I love throw pillows. Unfortunately, so does my stinky, hairy pug, Zoe. She has systematically turned every throw pillow in my house into a pug nest. They become infested with a lingering dog fug that no laundry detergent can touch.

The Naughty Pug

Knowing that any pillow I bring into the house will eventually be befouled in this manner, I rarely splurge on them. But if I did, here are a few I wouldn’t mind taking up sofa space:

Source: jonathanadler.com via Whitney on Pinterest

Source: jonathanadler.com via Whitney on Pinterest

Source: finnstyle.com via Whitney on Pinterest

Source: welldressedhome.com via Whitney on Pinterest

My new J.Crew board. Inspired by 45 minutes of karate class and nothing to read but the new catalog.

Source: jcrew.com via Whitney on Pinterest

This is (part of) my living room.

Yes, that is a nude on the wall. No, it is not me.

I scored the chairs on eBay five or six years ago. They once occupied a hospital waiting room, and arrived covered in a nubby, well-worn orange polyester. I actually dug the orange, but they were, (1) in desperate need of recovering, and (b) clashed mightily with the living room rug.

In the end, I decided to upholster them in brown microfiber fabric, mostly because, between the boy and the dogs, it seemed like the most sensible choice.

This was clearly a mistake.

The room is just so brown now. Brown chairs, wood coffee table, tan couch. And I’m not a brown fan. I prefer glossy white things. Clearly, I would have been better off picking a zebra print or maybe a cowhide for the chairs.

(Ooooo. Cowhide.)

Anyway, I have decided my living room is in desperate need of a cream Barcelona couch.

(Yes, I know, the couch in the photograph is tan. Picture it in cream. Or white. Better, right?)

The problem is that one of these beauties costs about $10,000. Which makes it a very expensive solution to my too-much-brown problem.

Also, I’m officially tired of the West Elm capiz floor lamp. It seemed hip and edgy when I bought it. Plus, it reminded me of a stunning capiz chandelier I one saw. But now? Not so much. It, too, needs to go.

Tomorrow is National Drink Wine Day.

That is the best damn news I’ve heard all week.

These are the links Facebook thinks I will find interesting:

1. LonNy Magazine (good)
2. Kate Spade (fine)
3. Joss & Main (perfectly acceptable)
4. Gout Study (Gout Study?  What the . . . ?  And, more importantly, WHY!?! )

If I ran for local office – which is highly unlikely – this would be my platform:

1. I would rubber stamp all bars and restaurants with a water view. Despite the fact that our town is surrounded on three sides by water, we have almost none. Which is way lame.

2. City Hall would no longer have a water view. It would be moved elsewhere, preferably next to the water treatment plant, and its current site would be used to accommodate the aforementioned waterfront bars and restaurants. And, seriously, whoever heard of a city hall with a multi-million dollar water view? Insanity.

3. Bicycling and picnicking would be allowed in the enormous and expensive new downtown memorial park. Because large, tax payer funded green spaces should be used for more than just concrete memorials.

4. Two words: Mardi freaking Gras.

This afternoon, I plan to pop some popcorn and begin Sam’s education on the magic that is 80′s teen cinema.

First up: THE KARATE KID. And, yes, we will be performing our best crane kicks while we watch.

Ralph Macchio looking badass

We’ll then move on to UNCLE BUCK, which has the double benefit of starring the brilliant John Candy and being directed by the even more brilliant John Hughes, and features some of the best movie dialogue ever.

Buck: The guy’s a predator and you’re his prey.
Tia: Really?
Buck: You bet.
Tia: And how would you know?
Buck: When I was his age, I was a guy zooming girls like you. Pretty face, big chip on your shoulder.
Tia: I recommend you stay out of my personal life.
Buck: Do your parents stay out of your personal life?
Tia: They don’t know my personal life.
Buck: Have they met twiddle-dink?
Tia: His name is Bug.
Buck: First or last?
Tia: First!
Buck: What’s his last name, Spray?

Good stuff.

This was my dinner last night: chicken wings and left-over birthday cake.

Mmmm . . . Chicken Wings

I’ve had birthday cake at every meal, including breakfast, for the past two days straight. I’ve eaten so many frosting flowers, my body has been in a near-constant state of sugar shock.

This must stop. Also, on a not entirely unrelated note, I need to dig out my stretchy pants.

UGH.

I did score breakfast in bed, which was nice.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned when it comes to your child’s class parties, it’s this: Respond quickly. Within seconds of receiving the teacher’s email, if possible. Don’t even think about it, just hit the reply button and take the easiest option available.

(Which, by the way, is always plates and napkins. In fact, I may have to make a shortcut on my laptop, so that all I’ll have to do is swiftly punch in ctrl-k, and the message “I’LL BRING THE PLATES AND NAPKINS! THANKS, HAVE A GREAT DAY, WHITNEY” will pop out. Brilliant.)

Your reward for a quick response? You will be the one who gets to bring in the plates and napkins, or the juice boxes, which is the other easy option. Late responders, aka The Suckers, end up responsible for home baked goods, deli trays and roast suckling pigs.

Don’t believe me? When the Grandparents’ Day email went out, I didn’t check my inbox until the evening, and as a result, got stuck bringing in two dozen bagels and assorted cream cheeses. This involved a trip to the grocery store for the cream cheeses, a separate trip to the bagel shop at 7:30 in the morning, and a long wait while the bagels were sliced. Another mother was assigned to bring in plastic forks.

PLASTIC FORKS.

And don’t tell me that cupcakes are no problem, because you love to bake. Please. Second graders will happily scarf down stale Christmas cookies in May. They are not going to appreciate your homemade cupcakes. Besides, transporting cupcakes is a complete pain in the ass.

Know what’s not a pain in the ass to transport? That’s right: PLASTIC FORKS.