How to Deal With This Winter and Stop Binge Watching Netflix/Crying

I'm not one for profanity. That's a lie. Well, now I might as well tell you. I'm a liar with a penchant for profanity. And this weather....this winter...deserves a gigantic "fuck you." Some will read this and think, "Bligh! It's winter! It's a cold season! Don't be so overdramatic!" And to whoever is thinking like that, know that I would LOVE to give you a solid "fuck you" too, but I won't because I'm a lady. And because I might've gotten kicked out of cotillion but I remember that a lady doesn't swear at strangers. Yesterday whilst cleaning my closet I found a box of sun dresses and started crying. This is a true story. I wept tears for sun dresses yet to be worn and appreciated. I can't anymore. I can't bundle up like I've willingly chosen to move to the Ukraine. I can't continue to eat all the bread and excuse the behavior as my "building a protective layer against the wind." I want to wear my transitional coats*! I want to do that thing white people do where we wear shorts way before it's acceptable to do so! (#86 on Stuff White People Like) I want to live!

It might be getting warmer soon, who's to say really. I stopped checking the weather on my phone four weeks ago when I realized my morning lookup for the day's temperature coincided with time in line at my Dunkin and I was throwing unnecessary anger and sass at the people I love the most. Now I just dress exclusively in layers and large swatches of colorful fabric. I look like a retired high school theatre teacher in head to toe Chico's 2013 fall/winter line. And you know what? That's FINE! I've embraced it! And I've also developed some habits to fight this winter and think/live positively for the impending spring. Please, let me share with you:


1) Secret It. -I've never read "The Secret" but I have heard it works. Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe it's just bullshit New Age spiritual philosophy that we all pretend to believe because Oprah says we should. I DON'T KNOW. Let's just try it? The process of "secreting" (to me) involves singing a simple jingle written by three luxury ladies and I five years ago in a dressing room. I wish you could hear it, but the video no longer exists. Just sing, "the secret works!" I suggest a vowel modulation for "works" so that it comes out more like, "weurks-uh!" I also suggest getting a few friends together and singing this jingle in a three part harmony. But, you do you.

2) Get an obnoxiously happy nail color. -See below. This is annoying mostly because no one feels like this is a color that exists anymore. But the sky used to be this color. Remember? It did. And every time you look at your nails, you'll smile. Promise.


3)Drink like it's the summer. -This one is so easy! Eschew your dark liquors and Hot Toddys! Drink something that needs a wee umbrella to be considered properly garnished! And, although I call tequila "wanna know my secrets" I have warmed up to it again. Life is too short to not actively pretend you're on a tropical island, ten pounds lighter, drinking an unnaturally colored drink served in a fish bowl while making friends with a small monkey who you caught trifling through your beach bag. So order that Mai Tai and drink like it's the summer!

4) Lie to a stranger. -Okay. I do this a lot. But recently, I do it more because I've been walking less and taking more buses (read: cabs) and there seems to be more opportunity to socialize with humans you will NEVER meet again. People on the bus are chatty! They want to know about about ya life! They do not want you to be talking on your phone, but they would like you to engage them in conversation, especially the ones over the age of 95. I've been doing this for years: making up elaborate stories about myself and my background and what I do for a living. It used to be exclusively an airplane practice. Whomever was lucky enough to be my assigned seating partner on long plane rides would hear about how I graduated high school at sixteen and was taking a few years off to travel the country searching for a long lost aunt who had joined a cult in 1973. But now I do this ALL THE TIME. The other day a lady on my bus ride heard about how my lucrative hairdressing career was about to propel me to young entrepreneurial status as I was just about to open up a salon. My cab driver last Tuesday thought I was an opera singer. Just try it! You will never see that person again, and it'll keep you on your toes. You might colossally embarrass yourself and get caught in a fib, but then you'll probably blush and get heated and then it's kind of like summer, no?

5) Go on a very short, brisk walk. -The trick here is to walk far enough so that you might not feel your fingers, but your lungs don't hurt from the intake of frigid air. It's a fine line, but the exhilarating feeling that you are ALIVE is worth the gamble. It's also a nice moment to look around and acknowledge no one is smiling. SO smile at them! They might smile back, or they might tell you to "fuck off," I don't know I'm not in charge of that.

The end is near. It's got to be. I don't mean the end of the earth, although an old man did tell me it's all over for us in 45 years. But even if that is the case, that means we're looking at approximately 44 more winters like this until life as we know it ceases to exist. So, let's practice some positivity, let's drink something infused with an exotic fruit, and for all that is good and true in this world let's lie to a stranger.

