FRAPPLES AND FRANANAS. Sorry sorry – Friday.
Just finished Season 1 of LOVE. (!)
It’s so fun. So cute. So WEIRD and AWKWARD. So you know, nothing like me.
I want to say I’m just like hot Mickey, minus all the drugs, booze, cigarettes and that overall deep-sadness-in-her-soul thing. But I truly relate to Gus more. (shocker, I know!) Like in his voice, the way he’s always saying totally normal slash nerdy things, but with this wanna-be slowed down swagger, with his fingers all wave-y in the air? I FEEL YOU, GUS.
And then the making up of bad (sorry, not bad!) songs to movies with no songs in the end credits – THAT IS MY SOUL.
Anyway, I hear that season 2 isn’t nearly as good. Is that true?!
And I can’t decide if I want them to end up together. My gut says naaaaaaw.
Oh – have you watched 13 Reasons Why? I was super excited to watch it, but after reading the premise, I thought, “Oh. Ew. No. Ick. Wow. Ouch. Sad. Ugh.”
And then I was like, “Wait. Cool. Inspiring. Thought provoking. Deep. Interesting. Yes!”
And then I was like, “Hold on. No. Depressing. Tears for days. Too deep. Too much. Will eat ice cream. Can’t. No.”
And then I was like, “Okay maybe.”
I’m so glad we had this talk.
Do you ever get those random inflamed taste buds?
(wait, are the words “inflamed, taste and buds” too much back to back this early in the morning? good.)
But really, you’re living your day and all of a sudden there’s a GIGANTIC SORE BEACH BALL on your tongue and you can’t scrape it off with your front teeth. And then you realize, “That’s just a taste bud. Why is it acting so rude right now? What did I ever do to it?!”
You don’t remember burning it.
You don’t remember biting it.
And it’s so sosososososo tiny in the mirror. A teesny white baby dot of a bud. Yet in your mind it feels like an episode of Ren and Stimpy. All close up, zoomed in, thing has hairs on it and fangs of its own, starting a colony of angry inflamed taste buds.
I had one yesterday. But it’s gone today. The end.
You just x’d out, didn’t you.
So yesterday afternoon was a total gas. (Not to be confused with “yesterday afternoon I had gas.”)
For YEARS I’ve heard about this super hip local-but-not-local food writer gal that’s soooo cool and soooo famous and sooooo funny, and I was always like I CAN TAKE HER. Well, after a recent slew of snarky emails, we finally met! And by that I mean she offered to come to my house and make me a cocktail. And I was like, “Dude I don’t drink cocktails. Unless it has a good foamy egg white on top. I like a good foamy egg white.”
I basically feel like you need to know about her and this cocktail and her life and this cocktail and this cocktail. Her name is Emily Farris (you’re like, I know her! YES YES I KNOW YOU DO, WHATEVER.) and she’s writes f o r e v e r y o n e. Food 52, Bon Appétit, Food and Wine, ALL OF IT. She’s experienced, a hilarious mom, has a raging potty mouth, is super stylish, and so down to earth. I love her. And I want more of her cocktails.
Actually, she recently launched her brand new site, That’s Festive AF (I mentioned the potty mouth, right?), which is all about crafting and cocktails. But not together. Wait, yes. Together. Definitely together.
Anyway, our whole scandalous afternoon is in my IG Stories, if you’re into watching two ladies drink.
And oh yes – the cocktail. It’s a Whiskey Sour with Rhubarb Syrup. GIT IN THAT.
I’ve said cocktails so much I don’t even know what it is anymore.
(I’m thinking an Ally McBeal binge is in my future. You in?)
Besides wishing I’d never brought up angry inflamed taste buds?
Our weekend is pretty domestic. More planters to fill. The garden to bulk up. The yards to manicure. THE LINENS TO LAUNDER.
Why do people say launder? I kind of hate that word. It’s not attractive at all. Sounds like slander. Or flounder. Yonder. Swander.
I miss Gilmore Girls.