Here kitty, kitty...

She's Krafty

2007-02-21T09:51:00.000-05:00

So I've decided to stop writing this blog and to just post everything on my She's Krafty blog from now on. I'm too freaking busy to keep up one blog, let alone two. So, in the future (in case I actually have readers besides my hubby, the few friends who never comment, and any lurkers that I'm not aware of), come check me out on my other blog. It'll be more of the same (hubby, cats, friends, music) except I post about my crafts too.

See ya later alligator!

xoxo
christine
(AKA meowgirl)

Foot Fetish Cat!

2007-01-31T09:54:00.000-05:00

Grendel really loves my shoes and boots--as soon as I take them off, he comes running and starts rubbing his face and paws all over them--no biting or scratching--just kitty love to my boots. And no, before you ask, my feet don't stink. He is the only cat I've ever heard of that has a foot fetish...

Find the cat in this picture...

2007-01-29T10:12:00.000-05:00

Helena really loves it in my closet...no wonder I'm always covered in cat hair...

Do I look 40s glamour?

2007-01-25T11:20:00.000-05:00

I think so :-)

And before you ask, yes. Yes! I slept in pink foam curlers to get this look. (NO, you cannot see pics of that.) Damn BUST magazine. They had this spread on doing 40s pin curls and I was determined to re-create the look without using the suggested bobby pins all over my head like they said I should. I cannot imagine that sleeping in that would be comfortable. Anyway...so I did it. I actually did it again today (or should I say last night), and I think I'm getting better/closer to the exact look I was going for. I just need more curlers in different sizes.

Mr. No-Nuts.

2007-01-24T09:39:00.000-05:00

We took Sawyer to get neutered at the beginning of January...this has cause quite the stir of empathy (from the males in the family) and amusement (from the females in the family). What do I mean? Well consider my homage to Sawyer's neutering on the message board in our kitchen:

I think it's an accurate rendition, don't you?

In a twist

2007-01-23T11:20:00.000-05:00

I love when Grendel gets his knickers in a twist...

Meee-oooooow! Get that toy Grendel! Get it!

You can do it!

2007-01-19T12:31:00.000-05:00

Heeheehee...Look what I tried in the mall this past weekend--Tony Little's Gazelle!

I know. I look a little bit ridiculous and a little bit insane. That's what you get for agreeing to return things for relatives in JCPenny I guess.

Too much crap!

2007-01-16T11:21:00.000-05:00

I carry a lot of crap with me to work. Actually, I carry a lot of crap with me everywhere. Today, I carried my large Michael Kors brown purse which contained my makeup bag (and all the contents thereof), wallet, cell phone, digital camera, checkbook, planner, new knitting book called Domiknitrix, journal, selection of pens, eyeglass case, sunglasses, hand cream, gloves, sanitary hand wipes, tissues, collapsible brush, water bottle, and my keys. After typing this I realize I forgot to put my gum in my bag this morning.

If I just carried my purse it wouldn't be so bad--but of course it wasn't the only one I brought with me to work today. I had a medium-sized Kate's Paperie bag filled with lunch (portion of the veggie pot pie I made for dinner last night--it was too good not to take with me today), skim milk for my Special K, my current knitting project which is one stripe away from completion, another knitting project which is sort of in flux because I dropped that one when I started this one (I brought it with me in case I finish the other one and the thought of have nothing to knit is terrifying), and another knitting book that has a pattern in it that I am going to blatantly use my company's copy machine for personal use on so that I don't have to drag two knitting books around with me.

I can justify all my crap because I have a long commute (an hour and 10 minutes on the way in, an hour home) and since I think I have ADD, I always need to have several selections of things to amuse me. It also doesn't hurt that if I get stuck in the train and someone looses their scarf and is cold, I can be of assistance.

I heart Marc Jacobs

2007-01-10T10:27:00.000-05:00

Even if I can't afford him. I was in DSW with Bradley over the X-mas break and fell in love with these shoes (obviously; who else do you know who takes pictures of herself in shoes she doesn't buy?). Unfortunately I just couldn't justify buying them--even though they were on sale. It just wouldn't have been practical to spend $350 on a pair of shoes I won't wear all that often. My Michael Kors boots were almost that much--but at least I wear those a couple of times a week. Still. They are beautiful...

Fuck Nintendo

2006-12-12T09:24:00.000-05:00

This is the third trip the the goddamned Nintendo store--three times--and still no Wii for Brad. I'm at my wits end.

FYI everyone--if you really, really want one of these fucking things, your best bet at getting one is getting on LINE at the goddamned Nintendo World Store at Rockerfeller Plaza the night before the store opens, get a ticket (today it was blue--apparently the colors change every day) and wait until the next day when the store opens at 8 a.m. I shit you not. And the kicker is, they only sell 100 a day. It would be a good thing if they told you this when you are waiting on the motherfucking line, but no. I had to have some guy try and sell me a ticket for $150. I was sorely tempted, and thank god I don't carry more than $100 in cash on me ever. But seriously--I refuse to pay double for the fucking thing--especially because I KNOW that the stupid thing is going to be available the day after X-mas everywhere. I just can't find it anywhere--Best Buy, Gamestop, Nintendo World, Toys R Us--not a single place has one. It's driving me fucking bat shit. So if anyone know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody who can hook me up--please, please call me.
Fuck.

ASPCA drag...

2006-12-05T12:54:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to volunteer at the ASPCA for four months--and every time I sign up for a volunteer orientation, I'm not fast enough at responding and it gets filled up. It's very frustrating. I've wanted to volunteer for a very long time and finally decided that I just had to do it. Yeah--easier said than done. Well, I'm supposed to go to the next orientation on December 15th. Hopefully that session doesn't get filled up too fast and I'll be able to go. Otherwise, I'm thinking that I might have to volunteer at a different animal shelter. I'm thinking I might do Bide-A-Wee. All I care about is trying to help out animals and make a little bit of a difference.

My brother has been going on and on about how he wants to get a dog recently. I'm lukewarm to the idea--he is a little on the irresponsible side. He works late, he sleeps over his girlfriend's house on the weekends, his apartment is not huge (it's actually on the tiny side), and since he lives in the boonies of Staten Island, neither my mom or I live close enough to help him out if he's in a pinch. So in reality, getting a dog isn't the best idea, but I'm having a hard time convincing him that a cat would suit his lifestyle better (god knows I find enough of them). The other thing that sort of bugs me abotu the whole wanting to get a dog idea is that he is determined to get a Sibearian Husky. Gorgeous animals, I know. But he wanted to go to a PET STORE to get one. I freaked out on him, telling him all about puppy mills and how inhumane they really are; how sick the animals can be that come from mills; and how they tend to have a much shorter life-span than animals adopted or gotten from a breeder. So he then tells me he wants to get a puppy from a breeder. Now here's the thing--he works a lot. That is a good thing, in my opinion, but it's not ideal for someone getting a new puppy. Puppies take a lot of time and energy to train and take care of. He doesn't really have that kind of time. So I suggested that he should try to adopt a dog--a full-grown one that is already housebroken--and save himself not only money (Huskys are expensive if you get them from a good breeder), but he'd also save an animal from living out their life in a shelter or possibly being euthenized. He's lukewarm on the idea. I don't know why. I makes me angry to tell you the truth. Especially when I found so many huskys for adoption, and even found a NY/NJ husky rescue group called Husky House. After I showed him a bunch of the animals, he put in an application, but we haven't heard from them yet. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I wish he would either listen to me and adopt an older dog that could really use a good home that wouldn't need to be trained as much, get a cat, or not get an animal at all unless he's really willing to put in the time and effort. I get so mad when people rush into getting pets without really thinking about the long-term consequences of their actions. Dogs and cats can live up to 20 years! That is a long time--and a big responsibility. If people took that responsibility seriously, I doubt there would be as many animals in shelters.

Jamaica Pictures...

2006-11-16T17:21:00.000-05:00

Here are some pics from our trip to Jamaica! You can't tell, but it rained 5 out of the 7 days we were there which seriously sucked--though at least we only had one day that was a total wash-out. And not for nothing, anything is better than being at work. Oh yeah--did I mention the Red Stripe?

Brad in the pool:

Me in the pool:

Brad at dinner:

Me at dinner:

Brad w/ scary clown/jester guy. He's going to wet himself:

Me w/ flower:

Us at dinner at Kimonos

Catch that shrimp Brad!!!

Pic of the beach:

Brad on the beach:

Me on the beach:

Us on the boat to Dunn's River Falls:

Me snorkling...Brad doesn't swim so he took lots of pics of my bum swimming away. I'm not posting those.

In the falls:

Badonkadonk

2006-11-16T17:10:00.000-05:00

While perusing one of my favorite websites, Merrian-Webster's Open Dictionary (yes, I have a subscription to the unabridged version. I told you I was a geek) I noticed that they recently updated the dictionary with over 100 words. So, yes all you fun-loving grammar geeks out there will be pleased to know that unibrow, drama queen, and ollie (as in the skateboard move) are now officially part of the English language and no longer "just" slang.

M-W.com often reviews submissions sent in by users when making their decisions as to which words are actually "bonafide" words and no longer "just" slang. What really made me giggle was the recently uploaded user definitions of one of Ingrid's favorite words.

badonkadonk
(noun) : a girls big butt
girl you got a badonkadonk —Maurice, Me, 10/9/06
Submitted by: moe from Illinois on Oct. 09, 2006 21:19

(noun) : a supreme posterior.
he may not be very career oriented, however his badonkadonk is like no other. —"pop culture"
Submitted by: Anonymous on Feb. 14, 2006 21:20

(noun) : A well shaped female buttocks.
Check out the badonkadonk on that chick.
Submitted by: Anonymous on Dec. 12, 2005 10:38

(noun) : Big ass
Her badonkadonk is phat
Submitted by: Anonymous on Oct. 11, 2005 15:35

So Ing, badonkadonk may well show up in the dictionary one of these days...

Back from Vacation...

2006-11-13T15:39:00.000-05:00

And I've been to busy to post. Someday I'll catch up. But not today.

Wonder Woman!!!

2006-10-13T11:09:00.000-04:00

Hubby got me this as a surprise present:

How freaking awesome is the adult under-roos set? How much am I in love with it? So freaking much. I love them! I would really, really love to get a Wonder Woman bathing suit. If anyone knows of such a thing, hook a sista up.

You can find this awesome set on the Bust website, but I'm sure you can get it other places too.

Fright Fest

2006-10-09T12:02:00.000-04:00

Brad and I went to Fright Fest at Great Adventure this past Sunday. This was our second trip to G.A. this year--we braved the crowds and the insane lines Memorial Day weekend this year, and after my nasty letter to them bitching out the lines, cost, and lack of veggie-friendly and healthy eating options, they sent us two comp tickets. We saved them all summer because we figured the lines wouldn't be as bad in October (you'd think, right?) and it would be fun to go to Fright Fest. We thought it would be like a great big haunted house after dark. Unfortunately, that wasn't it. Aside from lots of decorations (mostly spiderwebs, though there was one really cool faux-cemetary), nothing was very scary. There were plenty of actors walking around like zombies, but not much interaction. We were disappointed overall, but we did have fun running around the park and going on the rides we felt brave enough to wait on line for (yes, brave. A fight broke out as we were waiting on line for Nitro).
We did take lots of fun pictures though!

Great Adventure is a great place to show my obsession with handi-wipes:

Brad in front of the fountain of blood:

Fun pics in the forsaken cemetery:

We got to see a white tiger! Awwww, he's like Sawyer but 100x the size!

And I got super cute flashy devil horns!

21 days till Jamaica...

2006-10-05T09:21:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm counting down. Did you really think I wouldn't be? I have a chalkboard in the kitchen that I've been marking every day since we hit 40 days to go...I cannot wait!
I'm obsessing about it to be honest. My visiting to the Tripadvisor website is now boardering on compulsive. I have a profile on there and members of the message board actually know who I am. Several have sent me pictures. No, I won't tell you what my member name is. I've called Air Jamaica and Sandals more times than I care to admit and at certain moments, I can almost taste the Red Stripe...

New Sawyer Pics...

2006-10-04T11:48:00.000-04:00

Sawyer was looking particularly adorable last night...so of course I needed to take pictures of him :-)

Meow!

This was from a couple of weeks ago, but how cute are they??? Meow! Meow!

Birthday Boy...

2006-10-04T09:43:00.000-04:00

I'm happy to say that I succeeded in spoiling my Hubby rotten for his birthday yesterday. Unfortunately we had to go to work, but we ended the night very happy!
We went to Candela for dinner...and oh my goodness, you had to roll us out of there!
Here is a picture of Brad after the Rock Shrimp and Pumpkin Cavatelli appetizer we shared:

Us at the restaurant:

The food was phenomenal...it's a fusion place so dishes are Asian/Mediterranean inspired; beyond yummy I tell you. Brad got sushi and I got cardamom seared ahi tuna...we were so full (damned cavatelli--and I didn't even eat many of them!), but it wouldn't have been complete without birthday cake:

When we got home, Sawyer gave Hubby the card from the kitties:

While Helena tried to eat his presents:

Hubby LOVED his Ed Hardy jacket, UglyDoll t-shirt, Dawn of the Dead zombie (from the kitties), but I think his favorite (and mine) was Darth Tater:

Is is Here, kitty kitty? Or Here kitty, kitty?

2006-09-28T16:54:00.000-04:00

What a difference a comma makes!

Okay, I'm horrified. HORRIFIED. I'm doing the usual, glancing though the various Blogging Project Runway links to recaps, and what do I come upon? A blog called The Talent Show did a post on September 27th titled "...Next to Godliness" about a comic strip put out by Chick publications about the evils of doing spells on Halloween and the poor little girl whose cat is going to be sacrificed in said spell. What's the comic called? Here, kitty kitty. I shit you not. There's some random comic out there with the same title as my blog. Freaking right-wing Christian crazies! You stole my blog title! Hmmph.

Countdown to Jamaica...

2006-09-21T12:30:00.000-04:00

Thirty-five more days. Just thirty-five more days! Then Brad and I board a plane, and head on down to Jamaica again--we'll be staying a week at Sandals Dunn River Villaggio Resort & Spa and cannot wait. It's been a long year--and considering that our last vacation was the whole cruise/New Orleans/Hurricane Katrina debacle, it's a long time coming. We've been asked why we're going back to Jamaica--since we honeymooned there, you'd think we'd want to try someplace new...well technically it is someplace new since we're staying in a totally different part of the island (we were in Negril last time, this time we'll be in Ocho Rios). And to tell you the truth, it is a beautiful place, the people are amazing, and after the last vacation we had, the thought of venturing out of our comfort-zone was none to appealing. Just the thought of laying out at the beach, soaking in the hot tub, and non-stop frothy drinks is making me pine. We're even going to give golf a whirl since there is a golf course on the resort. We want to relax, veg out, do some fun stuff (horseback riding and maybe those ATVs we did in Mexico), and have nothing to worry about. Short of dealing with another hurricane, I can't imagine anything too terrible going wrong and us not being able to deal with it. After all--we'll be in Jamaica! Yeah mon! I just keep telling myself..thirty-five more days...

Reality TV can bite my a$$

2006-09-14T13:00:00.000-04:00

I have two very guilty pleasures--I occasionally pop a Benadryl so that I can eat Nutella out of the jar (I'm allergic to chocolate) and I like two reality TV shows.

The Nutella thing is okay. I don't do it all that often (rarely-if-ever anymore since I found out the hubby is allergic to hazelnuts) so it's not a big pressing issue in my life.

The reality TV though--well lets just say that Rockstar: Supernova and Project Runway have taken over my life. Right now, though, RS:SN can bite my ass. I mean it. Last night was the finale episode and I feel like I just lost 12 hours of my life that I'll never get back. Hubby and I even had friends over to watch it with us--that's how practically essential to life I've allowed this stupid show to become. Why, why, WHY must they make you watch an entire season when you can figure out who is going to win (Pukas! Ewww!) from the first episode? I feel completely manipulated and even a little dirty about the whole thing. I'm not going to bother flapping about what happened on the show--wasting any more time reiterating what happened on said show is probably not good for my mental health. I just needed to vent. No more RS ever. I mean it. Never again. Bleh.

