Blush and bashful

Do you have a signature color? Nail polish companies think you do. Take a look at all these first-named colors from one of my favorite brands, Zoya. Is your name on there? Mine is not so I'm going to invent my own likeness. I choose a color much like my excalibur gray - but with a tiny shimmering gold undertone. Much like the 2 mini bottles of nail polish I've been carting around with me since college (the first college).

Behold:

On my nails in that picture is Zoya's Tamsen, which I bought along with Kelly one day in an hazy effort to pin my eternal nail colors. My real name wasn't an option - but if it was, would I have chosen it? Would it be me?

Here's my (flat) rendition of the (non-flat) color using the KaleidoPaint app on my iPad:

And here's where you may one day find it on the Zoya website:

Named "Eve".

Happy New Year, dear readers. Till next year...

Last minute gift ideas

FOR ME!!!!!!!!! You can give these to MEEEE!! Anytime.

Badass black dress and essential white dress.

Work it.. Work it good.

Upgrade!

Seriously. Anytime.

Coco crazy

I'll tell ya. There is so much to god damn learn in this life. My skin I thought I would never understand. I've considered it sort of like a plague all these years. Something to fight and fear. But maybe it's not really that complicated. Maybe, instead of going nuclear, we should nurture it with nature.

Which brings me to coconut oil.

The coconut oil selection at my local health supply store. I'm using the kind from Trader Joe's.

My dear friend H suggested one day that rubbing actual, undiluted coconut oil on her face might be working to help clear up her troubled skin. Rub oil ON my face?!?!? What's this crazy talk. Immediately I remembered that a different brave friend said she put this homemade balm of oils on her face in the dry winter months. CRAZY people.

But I ventured. I'm too tired to give you all the details, but, in essence, gentle is the way to calm bumpy/red/oily skin. Not harsh. Duh. The first person who taught me this was that Christina woman who owns philosophy. I used to like watching her on QVC. I've been using purity made simple on my face for years. I think my new coconut oil procedure will be a great addition to my skin maintenance routine.

So thanks, H! 

P.S. This woman swears to cook with coconut oil or ghee and never ever ever cooks with olive oil. I'm thinking she's right about that. Why assist cancer?

Cookbook Challenge

I have a confession.

I own a lot of cookbooks that I've never actually cooked from. Some of my favorite, oldest cookbooks I've only cooked one or two recipes from (probably repeatedly). I don't think there's anything necessarily wrong with having extra cookbooks. Just reading from them is learning. But now it's time to do.

It's time to liven up my kitchen repertoire.

For all of 2014 I'm going to select one of my virgin cookbooks per month and follow (thereabouts) a single recipe. Do something new. Then I'll try to blog about it.

These 5 should be part of the 12

Who's with me?!

Oh where to begin!

Wallpaper heaven

You may or may not be aware that I like silly little things like creating my own silly little desktops and looking at silly expensive wallpaper online. Well I do. There's that.

Then I get an iPad in my hands (for work). One of the first apps I stumble upon is KaleidoPaint, and now I'm totally hooked. (ed. well that's an exaggeration)

Now I want an iPad stylus. Any recommendations? 

Silly little doodles

All hail Gelfoam

Not long ago I chopped off the corner of my finger. My left middle finger, the top edge near my index finger, just missing the nail and chopping off like a tic-tac of the corner. Off. Severed. Holy fucking shit.

After immediately being extremely pissed at myself I began pacing and deep breathing to keep from hyperventilating. I sat down to clean it and thought I might puke, but instead I passed out. I woke up and went to the ER. I was thinking, sure, I could probably stop this bleeding and keep it bandaged until I can get to a pharmacy for good bandages. But I had a big week coming up. I wanted to have professionals attend to this to save me from stressing about my decision during the days ahead.

And boy am I glad I did.

One of the perks of renting an apartment in an affluent suburb of a large city is access to a big, clean emergency room with plenty of extra beds. In under an hour my finger situation was wrapped up. They wouldn't re-attach the piece of skin I cut off (found in a pile of chopped cheese) because it wasn't large enough to take. Instead they rinsed the wound with saline solution (felt lovely) and packed layers of Gelfoam on the cut until the blood didn't come through. This was then gauzed and taped. It felt like the appropriate, secure, white, finger helmet. I loved it.

