Another Awkward Week: Still Waters Run Deep

OH HI! Does your brain hurt from all the Beyonce/Adele Grammys think pieces you devoured today ...despite not actually watching the Grammys last night?

No?? Um, me either, I worked very hard all day!!

But just in case you do need a bit of a brain break, here is a quick story for your Monday night.

Anyone who spends time with me IRL quickly becomes aware that they are a lucky bitch because I am amazing. 

Ha, just kidding, that's not what I was going to saaay.

Anyone who spends time with me IRL quickly becomes aware that I am obsessed with hydration, to a level bordering on unhinged. I have three glasses of water before I leave the house and usually 8-10 more 16oz bottles by EOD. Every time I pee I check out the scene to monitor the situation and if my urine is not crystal clear by noon I get stressed and slam a few cups of H20 to speed up the process. Once, a year or two ago, I had a UTI, because being a human woman is an EVIL TRAP, and I went to the clinic and peed in the lil cup and the doctor came back and pulled up the test results on the computer and said "I can tell by looking at your results that you are very hydrated," and I blushed and beamed and replied "thank you so much for noticing!" As if she was commenting on my liquid eyeliner application or clean baseboards. 

When I said "bordering on unhinged" I may have meant like, very far beyond unhinged... 

So it should be an obvious no duh by this point that I literally never leave the house without a water bottle. Ever. This means I always have to lug some kind of big bag with me, even if I'm going to like, a club (lol as if) or trendy restaurant (slightly more likely). I would so rather risk a fashion don't than be caught out there dehydrated whilst daintily holding my evening clutch.

A true nightmare scenario.

Why am I telling you all of this TMI about my inner neurosis / urine color? Stay with me. This is alllll helpful background information to have in mind as we *finally* find ourselves at the beginning of my tale.

'Twas a week ago today, around eleven in the AM and I was returning to my office from a doctor's appointment. I was carrying the large leather tote pictured below:

bag of water humor blog I am so bad at naming photos

(Urban Outfitters, under eye circles + empty boxes sold separately).

In said bag, I had packed 3/4 full Nalgene style water bottle branded with my imprint's logo (always be selling!), a hardcover copy of The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson, and my bullet journal + pack of colored markers (just in case I needed to make an urgent to-do list in the waiting room? IDK guys),  along with some assorted nonsense which shall be discussed later. 

I swiped my card through the turnstile, moseyed (obviously sprinted) to a suitable spot on the platform and stood patiently waiting for my train. I was a little thirsty from all the moseying (sprinting), not to mention that I consider any amount of downtime to be a primo opportunity to re-up on the hydraysh, so I reached into my purse and pulled out my water bottle only to discover it was now...empty. 

I plunged my hand back into my purse and like a kid digging a hole to China via the Jersey Shore, I hit water. I must not have screwed on the lit tightly last time I took a public chug! In a panic I began to pull out my important belongings. My wallet...soaked. My book...soaked. My #bujo...miraculously only a tiny bit damp, praise be to you Beyonce, who so should have won Best Album, everyone knows Lemonade was the greatest album of the year / decade, even people who forgot to watch the Grammys! 

And then, my train came.

I had two options. Option one was to pull out all of my stuff, dump the water onto the tracks, cry about my misfortune, and cause a big ol' scene right there in the 23rd Street 1 Train Station. Or I could choose option two, which was to board the train, hold my sopping books in my arms, and ride the four stops back to my office with two inches of water sloshing around my handbag. And then, you know, pull out all my stuff, dump the water into the sink, cry about my misfortune...and cause a big ol' scene right there in the middle of my office.

I chose option two.

Y'all I boarded the train and I carried the water all the way home.

(That  kind of sounds like a gospel song! Carry the water, children. I carry the water, Oh Lord.)

(Pretty sure those are just the lyrics to Wade in the Water but with a lil remix.)

(Enough parenthetical asides, Liz.)

When I got back to the office I carried my water over to the communal kitchen sink, tipped the bag over, and out poured half a liter of water, as though from a lovely pitcher. I assessed the damage. In addition to the above mentioned book and journal, I pulled out 3 half-full travel sized packs of tissues (all obviously ruined), several handfuls of change (unscathed!), one running sock that had been in there since who even knows when (soaked but salvageable), miscellaneous receipts (destroyed),and the real kicker: two very important referral papers handed to me by the doctor I'd visited just before my ill-fated subway purse drowning situation. One of these papers contains notes from my doctor to a physical therapist who I am to see next Monday for the first time. I need to present this piece of paper to the physical therapist so she knows what my issues are. 

My physical issues, that is. No one needs a paper note to see my mental issues, which will be fully apparent when I hand her a crumpled script that is ripped at one corner and bears the texture of an elementary school homemade paper making project gone awry, having once been soaked and then left to dry on the back of my desk chair. I should just call the original doctor and tell them I need a replacement prescription but I don't want them to think I'm irresponsible. For some reason that seems more embarrassing to me than waltzing into the physical therapists office with a ruined piece of garbage.

Where did I say I was on the unhinged scale again? Maybe we should double it.

Anyway, all's well that ends well, I suppose. My most beloved of possessions, the journal, snuck through generally unscathed with just a few bits of runny ink towards the top of some pages, and after a few days to dry out, my copy of The Warmth of Other Suns now looks rather chic. My assistant saw it sitting on my desk all yellowed, sans dustcover (a tragic casualty, RIP dustcover, I hope you had a great life), and exclaimed "wow, what a cool antique book!" I didn't have the heart to tell her it is not, in fact, an antique, but a relatively new book I ruined. She'll find out I'm a hot mess soon enough, but until that day I'll let her - and the world! - think I'm some kind of intellectual savant whose handbag is overflowing with antique literary works, instead of spilled water, wet socks, and garbage.

The joke is definitely on them! 

And by them, I mean me.

Have a grand week, m'dears. Don't forget to hydrate, hydrate, HYDRATE and also always check your water bottle lids. 

Peace, Love, and Clear Pee -

Liz Hott 

Pin This; or, Adventures in Acupuncture

(photo stolen from the internet somewhere)

(photo stolen from the internet somewhere)

Oh, hello! Happy Friday. It sure has been a while, hasn't it? What have you been up to? Have you had any exciting/unnerving/deeply awkward new experiences recently?? I sure have and you BET I'm about to tell you allll about it. 

As you may or may not know, depending on what country you hail from (I don't know your life), this past Monday was Labor Day, which which means three day weekend!  I used this extra day off to finally try something I've been meaning to try for years: acupuncture. Every time I mention one of my myriad ailments, which is always, because I love whining and oversharing, someone will suggest acupuncture. Apparently it is just the cure-all for everything: IBS, bum hips, anxiety, sinus shit. You name it, they can poke it outta ya. Brian is a huge fan and encouraged me to give his practice a go, so I picked an ailment (bum hip!) made an appointment and whoop, there it was. 

The clinic is in a brownstone building a few blocks away from me (have I mentioned that I live in a fancy part of Brooklyn and am a very cool person? Just dropping that B-stone hint for ya in case you forgot), so I sauntered on up and kicked things off to a roaring start when I could not find the entrance. I kept walking up and down the steps and shaking the doorknob and looking all around and finally asked a kindly stranger who exited the building if she could tell me what floor the acupuncture clinic was on and she just kind of rolled her eyes and pointed down. Apparently the clinic was in the basement. WHO KNEW! Listen, Park Slope Wellness, you gotta be real clear about this stuff on your Yelp page unless you want a bunch of bum hip randos wandering the neighborhood breaking into apartment buildings. 

