this story has now been told several times to friends and family, and it has come to my attention that the use of profanity while recounting this tale is absolutely, and completely necesarry.

sorry for those who are offended by R rated language.

let me start off by saying this:

i'll try anything once. i'm a big fan of "don't knock it til you try it." but just so we're all clear here, there are three things i will never do again:

1. eat fois gras
2. jump off of the cliff at waimea bay
3. be a personal assistant

on my quest to find a steady job out here in hollywood, i've come upon all sorts of interesting positions. on craigslist, i've seen ads for everything from go-go dancers to delivery drivers. however, one of the most common "professions" out here--if you can call it that--is the personal assistant job. as you all know, this industry is filled with rich people who are more than happy to throw their money at anyone who will do something for them. although being a personal assistant sounds like you might get a cool sneak peek into the life of some pseudo-celebrity--who is most likely attending morgan freeman's golden globes party and owns fancy things from brookstone like sock warmers and shiatsu massagers--most people out here know that the job of a personal assistant is anything but glamorous.

on tuesday, i became a personal assistant.
on wednesday,
i quit.

my entire reasoning behind even applying for this job was that there was some cooking involved. if you've been paying attention to my blog, you know that food is a big part of my life. when i stumbled upon a craigslist ad for a part time chef/housekeeper i thought to myself:
i love to cook. and i'm a damn good cleaner.
i may have grown up as a messy kid who refused to brush her hair or put away her underpants where they belonged, but in the last decade of my life, i've become one of the neatest people i know.

example: three days ago, i was using my computer when i realized that the screen was a bit dusty and the crumbs from my english muffin had gotten stuck in the keypad, making it impossible to press down the "T". i stood up and grabbed a paper towel. twenty minutes later, i had dusted and wiped down every surface in my apartment. twenty five minutes later, i was on my hands and knees scrubbing the backside of my toilet. after finishing and washing my hands, i sat down at my computer and realized that the screen was still dusty, and i was still unable to properly type the word "frittata."

after applying for endless jobs on craigslist, i had little to no expectations for ever hearing back from anyone. next thing i knew, an email popped up on my gmail with the subject "RE: Part time Chef/Housekeeper Position" (yes, i actually use correct capitalization when i have to). i was invited to west hollywood for an interview. i jumped for joy and immediately called my mom to tell her of my potential job. i explained to her that although being someone's housekeeper seemed a little strange, there would be cooking involved. and let's face it, i'm the kind of person who wakes up and then immediately makes my bed. maybe this was the universe's way of telling me i needed to share my lysol love with the rest of the world.

the interview went extremely well. i was surprised to learn that the girl who had emailed me was actually the assistant of the man whose amazing house i was standing in. for the remainder of this story, she will now be referred to as "assistant." because he wasn't the one interviewing me AND i never even met or gotten a glimpse at him, he immediately became known as "mystery man" in my head. but for the sake of this blog, we'll just call him charlie. of course i didn't have the opportunity to snap a picture, but the view from the inside of the house looked a little something like this.

it was your typical, ridiculous, obnoxiously large glass windowed, mansion-style-house in the hollywood hills. however, this house had a deck with a windy staircase leading to a guest house, as well as an "infinity" swimming pool--which means that the water appears to be continously flowing like a waterfall (because that's really a great reason to spend an extra three thousand dollars).

i couldn't believe that this is where i could potentially be coming to work every day. to my surprise, the girl i interviewed with basically hired me on the spot and told me to come back tomorrow for a "trial run" of my first day on the job. once again, i called my mom and rambled on about how i would be making fifteen dollars an hour to spend time in a beautiful house on the hills. i woke up the next morning, filled my body full of caffeine and granola bars, strapped on my tennis shoes, and made my way back to west hollywood.

i came prepared to cook, but assistant told me that my first task for the day was to tidy up the bedroom. no big deal--i thought to myself--who doesn't love a good bed-making and opening the blinds? as i first stepped into charlie's sleeping quarters (who i had still yet to meet), i discovered that this bedroom was the size of my entire apartment. i looked around at the messy piles of acid wash jeans and boxer briefs that looked like they had been flung into the room with a slingshot. although i cringed at picking up some strange older man's dirty underwear, i reminded myself that i was getting paid, and i continued to hang his button downs and armani jackets. while digging through his pants pockets to make sure that a set of keys didn't accidentally go through the washing machine--because obviously he's too busy to remember to get things out of his own pockets before throwing his khakis on the floor--assistant came into the room.

