisle and stocking up on dried fruits.
Party Animal.
This Balloon:
Over the weekend Brian & I were walking around Williamsburg (Brooklyn, not Colonial. I WISH!) on the way to a friend’s birthday party when we encountered a group of people carrying huge bunches of turquoise balloons.
“Would you like a balloon?” one of the people asked, in a singsongy voice.
“YES!” I shrieked and ran to them, grasping at a balloon, ignoring the strange look on the person’s face.
“I think she was talking to those small children,” Brian said, pointing to the group of strollers and toddlers directly in front of us, which I had barreled through in pursuit of my shiny new toy.
Real, cute, Liz.
But, adults need balloons too! I call age discrimination.
I was going to give the balloon to my birthday friend, but when we showed up at the party we were super early and I felt weird and self conscious standing there holding a balloon, so I tied it to a post outside the bar. Sorry, friend.
This Laundry Bag:
Because those are my clothes, but that is NOT my bag.
Here in the Big Apple (no one calls it that), drop off laundry service is incredibly popular for those of us without in-building washers and dryers. It’s relatively affordable and saves you from having to hang around the laundry mat, which is always just the best place in the world to spend your time. (<————- lies.)
I usually don’t do drop-off because it seems just too indulgent to me, even though it’s not that exciting. I don’t know why I put this much emphasis on it, but I feel like doing ones own laundry is kind of a grown-up thing to do and dropping off is just like, so excessively fancypants and snooty. Also I’m really particular about what clothes I tumble and what I line dry and I worry they won’t do my wash in the right way, so I’d rather do it myself, even if it takes time. But, long story so, so, SO long, sometimes when I’m supremely desperate, I’ll drop-off my tumble dry things (sheets, towels, gym clothes) before work, and then in the evening I’ll pop in, wash just my hang-dry stuff, pick up my drop-off and bring it all back home, so I’m only wasting 25 minutes at the laundropalace instead of 2 hours.
Is anyone still reading this story? Good god, Liz, land the plane.
ANYWAAAAAAAAAAAAAY this week was one of those desperate times and when I went to pick up my laundry, the clerk handed me my sexy backpack and luckily I looked inside for some reason, because it was filled with someone else’s clothes! The fuck!
It turns out they’d mixed up my laundry with someone else’s, putting the wrong things in the wrong bags. GAH. The clerk, who did not even pretend to apologize, took his sweet old time poking through the stacks of clean laundry bags, lazily checking to see if any of the tags matched my pickup receipt and after FIFTEEN MINUTES he finally located my clothes, then took fifteen more minutes switching the items into the correct bags, so I really saved myself no time whatsoever by dropping off and added a significant amount of stress to my life.
It took all the strength in my being not to lose my marbles on this man. I’m never ever a complainer, I’ll eat burnt food and drink stale coffee and just want everyone to love me but sometimes, dudes, I can’t. I managed to keep my cool – I figured this guy probably makes like $3 and hour and has to touch other people’s crusty underpants all day long – but not without serious effort. He wasn’t even PRETENDING TO TRY to look hard! He never once apologized for their friggin mixup and was beyond rude to me. MLKMAKDJYLUMKS.! That was me belatedly taking out my frustration on my work keyboard.
Felt good!
But, it turns out I can’t really blame him for ruining my laundry life because…
These Camisoles:
Used to be white but are now…that color. They were in the small batch of clothes I’d washed myself to hang dry. I must have let in something that ran because now all of my whites are greyish.
Just slaying it in the clothes washing department this week.
And then, less than 24 hours later…
These Pants:
From which I had literally just washed out last week’s lotion stains and by 10:30 the morning after laundry night, were stained with permanent sharpie marker AND gloopy green avocado.
I am a mess. I’m going to give up on clothes all together. Laundry professionals can’t handle them, I certainly can’t seem to be trusted to wash them myself and I can’t go more than 12 minutes without staining them, so I’m just going to start wrapping myself in plastic sheeting, like a mummy, and at the end of the day I’ll just spray myself down with a hose.
Perfect.
And that is what’s up ’round these parts. Anyone have anything exciting planned for the weekend? Tonight I’ll be celebrating this gal’s birthday and tomorrow my mama’s coming to visit! We’re going to go to the Guggenheim, walk around Dumbo and probably consume several gallons of pinot grigio.
Look out, New York!!
