Q&A with author of “Marrying Anita”

I had a lovely online interview with journalist, author, and hottie (pictured below) Anita Jain, whose book Marrying Anita: A Quest for Love in the New India came out earlier this year.  We did the whole thing on Google’s email chat feature, and yes, it’s been a long time since I did any reporting, because I was *thrilled* by the fact that gchat saved our whole interview.  Way easier than the olden days of transcribing voice interviews.  All I had to do was add punctuation!

Of course, some bits were edited out.  We were chatting right after my LitQuake show last weekend, and I mentioned that I’d just come from the event, where I read a couple of selections about sex.

anita: don’t you know indian women don’t have sex?

me: lol dammit, i keep forgetting!

Obviously our conversation was off to a good start!  Read the interview as published on MSNBC.com here:  Looking for the right man in a foreign land: Author Anita Jain talks about the search for love and sex in the New India. There’s also a video interview on there, which had nothing to do with me.


Women Authoring Change

Tonight my home was filled with good food, creativity, and twenty amazing women. It was an alumnae potluck for a place that those who have been there know simply as “heaven.”  

Imagine a little cottage made just for you.  Upstairs is a cozy sleeping loft.  Downstairs is a wood-burning stove, a desk configured with plenty of space (and plugs) for writing, a big loungey chair with a hand-knit blanket to match, bookshelves with a few inspirational titles as well as space for your own stuff, a floor area with pillows for sprawling, and a window-seat looking out onto acres of woods and meadows and ponds.  
Now imagine that at lunchtime, someone brings a basket of delicious food to your doorstep.  And at dinner, you walk down to the farmhouse and dine with other women writers on fresh, organic meals made with produce from the gardens.  And all the rest of the time is yours — to walk, write, daydream, nap, wander down to the beach, go for a bike ride, or just do whatever you need to do.  
And it’s completely free.
That’s Hedgebrook, a writer’s colony for women on Whidbey Island in Washington state.  Since its founding, 1,050 women writers — known and unknown, young and old, from all over the world — have found refuge there to create in peace and community.  Getting together with other alumnae gave me a chance to remember what it was like for me.
I don’t remember who first told me about Hedgebrook, but I remember that when I heard about it, I knew that I needed to go.  I was in my mid-twenties and working 40+ hours a week as a newspaper editor, trying to carve out time to write poetry as well.  I applied for and received a five-week summer stay, took a leave of absence from work, packed up my Macintosh SE (yes, this WAS a long time ago, grasshopper! it had a 40MB hard drive!), and drove three days up the coast to Washington.  
Six writers stay at Hedgebrook at a time (there are six cottages).  On the first evening, we all introduced ourselves by our first names.  On the third evening, I was listening to one of the women talk and suddenly I realized who she must be.  “Gloria?”  I said.  “Are you Gloria… Anzaldua?”   
“Yes,” she said, with a slight wry smile.
“Wow,” I said.  And for the next five minutes or so, that was all I could say: “Wow. Wow. Wow.”  
It’s not often that I’m at a total loss for words; in fact, this is the only time in my life I can really remember behaving this way. But Gloria Anzaldua was one of my heros:  not just a writing hero, not just a woman of color hero, but a Hero, period.  Her work was so brave and beautiful and revolutionary, it made me want to write; it made me believe I could write; it gave me writing to aspire toward. It was so huge and amazing, it didn’t seem possible she was actually a person, a smallish one (about my height), sitting across from me at dinner, doing normal person things like chewing and talking and smiling.
Gloria was gracious and sweet, and after giving me a decent amount of time to come up with something else to say, she simply replied, “Wow.”  
As the days passed, I was able to actually have cogent conversations with her.  Though she was struggling with health issues and was deep in her own work, she kindly agreed to read and critique a short story I was writing.  Her handwritten comments on it are more precious to me, now, after her passing, than the story itself.
