Hello blog world. I've been in the real world a little too much lately. I've been neglecting my imaginary life.
Right now I'm revved up because my 11 year old came back from a party with a bruise on his nose and another one on his spine the size of a hand. I am furious. Oh it was so much fun mom, my kid said, the Go Karts' belts were all loose and not working and they didn't even make you wear a helmet! But worse was how the mother who took him and ten other boys there thought (or acted, out of fear of being sued by me perhaps?) as though this was funny. laugh it off. take no responsibility. he will live. let boys be boys. don't be such a pussy.
I was not smiling. It's only funny until someone's child gets a broken neck or a concussion I told her. There was nothing i could do, she answered with flawless logic, even my own daughter was hurt. How about not letting the kids get into the go-karts, I suggested.
Oh yeah blogging for me is technically about lack of censorship. But why is it then that my blog is so remote from my real life? For example for reason of privacy I made the decision early on not to write about my family in any meaningful way, whereas in real life that's pretty much all i'm concerned with, and all i want to talk about.
And why is it that when there either really good news, really bad news, really important news in my life I am not able to share it here? Today would be an example of that which cannot be told. Schucks.
It's saying stuff without really saying it, this blogging thing. It's smoke and mirrors. Multiple personality meets graphomania.
Honestly, these dresses have got to be the most visually exciting thing I have encountered in a long time. They are one of a kind and made with patches of vintage fabric by Mirjam of Kinchimama. You can purchase them here and on etsy. Pictures borrowed from Etsy.
If you want to see more, Mirjam's house was featured here. I'm signing off for the week-end. Enjoy the beautiful spring time wherever you are in the world (except you guys on austalia's side of the world where it must be fall by now I guess.. what am i saying.. whatever... Hugs.)
Or what is it you call it when you pay someone to make you run frantically on a a treadmill, lift 15lbs dumbells while stepping on and off a super high workout bench,when you give money to someone to make you sweat beads of fat from every pore, to make you curse, to make you spit blood..?
I had told her I believed myself to be untrainable, but it became apparent within seconds that I was in fact begging to be bossed around. I gave it my all as i became uncharateristically obedient. I lifted when she said lift, jumped when she said jump, and higher, and HIGHER, and I ran when she said run. And when she said pay, i paid. Then I thanked her profusely.
Today, predictably, i can barely lift my arms and I walk in a grotesque shuffling manner. Yes i am in pain. Me, in pain, from exercising. But i love it. I loved the hard work and I loved when she told me I could do it in such a supportive, confident tone. What a refreshing break from the sound of my own defeated voice. And she was right. I could absolutely do it. And today I absolutely walk as though there is something stuck in my rear end.
I was going to post pretty pictures i just found. Adorable little dresses. But i'll save them for later. Who would want their creations associated with that last sentence?
Mover over macarons ladurée. Get out of the way Magnolia cupcakes. I'm making a prediction that Canelés de Bordeaux are soon to become the new sexy things to eat.
I had canelés once in my life. ONCE. The experience was unforgettable. Caramelly and crunchy on the outside, incomparably bouncy and goey and doughy on the inside, with a hint of rum... heaven of the mouth...drool...
And now, slowly but surely, Canelés are making timid debuts on American soil. Mark my word, soon we will all be obsessed. They are as close as San Francisco. Do any of you know a place to get them in L.A?
These pictures are screen grabs from the Chow video of the canelés being made in the San Francisco Boulette's Larder. This restaurant/ bakery makes them using the traditional method, over a few days and using copper molds. They only make twelve a days. You read correctly: twelve! And they are tiny. Here is the video, wear a bib while watching, seriously.
Put on your sunglasses, because i don't have liability insurance for burnt retinas. An Indian Summer is a fabulous blog I used to read all the time, and then somehow lost track of. But today i did a little visit, much cheaper than a round trip ticket to India, and I came back just as inspired. COLOR! Warm, rich, incandescent, over the top, joyous COLOR! Why are we so shy about color in our culture?
Today I did something very unplanned and uncharacteristic: I hired a personal trainer! I can't believe I'm writing those words. A p.. a p-p-p personal trainer? me!? Do you know what I think of women who have personal trainers? Those affluent dilettantes, those vain, insipid, insecure.... well whatever, i am now one of them.
It was very spur of the moment. I was at the gym, moping terribly. I had driven there and wanted to turn right back home. I was discouraged.. and they had a deal... and, and... and there was a smoking hot black young personal trainer who.. that... but I did not chose him, no. I did not think my husband would think it very nice of me if I did. Instead I hired this darling 20 year old girl with a great laugh and energy.
She asked me what my goals were. I said I was weak and flabby and lazy and I wanted to turn things around and be in the Best Shape of my Life by the time I turned 45.