"next thing you do is strip the bed. you can leave the comforter on there, but take everything else off."

"oh okay. is it time to wash his sheets?"

"charlie likes his sheets washed once a day."

mental statement: "are you fucking kidding me?"

actual statement: "um. okay."

over the next hour, it was finally time to begin preparing charlie's first meal. the cooking side of the job perplexed me a bit at first. i was only hired to be there for three hours, yet i would be cooking three meals while i was there. either this man was REALLY hungry, or he just doesn't have a very good sense of time. while trying to throw together lemon roasted chicken breast, wilted garlic spinach, and lentil soup in a kitchen where half of the drawers were empty and dishes were piled up in the sink--i was then given my next few chores.

laundry. sweeping. mopping.

i knew that this would be part of the job, i just wasn't sure how they expected me to be in the kitchen chopping garlic, while at the same time upstairs squirting mop-n-glow onto the floor. i hesitantly set down my spatula and began trying to conquer the first bit of laundry. assistant then told me to do it in two loads.

now, i'm no laundry genius or anything, but i believe that when you have an entire set of king size sheets, as well as three week's worth of clothes and towels, you might need to plan on doing more than two loads.

once the first heap of things had been piled to the very brim of the washing machine, i thought about my next task.

sweeping.

i'm usually a big fan of sweeping. ask sara. she lived with me for two and a half years, and in those 912 days, i swept our kitchen floor at least 912 times. i looked around at the enormous dark hardwood floor that stretched across the entire downstairs.

i decided to start with the bedroom.

thinking that i would be given some sort of fancy contraption like a swiffer, i was very surprised at the tool that was suddenly placed into my hand. i expected--at the very least--a typical libman broom that works excellent for sweeping with it's unique slanted head.

but no, i was not given your average kitchen broom. i was not even given a swiffer. or a dustbuster.

instead, i was handed the very broom...

that belonged to the wicked witch of the west.

as assistant placed the large, wooden, crumpled and disfigured broom in my palm. i looked at her as if to say "you're shitting me, right?" instead, what came out was "i mean, i'm going to need a dustpan."

a roll of paper towels, two bottles of surface cleaner, a sponge, the dustpan, and crumply dumply and i went upstairs to charlie's bedroom. i began by sweeping the corners of the room and then working my way in. at first i thought that the rays of sunshine beaming into the room were making the place sparkle. and then i realized that the particles floating through the air were, in fact, dust that i was sweeping up from all directions. it's not as if the broom was collecting paperclips and other random objects that could be easily scooted into a dustpan. no, my wispy friend was sending fuzzballs and dustpiles all over this man's black hardwood floors. i thought to myself, "what the hell. assistant was just in this room and she could clearly see that this dust problem could not be solved with a half-broken broom from 1939 and a tiny dustpan. everyone knows that you can't sweep up dust."

i went back downstairs to finish prepping my omelet, while simoultaneously doing two loads of laundry and cleaning every floor in the house. just five minutes before, i had been extremely close to kicking my pile of dust up into the air, walking downstairs, and telling assistant that i gave up. instead, i took a deep breath, began humming the theme from will and grace, and went back to work in the kitchen. the strange thing about charlie's house was all of the boys that kept coming in and out. apparently, one of them was a brother, one was a cousin, and another was probably a friend taking advantage of the infinity pool. all of the guys were in their late teenager years to early twenties, and i couldn't for the life of me figure out what the hell they were doing there. i assumed they lived in the guest house and just spent their days flirting with assistant and playing basketball in the driveway. the next thing i knew, a ridiculously good looking australian walked into the kitchen. granted, he was probably twenty one years old--but when you have an australian accent, things like age don't count. it was at this exact moment that i was once again overwhelmed with a "this isn't right." feeling:

assistant, charlie's mom, random boy #1, random girl from norway, and hot australian were sitting around the kitchen table. the mom was offering drinks and snacks and everyone else was chatting away and shooting the shit.

FLASH TO FANNY: i'm standing in the kitchen holding a bottle of antibacterial spray and meticulously picking sesame seeds off of the granite countertop. i looked at the group sitting at the table--laughing, mingling--and then i realized,

holy shit. no one is talking to me because they think i'm the help. i should be over there in front of the crowd, making them reel with laughter as i regale hilarious stories about my fantastic cat olive--while at the same time smoothly hitting on hot australian. but no, cinderella is too fucking busy in the kitchen figuring out the proportions of bleach-to-water for her mop and bucket.

and then just when i think things can't get any worse, assistant gets up and walks over to me.

