Daily Drip

a very thoughtful gift guide, pregnancy stuff (bumpdate!), light social media break introspection

Hello my friends. I hope everyone is well, enjoying autumn wherever you’re at. Can’t stress the “wherever you’re at” part enough now that I’ve figured out how to see where Broke But Moisturized is being read. Sources say: baby, we’ve got range! Kind of a sweet thing to see as the year ends.

I’ve been quiet on here for weeks (more on that below), mostly growing a baby or whatever. In the words of New Jersey legend Jon Bon Jovi, I am pleased to report that woahhhh we’re halfway there!

Passing the 20-week mark is wild. I feel at once 16 and 200 years old. My sacroiliac joint is in such a state of dysfunction, I went from comfortably running six days a week all of pregnancy to being unable to walk without hitting a 20/10 on the pain scale (working diligently to solve this). Most nights I eat a big bowl of ice cream and go to bed at 8 o’clock. Then I wake up to pee at 3 AM and check the score of whatever Knicks game I couldn’t stay up to finish. I talk about going to New York to catch a game while I still have the energy. Or taking a babymoon somewhere warm. I will ultimately do neither, and will merely move through these colder months making soup and trying to find clothes that fit.

It’s the holiday season which means I have no sense of time or rules, which means I can write a listicle within a listicle. And that’s on free will! So without further ado…

The (Unofficial) Broke But Moisturized 2024 Holiday Gift Guide

1. Six pack Modelo Especial duh

   

2. Mac lip liner in “Whirl” but make sure they know to line up to their nose and halfway down their chin or what’s the point?

   

3. Gildan zip hoodie at least two sizes too big

4. Quality ear plugs for rave fam

5. Garmin Forerunner 245 if you’re rich and your friend’s rich and they just joined a run club and won’t shut the fuck up

6. Bedazzled cowboy hat because they’ll have to attend a bachelorette party in Nashville. This is not a matter of if, but when.

   

7. Cursed free tote from Brooklinen with an IOU note for one (1) sacrificial burning

   

8. Secondhand Old Navy lounge pants. Why spend $25 on new sweats when you can absorb the relaxing memories of someone’s crusty old pajamas for $7? For your more sentimental pal

9. Pack of Marlboro 27s. No more vapes. No more wispy Virginia Slims, no matter how skinny chic dirty martini blurry Uber selfie Tom Ford lipstick they make you feel. We’re choking under the tree this year. (Not me ovviamente, so blast one in my honor)

10. Perfume you never wear but refuse to get rid of. Time to pawn it off on bestie!

    

11. Sephora gift card

Painstaking effort went into this. I tried to consider all genders who are girls and all lifestyles that involve drinking, smoking, and wasting money on cosmetics. Please share with anyone struggling to think of gifts for their loved ones this season. 

(And a sincere thank you to everyone who writes legitimate gift guides. Gifts are not my love language and I’m leaning on you.)

Quote of the Week: “And I wanted a mother. I could admit that. I wanted her to hold me while I cried, bring me cups of warm milk and honey, give me comfy slippers, rent me videos and watch them with me, order deliveries of Chinese food and pizza. Of course I didn’t tell her that this was what I wanted. She was usually passed out in her bed with the door locked.” — Ottessa Moshfegh, My Year of Rest and Relaxation

I’m trying to break this pesky aversion to rereading books. I can count the number of books I’ve reread on one hand. So many times I’ve listened to interviews with writers I love only to learn that they read the same books over and over, so this is kind of… strategic? Anyway, while I was sick this week, bedridden for hours on end just me, my pregnancy pillow, and the humidifier, I thought, what better time to revisit this classic? This book has gotten flak for its cult of coquette e-girl devotees, but I love it. And the above quote is a notable moment of vulnerability from our deadpan narrator, shedding light on how someone could become so icy.

I think, in pregnancy (this is my personality now), I’ve been drawn to stories of difficult mothers. I recently watched the film adaptation of Prozac Nation, and Jessica Lange’s portrayal of Mrs. Wurtzel left a mark. My mom was/is a difficult mother. And though our relationship is solid, I have this deep fear of becoming one myself, despite knowing I am nurturing and warm and all the things I’ve always wanted in a mom. There is utility in that kind of fear, I think. In keeping it back-of-mind so you don’t exist in a state of constant overcorrection or forced kindness, but rather, quietly remember who you want to be. That good fear is accessible outside of motherhood, too; it’s never too late to consider who you want to be for others, for the planet, etc. and let that simmer beneath your everyday, guiding you toward your version of goodness. Emphasis on “your version”; don’t let anyone decide that shit for you.

Just Read: The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson. I’m almost 5000 words into this piece on pregnancy as psychedelic experience (specifically the first trimester); The Argonauts was one of my selected texts for research.