At least Project Runway isn't a total disappointment. I miss season 2 musical numbers (Daniel Franco, where did you go?) and the ever amusing Tim Gunn/Andrea Red Lobster shenanigans as told by Santino. The designers are a bit flat this year. Although one of my all-time favorite lines ever would be from fabulous Laura (and I like her, I don't care if she's a bitch): "It's not your usual full-tilt-boogie-Angela-quilted-extravaganza-of-puff." Love the deadpan. Though, if they auf Jeffery from the show next week I am going to me more pissed than Tim Gunn being subjected to another hour of gross-scary-man Vincent this week. Ewww.

All this means nothing to you all who don't watch these shows, but I'm lame. I apologize for said lameness, okay? Carry on!

Escape from New Orleans...

2006-08-29T13:44:00.000-04:00

Okay, I said I wasn't going to post them, but I lied. Here is the story, complete and uncut, all in one blog. Easier to locate but long as all hell!

Escape from New Orleans Part I—Saturday, August 27th, 2005

So lets begin at the beginning of the end….

We arrived in the port of New Orleans on Saturday, August 27th from our Carnival Cruise…walked off the boat—a ridiculously easy affair since going through customs involved filling out a customs form and handing it to one of the two customs officials at the entrance to the terminal, and then walking out; no bag scans, no dogs, nothing: If you ever want to smuggle drugs, a cruise is the way to go—hailed a cab, and proceeded to our hotel, the Fairmont, a very chic four star hotel one block from the French Quarter. We arrived there at about 10 a.m. and turned on the TV; every news station was broadcasting news about the coming hurricane, so of course we called our parents and tried to find out what we should do. Their advice was (of course) to get out of there. We then called the front desk to find out what they recommended; they assured us that the hotel would be perfectly safe, and we shouldn’t worry about it since its a huge concrete structure that has been standing for over 100 years…we weren’t satisfied with that (would you have been?), so we tried to find out what our options were. Jet Blue couldn’t (wouldn’t?) change our flight; they claimed that they didn’t have any seats available and that no, they were not running any additional planes out of the area. Their last planes were scheduled to fly out on Sunday morning and that was all the info they were giving us. They changed our Monday morning, 7 a.m. flight (the exact time the weather men were claiming that the hurricane would hit New Orleans) to 5:30 p.m. on Tuesday, August 30th and left it at that. Needless to say, since the mayor of New Orleans and the governor of Louisiana were both saying to evacuate because Hurricane Katrina was a category five, we wanted out. The thing that astounded Brad and I the most was the complete backwards nature of the calls for evacuation; the governor and the mayor were pleading with people to leave the city, but were not giving anyone any information as to how aside from driving yourself out. There were no additional trains or buses being scheduled to get people out of the city, and it is a depressed economy, with the exception of the French Quarter. Many people didn’t have the means to get out—it certainly wasn’t because they didn’t want to. And there was no mention as to how tourists—those who were not familiar with the city—could get out. It was all very disturbing.

There were no available flights out; we called everything we could think of. There were no trains; Amtrak had already stopped running trains on Saturday. There were no buses; Greyhound’s last bus out left Saturday afternoon and it was booked. We called rental car companies, and finally—after calling Budget Rental Cars, Alamo, and a half dozen others, found a rental from Avis. They wouldn’t give us a car to go straight to New York—we would have to go to Pittsburgh first, drop off that car, and then pick up another to continue our journey to New York—but we were just happy to have a way out. The car wasn’t available on Saturday, but they had one for Sunday morning at 8 a.m.—plenty of time for us to get out of the worst of the storm, and head to safer places. We figured we’d make the best of the situation and try and find some of those odd roadside attractions—like the world’s largest ball of twine, and things like that.

Confident that we had a plan and we’d be able to weather the effects of Hurricane Katrina in a car heading north Sunday morning, Bradley and I proceeded to try and make the best of our situation and enjoy New Orleans for the one day we were really in it; it was a beautiful day—there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the temperature was already well over 95 degrees. We headed to brunch at the Court of Two Sisters, where we could not believe that the hype was real; the food was phenomenal. They had curried olives, marinated mushrooms, gourmet cheeses, dozens of cold salads like curried chicken salad, salmon mousse, seafood ceviche, as well as made-to-order omelets, waffles, and pancakes. Yum, yum I tell you, and totally worth the outrageous price of $25 per person. We then headed to the French Market where we bought a bunch of Mardi Gras beads and other random souvenirs. We headed back to the room, stopped in Walgreen’s and picked up a road atlas, checked on our car rental (again), checked in with our parents (my dad still wanted to drive down to get us, but was satisfied that we’d be able to make it out), and took showers to get ready for a night of chaos on Bourbon Street.

Bourbon Street did not disappoint; walking onto Bourbon Street off of Canal Street, we discovered a band playing “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Delighted, we headed to Pat O’Brian’s for hurricanes and dinner—more fantastic food; the coconut shrimp was beyond tasty—and happily drunk we stumbled into the streets of the French Quarter. We picked up a couple of hand grenades (another yummy New Orleans drink) which we got to go (you can drink on the street in New Orleans), and ran into more craziness. There was a “rock star” standing like a live statue on a crate in the middle of the street; an Alice Cooper look-alike came up to us to talk about the “rock star” and we discovered he was a displaced New Yorker who originally lived in Sheepshead Bay—his sister still lived on Cropsey Avenue here in Brooklyn. So Brad took my picture with the “rock star” and Alice Cooper; I think they wanted to hang out with us, but we managed to beg off and headed to Big Daddy’s—the infamous strip club that Doug got his 30th birthday lap dance from a girl with a pork chop tattooed on the inside of her thigh. Unfortunately pork chop girl was not working at Big Daddy’s—and to tell you the truth, Brad and I were of the opinion that the quality of the girls must have gone down considerably since Douglas, Amy, and Vicki were there. It was a little bit weird to be in the club because a bunch of the girls were approaching me, and asking if I wanted a dance. Funny shit. We headed over to a random bar not long after and were very entertained by a guy and girl singing old school hip hop and funk on a stage…needless to say I got pulled up there and spent a good four or five songs dancing away on stage… We left that place and stumbled into a costume/lingerie shop where I picked out my Halloween costume for this year, and headed back to the room fairly early (around 11:30 p.m.) since we had to be at Avis for 8 o’clock the following morning….

Escape from New Orleans Part II-Sunday Morning & Afternoon, August 28th, 2005

I don’t think Brad or myself slept much Saturday night because, in spite of the massive amounts of alcohol we consumed, we still got up at 6:30 a.m. anxious to get a start on the day. I showered and got dressed, planned a route out of there on our good ole’ Rand McNally, and we left the Fairmont Hotel to get to Avis at 7:30 a.m. After standing in front of the hotel’s taxi stand for almost fifteen minutes, without a sign of a taxi anywhere, we decided to start walking the twenty or so blocks that it was up Canal Street to get to it. We found a cab more than halfway into our walk, and he drove us the rest of the way—to the completely locked up, boarded up Avis that had a sign in the window that read “Closed from Friday through Tuesday due to Hurricane Katrina. We will reopen on Wednesday, August 31st.” I think we both almost lost it at that point. We were enraged: How could the main call center reserve us a car, but not be aware that the dispatch center in New Orleans was closed since Friday? Considering the weather reports and the recommendations from the New Orleans local government and the governor of Louisiana, how could they not take additional measures to find out if the dispatch center was still open? Wouldn’t they figure that people would evacuate? And if the employees who ran that facility did evacuate early, wouldn’t they have to let the call center know? If we had known the day before that there was no hope of getting a car rental through Avis, or any of the other places we tried to get a rental car from, we would have tried harder to get a cab to take us to the Baton Rouge airport.

We returned to the hotel, in a complete panic, and called our parents again—who of course started to freak out. My favorite sentiment came from my father’s wife Janis, who told me “Find a cab to take you to Mississippi, and who cares? Sit on a corner in the rain and eat pudding for ten hours until we can come and get you!” More asinine words were never spoken. Our family’s felt that our only real option was staying in the hotel until the hurricane past; but they weren’t there, listening to the reports on television calling for a mandatory evacuation, but still not telling people how to get out of the city. The New Orleans and Louisiana government was not providing a means of transportation out for anyone who didn’t have a car to get out in. Brad and I were beside ourselves.

We couldn’t just sit in our hotel room and wait for the hurricane to blow us into oblivion; from what the reports on TV were saying, they predicted the eye of the hurricane to pass directly through downtown New Orleans, resulting in the French Quarter flooding and the water rising to twelve feet—literally if I stood on Brad’s shoulders, the water would still cover my head.

We left the hotel to find supplies—food and bottles of water, but also desperate to find a cab to get us the hell out of there. We walked through Bourbon Street—a boarded up ghost town with tourists like us, walking around, looking for water and food, and most importantly, a way out—but there was nothing. Even the street cars had stopped running. The entire time we were in New Orleans, there was not a single mention as to how the thousands of tourists and people without cars could find a way out. We began (not for the first time) comparing how the city of New York dealt with the tragedy of September 11th, and reminded one another of the housing the airlines and airports provided the tourists with while the planes were grounded in JFK and LaGuardia. We remembered that the subway ran just five hours after the planes hit and the World Trade Centers collapsed. We remembered that the subways and buses in New York City did not charge fares that day—or the next day either—in an effort to help people get to their families and loved ones. How could the city of New Orleans abandon its inhabitants (permanent residents and visitors) like this?

We found a cab driver near the French Market, and offered him $500 to take us to Baton Rouge—at first he agreed and then backed out. Frustrated, we walked back towards Canal Street where we found an open mini market, and stocked up on water, Power Bars, pretzels, cereal, and other snacks we thought we might need in the interim. We were amazed that in a time such as this, the market had the audacity to charge $8 for a thirteen-ounce box of cereal. The tourists around us had plenty of spare cash to spend, but I couldn't help but wonder what happened when the residents of the city--those not well-off were in need if they would find it as easy to stock up. It would not be the last time people would take advantage of the devastating situation for their own personal gain. Loaded down with our bags, we walked back to the hotel and began watching the news yet again. We decided to take our bags down to the lobby and hail ourselves a cab and go to the airport in New Orleans—if of course the cab driver wouldn’t take us to Baton Rouge. We wouldn’t check out of the hotel, just in case we couldn’t actually get a cab and had no place to go—the hotel was accommodating people that were already checked in, but would not let anyone check in any longer. We walked out of the hotel and we spotted a cab—Brad dropped the bags he was carrying, and ran over to him, asking him to get us out of there. He wouldn’t take us to Baton Rouge—he and his family lived across the river and he didn’t think he’d have enough time to get us to Baton Rouge and get back to the city to get back to his family. While he and Brad loaded up the bags, I ran inside and checked us out of the hotel.

Settled into the backseat of the cab, we looked out the window at the ensuing chaos—highways backed up, cars, people, and pets everywhere, and were just grateful that we were on our way to the airport. Our logic was that since Louis Armstrong airport was a good twenty-five miles from downtown New Orleans, and since we had the levies between us, we would be safer there—and in a better position to get out of the city if we were as far away from the French Quarter as possible. Since it was a fairly large airport (probably around the size of one of the terminals in JFK) and was a concrete structure, it was our safest bet for riding out the hurricane.

We arrived at the airport around 1:00 p.m.; it took us almost two hours to make what should be a twenty minute trip, and paid our cabbie the $50 fare he charged us—cheap all things considering (it’s normally $23 from anyplace in downtown New Orleans to the airport)—and prepared to settle in for the night. We choose a spot in the main atrium—under the big arched dome near the large hanging gargoyle, and I waited on line at Acme Oysters to get food—it was the only place open in the entire airport. The line at Acme was out the door—but I waited on it for forty-five minutes, because honestly—what choice did I have? I saw a cat in a carrier on one of the tables and began getting very disturbed—Where was its owner? But luckily, by the time I ordered food for Bradley and I—and picked up a few cold sandwiches because who knew how long it would be before we were able to get more food—the cat and its mystery owner were gone.

After eating our lunch—the first food that Brad and I had eaten all day—I sat by an electrical outlet on the floor to charge my cell phone and played solitaire to pass the time. At this point, cell service was still working, and I managed to call my family, Anna, Amy, and Ingrid before it got completely cut out. Brad and I were still fairly calm at this point—we felt that we had done all that we could up until this point and were as safe as we could possibly be—considering the circumstances. All we kept thinking about was when we’d be able to get out of there, and how when we finally did, we were going to spend the day in bed with our three kitties laying all over us…

Escape from New Orleans Part III-Sunday Night, August 28th, 2005

Late Sunday afternoon we began trying to get information from the Louis Armstrong airport security about what precautions the airport was planning on taking to ensure our safety—there were approximately 300 people (that we could see) who were stuck in the airport and waiting for flights out. I asked one security guard where we should stay because we’d heard rumors that they would be moving us soon. He told me that we should prepare to move upstairs—the floor where all of the airport administrative offices were—because they had thus far determined that would be the safest place. We prepared all of our things. Bradley luckily had the foresight to think of getting a luggage cart so we didn’t have to actually carry our luggage with us everywhere. We took the elevator upstairs, stepped and rolled past a bunch of people camped out directly in front of the elevator and heard a couple talking in what sounded like New York accents—music to our ears! At this point, the slow drawl of southerners was seriously starting to grate on our nerves. The couple told us that they were from Long Island, and we there for the girl’s birthday—we swapped what little information we had, and noticed another airport security guard walking past. I stopped him to make sure that we were actually supposed to be up there—of course, what the first guard told us was incorrect (this will become a pattern—trust me), and they actually wanted everyone to move downstairs in front of the airline check-in desks.

We moved again. This time we situated ourselves in the second half of the terminal, directly in front of Continental Airlines. The Long Island couple met us down there—Brad and I and Frannie and Pete (their names) decided that we couldn’t rely on anything that the New Orleans officials were saying, and that we were a little reassured that seasoned NYers were with us. We set up what was to be our first “house” using our luggage and large plastic bins they use to scan items through the luggage scanners, and tried to calm one another that everything was going to be okay.

Then we discovered that we had to move. Again. This was the third time they were moving us, and we were starting to get pissed: How could there be such complete lack of organization? Did it really take eight hours to determine what the safest part of the airport would be? Apparently so. We moved again, this time in between Southwest Airlines and United Airlines, directly in front of a wall of computer monitors normally used to tell flight arrival and departures. We set up out luggage cart, our plastic boxes, laid out Bradley’s garment bag as a cushion, used two large plastic bags Pete scored from some random guy outside and several pairs of pants as a layer between us and the floor. A woman that we met earlier and had taken pictures of me charging my phone and playing solitaire and then Brad and I playing Scrabble came by and shot some pictures of the four of us in our “house.” We tried to keep each other calm—we discovered that Frannie was twenty-three, and Pete was twenty-four. They couldn’t believe that we were thirty and thirty-one (flattery is nice—even in life and death situations), and we chatted a bit. I went to go and charge my phone (again) in the ladies’ bathroom—the only working outlet that we could find. At this point, we still had power, running clean water, the lights were working, cell phones were working, and we could use the pay phones in the airport to make collect calls and normal calls (if you had change or a calling card). Things weren’t that bad—obviously disorganized, but we still had hope of getting out of there on Tuesday.

Acme Oysters opened again around 8:00 p.m. to sell food, and we got rice and beans—with pork (which I didn’t eat and gave to Bradley to eat—I bought a grilled chicken salad earlier to ration, so I ate that). Brad spent $30 on the food—an outrageous price for the meager portion of slop that we received. They were obviously beginning to ration the food that they had and were worried about running out, but weren't telling us that. They also didn't have a problem charging everyone for the "food" they made us pay for.

Around 10:30 p.m. a group of people “in charge” came around asking for everyone’s name and city—they claimed that it was to figure out how much food they were going to need and rationing purposes; it was then that we began to realize that at least half of the people there were local, and that the local people were actually relatives of the airport security—which explained why they were the ones who received pillows, blankets, cots, hamburgers, and coolers filled with ice. The people that were literally stranded—like Brad and I, Frannie and Pete, and the hundreds of people that were stranded by their airlines from all over the country and Europe—had to fend for ourselves: We met people from San Francisco, Chicago, Florida, England, France, Italy—all over the world—all with the same stories we had—our flights were cancelled, we came to the airport because that was safer than staying in the hotels, and were just hoping to ride out the storm and get home as soon as possible. No one was helping us—the airport security and local sheriffs wouldn’t tell us anything, and often just shrugged and walked away without saying anything (if they even acknowledged that we were there). No announcements were being made—information was spread from person to person—and you couldn’t count on any of it; it was all heresy. We were literally on our own.

