There are a few “secret items” that will make a gigantic difference in decorating your place.  I have recently discovered them.

1. Rugs (I’ll tell you more about that at a later date)
2. Plants

 YOU’RE WELCOME.

So, I have constantly had a problem with the second item on this list, mostly because every single plant I’ve ever owned has died a horrible, horrible Natalie-induced death.  It has always been unintentional… and it didn’t used to be this way…

…because when I was in Grade Five, I was included in a super exclusive club called “The Green Growers”.  Basically, there was this Grade Four teacher that was one of those teachers who was a total hard-ass and really demanding, but who ended up being your favourite teacher… you know the type. All I remember from my first day in Grade Four was when he yelled ”I don’t want to see you guys doodling any CRAP on your NOTEBOOKS!“, then he slammed the pile of notebooks against his desk.  When you’re in Grade Four and your teacher says “CRAP” really loudly and slams notebooks on his desk, you become sure that the world will collapse.

But anyways, after the year was over, he would “hand-pick” a group of about 10 students from the Grade Four class, and they would all get a big manila envelope.  Inside the manila envelope was a hand-written invitation to “The Green Growers” club.  He would clearly just pick the super-smart kids who weren’t trouble-making assholes to the club.  So basically it was a Grade-Five nerd-club.  So I fit right in.

ANYWAYS, in “The Green Growers”, we stayed in during lunch once a week and we would plant a new plant (yes, it was quite nerdly, indeed).  The plants that I planted in “The Green Growers” ALL survived.  In fact, my mother still has about four of them at her place and they are now fucking huge monster plants.  Like, they look like they could suffocate a human baby they are so big and full.

But… ever since the last “Green Growers” meeting, where I planted a beautiful pink polka-dot plant, which later grew into a fucking 4-foot big pink polka-dot bush, I have been completely and totally unable to grow plants.

Usually, this is what happens:

1. Water it and put it in some window without paying attention to whether it should be in the sun or shade or whatever.
2. Forget to water it for 3 weeks.
3. Remember that I should have watered it and then freak out and totally over-water it so that the roots are sitting in rotted soil-water for days.
4. The plant starts to die then I freak out and water it even more, making the gross rotting-root situation even worse.
5. Realize that the plant is probably going to die, but instead of throwing it out, I leave it on the window sill, never water it again, and watch it die a slow and painful death.

Then Kelsey bought me a money-tree for my housewarming party.  And 1.5 months later, it was still beautiful and THRIVING.  I think it is because Money Tree plants fall under the “So-Easy-To-Grow-That-A-Fucking-Idiot-Could-Handle-It” genus of plant.

HA HA!  So on the weekend I decided to completely outfit my house with plants that fit my new “So-Easy-To-Grow-That-A-Fucking-Idiot-Could-Handle-It” criteria.

1. Mother-in-Law’s Tongue

Yes, that is the name of this plant.  Apparently, they are really easy to grow.  I transplanted it from a different pot, though, and it all like, crumbled apart in my hands and when I transplanted it, it was all falling over.  So then I used some neon cord to tie her up.  SHE IS SO ARTY NOW.

Look how majestic Molly looks with my neon-corded plant in the background.  It’s all coming together.

2. Cacti

I have wanted to make some cactus terrariums for a while.  Also, cacti are apparently easy as pie to not-kill.  All I had to do was find some big, low, glass containers.  I found three at goodwill for like 3-5 bucks each.  Then I bought some river rocks from the dollar store (apparently putting damn rocks at the bottom of your planter prevents soil-root-rot death), and some soil.  Then I went to home depot and bought whatever cactuses they had.

Then I terraried them up all up.

LOOK AT MY PLANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I feel like such an adult.  Adult-slash-Grade-Five-Green-Grower.

Although I’m kind of liking how this outfit turned out today, I am bothered with two things – first, I kind of pooped out by going for black pants.  They were an easy option and I didn’t really put a lot of thought into it.

Second, although I love this blazer, I’ve started to realized that I’m styling it the same every time I wear it.  For example.

Anyways.  At least I’m wearing pink shoes.  You almost missed them there, didntcha?  PINK FUCKING SHOES.

Forgot to post for Friday, so here it is.  Instead of doing “jeans on the bottom, dressy on the top” like I typically do on casual Friday, I did “dressy on the bottom, jeans on the top”.  I know.  Your concept of the space-time-continuum is now permanently disjointed.