"by the way, make sure you put a glass of water next to the food at the table. and then make sure there's one upstairs by his bed. and one on the desk in the office. also, make sure there is a bottle of water in each of his cars."

mental statement: did you really just tell me that this asshole needs to have a glass of water in each one of his rooms?

actual statement: silence.

 he's obviously one hell of a businessman to own a house in the hills like this at the young age of thirty four, but this man is no celebrity. at this point, i STILL haven't met him and i'm beginning to think that he's just a head. regardless of celebrity status, i'd like to assume that even the rich and famous are able to get themselves a bottle of water to quench their thirst.

case and point:

now, i could be wrong to say that these drinks found themselves into the hands of these celebrities with no middle man involved, but i'd like to think that even people who are rich and famous...

pour their own water.

and if you're that fucking thirsty every time you walk into a new room, you should probably see a doctor.

while trying to pick my jaw off of the floor after being told about charlie's outrageous beverage requirements, i decided to change the subject back to the floors. i explained to assistant that my oversized broom had simply made matters worse upstairs, and that i would be needing something slightly more powerful to attack the downstairs floor. i expected her to open a closet containing all sorts of mops, buckets, and swiffer wet jets. instead, she handed me a long pole with what appeared to be a sesame street character attached to the end.

mental statement: what the fuck is that.

actual statement: what is that.

assistant then told me that this gigantic fuzzy masterpiece would be the best solution for clearing the dust off of these floors.

i thought to myself: if this piece of shit had wings, the only thing it would be the best solution for...is getting me the fuck out of here.

as i slid this awkward mess back and forth across the floor in straight lines--just as i had once seen a zamboni do at the ice house in cary--i realized that i was, yet again, causing nothing more than a blizzard of dust. luckily, under the steinway piano in the corner was the perfect place to store whatever remnants of fuzz that hadn't clung to my black leggings. i suddenly remembered that i was supposed to be doing laundry. i yanked part of the bedsheets out of the dryer to find that not only was it covered in wrinkles, it was still about sixty percent damp. knowing that i had to get the second load into the dryer, i did my best to fold the oversized tan sheet.

while standing in the dark--because i couldn't find the lightswitch in the laundry room--i haphazardly made my sixth attempt to maneuver this ridiculously large piece of bedding into a square. my first mistake was that it was still damp, and my second was that i can't fold for shit. it's not that i'm laundry-challenged, but when given a large piece of wet and crinkled material that would normally take an entire soccer team to fold, it's very likely that i'm going to either A. give up or B. find the easy way out. i went with option number two, balled the sheet up, and then formed the top layer into a rectangle so that it would appear to be neatly creased and folded.

at that point i realized to myself: well you've already fucked this up pretty bad, so you might as well leave now with at least some of your dignity.

but i did not leave.

i went back out there with my splintery broom, my scraggled mop, and my pile of vegetables i had been cutting on and off for the past two hours--and i worked until exactly five o'clock. i smiled at assistant, told her i had a great day, and gladly accepted the diet handbook to look through for tomorrow' meals.

i went home, wrote assistant an email telling her i was just offered another job, and then celebrated by buying myself yogurtland.

did i learn anything from this experience? sure. i learned that some people are so lazy and rich that they can pay others to have a drink ready for them in each room. i learned that the kind of person who likes their sheets changed once a day is most likely a douchebag. i learned that there are thirty four year old men out there who still act like frat boys because they have people who are hired to pick up after them. i learned that cooking three meals and cleaning an entire mansion in a period of three hours is a task that can only be completed by a super-maid, or possibly a wizard. i learned that dust fits very nicely under a grand piano. i learned that a hot australian boy who--under any other circumstances-- would be asking for my number, isn't going to make small talk with someone that he thinks just cleaned a toilet. i learned that being an assistant means that your job is to tell the housekeeper what to do. i learned that if you're not supposed to leave clothes in the washing machine when you leave, but you're planning on quitting, then it's probably okay.

oh...you meant, what did i learn about myself?

i learned that it's okay to humiliate yourself for $45 as long as it's going to make a KICKASS blog post.

sometimes i eat ramen,

and sometimes,

i eat this.

well seeing as you can't serve ramen to guests--especially one who furnished your apartment and brings you bags of nice clothes each week and one who gives you boy advice and takes you to fun places like chinatown and the fashion district--i decided to make this meal the other night for stella and keltie.

