If I were good

I'd post every day, or at least every other. Instead I get sick, move out of and then back into my apartment, have surgery and take weeks to recover, all while neglecting this little vanity project of mine. Oops. I suppose if I were good I'd feel worse about it too.

Housekeeping.

Eloise can keep the Plaza. After living in a hotel (albeit one of New York's swankier establishments) for over a week all I wanted was the familiarity of home. Room service is effing tiring after a while, you know?

Now we're moved back in. And though everything smells like paint and polyurethane, it's good to be back where I belong.

dear valentine's day,

i kind of think you're full of crap. just wanted to let you know.

Sartorial prediction.

I think monocles are going to be the new ironic mustache.

Stupid question

I have now twice tried, and failed, to get something posted on Apartment Therapy's "Good Question" page. Am I missing something obvious?

Wee people.

Everyone I know is getting pregnant, except me (purposely). I feel a little guilty about the fact that I would rather drink bourbon and eat runny eggs and cheese than make with the babies, but to be honest, that's how it is. I'm hoping for nieces and nephews since I'd like the kind of kids I can spoil and send home to their parents, but I don't think I'm getting any too soon, and I'm not too sad about that either.

Felonious.

I just remembered, and it made me smile that until it is painted over, my name and the mister's are part of the graffiti covering the walls of a hotel elevator in Copenhagen.