When I finally entered the clinic it was EXACTLY what I expected it to be. There was a little cubby by the door where everyone has to take their shoes off before entering and the waiting room was very calm and zen with tinkly waterfall music playing in the background and the receptionist was wearing like 14 layers of knit prairie skirts and offered me herbal tea. They advise you to get there 30 minutes before your first appointment to fill out paperwork. It seemed like overkill at first, but as the second I got the paperwork in my hands, I honestly thought they might be underselling it. This thing was the most intricately, intimately detailed questionnaire I have ever seen in my life, listing every single ailment you or anyone in your extended family may ever have experienced, from regular stuff like heart conditions allll the way to the consistency and color of your menstrual blood.

The color? You mean red? OH MY GOD what other colors could it be??? I do not mean to dismiss the ancient and beautiful science of acupuncture but I feel like if your period is turquoise or something you should probably not be sitting calmly in a zen waiting room, sipping nettle tea and answering questionnaires, but instead be rushing immediately to the nearest emergency room. 

Buttt that's just me. 

After finishing the most epic Buzzfeed quiz of all time ("which one of these lattes most accurately represents the texture of your nasal mucous") I was led back to an exam room where my acupuncturist walked me through what was about to go down. We sat for a long while and went page by page through my questionnaire which was possibly my favorite part of the whole thing, which I think says a lot about me. I just LOVE talking about gross bodily stuff and instead of being like "ew, women don't poop" she literally asked me "how are your stools?" and I was like FINALLY! Someone wants to hear about my stools! And she was so sensitive and nurturing and I got the feeling she wasn't just asking me because it was her job, she really did care about my stools. 


Then I stripped to my skivvies and laid face down on one of those massage tables with the face hole at the top and she covered me with a paper sheet and started putting the little pins all over me. The focus for the appointment was to alleviate my recurring hip/butt pain as well as some shoulder tension that has been lingering since I threw off my entire upper body attempting some burpees at an ill advised boot camp workout class, and she said she'd throw in a few extras "for stress." 


She talked me through the whole thing and it's really fascinating how the body all works together. A pin in the foot to open up the side of the body, somehow related to the gallbladder. Pins in the hands to open up the heart center. Truly incredible! All told I think I had about 20 little needles in me, a few of the pins hurt a bit but nowhere like getting blood drawn or a shot. It mostly just felt a little funny, I was cognizant that something was happening to my body but otherwise barely noticed them. I was trying really hard not to try too hard to relax, which was mostly worked and I managed to achieve a state of semi-calm which is pretty much as good as it gets in my world. She covered me all the way to my neck with the sheet and left me alone in the room. I was warm and cozy and doing a-ok! 

It didn't last long. I knew the appointment I signed up for was something called "Community Acupuncture" which I thought just meant discounts for people who live in the community. Apparently it meant that you were in a room getting 'puncthed with up to two other people. VERY RELAXING. I mean, I should have realized when I got to the room and saw three beds divided by hospital curtains, but I just thought it was for couples massages or something. Throuple massages, even. This is Brooklyn, we're progressive! 

I had just reached peak calm when my poke-woman (get it? Because she poked me with needles? And Pokemon is a cultural reference??) came back into the room with another patient and got her all set up on the bed next to me.

Who dis bitch? This is my pin room!

I tried to just zone out and ignore them, but of course I had to eavesdrop because I am a creep. Sadly everything they said was boring and I learned nothing exciting about anyone's stools. Then five minutes later she brought in another chick! Suddenly it was like, the Phi Beta Kappa sorority house of acupuncture, just ladies everywhere. And then she abandoned us all to lay there and pretend we're not stressed about the whole situation. It was at this moment that two things happen concurrently: my phone buzzed in my purse, leading me to panic about my poor behavior not putting it on silent, thus ruining other folks zen experiences and my nose began to itch, madly. I wanted to scratch it but I couldn't move my arms, because I had pins all up and down my shoulders so I tried gently blowing on it, which did nothing and it was in that moment, laying there there pinned like a dead moth in a frame, puffing breath up my own nostrils, that I came to the sad realization that I maaaaaaay not be an acupuncture person.


Finally after 700 hours later (probably 10 minutes) the acupuncturist came back into the room and unpoked me and I hovered behind my little curtain and quickly dressed, lest I accidentally destroy another patient's holistic experience by accidentally exposing them to my unkempt bikini area, and scurried out of the room. 

I felt like I was back in a safe womb when I returned to the waiting lounge. The receptionist gave me cool water and talked to me in her calming, whispery, hippie-lady voice and I handed over my credit card, which is a social transaction I know all too well how to handle and was really starting to feel like maybe this wasn't so bad after all when I saw it. There, perched in a little box on the edge of the counter, was a stack of those tiny envelopes you see at salons, the ones you fill with cash to tip your stylist.

What fresh hell is this?? Are you supposed to tip your acupuncturist?! I mean, I think of them as medical practitioners and I wouldn't tip my dentist so I feel like no. But also it's Eastern medicine and I guessss I would tip a masseuse (I mean, if I was the kind of chill person who could handle massages) which is another service offered by the practice, so where is the line drawn?  It's all very complex. I didn't have any cash on me so I didn't tip. I just tried to look the receptionist in the eye very kindly and avoid drawing any attention towards the envelopes so maybe no one would notice. If I can't see it, it can't see me! But that put me all back in a tizzy, what if you ARE supposed to tip and now they know I didn't and next time I go back the kind and sensitive lady acupuncturist reveals her inner fury and needles me in the eyeball or something? 

I know you're thinking "next time? It seems like you hated the first time" but like, now I need some acupuncture to get over the stress caused by acupuncture and it's just a whole vicious cycle. There's no stopping now!

Also I just really like talking about my stools in a safe and comfortable environment so, yeah. Maybe I am an acupuncture gal after all. 

And that is what I have been up to. Also a good example of how you can get an old dog some new alternative medical treatments, but she will still be the same neurotic pup.

Or however that old phrase goes.

Happy Friday, buds. Don't try anything new, it's a trap! 

Thumbs Up Time Machine

Notice anything...deeply creepy about this photo?? 

Notice anything...deeply creepy about this photo?? 

I've been thinking a lot lately about time travel. Not the science of it or anything (why waste precious brain space on science when you could fill it with useless Hollywood gossip) but just, you know, the theoretical idea of it. Like, would you do it, if you could?

The reason behind all this introspection is, of course, television. Brian's deep into 11.22.63, the Hulu adaptation of the Stephen King novel and I'm deep into reading internet think pieces about the new season of Outlander and attempting to find some kind of Starz hookup. Anyone out there want to help a sister out? I need my fix! 

Anyway, I'm very curious. If there was some kind of science that allowed you to travel backwards - or forwards! - in time, would you do it? Where would you go? And why? 

There often seems to be some kind of moral component to it, you know, go back and hug Jesus or kill Hitler or, in the case of 11.22.63, prevent the assassination of JFK. So much PRESSURE! Like, who wants to be responsible for the whole of humanity? Hard pass. Me, I think I lean more towards the Outlander school of time travel, just go back in time and bang hot Scottish farmers. I could be into that. Time travelling = the new Vegas! What happens in the past, stays in the past. 

Just kidding, you know Brian and I made a pact that we would only ever time travel together. 

Sitting here now, I know exactly where I'd go first. The time: Monday, April 11, 2016 - that's right, just two days ago - at about 5:12 PM. The place: my office. Moments from now a gal I work with, let's call her Veronica, will walk down the hall towards me. She has just received a promotion and I want to commemorate her achievement. 

"Hey, Veronica," I'll call out, while simultaneously pointing at her in the infamous "finger guns" position. And then, simply "congrats," as I transform from finger gun to a vigorous thumbs up. I'll stand there, staring at her, grinning weirdly, thumb way up like I'm the goddamn Fonz, saying nothing further.  I'll become fixated on by own weird hand motions, decide that too much time has now elapsed to keep this conversation going, that there is but one possible course of action: to flee the scene. 

