Harlow Christmas

From little miss and I, happiest of holidays, whether you’ve wrapped up your Hanukkah celebrations, or you’re with the family celebrating Christmas now, or you’re doing whatever December ritual makes you feel all warm and fuzzy at the end of the year. I hope everyone enjoys their holiday plans and the full moon today, and remember to lean into the crazy energy for the last time this year.

I’ll be back next week with posts, but in the meantime, I’m sending heartfelt love and appreciation for every single person that reads these words, or has read any words on this blog in the past almost-two years. May you enjoy this time with friends, family, or alone, and the happiest of weekends to you all.


My Life, as told by Google

One of my favorite things to respond when someone asks me a question is “let’s ask the Google.” Can’t remember the first day of spring? Ask the Google. What day of the week does the fourth of July fall this year? Ask the Google. Want to know exactly what red lip color T. Swift wears so you can potentially buy it? Ask the Google! (Just kidding, I didn’t do that)…(Twinster found out for me and we found it in Boston ps it’s AMAZING). I feel like my Google search history says a lot about what’s going on in my day-to-day life, from the silly searches on celebrity dirty laundry, to more serious things, like looking into potential causes for a random migraine before naturally leaping to the conclusion that I’m dying (thanks WebMD). In the busy past few weeks of my life, I’ve asked a lot of the Google, a byproduct of spending a lot of time on my own trying to fill hours in between working.

So as a snapshot of why it’s been hard to write for the past few weeks, here is a sample of my recent Google history:

  • Bone broth helps hangover
  • Chicken bone broth recipe
  • Chicken bone broth slow cooker recipe
  • Slow cooker won’t turn on Cuisinart
  • Chicken bone broth no slow cooker
  • Best Thai delivery Upper East Side NYC
  • Sore neck
  • Sore neck from car travel
  • Sore neck yoga stretch
  • Can yoga cause a sore neck
  • Yoga headstand causes sore neck
  • Fixing sore neck from yoga
  • How long after slight neck sprain until yoga headstand
  • Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt binge watch Netflix
  • Working more than 50 hours per week
  • Health implications sitting in a desk chair all week
  • Sitting in desk chair more tired than standing when working
  • Coffee health benefits
  • Annual cost Starbucks coffee daily
  • Am I really spending that much on coffee
  • Coffee alternatives at home no money
  • Craving chocolate alternative snacks
  • Craving chocolate eat almonds
  • Health benefits almonds
  • How many almond are too many
  • What happens when you eat too many almonds
  • Is Easter chocolate in stores
  • Single life in 20s New York City
  • Best things to do in New York City alone
  • Single life New York City NOT “finding a date”
  • Staying home alone with cat
  • How can I get my cat to use scratching post
  • Why does my cat hate me
  • Cat is acting crazy how to calm down
  • Wine delivery Washington Heights

So in conclusion, apparently my life revolves around coffee and food. I’m totally okay with that. Happy Weekend, kids!

Turkey Time!

Hooray for long weekends focused on food and sale shopping! I’m hunkering down in Connecticut with the rest of the family for a few days to rest and recharge on this snowy and cold Thanksgiving week. I’ll be back next week with holiday-themed everything until T tells me to stop (she’s very particular about how/when/where the holidays should be celebrated.

In the meantime, here’s a list of the top things I’m thankful for this year:

  • Surviving #eleven25. Check back next week for details!
  • Little miss and her terrible cuddling skills.
  • Salsa Sun Chips.
  • The new Taylor Swift album.
  • And the new videos too.
  • Sharpie pens. (Have you used them? You’d be thankful too).
  • PLDs. My life wouldn’t be half as fun if I didn’t make a mess of it on the reg.
  • WINE. Always wine. All of the wine.
  • The Nickname Posse. You betches make my life complicated and a million times better, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
  • Family, and especially my Twinster, for being fully on board with my wearing a jumpsuit as her Maid of Honor next year.
  • This Chronicle. What an awesome time I’ve had writing this over the past nine months.

Until next week – Happy Turkey Genocide Day, all!

Friendly Conversations: Deux

There is nothing quite like a day off from work, especially leading into yet another 6-week stretch of insanity. I’ll be taking the next few days to hang out in Connecticut by the pool and get ahead here so I don’t go MIA once I’m working all the time. In the meantime, here’s another edition of my life, via Friendly Conversations.