Happy weekend to all of you beautiful flowers and big love from me to you.
xoxo Liz Ho
Happy Hump Day, my fine friends. Just checking in right quick with a few matters of bizanss following last week’s Friday Recap.
First: a huge thanks to all who offered frozen banana tips. Apparently you peel, thennnn freeze. Who knew?! Well, apparently a whole lotta people but not me, so thanks,banana smarties. You make the world go round.
Secondably: I know everyone is just dyyyyyyying a million deaths to see the results of my big time major joke contest. In case you need a refresher, the challenge was thus: correctly answer the A+++ super sophisticated joke below and be entered to win a major prize.
THE JOKE:
April Showers Bring May Flowers but What do May Flowers Bring?
There were a lot of great answers, including June Bugs (solid guess), allergies (true, but miserable), Summer beers( no, but now I’m thirsty) and Sexy Back, which, I mean, look at me, it never left. All fine guesses but sadly, this is a cutthroat wold and fine just isn’t good enough.
Thenreal answer is…drumroll please…Pilgrims. Just let that land.
Mayflowers bring pilgrims. Get it??? Because the pilgrims (Pilgrims? Proper noun?) sailed to America on a boat…named…The Mayflower! Best joke ever!!!
I’d like to take credit for crafting that fine piece of comedy on my own, but I’m pretttty sure I read it on like, a Popsicle stick or Laffy Taffy wrapper at some point. Never gets old, I’ll tell ya.
I was going to randomly select one correct guesser to win the prize, but only two commenters got it right and it hardly feels fair to reward just one of these comic geniuses, so both are winners today! So let’s give it up for Kamran and Abbe! You did it, guys! Congrats also for going through life with unusual spellings of common names. Must get complicated!
These two happen to be friends with me in real life, so they’ve already won the best prize ever, but as added reward for their hilarity and support of ye ol blog, a drink for each of you, on me! Cool prize, I know. Better luck next time, everyone!
And here is a picture of some dogs dressed up like Pilgrims & Indians because, sure.
That cuteness should get us through the rest of the week, no?
Thanks, everyone, for playing along in my joke game. Was it fun? Probably not. Contests & giveaways seem best when there are, you know, actual prizes attached. I need some corporate sponsors. Hello, Diet Coke? It’s Liz! Call me.
xoxo Liz Ho
Friends! How was everyone’s weekend? Mine was PDG. Pretty Darn Great. Sorry, Monday mornings lead to some highly unnecessary acronyming. Also: turning nouns into verbs. It’s a thing. Just go with it.
Anyway, have you guys heard of yoga? It’s this centuries old spiritual and physical discipline and also a fitness trend that became popular, oh, twenty years ago. Ever ahead of all the workout crazes (next up: Zumba!), I have recently started yoging and mostly enjoying myself. I have just done beginner stuff so far, so I can’t stand on my head or anything, but I’m excellent at corpse pose, which is where you just lie on the floor like, you guessed it a corpse and have also finally figured out how to do the sun salutation, which is like flowing from one move to the other and also a basic tenet of yoga that I’m pretty sure should take five minutes to master and has taken me seven beginner classes. Basically: I’m amazing.
But! I still like it, even though I’m mostly terrible. I like feeling myself using different muscles and trying new things and challenging myself to stand still when I’d much rather just hop around.
The one thing I just can’t seem to come around to is the meditative stuff. Meditation and breathing and holistic, body-focused, nature inspired, chakra power is a huge part of yoga but it is just not my bag. I KNOW that this part of yoga is probably the most important for anxiety monsters like me and I should stop being cynical and rolling my eyes and just go with it but eeeeeehhhhhhhhh: no. No matter how hard I try to turn my brain to nothing and banish all thoughts (maybe I’m trying too hard), I just can’t seem to do it.
And I have a question: can anyone? I’m serious. I’m sure there are plenty of yogis out there, and I would truly love to hear. When you are meditating/doing shavasana or whatever that is where you lay on the floor and become jello, does your brain ACTUALLY stop thinking and just start om-ing or become a big glowing ball of light or whatever or are you actually laying there, thinking, just like me? Tell me, tell me!
That said, despite my inability to stop my brain entirely, I have found that at the end of a good yoga class, when we have to lay on the floor and the teacher whispers all quietly about sinking into the mat and relaxing and focusing our minds, my mind still does, wander, always, but I seem to manage to get it down from about 100 miles / hour to, let’s say 15. And my thoughts tend to be on things like homemade juice and fresh tulips and how excited I am to see my mom next weekend instead of work or life or money or what people are thinking about me. So that has to count for something, right? Positivity?
