Plan B
Image: Courtesy of Korean Air
In this economy many people are looking to fallback plans for their careers. The New York Times has a great piece all about it, which you can read here. Do you have one? You know, that option B, the in case of emergency contingency plan. That career path you’d have in another life. Or maybe even your life right now.
I would be a flight attendant for an airline whose uniforms are adorable; those Korean Air attendants are so chic in white and turquoise, I die. Side note—does Kate Spade still design the uniforms for JetBlue? Does JetBlue even still exist? I’d even have a Plan B for my Plan B, a fallback for my fallback—a bartender in an interesting place like Key West or New Orleans because think of the stories you’d get! I should note, I’d predictably be one of the world’s worst flight attendants or bartenders for the same reason … just like in “Cocktail,” I’d cop a major attitude the second someone asks me to sling them a Cuba Libre. Oh they’d get the side eye for sure on that one.
Cocktail Hour
Our wedding reception. Wearing my second dress for the night and token bunny ears.
For those of you married, do you ever dream of what you’d do differently if you had the opportunity to plan your wedding all over again? I was never one of those girls who dreamed out my wedding day for hours on end. To be honest, I’m still surprised myself that I met the love of my life when I was 26—I would’ve predicted a much older encounter. At any rate, I love the way my husband tells it as something like me strutting across the CNN newsroom and him checking out the goods squeezed into skinny jeans. To which I pulled the trump card several months later, the ol’ I’m too tipsy to drive home, we’d better go back to your place. Well played. By both of us.
But, I would do it differently. My wedding, that is. We got married October 18, 2003 and planning was stressful and I was a nightmare to be around, I’ll admit. For starters, I’d maybe not handle everything in the wedding department as an afterthought, since I was planning it with my mother four states away just after Shock and Awe began in Iraq, and well, I didn’t give two-you-know-whats about chair covers, dress alterations, and programs then. At that time I was making sure producers on our show’s team were getting outfitted with flack jackets and I was working 12 hour shifts for months on end. But, boy I care now.
Global Style
Image: Courtesy of Heather Hogan Roberts
We know travel influences art, architecture and design, but seeing the fall pages of glossies filled with Ikat and Navajo prints makes me realize how much travel influences one’s overall style. Here’s my worldly roundup of most fashionable home accents and wears from around the globe.
Peggy 60s faux fur collar coat, Oasis
Zinke ink-imbued jumper, Anthropologie
Seychelles cleary heels, Anthropologie
Coronation jute wine gags, Wisteria
Gypsy 05 grey silk-dye print Ella flutter mini dress, Bluefly
Deborah Lippmann not-so-typical taupe nail lacquer
Starfish pillow, Maine Cottage
Prada turquoise suede cutout platform sandal, Bluefly
Kimono sleeve shift dress, Oasis
Make Up For Ever rouge artist intense, Sephora
Fringe Asia tray, Bloomingdales
Silver Chinese garden stool, Wisteria
Bernere blanket wrap, Les Nouvelles
Modern, slight curve straight jeans in vintage dark, Levi’s
Coffee table book available in October, Taschen
Leather bag, Esprit
Snakeskin print blazer, Zara
Shoshanna green ikat printed silk strapless dress, Bluefly
Two horn necklace, Forever 21
Torro chair by Adam Birch, Anthropologie
Cross leather leggings by Surface to Air, Les Nouvelles
Camilla floral dress by Roseanna, Les Nouvelles
Maguba clogs
Cucina purifying hand soap, Sur La Table
Chocolate Chip Cheesecake
My husband’s birthday was on Sunday and I surprised him with an iPad 2. It’s a splurge, but considering he’s the last of anyone he knows that works in television to have one (so I heard), I’d say he earned it. We spent the idea of his perfect day pouring over “The New York Times” while drinking coffee and watching Manchester United play.
