Home alone! And astonishingly still alive.

Guess what.  I'm home alone... for TWO WEEKS.  Is this legal?

Well, of course it's legal.  I'm 28.  What you should be asking is, Is this safe?


Some background information.  Mr. Magpie and I have lived together for two years.  In that time I have learned to:

1.  Go to sleep before dawn, even on the weekends.
2.  Eat regular meals that are made of regular foods.
3.  Stay the hell off of eBay.

He has been gone for two days, and I have already undone all of my good habits.

Let's start with the obvious.  I'm a night owl, a night crawler, a vampire, whatever you want to call it.  For the past two years, I've tried to convince myself that I "grew out of it" but it turns out, as soon as Mr. Magpie's not here to physically turn off my lamp and take away my books at 11pm, I am up reading until 4:30.  And cooking things.  And cleaning.  And everything else that I suddenly have the energy to do in the MIDDLE OF THE FREAKING NIGHT.

The best part?  I feel awesome.  No, seriously.  I got up and exercised at 9 AM.  It's like my whole circadian rhythm has been reset to where it's meant to be.

Then there are the foods.  In my single magpie life, I alternated between vodka/black coffee/jelly bean days and weeds-from-the-farmer's-market days.  It was a good balance.  Poison myself all weekend, detox with goat's milk yogurt and bok choy stir fries all week.  No wonder I was skinny.

But then I moved in with a man who expected to eat things like "meat" and "cheese that's pasteurized" and "not bean sprouts."  So I started cooking more regular people things, like chicken, and I started doing all of the grocery shopping at Trader Joe's instead of farm stands and Asian food markets that also, for obvious reasons, sell scrunchies and boba tea.

But I've got two weeks, baby.  And I've already been to the East End Co-Op twice.  Lentil and avocado salad without fried dead animal on the side?  YES, please, and thank you.

Okay, then, eBay.  That's really bad, I know.  But I like unique things, and more importantly, I like having things delivered to my door.  You already saw the lobster dress.  Also:

J Crew necklace, aka stolen creative property from some dude in Chinatown.  For $15, I'm okay with that.

Vintage Frye boots won for $40.89.  Ridiculous.

And since I still have any money at all in my checking account, there's probably going to be more.

So now what, does someone call social services?  Am I doing this wrong?  Should I be curled up with a bucket of macaroni and cheese, watching Meg Ryan movies, and going to bed at 8:30?  Should I have gone to my mom's house for two weeks?  I don't know how this works, but I'm a little bit giddy with my newfound retro lifestyle.  It's probably the four hours of sleep talking.

Later gators.

Ms. Magpie

The 10 Things You Need to Get Through Summer...

"People Who Hate Hot Weather" (and by the way, my air conditioning was broken for two weeks) edition.

Click on the pictures for details.  Can you stand the excitement?

1.  Hunter 12-inch portable table fan.  Self-explanatory.

2.  Dermalogica Multi-Active spray toner.  Ideal for removal of face sweat.

 

3.  BPA-free 1-quart Nalgene bottle for WATER.  If I see you drinking Gatorade I will punch you in the teeth.

 

4.  Benefit PosieTint for cheeks and lips.  LOVE THIS.  Sticks to your face when everything else melts off.

5.  Dr. Brandt BB Matte Cream.  Matte means not shiny.  This is key.  I don't care what Caroline Hirons says, BB creams do nice things for my skin and I'm not slapping 15 layers of product on my face when it's 90 degrees outside.

 

6.  Lauren Ralph Lauren Chantilly Leather Tote.  You will need a bag this big to haul around your quart of water.  Emerald green is for winners.

 

7.  J. Crew Vintage Cotton V-Neck Tee.  My new favorite.  Super lightweight for hot people and they don't get all pilled in the dryer (side eye Old Navy.)  Plus they're long enough that you CAN safely put them in the dryer.

8.  The Paris Wife by Paula McLain.  So horrifically upsetting that you'll forget you were hot and sweaty.

9.  Next up: marijuana.  No.  Basil.  Grow it yourself and put it in everything.  Make pesto.  Make caprese salads.  Make your husband like it.  Fresh basil makes everything better.

10.  Zoya nail polish.  Don't EVEN talk to me about unpainted toenails.  Zoya is the best because it doesn't cause birth defects or something.

 

Alright, you're all set... for now.  I'll be back with a "People Who Hate Hot Weather But Inexplicably Love the Beach" edition.

The 28 things I have been doing instead of writing this blog.

1. Hitting a metaphysical wall after finals week and declaring indefinite hiatus from the internet and anything communications-related
2. Taking up needlepoint
3. Eating this and this and this and this
4. Selling clothes on eBay
5. BUYING clothes on eBay

   

   Oops.

