Ready for his closeup...

I'm sure we've all been frustrated by government bureaucracy at some point. How can we be (arguably) the most powerful nation on earth, yet have our entire presidential election process yield a questionable result because of sloppy hole punching and antiquated voting machines? Why is filing tax returns so difficult that most people have to hire a professional to have confidence that a mistake hasn't been made? Making sickly and elderly folks navigate medicare? Don't get me started.

So here's one that cracks me up. Why are photos required for infant passports? Brendan will no longer look like his photo even by the time the booklet arrives in the mail. I'm all for airport security, but this passport will be valid for five years. He'll still be sporting this document through kindergarten. Am I the only one who thinks this is silly?

Going postal

The Dairy Queen

First, I'm sorry I haven't posted on The Bach. I have a mental block against it - I have something like four episodes to watch, and it seems like it requires an overwhelming amount of time. I've been trying to avoid any news about the final outcome - but I'm fairly certain I know the deal. I promise to have my thoughts posted soon.

In the meantime, I have some thoughts on another topic. I'm confident this is too much information to be sharing in a public forum, but that has not stopped me before, so here I go again...

As I mentioned in an earlier post, one of my sole past times these days is feeding the ravenous little child now living in my home. He eats constantly. Naturally, I'm trying to fulfill the essential requirement for my emancipation: a freezer full of breast milk. Enter my new best friend/worst enemy: the Medela Pump In Style.

Immediately after my first interaction with this awe inspiring contraption, I had two thoughts:
1. There is absolutely nothing stylish about any part of this "In Style" experience.
2. This machine was most definitely invented by a man.

After milking myself a few more times, I was compelled to explore the roots of this C-R-A-Z-Y device. It didn't take long to find the information I was looking for, and my suspicions were confirmed. I kid you not, the breast pump was invented by Edward Lasker: a man who lived to be 95 years old yet was only married once for a few months before his wife died of a "surgeon's error." He never had kids. He made his living as a mechanical and electrical engineer. Perfect. I'm quite sure if I spent more time I would discover that he had an unusually close relationship with his overbearing mother and later in life was known to display misogynistic tendencies whenever he was not locked in his dungeon-like basement.

If you saw this machine, you would believe as I do, that no innovations have been realized since Lasker's original 1927 model.

Edward Lasker (does he seem like he knows anything about breasts?)

Updated picture of me

I'm still here!

Are you?

I can't believe it's been so long since I posted something. It's because I've been working a lot. It's not that I don't have time to write - I'm a night owl, and could certainly write into the wee hours - it's just that nothing interesting is happening to me because I'm usually in the office. No inspiration...

This past weekend I managed not to do any work at all, but I did have to attend TWELVE HOURS of birthing class over two days. Seriously. Twelve hours. 14 year olds give birth in locker rooms and go back to class. What could possibly be on the agenda that takes 12 hours to explain? About 1 1/2 hours of it was useful. Really all I wanted to know was 1. when do I go to the hospital and 2. when should I get the epidural.

The remaining 10 1/2 hours involved a lot of "learning exercises" that I found ridiculous. For example, they made us hold ice cubes in our bare hands to create discomfort and had us try various distraction techniques. Of course then we had to share our thoughts out loud with the group. When the instructor asked us to share what we "trust about childbirth" I felt like saying, "Well, I trust that it's going to hurt more than holding an ice cube. Can we speed this up?"

After the first "hold the ice cube" exercise, when the teacher asked us all how we had coped with it, one guy said, "Well, I tried talking to the ice cube. I told it soon it would melt and I wouldn't feel it." Teacher: "Oh, that's excellent. How could you help your wife apply that during labor?" "Well, we could talk to her cervix." I did not belong in this class.

Saving grace? The class was held in a building across the street from one of my favorite restaurants in New York: Artisanal. Fondue for lunch. Now cheese I can talk to...

Crazy Like a Fox

I've written before about my affection for the New York crazies in general, and I've talked about one of my favorites, The Naked Cowboy. Turns out he's suing Mars for $6 million. Check out this article in the Journal explaining the situation. Basically, Mars used his likeness in a Times Square ad that attempts to draw people into the Hershey Store there. From what I've heard, the ad has already been taken down. Let's see if they are forced to pay up...

Narcissism in action

This is an old story by now, so undoubtedly, some of you have already heard this one. But it's fascinating and creepy, so I'm sharing for those that missed it.

A couple in England was forced to have their marriage annulled after discovering that they were twins! Yikes!