So that got long and contemplative, deal with it, but I HAD to tell you about this hilarious experience I had in yoga class yesterday morning. So we yogied and yogaed and yagood and then laid down like dead bodies to meditate and breathe and relax and I managed to get my brain semi-focused on the task at hand when all of a sudden, beside me, I hear a faint snort. Then another, and another until it builds into a cacophony of snoring. The guy beside me had FALLEN ASLEEP and was sawing logs like a goddamn carpenter, all the while the teacher is softly whispering about emptying our minds and being one with the universe and I could not keep it together. It took every fiber of my being not to burst out laughing. I nearly peed myself right on the mat. My roommate was laying to my other side and we both had sense enough not to even glance at one another, or else we would lose it.
So then, of course, I just laid there thinking how I had to run home and blog about him. Excellent meditation, Liz. You nailed it.
But, I mean. AH! It was hilarious! What was I supposed to do, tune it out? Focus on my inner core being and the breath of the world’s goodness? There’s only SO FAR I can go with this Yoga scene and if it involves NOT making light of awkward situations around me (in a gentle, loving way, obvi), well, I don’t think it’s worth it.
Next class I’ll bring a big box of breathe right strips to pass out to other yogers, just in case.
You never know!
Ok, upon re-reading this story wasn’t thaaat great and maybe you had to be there. Mostly I just wanted to brag about how I’m into yoga now, so everyone thinks I’m fit and awesome. And also get some backup from the internet. Seriously, yoga professionals, am I doing it right?? Back me up that I’m not the only bad Yogi in the room thinking about apple juice and giggling to myself?!
Anyone? Bueller?
And that’s my story. The end! Wishing everyone a centered and spiritual Monday (yeah, right!) and here, apropos of nothing, is a beautiful picture of a magnolia tree because it is spring and I read somewhere that people are more likely to read your blog if it has photos.
YOU’RE WELCOME!
PS! On Wednesday I’ll be announcing the big winner of my amazing joke contest, so be sure to tune in, and if you have yet to put in your guesses, now is your chance! (Spoiler alert: the prize is nothing.)
xoxo Liz Ho
Happy Friday, my ducks! (Ducks? Ducks!) This week was SO good. Spring has finally sprung and I think the sunshine and warm weather and a few glasses of sauvignon blanc on a sunny patio was just what the doctor ordered to whisk away any remains of my winter doldrums. I’m back, baby!
I’m not even that bummed by today’s torrential downpour because I finally get to tell my VERY BEST joke that I save up and break out once a year on the first rainy day of April.
Is everyone ready for this? Hold onto your hats, it’s a good one…
April Showers Bring May Flowers, but What Do May Flowers Bring???
Answer in the comments and I’ll select one correct jokester at random to win a prize! The prize is a secret and could range anywhere from me mentioning your name in a post next week OR me sending you a bust of my head made of one million Sacajawea dollars, so you probably want to just gamble on it and take a guess.
But don’t rush into it, this is some pretttty sophisticated humor and might take a while to land.
Aaaand on that note, let’s see what else was keeping it awkward this sunny, beauteous, Aprilicious, Springalingadingdonging week:
This Banana:
I’ve been making a lot of smoothies lately because they are a healthy, delicious, relatively easy treat that my body seems able to digest. I kept using regular bananas as a base, but read online that frozen bananas really take smoothies to the next level, so I tossed a nanner in the freezer and it came out this horrible grey-ish brown color and ROCK SOLID. It took me at least 15 minutes, using our sharpest knife, to saw through the peel and try to salvage some of the banana meat for a smoothie that ended up tasting no better, at all, than my regular mix.
And incidentally, my smoothies have been looking a lot like what I’m trying to prevent with all this clean eating:
But they taste really good, I swear! My fave recipe: one NON FROZEN banana, handful of frozen blueberries, handful of frozen strawberries, handful of spinach, dollop of almond butter, 1/2 cup of almond milk and some water as needed, blend away until smooth and drink up! And if you really want to get fancy you can add some chia seeds which are the trendy new superfood, according to the internet, and I am obsessed with superfoods, even if they are the base of chia pets.
One of the articles I read about chia seeds gave a warning that, good as chia seed are, people should NOT eat their chia pets. AWW. People are so dumb!
