“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.

Protected: Cutting the invisible string

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How is a green onion like a gemstone?

prasiolite

I think almost every small veg with a name I don’t recognize is green onions. Shallots (no). Chives (no). Scallions (yes)! Leeks (no). Scallop (no). If you say any of those words to me, I think of a green onion. This has been a long-standing joke with Jessica, and one recently shared with my friends Lisa and Alex.

A few months ago Lisa and Alex gifted me this tiny prasiolite with a note explaining that prasiolite means “scallion stone” and to “please make me into a piece of jewelry.”

It was one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received, and it meant a lot to me. It was a tiny marquise-shaped stone, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with it. Would it look to engagement ring-y if I made it into a ring? Maybe a necklace? Gah, I don’t know.

ring setting example

Then I stumbled up on this image. I found it on Pinterest with absolutely no source, of course. And a reverse image search came up with nothing. So I just had this crappy, tiny photo of the perfect fucking ring for my stone.

Armed with this crappy photo, I went to my jeweler and he thinks he can whip something up! I’m excited for a lot of reasons… Read More

All men must poop: The Game of Thrones bathroom

game of thrones bathroom from Funk in Deep Freeze

Game of Thrones starts up again this Sunday! In honor of the premier of my favorite fandom (and my favorite character), I thought I’d whip up a very special Game of Thrones bathroom post. I did this for Doctor Who, and Star Wars over on Offbeat Home, but Thrones is so near and dear that I wanted this one for myself.

Like all of my bathroom roundups, it combines some obvious cheese (iron throne toilet and joke mug) and some subtle nods to the fandom (faux fur rugs, and antlers). THIS is how you Thrones-ify your bathroom, without going too over-the-top…

Read More

The only shoes I need…

boots

I posted the photo above on Instagram, and got asked where I got those boots. Lemme tell you about those boots…

They’re basically the ONLY shoes I wear. Well, those and Rainbows. I’ve actually gone through several pairs of black motorcycle boots: My first ones were too cheap and wore out after a year of almost daily use. The second pair was too short, and had some weird wires sewn into the leather that kept popping out and poking me. And the third pair got eaten by a dog.

It’s all good, because I decided to stop fucking around and invest in a pair of real leather moto boots, and these are my favorite so far:

Diba Women's Jet Way Boot

What are the shoes you practically live in? Like, if you had to narrow your collection down to ONE pair… what would they be?

Old man keeps house, Megan cries for days

Wah Waaaaaaaaah. :(

Wah Waaaaaaaaah. :(

Bad news: I didn’t get the house.
Good news: No one else was chosen over me.
Unpredictable news: The guy who lived in the house got last-minute mortgage help from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, so the bank stopped the short sale.

Of course I’m devastated. Everyone told me not to get my hopes up, and I told everyone “too fucking late.” I sobbed and sobbed yesterday. Then I awoke this morning feeling drained and depressed.

It feels like I got dumped by a boyfriend. Being in a longterm relationship for almost 10 years, I had forgotten this feeling… The tears, the questions, the feeling of general “unfairness,” and the fear that no other house will ever be as perfect for me. Then the calm of acceptance… and then the circle of grief again.

I know in my head that there, of course, will be a next house. But I just don’t know when. I could be tomorrow, but it could be in a year or more. But to go from happy excitement, with a future full of possibilities, to this emptiness is rough. My mind searches and searches for a thing to focus on, for a happy goal to work over as I pass the time, and, finding nothing, I go back to el depresso mode. It’s basically the mental version of my home search on Redfin.

If I focus on the good in this situation, I can still be proud that I saw something and attempted to go after it. I channeled my inner bad-ass, and accomplished everything I needed to, in order to have a chance at my dream. (I even finally changed my last name with the Social Security office, after six years of laziness.) For that I am proud of myself.