Another Awkward Week [5.23.14]

Hey buddies! What's up? It's a long weekend, whoop whoop! Well, in America, anyway. Sorry foreigners. Sucks to be you! I'm heading down to Pennsylvania for the weekend,  tomorrow I'm having a bridal shower (for ME!), hosted by my sweet Aunt Lena & cousin Lisa.  I'm so excited! And I'm excited that I'm excited which sounds nuts, but well, that's me. For a while I was being kind of a weirdo about the whole thing - I thought everyone would think I was being really demanding and obnoxious, asking them to drive all the way to PA, when they already have to travel for the wedding, and would I look like I was just trying to get more presents. For someone who purports to LOVE being the center of attention, I'm sort of freaking out now that my moment in the spotlight has finally arrived!

Luckily I have some smart friends and family who reminded me that I am a lunatic and I might need to calm down. That it is OK and not annoying  to be excited about my wedding. That people are travelling not because I'm making them, but because they want to, because they love me, and love Brian and are happy to celebrate our impending union. It's going to be such a lovely day with the most special ladies in my life and I'm already feeling very honored and loved.

And EXCITED. So excited that I've already said that word seventy-five times in just these four paragraphs! Get a thesaurus, Liz.

Fun fact: I have a really hard time saying that word, thesaurus. I always say suh-tharus, instead of the-saur-us. Ha! A few years ago I worked on a book about Roget, the guy who invented the thesaurus and the word was right in the title and every time I had to say it out loud I would get really nervous about messing up and inevitably mess up even worse and it was just horrifying. HORRIFYING! I totally forgot about that until just this moment and now I'm reflexively cringing, so embarrassed for my past self. GAH young Liz. It does NOT get better.

Ok enough rambling about bridal showers and thesarusues (thesauri?) and insanity. Let's take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.


This Dress:


Worn to Brian's sister's graduation on Sunday and COVERED in coffee.

We drove from NJ to PA early on Sunday morning and packed bagels and to-go coffees with sturdy, closeable lids for the ride.Brian's mom realized just moments after we pulled from the driveway that she had forgotten the roll of paper towels she meant to toss in, just in case anyone spilled.

"No worries!" chirped the grownup adult woman from her perch in the backseat. "We'll be fine!"

I was pretty good for most of the way until just a few miles from the campus, when I precariously propped my coffee mug in my lap without fully closing the lid.

Suddenly, Brian called out from beside me: "Liz! Your mug is tipping!" So I did what any rational person would do when a hot cup of liquid is spilling over on their thighs which is to flail my legs even more causing the spill to go from a minor drip to a full on drenching.

REALLY coulda gone for those paper towels right then.

Saving graces: 'twas a dark dress and I found a stray shout wipe in  my purse! That baby did the trick and more, by the time we made it to graduation the only remaining trace of the incident was a lingering smell of coffee.

Eau de floor of a Starbucks after a long summer's day.

Whilst at said graduation I acquired...

This Sunburn:


First of the year! Complete with a weird little white stripe across the middle where my necklace was resting.

Happens every season!

I have to be careful this year...I have to somehow make it all summer without kooky tan lines, so I'm not covered in splotches and white patches in all of our wedding photos. I keep meaning to try my bikini top on under my wedding dress to see if I can wear it or need to get a new one. HA! Sounds insane butttt I think it is necessary. Maybe I'll just have someone sew me a dress in the pattern of my wedding gown and wear that all day every day so I have absolutely perfect lines come August 16?

THAT would be insane.

(orrrr would it?!)

This Skirt:


That is a thick layer of dust...apparently the French Connection in SoHo cleans their dressing rooms about as often as I clean my house. Aka: never.

I visited this store not once but twice in the past week, along with probably every single store in the greater NYC metropolitan area, on an epic quest for the perfect dress for this weekend's festivities. I bought and returned and bought and returned several different options and ordered a few things online - one of which is lost in the mail and one of which is being held at a FedEx facility on 108th Street in Brooklyn. I didn't even know there was a 108th Street in Brooklyn but apparently they is and they are holding hostage a sundress from Piperlime. Can't wait to go pick THAT up.

After all of these shenanigans, I finally caved yesterday and splurged and spent basically all of my discretionary income on a dream dress from Kate Spade that I'd been lusting after for weeks. I've already justified the exorbitant expense,  by promising myself I will wear it at least three times a week until I die so basically this dress has pretty much already paid for itself. In fact, they paid ME! I hope everyone likes it as much as I do cuz y'all are going to be seeing a lot of it.

In other fashion news, check out the shoes I rocked all week...

These Moccasins:


Yes, friends, that IS my big toe.

You may recall I shared these about a year ago when dat derre rip was juuuusssst beginning and here we are, a full year later and much much rippier (it's a word) and I've yet to throw them out.

I'd get a new pair but I just spent all my money on that dress toed moccasins: the hot trend for spring! You heard it here first!

This Band-aid:


I'm finally getting serious about my nail/finger biting problem, I can NOT allow myself to have bloody, ragged fingers at our wedding, I just can't.

My thumbies are my weakness, they're just so easy to attack, so all week I've been wrapping my thumbs in band-aids in an attempt to save myself from myself.

Unbeknownst to me I purchased a box of "designer strips" which means these are no ordinary bandages, OH NO, but beautifully ("beautifully") patterned fashion band-aids. So far this week I've rocked bandages that look like they're bedecked in sequins, in black lace, in some kind of modern abstract art, and this one, my favorite, which had teeny tiny photos of models walking the catwalk.

WHO EVEN CAME UP WITH THIS? Why would someone want to wear bandaids with tiny little fashion models on them? They're so small you can't even see what they're wearing! WHYYY is this even a thing that exists in the world and why do I own it.

Kids get Sponge Bob and Dora and grownups get mini little ladies shaking their little tushes on the catwalk. On the catwalk, yeah.

I'm to sexy for my bandaid, to sexy for my bandaid...

IF ONLY there was a designer band-aid for my brain that would make me into less of a weirdo. THE END of this madness, I am outta here. Have a spectacular Memorial Day weekend and if you think I'm not going to be back with a full report from my big weekend, you're drunk. My mom told me it is traditional for the mother of the bride to buy her daughter sexy lingerie soooo that blog post can pretty much write itself.


Liz Ho


Another Awkward Week [9.27.13]

Holla! It's Friday! How was everyone's week? Mine was longggg. I woke up Thursday AM and swore. Like sah-wore, would stake Jon Hamm's life on it, that it was Friday. NORP. Only Thursday. RIP, Jon, my bad. Anyone else barely make it through the week? I feel ya, pals. I feel you.

I'm extra glad it finally is Friday, because my Schmoopster and sister Maggie are visiting for the weekend. Yay! Marge came up last night and we went to a concert together to see this band Okkervil River. Heard of 'em? Probably not, they're pretty cool hipster shit, you know that's how I roll. Just kidding, that's how my sister rolls...y'all know the kind of tuneage I jam out to.

The concert was quite fun but also a very palpable reminder of just how old and grouchy I am. Their opening act was some guy called Black Joe Lewis who played very loud rock and roll music with lots of electric guitar solos and all the songs sounded the same (I'm sure they were great! I admit: I have no taste) and all I could think about was how loud it was and how much I wanted to sit down. Okkervil River, the main act, is energetic but still sort of mellow, gentle music. Nearly everyone was being cool and normal and bopping to the tunes except for four kids in the audience who were WAY INTO IT and jumping up and down, literally jumping and flailing their arms and clapping and singing all the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Guess what unfortunate soul had to stand right next to these clowns? ME. You know how dogs can smell fear? I swear that these annoying rowdy types can sense who's a crotchety no-fun and just get alll up in their business.

Listen, I don't want to tell you how to enjoy live music but maybe enjoy it quietly and politely from within your own personal space bubble and keep  your elbows and sweaty long hair and terrible voice out of my zone.

In other words: get off my lawn!

Anywaaay, that what's up with me! 29 going on 90. Why don't we stop complaining about the youths and take a look at what else was keeping it awkward this week:

This Lineup:

dirty jeans

Getting dressed Sunday afternoon it took me three tries to find a pair of pantalones not covered in food stains.

Maybe time to pack up my poisonous laundry candy & do some wash?

PS - I don't care if skinny jeans go out of style, I'm wearing them forever and an eternity. I want to be buried in my jeggings.

And while we're talking fashion...

These Shirts:


As I  mentioned, Brian and I had a joint birthday party on Saturday cuz we're cute like that, and apparently the dress code was chambray. It would be so like me to demand that everyone dress like me on my birthday but I swear this was unintentional.

How long am I going to drag out this 'pay attention to me it is/was my birthday' shtick? Infinitely.

So let's keep going!

This Card:


From my seester. If you can't read it's a photo of two old ladies, one examining the other's cardigan, saying "It's a little early in the day to wear your 'do me' sweater, don't you think?"

Hilarious, I know! Extra hilarious: I saw this card in CVS a few weeks back and laughed and laughed and purchased it and sent on to Maggie, just as a no reason hello, because, like me, Old Marge understands the sex appeal of a good cardigan.

Turns out that she had just bought the exact same card to give to ME for my birthday. Great minds. The HoBag ladies know the value of a sassy sweater.

And also...

These Gifts:


My faves. A homemade BLT (on white toast with mayo, only way to do it) from my friend Kamran and poo-pourri from Maureen. Sandwiches and bowl movement pals know me so well!

This Outfit:


Do you ever have those days where you're just like pwoooompppp. You just feel like a blob? Like a human version of the mucinex guy?

That was me in this get-up on Monday.  My pants were too tight, my shoes rubbed my feet in every possible location - I now have eight blisters and the shoes are in the garbage can - I had food on my sweater, was in the midst of a week-long streak of bad hair days and had to remove that belt I'm holding midday after gorging on too much food at lunch. Granted it was vegan food, but still: apparently an 8 pound burrito is an 8 pound burrito whether it contains animal products or not. Lesson learned!

I felt like such a slobby lump I found it hard to get anything done all day, I just wanted to go home and shower and make myself presentable...or just curl up in a ball and go back to bed.

 I know it sounds like I want everyone to chime in and be like "Omg, what! Liz, you are beautiful!" and yes, I know, thank you, I am amazing, but this isn't a call for compliments.  I mostly just wanted to look for a little camaraderie from my internet peepz. Sometimes you feel like a blob, right? Right? Anyone? Bueller?

And now...

A Tale of Three Bathrooms by Charles "HoBag" Dickens 

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I've never actually read A Tale of Two Cities, but tell me, how much of the novel involves making a scene in a public restroom? Oh, none of them? Boring. I've got that beat x3.

Bathroom One:


A charming wine bar in Manhattan's East Village. Brian and I spent last Friday night wining and dining our way around Lower Manhattan in celebration of his birthday and one of our stops was for a glass of vino on the patio of this adorable joint. At the end of the evening I popped inside to visit the facilities and discovered it was one of those tiny, quaint places with only one unisex bathroom for everyone to share. So after waiting what seemed like an eternity for the lady in front of me to do her thang (women, amirite?!), my turn arrived. Yadda yadda, you know how human biology works, I went to flush and realized that the toilet water seemed precariously high.

"This can't be right," I thought to myself. I knew it was dangerous, and yet I couldn't walk out and face the line of folks waiting to pee after me knowing I hadn't flushed.

I went for it.

Water began to pour from EVERYWHERE. The bowl, the tank, everywhere. It was like the boiler room in the Titanic, just a solid wall of water flooding towards me.

I yelped, hoisted myself up onto the bathroom trash can, swung to safety, quickly opened the door and slammed it behind me.

I turned to face the waiting masses and stammered "it's broken! Don't go in there. It's flooding. The toilet. It is flooding." I then scurried over to the bar, grabbed the nearest employee, yelped "Your toilet's broken!" annnnd ran out the door, never to return. Well, I still had to sit on the patio and finish my drink and wait for the check but hopefully it was dark enough that noone would recognize me as the bathroom flooding bandit.

Needless to say, this was THANK HEAVENS just a number 1 situation. If it had been the other option,  well, I would have just sprinted out of the bar and never looked back - not stopping for my coat or purse or maybe even Brian. He'd be sad for a while (I hope) but eventually would just move on and find someone normal and occasionally look back and think of me fondly. But it would be best for him. No one should have to be saddled with someone who flooded a restaurant with poo.

Then a few days later...

Bathroom Two:


I was at a community theater production of Les Mis, because of course I was, held in a high school way out in Bay Ridge, deep into Brooklyn. We stopped into the ladies quickly before the show and the school had these weird janky old bathrooms which flushed by pushing the most impossible button - see above. I don't know how young people are expected to maneuver these things. I'm an adult in relatively OK physical shape and had to put the weight of my entire body behind me just to flush, but I managed to get it to work.

Intermission rolled around and we needed to make another visit so we waited patiently in the endless line of other desperate audience members. I was next up but the woman in front of me could not, for the life of her, get the toilet to flush.

"Don't worry about it," I said "I know how to use these, I'll take care of it."

BRAVE. BOLD. No prissy business from Liz Ho.

Obviously and no duh, I got myself into the stall, pushed the button and: no dice. I pushed and pushed and pushed and paused for a photo and pushed and pushed and couldn't get it to flush. So I just sat, peed, tried once more...and then opened the stall, announced "nope! won't flush!" ....and ran out the bathroom door.

And then, the following night...

Bathroom Three:


On Monday I met some girlfriends to catch up over drinks and crostini at Gottino, which is one of my very favorite adorable bars in the West Village, if you're ever in NYC and looking for a charming spot to get your pinot greeg on. They have a lovely back yard (pictured above) and, like the previous wine bar mentioned, have just one bathroom, this time located down a set of steps next to their wine cellar.

I snuck down mid-way through the evening and found the lock on the bathroom door to be rather perplexing. It didn't actually seem to be holding the door shut, at all. I twisted it and turned it a few times but it didn't click anywhere.

"I'm sure it's fine!" I thought to myself.

I'd no sooner dropped trou and taken a seat on the throne when I learned the error of my judgement. It was not, in fact fine, it was completely unlocked, allowing for a man to swing open the door and walk in on me.

He stammered "oh god I'm so sorry!" and backed away, covering his eyes, while I half heartedly covered my biz and sighed: again? How had my life come to this?

Turns out I hadn't actually shut the door the whole way, so the lock was not catching as it should. Whoopsidoodles.

I finished what I came for and then, once again, found myself sprinting away from a toilet.

7 Days. 3 Public Bathroom Disasters. A new record, even for me.

I'm nervous to see what the future holds!

And there you have it. My week. Tell me 'bout yours! And what's everyone up to this weekend? I'm taking a 1/2 day today to party with the Margepants - Bernie rolls in early tomorrow and we're taking a trip to Ikea. Whoop whoop!

Wishing everyone a fantastical weekend and just be sure to double check all bathroom locks and take it from me: if it looks like it might probably will.

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [9.20.13

Another week gone by. Like sands through the hour glass, so our the days of our lives.

This was kind of a weird week for me. On Sunday my phone broke while I was on a treat-yo-self trip to Target, leaving me unable to instagram the 40 oz fountain Diet Coke I was chugging at 11 AM and even worse: stranding me without a cellular device for four days while TMobile took their sweet time sending me a replacement. It is so sad the lost, unhinged, unmoored feeling that comes with being unplugged. I've always wanted to time travel back to colonial times...but I'm not sure how long I could survive without my cell piece. I barely made it through the week.