The four of us laid down to try and get some rest around midnight: The hurricane was supposed to hit sometime between 5:00 and 7:00 a.m. and we figured that there wasn’t much we could accomplish by staying awake the whole night. Sleep…hoping that when we woke up it would all just be a horrible bad dream…

Escape from New Orleans Part IV-Monday Morning and Afternoon, August 29th, 2005

Monday morning began by waking from our lucid sleep at 4:00 a.m. and realizing that the power had gone out—the lights, newscasts from the radios across the way, everything shut down. We were sitting in our makeshift “house” in complete darkness wondering what had happened. The storm just began to touch down—and the power was already gone. We sat there in the dark until the backup generators started to work—a little after 5:00 a.m.—when the worst of the hurricane was actually hitting us. I looked out the window at around 6 a.m. and saw nothing but sideways rain—it was so dark that it was impossible to tell what was going on outside—all you could hear were things hitting the airport terminal—the occasional loud bang, glass breaking, things falling. I imagined that it must have sounded similar to be in one of the London air raids during WWII. It sounded like the entire world was ripping apart. The worst of the storm subsided around 10:00 a.m.—it was still raining very heavily, but it was obvious that the winds died down, and we found out that the eye of the storm did not actually hit New Orleans; it had curved and hit Biloxi, Mississippi. The radio told us that St. Charles Avenue—one of the streets we had walked on Saturday sightseeing, and again yesterday looking for food and water—was under six feet of water.

At around 10:30 a.m., they began giving us breakfast—this time not charging. Breakfast consisted of a danish and bottle of water; we took the water, but neither of us had much of an appetite. Apparently they really were taking names when they came around last night to find out who was there and how much food and water was needed.

The tension in our “hanger”—what we were now calling the section of the airport we were staying in—was dejected and depressed. The lights in the hanger were dim—even during the day it was dark inside—and it contributed to everyone’s low spirits; it also kept everyone sleeping all day. Pete, Bradley, and I kept each other busy, chatting about nonsense—like the fact that both Pete and Bradley are long-time pro-wrestling fans, playing rummy with a deck of cards I bought on our honeymoon in Jamaica last year, and generally complaining about the complete lack of action that we were witnessing—while Frannie tried to escape the events around us by sleeping through most of the morning. Listening to the radio wasn’t helping (the people sitting across from us had a large DeWalt radio that was continuously running the entire time we were in the hanger—it was the way we got most of our information); it was obvious that the inefficiency we were witnessing on a small scale in the airport was also taking place across the entire city of New Orleans and the southern shore of Mississippi: We heard that National Guard soldiers were given permission to shoot any of the looters that were already trying to break in wherever they could to steal food and water—but the reports of rescue missions were few and far between. We did here that the Humane Society was already trying to rescue animals from shelters and bring them to higher ground, and also looking for animals stranded on rooftops. Since the four of us—myself, Bradley, Pete, and Frannie—are all animal lovers, this was a comfort because we had all expressed worry and concern about how the animals, helpless and at the mercy of the humans who took care of them, would get out. It was very disturbing that we didn’t hear more about people getting rescued. There was a call-in show on the radio, and we listened to over two hours of people calling in, begging for help, please come and get us, we’re stuck on the roof in the rain and have no food or water.

Brad and I walked outside around 1:30 p.m. and it was still raining—huge sheets of whitish blasting rain coming down in sheets at speeds of sixty to seventy miles an hour. We also saw several fire engines, at least five buses, and two trucks that looked as if they were power generators parked outside; the power generators had cords running from them into the hanger. This was apparently what the lights were being run on, and also the large fans that were now placed in the hanger (somewhat unfairly—because the majority of them were at the far left—if you were walking into the building from the outside—where most of the airport security and local sheriffs—were situated). At this point, they had one bathroom for each for men and women, to the right about seventy-five feet from where we were sitting. There was no running water, and periodically the very nice and patient bathroom attendants would manually flush out the very smelly and dirty toilets. The entire time we spent in the airport, it seemed like the bathroom attendants were the only people really working and not pompously walking back and forth importantly while nothing got accomplished. The attendants were also a good source of information, and it was from one of them that I discovered that they weren’t planning on opening the airport until the coming Sunday, September 4th. We were becoming frantic, and all the four of us could talk about was getting out of there. There wasn’t much we could do because it was still raining heavily, but we already knew that we really couldn’t rely on the airport people around us—it was obvious they were not as concerned as they should be, and we still got more blank stares than answers whenever one of us would ask them a direct question. We wanted out—but how?

Escape from New Orleans Part V—Monday Night: The Obnoxious New Yorker Surfaces, August 29th, 2005

Monday afternoon we went from dejected to angry. By 3:00 p.m. it had stopped raining, and the sun began peaking through the clouds. Pete, Frannie, Brad, and I all figured that since the worst of the storm was over—there were still some gusty winds, but no rain—New Orleans police, firefighters, and any National Guard already in the area would begin the rescue and repair mission in earnest; after all, that was what we had witnessed in NYC when the World Trade Center collapsed-there was mourning and devastation, but the people who had to take care of clearing the debris and rescuing people started literally as soon as the smoke cleared, mere hours after it happened. If it happened that way in NYC, it should happen that way in New Orleans, right? The federal government would step in, send troops, send medical supplies, food, and water, and things would start getting corrected immediately--right? Wrong. Nothing happened. It seemed like the entire city was paralyzed with the exception of the few National Guard that were already there (we heard the number was in the low hundreds—and impossibly small number considering the devastation that had occurred) and the local police and fire departments that slowly began mobilizing. The entire event, post hurricane, felt as though it were moving in slow motion.

I started to get worried—and then, like a true New Yorker, I got pissed-the four of us did. How dare the powers that be stand around and do nothing? While we were stranded in the airport, there were others far worse off than we were, and nothing was being done.

In the midst of our four-way bitchfest, Brad and I decided to call Jet Blue again to try and find out if they had any information about when the airport would be opened. When I got on the phone I found out that the flight scheduled to go out was in fact cancelled—but Marsha (the Jet Blue Customer Rep.) assured me that they would have us out by Friday. Friday?! I nearly lost it, but somehow managed to stop myself from screaming at her in frustration—(you can ask Brad—I was eerily calm on the phone). Instead I asked Marsha when they thought they would begin flying planes out again—and she replied that they had flights scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday, but there were no seats available. I asked for a supervisor. At that point I wanted to know why, in the midst of one of the worst hurricanes in the history of New Orleans, Jet Blue—having cancelled all of their flights from Sunday morning on, and having not made any additional flights available prior to the hurricane (which would have made the most sense—we asked on Saturday when we got to the hotel--nothing was available), how they were justifying stranding all of their passengers who were now stuck because of those cancelled flights. The supervisor Penny hemmed and hawed, made excuses, apologized, made cooing noises as I calmly complained of the airlines utter disregard for the situation we were in (which I made a point of telling her I wasn't completely surprised about since that had been the standard response from nearly everyone we had spoken to who should have been able to help us—or at the very least give us reliable information), and she then put me on hold, came back, and somehow had miraculously put us on a Wednesday flight. Unbelievable. It astounded me how being nice was getting me nowhere, but being a bitch was working.

Our next move was to try and charge our cell phones—since the limited power in the airport was running on generators, the only outlets that were working were on the way to the working bathrooms—the ones with actual running water at the center of the terminal, right by the food place. There was a long hallway with four outlets that someone had plugged four power strips into—in an effort to make more outlets available. Since there were still only twenty outlets and hundreds of people, you had to wait in line, wait for the phones to finish charging, sit by your phone, and wait for it to finish (some people actually left their phones there, but I saw a random guy pick up a random phone—I saw a woman plug it in earlier—pick one up and try to place a call on it, so I wasn't taking any chances). The phones were taking a very long time to charge-probably because the airport was running on back-up generators instead of regular power. While waiting in line, I happened to notice some random guy sitting on the floor with a laptop in his lap. I was a little annoyed—until I realized that he wasn't just sitting on the floor trying to use his laptop, he and his buddies were busy watching Ocean's Twelve while the rest of us stood there waiting for outlets to become available. To add insult to injury, the idiot was charging his phone as well. So of course—being the obnoxious New Yorker that I am—I couldn't just keep my mouth shut. So I said, very loudly, "Nice that some people are enjoying a movie while there are people waiting on line to charge their phones so they can try to get in touch with their families." He tried to ignore me—so I went on: Apparently, people think that watching movies is a priority. Just because you're wearing dog tags doesn't stop you from being an asshole. The very funny ladies standing behind me started heckling him as well: "Go on girl—tell him what a asshole he is!" This went on for a few minutes—then stupid dog-tag wearing guy got up, unplugged his laptop, and left his phone to charge. I couldn't believe the gall. (I suppose it's like what Douglas has said—I'm a very sweet person, but you don't want to get on my bad side.)

The phones finally charged, we ate dinner while waiting for them (a not so great tuna sandwich-which was one of the first things I ate that day), and eventually, at around 8 p.m. went to find Pete and Frannie. They had gone to explore for a bit and came back informing us that there was a store open further down the road and that the parking garage lights were on, did we want to go check stuff out together? Since we had also found out that New Orleans had instilled marshal law, sticking together seemed like a good idea. We looked in the windows of the area to the far right of the terminal (if you were walking in from the outside) and saw that there was a makeshift dorm of some sort-a bunch of blow up mattresses, blankets, and pillows in offices where we had all seen airport security, local sheriffs, and Homeland Security officials walking back and forth from-at least some people were comfortable, even though it certainly wasn't us. We then walked down to the ground level and were able to observe the air traffic control tower—which did not have the roof torn off like someone had claimed. We also saw that one airstrip (at least) was not flooded, and that the runway lights were working and flashing. The structural damage to the parking garage was bad-the top roof had caved in a section, but other than that it looked fine-and the lights were working—all of the lights from the airport-from office lights on the third floor, to the parking garage lights, to the bottom floor lights where the baggage claim was, were all on and in working order. We looked around the bottom floor—noticed some minor flooding near one of the baggage claim areas, broken ceiling tiles, and some sections that looked like there were exposed electrical wires literally hanging from the ceiling—and nothing was blocked off. Nothing had been done to any of it either. (I'll post pictures in a separate blog—I have some good ones). We actually saw some airport workers hanging around, as though on a cigarette break. It was infuriating. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Why not try to clean up the mess and try to get the airport up and running again. When asked, they just shrugged their shoulders-I don't know nothing about all that. Nice.

We did find a really nice lady named Maxine who ran a shipping business down on the first floor—out of everyone that we spoke to at the Louis Armstrong airport, she was the only one who helped us, and actually gave us information. She told us that the heads of the airport had already briefed personnel that the airport would not be open for several days—at least until Wednesday, more likely Thursday or Friday. They were still assessing damages, and if need be, the airport wouldn't be up and running until Sunday, September 4th. We tried to take the information in stride and not let it get us down. She also offered to give us boxes to sleep on—which we gratefully accepted. The four of us marched back up to our hanger, boxes in tow, trying to fend off the question of where we got them from the other people stuck in the airport (Maxine didn't have many more left she told us), and sat down to plan out the following day. It was then obvious that the airport wouldn't be running any time soon—we needed to figure out how to get out of there. Frannie and Pete decided that they were going to walk down the road to where the store was to try and get supplies and hopefully find out if anyone had seen any cabs or buses running—we were all running out of water, and the food situation was sketchy; it was clear that they were rationing because they were running out. Brad and I were going to check out the situation at the hotels across the way, and see if we could find a cab, or anyone local who would be willing to take us to Baton Rouge. We settled down for another night in our makeshift house, hopeful that the following day would bring good news.

Escape from New Orleans Part VI—Tuesday: The Emancipation! August 30th, 2005

Tuesday morning dawned, and we were all up before 7 a.m. We went to the bathroom with our bottles of water and did the best we could at washing ourselves—not an easy task, I can assure you. Everyone was seriously starting to smell, and the hanger itself smelled stale and dirty. Most of the people there hadn't showered since Sunday at least, some since Saturday.

The first thing we did was call the airline again—who still said that the flight was scheduled to go out on Wednesday. We weren't taking their word for it though, so as planned, the four of us split up to go and find a way out. Frannie and Pete headed over the bridge and down the road in one direction, we went the opposite way to the hotels where it looked like there might be a shuttle bus or something. Needless to say, after walking around for over two and a half hours, asking people if they had rooms in the hotels, if they knew someone willing to drive us to Baton Rouge—we'd pay them whatever they wanted—looking for car rental places, checking out the shuttle bus situation, looking for cabs where there were none—we went back. I called my mom, and began having a bit of a nervous breakdown. I begged her to come and get us--my father was trying to make excuses, (because among many reasons, he'd have to drive down with my mom--his estranged ex-wife) but after much begging to my father (and god only knows what my mom said to him when we weren't on the phone) they were coming—they were going to drive down to New Orleans and come find us. My dad is a retired NYC police officer, as well as retired U.S. Army, so if anyone would be able to get through to us, it would be him. I was supposed to call her back at 12:30 p.m. to find out where she was, and if she needed any more info. We ran into Maxine again on our way back from getting breakfast, and she told us that she had a meeting with the airport people again, and when she found out more news, she'd come and find us--she also told us about a place we'd be able to shower that only the airport workers were supposed to use, but she'd let us in. She really was a fantastic lady.

Brad and I were still feeling dejected—in spite of the fact that we knew my parents were going to come and get us, it still meant we were stuck in the airport for at least another day. We cleaned out and trashed one of our suitcases in an effort to get rid of stuff to carry and make some additional space in my mom's SUV (there was no way we could have my parent's drive all the way down there, and then leave Frannie and Pete there). As we finished up, we saw Pete walking towards us.

Get your shit and lets go, Pete said, We have a cab.
Are you serious? I asked him.
Yeah! Grab your shit!

We were off. We grabbed all our bags and began packing up the minivan cab. It turns out, while Pete and Frannie were standing on line (for two hours) waiting to get into the mini-mart (the store was only letting four people in at a time—they were afraid people would get out of control if they let everyone in all at once—I can't say that I blame them), Frannie spotted the cab. She sent Pete running across the street to grab the guy, and made him promise to drive them to Baton Rouge if they got him and his family he had with him groceries, he'd take us. They waited in line another hour, got the guy his groceries and a bottle of gin for good measure, went with him to drop off his family, and met us back at the airport.

While we were loading our bags, I couldn't believe the swarm of people that began trying to find out what was going on, if we had any more room, if the cab driver was coming back, etc. One airport security guy was trying to convince Frannie that the van was going to get stuck and we'd get looted—I looked at the guy, then at Frannie, and told her, We're going. The airport guy didn't look happy about that. Once in the van the cab driver told us he was charging us $100 each—and to be honest, at that point, we would have probably paid more than that—with the additional guy in the front seat, the cabbie would make $500 to drive us the 78 miles it took to get to Baton Rouge. Once we left we began talking about what was going on while we were getting out—we all agreed that the airport guy was trying to convince us not to go so he could take the cab himself. It was amazing how desperate the situation had made people. Pete had run back into the hanger to make sure we didn't leave anything there and saw that even though we had been gone for less than five minutes, people had already dismantled our "house" and took our cardboard. We were happy to be out of there and on our way to Baton Rouge!

Escape from New Orleans—Part VII: The Final Installment, August 30 th-August 31st, 2005

Our cab ride from the New Orleans Louis Armstrong airport to the one in Baton Rouge was eventful—we saw all sorts of damage from the hurricane—but also realized that our driver was half blind and dangerous. At one point, our sad little minivan cab drove up a very steep hill to go around a downed power line (all the while, I'm in the backseat yelling "Lean left, lean left!") and we thought we were all goners. That wasn't the half of it though—when we got to the top of the hill, we realized it wasn't just a hill, but an actual raised road and our driver figured it was a good place to continue our journey—“Just in case,” he told us. That was fine with us—until he started fumbling around for a cigarette and we saw a car coming towards us… “Car! Car! Car!” we yelled until he finally looked up, saw the car, and swerved out of the way. We also realized he didn’t know where he was going—he stopped to ask for directions at least four or five times, and spent the last hour of the ride there squinting up at the highway signs and cursing at people in Spanish.

