This is a mailbox. I’ve included several pictures in this blog for all my readers who haven’t visited theirs in a while. They’re cute, right? But—I get it—they’re not the most efficient way to receive news and they definitely aren’t the most immediate way to communicate. I could send thirty-six text messages and seven emails in the time it would take me to walk to the post office down the street from my house, buy a stamp, and drop a letter in the mail. So why bother? Let me tell you a . . .
Not only do I tend to draw inspiration from romantic comedies when I’m writing, I have been known to dramatically turn my life upside down after watching particular ones. I moved to Charleston, South Carolina years ago solely because of The Notebook. While backpacking through Europe I did a house-sit near the Cotswolds like Cameron Diaz does in The Holiday. And this time last year, I spontaneously rented a three-bedroom house for a life I “didn’t have” (nor was I sure I could afford) just . . .
When it comes to holiday gifting, members of my family have been known to wrap gifts you’d never expect—or particularly want to find—under the tree. My sister is infamous for wrapping IOU coupons for gifts she forgot to buy, suddenly remembered she should have bought come Christmas morning, and then never actually ends up purchasing. My brother got an IOU coupon from her for a phone case with a picture of San Francisco on it two years in a row before she finally bought it on Etsy. “It’s the . . .
I have happy hour every evening at my house on Balboa Island at five o’clock p.m. “Every evening?” My neighbor’s boyfriend, who was visiting a while back from Germany, perked up when I announced this his first night in town. He knew no one in Newport Beach and his girlfriend typically doesn’t get home from work until after happy hour (sorry anyone with a job that doesn’t let you out in time for happy hour. Here’s a list of career counselors in case reading this post makes you want to change . . .