Triptych.

Utter bliss: I just came into three (3) giant (like way bigger than science-fair size) pieces of sturdy white foamboard–for free.

Clearly some homemade art is in order–the bedroom in particular has a lot of unused wallspace–but what, is the question.

I’ll probably collage–I always collage–but I’m totally open to suggestions, too.

Please discuss.

Lit.

This is the conclusion I have come to: the vast majority of times in life you can get by on the cheapie brand and nobody is going to be the wiser, you included. 

Candle-buying is not one of those times. 

My favorite (and Tom’s, though he’d never admit it): Slatkin & Co’s Vanilla Sandalwood or Creamy Nutmeg. I like their pumpkin scents, too, but that’s where the boyfriend draws the line. Cozy and spicy and strong enough to fill the whole apartment, which I find just doesn’t happen with the three dollar Pier One kind.

What’s your house smelling like these days?

Run and Done

When I was in twelfth grade all the chicks in AP English had eighth period gym, because a good way to encourage overachievement is to make you play dodgeball for forty-five minutes in the sweltering heat after all the other seniors have gone home for the day. ANYWAY, the point is that sometimes we’d have Run and Done, which was both the best and worst kind of gym, because you had to do laps for twelve minutes (which is a LONG TIME if you are spastic like me) but then you could leave.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about that right now. 

Anyway. Tom’s been home in New York this week doing boy things. He bought me flowers before he left.

In his absence I’ve been doing some serious around-the-house puttering: laundry is folded, coupons are clipped, and by the time you read this the brand-new bedskirt will hopefully be on the bed. I grew up in a house with bedskirts, and not having one has made me feel like we live in a tenement. Is that anal? That’s probably really anal.

Moving on. I hit Target with my friend H, took the Tank for a long walk, and finally all my loose magazine-page recipes into a notebook. I finished my entry for the Real Simple essay contest.  I caught up on some Lost. We are moving along at a steady clip here behind the kitchen door, or if we are not we are tricking ourselves into believing it. 

The air is cooling off, chickens. Something is about to change.

Tom says I am one hell of a woman.

 

I called Comcast and told them I had to cancel the landline because we’re too poor to pay for it, and they knocked twenty-five bucks off our bill, amped up our internet, and threw in HBO. 

See, that’s the kind of thing that money-saving websites always tell you to do, and I’m like, THAT WILL NEVER WORK, but lo and behold. I wonder who else I can call and threaten with defection. I wish I could do it to Dunkin’ Donuts.

Dirty Girl

So I accidentally on purpose got rip-roaring drunk last night (there was an Amstel promotion at the Purple Shamrock, and what were we going to do, turn down free beer?), then came home and wolfed down a giant plate of Tom’s leftover Chinese food. Not my finest hour. I was passed out by eleven and wide awake by four-thirty this morning, though, (OH MAN, I KNOW) only slightly headachey and feeling very much like I needed to repent. 

It’s ten o’clock now, and so far today I’ve picked up the bedroom, scrubbed the tub, downloaded the AWESOMEST public radio app for my phone, walked to Castle Island and back, sucked down a large iced coffee, read a couple of chapters of my book, and made a ghetto-fabulous version of Ina’s French Country omelet (with fresh sage from the garden, what what) for Tom and his sister in the hope that K won’t report back to her mom about what a degenerate bastard I am. 

The verdict? 

I should get totally bughouse every night.

like a car from down the highway

Tom and Quack are upstairs sealing the deck right now. Our new sofa came this morning. I’m waiting for the stain to dry on the shelves Tom cut for the bedroom, and after lunch I’m going to plant some flowers. This weekend kicks off  houseguest season behind the kitchendoor, and we are getting ready.

