cheers, 2014!

A year ago today I moved to New York.
I had been visiting family in Portland, Oregon at the time and all I remember us talking about was what type of jobs I could apply for, why I shouldn't give up when things (inevitably) got hard, and where my first apartment might end up being. I spent the whole day wondering if I had made the right decision, if it was a mistake to move across the country from all my friends and family, and would the adventure be worth it?

One year later, here I am again. I spent this week with family in Portland and am taking that very same flight tonight back to New York City. It's surreal to realize that a whole year has gone by and to find myself in the same spot exactly 365 days later (home). All week I've been saying that it's "dangerous" for me to come back to Oregon because it tempts me with all the best things - my favorite people, stormy weather, great coffee. I've said it before, but there's something about the pacific northwest that just makes you feel good. 

A year ago, I wouldn't have been able to imagine what 2014 would hold. When I boarded that plane, I was so nervous and unsure about what was next. I worried about feeling lonely, about never finding friends as good as the ones I already had, about never finding a job, about failing. I'm so happy that it's now, because now I know that the adventure was so worth it. Now, I can't imagine not knowing the friends that I've made in New York. (How did I go so long without them?) I can't imagine not knowing the pure joy that is a pastrami sandwich at Katz's Deli or how awesome the Upper West Side looks in November. Of course, there are things I wish that I actually couldn't imagine (like the smell of the 23rd Street station at 2am or how it feels to be squished on a train during rush hour). But no place is perfect. ;)

Part of me wishes I could go back to that scared version of myself and say, Self, it's going to be great. But part of me thinks the not-knowing is what makes the adventure so worthwhile. I would be so mad at myself today if I hadn't gotten on that plane a year ago. Even if New York doesn't end up being forever, never giving it a try would have been the biggest mistake I've ever made. So with that I say, cheers to you, 2014! I think this has been my favorite year yet.  

2015, COME AT ME.

a new york minute | 0:02

One of the best parts about living in New York City is getting to tell people that you live in New York City. I know it, and you know it. I wouldn't be surprised if most people moved to New York just so they could flaunt a 212 - er, 646 - area code (and who would blame them?). Last year, during the months leading up to my move from the west coast to the east coast, any time someone would ask about my "post-grad plans", I secretly relished the moment I got to tell them I was moving to Manhattan. Of course, I played it cool (while visions of thin-crust pizza danced in my head). Sometimes I even tried to get "Manhattan" out in the middle of a yawn to seem extra nonchalant and extra, you know, cool (because moving to Manhattan makes you cool). COOL I TELL YOU.

I quickly learned that people have one of two reactions to the statement, "I am moving to New York". The first is Excitement. Behind door #1 is lots of clapping and smiling and cheering you on. People say "Wow!" and their eyes turn into tiny little stars. The second reaction is Complete And Utter Horror (or Disgust) - door #2 - of which I am much more familiar. On one of the nights leading up to my move, I had drinks with a friend in Portland, Oregon when our bartender overheard me nonchalantly blabbing about "the city". He was mid-pour when he stopped, looked me dead in the eye and said, "I would never move to fucking New York City. You know why? Because it smells and people suck." 

And with that, off I went into the wild! 

the weekly roundup

Please pat yourself on the back, because we made it to the best week of the year! We made it, guys. We made it.

On behalf of the entire human race, I'd like to declare Christmas the Best Season of the Year. I realize this isn't exactly news, but for some reason it seems even truer this year. Between summer, spring, fall, and Christmas, there really is no competition. Christmas is definitely the most popular girl in school.

Are you on vacation yet? Are you sleeping in past 8am, yet? I sure hope so. Mom and I have been spending every day in our pajamas (with no shame!) and are committing to a strict diet of cookies and red wine - and so should you. Because this is America - and it's almost Christmas! So here's to putting up your Out Of Office message, putting on fuzzy socks, and spending the next week doing whatever the hell you want.

Cheers!

happy holidays, from california

I have a tendency to forget just how great Christmas in California is. 

Living in Oregon and New York these past four years has turned me into a serious weather/season snob. In case you didn't know, California has one season - hot - and as I'm sure you do know, all I want in life is to live inside this Hallmark card and drink hot toddies and have chestnuts roasting on an open fire every single day. California is not exactly the place for chestnuts or open fires and so begins my annual Bashing of The West Coast (where is my loyalty?!).

