Mood booster.

When I get down, I floss. The dentist — and my left lower molar — would probably prefer I sink into depressions more often. It’s like, maybe I’m not going to make that Friday deadline, but just look at how clean my teeth can be. I don’t feel particularly awesome… but then 28 shards of sparkling enamel beg to differ.

Other simple, uplifting activities include kicking like Michael Jackson circa this video, making and devouring delicious sandwiches, talking with grandparents and sleeping in clean sheets.

Anyway. This is just a reminder to get your teeth checked every 6 months. Sandwiches wouldn’t be the same without them.


For every great night out, there’s the cold reality of 5 a.m. alcohol-induced sleep disruption. This weekend I got lucky and had a little cat named Lola there to snuggle and (affectionately) claw me back to slumber. It’s good to feel kneaded.

For Kat.

This is a bonus song for my sister, who complained I don’t blog enough for her to get life updates and also likes hearing about musicians before other people. Secret message section of this post follows.

K, I had a spinach salad and leftover pasta for dinner. I bought this bag of assorted chocolates (milk, dark with almond, milk with almond, and milk with TOFFEE). I’m only eating the toffee ones for now because they’re the best. I’m going to roll around on my exercise ball for five minutes then get in bed to read by 8:30. “The Pale King.” Life: Updated.


Snow here. Finally. I love it, it’s beautiful, and it’s gives me a great excuse to spend all day Saturday on the couch in my pajamas eating soup and watching Gilmore Girls. And all day Sunday. And all day Saturday and Sunday the weekend before… Basically I haven’t gotten out to see friends in roughly a month, and it’s starting to show (whole lot of talking to myself in the car at stoplights).

I am literally a fair-weather friend. So next weekend, I promise — rain or sleet or hail — to make plans with people. Lorelai and Rory do no count.

[See also this amazing cover — 5 musicians, 1 guitar.]

Slips, trips and falls.

It is really hard to sleep when you eat a pound of chocolate each night before bed (guilty), harder still when you have luxurious satin pillowcases (ooooh, yeah, guilty).

Mom gave each of us daughters these rich, ivory pillow covers for Christmas. Apparently, sleeping on satin pillowcases is Women’s Magazine 101 for waking up beautiful. The trick is, satin is not as absorbent as cotton, so it won’t pull valuable beauty moisture away from your face and hair at night. Result: Less frizzy hair (a major winter woe) and fewer wrinkles (a major problem when you smile as much as I do). And bonus, they’re super soft and make me feel like a gazillionaire who speaks French and Arabic and eats a lot of spreadable cheeses and sleeps with satin pillows, real classy-like.

But there’s just this one, persistent problem: They’re slippery as hell. I can think of at least three romantic comedies in which the man jumps on his lady friend’s bed for a silly-sexy tryst and slides right off her satin sheets. This man is always Ashton Kutcher. And Ashton is right.

The gag is firmly planted in reality. I toss and turn with this fancy pillow squirting out in all directions under my (frizz-free) head. Wake up in the middle of the night, head flat against the sheets, wondering what corner of the bed my headrest has slithered off to. Jerk out of a deep sleep screaming “Wrinkle freeeee!”

It’s impossible. I want to be luxurious, but at the same time, I really need some stability where I lay my head for the night. I’m sleep-deprived and desperate and I’ll never be able to watch another Ashton movie again without weeping in sympathy.


Observations from a week of Cedar Rapids radio stations: They’re still playing James Blunt “You’re Beautiful” three times a day, and there are two Christian rock radio stations. One wasn’t enough to fully express how awesome Jesus is. On the bright side, I did get some quality car jam time with “Ballroom Blitz.” Thanks, new radio!

More songs for the morning commute:


Do you like staying warm, book swaps, puppets, puppies, parmesan cheese, childhood memories and talking about making plans without actually making plans? If you answered with a resounding, two-exclamation-point YES!! then we might be meant for each other.

I’m a 23-year-old independent lady looking for someone who fits my schedule and will leave me alone when I feel tired, hungry, overworked, etc. This will probably be a lot of the time.  I’m pretty into things children traditionally like — watercolor painting, soft fabrics, kites, “Party in the USA” — but also dabble in cooking pasta and going to art museums.

If I had to pick three negative words to describe myself, those words would be jealous, naïve, overeater. Three positive words? Loyal, adventurous, lover-of-dances-that-involve-kicking-and-hair-flips.

Full disclosure: I get pretentious, ramble and/or stutter when I’m nervous and will vom all over your house when I mix liquors.

I’m looking for two qualities in a man. 1. He should frequently ignore me. 2. He should frequently amuse me with a mixture of nonsense humor and physical comedy (crazy, made-up-on-the-spot stories and sarcastic gymnastics work best).

Must have kind eyes.

If I like you, I will probably secretly like you for the next three years without ever telling you, so email me now ( and we can embark on those years of unspoken sexual tension ASAP.


You know that scene in Bridesmaids? When Maya Rudolph’s character announces her engagement and Kristen Wiig responds with the desperate moan-whine, “Whaaat is happeningggg?” which conveys, “This is exciting but also scary and overwhelming.”

That’s been my last week — major purchases, three hours of neck-tied salesmen, a million calls to make, insecurity, grim-faced Iowa driver’s license shots, a China trip itinerary and happy hours. All I need to do to round out the crazy is declare my love for someone, dye my hair Little Mermaid red and adopt a baby. Also at some point during that roller coaster of insanity, I’d end up at a karaoke bar drunkenly shrieking “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” because that’s just how those kinds of stories go.

Here are three random songs for whatever is happening:


“You gonna get the hang of it, I know it.”

My phone rang early this morning, a 3-digit number I didn’t recognize: 615. It took two full rings to realize that was the alarm, not some blustery politician a day late for the Iowa caucuses. Weekend, please.

I have three themes for 2012. The first is “I’m definitely in my zone” from that Kanye + Jay-Z song. The second, “Yeah, it’s legal,” comes from a Martin sisters’ Christmas Eve joke. The third is this: