Just got my annual report from WordPress! I’ll definitely be trying to beat this in 2015 (if I can ever get my head wrapped around my crazy new job…
Thanks to the WordPress.com “stats helper monkeys”!
Here’s an excerpt:
A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 6,600 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.
Today is a big day.
Want to know why?
Of course you do.
I’m happy to announce that…
It’s official! I pulled the trigger, and my blog is now
http://www.dohotmessticated.com
Because I have often heard that…
{Image from mycrazy-beautifulife.tumblr.com via Pinterest}
And I tend to listen to very good advice.
Celebrate with me, please!
xo
A big (and potentially embarrassing?) dream came true for me this morning.
A week or two ago, I contacted one of my blogging idols, Jordan Reid of Ramshackle Glam, with a question. After receiving such an amazing response to my Wife of Solitude post, I wanted to reach out to one of the most inspiring women I’ve come to admire and who I know has experienced very similar things with her husband Kendrick heading back to grad school. She responded with the most poignant of emails, and it was so helpful. So incredibly helpful, in fact, that I found myself holding back tears at my desk. I expected her to relate and understand, of course. But what I didn’t expect the extent to which she actually did – just as I hadn’t expected so many of my strong, loving and vibrant friends to confess similar feelings to me. It was a strange experience laying my feelings out on the table like that, especially since Bill was so supportive and receptive to my public exposure of a personal struggle of our shared married life that he even retweeted the post to his local followers:
But back to Jordan. She reposted my question with a link to my blog (!!!) on her own beautiful Ramshackle Glam, adding her response to the bottom in the form of her own generous wisdom and experience. The post can be found here:
I highly recommend you hop on over and read her post, today and everyday! I guarantee you’ll fall in love with her take on life (and with her adorable son Indy).
New Year’s Eve is always an interesting holiday for me. There’s the excitement for a brand new year. Then there’s the nostalgia of looking back on everything in the past one. There’s usually a little sadness involved, what with Christmas being over and the anticipation dying down. And don’t forget the electricity in the air when everyone begins to feel like reinventing themselves.
I’m usually a pretty big supporter of ringing in the New Year in overly fabulous ways. But not this year.
My New Years’ plans started out in the vein of throwing a huge cocktail party with a close friend, Danae. But when Christmas travel plans prevented us from planning early and then Danae and her husband both got sick, we decided to nix the endeavor two days before. So now I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Bill had to work until 11:30 p.m., which meant he would just make it for a midnight kiss on our first married turn-of-the-year. I had been invited downtown, but that makes it especially difficult for him to drive from work, park, and get passed the line, in the bar, through the crowds, and next to me in the 30 precious minutes after he clocked out. We tried that two years ago, and it wasn’t the best experience for either of us.
So I had a few options. I could go downtown with a large group of some of the most fun people I know, but risk missing Bill at midnight. Plus, no matter how hard I tried, I would probably end up hungover on New Years’ Day. (No thanks.) The other option at this point would be to stay home with the dog, in my cozies, watching movies, and drinking champagne. Alone. I found myself excruciatingly torn, and I couldn’t figure out why. I didn’t want to be alone, but I also didn’t want to fight a sea of drunk people all night long. I didn’t want a dead house, but I could not wrap my head around deafening bass thumping and party screaming either. I felt like my former party girl self was at war with my new wife persona, and I didn’t like it. I don’t want to be lame. I really don’t. So I didn’t say anything, and I wrestled with my decision and spent the last few days of 2013 stressing about it.
But then I realized that one of the things that I wished I could change about 2013 was how anxious I felt, the composed show I put on, and the feelings I hid. I spent a lot of time struggling internally with how others would view me and what they would think, and the shoulds and the coulds and the have-tos took over. It made for some unnecessary unhappiness, and I didn’t want to do that again. 2014 is going to be different.
So I put on my big girls pants, and I owned up to my true feelings in a text to Danae.
“So I’m feeling really weird about tonight… I’m almost feeling like this year was so crazy that I want something more mellow and less crowded with college students than downtown.”
I held my breath. I had officially entered the zone of marriage decreptitude I had been violently denying and fighting tooth and nail since July. I’m only 26. That’s too young to die on the inside, right? But to my surprise, Danae’s response echoed mine.