Like clockwork, every December I carry out my favorite tradition of saying really annoying things like, "Ugh, an 80-degree Christmas is sooo unnatural!" and "I shouldn't be wearing shorts in December. It's just wrong." (In all fairness it's hard to see the appeal of sunshine when you're strolling through a very sparkly New York City)

However.
Here I am basking in a crisp 75 degrees, once again reminded of how great "Walking In A Winter Wonderland" sounds with sand between my toes. Guys! California in December is the best. According to my calculations over these past few days, life on the west coast consists of walking along the beach, wine tasting, ordering excessive amounts of cheese plates, and sleeping. Is this what heaven looks like? I'm starting to think it might be.

In conclusion, West Coast Best Coast (at least for the next ten days).

how's your brain?

I don't know about you, but lately my brain feels like it's been on fire (coincidentally, right now I'm reading Brain On Fire). I'm on the go go go all the time time time and, wait, it's almost 2015? How? Who? What? 

'Tis the season for multitasking, conquering To-Do lists, and getting all your shit done in time to peace out for the holidays. In the spirit of peacing out, next week I'm headed home to California (!!!) where I plan to dunk my head/brain in the nearest infinity pool and relax (metaphorically, of course). 

What about you? Is your brain ready to cool off? 

beauty soup | morning routines

One of my favorite things to see on the subway is women putting on their makeup.

Without being a (total) creep, I love to watch the whole process - what kind of bag they keep their products in, what shade of lipstick they choose, how they apply their blush. I always like to know how other people do things. Why does she pick that brand? Should I try blue eyeshadow too? (No) Who taught her how to put mascara on while riding a moving train? I'm that friend that comes over to your house and wants to peek inside your medicine cabinet just to see what kind of soap you buy.

(I never said I wasn't kind of a creep)

Putting on makeup (or, as my grandma used to say, "putting your face on") is such a personal thing. I know very little about makeup and I wear even less. Mascara, liner, and usually a quick dash of lipstick. Ba da bing! Most of what I know about "beauty" I've copied from all the women in my life. I don't buy magazines, I just look around and see what all my ladies are doing. I buy the same foundation as my aunt because she has great skin. I have a rough idea of where I'm supposed to put blush because my best friend is the Makeup Whisperer. My cousin always has Burt's Bees in her bag, so naturally I went out and bought Burt's Bees (and army pants and flip flops). 

While normally I like to march to the beat of my own Italian ukelele, when it comes to beauty routines I have more of a monkey-see monkey-do attitude. And now for my burning question! What's your beauty routine? Who'd you learn your tricks from?

thanks, Thanksgiving

Thank goodness for Thanksgiving, am I right? 

Thanksgiving is the best for lots of reasons but my personal favorite is getting to sleep in on a Thursday. If your boss isn't a terrorist then you probably get to sleep in on Friday, too! Talk about great times. I like Thanksgiving because it's reliable - you can always count on that last Thursday of the month. Christmas on the other hand, while it may be the King of holidays, always jumps around. Christmas is stubborn and insists on being on the 25th every year (rude, right?), which means sometimes it falls on a Friday - or worse! - a Saturday. Nothing's worse than a holiday that falls on a weekend (I'm talking to you, Fourth of July, 2015!!) because this means less days for you to hang out in your pajamas and have wine for lunch. 

J & I are staying in New York for the holiday which I'm actually pretty excited about. We'll be contributing more than just bread tomorrow (shocking, I know) which means we (as in he) will start cooking some things tonight. As you know, I am a terrible cook so I think my role will be more of a cheerleader than a chef.

"You're doing great!"
"Go spinach dip, go!"
"Looking steamy, broccoli!" 

I think it'll be a good day. What are you doing for the big feast?

new york: more than just sparkly lights

BREAKING NEWS: New York City is not the only city in the state of New York. 

Were you aware of this? Because I wasn't. 

What I know about New York is New York City (and I'm still an amateur). Anything that lies beyond the city limits is a real mystery to me. I have to admit, since I've lived here the farthest I've strayed is.. Brooklyn, which, I'm afraid, doesn't exactly count. There's lots of talk about (the mythical) "upstate New York" but seeing as how I can't name a single city north of this city, I'm assuming "upstate" is just slang for "uptown". 

Imagine my surprise when I found myself on the top of Bear Mountain on Friday morning - hiking boots and all! - and realized that I was still in the state of New York. I mean, wow. What is this place, Oregon?  As part of our volunteer service program, I headed up there with a friend from work for a day of hiking trail repair (which is secret code for 'moving lots of rocks'). See that staircase we're sitting on? We built that! Well, part of it. I have extremely sore muscles to prove it. 