6. Toiling over my cauldron stove making organic stock and kombucha
7. Trying to convince Mr. Magpie that I am not actually a witch
8. Getting talked out of a round dining room table by a bossy in-law
9. Getting really angry about it and re-committing to a round table
10. Spilling coffee on the new rug 15 times because I STILL haven't picked a table
11. Swimsuit shopping
12. Having a panic attack/Getting out the Jillian Michaels DVDs immediately following swimsuit shopping
13. Celebrating my grandma's 90th birthday (yes that’s NINETY, holla)
14. Prowling around creepy antique stores looking for some MCM chairs
15. Failing miserably because this is, after all, Pittsburgh
16. Going to a baseball game (What the WHAT?!)
17. Admitting that sports aren't so bad... so long as I'm sitting in an air-conditioned club box with free food and a private bathroom
18. Watching the new Netflix season of Arrested Development...
19. And recalling five minutes later that MOTHER.OF.GOD. is Arrested Development annoying
20. Watching 3 entire seasons of Gilmore Girls on DVD instead
21. Waiting with baited breath for the Petersiks to move into their new house
22. Seeing GATSBY!  While half-weeping and clutching Mr. Magpie's hand the whole time.  And kind of seriously cry-wishing that I was at the premier with Martha and Jenna and everyone else awesome in life.
    
23. Saying goodbye to a neighbor of 17 years... who is moving to a baller house with lots of guest rooms in Savannah.  It's what you call a nice problem.
24. Trying to figure out how to answer the question, "Oh, did you cut your hair for summer?" as asked by every male relative and acquaintance.
25. Feeling that for once, the New York Times has validated my lifestyle choices.
26. Starting to feel a little sheepish about abandoning my blog.
    
27. And, picking out this watch because I was...
    
28. Turning 28!

Dear Plato's Closet

Dear Plato's Closet,

Once again, the season has changed, and I am left with a moderately sized mountain of gently worn clothes that I never want to see again.  I don't remember buying this many striped sweaters or jeans that don't quite fit, but alas.  On top of that, I am confused because I swear to GOD I gave away half of this crap last fall... but maybe the bags never actually made it into my car.

But I digress.

I march into your store with my laundry basket of hardly-worn name-brand garments, proud to make my contribution.  The trouble starts 11 minutes later when you have made your decision.

"We'll take these for $4.75," the 16-year-old at the counter tells me as she dumps an Abercrombie tank top from 2005, a tee shirt from Target, and a pair of paint-stained Vic's Pink sweatpants on the counter.

I'm just a little confused, Plato's Closet.  Would you be so kind as to tell me what is wrong with my worn-once Express blazer?  Or the still-has-tags-on J. Crew thermal that I never got around to exchanging?  How about the python-print Jessica Simpson stilettos that I wore to a wedding and took off so quickly that they still have the price tag stuck to the bottom?  Isn't it PROM SEASON?

The Kenneth Cole riding boots without a scuff?  The carefully curated handful of Urban Outfitters dresses?  The Gap skinny jeans in teenager sizes?  ANYTHING from H&M?

Oh, no.  These things aren't for Plato's Closet.  Because really, it's the shoppers who are to blame.

The clientele of Plato's Closet, apparently, do not aspire to greater things.  They WANT to dress like strippers on the way home from the 2AM shift.  They LIKE spending their Taco Bell paychecks on clothes that make them look like they work at... Taco Bell.

I am sad for you, Plato's shoppers.  Don't you know what a good navy blazer can do for you?  Haven't you seen Pretty Woman?  Do you understand how carefully I select these clothes to begin with?  I don't shop at Kohl's, ladies.  I hunt down my designer Friends&Family discounts and plot the season's purchases like a sniper with a credit card.

I know, I know, I was in high school once too.  But you know what I wore in high school?  J CREW SWEATERS AND DESIGNER JEANS.  And Doc Martens.  But it was the 90s.

Anyway.

It's your loss, Plato's Closet.  I'm just trying to help.  There's a whole other world out there in which a dirty tank top and LEI jeans aren't going to cut it.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

Best of luck in your future endeavors.

Fondly,

Ms. Magpie

Skinny bitch crap, Part I

Okay, you know I like to cook.  You know I like healthy food.  Five-a-Day is the minimum in our house.

This is going to sound really annoying, but I don't like sweet things or pop [soda].  So I never eat dessert.

BUT I go back to the kitchen for seconds (thirds) of everything I cooked and I tell myself it's okay because it's mostly vegetables anyway.

Every night, this happens.