“Oh I totally feel the same way! I’ve been going non-stop and then this cold kinda killed it for me. Honestly, I’m happy watching a movie and drinking champagne. I know I’m a party pooper, but I really don’t want to go out.”
If she’s a party pooper then I’m a party pooper, because that sounds like exactly what I had been hoping for over the last few days. I just wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud… until now. And guess what? I said it, and I felt SO MUCH BETTER. We explicitly decided to spend this New Years’ Eve in a way that would set the tone for the year to come, and the result was beyond spectacular. A simple night celebrating good friends manifested in Danae and I in sequined dresses and drinking peach champagne… while watching comedies and putting together a good old-fashioned puzzle in the company of her husband, her siblings, and – at the end of the night – Bill.
Not only were the activities of the night a perfect mix of simple and glam, but the company was just as fantastic. Danae was such a wonderful addition to my life last year as our wedding stylist/coordinator with her company Danae Grace Events, but more importantly as a friend once the nuptial craziness died down. As you can see, she has an uncanny ability to make simple things beautiful, without second thought. I am constantly inspired around her.
Simple does not have to mean ordinary!
A snapshot of the season. (I often say my favorite food is champagne, but even more so when it’s enjoyed from gold-rimmed flutes in front of a Christmas tree.)
The husband and I just after midnight, looking forward to what’s to come!
So in the end, we wore our sequins, drank our champagne, and shared a glamorous night in. Our night was quiet. It was cozy. It was comforting. Oh, and it was marvelous, of course.
Just like I hope the next year is – in every way, shape, and form.
With the end of the year fast approaching, I’m finding a familiar feeling creeping back in. Now, I’ve been known to frequent bouts of inspiration over the tiniest and most mundane of daily occurrences. (Just ask Bill how I feel about Thursdays.) However, the prospects of a brand new year always seem to elevate that to an unbearable excitement that must either be released immediately in a frenzy of creativity and fevered passion… or the alternative – namely, imminent implosion.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t like imploding.
That leaves me with a problem. How do I completely reorganize the house/workout like a maniac/dominate my finances/cook gourmet meals daily/redecorate/overhaul my life/Pinterest the shit out of everything RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY?!?!
You might tell me I can’t, but I won’t hear it. Save your breath, you downer.
So what is inspiring me this second? (I better not take too long to write this or the list will fall off the bottom of your screen and into your lap.)
1. Queen Bey, Mrs. Carter, Beyoncé Knowles Herself
Can we just talk about this woman for a second? She is just beyond. JUST. BEYOND. Dropping a completely new art form with her visual album with absolutely zero promotion ahead of time, only for it to be one of the most stunning works to ever have existed. It’s such a beautiful portrait of feminism, love, art, and life. And then this shows up on my newsfeed.
I am floored by this woman. And Taylon.
2. The December Issue of Glamour Magazine
This issue is my favorite every year, as it includes the Glamour Women of the Year Awards. This year, they had the honorees and the presenters write down their life mottos, so here’s a little sneak peek of the compilation, which can be found at http://www.glamour.com/inspired/blogs/the-conversation/2013/11/women-of-the-year-life-mottos.html.
I especially like Seth Meyers’ little gem in there. How’s that for inspiration?
3. The Likes of Women Bloggers
There is a new club on the internet, consisting of family women who have taken their previously unrecognized talents of beautifying their domestic worlds and just living, and creating their own careers by writing, photographing, and inspiring us about it all. And when I say all, I mean ALL. There is some backlash that these women are furthering the anxiety and need for perfection in our already susceptible female population, and that is true in some cases, speaking from experience. But following the lives of these women has given me, a newlywed domestic disaster, a sense of camaraderie and that ever-elusive permission to be myself. For instance, my personal home-life idol, Jordan Reid of Ramshackle Glam, who readily owns up to “the occasional mini-disasters that come along with… the idea that true personal style is all about constant experimentation”. Then there is Jen of IHeart Organizing, a mother of three boys who constantly dominates the chaos that is life at home with affordable and innovative solutions that put Martha Stewart to shame. And, of course, Sherry and John (okay, okay, I threw a husband in there because husbands are great too) of Young House Love, who turned their love of both home renovation and the documentation of it into a full-fledged online following. All of these women are extraordinary for the very reason that they are ordinary. Yes, they are beautiful and talented, but they are also smart and hilarious and educated and RELATABLE. They have children and families – do not miss the inspiring story of how John and Sherry’s daughter Clara came into the world here: http://www.younghouselove.com/2011/04/claras-birth-story/ – and they have made their own careers out of celebrating much scrutinized path of mother and homemaker. But the best part is that they see your ideals and raise you REALITY, thereby making it okay to mess up, to take risks, and hell, to be a hot mess if you so please, damnit.
