Not much is new here. It’s getting cooler, which means fall–and the accompanying Things To Do In Autumn list–is on its way. So far on the list: lasagna soup and apple-picking and voting in a presidential election. I just got my voter registration card in the mail yesterday, so I’m good to go for my first Virginia ballot (Swing state! My vote counts this year!).
This was my after-church lunch on Sunday: pineapple quesadilla. No surprise there. I think we can safely say that meal is the new neon-colored pancakes and flaxseed bagels, but which I mean I will eat it obsessively for several months and then stop cold turkey.
Lovely Sunday clouds.
Tuesday night dinner: coconut jasmine rice, black beans, fried plantains (my first attempt), and mango salsa. There’s an avocado in there somewhere.
I also ate that one Wednesday night, after which I went skinny jeans shopping. I’ve never been the most fashion-forward girl (see: glasses circa 1998, hair 1998-2006, etc.), but I keep seeing colored jeans on Pinterest and thinking “I’m not so old. I could pull that off.”
I went to the mall by myself, which is not my favorite. Jason is a good clothes-finder, while I just get apathetic and sad when I don’t see exactly what I’m looking for. Almost immediately, though, I saw the perfect pants: corduroy skinnies in the most marvelous and on-trend coral. I snatched them up in two different sizes and booked it to the dressing room. The first pair fit perfectly, and I spun to look at myself in the mirror.
My dad used to tell a story about his roommate who ignored the rules of tasteful Halloween apparel (1. Clever 2. Comfortable 3. Easily transitions to party-appropriate wear so you can enjoy the evening post-costume contest) and dressed as Pepto Bismol in a pink sweatsuit. This was the eighties, after all.
When I looked at myself in the mirror in pink skinny corduroys, the only thing that came to mind was the Pepto Bismol sweatsuit. It was not good.
Over the next hour, I tried on approximately twenty pair of jeans across a wide spectrum of hue and size. More than once I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered whether I was a smokin’ hot hipster or delusional. (In the clear light of day, I recognize how silly it sounds to be concerned about age-appropriate apparel at 24, but skinny jeans are woefully unforgiving.)
In the end, I texted my mom and Mio a couple pics and begged for honesty. I ended up purchasing a pair of red skinnies and like them. That’s kind of an anticlimactic story.
This is how I eat my fruit snacks.
It bothers me that the last cherry is not red like the other cherries.
My hair is long enough now that I can get it mostly into a French braid or an upside-down braid, which someone once told me was called a Dutch braid.
I’m in the middle of All The King’s Men, but switched to To Have and Have Not last night because I couldn’t handle any more corrupt Depression-era southern politics–even if some of the action does take place in Lexington, Kentucky. I’m expecting a shipment of paperbacks tonight (doing me no good, pretty much) which includes the ward book club pick. I resolve to actually attend this month, instead of just waffling about it whenever I see the Relief Society bulletin.