Treats for Busted Friends

Our friend A took a nasty spill outside of work on Monday and wound up with eight staples in her pretty head. Since I am neither a doctor nor a maker of helmets, I whipped her up some cinnamon raisin bread instead. From Allrecipes:

• 1 (.25 ounce) package active dry yeast
• 1/4 cup warm water (105 degrees to 115 degrees)
• 2 cups warm milk (110 to 115 degrees F)
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 5 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 2 cups raisins
• 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon water

1. In a mixing bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water. Add milk, 1/3 cup sugar, oil, salt and 2 cups flour. Beat until smooth. Add raisins and enough remaining flour to form a soft dough. Turn onto a floured surface; knead until smooth and elastic, about 6-8 minutes. Place in a greased bowl, turning once to grease top. Cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1-1/4 hours. Punch dough down. On a lightly floured surface, divide in half. Roll each into a 15-in. x 7-in. rectangle. Combine cinnamon and remaining sugar; sprinkle over dough. Sprinkle with water. Starting with a short side, roll up tightly, jelly-roll style. Pinch seams and ends to seal. Place, seam side down, in two greased 9-in. x 5-in. x 3-in. loaf pans. Cover and let rise until doubled, about 1 hour. Bake at 350 degrees F for 30-35 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from pans to wire racks to cool completely. 

 

This actually rose beautifully, which I was not expecting because my bread never rises beautifully, even when I make Ina’s version which uses 2 yeast packets. If I had it to do over again I would add more cinnamon to the actual dough, and also probably put some butter in the cinnamon sugar filling. 

 

Other Friday randomness:

Craigslist Killer: HEY STOP KILLING HOOKERS. They have enough problems already.

We’re dogsitting Frankie this weekend! Expect lots of slobbery photos. Also, some work-in-progress pics of the roof deck. Last night Tom blasted the rust off the steps with a special rust blaster. You’re very manly, Tom!

Is it nerdy to like OneRepublic? I think it is. Oh well. There basically is no band I like that is not nerdy, so. 

I am planning a lot of trips. Want to hang out this summer? Give me a holler. 

Agent rejection count: 4. 

Tonight I’m going to open every window in my apartment. 

I have had two large cups off coffee. Coffee makes me chatty. I’ll stop  now. Have a good Friday.

Flower District

Thanks to a run of good luck (and a goof-up at 1800Flowers), there are currently three (three!) different bouquets in my apartment. 

It’s like my whole life is a little brighter.

Unkept.

 

Lucky girl that I am, I’ve got one old friend coming for dinner tonight, and two more scheduled to blow in tomorrow. I’m thrilled to see them all (especially the longer-lost, farther-flung members of my girl tribe), but the the God’s honest truth is that my apartment is a disaster, there is no food in my fridge, and I’m mortified by the idea of anybody but Tom seeing the squalor I live in on a day-to-day basis. As a matter of fact, I’m mortified by the idea of Tom seeing it, too. 

I haven’t walked in the door of my apartment before ten-thirty any night this week–haven’t had time to cook a meal or wipe the bathroom sink or fold the two enormous bags of laundry sitting on the bedroom floor. There is a week’s worth of mail sitting on the kitchen table. Last night Tom finally asked if I could please get some of my worldly possessions off the desk in the office because they, and I quote, “domino-rallied” on him yesterday morning. I told him of course, poured myself a glass of milk–and drank half of it before I realized it had turned. 

Also, I just snagged my nose ring on the sleeve of my sweater. 

But that, while disgusting, is neither here nor there. 

Anyway, my question for you all is, what do you do when you feel like you’re not in your home enough to tend to the care and keeping of it? And when it comes to emergency triage, what areas do you tackle first? Short of shoveling all the debris into the bedroom closet and hoping the door stays closed, what do you do to get things under control fast? 

Meanwhile, I can’t stop watching this. 

You should watch it, too. Maybe it will distract you from the tumbleweeds of dust blowing across my living room.

Man (and woman) at work

An unexpected day off, a trip down Route 1, and a flurry of activity around the house: not a bad way to spend a Thursday. 

We got a new cabinet for the TV (super cheap at Christmas Tree Shops–what a strange and mysterious place that is), did some grocery shopping, and moved a bunch of furniture around. I hijacked a leftover bookshelf, a painted chair, and an orphaned coffee table and set up a little reading nook in a lonely corner of the bedroom. I can’t wait to read the paper in there on Sunday mornings, a mug of coffee by my side. 

 

Tonight: vegan potluck! 

Man, I love spring.