They had been separated at birth and each raised in adoptive families. They ended up meeting later in life. In a true demonstration that we're all in love with ourselves, they fell head over heels and married. ("You're so attractive." "No - YOU'RE so attractive...")

Yuck.

Here's the full story as reported by CNN.

Anniversary

It was exactly one year ago today that I tried to jam a quick doctor's appointment in before a conference call and out of the clear blue was told I had a brain tumor. After a few moments of genuine confusion, it sunk in a little and I actually started laughing. I was clearly in shock - although it was a little funny when you consider the tetanus shot story. It was a pretty dramatic start to the year (I skipped the conference call, by the way).

Yes, 2007 was an intense year to say the least. And some of you only know the half of it. It's time to fess up: I've been keeping a secret. Any of you who have seen me recently already know. As for the rest of you, click here.

Entrepreneurial spirit: alive and well in the burbs...

I can't remember if I've mentioned this already, but we're renovating our kitchen. Our designer is a former Israeli soldier and we're just a little scared of him. But he's doing his best to keep us on schedule, so I guess we're getting the tough love we've paid for.

Terry and I are both off from work this week and we're torturing ourselves with frustrating kitchen errands to stay in A's good graces. Over the past two days, we have spent a disproportionate number of hours and mental effort attempting to pick out a faucet. We zig zagged all over Long Island from show room to show room and so far the only thing we've accomplished is confirming that we have unreasonably expensive taste. Put us in a room with 237 faucets and we zoom in on the one tucked away in the corner that is the most outrageously overpriced one in the room. The kind of price tag that would make my farm-raised grandfather spin in his grave. Neither one of us can bring ourselves to give in to the urge and just say, "In the grand scheme of the overall budget, it's not that big a deal..." I don't think we can bear the thought of being those people. The people with the cool looking faucet who are in hock up to their eyeballs. So the search continues.

We saw some curious things in our journeys through the suburbs yesterday. My favorite was this duo of stores in Huntington. The first was a themed store I've seen many times before and wondered how on God's earth these businesses stay viable. The picture is a little blurry, but I'm sure you get the idea...


Seconds after passing this treasure trove of bargains, we passed another store almost directly across the street. I can only assume it was launched after exhaustive research - no doubt including a thorough need-gap and SWOT analysis - indicated an open opportunity in the market. The owners of this store seized the day...


Unfortunately, the faucets we like would never be sold in the first store...

Show me your scar and I'll show you mine...

I have a new appreciation and fascination with medical stories.

Anyone who's known me for any period of time knows I have always been squeamish about bodily interference. I passed out in the nurse's office in sixth grade following a nasty gash suffered at the business end of a linoleum carver in art class. In seventh grade I had to sit down on the curb of the strip mall parking lot after my knees buckled under the weight of my newly pierced ears. I sobbed so uncontrollably when a tetanus shot was administered that my mother was called in from the waiting room to deal with me. This was my college entrance physical. The people in the waiting room were stunned when an 18 year old emerged from the exam room with a pile of bunched up tissues and puffy eyes. I was 34 the first time I had blood drawn (not counting the finger pricks I had endured with great surrounding drama as a child).

But let me tell you, brain surgery has changed all that. I won't lie, I still don't love having blood drawn, but there have been some amazing transformations. The fact that I'm even contemplating the follow up surgery to have a snap implanted in my skull to anchor a hearing device onto my head speaks volumes (no pun intended). I've attended enough cocktail parties and dinners in other than museum-quiet settings to know that I will eventually have this surgery.

Beyond this, I seem to have passed comfort into fascination with all-things-medical. I ask inappropriately specific questions of friends - or even people I've just met - about procedures they've had done or are contemplating. I just wade right in and probe on the kinds of details I would have shunned in the past. I also have a new obsession: the plastic surgery makeover show on the Discovery Health channel. Have you SEEN this show? Amazing. There was a marathon on the other day - I could not tear myself away. [Update: I started writing this post last week before the death of Kanye West's mother following a tummy tuck and breast reduction. Did you know her doctor was the host of that Discovery Health show? Turns out he's not even board certified. What the hell!?]

Anyway, here's a story I heard recently that I find totally amazing. I don't know if it's truly fascinating or it's just my newly acquired taste for medically oriented tales that holds me rapt, but you be the judge.

I met two of my good friends for lunch the other day. They are a pair of creatives I worked with up until about 5 or 6 years ago - and I LOVED working with them. They still work together. I try my best to catch up with them from time to time. This was our first gathering since my surgery, so they were asking me lots of questions. Turns out, I'm not their only friend who's been through a recent major surgery, and they recounted this story to me...