One of the saddest and most disgusting things that I have ever seen also happened on our car ride—while we were driving down some random road, we saw a couple of young black teenaged guys trying to break into a convenience store—in my opinion, to get supplies—when a NO police car (white PO, of course) came out of nowhere, pulled up, chased them down, handcuffed one kid to a tree and started beating on the other kid. It made me want to vomit. We wanted to pull over, but the cab driver wouldn’t. It was sickening.

When we finally arrived in Baton Rouge we all breathed a sigh of relief—I know I wasn’t the only one who felt more scared for my life in the taxi than I did the entire time the hurricane was blowing around the airport. We soon realized that the Baton Rouge airport only flies out three airlines—and none of us had tickets booked on those airlines. We soon found out that tickets out of that airport on Delta were $539 per person—an insane amount of money (nice for airlines to try and rip you off as much as possible during a disaster situation). So renting a car seemed like the next best thing—we’d split the driving among four people, and figured it wouldn’t be that bad.

Brad and Pete rented the car from Hertz—one of the few companies that actually let you take the car out of state and return it elsewhere—and Brad said he wanted to hug the car rental lady when she finally handed him the keys to our enormous white Mercury Sable with leather seats. Compared to sleeping in the airport on cardboard, the car felt like a suite at The Ritz!

Once loaded into the car, we realized we were all starving—it had been days since any of us had really eaten well, so we headed over to Jack in the Box for burgers (or chicken sandwiches in my case), jalapeño poppers, and fries. I cannot explain how good that food was—and I am no fast food eater. It was like eating a gourmet meal.

Finally full, we set off. Pete took the first shift, and we got in the car very excited to be getting out of there. We soon realized that the car’s GPS was telling us to go back through New Orleans to get out of state—obviously that wasn’t going to happen—so I busted out my Rand McNally again, and plotted us a route home—through Mississippi, Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, and finally—to New York.

Mississippi was a flat, hot, bug infested state full of corn fields and strange music—we actually heard “The Name Game” come on the radio (you know the song: “Anna-bana bo-bana, Fee-fi-fo-fana…”). I wouldn’t go back to that state if you paid me.

Tennessee was definitely the highlight of our road trip. We were driving through Memphis, so how could we not stop at Graceland? Unfortunately it took a good eight hours to get from Baton Rouge to Memphis, so we arrived shortly before midnight and took pictures in front of the gates and of Elvis’ planes. We stopped at IHOP and ate again (having last eaten at around 3:00 p.m.) and had another meal that I would not normally eat. Frannie took the next shift, and drove across Tennessee through the darkness. When we pulled over at a rest stop around 6:30 a.m., we couldn’t believe that we were still in Tennessee.

I was up next and drove us out of Tennessee at ridiculous speeds—at one point I was doing between 90 and 100 miles an hour. As a matter of fact, we were all driving pretty fast—Pete (who drives like Bradley) did a consistent 80 mph, and Frannie (who drives like I do) was also doing between 90 and 100 mph. As Pete said—if we got pulled over by a cop and they didn't believe where we were driving from and wouldn't let us off the hook (because if anyone should be entitled to speed a little, we figured it was us), he'd just tell them, "If you don't believe me, smell my f@#king ass!"

We drove over the Virginia state line around 8:30 a.m., and stopped at a Waffle House around 11 a.m. If you’ve never been to a Waffle House, you definitely need to check one out—they’re a hoot! They specialize in waffles, but also have crazy toppings on their home fries: You can get them covered—with cheese, diced—with tomatoes, smothered—with chili, capped—with mushrooms, chunked—with ham, topped—with onions, and peppered—with jalapeños. The boys were not allowed to get them smothered. In spite of our luxurious car, the air was starting to get a little stale and the last thing we needed was a bout of man-gas to kill us all.

Brad took over driving about half-way through Virginia around 1 p.m. In spite of the Red Bull I drank, I was getting sleepy. Virginia was definitely the longest drive time—we drove through it for a total of approximately ten hours—and when we finally crossed the Maryland state line at around 4 p.m., we were in the final stretch. We crossed into Staten Island over the Goethals’s Bridge around 8:00 p.m. and when we finally hit the Verrazano Bridge, we were all so damned happy to be home we could have cried. Frannie and Pete dropped us off at the JFK long-term parking airport (where we left our car), and they were taking the rental car back near Pete’s house…

By that point the only thing we could think of was finally walking into our house, seeing the cats, taking long, long showers, ordering a pizza, and sleeping in our own bed…now that is the meaning of true bliss…

Here are links to the blogs that have pictures:

NO The Final Installment (pictures of the roadtrip home)
(Scroll down to the end of this blog to see pictures)

New Orleans Louis Armstrong Airport

New Orleans Fun Pictures

It's been a year since Katrina...

2006-08-29T09:18:00.000-04:00

And I still can't believe what we went through last year--I don't think I'll ever get over it. My therapist says that one of the reasons I rescue cats is because I have abandonment issues--because I felt throughly and totally abandoned down in NOLA (though that isn't the only reason, I can assure you). I was thinking of reposting all of those blogs here in one really, really long blog, and will a little later in the day. In the meantime, here is a link to the links of those blogs if you absolutely cannot wait. I am just so thankful that we got out when we did...because I was looking at the water on Canal Street, the day after the hurricane, and keep thinking to myself that if we hadn't left to go to the airport Sunday morning August 28, 2005, that is exactly where we would have been...

Hurricane Katrina blogs

Please take a look at this article from the Humane Society about the rescued animals from Hurricane Katrina. It also gives you a link to show you how you can donate...if you can find it in your heart, the animals would really appreciate it.

The Animals After the Storm

Macaroni and Blue Cheese

2006-08-28T09:58:00.000-04:00

Brad and I tried a new restaurant on Saturday night. It's called Little Bistro, specializing (as they claim) in the "evolution of new American cuisine." Though it's received very good reviews on Citysearch, we were unimpressed. We had the Calamari with Cardamom Salt as an appetizer, and we were quite pleased with it. The calamari was cooked perfectly and the sauce was very good, though a bit stingy. Our entrees, however, were what left a bit to be desired. Brad had the Little Bistro Meatloaf with Caramlized Onions, Asparagus, and Bacon Chive Mashed Potatoes. I had the special that evening, Pan-seared Cod with Shrimp, Haricot Vert, and I substituted the Bacon Chive Mashed Potatoes (because I don't eat swine!) for Macaroni with Blue Cheese. Brad's meatloaf had a slight curry taste, which he liked, but said got old fairly quickly. He said my mom's meatloaf was a 100 times better (which I'll make sure to tell her--she'll love that). The onions were very good, and the bacon chive potatoes needed more bacon flavor. My cod and shrimp were very perfectly cooked and tasty in their own right, but the accompanying sauce was very, very sparce (and tasted like duck sauce with a bit of cilantro). The green beans tasted good, but were way too oily, and I cannot tell you what a disappointment the macaroni and blue cheese was--it was flavorless and oily with only an occasional hint of the distinctive blue cheese flavor. We were both quite disappointed with Little Bistro overall, even though we really wanted to like it.

In the car on the way home, I began talking to Brad about how the macaroni and blue cheese could have been so much better had they given it a little thought. I decided I'd attempt it myself on Sunday, and prove how easy it could actually be. I make a mean fettucini alfredo, and thought that if I followed those priciples, my version of macaroni and blue cheese would be awesome. Here is my (very sucessful) receipe:

Macaroni & Blue Cheese

serves 4

1/2 lb. elbow macaroni

1 cup heavy cream

2 tbsp. unsalted butter

12 oz. crumbled blue cheese (more if you want it really cheesy)

salt and pepper to taste

1/4 cup bread crumbs

Boil 3 quarts of water, salted. Cook pasta until al dente. Drain and rinse with cool water. Set aside.

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly coat (I used Pam) a 9 x 9 square baking pan.

In a heavy bottomed sauce pan, bring the heavy cream and butter to a simmer. Do not allow it to boil. Set aside a small amount of the blue cheese for mixing in later. Add the blue cheese, a bit at a time, stirring constantly. When all the cheese is incorporated, continue to stir for another 2-3 minutes. Add any salt and pepper you desire (though I didn't add any salt because the salt in the cheese is very strong). Remove from heat.

Pour the elbow pasta into the square baking pan. Pour the blue cheese sauce over it (it will thicken as it cooks). Add remaining blue cheese and stir pasta so all is thoroughly coated. Top with bread crumbs. Cook in oven for 30 minutes. You may want to broil it for a minute or two at the end to make the top crispy.

Serve with a big green salad and possibly with soup beforehand (I served a corn and roasted pepper soup).

I promise you--this macaroni and blue cheese recipe blows Little Bistro's away and is perfect for a hearty fall dinner.

Reflections on our subway experience...

2006-08-18T13:01:00.000-04:00

Regarding my last blog...Brad and I were talking about the situation last night, once again comparing what happened to us down in NOLA during Hurricane Katrina to what goes on in NYC...

Brad: "In NYC, you get stuck in a subway on a bridge and they cut a hole and rescue you within two hours. In New Orleans they would have sent in sandwiches and left you there."

Guess where I was last night?

2006-08-17T10:03:00.000-04:00

Stuck on the D train going into Brooklyn. Check out the story from the Daily News.

Hell Over East River

I must say, compared to being stuck in Hurricane Katrina last year, this was a cake walk. It sure does seem like someone up there is testing Brad and I though!

So I leave work at 5:45 yesterday, trying to get home to meet Brad a little early, and it's going according to schedule. I switch from the 1 train to the D at 59th street, and just managed to run down the stairs and catch it, so I was sitting in the front of the train--not where I normally sit. The D train rambles down through Manhattan and begings to go over the Manhattan Bridge. Somewhere around 6 p.m. the train stops. No announcements, nothing. I called Brad around 6:15 to let him know that I would be late and it turns out that he was on the same train!! We made a tentative plan to get off the train at the next stop and take a cab from wherever we were. After we were on the train for around a half an hour, they finally made an announcement that there was a fire at Dekalb Avenue and the train ahead of us was being evacuated. They also cut the power. Fun. No air conditioning. The good news was that they unlocked the doors in between the cars so Brad walked up and met me. I was really glad got to be together. So we stood there getting really, really hot for a while. At some point an MTA worker walked by and said anyone pregnant, with heat exhaustion, diabeties, asthma, or other lung problems should walk to the front of the train. Since Brad has asthma, we walked to the front of the train and waited some more. At around 7:45, they finally began evacuating the car that we were in. The firefighters and police officers cut a hole in the chainlink fence on the Manhattan Bridge, opened up the subway car doors, placed a narrow green metal plank between the floor of the car and the bridge railing, and there was a step ladder for us to walk down. When I was walking over the plank (I felt like a pirate arrrrrrgggaagggraaggghhaaa! heeheehee) there were officers and firefighters holding my hands as I walked. One of them told me "Keep going and just don't look down!" and another told me "Don't worry darling, it's just like dancing!" I was very grateful for their good spirits and kindness. They were really fantastic. We then walked over the rest of the bridge, did a bunch of interviews (the media loves our disaster stories! heehee), walked up Flatbush Avenue, caught a gypsy cab on Flatbush and Fourth Avenue, and finally got home around 9 p.m.

I must say, I was very impressed with Brad and I, and with our fellow passengers. We all stayed pretty calm and all things considered, it didn't really take them all that long to come and rescue us. I suppose being a New Yorker, stuff like this comes with the territory, but I do wish that the powers that be would stop testing us. It's getting kind of old. We get it. Brad and I are disaster survivors. Alright already! Maybe there is a book in that... :-)

Love's Baby Soft

2006-07-30T12:34:00.000-04:00

I have an array of fancy perfume to wear--and what have I been wearing all summer long? Love's Baby Soft. Yup. That early high school favorite that smells sort of like a slightly sweeter version of baby powder. I'm obsessed with it. It's so light and soft-smelling--the perfect thing to wear when it feels like its a thousand degrees out. I'm having a hard time spritzing myself with anything else.

The Black and White thing...

2006-07-20T11:05:00.000-04:00

The black and white thing is rampant in NYC this summer and I say bravo! It looks cool and chic and is really difficult to mess up. Yet. People manage (they always do somehow, don't they?). This is what I saw as I was trugging through the incredibly hot Times Square Subway Station this past Monday as I was switching from the 1 to the R to go downtown. Picture it--lovely blonde lady, early 30s, hair pulled back into cute pony tail (it was quite the humid day yesterday), fabulous full skirt, just below the knee, black and white large floral print, paired with a fitted black cap-sleeved jersey knit t-shirt and matching cartigan over her shoulders. And then there is the kicker. Her kickers. She's wearing red pumps. Red pumps--"Okay," you're saying to yourself, "black and white outfit, what's wrong with making it a little fun with red pumps?" Nothing, I'd normally say, if she hadn't been carrying a giant fushia handbag! I mean come on! One or the other. Fushia bag, black or white shoes. Red shoes, black, white, hell, even gold or silver handbag. But to throw red and fushia together (not even pink mind you--fushia--like the cheap trannies wore that used to walk 12th Ave. after midnight before the city was turned into Disneyworld by Gulianni)--it's beyond me. Maybe she's colorblind and got the labels mixed up, because honestly, I cannot fathom how such a gross fashion mishap could happen to such an otherwise throughly pulled together outfit.

It should read: You, Me, & Dupree...

2006-07-14T11:35:00.000-04:00

I hate when people misuse punctuation. I especially hate it when it done for what promises to be a piss-poor movie and the title is on billboards all over the damned place. The movie title is missing a serial comma. You know, that nifty little punctuation mark that helps indicate a pause or separate items in lists, which is exactly what this title is. It's not "You (pause) Me & Dupree." It's "You (pause) Me (pause) & Dupree." As in all those mentioned are part of one group. If you leave the last comma out, it means that the first item is separate and distinct from the other two items in the list--which would be fine if the voice-overs in the commercials read it like that. But they don't! Why are they pausing if there is no comma?! Why?! Idiots.

How did they let this happen? I refuse to believe that someone didn't suggest/advise/notice that the comma after "me" was missing. Doesn't anyone have a grammar book out there in movieland? Didn't any of the people making this movie go to college? And didn't any of those people pay attention in their freshman English class? If they would have had me as a teacher they would have remembered. All crap like this does is help reinforce an already grammatically depreciated society's poor writing skills. Thank you Hollywood.

Work craziness is finished!!!

2006-07-14T10:02:00.000-04:00

Every year, from February to mid-July, my boss and I go absolutely out of our minds trying to produce our fall catalog of books. There aren't all that many of them, (we have 12 this fall) so it shouldn't be so much stress. Except that it is usually just the two of us. He does the graphics, design, layout; we share scheduling; I do all the editing (on the production side), proofing, routing covers, and maintain one in-house freelancer and work with a small group of off-site freelancers (the number of people I use as freelancers has drastically slimmed in the last year because I've gotten more and more anal retentive). The thing is, one of those books is a huge directory that is primarily stats, poured from a data base, and then copy edited by myself and around 4 other poor souls you should really pity. That bad-boy weighed in at 1,600 pages this year. I almost suffered from a hernia trying the lift the passes of the damned thing. It’s huge. The other books range from 300 pages (easily do-able) to 800 pages (much more difficult), with all the normal run of the mill crap that goes on in publishing—editorial not delivering stuff on time, the occasional freelancer melt-down, and the higher-ups occasionally making me chase them down for weeks for cover-copy approval—but with only 2 full time people and 1 part time person working on them, it’s hectic. Very, very, very hectic. Which is why I tend not to read, write, craft, create, socialize, work out, or do any of my normal activities—I’m too damned exhausted from staring at page proofs and computer screens to want to do anything besides go home and veg. By the time I get there, my mind is usually close to an oatmeal consistency.
BUT, no longer! The busy season is over, so I will commence catching up on all the “me-stuff” I haven’t been doing, including driving my friends crazy with lots and lots of blogs. I hope you’re ready people. ;-)

Em-dash Nazi

2006-07-10T11:51:00.001-04:00

You know you are a grammar nerd when you are harmlessly perusing the new contestant bios on the Project Runway website and you come across a type-o that is so glaringly annoying (first paragraph, five lines down; check the HTML codes! It should be an actually em dash, not labeled "emdash" yeash!) that you take the time to e-mail the webmaster to let them know what a piss-poor job they did of copyediting the page, and then you check it the next day and it is STILL THERE!!! Not to mention that apparently they've never heard of serial commas and they use the annoyingly highbrow way of spelling theater; you design costumes for theater, major in theater; you work at the Majestic Theatre. One is not a proper noun, the other is not.