Anyways, I felt like a damn Dixie Chick with all those wide open spaces. I am madly in love with Manhattan, but there was something heavenly about escaping it. To be able to see for miles. To be the only people around for miles. To be surrounded by silence. 

It was one of those days that's good for your soul - but not necessarily good for your back. Or your arms. Or for lifting heavy things like a cup of coffee the next morning. Make no mistake, my friends, trail repair work is not for sissies.

What did I take away from this experience, you ask? That rocks are heavy. And that I am a sissy.

(and that there's more to New York than New York City)

the weekly roundup

There's no denying that Fall is in full swing.
We know this because 1) I can't stop talking about it, 2) we're in the middle of November (how!?!?), and 3) I opened my window this morning and the air legitimately smelled like apple pie. Apple pie!!!!! At 6:30am!!! I find it hard to believe that any of my neighbors were up at 6am baking an actual pie, so instead I have no choice but to believe that this is Mother Nature's way of proving yet again that Fall really is the best month of the year. Count "apple pie air" as Reason #8,742,391 that Fall is the greatest.

In the spirit of apple pie, here are some cozy & delicious shots for this week's Roundup.

proof that new york is best dressed in fall

Need I say more?

a new york minute

Ta da! My latest and greatest idea!
Guys, my blogging record is seriously slacking. You know it and I know it. Since I can only seem to find one minute every day to do any actual writing, I've decided to make the most of it. So behold! A New York Minute: one-minute (true) stories set in New York City. Chosen carefully, written quickly.

- - -

Silent Monsters

Despite my best efforts, for the past few mornings I keep accidentally getting on the same train car as this asshole. For the purpose of this story, I'll call him Mr. A. It keeps happening because I never remember what he looks like. I'm too distracted by the fact that he is a grown man with a GameBoy. A grown man who plays a GameBoy on a public train ON FULL VOLUME. You cannot imagine the fury that brews inside every passenger when someone has the audacity to play their music - or their goddamn GameBoy - loud enough for other people to hear. I usually spend 0.5 seconds being concerned about their eardrums, and then move on to full-fledged rage. Of course, for all of us it is a silent rage. For an entire 45 minutes, we all sat there in our orange and yellow seats, roaring past 96th street and 72nd street, desperately trying to burn holes into Mr. A's back with our eyes. How dare he! How rude! Can't he see I'm trying to read here? Everyone hated him for disturbing their morning commute, but not one of us dared to say a single word. No one complained. Nobody asked him to turn the volume down. We just went about our routines like nothing was wrong, quietly fuming like little silent monsters. 

hi! and, the weekly roundup

Hi!!! 

Goddamnit. I did it again! I abandoned you, poor blog. I can't promise it won't happen again, but at least this time I had a good reason. It's October! And October is my favorite month of the year. In honor of this great month, I threw all blogging to the wind so that I would have more time for staring at leaves and eating pie. 

So far this has been a great month. My mom came to town. We went on adventures, had cookies and champagne for lunch (kind of like last time) and one day we accidentally slept in until noon. J & I celebrated our 3-year anniversary over cheeseburgers and Broadway tickets (if you're in the city, I definitely recommend this show).Olive learned how to open the closet door so now she can successfully spread cat hair over every inch of the apartment. And last but not least, I'm getting a hair cut this week. Hurrah! 

Glad to be back in the groove. What have you been up to?

summer, you're fired

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's being inappropriately dressed.

Take today, for instance. I almost cartwheeled out of bed when my Weather app told me it was going to be 62 degrees and rainy. Then I realized my phone still thought I was in Seattle. Three swipes to the right and I was back in NYC. To my dismay, the forecast read: "Heavy clouds, high of 81 degrees". 

Suddenly blind with rage, I was tempted to hurl my phone against the wall and smite (yes, smite!) whoever tricked me into thinking this week was going to be cold. So much for the first week of Fall, you damn liars! If you ask me, the only thing more annoying than mixed weather reports is being told that the dress code for the day is "business casual". In both situations I immediately turn into an angry baby kitten, helpless and incapable of making any decisions.

We are hours away from October and yet, for some godforsaken reason, NYC is still clinging to 70-degree weather for dear life - and I can't take it any longer! Bring on the rain! Bring on the wool socks! Bring on those weird neck warmer things that go up to your eyeballs! 

Summer, I HAVE HAD IT.