Another friend of theirs faced a much more dire situation, but luckily is doing just fine now. This poor woman suffered from lung disease that necessitated a lung transplant. Indeed, she was lucky enough to be the recipient of an amazing act of generosity from a family in their own dire situation. After a successful transplant surgery and recovery, the patient reached out to meet the family. They hadn't sealed the records. Maybe they felt that meeting this person would help them feel their loved one had not died in vain.

During the emotional meeting, the family asked what kind of physical differences the patient was experiencing. She explained that other than the exhilaration of simply feeling healthy again, this lifelong dedicated organic-food worshiper had the odd side effect of an undeniable craving for the fish fillet sandwich at McDonald's. She was horrified to find she couldn't help but give in to the fast food urge once or twice a week.

Of course you can guess what I'm about to say. The girl who's lungs had been donated loved the fish fillet sandwich from McDonald's and ate it all the time.

I'm sure doctors could never explain this. But I think the good ones would not dispute it.

!?!?!?!?!?

Ok, Bachelor fans. I am still trying to figure that one out. Needless to say I will be watching tonight's "After the Final Rose" episode for an explanation from Mr. Womack. Since most of you reading this already know what happened, it will feel all wrong to start at the beginning, but allow the indulgence for those that get their only Bachelor fix here...

Meeting Mom

First of all, is this supposed to be Brad's house? I'm confused. Isn't he from Austin? That house looks like it's on the ocean. My friend from Austin tells me there is a river there and parts of it are wide enough that it could seem like a wider body of water, but I don't know. Anyway, where ever that house really is, he needs an interior decorator. It seemed like a Hampton's share house - you know those big gorgeous houses that get stripped of everything before they get rented out to minimize the damage. It felt empty (hmm... symbolic foreshadowing?)

But Brad's mom seems cute and fun. I'm thinking she would be a good mother in law as far as MILs go (I married an orphan. I'm a lucky, lucky woman).

In preparation for DeAnna's arrival, Brad describes her as one of strongest and most independent people he's met in a long time. I don't know if that would be a good thing for a MIL used to ruling the roost, but momma is happy that DeAnna is from Atlanta.

Maybe this is not new and I missed it before, but all of a sudden Brad is calling her "Dee". Out loud I said, "What? He's calling her Dee now?" Without skipping a beat, Terry pipes in, "I think it's short for 'D Cup'"

Anyway, Brad tells his family "Dee" has been a bartender for 8 years. He said "has been". Doesn't that sound like present tense to you? She's listed as a realtor. I just found that odd. Anyway, Brad jokes that maybe DeAnna can be an employee if she sticks around. How affectionate.

Brad's mom notices that he can't stop touching Dee and asks Dee if she's expecting a proposal. She immediately responds, "Definitely". Cocky. But she seemed appropriately respectful and butt-kissing and I think she wins over Mrs. Womack in the end.

Off camera, DeAnna says Brad's mother reminds her of her own mother. That dead mother card has worked extremely well for this girl. (If Hillary is watching this episode she's thinking, "I wish my mother was dead")

I don't really have anything to say about the Jenni family summit. She just keeps laughing that dolphin laugh and it's SO annoying. I think Momma finds her sweet but is none too thrilled about spending every Thanksgiving with the sonic giggler.

At this point I'm thinking that D cup is going home with a ring...

Brad has a heart to heart with mom, and watching the two of them is so endearing. Brad is clearly a momma's boy. He tells mom that he knows he will be breaking two hearts, "Mine and the woman I say good bye to." Mom basically says, "Yeah, good luck with that. I don't know what I would do if I were you." Brad responds, "Thanks for nothing!" How cute are they?

DeAnna, I can see why you want to share that Mrs. Womack title with this woman...

Last chance to tell me how much you love me...

When Brad stops by DeAnna's place for a visit, she is cooking and baking to relieve her stress. What man could resist a woman who relieves stress by making cobbler instead of shrieking about how he just doesn't understand her?

Just so Brad doesn't think it's going to be all cobbler and coddling, Dee sets the record straight on who will rule that house when Brad asks what will happen if he leaves the toilet seat up, "The first three times I'll put it down myself. After that we're going to have a talk. I want things done the way I want them done. The dishes should be put where I want them. The laundry should be folded the way I want." Ok - I may not know how to turn the oven on, but I have more in common with Dee than I thought.

