Ok. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I have housewife tendencies. It’s true. Don’t judge me… that would be rude.
I’ve tried to ignore these urges. I’ve tried to pass it off as a phase… but really? This can’t go on. I’m going to have to own my housewife tendencies. Now seems like as good a time as ever to fess up.
See… yesterday afternoon I put on my frilly 1950’s apron, pulled my hair back, put on my giant fake pearl earrings and made homemade dinner rolls. The apron and pearls are essential, so is a cigarette and a stiff cocktail if I’m to believe what I see on Mad Men.
So there I am in my kitchen, proudly clad in my housewife gear, hand kneading some pretty sexy roll dough, thinking I’ve got it pretty kush when I realize that my housewife fantasy is missing two things… a… um… er… husband… and mud covered children that I have to chase around the house to get into the bath.
So. Ok. Fine. My housewife tendencies are really just an excuse for me to play dress up for an afternoon. And rolls and butter? Just the awesome perk of my extended dress up games.
Let’s talk about this weekend’s adventures. There were highways, gas stations and bridges. I might have a made friends out of strangers although there was too much wine to be clear on that. Aaaaand! I taught my first cooking class. In Sonoma. That happened.
Take a peek!
I do this thing when I’m filled to the brim with tasks and opportunities and responsibilities and stresses…. I add more. I really just pile it on. I somehow think that adding new responsibilities and stresses will erase the ones I’ve already loaded on my shoulders.
It’s illogical. It’s a terrible idea. It’s downright crazytown.
I’m in Crazytown and I’m about to move into Lost My Marblesville. Someone please send a straight jacket.
In related news, I’ve decided to move into a loft in downtown Los Angeles. I’m driving to Seattle in a Uhaul next week with my little sister… pray for us. Aaaand I’m teaching my first cooking class in Sonoma this weekend!
More on all of these things soon. For now… here’s what I’m stress eating.. no joke.
Mini Chocolate Dipped Bananas rolled in crushed honey roasted peanuts. If you really commit to your stress… I mean, really just get in there and wallow in it… I’m sure you can down a cool seven bananas in no time. Just. Like. Me.
Hate: diet soda. Like: water. Love: bourbon.
Hate: skinny jeans. Like: Jeggings (jean leggings people… jean leggings). Love: my Levis.
Hate: bathing suit shopping. Like: vintage dress shopping. Love: shopping with someone else’s credit card… which never happens… ever.
Hate: cold soup. Like: most soup. Love: um…. soup soup soup. I really like soup.
‘Hate’ is such a strong word. ‘Hate’ was a bad word in the house I grew up in. Mom, if you’re reading this… yes, you taught me better… but look! I’m eating my broccoli! That’s got to count for something.
On the Lamb threw a Speakeasy last night… complete with Bathtub Gin and Juice, Pork and Wild Boar Sliders and Cherry Bourbon Ice Cream. There was bourbon and scoundrels as far as the eye could see. Before we get down and dirty with my new favorite ice cream flavor, here’s a peek at what setting up a roarin’ Speakeasy looks like.
A Speakeasy requires a guest list, a password at the door, and a cash box for cashmoney.
Hi darling. Hey sugarbear. What’s shakin’ sweetums? Lookin’ good sweetpea. Hey loverboy! Oooh darlin’.
I’m practicing my terms of endearment. Yea… I want to sound natural when the time comes to use them.
Can I practice on you? How does this sound?
Hey loverbear, will you come on in here and help me with these dishes?
Darlin’, will you hold the oven door open for me?
Sweetpea, stay away from those cookies. You know we have company coming.
Sweetums, I made you cupcakes… cause I love you like crazy.
How am I doing so far? I’m a little stiff aren’t I? I’ll keep working on it.
Jump on over. I have a lot to tell you!
Can I let you in on a little something?
I don’t live in the cool Los Angeles neighborhood that all my friends live in…
I have more matching spatulas than I do matching bath towels.
I still can’t seem to commit to buying myself a couch.
My bedroom bookcase seems to be made up of one part books and three parts dust.
I tell you all of this to let you in on the fact that I’ve been feeling domestically restless these days. The kind of restless that has had me daydreaming about moving into a downtown loft that I can’t afford. The kind of restless that has had me daydreaming about decorating a downtown loft that I can’t afford with expensive furniture that I also can’t afford.
Not being able to afford your daydreams? Torture and motivation. Together.
This weekend I decided… get this… that it’s all ok!
I took to my kitchen with my rubber gloves, bleach spray and a few rags and I scrubbed and organized like I’ve never done before. Yes, it’s just the kitchen. No, I couldn’t get to my whole apartment. But the scrubbing and organizing helped me remember that my humble little apartment, in the uncool part of town, is pretty darn sweet. I don’t need the fancy loft and the expensive furniture. I just need to make my little spot in the world a little brighter… with bleach.
And the pancakes this weekend helped too. Tremendous.
Sometimes life feels like layers of complications. Like taxes and traffic and cavities and getting laid off are all piled high into one smelly sandwich that you’re supposed to eat for lunch. Really…? Worst sandwich ever. Do not want.
Complicated. Yea. It happens to you. It happens to me.
Luckily there’s… bread. And thank the holy heavens for butter.
Bread and butter. Yes. A post about bread and butter. Perhaps the most beautiful and uncomplicated thing you can put into your face. Don’t fight me on this one. That would only make things more complicated. Go and eat. Bread and butter.
And yes… I burnt the bottom of my bread a bit. These things happen.
I’d like to take this moment to request a platter of Black and White Cookies from the magic little elves that are currently in my kitchen doing the dishes, in my bedroom sorting laundry, and in my shower scrubbing the tiles. Could you little elves please stop what you’re doing and make me some cookies? Fresh baked. With milk. Please… that would be great.
What? The magic little elves have taken the night off!? That’s some nerve. Some nerve.
Peanut Butter Bacon Cookies. Because everything should have bacon in it. Everything.