This is how it really went down, but! Oh would that I could travel back in time I'd stop myself moments before. "Hey, Veronica," I'd call out, keeping my hands and arms in a casual, gun-free stance. "Congrats!", my thumb remaining firmly in a relaxed position. Maybe I'll have one hand jauntily cocked on a hip or my arms crossed or, I don't know, gang what do people do with their arms when they talk? Please tell me now because the moment I figure out some time travel technology,  I'm heading riigght back in time for a hot second and doing it right. 

That is all I want. I'm not slick enough to kill Hitler or save JFK or, let's be honest, seduce a Scottish farmer. I would just welcome the opportunity to re-do a few of my less socially graceful moments. Is that too much to ask? Also, those big things always seem to have ramifications, otherwise known as The Butterfly Effect, otherwise known as a masterpiece of a major motion picture starring future Oscar Winner Ashton Kutcher, where changes in the past affect the present and ... dun dun dunnnnnnn, never in a great way. Again: way too much pressure. All I want to do is slip back in time and create a world where I never gave anyone a thumbs up in public. I'll re-emerge in a present that is exactly the same, except everyone's just like "man, that Liz Ho is one cool cucumber who definitely knows how to handle herself in social situations." 

What a world! 

That or I'd go back to the moment they were casting James Franco in this 11.22.63 show because, no offense JF fans but homeboy can not act. 

Srsly, though - where would you go?

Thumbs Up!

Liz Ho 


Another Awkward Week or Two or Five [3.18.16]

HELLO!! And oops. I just realized that the last y'all heard from me was a lengthy word-vomit about how badly I  need a therapist and then I went and dropped off the face of the (blogging) earth for a month. You were probably so worried about me!!! You're so sweet to be concerned. 

Ok yes, it is also possible that a) you didn't even notice how long it'd been or b) noticed and didn't miss me at all, which frankly is so rude, but I have now been to four whole therapy sessions so I am a fully actualized, self-confident and emotionally stable adult woman who totally does not even care at ALL about being liked by everyone all the time. Who needs outer validation when I have inner peace?!

JUST KIDDING I STILL NEED SO MUCH VALIDATION!!!!!!! Please love me! I'll do anything!!! 

Ok, maybe I still need a few more sessions to get over that particular personality trait. But otherwise, no I have not been off having a nervous breakdown, I've just been, you know, livin' my life. Watching TV, running, eating cheese, looking at houses I can't afford on Zillow-dot-com, making fancy breakfasts, falling for any and all feminist thinkpiece click bait the internet has to offer, transitioning from whole milk to half-n-half in my coffee and then back to whole milk again, going to be at 9 PM, considering veganism, biting my nails, planning imaginary vacations, webMDing various ailments, reading and publicizing literature, talking about myself. 

The usual!

Oh and also dropping my panties in the office.

Oh yes. You read that right.

Dropping. Panties. Office.

Let me explain! So as I've written once or thrice before, I have a terrible habit of leaving my wallet anywhere other than in my purse, where it belongs, and then finding myself in all sorts of shenanigans as a result. For example, this past week. I'll set the scene: It's 2:05 PM on Monday,  March the 14th. I was already having quite the day, being that it was a Monday and it was pouring rain and I was late to work because I had to stage an instagram of this Pi Day mug (my priorities are great, thanks for asking) and then as I was racing out the door to make up for all the time I lost filtering that shit I stepped in actual shit, of the dog variety. Yup. Some kind neighbor had the thoughtfulness to leave a big 'ol pile of dog doo right on the sidewalk next to our building and it was exxxxxxtra wet and gloopy thanks to the rain storm. Real cool, neighbor. Real cool.

So I went to my 1 PM Pilates class, as I do every Monday, determined to turn the day around with a heady mix of deep breathing and endorphins. And it was working! I pilatesed (not a verb) and rinsed and waltzed back into the office ready to give the day another go. As I entered our lobby, I began to dig into my oversized gym bag to find my tiny wallet, which I would need to enter through the security gates. I drew closer and closer to the gates, becoming frustrated. I swore the wallet was in there, why couldn't I find it?? I paused in my tracks and amped up my digging to level F for "Furious," scrabbling around in that tote like a drunk badger and it turns out that I did not have my wallet in there after all but what I DID have was a pair of underpants and somehow amidst all of that frantic searching I flung said underpants out of my bag and onto the floor of my office lobby.

Was the lobby crowded? Yes.

Could you tell they were def undies and not just like, fabric? YUP.

Was it clear they belonged to me? Crystal.

Were they laying there for at least 30 seconds if not longer? YES.

Does 30 seconds seem like four hours when you're talking about having your UNDERPANTS LAYING ON THE FLOOR OF YOUR OFFICE??? Honestly, it feels even longer. 

Did anyone notice? OH YUS. 

Did I look up to find the security guard staring at me in horror? Obviously.

Did he then kindly let me through the security gate, though I clearly didn't have an ID? No of course not. 

After I realized the scene I was causing I quickly scooped my panties off the ground and shoved them into my bag and tried to play it cool and sauntered up to the guard like I hadn't just been standing right in front of him throwing my undergarments all over the place and asked him to let me in and he blushed HARD and I knew he watched the whole thing go down, but what was he going to do? Point out that he noticed my underpants?? I've seen the company sexual harassment video our company sends out. Don't go there. I politely told him I forgot my wallet and he wouldn't even make eye contact with me, that's how embarrassing this all was and of course he still wouldn't let me, so I had to stand there, shamefaced and sweaty, waiting for someone I knew to come save me. 


You know I have a very high threshold for embarrassment so when I say this, I mean it: I was MORTIFIED.

I mean, all things considered I guess it could have been worse? They were a pretty cute pair, neither overly sexy nor overly frumpy and I'm pretty sure they were clean, at the very least they didn't have like, overt menstrual stains or anything, so like, if I had to pick an ideal pair of underpants to throw on the floor of my very crowded office lobby, this was probably the best pair to pick, but honestly, I really would prefer to pick the option to just not throw my underpants on the floor of my very crowded office lobby. Like, ever.


You would think this would teach me a lesson about being more careful with my wallet, but no, I managed to forget it again two days later when I went to lunch and ended up stranded in the lobby for 20 minutes, calling every co-worker cell number I could think of until someone picked up and came downstairs and got me.

Hot. Mess. Express.

So there ya have it! What I've been up to the last month. And how has YOUR March been?? 

Peace, love & underpants,





Mo Money, No Problems

treat yo self hottsauce powerball

As basically anyone with eyes, ears and a facebook page is likely aware, the Powerball lottery is currently topping out at 1.5 billion dollars. I usually avoid these sorts of shenanigans - what are the chances, really?! - but gosh, that’s a lot and it’s kind of fun to get swept up in the madness, so I stopped at the newsstand in my office building on the way out of work and handed over $10 in exchange for five chances to win. Five out of how many, total? I’m not even going to venture to guess.

There are now about two hours to go until the lottery is drawn and Brian and I are trying to decide what we’ll do with our winnings.

First things first: pay off my student loans.

Ok, no. The VERY first thing we'll do is take out a whole bunch of cash, all in hundreds and throw it all over the bed and have sex on top of it. 

And thenI'll pay off my student loans. I am not beginning my ritzy new life with that albatross around my neck. I’d pay off my siblings’ loans too (even my brother’s law school!) and my mom’s mortgage. And then probably buy her a beach home and a new car and anything else she could ever want, so she can retire and just live a life of leisure. Honestly if anyone’s making out like a bandit from these winnings, it’s The Schmoops. She’ll be living like royalty without all the taxes and winner’s guilt and such.

So, then! A house of our own, here in New York. The West Village and Brooklyn Heights are utter dreams,  but we like to be close to the park so we can run. Maybe we’ll relocate to Manhattan, get one of those penthouses overlooking Central Park. But Manhattan’s like, over, right? So we’ll stay right here in Park Slope, just lightly upgrade to something bigger, brighter, maybe with a deck?