It's also sort of pathetic how suddenly being without a phone gives a heightened sense of your own importance in the lives of others. HOW WILL PEOPLE REACH ME?!?! I panicked, before remembering that um, I'm not that popular. I sat agonizing over the millions of texts I was surely missing yet I refused to be one of those people who went to Facebook and blasted their entire feed: "Hey everyone! Broke my phone so if you need me, hit me up here or on email!"

I mean, I get it, I do, but how many people actually call/text you in a four day span? Can't you just email the main peeps in your life and give them the heads up, without making a dramatic call for attention to all of your internet network. Maybe I'm just unpopular? I just don't think that like, that random kid I worked with at the movie theater in 11th grade or that girl I had intro to Journalism class with in the fall of 2003 are really that concerned about the state of my phone slash life.

Uh, lessons on internet self indulgence from the girl writing a BLOG. Pot, kettle, etc. I know.

Thankfully my new phone arrived safe and sound Wednesday evening (don't ask if I chased the office mail guy down the hall yelling "Is that my phone?!" because yes,  yes I did) and I had missed a total of four text messages. Two from Brian on Sunday afternoon informing me he was on his way home. One from TMobile telling me they'd shipped my new phone (uh, how was I supposed to see this message, Tmobs?) and one from my friend Claire referencing a very bitchy but awesome inside joke we share from college so yeah, pretty important stuff right there! Did I learn any lessons about the joys of being unplugged and away from technology? EFF no. 1780's, I'm sure you were delightful, but I might need to stick it out in the 2KTeens.

The worst part of being phoneless was that I was without a camera and unable to capture my hugely interesting life. But I can't end a week without a recap so instead of our usual photographic accompaniment I've created some original artworks using my favorite computer program, Paintshop. So let's do this thing!

Here's a look at what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Yoga Class:

yoga 1

Guys, I don't know if I'm cut out for yoga. I'm just too high strung. I finally got the nerve to graduate from Ultimate Beginner this week and went to an open level Vinyasa class with my friend Ursula, also a relative newbie. I'm the "L" up there and she's "U." JUST FYI.

I did slightly better than I thought I might at the poses, though there were a few like, one legged sideways balancing jobbers that were just NOT happening but as with all areas of my life, my overactive mind refused to shush up.

I know that the whole point of yoga is to quiet your mind and focus on your body or whatever but I just don't know if I can get down with that. I like to be silly. I like to laugh with my friends if one of us falls over or crack wise if I'm struggling through a pose. And in yoga class (or at least any that I've been to) everyone's so quiet and serious and breathy and earnest. I don't love it.

Do I use humor as a crutch: no doy. Do I need to get over this? Probs. Can Yoga help me learn to appreciate quiet and get there? SURELY. But, I don't know that I want to. Is there a yoga for comedians class I could take somewhere? Or laughter based yoga where everyone just has fun? It's just so much with all the ommming and the breathing and dim lighting. Live a little, Yogis!

Related: the girl next to me, pictured above under the giant frowny face was probably one of the worst humans on earth. She was the very loudest breather I have ever encountered. And not in a natural way. She kept over dramatically huffing and sighing and puffing and making all of these noises and it was clear - trust me, I'm an expert - that she was doing it just for the attention. She also refused to follow along with the instructor on ANY moves and just kept doing her own thang, going faster than the rest of the class, falling to the mat unexpectedly, hopping where everyone else was stepping, generally causing a big old scene.


Also she was wearing a really ugly barrette in her hair which I know is petty but it was highly distracting.

Again, I know that I'm supposed to focus on myself, not everyone around me, but when the gal next to me is braying like a donkey and downward dogging when we're supposed to be heading upward, HOW am I supposed to tune that out? If I can't crack jokes in class, you gotta play it cool too, Bonnie Barrettes. That's just how yoga WORKS!

Also: Ursula told me that while we were laying and meditating at the end of class (I was thinking about dinner, of course), that the instructor came over and massaged her face. HA! I would have urinated on the mat from giggling so hard.

Soooo yeah. Not quite sure yoga's the sport for me.

This Bookshelf:

book shelf

Can't you tell that is a bookshelf? My company deals exclusively in primary colored, one dimensional books. Pretty cool shit.

I realized sometime on like, Monday, that one of the shelves on my bookcase had broken, sending books careening into piles on the floor of my office. I just resumed whatever idiot thing I was doing at the time (probably catching up on my mormon mom blogs) and left the mess there for a cool three days until enough people commenting "OH MY GOD, LIZ, WHAT HAPPENED?!" inspired me to call maintenance.

I then had to sit here like an asshat mediating on my intense laziness while the nice maintenance guy cleaned up my mess of books and old press letters and also a broken glass which was somehow present in the region and I did not feel great about that.

THIS is what I mean when I say that maybe I should focus less on lofty long-term goals like marathons and more on getting my day-to-day shit together.


This Scarf:

quinoa scarf

In an effort to spice up my wardrobe, I attempted the old scarf-as-accessory trick, one that I've never really mastered in the past.

I think I pulled it off in a big way. Not only did the scarf look adorable, it served as a convenient personal food storage center, as I found bits of both breakfast (oatmeal) and lunch (quinoa) tucked inside it when I took it off post-work.


And that's that. Short and artistic. Just like I like my men. Just kidding, you know I like my men slim and mathematical.

What are y'all up to this weekend? Tomorrow is Brian's birthday! We're just a week apart, so we're having a bit of a dual birthday celebration with some pals because what's cuter than a joint couple birthday party?


Wishing everyone a very zen weekend! Zen Zen Zen!

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [8.2.13]

Aha! The Prodigal Blogger returns! I am constantly peppering this blog with random, probably incorrect biblical stories. I need to brush up on my Old Testament. Do they have Vacation Bible School for adults? Meh.

Annnyway, I know, I know, it has been an eternity since I've bloggled. Ah! Life's been a little cray, as they say, between work and the big move-in situation. But things seem to be calming down in the office and on the home front we are fully wonen samen, to the max. So far, so good! I'll fill you in on the whole shebang soon but for now, we're off to a good start. 2 weeks and we still like each other (a LOT!) and the apartment is slowly getting into livable, organized shape. I am working on being calm, patient and laid back, three adjectives that I would nuh-heverrrr use to describe myself so we'll see how long THIS lasts.

I put my $$ on four more days.

I've ALSO been super busy watching Orange Is The New Black on Netflix. Are y'all watching? If you're not, just close out this blog, right now, and log into Netflix and get started. This show is THE jam. Darkly funny, compelling, complex and portraying a huge array of talented and unique women, which is rare, rare, RARE in entertainment these days and I just can't recommend it enough.

Go! I'll be here when you return, I promise.

Meanwhile, why don't we take a look at what was keeping it awkward these past few weeks:

This Trail of Kernels:


Here's as good a place as any to warn you that my photos this week are ho to the riffic. I might be going blind? Potentially! Anyhoodle, earlier this week someone sent a goodie basket to our offices and it was sitting on the filing cabinet directly in my line of vision, so every time I looked up from my desk, thar she was. It was kind of a random assortment of things like rice krispy treats and strawberry jam and peanut brittle and mah fave: kettle corn.

I guess I was way into it, because when I left work that evening, I spotted a Hansel & Gretel style trail of kettle corn running from the filing cabinet and into my office. This photo does not do it justice, mostly because, as always happens when I'm doing weird shit at work, someone came across me crouching on the floor photographing my food mess and I got embarrassed and very hastily snapped a photo and ran towards the elevators.

Normal Normal Normal.

Speaking of embarrassing workplace behavior...

This Skirt:


Is one of my favorites (from Target, obvs) and on solid rotation in my wardrobe despite the fact that it is certainly too short for the office (whoops!) and thanks to the flouncy cut, it's always threatening to blow up in the wind or get tucked into my underwear...a threat it finally made good upon this week.

I was making my necessary pre-commute pit stop to the ladies at the end of the day, doing my thang and ran into a coworker who is a very warm, funny woman but also my superior and also sort of intimidatingly brash and confident and she OH SO NICELY but still someone please kill me, pointed out that the hem of my skirt was indeed stuck in the waistband of my drawers, putting my derriere on full display.

At work.

She very rightfully and kindly pointed out that no one saw but her and not to worry a thang but STILL, you guys, still. I tucked my skirt into my underwear! This is the stuff that 7th grade nightmares are made of and I am living it, daily, as a grown-ass lady.


I could have always covered myself up with...

This Sweater:


Which I keep on the back of my desk chair and wear every day, our office is over air-conditioned to Antarctic temperatures. I was rocking it the other day and my sweet assistant pointed out that I had it on inside out and we had a good laugh and then instead of fixing it right away I kept it like that so I could take a photo for my blog and then forgot about it and she had to remind me two hours later that my sweater was still on inside out and maybe did I want to fix it?

And it occurred to me that sometimes I bring these things ALL upon myself.

But, of course, I still managed to sneak in a photo shoot between that revelation and changing my sweater because, you know, priorities.

I do it ALLLL for you, friends. All for you!

And finally, much like Vanessa Williams, I've gone and saved the best for last.

This Bike Parade:


Allow me to assure you that the story is much, much better than the visual accompaniment. Now, let's take it back. Way, way back to two weeks ago. A heat wave has descended upon New York City and I am having the busiest week of my professional career, to date. I was up early every morning to meet authors for meetings and interviews and book club luncheons and was running on fumes and ill advised coffees, reigniting my caffeine dependence hard. By Thursday of this week I was burnt out, but knew I just had to make it through that one last day and I'd be over the hump.

I was meeting an author at the Sirius Radio Studios in Midtown Manhattan at 8 AM. The night before I tucked in early, set my alarm and prepared for the early morning. I had it down to a science. I knew that when I woke up I had 45 minutes to do my morning thang, shower, dress, check emails, before heading out the door and I'd still have time to grab coffee and a bagel and catch the subway with plenty of time to meet my author.

So the alarm rings and I fly into auto pilot mode, throwing on a nice summer dress and flat sandals (it's already 85 degrees at this point) and using the clock like a stopwatch rather than an actual time telling device. I have 32 more minutes...21 more...7 more...then dashed out the door. I was exiting the bagel shop next to the subway with an iced coffee and whole wheat everything, toasted, with veggie cream cheese and a slice of tomato in hand when it hit me like a bus: it was currently 8 AM. The time I was supposed to be meeting my author. I was an hour behind. For all my strict minute-by-minute plan, I'd forgotten to pay attention to the other side of the clock, the hour side. In my exhausted haze the night before, I'd set the clock to the wrong time.

A yelled a word that starts with F and rhymes with Duck and is fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkk, grabbed my phone and frantically called the author telling him I'd had public transit problems and was hopping in a taxi. I failed to mention I was miles away from the studio. He's a self sufficient dude (and doesn't seem to like me much anyway) so he could handle it on his own for a while.

I hopped in a passing gypsy cab, which is an offensive name for unmarked, likely unlicensed cars that serve as taxi services mainly in New York's outer boros. We were moving along smoothly when the drive suddenly turned to me and said "Oh wait, you want to go to Manhattan? I don't drive to Manhattan."

I surely uttered the F-Duck word again, as he dropped me off on the side of the road somewhere in Brooklyn. Thankfully we were near a main throroughfare where it's easier to get yellow cabs, so I quickly hailed one and hopped in. I sat in the back frantically texting my assistant "OMG can you believe this happened?!" and shoving my bagel in my face. Stress makes me hungry. We were fine on traffic until somewhere in the East 20's at which point we started moving at about a block a minute. I had 30 blocks to go and was already 40 minutes late to meet this dude.

We made it to 50th Street and were heading West when we got stuck at the SAME light on Lexington Avenue for two whole light cycles. Five minutes. Sitting there. I couldn't take it any more. I threw money at the driver and jumped out on the side of the road. I started sprinting, full on SPRINTING westward, I had to get to 50th and 6th - five long blocks away - and the minutes were ticking by fast. My feet were rubbing raw in my sandals, I was breaking a serious sweat and carrying a huge totebag full of books that had to weigh 79 pounds. But I sprinted on.

Finally! I made it to 6th Avenue! All I had to do was cross over 50th street to enter the studio's guest entrance, when I was stopped dead in my tracks. They were closing off the street to make way for a parade of handicapped American soldiers riding special olympics bicycles. I understand every word in that previous sentence is offensive on every level but this was the bad place my brain was in as I stood there, among spectators waving flags and cheering for their heroes. Are you DUCKING kidding me, America. Do we really need a parade at 9 AM, holding up traffic?!

So I snapped a quick and terrible photo, ran through the middle of the parade (SORRY AMERICA!), then realized I actually HAD BEEN on the right side of the street I ran back through again.

I finally made it into the studio a full hour after I'd told the author I'd meet him there. Sweat was pouring off my body. I know this is a common turn of phrase and might seem an exaggeration but in this case, it is not. Sweat was literally running down my face and back and legs like a momentous waterfall. My hair was soaked. I had blisters on the bottoms of my toes from my damn sandles and a bruise on my hip from where the book-laden bag hit me with every step.

So basically, I was a mess. But I had arrived! The author seemed to give exactly zero shits about my presence (YOU'RE VERY WELCOME!) causing me to briefly consider that I should have just screwed it all and stayed in bed but what fun would that be, really?

Publicist of the year over here, guys. They should have a parade for ME.

Annnnd that's what's been up! How have all of you been? Anything new? Life milestones? Vacations? Clothing mishaps? I've missed you!

Happy weekend! xo Liz Ho

PS - I've now watched that Vanessa Williams video three times in a row and it gets better with every viewing. What a masterpiece. Sometimes the snow comes down in June. Sometimes the sun goes round the moon,

Another Awkward Week [6.7.13]

Hello, old friends! Have you missed me? I've missed YOU! I am so sorry for being away so long, I was sunning myself on the shores of St. Lucia and just plain lost track of time! Just kidding, I've been here. Working. Like a dawg. Here's a question, what is up with that expression? Except like, sheepdogs and police dogs, do pups actually work THAT hard? I think no. Ok, I guess there are also seeing eye dogs and huskies who have to pull sleds and rescue dogs and Clifford, he's got that sweet mascot gig for, fine, dogs work hard I guessss. But don't you think there are harder working animals out there we might give a little credit? Lions prowling around on the hunt? Bees making honey. Woodchucks chucking all that wood, could those woodchucks chuck that wood?

Poor woodchucks!

Me, I've been working like some kind of exciting animal, busy with an author in town and that horrendous publishing conference I mentioned, and a bigbigbig launch of a very special book I've been working on that's really been a labor of love for me, you can read the rave New York Times review here. #Humblebrag. No, just #Brag. I've worked hard and I'm proud of myself and the author and the rest of my team and I'm just going to Own. It. Gurl.

Snap, snap, swish.

So that's what's the what on this end of the world! Tell me - what's new with you? Heard any good gossip? Read any good books? Tripped and fell in public? You know I want to hear about it!

Now! Why don't we take a look back at what was keeping it awkward this week  these last two weeks, whoooops:

These Galoshes:


Pictured last roundup in a deep puddle of rain water and this week in the blinding sunshine. Um? Yeah. One of the terrible things about rain is...well, pretty much everything. With the exception of it's role in the growth of new life and how the sound of it hitting a tin roof inspired that one great Norah Jones song, I think we can all agree that there are verrrryyyy few good sides to rain. Am I missing something? But one of the worsticles is when old Sally Rainstorm doesn't hang around all day and you can't get a solid read on what sort of apparel to wear and have to dress for any possibility and end up clomping around in the bright sunshine in your even brighter galoshes.

