Here’s What’s Happening at the Palace

One of my guilty pleasure Food Network shows is The Pioneer Woman. Actually, watching The Pioneer Woman is kind of like driving by a bad car crash on the freeway. You slow down and hope that something that terrible never happens to you, but can not stop staring! You can’t look away! Also, her life is so dramatically different from mine that I’m obsessed with watching it.  She lives on a ranch in the middle of nowhere with four kids, a husband, and a bunch of pets. I live in the middle of a crowded city alone with the occasional annoying fly. She cooks cowboy food for a bajillion hungry people, I make salads for myself. All of her shows start with the same tagline, “Here’s what’s happening on the ranch!” I’ve been calling my house ‘Sweeney Palace,’ for quite some time and today, I’m starting a series inspired by the Pioneer Woman, Here’s What’s Happening at the Palace.

I know that I’ve been absolutely horrible about updating this blog; I don’t really have a good excuse. I took an European August, meaning that instead of actively looking for a new and fabulous job, I worked on my tan, read the latest issues of Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, and made an insane amount of cocktails. In a word: vacation. Then September rolled around and I realized it was my birthday month and I decided to take September off too.

So, here’s what’s been happening over the past six weeks at the palace: I went to my first beach wedding.

I spent a lot of time with family including my amazing aunt and twin cousins who were visiting from Texas.

I turned thirty-wonderful and celebrated by hosting a dive bar pub crawl through the Mission where I made everyone wear K stickers.

I helped my nomadic sister pack up her life and move away again.

I figured out the secret to cooking vegan food (more on that later!).

I bought a killer pair of blue suede heels on sale at Zara.

I hosted a Traveler’s Tale pop-up dinner party.

I made lobster rolls.

I cut 5-inches off my hair, but my hair was so long that nobody noticed.

I said good bye to a friend’s mom.

I started referring to myself as a gypset: a jet-setting gypsy.

Finally, I still fit into my cheerleading uniform from high school!

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