Friday Flotsam

Faaaaaaaaaaaaaahrillyrooday.

THE HANDMAID’S TALE.

(how can I not just jump in. also, no spoilers! praise be.)

I have two to go. Two left. Only two.

AND I WILL SAY, the last two episodes that I watched didn’t leave me wanting to sell my eyeballs and heart on Ebay. I survived them! With very little damage. But I hear the end is beyond brutal, and I don’t rightly know how to prepare for this. All I can say is that Elisabeth Moss has completely redefined what incredible acting is for me. I have never seen someone morph from strength to weakness back to strength to revenge to defeat all in a matter of nano seconds like she does. Her FACE. She’s unbelievable! And I love her teeth. When she smiles really big, how the back teeth kind of shrink up just a tad along her gums. It’s like a sexy puppy dog. This is taking an odd turn.

So, once I finish Handmaid, I’m jumping right into The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel! Have you seen it? I feel like this show would be just the appropriate antidote to all the soul punching.

Theeeeeen after that Breaking Bad. Because apparently I enjoy torturing myself.

I need help! (you’re like, GIRL IT IS ONLY JANUARY THE FIFTH.)

Guys, I think I might want a sewing machine. Wait, stop laughing.

You know how I obsessively make these rice sacks in the winter time? Well we’re down to one (my old ones were like, years old and starting to look like regret.), so I’m on a hyper-focused, not-obnoxious-at-all mission to make a few more this month. Matter of FACT, I’ll be shooting video (!) later this month on this exact craft. Don’t punch me for saying craft.

I normally hand sew the sacks, but I feel like a simple upright sewing machine might make the job much quicker, right? I SAID STOP LAUGHING.

Now listen, I already have one of those jank hand sewing thingies. And I can’t get it to work. So I’m thinking I need a real, bonafide MACHINE. Something to sit at. But nothing huge or intimidating. I need tiny, compact and simple for this challenged seamstresses. And it has to be cute. Duh.

THIS WAY, I can make more cozy, wintery things for the blog like lavender pouches with a buffalo check pattern on the outside. You know that’d be pimp.

Do you have a sewing machine? Do you sew? Can you give me the lowdown on a SIMPLE machine that raging morons like me can figure out?

Maybe I’ll do a gingham pattern on the outside.

I need to figure out how to thin my own hair.

Why are you looking at me like that?

I do. Just the back, though. Not the sides. How do you do it? Do you take a straight edge and sort of wisp down starting at the middle of the shaft? Do you do the under hairs first or the outer hairs? Or do you do the unders at all? Or only the unders? I guess I could Youtube this.

Seriously, why are you looking at me like that?

Tell me your 2018 goals!

I’ve got 5:

1) I want to get into black rubber bands.

2) More Norah Jones in my ear holes.

3) More Buffalo check in my life. *see above

4) Live on the coast of New England for an entire month.

5) And my ultimate goal is to own a pair of Jesse Kamm pants. I WILL FIND A WAY, I TELL YOU.

K, your turn.

Weekend plans?

The gremlins turn FOUR tomorrow. How is this rightly possible. Wasn’t it only five minutes ago I was suffering through the madness of IVF? Needles here, pills there, hands here, tears there. A knee-jerk fist in a doctor’s face. You know.

FOUR.

This morning we’re taking in a slew of mini chocolate bundt cakes (with pink icing for Nat, obvs) to their class as school. We’ll sing. We’ll read books. They’ll do show ‘n tell. We’ll look at the confusing birthday posters they each made yesterday with questions like, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” “A MINI BALL PUZZLE.” …Okay.

Tomorrow morning we’ll go eat pie for breakfast (a tradition started three years ago) at our favorite lil’ bakery. Then it’s on to bowling! #winterbirthday Our best pals are coming over tomorrow night to officially toast to mom and dad surviving four entire years. Our dinner will be SUPER fancy, you guys. Don’t be jealous. Fried rice, white cheese dip, and (a box of) macaroni and cheese. Their picks.

(And rosé. My pick.)

. . . You’re still worried about me thinning my own hair, aren’t you?