the chicken was stuffed with oven roasted balsamic tomatoes and lemon basil goat cheese and the potatoes were what we call in the slater house "sara potatoes" (because sara can never have enough of these). the sara potatoes are roasted with olive oil, rosemary, paprika, salt, pepper, and garlic. i added my special touch of tossing them with caramelized balsamic red onions.

and of course...there was a balsamic drizzle on top of everything. keltie was in charge of the vegetable and the green beans with pine nuts were a perfect match to the rest of the meal.

needless to say, things were devoured...

however, the highlight of the meal for me was seeing two girls--who both chose to give up television in their apartments--stare at my big screen TV with fascination as leonardo dicaprio and kate winslet clung onto the big door in the middle of the ocean.

at one point, keltie dropped a forkful of green beans back onto her plate, sat upright on the couch, and leaned in towards the TV repeating to herself,

 "i forgot how epic this was" 

as titanic slowly sunk into the freezing water.

i guess that's what happens when you hang out with people who don't own TVs.

i wish i had taken pictures in the fashion district, but i was too busy sorting through jeggings and jewelry to get out my camera. i was, however, so fascinated with chinatown that i remembered to snap this one picture of the endless rows of porcelain elephants for the bff. keltie and i were on a quest for white lanterns, and after an unsuccessful journey through little tokyo, we found exactly what we needed at the first shop we walked into in chinatown. this store had every funky chinese gadget and decoration you could imagine, and it was just one of a TON of shops along the street. i didn't buy anything, but i certainly did leave with a craving for lomein.

sadly there was no lomein my future that night, but there was this.

while searching for a very specific kind of ice cream (the exact text from sara said: "next time you go to the grocery store, go to the ice cream isle and look for edy's apple pie. it's limited edition, so buy every single one they have.") i stumbled upon a brand of frozen yogurt i had never even heard of. one of my recent obsessions--besides coffee bean--is tart frozen yogurt. pinkberry was where i tried it for the first time, but i've had it a few other places now and holy CRAP is that stuff addicting. i didn't even know that anybody sold it by the pint in grocery stores, but thanks to gelson's and a company called cefiore, i found my new after-dinner treat.

it's been a long time since my spoon has seen the bottom of an ice cream container. there's generally an old, freezer burnt pint of ice cream that i only got through half of in my freezer. granted, i've had this frozen yogurt for a few days now and have been religiously eating it after dinner...but i was still impressed with myself last night as i discovered that i was on my last few bites.

in other news, olive discovered my hamper yesterday.

since she made a new discovery, i decided that i should as well. knowing that i had a babysitting job last night from 5 pm until at least midnight, i decided it was a good idea to bring dinner with me. i was in the mood to try something new and if you know me, you know i was going for greek food. i did some research on places close to where i was babysitting and i came upon a little hole in the wall joint called city best chicken. i liked that the name didn't really make sense. like when you go to a thai restaurant and one of the dishes is "noodle with shrimps." i also liked that everyone raved about this place for the fact that you get four--yep, FOUR--sides with every plate you order. almost every yelp review claimed that the chicken was moist and juicy, so i knew that a chicken kabob was in my future.

as for my sides: pickled vegetables, hummus, babaganoush, and cucumber yogurt sauce.

the verdict: let's just say i'm glad no one was around to see this gloriously deliciously messy meal.

since i knew i would be picking up dinner, i decided to do lunch homemade-style yesterday. just my luck, i had bought an "acai machine" naked juice the other day and was craving something healthy. clearly we all know what happened next.

homemade acai bowl.

duh.

acai juice, blackberries, strawberries, and ice in a blender. sliced bananas. raisins. granola.

holler.

one of the main reasons for the energy packed lunch was because i didn't know a thing about the little boy i would be babysitting. all i knew is that if he wanted to build forts, play trains, and do jumping jacks--i would have the energy to do just that. turns out that my plans for the night of running around in circles weren't what this little boy had up his pajama sleeve. his priorities were very different, and i couldn't have been happier.

turns out...we have very similar interests.

speaking of similar interests, you know the moment when you realize that someone is perfect for you? the moment when you see them doing something that makes you think: wow, we really DO belong together.

welcome to my moment.

brrrrr!

damn this winter weath...

wait.