“And a washer/dryer of our very own!!!” I yelped with glee, before realizing I could hire a whole army of laundry minions to take pick up my soiled garments off the floor and hand wash them, piece by piece by piece before steaming and hanging perfectly in my closet.

MYcloset! MY OWN WALK IN closet that I don’t have to share with my husband!  I’ll be like one of those House Hunters wives, sweeping through massive closets and simpering “this will do for my shoes, at least...where will you store your things, honey?”

Oh, I’ll be insufferable.

But it’ll be fine because he will have a closet of his own where he can line up row after row after row of perfectly pressed Uniqlo button downs.

Or maybe even JCrew button downs! And not even JCrew Factory but real true JCrew, right out of the catalog. And me, I’ll start buying full price designer jeans that are actually long enough for my legs, instead of $19 pairs that stop mid-calf. I certainly won’t stop shopping at Old Navy, though, I could never leave them behind.

Maybe I’ll BUY Old Navy! I’ll become the new CEO of Old Navy, that’s what I’ll do. We couldn’t decide if we’d keep working or not - we both think we’d go mad just sitting around, doing nothing. Brian thinks he’ll start his own non profit education organization, helping low income kids get a leg up. If he really wants, he could still teach a math class or two. I figured I’d go like, mega Ann Patchett, buy up a string of indie bookstores all across America, while also running some kind of literacy non-profit. I think I could juggle all of that while still running Old Navy, yeah?

I mean, I’ll have plenty of staff. A personal assistant making my doctor’s appointments and things. The laundry minions. A cook! We won’t stop cooking all together, but think a part-time chef would be helpful. Think of the time I’d save on my meal prep. All the hours I waste messing up the kitchen trying to make weekday lunches, I could now pour into my various careers and charity endeavors. Oh and we'll be so healthy too. Maybe we’ll go vegan! Imagine all the green juices one could drink if one didn’t then have to clean up the goddamn juicer afterwards.

Obviously unspoken no duh expenditure: a personal trainer. Gwyneth will weep at the sight of my triceps. I’ll get my hair colored by a real professional stylist. Maybe get those eyelash extensions, too?

Also and I wish this was a joke but dead serious the first thing that came into my head when I was pondering absurd expenditures was laser hair removal, especially on the bikini zone. I’ll finally be rich enough to afford regular waxes but won’t even need ‘em because I’ll be so rich, I zapped it all off.

(Yes it’s a sad state of affairs for the modern woman that the first and best use I can dream up for my billions is pube management.)

Anyway, I’ll need to be all sleek and silky smooth for all the bikinis I’ll be rocking on various beaches. We considered buying a beach property somewhere, but we don’t want to feel tied down, so instead we’ll just vacation whenever we please, wherever we please. New cities every year. Every month! We’ll take our friends on extravagant getaways with us, rent out whole villas. Buy the best wines, the richest cheeses, the ripest fruits.

Oh and I’m never even looking at a coach seat on an airplane again. First class or bust, baby! With extra champagne.

We will NOT buy our own plane, because private jets seem to crash at an alarmingly higher rate than commercial and I did not win all this money just to meet some tragic John Denver fate.

RIP John Denver.

Maybe we’ll buy Denver! The city, I mean. Can someone own a city? Do we want to own a city? Brian briefly tossed around the idea of going full Bloomberg. You know, investing a lot, reviving a city and then running for Mayor of New York, but then we remembered that being the Mayor of New York carries a lot of, you know, responsibility, and we’re just not down for that.

I suppose in exchange for Mayorship, I might finally let Brian get a dog, now that we can afford someone to walk it while we’re at work or over in Tuscany, overseeing our vineyard.

Oh right, I forgot to mention: we’re buying a vineyard! Wine for life! What should we call it? Hott Wine sounds like garbage juice. BriLiz Vitners? Billion Dolla Grapes?

I kind of like that last one.

We will, of course, set up all sorts of scholarships and funds and donate to lots of charitable organizations and the like. And we’re considering becoming a two man Shark Tank Team, investing in lots of weird startups and inventions.

And we’re going to need to watch Shark Tank, you know for research, so we’re going FULL cable, bitches. HBO, Showtime, Starz, fuzzy local channels that only play Korean Christian music videos, we’re getting ‘em all.

Our kids will go to the finest schools in the city but somehow we’ll manage to keep them grounded and save them from turning into little Chuck Bass monsters. How? Who knows. We have plenty of time (and money!) to figure that out.

(Also, based on how quickly and dramatically our conversation veered from fun what-if daydreams into dramatic hand-wringing over the price of raising children - how much do diapers cost?? Where will our kids go to daycare? HOW WILL WE AFFORD ALL THESE SOCCER CLEATS!!! - it looks like we may need to actually win this lottery before procreating.)

We’ll have a country home too, somewhere nearby where we can escape the hustle and bustle of the city. We’ll get a car, I suppose, though I’m such a shit driver, I imagine we’d have to hire a chauffeur. A chauffeured car seems like the ultimate douche move but it’s either that or live with the constant risk of me running into a stone wall or guard rail or the Empire State Building or something so...full douche it is!

We’ll live like kings, but nice kings, whose subjects adore them. There will be no Marie Antoinette beheadings in our lottery life. We’ll keep it real, like JLo, not get fooled by the rocks that we’ve got. We used to have a little, now we have a lot, but no matter where we go, we’ll know where we came from.

(A perfectly fine upper-middle class yuppie life, TBH.)

And that’s what we’ll do, when we win! All we have left to decide is which brownstone we’ll buy and, of course, which AM TV program to visit first. I’m deciding between GMA (top ratings!) and CBS This Morning (luh that Gayle King) and Brian says, and I quote “I want no media attention” to which I replied, and again I quote “bitch, please.” You will see me - spray tanned and perfectly coiffed - all up on the cover of People Magazine, my friends.




Will I keep blogging, you ask, after I (erm, we) win my (OUR!!) billions? A fair question, but only time will tell. I mean, I barely blog now, as a regular old poor, and I can’t guarantee how much time running Old Navy will require (literally what does a CEO do?? Executively Officiate? What does that even mean?!) but I’ll do my best to continue to bless the internet with my wit and charm, even after I’m richer than god.

And by god I obviously mean Beyonce. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must dash off to Christie’s Auction House. Those Picassos are not going to bid on themselves!

Ciao, darlings!

xoxo Liz Hott

liz lemon make it rain hottsauce gif powerball

Happy New Year and #TBT: The Night of the Round Brush

New Year's Eve! 2016 is upon us, goodness me. I have half a dozen drafts started of introspective looks back at the year that was (and oh! what a year it was!) but I haven't managed to pull any of them into any sort of publishable shape yet. I keep getting distracted doing crossword puzzles, if you must know the truth. But they'll still be there in early January. Already, a treat to look forward to!

Instead, I'm kicking it way back to NYE 2010 and sharing a favorite from the Ol' One Awkward Year archives, The Night of the Round Brush. This remains one of my favorite stories (involving myself) (ok, ok, ALL of my favorite stories involve myself) of all time. And it's been five whole years since this all went down! Which also mean five years since I met Brian! Time flies when you're crazy in love. It feels like so much longer, in the best way. Trigger warning for extreme cheese but I sometimes can't remember what my life felt like before he was in it, I just feel like he's always been my partner. Oh, I love him so! 

Indeed, the as-yet-unwritten epilogue to this tale is that after all of these shenanigans, I walked into a party like I was walking onto a yacht and on that yacht I met the love of my life. And I almost feel like there's a bit of a moral there: Be Yourself.