These Pants:
Which I laid out on my bed to put on yesterday and then promptly managed to get lotion all over the butt.
Whyyyyyyyyyyyy? I am not exaggerating when I say that I have to change my clothes at least once a week before I even leave for work, because I can not get out of the house without first covering myself in food, cosmetics, lotions or other products that usually leave vaguely sexual stains all over the clean outfit I just put on four minutes ago.
I am like a toddler. Just once I would like to make it five days in a row without requiring an outfit change, is that too much to ask??? I don’t know why I’m getting so irate – who am I yelling at, besides myself, the only person to blame for all of my stained clothes? God?
Are you there, god, it’s me, Liz, stop spilling stuff all over my jeggings!!
Phew, that feels better.
This Salad:
Mixed greens with artichoke hearts, olives and…yum, cardboard!
My latest cleanse: only eat corrugated paper products.
OBVIOUSLY I threw the c-board away and finished the rest of the salad because a) I’m disgusting and b) that shit cost TEN DOLLARS AND EIGHTY THREE CENTS. For a bowl of vegetables. It would take like, an entire severed human arm popping up in my lunch for me to throw it away after dropping that kind of dough.
This Bookshelf:
Mine, in my boudoir where the magic happens. I try to keep things generally tidy in my home and I am practically perfect in every way, except one, which is that I am a notorious cup hoarder. Once a week or so my roommates will go into the cupboard to grab a drinking implement and find the cabinet empty and they’ll know exactly where alllllll of the cups are: in my bedroom. Every time a glass or mug goes in there, it never comes out again, until we’re forced to drink out of empty jars and I finally lug my dirty half-full water glasses and mugs of tea and things back into the kitchen, usually requiring multiple trips.
I was worse in college, when I was at the peak of my laziness/messiness/liquid consumption. I reached my record one day when we counted and I had thirteen cups with varying levels of old liquid in them including like a 7-11 big gulp, a plastic margarita glass, five wine glasses, three coffee mugs and so forth. Gross? Gross!
I can’t help it. It is my weakness. Now I usually just let myself get to approximately five cups or so, before bringing them back in. Usually they’re scattered about the room between the bookshelf and the desk and the bedside table, but the other morning I realized that every bare surface on my bookshelf was covered with a dirty cup. Whoopsicles!
These Ankle Boots:
Aren’t they cute? They’re Steve Madden and were originally over $100 but I got them for $45 at Loehman’s, cha-ching! It took me literally 11 tries to get a photo of them that came out halfway decently – at first I tried them on their own but they just looked like weird disembodied Wizard of Oz witch shoes (minus the cute glitter) so then I put them on my feet and couldn’t get a good angle and had to turn the flash on and it was a whole thingggg and I REALLY should not have gone to all that effort to tell you what I’m about to tell you, which I should probably tell no one but I have no filter whatsoever, so I’m doing it:
These boots make my feet smell.
Big whoop, you say? Everyone’s feet smell! (Except Kate Middleton’s!) Well hold your horses and let me go on (no, stop me!):
These boots make my feet smell like corn chips.
HAHA isn’t that gross?? For whatever reason, every time I take these shoesies off my feetsies the insides of the shoes and my feet smell EXACTLY like a bag of Fritos and I am not even joking. It is the weirdest, grossest thing ever.
Annnnd isn’t your life better now that you know this information? I think I may have just crossed the overshare line into a bad place, one I can never return from.
You’re welcome!
And for bonus fun, here is a photo of me this morning, modeling my Frito Boots (future band name, I call dibs!) for a blog photo:
Just GLAMOUR 24/7 up in the Liz Ho household.
And how was YOUR week?? Spill anything on your favorite pants? Rock ankle boots with a hot robe? Eat any good smoothies? As always, I’d love to hear from you.
Have a delightfully awkward weekend – get out and enjoy that spring weather! Unless you live in the snowy, icy Midwest in which case yikes, sorry guys. Hang in there!
Peace, love and corn chips,
Liz Ho
I was wondering if you might indulge me for a few moments while I share some photos from my weekend. I mean, honestly, you kind of have to indulge me, this is my party and I’ll take weird colorful bathroom selfies if I want to!
