I need some new books. Any recommendations?
E-mail me your picks, and I’ll post a running list here.
The list:
The Sugar Queen by Sarah Addison Allen
Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen
My Paris by Gail Scott
The Lies of Locke Lamora – Scott Lynch
The Monsters of Templeton – Lauren Groff
The Last Chinese Chef: A Novel – Nicole Mones
The Twelve Little Cakes – Dominika Dery
The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett

The Last Empress: A Novel by Anchee Min
Wild Ginger: A Novel by Anchee Min
The Last Oracle by James Rollins
Belong to Me by Marisa de los Santos
Love the One You Are With by Emily Giffin
This Charming Man by Marian Keyes
The Garden of Last Days by Andre Dubus III
Nothing to Lose by Lee Child

Does it exist? Or is it as elusive as the comfortable thong?

I’ve been in the midst of an office overhaul, transforming my work space from a guest-room-with-a-desk to an office-with-a-guest-bed. I figure that while we only have guests a few times a year, I work in here every day, so it makes more sense.

The problem with this is that before I worked staring at a wall. Not inspiring, but also not distracting. Now I’m working looking out over my new room, and can’t stop thinking about what still needs to be done in here.

The art work is uninspiring, although I think I have that problem solved. I scored a huge vintage Sex Pistols poster on eBay last year, and as soon as I get that baby framed, it’s going up.

A trickier problem is the computer desk. All of the cool desks out there are designed for hip Mac lap-top users, not for fuddy-duddy desk-tops. Still, I’ve found a few possibilities:

1. Ikea Mikael computer cart

Pros: Pretty, pretty blue! And it’s only $40!
Cons: It’s Ikea. I always regret Ikea. Ikea sounds like a good idea — “Look, a really coolly designer piece of furniture for only $39.99!” — and then you get the damn thing home, and a few months later, start hating it and the fact that you’ve brought even more semi-disposable Swedish furniture into your life. Plus, the nearest Ikea is two hours away, so procuring the desk would call for a level of devotion I just can’t muster up for this desk.

2. Blu-Dot Paperclip Desk

Pros: Super cool. Especially the legs. Love the legs.
Cons: The $500 price tag. Plus it’s way too big for my space.

3. Desk Computer Mobile Station at Tiny Living

Pros: Cute, cute, cute! And it’s the perfect size for tucking in next to my desk.
Cons: It’s made out of MDF, which makes me worry that even though it doesn’t carry the Ikea price tag ($169), it’ll carry the Ikea six-months-later-and-you-want-to-throw-it-out curse.

I’m flummoxed.

I am Officially Bitter. O.B. for short. Which, now that I think about it, could also stand for Old Bitch, and still be apropos.

Sam and I attended the high school graduation party of his regular babysitter yesterday. It was a pool party, and by the time we got there was already crowded with gorgeous young things all with adorable figures and all wearing bikinis.

(When faced with the Bikini Girls, Sam was overcome with shyness, and retreated to my lap. Clearly, I have taught him well.)

So my O.B. moment came when one of the girls worried out loud that she wasn’t tan enough to pull off her new black bikini. And before I could stop myself, I heard myself tartly respond: “Hey, you might as well wear it while you can.”

See? Officially Bitter. I’ve become that woman, the middle-aged one not wearing a bikini – I shudder at the very idea – who feels the need to remind young girls that their beauty is fleeting.

It’s exactly like when senior citizens smile wistfully at Sam, and then turn to me and say, “Treasure these years while he’s young, because they go by so quickly.”
I mean, really. Why not just rip my heart out and stomp on it a few times?

Here’s a conversation I’m glad George wasn’t home to hear:

The doorbell rings. When I open the door, our UPS guy is standing there, holding out a package for me.

My first thought is: Oh, goody! A package!

My second is: Shit, this isn’t for me.

I hand the package back to the UPS guy. “It’s not ours. It goes to the house next door.”

“Sorry about that,” UPS Guy says. “It’s just when I’m in this neighborhood, I’m normally delivering to you.”

Is this a sign that it’s time to go cold turkey on my Zappos habit?

Perhaps the thrift store gods weren’t smiling on me after all.

One of my purchases yesterday was a full-length wall mirror, an item I’ve desperately needed for the bedroom. I snapped it up and brought it home, where I dolled the frame up with my ever-handy can of white spray paint. When it was dry, I hung the beautiful new mirror on the mall and stood back to admire it. It really was perfect — long and elegant, with a classically shaped frame. Just what I’d been looking for.

Then I saw my reflection, and nearly had a heart attack.

I looked like this:

It was horrible. I knew I’d put on a few pounds lately, but I had no idea things had gotten so bad. But now it was clear: I’d been in a state of denial. I’d officially Let Myself Go.

I was still in the depths of despair when George arrived home from work.

“Did you see the new mirror?” I asked glumly, after he’d gone into the bedroom to change.

“I did. But the glass is warped,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you notice? It’s bowing so much, it’s like a fun house mirror.”

I raced to the mirror, dragging George with me, and made him stand in front of it. He looked ten inches shorter and thirty pounds heavier in his reflection.
“Thank god,” I said, so relieved I nearly cried. “I thought it was just me. I thought I’d turned into a hobbit!”

George laughed for an hour straight. I made him take the mirror down immediately, and banished it to the garage.

I joined the throngs of women flooding into movie theatres across the country this weekend to see Sex and the City.

My take? It was good. Good, but not great. I thought it was a bit too long (for me and my tiny bladder), especially since there was a lot of fat they could have trimmed off of it. I read a review somewhere opining that the movie was great when Carrie was a blonde, but lagged when she was a brunette, which I whole-heartedly agree with.

My favorite part of the movie was not the fashion – although that was pretty freaking awesome – but the scene where Carrie went shopping for a new desk, claiming that the right desk would help her overcome her writer’s block. I actually squealed at that point, as I too subscribe to this theory.

My current desk is an L-shaped glass one (sadly, not the fabulous Eames one pictured above), meant to provide both a writing area and space for my computer. (I use a desk top, which I find vastly more comfortable for long hours of writing, although I’ll readily admit that laptops look a lot cooler. Desktops are the computer equivalent of orthopedic shoes.)

Anyway, I hate my desk. Not only is it glass, which is bad enough, but it’s green glass. Ugh. Whenever I do edits, I have to relocate to the kitchen table just to keep my sanity.

So I’m in the process of an office overhaul. And the thrift store gods have been good to me: in the past few days, I’ve scored a mega-cool Danish Modern credenza and a leather Knoll Pollock desk chair. A new computer stand for my ugly desktop is already winging its way to me. I just need to trade out the guest bed for something trimmer to make room for my new finds — a daybed, I think — and I’ll be good to go.

So will a hipper office produce better books? We’ll see. Right now I’m a believer.

By the way, am I the only one who actually preferred Carrie’s apartment pre-makeover? I’ve always thought her old apartment was vintage chic perfection. To me, the new one looks like the set of a Target ad.

Out with the old . . .

. . . and in with the new.