He really doesn’t ask for much, even when it comes to his birthday dinner, it’s all quite simple. For my birthday I want a restaurant that’s symbolic, which translates as a meal that’s likely expensive, requires a reservation, and is stretched out over several courses. For three years running, we went here for his birthday. I think there were a couple of celebrations here, and there was a memorable meal here, after which neither of us could move for hours from eating so much. This year we went here—I think you can see the trend he’s got going on.
Before & After: Countertops
I recently wrote all about the tomato-red goodness that once were my kitchen countertops, here.
Well, that fun little (err not so fun and not so little) project is mostly done (aside from the caulk job that needs to happen). Home renovation projects always leave me a bit frazzled, mostly because everything is a bit out of whack and out of place (as I type this, I’m starring at a bowl of avocados in my office since it can’t live in its usual home on the kitchen counter).
Yes, I think avocados next to the computer classifies out of whack. Here’s the before & after in photo form.
Before the project began, I was more worried about what sealing the counters would entail. Little did I know how much scraping…
Scraping … and more scraping we had in store.
Time to call in the big guns (electric sander).
In times of crisis and projects that I’m particularly overwhelmed I generally have one of two reactions—cry or quit. I threw in the towel once during a meltdown at Home Depot, which in retrospect I’m shocked my husband stuck around long enough to actually give me a ride home.
Truth be told, the freak-out had something to do with the paint not coming off and the idea of us stuck with what were for a brief period, pink tinted counters.
It was about this time I was thinking of Plan B. I already had an alternate color of paint picked out in my head hudsonpaint.com (#25 royal bronze).
Getting the layers of paint off the concrete was the bulk of the job and took Friday night through Sunday to see what we were actually working with.
After three days of scraping and sanding, we finally used the Cheng method of non-toxic sealer on the unpainted surface. Helpful tip—old t-shirts (and okay, my husband’s old underwear) were a great application vessel for the sealer. No lint!
The lesson—projects always take longer than slated, cost more than estimated, but are totally worth it in the end. Helpful tip—Never wear flip-flops while working with power tools. My big toe looks like Mark Wahlberg’s face when he isn’t winning in, “The Fighter.”
Our new, concrete countertops in their natural state of gray. This is a project we’ve wanted to do for a while now and while it took a lot of sweat (no tears!), the payoff is nice. I’d be lying if I said they look exactly like what I pictured. But, I’m allowing myself time to get used to our kitchen looking like a freshly poured sidewalk. My husband’s already talking about calling someone to tile this sucker.
Silence, Almost
I’ve been buried in paint chips and concrete dust since Friday, but happy to report that the countertops are well on their way to cease yelling at me. The red dragon has almost been slayed. Before and after pictures coming soon … I promise.
Reality TV Fever Pitch
Image: Courtesy of NBCUniversal
In the wake of “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” cast member Taylor Armstrong’s estranged husband Russell’s suicide last month, I’ve been thinking a lot about reality TV. In particular, the Bravo network’s programming schedule and not just the season premiere of the series that aired on Monday night that included a thrown together opening segment semi-addressing the elephant in the room.
Reality TV had me back when I was a sophomore in high school with “The Real World” as a sociology experiment about what would happen when Julie from Alabama mixed with openly gay housemate Norman and insanely hot (but not so bright) Eric. I’ve always been fascinated with questions in life like this. Who people actually become in situations outside their comfort level in their everyday world. But, we are now at a point where what we watch on television in 2011 seems beyond a voyeuristic notion of watching what people generally do behind closed doors playing out in front of a camera.
Uncomfortable Comfort
I’m glad to be posting this on the last day of August. You see, this month, from the start, proved to be particularly challenging for me.
I went to a yoga class recently and the instructor talked about finding comfort even in uncomfortable situations—on the mat when holding poses you want to break out of, to off the mat when say you are on last minute flight to beat Hurricane Irene and you find yourself in Chicago while trying to get to Atlanta. No matter how hard it is making the moment semi-okay when it’s all the way not. Mastering the art of rolling with life and accepting whatever terminal the plane arrives in.