The thing is, when blogging, I tend to worry alot about what category of the ol’ blogosphere I fall into, what that I don’t cook or craft or parent or do anything of value in any way, and therefore I’m not sure what sorts of content to share. Just funny stories? Lists? Normal day-to-day stuff with a hilarious tone? Nothing at all – um, lately hat does seem the case, whoopsies! So does a somewhat straightforward weekend recap fall into whatever niche I’ve carved out for myself? Not funny enough? Too standard? AH!
I always think the best blogs are where people write 750 word essays about their identity struggles. Ha, jokes. The best blogs, to me, are where writers share a glimpse into their life, whether that life involve baking, child rearing, outfit putting togethering or just stupid story telling with warmth, humor and a great sense of authenticity. So that’s what I’ll do.
Ol’ Ho Bags, reaching new levels of self involvement and neurosis every damn minute.
But you know what? I just really want to tell everyone about this party I went to, because it was the coolest! As I mentioned on Friday, a high school friend of Brian’s, who is Indian (India Indian, not like, Pocahontas Indian) (first vaguely racist comment in the bag, cha-ching!) invited us to join his family for a party in honor of this holiday called Holi which is a Hindu celebration of spring and color.If you want to know more about the historical and cultural significance of this holiday, you can read this Wikipedia page. If you want to know more about ME and how I celebrated this holiday, and why wouldn’t you, juuuust keep scrolling down.
Brian’s mom dropped us off at his friend Saurabh’s parents’ house, like a couplea middle schoolers, and it turned out we were totally early, which was semi-awkward BUT meant we got the freshest color. We took our shoes off at the door and were greeted by our friend Saurabh’s mother, a woman I had never met, rubbing our cheeks with colored powder. They had pushed back their furniture and covered all of the surfaces with plastic, like they were in the midst of a home renovation and in the back yard set up a tent and big tables covered in catered Indian food and tons of booze. Needless to say, I did not stick to my cleanse and I know you don’t want to know but beer + Indian food were maaaaybe not the best things to be pouring down my gullet. IF you know what I mean.
This powder I’m talking about, I still don’t quite know what it was, it was just a beautifully dyed pigment that came in bags simply labeled “Holi Powder.” We were assured it wasn’t poisonous. It tasted icky, like dirt, but not repulsive. They had out huge trays, like this:
Ignore my socked feet in this professionally staged photograph.
You would just dip your hands and fingers in the powder and rub it all over your pals. Within 5 minutes of arrival, we were looking like this:
Also, you can’t see it, but we were wearing 100 % matching outfits: white t’s and greyish jeans that were the very exact same shade. This marks like the 4th time in about 2 weeks that we’ve left the house in basically identical ensembles because everyone loves a couple that dresses alike.
Barf.
Other guests started arriving and it became quickly apparent that in addition to being way early, we were also the only non-Indians in attendance and ALSO the only asshats who arrived empty handed. I could die. I asked Saurabh what we should bring his parents and he assured ‘nothing, nothing, just yourself!” and like a fool, I listened, and then stood there, mortified, my pale white skin noticeably reddening as guests poured into the house bearing bottles of wine, wrapped gifts, plates of food and other beautiful hostess gifts. AS THEY SHOULD. This is the second time in under a week I caught myself in this situation. I hope my mom’s not reading this, she’ll be SO ashamed. The weekend prior we had gone to Easter brunch with Brian’s parents and I kept saying I needed to get his mother flowers and Brian kept reassuring me not to worry about it, so I arrived empty handed. His sister’s boyfriend joined us, and he also appeared to arrive giftless, so I thought all was well, but then, a TWIST in the story, as we’re said goodbye after the meal, he dashed to his car and returned with a gigantic fucking PLANT for their mom. Well played, young man, well played.
I could not have this college boy showing me up, so this week I snagged his mom a copy of a book she’d mentioned wanting to read. Point for Liz.
Point quickly lost when I arrived at the Holi party completely empty handed. Let these mistakes be lessons to you all: always bring a hostess gift and never ever listen to boys about gift giving etiquette because they are stupid. Fact.
Another important lesson: never assume that I won’t go off onto one million dumb tangents in the middle of every story because you will be burned.
Where was I?
Oh yes, at the very beginning of the party. How long will this post be?! Let’s fast forward. Blah blah people arrived, food was served, it was delicious, and with each arriving guest, we greeted each other with hellos and swipes of colored powder. For a while, everyone just kind of stood around, catching up, chowing down, like any old family picnic, except they were covered head-to toe in neon powder.