But I hated the inconvenience. You can't imagine the number of bandage aids and Band-Aids I bought and used. I can personally 100% vouch for flexible fabric Band-Aids, and fabric bandages in general over other kinds. Every couple of weeks I would downshift in protection level. I've been sans bandage for about a week now. I'm just finally beginning to type with that finger again and there's still a good deal of tenderness if I hit it on the area directly. The total attention spent there over all these weeks... incredible.

The 6-8 week bandage iteration, fabric superhero style.

But I gotta tell ya, this wound healed beautifully. Watching my skin patch up so well was the only good part of this situation. It was miraculous - and I give lots of credit to Gelfoam, which is not at drug stores but it seems like people can buy it online in large quantities. You could probably also get it by raiding the master bathroom of your doctor friends.

Or just don't cut the tips of your fingers off.

PS - my doctor friends recommend having this at home

Holiday gift guide 2013 - Relax and enjoy

Did you notice that it's November and December is barreling towards us? If gifts have got you stumped, maybe I can help. Let's wrap your mind around a gift giving philosophy that may simplify your life - the philosophy of theme gifts. Now relax and enjoy...

Theme One:  Hell no, I will NOT embrace winter. Summer and sunlight, I beg you, come back!

This robe (and this one and this one) and Mira and Dita and Heidi finger flair

Fuck those gray winter days in the face by donning a sunny warm glamorous robe (all hail that confident yellow) and some fun bright nail polish (that you hope is being applied over a good base coat, which is a great addition to this gift). Worthy robes are hard to find - you might have better luck in person at stores. If the fab robe doesn't work out, this isn't a terrible substitute.

Theme One, Part Two:  Let's get beautiful

head bliss, face bliss, body bliss

You know those cold winter Saturdays or Sundays when it's just too cold to leave the house? Stay home and play with these lovely novelties. Who doesn't love at least the idea of a mini spa day, no wallet required. (Did it just occur to anyone else that it sounds like I'm writing for a women's magazine?) Add value to this gift by adding good warm knee socks.

Theme Two:  Stop bitchin about it

Subscription, to kitchen porn (online subscription equally desirable), AB book, apron to end all aprons

This is a unisex gift idea for anyone bitching about kitchen deficiencies. An almost identical gift could be made for a number of hobbies/complaints/whatsits. Add value to this gift by buying an item from that Alton Brown book. I really wonder what he recommends for digital meat thermometers. And this apron down there --- stop the electrons. Let's pause and covet. (I'll take one in Meadow and one in Ginger.)

Theme Three:  These A) yuppies don't need anything, or B) people sure love to walk, or C) people are nerds.

Doses of heaven in gift boxes:  Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago Botanic Garden

Memberships! Only an asshole wouldn't love a year-long membership to somewhere local and awesome. (OK, this particular theme may not be good for people-phobes, germ-phobes, and knee-pain sufferers.)

Theme Four:  I actually have been listening

My baby

You can shut up now. Here's the thing you felt was too expensive to throw your money at, but as my major gift to you, the cost makes sense, somehow. I may not love this but you sound like you really want it, so I'm totally covered if this is a bust. But in this case - these are the dopest sneakers and the dopest shall be had by thee, my dopest.

And thus concludes my 2013 gift-giving philosophy.

Peanut butter and lettuce sandwiches

The parents of our friends are always a little strange to be around, no? They had sex, and created your friend. You know this. How intimate! You feel a need to impress them so they trust you around their kid, yet you don't show off lest you be used to guilt trip their kids when you leave. "Well e.francis didn't think the math test was all that hard..."

Yet some parents are really special.

I've been struggling with what to call her since the day she got sick. She's not my friend's mom, although she is. She's not my friend, really. Let's call her a family friend. Let's call her Beatrix. She'd have liked that name.

Beatrix was a hippy in a small moderate town. She always made me call her Beatrix - even when I first met her back before my memory kicked in. She lived two blocks away for many years. She took us to fabric stores for hours and hours and hours. She had a sewing room. I saw her placenta once. She was always kind and smiling.

Mid-playtime she used to give us the choice of peanut butter and lettuce or cheese and lettuce sandwiches. I remember the first time I was faced with this question. What and what? But that's how she rolled. I always rolled with peanut butter while my sister and our friend favored cheese.

As an adult I still eat this sandwich (more the cheese version for some reason). I put salt and pepper in the middle of a very thick lettuce layer. Sometimes I use both peanut butter and cheese. Sometimes it's all-out gourmet.