4. The Lorna Jane Philosophy
That’s me, loving life and LJ.
I used to describe this activewear company as the Australian Lululemon, but now that they are here in California(!), I don’t have to! The philosophy behind this company, started by Lorna Jane Clarkson, is all about active living. Their logo is three symbols next to each other, and they stand for Move. Nourish. Believe. I let Lorna explain in her own words:
Not only is the message behind LJ incredible, but their marketing and their blog MoveNourishBelieve are amazingly motivating. I am so inspired by this company and their founder Lorna Jane Clarkson, and my life, my happiness, and my health are benefitting. This New Year, go ahead and start with their Self-Love Contract, and just be better for it already, okay?
5. And lastly, THIS.
And maybe tomorrow too.
(Image found via Pinterest via iheartinpiration.com)
Happy New Year! You can find me loving like Beyoncé; dominating like the Glamour Women of the Year; celebrating like Jordan, Jen and Sherry; and living my most active life. Wanna join? ❤
You guys.
LOOK WHAT I BOUGHT LAST NIGHT.
WHAT?!?
So who would of thought that I would get so worked up standing by myself in front of the massive wall of roasting pans in Bed Bath & Beyond? As it turn outs, cooking my first Thanksgiving dinner is apparently a really big deal to me.
Weird.
Because of Bill’s work schedule, we won’t have the opportunity to travel and see family for Thanksgiving this year. Even though it will just be Bill and I in our quiet little starter home on Thursday, I feel like that makes it that much more important to celebrate the day. What I didn’t expect was that making my first turkey would feel like a huge responsibility. I’m determined to make it from scratch because if I’m going to take on this rite of passage into wifehood, I’m going to go big and stare it down in the face like the fem-beast I am. Turkey, hear me roar.
But really, I’m pretty nervous. I have been putting a lot of thought into our menu, scouring over websites and blogs and magazines and Pinterest, trying to pick out the perfect combination of healthy and traditional. Oh, and when I say “putting a lot of thought into”, what I’m really trying to say is something more akin to “obsessing”, or perhaps “researching thoroughly in a state of suppressed-and-consequently-simmering panic”. Need proof?
The two of us are going to be eating Thanksgiving dinner all the way to Christmas.
I think all this is coming from watching the pre-holiday planning and preparation, as well as the intensive day-of labor, that my mom and grandmother took so seriously growing up. One year I helped, taking on all the gross de-necking and what have you that my mom was clearly disgusted by, but other than that my turkey roasting skills are as underdeveloped as one’s turkey roasting skills can be. However, if there was ever a time to be grateful for the first year of marriage – you know, when the honeymoon isn’t over and the adoring husband pretends he doesn’t mind a disaster of a house and enthusiastically chews tough/burnt/undercooked dinners – well friends, this would be it.
So in conclusion, here goes nothing! That Caphalon box you see above is here in my kitchen as a glaring reminder of the character-building to come in the very near future. And let me say that this year, along with my family, friends, and a wonderful life, what I am thankful for is this blog. Because if this all goes to hell, as is entirely possible, at I’ll have some material to write about and you’ll have a good laugh at my expense.
Here’s to solidifying my status as a domestic hot mess, and I think we can all agree that there aren’t too many feelings as grand as validation!
xo
You know those weeks when hardly anything goes right, nothing comes easy, and frankly, everything just kind of sucks? This was one of those weeks.