I need to move to somewhere with a more predictable climate. Any suggestions?

This Bike:


(The one on the left. My left. Well, everyone's left unless you're someohow viewing this photo from behind the screen, in which case, what are you, a wizard?!)

One of my favorite things about my pal Brian is that he's always up for trying new things and likes to be on the go and explore and have adventures. It keeps me on my toes. He's fun. Last weekend's adventure was a casual 17 mile roundtrip bike ride to Coney Island. It was a delightful little jaunt but possibly a little advanced for me, who's only just hopped back into the biking life. It turns out I live on top of a gigantic mountain that is so steep, it is basically just a 90 degree angle right into the air. TRUTH. My 'hood is called Crown Heights and I've just realized, the hard way, where they got that "Heights" from.

B & I biked most of the way back together, but parted ways at the end of our trip, me to my home, he to his, leaving me at the bottom of  this Mount Vesuvius of a hill. I, of course, chose the busiest street possible to ride up and, you guys, I thought this was going to be the end for me, I really did.

I stopped four times on the ride up to catch my breath, dreaming of the water bottle I'd left in Brian's backpack. I could have easily dismounted and walked my bike up the hill on the sidewalk but GOD DAMN IT, I had not rode this far to quit. And plus, I thought it would be more embarrassing to be seen walking my bike than to be seen stopped dead in the middle of a busy road,  hunched over the handlebars, panting for mercy and oxygen, as cars swerved around me.

Don't worry, I made it home, alive! Was it worth it? Aaaabsolutely not.

These Lanes:


As should surprise zero percent of my readership, I am terrrrrible at bowling. A bunch of my pals and I hit the lanes the other weekend to entertain ourselves during a rainstorm and played two rounds of girls v boys. In an epic blow to feminism the girls team lost.

Both times.

I contributed a career high of 86 total points. Out of a possible 600.

I'm considering going pro.

This Sunburn:


Just ignore my weird Harlequin Romance Novel pose and focus on the red and white racing stripes on my seductively bared shoulder. I'm diligent about sunscreen but every year manage to bust out at least one or two pretty solidly idiotic burns. Got this year's first one in before Memorial Day Weekend even came to a close. Summer is off to a great start, kids!

This Coconut Oil:


My coconut oil above...and what it's supposed to look like:

(via theKitchn)

Ok, so, here's the story. As you knowwww I've been on a bit of a health food jag of late and all of the clean eating blogs I lurve are all UP ON coconut oil. So clearly when I saw it on sale at the Teej, I knew I had to have it. The thing is, I find it utterly grotesque to look upon. Unlike other oils which are liquidy and yummy looking, this stuff looks like lard in a jar and smells like Banana Boat.

Apparently there are all SORTS of benefits like it has no cholesterol and can be used as a hair conditioner or body moisturizer or even a healthy and natural sexual lubricant.   Brian and I did NOT test this theory out (or did we?) (we didn't!) but we have made zillions of jokes like "let's put on a little Barry White, light some candles, pour some wine...pop open that coconut oil...and just see where the night goes."

Really clever stuff over here. We need to get out more.

Anywhoo, really dumb story extra long and extra dumb: I finally got up the nerve to test out my C.O. last evening not as a food product but as a moisturizer for my dry feet (why do I feel the need to share these things?!), but when I went to the cabinet, it had somehow transformed from a thick, creamy, white substance (no one say TWSS, plz) into this weird, thin, clear liquid.

Did it melt?? Did someone eat all my coconut butter and replace it with water like cool kids would do with their parents' liquor while I was busy at home watching Touched by an Angel with my mom?! I will never ever know because I am too afraid to open the jar.


Here's why I'm sharing this, though. Last time I had a food related mishap, with that fresh mango, my beautiful friend Mallory, who is adorable and lives in Mexico and has a truly fabulous life, dedicated a whole post on her blog to cutting and preparing fresh mangoes. So now I can do it right! What a pal!

So, I'm kind of hoping one of you delightful gems out there might clue me in on this whole coconut oil mystery. Why is it so great? And how do I use it? Is it supposed to turn clear like that?

Or, alternately, if one of you has a great story about at time you used coconut butter or any other sort of butter as a sexual lubricant, well, you KNOWWWWWWWW I'd love to hear about it.

And on that note, I'm out! I hope everyone has a most splendid weekend full of sunshine and butterflies and incorporating health foods into your lovemaking.

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [5.24.13]

Hola, lovers! How was everyone's week? Mine was equal parts amaze-sauce and bananagrams (both real adjectives). I'm going to just start with my very best foot forward right up front and beg forgiveness if I'm a little crazier than usual this next week or two. I'm going from vacation back to a short week into another long weekend into a nutters work week which includes this big (true), fancy (completely false), fun (debatable) publishing conference...I kind of already have no idea what day it is or where I am or really anything. All I know is that I'm currently eating chicken sausage and I really wanted to dip it in mustard, but my mustard bottle is basically empty - there's mustard up in there, but not enough to squirt (that's what she said?) (unnecessary, Liz) so I'm just taking little pieces of sausage and sticking them inside the bottle and scooping up whatever remains I can and surprise, surprise, this plan has backfired greatly and now I have sausage stuck in my mustard bottle. mustard

My new book HoBag, Party of One: Etiquette and Manners for the Solo Diner hits stores next month. Preorder a copy today.

Toldja - losing it!

How about we just stop here and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.

This Tote Bag:

tote dryer

One of seventy zillion in my possession and also my carry-on for my flight home from Chi-town this weekend. Just casually blow-drying it. Because it was wet. Because I needed to wash out the coffee I spilled inside of it mere minutes before we left for the airport.

My book of travel tips is still seeking a publisher. Any takers?

This Other Tote Bag:


Full of produce. My company (hint hint as to what it is in the first photo) participates in this amazing CSA, an acronym which either stands for Community Supported Agriculture (my sister's guess) or Crop Share Association (mine) and I don't want to look it up because I'm pretty sure she's right, she always is, and I don't need to be reminded yet again that she's smarter than me. My brother thinks it stands for Confederate States of America which yes, but also, no.

Oh hey, rambling diversion, good to see you here.

Anyway, whatever CSA stands for, what it does is deliver bags of fresh, locally grown produce to my office for participating members to bring home and cook up and enjoy. I'm pretty into it.

Of course they deliver veggies on Wednesdays and this particular Wednesday I had a semi-fancy event after work, so what did I do? Rolled in with a ginorm bag with leeks and spinach and chives poking out the top.

No regrets.

This Ring Finger:


Ok so it's kind of hard to see in comparison to the rest of my bony alien fingers, but my left ring finger is decidedly crooked, thanks to a broken knuckle sustained on the soccer field in high school.

I mean, yes, I broke it but just running into a teammate. During practice. But still: sports injury!

I had to wear a ridiculous splint halfway  up my arm and it was a whole scene and the doctor helpfully pointed out that my finger would be permanently crooked and might make it hard to put on an engagement ring IF I ever got one.

Want to send a 16-year-old into a tailspin? See above.

Anywhoo, since the break, my knuckle is severely sensitive to weather patterns and I can always tell when it's going to thunderstorm thanks to a dull, steady ache radiating out from the center of my finger.

I am having serious trouble typing this here post thanks to today's weather fronts. If my magic finger is telling me anything, we're in for a surious storm. Hurry up, storm. I've gotsta blog!

I've also gotsta touch up my manicure, yiiiikes. And, yes, that is the toilet you see in the background. Our bathroom gets the best light! So sue me.

We already did have one storm today. How do I know, aside from me finger?

This Puddle:


It's a little hard to tell in this professional grade photo but I'm standing in several inches of rainwater which DELIGHTFULLY decided to pool themselves all over the landing on the subway staircase, basically forcing passengers to swim to their trains.

I've mentioned my love/hate relationship with New York and I have to say, the needle has fully swung in the direction of the big, fat H this week.

At least I had the foresight to change out of...

These Shoes:


That slice of orange (technically Coral Reef by Sally Hansen, you know you were curious) on the top right is my toe popping out the front of my most beloved pair of Minnetonkas. Oh, how I will mourn them.

Have you heard of Minnetonkas? They're theeeee most amazing moccasins, essentially slippers that you can wear in public. They are the greatest and I am literally heartbroken that this pair has ripped. LITERALLY not figuratively, grammar Nazis,  my heart, like my shoes, is in tatters.

My favy fave outfit to wear is thus: these shoes, my softest black jeggings, a t-shirt and this jersey blazer that I bought from H&M that is a blazer, yes, BUT is also made out of sweatshirt material. Between the moccs and the jeggs and the blaze I have crafted an ensemble that is as close to pajamas as one can get while still wearing all public appropriate apparel. Cha-ching.

But now my shoes AND favorite pajama jeans have both gone the way of the dodo so I don't know WHAT I'm gonna do. Dress like a grownup professional?

No annnnd NO.

Oh, what did I wear this week?

These Getups:

blue week

Initially this week's sartorial theme was to be "patriotic" due to the impending Memorial Day weekend.  I dedicate these outfits to all of those who have sacrificed yourselves for our country. You are SO welcome. I did manage to sneak in red, white and/or blue each day, buttt my outfits mostly turned out apathetic and weather inappropriate. When it was cold, I wore one of my many way-too-short-for-work skirts with bare legs; when it was hot, I wore black jeans and what appears to be a painters smock and some attractive rain boots (still not unpacked suitcase comes bonus with that ensemble) but today I think I knocked it out of the park with this nautical inspired top which a friend once told me looks like part of a children's pajama outfit.

 All pajamas, all the time over here.

Fashion. Plate.

Speaking of pajamas, I just realized that the actual pajamas I slept in all week  are actually red, white and blue! Technically those are Christmas bottoms but we can make them Memorial Day for now?


Also that's what I look like when I wake up in the mornings. Stars, they're just like us.

And on that note, THE END. Happy Memorial Day, my American friends and lest anyone take my ridiculousness for insensitivity, thank you truly to all who serve in the armed forces and to those families staying strong at home. And to my foreign pals, Happy Whatever Holiday Comes Next On Your Cultural Calendar. Live it up!

Peace, Love & Pajama Jeans,

Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [5.17.13]

What's up, chicken nuggets? How was everyone's week? Mine was signifffficantly better than the last. Thanks to everyone for being so nice last week when I was so down. And belated thanks several weeks late to all who offered oh so helpful tips for hard boiling eggs. My egg eatin' life is bettah than evah. Y'all complete me. It's offensively early at the moment, but I don't mind it. I'm about to hop in a car to a plane to Chicago. My little brother is graduating from law school this weekend! Well, I don't know if he qualifies as 'little,' he's a six-foot-two, twenty-seven-year-old attorney, but I have to assert my older sister authority somewhere. I'm so proud of our Mikey boy, he's worked incredibly hard the last three years and landed a sah-weet job post grad. He's definitely a future Sandy Cohen or Jack McCoy so look out, criminals. I only wish Chicagy wasn't so far away!

You win some, you lose some. And now, quickly, before the sun rises, let's take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week:

This (Brand New) White T:


Where my no-spill streak and Diet Coke cleanse came to a simultaneous end.

These Mangoes:


You guys. This is a true story. So I'm still big into smoothies these days, now that I know how to freeze bananas (but I still prefer them regular, if anyone's curious) (no one is curious), and lately have been on a smokin' hot strawberry-banana-mango kick thanks to Trader Joe's handy and delicious frozen mango pieces. WELL. I ran out of frozen mango, a real #whitepeopleproblem if I've ever heard one, and didn't have time to hit the Teej so I popped into my neighborhood store and did they have mango pieces in the freezer section? No. They did not. I wandered dejectedly back to the produce section to just, I don't know, cry into some spinach or something and what to my wondering eyes should appear but some FRESH mangoes! Better than frozen!

All of a sudden realized The Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want" was playing over the grocery store loudspeaker.

"You can't always get what you want," crooned Mick Jagger, "But if you try some times, you might find..."

I reached out to pick up the glorious fruit and as my hand touched the mango...

"You get what you neeeeed!"

Believe it? Believe it.

I have always dreamed of having a life soundtrack and finally, my dream has come true.

Unfortch it seems I have absolutely no clue what to actually DO with a fresh mango, as I ended up with this mess:


I theeeenk I might be better served sticking with the frozen fruits.

Speaking of food I don't know what to do with...

One of These:


As I mentioned, on Tuesday night I met up with some g-friends and caught up over entirely too much wine and delicious food. One of those foods was steamed artichoke with lots of yummy dipping sauces. I've eaten artichoke hearts from a jar and a can and in salads and things but I guess I have never eaten a whole artichoke. Or watched anyone eat one.


Apparently when eating an artichoke, you don't eat the tough outside parts, but sort of pick off each petal and scrape off the soft, yummy insides with your teeth. Me, I didn't know this. And for some reason, didn't want to like, admit that I didn't know how to eat an artichoke. Or ask. And my powers of observation took way too long to realize that my compatriots were not, like me, struggling to chew and swallow huge, tough, inedible outer petals. I nearly choked like eight times. And yet, I soldiered on. Why, why, why?

If you are an uncouth slob like me, here's a helpful article on how to properly eat an artichoke:

The more you know!

Also, this is a fact: pretending to know how to do something always ends up more embarrassing than just admitting you don't.

These Hot Wheels:


I got a bike, you guys! I'm finally real hipster! I'm so in love with the old girl already. I'm considering naming her Saucy Sally, after a character in a great book I just read.

Why are cars and boats and things always named after women? As a feminist, am I setting the cause back by considering my bike a girl? Or is it a good thing, filling the world with more strong, sassy ladies, even if those ladies are inanimate modes of transportation?

I might overthink things.

Anyhoodle, this is my bike and I love it!

The one smidgeski of a downside: getting her into my apartment. I have nowhere to store my precious outside or on the ground floor, so, while carrying my heavy bike, I first must open up the front gate to my apartment building, then walk up three short steps, then some how set the bike down long enough to get out my keys and open the first of two front doors, then hold the door open with like, my foot slash butt, haul the bike into the vestibule, switch keys, open the second door to my apartment, repeat the butt-hold, yank the bike into the first floor of the building, realize it's facing a direction that makes it impossible to get it up the stairs, do a fifteen point turn to get it in the right direction, somehow yank it up just high enough to clear the steps and clang up the four floor staircase, banging the back wheel at every turn and acquiring a huge-ass bruise on my outer thigh.

Oh, while looking like this:


There has got to be an easier way!

(And a friendly reminder, kidz, always wear your helmets!)

And finally..

These Duds:

Style 2

Just wanted to inform that my sartorial spirit week marches on. Last week I wore purple but the photos were terrible, as was my mood. But trust me. This week: stripes!

And there you have it! How was your week? What are y'all up to this weekend? Do you know how to eat an artichoke?

Huge Congrats to my brother Michael and everyone graduating from some place of education this spring. You did it! You really, really did it!

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [5.3.13]

Good morning, y'all! I caught up on a lot of Nashville last night, so I'm feeling especially twangy this morning. I'm also up before the sun, because the early bird gets the worm! But worms are gross, so I'm going back to bed. Blergh, I wish. I'm in the office way sooner than I'd like to be to tackle some serious werk, but I have a golden light ahead:  I'm leaving at 1 PM this afternoon to catch a  bus down to DC to visit some pals. Hoorah! I am tres excited for a little weekend get away.