Here is the aformentioned webpage type-o:

Project Runway Bio for Jeffrey Sebelia

I'm sitting here sputtering because it annoys me so.

Summer concert update...

2006-06-26T09:24:00.000-04:00

It's been awhile since I've blogged, but it's not because I've been sitting on my ass. It's been crazy-busy at work, and the weekends have been pretty crazy too. Brad and I have slipped into summer concert high-gear. We saw NIN at Jones Beach last weekend--what a f*@#ing amazing show. I mean, Jesus Christ. It was out of control how amazing every single somg sounded. I was super psyched because not only did they do all the good stuff off of the latest record, With Teeth, they did all the amazing NIN we know and love--including two somewhat obscure songs, "Get Down, Make Love," and "Dead Souls" (which is actually a Joy Division cover)--just one more reason why I love NIN so much and have ever since back in the Pretty Hate Machine Days...

Anyway, we also saw A.F.I. this past Friday at Roseland. Brad's friend Jen works for the label and scored us awesome seats, so we were actually sitting in the balcony and not down below in all of the mess, which was a good thing because honestly, I thought the kids in the pit were going to take someone's head off it was so crazy. A.F.I. was really impressive. I wasn't expecting them to sound better live than they do on their records, but that was exactly what they did and they put on an amazing, high energy show. My favorite moment was at the end of the show when the singer, Davey Havok, actually came into the crowd and was standing (I think on people's shoulders) as he was singing. It was an amazing show.

Upcoming concerts...belive it or not, Brad and I are sort of on a cheese-metal kick, so I think we're going to see Poison and Cinderella (I LOVE Cinderella) in August and then Aerosmith and Motley Crue in September. Very cool!

The Dirt...

2006-06-08T10:18:00.000-04:00

I just borrowed The Dirt: The Autobiography of Motley Crue from a coworker, and I must say, it is freaking awesome. It so brought me back to all of the things that I love about metal and how freaking excited I was about music back then. I used to love finding out about the craziness that my favorite bands were always up to in magazines like Metal Edge and Rolling Stone; there was nothing better that lusting over pictures of Nicki Sixx, Tommy Lee (both from Motley Crue of course), Duff McKagan (bassist for G N'R), Sebastian Bach, Snake (both from Skid Row), Ian Ashbury (The Cult), and Tom Keifer (Cinderella) and my room was plastered with pictures of them. All reminiscing aside, The Dirt is an great read, told through all of the band member's perspectives (and Mick Mars is as insane as I always thought he was), with lots of commentary from band managers, ex-fill-in lead-singers, roadies, and some letters and scribbles from Tommy Lee when he was in prison. It really gives you an inside look at what the band was going through, their oft unruly passion for music and life, the insane amounts of drugs they put into their bodies, and really tugs at your heartstrings during moments. I highly recommend this book to anyone who is looking for a really engrossing summer read.

Asparagus...

2006-06-08T09:18:00.000-04:00

Really makes your pee stink. It especially makes your cat's pee stink though. Our new kitty, Sawyer, happily ate a stalk of asparagus (along with almost half of my crab cake) at dinner last night, and his pee is lethal. No more asparagus for kitty. Meow!

Everyone is preggers...

2006-06-07T22:08:00.000-04:00

Lately it seems like everywhere I turn, everyone I know is having a baby. Not that it's a bad thing, it's just an observation. I suppose we're all at that age...around 30, getting married, having kids...it's the thing to do. I have two close friends/couples I know (who attended our wedding) that are pregnant, and a whole bunch more that I know, or sort-of know, who have informed the world that they're preggers. Two more women and one future daddy in the office. A quasi-relation (my mom's live-in boyfriend's niece) and the sister of a good friend of mine (whose wife happens to also be pregnant). Maybe it's something in the water. Are they putting super-sperm and ovary nutrients in there that we don't know about?

I better start crocheting faster; lots of baby blankets to be made...

Anti-technology after 6 & on weekends...

2006-06-05T10:56:00.000-04:00

I e-mailed a friend this morning with my apologies about not responding to an e-mail that he sent me on Friday until today, Monday morning. I'm a slacker on the weekends and after 6 p.m. Lately it's been really hard to drag my butt to our home computer when I spend 9 hours in front of one during the day. I just can't do it. I don't have that kind of attention span--and besides, if it is so important to get in touch with me, call my cell phone. I rarely don't answer it (unless it is during the day at work, in which case it is more than likely off anyhow, and you can get me at my work number). I just hate technology sometimes. I would rather hang out with my husband, my family, my kitties, do something productive, or do nothing more than take a nap. All that seems like it is a lot more important than checking e-mail. Maybe I'm just rebelling against e-mail and computers after-hours because I feel like a slave to them during the work week. One of my coworkers is on vacation this week--in Jamaica (I am so envious) and she actually e-mailed me back about a work issue. Is she crazy? Checking work e-mail on vacation? Completely nuts. No thanks. That wouldn't be me. I'd rather sunbathe.

Eeeewww!

2006-06-01T13:12:00.000-04:00

Hairless cats look like aliens. Freaky I tell you! I'm not the only one who thinks so. If you check out the website Kittenwar and click on the losingest (weird word, I know) kittens, you will see a plethora, a plethora of hairless cats. They just look odd. You can't tell me you'd rather snuggle with this Grendel:

Over this Grendel:

Wristbands Are Making A Comeback? Why, dear God, why?!

2006-05-31T15:25:00.000-04:00

I’ve noticed that wristbands--not leather gauntlets a la Judas Priest, though those are pretty bad too--but wristbands (the ones that are supposed to be worn when working out or running or whatever) are making a comeback, and I can’t help but ask why? I’ve noticed them in lots of places--on male models, 12 year old boys, and cheesy pseudo 80s/emo bands (I think the singer or guitarist from Taking Back My Chemical All-American Fall-out At the Disco or something wears them). Who said wristbands are cool? Can I ask those same people if they’ve ever seen the video for “Let’s Get Physical” from Olivia-Newton John--only the most wristband-laden video ever made? I cannot fathom how someone could look at a wristband and think to themselves, “Gee, this is a nifty accessory, I think I’ll put it on and sport it like it’s 1983!” Wristbands are not cool. They have never been cool. They made an appearance in the 80s, God help us all, and for some reason, people have been thinking that 80s fashion was a good idea again. I know that these people that made this decision never actually wore the bad 80s fashion themselves, or they wouldn’t keep trying to shove it down our throats now. I mean, come on--leggings? Rubber bracelets? Bubble-skirts??? Next thing you know, girls are going to be wearing those annoying chain-link plastic necklaces and attaching large tacky plastic charms that look like a lipstick or a high-heeled shoe and guys are going to bust out the Skidz. And if that is going to happen, well will someone just shoot me now, please? I don’t think I can live through another decade of that.

So, if you really care about your loved ones, friends, coworkers, hell, even someone you find mildly interesting or entertaining, beseech them to abandon their wristbands, discard the leggings, banish all neon clothing in sight--because God help them (and you, for having to look at the atrocities) the pictures they take today will come back to haunt them later in life.

Best Weekend Ever...

2006-05-30T16:05:00.000-04:00

A rundown of this past Memorial Day weekend:
Friday: X-men in the afternoon (summer Fridays started! Whoo-hoo!); Dinner at Press in Park Slope
Saturday: Tanger Outlets in Riverhead, Long Island; Trader Joe's in Plainview; Yummy Greek food for dinner; Saw Next Tribe at Knitting Factory and read a poem with them
Sunday: Six Flags Great Adventure baby! Whoo-hoo!
Monday: Sleepy day...I washed our apartment windows, we bought a little mini-grill and BBQ'd on the fire escape
You don't get a better Memorial Day weekend without going away :-)

Low-flying planes...

2006-05-25T13:09:00.000-04:00

The Memorial Day weekend is always a big deal in NYC--and as has been shown on Sex and the City episodes, Fleet Week means the entire city is filled with young U.S. officers--mostly from the Navy, but you see a few from the Army, National Guard, Coast Guard, etc. It's disturbing to me. First and foremost because this morning I completely forgot it was Fleet Week and there are lots and lots of low-flying planes and helicopters in the area. The first one I heard made my stomach drop, especially when it was followed by the sounds of sirens. Then there was another. And another. Finally it dawned on me that the city wasn't under attack by anyone more than a bunch of horny military men, and my anxiety went away. But still--it's disturbing. I hate talking about it, hate even bringing it up, but 9/11 completely changed the world for me and millions of other people. I always keep 2 pairs of comfortable shoes at my job now--one for winter, one for summer--just in case I have to ever make a long walk home to Brooklyn, I'm prepared with shoes other than the stilletos I'm usually in. Brad and I have an "emergency meeting spot"; in case of disaster, we know to go there, but first try to get in touch with one another via land lines and if that doesn't work, to do our best to get in touch with our mothers who are in the boroughs. I always carry cash on me--because lets face it, if you can't get to a cash machine, what are you going to do?

While Brad and I sat in the movie theater last week, waiting for The DaVinci Code to come on screen, we saw the preview for the movie World Trade Center. The reaction was instant and felt by the entire audience. You could already tell the movie was going to do an excellent job at portraying the visual chaos we all went through on 9/11/01. For me though--and for most New Yorkers I've spoken to about this--it's still too soon. Too soon to make those horrible moments of pure panic, terror, and fear a mere entertainment. I know that film is an art form, and people are free to express their views however they please, and I fully support that--but that doesn't mean I need those images in my head again, or that I have any desire to vicariously live through it all over again.

I remember that day--I was teaching at Brooklyn College when the first plane hit--and when someone came into the adjunct office not long after, I didn't believe them when they said that a plane crashed into the WTC. There was no way that could actually happen, but it did. It did. I took the bus to Kingsborough Community College soon after because I had the first day of classes to think about. I went to my English 93 class (remedial writing) and I had no idea what to say to my students. The students that showed up and I just talked about how we felt--who we were able to get in touch with, why we came to class, what we were feeling. I cried with them that day. It changed me. After that class, I cancelled my next one, and I was able to get in touch with my mother and brother, who picked me up from the Kingsborough campus shortly after. I managed to get in touch with a few of my other friends: Jenn--whose mom worked right down there, Ingrid, Claudia, and Steven, whose Manhattan apartment many people (including Jenn & her mom, thank goodness) managed to get to. My friend Amy came to my house and stayed with me. Amy and I just sat there--watching television, trying to reach people by phone, and crying.

I don't need a movie to help me relive those events. They are with me forever--I couldn't forget them if I wanted to. I think a lot of people feel the way I do, and know that movies will be made, and should be made, and all that. But I also know that it is too soon for me personally, when low-flying planes and sirens still reduce me to a shell-shocked mess.

Open-toed shoes and Kava

2006-05-24T09:17:00.000-04:00

Hooray! Today is the first day of open-toed shoes! I busted out the new Michael Kors sandals I bought over the weekend and am sporting those along with my new pedicure. They're adorable.
I've also begun drinking a cup of Kava Stress Relief tea in the morning instead of coffee because, truth be told, I am so stressed from work that all the coffee I've been drinking has been giving me heart palpitations. Not good. So yeah--cute shoes, no stress. That's the name of the game.

Production Editor Work-a-holic

2006-05-19T14:46:00.000-04:00

I know that I'm working too hard when extra-large rubberbands are constantly around my wrist and have become a staple fashion accessory. I continually forget to take off my building pass when I get home. This morning, I woke up and noticed that I had a pink page flag (of the Post-it plastic tacky variety) stuck slightly above my belly button and I have no recollection of how it got there. Oy vey.

G is for Goth

2006-05-16T15:58:00.000-04:00

My friend Melissa posted about this store Sugar Baby in LA, where their motto is "Rocker Moms Not Soccer Moms." Do I need to tell you that I love this store? My favorite item (thus far) are these adorable G is for Goth t-shirts. I want one right now!

Guns N' Roses! I'm not ashamed!

2006-05-12T12:52:00.000-04:00

Yes, I used to be a metal chick. I had the hair, metal t-shirts, ripped jeans, MC jacket and everything. Since the late 80s/early 90s the sun-in has grown out, I switched to designer jeans with holes in them, and I've given the MC away, but I still have metal roots. I don't care. Make fun if you so desire. But I am not ashamed!

A few weeks ago, Brad and I were talking about the possiblity of going to see Guns N' Roses--or the skeleton crew of Axl Rose and Dizzy that has become G N'R--but we couldn't get tickets. None were available anywhere, unless you wanted to pay $200 a seat on e-bay. Since I've seen them before (several times--including giving up my seats for a show during high school because I had to take a damned Regent the next day and my mom wouldn't let me go--grrrrr, I'm still pissed about it), it didn't seem worth it to pay that much for seats especially when it wasn't even the original band--just Axl really.

However, I just got an e-mail from Live Nation (basically, that's ticketmaster) saying that there were tickets available for this Sunday's show (probably because it's Mother's Day) so we're going! We're going! Yes, it's cheesy! And yes, Axl Rose is a money-grubbing fuck! But I don't care! We're going! And Izzy Stradlin is supposed to be playing these shows, so it's more like the original Guns (there have even been rumors circulating that Duff--my first bass-player lust--is playing with them too; I'm not sure I really believe that, but it would be awesome if he was). I'm really glad that I got to see them when it was really the whole band back in '91 at MSG (Soundgarden opened for them) when Steven Adler was still the drummer (is he even alive anymore? I thought he OD'd or something). I also saw them at Nassau and Giant's Statidum when they toured with Faith No More and Metallica, but I'm so excited that we're going to see them. Ahhhh, metal memories! I'm going. I'm going!!!

Displaying my metal roots at our wedding:

Swamped

2006-05-09T12:54:00.000-04:00

Too busy to blog...what with me actually having to do a ton of work and all...I'll be back one day...I hope :-(

Die Die My Darling...

2006-05-05T15:09:00.000-04:00

I got a hoodie! I got a hoodie! Brad ordered this Misfits hoodie that I saw in Hot Topic a couple of weeks ago and he ordered it for me as a surprise. He is the bestest ever. (Yes, before you say one single thing, I am 30 years old and still occasionally purchase clothing at Hot Topic. I am more punk than you and that will always be true [and if you are into punk you will get the song reference, and if you don't get the song reference and you are contemplating making fun of me because I occasionally shop at Hot Topic then you can really freaking kiss my ass because you're a lame-ass loser who has never heard of decent music unless you got forcefully hit over the head with it and even then your musical taste couldn't have improved all that much because like I said--you're a loser who probably listens to emo ::gag::]). Anyway, I love my hoodie!

Pimp My Snack!

2006-05-05T09:50:00.000-04:00

Yet another hilarious blog--and this one is a doosy...

Here's the deal: Just started on April 3rd, 2006 by a couple of guys over in England (they really do have too much time on their hands over there) who basically take a common every day snack like cookies, burgers, and chocolate, and make then huge and pimping! I love this site. They offer pictures of the inspiration of the pimped snack, the things needed to make the pimped snack, the process of making the snack, and then the finished product. Then, to top it all off, you get to rate the pimped snack and leave comments. My favorite (so far) is the giant pop tart. Other things look sort of right, but not exactly and have a little fine tuning that need to be worked on (like the giant toblerone--which was a little too pointy and not wide enough). F-ing hilarious! Love it.

Go fug yourself...

2006-05-04T10:32:00.000-04:00

My latest blog obsession...I read this one religiously and constantly kick myself because I didn't think of it first--what with my obsession with fashion and whatnot. I don't, however, usually give a flying fug (to paraphrase the GFY girl's use of the word) about celebrities, except for when the GFY girls are making me laugh about them. Scathingly funny bitches. I love it.

I really need...

2006-05-03T15:26:00.000-04:00

A pink razr. And I want to pimp/kitty it out with a white rhinestone kitty on it.

The razr:

The kitty:

Or this one:

Bitch blog

2006-04-27T15:21:00.000-04:00

I'm usually quite cheerful, but I'm having a bout of PMS, so sue me for my bitchy attitude, okay?