apparently california likes to do winter a little differently. where i'm from, winter means hoodies, hot chocolate, and possible snowflakes. on the left side of the world, the only hot chocolate i'll be seeing is the snickers bar that melted inside of my pocket. i know, i know, i should be excited about this beautiful weather--but it was actually nice to have some cold air outside a few weeks ago. maybe i'm biased because i only have heat and not air conditioning in my apartment, but i wouldn't mind a few more weeks of cold weather. i guess i'll have to find that groundhog.

seeing as the temperature has shot up into the 80s, the warm sun rays are slowly seeping through my windows. olive and i have tried a few methods of blocking ourselves from the heat.

it didn't really work.

i'm sorry about not catching you up for the past few days, but the truth is that there hasn't been much to catch you up on! my days consist of job hunting (craigslist, networking through different contacts, etc.) and running the occasional errand. i didn't want to bore you with days that haven't been all that exciting, but then i realized...hey, what if everyone out there is wondering what i had for breakfast?

so here i am.

and i'm ready to update you with all kinds of completely random and utterly useless details, pictures, and stories of my everyday life that will hopefully lead to you laughing outloud and having someone in the other room ask you,

"what are you doing?"

good old beachwood has also been having some internet problems which has made it a little difficult to update the blog. i was having so much trouble the other day that i almost decided to go to the fedex kinkos up the street to use their computer. but seeing as i like to kick back and relax while i blog, i didn't think that they would appreciate me coming in to borrow their internet in my pajamas with a mug of sleepytime tea and a TV with an episode of jersey shore playing on it.

...i like to have background noise while i write.

i was invited to a sunday dinner with friends the other night to enjoy some homemade pasta and the golden globes. don't ask me who won what because i requested a game of taboo and it turned into a two hour long tournament--which of course involved cheesecake and homemade oreos.

"homemade oreos" you ask? why yes! thanks to the bff, AKA mclamb, AKA lambchops, AKA dr. mcsarapants, AKA simple girl as most of you know her from her lovely blog--i got the lowdown for these delicious little desserts. she had gotten the recipe from another blog, and once her computer is back in business, i know she'll have all kinds of great pictures of her homemade oreos.

 these are the ones that magically came out of my oven. and despite my lack of baking skills, they were a hit!

if there's one thing everybody knows about me and sara, it's that we loveee our desserts.

speaking of another auntie sara(h), olive and i received a very exciting package in the mail today! my sister sarah (and of course nani) had sent us a sweet card and a delicious bag of "meowie wowie" catnip! well...olive told me it was delicious. i didn't try any.

i didn't want to ruin my dinner.

not only was the card hilarious, but the cat on the front looked very familiar...

which obviously meant that it was fridge-worthy.

of course i've been doing some cooking to keep me energized for the hours i've spent staring at craigslist. to me, breakfast is one of the most important meals of the day. i got some yellow heirloom tomatoes to use on an english muffin sandwich, and the night before i knew i was going to use them...i was so excited i could hardly sleep.

okay that's a bit of an exagerration. but look how beautiful they are!

i also bought some fresh basil at the store and i decided to try a rachael ray trick with my herbs when i got home. every time i buy a box of fresh herbs at the grocery store, they only seem to last me for a few days. i washed the basil leaves and let them dry on a paper towel. then i loosely wrapped the basil in the damp paper towel and put it into a plastic ziplock bag. it's a much better idea than just leaving it in it's little rectangular box, and so far it's holding up pretty well! i'll keep you posted on its shelf life.

rachael ray: 1

rectangular box: 0

and we all know if fresh basil belongs anywhere, it's on top of pasta.

last night, i made a white wine, lemon, and butter sauce to go with my sundried tomato and goat cheese ravioli from trader joes. i also used the rest of that yellow heirloom tomato.

some oven roasted asparagus on top...and i was a happy girl.

you know the rule.

one of you cooks, one of you does the dishes.

well here, we like to say:

one of you cooks, one of you falls asleep in the sink.

i know what you're thinking. and no, i did NOT move back up into apartment #14. but i did pick keltie up from LAX this morning and one of my jobs as a good neighbor was to grab her spare key and pick up some of her clothes to take along for the ride. although it seems a little odd that i would be bringing her purple miley cyrus stretch pants, a gap jean vest, and black lace up heels to pick her up from the airport--sometimes when you're a professional dancer in california, you go right from the airport to an audition.