Seriously, not exaggerating.

I eat and I eat until I have to unzip my pants and LIE DOWN on the couch.  I have to lie down because I just ate so much that I literally cannot move.

This situation is even worse at restaurants.  On Saturday night Mr. Magpie and I went to Claddagh and I had the shepherd's pie and a Guinness.  (No, I'm not pretending that was remotely healthy.)  By the time I was finished I was literally in pain.  Then we had to walk down the block to a parking garage.  I didn't think I was going to make it.

And then there's Panera.  I order, like, tomato soup and half a sandwich.  The sandwich is more than enough bread for the day but there are croutons in the soup too.  THEN they give you a baguette.  Well I'm not going to walk around with a fucking baguette in my purse all day.  So I eat that too.  And then I waddle out of Panera in this yeast coma gasping for air and nearly wreck my car because my stomach hurts so bad.

Is this just me?  Do regular people do this?

For the first 26 years of my life I was so scrawny that I couldn't find clothes to fit.  Every time I needed an outfit for something it was this big ordeal to find a dress in a size 00.  Then one day, it stopped.  My face filled out.  My boobs got bigger.  Suddenly I was a size 4 and hurrah, I could walk into any store and buy pants that fit!

But. but. but that pooch that I used to get after I ate two pounds of mac and cheese in a sitting?  The stomach pooch that was gone when I woke up the next morning?  NOT GONE ANYMORE.

I understand.  I got away with the skinny bitch crap for 26 years and I had my fun.  Now I need to learn to eat like a normal person.

My first strategy: While eating, try to imagine walking around the block.  Before I get to the point where I think, "It would be impossible to walk a tenth of a mile right now," STOP EATING.

Also, I bought a bathroom scale today.

And I'm writing this at Panera.

Baby steps.

If you aren't cute, you may as well be clever

...and other wisdom from my favorite writer.

I like to tell stories almost as much as I like to read them.  I am pleased as punch that David Sedaris's new book, Let's Explore Diabetes With Owls, was released today.

David and I go way back.

I picked up Me Talk Pretty One Day in a campus bookstore years ago, at a time when I was deeply troubled.  He was the first person to make me laugh aloud in a long time.

 
It was like nothing I'd ever read before.  The way his memories played out, the way he worded his sentences: it was such a perfect combination of wit and reality.  I read and re-read it, trying to figure out his secret formula.

The sweetest thing my mom has ever done for me was stand in line all day at Joseph-Beth for a signed copy of When You Are Engulfed in Flames.  I was working in London at the time, and she managed to keep it a secret for months.

His books are satirical non-fiction, but they spill over into memoirs or fables at times.  You will either laugh or cry harder than you ever have, depending on who he's writing about.

I hate to be so serious on such a happy day, but it's worth noting that his work has had a profound influence me.  It gives me license to write the way I do.  William Safire, I am not (nor do I aspire to be.)  I just want to tell stories the way they sound in my head.  Listen to him read aloud on NPR and you'll know what I mean.

My husband says that he will never forget the meanest thing I've ever said about someone: "She just mumbles things without ever making a point... she has no narrative arc!"

Thank you, Mr. Sedaris, for helping me find my narrative arc.



P.S. One time my favorite food bloggers had him over for dinner.  I KNOW! 

Cat vs. Magpie: A preview.

Confession:

I love animals and I hate most people, but sometimes I lose my temper with animals too.  Specifically Dita von Kat.

I'm dreading putting the new living room together because five seconds later Dita von Kat will sit down, yank 17 mouthfuls of fur out of herself, and spit it out in piles on my NEW RUG.

Mock-up of my nonchalant cat surrounded by her piles of saliva-soaked fur.

This happens EVERY.GODDAMN.HOUR of every day of every month of the entire year.

The only solution is to shave her.

According to the internet, I can pay someone to do this for me.

Exhibit A.  Not bad, but he looks pissy.

Exhibit B.  This cat doesn't have the bone structure to pull it off.

Exhibit C.  Leg warmers.  Fierce.

Exhibit D: Elizabethan ruff is interesting, but still seems shed-heavy.

Exhibit E.  This is either a home haircut or he was eaten by moths.

Okay, I wouldn't really do this.  I'm pretty sure it's considered animal abuse in most states.

But I can't complain about it to Mr. Magpie because he will take it as his cue to drown Dita von Kat in the toilet.  I'm not kidding.

I know, that's really bad, but it's just the way he was raised.  My in-laws vocally hate animals.  I choose to overlook this character flaw because they put rolls of cash in my Easter basket.

But I can only vacuum so many times in a week before I completely lose my shit.  Suggestions?