I think of her every time, like tonight when I enjoyed this:

Beatrix died way too young this week. The day I found out I remember checking Google News and expecting a headline. A small part of me still expects a headline. Why isn't WGN covering this? Why not the Tribune? Beatrix has passed away, way too young, and that's just that?

That's just that.

Diane's dots

Diane Keaton oh so cleverly likes dots as well, I see. But one thing she doesn't seem to like is color. People who don't like color cannot be trusted. I'm watching you, Diane.

Diane Keaton on Pinterest

Diane's dots

832

I grew up in one house. It was, and remains, a great house. When I go back home it's still the home. Signs of how it crafted us are everywhere. Its foundation is my foundation. Its number was 832.

Nowadays seeing 832 fills me with warm, comforting feelings. The number almost has a smell. I love finding it randomly, like in hotel hallways and receipt subtotals and on digital clockfaces. 

In a world that (I can't verify but) I think is getting more stressful by the millisecond, 832 makes me happy. It's so simple and silly. It's nonsense.

I'll take it.

Fair finds

I'm not allowed to buy any more mugs. There's no room for more. Spending 30 bucks on a mug that I love from a craft fair is not allowed. But what if I were to break a few mugs. Accidentally. Then I might as well replace them with one that I love, right?

So here's my new strategy - at craft fairs, of which I frequent, if I love a shop I will take their card and add their website to a new folder on my Bookmark bar, the "ShopFair" folder. 

Behold: 

Thanks, Amazon, but I can handle my global wishlist by myself, thankyouverymuch.

This way I can remember the places that make my heart sing. When my nephew's birthday comes around I can remember those superhero masks. I can buy matching earrings to go with my birch bracelet. I can remember those rad leggings for friend X. When the time comes to buy myself or my loved ones something crafty, there's a starting point less intimidating than the entirety of Etsy. And if someone asks me what I might want for a gift, I can provide them with links of vetted shops, guaranteed to carry things I love that they can personally select from. Genius, I know.

masks, earrings, leggings, RGB

Now if I could only find that damn business card from that brilliant potter at the Penn State Arts Fest. I guess it will take a little longer to perfect my new protocol :(

Timeless comfy glamour

After quite the hiatus from SATC clothing raves, I'm ready to reengage. Topic - robes.

Carrie wears 2 or 3 robes (sometimes more than once!) that give me funny feelings. Just looking at their silky texture, their light, breezy sway, their inspirational patterns and colors, makes me want to traipse around in a clean apartment and see where the day takes me. Maybe I'll make toast and read a magazine from that pile. Maybe I'll paint my nails while watching When Harry Met Sally on a cool Fall day. Maybe I'll open that new bottle of wine and call a long distance friend. Maybe I'll organize my stationary. The perfect robe is the perfect start to any home bound activity. 

Your day or night can truly begin by slipping your clean body into a luxurious robe, the elegant cousin of the muumuu. Silk or modal, organic cotton or satin (nah, not satin), make it smooth and thin. Terry cloth not permitted! Make it flowery or abstract. Make it colorful in an obnoxious way that you have a sick affinity for. Make it kimono-style. Make is one size bigger than you need. Go barefoot, put on fun socks, or wear those heels you love but never have an occasion for. Just don't dress it down with granny slippers. This is not your granny's robe (unless your granny is Simon Doonan, you lucky little bitch).

After a reasonable amount of searching I realize a good robe is not so easy to come by unless you're willing to lay down some dough. Sure you can get one in scratchy, second rate satin. But the good kind, the slippery, luxe, feels so damn good against your skin kind... just think of it as an investment in timeless comfy glamour and endless possibilities. The cost per wear should whittle down to nothing. 

What I could find on Etsy. I'd love any of these -- but how dumb would it be to have to dry clean your robe, which I assume is necessary for silk? The one on the right is jersey and hooded.... mama like.

Airport friends

I was 21 when I went on my very first plane ride. It was Syracuse to Seattle via Jet Blue. As a kid with lots of siblings and an entire extended family living in one state, flying was completely out of the question. Vacations meant piling in the bench-front American-made car and heading to the beach. I always had a window seat in the back and was the resident pillow for my sleepy siblings. Someone had to stay awake and TALK TO YOUR FATHER SO HE DOESN'T DRIVE OFF THE ROAD AND KILL US ALL!!

Once, just once, my brother flew on a vacation sponsored by his friend's parents. They went to the Grand Canyon. The rest of us were so amazed, like he was turning into a unicorn in front of our eyes.