I'm also really sorry I used the word "tres."

Forgive me?

It's too early, y'all. Let's see what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Shirtsleeve:


This weeks' addition to the What Is Liz Spilling On Herself Now files. Trying to carry a cup of water from the office kitchen while my hands were full, I put the cup in the crook of my arm, started walking, and promptly tipped the whole thing all over myself.



Use two hands kids. Or just one hand. Elbows are not the best for carrying things. The more you know!

This Tupperware:


I always pack my lunch and lots of rando snacks and end up lugging bags and bags and bags of tupperware with me, everywhere I go. Earlier this week I was shopping in Soho (ok, it was in an Old Navy, but it was in Soho, so, ho, it counts). I had something to return and of course it was in the very bottom of my tote bag, underneath a solid layer of dirty plastic containers, so in order to present it to the clerk, I had to dig throught my gross old lunch dishes like a hoarder. You should have seen the look on the checkout gal's face when I lined up all of my tupperware on her counter one by one by one before handing her my return item and then throwing them all back in the bag.


Related: Old Navy is having some serious sales in-store and online and their spring line is pretttttty OK you guys. This is not a sponsored post, because again, I'm not that bigshot, I just really like Old Navy and want to share my joy with the world. Only the fanciest brands over here!

Women be shoppin!

Also somewhat tangentially related (can you tell I'm writing this pre caffeine?):

This Egg:


Or one of many like it. I've been eating a lot of hard boiled eggs lately because they are easy and good and cheap and relatively healthy and my body seems to be able to digest them. I bring them to work and mix up with half an avocado and salt and pepper. It looks and sounds pretttty gross but trust me, it is delicious.

A few things about this. 1) Hardboiled eggs are extremely difficult to peel. Does anyone reading have a trick? I've tried running them under cold water as I peel (which just leaves me with a mess in the sink) and boiling with oil in the water (which just makes them slimy) but I still end up spending forever scraping off tiny little shell pieces and wasting half the egg in the process.

Tips? I'd love 'em.

Meanwhile, thing 2) I found myself on the same kitchen schedule as our office manager, every day I'd be in the tiny kitchen, in the midst of mutilating my breakfast, and she'd walk in to refresh her coffee or get a snack or whatever and just kind of give me the side eye as I made a big 'ol mess. The other morning she walked in, did her thing, and on the way out just said "You sure eat a lot of eggs."

Um, yes?

Ah! That is just one of those open ended declarative sentences like "you got a haircut" that I hate!! Like, I am noticing your behavior/appearance enough to point it out but I'm not going to share any follow up constructive criticism or information, I'm just  going to call attention to whatever it is you have going on and then walk away and leave you standing there wondering what I meant by my cryptic comment.

Do I need to worry less about what other people think about me? Probably.

Do I need to eat less eggs? Perhaps. Perhaps.

This Tableau:


So. Last week's stuffy headedness (real word) has only gotten worse. I woke up Saturday morning with a severe, wet, chesty cough & congested nose and the whole 9 and recognized the symptoms of a sinus infection right away. Not to brag or anything, but I've had a lot of sinus infections in my lifetime, so I know the signs when I see 'em. In the past, whenever this trauma has befallen me, I've rushed to the doctors, been prescribed an antibiotic, and been cured faster than you can say post nasal drip. So! When I woke up Saturday with clear signs of the plague a mild sinus infection, I quickly looked up a nearby walk-in clinic and hoofed it over there.

The clinic was clean and quick and efficient. I waited about ten minutes before being whisked into an exam room where a doctor looked in my ears, at my throat, listened to me breathe and told me to go buy some DayQuil.

Ughhhh. Apparently it is no longer popular within the medical community to prescribe antibiotics for sinus infections, instead they encourage patients to just ride it out. Just riiiiide it out. Just surf on a wave of phlegm until they either get well or die. Which, I guess is fine? I mean, I know that overprescription of antibiotics is an issue her in 'Murica and I'm all about the natural homeopathic stuffs but I feel like the meds have always worked for me in the past! And now they won't give me my drugs! And I feel horrible, still!

Plus, after all of that - those four minutes wherein a man condescendingly told me to go to CVS and stop being such a baby, I went to check out and was slammed with a $50 co-pay. FIFTY DOLLARS! For that! I actually made the receptionist spell it out for me, I couldn't believe him. It turns out the walk in clinic was actually an urgent care facility which I guess I knew? I mean, I knew, but I didn't know what that meant. I just thought it meant like, I urgently want to stop coughing, heal me, miracle workers. But under my medical plan, urgent care appointments, which I suppose should be saved for actual near-death ailments, run $50 a pop. 50! that's half of 100! For four minutes of medical care!!! WOOF.

I know I lean kind of hard into the messier areas of my life, because they're the funniest, but I mean, on the big things, I am actually slightly more together than I allow myself to realize. I have a job. An apartment. A fancy winter coat. But one thing I really and truly do not understand or even try to fathom, is health insurance. When I got my job six years ago, I just emailed all the options to my mom and signed up for whatever she told me to. I don't know how much I'm paying, what I'm getting, I don't know what a deductible is, I pay 50 bucks for pointless appointments and the only reason is sheer laziness. I just don't make it a point to figure out. This is ... not great. I probably should hop up on that, lest I find myself in even sticker situations than this. But I don't wanntttt to! I think that's the real issue with the American health care system. They make everything so freaking complicated that everyone's either too stupid or too lazy to figure out and then they just pay millions of dollars.


Oh well. Can't win 'em all. After my appointment, I walked home through the park and decided to sit and enjoy the sun. I ended up falling asleep face down on top of my coat, like a homeless person, and scored a wicked sunburn on the back of my neck. Sexay!

Oh, also! Duh, explain the photo. While I sat in the waiting room, I was reading this book (3 out of 5 stars) about a serial killer nurse who killed dozens, maybe hundreds, of patients over the course of a few years. NOT the best doctors' office reading, my friends. I kept looking around suspiciously, trying to determine which, of any, of the staffers in the clinic was most likely to murder me. Luckily, no one did. But still! Maybe don't read books about killer nurses while on an exam table. Just...don't.


This Neti Pot:


Are you guys into Neti Pots? They're all the rage in the allergy community. I was into it for a while but stopped after a few people died from brain microbes after neti potting with contaminated water. I got back in the trend this week, in hopes it might help with this latest ailment. A trusted source informed me that if I boiled my tap water before pouring it in my face, it would be uncontaminated and non deadly. So I've been doing that for a week or so and was feeling totally calm and relaxed until last night, when Brian casually mentioned he thought you needed to boil water for at least an hour before it is clean. I'd only been boiling for like five seconds! I'd just put water in the teapot and when it whistled, I'd turn off the heat, let it cool, and neti it it up. So OF COURSE this new scientific information sent me on a wild internet anxiety spiral.

My current google search history:

Neti pot deaths

Boiled water and neti pots, how long

Decontaminating water by boiling

Desanitizing neti pots

neti pots + dead

Brain microbes, neti pots

Symptoms of brain microbes

Someone come over here and rip this computer out of my panicked hands!!

Luckily, from what I'm reading on the web, you really only need to heat your water for 3 - 5 minutes, so I should be fine. Probably. Maybe? AAAAH!

These Ensembles:

polka dots

Ok, so this is not a fashion blog and never will be, lord knows the internet has enough of those, but I did something super dorky this week and just had to share. On Monday I got dressed in a new polka dotted top and was thinking about how I had another outfit in mind for later in the week that also involved dots and decided that I'd wear polka dots every single day this week. And so I did! (It might be hard to tell in that masterpiece of a collage I made with the help of Paintshop, but trust me. ) No one noticed, except me, but I thought it was so fun. And it helped me think about different outfits instead of my usual black skinny pants + cardigan getup. Important life issues I'm dealing with over here.

I've decided I'm going to have a sartorial theme every week. It's fun! A confessed to a friend of mine and she said it was "very spirit week." Which, yeah! Some people live every day like it's shark week. I live every day like it's spirit week.

I just think the adult world would be a lot better with more pep rallies, is all I'm saying.

Aaand that was my week. How was yours?! Do tell!

xoxo Liz Ho

One Awkward Fire Alarm

For today’s reading pleash, which is how you say ‘reading pleasure’ when you feel the need to unnecessarily and obnoxiously abbreviate random words, even though that craze probably went out like ten years ago, I’m going to dip back into the archives and share a tale from the days of yore. More specifically 2009. Or maybe 2010. Not great a record keeping but it’s not important when it happened. It’s just important that it did.

Wow, deep thoughts. Regular Deepak Chopra right here.

So this story, which involves firefighters, popped into my mind recently after chatting with a friend who had an amazing tale about how her husband sett their grill on fire and caused an (understandable) uproar in their building and the fire department was called and now they have the charred remains of their former grill still sitting on the deck, because they don’t want to be spotted carrying it to the dumpsters and have neighbors realize it was THEM who caused the commotion. Classic. She’s also the same friend who locked herself in the bathroom of our college apartment for several hours. Girl gets ALL the best stories!

So I will hijack it and tell one of my own. A few years ago I was living in this semi-gross, third-floor walk up in Hell’s Kitchen with two of my girlfriends. It was bizarrely laid out with a huge kitchen on one end and random rooms blocked off inside - including one tiny bedroom in the middle of the apartment with no windows to the outside world. It was pretty weird but affordable and in a cool location and had lots of exposed brick so it worked for us. The stairs were so narrow and steep I used to joke (hilariously) that I wasn’t at all worried about being robbed or raped or murdered. By the time a criminal hauled himself all the way up the stairs, he’d have no energy left for violence. Dark humor?

One summer night we were all sleeping peacefully when the fire alarm started making a strange beeping noise. It wasn’t a full on beepbeepbeepbeep indicating a fire, or the four beep repeating noise that the manual said would alert to carbon monoxide poisoning but a random yet steady pattern of noise. Beep....pause....pause....pause...beep! And so forth. I was not awakened by the noise, but rather by the sound of my roommates knocking on my door, yelling for me to get up. This would mark the second time in a few short months that I slept through impending disaster. Earlier that year, the toilet in the apartment above us cracked (our ever sensitive super informed us it was all the fault of the fat girl living up there, real nice), and caused our entire bathroom ceiling to collapse. I slept through the entire thing. Granted, my bedroom was the furthest from the bathroom, but apparently for several hours that night my roommates were running around yelling, making phone calls, letting maintenance men in to inspect and just causing a real riot and I slept through the entire thing.


And now, on the night of the alarm, I have to be pulled out of bed. I usually have trouble falling asleep and never thought I was a heavy sleeper, but it seems that when I’m out, I’m out. This does not bode well for my safety or that of my future children. Probably someone will break into my home and kidnap my children and I’ll sleep through it but NO ONE will believe me, because why would you, and I’ll end up in some sort of horrible Madeleine McCann situation or like that sad Baby Lisa whose mom was drunk on Wal Mart wine on her porch and everyone will think I am a murderer when actually I’m just an innocent lady who sleeps too much. Oh, that will be horrible. On the plus side, it’s a pretty sure bet for a Lifetime Movie, so I guess I have that to look forward to? that we’ve taken that detour into Insane Anxiety Town, where I am the mayor and Grand Poobah, let’s just get quickly back on track here. Where were we? Yes. At the very beginning of the story because I am a master storyteller who always sticks to the point.

I’m awakened by my panicked roommates, knocking on the door, worrying over the alarm. One thinks it means carbon monoxide, the other thinks it could mean general poison and me? I just want to go back to bed. For all of my usual unfounded paranoia, when faced with actual life or death situations I remain almost freakishly calm. My roommates were convinced we were going to be poisoned to death. “Let’s just all go back to sleep and see who’s alive in the morning,” was my helpful reply.

I still think it’s a pretty good strategy.

They (rightfully) ignored me and we decided that it was probably nothing, but we ought to call 9-1-1 just to get someone on the line for a quick lil chat, ask them if they could advise on what the beeps meant, and then tuck back into bed. Wa-helll, apparently when you call the fire department and say you have a mysterious beeping, it is their duty to not just sit there and gab with you about fire alarm noises, but to RUSH over and investigate.

“We’re sending someone over!” they said. “Right away.”

“Oh geez,” we replied. “Um, it might not actually be an emergency? I mean, it might be? But tell them to take their time. Please don’t have them use their sirens.”

Five minutes later, what do we hear? Sirens. Followed by the banging footsteps of four large men in full like, Iron Man style protective gear storming up our tiny staircase.. They burst into the apartment, armed with fire extinguishers and axes, and found the three of us clustered underneath the beeping fire alarm, just staring at it, like a bunch of lost goats or something. Also, now is as good a time as any to drop in the detail that it was mid-July and hot as Hades AND we didn’t have air conditioning, so we were wearing as little clothing as humanly possible.

Sweaty firemen, scantily clad damsels in distress and the sultry heat of New York City? Sounds like the start of an award-winning pornographic film, no?

Actually NO. The firefighters seemed not so much aroused as extremely annoyed that they just sprinted up our steep, terrifying staircase for, well, nothing. Because I bet you can guess how this story ends, can’t you?

It’s pretty simple. The beeping? Not a fire. Not carbon monoxide or dioxide or trioxide or any sort of poison. Just an auditory warning that we needed to change the battery.

I don’t know if there is just one word in the English language to sum up the emotion you feel when you realize that you just summoned a troop of heavily armed firefighters to rush to your home and tell you the battery on your smoke alarm is dead and oh, also, you’re in your UNDERPANTS but I feel like mortified might come close? Horrifically embarrassed? Shamed to the point of no return?

Nope, still not adequately portraying how awkward this moment was. I guessssss it was for the best that we called the authorities, better safe than sorry, plus now we have this great story, but none of this would have happened if everyone had just listened to me, gone back to bed, and hoped for the best come morning.

So basically best of luck to future housemates/children: I hope you’re light sleepers. Otherwise you will probably die tragically, while I’m off somewhere snoring away. My bad.

Aaand to illustrate this post, why not share this AMAZING YouTube video which reminds us "there is nothing sexier than a firefighter that knows how to use his hose."


(haha who made this?! Have any of you ever made a YouTube dedication to something you love and if so what and can I please see it?!)

Another Awkward Week [4.26.13]

Happy Friday, all of you beautiful butterflies. How was everyone's week? I am happy to report that I made it through seven straight days without spilling ANYTHING on my clothing. A new record for sure. That said, a friend of mine informed me that she dropped a meatball down the front of her top and the first thing she thought of was not how she was going to get the stain out or whether or not the meatball was still edible but ME. My life is complete. Blogs (and you know, personal writing in general) are such a weird thing and it's not unusual to question what exactly you hope to get out of this exercise in narcissism and I realize now, that is just what I want: to be the first thing on anyone's mind when they spill food on themselves.

Also: to have a movie made about my life.

Just two simple, realistic goals.

My week was a little meh, I must be honest. I've been struck by severe seasonal allergies/ a spring cold and my head has been beyond stuffed up. I feel like I'm supporting a bowling ball on my neck and am totally fuzzy and lethargic and having a difficult time focusing, none of which is made much better by the Zyrtec I keep slamming, which just adds to my general air of complete confusion. So if I'm even loopier today than usual, forgive me. Between mother nature and allergy pills, I'm high as a kite.