Does Jenni make him cobbler? No. She tells him she's going to be a lot of work, but she thinks she's totally worth it. After all, she can communicate with dolphins. She lets him know she's falling in love with him, but the words come out in sputters in between spit projecting exhales. She is so unappealing right now that I'm betting Brad wishes she was back in Phoenix.

The final rose?

Jenni shows up for what she has to hope is a proposal. Would you wear those Christmas ornament earnings to such an occasion? Or to any occasion, really? Brad utters some sweet nothings and all seems to be going ok. But then he brings his head up with sudden drama and through her sonar, Jenni senses the swift blow coming. They hug and her hair sticks to his Don Johnson stubble. A final humiliation before she's whisked away.

Chris appears out of the bushes by the driveway to escort DeAnna to Brad and I notice that our host is particularly useless in this episode.

Brad tells DeAnna he's already said goodbye to Jenni. She smiles and I'm thinking this is all going according to plan. I thought she would be the one. But suddenly Brad starts having a freak out. He begins walking in a circle and exhibiting that calisthenic behavior he displayed right before booting Bettina. This is unexpected. What is going on? DeAnna is left awkwardly standing up by the rose pedestal all by herself and I'm thinking she must feel like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing when Patrick did his solo down on the floor and she was left standing on the stage.

But he comes back. And that's when he says it. Did she remember when she told him that marriage was forever? He believes that too which is why he can't make that promise right now and he has to say goodbye.

Holy cow, I did not see that coming. I half expect our host to pop up on the podium and re-explain the premise of the show to our Bachelor-would-be-proposer.

If I were DeAnna, I think I would be speechless - but God bless her, she demands some answers. "So what? We're just friends? That just doesn't sound right. How can you say you care about someone and then just let them walk away?" She hugs him before leaving, but the look on her face is not embracing.

Wow. Poor DeAnna. First a dead mother and now this. And I think this is even worse than coming in second place. In that scenario at least you can tell yourself, "Well, he likes me, but he likes someone else more." This is, "Well, he'd rather blow this whole thing off - the whole reason he came here - than get engaged to me." Come on, Brad! We all know you don't have to stay together! Give the girl some Chopard.

I need answers. Thank God it's time for the "After the final rose" episode.

Where have all the crazies gone?

As I've documented before, one of the things I love about New York is the crazies. They're not just tolerated here, they're celebrated. Perhaps you've heard of Naked Cowboy Man - the guy who hangs out (literally and figuratively) in Times Square with a guitar and some sh*% kickers. He's a mainstay on the tourist circuit. And of course we all have our local favorites.

I took this picture in the Meat Packing District a few weeks ago as I was strolling to get my haircut. It was not Halloween, by the way. Just folks doing their errands on a regular Saturday morning. No one batted an eye at this guy. (Granted, he may not be a bonafide crazy - he could just be a kids party entertainer trying to make a buck. I still love that he doesn't stand out a bit on 13th street.)

I don't know what it is about the crazies that I love. There is something so defiantly independent about some of them. Just living their life out loud, not at all caring what the rest of us think. Highly evolved, really. (Remember, I'm a girl who gets upset if I think people on the subway mistake my commuting shoes for the actual shoes I plan to wear with that outfit.)

Speaking of the subway, it offers some of the best freak watching in the city. I am sad to say, my half deafness has put a hindrance on my enjoyment in this area. I don't know if this will go away over time or not, but loud and piercing noises are particularly bothersome to me now. Aside from the cranial discomfort, I'm also really paranoid about exposing my only hearing ear to decibles that could be loud enough to cause damage. Gotta protect what little I have left!

So I ride the subway with an earplug in my good ear. It muffles out the screeching of metal wheels on the tracks as we pull into or out of stations and makes the ride more bearable. But it has the unpleasant side effect of blocking out most of the psychotic ramblings one is normally treated to while riding the A train.

Yesterday I knew I was missing a good one. There was a guy sitting amongst the tired morning commuters and he could have blended right in. No tattered clothing, no stuffed shopping bags, just a normal looking guy. Totally average, except that he was shouting out his deeply pondered life philosophy at the absolute top of his lungs to a car full of unphased people immersed in the The Post - none of whom paid him any mind. I could hear enough through my earplug to know he was preaching about Starbucks. Something about a crazy person belting out wisdom through the symbolism of a yuppie icon such as Starbucks made me yearn for my un-handicapped eavesdropping days.

Mind you, I don't love ALL the crazies. Some of them are scary. Or smelly. Or both. But Starbucks man was ok by me...

Coincidence?