After enduring a lifetime of mixed forecasts (85 degrees with heavy afternoon showers! 38 degrees and sunny!)I now know how to successfully screw up every outfit I put on. When I was in high school I was convinced that I actually was Mother Nature (in some pseudo, backwards way). No matter what I wore, 10/10 times I would end up paying for it. It was me vs. the weather. Heather's wearing a jacket today? BURNING HOT SUN RAYS OF DEATH. She left the house in a t-shirt? HURRICANE IT IS! All anyone had to do to enjoy a nice, sunny afternoon was ask me to put on a parka.

I think it's fair to say that I've spent 99% of my life feeling slightly uncomfortable, overdressed, and sweaty. 

Fall is the only season I'm good at. I know exactly what to do in Fall - how many layers to put on, what the appropriate shoes are, how many times to wrap my scarf around my head. Fall I can do.

Oh, Fall. Where are you?

new york, in a few words

J & I just got back from a lovely, celebratory, and quick weekend in Seattle. We were barely in town for 48 hours, but it was enough time to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside because (even though it wasn't Oregon) there's something about the Pacific Northwest that just makes you feel damn good. 

I'm happy to report that despite being a complete wedding amateur, I a) officially know what a reception is, b) didn't blackout and accidentally wear white to the ceremony, and c) took all of your advice and brought a change of shoes (and thank god for that).

In between handshakes and cramming as many bacon-wrapped sweet potatoes into my mouth as possible, I managed to find a fellow New Yorker in the crowd who summed up this city so perfectly that I had to resist the urge to ditch the wedding altogether and tell you about it immediately. She said,

"NEW YORK HAS THE VERY BEST OF EVERYTHING, AND THE VERY WORST OF EVERYTHING." 

I just stood there blinking like a starstruck baby deer, my brain short-circuiting. The…Words…I've...Always…Been…Trying..To…Say…!  It was a great moment, mostly because it's so perfectly true, and also because now I finally know what to say when 

New York has the best pizza. The best views. The best Saturday nights. The best blueberry cheesecake. The best skyline. The best seasons. It has the best smells. It has the worst smells. The worst price tags. The worst traffic. It has the worst people and it has the best people. New York has the best music. The worst train delays. The best 50-cent coffee. The worst rent. It's home to your worst fears and the best opportunities. 

In other words, it's irresistable.

i know absolutely nothing about weddings

The last time I went to a wedding I was 15 and I was the photographer. My favorite cousin was getting married (am I allowed to say that?) and for some unfathomable reason, she trusted me with a camera. It was  the best and most terrifying day of my life. The time before that, I was 4 and I was the flower girl but I'm not sure that really counts as "going to a wedding". Does anything you did before you were 5 really count? 

J & I are going to a wedding this weekend and so marks my first wedding as a plain old guest! I am both excited and - apparently - wildly unprepared. Here are some questions I've been asking J throughout the week that have undoubtedly been annoying him and causing him to question my womanliness: 

"What 's a reception?"

"Am I allowed to wear a strapless dress in a church?" 

"How long does it last?"

" I don't understand. Do we change clothes for the reception?"

"Are there assigned seats?"

"Can I wear pants?"

My wedding knowledge is clearly lacking so I plan to use this weekend to stock up on all sorts of Do's and Don'ts. In the meantime, I'll be taking tips from my favorite wedding guide of all time i.e. storing cake in my purse, hiding a friend in my dress, and packing plenty of glitter.

What do YOU know about weddings? Please do tell.

the weekly roundup

Instagram has really been killing it lately. People are on vacation, redecorating their apartments, ordering really fancy lattés, Fashion Week is happening, etc. etc. etc. (I care as much about Fashion Week as your grandpa, but hey, sometimes the photos are fun)

Another Weekly Roundup under our belts!  

if you give a mouse a mattress

Would you believe me if I told you that these are photos of my new bed?

Let's back up.

Two Sundays ago, J & I had the brilliant idea of going "window-bed-shopping" so that we could "get an idea of what we liked". (In English, this translates into "Two Sundays ago, J & I tortured ourselves by fake-shopping for a bed") We spent the day walking around IKEA, jumping on different mattresses and searching for the perfect headboard. In true Goldilocks fashion, we tried every single bed. 

"Too hard!" 

"Too soft!"

"Juuuust riiiighh- it costs how much? Er... too hard!" 

Fifteen hours later (because that's how long it took to find the Exit), we left empty-handed with our tails between our legs. The good news was, we knew exactly what we wanted. The bad news was, now we knew how much it cost. I suggested we "just do it!!!" and buy everything right there on the spot. J patted me on the head and suggested we wait a few more months (like the mature, financially responsible adults that we apparently are). I crossed my arms and stuck out my tongue like the immature baby that I really am.

