Today marks my 9 year blogiversary. It started with geocities, a garden in Paris and a first-name-only basis. I practiced html, posted photos of myself and used it as a letter writing medium. I had just moved abroad and every penny mattered – I couldn’t splurge on airmail. It was cathartic and therapeutic and it
All posts by Buffy
I was looking through my old high school memory book. Where it asked about the life you’ll live and the things you’ll have in 10 years’ time. The first question was “Married?”. The first answer: “Not on your life. Or mine.” My future was never made of man. I was on the softer side of
Number of days on mini-break: four Number of cocktails on mini-break: six Number of times thought Empire State Building looked like Dutch Pancake House: three Number of times saw Conan: none Buffy Holt 28 February 2007
“Why do people insist on calling themselves Italian when they’re not from Italy? When their parents aren’t even from Italy?” “Same reason people insist on calling themselves Irish when they’re not from Ireland.” “Italian-American. Albanian-American. Franco-American. You know, you Americans are the only ones who do it.” “I know.”
So we’re doing this thing tomorrow night. It’s called Duvet. And it’s really not so much a thing as a boudoir type lounge and restaurant in New York. And by boudoir I mean big beds and by lounge I mean lounge. Chris was like “Leave it to me to find a place to lay down
I use to weigh my head. On a scale. Ask my sister. She’d weigh her boobs. They were the biggest things about us. My forehead, her breasts. In high school she earned a full wardrobe with hers – boys bought her things just so they could stare at ‘them’. You know they did! I earned
I hit the shower. The cold usually shakes the fog that comes with late nights and early mornings. It didn’t. I could feel my hand tingling. My little alarm that lets me know ‘it’s time’ and ‘take it easy’. I leaned my head against the door and then thought ‘Crap! You crazy woman, get out
Junior was righter and more just than anyone he knew or had ever known. Most had come by God as a course of living or family. The Almighty had been thrust upon them and they accepted the mystery because duty and the minister told them they had to. Not so with Junior. He was hand-chosen.
I do one meal a week. One good meal, that is. Yesterday was it. Chicken Korma. Not that canned crap. Proper Indian cuisine. Where you add the saffron and cardamom and do it yourself. I forgot today was Valentines Day. And that I’ll have to do it again. I’m thinking something-salmon. “I want nothing,” he
Dinner. 2005. Sometimes I look just like I did when I was two. This wouldn’t be a bad thing if I were two. Or ten. But I’m 28 and trying to be stunning and gorgeous and not look like a frog. It’s this expression I have when I can’t believe what I’m hearing and wouldn’t
There are ‘friends’ and there are ‘friendlies’. Friends are true blue. People you still know well after nine years apart. Friendlies are the ones you just get on with because you have to. Because they’re colleagues or family or because you’d rather not be rude. Today I’m minus a friendly. For good. Because I’m getting
Hey you guys, remember The Goonies? Of course you do. It’s one of those movies I could watch forever. Like Sixteen Candles or Back to the Future. It’s my movie to veg out to. When I’m tired and full of cold and just want to sleep in front of the fire. Only I never get
