1. I love these hats. I want one. Guess which.
2. I bought these John Robshaw pillows (yes, I have a problem) at this awesome sale when I was visiting my friends in the D.C. area a few weekends ago. And while they cost me 100 bones (the pillows not the friends), that’s a third of the original price! And that’s what I call a deal, pickle.
Look. I know it’s a lot of money for two pillows (no kids, remember?), but that bolster is really big and super comfy! I used it as a body pillow on the train back to Philly.
I know you’re judging me, so let’s just move on, shall we?
3. I’ve been meaning to tell you about the second new-to-me website I’ve been loving lately (here is the first). It’s called Byliner, and there’s no cool videos or art to steal borrow for a stand-alone blog post.
Byliner’s great because you can follow writers (mostly long-form journos) that you like and it will recommend stories they’ve written. It also recommends other writers, and so it’s a great way to discover someone new.
And the BEST thing about Byliner is Byliner Originals. It’s exactly what it sounds like—stories written exclusively for Byliner that you can buy on the site. Prices average $2 to $3 each and are downloadable to your iPad (or your reader of choice). Kind of brilliant! Goodbye New Yorker, hello Byliner? I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
This is the one I want.
4. Bangs. I love them. Yours, mine, no matter. Well…mostly yours. Mine need to be cut.
5. When RTR goes public, I’m going to buy a million shares.
What’s RTR?
Seriously. You’re going to haveto keep up. (hint: here and here.)
6. John James Audubon was 35 years old when he decided to paint the birds of North America.
Just sayin.
7. I hate our loud neighbors. But I love Gossip Girl. And the universe now feels balanced.
I’m off to drown my sorrows (re: loud neighbors) in some five-year-aged Gouda.
xoxo.



Can I guess? Cairo! I love this post! Miss you, though. I thought you guys were resolving the neighbor situation. Is that still happening?
We’re moving in a month, but waking to the slapping of little feet on hardwood at 7 a.m. becomes more intolerable every day…particularly on weekends.