Fast forward 2 decades and now I don't just fly, I have flight routines. I park in the same places. I use the same queues. I eat the same organic tofu burritos (PHL) and sandwiches/tortas (MDW/ORD). I know where the filtered water bottle fillers are. I have favorite bathroom stalls.

Going along with being a kid who never flew is being a kid who learned that pinching pennies is the only way of life. Can I start you off with anything to drink? No thank you. Water is fine.

For my adult, employed, childless self, water is not fine.

Behold my airport best friends:

Malbec, Spicy Tanqueray Bloody Mary, and House Margarita (on the rocks with salt).

I imagine my (future) adult, employed, child-toting self will just order double.

Talking to your depressed loved one

Copied and pasted from the brilliant Hyperbole and a Half

I've always believed that I'm wired to not experience clinical depression. I'm not sure why I feel this way. I'm related to certifiably crazy people. My career gives me nausea. I'm easily overwhelmed. I've nearly entirely forgotten how to focus. I procrastinate and hate myself for it. I'm afraid of who I am when drunk. Yet clinical depression - I'm gonna go out on a weak limb and say it's just not possible up in here. I know, I know, this sounds like a dumb ruse to pit mind over matter.

But if depression were to descend, this is what I hope I remember:

Hyperbole and Half, part 1

Hyperbole and Half, part 2

There is little as beautiful on the internet as those two posts. I was fan of Allie Brosh's writing, Paintbrush drawings, and humor for several years, and then she just stopped feeding me. Stopped feeding all of us. What happened? Depression, we would learn. How brave and honest she is about her illness and how fucking eye-opening it is to see it explained so well (her illustrations.. oh so perfect) make her the winner of the internet in my mind.

In all their brilliance, the biggest value in those posts for me is this:  You're maybe just looking for someone to say "sorry about how dead your fish are" or "wow, those are super dead. I still like you, though." I've always wanted this information.

I believe it's wildly important for all of us to not make assumptions about the people around us. I should never assume I can supply your medicine. And when someone is looking depressed, don't suggest yoga at sunrise. Don't suggest a new restaurant. Don't tell them what snapped you out of your last bout. Just be there, encourage them to seek professional help, and remember to say I still like you.

Do any readers have other advice on what to say?

Not so bad

A few weeks ago I was sent to Cleveland to learn some things for work. I wasn't exactly thrilled about going to Cleveland, home of living nightmares, but figured I'd be working so much I would barely notice where I was.

I was wrong.

First of all, Cleveland has the motherfucking Thinker!!!

After freaking out over this, I learned it's one of many casts and NOT the original.

This guy sits and thinks outside of the free Cleveland Museum of Art. I only had my cell phone with me when I stumbled here, so the pics are sub even my par, but a few may still be worth sharing. 

Observe...

ALL THE CABINETS should have handles like this.

Why don't I have a game table?

This is a sideways look at a large thin sheet of plastic, decoratively hand cut and reflecting some lovely light.

Mmmmmmmm.... lush, velvety, gorgeous textiles.

I'd totally be into this guy.

Haha. Found my kitchen art!

HEYYYY MACARENA!

So.. Cleveland. Not so bad!

The thing is...

No. That's not "the" thing. Perhaps you mean, "A thing is...". You have a thing? You propose a thing? You suggest a thing? Fine. We all have a thing to put out there. Tell me your thing.

But force me to hear "the" thing? No. Please don't. You're not the expert on all the possible things. If you have a good grasp of the English language - which I understand is a rare thing - you cannot assert the thing. Things are always multifaceted. The reason your team lost, the reason their relationship is on the rocks, the reason Casa Margarita is better than Burrito Land, the reason people text instead of call - there are many, many things.

And now, to use my second least favorite phrase in any language - "You should" refrain from asserting "the" thing among many.

Excuses excuses

There are two hobbies that I'm interested in, but have been shy to ignite. BUT NOTE - I have really, really good excuses for my avoidance.

Allow me to explain...

Photography takes a lot of money. There are all these filters, and lenses, and the act of annoying people by pausing to take pictures all the time. Film photography I could probably get into due to the chemistry involved, but who has the extra space for a dark room? Below is a picture from NASA of the Venus Transit last year. I can't compare, so why bother? The best I can do is know that natural light is better than artificial, or so I've been told.

Excuses excuses.

NASA, killing it. That tiny black thing is a planet. SOOO COOOL.