Sometimes, when I’m feelin’ blue… you know, like when I’ve been trying to lose weight and have instead gained 10 pounds… I decide to tell my body to fuck off and then I pack it with horrible, horrible food that will likely contribute to an earlier death.

Friday was one of those days, and I decided to make my “casserole”.  My “casserole” is basically a delicious (from a taste perspective) and disgusting (from a conceptual perspective) concoction that I invented with my sister a while back.  I feel its the type of dish that mothers used to feed their children in the 70′s, before nutritional information was easily accessible.  Here is the recipe:

1. Sautee some chicken, onions, and garlic up in a pan.

2. Steam some broccoli:

3. Boil up some fusili:

4. Shred up a cheese-mountain:

5. Layer all the fixins in a casserole dish with the gross, disgusting, but super-duper delicious secret ingredient… RANCH DRESSING:

6. Bake it for… oh… I don’t know… 15 minutes?  Basically until the cheese gets all fucking delicious and melty.

7. Drink a beer.

8. Be a big, gross, fat, lazy person.

I am very good at eating and drinking.

This is a litre of beer at Wvrst.  I ordered a it at the same time as a couple of men.  30 minutes later:

We also ate sausages.

Lots of sausages in my mouth.

Many, many sausages in my mouth.

It was good, but I felt like they could be a bit more creative with the sausage prep. options… only “in sauce” or “on a bun”, and in both cases, the actual delicious unpreserved expensive sausage taste is a bit drowned out in either tomato sauce or like sauerkraut.  All in all, good though.

I also recently went to Grand Electric. I highly, highly recommend it.  All of the food was excellent, excellent, excellent, fast, and really really interesting.  It was one of those great “I have no negative things to say” experiences that are so rare.

EXCEPT for one negative thing… their beer menu is too heavy on the hops.  But that’s just me, because I hate hate hate hate hate hoppy beer.  It’s tastes like rotten grassy barf.  I ended up getting the Miami Weiss, which has the best label:

…still a little too hoppy for my taste, but acceptable. 

AMAZING DAMN RAW FISH THINGIE.

BEST FUCKING GUAC.

SO MANY TACO OPTIONS.

PIE IN A MASON JAR = HIPSTER PIE.

I am amorous for my new mint green silk top with navy little tie-thingie.  I feel like I look like I’m a librarian in the 1920′s, because in the film “The Mummy“, starring Brendan Fraser, there is a scene at the beginning when Rachel Weisz is basically wearing the same type of shirt (well, kinda), and I think she looks all 1920′s cute.

I just want to mention here that for some reason, I really really like the film “The Mummy” starring Brendan Fraser.  It is a horrible, horrible movie and it makes me also want to barf a little bit, BUT I LIKE IT AND YOU CAN SUCK MY BUM.  Also, although Brendan Fraser is horrible and unattractive the majority of his life, for some reason I am very attracted to him in “The Mummy” starring Brendan Fraser.

STOP JUDGING ME!

Many people know about my obsessive love for Missoni.  I am totally and completely in love with it.  So of course, when Missoni launched a collaboration line with Target, I got a whole bunch of messages from my friends freaking out saying “ARE YOU LIKE TOTALLY EXCITED???”.

But no.  I was not.  I was not totally excited.  Here is why:

1. The target line is made with polyester and nylon, not cashmere and unicorn fur like regular Missoni.
2. Yeah, ok – there are zig zags on it.  Missoni was like the “zig-zag-on-fabric” originator, for sheeze.  But over the last 50 years, people have clued into the fact that they can also put zig zags on their shit.  So it’s just some nylon fabric with zig zags on it. 
3. Missoni neck pillows?  Come on.  Stop squeezing blood out of the zig zag nylon fabric-ed stone.
4. Finally, go to eBay and google “Missoni Target”.  Know what happened?  People who were looking to profit went into Target the first day the line was launched and bought EVERY SINGLE MISSONI ITEM within hours.  They then increased the price by like 400% and started selling them on eBay to make a profit.  So now you’ll have to pay $200.00 for a $40.00 nylon zig-zagged shirt.  So the fact that Target launched an “affordable” line for the public to buy was totally useless, and a bunch of Missoni pirates made a bunch of money.  And the Missoni line became completely diluted.

Anyways.  Sorry, that sounded snobby.  But seriously – I’m totally into collaborations if the main elements of the original line are intact (like quality and originality with Missoni for example) OR if they are going to do something totally creative and different. 

