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A few "helpful" things that I'd rather just skip, actually: --lowfat muffins --telephone solicitations --people who break bad news gently --online surveys --ATM receipts --packing peanuts --department store credit cards --emails from PR people who clearly have never read a single issue of Real Simple and are promoting things we would never cover, like sex toys and American Idol winners --short escalators --frozen yogurt
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I work in a nice office on a nice floor of a nice building in midtown Manhattan (which is mostly nice except at Christmas when it is overrun by tourists who walk in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up, and preventing ordinary citizens like me from making it to the train on time). When it comes to my office there is very little I can find to complain about, and the fact that I even have an office to go to in this day and age is certainly a blessing. But there is one little issue that really sticks...
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So, like much of America I was glued to the tv on Tuesday. I was in my office so I suppose I was "working," but what I was really doing was: --trying to figure out why both senior Bushes wore purple, and was George really wearing a turtleneck? --wondering when Hillary will ever stop wearing that color --trying to figure out the mechanics of Michelle's outfit, specifically the ties and the thing that appeared to be a scarf --and was she wearing stockings? --and could Jill Biden be any cuter? --and why was Jill's Oprah outfit so much more wonderful...
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Over the weekend I got together with my book group for a special session. We had planned a book group sleepover at the beach house of one of our members, but because of the snow we instead went to her house in town, lit a giant fire and spent the evening: --watching Valley of the Dolls --drinking wine --eating cheese --watching this hilarious Joe Cocker video on YouTube --looking at the photos of that naked skier Of course, there was much discussion. The major topics: --the naked skier: is that his kid on the lift with him? --parents who allow...
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Like many of you, I spent most of the past two weeks in the kitchen, which was both delightful and maddening. Delightful in that I made some wonderful meals (highlights: coconut cake from December issue of Real Simple; chicken chili from epicurious.com; quiche Lorraine from Joy of Cooking; flounder baked with tomatoes, garlic and capers from a fish cookbook I have at home, the title of which I cannot remember; not to mention chocolate fondue, which I could eat any day of the week) and maddening in that there are certain things about food and cooking that are either illogical...
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A $20 bill in your purse at all times An organized bedroom closet A full tank of gas Children who don’t argue about taking out the trash A government you can believe in Clutter-free kitchen counters Good coffee Someone else to fold the laundry Time to exercise A partner who doesn’t assume you will answer the phone every time it rings, especially if he is sitting closer to it, not that that ever happens to me At least one decent vacation A good night’s sleep at least 75% of the time At least one coworker who really makes you laugh...
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I was in a meeting with a work colleague this morning who was up writing Christmas cards at 11:30 last night. Her husband walked into the room and said to her, “I can’t believe you’re sending Christmas cards out this year!” I didn’t even ask the logical follow-up question, which is why he thinks they should not be sending them out. I honestly didn’t care. Because, you see, sending out holiday cards is one of my non-negotiables. Every year I buy them from the incredibly charming stationery store owned by my friend Ann Marie; every year I custom order them;...
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I love Christmas as much as the next person (well, maybe not quite as much, because The Next Person may not be on stress level code red the entire month of December, as I always seem to be--idiotically, I must add). And I love FM radio as much as the next person, which might explain why I do not listen to CDs or my iPod or even satellite radio in the car, but instead the eight or so stations that have been magically pre-programmed (by a husband/nanny/kid/car dealership/elf) in our car. But because I only listen to these eight stations,...
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I know there are some teenagers who wear winter coats, because I see pictures of them in catalogs and even see them occasionally walking down the street in my town. They seem to be nice, intelligent kids, and not giant dorks as my 13-year-old Eldest would have me believe. This still does not answer the question, however, as to why my own son will not wear a coat. First, a history of the battles he and I have fought over the years: BATTLES I HAVE WON --take your muddy shoes off at the door --no t.v. during the week --no...
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