The other hobby is riding bikes. I was a bike-riding fiend when I was a kid, but back then I lived in an actual village. Roads would get so abandoned that you might actually use the high beams in your car! Lately bikes represent danger to me. Drivers are fucking texting on cell phones. But worst of all, I have no clue how to fix a bike malfunction! I know emergency bike maintenance is not rocket science, like taking that cool NASA picture up there, but something about it intimidates me. So why get a bike? I might get hurt and stranded.

Excuses excuses.

But you know what, fuck this noise. It's important to remember that we do other things. These excuses, these mechanisms to be hard on yourself for not being an endlessly energetic sponge of new ideas and activities, need to be squashed. There's a deeper reason for these excuses, and that reason can be summed up in one word - priorities. I prioritize going to farmer's markets and making peach jalepeno jelly. I prioritize binging on good TV shows through Netflix. I prioritize this blog. I prioritize other things, and these aforementioned excuses exist just to make me feel bad.

So let's rephrase.

I choose to not, presently, dive into photography or bike riding.

Done.

Garlic dip for the knifeless

Newish on the pottery scene are garlic-enabling dip bowls. Have you seen these? You take an amateur potter, like myself, who can only throw a bowl 4 inches high. Then you accidentally score or indent the bottom of the bowl. Whoops! Then you keep going and say - HEY, scrape garlic cloves on the bottom of this bowl and infuse a dip with garlic sans metal instrument!

Low and behold you have a bowl for your garlic-containing dips, which covers a good 90% of dips allowed in any respectable household.

I saw one of these at a craft fair a few years ago and then promptly made my own. So Easy!! Then I saw you can get them through Etsy for highway robbery.

Behold.

This is mine. The puke green with black blobby glaze looks way better with a dip inside, for sure.

What a decent potter, good glaze, and composed photography can get you.

Theory of love

Lately I've been feeling random, nostalgic pangs of long lost feelings. Weird reminiscences of strong emotions I haven't felt in a while. For example, I suddenly remember exactly what it feels like when your crush walks past the doorway of your American History classroom every day at 1:25 pm like clockwork, just to tease you with another glimpse. And I remember the feeling of the days when 1:26, and 1:32, and 1:47 come and go without that special second.

What's with these flashbacks? Maybe I had a small stroke.

The crush memory reminded me of a theory of mine that needs to be shared so that I can have some claim to the future Nobel - and this is my theory of love.

In high school chemistry we learn about the different types of attractive forces that govern bonding. I won't quiz you on these today, but you may recall words like electrostatic forces, covalent bonds, Van der Waals whatever, and whathaveyou. Now, remember how much your energy goes up when you're near your crush? You're electric. And then you touch, and it feel right. The overlap is calming. It only needs to be your shoulders touching in the auditorium, or brushing up against each other in the lunch line. It's the highlight of your day. It's a bond. When you're apart it feels wrong, You're agitated. An anti-bonding state! When you're far apart too long, you forget about each other.

People are just like molecules. Really, really, really big molecules. My theory is that we can't help whom we love, just like how atoms have no say in which atoms they bond to and which they don't mesh with. I forced myself to have a boyfriend one time and I almost threw up the first and only time we kissed. There's something in our bodies, something chemical, dictating our attraction to others (and sometimes withholding it). Maybe it's the magnetism from the iron in our blood. Surely our hormones have something to do with it. I don't have it all figured out yet, but I know, in a way, we're hopeless. We have the ability to make wise decisions - like staying away from those that we're CRAZY drawn to when we know overlapping with them will cause a fire, but the attraction is nonetheless involuntary.

Now, I know a few people in arranged marriages and they say that the love grows. I believe it does, because at some point mind over matter is also real.

But when your matter literally pulls you to your crush's matter... the full explanation isn't in textbooks just yet.

Clickity clicks

Another Friday is here and that means I owe you a blog post but I've had two hours of sleep and not much more than 5 hours per night for a while - so do you know what that means?

This wondrous shade of calendula has my mind a whirl.

Round-up time! I notice a lot of bloggers post lists of links on Fridays. It's a "thing" they do. I used to think it was because they wanted the attention from where they linked to. Websites like this one can tell me where traffic is coming from, and let's say 1,000 readers from Cup of Jo click on a link that she posts, well that company/blog may consider advertising/promoting Cup of Jo in return. 

But now I just think it's because of lack of sleep.

Here's a short list of my recent clickity clicks:

I spent 60 bucks on a throw blanket and I'm not even ashamed. I needed it, you see. That's why it's back in its box, awaiting the right room to live in.