(In case you missed it: Part Un)

On workplace decorum
Me: I just don’t understand why there’s no chocolate around me
(2 minutes later)
Coworker: [walks to desk and dumps a massive bag of candy]
Me: … is it more inappropriate to start crying or kiss you?

On Sunday morning selfies
Friend: You’re naked in that snapchat, aren’t you.
Me: I’m too hungover for clothes.

On my date-ability (cameo by C)


On life with little miss
Coworker: Good lord, what did you do to your arm?!
Me: Decided to adopt a cat three years ago.

On viral social media trends


Friendly Conversations: Un

I feel like the tone of the blog has been on the darker side lately, but actually things around me have been going really well – just a little dull for published material. I’m saving the next PLD montage for a specific point later this month, so I thought I’d introduce a new semi-series across the Chronicle, something to bring the nonsense in between the heavy thoughts and wedding-related injuries. Much as I love capturing big moments across my life’s adventures, sometimes it’s the little conversation snapshots and texts that make a good day great.


Presenting: Friendly Conversations.

On checking my schedule in advance
Friend: “What are you doing the weekend after your birthday?”
Me: “Best friend’s wedding in CT! Why?”
Friend: “Oh that’s right, I figured that from your blog.”

On a brainstorm meeting
Me: “Are there going to be snacks?”
Coworker: “I don’t know, do we have budget for snacks?”

On fiscal responsibility
Me: “YES. They increased the limit on one of my credit cards!”
Friend: ‘Nice! Now you can budget for that…”
Me: “Hang on, I’m about to buy like eight rompers online.”

On friendly pets
Me: “I just found these things for cats that cover their nails so they can’t draw blood!! I should get them for little miss!”
T: “You realize you’d have to get those on her, right?”
Mama B: “Do they have covers for her teeth?”

On personal hygiene at 3 p.m.
Coworker: LB, did you have salsa for lunch? I think there’s some in your hair.
Me: What? No, I haven’t had salsa since breakf.. I mean lunch. Yup. Lunch.

Hey, Jealousy(ish)

“You guys, I love that we have a dog!”

I probably haven’t felt more like a sister wife than when I said the words above, as my lovely friend M, her N and I were standing in their kitchen eating cold pizza, taking a break from the Masters, and watching the newest member of their family eagerly run between us, glancing at each of us in turn, hoping someone would drop a piece of crust. We had just come back to their apartment after a long stroll by the Jumel House, another hidden gem uptown, a beautiful spring afternoon as the backdrop to their first day as fur-parents. We laughed as we watched the little one scamper after the already-destroyed plush toy we threw back and forth in their room, M and N stopping every few seconds to look at each other with a massive grin, saying over and over “I’m so in love with her already!” I wasn’t sure I’d get to meet the new addition on day one, wanting to ensure M and N had family time, but even as I apologized for intruding on the day they will always remember, N just laughed and said “Of course you’re here. You’re basically a part of the apartment.’

I made my way home after a few hours and opened the door to little miss waiting on the doormat, like always. She trailed me around the apartment as I put the keys down and turned off my headphones, rubbing against my leg and trying to climb into my arms. She was happy when I picked her up for about 45 seconds and then started crawling to get out, a pitiful “mew” escaping as she noticed the end of my headphones trailing behind my purse. I set her down and threw an errant wine cork she’d been playing with, laughing as she darted after it like a mouse, hearing the cork bounce around my room until she lost interest, returning instead to snuggle in my lap, purring contentedly as I scratched her cheek. “Why can’t you be like this with other people,” I asked aloud, and she just pushed her cheek against my hand for more pets, such a sweetheart for only me.

See look at that face!!

See look at that face!!

Much as I joke about little miss being a total b (and don’t get me wrong, she absolutely is) it’s hard sometimes to love something when only you see the good parts. It’s almost a running joke that no one will come to my apartment because they’re terrified of my 6.5 lbs of pure evil, her skittish tendencies making everyone uneasy in turn, trying to pet her despite my caution to leave her be and then antagonizing her when she won’t play nice. As a rescue, I don’t know what happened to her in the first five months of her life before she came into mine; I don’t even know her real birthday. Whatever it was, it’s enough that only in the past few weeks has she started sleeping next to me in bed, and even that’s usually peppered with a morning where she runs after my sweatpants, trying to bite my ankles, never painful but annoying to an extent. I wouldn’t trade her for the world, my little miss, my little b, but I wish I wasn’t the only one who knew how sweet she can be, how much she loves to have her cheeks rubbed and how she loves curling next to your body at night, purring like it’s heaven, at once warm and cozy and perfect.