I'm currently annoyed because:
1-I'm going away with my hubby tomorrow and I have yet to pack. This is very unlike me. I am an anal retentive packer and usually create a spreadsheet to help guide me through the annoying process of packing. The fact that our bag is not yet packed leaves me feeling anxious and unsettled.

2-The bitch at Hale and Hearty (the soup/salad/sandwich joint I get my lunch from 4 out of 5 days of the work week) forgot to give me a fork for my salad. So I walked from Hale and Hearty to the park on Riverside Drive to eat my lunch, read my book, and enjoy the 72 degree weather (which will not be around tomorrow when I have off), only to discover that I didn't have a fork with which to eat said salad. So I had to pack everything up and walk back to my office, get a fork, and then sit inside while every other person in NYC gets to enjoy the weather but me.

3-I have way too much to do before I leave work today. It's not all going to get done. I've resigned myself to my failure, but I'm still not happy about it.

4-I'm going to miss my cats while I'm away this weekend. I know that seems trite, but there it is.

And finally,
5-I really don't understand why the men in my office insist on not putting the goddamned toilet seat down after they finish peeing (we have unisex bathrooms here). It's like they all think that their mothers work here. Mamma's got a real job honey so be a man and put the freaking seat down. You would think you wouldn't be grossed out about touching the damned thing, especially considering you had to touch it to lift it up in the first place, and I'm willing to bet my salary that you didn't wash your hands before touching your genitalia. So put the damned thing down, gross pig boy.

Bah! The bitch-fest is over. The day may proceed as scheduled.

Next Tribe/Lucky Cat/Poetry!

2006-04-26T16:09:00.000-04:00

James and Rob's band Next Tribe is playing tomorrow night at Lucky Cat in Williamsburg...and I'll be reading poetry with them during their set. I'm so excited! If you aren't busy tomorrow night--hell, even if you are--come to Lucky Cat, hear some awesome music, congratulate James on finding out the sex of his first born (a boy!), and hear a poem or two. Check out their website for details:

www.nexttribe.com

Mrs. Death

2006-04-26T10:52:00.000-04:00

Mrs. Death…

I get to be Mrs. Death on the radio this weekend—I am so excited about this! I know, I know. Explanation please. Here goes. Brad went to SUNY—Oneonta and was DJ/Radio director-type-person (I should know the name of his position, but I don’t—sorry baby) and his radio station is hosting alumni weekend this weekend. So Sean (AKA SeanoftheDead), John, Elizalou, Jenn, even Eliza’s dog Mocha (I freaking love hugging that dog by the way—just thought I’d let you know), Brad, and I are all going up to Oneonta on Friday and we’re spending the weekend. And to top it all off, we get to be on the radio Sunday! Brad’s radio personality was Dr. Death, so of course, I get to be Mrs. Death. I am very, very excited. Way back in the day when I went to SUNY—New Paltz (for one year and then came running back to Brooklyn) I was a DJ and had so much fun. I was convinced that no one ever listened to my roommate Noreen and I—until one day when we played the unedited version of “Suck My Kiss” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers and then we got suspended because people called up the station and ratted us out to the station manager. It sucked to be suspended, but at least we knew people were really listening to us! But anyway, we’re going away this weekend and I am so excited to be on the radio…now all of those retarded conversations that Brad and I always have will be broadcasted for all of Oneonta to hear. Hooray! And hooray even more for the Jacuzzi in the suite we’re staying in. Sweet!

Snapfish...

2006-04-25T09:35:00.000-04:00

I got pictures from Snapfish yesterday--and I proceeded to come into work this morning and immediately make a collage of kitty pictures because that is just how nuts I am...

From the top left going clockwise...Melora (Vivian's kitty--white & black), Elphie (grey) & Grendel (orange & white), Sawyer (grey and tan tiger striped), Helena (black & white), and Grendel...

Helena got spayed!

2006-04-21T15:02:00.000-04:00

I took Helena to get spayed this morning and just got a phone call a little while ago that the surgery is complete and everything is fine! Hooray! I was so stressed this morning, I was actually weeping like a lunatic when they took her in. All of our kitties are like babies to me, but Helena is special because Brad and I found her together. She's really like our child. She was so good too. The vet had to actually try to get her to stop purring by making her smell an alchol swab so she could listen to her heart. She was just purring like a little happy girly.

I'm so relieved that everything is okay. Animal Kind (our vet) is such a great hospital. Most vets don't keep cats overnight when they are spayed or neutered, but Animal Kind does because there is always a risk that the kitty will run a temperature and then need antibotics to prevent infection. I'm not happy that she won't be with us tonight, but it makes me feel good to know that they are taking such good care of her. We're going to visit her tonight (have you ever heard of a vet that has visiting hours??!) and then we get to take her home tomorrow. I can't wait to see her! Meow!

Helena hanging out in my closet:

NYC Spa Week

2006-04-20T12:23:00.000-04:00

April 17th through the 23rd is NYC Spa week. There are tons of spas offering usually pricey treatments for only $50! What a steal!

So here's a question--If I'm allergic to chocolate, is it a bad idea to get a chocolate and rose petal massage? I think it would be an amazing treatment, but I'll probably end up pink, blotchy, and itchy. And possibly dead. But be honest--chocolate and rose petals? How good does that sound? I think I'll pass on that particular treatment, but someone else should do it and tell me all about it.

Steven

2006-04-19T21:53:00.000-04:00

I had lunch with my friend Steven today--I haven't seen him since I got married. That's almost a year and a half ago. Funny how you don't see someone for that long, and it feels like you hung out two days ago. I'm glad for that. When I think about all of the people that I've called "friends" in my lifetime that were little more than aquaintances-realized-after-the-fact, it makes me happy that I've been right about calling him my friend all along. I've missed him a lot this past year and a half, but shit happens. Life happens. You get older, priorities change, the running around going out constantly, always needing to be in large groups of people--it gets old, especially after you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. And the real friends are always able to slip back into that groove you've always had and things are like they always were. We were laughing about how old we are--compared to 10 years ago when we first met and were worried about going to shows and Riverrun, the literary journal that we worked on together in college--to now, and how we're thinking about where our parents and parent's-in-law will spend their "golden" years, the cost of having and raising a baby, and buying a house. Totally different mindsets, but it makes sense. I think at some point in your life you stop. Think. Realize that there are a handful of things, family, and friends that are worth giving a shit about, and all the rest can go rot. Steven is one that is worth giving a shit about.

New Fav Blog!!!

2006-04-19T10:51:00.000-04:00

I am obsessed with "my favorites" lately--as you can tell by all my "My favorite" titles of blogs lately. I can't help it. Life is pretty darn good and I would rather point out the good things to share than bitch.

Anyway, I've been checking out lots of new blogs lately, and by far, my current favorite is www.CuteOverload.com How can you go wrong with tons of cute pictures that make you coo like a retard. I click into this site at least once a day to get my cuteness fix. Love it.

Easter Sunday

2006-04-18T09:49:00.000-04:00

I spent Easter Sunday with my immediate family, and it was a really, really great day. My mom invited my mother-in-law and granny-in-law to Easter dinner at a great neighborhood Italian place (New Corners) in Brooklyn, and it was one of the nicest Easters I've had in years...

Me in my Easter outfit (please note the shoes that I instructed Bradley to make sure he got in the shot).

The hubby and I.

My brother, G, and I. (Yes, he's single and 26. And he has his own apartment, a good job, and is a funny bastard. He's also a guido, but has the biggest heart ever. So if you know of a nice girl, please let me know--I'm trying to get him hooked up with someone who isn't a skank.)

Brad, Mom, and G.

My new favorite thing about spring...

2006-04-18T09:33:00.000-04:00

My neighborhood fruit-cart guy is back. All over Manhattan, the fruit-cart guys hibernate or migrate (I really have no idea) in the winter, taking their lucious fruit and veggie wares with them, forcing me to buy the produce I purchase on my way to work or on the way home in grocery stores. But no more! With the beautiful 60 and 70 degree days we've been having lately, my fruit-cart guy is back! He's back, he's back! That means I bought yummy rasberries for my morning smoothie and a green apple for my afternoon snack on my way in, and I'm thinking about picking up some mangos for salsa this evening. What is it about the fruit carts that make me want to buy more produce? It must be the allure of the freshness--you know he got up in the morning and picked up his fruit. He loaded up his cart this morning when he got to his destination (in this case, the corner of West 85th and Broadway). It hasn't been sitting there for god only knows how long. It's fresh and yummy and delicious. Hooray for the return of the fruit-cart guy!

You know you're doing something right...

2006-04-17T11:00:00.000-04:00

When you go bathing suit shopping and you don't want to kill yourself. It's a good feeling. All my dieting and watching every single thing that I eat is definitely starting to pay off.

Brad and I headed out to the Tanger Outlet Malls this past Saturday in a effort to spend some time outside, but also pick up a couple of things that we needed. It was a beautiful day for a drive, we spend way more time outside than inside (even enjoyed the first Italian ices of the year!), and I managed to snag an awesome Juicy Couture tankini with matching board shorts--and I thought it looked pretty darn cute. Here's a picture--though the top is slightly different (it has a little tie thingy) and the suit is in lime green! The shorts are pink with green and white detailing...super, super cute. And it is an awesome feeling to not be totally self-conscious in your suit. Whoo-hoo!

One of my favorite things about my job...

2006-04-12T09:52:00.000-04:00

We have a roof-deck. My job is on the Upper Westside in Manhattan, and the building is only 4 stories high, so we have roof access and my company built a roof-deck that they throw parties on during the summer. It's pretty sweet. When it's not being used for parties, I get to relax in the sun and eat my lunch up there. Occasionally, my boss and I even schedule meetings on the roof-deck because it's nice to be out in the sunshine. Needless to say, on this gorgeous 70 degree sunshine filled day, that is where you will find me between the hours of 1 and 2 pm.

Coach saga continued...

2006-04-11T15:16:00.000-04:00

Coach got back to me about my purse today, and even though they sent the bag to their master repair person in New Jersey (where I could go and pick it up if I wanted to) they are sticking with their original assessment and have decided not to repair the bag. However, since I absolutely do not want that bag destroyed, they are sending me a 50 percent off coupon for my next purchase.

I've got to tell you, I'm still not happy. Why can't they just fix the purse? I really don't understand. It may not look 100 percent perfect on the inside (because they'll need to cut the lining to get to the leather and all that jazz), but at least the purse would be useable. Now I have to take the purse to get repaired on my own. I really only wanted that purse anyway. Even though I told the woman to find me another purse, I really just wanted my purse--the one that was will me through all that nonsense. I've got proof! Check it out:

See in the lower right hand corner? There's the purse. That's us in the Louie Armstrong Airport in N.O. right after Hurricane Katrina. I mean, that purse has been through a LOT with me. It's more than just a purse to me. If it had been any other purse (with the exception perhaps of the first one that Brad ever gave me), I would have taken the credit.

I'm just happy that I'm gettin my purse back. Even if I only use it occasionally, I would rather have it than not have it.

Coach update...

2006-04-11T12:28:00.000-04:00

I just got off the phone with Snotty Bitch (a.k.a. the Coach Rep down in Jacksonville, FL) and apparently, after she tried offering me just about every freaking purse in a similar style or size that Coach had produced in the last two years, she told me that they absolutely do not have any other of the black patent leather gallery totes in that size and they would send it up to New Jersey, where their master repair person would attempt to fix it. Hello! Isn't that all I really wanted to begin with??? I just wanted my freaking purse fixed. I didn't want a new one. I wanted that exact purse--the one I sent them, the one that I dragged with me through god only knows how many dramas, the worse of them being Hurricane Katrina. I wanted my purse. It reminded me of Apple just a teensy bit--it's easier and cheaper to replace than repair, so replace whenever possible. So honestly, if that was what was going to happen, why couldn't they just spare me the drama and asked me outright from the get-go if I would rather have a new purse or if I absolutely wanted this one repaired? Because in every other case, I probably would have taken the credit, but because it was this particular purse, I wanted it repaired. It has sentimental value. I can't help it. I'm a sap like that. Well, I'm getting a phone call from the supreame bitch tomorrow to find out the outcome of the purse drama and I shall let you know what is going to happen. One way or another I'm writing Coach a very, very nasty letter.

At War with Coach

2006-04-10T11:50:00.000-04:00

On Friday I received a letter in the mail that my beloved black patent leather gallery tote bag was received by Coach and deemed “not up to Coach standards” and that they have decided not to repair it. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I was distraught. How could they do this to me? My all time favorite Coach purse-—not up to their standards? They won’t repair it? They’re offering me a credit for what it cost me back then??? Say it isn’t so! Oh say it isn’t so. Brad promised to call them for me on Monday and make my case. He has a golden tongue and I often say that he’d be able to sell the Pope holy water, so if anyone would be able to get some satisfaction from Coach, it would be Bradley.

Brad called me a little while ago, and needless to say, he wasn’t happy. Apparently the woman that he was talking to was a real bitch and wasn’t willing to do anything to make us happy. She also wasn’t willing to talk to Brad. So I called her back, bitch that she was, and the snotty bitch came up with three options—she’d send it back to us and if we could get it repaired, then Coach would foot the bill for the repairs (as though I’d want anyone besides them to work on it—come on now. Why else would I have mailed it to them?), I could accept the freaking credit for exactly the amount that the bag was worth two years ago (hello—the bag was $400 back then—and it was a limited edition tote bag. All their limited edition stuff in that size is now $600 and more—why would I accept a credit if I can’t get something comparable? It needs to be in leather, not that canvas or nylon bullshit, and the same approximate size), or they could send me the bag back and they could give me half off on another purse (still not acceptable—why do I have to fork money over for their poor workmanship?). I told the snotty bitch (because she really was snotty) that she could only make me happy two ways: 1-Find another purse. I don’t care how she finds it, where she finds it, or who she has to kill, but find one, and find it fast. Coach is notorious for saving stock of all of their purses for just these occasions. I told her that I simply refuse to believe that there is not another purse in existence somewhere in the world. There is—she needs to make it her business to get it and then get it to me. 2-Issue me a credit for the amount of the purse, along with 25 percent off (and they can be used together) so I may get a purse of equal value to replace the one that is going to be destroyed.

I think that I’m being pretty darn reasonable if you ask me. And considering the snotty bitch gave me bs excuses like “Well I haven’t had much time to work on this yet,” and “I am the supervisor on the floor right now” and “I’m sorry, but I can’t repair the purse even though I know that is what you really want,” she’s lucky I don’t fly down to Florida and rip her throat out with my bare hands. Not for nothing, but I spend a sick amount of money at Coach every year. I buy, on average, 4 to 5 purses there per year. Not to mention the scarves, gloves, key chains, and presents that I buy for other people. The least they could do is make a very good customer happy. All I have to say is that if they don’t, this will be the last time I ever deal with them, and Gucci and Kate Spade are going to be very, very happy.

Boobies

2006-04-07T12:18:00.000-04:00

My boss often tells me about the cute things that his kids come out with sometimes--his daughter Lena is 2, his son Miles is 4. I've met Miles and he is adorable--one of those so-cute-you-want-to-bite-them sort of kids. Anyway, Lena had quite the observation this morning. "Daddy, I have small boobies." Which my boss proceeded to tell me that it was simply a statement of fact and she was perfectly okay with her two year old small boobies. That made me happy. Can't have any self-depreciating image-conscious two-year olds.
Lena's boobie observation made me think about my own obsession with boobies when I was little. At not quite 4 years old, my mother (pregnant with my brother at the time), took me to the Staten Island Mall to get my picture taken with Santa. I had throughly rehersed what I wanted. A new Easy Bake Oven, a set of roller skates, a Little Orphan Annie dress--and you guessed it--BOOBS! I climbed up on his lap, rattled off my list, and closed with the boob request. I don't remember what Santa's reaction was, or who prompted me to come out with boobs, but I must say, though Santa may not have delivered that year, he certainly made sure to do so later in life.

Snow!?!

2006-04-05T11:29:00.000-04:00

WTF???? It is NOT supposed to be snowing in NYC in April. Especially not these huge giant snowflakes that are currently falling outside my office window. I protest. I wore skirts last week without pantyhose. I had flip-flops on this past Sunday. Now I'm back to my winter coat (a cute coat, but still) and gloves for crying-freaking-out loud. It looks like all the kids in the city are up on the roofs having a giant pillow fight. I shit you not--the flakes are that big. I wish I had my digital camera to prove it. This is just not cool on so many levels.