Let me start off by saying I have tremendous respect for this book. Maggie Nelson is the kind of genius I’ll never be nor understand—and this book, a seminal work of autotheory. I learned *so* much while being moved to tears by powerful accounts of loving someone through transition and grief. Pregnancy and birth and gay sex and kinship. Prose like water. What I’d give to have dinner with her and Harry.

But The Argonauts is, in my opinion, inaccessible. An academic’s wet dream. Such is the nature of autotheory, I’d say? This lit a fire under my ass to continue writing the kind of unsophisticated bullshit that I do. I am a product of the environment I grew up in: grit, grime, and story. All I can do when I encounter this type of art is tip my hat and take what I need; the exchange of energy ripples on.

Thinking: I took a three-week social media break, trying to vault some creative walls. Trying to stay present for the fleeting joy of the second trimester. And so I wanted to return with some wisdom to bestow upon my loyal subs like grandmother willow but honestly, the days ticked by with metronomic indifference, none more disappointing or wonderful than the next. 

I mean, think about it: anyone with a soul hates themselves for how much time they spend on their phone. That hatred becomes such a normal part of selfhood that it calcifies passively, loses its meaning; big gestures like logging off for three weeks don’t hold the same therapeutic weight they did, say, five years ago. All they really do is make you feel like a jackoff for thinking anything less than throwing your phone into a river could make a dent in your psyche. But like, you should still do it, ok? I mean it. Log off. (But only once you’ve liked/commented/and shared this newsletter with 10 friends.)

Recent Eats: 1.) This week I made Alison Roman’s famous dilly bean stew. I’d like to take this moment to apologize to my best friend Rachel who has been urging me to cook this for two years to no avail. I hate that it took me until now. DESPISE. This dish was so easy and perfect, it marked a new era in my life, all time preceding stamped “BDBS” (Before Dilly Bean Stew). 

2.) Trader Joe’s hazelnut sandwich cookie. Mmmmm you guys know I love a little novelty treat! This is basically the nutella version of those birthday cake ones I tried over the summer. Delightful. Love it. And speaking of TJ’s, you should read Madison Huizinga’s excellent piece on how they’ve reinvigorated the American spirit of convenience, pushing us further from the beauty of cooking with our hands.

Listening to: Kendrick’s surprise album, GNX. It lacks a lot of his usual depth and inventiveness BUT it’s got such a cool west coast sound and enough bitch slapping bravado to get us through the year. Kendrick’s year. I loved this sprawling review from Passion of the Weiss, which interrogates the blatant Drakeo the Ruler imitations (among other artistic shortcomings) while still giving K Dot his flowers. “Hey Now” is my favorite song off GNX, and I even recognized the Drakeo flow before reading reviews. (I also heard a little Pusha T but that’s a convo for another day.) Now all I can do is rotate between Kendrick and Drakeo indefinitely until I short circuit, flu flammin at heaven’s gates.

What I Wore: I’ve been wearing heels just to feel something. (That “something” mostly manifested as a bum tailbone but lessons learned etc.) Amid the frustration of nothing fitting and being forced to wear exclusively oversized stuff (which, I realized, is 75% of what I own anyway lol), I blacked out at Nordstrom Rack and bought these boots. I wore them to work one day with my trusty, old, skin-tight Norma Kamali dress (see bumpdate below!) and it was the worst day of my life. I had to walk over a mile on those little ski slopes for heels while my dress rode far above its midi length. Pause to breathe. Pull down the dress. Look visibly uncomfortable in an attempt to feel hot. There is nothing sexy about this scene. Alas, I have another ~19 weeks to figure it out. Though, what the fuck does it mean to “figure it out” anyway? (rhetorical)

Currently Watching: Succession. Late to the game, I know. Holy acting. Characters who are both unlikeable AND sympathetic? They’re just like us for real! And they all have relatively punchable faces to boot! If I had to pick a favorite with a gun to my head, I’d probably say Kieran Culkin. He just does that kind of fratty, unserious failson thing so well.

Something That Made Me Smile: This “me off an edible” video of Kamala talking about Venn diagrams. Thanks to Andrew’s cousin Emily for this one.

Loving: This. This is a bygone bitch and you won’t convince me otherwise. Let's dissect this image and why I’m obsessed with it. We’ll get the easy thing out of the way: I love a sweatpant. And somewhere along the way, people decided sweatpants were mainly for Sambas and mini Uggs and shit… NO. Long live the hip-hop-inspired pairing of sweatpants and sick heels. Speaking of heels, those booties! They’re perfect. In fact, I’d try to find them if I wouldn’t end up on crutches. Idk. It’s the slouchiness of the fit with the structured ponytail and shoes. It’s the way I KNEW this woman was Russian, looked it up, and confirmed (I’m a decent sleuth). It’s the 2010s Kardashianness that somehow looks cooler and more fashion forward than most of the current trends. I don’t know what the kids would label this aesthetic, but maybe that’s a good thing.