This list is an extension of an earlier post, where I promised to post such a list. So, here it is, my TOTALLY WORTH IT LIST (aka a list of things I’m glad I bought before marriage and babies, when in some cases spending this much would be out of the question… or at the very least a guilt-ridden hide-the-bags fest).

Crate & Barrel Steamer Bar

KitchenAid Mixer
My Steamer Bar
Schweitzer Linens
Every last Hermes Scarf
My cropped white Hudson Jeans
My AG Jeans in “The Fringe” style
My elliptical machine
West Elm Bookshelf
Nikon Lenses
Wusthof Knives
All-Clad Stainless
Really good blowdryer
Fleur de the Rose Bulgare perfume by Creed
Burberry Poncho
An assortment of Purple Label cableknit cashmeres
Celine Black Bag
Intermix black trench coat
Anya Hindmarch Pony Bag
Takashamaya Robe
Black Catherine Malandrino dress
My really good laptop bag that doubles as a… really good bag, period.
RLX Polo sport jacket that makes me feel all mission possible
TJMaxx Special: Ralph Lauren heavy crystal plaid tumblers & barware

Look around your life. What do you STILL get a thrill from having? Orgasms, for the most part, are free, so they don’t count.

Recent purchases I can’t imagine won’t make the list years from now:

Hands down, my holy-shite this is awesome VITAMIX (love love love for velvet soup textures, phenomenal cocktails with that same texture as frozen margarita machines, and smoothies, ice cream, chopped onions!)
Diamond Earrings
The softest lambskin black bag ever
A Gorban painting
My Breville Oven (3 people have slept at my house, left, and ran out to buy one)
And a shitpile of cookbooks
Really good baking pans (Chicago Metallic)
Olio Santo (my favorite olive oil)
Silouette Machine
Much of my MJ Trimming Ribbon collection

NOT WORTH IT
Creams. Any of them. I’d like to be convinced otherwise
La Perla
Leather pants from Scoop
Burberry Coat
The Blahniks, any of them
Any knockoff ever
Wow, not a single pair of shoes, not even my favs

I think it’s surprising what we think will bring us happiness and what actually does. People say that objects don’t give us happiness that lasts, and I’d agree, for the most part. But I will say that some things, actual things, do make us smile daily, leave us feeling confident, pretty, taken care of. And if you can find those things, if they still make you feel, years later, they’re worth keeping. It’s how I feel, most, about my cookbooks and cooking equipment. They are my favorite things.

Love to love these plates for summer seafood entertaining + the night of 7 fishes

Nope. Not a post about the raunchy sex I’m not having. Lust now, and let’s face it always has, come in the form of purchases. All of these loves pass my Jealousy Test.

Yes, this is a dog collar. Here’s my question: would a teacup yorkie collar fit my wrist? Love.

Oh, Juliska, you saucy minx. This ladylike dinnerware makes me think of manicured gardens, white linen, and entree salads of avocado, grapefruit, and pistachio nuts paired with Grüner Veltliner. Not that I’m specific in my obsessions or anything.

Now that I’m shifting gears to Palm Beach County it’s about time I full-on embrace my inner Golden Girl. I’d be the one drinking just before noon. Yes, there’s a tray for that.

So, body parts crossed, we might have found a place to live in Florida. Woodfield Country Club. I’m sure by the time we unpack it will be time to move. As relieved as I am to be done with the house hunt, much more of a relief is the fact that I’ve just now seen spot, and man did she run. TMI ALERT: I am menstruating for the first time since JANUARY. And no, I do not get shots or wear ass patches; I’m not on birth control because I like anal sex. So, there you have it. Bleed back on.

This has happened to me before when losing weight. On that front, I feel myself losing interest, taking things for granted. I need to shift the focus back to my health, about feeling light and strong. Getting my vitamin D levels up, eating my Chia seeds, filling up on yogurt and protein. I’m down 24.6 lbs., still. I don’t care if I lose any more. What I really want to do is marathon my way through The Biggest Loser, start with Season 1 (it always motivates me to drink more water and to move more).

I feel like my dream vision board from my new year’s resolution is coming true, that there’s change on the horizon. Travel, more family, possibilities. I still want to feel giddiness, lean into wisdom, and for some odd reason that’s been biting at me all year, I have a strange obsession with horses. And that’s one to grow on.

Since eating eggs on Easter is like feeding a chicken chicken, I’m thinking of serving rabbit at our Passover Seder. It’s very two-birds (one stone), only with fur in lieu of feathers.

Okay, not really. But I’ll tell everyone the chicken is rabbit, just to be cruel. Because most Americans I know tend not to eat pet-like animals. Frogs, rabbits, dogs, cats. Only, people do have pigs as pets (they’re smarter than dogs), and also opt for bacon with their Rootie Tootie. So, nix that. I might just go ahead and get my Bugs B on.

This first night of Passover will be plentiful, a table of family and close friends. Along with the obligatory constipation, this Passover I’ll also be making some traditional dishes: matzo ball soup (with nutmeg and dill). Do people eat kugel on this holiday? You know, egg noodles or something? Nothing “risen.” Because you’ve gotta have something sweet on the table to counterbalance bitter herbs and horseradish. And while ground nuts and fruits (Charoset) might sound like a good time to some, to me it sounds like wasted good-time calories. Matzo s’mores and Matzo toffee sound like the way to go.

Also, in the spirit of celebrating the Israelites’ liberation from Egyptian bondage, I vow to partake in our own little bondage session. Because anything involving tying up Phil is a good thing.