Cravings...

2006-04-04T15:46:00.000-04:00

***If you have "that time of the month" phobias, don't read the below blog***

Grrr. How the hell do you stay on WW when your body is massively craving salt? All I want to do right now is eat an entire bag of salt & vinegar potato chips. Yum. Or chocolate covered pretzels. Whoever thought of that is a bloody genius. The perfect combo of sweet and salty...oh god. I'm killing myself. Must...have...salt...now....
I think I need to get myself a salt-lick. You know, like gerbils and hamsters have? I can just lick my salt-lick whenever I have salt cravings and keep myself from (as Eve would put it) having a big ole' party with myself and eating an entire bag of chips.

I'm drinking lots of Yogi Moon Cycle tea, which should help the cravings. But still. Chips! Salt! Tomorrow I'll start fiending for chocolate, which I absolutely cannot eat unless I want to turn into a giant walking pimple in cute shoes. Eww.

Punk'd

2006-04-03T16:09:00.000-04:00

So for April Fools I was determined to punk my husband but what to do? The radio had been blaring all morning about April Fool jokes and make sure you watch out for those tricksters! He would definitely know if I tried something. But still--I was determined.

We got up fairly early on Saturday morning and drove out to Queens so Brad could go to the same hairdresser hes been going to for I-can't-tell-you how long. The plan was I was going to drop him off, I'd park, and then I'd walk around and maybe go get a coffee or something. Well, the planets or gods or something must have been on my side, because after I dropped him off I found a parking spot on the same street a little ways up from the salon, and a cab was right in front of me, driver still inside. "Oh no. This is just too good," I thought. So I grabbed my cell phone and speed dialed him. He picked up the phone and I began my Oscar-caliber performance. "Baby-you-have-to-come-outside-a-cab-backed-into-me-when-was-parking-and-the-crazy-guy-is-yelling-at-me," I hyperventalated into the phone. "Oh-my-god, oh-my-god, are you hurt? Are you okay? I'm coming right now." Click! And he hung up the phone. I got out of the car and walked closer to the salon, but was standing in the street so when he'd see me, he'd also see the car behind me and the cab right in front of me. A couple of seconds go by and Brad rushes out of the salon, running up to me, his hair all wet and a hat on his head. I almost felt bad. He runs up to me, and I look at him, big dopey smile on my face, and say, "April Fools!" Luckily Brad is a very good sport and appreciated how perfect the set up was and didn't kill me. He summed it up perfectly: "I love you, but you're evil!" Heeheeheehee! The look on his face before and after was priceless. Brad got punk'd!

Contramano--The best band you've never heard of...

2006-03-31T14:46:00.000-05:00

Hubby and I discovered Contramano approximately a year ago at a show at the Brooklyn venue, South Paw. They were opening for one of our favorite bands, Rasputina--an amazing band whom I've blogged about extensively, but the nitty gritty is this: two chicks singing incredibility sarcastic, funny, and off the cuff lyrics, simultaneously playing cellos, and backed by a male drummer. They like to dress in corsets, and also like pilgrims and native Americans. Seeing them live is better than their albums. Their album A Radical Recital will make you pee yourself. But back to Contramano--an amazing, innovative and exciting band, hailing from Argentina, with live cello, lots of stuff done with an iBook, a crazy singer, and immensely catchy, politically driven lyrics. We're going to see them again this evening, at South Paw in Brooklyn, and if you're interested in coming with, you should call me ASAP.

Here's hubby's epinion he wrote about them forever ago:

Contramano, The Best Band You've Not Yet Heard Of...
Contramano: you should know about them. It was my duty to inform, and that duty is done. Thank me later.

Attention Gentlemen:

2006-03-31T10:12:00.000-05:00

(If you call yourselves such.) Please note that if I am nice enough to hold the elevator for you to go upstairs, the courteous thing is to allow me off the elevator first. As a matter of fact, gentlemen should always let ladies off elevators first. And elderly of either gender should come before the ladies (though the elderly gentlemen that I've met actually have manners and 9 out of 10 times still insist that ladies go first), as should women with children and baby carriages. I'm not saying I'm not a feminist, or that I'm better than you, but we're talking manners here, not gender politics. I'm not trying to claim that my vagina is a handicap or anything like that. I'm not asking you to get up off your ass when I'm standing on a crowded subway (but you're a scuz-bucket if you see a pregnant lady standing and you don't give her your seat). I'm not asking for you to always pay for me (though my husband does mostly, I treat him too). I'm not saying you should throw your jacket over a wet puddle so I may not soil my shoes. Just be courteous. It's never a bad idea to be courteous.

Weight Watchers is working...

2006-03-30T09:45:00.000-05:00

I know. You're saying to yourself--how can she possibly know if it's working if she's only been doing it for FOUR days? It's impossible. Well, actually, it isn't. I've already noticed that I'm making myself a lot more accountable for the foods that I'm eating, and when I eat them. Weight Watchers gives you a certain number of points a day, and your goal is to meet those points. You're also given 35 extra points per week to use whenever you want. Sounds easy right? It isn't. It really forces you to think about what you are going to eat the whole day. Since I have 20 points per day, I have to keep those points under control. I try to think backwards, since dinner is where I spend the largest amount of points per day. Usually somewhere between 8-10.
The great thing about WW is that it is really, really flexible. They assign points for practically everything--and give you this nifty sliding card thingy that figures out the points of ANYTHING as long as you have the info about the items dietary fiber, calories, and total fat. So if you want sushi, or pizza, or chicken and veggies with pasta, you can have it--in moderation. So for example, if you're craving a bagel, you just figure out what points you're going to "spend" on it: it's 3 points for a normal sized bagel, and another point for 2 tablespoons of fat free cream cheese. Four points for breakfast. If you want skim milk in your coffee, and you tend to drink 2 cups in the morning like I do, then that's another point (1 cup of skim milk is 1 point--when in doubt, I figure higher rather than lower). But if you eat that bagel with cream cheese, and you drink your coffee, that only leaves you with 15 points for the rest of the day---so if you're willing to have a green salad for lunch (no points as long as you stick to greens and veggies--things like cheese and olives have point values too!), with fat free dressing (no points), and 3 oz (give or take half an oz) of grilled chicken or tuna (3 points), you're totally fine. Add a whole wheat pita (1 point) and a flavored seltzer (0 points), and you've eaten a filling lunch for just 4 points. Eleven points left for the day--not too shabby. It's this kind of thinking that is keeping me in line--and I've already lost 3 pounds. Probably some of it was water weight, but still. I feel it, and I know it, and I feel so much better about myself already! Hooray for WW!

Artifical Sweeteners Will Kill You...

2006-03-29T10:12:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to eat healthier lately but my downfall is sugar. Honey, actually. (Which I occasionally put in espresso--you may think I'm crazy, but it's damned good.) But for awhile there I bought into the Splenda craze. There. I said it. I am guilty. But...no longer! You know why??? It's almost the same chemical compound as DDT--or pesticides! For more info on Splenda, check out the following link:

Splenda is TOXIC info...

All of those artificial sweeteners are so freaking bad for you, it isn't even funny. Lets see, do I feel like spooning a bunch of chemicals into my body today? I don't think so. They're evil. Just have the freaking sugar already. It's only 16 calories a teaspoon for crying out loud.

Or, if you are like me and looking for lower calorie sweetener alternatives (that won't kill you), check out Stevia. Stevia is lower in calories than sugar and honey, but still very healthy. Metal Eve and I took a cooking class last week (a vegan cooking class, mind you) and everything we made was with natural sugars, most especially Stevia. The stuff was delicious. For more information on healthy low-cal sweeteners, check out:

Healthy Alternative Sweeteners

My weight neurosis (or why I feel like a fat ass)

2006-03-28T21:32:00.000-05:00

Eve commented on my You Can Do It blog,and she mentioned that she was floored because I joined Weight Watchers...I realize that most people probably think that I'm crazy. I was explaining my neurosis to my hubby, Brad, today because even he didn't know how insane I am about my body image.

When I was much younger, like all little brothers, G found the one thing that upset me when he teased me and wielded that name like a sword--he'd call me "fatso." I was completely tramatized by this. Needless to say, I've had a freaking complex about my weight ever since--even though when he started the teasing, I was downright skinny. I did gymnastics when I was little--it was crazy; we used to train 4 days a week for 3 hours a day--I was 4 years old when I started and 10 when I quit. As soon as I quit I started to be weight conscious because I wasn't super skinny--I was normal. I was good until junior year of high school because I was co-captain of the girls swim team and a twirler. (Yes, you heard correctly--don't laugh.) Then I quit my senior year because we got a new coach who I absolutely hated. It was quite the drama-filled event. Anyway, long story short, I went away to college, blew up like a balloon, and finally decided that I wanted to be healthy, so I started dieting and going to the gym. I was fine for a long time. I met people that I knew during the tail end of high school and all of undergraduate (because it took until the end of UG and the beginning of grad school to finally get to my "skinny" weight of 123) and they often didn't even realize it was me until I explained who I am.

Fast forward to right now, and to tell you the truth, I'm just not happy about my weight. I know what my comfort zone is for my weight, and I know that I'm not at it right now--and that ever since I got married, I've gained. Mind you, this isn't Brad's fault, but my own for not controling my eating habits. I was happy with my body when I got married--and now I want to lose those married pounds and look svelt again. I just don't feel comfortable with my body the way it is. Because I was once heavy, I always think of myself that way (and I have the freaking stretch marks to prove it lol). I have a very poor body image, but I know this about myself. I can't help it. It's one of the things I tried to work on when I was in therapy, but unfortunately, all I can do to make myself happy is try to be in control of my weight, in a healthy way. It's really the only way for me to deal with it.

Sometimes I wonder...

2006-03-28T15:44:00.000-05:00

I wonder about the oddest things. Like what the cats are doing right now. In all likelyhood, they're probably sleeping. I think I read something once that said cats sleep 75% of their lives. That's a lot of sleep. What I want to know is if they sleep so much, how come they're waking me up at 4:00 in the morning all the time? I's tired boss.

Elphie sleeping in her basket

Helena cuddling on the couch

Grendel

2006-03-28T11:12:00.000-05:00

Our cat Grendel has a Myspace profile. The other cats have them too (I'll make one for Sawyer soon--Elphie and Helena have one each), but Grendel is by far the most popular. He has 184 friends--nearly twice as many as I have. I don't understand how that happens--especially since I don't really spend any time on trying to get him to meet new "cat friends," but that hasn't stopped people from asking to be his friend on a fairly regular basis. He's one popular cat!

Sawyer doesn't sleep...

2006-03-28T11:08:00.000-05:00

Last night, for some reason, I thought it might be a good idea to let Sawyer hang out in the bedroom with me while I did some freelance work. He made himself very comfortable, attacked my feet and my papers a few times, and then retreated to the throw rug next to my bed and night stand; I dangled my hand over the bed and he'd occasionally swat at it. When it was time for bed, I closed him into the office (which is right next to the bedroom) and tried to go to sleep. The other cats came and took their usual places--Grendel at the foot of the bed, Elphie under the covers between my legs (not comfortable by the way), and Helena curled against my side. But Sawyer was voicing his discontent--loudly. He got sleepy I suppose, and eventually fell asleep.

Well Mr. Spoiled-Brat (or Mr. Pudding-Pop as Vivian likes to call him) decided at 4:00 am that he'd had enough of solitary and started meowing. Loudly. For more than a half hour. At 4:30 in the morning, I don't argue, I just removed Grendel to the couch (where Elphie and Helena already were), closed the bedroom door, and let Sawyer out. He proceeded to make himself comfortable on the throw rug on the side of my bed where he remained for the rest of the night, occasionally peeping up and hitting my hand with his paw. I am so in love with him.

You can do it!

2006-03-27T14:01:00.000-05:00

I joined Weight Watchers today. Over the weekend I realized that I've gained TEN POUNDS since I've gotten married. I was a complete and total bitch to Brad over the whole weekend (except about kitty-related things) and I realize (in hindsight) that it's because I'm feeling fat and bloated. I feel completely disgusted by myself and think that I look like a big fat heifer. So in addition to taking my workouts up a notch, I joined Weight Watchers so I can feel like I'm taking control of what I eat. I noticed that I don't really overeat, but I don't make good choices sometimes. Did you know that a portion of Chicken Vindaloo is 10 WW points?? And a portion of Aloo Gobi is only 4 points! Oy. Another reason to give up on chicken (just a side note, I'm going to the doctor again tomorrow to get my blood work done--I need to see where my anemia and all that is at before I go back to being a vegetarian).

I don't know what the hell I've been thinking. I used to weigh a LOT. I mean I once weighed 192 pounds. I'm nowhere near that now, but lets just say when I was my thinnest adult weight, I was a full 68 pounds thinner (123--my thinnest weight since HS swimming) and I am determined to get back down around there. Maybe not 123 because I've seen pics of myself that thin and I look like I have a really big head, but 130 would be perfect. I mean, I'm 5'6", so 130 is ideal. I mean, I'm not overweight right now (the woman at WW actually asked me if I realized that I was already in my ideal weight range), but I'm not as thin as I want to be. And god damn it, I bought cute bikinis last year that didn't get enough use! I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!

Yet another new kitty...

2006-03-26T19:15:00.000-05:00

Many of you know that Brad and I rescued Melora back in September of last year, and eventually, after much debate, gave her to Vivian. Well, very similar to Melora's story, is Sawyer's, our latest rescue mission. Sawyer has also been living at the bodega up the corner, and I suppose, because it has been so cold out, we haven't seen him outside and running around at night because the bodega has been keeping him inside (I hope)...well Friday night, as I was getting off the train, the bodega was closing for the night (it was around 7 pm) and I saw him outside the store arond 50 feet from the door--and they were closing the gates with him outside. I got him to come to me and started petting him (mind you, I was in full view of the bodega owners--you would think that if they actually cared about what happened to him, they would have at least tried to keep me from petting him, or at the very least stuck around to make sure I didn't take him). I waited until they left, and then, whosh! I scooped him up and started walking home cradling him in my arms.

As I was walking up the block to my, a girl in a car was stopped me to talk--she mentioned that she knew who he belonged to and I told her that I knew too, had already rescued one of the other kitties they had, and that since the bodega people don't take care of their cats, I was taking him home and going to find a home for him--and I'd probably keep doing it until they learned how to take care of their animals. She grinned and said, "Good. He's better off with you any day." Vindicated, I got little Sawyer home and put him in the bathroom (our kitty depot since that is where any new kitty we get makes his or her first stop in our house), and got him all set up--food, water, snuggly bed, extra litter box we keep on hand for just such occasions--and tried to make him comfy. He seemed a little scared and skittish, but I can't really say that I blame him. Brad and I had dinner reservations, so we left to go eat and discuss what to do with Sawyer. As it stands right now, we are thinking that we're going to try and find a home for him. Having Melora stay with us for the past month made us realize how much extra work a fourth cat is, and how much our cats don't take kindly to newcomers. It's funny, because when we found Melora, Brad was the one who really wanted to keep her. Now with Sawyer, it's completely opposite and I really want to keep him. I'm not sure why that is exactly, but it's the truth. I really, really want to keep him. We'll see what happens though. One can never count on anything--except that cats find me everywhere I go. Check out the link below to see more pics of Sawyer! He is so darn cute.
Sawyer, the new kitty

Neurotic

2006-03-21T10:06:00.000-05:00

Every day, as soon as I get into work, I use antibacterial wipes to clean my desk and my phone. I hate dirt and germs. I will kill them all! Between that and airborne, it's no wonder why I haven't really gotten sick this winter.

Wait, did I say winter? It's spring now. It's 34 degrees out, but yes, it is technically spring. I knew NYC was going to have to pay for 55 degree days all through January, but did anyone listen to me? No. Of course not. Thank goodness for my space heater.

The Purse

2006-03-21T09:58:00.000-05:00

My New Coach Purse...