I found this so endlessly hilarious. Just chatting it up. “How’s the family?” “Catching Mad Men this weekend?” “How bout them Mets?” And they have stuff all over their faces! AAAAH. Ok so it’s hard to fully articulate the humor in this here situation but trust me, it was a side splitter.
As the mood got livelier, the colors started flowing faster and faster, with people just smearing all over each other, sneak attacking from behind, pouring piles of powder on others heads or backs or shoving it in each other’s faces. Important Lesson: when face powdering, go in a downward motion, not upward or you WILL shove purple powder up your friend’s nose and nearly kill him. Just FYI.
Here are a few snaps:
Me and my twin after a color fight.
A sneak attack!
Some gentlemen
Playing drinking games
Our host, Saurabh, looking purpley.
Our writer, looking cheesy.
PS recognize my holey red sweater?
Now it is my HOLI red sweater!! Just thought of that. God I’m good.
My guy, looking like an extra from Hook.
Also, you can sort of see it in this photo – the colors looked super vibrant on darker skin, but on Brian’s and my pale, milky skin, it sort of dried into a blackish-grey, that mostly made us look like chimney sweeps. A good look.
An Orange Attack.
A closeup of my crotch because sure, why not.
As you can see, when the color mixed it turned into this sort of poop brown color which is maybe not the cutest. There was this hilarious young girl at the party, maybe 6 years old, and she kept grabbing all of the colors in her hand and mushing them up together to make a “rainbow” which actually looked more like vomit. She’d throw “rainbows” at everyone she met, which was especially and since she was barely waist high, everyone’s midsection was covered in brownish smudges. At one point she grabbed a handful of solid turquoise, reached her arm up and fully went to second base on my left boob, just cupping that color alllll over my ta-ta.
It was both adorable and highly inappropriate.
We played drinking games – I set personal records in both flip cup AND beer pong, a game which I despise for many reasons including the fact that it is gross, boring, shuts down a party because not everyone can play, GROSS, stupid, childish, gross, lame and also: I’m terrible. But not this weekend. I sunk three shots in a row, like a complete pro before bowing out, lest I ruin anything. I need to go back to college, where everyone made fun of me for throwing underhand (float it, Rowengartner) and show them how far I’ve come. I still stand by my flawless opinion that beer pong is the absolute worst, but at least I can now definitively say it is because the game sucks, not me. Because I’m AWESOME.
A stereo system was set up playing traditional Indian music (and several rounds of Gagnam Style, of course!) and everyone danced on the patio, some women in incredibly gorgeous saris, everyone covered in colored powder before the end of the first song. We ate SO much incredible food, at one point I tried to get a fifth helping of paneer and I literally could not fit anything more down my throat: there was no room. Then they brought out a cake, to celebrate Saurabh’s acceptance into grad school, and in the Holi spirit, the cake ended up all over his already paint streaked face.
That Uncle was the sneakiest. He’d seek out innocent victims when they least expected it and empty bags of Holi color all over their heads. His shirt was white when he arrived.
Juuust kidding.
But mine was and now it is in the garbagio. After the party, Brian’s mom came back and picked us up, and has us wrap in old bath towels before we got in the car. Everyone at the party warned us NOT to wet the powder – water would only make it seep into our skin (“especially your pale skin,” they kept saying), and suggested we use cream or makeup remover. We covered ourselves in cold cream, not before taking one last photo:
And destroyed half a dozen washcloths wiping ourselves down. All of our clothes were covered in powder, even my bra was streaked purple, pink and blue – Brian’s mom offered to wash throw our things in the laundry and I was like “here’s my bra!” and thaaaat was weird – but for the most part, the colors came right out. These colors do run! My white t shirt was unsalvageable, the bra is still semi-colored (it was one of these, so it really couldn’t get worse) and I accidentally put my holey Holi 100% wool sweater in the dryer so that puppy is officially dead, but otherwise everything was fine! Which means my pants and socks. So actually only 20% of my outfit was fine, the rest was destroyed. But it was worth it!
The bottoms of my feet are black with streaks of pink and blue, from walking around in powder covered socks, and I can NOT for the life of me get the pigment out from under my finger nails. It’s the hot manicure look for spring.
And that, my friends, was my very first Holi. It was amazing. I’m already inviting myself back next year, I hope these people are ready. I”ll bring a gift this time!!