I did more writing in those five, concentrated weeks than I was normally able to do in a year. I made a talented writer friend I’m still in touch with, met the fabulous Hattie Gossett (who arrived the day I was leaving), and felt a bit of borrowed glory from the fact that Gloria Steinem would be there later in the session, after I left. And I felt, for the first time, like a Real Writer.
Hedgebrook also started a chain reaction of events that led me directly to my life as a writer now.  At the time it seemed like just a few random strokes of luck, but really I think it was something else:  not anything as grand as destiny, but just the experience of door after door opening up, and walking through, and finding something wonderful on the other side.
A year or two after my stay, someone on the Hedgebrook staff called me.  An alumna, Gabrielle Idlet, was launching a new writing fellowship at the Sundance Institute and was looking for California writers of nonfiction.  Would I be interested in applying?
I was, and flew down to the Sundance offices in Santa Monica for the interviews. I and three other writers, one of whom is now a dear friend, became Sundance “fellows.”  We got to go to the film festival, summer and international workshops, and a weekend writing workshop for just the four of us with Lawrence Weschler, a writer for the New Yorker and McSweeneys.  Weschler read my work, noted that I was a journalist, and suggested I apply for a mid-career arts fellowship at Columbia University‘s Graduate School of Journalism, where he was a senior fellow.
So I became a “fellow” again (there has to be a better word for these things!).  The Columbia fellowship (which no longer exists; it was the National Arts Journalism Program, funded by the Pew foundation) meant I could take or audit classes throughout the university.  I took a nonfiction book writing seminar with Sam Freedman, whose class has become semi-famous for producing dozens of published authors. With Sam’s incisive guidance and feedback, I wrote the proposal for the book that eventually became Leaving India.
I include all of these details because I think the path of becoming a published writer is often unnecessarily mysterious.  I know it was to me.  Certainly, plenty of hard work and strokes of universal grace were involved.  But there’s also a much more nitty-gritty element, and it is one that women, especially women of color, have often not had access to.  It has to do with connections, networks, information, and knowing the right doors to knock on at the right times.  The Old Boys Network is alive and well, so it is good to know that we can create our own pathways — boys and girls — to share vital tips and resources, and get our voices heard.
Hedgebrook helped me at one other crucial juncture:  As I was writing Leaving India, I was often very severely blocked.  During one of these difficult periods, I was fortunate to have a short, ten-day alumna stay at Hedgebrook.  I did not write much there, yet it was deeply productive, and helped me turn a corner with the writing in a way that even now, I’m not sure I can entirely explain.
I remember that it was about this time
of year, Diwali — the Hindu new year and festival of lights.  I was feeling a bit out of sorts because I had no community or family to celebrate with, and although the cook (ahhh, the lovely Hedgebrook cooks! a whole other essay!) did her best to create an Indian meal and we lit candles at the farmhouse, it didn’t feel the same.  
Back at my own cottage, I lit small lights and settled in for the evening.  I am nocturnal by nature, so I was in the habit of working in the afternoon and then again late at night after dinner, then sleeping till noon.  So that evening, I made some small drawings, with flour I think, on the hearth to welcome the goddess.  I created a temporary altar, with huge fallen maple leaves I’d collected that afternoon from the grounds, and photos of my ancestors that I had brought along for inspiration, and the Black Angel cards I had been using as aids in my writing process.  Then I sat, and I listened.  
What I heard is a story for another time and place.  Here I want to just say how right it felt:  to commune in my own particular quirky way on that semi-wild land on the night of the new year:  a Real Writer, in the woods, in the dark, inventing a ritual, making up a new story.
Thanks, Hedgebrook.
EDITED TO ADD:   Click here to see photos of the event (pics by Patty Tumang).