Although the Jimmy Fallon/Roots version of Blurred Lines is pretty cute, this is my song of the summer.

And this song, not my typical flow, has my attention.

When next I'm ready for an adventure in the kitchen, these bagels, using whole wheat flour, are on deck.

Smoothie talk (I want to eat sooo much more like her). I am never looking back from adding nut butters to my smoothies.

If I could find a nude bra that I loved, I'd want to wear this shirt every day.

I'm an avid reader of the blog Dinner: A Love Story. Jenny and Andy lead a life that is strikingly similar to my daydreams. Here's a good rant DALS whipped out back in the day.

It's rather amazing what this Jenny can do with spray paint.

If you are in a city that gets a Renegade Craft fair, I recommend it to the fullest! Who wants to go with me to the one in Chicago in early September? I think one of you might...

Be my guest

I've always wanted the extra room to have a guest bedroom. A room clean and ready at all times for hospitality. The door always shut --- no cats allowed! But inside, a room is waiting to hug you. Think of it. Your buds can crash at anytime. Late night parties can become Bloody Mary brunches. Out of town friends are in mini-heaven. And best of all, you've got a room where you can craft a mini-home.

I've been a sleepover guest as far back as I can remember. There's no way to explain that sentence without sounding a little trashy, but my point it this --  I know what a guest (like me anyway) wants to feel in a guest room. Let's see if this does the trick...

This 1950's map of Chicago (found for 5 bucks in downtown Chicago in the 2010's) was the inspiration for the room's color palette, which means it was the inspiration for the room's everything. It's a nice change of vantage to see Chicago from the east.

I love the colors and the fonts on this poster. Shots like these can be artistically blown up for cheap art, yes? I think so. If there's extra wall space, that is.

This being a small room, and thus not needing much paint, why not try one of these expensive but "worth it" high depth colors from Farrow & Ball? These colors are said to... how to describe... have a lot going on. In different lights and in different times of day and with different things around them, they look different. Awesome, huh?! Two gallons is... holy fuck, $185! French gray (*) catches my eye and is shown below looking pretty good next to yellow (which the poster has).

This would be really useful.

If this color green (**) managed to not clash with the blue and green in my Chicago poster, I would try to use it at all costs - especially if my guest room had a unique alcove (re-modified closet?) or an adjacent bathroom.

I mean, just look at that awesome Arsenic.

Although if you have an alcove, you may be tempted to indulge in a Farrow & Ball wallpaper... for over double the price of a gallon of paint. Therefore I'd buy a gallon of the paint (come here, Arsenic!) and then do a stencil of some kind. (Shut up, of course I'd get around to it.)

Ahhh, here is where the furniture comes in. First and foremost, a nicely polished vintage valet stand. Everyone needs a place to throw their worn but not dirty traveler clothing. Other than this, I'd have a large chest filled with clean blankets and a small vanity table with chair and well lit mirror. The bed would have a simple wood frame, stained or painted black to match the poster colors. Both sides of the bed would have a reading lamp, nightstand, and outlet access for charging.

I know what you're thinking. Where's the f-in color? COLOR NEEDED!!!! And achieved through fresh flowers placed throughout the room in a plain(ish) set of matching vases. Stupendous! [Ed. note - Getting bright flower colors in PowerPoint was to some extent impossible. I could really pay to learn how to use better graphic design software, hmmm... What do people use for magazine and blog spreads?]

House red

What's your house red?

Mine is La Finca Malbec from Trader Joe's. It's $3.99 a bottle (major steal!) and I typically throw one in my hand basket at the end of every TJs trip. Well, I guess it's correct to say I have one in my hand when I check out at TJs because my hand basket it full and digging ferociously into my forearm by the time I get to the wine aisle.

I know some of you live in states or countries where you can't get wine at your local grocery store and let me emphatically say THAT FUCKING SUCKS.

Array of empty bottles from my less decisive days. Velvet Moon Cab was my former house red (Cabs and me get along famously), but luckily the La Finca Malbec replaced it with 2 dollars to spare!

When one of my girlfriends gets here in a week we're going to do a blind taste test to help me land a house white. I'll be selecting bottles in the 3-7 dollar range from TJs - primarily Pinot Grigios and Chardonnays. Any recommendations?

[what the Google machine brings up when you search for La Finca Malbec] And on that note, how are people so free about having their physical persona on the internet? I think I'm too old for that mentality, coming of age without the internet and all. Hats off to the free!