ALSO, breaking news, I might have to take back what I juuuuust wrote four second ago about not spilling, because literally as I sat here typing this dumb post, our mail guy came in to give me a package and in reaching for the package I knocked a mug of tea all over my desk including my calendar and work notebook. Live from New York, I'm makin' a mess!

So...Days Without Spills: seven ZERO

It's a rough life over here. Why don't we see what else was keeping it awkward this week:

This Elevator:


On Monday I was riding down for lunch, standing in the back corner of the elevator, just totally spacing out. I guess I zoned so far out that we reached the ground floor and everyone else exited, leaving me just standing there staring into space. I came to and found myself facing a group of women staring at me curiously, debating whether they should just get on the elevator or say something to  me or I don't know, check my  pulse to see if it was dead.

I said "Oh geez, whoops!" and gave a THUMBS UP to the crowd of onlookers and then ran away.

Also, this just happened: I needed a photo of said elevator, so I went out into the elevator bank on my floor and surreptitiously snapped an image of a closed elevator door with my phone, and was going to just turn around and go right back in, but then decided I should make it look like I was doing something normal, in case the receptionist was watching me (she wasn't), so I boarded the next elevator to arrive - there was one other passenger, a guy, aboard - got to the lobby, exited, stopped and made a whole scene of patting my pocket and said "oh, no, I forgot my wallet" to the other passenger slash thin air, but I needed to make the whole scene look realistic in case anyone was wondering what I was up to (again,  no one was), then got back into an empty elevator, rode it up four floors and took this selfie on the way up.

NORMAL STUFF. Workin' hard.

Also: It's hard to view in this image but I am straight rocking this mint green zip up hoodie that I have had since 2001 and is now covered in weird rips and stains. I brought it into work to wear to the gym but instead left on the back of my chair and now have been wearing every single time I feel cold, which is every day. So, yes, today happens to be casual Friday and I happen to be wearing a highly professional flannel, but even days when I'm looking corporate chic, I end up covering it all with a ripped sweatshirt.

Employee of the Century.

These Flats:


I got them at Urban Outfitters a few years ago and never ever wear them and this week was like hey! these shoes! who do I never wear them? And so I wore them...and remembered why. They're cheaply made and feel it - the soles are terribly thin and offer no support, so I added an insole. Except the insole makes my foot stand too high in the shoe, so I can't walk without them falling off of my feet.

I lost them walking down the hallway at work. Coming up the subway stairs (ew). Crossing the street to get home.

You'd think I might have switched out for one of the five pairs of shoes still under my desk, but unfortch that idea did not occur to me until right now. Too late.

If anyone wants a pair of crap flats that look cute when standing still but are 147% impossible to move in: they're alllll yours.

This Combo: 


Some night over the weekend I was going to meet a friend and wanted a slim book so I could read on the subway without having to lug around anything too heavy at the bar, so I tossed The Great Gatsby in my purse, figuring I'd been meaning to re-read it anyway, and would be all caught up just in time for the movie, so I could fully engage in any highfalutin debates about why the book was better or how the themes didn't translate to big screen or how Baz Luhrman really missed the mark on using 3-D to engage viewers with the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg or whateverrr.

I forgot how much I love that book. What a great read!

Also, I realized on the subway mid-week that in addition to reading TGG I was carrying around my Gatsby tote bag (which I won as a door prize at a work event, booyah), basically looking like some kind of F. Scott Fitzgerald Super Fan slash Super Huge Nerd slash incredibly fashion-forward literary type who matches all of her accessories to her novel. I'll go with the last one.

I guar-an-teeee you there is at least one weirdo working in publishing who does/could, in fact, pull off this nerdalicious fashion trend. I aspire to be that person.

This Sidewalk Crack:


Did I trip on it this morning? Yes.

Did I fall and rip my jeans? Blessedly, no.

Did anyone see? Tons.

Did one of the witnesses say "Be careful and god bless you on your journey today"? You betcha.

This Tree:

semen trees

Because it is gorgeous and possibly the cause of my cotton head and also smells like semen.

Say wha?!

You heard me! These beautiful trees blossom all over NYC and the first spring I was dating Brian, he pointed out how smelly they were and told me how he & his buddies always said they smelled like sperm.

To which I turned up my prim nose and said 'you, sir, are an immature boar" and pranced away. Just kidding, I laughed and laughed and LAUGHED because I, too, am an immature boar and how funny is the word semen? tee hee!

Also, tis' true, these trees do reek of man juice. (Just, no one question how I know that.) (Sorry mom!) Now every spring, we walk around and remark "my my, what a beautiful semen scented morning!" or "Spring and sperm are in the air!" and oh, how we chuckle.

It's pretty sophisticated humor, you guys, keep up!

Turns out, we're not alone: several news articles have been written on this very subject, including one in the ever illustrious New Yorker.

Sooo, with jizz in the air, maybe it's a good thing I can't smell this week?!

This Cucaracha:


Well, one of his real-life, much more disgusting counter parts, but I didn't want to put a real photo of a real cockroach on le blog because ew.

So Tuesday morning I was at Brian's house, he was in the shower and I was sitting on the couch in my towel, drinking my tea and reading the internet when I noticed a movement on the floor beside me and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a GIGANTIC COCKROACH scuttling all around the living room floor like he owned the damn place.

Now, allow me to make a momentary disclaimer lest you think Brian is some gross bug infested monster person, he is actually quite clean and if I do say so myself, adorable. But this is New York, the grossest city in the whole world and bugs (and rodents, yech) are basically housepets 'round here.

All of which might make you think I'd be unafraid of them, but you would be incorrect in that assumption. Apparently I am a squealy, squeamish, pathetic little girl for when I saw Old Roach Face, I immediately pulled my legs up on the couch and just started yelling "BRIAN! BRIAN!" but he didn't hear me over the noise of the shower. I thought about throwing something at it, but the only things within my reach were a drinking glass and Biran's work-issued laptop, neither of which seemed like good options.

So I just sat there like a baby and watched as the dumb bastard crawled around the floor and eventually underneath the coffee table, presumably into the running shoes stored under there, where he would live forever and lay eggs and mutate into a colony of one million killer cockroaches.

Brian got out of the shower and talked me off the ledge and I managed to muster up the courage to get off the couch and sprint over to the bed, where my clothes were tossed, so I could get dressed for the day. I had no sooner dropped my towel when this jerk of a roach came zipping out from under the coffee table, across the floor right next to me. Real impressive timing, perv, right when I was undressed!

I lept up onto the bed and stood there completely naked as the day I was born just flipping out. "Brian! Brian! He's back! He's going into your closet!  He's touching your belts!!" Brian bravely and calmly threw a giant math textbook (of course) at the beast and it didn't kill him, but did seem to scare him into the deep recesses of the closet, where he has not been seen or heard from again.

It was horrific.

Not so much the bug, but my behavior. When did I become, like, Gloria from Modern Family? Not in va-va-voomishness, of course, but in shrill hysteria? I live in a dirty city and have encountered skads of creepies and crawlies in my day and will likely encounter many more in my future and yet this one bug sent me flying into a butt-naked freak out.

Quite the scene, my friends. Quite the scene.

I will do my best to work on my bug bravery, but I can't make any promises. Yuck, yuck, YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKY.

And on that note, the end! What a week, guys. I have already had four cups of tea this morning, to flush out this cold, and my head remains stuffed but I'm running to the ladies room ever 20 minutes. Can you pee out a cold? Is that a thing? Starve a fever, pee out a cold?

Oy yoy yoy. Enough.

Everyone, I hope your weekend is full of semen blossoms and empty of bugs and a delight from start to finish.

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [4.19.13]

Hello, sweet friends. How is everyone doing today? I think we can all collectively agree this week was...not great. From Boston to Texas and back (not to mention the disappointing news out of the Senate) it has just been a chilling, sad, scary week and my whole heart goes out to anyone affected by any of this week's tragedies and to all of us feeling a little less safe, less sure about the future.

One small light that has emerged from this week is the reminder that, even in bad situations, good people prevail. This article this roundup and this moving facebook post have all brought a smidge of comfort to me in the last week, and of course, this funnyguy brings a bit of much needed laughter amid the tears.

Love to friends in Massachusetts, Texas and across the planet. And everyone reading this, wherever you may be, do me a favor today, will you? Hug someone you love. Or if they're not a hugger, perhaps an arm pat. Pinch their behind. Smack them upside the head with a rolled up newspaper, gently, then laugh about it. Bring them coffee in the afternoon or a cookie at lunch. Snuggle a few minutes longer than usual. In whatever language works for you, show a little extra love today and this weekend. Life is short and scary and unexpected and impossible to predict, but it's also full of a lot of wonderful, beautiful things. Like love. Embrace it.


Aaaaand moving on to excessively more trivial matters, life is also full of humor and ridiculousness and vain people who like to talk about themselves on the internet all the time so let's insert a terrible segue from serious to silliness here (it absolutely destroys me that this is now the second time in under six months that I've had to make that joke) and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.

These Muffins:


My department made baked goodies to send to all of our sales reps this week, to thank them for their support and also to butter them up so they keep loving our books. Buttering up is probably what I should have done to these pans because my banana muffins (from a box) came out looking less than appetizing. I made it into the office with five semi-salvagable muffins. My teammates had beautiful boxes of cookies and brownies and homemade whoopie pies that looked professional and I had this hot mess. You're so welcome, sales staff. Keep up the great work, I know I will.

Want to know where I got the mix for such delectable muffins?  See below!

This Shopping Cart:

shopping cart

Last Friday night I met a girlfriend for happy hour and after a few glasses of wine, was walking to the subway when I realized, hey! I'm walking right past Trader Joe's. And they're still open! Why don't I drunkenly go on a shopping spree at 9:30 on a Friday night. And so I did.

This is my life now. Gone are the days of late-night shenanigans and inappropriate romantic decisions and pizza bingeing. Nowadays, my boozy impulse behavior is apparently just pillaging the hummus aisle and stocking up on dried fruits.

Party Animal.

This Balloon:


Over the weekend Brian & I were walking around Williamsburg (Brooklyn, not Colonial. I WISH!) on the way to a friend's birthday party when we encountered a group of people carrying huge bunches of turquoise balloons.

"Would you like a balloon?" one of the people asked, in a singsongy voice.

"YES!" I shrieked and ran to them, grasping at a balloon, ignoring the strange look on the person's face.

"I think she was talking to those small children," Brian said, pointing to the group of strollers and toddlers directly in front of us, which I had barreled through in pursuit of my shiny new toy.

Real, cute, Liz.

But, adults need balloons too! I call age discrimination.

I was going to give the balloon to my birthday friend, but when we showed up at the party we were super early and I felt weird and self conscious standing there holding a balloon, so I tied it to a post outside the bar. Sorry, friend.

This Laundry Bag:

laundry mixup

Because those are my clothes, but that is NOT my bag.

Here in the Big Apple (no one calls it that), drop off laundry service is incredibly popular for those of us without in-building washers and dryers.  It's relatively affordable and saves you from having to hang around the laundry mat, which is always just the best place in the world to spend your time. (<------------- lies.)

I usually don't do drop-off because it seems just too indulgent to me, even though it's not that exciting. I don't know why I put this much emphasis on it, but I feel like doing ones own laundry is kind of a grown-up thing to do and dropping off is just like, so excessively fancypants and snooty. Also I'm really particular about what clothes I tumble and what I line dry and I worry they won't do my wash in the right way, so I'd rather do it myself, even if it takes time. But, long story so, so, SO long, sometimes when I'm supremely desperate, I'll drop-off my tumble dry things (sheets, towels, gym clothes) before work, and then in the evening I'll pop in, wash just my hang-dry stuff, pick up my drop-off and bring it all back home, so I'm only wasting 25 minutes at the laundropalace instead of 2 hours.

Is anyone still reading this story? Good god, Liz, land the  plane.

ANYWAAAAAAAAAAAAAY this week was one of those desperate times and when I went to pick up my laundry, the clerk handed me my sexy backpack and luckily I looked inside for some reason, because it was filled with someone else's clothes! The fuck!

It turns out they'd mixed up my laundry with someone else's, putting the wrong things in the wrong bags. GAH. The clerk, who did not even pretend to apologize, took his sweet old time poking through the stacks of clean laundry bags, lazily checking to see if any of the tags matched my pickup receipt and after FIFTEEN MINUTES he finally located my clothes, then took fifteen more minutes switching the items into the correct bags, so I really saved myself no time whatsoever by dropping off and added a significant amount of stress to my life.

It took all the strength in my being not to lose my marbles on this man. I'm never ever a complainer, I'll eat burnt food and drink stale coffee and just want everyone to love me but sometimes, dudes, I can't. I managed to keep my cool - I figured this guy probably makes like $3 and hour and has to touch other people's crusty underpants all day long - but not without serious effort. He wasn't even PRETENDING TO TRY to look hard! He never once apologized for their friggin mixup and was beyond rude to me. MLKMAKDJYLUMKS.! That was me belatedly taking out my frustration on my work keyboard.

Felt good!

But, it turns out I can't really blame him for ruining my laundry life because...

These Camisoles:


Used to be white but are now...that color. They were in the small batch of clothes I'd washed myself to hang dry. I must have let in something that ran because now all of my whites are greyish.

Just slaying it in the clothes washing department this week.

And then, less than 24 hours later...

These Pants:

avocado pants

From which I had literally just washed out last week's lotion stains and by 10:30 the morning after laundry night, were stained with permanent sharpie marker AND gloopy green avocado.

I am a mess. I'm going to give up on clothes all together. Laundry professionals can't handle them, I certainly can't seem to be trusted to wash them myself and I can't go more than 12 minutes without staining them, so I'm just going to start wrapping myself in plastic sheeting, like a mummy, and at the end of the day I'll just spray myself down with a hose.


And that is what's up 'round these parts. Anyone have anything exciting planned for the weekend? Tonight I'll be celebrating this gal's birthday and tomorrow my mama's coming to visit! We're going to go to the Guggenheim, walk around Dumbo and probably consume several gallons of pinot grigio.

Look out, New York!!

Happy weekend to all of you beautiful flowers and big love from me to you.

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [4.12.13]

Happy Friday, my ducks! (Ducks? Ducks!) This week was SO good. Spring has finally sprung and I think the sunshine and warm weather and a few glasses of sauvignon blanc on a sunny patio was just what the doctor ordered to whisk away any remains of my winter doldrums.  I'm back, baby! I'm not even that bummed by today's torrential downpour because I finally get to tell my VERY BEST joke that I save up and break out once a year on the first rainy day of April.

Is everyone ready for this? Hold onto your hats, it's a good one...

April Showers Bring May Flowers, but What Do May Flowers Bring???

Answer in the comments and I'll select one correct jokester at random to win a prize! The prize is a secret and could range anywhere from me mentioning your name in a post next week OR me sending you a bust of my head made of one million Sacajawea dollars, so you probably want to just gamble on it and take a guess.

But don't rush into it, this is some pretttty sophisticated humor and might take a while to land.

Aaaand on that note, let's see what else was keeping it awkward this sunny, beauteous, Aprilicious, Springalingadingdonging week:

This Banana:


I've been making a lot of smoothies lately because they are a healthy, delicious, relatively easy treat that my body seems able to digest. I kept using regular bananas as a base, but read online that frozen bananas really take smoothies to the next level, so I tossed a nanner in the freezer and it came out this horrible grey-ish brown color and ROCK SOLID. It took me at least 15 minutes, using our sharpest knife, to saw through the peel and try to salvage some of the banana meat for a smoothie that ended up tasting no better, at all, than my regular mix.