Performance highs

LitQuake 11oct08 Bollyhood.jpg

Here’s a photo my friend Patty H-C took with her iphone of me reading at the South Asian American reading at LitQuake.  (Thanks, Patty!)  Do you love my tiara, or what?  I’ve been wearing it non-stop since I got it at the mall during a two-for-one sale last week.
So, it was my first time at Litquake, a crazy brilliant annual San Francisco event that packs a dozen or so venues within a few blocks with hundreds of writers and thousands of audience members.  I’m grateful to everyone who braved the hordes and came out!  The reading was curated by my dear friend, the talented Pireeni Sundaralingam, for an anthology called Writing the Lines of Our Hands, which will be the first anthology to focus purely on the poetry of South Asian Americans. I read a couple of sections from the book, and a poem. I had the pleasure of reading along with several talented poets and prose writers demonstrating a huge versatility of style and content, from a slam poet/psychiatrist (Ravi Chandra) riffing on his mother’s holy commitment to rice, to a professor (Falu Bakrania) describing her investigative forays into the desi club scene.  
Bollyhood Cafe hosted us, one of my fans bought me a drink, and a sweet friend treated me to some of their yummy bhel afterward.  The Bollyhood team is always fabulous, and it was fun to read in front of a standing/sitting/crouching-room-only crowd!  SMALL COMMERCIAL:  Go to Bollyhood… on 19th St just south of Mission St in SF … it’s really more of a bar/lounge than a cafe, they always have great events going on, awesome community space, and the food and drinks are delicious.
On Friday night I went to a HOT, AMAZING show featuring an incredible lineup of queer/trans people of color performances.  Now, I’ve seen a lot of performance in San Francisco — I mean, a LOT — so it takes a bit to impress me.  Taking your clothes off?  Yeah, yeah.  Syncretizing your childhood trauma and your incisive grown perspective on the injustices of the world?  Uh-huh.  Reclaiming a cultural icon to be queer-positive?  Been there, done that.  
But this show was all that and … MORE.  I’m always excited and impressed to see my dear friends like Vixen Noir, Simone de la Ghetto, and Leah-Lakshmi Piepzna Samarasinha take the stage, and they were gorgeous as always.  I got chills during Leah-Lakshmi’s reading about love between brown-and-brown, brown-and-white, and the differences between them. And on top of that, there were some sweet surprises.  La Chica Boom blew me out of the water with her taco show (I can’t really say more, but it is NOT to be missed) and her foul-mouthed Virgen de Guadaloupe.  Nico el Rico did a sweet and moving piece about masculinity, growing up with a drill sergeant father in Argentina.
Mangos is kicking off a tour, with a show tonight (Monday 10/12) in Oakland (8pm Eastside Cultural Center, 2277 International Ave, Oakland) and dates in Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, San Diego, Tucson, Flagstaff, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and Denver.  If you have friends in those places, send em to the schedule on the Mangos With Chili myspace page.
Twas a very fun weekend… hope yours was just as fabulous, in whatever way was right for you.

Nine nights for the goddess

Navratri is my favorite holiday.  Here is a bit of what I wrote about it in Leaving India:

It is October and the women are dancing. All around the world we put on our long skirts and tight bodices, wrap ourselves in gauzy shawls, fasten jewels at our throats and bells around our ankles.  We dance barefoot in temples, where we have temples; or community centers, high school gymnasiums, even bare fields. The dance is what remains the same: a sacred circle.

Garbaa, the word for the Gujarati folk dance, comes form a Sanskrit root, grb, for womb. Round and round we twirl to celebrate Navratri, the lunar festival of nine nights of dancing in honor of the goddess… As the garbaa speeds up, the cut mirrors that decorate our skirts scatter the light: swirl of dancers and audience, children, men, old people, teenagers; deities perched on altars, carved or sculpted, garlanded in gold and flowers; a moonless sky full of stars.  If we could track one tiny mirror’s journey, all that it reflects and refracts, we might see the world entire.

At night we dream of circles, spinning, the earth tilting under our feet.

Last night I went to the seventh night of dancing at the Sunnyvale Hindu Temple.  I went with my mother and her friend, danced up a sweat, and then took a break to walk around and hand out fliers created by Trikone urging our community to vote No on Proposition 8.
I’ve blogged earlier about my mixed feelings on the marriage issue as the hub of queer activism, but it’s also very clear that the initiative, trying to change the California Constitution in order to eliminate a civil right, is just pure hate and wedge politics.  I was also really moved when I first saw the beautiful posters, which feature my friend Inder, his partner Ken, their children Mira and Kabir, and Inder’s mother, Mrs. Gurkirpal Kaur Dhillon, speaking about the importance of protecting her family.
I started by walking around and placing a few fliers here and there on tables.  Then I went up to small clusters of people and asked if they were registered voters in California.  It was interesting that this question was a bit threatening; there were long pauses in some cases, and one woman even started to explain that she was here on a visa, etc.  I would say about two-thirds of the people I talked to said they were not voters, of whom most were probably not yet citizens.  If they said no, I said thanks and walked away.
If they said yes, I asked if they would like an educational flier about one of the propositions on the ballot.  Then I gave them fliers, thanked them, and moved on.
Overall the response seemed friendly and open. Only one woman looked at it and gave it back to me saying, “Here, you can recycle this.”  But she wasn’t scowling or anything, and smiled at me later as we were back on the dance floor.  I have friends who have done a lot of canvassing and who have a whole developed patter and way of engaging people, but I felt more comfortable letting people read the flier, which really speaks for itself, and maybe take it home and consider it.  I didn’t really want to have conversations or debates.  It also felt respectful of the fact that people were in the middle of conversations, social activities, and a prayerful environment and were kindly letting me interrupt them.
The dancing was great, really wonderful singers and musicians, and not too crowded since it was a weeknight.   I also like the short hymns we sing at the end of the night as a closing prayer.   Handing out the posters felt like a lovely offering to make — a way to share more of myself during the goddess festival.