I preordered it on Saturday...and now I'm waiting...waiting...waiting...Gods, the anticipation is killing me. I want it right now! I got it in black...so cute. Perfect size. And now I won't look like a retard when I'm carrying my big 'ole gym bag too. (I absolutely hate carrying a huge purse and a gym bag. Hello, can you say excessive?)Since I knew I was going to Coach, I also brought in my all-time favorite Coach purse--my large black patent leather tote bag. I adore this bag. The straps looked like they were coming apart though, so I thought it best to bring it in for repair before my beautiful Coach baby broke and then I'd be heartbroken. But it's going to take 4 to 6 weeks to fix! I'm in withdrawal! So now the only black purses I have as options are my little tiny ones which I usually save for nighttime use. Oh the horror--to be stuck with brown and burgandy as my only choices. I'm such a drama queen! heeheehee...

A Lucky St. Pat's Day...

2006-03-18T00:00:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, Brad and I were having dinner at one of our favorite local pizza places, Two Boots, and we noticed that they were planning a St. Pat's day event with music and prizes and all that sort of thing. Since Two Boots is a fun sort of place, good cajun pizza, good drinks, and cozy atmosphere, we thought it would be the perfect place to grab a bite and spend a low-key St. Pat's.

When we got home tonight, we were both fairly exhausted. We volleyed the idea of going or not going back and forth a bit, and both decided that yeah, we should stop acting like old bastards and just go out for a while--and I really am glad we did.

Two Boots turned out to be a great idea. They were serving traditional Irish fare, in addition to their Cajun-themed pizzas, and they were running all sorts of contests. Brad and I scored a Jameson's t-shirt and key chain from answering an Irish trivia quiz, but the best part of the night was the Limerick contest...the goal was to write a limerick with the words "St. Pat's" in the first line. Between the bands sets, the hostess (a trip, let me tell you) would read all the entries and the winner would be based on the applause....and yeah, you guessed it--I won! Here is my winning limerick:

My husband wore a kilt on St. Pat's
And on a big float there he sat
He drank lots of whiskey
and yelled, "Come and kiss me"
and swung his green dick like a bat

:-) I won a big ole' bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey. Definitely a successful St. Patrick's day:

The never ending week...

2006-03-17T16:05:00.000-05:00

Is finally almost over. It's 4:08 p.m. and I'm counting down the time until 5:30...I cannot wait to get out of here...

Minimum Wage

2006-03-16T17:26:00.000-05:00

Since Brad knew how crappy I've been feeling lately, he surprised me last night by making a super yummy dinner (most appreciated after working out at the gym and then dragging my ass home on the train), and as an additional surprise, he stuck this in one of my shopping bags:

Yup, it's Minimum Wage! (He's "minimum" because it's a little ugly, as opposed to a full-size uglydoll.) This is the description from the Uglydoll website:

Minimum Wage gets the job done!
See that apron?
Told ya!
Wage is hard working and super smarty, just like you.
Hired, fired, never come back...
Wage has heard it all, and doesn't need to know what any of it means.
Why? Hmm yeah. But Wage does know that come pay day, it's time for cookies, snacks and plain ole chillin' with Ice-Bat, his best buddy Babo...and you, the human!

I love Minimun Wage. He is super cute and slept between Brad and I last night (along with Elphie and Helena, two of our cats). Our bed looks like it belongs in a kid's room or a zoo in the morning. Hooray for Uglydolls and Little Uglies!

Madame Coachie...

2006-03-16T17:02:00.000-05:00

My husband and best girlfriends have christened me "Madame Coachie" due to my severe snobby purse ways and ridiculous amount of Coach purses/accessories. Well apparently Coach thinks I'm Mdm. Coachie too.

A couple of days ago, I received an invitation to the Coach invitation only pre-sale this coming March 21st (the first day of Spring). It's not a public sale--and I get 25% off. I was pretty darn excited about this, let me tell you. There are a couple new purses that I had my eye on, but I wasn't seriously thinking of buying anything until post-tax season--but with the one day sale, how could I not??

Well, I must seriously rate with Coach, because Joel, a salesperson from the Coach across the street (and the place I most often purchase things from because it is so close to my job) called me this afternoon to let me know that they would be happy to extend the sale from now until Tuesday--all I had to do was come in--with or without my invitation--and they'd be happy to ring up my purchases with the applicable discount anytime....heeheeheehee...Guess where I'm going this weekend?

Anxiety...

2006-03-15T16:49:00.000-05:00

I've been having work anxiety lately--like overwhelming feelings of stress and worry. It's made me cry a couple of times in the last few days--luckily not actually in front of my coworkers, but still. I'm stressed. I like my job; I do it well, but this anxiety is the pits. I think I just need yoga and the gym and I'll be fine.

Gym!

2006-03-13T17:38:00.000-05:00

I'm leaving work and going to the gym. No really. I am.

See? Look at me walk out the door...

My favorite things about this past weekend...

2006-03-13T10:37:00.000-05:00

Two favs from this past weekend: My new uglydoll t-shirt, and the fact that I finished my crochet flower bag.

Check out my new t-shirt:

I am completely obsessed with uglydolls. Ever since I bought Ice Bat for Brad for Christmas a few years ago, our collection has slowly, but surely been increasing. We have full sized Ice Bat and Ox, and Mini-sized Target, Uglydog, Wedgehead, and Bop n' Beep. I want them all!

Proof that I really am a crazy cat lady...

2006-03-11T19:41:00.000-05:00

In addition to the three cats we have, we're watching our "joint-custody cat"--a kitty we resuced several months ago and gave to our dear friend Vivian. Viv asked us to watch Melora-flora (far left) while she was taking care of her family dog Nino who is recovering from surgery...Meow! Four kitties! That's a lot of cat poop every day, let me tell you...

SF memories...

2006-03-10T12:22:00.000-05:00

My recent trip to San Francisco to visit with my best girlfriends (Jennifer & Ingrid, who now live there, and Anna, who was visiting from New Mexico) made me realize something about friendship--or rather, made me remember something about friendship: it is the greatest gift in the world, and not something that should be given lightly. I know that my girlfriends and I have been through a lot together (more than I am comfortable sharing in a blog, I'll tell you that much) and while waiting to be seated at our table in a swanky Chinese restaurant in SF the first night of our visit, the four of us came to the realization that, yes, some things in life could be better, but right now, just as they stand, they're pretty darn good. It was such an amazing Zen moment--we were happy and grateful that we were able to share that moment with one another. It was amazing--the entire weekend was amazing.

That weekend in San Francisco has made me think about so many things recently--not only how much I love my girlfriends, but also how important it is to just be. To not rush around, making plans, but to sometimes just sit back with the ones you love, drive around randomly, sing crazy songs, talk, spend time with one another, laugh, be silly. I'll be carrying around the memories of that weekend with me for a long time to come--and I cherish my girls--so very, very much.

Project What?

2006-03-09T09:34:00.000-05:00

I am a dedicated Project Runway fan and have never, ever missed an episode of either this past season, or last season. And you know what? I'm disappointed. Watching the runway shows last year got me excited--I wanted Jay to win and was so excited to see the amazing and innovative clothes that he came up with. Kara San's line was great, though a little too bling for my personal taste. Even Wendy's line was cohesive in cut, color, and fabrics.

Last night's show was a mess. Daniel V. was a mess. Chloe was a mess. Santino wasn't a mess, but it sure was boring. I wasn't impressed--with any of them. I cannot believe that Chloe won--what the hell was up with the fabric she chose? All of the materials she used looked like they could have been turned into upholstery or drapes. Yeesh. Yeah, her clothing was impeccably put together, but innovation? I don't know what the judges were looking at, but I didn't see any. And Daniels line was so safe. Those purses were a nightmare (woodshop 101, hello?), and what the hell was up with the tassels and gold buttons? Eeeew, ewwww, EWWW. Santino. Oh Santino, did you disappoint. Your maturity squashed the raw talent we saw so much of this past season, and we were left with such lackluster pieces. Even the colors were drab.

After hearing all the buzz on Kara's line--that was the one that I really wanted to see. I was pissed that she was eliminated anyway since I thought she should have won both the flower and makeup challenges, and thought that her evening gown was infinitely better than Chloe's. Take a look at the New York Metro pictures of her show here: Kara Janx 2006 Collection
I thought her collection was definitely the most inspired and interesting. Though I didn't love every single thing in it, it was still, by far, the most interesting.

I'm left with a sour taste in my mouth from Project Runway this season. Last season, I couldn't wait for the next show to start. I fooked forward to it all summer. This year? Let's just say Lost is still going to be the only reason to keep Wednesday nights free...

I'm too busy to eat!

2006-03-08T14:12:00.000-05:00

I always know when it starts getting super busy at work because I start forgetting to take lunch until my stomach makes such a loud growl that my co-workers who share my office actually hear it and tell me to go eat something. It just happened. I'm going to finally leave my desk for more that three minutes on a pee-break so that I can go and get some food. It will probably be soup. I always eat soup; it's easy and I don't have to waste time thinking about what I feel like having for lunch. I ate soup yesterday, and I was sort of disappointed in my choice. I had Southwestern shrimp and corn bisque from Hale & Hearty (my normal soup joint). I was expecting it to be amazing--I didn't taste it ahead of time because I thought that I had already had that soup and loved it. It was not the case. I must have had a shrimp and corm curry, because this soup was seriously lacking in flavor. I hate being disappointed by what should be a fail-proof lunch process. In addition to whatever soup I get, I think I'll get myself an orange from the fruit cart. I'm feeling orangy today.

Grendel

2006-03-02T16:02:00.000-05:00

While on Snapfish looking to order a few prints, I came across a really, really funny one my husband took of me sleeping with our kitty Grendel "keeping watch." Grendel is the funniest cat ever. It kills me how jealous he gets and how much attention he needs. While I was gone this weekend, he followed Bradley around like a puppy and as soon as I got home, he made sure to do the same to me...in fact, I'm pretty sure I woke up in this exact position last night:

My New Orleans/Hurricane Katrina Blogs

2006-02-23T13:35:00.000-05:00

Several people have recently asked me for links to my New Orleans/Hurricane Katrina Escape blogs that I have on my old MySpace blog. I considered reposting them, but then thought that giving you a link of the blogs (in the correct order that they should be read) would be the easiest thing to do.

Enjoy! I know we didn't :-)

Escape from New Orleans Part I--Saturday, August 27th

Escape from New Orleans Part II--Sunday Morning and Afternoon

Escape from New Orleans Part III--Sunday Night

Escape from New Orleans Part IV--Monday Morning and Afternoon

Escape from New Orleans Part V--Monday Night: The Obnoxious New Yorker Surfaces

Escape from New Orleans Part VI--Tuesday: The Emancipation

Escape from New Orleans Part VII--The Final Installment

New Orleans Louis Armstrong Airport Pictures:

New Orleans Fun Pictures

Today is...

2006-02-16T09:34:00.000-05:00

A very important day. It's the first day of the year that I'm wearing a skirt without knee-high boots and two pairs of tights. It's supposed to be 58 degrees in NYC today, so I busted out a pair of my super-cute new shoes, brand new stockings, and a flair skirt just below the knee...

For many women, the first day they wear a skirt with shoes happens a lot sooner; women that are lawyers, or in the corporate world don't have the luxury of wearing jeans until it's finally warm enough to bare your legs to the world again and the temperature rises above 50 degrees. I'm lucky I suppose, but I also have an inordinate fear of freezing my ass off in the cold. That is probably because I went to a Catholic elementary/junior high school, so 8 years in a skirt is enough to make any woman a little shy about bare legs in the winter.

Spring is officially 31 days away, but according to my legs, it is definitely on its way.

My love affair...

2006-02-16T09:15:00.000-05:00

I'm completely and utterly in love with the New York Public Library. I recently decided that I absolutely had to stop purchasing so many books. In addition to running out of shelf space, I have to admit that most of the books I've bought in the last two years are of the "read once and never touch again" categories. A waste of money and space if you ask me--so I decided to head over to the NYPL, just two blocks from my job. Mind you, the St. Agnes Branch is not the best--it's a little stuffy and has a limited selection, but it more that serves its purpose--it's simply the place to pick up my book orders. You see, my favorite thing about the library is their website and their very modern keychain swipe library cards. I go online, do a quick search for what I want to read, request it, and in a couple of days, an e-mail is sent notifying me that my books have arrived. You can do all sorts of nifty things on their website like look up NYTimes bestsellers, the most notable books of the last few years, and even see what kinds of movies and cds they have available. Who said the library is outdated? Not I!

The Final Countdown...

2006-02-15T23:49:00.000-05:00

Click on above...
This has to be one of the funniest freaking things I've ever seen...takes me back to those high school talent show memories (no James, I'm not talking about you). Some of that stuff they made us sit through was excruciating. I wonder how bad I screwed up my hearing going to see friend's bands play shows that had bands playing that sounded like this. Now if that isn't a waste of ear damage, I don't know what is.

Blanket Fetish...

2006-02-13T10:09:00.000-05:00

I'm a certifiable crochet-aholic...I crochet everywhere--at home, on the train, at my mom's house, even at restaurants and movies. I'm addicted. And it's a good thing too, since this means that my entire family now has homemade scarves, and I've just completed my very first blanket. I made it for my brother G (we all call him G, though his full name is George. Since he hates the name, we call him G--it makes him sound like a hoody kid, but he's not). I didn't make it for him because I chose to; it's more like he nagged me to death about me making him a blanket. He's got a bit of a blanket fetish. He gets very, very attached to blankets. He still has his baby blanket (though now it looks more like a rag) and keeps it on his futon. Twenty-six years old and he still uses his baby blanket. He also has this big San Francisco 49er blanket that looks sort of like fur, but isn't. He calls it a picky blanket because he likes to lay under it and watch tv while picking little pieces of lint off of it. It's amazing that there is anything left of the damned thing. G really wants a new picky blanket, but for now, he'll have to be satisfied with this:

Building a snowman in Brooklyn...

2006-02-12T20:28:00.000-05:00

When I woke up at 11 a.m. today, it was still snowing--the northeaster was going strong, and it had already dumped over 16 inches of snow on New York City and the surrounding area. The last serious snowstorm occured last January '05, and instead of doing fun things like sleding or having a snowball fight, my husband and brother spent most of the day moving us from one apartment in Brooklyn to another. Moving is difficult under any circumstances--doing it in the snow is a nightmare. My biggest gripe that day wasn't moving though; it was that I didn't get to enjoy the snow and do anything fun. Looking out my window I was determined to enjoy the snowfall this time.

My husband and I ventured out to meet my mom for lunch. On our way back we did some obligatory snowball throwing, but were still not satisfied--I wanted to roll around in the snow and have freezing cold hands that warrent taking off soaking wet clothes, huddling under a blanket, and drinking hot chocolates...so we decided to build a snowman outside our house. I got on my knees and started making the mound of snow that would make the base. A bunch of kids hanging out and doing normal kid things in the snow noticed what we were doing and asked if they could help...so there I was, on my knees outside my house, surrounded by kids half my age, building the first snowman I've made in over ten years. It was awesome. I think the kids were as surprised as I was. Between my husband and I and all of them, we got all the elements we needed--the coal (It was charcoal used for burning incense), the carrot, and the scarf--and if I do say so myself, we did an awesome job on our snowman.

Mother-in-Law...

2006-02-09T14:32:00.000-05:00

My husband and I are pretty lucky in the in-law department--we both love our respective mothers-in-law, and occasionally go so far as to say we get along better with out mother-in-laws than with our own mothers. This is probably because we never got mad and screamed at our mothers-in-law during our teenage years, and the same cannot be said for our mothers. A little bit of distance goes a long way in creating a good relationship--at least these particular ones.

I can't help but be very grateful that Brad gets along so well with my mother. Recently my mom went for spinal fusion surgery, and the first week she was home from the hospital was also the week that Brad was between his old job and his current one. They were attached at the hip. At one point Brad called me to tell me that he was having breakfast at the diner near our house with my mom and her friend Pat! He was her personal chauffeur, taking her back and forth to doctor appointments, and if she had been up to it (she was still very much recovering at the time) they had an Ikea excursion planned. I think they both would have loved that. Now that Brad is busy with his new job, I barely get e-mails or calls from him, which is the opposite of what used to happen (he finally admitted that he understands why I told him sometimes I just don't have time to e-mail him back because I'm just too effing busy). I think my mom is feeling it even more...she just called me up to tell me that she misses my husband and wants to get together soon because she misses talking to him. She also informed me that her printer isn't working and that she needs Brad to go by and fix it. I have a hard time deciding if there is something actually wrong with it, or if she's creating an excuse to see my husband...if I had to put money on it, I'd definitely go with the latter.