I know, I know, it's trite and simple but bear with me here. This night I wanted to arrive at the party a sleek, sophisticated goddess, all cool charm and straight hair, aka the polar opposite of who I really am. And instead it all backfired and I burst in probably the truest version of myself: flustered, frizzy, commanding attention with a wild tale of misadventure and there, in that totally authentic state, I snagged myself a man. 

Admittedly I was wearing a pretty slutty outfit, so that might have helped just a pinch.

But there it is, my moral. Don't try to fight nature, just roll with it. In life and in love, just be a slightly slutty version of your true self and good things shall come. 

I promise! 

Happy New Year to you and yours and thanks for hanging out with me this year. See ya in 2016! Well first I'll see ya in 2011, as we #TBT below but then I'll see ya in 2016.

xoxo Liz 

One Awkward Hair-Do

January 04, 2011

New Year, New You! That's what I always say. The dawning of a new era is the best time to reinvent yourself spiritually, emotionally and, of course, physically. To welcome in 2011, I'm going to share some simple tips on achieving a really fun, flattering new hair-do. Now this do is really just for special nights out. Birthdays, weddings, funerals, key parties, etc. I tried it for the first time on New Years Eve and the results were spectacular! And it is SO Easy! All you need is a blow dryer, a big round brush, a slightly smaller round brush, water, two patient assistants and, eventually, a pair of scissors. Oh and also wine and Swedish meatballs, but they're not mandatory. Ready?

1. Make sure you're the last one in your apartment to shower, so the water is freezing cold. If you want, you can take a hot shower, but I think this is really important for sort of setting the tone of the hair-do.

2. Watch a couple of You Tube videos on "How to Blow Out Curly Hair" and "Drying with Volume" and stuff. It doesn't matter if you have straight hair, you should still watch these videos because they are interesting! And informational.

3. Using the larger of the two round brushes, blow dry your hair until it is straight and beautiful. Just as you're about to be finished, get this brush slightly stuck on the bottom left side of your head. Just slightly. Have a mild panic attack, invite your first assistant (for me, sister M) into the bathroom to help/tease you, and then just rip it out.

4. Feel embarrassed. Resume blow-drying.

5. Now your hair is totally dry, but it's not as voluminous as the models on YouTube. This is where the smaller (ideally also older, grosser) of the two brushes comes in. You're gonna want to take a giant section of hair from the top middle of your head, also known as the crown, and roll that entire section around the brush, allll the way down to the scalp. Do not miss a single hair, this is important!

6. Now try to remove the hairbrush. If you can get it out, you're doing this wrong and you need to try again. What you want to happen here is for the brush to be so completely stuck on the top/middle portion of your head/hair that it's just not going anywhere. Ever.

7. Panic. A lot.

8. Keep the panic to yourself - remember you're still super embarrassed about the first brush you got stuck in your hair no more than 10 minutes ago. You're an adult who can't brush her own hair. Just deal with it on your own. No need to involve other parties.

9. Get in the shower and attempt to get the brush out of your hair by smearing conditioner all over your head and face. This will only make the brush stick harder, but at least the shower is now warm, and also a good place to cry.

10. After the shower, spend 10-12 minutes frantically ripping at your head, until you realize that the brush is like really super stuck. This is good! At this point, you want your hair to look a little like this:

beautiful hair hottsauce

You are beautiful! Now you're ready to involve other people in your hair styling. Call in the one of your two assistants who has NOT already seen you with a brush stuck to your head (for me, my roommate K), and put him/her to work on your hair! Remember - your assistants can be anyone! Sister, brother, roommate, friend, neighbor, the pizza man, your cat, even your boyfriend. Although, if you're the kind of adult who gets a hairbrush stuck in their hair you're probably very single but hey, there's someone for everyone! That's another thing I always say.

So this is really quality bonding time. For the next hour - 1.5 hours, you sit on the toilet in your fuzzy robe while your assistant rips at your hair and you try not to cry and she tries to refrain from wondering out loud what she ever did to end up with a roommate like you and you are having SO MUCH FUN:

good times, great oldies

Look at you two! Such a good pair!

11. So step 11 is not mandatory and happens like, concurrent with step 10. This is where the wine/meatballs come in. Remember: you're having FUN. Start snacking! Get assistant two to periodically come into the cold bathroom where you're just hanging, styling, and bring you your favorite nosh. It can be anything you want bourbon/pretzels, beer/marshmallows, tequila/tater tots - it don't matta, just as long as the beverage is alcoholic and the snack is small enough that you can shove a lot of it in your face reallyfast, in an attempt to quell your rapidly increasing anxiety. And by anxiety, I mean the fun kind, like when you're riding a roller coaster, or having a pregnancy scare or trapped in the Sawbasement, not the bad kind.

12. After you've been at this for at least an hour, it's time to reevaluate. Give your former self one last look:

pure beauty

Now hand your assistant those scissors and SNIP!

SNIP SNIP SNIP! This should take at least another 30 minutes, if you really want to do it right. SNIP!

13. Get back in the shower (your 3rd shower of the evening), have another cry, get out of the shower and style your hair just like you normally do every single day.

And you're done! A beautiful, simple, big-night out hairstyle! The most exciting thing is how, after just 2.5 hours, your hair will look exactly the same as it did before, except with little short pieces hidden all around the crown of your head. Like a LITERAL crown. You now have a crown of hair and a guaranteed attention-grabbing story at whatever special event you happen to be attending. TA-DAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!

Here's to a very happy awkward 2011, y'all!

(This still stands! Here's to a very happy awkward 2016!!!!) 


Another Awkward Month [Is It Really November 13?!]

If The Facebook is to be believed, it’s been a month since I’ve last haunted this corner of the internet. Also, if the Facebook is to be believed, Kyiie Jenner went out in public in a "low cut black gown" (duh), it’s the 61st Anniversary of the shuttering of Ellis Island (RIP) and like, everyone I know is having a baby and/or running a marathon. Ok those last two might be neurotic projections but yeah, somehow a full 30 days has passed without writing a word. Or one worth sharing, anyway.

In those 30 days I’ve been to one wedding, one christening and two book tours for two #1 New York Times bestsellers. I’ve taken 14 flights and one Acela train (so spoiled for regular trains ever again) across seven states (Ohio, Illinois, Tennessee, North Carolina, Oregon, Colorado, Minnesota, BACK to Ohio) and one District of Columbia (You know, DC. The only District of Columbia we have...).  I visited at least 7 independent bookstores and only purchased four books (!) (stay tuned for reviews, duh), but accidentally lied on Instagram and said I only purchased two  books because sometimes my brain is mush, and did 14 crossword puzzles and only cheated a little bit and took countless clichéd photos out airplane windows and even more countless stupid selfies in fancy hotel elevator mirrors and deleted all of them so no one will ever know! (Well, except everyone because I just admitted it on the internet…pretend you never heard this!) I drank infinity cups of coffee and a surprising amount of wine, considering it was primarily business travel. #thatbooktourlife = the new #thatdondraperlife. I ate $23 worth of room service yogurt in Nashville, fried chicken in Cincinnati, dozens of weird pre-packaged hardboiled eggs in various airports and while in Portland, managed to drag my author to my favorite joint for the best fries in the goddamn nation.

This was on the very first day of her tour and I admit I was a little nervous for what the week would hold, we’d essentially be spending every waking moment together for the next six days – travelling for work is always a little awkward! But I knew we were good to go when, our first meal together, I said “Ok…so I know a place nearby and, well, all I’ll say is that it’s called LARDO…” and she said “Oh I am IN” and we proceeded to chow down on gigantic pork belly sandwiches together.

Like, what if I’d been out on the road with a vegan or something? I’d have had to sneak secret cheese in my hotel room every night. The horror!

Luckily it didn’t come to that.