Slacker City

A couple of Saturdays ago, I was sitting in my car, sick with the flu, with a half-hour window in between a mandatory class and a mandatory rehearsal, thinking about all the things I needed to do, just trying to breathe — literally, since my chest was tight from coughing and being sick — and to grab a few moments of rest so that I could go on to the next thing.  And I had one of those flu-delirium revelations, which was: Why am I living like this?

I remember that in my 20s, there was a lot of buzz about our so-called “slacker” generation. It completely bewildered me, because no one I knew had even a moment of slacker-ness. Whether artists or entrepreneurs or professionals, everyone I knew was incredibly driven in pursuit of some goal or, usually, multiple goals.  Those of us in journalism were writing and editing articles about our supposedly slacker peers, but we were completely missing out on the joys of slackerdom.
So, during my flu, I resolved to do some serious catching up.  My dear friend Sunita kindly delivered a Margaret Cho DVD along with “Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay.” 
I felt that this behavior earned me immediate slacker points — until I realized that the whole idea of earning points is probably not in the spirit of slackerdom.  Yes, it’s definitely still a learning curve for me!   Wait — slackers don’t have learning curves, do they?  Hmmm…
Now that I’m feeling better, I’m trying not to revert to my habitual overachieving model-minority behavior.  It’s hard, though.  Yesterday, for example, I woke up spontaneously at 4:30 a.m., had cereal, wrote in my journal, checked email, and started editing the index for my book (which came in at 80 pages, and needs to be reviewed/shortened!).  I spent a few hours working on that, then got sleepy and crashed again, then woke up and:
– cleaned the bathroom, kitchen, and living room
– made two conference calls for work
– tried to figure out how to convert my media/publicity list from Excel to Word
– planned out work for the rest of this week 
The problem is not so much that I did this stuff, which was kind of cool. It was Monday, after all, and a certain amount of drive and direction and optimism about all I can achieve is to be expected — but still, this was nowhere close to slacker behavior.  I should have been hung over from the weekend and bemoaning the unreasonable brightness of the sun, or something, right?
But, after all, being neither independently wealthy nor in possession of a live-in houseboi/personal assistant, these were all things I needed to do.  The problem wasn’t the activity so much as the little nagging voice telling me I should be getting more done.  Actually that voice is not so little, and I’m getting kind of tired of it.  I realize that when I’m feeling sort of miserable and oppressed and overburdened, I need to wake up and fight back.  I need to get in touch with my slacker side.
I have a fantastic lounging couch that helps with this.  But I’ve noticed lately that, when I’m sitting on my couch, I am often plagued by the subtle and persistent feeling that I should do something else, like get up and meditate.  Now, what is the point of getting up from sitting still to go to another corner of the house and sit still?  That’s just ridiculous.
I think this way of thinking is a mental tic developed over seven years of book-writing, when I constantly had the feeling that, no matter what else I was doing, I should be writing.  
So, since I can’t change my basic personality at this point, at least not overnight, my new strategy is to utilize my Type A skills in pursuit of the slacker life. So far, here is my four-point plan to slack off more:
1.  Recruit friends to do slacker-type stuff with me. (I’m thinking I could come over and watch TV… that would count, right?)
2.  When I get anxious and overwhelmed by my To Do list, re-label it a To Don’t list.  
3.  Just sit on the couch and don’t do anything.  I mean nothing.
4.  If all else fails, go to the beach.
Today, I woke up reminded of strategy #4 by my dreams, which were very beautiful and involved a lot of wild swimming.  It was a beautiful sunny day.  I got out of bed after noon, made my morning protein shake, and sat on the couch.  I felt this was an excellent beginning for a slacker-ish day.  So I went down the hill to the bakery, ate a grilled-fennel focaccia, had an affogato across the street at the gelato place, and drove to the beach.  I boogie boarded and swam in the ocean for a couple of hours, then laid on the beach for a while.  Now I’m off to dinner with a friend.
Yes, I did sneak in some activist emails, continued to set up my new computer, planned some marketing activities, and accomplished a few other little productive tasks.  But — miracle of miracles — I did them with joy, not because the little voice was nagging me.  
So actually, the slacking was productive!  Hmm:  perhaps I’ve discovered a new paradoxical principle of the universe.  In any case, I feel SO much better!!  Perhaps there’s hope for me yet…
What do you think?  Are you a slacker, or in touch with your slacker side?  If so, please share your slacking tips!


