Wednesday, November 29, 2006


You will come home after a long day of work and in the kitchen find me dressed in a spontaneous 'after work' outfit which consists of random clothes that I picked up from various folded clean laundry piles around the house including...

-a SCRABBLE sweatshirt with tiles that spell out 'NO SWEAT' - hood up
-a pair of your polka dot boxer shorts
-pink striped knee socks
-blue and red Red Socks slippers three sizes too big
-my glasses from 1996
-wild crazy hair half up/half down

and yet despite watching me in this garb frantically poke my head in and out of the oven to keep an eye on my roasting cauliflower while balancing a laptop in my left still manage to sound tender and sweet when saying,

"Wow. I'm so glad I married Steve Urkel."

Tuesday, November 21, 2006


My life is highly irritating at times in such lame, unimportant and surface oriented ways. Sigh.

For example:

On Saturday I found a new store near my house. It was amazing. A goldmine of sweaters. Sweaters and sweaters and more sweaters. Cool and stylish and affordable sweaters. I was so excited. All together I bought three.

Sunday night I couldn't decide which to put on. Finally did.


-packed new sweater in gym bag to change into later for dinner
-went to gym
-after gym put on new black sweater
-went to dinner at brick oven pizza place aka big smokefest of smells
-ordered pepperoni pizza

Then this happened...

-during dinner noticed giant hole in left hand part of sweater
-pissed sweater had hole so obsessed about it rest of night
-next day called store
-nice sweater lady said bring it back for store credit no problem! before leaving work to return sweater I...

-took sweater out of bag just to triple check hole before returning to store
-giant WAVE of pepperoni pizza smells came out of bag
-sat at desk for good 10 mins wondering if it was morally wrong to return sweater that smells of pepperoni pizza
-took poll in office making various officemates smell sweater - final tally: 3 "NO" it does not smell like pizza - 2 "YES"


-Email husband E who is busy at work but takes time to respond to my 'sweater crisis'. He writes back supportively but yet somehow guyish:
"Wear a black shirt under it and you won't notice the hole."

One last finally...

-Call best friend in Vancouver who says after a moments thought quite girlishly:
"Return it. Tell the woman your whole pizza story. Also if you don't attempt to return it every time you put on the stupid sweater you will think about nothing else but the hole and how you wished you had attempted to at least return it."

Gotta love chicks.

Monday, November 13, 2006


This past weekend was full of culinary delights. The highlight was a celebratory feast cooked by my friend D and her French future husband to celebrate their recent engagement. Yes. That's right. They invited US over to celebrate THEIR engagement so who were we to complain!

For as long as I have known D she has cooked only Kraft dinners and on a fancy night maybe some Shake N' Bake. Since her new French boyfriend came into the picture they have celebrated food and cooking and eating together to the fullest extent. And luckily to our benefit.

The evening was rainy and windy. The meal was cozy and warm. D made an oustanding Beef Bourguignon with potatoes. JB had two - yes two cheese plates with some of the best cheeses I've ever had on them. E brought some bubbly to celebrate and I brought two bottles of nice wine. D played old romantic French accordion music and the lighting was just right.

People always ask me if I love to cook. No. I like what it represents. I like the meals and the sitting around and the laughing and the stories and the music. E on most occasions would rather be in the kitchen. I have a few things I like to make and our bookshelves are lined with some fantastic cookbooks. Claudia Fleming from The Gramercy Tavern has a great one. Madhur Jeffrey's Indian Cooking another great one. More often than not I'm looking at these cookbooks like coffee table books rather than sources of productive inspiration. I don't have the time nor attention span required for cooking. I'd rather entertain the guests or run around getting drinks instead. And I'm always good for clean up.

Tonight when digging around for take out menus for dinner I came across several loose pieces of paper with various recipies that I've carried around with me for most my life. Sue's Apple Crisp. Aly's chili. Carol from Switzerland's shrimp. BJ's spoonbread. Mary's lasagne. Reading through them - stained and crumpled on various size pieces of paper - they took me down memory lane.

Who were these women? Women I no longer talk to. Former boss. Co-worker. Mother-in-law. Friend. But each of them cooked me something delicious at some point in my life. A meal that was literally unforgettable and/or a meal that I associated with them in particular and found impossible to throw away.

When you ask someone to share their recipe what are you really asking? Are you attempting to recreate a night a moment the weather? The time the place the music the way your husband was looking at you that night? Or is it the food. Really and truly the food? Maybe it's the science of attempting to tackle the dish yourself or if you are lucky to make it even better. Regardless to me it's never the same when made again.

