Anatomy of A Conversation

I overheard a conversation yesterday in the lobby of our apartment building.

“NO ONE makes a smoothie like I do!” said Apartment 303. “The Lord knows, no one even comes close.

“You know you do!” said Apartment 301. “They’re not garbage smoothies.” Then the two old women walked past me, stepped into the elevator, and rode straight to Smoothie Valhalla.

Since then, I’ve been thinking about those four sentences all day. I’ve pondered tone, word choice, word emphasis, and verbal punctuation. I’m an enthusiastic consumer of smoothies, but had never thought of them as terribly difficult to make. Making a smoothie, according to common sense and Pinterest, is simple:

You go to the store and purchase items grown or made by someone else. You take those items home, cut them up, and throw them in a blender. Maybe you get fancy and add chia seeds or vodka. Then you pour the results into a glass and consume through a hole in your face.

These are the basic tenets of smoothie creation.

To declare that no one makes anything like you do is to truly live life on the edge. Has my neighbor met every person in the world to confirm that her smoothie-making ways are significantly different? The way she declared it, that first sentence – her tone, the finality – was one of total confidence. NO ONE makes a smoothie like she does.

This led me to a few theories:

-Like Santa, 303 has met every person in the world, maybe at an intergalactic smoothie competition that she has won for the past 2,000 years.

-303 grows every single item that goes into her precious smoothies, even the potatoes to make her own vodka.

-303 is a real life wizard who creates smoothies out of thin air, like Albus Dumbledore.

Taken at face value, it was a straightforward conversation, but when analyzed further, it got weird.

-How does the Lord know 303 makes the best smoothies? Has she made a smoothie for the actual Lord? Do gods even need to eat, and if they do, would they really choose a healthy breakfast alternative favored by middle-aged white ladies? If I was a god, I would probably try all the endangered species on Earth; that, or have a 24-hour brisket-pizza sundae buffet.

-When 301 said “You know you do!”, was she enthusiastically agreeing, or just implying that 303 has a huge smoothie-flavored ego? Like ‘You know you make good smoothies, but leave me the hell out of it.’

-“They’re not garbage smoothies” is pretty high on the list of backwards compliments I never need to hear. How do I look, honey? “Well, you don’t look like a garbage can filled with rancid ham.” SWOON.

How to work wizard smoothies into casual conversation has been my latest challenge. When I see 303 again, I need to be prepared; if she holds the key to Smoothie Valhalla, I want in. “Oh, hello, neighbor! I love that pink nail polish; those aren’t garbage nails. The color reminds me of the greatest smoothie ever made in the entire universe, which I haven’t tasted yet but maybe someday soon, hint.”

I hope she has the recipe memorized.


Scrub Life: The Skin Wins

If the thought of an old Korean lady squirting hot milk all over me in front of a bunch of strangers makes you laugh, this story is for you.

Now if you’re anything like me, you’re probably lazy, somewhat-to-totally overweight, and a fan of living outside your means. This is AMERICA, right? Where anything is possible! Like freedom and cankles and an empty bank account.

Last month I got on a scale, and that scale told me how many chins I had: Around 19, and that was just on my left side. The scale was a self-righteous asshole but I value total honesty in a friend, so it was also very confusing. Make it my new bestie or bury it in the backyard next to the Shake Weight?

Around the same time, I checked my bank account for funds, which was like shouting down a well and hearing nothing but echo. ‘Stop doing things in reverse,’ I told myself. ‘Imagine a life where you lost weight, gained money, had an owl, and went to Hogwarts.’

Instead, my friend Andrea and I went to the naked Korean women’s spa in South Tacoma (which, like anything, when compared to a wizard school, is actually kind of dull). When she called to see if I was available, these were my first three thoughts:

Yes! It’s the perfect time to relax and reconnect while surrounded by supportive women!
No! This is the worst time to be fat and self-conscious in a place where everyone is nude!
Wait! They have potstickers! I am totally going! AND A VIOLENT DEATH TO THOSE WHO STAND IN MY WAY.

To recap: Food, not relaxation, was the motivating factor in getting me to the spa for services I couldn’t afford at the time. We booked appointments anyway. Story of my life.

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Baked: Rainbows + Birthday Cake

I like my cake how I like my pride parades: colorful, super gay, and topped with edible glitter.



When a unicorn poops out goodness into the world, this is what it looks like.

Enter: This cake. Made for a 12-year old’s birthday. She didn’t like chocolate (AUDIBLE GASP) but really wanted lemon, which is an acceptable third choice after chocolate and more chocolate. Not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m sort of a chocolate superfan.

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“Health”: Salad & Marriage Week

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“Health”: Marriage & Weak Salad

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Thwarted By Oink & Moo

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I’d Like To Fit Into My @$?!%&# Clothes

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I Give Up, Let’s Eat Salad

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Damn It, Now I Feel Better

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Marriage Vows Change Everything

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See how my blog name has the word ‘ham’ in it? I guess I’m not chasing that pink dragon anymore. No more mainlining that deliciousness for the time being/foreseeable future/maybe forever. Later on I might try it as a garnish, or nibble a piece of lean bacon over breakfast, but pork and beef, cow and pig, oink and moo – two of my lifelong besties – have become problematic frenemies who bring internal ruin and suffering.

Excuse me while I weep over a pile of healthy, overpriced microgreens.

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The Feelings Buffet Is Closed

There has to be a word for the time you write a thousand-word blog post about how stressed out you are in order to alleviate that stress and then WordPress loses it, causing even more stress on a day when the stress piles are already high and mighty. Because my head feels like it might explode at any minute in a fiery WordPress rage, I’m just going to post some photos that make me very happy instead. Here goes.


Here is my new favorite cake, a Turkish one I made for the Thanksgiving wedding of two fabulous ladies. Many thanks to Traca for the kitchen assistance. Decorated with tiny orchids and a little banner I made that says ‘Wedding Congratulations’ in Turkish. Serve with fresh whipped cream. The flavors are both simple and complex; it tastes like exotic happiness.


So this exists. Taken on Capitol Hill because awesome, that’s why.


It was fun having a toy parade in honor of Justin’s 32nd year on Planet Earth. I wish I could have thrown him a Macy’s Day Parade, but this was more affordable.


I love the pink deviled eggs at Bitterroot in Ballard. I actually love a lot of things – food and drink things – at Bitterroot in Ballard. Please go and keep them in business, but get out the way when I arrive. There is pork to be had.


We’ve been having lovely nights out with friends for a welcome distraction from the wedding planning. This evening surrounded Pike Place Market; we went with B & E to Seatown to see my brother (the food was delicious!), then headed to RGB, and finished off at The Virginia Inn. Seattle nights out = happy funtimes!


Last but never least: the cheese. As you can see, it stands alone but not totally alone. This was taken at my friend KW’s place while she designed our Save the Dates (they were awesome!). So thankful to all the friends who have lent and offered their time, resources, talents, and ears to our winter wedding woopdedoo. Also, I love my phone camera. It takes pretty good photos.

I hope my lost post (the stress-y one) just appears someday, like horrible internet magic. If it doesn’t, here’s what you missed: we are le tired.