Oh, GUYS.
Look where Tom and I are going in November.
My family used to stay here every summer when I was a little girl, but I haven’t been since I was eight or nine.
To say I’m excited to experience this place as grownup would be an understatement.
I can’t wait to sip gimlets on the veranda like a giant Wasp.
Just lovely, darling.
To the country for the long weekend. There’s a bunch of stuff lined up here, though, so keep an ear to the ground. See you next week, little darlin’.
I have these girlfriends. We dig each other a lot.
When we are together, which is not often enough, we do a lot of eating.
And drinking.
And loving on each other.
I am because you are, chickens. You are all across the country, and you are safe right here with me.
(Photos gakked from M. That’s me in the sunglasses in every single picture. Sometimes I like to act famous.)
In New York with my very best girlfriends for some quality lady time. On the agenda: a giant birthday cake, Julie and Julia, beers on the terrace, lazy summer dinners, long days in the park, experimenting with the new camera, and lots lots lots to discuss.
I’ve got some stuff planned for around here, though, so keep an eye out. Otherwise, I’ll catch you next week.
I have this thing for Taylor Hanson.
It’s been going on a long time. Twelve years, in fact.
That’s the age of a sixth-grader. That’s the length of a prison sentence for aggravated assault.
I know this. And yet.
There’s nothing cool about Taylor. He has no sense of irony. He’s not so winkingly lame as to be awesome. He’s just….Taylor. Giant and floofty and golden-voiced and singlehandedly trying to repopulate the Earth. A father of four at the ripe old age of 26, he’s the Chinese government’s worst nightmare. In his ill-fitting, brightly colored, questionably accessorized ensembles, I’m pretty sure he’s Tim Gunn’s worst nightmare, too.
But here I am. I love this person. I’ve loved him since I was eleven years old. I don’t know why. I’m over most of my other pubescent weirdness.
Most of it.
Anyway, though you’d never know it to listen to the radio, Taylor is still plugging away at his musical career, and he and I have this deal where once or twice a year he does weird, random things, and I pay money to see them. What’s that, Taylor? You want me to walk around the grounds of Gillette Stadium barefoot in October because it will save little kids from AIDS? Sure, yes! You want me to leave your concert covered in bruises because this pregnant lady in the pit got all feisty on me? Why not? You want me to come see you dressed up in your Andy Warhol costume while you prance around with the white-haired guy from Smashing Pumpkins and the dude who wrote “Stacy’s Mom”?
Absolutely I will.
Tinted Windows is Taylor Hanson’s new(ish) supergroup, and they made their way to Boston last night, so I dragged my friend L (literally…by her hair) to check them out. They were…special. I don’t know. They were fine. Seeing Taylor without the rest of Hanson is kind of like seeing Jem without the Holograms, but no one hit me and I got to keep my shoes on, so…all in all a good night.
Right on, TayHan. See you in a couple of months.
…aaaaand they were completely delightful.
There was fire! And rain inside in SHAPES! And three stages and laser lights and a trampoline and a white grand piano that came out of the floor and Jordin Sparks being fierce and the littlest Jonas talking about living his dreams despite his diabetes in a Serious Way and twenty thousand twelve year old girls who were happier, probably, than they’ve been all summer. All year. They screamed like their hearts would break. The dopamine was pretty intense, I am not going to lie.
I like Joe Jonas because he is the Taylor Hanson of the Jonas Brothers, but I suspect Nick is the real talent.
ANYWAY. Twenty-seven dollars well-spent, is the point I am making here.