Like Thursday. Ohhhh yes, let’s talk about Thursday. A shining, pretty little example of the week in general. Before I get into details I want to establish that the week was one of those – and I know we’ve all had these – with too much to do and nowhere near enough time, energy, and patience to get it all done. Think on that for a second, and have a little sympathy. Now, that means that I needed to get into the office early. But lo and behold, the first time I slept through my alarm in all of 2013 happened to be, you guessed it! THURSDAY. Up, ready, and out the door with time to spare, but a girl’s got to eat, right? Of course this means a pit stop at Pete’s for Simply Oatmeal and Genmai Cha tea. (Sidenote: If you haven’t tried that tea, go do it. Classic Japanese green tea with roasted popped brown rice sounds weird, but it smells and tastes amazing.) Of course, the line is long and takes forever. I still get into the office early, but later than anticipated, and in general, I don’t enjoy inhaling my breakfast at my desk while trudging through email.
So then the day takes off, and it’s one thing after another flying in to push back all of the things I really have to do, like prepare for that speech I have to give to the higher-up’s advisory council and that huge presentation I have to give tomorrow and, oh yeah, that highly anticipated workshop I’m so glad I came up with two months ago that I felt was SUCH a great idea, and all the students I’m supposed to see in between. That means that even though I woke up to one of those days where I’m so constantly hungry that I’ve turned into an insatiable beast, I already know that a lunch break is out of the question. Good thing I brought the leftover Shrimp and Andouille Sausage Jambalaya that I was SO looking forward to… dropping straight upside down on the floor with a huge splat, not a single bite or ounce of integrity salvageable from the steaming ruined pile. And as luck would have it, as I’m a sniffling (read: crying at work) hunched-over mess in the middle of a main office thruway trying to clean up the disaster, an employer recruiting our students walks by. And so does an intern. The look of pity from the former and a confused look of awkward terror from the latter later, I’m left sans lunch with zero pride and no time to get a replacement as I head back to my office to shut the door and sob while attempting to type and squint through tears at this stupid PowerPoint that’s ruining my life. If that weren’t enough, I’ll spare you the gory details of the extra hour I stayed late, the painful and emotional conversation, the unexpected dropping of money, and the changing of every stoplight in town just before I got to it when all I want is to JUST GET HOME that occupied the rest of the day.
Instead I’ll just tell you that right at the moment when I had absolutely HAD IT and fruitlessly started yelling at the asshole tailgating me in the middle of my small town just to take my anger out on somebody (ANYBODY), I also realized something else.
I realized, “This is water.”
This was water.
This is, was, and always will be… water.
If you don’t know what I mean, please watch the this video created by TheGlossary.com and inspired by a speech given by novelist David Foster Wallace:
For me, on this ugly Thursday, the realization that this was water cleared the way. All of a sudden I was able to remember the parts of my day that weren’t that bad, and oh yeah, the parts that were actually… GOOD.
The part where my husband showed up at the office with a plate of fish tacos to let me eat and work through lunch and our dog to get me to smile (if only just a little).
The part where an unprompted coworker told me I was rocking it, despite feeling like I was trudging through quicksand while trying to beat the deadlines.
The part where I actually had a job at which to have a bad day.
Or how about my favorite part, when I finally walked through the door to my home to find it warm and comforting, with pot roast and vegetables simmering on the kitchen counter, filling every room with their smell, and with the gentle humming of washer and dryer filling the silence upstairs. Indy was sitting on the couch, happy to see me. Bill came tearing down the stairs, a smile and humble pride at figuring out the Crockpot all over his face.
The funny thing about water is that the more you thrash and kick and fight it, the faster you sink. But if you stop struggling and just feel it, eventually you’ll float back up to the surface. So that begs the question… Are you going to let it all come flooding in to surround you and fill your lungs so you drown? Or are you going to stop focusing on the shit, and see the beauty and the peace and the calm lying just beyond the surface?
Your choice, love. Your choice.
A while ago – on a particularly rough Wednesday, mind you – I stumbled upon an article written for the Telegraph entitled:
As you can imagine, this was by far the most encouraging thing I have heard in awhile. After reading the article, it makes sense that this would be the particular time when all of the negative factors would come crashing into each other, creating the perfect cocktail for a complete and utter train wreck on your face. Wednesday is when work stress is at it’s peak, what with all the things you need to get done by Friday afternoon facing off with that well-intentioned-but-never-ending to-do list we all made on Monday. Add to that the natural afternoon slump we all feel in the middle of the afternoon, with lunch safely and snugly in our bellies. Then factor in that the effects of booze take a few days to show up on your skin, and we may or may not have thrown a few back over the weekend. (But with the work week we all had last week, who wouldn’t?!) Top it all off with the finding that women logged the least amount of sleep on Monday, which you guessed it, can take a few days to surface, and you’ve got a lot of fabulous women transforming into the zombies from World War Z faster that it takes you to undress Brad Pitt with your eyes in the first scene of the same movie.
