Why I fucking love my Caboodle from 1988

A couple years ago, my father gave me a trunk that had been gathering dust in his storage shed.

"I think this is yours," he said. I wasn't sure, but I took it because I'm a pack rat and even if it wasn't mine, doubtless there was something interesting inside.

And there was! Under my entire childhood collection of ElfQuest comics (!!!), I found a relic of my high school theater days — a vintage CABOODLES makeup case. It still had two yellow post-its taped onto the top that said "ARIEL'S MAKE-UP" and "RUM-TUM-TUGGER IN CATS," relics from the last high school play I was in.


Everything I know about marriage I learned from Terry Miller (Dan Savage's husband)

Back in 2006 when I was working a full-time corporate job, while also trying to write what would become Offbeat Bride the book, I almost had a nervous breakdown. Desperate for some guidance and inspiration, I sent an email to my local hero, Dan Savage. His advice was basically that he owed it all to his partner. His then-partner? Terry Miller, who is now (thanks to Washington's marriage laws) Dan's husband. In the 10 years since I had this exchange, I've basically built my het marriage to emulate their gay marriage, and I'm convinced it's been the secret to everything being happy.


Of mothers and daughters and loudmouths

I look mostly like my father, but I got my mother's mouth.

The second oldest of four girls, my mother was always one of the loud ones. She talked loud. She sang loud. At her Catholic boarding school, she was always popular among her peers, known for being outgoing and gregarious. She became a hippy and strummed the loudest campfire guitar. She became a midwife and founded a national organization and spoke loudly at international women's health conferences. For her 50th birthday, she produced an entire CD of her songs, and threw a big party for herself. She started the night by announcing into the microphone, "Everyone, please be quiet and stop talking. It's time for me to sing."


Let's talk about the raclette, retro step-sibling to the fondue pot

Last month, our friends, the hot architects brought their vintage raclette over to have dinner. (Yes, the same hot architects whose wedding I crashed last summer. They've become friends, and in fact we're hiring them to help us with our condo remodel). So, have you ever seen one of these things before? I had not. It's basically this portable double-decker hot plate, with these special little dishes you use to melt a shit load of cheese over veggies and/or meat. You then scrape the hot, oozing, deliciously cheese-greasy mess onto bread (or I guess just straight into your mouth).


Social Media Diet: Two years later, it's still hard

Ok, it's been two years since I committed Facebook social suicide, and a year since I bailed on Instagram. There was a while there where it was getting easier and easier to socially ignore Facebook. Yes, I have to be there for work, but I just didn't miss it, socially.

Over the past few months though, I've started missing it. Part of it is realizing that even my husband uses Facebook constantly. My staff, my friends, my readers, my own spouse: all use Facebook all day, every day. My friends in LA? Facebook. My friends in Seattle? Facebook. My friends from Seattle who move away? Facebook.