Meeting the new addition to the sister wife family has had me thinking more and more about how the things that are so precious sometimes make sense only to us. We make excuses for the people, pets and things that we love when they’re less than perfect, because we know there’s another side to those people, pets and things, a side that makes you melt into yourself from love or contentment. It’s the kind of precious love that can cloud your judgment, but also the kind that can enhance it, allowing you to remember the good parts when you’re knee-deep in the bad. It’s the kind of love that makes you try again, and again, and again to make everyone else look past the flaws to see the heart-melting moments. It’s the kind of love that no one else understands, but as long as it makes sense to you, that’s enough to hold you together. Or, at the very least, it’s supposed to be.

I stopped over briefly one night this week to pick something up I’d left at M’s, and she greeted me with her little one in her arms and the happiest smile on her face. I would love to be jealous of the pet that everyone will always, infinitely and forever love more than mine, but she’s so darn cute and I get it – she’s nice. But as I sit at home with little miss curled into my leg, giving me the slow-blink of a happy cat, I can’t feel jealousy. Maybe it’s a flaw that I’ll always try to find the good in broken things, a poor decision to see past the flaws instead of paying attention to them. Then again, as little miss demands a head scratch and then bites my hand, I can’t help but smile, because honestly, I’d rather deal with a few flaws here and there, as long as at the end of the day I can show someone, or some cat, that they’re loved.

Why getting a cat was the best and worst decision of my 20s

I am the proud owner of 6.5lbs of pure, cuddly evil. She snuggles like a champ and has a tendency to sit on your head and bite your hand as you try to move her away, knocks over anything valuable or breakable to get attention, and has a pretty dead-on BRF (ed note: bitchy resting face). Ah, cats. My little miss has been with me since I was in my very first NYC apartment, a decrepit 2-bedroom on the Upper East Side, where $825/month got me: no living room, the adjacent wall to two Russian women who loved to yell, and a bathroom that could only be accessed through my room. I barely had enough space for a full-sized bed, let alone a pet, but I had this vision of a snuggly, sweet cat that would be photogenic enough to make me Internet-famous for a few minutes and would love me forever.

dude srsly?

dude srsly?

Alas, the mild-tempered feline fantasy was shattered pretty quickly after taking little miss home back in March 2011. She’s skiddish, rude, generally hates anyone that isn’t me and pretty much hates me too. She’s also loyal, funny, energetic and completely devoted to me. She’s like a grumpy roommate who’s desperate for attention but hates all my friends. And yet, if I had the chance to go back to the shelter on that cold March day and choose again, I’d pick her every time.

There are, however, a few things I wish I’d considered first:

  • Everyone is allergic to cats. Everyone. Oh, your friend says they’re not allergic so they can come over? Nope, give it 3 minutes and their eyes will be watering and you’ll feel like an asshole, especially when the cat responds to their obvious discomfort by swatting their exposed skin with her razor-sharp claws.
  • Have you ever heard anyone say “I really enjoy cleaning the litterbox”?
  • People will call you a “cat person” like it’s an insult. First, it’s not an insult, cats are adorable and I’m all about it. But in reality, I’m an equal opportunity pet owner. Love cats, dogs, hamsters, fish, fennec foxes, you name it (except frogs, frogs are awful). Plus, if the most distinguishing feature about me is the fact that I own a cat, then I need to do some serious soul-searching.
  • Do you really like that sweater? Old wicker trunk? Glass object you keep on the edge of your tall dresser? Good, so does your cat and she’s going to destroy them to show you how much.
  • Hairballs. I won’t elaborate.

Hindsight. But with all of that, I also come home every night to this little bundle of energy that’s been waiting for me all day. She’s a great excuse when I’m trying to dodge a creeper at a bar (“Nope, can’t keep talking to you, gotta get home and take care of the cat.” Inevitable response: see first bullet above). She likes to meow at me when I sneeze and thinks its fun to sleep on the TV stand. She eschews people food in favor of cardboard, tape and stiff plastic and she figured out a few months ago that if she sleeps next to me when I’ve had a bad night, she’ll get extra attention and love in the morning for making me feel like I’m never really alone.

The most informed decision of my early 20s? Not even close. But a good reminder that sometimes the bad decisions turn out alright in the end.