I’m writing tonight’s post from my desk at work. The hour is 3:32 am, which for a deadline night, isn’t half bad. My colleague Kelly Fisher is currently drawing some banana stationary for me to write my post on, because her brain, like mine, is mush after 12 hours of editing, and all she can do is engage in child-friendly activities.
I hate deadline nights. I feel like an endentured writing servant. And why after three weeks of people being able to send me edits, does the world wait till now to moan and groan about things? Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Luckily, there are a few things that keep me sane, like food. We luckily got hold of the company card around 8 pm and ordered enough sushi from Banana Leaves to feed an army of sumo wrestlers or really strung out editors. I in fact inhaled two entire dragon rolls and some edamamae for good measure. I mean, why not have my stomach resemble the bottom of the ocean? Banana Leaves is this really amazing Thai/Japanese resto near Dupont Circle conveniently located between a strip club, the former Real World DC house, and a bar where the Russian mob tipples. It’s one of our favorite lunch spots, and to avoid gorging ourselves on pizza tonight, we called in the raw fish splendor of Banana Leaves to take us into the wee hours.
So now it’s just Kelly Fisher, Amie and I trying to put a magazine together without going mentally insane. We already uploaded porn by accident. But we caught it. Fewf! Back to the races.
Washington Life's lovely and talented Associate Editor, Kelly Fisher. Also known as blog guinea pig, muse, and my common law wife. Oh, and that is three people's food. Kelly eats like a bird (ostrich), really!
I absolutely love having Stacey as my partner in crime. One of my favorite qualities about her is that we both love being overly girly and do chants like “perky, perky, perky!” before we promote Naked Thanks. When we both put on enough makeup to make Miss America look low maintenance and ask each other if we are wearing too much we scream out “No way! I think you need a touch more eyeliner.”
So on Saturday when Stacey and I were out encouraging appreciation and thanks, it was no surprise that Stacey got every tourist in town who thought they were innocently visiting the White House to leave with a Naked Thanks card in their hands. If Stacey handed me flaming poison I would take it from her.
When we first met, we worked for a company called Bisnow where we spent our lives interviewing strangers. We always had to grin and smile and pretend to care about what they were saying, something Stacey was so amazing at. While my smile would turn into a smirk and I would start daydreaming about the sweet taste of freedom, Stacey actually cared what people blubbered about and did everything with a grin. She took this same mentality to our protest and even wished the guy who thought we were promoting porn a nice day. Amazing!
Even in 28 degree weather being chided by tourists, Stacey can still keep a smile on her face, while I start to lose my marbles, as represented by this classic moment from Cruel Intentions.
I don’t know what it is about the monogram that I like so much. Is it the sense of ownership it brings me? The pillows are already on my bed, do I really have to go the extra mile to tell the world that they are mine all mine and no one elses? Heck, I won’t question my instincts. What I do know is that the pages of Pottery Barn are my favorite form of aspirational living and that one day, instead of putting pillows on milk crates and declaring it a couch, I will dwell in Pottery Barn perfection.
I have an obsession with monogramming. I would monogram bread if I could.
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