Nei to Iceland, bye to Riverton, and bon jour to Paris

All parka-ed up and no where to freeze.

All parka-ed up and no where to freeze.

So… my trip to Iceland is cancelled. I’d be gutted, if this situation wasn’t so nut-balls-bonkers…

The woman heading up the press tour disappeared for 10 whole days a couple weeks before we were scheduled to leave — with no tickets booked for anyone. Ten days later, she popped by to drop a super-disjointed email, apologizing for being out of reach for “3 days” and cc’ing the airline we were supposedly partnering with. That airline’s response: “[Name], as me and my team have told you repeatedly neither me nor [airline] are your partner and we are certainly not part of this production.”

Her response: To change the subject of the group email to “HATE STUPID BUSINESS MEN,” start slinging shit at the airline, and telling us to “Forget them, all dear guests. NIGHTMARE from A to Z !!!”

Yeah… at that point (four days before we were supposed to fly out!) I got all “Bye, Felicia!” I don’t care if you miraculously pull plane tickets out of your ass, I’m not putting myself in your completely irresponsible hands for international travel. I imagine myself showing up to Iceland without a place to stay — drifting on an iceberg like that sad polar bear, with only my newly purchased down jacket and stylish waterproof boots to keep me warm. (Oh yes, I purchased stuff. Idiot me.)

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This is a long, boring recap of a superiorly stressful day

Yes, I had a fucking DAY. It was intense. I think I handled it well. And it ultimately ended with “chi chi” cocktails with Ken at a tiki bar. So, all’s well that ends with chi chis. But here’s what happened…

me in front of riverton

Me in front of my future home?


I fell in love with another house. But it needs a LOT of work — leak in the kitchen so bad the walls are pealing away, a leak in the bathroom turning the wall brown, and everything needs to be re-grouted, an add-on that needs to be completely torn down, a backyard that completely overgrown, termites, rot, etc. So my friend Jessica asked her contractor to meet me at the second open house. Bright and early, I met my hottie realtor and Alex the contractor at the open house. Alex came back with good news — he thinks the immediate repairs will be under the budget I gave him. So I decided to move ahead and make an offer.

On the way home, I stopped off at the AT&T store… Read More

Send a raven for these Game of Thrones sneakers!

Happy Game of Thrones Sunday! Let’s take a moment to appreciate these shoes…


They’re called “Send a Raven” by TeeFury, and they’re freaking Game of Thrones shoes.

Just look at the level of detail of this raven illustrated with massive amounts of Thornes references…
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The torturous healing of break up songs


This broke my heart today: Jackson found one of each of our shoes and put them together in the doorway of the bedroom.

You know what one of the worst parts about this break-up is? It doesn’t have a song yet.

I need that one song that I can just listen to over and over and over again and cry to in the car. That song that lets me know I’m not alone in feeling this EXACT way. There’s something so torturously healing about it. Wallowing in your sads, knowing someone else has hurt like you, letting the pain wash over you, and then eventually washing away.

Usually I get a song right away. But that musical kismet hasn’t happened to me yet. So I started thinking about old breakup songs — every relationship I was in had one… Read More

“One way ticket to NICELAND, please”

Guess what, guys. I’m going to fucking Iceland!!!

The timing couldn’t be better. The same week that I learned I lost my dream home and my husband, I got an email from my friends Alex and Lisa (the ones traveling the world getting married) asking:

“Fancy a slinky 7-8 day press trip in Iceland for 8 days? Hanging out with us guys, dog sledding, ice climbing, Viking shit etc. etc.”

There was only one answer: FUCK YES, VIKING SHIT!

So on May 1st, I head to Iceland, and, to be honest, I’m not exactly sure when I’m coming back yet. You see, The Brits (that’s what we call Lisa and Alex) have invited me to come back to England with them for a week. Of course I said yes. Now it’s my turn to culture clash my way into their world, amidst family members and friends I feel like I already know through their stories.

Then I thought, hmmmm… Read More

Sometimes I forget

In this moment, I wasn’t thinking about it.


Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I’m editing a post, or watching a movie, or playing with the dogs, or talking to a friend, and I forget that Aaron left me. I forget my family died. I forget how miserable I am. I long for those moments. And yet, they’re moments that I don’t even get to appreciate until after they’re over. I can think “oh hey, that was a moment of [joy, or contentment, or ease]. That was nice.” Then my heart starts radiating a deep pain again, and I’m back in my misery.

Sometimes this doesn’t feel real. It feels like a nightmare, and that I’ll wake up any minute to find my life back to normal and my family back together. To find he’s right beside me in bed, and I can grab onto his arm, and feel the warmth of his body, and hear his voice consoling me, calling me Peanut, and telling me that it’s all okay.

And then sometimes it feels so real I can’t even breath. The truth of it hits me with such force, like a mule kicking me in the heart from the inside out, and it hurts so god damned much.

Sometimes it hurts less. Like when I went over to Jessica’s for Passover, or to the Easter party at Drew’s and got distracted. At first I didn’t think I’d allow myself to get distracted. I kept finding myself holding my breath, or doubling over in pain, or completely fucking spacing out. And then… it just happened. I actually let go, and had a good time for a while.

Sometimes Ken texts me to ask how I am, and my response is “I don’t know.” And that’s true. I have no idea how I am right now. Then I think about how Jessica told me that “it’s a process.” She’s STILL going through a divorce, so she knows. “It’s a process” has become my mantra. I keep repeating to myself over and over.

Sometimes I will feel okay, and then I won’t, and then I will, and then I won’t again. And so on and so forth until it gets easier and easier, and then one day I will actually be okay.

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