It's pretty obvious to me the designers at Bannana Republic read my blog while planning for their Fall line. I've started a circular trend...

Can I ask you a question?

Shortly after sunset nine years ago today, on this beach in Sag Harbor, I agreed to marry Terence. I've been driving him crazy ever since. Let's face it. I was driving him crazy for the three years leading up to that day, and although he likes to act like he didn't know what he was getting himself into, he knew full well. He asked anyway. Not as smart as every one thinks, that boy.

By the way, this just may be the year that I finally order a wedding picture - if not the whole album.

When I recently told a good friend at work that I had yet to order a single wedding picture and I was about to celebrate my eighth anniversary, he suggested I outsource it. He thought my bagel bearing friends would be a good task force, or at last resort - I could just send the job overseas. When I further told him my mother has made several personal requests for just one picture from that day because she simply wants one of the whole family with my father in it, he looked at me with an expression that said, "Stay right where you are, lady. Don't move. I'm calling the police. There's a place for people like you."

I'm normally very efficient. I don't know why this particular task seems so daunting - although in my defense, our photographer shot about 35 rolls of film. That's a lot of sorting. Maybe I'll start tonight. I can pretend the skin under my eyes is still that taut...

Love it or leave it

I was raised in the suburbs and will always think of Port Washington (Long Island) as "home." I love spending lazy weekends out there. Yet after living in Manhattan for the past 14 years, I now think of myself as a New Yorker in the urban sense of the word. Between yesterday and today I had two experiences that made the evolution more transparent.

Wednesday:
Yesterday's morning commute in New York City was historical. A sudden and intense storm overwhelmed the city's drainage system with an unmanageable volume of water. It was serious enough that service was stopped entirely or severely disrupted on literally every single line within the entire subway system. NYC came to a grinding halt.

When I turned on the local morning news the traffic reporter vehemently admonished, "If you haven't left for work yet, don't bother. Stay where you are for at least another hour." So I did. I didn't even leave my apartment until 9:00. I didn't walk into the lobby of my Agency until nearly TWO HOURS later (normally a roughly 35 minute trek including a stop at Starbucks).

The worst of it was the 20 - 30 minutes that we stood absolutely motionless with no announcements in the dark tunnel outside the Columbus Circle station. Almost every cubic square inch of that subway car was jam packed with sweaty body parts in a way that made it impossible for anyone to feel clean. We were all frustrated, anxious, late for work and MISERABLE.

Not for one minute did the thought, "I need to get out of this god-forsaken city" cross my mind. Instead I thought, "I should make a donation to Straphangers."

Thursday:
I have already expressed the ballet flat induced fashion-fatigue I've been experiencing, so I'm starting to brave kitten heels in the office. My balance is compromised enough that I can't walk around on sidewalks in them, so today I wore flip-flops for the commute and then slipped on some cute green suede mules with a modest heel to wear for the day. Because I'm kind of old school, I don't think it's right to be seen in flip flops in the office, so I make the switch a block away. You never know whom you'll run into on the elevator.

The same philosophy applies going home, so I waited until I was out of the building and had crossed 8th Avenue into the side street before making the switch. I leaned against a concrete tree planter to keep my balance through the footwear swap. First one shoe, then the other, then a quick Blackberry check. The whole transaction took maybe a minute and a half. With mules safely back in my gigantic purse, I continued flip-flopping down 49th Street cursing the tourists for taking over the theater district.

Guess what was going on just on the other side of the planter? Not two feet from me? A homeless man was standing up from his evidently fake wheelchair and peeing against the same hunk of concrete I had been leaning against for the last 90 seconds.

Did I bat an eye? No. I simply thought, thank God none of that got on my cute suede shoes.

I know these anecdotes only fortify the soundness of others' decisions to live in a location that affords a house with plenty of space, a yard, maybe even a pool - and virtually no risk of anyone peeing on them during their commute.

As for me, I loved the camaraderie that came with being stuck in a laughably ridiculous commuting situation that could not have resulted had we all been behind the wheel of our own cars. And I laughed for at least two blocks over the audacity of the "cripple" peeing in broad daylight right smack in front of the Ambassador Theater amidst throngs of tourists.

I love this city.

Can TMI lead to DWI?

In preparation for the tournament, I went to Costco with my brother and his wife to load up on beverages. We have big tubs of iced drinks placed throughout the course. Well, we bought so much beer that I had to fill out a form that gets registered with the State! What the hell!? Feels very big brother to me.