Who knows. All I know is that I kept staring at one recipe in particular. It was titled "Camilla's Crepes". For the life of me I couldn't recall the last time I had a crepe nor ever meeting a single Camilla.

Sunday, November 12, 2006


Hello. Woah. I have not been writing on my blog. Have you noticed? All two of you out there that dare check in still? Well here I am. More importantly - how have you been?


I do not blog about work so you'll have to dream up your own scenarios. Be sure to involve lots of images of me eating from the vending machine and lots of tossing and turning at night.

Well...attemping to. The other day at the gym I decided to take a belly dancing class. The teacher was Caribbean and beautiful and had long dreadlocks and wore a fringe scarf around her waist. She asked the class of chicks to divide our bodies "in half" moving only the upper half of our body at times and then only the lower. For someone who has spent a lifetime totally and completely disconnected from my body - this was hard. Really hard. What do you mean I have a body? And wait - what? I can divide it in half? The teacher kept her eye on me throughout the class. I couldn't blame her. I was like a teenage guy trying to belly dance in a room full of soulful chicks. The teacher leaned over and just said, "Keep coming to class".

Today alone I have done five loads of laundry. Sheets. Towels. Blankets. Socks. Underwear. T-shirts. Sweatshirts. Cloth napkins. Tablecloths. I do not have kids. Why do I have so much laundry? So far I have also washed by mistake - 3 Metrocards, 1 $20 bill, a few coins, my gym schedule, shrunk E's new black wool sweater and somehow washed the fuse for his amp which was in the pocket of his jeans. Um. I need help.

I have been busy sending postcards. Nobody sends postcards anymore. Why? I love postcards. If you send me one I might send you one back. Then again I might not because the whole point of this blog is how I have no time at all for anything:

P.O. Box 30106
New York, NY 10011

I have been busy working on my super cool project which I will not tell you about unless you send me an email: and say you want to be part of it.

Ok. Jane the cat has been killing mice. Gross I know. Last Sunday I found her positioned next to the sink staring directly into the gap between our stove and sink. Went out for 6 hours only to find her in the exact same position when I returned home. A mouse. In the middle of the night I heard EEK EEK SQUEAK EEK EEK and in the morning woke to a half chewed mouse on my kitchen floor. One of two - the second also caught by Jane later in the day. As I said. Gross.

Sometimes I wonder if annoying people are only attracted to me. Must surround me and only me at all times. Like the group of nine standing outside of a the new Brooklyn eatery Palo Santo I ate at the other night. They were pissed that the restaurant couldn't seat all nine of them at prime time 8PM on a Friday night and as I patiently waited for my table like the others standing around I had to listen to the complaining group of nine say things like, "Well the least they can do is put the champagne I brought on ice for me. Let me go ask." or "The least they can do is bring us some appetizers outside while we wait." on and on and on and on. Why? Seriously. Why?

Friday, November 03, 2006


For all of you that believe that pigs can fly - well here's one for ya: I've been taking yoga. Yeah that's right. Hard to believe I know. Just when I was convinced I might be the only woman left in Brooklyn that didn't board the subway with a fruit roll-up style yoga mat - here I am.

The biggest bummer of the year is that I waited until my very best friend and most talented yoga teacher in the universe moved away until I decided to go for it. Whatever. As usual it took me a while to get my act together. And plus while she was here I had several on and off yoga experiences that I must confess were horrible. I found myself very angry in class the entire time and totally unable to relax. I'm talking full of rage. The insides of my body burning with fire as I sat there thinking horrible evil thoughts of the various teachers such as, "I hate this girl." or "How did this woman get this job?" Not sure what was going on with me exactly but I think it's safe to say I still find it hard to relinquish control much less pay someone to tell me to move this. Bend that. Sit like this. Turn like that. Pfft. No way.

But...things have changed slightly. What got me going again was my boss teaches a basic yoga class at our office once a week. This is good for people like me and the others in our office - stressed out overworked exhausted TV people that barely have time to run to the bathroom much less bend like Gumby next to a Hewlett Packard printer every Wednesday at 6PM. I've also taken several classes at the YMCA one with a very good teacher and one with a very anal annoying teacher with a horrible voice. But believe it or not it doesn't matter now. I am realizing the more I do yoga and can really let myself be bad at various poses in class - not know what comes next - trust someone else to take me where I need to go - the better it feels in the end. Gene Simmons could be teaching my yoga class and frankly if in the right state of mind I might not even notice.

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