What I would suggest to all of you readers, is to find an Indian person and become their friend. If they don’t like you at first, just wear them down relentlessly until they give in, and be sure they invite you to their Holi party. I don’t normally advocate for racially profiling but in this case, I think it is totally OK to seek out people based entirely on their ethnicity just for the parties. And I am a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize,* so you can trust me.
The end! Thanks for reading this long and rambling post and I hope you learned something about Hinduism and if you did, can you tell me what it is? Because mostly all I took away from this party is that I love pani puri, look good with pink hair and rule at flip cup. AKA: even when experiencing other cultures it really is all about me. Whoops!
Happy Holi & Happy Monday, loves.
xx Liz Ho(li) (Liz Holi!) (!!!!)
* this is a lie.
Ugh, worst blogger on the interwebz right here, I KNOW. I have a plethora of excuses, some are work related, some are travel related but I can’t lie to y’all: most of them are TV related. Being so busy the past few weeks, I’ve fallen behind on all my programs and in addition to playing catch-up, I’ve added a binge watch of Justified to my agenda. Which like, just what I need is another TV show to get hooked on, I know, I know, but my sister is a big fan and she was expressing sadness that noone else she knows is into it, so she has no one to discuss with and she wished more people would watch it and FAMILY FIRST, I can’t just let my baby sister suffer alone with no one to talk to about her favorite television shows, what kind of monster do you think I am, soooooooooo now I’m bingeing on Justified. But it’s all for her!
You might even say, it is justified.
BA DUM BUM! I’m out.
Just kidding still here. And real quick, just in case anyone else has been considering getting justified but needed a little more convincing, the show stars this guy:
WHAT! Can I get a hummina hummina up in here?
Sorry. I’ll never say “hummina hummina” or “up in here” ever again.
But I couldn’t help myself! Gentleman is just too good looking. You might even say that “hummina’ was….wait for it…yeah, I’m going back again…JUSTIFIED.
The end. Shut it down forever. Let’s get this Friday over with.
Here’s what was keeping it justified awkward this week:
This Turnstile:
Or one like it. If someone hasn’t already made a blog of weird shit that happens in the subway, well they should. This place is a goldmine. Homeless people sleeping. People preaching the word of god. Mariachi bands. Flashers. Ladies throwing their tampons and birth control all over the place. Ladies holding up traffic taking photos of the turnstiles. It’s a big ol’ mess!
The other night I was coming home from Whole Foods with a few bags worth of cleanse friendly goodskis (ends tomorrow! Bring me my wine!) and this guy rushed into the turnstile just as I did, basically cutting me off mid card swipe. He seemed really in a big rush, so I stepped aside and told him to go ahead. And, ok, maybe my voice was dripping with some mild disdain, but I was generally polite and a normal human being. But this dude, you guys, he just stopped right where he was standing, basically next to me, looked straight ahead, did not acknowledge that I had spoken to him and waited for me to go through the turnstile.
“Um, you can go ahead,” I tried again, louder, maybe he was deaf, and his eyes sort of flitted over to me ever so slightly, I watch a shitton of crime procedurals so I know how to read delicate facial tics, and I KNEW he heard and saw me but instead of going through the turnstile or telling me to go ahead or saying any words or making any normal body motions, he just continued to stand there, still as a statue, staring straight ahead, waiting, I guess, for me to go through.
So I did. And he then immediately sped up again, rushed through the turnstile, past me and down the stairs to the train platform.
WHAT IN THE WHAT WHAT was this guy’s problem. Do you think he was a robot? That when I stopped him in his initial attempt to go through the turnstile he shut down and had to reprogram and power back up again?
It was weird, guys.
This Book:
This is apparently a real thing. DISCLAIMER: I was watching Scandal last night (Olivia Pope!) (all I do is watch TV!) and saw an ad for this new show How To Live With Your Parents for the Rest of Your Life which, admittedly, looks like a complete disaster, but I could sah-wear I recognized one of the actresses and it was bugging me that I couldn’t place her so I went over to Google to check it out and as I typed in the words How…To…Live…With…the auto-fill brought finished my search with “A Huge Penis.” I mean, I could have just finished my search and NOT immediately clicked on the link for this big penis guide, but, come on. Do you even KNOW me? I was at Amazon faster than a something-something-insert gross joke about magnum condoms here.
And this is what I found. I’m sure this is a joke. It must be a joke? But how MUCH of it is a joke? Is the author REALLY a Catholic priest? Is penis literature something they started allowing in Vatican II or did I just miss this whole lesson in CCD? Who are all of these people writing 5 Star reviews and are they joking? And most importantly, WHY am I spending so much time thinking about this.
