My love for ice cream began very early; some doctors would probably argue that it was too early. (See last picture in this Father’s Day post for proof.) I believe I first tried ice cream when I was still on the bottle, probably around 3 months old. My dad gave me a taste because, well, I didn’t need any teeth – no teeth required! – to enjoy his favorite evening, indulgence. And to this day, my dad eats a bowl of ice cream every. single. night. One of the best birthday presents I ever gave him was an ice cream maker. He became obsessed, mastering a ton of ice cream recipes, but mainly perfecting his vanilla bean recipe. Simple things are tough!
This ice cream right here is tart, sweet with bright coral swirls. Hello! I realize I’m repeating myself with this swirl business. Everything lately is getting a swirl. Also, everything that’s sweet is also salty. I can’t help it! I’m a woman obsessed.
This post is brought to you in collaboration with Real California Milk. I had no idea until they sent me a fun fact sheet, but the state of California produces more ice cream than any other state in the United States, which basically means California is the best.
I have this thought at least one time a day. At least once. It’s usually prompted by eyeing lazy dogs sitting outside of coffee shops, as I pass them with a long to-do list and the general stresses of adulthood. And they’re there…just panting, drinking water, begging for food.
The easy life…or is it?!
Sure, they have no real responsibility and it’s our job to take care of them. And yes, some guide the blind, and some work with the police to catch murderers and drug smugglers and scary burglars. But most of them don’t do anything. Their job is to do nothing. Their days consist of staring out the window, catching birds (despite them being terrible at it), digging holes so they can escape and go on adventures, sleeping, more sleeping, more sleeping. All that sounds so lovely, truly.
BUT, the biggest bummer about being a dog: eating the same thing every. day.
Imagine one kind of food, every day for the rest of your life. It’s a depressing thought. This is why if I had a dog I’d feed him/her a small taste of delicious things I love.
The thing I’m afraid of more than my usuals: failure, not having kids “on time,” my life not working out in general, is a scary murderer. I go through great lengths to avoid murderers.
I post Instagram photos of places I’m at only after I leave. I know all of you are super lovely BUT what about that one psycho, nut-job that wants to grind me up and put me in a hamburger, huh? That guy is scary. I don’t want him finding me at my favorite neighborhood coffee shop.
I also have a nightly ritual of checking every window (I live on the 2nd floor) and door in my apartment to make no one can get in. And, though, I kind of hate light in my face as I sleep, I’m always sure to have a few lights on throughout my apartment. I figure the scary murderer will think I’m up reading rather than sleeping and he’ll stay away.
You have to get in the head of a murderer, you know?! Some may think (read: my dad) that these kind of precautions are ridiculous, and maybe they are. They’re probably just a sign of my current single status and a result of living alone, which I actually enjoy, but WHATEVER MURDERERS ARE SCARY!