luckily i got to tag along and see some kickass hip hop dancers audition for neyo's new tour. i even caught a peek at a few of keltie's insane dance moves and although she wiped the floor with the rest of the girls--she ran out of the audition holding her half broken trader joes paper bag full of clothes that i brought her yelling, "fanny, did i look normal?!" that's one of my favorite things about keltie. after over a decade of professional dancing, touring the world as a rockette, and being a contestant fresh off of the bachelor--she'll steal glances of herself in the mirror adjusting her tiny jean vest, freestyle like a baller to a hip hop song even though she's the whitest girl in the room, and then ask you if she looks like a normal human being while dancing.

a lot of people here--especially those who have been successful--have a tendency to be extremely self-promoting in every conversation they have. it's refreshing to be around someone who--despite having years of name-dropping glory in this business--is a regular old goofy person...just like you.

now back to the food.

 there aren't very many east coast eateries that reside in california. example: the day a boondini's pops up in los angeles is the day i grow a tail and a set of antlers. of course we all have mcdonalds, but that's not really where i'm going with this. up until a few months ago, i didn't have a clue that jersey mikes existed on this side of the country. seeing it on the corner of la brea and santa monica was almost like seeing a cousin that i didn't realize lived in west hollywood. although i eat it at least once a week in raleigh, i try to reserve it as a special treat over here.

saturday...was a special treat.

i hadn't gone food shopping yet, so saturday night was also a special treat as well.

thai food delivery.

also known as "the sara special".

once i made my way to the grocery store on sunday, i began by picking up the essentials.

hence the diet root beer and corona light hiding behind the chips.

even though we didn't technically do a "TEAPOT" today, i'd still like to end with one of these:

highlight of the day:

mahalo for the great present!

moral of the story: i spoke too soon.

it was a day like any other day.

we looked out the window...

we got sleepy looking out the window and thought about taking a nap...

we built a fort...

and then finally, after much thought and consideration...

we decided to get crafty.

i held my freshly painted wooden olive look-a-like in my hand and scanned the apartment for the perfect place to hang my masterpiece. i wanted it somewhere very visible. somewhere where she could see it--where everybody could see it. somewhere that marked a spot as hers. i thought about hanging it above her box--but seeing as i have my own toilet, she probably already knows that the litter box belongs to her. and then it hit me: where does she spend most of her time?

olive is an appropriate name for her for the following reasons:

her pale green eyes look like little olives

she's a big eater and it only makes sense for her to be named after a food

i love greek food and now i have an olive with me at all times

that being said, it only seems right that her self portrait should be hung above her mini-cafeteria.

i wanted to get her posing near it, but our first attempt was clearly unsuccessful.

NOW FOR THE GRAND FINALE!

i've been wanting to paint my kitchen table for a while now. i love the distressed look, but i needed to personalize it and really make it mine--the way i've done with the rest of the apartment. a while back, my dad had the idea of painting a place setting on the table. it was the first idea that really struck me, but i knew i wanted to take it a step further.

so...here's what i came up with.

welcome to my kitchen!

a few months back, i was preparing to move into my new apartment. i was ready to eat off of paper plates and my lap, but my mom wouldn't have it. she spent hours carefully wrapping (and re-wrapping) plates from home and packing them to be mailed to me. when the fifteen hundred pound box arrived, i sat on the floor and unwrapped each plate. seeing those dishes in california made me feel like i had a small piece of home here with me. every time i posted a picture on the blog of an english muffin sandwich, or a pasta dish, or homemade eggplant rollatine--my mom was sitting at her computer in north carolina, smiling at seeing those plates on this side of the world. every time i sat down with a meal, it made me feel a little closer to home.

now, i have that reminder in a place where i can always see it.

 if you're wondering why i put the silverware in the wrong place, then i'm going to let you in on a secret that only a handful of people know about me. i've set the table backwards my entire life, and i do it for a very specific reason. i can't tell you how far back this strange habit goes, but i will tell you that for as long as i can remember, it seemed perfectly normal for me to put the fork on the right. i'm right handed, so it makes complete sense to me that i would put my fork on the side where i would easily go to pick it up. it probably doesn't make sense to anyone but me, but i'm okay with that.

occasionally when my dad sets the table at home, he'll put the fork on the right for me. on another level, i think this symbolizes my family always letting me be myself. they never wanted me to be anything other than fanny. even if that meant setting the table backwards or moving to california. my family has always loved and supported me for everything i've done and i know that they wouldn't want me any other way. even if i'm a little weird.

so in my world, the fork goes on the right.

olive did a really good job of helping me paint.