It all was actually so much fun…even when it was completely draining. I got to meet one of my literary idols, Ann Patchett, and lots of super cool indie booksellers (American heroes, y’all!) and hang out with my bookstore buddies Niki and Mary Laura in Nashville and reconnect with a dear friend in Minneapolis who I haven’t seen in years and years and YEARS and on my last night on the road, and catch up with an author I used to work with (and adore!) in Denver and while in DC, my bff Mo met me and we snuggled and drank wine in my schmancy hotel room. And, professionally, it was just such an incredible opportunity. I feel like I’ve learned so much about my job and am going to be so much more thoughtful in planning book tours in the future and spending that much one-on-one time with these two authors brought us closer and (I HOPE!) helped them to know and trust me better.

I know, I know, it's really boring to hear other people talk about their jobs but just indulge me for a moment, ok? 


That's me and Liz G and Annie P right there. #BFF. Keeping it very, very cool. 

Mainly I’m only reflecting on the work travel at this point because the party stuffs, the wedding and the christening, seem like they were legit, decades ago.  If I recall correctly they were a blast? I just feel like 2015 has been an utter blur. On Monday I called my dermatologist to schedule an appointment (PSA: get annual skin exams!) and had my work calendar open and she said “How about this Wednesday” and I said “great, see you Wednesday the 3rd” and she kind of stuttered and said “No...the’s already the 9th of November.”

POR QUA?! What is happening in this world.

As Eleanor Roosevelt once said: “Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, into the future…”

Oh, no, wait, that was from the Space Jam Soundtrack.

It really does keep slippin’, tho! I am very happy that it has slipped me back on home to Brooklyn and to this hunka hunka Uniqlo model. 

that uniqlo model life

I missed him so much!

Barf I know but can’t stop, won’t stop. Try me. 

I am sure you’re all wondering if I managed all these zillions of flights and things without a hitch (and by “you’re all wondering” I mean “is anyone reading this?”) and I can proudly say: NOPE. So! Quickly! Just a few highlights of what was keeping it awkward on #thatbooktourlife.

This Sandwich:

ARbys baby


Ok not this exact sandwich, that's a stock image from (We have the meats!) but close enough. So I was flying from Asheville, North Carolina back up to NYC which involved a layover in Charlotte. This is unrelated to the tale at hand, but let me tell YOU the flight from Asheville to Charlotte is THE PRETTIEST! You get in a teeny tiny, surprisingly not that scary plane and putter on over the mountains really low and close and the foliage was redonkulous.

redonkulous foliage


Anyway not the point. So initially my layover time was about 14 minutes, coming into Gate E32, leaving out of Gate C11, clear across the airport. I swear, every time I’m in Charlotte it’s just to sprint between terminals. My author had headed off on another flight ,so I was on my own. I was a pinch nervous about making the connection and admittedly relieved when we landed and our connecting flight back to NYC was now an hour delayed.

I moseyed (LOL as if I’d ever “mosey”...I calmed my manic sprint-walk to a medium trot) from gate to gate, stopping to pee, grabbing a big sandwich and when I arrived at Gate C11 there were many people seated around, so I plopped myself in an open chair and started to go to town on my sandwich. Time passed, lah lah lah, and suddenly I heard a low, garbled mumble over the loudspeaker:

“Largst coall flerght 893 ter Lorgordora”

Did that man just say “last call flight 893 to La Guardia?!?”

I grabbed my sandwich and my bags and ran to him AS HE WAS CLOSING THE GATE and yelled “Sir! Sir! Wait! Is this flight leaving now?? But you said it’s delayed?”

And he just stared at me and then scanned my boarding pass and pushed me through, slamming the jet bridge doors behind me.

Turns out, though the flight was delayed by an hour, they went ahead and boarded as planned and made us sit in the plane during that time just in case.


So yes, made the flight by the skin of my teeth. It almost left without me! It’s not even like I was running to catch a plane! I was sitting there the whole time! I was just chilling, eating a sandwich. My full transformation continues...

leave the sandwich?!

This Cocktail:

gin on a train

So now we’re on tour two, with the author of THIS blockbuster (she’s very fun, in case you’re curious!) and our last leg was an Acela train from DC up to NYC. ‘Twas noonish on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon and we decided, for the instagrams, of course - anything to sell the book! - that there was only one thing for us to do: drink some gin & tonics.

(The meaning of this is known to anyone who has read this book and to anyone who hasn’t, I ask yet again, what are you waiting for?! )

So! We get some gin. Well actually P went first and the snack stand lady accidentally gave her little vodkas, instead of gin, so I went back and was like  um, we actually ordered gin?” and she was like “IT”S NOON GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!” No she wasn’t, she was totally nice about it, but I did have to resist the urge to over-explain that we’re not total lushes, we’re just doing it for the ‘gram.

(And ok...maybe we’re a little lushy.)

So we get our gin and pose our pics and make our cocktails and we sip and sip and laugh and laugh and realize we’re pulling towards our final destination, so we begin to ready ourselves to deboard and I somehow end up pouring half a gin and tonic all over my chair.

All Over.

gin now all over the train literally

Which, of course, brought me to a crucial dilemma in that I KNEW I had to snap a photograph, duh, but I’m on a frigging work trip and as unprofessional as spilling a cocktail in the middle of the afternoon is, then pausing in the clean-up with the excuse “oh it’s for my blog” is verrrry unprofessional, so I grabbed my phone in one hand and some napkins in another and snapped a very surreptitious photo while she helped me clean up and she felt so badly for me and I was just like GURL you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I managed to keep myself relatively cool out on tour, but the magic is wearing off. Cinderella is leaving the ball and turning back into a hot mess of a pumpkin housemaid.

Or whatever.

And that, my sweets, was that. I'm sure a zillion more things happened and I could keep you here all day but I shan't because honestly enough's enough, right? And now I’m back to reality, here in NYC being normal again. And by normal, I mean posing for selfies while eating a pickle on a stick.

pickle on a stick

You know, "normal."

Did you miss me while I was gone? Betcha didn’t! But here we are again. As always I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to! And as always, I'm sure that no one will indulge me with an answer but I'll still ask, you know, just in case.

Happy Friday, loves. Friday the 13th, even! I just realized that. Spooooooooooooooky. Be careful out there! 

xoxo Liz Hott 





Another Awkward Week [10.9.15]

Hello, friends!! How are you?! I feel like it's been so long! Remember when I used to blog with regularity? Oh, those were the days. Those. Were. The. DAYS!

Now, man, I don't even know. It's like, well into October. Of 2015!! When did that happen?! I mean, yes, I know that technically and scientifcically October 2015 began to happen 9 days ago but, you knowww, emotionally and meta-physically what is going on and where are we? I'm so tired!

So what has everyone been up to? I know that literally no one will will answer that question and yet I ask it every single week. I realize it might seem like I only want to talk about myself - and that's mostly ture - but I DO love a good two-way conversation here and again. I sometimes feel like I'm writing this into an abyss (and possibly I am!) so maybe pop in and say hi?


Ok enough of you. Back to me, yay!!! 

Since the last time I really sat down here, life has been hoppin'. Just a blur of insanity! Work, work , work, work, some play, work, work, religious pilgramage, a little bit more play and a whole lot more work. Fall is always a busy season for the publishing biz but this year is a whole new crazy beast. And no end in sight! Starting tomorrow, when a car picks us up at the ungoldy hour of 4:10 in the A-M, I'm basically travelling for the rest of the month. 

This weekend we're in Cincinnati for a wedding then next weekend in Chicago for Lucy Goosie's christening. (Quick Q: What should two non-religious people gift a baby upon her christening?  Just like, cash? How much!? This is a real inquiry, help!). Then I'm travelling for work essentially through Halloween. First two days with this #1 New York Times bestselling author, back home for 2.5 days and then zipping across the country for a full week with THIS #1 New York Times bestselling author. Bananas! 13 flights in 22 days, hitting 9 states (well 8 states and the District of Columbia, if we're being precise) (how weird is it that DC isn't a state?!), including not one but two visits to Cincinnati. Look out, Ohio. I'm comin' for ya.