Rave reviews count, even when they’re from a dear friend!  Here’s a link to Ms Kristy’s assessment of the show:  “Hey, Sailor” transforms and delights. Thanks, Kristy, you are ever so sweet and awesome!
Six shows left:  8pm Th/Fri/Sat through Oct 4.  Click here for tickets & info or call 1-800-838-3006.  If you’ve already seen the show, please tell people about it and consider posting your thoughts/reviews on the SFGate page.
We had a wonderful first weekend, I’m finally over the flu, and looking forward to enjoying the next six performances.   Miraculously, I still remember all my lines after four days off!  Once a show has seeped into my body, it’s there for good– I wonder if I’ll be reciting Squeak’s syphilis monologue for the next ten years…??  The show is just getting better and better, as all of us get more comfortable in our characters, in the theatre, and with our lines. 
On Saturday I felt well enough to go with friends out after the show, which is my favorite thing to do, since I’m usually wired from performing and excited to see people. It was a balmy SF night so we walked a couple of blocks to Mel’s Diner and through the giant Oracle craziness in Yerba Buena Gardens, which was sort of magical-looking, with tents and fairy lights everywhere.  As we walked and talked, we realized we’re all in some form of big life/career transition.  Maybe that’s what our late 30s are about…  M wrote and received a giant government grant, so now she’ll be moving from being a professor to administering a campus-wide program to improve outcomes for underserved Asian Pacific Islander students.  F is thinking of leaving his corporate training gig so that he can actually learn something new himself.  And J is only two weeks back from a long stint Beijing and still in culture shock, yet people keep asking him “What are you doing now?”  
I shared my own personal metaphor for that, when people ask me what I’m doing next — before the book has even come out!  It’s kind of like there’s a woman having a baby, and they’re cutting her open, and the crown of the baby’s head is just coming out, all bloody and sticky, and the baby hasn’t even taken its first breath yet, let alone cried or fed or pooped or puked, and someone says to her, ‘So what are you going to do NOW?’ 
Really, what I’m doing now is just trying to BE in the transition.  That has a few elements:
– Being in “Hey Sailor” … shifting from the inward and isolated mode of writing to a much more extroverted art form, working in collaboration with a great cast and crew.  Aside from the awesomeness of the script, it feels like great pre-book-tour training as I learn what it takes for me to perform, connect with audiences, and stay sane and healthy.
– Working with a coach, who is helping me to set goals and clarify where I want to be in a year, and how to get there.
– Writing up a business plan for myself, a culmination of a great class I took from the Women’s Initiative for Self-Employment, which has helped me understand things like “cash flow” — i.e. why some months I can afford shoes and other months I can’t!  The business plan is great because it gives me a sense of how I’m going to be supporting myself over the next 18 months, how much & what kinds of paid work I need, and how to get it.  
– Laying the groundwork for marketing and book touring, connecting with folks everywhere.
– AND, enjoying life, relationships, family, friends, myself, yoga, the City … Just taking time to, as a friend suggested, bask in the feeling of completion.  Sometimes I still don’t *really* quite believe that durn book is DONE!


Dress rehearsal tonight, opening night tomorrow, could I be more excited!!?

“Hey, Sailor” in the news:  Kate Raphael of KPFA Women’s Magazine did this wonderful interview with QU Productions on KPFA (24 minutes in, on the MP3 link).  We talk about feminism, trans politics, and desire!

And here’s a great blog piece about the show.

And get your tickets now; it is a very small theatre!

Already got your tickets?  You rock!  Let me know what night you’re coming, and we can hang out afterward. 

