Today is the one-year anniversary of us becoming dog owners. I thought about writing a post about the first few weeks of Huck’s life as our dog, but instead, I decided to write a rap (to the tune of “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air” theme song (any similarities in the lyrics are totally just a coincidence) and THEN to tell you about the first few weeks of his life. Because my blog, my life, my rules, lots of foot stomping, blah blah blah. You know the drill. Continue reading “Ode to Huckleberry”
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[Please note: I took this picture. It’s not a stock photo. I haven’t fallen that far yet.]
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. (I know, I know, cue a collective gasp from the audience.)
I value other people. I value connection. And above all else, I value making other people feel awesome.
Someone told me recently about a project that she’d heard about where a person wrote a letter a day, every day, for 21 days. The idea was to focus on sending someone nice thoughts about how great they are every day. Supposedly, it does really good things for your daily positivity and your general good vibes-y-ness. (You know?)
Well, the truth is, I hate mailing things. Thinking about the post office makes my blood run cold and my cortisol levels spike like none other, and since that’s where you go to get stamps, I just really can’t. (“But, Tess! You can get stamps at the pharmacy or on Amazon!” Don’t you think I know that? This is my blog. Let me live my life.)
But in the last week or so, I’ve received two or three emails (and even text messages!) that just absolutely made my day. The power that your words can have over another person are really astonishing, and when you harness that power for good, you can do some really neat things.
So I am embarking on a little project of my own: The Email Project. I believe in the power of the written word, and in the power of love, and I believe that sending one thoughtful email a day for the next several weeks will leave me feeling totally great. Will it be quite as touching as a mailed letter? Perhaps not. But will it touch other people just the same, and also save some trees? Sure will.
Let’s do it! Who’s with me? And if you’re in, will you leave a comment? Sometimes I start to think that I’m all alone here…
My friends! My little friendy friends.
I need to come clean here: I don’t bake.
Allow me to be more precise: I find baking to be totally, completely, utterly, horrifyingly terrifying. Was that too vague for you? Fine. I shall expand further: When I’m cooking, I’m in control. I can taste what I’m cooking, add a little something, try it again, let it simmer, try it again, tweak it further, and finally deliver something to my mouth – and, god forbid, someone else’s mouth – that I already know is delicious. I know, because I tasted it. And it tasted effing great. Continue reading “Philly Fluff Pound Cake: Because it’s Tuesday.”
As someone who currently lives in the Bay area (and, as a direct result, can forget about buying a home for several years at this point), I spend an inordinate amount of time scrolling Pinterest for the kind of home that I’d like to live in
Several years ago, this was how I pictured my future house – and to be honest with you, I don’t know that my taste has changed all that much. However, I would like to think that I have refined my style at least a bit since graduating from college (where all of my rooms were somewhat reminiscent of a rainbow explosion), and so I use Pinterest to
torture myself collect any new thoughts I have about the house I’ll never have own someday.
(Can you read between the lines? I want a house NOW. www dot now dot com.) Continue reading “How Very Pinteresting”
Well, I’ve really gone and done it now.
Here’s something that I want to know: why don’t regular Reese’s peanut butter cups have the same peanut-butter-to-chocolate ratio as the Easter Reese’s peanut butter cups? The regular ones seem totally fine until you buy the Easter egg-shaped versions that are available approximately 3 weeks per year, wherein you realize that you have been completely HOODWINKED by Reese’s and they’ve been holding back this whole time.
I hope that the fact that I have already spent this much time harping on about peanut butter cup equality will drive home why I bothered making these myself.
These peanut butter cups make me want to lock myself inside my house and not let anyone else in until they’re gone. Including my husband, who happens to really like them. Is that wrong of me? Damaged? Don’t answer that. I’m just keeping it real.
Not to change the subject, but we spent this past weekend in Colorado, and it was just the best, best thing. My husband and I are both so lucky to have families that easily fall into the “best ever” category, and spending time just hanging out with the people we love was pretty freaking rad. And (I’m bringing it back around) when I love people, I want to make them dark chocolate salted peanut butter cups.*
*I think we already touched on the fact that ACTUALLY, I do not want to share these. If I share them with you, you know I really love you. And here I am, sharing it with all of you! So I must really love you. (I do.) More peanut butter, please.