You Should Know How To Do This: Be a Morning Person

The entire point of being a morning person is so that you can be a complete and total jerk about it all the time.

I am a morning person. I am a complete ass about it. Like, “oh, you just got up? I went to barre class, made some scones, did all my laundry, and read six chapters of Ulysses. Also, they were not sold out of maple bacon doughnuts when I got there. I wish you’d be there! Would have saved you one! They’re super good. One day!”

This is the beach at 5:30 AM. Look, you don't have to share.
This is the beach at 5:30 AM. Look, you don’t have to share. There are no kids trying to bury you in sand, and no drunk people/gross catcallers ruining your run, swim, or lounge.

It was not always this way. Back in the day, when I was a baby Kentucky, I would sleep until noon, no problem. This might be because I was a teenager and apparently teenagers’ circadian rhythms are on like, 27 hour cycles or something. One time, my dear grandmother woke me up at like, 9:30 and I complained bitterly for about a month.

When I was in college, I needed to work in addition to taking classes, so I scheduled all my classes on Tuesday and Thursday so I could sling overpriced lipstick the other five days. This effectively means that I was in class from 8 a.m.-5 p.m. on those days, which is kind of a feat for most students. It’s not ACTUALLY a feat, but if you’re in college and you tell someone you take 8 a.m. courses, they think you’re some kind of sainted freak. After that, I got a job that started at 7 a.m. where they would fire you if you were late, so I just kept the ball rolling. ANYWAY. I learned a lot about getting up early and its benefits.

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The 139th Run for the Roses

Heaven is the Jockey Club.
Heaven is the Jockey Club.

So, this is my favorite two-week period of the year. Better than Christmas, Halloween, and mayyyybe my birthday is the Kentucky Derby Festival, and, of course, the greatest 2 minutes in sports. I’m going to feature different Derby traditions and Louisville lore all week, culminating in the Saturday race. If you were wondering, no, no one in this city is working at all.

Get ready. This is the best ever.

Fantasy Life Update: Moving to Charleston

My front yard, maybe?

Friends, I have a lot of news for you. I’ve accepted a new position as the American South commissioning editor for the History Press, and I’m moving to Charleston, South Carolina in a few weeks to start my new job. I couldn’t be more excited– helping people write books about the South is absolutely my dream. I’ve never lived near the ocean, either, and I’ve always wanted to, so I anticipate a lot of time spent down at Folly Beach, too.

What does this mean for you? Well, I’m still eager to help you with any design work you want done, I’ll be blogging from 600 miles east of where I am currently, and I’ll be actively looking for people who want to write works of non-fiction. In short, it’ll be me with a different driver’s license (I KNOW.). I ask only for your patience in the coming weeks- things might slow down a little bit while I’m moving, but I’ll be back as soon as I can!

Do any of you know anyone in Charleston? Got any great recommendations or good leads? Want to write a book for me? Get at me. I’m excited about this new chapter and I’m grateful for your support.

The Freakin’ Weekend

Please pay off.
Please pay off.

I’ve got a full weekend, y’all. Heading to Evansville to pick up my grandmother’s classic Camaro, hosting a HUGE Motherlodge event (come! for free!), cheering on my sister’s alma mater in the NCAA tournament, helping to host a massive Good Friday seafood feast, dyeing 10 dozen eggs, going to I think five to ten brunches, and working in several very long and hard workouts before it’s all said and done. What are you up to? Tell me!

Lazy Sunday: 24 March

I’m on vacation still, so I’m leaving you these things to read in my absence:

So, what are you reading this weekend?

Fantasy Life Update: The Hair Doughnut

I dream one day of acquiescing to all my eccentricities and becoming some hybrid of Helena Bonham Carter, Bjork, and Sailor Moon. Like, how great would it be to be able to say, “I let myself get so weird that only Matthew Barney/Tim Burton could credibly relate to me”? I only have a few steps left between that and now, and I think this hair doughnut is really going to push me closer to my goal of living in Hair Wars.

This can be yours for about $2.
This can be yours for about $2.

Oh, and is it every weird looking, or what? SO WEIRD LOOKING. It feels like a brillo pad. This lady right here will explain to you how to get your hair to this:

Flashdance tunic (oops) completely optional.

And then you have this enormous thing on top of your head and women/gay men think you look amazing and men leave you alone all the time because you don’t meet a lot of guys whose ultimate celebrity crush is Bjork, it turns out.

Am I insane for wearing this? Because I’ve been doing that a lot in the last week or two.

Fantasy Life Update: Homebrew

In my increasing effort not to eat anything I didn’t make myself, I’ve branched in to homebrewing. A couple weeks back, I started a double IPA and it is finally ready. This takes forever and is completely worth it in every way.

Brew Awful Double IPA.
Brew Awful Double IPA.

We bought all our supplies at My Old Kentucky Homebrew, and y’all, they couldn’t be nicer. Your start-up costs on homebrew supplies are going to set you back about the cost of a keg of Bud Light, but once you’re rolling, you have great, handcrafted beer for about 70 cents a bottle. Since I am fancy, we asked Portland-based designer Autumn Hutchins to make our labels for us, and I couldn’t be happier with her fast, prompt work. In the weeks to come, I’ll post some stuff on how to DIY some beer. Invite some friends over, promise to give them half your yield, and get started. I don’t know what I was waiting for.

Fantasy Life Update: Deadstock Raybans

Y’all, look what I found when we were cleaning out my grandfather’s closet.


My mom let me borrow them when mine got stolen, and I just haven’t gotten around to giving them back. The man was an optician and a pack rat, and that just paid dividends for me.

Fantasy Life Update: Dog, Fireplace, Magazine (I have acquired just one)

I am house sitting for my mom this week while she’s at a conference at the Arizona Biltmore (no, I do not feel sorry for her. The Biltmore was full, so the poor dear had to stay at the Ritz). My mother is probably the most terrifyingly perfect person in the known world. All of her plates match, she has 20 kinds of vinegar, her nails are never chipped, and no one has ever seen her without mascara at any time after 1972. I can almost guarantee you none of her socks and underwear have holes. 
Which is why staying at her house is fun! I get to pretend like I personally have 5 kinds of salt, several bottles of wine, a gigantic shower (amazing water pressure, by the way), and one of those nifty electric kettles, but I don’t actually have to um…go out and get them? The best part of her house though, is this: 

It’s snowing outside and I never want to leave here.

There exists, in this house, a tiny dog named Ceili, and she is absurd. She hates everything that isn’t sleeping and/or lying disdainfully on pillows near a fire (aka the only things I want to do). There is also a fireplace. The only thing, actually, that I brought to this, was my new copy of Lucky Peach! Do you read this magazine? It is the best! 

So, in an effort to getting my actual life to more fully align with my fantasy life, I spent a full hour talking to The Tiny Dog (no response; has not yet mastered English), reading John Jeremiah Sullivan‘s article about preserved fruit, and pretending I own this fireplace. I’m getting closer.