And incidentally, my smoothies have been looking a lot like what I'm trying to prevent with all this clean eating:


But they taste really good, I swear! My fave recipe: one NON FROZEN banana, handful of frozen blueberries, handful of frozen strawberries, handful of spinach, dollop of almond butter, 1/2 cup of almond milk and some water as needed, blend away until smooth and drink up! And if you really want to get fancy you can add some chia seeds which are the trendy new superfood, according to the internet, and I am obsessed with superfoods, even if they are the base of chia pets.

One of the articles I read about chia seeds gave a warning that, good as chia seed are, people should NOT eat their chia pets. AWW. People are so dumb!

These Pants:

lotion pants

Which I laid out on my bed to put on yesterday and then promptly managed to get lotion all over the butt.

Whyyyyyyyyyyyy? I am not exaggerating when I say that I have to change my clothes at least once a week before I even leave for work, because I can not get out of the house without first covering myself in food, cosmetics, lotions or other products that usually leave vaguely sexual stains all over the clean outfit I just put on four minutes ago.

I am like a toddler. Just once I would like to make it five days in a row without requiring an outfit change, is that too much to ask??? I don't know why I'm getting so irate - who am I yelling at, besides myself, the only person to blame for all of my stained clothes? God?

Are you there, god, it's me, Liz, stop spilling stuff all over my jeggings!!

Phew, that feels better.

This Salad:


Mixed greens with artichoke hearts, olives and...yum, cardboard!

My latest cleanse: only eat corrugated paper products.

OBVIOUSLY I threw the c-board away and finished the rest of the salad because a) I'm disgusting and b) that shit cost TEN DOLLARS AND EIGHTY THREE CENTS. For a bowl of vegetables. It would take like, an entire severed human arm popping up in my lunch for me to throw it away after dropping that kind of dough.

This Bookshelf:


Mine, in my boudoir  where the magic happens. I try to keep things generally tidy in my home and I am practically perfect in every way, except one, which is that I am a notorious cup hoarder. Once a week or so my roommates will go into the cupboard to grab a drinking implement and find the cabinet empty and they'll know exactly where alllllll of the cups are: in my bedroom. Every time a glass or mug goes in there, it never comes out again, until we're forced to drink out of empty jars and I finally lug my dirty half-full water glasses and mugs of tea and things back into the kitchen, usually requiring multiple trips.

I was worse in college, when I was at the peak of my laziness/messiness/liquid consumption. I reached my record one day when we counted and I had thirteen cups with varying levels of old liquid in them including like a 7-11 big gulp, a plastic margarita glass, five wine glasses, three coffee mugs and so forth. Gross? Gross!

I can't help it. It is my weakness. Now I usually just let myself get to approximately five cups or so, before bringing them back in. Usually they're scattered about the room between the bookshelf and the desk and the bedside table, but the other morning I realized that every bare surface on my bookshelf was covered with a dirty cup.  Whoopsicles!

These Ankle Boots:


Aren't they cute? They're Steve Madden and were originally over $100 but I got them for $45 at Loehman's, cha-ching! It took me literally 11 tries to get a photo of them that came out halfway decently - at first  I tried them on their own but they just looked like weird disembodied Wizard of Oz witch shoes (minus the cute glitter) so then I put them on my feet and couldn't get a good angle and had to turn the flash on and it was a whole thingggg and I REALLY should not have gone to all that effort to tell you what I'm about to tell you, which I should probably tell no one but I have no filter whatsoever, so I'm doing it:

These boots make my feet smell.

Big whoop, you say? Everyone's feet smell! (Except Kate Middleton's!) Well hold your horses and let me go on (no, stop me!):

These boots make my feet smell like corn chips.

HAHA isn't that gross?? For whatever reason, every time I take these shoesies off my feetsies the insides of the shoes and my feet smell EXACTLY like a bag of Fritos and I am not even joking. It is the weirdest, grossest thing ever.

Annnnd isn't your life better now that you know this information? I think I may have just crossed the overshare line into a bad place, one I can never return from.

You're welcome!

And for bonus fun, here is a photo of me this morning, modeling my Frito Boots (future band name, I call dibs!) for a blog photo:


Just GLAMOUR 24/7 up in the Liz Ho household.

And how was YOUR week?? Spill anything on your favorite pants? Rock ankle boots with a hot robe? Eat any good smoothies? As always, I'd love to hear from you.

Have a delightfully awkward weekend - get out and enjoy that spring weather! Unless you live in the snowy, icy Midwest in which case yikes, sorry guys. Hang in there!

Peace, love and corn chips,

Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [4.5.13]

Ugh, worst blogger on the interwebz right here, I KNOW. I have a plethora of excuses, some are work related, some are travel related but I can’t lie to y’all: most of them are TV related. Being so busy the past few weeks, I’ve fallen behind on all my programs and in addition to playing catch-up, I’ve added a binge watch of Justified to my agenda. Which like, just what I need is another TV show to get hooked on, I know, I know, but my sister is a big fan and she was expressing sadness that noone else she knows is into it, so she has no one to discuss with and she wished more people would watch it and FAMILY FIRST, I can’t just let my baby sister suffer alone with no one to talk to about her favorite television shows, what kind of monster do you think I am, soooooooooo now I’m bingeing on Justified. But it’s all for her!

You might even say, it is justified.

 BA DUM BUM! I’m out.

 Just kidding still here. And real quick, just in case anyone else has been considering getting justified  but needed a little more convincing, the show stars this guy:

timothy   WHAT! Can I get a hummina hummina up in here?

 Sorry. I’ll never say "hummina hummina" or "up in here" ever again.

 But I couldn’t help myself! Gentleman is just too good looking. You might even say that “hummina’ was....wait for it...yeah, I’m going back again...JUSTIFIED.

 The end. Shut it down forever. Let’s get this Friday over with.

 Here’s what was keeping it justified awkward this week:

This Turnstile:


Or one like it. If someone hasn’t already made a blog of weird shit that happens in the subway, well they should. This place is a goldmine.  Homeless people sleeping. People preaching the word of god. Mariachi bands. Flashers. Ladies throwing their tampons and birth control all over the place. Ladies holding up traffic taking photos of the turnstiles. It’s a big ol’ mess!

The other night I was coming home from Whole Foods with a few bags worth of cleanse friendly goodskis (ends tomorrow! Bring me my wine!) and this guy rushed into the turnstile just as I did, basically cutting me off mid card swipe. He seemed really in a big rush, so I stepped aside and told him to go ahead. And, ok, maybe my voice was dripping with some mild disdain, but I was generally polite and a normal human being. But this dude, you guys, he just stopped right where he was standing, basically next to me, looked straight ahead, did not acknowledge that I had spoken to him and waited for me to go through the turnstile. 

“Um, you can go ahead,” I tried again, louder, maybe he was deaf, and his eyes sort of flitted over to me ever so slightly, I watch a shitton of crime procedurals so I know how to read delicate facial tics, and I KNEW he heard and saw me but instead of going through the turnstile or telling me to go ahead or saying any words or making any normal body motions, he just continued to stand there, still as a statue, staring straight ahead, waiting, I guess, for me to go through. 

So I did. And he then immediately sped up again, rushed through the turnstile, past me and down the stairs to the train platform. 

WHAT IN THE WHAT WHAT was this guy’s problem. Do you think he was a robot? That when I stopped him in his initial attempt to go through the turnstile he shut down and had to reprogram and power back up again? 

It was weird, guys.

This Book:

Detailed Info Here. 

This is apparently a real thing. DISCLAIMER: I was watching Scandal last night (Olivia Pope!) (all I do is watch TV!) and saw an ad for this new show How To Live With Your Parents for the Rest of Your Life which, admittedly, looks like a complete disaster, but I could sah-wear I recognized one of the actresses and it was bugging me that I couldn’t place her so I went over to Google to check it out and as I typed in the words How...To...Live...With...the auto-fill brought finished my search with “A Huge Penis.” I mean, I could have just finished my search and NOT immediately clicked on the link for this big penis guide, but, come on. Do you even KNOW me? I was at Amazon faster than a something-something-insert gross joke about magnum condoms here.

And this is what I found. I’m sure this is a joke. It must be a joke? But how MUCH of it is a joke? Is the author REALLY a Catholic priest? Is penis literature something they started allowing in Vatican II or did I just miss this whole lesson in CCD? Who are all of these people writing 5 Star reviews and are they joking? And most importantly, WHY am I spending so much time thinking about this.

Shut it down, Liz. Shut it down.

 Also, in case you are curious, the actress I recognized was Mary Louise Parker's neighbor on Weeds. Mystery solved!

This Sign:


Another of my crazy landlady’s understated decor pieces, this hangs just outside of our apartment door. The other morning I guess I slammed the door a scoonch too hard and the sign fell to the floor. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to hang it back up without being 100% crooked, so now I guess I have to confess to Connie that I am trashing her biblical plaques. 

Also: because this sign hangs directly outside of my apartment door, at the top of the staircase, I see this sign every single day when I come home and therefore every single day of my waking life, I have the lyrics to that song in my head.

If you ever went to any sort of Christian bible camp or retreat or youth group meeting, you KNOW what I’m talking about and you know the hand motions. Though I’m now a hell bound heathen, I dabbled in religion in my youth, as I’m sure all goody-two-shoes girls did at one point or another, and so I have a pretty basic memory of the top modern Christian Worship songs of the early ‘00’s, all of which are complete nightmares (to me! If this is your jam, JAM ON!) and 100% impossible to get out of your head once they've wiggled in there. I guess that’s the power of the lord buggin’ in your brain or something.

Anywhoo: if you know the song I mean, SORRRY it will now be stuck in your head for the rest of eternity and if not, well, here is a terrifying/fascinating YouTube clip to get you started:



This Sweet Tote:


I have about 8 zillion tote bags, one of the two perks of working in publishing (the other one is free books. yay?) and yet always seem to be without one when I need it most. I needed to lug some dirty tupperware home the other night and found this stylin’ number abandoned in one of our book closets.

 As I've mentioned here before, I'm really not one for animals and definitely not one for attired adorned with animals, which I find so overly cutesy it makes me ill. Except for owls, which I wear all the time because they are cool looking and super hipster so I guess I am a hypocrite (hipster-o-crite?) (NO.) and I should just shut it and be glad for this new tote bag.

But come on, y'all, would you wear this?

These Gross Stains:


On a running shirt & a pair of jegs. WHAT is this mess? Very Lewinsky. Very classy.


This Restaurant:


One of my faves in NYC! I went there yesterday on a blind friend date. When I studied abroad I became friends with this French guy Nico and a few years later he visited New York with his then girlfriend Lucie and we met for drinks and Lucie revealed that she was interviewing with the UK branch of my company the very next week, so we became “friends” on social media and keep up with each other that way and I’m pretty sure she and Nico have since gone the way of the dodo but we’re still internet pals and a few weeks ago one of her UK friends took a job here in the US so Lucie put us in touch and yesterday we got lunch. This is the longest and boringest and dumbest introduction into a story that, I’m not gonna lie to you, does NOT have a very good payoff. Keep reading?

So I was here at Westville meeting a guy I studied abroad with’s ex-girlfriend’s former colleague for lunch. Capiesch? I had friended her on the Facebook so I was pretty sure I’d recognize her but you never know! I was standing just inside the door, a woman walked into the restaurant, lit up with a smile and waved in my direction, I smiled, waved back and was about to say “Hello!” when she breezed past another solo woman standing directly behind me.


But it was a great lunch and now I have a new friend! You can never have too many friends OR tote bags. That’s what I always say! 

Aaaand that was my week. I’m off to New Jersey for the weekend - tonight Brian’s sister is running a track meet at Princeton University, so we’re going to be spectators which should be cold and boring but, as I said just moments ago FAMILY FIRST sooo, yeahhh. No, it will be really nice - I love his family and obviously want them to love me more than a Liz Ho loves cheese, so any time I get to hang with them is a-ok in my book.

And Saturday, I’m SO excited for Saturday, we’re going to a Holi party. Do you know what Holi is? I barely know more than the first paragraph of its Wikipedia page, but I do know that it is a joyous Hindu holiday known as the Festival of Color. People gather and eat good food and celebrate and then throw colored pigments and paints at one another. Here are some pictures, if you’re curious! I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks!

And what are YOU up to this weekend? I’d love to hear it. Whatever you do, make sure it is JUSTIFIED!

Nope, OK, officially dead.

xo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [3.29.13]

Happy Friday! The very BEST Friday, if you're down with JC. Have you missed me? I've missed YOU! I was such a Busy Betsy this week, it was unreal. You know, I could have been an actual Busy Betsy, had things been different in my life. When I was in the fourth grade (never forget), I went through this phase where every week I tested out a different version of my name, Elizabeth, on my school papers. I'd sign them Lizzie one week, Beth the next, Betsy, Ellie, even Betty until finally my teacher pulled me aside and said that, while she admired my creativity and search for identity, could I stick with just one name in the classroom, for consistency's sake. And so I stuck with Liz.

Can you imagine? I wonder how my life would have been any different if I chose something else. I feel like Liz is very suited to me - kind of spunky and that 'Z' is pretty wacky - Liz! But what if I was like, Beth. Beth Ho. HA! I can't even imagine such a person. I've always assumed all Beths to be very quiet and serene and responsible and kind, almost 100% because of Beth from Little Women (seriously never forget!). Do you think  if I had stuck with Beth in 1994 that today I would be like, a peaceful kindergarten teacher with two kids, a responsible husband, a 401K and a love for knitting?

Wellllll, I guess we'll never know! #philosophy.

Aren't you glad you're stuck with me instead?! Let's see what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Coffee Shop

If you'll recall, I first shared a photo a few weeks back about a new coffee shop in my neighborhood who apparently had named their cafe Nouvelle Vag:


Now, I don't know what "Vag" might mean in foreign nations, but here in America, where we speak American, that word stands for vagina. So, was this coffee shop intending to brand itself  Cafe New Vagina?

Well I guess they caught on because this was their sign when I passed by a few nights ago:



Reallll smooth, dudes. No one will notice that "ue" is in a different font size AND color, is clearly a sticker instead of painted on or that the word 'Brooklyn' randomly pops up in the middle of the word. Keep on keepin' on Cafe' Vague Vagina. You're doing great.

This Egg:


One morning this week I was hard boiling an egg and forgot about it and managed to set off our always delicate fire alarm in the process. I didn't want to throw out a rotten egg in our apartment and had just put in a fresh trash bag the night before - I wasn't about to waste a clean empty T-bag, those things cost like 79 bucks a pop - so I decided to just carry the rotten egg in my hand and throw it out  in a trash can on the street. After I styled it for this photo, obvi. Of course the first can I found on my walk to the subway was literally at the subway, four blocks away, so I was just walkin' along for blocks and blocks, gently clutching an overcooked egg.


One of These:



Yes, boyz, those are tampons. (I actually uploaded this photo last night for some reason and saved as a draft, so when I came back to write this AM I had a post saved that was just a photo of a box of Tampax with the caption "blah blah tampons!" I should have just hit publish right then and there.)