THAT BEING SAID…  I really really really really liked this one throw they were selling.

Like, really liked it.

And although I love my Pendleton Yosemite Blanket… it has been grating on my brain since moving into my new place.  It just doesn’t fit with my bedroom. 

But this Missoni throw would TOTALLY fit in.

So I bought it from a Missoni pirate on eBay.  YES.  I succumbed to my selfish desire to have a Missoni throw, and I bought it.

AND I LOVE IT.

Despite the fact that it is, as mentioned, 100% polyester… it is very very very soft.

Of course, Molly is her mother’s child, and went TOTALLY MENTAL when she saw that I had purchased a Missoni throw.  What a brand slut.

Yes honey, I know how you feel.

Anyways, my pirated throw looks AMAZING in my mid-century modern bedroom and my Yosemite blanket has been retired to the upstairs loft space.  I am 50% ashamed of myself, 50% totally psyched with my ability to exploit the internet.

So last week, I found out I had to whisk off to Manhattan for a day like a large pimp. 

Not only did I have to whisk off to Manhattan, but I was scheduled to have dinner and drinks with a bunch of important people at some amazing restaurants in the Lower East Side.

Not only did I have to whisk off to Manhattan, and not only did I have to go to some fabulous restaurants/bars in the Lower East Side, but I had to stay at a luxury hotel, in the Presidential Suite.

Did I mention that I am a large pimp?

Tuesday I had to fly out.  I aimed to wear something professional-but-large-pimperly-but-versatile because I was WHISKING OFF TO MANHATTAN in the afternoon.  Vintage Christian Dior silk shirt, vintage Holt Renfrew wool blazer, and slouchy boots.  I’m so worldly.

Just want to mention that this vintage Holt’s blazer is amazingly well-constructed and fits like a glove.  Except I’m going to have to take the sleeves down a bit.  Apparently everyone in the past had short stumpy arms, because every vintage blazer I try on has sleeves that stop at my damn forearm.  That, or I have abnormally long gorilla arms.   It’s probably because of my gorilla arms.

I was in coach (scoff), but there was virtually no one on the plane, so I lounged out all luxurious-like…

When I arrived to the hotel, I learned that, because of my large pimpitude, I needed a special key to get up to my FLOOR, not just my room.  They offered to have someone put the key in the hole for me and ride up to my floor with me, because I think they could tell what a large pimp I am.  But I’m a down-to-earth pimp, so I said no.  Mostly, I just wanted to ride in the elevator alone to take a picture of this sign without diminishing the hotel staff’s perception of me:

Of course, there was a little “welcome” present for me, due to my large pimpitude and what-not…

Oh yeah.  And here was the view from my window:

Off to dinner at Pullino’s, an amazing Italian pizzeria-pastaria-deliciousnessaria on the edge of the Lower East Side.  The food was so good that I forgot to take pictures until dessert, when I devoured this apple tartlette thing.

Pullino’s was loud, busy, and delicious.  Just like a good restaurant should be.

Then off to Los Feliz.  Industrial decor + top-of-head-buns = tequila bar in the Lower East Side.

The tequila was really really good.  How do I know it was good?  Because when I drank it, I didn’t shudder with horror then suppress the urge to projectile vomit all over the table.  It went down smooth as silk.

Thank god I had the top button of my collar done up so that I was adequately hipstafied for the location.  If my shirt had been open a couple of buttons I would have been ostracised by the top-of-the-head bun girls.

Of course, I had a smidgen too much to drink… and the only cure for that is a bubble bath in my HUGE tub at midnight…

…followed by the drunken consumption of a candy apple.

Up at 5:30 am to do my actual work. 

I had to project at least the semblance of sobriety and professionalism, so it was black suit all the way.

Why was I whisked off to Manhattan?  I had to supervise the filming of something in the Presidential Suite.  ‘Aint no thang.

Soooooooooooooooooooo the view of New York from this suite was unbelievable.  And because the suite took up one half of the entire hotel footprint, you basically got views in every direction.  Like MILLION DOLLAR VIEWS.

Whatever, just sunrise over Central Park.

Whatever, just the sunrise cascading onto the oversized King bed.

Large Pimpitude, indeed:

I didn’t take many pictures of the inside of the suite because we were setting up the filming and stuff.  Here is the “sitting room”:

Just supervising filming.  Whateves.

Yeah, it was a pretty good trip.

Pay no attention to the potato-y-ness of my face in this photo.