 I am already exhausted just thinking about it. But I'm excited, too! The personal stuff is great, obviously, what's better than weddings & babies? Nothing, duh.  And the work stuff is daunting, yes, but honestly SO RAD. The raddest. We almost never go on tours with authors so to get the opportunity to do so is a major honor. 

AND! To publish not one but TWO #1 bestsellers in one year is like, bonks, even for a big imprint but especially for a small imprint like ours. And we did that! And I was on the team for both! That's so cool. I know post a lot of Niki Minaj videos and stuff (this is an actual must-read), but when it comes to my own life I'm actually very bad at being a Boss Bitch. But if Niki can have the ovaries to kick a journalist out of her home in the middle of an interview, I can uterus up and toot my own horn very softly here on this blog that like 4 people read. So I'll say it: I've been working really hard this year and really goodthis year and I'm proud of myself. 


The downside, of course, to all this jet-setting Boss Bitch lifestyle is that I have very little time to fit in the fun stuff like hanging with  mah frandz and watching Scream Queens and, of course, blogging. But, no matter how busy I get I still always, always manage to find time to publicly embarrass myself...and document it all. 

For YOU world. I do this for you. 

So, without further ado, let's take a look at how this Boss Bitch was keeping it awkward lo these past many weeks.

This Cheese:

cheese tower disaster

Wanna take a hot guess who knocked over the parmesean tower at her local upscale food market? 

Questo ragazzo! 

I then started to pick them up but a very nice store employee came rushing over and said "no no! I've got this!" but I felt so bad and weird having him clean up my mess even though I guess it is his job so I just stood there and watched as he picked up each individual tub o' cheese and delicately placed them back on the shelf and said "thank you" every single time.

Just hovered there, watching, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Dude could not get that cheese tower assembled fast enough. He basically sprinted away from me. 

So weird.

This Shirt:

you only hurt the ones you love

Is there some kind of country song about how you only hurt the ones you love the most? If not I'm going to write it and it's going to be about this top. It is my very favorite and also my very most stained.

Every single time I wear it, I end up with a stain. See also this day. And this day. And trust me on the dozens of other days unphotographed. 

It always happens right after laundry day too. I love the shirt so much, as soon as it dries I very, very carefully iron it and put together an ensemble and skip out the door feeling very cute and I always think "this time! This time I'll last all day without spilling on myself!" 

And I am always, always wrong. Sometimes I even spill twice!

Like this particular day, for instance. The stain you see above is an actual mystery. It looks like coffee but I have no recollection of the actual spillage and didn't notice the stain until I was out on my lunch break, at which point I sprinted into the ladies' room to snap a selfie...much to the delight of my friend Abi, whose elbow you can see in the frame there. 

That evening I stopped at the aforementioned local upscale food market to grab a few items for dinner (different day than destruction of cheese tower day!). They have this really great antipasta bar with olives and stuff and they always put out free samples. I am WAY into these little cippolini onion guys, which Brian finds disgusting because they're basiclally just raw onions in vinegar but MMMM, I can not get enough! 

So on this day, as all days, I made a beeline for the samples and speared a giant onion with a toothpick and brought it to my mouth and dropped it RIGHT down the front of me. So now not only did I have a weird coffee stain right over my crotch, I also had onion juice all over the rest of me. 

Needless to say I was the most attractive shopper in the store that evening. Really bringing the goods. 

And now, because I don't have a washing machine, my beloved favorite shirt sits, covered in oxyclean pre-laundry gloop, until the next time I can drag my sorry rear to the laundromat.  Good lord, I would do anything for my own washing machine!!

(Except, of course, the one thing that would actually make that happen: move to the suburbs. Gross!)

These Boots:


Actually I shouldn't neg on the 'burbs so hard, because this past weekend I was hating on the city  life something fierce. Like 97.64 % of the time I love this life and all that comes with it, but sometimes, man it sucks here. Last weekend it was drizzly and freezing and I had a head cold and I needed to run a bunch of errands and all I wanted to do was hop in a car and go to the mall. The mall! Just park and leave my coat in the car and wander around popping into all the stores my little heart would desire. Instead I bundled up and stood out in the cold and waited for the damn bus and went to the makeshift hell hole of a mall nearest my home which has about three decent stores...four if you count the garbage Target I can't seem to quit. 

I made some returns to Old Gravy, had good shoe luck at DSW, scored some basics at Uniqlo and then my good spirts were crushed by Target. There were lines out the door and broken cash registers and my nose wouldn't stop running and somehow it was at once freezing and stuffy inside and oh, I just wanted to go home! I hauled my belongings to the bus stop, where I had a 10 minute wait in the rain until the next bus. I decided I'd pop into a nearby bodega to get some ramen to eat upon my return home. 

This hot, spicy, sinus clearing bowl of soup was my guiding light. Of course this particular store had no ramen. Then! As I dejectedly walked back out onto the sidewalk, my paper shopping bag ripped, spilling discounted designer boots and bags of sensible white T's all over the damp, dirty sidewalk. 

Thank goodness I have this blog, guys, because the absurdity of me standing there, snapping photographs of my spilled shopping bags while people stared at me, wondering WHAT the hell I was doing, had me crying with laughter instead of frustration which is kind of a miracle.

Oh and I totally took a taxi home. Best $8 I ever spent! 

This NSFW Image:


Well, not really but, well, you'll see. 

Recently I was emailing with a professoinal contact about checking in with another person on something. I MEANT to say "I'll send him another nudge," with a d...but instead I typed (and sent!) "I'll send him another nude."

Another nude!!

And now you know the secret to scoring a #1 New York Times Bestseller. Bribe 'em with titties. 

And that, my fair friends, is the best of the best and the worst of the worst! I promise I'm not as groucy as I sound... I just need sleep! (And maybe access to a better Target.) Now to bed I go! I just realized that if our car comes at 4, that means I have to get up at like...3 something and woof that is not a fun number to see. 

Good night to you! Or good day, if you're reading this in the morning. Good anytime, I'm just so glad you're here! Have I mentioned how very much I appreciate you reading this? Because I do, do, DO. 


Liz Hott 



Another Awkward Week [9.11.15]

Oh hello there. Apparently it is already Friday. Who knew, I ask. WHO KNEW?!

The week after Labor Day is always a bit of a swift punch in the face and this year things seem to be in hyper-drive. Our fall at work is probably the most intense season I've experienced in my eight years here and I'm tryyyying not to allow myself to become overwhelmed...but I'm not sure I'm succeeding. I keep having all of these stress dreams where like, I'm forgetting important things and have to scramble to fix them. Like the other night I dreamt we went camping (I hate camping!) and I forgot all of my clothes and had to drive back and get them and then I couldn't find them and I woke up in a cold sweat and immediately started panicking.

It doesn't take a Freudian Scholar to decode these themes. I've had some variation of that dream pretty much every single night this week. I'm so tired! 

I'm genuinely curious to hear: how do you take care of yourself when you're feeling really stressed? What sort of self-care routines do you put in place to help yourself navigate a busy season? The madness is just beginning I need all the help I can get! I'm trying to make sure I exercise at least 4 x a week, eat really clean and take these weird sleep vitamins. But then I lay awake at night worrying about what I'm going to buy my in-laws for Christmas (WHAT? Brain...why do you torture me?!) so I might need new vitamins, ha! I know, I'm nuts and need professional help but whatever. Here we are! Help! 

So this is getting off to a rip-roaringly entertaining start, now isn't it! Just gotta keep it real sometimes, folks. But life is not all stress dreams and frantic cardio, I promise!! In fact, this week provided plenty of moments of ridiculousness so why don't we take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week. Aside from this weirdly small font that I can't figure out how to size to match the rest of the font. How do computers work again?? 