*transitional coats: light jackets that you buy with the intention to wear for the three and half days every fall and spring where the weather is really lovely but there's a slight, chilly breeze.

Roots Make Me Angry

Listen. I think it's important to be honest. My hair is not naturally blonde. As a matter of fact, it's a boring, mousy brown color. When I have no cash monies, and my roots are visible, I am evil. I do not exhibit the kind, Christian woman attributes that my girl, Dolly Parton has so graciously taught me through outward example, strong girdles, and prayer! Fortunately, I have refined a few "lady on a budget" tricks to staying bougie as you save the necessary nickels and dimes to dye ya weave! And I'm going to share them with you! Because the imaginary conversation I had with Dolly Parton this morning after my third cup of coffee told me that was the right thing to do! Here goes:


1.) Hats.

-Biddies, hats are your FRIENDS. They cover up the roots. They are so in right now. You do not (I repeat) DO NOT have to wash your hair but instead just spritz a little fancy product (read: AquaNet) into the ends for texture and live ya life!

2.) Wear a fur.

- Yup. Even if it's summer. No one will look at or care about your roots if you're wearing a fur coat/stole/swing jacket. They'll be like, "Who is that Eastern European mail order bride and why is she wearing a fur in August?"

3.) Get on Pinterest and learn how to tie a turban.

- ....Now I gotta get fancy and break this down into a few more sub-points.


A.) Go on Pinterest, and search "turban" and realize this is far too broad a search word.

B.) Search "How to tie a turban" and settle on the best picture of colorful scarves and NOT the easiest tutorial. You got this.

C.) Open a bottle of wine preemptively. Let that shit breathe.

D.) Start with the scarf you probably took from your mother's closet and fold it in half, making a triangle.

E.) Try and place the halved scarf on your head and flip it back WHILE trying to successfully do this really tight wrap of the ends at the nape of your neck, all the while thinking that perhaps the incredibly glamorous ethnic girl in the tutorial picture would be laughing at your struggle to be as cool as her...and then start stressing that perhaps turbans are IN FACT just for ethnic girls and that you're going to look like a damn fool trying to hard.

F.) Have one to two glasses of wine.

G.) Try again biddie! Try until you get it right. Or until you have to leave so as not to be late for a dinner with a dear friend! Slap  some bobby pins where it counts, say a prayer, and go out! Because you look good...ish.

...I have just re-read this entire post and would like to personally acknowledge how superfluous this entry is, in a world of very serious and real problems. My suggestion is to read it again, but with the Thomas Newman "Newsroom" opening theme playing underneath.

You're welcome. Now it's important.

The Beginning.

This week is a "Dear-Lord-baby-Jesus-in-the-manger please do not tell me October 1st is Tuesday" Kinda week. This week is a "eat half your sandwich for lunch and the other half for dinner and contemplate attending an AA meeting for free coffee and donuts to supplement your diet," kinda week. This is a "no avocados for you, poor girl" week.


Because you see, my sweet biddies, avocados are most assuredly a food for rich people. Think bout it. Whole Foods displays their perfectly ripe avocados prominently at the front of the fresh produce, under a faux kitschy chalk board sign covered in bubbly font that says, "Organic Avocados $5."...Five dollars for a bushel? Five dollars for however many you can carry at once? Nope. Five dollars for one. But that one avocado has enough monounsaturated fatty acids to keep your heart healthy for the rest of ya damn life. And that avocado speaks conversational french.


I kind of like no avocado weeks. I like the scrimp and barely make it weeks. I'm good at it. Being poor makes me funnier. At least that's what my Mom says. In his new book Let's Explore Diabetes With Owls, David Sedaris says we need poverty as proof we are truly creative. You should read his book! But don't buy it because he publishes most of the essays first in The New Yorker WHICH you can borrow (read: steal with a small intention to return) from my bougie dry cleaners on the corner of 14th and 2nd. See? I know what I'm doing. 


I'ma teach you things. I'ma teach you how to live in the New York of Cities and still do all the things, and cut all the monetary corners, and still live like the fanciest poor person that you can be. So read my blog. And if you don't read my blog, that's fine too. You're probably excessively wealthy and enjoying pleasant small talk in broken (allbeit, charming) french with your very favorite $5 avocado. Or what I like to call, living the dream.