Ok! Well we are off to a roaring start. I said my first post would be up Wednesday and yet it seems to be Friday already, now doesn't it? Mah B. Friday is the new Wednesday! Except that would mean Saturday is the new Thursday and then when do we get a weekend? Horrible! I take it back! Every day is the new Friday and let's all take a vacation!
I had very good intentions to post something on Wednesday - I even had a draft started and everything - but then life got busy and I didn't like what I'd written and after a few hours of anxiety and self-defeat I remembered: who cares. The world seems to have kept on spinning, as best I can tell. But I'm no Galileo so don't trust my science.
What I have to remember, if I'm going to hop back into this thing is that, unless one of you wants to pay me a million dollars (which I will gladly accept! email me immediately!), blogging is a hobby. Some weeks I might be able to post every day, other weeks I may be radio silent. And that is ok! And I don't mean this to sound defensive - I am talking 100% percent to myself right here. We're all in the midst of a little Liz Ho Self Therapy session. Fun, right?!
I told myself 30 was the year I started being nicer to myself. So...Self Love, commence!! Not in like, a dirty way...although...just kidding there's NO TIME...just, you know, general kindness and relaxation and forgiveness and stuff.
Ok well this got unnecessarily dramatic pretty quick now didn't it? All new subscribers are like REGRET! REGRET! UNSUBSCRIBE!!
Please don't go! We have so much to catch up on. I'd love to hear: what have you been up to these past few months? I have just been livin' and lovin' and winin' and dinin' and chillin' and, oh yes...spillin'. In fact, why don't we just take a look at the highlights, lowlights and um, midlights, of what's been up in Hottsville. That's a town I made up. I'm the mayor!
BY THE NUMBERS: SINCE I'VE BEEN GONNNEEEE
(to be read in Kelly C voice, obvi)
One: Number of Promotions Received. Goodbye Senior Publicist, Helloooo Publicity Manager!
Two: Number of books I worked on that became instant New York Times Bestsellers!!! Including a smash phenomenon debut that's LEGIT causing an international sensation and the newest novel from one of my longtime favorite authors. Boom! So I can proudly say I've been killing it...while also exhaustedly admit that killing it has been killing me.
One Trillion: Number of work-related stress dreams.
Zero: Number of finger nails left unbitten.
Five: Number of flights in as number of days, for a mix of business and pleasure.
Two: number of my favorite pens that burst all over my hand while in mid-air on said flights.
...You think I might have learned my lesson the first time and yet...
Three: Number of times I flashed my colleagues while wearing this dress
Long stories short, when the fabric of this (admittedly adorable, I KNOW! Gap Outlet!) dress rubs up against the interior of my puffy winter coat, a necessity in these dreadful temps, some kind of reaction occurs such that when I take off my coat, the dress has bunched allll the way up above my waist, leaving all of my bottom parts fully exposed. So far this phenomenon has happened exclusively in front of colleagues, the people I least want to see my biz. The first time was a group of about 15 at our company holiday party, but they're all women and know how weird I am so no harm, no foul. The second was in front of a very nice female editor who laughed it off and calmed me with a story of how her five-year-old son once untied her wrap-dress in public, causing a full on situation. I was feeling reassured that at least it was only ladies I was flashing when it happened a THIRD time in front of the new male temp who sits directly outside of my office.
Welcome to the building, sir!!
Ok yes, I was wearing tights, but still. BUT STILL.
Fifteen: Number of minutes I accidentally locked my husband out of our apartment...in the snow....on Valentine's Day! (Thatttt full story to come.)
Seventy? Eighty? Two thousand??!?!: Glasses of wine consumed on Christmas Eve when somebodyyyyy got a little sauced and ruined the family pajama portrait.
My brother called me Lucille Bluth. Well played, bro. Well played.
Infinity: Number of dollars I will pay someone to come clean our house...
Jk Jk we cleaned! And not all of these photos were taken on the same day. But also none of them were staged. So we're about half as gross as these photos imply. Just keeping it real. Actually this past weekend I scrubbed the whole house to gleaming, glistening perfection and then...
Eight: cups of flour scattered throughout the kitchen in an unsurprisingly messy, yet surprisingly successful attempt at homemade biscuits.
Recipe from Ina, duh.
One: Weddings attended. #boneifiedgates!
One: Wedding gift yet to be delivered. 2014 was the year of on-time wedding gifts but we seem to have back slid in a major way. Howeverrrr I have it on good authority that the bride in said wedding is a blog fan (she might be insane) so I'm hoping I can get away with a web-shout out and just keep their gift for myself. I mean, yes it's personalized and specific to their hometown of Memphis but I'll just tell people I really love Elvis. And February 6, 2015. It's totally normal.
One: Wedding gift spoiled. Whoops! Danny, Erica...you're getting a Memphis specific, personalized gift. But at the rate we're going, you may not get it until like, November 2019 so you'll surely be surprised by then. Aren't you glad you invited such a classy, well mannered couple to your wedding?
Eighteen: Seconds of an outgoing call placed to MY BOSS at 9:45 PM on Saturday the 17th of January after a full day of boozing in DC while visiting my girlfriends
Zero: Recollection of said drunk dial. Again, to MY BOSS. She's chill and would probably think it's funny but I'm just not going to bring it up and hope she never does either. I don't need to lose the aforementioned promotion thanks to bottomless brunch, you know? (I DO recall, however, that we spent the majority of the day discussing Jennifer Lopez, that at one point I backed it up into our waiter and that I was carrying around my friend Lindsay's 6th grade school photo in my wallet. It was an all around sophisticated affair.)
(And I'm realizing this + the Xmas eve shenans make me seem like quite the lush...I promise I'm not normally this sloppy!)
50: percent of my vision nearly lost after bonking myself in the eye with the surprisingly hard poof on this Santa hat while attempting a festive holiday selfie (with Starbucks, natch. #basic)
Eight: Seasons of Friends consumed in just about three weeks. That's an average of nine episodes per day. Impressive. And lest you think I was solo bingeing...think again. Someone else in the Hott Household who shall remain nameless to protect his manilness was LOVING it juuuust as much as his wife was. Oh whoops...did I just give away his identity?
Two Point Two: Seconds of winter it took me to abandon my resolution to stop dressing like a bag lady around the house.
Not really sure why I opted for kneesocks under an old dress instead of, you know, pants but I do know I look pretttty fly.
Ohhhh Kay! I'll leave you here with this sexy image to keep you warm on this frigid Friday (that's the working title for the Freaky Friday remake I'm writing. It's set in a Russian Gulag. Still starring Lindsay Lohan & Lamie Lee Curtis. Coming to a theater near you soon!) I have a full inbox and an empty cup of coffee so it's time for me to kickstart this day. See ya on the flipsdie, babez. Happy Weekend!!
xo Liz Ho