Anyway. Let's go. 

This Text Message from a Stranger:

Look in your pants

Um, pass. But thanks for asking?

This Spot:

fly poop!!!!!!!

Just...squint real good, you’ll see it there. Guess what it is??


So the other day I decided I’d take my lunch to the park and catch up on a little work reading while I noshed. It turned out to be kind of a whole thing.

First I got a chicken schwarma wrap from this Turkish food truck I’ve been meaning to try and it was...not bueno. I don’t know what it was, guys. I’m not that finnicky of an eater but something about this chicken was just NOT happening for me. It was maybe gristly or chewy or something? Whatever, it was gross. I took out all the chicken and wrapped it in a napkin and threw it out and felt VERY good about myself when I saw a homeless man was sleeping on a bench LITERALLY 10 feet away from where I was throwing away my food because I’m such a picky picky princess. Ugh.

So I sat back down and was munching on the remains of my lunch - now just a lettuce wrap...yum? - when a big fly landed on my trousers, just above my knee.

It was HUGE and had some unusual markings so at first I was worried it might be a bee. I didn’t want to get stung so I paused just a moment to confirm its genus (species? Phylum? Remember that stuff from biology?!!! Clearly I don’t) and just as I confirmed it was, indeed, out from his little fly butt came a tiny - but visible!! - squirt of brown substance.


And then it just flew away! The classic shit and scram!!

I was so grossed out I sprinted back to the office. Well, first I took like,17 various close-up images of the poop stain but thennn I sprinted back to my office to do some serious scientific research.  

I didn’t know that flies even pooped but apparently they either barf or poop almost every time they land. And I thought I had a sensitive GI tract!

I had read just enough internet articles to assure myself that fly poop is both normal and harmless when I told the story to a coworker and she pointed out that maybe it wasn’t pooping on me but instead laying eggs and now my tasteful navy work pants are the nesting place for a whole family of flies.

WHAT. I’m not ready to be a fly mom! Where will they sleep? How will we afford school? We’re not prepared!!!

Upon further internet researching (always 100% the truth) I remain committed to my initial instinct that it was, indeed, a case of the old numero dos, NOT an egg laying situation.

Phew. Fly poop is pretty gross but when the alternative is becoming the primary caretaker of an entire family of diptera (look it up), well, I’ll take the shit and scram any old day of the week.

This Video:

Hits maybe a little too close to home. I spotted this mere hours after fully hijacking my friend’s Labor Day recap to talk about The Goose.

Me - “How was your long weekend?”

Friend - “Oh it was fun, I was at Lake Michigan and…”


Cue me forcing her to look at a 15 minute slideshow of vacation photos of a four month old.

I can’t help it, guys. This chick is the best.

cool sunglasses baby

I mean!!! Look at that 'tude!!

And that’s wasssupp. Big plans for the weekend? Brian and I might be hosting a BBQ for our annual joint birthday party (barf, I know I know), weather permitting, and Sunday I’m going to my first clothing swap where I’ll pawn off all my out of season Old Navy jeggings and hopefully score some designer duds in return. Cha-ching!

Whatever you do, I hope it’s spicy, delightful and absolutely fly poop free.

xoxo Auntie Lizzie


Living and Learning and Awkwardly Smooching

Oh hey! What's been going on? Facebook just reminded me I haven't blogged in a full week. Wah-hoops. Such a nag, that Zuckerberg. 

blah blah

I've been running around even madder than usual this past, like, fortnightish, as I have an author in town so I've been extra busy at work, bopping all up and down and around going to interviews and events and things. It's hectic but actually really fun and way better than sitting at a desk all day. The author is super cool too - he's Israeli and funny and brilliant. Check him on Fresh Air here! And check this hideous picture of me listening in on his interview. 



(I feel like this photo really emphasizes my crooked chin. Have I ever mentioned my crooked chin here?! Look at that slope!)

Anywaaay, everything's been going great great GREAT with his book and his publicity visit and such except for one thing: the kissing. 

Not as scandalous as it sounds, I swear!!! 

As I said, dude is Israeli and I guess in Tel Aviv they greet one another with the cosmopolitan one cheek kiss. I met him for breakfast at 8:30 AM on a Monday before his first media day. He was sitting at the table already when I got there and as I came over he stood up and like, swooped in for the hello and I didn't know what was happening so I went in for a hug and he tried to do a cheek kiss but then HE got confused and we both kind of just like, sort of hugged, cheek to cheek, for what felt like a year but couldn't have been that long.

Could it have?


So then a few nights later I went to an event with him in Brooklyn and after it wrapped I was putting him in a cab and it turns out cheek kissing is a goodbye thing too, so he leaned in and this time I was totally prepared except I tried too hard to act natural and made a really loud "mwah" noise like I was some kind of, I don't know, sassy Long Island housewife or something.

Tooooootally natural.

Of course on top of this crazy work week I've had all sorts of general, you know, grown up shit to deal with (I will never cease complaining about how exhausting it is to be a functioning human adult person) and could not manage to squeeze writing into the mix. I was feeling terribly guilty and garbagy (it's a word) about this, you know I do passionate self-criticism better than anybody, when I found myself at this aforementioned "mwah" inducing work event in Brooklyn and this author inspired an epiphany, guys. AN EPIPHANY! 

During the audience Q&A, someone asked him about his  writing schedule, or lack thereof. He said, and I paraphrase, "when you have an urge to write you must write...unless your life gets in the way. In which case you always pick your life first. If you're not living, you'll have nothing to write about."

So simple. So brilliant. Isn't it neat how sometimes you hear just what you didn't know you needed to hear?

I think this applies even if you're not into writing. Just sub in whatever it is you think you should be doing or feeling guilty over not achieving and acknowledge it and then, if you need to, set it aside and live your life. It'll get done. 

So that's what I've been up to. Less stressing, more living. 

Well, that and awkwardly kissing professional colleagues. 

And what have YOU been up to?


Liz Hott


Another Awkward Week [6.12.15]

Helloooo! Last night I had this strange dream. Everything was exactly how it seemed. There was never any mystery of who shot John F Kennedy. 

Ok no, that was not my dream that's just me showing off my mad skillz at reciting Postal Service lyrics from memory. A young Zach Braff over here.


I DID have a weird dream last night, I was going to Lena Dunham's wedding in Greece, as you do, and I went into use the ladies' room and it turned out that it was one of those tiny bathrooms where the shower and toilet were in the same zone and somehow while I was peeing, the shower turned on and I got drenched and had to go back to the wedding like that and was like "THIS is going on the blog!" and then woke up and realized I'd dreamed the whole thing.

Does anyone know how to interpret dream symbolism - that I'm now dreaming in awkward moments? 

I probably just dreamed up a funny story, because in reality I was #winning when it came to life/normal behavior this week. Like, crushing it. For example: guess who has two thumbs, a patient husband willing to put up with her photography demands and wore white jeans for a WHOLE DAY without spilling one single thang on them?


Oh yeah, this moi.

And that was pretty much the highlight of my week. Excitement abounds! In lieu of my own scintillating content, I'll leave you with a few links from around the web to fill the rest of your Friday. Happy weekend, chickies! 

Can Reading Make You Happier? 

The Backstory on the iconic Brandi Chastain Sports Illustrated cover (who else is pumped for the World Cup?!) 

A thoughtful discussion on that whole "wife bonus" hullabaloo 

This is just my favorite food blogger, I think she's the funniest and best! 

In case you've not yet read Sheryl Sandberg's essay on grief, it's so lovely and heartbreaking 

Ok THE END goodbye. Have a fabulous weekend!! Any big plans? I'm hanging out with my mom, YAY!!!!

xoxo Liz Hott