 So, I am blessed enough to be experiencing my special monthly magical lady time this week, which is always a real treat. I strive to be a pretty body positive feminist so I know I'm supposed to view all this intrauterine bullshit as a sign of my beautiful fertility and strength  and uniquely feminine powers but I'm sorry, no. It is disgusting and uncomfortable and just plain the WORST. Ever a master theologian, I once said that I know there is a God because of French Fries (uhh, it makes sense in my head) and the reason I know that god is a man is because of this whole menstrual fallopian vaginal scene. Do you REALLY think that if god were a woman she would have stuck her own peeps on earth with all this grotesquerie? And pregnancy and childbirth? I mean! I've never been there, and I'm sure it is a blessed and powerful and beautiful thing and I'll change my tune when the time comes but as someone looking on, that looks like a nightmare. A pure torture hell Saw IV Human Centipede nightmare. Hormonal changes and you can't drink wine and you have to carry around a gigantic human being inside of your own body and then somehow push that human out of your own Cafe Nouvelle Vag and then struggle to lose the baby weight and postpartum depression and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh horrifying. Why would a woman god subject her kind to that sort of terror? MEANWHILE what in this whole lifetime process of periods and pregnancy and the whole 9 does a MAN have to do to procreate? Oh, right: have an orgasm. Rough stuff, dudes. That's not even close to a fair trade.

So yeah, pretty sure god is a man and maybe kiiiind of a jerk sometimes.

Um, ANYWAY, wouldn't it be neat if just one time I sat down and wrote something that didn't turn into a 750 million word tangent about my bizarre philosophies?

Tuesday of this week I had a straight up Seventeen Magazine Traumarama Moment. I had thrown a bunch of tamps in my purse as I was running out the door. Rushing down the steps into the subway station, I reached into my bag to grab my wallet and in pulling that out I also managed to fling a rogue tampon down the steps. I stooped to pick it up but just before I could a guy stepped on it. He realized he had stepped on something and that I was going to pick it up so HE too stooped, to pick it up for me, what a gentleman,and then he realized it was a tampon and we both just kind of locked eyes and I was like "oh, that's mine" (obviously) and stuck out my hand and picked up my stray period plug and he ran away.

As a grown ass lady I should have found this less embarrassing than a 14-year-old in gym class but nope: still awkward.

This Mess:


So I've been working on a whole long post about my various strange food diets over the last few weeks - I know you've all been obsessively refreshing your internet browsers just dying to hear what's going on in my large intestine - but have not had the time to sit down and focus. Mostly because I've been cooking up a storm. I'm doing a two week cleanse to reset my system, which sounds hippieish and is and I like it, so sue me, wherein I do not consume soy, dairy, gluten, corn, peanuts artificial sweeteners orrrr alcohol. OK I've totally cheated on the booze thing once already but the food stuff I'm doing GREAT! I've been cooking a lot of my own food to make sure I'm always stocked with healthy snacks and meals even on the go. It's actually super fun and I feel like I'm doing great things for my body. Go me.

One day this week I decided I'd whip up a big batch of homemade hummus. I've always maintained (and, uh, still do) that hummus is just one of those foods that tastes better store bought, but making at home I could know all of the ingredients and avoid any gross chemicals and preservatives, so I got my Sabra on right in the comfort of my own kitchen, using this recipe.

First I tried chopping the garlic in my little food processor, but it wasn't getting it small enough, so I decided I'd transfer over to our large blender instead. So I unplugged the food processor, plugged in the blender, dumped all of the ingredients in there, and hit start. Unfortunately the blender blades were having a really hard time mushing up the chick peas, so I attempted to move the process along by occasionally jabbing a spatula down in there to get the unmashed garbanzos closer to the blades. It's ALWAYS a great idea to shove things willy-nilly at sharp blades. Always.

The spatula hit the blade which caused a chain reaction of things flying out of the blender, including one chick pea which burst out and literally hit me right smack dab in the middle of the forehead.



Incredibly sexy. I then had to re-transfer the hummus ingredients BACK to the original food processor where they whipped up into a so-so batch of hummus that was not near as delicious as store bought hummus and 100% not worth the 42 minutes of cooking time followed by an additional 42 minutes of dish, kitchen and face washing time.

I've also been drinking a lot of homemade green juice which has basically nothing to do with this story, aside from the fact that it's part of this whole cleanse, but it's really a trendy thing to do these days so I just wanted to show off to the world.


This includes kale, romaine lettuce, spinach, parsley, green apples, ginger, celery and lemon. I am a Green Goddess.

It's OK to be jealous.

And that is THAT! My week. Well that + tons of work + work related evening appointments every single night + laundry + errands + a while lotta other stuff that has me feeling exhaustified. Luckily I took today off, holla! Brian and I are headed to Philly to visit our sisters and have Easter brunch with his parents. It should be a nice little getaway and there is a 150 billion percent chance that I will cheat on my cleanse the moment I am faced with a peanut butter egg or any sort of fermented grape product.

Happy weekend to all of you! I hope your Easter baskets are stuffed with goodies or if you are Jewish, your Passover whatevers are stuffed with lots of ...unleavened bread? Or basically everyone have a beautiful weekend with appropriate celebrations related to their own religion, culture or lack thereof.

xoxo Beth Ho

Nope. Would never work!

Another Awkward Week [3.22.13]

Helllooooo my friends and Happy Spring! I mean, yes it snowed yesterday and is was sub-freezing when I woke up this morning and I still maintain that March is the ficklest of all bitches, but you know what: it's Friday, the sun is shining, I'm sipping a delicious glass of Emergen-C and life is pretty good. I'll take it. But good of course does not mean smooth and normal so why don't we take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Shopping Basket:

shopping basket

See how you can see the sidewalk and the great outdoors in the background? Yeaaaah. Over lunch one day this week I went to the drug store by my office to stock up on some goodz, paid, walked out of the store, back to my office, got into the elevator, spotted my reflection in the mirrored doors, thought One Of These Things Is Not Like The Other and realized I'd carried the shopping basket right out of the store.


Is what I said outloud and a stranger riding up with me replied "yeah, I was wondering what was up with that."

Uh, thanks buddy!

So then I had to get off at my floor, stand in the elevator bank with my shopping basket and wait for a down elevator so I could ca-reeep back to the store and return the basket.


This Manicure:


Notice anything?

Tuesday night I decided to paint my nails - I did my left hand just fine but then decided I was tired and hungry and I needed my right hand to eat food, so I'd just do the other hand in the morning. Of course I overslept and showed up for work the next day with half a manicure.

It's the hot new look for spring, you saw it here first!

(I'm wearing Charismatic by Revlon, just in case anyone is curious about my personal style and wants to run right out and buy it. Or Revlon wants to give me some sort of endorsement deal. )

This Whole Thing:

salad dryer

Basically, guys, I'm a genius.

We have either a very smoldery oven or a very sensitive fire alarm or a little of both. Every time we cook or bake anything the alarm goes off, so we have to set up this elaborate system of fans and open windows unless we want the alarm to go off for the entire time we're cooking. One night this week I was baking some dairy free, sugar free, whole wheat zucchini muffins because I am a holistic domestic goddess, and while they were in the oven I was prepping a salad for dinner. I washed the lettuce and then came up with the brilliant idea to use the fan to dry the leaves, since I broke my salad spinner months ago.

Isn't this the smartest thing you've ever seen?

Don't worry, there are plates under there, I didn't just throw my food down on the ground.

Though, the fan was probably blowing all sorts of kitchen dirt all over my fresh, clean lettuce but whatever. I stand by it.


This Shirt:


I went to a St. Patrick's Day party last weekend and it was basically as classy as you'd imagine. I've been really, really good about sticking to my healthy eating plans, while I'm trying to diagnose my gross bowel issues (the latest = no soy, dairy or alcohol, my life is the saddest), but if there is one thing in this world that I am powerless to resist, aside from French onion dip...and peanut M&M's...and brie cheese...and Diet Coke...and cheese fries...and ok, leave me alone, I know I have gross eating habits and no willpower...but aside from all of those things and many more, the one thing that I MOST can't resist is buffalo wings with blue cheese dressing. Sweet Mother Mary I LOVE BUFFALO WINGS. It is Pavlovian. Just the smell sets my mouth watering until I'm overcome with a desire to feast upon greasy, spicy wings covered in creamy blue cheese dressing.

Just typing this I'm starting to sweat with desire!

So of course when I walked into the bar on St. Patrick's Day and a friend ordered a few plates of wings, I had to completely abandon any sort of clean eating plan I was on and dive in headfirst. Was it worth it? HELLZ YEAH.

The thing is, wings are a messy, messy food. I already have a complete inability to eat anything without having it somehow all over my face and body so hand me a buffalo wing and suddenly I am literally covered in sauce. Covered.  My friends find great joy in eating wings with me and then taking photos of the results. Above: a mess all over my shirt. Below, a classic photo from someone's graduation party:


Have you ever been more turned on in your entire life?

Aaand on that note, I'm out!

What is everyone up to this weekend? It's a pretty quiet one for me. I have to go to a work event tonight (#ugh) and might meet some girlfriends for breakfast tomorrow but otherwise I'm hoping to be sort of productive and who knows what. I mean, I can't have wine OR cheese so like, what else is there to do on a weekend?

And don't say like, 'go to a museum!" "do a craft!" "write letters to loved ones" because I KNOWWWWW there are things in life that are "fun" but don't involve booze and dairy products but are they "fun," really? Really? REALLY?

So basically, I'm asking you all for a favor: please spend the weekend heavily imbibing on delicious adult beverages and grilled cheese. Maybe dip your grilled cheese into your wine instead of tomato soup?

Think about it! Could be good!

Just try it, for me?

Happy weekend!

xoxo Liz Ho


Some Awkward Housekeeping

Hello, hello! Notice a few changes? You never miss a beat, now do you?! Please bear with me as I take care of a few blog housekeeping (blog keeping?) / self promotional / organizational items:

Step One in my never ending Operation Good Blogger is to make the layout look a little more presentable so check aaaand check. I'm not 100% sold on this scene but until I can master the ways of web design, which at this rate will be like 2049 at which point we'll all be living on Mars and I won't be blogging anyway because I'll be a famous talk show host / princess / cheesemonger, well, this'll have to do.

New things to note: The incredible header image, About ME! & Say Hi! pages. (I overuse exclamation points, I am aware) & slightly cleaner layout. If something is in green font, it's a link, so click away!

Step Two: link this blog to a facebook page for easy self promotion. Donezo. It only took four months but I'm finally linked up. SO, if you would like to, and gee whiz, it sure would mean a lot to me, you can click the button to your right (the one that says "Like me, PLEASE!") (so subtle and not at all desperate) to 'like' One Awkward Year on facebook. The page will automatically update with every new post so you can always stay on top of Liz Ho.

FIGURATIVELY not literally, ya pervs.

Step Three: show off this painfully stunning photo of myself in my younger days, just straight killing it on the mean streets of Charleston, South Carolina.

young liz

I mean, if a more flattering pair of shorts have ever been made, I have yet to see them.

Step Four: Stop talking about all of this boring crap and write? I'm on it, I swear! You know what they say, Patience Is A Virtue!

(But, they also say "A bird in the hand is worth two in a bush" and "an apple a day keeps the doctor away" so you might not want to listen to them, whoever they are, they sound pretty weird and confusing.)

Ok, SO! That is the haps round these parts. Thank you for tuning in to the latest technological developments and, as I say every time I write a dumb placeholder post: stay tuned.

xo Liz Ho

PS: Please do like me on facebook, you know I'm desperate to be loved!

Another Awkward Week [3.15.13]

Good morning! I know I begged off earlier this week while I got myself into a better headspace, but I couldn't possibly end a week without an awkward recap, now could I? Luckily for me, it was one for the books. I feel like the universe really heard me when I complained I was feeling down and uninspired and said "Liz, you want inspiration? Well here ya go, girl!" And there they did go. I might be the only person who considers a ridiculously embarrassing week a blessing but to each his own, right?

So, let's take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Mug:


Because apparently tea does not steep when you put in COLD water and then dump it out, get another tea bag, and re-fill it ...again with cold water! I do this like once a month. Never learn. Ever ever learn.

(PS Trader Joe's Pomegranate White Tea is a delight, if you're into that sort of thing. Also: pomegranate, much like poinsettia is a surprisingly difficult word to spell. There's no 'n' in there - it's not a pomENgranate...just pom. Learning new things every single day!)

These Socks:


On Tuesday it rained a bit during the day. After work I was walking to the subway with a friend and a big leftover rain droplet plopped from an overhead awning and landed right on my face. So I reached into my coat pocket and took out what I thought was my cotton glove to wipe my face, but instead I pulled out a sock. An inside out sock that I can only imagine to be dirty. Of course I didn't realize it was a sock until AFTER I'd rubbed it all over my face.

Luckily it was definitely my sock but a lot of questions remain including what, why, how and when did this sock end up in my pocket? His pair was in the other pocket! Was I wearing socks as gloves? Did I think they were gloves and put them in my pockets mistakenly? Was I somehow wearing my coat as pants?

Update the list of America's Greatest Unsolved Mysteries!

This Cup of Water:


Or, the shape made down at the bottom where there are no water bubbles. Don't you think it looks like Africa? It totally doesn't but the amount of time I spent staring at this water shape is horrifying. I lost like 45 minutes of my life staring into this cup, trying to decide if I saw Africa or not.


PS I swear I don't do hallucinogenic drugs.

This Mess:


Making microwave oatmeal is a HARD task, y'all. There is a careful balance of water to oats and if you leave them attended for too long, they'll bubble over and make a giant mess. Like this. Sorry, colleagues in line to use the microwave.

The double layer of awkward is, of course, me getting caught by a random colleague standing in front of the microwave with my phone camera out.

Nothing to see here, just documenting my breakfast mess, like we all do, move along!

These Shoes:


Why those shoes, you ask? They're adorable! I KNOW! Also, $19.99 from the Banana Republic outlet, booyah.

On Tuesday it was semi-warm out and I got a little carried away with the whole spring thing, busting out flats and bare ankles instead of my usual 300 layers of socks and boots and things. I also wore jeans to the office because I'm a lazy slob. Anyhoodle, I'd forgotten that this particular pair of flats is a little slippery on the bottom. On my way into work, I slipped on a cigarette butt and nearly fell down the subway stairs, but caught myself. At the time I blamed the smoker instead of my shoe.

I still do blame him/her, for the extent that they were implicit in nearly causing me harm. I'll spare y'all the lecture on smoking, you know all the reasons why you should quit, if you want to kill yourself, go to town, but SO HELP ME BEYONCE, I will not stand idly by while you throw your gross cigarette garbage, because that's what it is, garbage, on the ground. I can not EVEN with this. I chew gum, which is gross, but I don't spit my gum on the floor. I don't throw old bits of sandwich wrapper on the ground. I don't just throw trash everywhere all over the ground upon which innocent people have to walk because that is disgusting and against the law and just plain mean and gross and offensive, so whyyyywywywywywhy is it OK for smokers to throw their butts on the ground? WHY?! If you do this, how do you get up every morning and look at your (probably grey, yellowed & wrinkly from nicotine!)  face in the mirror?!

Throw your garbage in a garbage can.

Ummm end rant, whoops, that got intense. What can I say, sometimes I have serious feelings about things, you know?

