Hello, old friends! Have you missed me? I’ve missed YOU! I am so sorry for being away so long, I was sunning myself on the shores of St. Lucia and just plain lost track of time!
Just kidding, I’ve been here. Working. Like a dawg. Here’s a question, what is up with that expression? Except like, sheepdogs and police dogs, do pups actually work THAT hard? I think no. Ok, I guess there are also seeing eye dogs and huskies who have to pull sleds and rescue dogs and Clifford, he’s got that sweet mascot gig for Scholastic…so, fine, dogs work hard I guessss. But don’t you think there are harder working animals out there we might give a little credit? Lions prowling around on the hunt? Bees making honey. Woodchucks chucking all that wood, could those woodchucks chuck that wood?
Me, I’ve been working like some kind of exciting animal, busy with an author in town and that horrendous publishing conference I mentioned, and a bigbigbig launch of a very special book I’ve been working on that’s really been a labor of love for me, you can read the rave New York Times review here. #Humblebrag. No, just #Brag. I’ve worked hard and I’m proud of myself and the author and the rest of my team and I’m just going to Own. It. Gurl.
Snap, snap, swish.
So that’s what’s the what on this end of the world! Tell me – what’s new with you? Heard any good gossip? Read any good books? Tripped and fell in public? You know I want to hear about it!
Now! Why don’t we take a look back at what was keeping it awkward
this week these last two weeks, whoooops:
Pictured last roundup in a deep puddle of rain water and this week in the blinding sunshine. Um? Yeah. One of the terrible things about rain is…well, pretty much everything. With the exception of it’s role in the growth of new life and how the sound of it hitting a tin roof inspired that one great Norah Jones song, I think we can all agree that there are verrrryyyy few good sides to rain. Am I missing something? But one of the worsticles is when old Sally Rainstorm doesn’t hang around all day and you can’t get a solid read on what sort of apparel to wear and have to dress for any possibility and end up clomping around in the bright sunshine in your even brighter galoshes.
I need to move to somewhere with a more predictable climate. Any suggestions?
(The one on the left. My left. Well, everyone’s left unless you’re someohow viewing this photo from behind the screen, in which case, what are you, a wizard?!)
One of my favorite things about my pal Brian is that he’s always up for trying new things and likes to be on the go and explore and have adventures. It keeps me on my toes. He’s fun. Last weekend’s adventure was a casual 17 mile roundtrip bike ride to Coney Island. It was a delightful little jaunt but possibly a little advanced for me, who’s only just hopped back into the biking life. It turns out I live on top of a gigantic mountain that is so steep, it is basically just a 90 degree angle right into the air. TRUTH. My ‘hood is called Crown Heights and I’ve just realized, the hard way, where they got that “Heights” from.
B & I biked most of the way back together, but parted ways at the end of our trip, me to my home, he to his, leaving me at the bottom of this Mount Vesuvius of a hill. I, of course, chose the busiest street possible to ride up and, you guys, I thought this was going to be the end for me, I really did.
I stopped four times on the ride up to catch my breath, dreaming of the water bottle I’d left in Brian’s backpack. I could have easily dismounted and walked my bike up the hill on the sidewalk but GOD DAMN IT, I had not rode this far to quit. And plus, I thought it would be more embarrassing to be seen walking my bike than to be seen stopped dead in the middle of a busy road, hunched over the handlebars, panting for mercy and oxygen, as cars swerved around me.
Don’t worry, I made it home, alive! Was it worth it? Aaaabsolutely not.
As should surprise zero percent of my readership, I am terrrrrible at bowling. A bunch of my pals and I hit the lanes the other weekend to entertain ourselves during a rainstorm and played two rounds of girls v boys. In an epic blow to feminism the girls team lost.
I contributed a career high of 86 total points. Out of a possible 600.
I’m considering going pro.
Just ignore my weird Harlequin Romance Novel pose and focus on the red and white racing stripes on my seductively bared shoulder. I’m diligent about sunscreen but every year manage to bust out at least one or two pretty solidly idiotic burns. Got this year’s first one in before Memorial Day Weekend even came to a close. Summer is off to a great start, kids!
This Coconut Oil:
My coconut oil above…and what it’s supposed to look like:
Ok, so, here’s the story. As you knowwww I’ve been on a bit of a health food jag of late and all of the clean eating blogs I lurve are all UP ON coconut oil. So clearly when I saw it on sale at the Teej, I knew I had to have it. The thing is, I find it utterly grotesque to look upon. Unlike other oils which are liquidy and yummy looking, this stuff looks like lard in a jar and smells like Banana Boat.
Apparently there are all SORTS of benefits like it has no cholesterol and can be used as a hair conditioner or body moisturizer or even a healthy and natural sexual lubricant. Brian and I did NOT test this theory out (or did we?) (we didn’t!) but we have made zillions of jokes like “let’s put on a little Barry White, light some candles, pour some wine…pop open that coconut oil…and just see where the night goes.”
Really clever stuff over here. We need to get out more.
Anywhoo, really dumb story extra long and extra dumb: I finally got up the nerve to test out my C.O. last evening not as a food product but as a moisturizer for my dry feet (why do I feel the need to share these things?!), but when I went to the cabinet, it had somehow transformed from a thick, creamy, white substance (no one say TWSS, plz) into this weird, thin, clear liquid.
Did it melt?? Did someone eat all my coconut butter and replace it with water like cool kids would do with their parents’ liquor while I was busy at home watching Touched by an Angel with my mom?! I will never ever know because I am too afraid to open the jar.
Here’s why I’m sharing this, though. Last time I had a food related mishap, with that fresh mango, my beautiful friend Mallory, who is adorable and lives in Mexico and has a truly fabulous life, dedicated a whole post on her blog to cutting and preparing fresh mangoes. So now I can do it right! What a pal!
So, I’m kind of hoping one of you delightful gems out there might clue me in on this whole coconut oil mystery. Why is it so great? And how do I use it? Is it supposed to turn clear like that?
Or, alternately, if one of you has a great story about at time you used coconut butter or any other sort of butter as a sexual lubricant, well, you KNOWWWWWWWW I’d love to hear about it.
And on that note, I’m out! I hope everyone has a most splendid weekend full of sunshine and butterflies and incorporating health foods into your lovemaking.
xoxo Liz Ho