Cheese Buffet

Apron Hostess Gifts

I’m no expert when it comes to cocktails. This girl likes her wine (especially a Pinot Noir from Oregon’s Willamette Valley, where the climate is similar to Burgundy:   Yum!). But I can say that freshly squeezed juices make just about all the difference there is.

For our recent New Year’s Hair Of The Dog Brunch (we had 43 people, including the 18 children running about), I put out the Cuisinart food processor with the citrus attachments. I love the thing and use it often enough, but guests seemed to need instructions, so it wasn’t ideal. And by ideal I mean, it was a juicy bitch. Next time, I’d buy freshly squeezed juice from the gourmet market, and by the time we ran out, people would be soused to the gills, ready to get a juicin’, bitch or not.

I’ve had my eye out for a hardcore chrome manual juicer. No ceramic, no hand-held number, but the old school one you somehow see in catalogs, even though they don’t actually sell them, “No, no, Mam, that’s just for merchandising.” Ew.

So, I’m at Sur La Table the other day to buy a long-overdue wedding gift (what, we have a year!) and I couldn’t quite help myself. I bought it on the spot. $128. Then I brought it home and stashed it in the laundry room.

I am not in the habit of hiding purchases, though I’ll allow that I sometimes “economize” on my baggage from car to house, moving all the contents from several bags and condensing everything into a single tote. This way it appears I’ve done less damage. Not just spending money, but spending time (All those stores, really? Couldn’t you just go to one and be done with it?). But after December birthdays, Hanukkah and Christmas, might be best to tread lightly. Still, it was shiny.

The next day I receive a message from my step-mother Carol, saying she saw a mechanical juicer on sale at Rue La La for $49! The same brand, slightly different model than the one in my trunk. I race to my computer (despite having the Rue La La app on my phone—wait, do I have a problem?), log-in, scroll, and… SOLD OUT.

I hate you. But, I also love you. Know why? It’s because of you, that I’m now motivated to scour the web for the best price, and if I find it cheaper, I can simply return the one I purchased as Good Sur, because Sur La Table is awesome like that. They have the best return policy ever.

“Whenever, however,” the sales associate told me. “You don’t even need the receipt.” It’s smart because it makes me want to shop there, knowing if I end up not really loving something, not really even using something, I can simply return it. “Yeah, no questions asked. We’ll never make you feel bad about it or give you a dirty look.” Love to love them. Also, I know I’ve said it before, but I used to HATE baking like I hated slow people. But ever since this came into my life, I now only hate slow people. No more goddamn measuring and leveling. I DUMP the flour in, and voila! It tells me when I have the exact amount of flour/sugar/water/milk, etc. that the recipe requires. It’s my most favorite thing.

I digress, I know. THE POINT: I now have a shiny new toy HIDING in my laundry room with over a dozen oranges on my kitchen counter (did you know the uglier the orange, the sweeter and juicier it is? I swear, it’s like Puerto Rican women believing the louder she screams while giving birth, the more beautiful the baby will be).

“You’re going to be mad,” I say to Phil. He says nothing. “I bought something.” I wait. He stands there. He shakes his head.
“Just, don’t tell me,” he says, then leaves the room. Awesome.

But wait, is “don’t tell me” the same as “don’t show me?” Like, what you do, when you’re not around me, is your business, so as long as I don’t know? That’s right, I’ll take ignorance and keep the bliss. With this logic, I’d have to continually hide my juicing. Can you imagine? I’d hand over some oranges to Abigail and have her hide them up her shirt. “Today, kids, we’re going to have boobies, like mama. Now, let’s go do laundry!” Then we’d secretively get our juices flowing. A bit much, no?

Instead, I took a long hot shower, then sat in our sauna (because my sister Lea, who’s studying acupuncture and Chinese herbs, says I have “too much damp”). Put on my robe, hit up the laundry room, and hauled the sucker out.

Juiced those citrus pockets like nobody’s business. Ah. Then, I scurried to our office to type this, and now, I’m hiding out. See, told you. I don’t hide purchases, just my purchasing shame.

Potluck is just another way of saying “Lazy Hostess,” and I’m fine with that. Actually, that’s not entirely true when you consider the dishes to be done, recovery drink recipes to be consulted, cleaning your home, attempting some form of coordination or theme, but you know what? I still don’t care. I love people and filling our home with stories and faces. I love the possibility in it, the way we can become closer as friends. In fact, it shouldn’t just be a potluck food party, but a potluck person party. As in, bring your favorite dish and a favorite friend. But I guess that’s basically what teens do before the police turn up. Still, I love making new friends and finding new recipes to steal and claim as my own. In that spirit, I’ve decided, quite last minute, to throw a potluck brunch. And miracle of miracles, Phil’s actually on board. That is to say, he’s “Fine with it. Just don’t involve me with any of it.” Baby steps, people.

Now, in last-minute fashion, do you have a preference in invitation before I email them off? I had considered throwing an “After The Throw-up Party” on New Year’s Day, or the “Un-light Our Tree While We Get You Lit Party,” but neither really rolled off the New Year tongue. So Hair Of The Dog seemed to trump the Hangover Cure Party because really, there are enough “cure” parties, and who wants to start the year off with a cliche?

Also, I plan to select the “potluck option”, where people, when RSVP’ing, will select from the potluck menu what they will be bringing (dessert, salad, chili or stew, etc.) so we don’t end up with leafy greens and only leafy greens—much to the chagrin of Dr. Oz.

Option #1 Retro

Option #2 Orange Luck

I drew inspiration from various sources on the web. Where, exactly, I couldn’t say, due to the holiday brain I’ve got goin’ on (a cousin to Pregnancy Brain, but sans hormones and tenderness). So I leave you with this flickr inspiration of mine.