Last week, I told you all about the fun I had ordering my brand spanking new Sofa.com sofa. (Do I have to call it a sofa instead of a couch if it came from Sofa.com? Inquiring minds…) And then I left you to spend the week guessing what I ordered. The only problem with that strategy? You had such great ideas, it had me second-guessing my pick! “Ooh, she’s right…the Bluebell in tweed would have been amazing!” Ah, the plight of the indecisive.
Despite all my waffling, I’m happy as a clam with my new sofa. Can I get a drumroll, please…..?
Friends, don’t be jealous, but I’ve spent the last few days at a very exclusive resort. It’s invitation-only, painfully difficult to get into, and while the room service isn’t exactly five-star cuisine, I did have staff at my disposal 24 hours a day, and all the clear liquids I can drink. (Except vodka. They frown on that.)
Because I generally think SMC should be a happy, shiny place (who wants to read a depressing style blog? Not this guy.), I don’t often talk about the less-glittery, really-real reality of life. But Victoria reminded me recently that maybe we should all try to be a little more “real” out here in the interwebs, lest you go around thinking the road I travel every day is paved with rose petals and free nail polish.
So, I’ll tell you. For the last
too many few years, I’ve had a rotating circus of nebulous, annoying, uncomfortable, but not-at-all-life-threatening health problems delivered to my door by the powers that be. When you notice I’m not my usual chatty self on Twitter, or I miss a few days of blogging here and there, it’s probably because I’m on a little health holiday. My system has a funny way of being pretty insistent about its vacation time.
Rather than bore you with the gory details (except to say I’m fine, don’t worry, but feel free to send pretty things and happy thoughts), I thought I’d put some of this expertise to good use. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned after all this time, it’s what to wear to the hospital. Read on
Friends, remember that colossal house redesign I showed you all a few months back? While we were working on the plan, our designer implored us – begged, even – to get a new sofa. She wanted a bit of warmth and color, she thought the scale was wrong, yada yada yada. But I nixed it for budgetary reasons. Real world design realities, y’all.
So, when I got an email from Sofa.com inviting me to try out their utterly gorgeous sofas, and have their help in custom designing one for my living room? You can imagine how quickly I hit “reply”. Based in London, Sofa.com just opened a new showroom in NYC and now delivers across the US. They make the most gorgeous, custom sofas in all sorts of comfy, modern shapes, with a “Hey, buying a sofa should be fun!” attitude I couldn’t resist.
To get started, I spent roughly a million hours on their website, perusing all of the designs, fabrics, and trying out every possible combination. Then, I ordered my “comfy pack” (okay, there may have been three comfy packs) - the most adorable collection of swatches ever to arrive at my door. Read on
Friends, a couple of weeks ago, I had one of those life experiences that gets me really excited about writing. More often than not, those experiences involve meeting other writers. But this time, it wasn’t just another writer – it was Isabel Allende.
For those of you who aren’t familiar, let me say this: if you ask me for a book that will change you – really and truly change the way you think about reading and about writing – I will send you a copy of The House of the Spirits. (No, really…I’ve sent it to at least a half dozen people.) Her writing is like nothing else. It is lyrical, epic, and more full of imagination and impossibilities than anything I’ve ever experienced.
So, when I heard she was giving a lecture nearby to launch her newest book, Maya’s Notebook, the wonderful people at Harper (her publishers) were kind enough to let me attend. And it was remarkable. Read on
Remember when you were in college, waiting for a guy to call, and you kept checking your phone to see if it was working? And you were tempted to call the phone company, but that sounded altogether too pathetic. And in reality, of course, the guy was just a douchebag who hadn’t called.
Well, this time, friends, it turns out the phone WAS broken. Or, more specifically, the comments function here at SMC had gone haywire, and none of your comments were getting to me. Luckily, one of you lovelies (thanks, K!) finally spoke up with a “Hey dude, quit blocking my comments” to let me know. All this time, I was sitting here like the nerdy girl who got ditched for prom, thinking you’d all abandoned me for some senior with a fancy car and rich parents.
So, please (pretty please?) start commenting again. Honestly, if you’re not talking back, it’s a little like I’m the crazy lady on the subway, muttering to herself about shoes. Also, know that I respond to each and every comment you leave, because I love seeing them, and hearing from you makes me so very happy. So if you ever don’t hear from me, sound the alarm, will you?