Yes, you need to know this:  I’ve been told that once the show starts, there will be NO late admissions.  The theatre is very intimate and it would be way too disruptive… so please, please, please, all my dear friends who are as chronologically challenged as I am, please do what ya need to do get there on time!  Doors open at 7:15 and the show starts at 8:00.  Run time is about an hour and a half, plus there will be a 10-minute intermission.  

Where is it again? The Omnicircus550 Natoma (click here for map) , between 6th/7th and Mission/Howard, downtown SF.  There is street parking but do allocate some time to navigate the one-way streets and find a spot.  The 6th St side can be kinda sketchy so please be careful if walking alone.  I recommend parking on 7th St and coming in from that side. 

Hungry?  There is food nearby at the Yerba Buena/Metreon complex around Mission & 5th, including Samovar (which I love) and a swanky food court; a Custom Burger at 7th & Natoma (yummy but not as quick as you might expect; it takes about 20 minutes for a burger if there’s no line, because they make each one); and a chain sandwich shop at 7th & Mission.  If anyone knows other good food/drink spots in the immediate area, including late-night places to hang out after the show, please share!

See you soon!

Backstage at “Hey, Sailor!”

No one in my real life has seen me much lately because I’ve been madly rehearsing for the play I’m in, “Hey, Sailor!”  Last week we moved from our rehearsal venue to the actual theater.  It was, frankly, terrifying! 

The rehearsal space, Mama Calizo’s Voice Factory,  had been warm and fuzzy for me, since I’ve worked there previously on other performance projects, back when it was the Jon Sims Center for the Performing Arts.  It was the perfect artistic incubator:  a just-right-sized, cozy room with black floors and walls. 

By contrast, the theater (a) is new and unfamiliar, (b) serves as crash space for several visiting artists whose living spaces somewhat overlap our rehearsal area, and (c) is full of terrifying looking robots, built by its owner and used in his own performance work, with many sharp edges and automated moving parts.  And most importantly (d) it’s an indication that we are not just goofing around with beautiful text and enjoying the playful energy of acting like characters, but that we’re working toward an actual production!

with actual audience members!

who pay money for a good show!

and who will be sitting excited and expectant in all those empty seats! 

(Fill the seats: Buy yer tickets now. We have nine shows, 8pm Thurs/Fri/Sat, starting September 18.)

So I got terrified, had my mini-freakout, wept in and out of rehearsal, received and accepted fabulous support from my fellow actors and genius director, and am now better adjusted.  It also helps to have a couple of days off to do my laundry, catch up on the rest of life, keep memorizing my lines, and get excited about going back into rehearsal Wednesday night. At least that was the plan, but now I have a sore throat which makes it hard to talk let alone run lines… along with flu-type symptoms, grrr … so I’m trying to rest up, take Tylenol every six hours, and drink lots of miso soup and ginger-honey-lemon tea. 

Meanwhile I love love love my character, Squeak, and am working toward the right balance in her of vulnerability and street toughness, naivete and manipulation, humor and anger.  With each rehearsal I learn something about her, and also, in some mysterious way, about myself — the ways that I am like and unlike her. 

And I’m appreciating how cool the theater really is.  It started life as an illegal liquor hall and brothel during Prohibition, went through phases as a speakeasy and a machine shop, and is now a performance space, mostly for robot shows.  It’s located downtown (550 Natoma near 7th & Mission) and is called Omnicircus. The link is worth checking out because it includes the robots, who all have names and personalities and are created & choreographed by artist/owner Frank Garvey. 

The space couldn’t be more perfect for our show.  It gives us an amazingly textured, gritty, industrial-urban backdrop without having to engage a set designer.  And the centerpiece of the stage just happens to be a giant whale skull, which is just crazily spot-on since “Hey, Sailor!” is inspired by the novel Billy Budd by Herman Melville, who is better known for his whale epic Moby Dick.  Wild! 

I may not blog again until after the show opens.  See you there!


PS: A note on access: Most of the seats are balcony-style, up a short flight of stairs. Floor seating is available for those who use wheelchairs or do not climb stairs. The restroom is not wheelchair accessible.

Cookies for everyone!

My two favorite cookies these days are from Arizmendi Bakery.

#1 The apricot almond cookie … it’s like a whole meal!

#2 The chocolate mint cookie … just crazy delicious and super-chocolatey.

(Yes, they’re vegan!)

Packaging a big baker’s box and sending around to yall.  *Muah!*