This month began with a massive writing project coming to a close and not at all the way I thought (or hoped) it would. This ending resulted in attorneys being called and me walking away after 18-months with nothing left to show for my work. All of which left me disappointed and sad, angry and hurt, and a whole lot of things I haven’t been able to process fully. Right now, I’m just trying to absorb everything and pick up the pieces from the wreckage. Take the good parts, learn from the bad and move forward. But, it’s hard.
To the personal—specifically, us having a baby. I’ve had several doctors’ appointments, tests and just loads of things I never knew we’d have to endure to expand our family. I’m trying to surrender to the process, to find comfortable spots in this stretch of very uncomfortable. I’m trying to take it easy and let everything unfold, as it should. But, right now it all hurts like hell, and I’m trying to get comfortable with this uncomfortable new road we’re walking.
All that pales in comparison to the last bit. While on his morning run, my brother-in-law was hit by a car. He’s fine (relatively speaking), not to belittle his injuries, but there’s no brain damage or spinal cord injuries. He’s getting stronger everyday post a collapsed lung and a ton of broken ribs, but the whole ordeal was terrifying to say the least. Within days, I found myself at my sister’s helping take care of him and their kids. Then, leaving a day early after being rerouted from a connection in Philly to make it back to Atlanta.
This last bit puts everything else in perspective. Life is about free will and choices. We are choosing to expand our family. I chose to walk away from a writing project. My brother-law-chose to go on a run. It’s what happens in the aftermath that gets tricky. But, I suppose without the turbulence, without the uncomfortable, you’d never fully appreciate it when things are simpler and the ride is comfortably smooth.
Concrete Jungle
Our countertop in all its firey glory.
My husband and I are about to embark on another home improvement project. I wish I could put this in the same category as operation subway-tile-the-hell-out-of-the-shower, or slip-cover-the shite-out-of-the-sofa, but we’re biting off more than either of those combined. The big difference in this journey is that, well, there’s a gigantic margin of error, and in our case, this likely means we might truly make things worse than what we started with. Let’s back up.
Quiche Eater
Like most cities across the country, Atlanta is hot in August. It’s summertime, folks, and that means scorching days, which in my house translates as, I don’t want to be stuck in the kitchen stirring a pot of something over an open flame for hours (actually that wouldn’t happen, no matter the season).
Besides a ton of grilling that occurs at our house this time of year, my favorite go-to meal that requires very little effort is quiche. Growing up I couldn’t grasp what quiche meant, as it always held a double entendre. My father, when my twin sister and I would play with our Barbie dolls, would tell us that Ken was a quiche eater. We’d laugh and insist that he wasn’t, not knowing at the time he was implying that Ken most likely didn’t want to date Barbie, but, perhaps a fellow named Bart would’ve been more his type. I assure you, my father was not as closed-minded as this statement would seem, but instead of making me ask what was wrong with Ken, it begged the question, what was wrong with quiche?
Quiche has become one of my weeknight staples of late. The French do many things right with this dish—it’s versatile with the time of day it’s served, as well as, what happens to fill within the bounds of the pastry crust—it’s limitless (and an excellent vegetable and cheese bin cleanout).
I’m the sort of person who even when it’s 95° outside, will sit in front of the television wearing wool socks and a sweatshirt under a blanket, so I don’t mind the slow and low time it takes to bake one of these gems, as most recipes do take a bit of oven time to cook. I just check every 15 minutes or so, let cool the rest of the day, and serve at room temperature that night.
When I’m feeling particularly ambitious, I’ll make my own crust. If not, I buy a pre-made one at the farmers market that is just as good. Epicurious has several recipes with fantastic combinations (mushroom and Fontina or ham, leek, and three cheese) if you need suggestions. Mine is pretty basic—just four or five eggs, a bit of milk (yes, I know, I use skim instead of cream, which is very un-French) and whatever is in the meat, vegetable, or cheese drawer, all baked around 325° for about 45 minutes. The one I made this past week used rosemary, parsley, and a tomato from our garden with spinach, and goat cheese. Add simple greens and a glass of wine and it’s a meal filling enough for both Barbie and Ken—respective partners included.
