moving is fun!

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted; as ‘they’ say, “life gets in the way sometimes”.

We finally sold the house that we spent an eternity (and an ungodly fortune) remodeling but it hasn’t really set in yet.  While we look for a new house (oh God.), we’re renting a temporary space in a gorgeous area called Bayou St. John.

Last week, I had two hours to find somewhere for us to move to before the movers got there.  As my mom has not subtly informed me several times since this happened, most people do this in advance.  And that most people probably don’t live in an insane housing market quite like New Orleans.  Hindsight blahblahblah.

But the most exciting part of all this is I finally had the opportunity to open the champagne that I have been dragging around the southern part of the country for the better part of three years.  [side note: I’ve actually found none of this is very exciting, it’s more like a big incredible stress inducing money pit.  I honestly might as well take my checking and savings out of the bank, head-on into the backyard (that doesn’t exist because I live in New Orleans, which is just a weirder, smaller New York space-wise) and light it all on fire]

So in any case, here is my new stoop.  And my traveling champagne.  Which, not surprisingly, tasted funky.  Apparently hot/cold/hot/cold/hot/cold/hot/cold over the course of three years is not good for the quality of your bubbles.


So you live, you learn and so on.  Except I seem to have trouble with the learning part so I just keep living and repeating the same shit.

But at least I’m finally in New Orleans.  On my stoop.

Champagne Days…


I also like to drink champagne when I’m happy.  And when I’m sad.  Also, when alone or when surrounded by lots of people.  I think Mme Bollinger had it right.

Made me think, who am I saving all those bottles of champagne for in the fridge?  Apparently myself.


My grandparents left my these gorgeous Baccarat champagne flutes and I felt it was time to use them.  Who needs a reason, ‘it’s Wednesday’ will suffice.


Farmer’s Market & Champagne…

farmers market

Yesterday my best friend texted me, “farmer’s market & happy hour?” to which I responded with the only answer there is.


farmers market-flowers

Our local weekly farmer’s market moved and is now only a couple blocks from my house.  I’m taking it as a sign I need to buy more locally and less Central Markety.

Although it was a small group they had everything, from bakers to cooking class options.  A woman asked me if I wanted to take one of her ‘canning’ classes and I politely declined.  I’m not terribly sure what that means but I’m pretty sure I’d rather buy hers than do it myself.


So after we had our fill of hand made pastas, jams, organic fruits and veggies we went and had our fill of champagne.

Thursdays are my new favorite.