Shut it down, Liz. Shut it down.
Also, in case you are curious, the actress I recognized was Mary Louise Parker’s neighbor on Weeds. Mystery solved!
This Sign:
Another of my crazy landlady’s understated decor pieces, this hangs just outside of our apartment door. The other morning I guess I slammed the door a scoonch too hard and the sign fell to the floor. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to hang it back up without being 100% crooked, so now I guess I have to confess to Connie that I am trashing her biblical plaques.
Also: because this sign hangs directly outside of my apartment door, at the top of the staircase, I see this sign every single day when I come home and therefore every single day of my waking life, I have the lyrics to that song in my head.
If you ever went to any sort of Christian bible camp or retreat or youth group meeting, you KNOW what I’m talking about and you know the hand motions. Though I’m now a hell bound heathen, I dabbled in religion in my youth, as I’m sure all goody-two-shoes girls did at one point or another, and so I have a pretty basic memory of the top modern Christian Worship songs of the early ‘00’s, all of which are complete nightmares (to me! If this is your jam, JAM ON!) and 100% impossible to get out of your head once they’ve wiggled in there. I guess that’s the power of the lord buggin’ in your brain or something.
Anywhoo: if you know the song I mean, SORRRY it will now be stuck in your head for the rest of eternity and if not, well, here is a terrifying/fascinating YouTube clip to get you started:
Yikes.
This Sweet Tote:
I have about 8 zillion tote bags, one of the two perks of working in publishing (the other one is free books. yay?) and yet always seem to be without one when I need it most. I needed to lug some dirty tupperware home the other night and found this stylin’ number abandoned in one of our book closets.
As I’ve mentioned here before, I’m really not one for animals and definitely not one for attired adorned with animals, which I find so overly cutesy it makes me ill. Except for owls, which I wear all the time because they are cool looking and super hipster so I guess I am a hypocrite (hipster-o-crite?) (NO.) and I should just shut it and be glad for this new tote bag.
But come on, y’all, would you wear this?
These Gross Stains:
On a running shirt & a pair of jegs. WHAT is this mess? Very Lewinsky. Very classy.
This Restaurant:
One of my faves in NYC! I went there yesterday on a blind friend date. When I studied abroad I became friends with this French guy Nico and a few years later he visited New York with his then girlfriend Lucie and we met for drinks and Lucie revealed that she was interviewing with the UK branch of my company the very next week, so we became “friends” on social media and keep up with each other that way and I’m pretty sure she and Nico have since gone the way of the dodo but we’re still internet pals and a few weeks ago one of her UK friends took a job here in the US so Lucie put us in touch and yesterday we got lunch. This is the longest and boringest and dumbest introduction into a story that, I’m not gonna lie to you, does NOT have a very good payoff. Keep reading?
So I was here at Westville meeting a guy I studied abroad with’s ex-girlfriend’s former colleague for lunch. Capiesch? I had friended her on the Facebook so I was pretty sure I’d recognize her but you never know! I was standing just inside the door, a woman walked into the restaurant, lit up with a smile and waved in my direction, I smiled, waved back and was about to say “Hello!” when she breezed past me….to another solo woman standing directly behind me.
Awkward.
But it was a great lunch and now I have a new friend! You can never have too many friends OR tote bags. That’s what I always say!
Aaaand that was my week. I’m off to New Jersey for the weekend – tonight Brian’s sister is running a track meet at Princeton University, so we’re going to be spectators which should be cold and boring but, as I said just moments ago FAMILY FIRST sooo, yeahhh. No, it will be really nice – I love his family and obviously want them to love me more than a Liz Ho loves cheese, so any time I get to hang with them is a-ok in my book.
And Saturday, I’m SO excited for Saturday, we’re going to a Holi party. Do you know what Holi is? I barely know more than the first paragraph of its Wikipedia page, but I do know that it is a joyous Hindu holiday known as the Festival of Color. People gather and eat good food and celebrate and then throw colored pigments and paints at one another. Here are some pictures, if you’re curious! I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks!
And what are YOU up to this weekend? I’d love to hear it. Whatever you do, make sure it is JUSTIFIED!
Nope, OK, officially dead.
xo Liz Ho
One Awkward Year 
.png){kind=link}
