Been working on making my room more of a Sanctuary slash Office, instead of a Closet slash Place To Fall Asleep Face-Down. This apparently also means always keeping a tank of wine fermenting and the fire escape stuffed with plants (mostly habaneros, OK, yeah, so what).
But dang, has it got me writing.
I don’t consider myself much of a cold weather hard-ass, but after three years in the northeast I’m much tougher. (Also, I visited Atlanta this past weekend and felt like a leathery John Wayne of relatively wimpy-style winter compared to my local buds.) But I couldn’t have done it without Five Dope Keeping Warm Tips I authored myself to maintain life during unavoidable moments outdoors (in addition to obvious stuff like, don’t skip drying your hair when it’s 16 out, try a jacket, etc.). Today I’ll share them with you. (#philanthropy) Try them and stay toasty, babes.
1. Booze. Yeah yeah yeah, alcohol, like, lowers your core temperature but it makes your skin feel warmer. (Science told me so.) And also, it’ll make you care a little less about your stupidly long walk to the train and why the fuck did you move to Greenpoint again this is such a stupidly long walk and oh hey there’s a cutie carrying an Ames book OK this is alright. Also, trust this dog.
2. Coffee. The daytime appropriate (I guess) alternative to Tip No. 1.
3. Flannel-Lined Shit-Kicking Boots. After a little
Twitter official research with some of my NY lady pals last fall, I learned the majority agreed Doc Marten combat boots were the beeeeeeeeeeest. Then I got a pair on sale on the Internet and they arrrrrrrrrrre. I’m sure whatever brand works, but as long as your boots include flannel lining and goes up to your shin at least, you’re set. Plus cold wet socks are only slightly more comfortable than sharing a subway car with The Dell Dude. Avoid those.
4. Tropical Tunes. Dodging deceptively deep curbside puddles ain’t so bad while also deceiving your brain with summertime music. Often I pump albums I closely associate with hot months (Utopia Parkway by Fountains of Wayne is a solid standby) to trick myself into thawing.
Although the most helpful—in my experience—is…
5. Run A Little Bit Late Everywhere All The Time. I’m not advising anyone to develop a tendency with tardiness because hey, we all need jobs so we can eat (this coming to you from an “adult woman” with “three jobs” and a “real college degree”). But a little laser tag running never hurt anyone—and it’s effective cardio for the busy commuter! If you’re in a mad rush, it’s less likely you’ll find yourself bitching about freezing fingers clean off your hand because you don’t have time for that! Go! GOOOOOOO! You might find yourself with a solid sweat V on your back by the time you make it to the office or knitting club, but you made it and you are warm. Dammit.
Dragged Lindsay and Sarah out to see US Girls last night at Death By Audio. Meg Remy rules. She drops girl group vocals into a distorted volcano and awaits jarbled pop explosion. She has a really beautiful, symbiotic and creative partnership with Slim Twig. She peed during our phone interview last fall. She’s got some insane eyes. And loves The Boss.
But what will make me remember her and her live show especially is her final song at DBA: a cover of “The Boy Is Mine.” Mind = blown.
The Bathroom Ghost
I wiped the French fry oil from my fingers and opened the text. From my roommate, Alanna, it read: “I legit think I made the spirit in the bathroom mad.”
Six months earlier, I moved into our very hot, third floor apartment in Brooklyn’s Greenpoint. The other girls to fill the other two rooms were still in Florida, plotting their move-in date about two weeks after mine. It was the first time in over two years I’d lived alone.
Tell me, Meyers. Just how much did Brooklyn charge you for 45 percent ownership?
Lindsay let us come over last night to induce a sugar coma and get all festive and talk about belly buttons. Also, yesterday I got real good at “Happy Birthday” on kalimba.
So we might do a little Thanksgiving dinner thing at our apartment this year. There may be no turkey but there will be wine and pie. And more pie.
Alanna found bite marks all over two bricks of her ramen noodles the other week. Our collective—somewhat lazy—response included dumping most of our grains in mason jars and talking about steel wool but never purchasing any.
Now our “pantry” (OK it is really just an IKEA shelf set as flush to the wall as possible) looks like Pinterest barfed on it, apparently not swaying the mice much. We still hear them scurrying around sometimes—perhaps Alanna the most since the closed fireplace is in her room.
If I soon no longer have a face, it’ll still be chill. I think.
Pretty sure a functioning buzzer in yr Brooklyn apartment is one of these.
My landlord, clearly, is an unforgivable monster.
NOTORIOUS B.I.G.: Hypnotize
I cannot repeat enough that should this song come on at a bar/club, I am not responsible for my actions.