I filled it out, but should I be worried? I haven't driven a car since my surgery, but I thought I might have had to tomorrow. We have a LOT of stuff to bring out for our silent auction. Turns out we've squeezed it all into four other vehicles, and we are going to make one extra trip for a large screen TV. No driving for me.

But I'm feeling ready and may try on Tuesday while I'm still out in the burbs at my mom's. What if I get pulled over? Given my vertigo status, I know for a fact I would fail a line test on the spot. Then all they have to do is check in their computer and see that I purchased 288 cans of beer on Friday. Perhaps Nicole Ritchie and I can share a cell.


On a separate note, we're very depressed about the weather report in the Traynor household tonight. There is a good chance for on and off showers all during our tournament tomorrow. We've always held our event on the last Thursday in July. This year was the first year we were given the option to hold it on a Monday - so we thought that would be easier for folks to take a day off - make a long weekend out of it. But we knew we were tempting the golf gods. When we booked it I said to my brother, "This will probably be the first year we get rain."

What can I say? Golfers are hearty souls. That's why there is an object called a "golf umbrella."

File under: stuff you can't make up

Dannielynn is now ten months old and couldn't be cuter. She has six teeth, her mother's charisma, and even better, she seems to be surrounded by the one thing that eluded Anna Nicole: unconditional love.

That crazy baby daddy race seems like a distant memory, doesn't it? Yet it all came rushing back today with deliciously bizarre news from the most surreal DNA applicant. Prince Fritz von Anhalt, fifth husband of Zsa Zsa Gabor and former Dannielynn-daddy wannabe, is now pioneering new ground in odd behavior.

TMZ is reporting a heck of a wrap up to the week for this batty old guy. On Thursday the Prince was found naked in his Bentley, handcuffed to his steering wheel. He claims to have been robbed at gun point by three women, but there seems to be reason for a healthy dose of doubt. I'm guessing there is a more embarrassing explanation. The very next morning he was in court on a different matter. Apparently, the Prince is fighting Zsa Zsa's daughter, Francesca Hilton (Great Aunt of Paris. oh, the tangled web), whom he believes stole money from his wife.

Do we think this turmoil is the result of royal inbreeding or wealth induced eccentricity?

A picture says a thousand words

This past Saturday was my four month anniversary. I don't know why this seems like the right time, but I'm including a link to some pictures taken during the four days following my surgery. They're not bad at all, but if you're particularly squeamish, don't look. I have already shown them to a lot of folks - I've been surprised by how genuinely curious people are about this whole thing, and the pictures seem to answer some questions.

I never felt like sharing them more publicly before. But now I have some distance, and frankly, when I look at these today, I feel proud.

This is my brag book.

The natives are getting restless...

It's soooo hot in New York City today. Some of us are going a little crazy. This morning on the traffic report I heard the announcer say, "Stay away from the southbound Westside Highway. There is a man on the side of the road at 30th Street trying to balance a watermelon wedge on his head and everyone is slowing down to look. You might think this is part of a promotion, but it's not. It's just a guy balancing a watermelon on his head."

This is why I love living in New York - we have a special brand of crazies.

Circular logic

They say the first step toward overcoming an addiction is admitting you have a problem. It's been pointed out to me that I may have an issue (thank you DM), but I don't think I have the strength to face it. Do I need an intervention?

My friend has a good design eye, and when he recently visited my apartment, he noticed a certain circular proclivity.








Do I have to stop the madness or should I embrace this tendency? Maybe it's just my thing. A signature, if you will.

Here's the problem. I love this deco inspired mirror with beveled edges and etched CIRCLES, and want to buy it for my bedroom. Should I just say no, or can I put my head in the sand and act like I don't have a problem?


Before you answer, you should consider the pattern on the last two dresses I bought:

Made for a Corona ad

I had a really long dream with my dad in it this morning. I love when that happens. I think it may have been a Father's Day visit.

Speaking of Father's Day, if you still don't have a gift, find a place that sells Reef flip flops. How perfect are these?

Kind of like me, these flip flops have a bottle opener built into their sole (read: soul):


Buy them here.
Men's version

More practical (or less, depending on your lifestyle), these come with a compartment for carrying keys, credit cards, cash. How "Get Smart".


Buy them here.

Cool

Completely at odds with my recent desire to purge our apartment of chargers, I kinda want this ridiculous thing. It's a Bluetooth enabled laser keyboard. It projects on any flat surface and you can type away to compose email, etc. Imagine how powerful I'd be with this and a snap on my head.



Find it on ThinkGeek (notice their logo. Could that be why I want this?)