So where was I? Ok, so Wednesday morning I slipped and fell on the remains of some cigarette bandit garbage criminal but caught myself and placed the blame elsewhere. Wednesday evening was a different story. I met a work acquaintance for a glass of wine (always winin' and dinin' over here) and then walked down to Brian's apartment. It was a little brisker than I anticipated when choosing to go sockless, so I was walking even quicker than I normally do, and I am an extremely fast walker. Not to brag or anything, but I'm like the Usain Bolt of regular street walking. Move it or lose it, everyone else on the sidewalk: here I come. I can go four city blocks in under 30 seconds. This isn't really something to be all that proud about but listen, it's the little things, you know? So, I'm power walking down a sort of busy street when all of a sudden:


I BIT it.

I don't know what happened or how I got there but all of a sudden I was on the ground on my hands and knees feeling like I'd just dropped down from Mars.


People stopped to make sure I was OK and offer to help me up, but I was so disoriented and shocked I just waved them away. Mortifying. I looked around: there were no loose sidewalk tiles, no bumps in the ground or sticks or stones or errant CIGARETTE BUTTS to hinder my stride, just the wide open, smooth sidewalk and me, laying on the ground. I tripped over nothing. One minute I was walking down the street and the next minute I was not. How does someone trip over nothing??? Maybe I'm NOT as good at walking as I thought I was!

Making matters even worse, I ripped a hole in my jeggings! Whomp. I guess it's a blessing I dressed like a slob that day, so I didn't tear a pair of good work pants. But still, RIP those jeans, I loved you a LOT.

I limped myself the rest of the way to Brian's house and immediately started taking photos of myself shouting "I have to blog about this!"


I then stripped off my now dead pants only to realize I was covered in blood.



Also: how gross do disembodied knees look?

Alsoer: I keep typing knees as "kneese," just FYI.

Two days have passed, and now I have the bruised, skinned, scraped knees of an eight-year-old. COOL BEANS, GREAT LOOK!

And how was YOUR week?

Related: A huge thanks to all who offered up 'likes' or sweet comments during my woe-is-me moment earlier this week. It's funny, I woke up the next morning feeling more focused and positive already. Maybe sometimes you just need to get those grey, blah moments out there, off of your mind and into the world where other people can remind you that it's OK and you're OK and you're not the only one.

And catching a sunrise like this one sure don't hurt, either.


So! Here's wishing everyone a good weekend. I hope whatever you do: wear green & get hammered, stay home and watch Hulu, eat good food or bad food or a mix, craft, sleep, fall on the street, mope around feeling blue, write a novel, etcetera and so forth, you find yourself on Monday morning feeling restored and ready to take on the world. I have a feeling I'll be right back there with ya!

Luck O' The Awkward,

Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [3.8.13]

Good morning! How is everyone this fine Friday? It is snowing in NYC, what?! I generally try to be a pretty positive person, and an alliterative one at that, but I am 100% Negative Nancy about the month of March. I think it is a real tease. Spring starts in March and Daylight Savings and you really get to thinking: this is it. Winter is behind us. February is over and there's nothing ahead but blue skies and tulips and young mens' fancies lightly turning to thoughts of love. But NO. March gives and takes it right back - a sunny day followed by six days of cold, damp, freezing rain. Freak snowstorms. 31 long days with no federal holidays for 3 day weekends. One of my friends just described the month as "a fickle bitch." I think she's got it.  March is the gol-dang worst and I stand by that.


Ok, rant over (for now. MARCH! You fickle bitch.), let's take a look back at the days of yore, at what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Glove:

gloved hand

So I wanted to paint my toenails the other night - I loathe pedicures. They terrify me. I hate feet and people touching my feet. I'm shuddering just thinking about it  - but before I could paint them I had to remove the layers of gross, peeling, old polish still clinging to my nails since the last time I did them like 6 months ago. It's winter! Why bother? I had just painted my fingernails and didn't want to eff that up by using nailpolish remover on my toes, so I got the brilllliant idea to wear rubber gloves. But we only had one gigantic, left-handed kitchen glove, but I popped that bad boy on feeling like I'd just figured out the secrets to the feminine universe and promptly knocked over the bottle of nailpolish remover all over the sink. I then spent close to 15 minutes trying to get the polish off my toenails, not because they were THAT gross, but because it turns out that even the simplest of tasks are borderline impossible when attempting with your non-dominant hand in an oversized rubber glove.

OBVIOUSLY I still managed to screw up my fingernails .3 seconds later, making this entire fiasco completely pointless.

My toes are cute, though! TOO BAD IT'S SNOWING AND NO ONE CAN SEE THEM.

Rant still not over.

This Chest of Drawers:


This is my bedside table and also where I store my socks and underbusiness. It is part of a set of bedroom furniture from the Ikea Children's line circa 1989. This dresser can drink and serve in the armed forces. My sister and I had them in our bedroom when we were little and still use them today. Pro tip: childrens' furniture is the perfect size for tiny urban apartments!

Right, so, if you look closely at that dresser you'll notice that the bottom two drawers are missing handles (you'll also notice a hint of nude pantyhose sticking out one of the other drawers. Oh those hose. Always on the loose!). When I brought this dresser to NYC 6 years ago it had these really goofy red plastic handles, a side effect of using furniture for 3 year olds, so I went to Ikea and got new classy metal pulls. For a reason that now evades me, I think I might have run out of screws, I never ended up putting handles on those bottom two drawers. Ever. So every time I want to get a pair of socks or a pair of underpants, which is every single day, sometimes more than once, I have to open the second drawer by its handle juuust enough that I can stick my hand in underneath and grab the front panel and pull it open that way, and then close the top drawer and then get a pair of socks and then shut that drawer about halfway so I can stick my hand into the bottom drawer, grab the front panel, pull it open, get a pair of underwear, close all the drawers, realize I forgot my bra...and start all over again.

I have been doing this for over  half a decade now and can not get it together enough to just put on some goddamn handles. A regular Bob Vila over here.

Similarly, this is the artistic "gallery wall" hanging just as you enter my bedroom:


As you can see there is a set of keys hanging on a bare nail. A mirror. A haphazardly placed, constantly empty glass flower holder vial thing, a framed piece of art that a friend gave me and a random ornament that was the favor from a friend's wedding in 2008.

I am a home decor genius! If you would like to copy this style, and why wouldn't you, simple take all random items you don't know what to do with, "temporarily" hang them on a bare wall in no discernible pattern and then just never move them. Initially you might be inspired to do something else with them, but eventually they will become as much a part of the room as the floor or the ceiling and you can just lay on your bed and eat cheez-its and pin things to your "Design Ideas!" pinterest board because you'll totally get it together one of these days!

Butttt you probably won't.

This Pile of Clothes:

clothes pile

Tonight I am going to a potluck with  Brian's colleagues. I've never met them before and I want to make a good impression! Which for me, does not just mean showing up, being polite and getting along with everyone, it means that on Monday morning, an email chain will circulate throughout the entire school, starting with the math teachers, getting to the rest of the teachers, until it trickles down to the students and the cafeteria cooks and the night watchman, talking about how incredibly beautiful and self possessed and hilarious and perfect in every imaginable way Mr. Scott's girlfriend is.

I had a whole outfit picked out but then it was snowing (RANT NEVER ENDS!) so I had to dress warmer and there were shoes to consider and I had no idea what the other guests would be wearing, for some reason Brian was not into the idea of polling all of the lady teachers to get a sense of their wardrobe choices, and then my black belt broke and like 80% of my clothes have holes in them and what if the hosts run a shoe-off household and I show up in dumb socks and it was just a really stressful day. I ended up spending close to an hour - ONE HOUR - trying on different outfits before settling on something somewhat acceptable plus I packed a bag with some backup options.

To spend one night at my boyfriend's house, which is down the street, and have a dinner with a bunch of math nerds (no offense math nerds) I brought an enormous suitcase with four extra shirts, two pairs of pants and five different pairs of shoes.

If anything, the high school will circulate an email chain that they need to keep an eye on Mr. Scott because his girlfriend is 100% unhinged.

Speaking of the high school...

This Stage:

into the woods

Last Saturday, Brian and I got up early, went to Target and then hit up the school musical. I have the social life of a soccer mom...but without the kids or the van or the sweater vests.

Aaaand I love it.

In case you're curious, the play was Into The Woods, the kids were cute but, like with most things in life, the whole thing would have been a lot better if Zac Efron had been involved.

And that was my week! I just re-read this and it was like 2% funny and 58% crabby and 40% boring, sorry! I need an attitude adjustment and fast.  But check out that mental math! I will fit in tonight!

Hoping everyone has a lovely weekend and if you feel the need to just complain and grouch about life, I'm with you, so do feel free to unburden yourself in the comments. #CrabbyFriday!

xoxo Liz



Another Awkward Week [3.1.13]

My friends, hello! How was everyone's week! Mine was not too bad! Great news for all, after last week's hungover hoagiefest of a Friday, I'm back in business with some stories to share. So let's get to it. Here's what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Eyeliner:


Ok, that's the Almay professional shot of my preferred eyeliner because I couldn't  take a good photo of the stuff, but here's the tale. On Tuesday morning I was putting my makeup on and somehow got a streak of eyeliner across my nose. Like, down the side, around the front, basically just all over my nose. I don't know why, suddenly, after 15 years of wearing makeup, plus that one secret year when I wasn't allowed to wear it and I'd sneak it on in the locker room after gym class, secret's out, Mom, I suddenly find myself unable to apply the stuff without getting it all over my face/hair/clothes/mirror. I'm a mess.

I totally meant to remove the eyeliner streaks from my nose before leaving the house, but my roommate was in the bathroom where I stash my face wash and eye makeup remover, and somehow I just, well, I guess I forgot. So I walked to the train, waited for the train and rode 6 of the 10 stops towards my destination without a further thought. At Franklin Street, in the trendy downtown Manhattan neighborhood of Tribeca a stylish, gorgeous woman boarded the train and I was straight up checking her out. She was rocking that style where she was wearing tall, high-heeled boots and a skirt that was sort of long, so that the boots came up under the hem. It's a look I always wish I could wear, but I can't, so I resort to jeggings and keds, but girl was pulling. it. off.

She caught eyes with me and for some idiot reason I thought she was acknowledging me as like, a style equal, a similarly hot gal making every other passenger on the uptown 3 train jealous. But then she opened her mouth to speak and instead of saying like "great purse" or "is your hair naturally curly?" she very kindly, but slightly condescendingly whispered: "you have something on your face."

I of course caused a huge scene and basically yelled "Oh my god, I know! I totally meant to wash that off. Thank you! I really like your coat." She quickly moved to stand on the other side of the train.

Come back and be my best friend! I really do like your coat!

Related: That eyeliner is specially formulated, allegedly, to "bring out the hazel" in my eyes. I am the target market for specialty products designed to upgrade my very own features. I will buy literally anything if it is marketed as special for curly hair or hazel eyes or vampire pale skin. I KNOW it is just marketing mumbo-jumbo and they repackage the same stuff under different labels to make us all feel like beautiful individual butterfly snowflakes  but I can not help myself. Do you fall for those things too?? Tell me I'm not the only one.

This Wallet:


It is mine and it is Chanel! Just kidding, it is almost certainly from Kohls. I have a classier big girl wallet, but due to a really boring story about a broken purse, which I won't force you to sit through, I've been using this lil guy for the last few weeks. I have a really bad habit of taking it out of my bag whenever I need my work ID or some coins for the soda machine and then just tossing it on my desk and forgetting about it.  Last Friday night I met Brian and a friend for happy hour after work and as we were sorting out the check, I reached into my purse and: no wallet. I could instantly visualize right where I had left it, on the corner of my desk. BLERGH.

I keep everything I need in there: credit cards, photo ID, metro card, everything, and knew I couldn't go the weekend without it so I left the boys at the bar and ran out the door. Luckily my office was just a few blocks away, so with my expert powerwalking skillz I was there in minutes. After 7 PM you can't get in without an ID and, of course, mine was upstairs, so I had to plead the door man, who totally knows me, to let me in. He acted like he'd never seen me a day in his life before and sent me over to building security who sent me BACK to the doorman who finally remembered that we talk every single day and called the guy who specifically patrols my company's section of the building to come and fetch me.

I have this really bad like, upstairs/downstairs guilt associated with our building maintenance and cleaning staff which I KNOW is really pretentious and rude and condescending and #1percentproblems, but I am a horrible person, so now you all know. I just can't help feeling really guilty and weird sometimes - I have such an easy, dumb life and there is a woman who spends her evenings cleaning up all the food I spill on my floor and that makes me feel uncomfortable. So of course when our security guy comes to let me in, I become overwhelmed with this sense of anxiety that he works so hard and I'm just running around and going to happy hour and here he is working until midnight on a Friday so he can let in any morons who can't remember to pack their bags correctly. On top of all of this, this guy is incredibly nice, but not much of a chatter, so what do I do in this situation? I start to talk.

He rode four floors in the elevator with me, which seemed to last a lifetime.

I asked him how late he was working ("midnight.")  how his day had been, ("fine, thank you.") and if he was excited for the weekend ("of course.") and then just started word vomiting all over the elevator:

"I can't believe I forgot my wallet! It's so small, and I always forget it and I took it out to get a Diet Coke earlier today, do you like Diet Coke, I love it I know it's bad for me but I love it so much, so I bought some and totally forgot to put my wallet back and then I met my boyfriend for happy hour and realized I didn't have any money! So I just left him there and came back here. I mean, he picked up the check and would totally pay for me all weekend if I needed it, he's a really nice guy, he wasn't like 'Go get your wallet and pay for this drink!', how horrible would that be, no he's really super nice, but I needed my metrocard and stuff so now I'm here. Getting my wallet. I'm sorry you have to work until Midnight. Oh look, here we are at my office, there's my wallet....oh, you're running away down the hall forever the end."

Shut up, shut up, shut up!!

Please note that I had one drink during happy hour so this was not at all alcohol-induced, juuust my regular personality. If I'm ever captured by enemies and being tortured for information, all they'll need to do is put me in a room with a silent person who seems disinterested in my charming personality and I will sing like a bird.

And finally,

This Feast:


I know I've gone like 3 whole weeks without talking about my bowel problems, but during that time I've been attempting to regulate my body by trying out different diets I find on the internet. And never calling a doctor, obviously, why would I do that? This week I was attempting something called "Extreme Elimination"  recommended by a doctor who sometimes goes on Good Morning America, so you know she's legit. Basically all I could eat all week was white rice, plain chicken and potatoes. It was miserable. On Tuesday, I went to a buffet luncheon for work and from platters of pasta salads and sandwiches and goodies, all I could eat was a few pieces of sad chicken. OF COURSE someone at my table asked me what was up with my meal (leave me alone!) but I came prepared with a stock answer ("I'm testing for food allergies, so on a limited diet this week.") and was able to avoid awkward word vomit like the above mentioned incidents.

Later I came back to work and was confronted with THIS spread of deliciousness, home baked by one of my colleagues, but I stayed strong.


And then last night I went to an open bar, free appetizer work function and abandoned the whole thing completely.

BUT! I also made an appointment with a nutritionist for 9 AM Monday morning so I am finally being serious about my health. Yay.

And that is your monthly update on Liz's intestinal problems, you are SO welcome.

And that's that! Anyone have anything good planned for the weekend? I need to do some serious laundry, hopefully file my taxes and maybe, if I'm feeling sassy, do a little yoga. Prepare myself for my new holistic health centered lifestyle!

I hope everyone has a lovely weekend with no gross or upsetting digestive malfunctions and I'll see y'all on Monday! xoxo Liz Ho