7.14.2005

PEOPLE IN LOVE

People in love should not be allowed to ride the subway. I speak on behalf of all grumpy morning commuters like myself. I can barely keep my eyes open and when I do the last thing I want to see is the equivalent of cheesy outtakes from some love movie where people are rolling in the sand. But on the subway.

It's too early in the morning for all this 'making out' and flirty staring contests. Yes. Ok. You are the only two people on this train that had sex this morning. Good for you! So what. The only word that comes to mind is CANOODLE. The world's worst word right up there with 'PANTIES' or even the name of that bagel shop in NYC called 'BAGELRY' (shudder) which makes me want to go home and take a shower every time I see it.

Yesterday's offenders on the F train, groped one another like a couple of horny monkies. The guy stepped on my pinky toe (twice) - both times because he was 'going in for a tickle' while the girl moved away giggling. A few moments later the girl dropped her umbrella on the lap of an equally annoyed looking guy next to me. And as if a subway car full of irritated stares alone weren't enough to burn holes into their skulls, they continued.

By the time I got to my subway stop, I had had more than enough. As I walked towards the subway exit I actually felt compassion for the rest of my fellow passengers that had to ride more stops with these two. Pushing my way past the girl - her body now wrapped around the subway pole as if she were seconds away from giving a lap dance - I overheard the following comment whispered by some tough chick with a BRONX T-shirt to her friend,

W: 'Yeah. You wait until her ass gets big and he stays out all night. Let's see you then.'

7.11.2005

TECHNICAL SUPPORT

E and I do a lot of things together but working out is not one of them. In fact I hate the idea of working out at all which is unhealthy and bad and I know it. Sometimes I think if I had a 'work out' buddy it would be more fun so once in a blue moon I blame him for this. Blame him for not coming with me to the gym. Yes you. You are to blame for this butt and these thighs.

I also blame all the great outfits. Everyone has these hot gym outfits and I’m always the one with the black cat hair covered leggings, low top orange sneakers and an old ratty Jane’s Addiction T-shirt from 11th grade. I’m convinced people around me are wondering who invited the ‘gym class extra’ from an old John Hughes movie.

My biggest problem of all (besides the butt and thighs) is that I always have gym panic when I go. I never know how to work all the gear and am too ashamed to ask. One time I was ‘working out’ on some complicated gym machine – something with poles, moving ski legs and twisting hips type motion – it was like being thrown into a rusty Cuisinart. The entire time as I plugged away at it I kept thinking, ‘This can’t be good for me. It just can’t.’ About 20 minutes later the buff gym guy behind the counter walked over and said, ‘Want me to turn that thing on for ya’?

Someone point me to the medicine ball.

Last night’s convo at 3am in the dark,

K: Let’s go to the gym together.
E: (sigh) Here we go again…
K: No seriously. I think it would be so much better than going alone.
E: Yeah. You’ve mentioned that.
K: Come on! It will be fun.
E: ‘Honey, grab your duffle and soap on a rope! It will be fun!'
K: Plus I never know how to work the machines.
E: So your saying your true motives are for technical support?
K: (flustered) Well...um..maybe.

7.10.2005

ONE OF MANY

Vimeo

Someone I know (ME) is in love with Vimeo. More to come!

7.09.2005

19 COURSE BBQ

As usual I went too far - this time cooking a BBQ for E and him Mom.

Tonight's menu included:

Tomato, Basil and fresh Mozzarella w/mustard vinaigrette appetizer
Fava bean salad with red peppers and shaved Manchego cheese second appetizer
Indian Quinoa salad with peanuts, apricots, chick peas and peas
Grilled shrimp with cilantro and orange zest marinade
Grilled scallop with lemon, butter and cilantro marinade

Ugh. The idea of cooking seems fifty times more interesting to me than the actual cooking itself. Always. Perhaps it is because when I do finally cook something it's some gigantic meal that could feed a crew of sailors.

I hate chopping. Chopping and chopping and chopping OMG kill me now. And no matter what I chop the little pieces come out in several different style shapes. And timing everything and bringing things out one by one. Washing lettuce? Don't even get me started. And then you have to sit and make small talk while the entire time you are just thinking in your brain, 'I hope the marinade is working' or 'Has it been ten minutes?'. And then when the whole thing is finally done you aren't even hungry and the guests want to help clean up which is truly so sweet but that means they will have to open all the cabinets under the sink which you have stuffed with plastic containers with unmatching lids, bags and bags and more plastic grocery bags, a pasta maker, a pizza stone that god forbid it roll out by accident could slice a human being in half by it's mere size, cleaning products, a small child and a couple of midgets. That is always the hardest to explain. The small child and the midgets. Always.

STAR JONES BRIDE

So yeah - back to my wedding blog.

Thank god E's new ipod came in time for the following conversation with his mother in our living room last night...

(Clicking around the internet together over a glass of wine)

K: Oh gross. Who would wear that?
M: Oh no...no...too princess. Yeah...no...
K: What the....yuck...too stiff.
M: Oh no...no...too Marzipan. Looks like she's wearing Marzipan.
K: I mean really...look at that neckline.
M: Oh no...no...doesn't do justice for the girls (boobs)
K: Come on. I wouldn't ever wear that.
M: Oh no...no..too Star Jones. No. Too Star Jones.

My whole thing has been when looking for a wedding dress in NYC....what if I don't want to go 'drink champagne' and eat tiny crustless sandwiches at some snotty ass place where the women say,

W: When are you getting married?
K: Fall
W: THIS FALL OH MY GOD AND YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR DRESS YET?!!!
K: Um. No.
W: OH MY GOD
K: Well...I'm not looking for anything poofy or traditional.
W: WELL THE ONLY THING YOU CAN BUY IS SOMETHING OFF THE RACK!
K: Off the rack?
W: RUN! RUN TO THE RACKS!

...and because I'm so fashion retarded I have to ask her what that really means only to find out it means the floor sample-the ugly lipstick stained, sweaty armpit dresses that thousands of brides have already put on and then I start to FREAK OUT for no reason because I never wanted a dress like that in the first place. Instead I just want to find some cool shop where I might even find a pink dress or something with color and not white but maybe white and chicks like me can try on things and feel pretty despite my giant back zit and big ass.

Bottom line? Due to 'time constraints' I can no longer be a Star Jones bride
even if I never wanted to be. And thank god...thank god for this.

OUR CROPS

Today E noticed two beautiful green caterpillars on the plants on our back porch. He said, "Hey, want to see a photo of them?" The photo looked like stock photography. So beautiful.

E: Too bad I threw them on the ground.
K: You did what?
E: I threw them on the ground after the photo.
K: Why?!
E: I didn't want them ruining our crops.
K: Our crops?! Our one basil plant and one dill plant?
E: Ok Jane Goodall...

7.06.2005

CHAT

Last night after having a few drinks with a friend, I came home and somehow while checking email (furious clicking around the page) I unknowingly invited a number of random people to start a 'chat room'. ?!?!?! Those people were:

-a friend that works at the New York Times
-2 blogger acquaintances
-An ex-boyfriend
-A former college mate I haven't talked to in six years
-E's Fifteen-year-old brother

This resulted in a fast and furious number of confused responses from all parties saying 'what is going on!' and 'what are we chatting about?' and 'huh?' and 'how are you I haven't spoken to you in years' among a number of other gems.

And let me tell you...BOY did we all have a LOT to chat about.


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