After another week of crashing on our own couch, something miraculous happened. A friend of mine is calling it "getting bed bombed" which sounds questionable but is in fact awesome.

One Sunday ago, J surprised me with a new bed (!!!!!!). He secretly went back to IKEA, picked out all the pieces we chose (during that torturous weekend before), stood in the Home Delivery line for four hours (because IKEA is the devil), and arranged for a surprise delivery. I think it's safe to say that I have never been happier in my entire life. I forgot what it felt like to sleep in a bed! How soft sheets can be! What pillows are!

The cherry on top was getting a text from my boss - who knew all about the (goddamn) Couch Cube - telling me to come to work an hour later the next day, just so I could sleep in.

In conclusion, if you give a mouse a cookie, she'll probably ask you for some milk. But if you give a mouse a mattress, she'll probably do cartwheels and somersaults and all sorts of happy dances.

this + that

L O V I N G

This photo of J + Ivy that I secretly snapped. As soon as he sees this I'll be dead meat, so be sure to enjoy it while it lasts. 

M I S S I N G

Oregon (cause the grass is always greener, amiright?) As excited as I am to experience fall in New York, I have to say, an Oregon autumn can't be beat.

L O O K I N G

For art! Our walls are long overdue for a makeover. Really digging this, this, and especially this.  

M A K I N G

More dinners at home! I'm pleased to announce that I can officially cook one full meal. I can make plain chicken, steam broccoli, and sometimes I can even grill zucchini without burning it! 

doing nothing and feeling awesome about it

Sometimes, my favorite thing in the world is doing absolutely nothing. 

For starters, I'm great at it. Not moving a muscle happens to be one of my specialties. I am a solid 10 when it comes to being a vegetable. While we're at it, I might as well tell you that (sometimes) nothing makes me happier than cancelled plans. I also get a secret thrill any time I turn my phone settings to 'Airplane Mode' in lieu of cutting off all communication with the outside world. Also, when I was 5 I took a Hershey's bar from the grocery store without paying for it.

Of course, that's not what I'm supposed to tell you. I'm supposed to tell you (and anyone who asks) that my hobbies are "hiking and biking and traveling and running and doing yoga and dancing and shopping and exploring and making things with my hands and always living life to the fullest!!!!!" 

Sometimes I like to live life to the fullest and sometimes I just like to sit on my couch. I also like to watch House Hunters marathons for six hours straight and not shower until 8pm. Sometimes I just want to hang out with my cat(s). 

And you know what? I FEEL GREAT ABOUT IT! And so should you. 

I am 99% sure that J considers this to be one of my less attractive qualities. (Also on the list: my inability to change the toilet-paper-roll-holder-thing, my charming habit of eating Nutella straight from the jar, and my incessant desire to live in an asylum). Without fail, every Saturday morning before my eyes are even open, he is showered, caffeinated, and practically out the door. My weekend alarm clock has quickly become the distant sound of his voice asking "Are you ready to go yet?!" as he sprints down the stairs (towards adventure, no doubt). 

What was that you said? You're spending Labor Day weekend on your best friend's boat? Bon voyage! I'll be waving at you from my couch.

the truth about chocolate cake

This blog sure claims to cover the topic of chocolate cake, but really, when's the last time we talked about it? 

I can't remember either. 

The truth about chocolate cake is that if I was stranded on a desert island (or a dessert island) and could only bring one thing with me, chocolate cake would be it. Maybe you're thinking, But Heather! What about the milk?! And believe me, I hear you. But I'm afraid I just can't live without my cake. 

When I lived in Oregon, my college roommate and I used to go on weekly (sometimes bi-weekly) Cake Dates. We would ride our bikes out to this gourmet grocery store that turned out to have the best chocolate cake in town. I say this with full confidence as I made a point to try every single bakery within a ten mile radius of my apartment. Their cake was conveniently pre-sliced and packaged in individual clear boxes. Like true cake connoisseurs, we would examine every single box before picking out our piece. Like a couple of rats.

There are three things that make for a great cake, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

1. Not too much frosting.
The culprits of Too Much Frosting are often found in the cake aisle of your local Albertsons. The way to tell if there's too much is to stick your entire fist into the cake and see if there's any actual cake on your hand when you pull it back out. 

2. Moistness 
I don't use the word 'moist' unless I absolutely have to because we all know how unpleasant it is. But who wants a dry cake??? 

3. Size
You can tell a lot about a person based on how they slice their cake. Nothing blows my mind more than to watch someone cut a piece of cake that's thinner than a piece of paper. I mean really. Go big or go home.