jumbo topping

Pinkberry! Once known for its cripplingly addictive frozen yogurt, now known for its MUTANT monster blackberries. It only took a few minutes of squealing and pressing my face against the glass for the employee (or "enabler") to throw it in.

Other than its extraordinary size, it was by all accounts a normal blackberry. I half-expected it to encapsulate a normal-sized blackberry, or possibly a family of woodland creatures. Which reminds me, have you seen this?

the anti-plural conspiracy

Having houseguests for four days feels a bit like Christmas. Lots of excitement and build up and then it passes quickly and you're left with a bunch of leftover cookies and a mountain of wrapping paper. That's not to say my guests left behind a mess. No, no. They were very tidy.

But what they did actually leave behind is a bunch of magazines -- the kind you only buy when you're bored in the airport and you have a six hour flight ahead of you. The blasted things were left on my coffee table and I've been reading them ever since. And here's what I'm finding:

Fashion and beauty editors hate plurals. They loathe two of anything. Check out this quote I found:

"This year, the Emmys were all about the nude lip, paired with a smokey eye."

First of all, really? That's what the Emmys were all about this year?
Secondly, why just one nude lip and one smokey eye? Is it uncool to talk about the face as if it has matching parts?

Let me guess: the Emmys were also (but not ALL) about a slim pant and a strappy shoe.

Something about this just makes my skin crawl. It's the same way I feel when I hear someone say "mature," but they pronounce it "matoor." Or when dress pants are referred to as "slacks." Were the Emmys all about the black slack this year? Gross. I can't believe I would actually prefer "dress pant" in this scenario.

I'll tell you who else is in on this singular trend: Victoria's Secret. They're always asking me if I want to find out how to get a free panty during my birth month. A FREE PANTY. I cringe/giggle every time I hear that word. I'm either easily irritated or just really immatoor.

500 days of sunburn: a tan timeline

namasteam

My triumphant return to yoga included the following poses:

Sweaty warrior (I and II)
Hot-a-ranga
Shiva-sauna
Downward facing drip
Heatstroked child's pose

Apparently the ceiling fans are just for looks.

back to "normal"

You'll be happy to know that my Mister made it back safely from his crazy Appalachian Adventure - no panther attacks or trail mix overdoses. There was an incident with a raccoon intruder, but I think any situation that can be treated by banging two pans together can't really be considered life-threatening.

While he was gone, I got caught up on my episodes of Intervention, which he isn't particularly fond of (he says it's "depressing" - I know, weird, right?) and in the process, discovered a new show called Obsessed, also on aetv.com. It's a fascinating show that documents the lives of people suffering from OCD and ironically, I've become obsessed with it. I have to check A&E several times a day to see if there is a new episode, and if there isn't, I scrub my hands with steel wool until they bleed. Just kidding, I just watch clips and re-read the case studies.

It's so nice to have my Mister back! I was single for hmphrthirtwentryhrmph years and I can honestly say that being married suits me far better. I like having a pal to come home to and to play games with. My favorite game to play since he's been back is, Does This Itch? It's a simple game. Basically, I find a bug bite on his body and then scratch it furiously, asking, "Does this itch???" His answer is always the same: "Please stop."

I know what you're thinking right now and you're totally right: it is a blast being married to me.

a new do

I got my hair cut this afternoon. I can't decide if it's cute or if it's Indigo Girls. I hope it's cute.


I just realized how much Amy Ray looks like George Stephanopolous. All the more reason to hope it's cute.

cool it.

"We don't have an air conditioner" is the new "We don't have a television."

It used to bug me when I'd be recounting the latest installment of ANTM over lunch and some coworker would be all, "Oh, I'm sorry I've never seen that show. We don't have TV." And I'd roll my eyes waaayyyy back into my head and think, "Hoho, you're just so ABOVE the whole television thing and the rest of us are just vapid slaves to the media! Well, have fun with your BOOK and your Meuslix, sucka. I'll be over here weeping with Oprah."

And then I moved to New York and sold my TiVo and never got around to hooking up the cable. Now I'm the coworker who doesn't get the Real Housewives of New Jersey in-jokes and the SYTYCD hysteria.

But then today I was talking to someone about how I couldn't wait to turn my A/C(s) on when I got home and she said, "Oh, we just open a window and use a big fan." I felt the familiar heat rise up within me (an internal, defensive heat, not the actual ambient temperature, which incidentally was also SIZZLING HOT) and I screamed, "JUST OPEN A WINDOW? Use a big fan? Do you also put Neosporin on a broken leg?"

Oh, who am I kidding, I didn't scream. I think I muttered something about being hot-blooded and having an apartment with poor air circulation. Because in much the same way that I know Oprah and I will be reunited someday, I also know that one of these nights, while My Mister and I are sleeping like angels in our climate-controlled paradise, that smug girl is going to throw the covers off her bed, take off all of her clothes, and stand in front of her big fan while she scans CraigsList for a used air conditioner. But you know what? There won't be any! Because I bought them all.

The end.