Pretty sweet, if you ask me.
Or not.
So dragging you down in the dirt and rubbing your face in a big pile of insecurity is not my intention. Instead, I want to give you reminder to take care of yourself at the lowest point of the week. You are incredible, and you are working hard. In the hopes that you’ll remember what makes it all worth it, here is a gift from me to you in the form of a gentle nudge to remember the reasons why we do what we do, courtesy of one of my favorite songs by Brandon & Leah.
Happy Wednesday!
P.S. I think you look beautiful.
Be sure to celebrate the small things…
More than a 100 views on do(hot mess)ticated today! Thank you for being here!
(And by “here” I mean in the world.)
Photo by Marlein Overakker via HonestlyWTF
Since Billy put this pretty little ring on my finger, I seem to have lost the ability to not accidentally abuse my hands in any number of ways. I can’t help but think about how when I was little, the only redeeming moment of visiting the dentist’s office would be putting those plastic adjustable birthstone rings from the reward toy box on my hand after my check-up. The rest of the day would be spent shopping with Mom and admiring how gorgeous my hands were and silently bubbling over about the real hardware I would be rocking some day. ( I didn’t care if I’d have to put it there myself. Where you at Bey, Kelly, and Michelle? I depend on ME.)
Well, now I have the most beautiful piece of (real) bling on my left hand, and I can’t seem to keep the surrounding extremities intact. In the last three weeks, I have found myself in normal everyday domestic situations that have lead to blood, sweat (okay, no sweat really), and a few suppressed tears.
Scenario 1: Cutting Up Pineapple. I never liked pineapple. In fact, I always hated it. That is, until the Super Senior Year of College Taste Bud Revolution of 2010, when my senses decided to become preoccupied with every kind of food I had previously despised. Except olives. Gross. But oranges, dark chocolate, pineapple, etc., suddenly became in frequent rotation of my Crazy Intense Random Cravings Cycle. Anyway, fast forward to 10:07pm on a recent Sunday night when, while waiting for Bill to come home from work, I had to have pineapple. I, of course, decide to use the giant chopping knife I am wielding to attempt to scoop pineapple out of the rind, subsequently giving the index finger of my infamous left hand a good hack and leaving a bit of a gash big enough to nauseate myself for a good 5-10 minutes.
Scenario 2: Making My Fiance Dinner. Bill is a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Well, really he’s a “food-in-general” kind of guy, but who cares about logistics. So in an effort to make him dinner on his break after the 6 o’clock news, I have marinated chuck steak hanging out in the 400 degree oven Well, what goes better with steak than roasted red potatoes? Chop ’em up, toss ’em in olive oil, sprinkle ’em with garlic salt and Italian seasoning. Lay ’em out on a baking sheet, insert ’em in the bottom rack of the oven. Slide left pinkie knuckle the entire length of the inside of said 400 degree oven’s glass door before brain registers searing pain. Wait, that last part doesn’t sound right.
Scenario 3: Decorating the Guest Bathroom. I have a guest room! And a guest bathroom! And I’m really excited about it! And while my budget does not include brand new bathroom finery, I have an aged yet passable set of a soap dish, lotion dispenser, and tooth brush made out of broken dark red glass pieces fashioned into a mosaic pattern. Here I am, washing the last few years of storage off of the small collection. First the soap dish, then the lotion dispenser, and finally the tooth brush holder. This tooth brush holder is basically a small clear drinking glass with a mosaic base, and while it looks like the glass could easily come out of the base, this is entirely false. I give the base a twist. It doesn’t budge. I give the base an exponentially greater, uninhibited twist. I end up with a shard of glass stuck in my index finger.
Expert Tip for Navigating Domestication: Keep a steady supply of bandages handy in fashion-forward (read: small child friendly) patterns.
My bandage of choice? Curad’s My Little Ponies.
MLP 4 Life. (Modeling credit to my friend Christian, who I forcefully encouraged to don the MLP with me after his only slightly more traumatizing go-cart flipping accident.)
do(hot mess)ticated 