MY DEAR OLD BLOG

Dear Blog Friends,

I miss you.

If you hadn't guessed by now I won't be blogging here anymore. In short I've outgrown my blog. Yes - that's right. I've outgrown my blog like a pair of favorite jeans. You know the kind. The ones that once made your ass look sooo sooo good and now require you to bend into Gumby like positions to even get over one thigh.

I don't think this is dramatic or sad. Just a different phase in my life. I have been blogging here since November 18th, 2001. That is a long, long time.

In searching for other venues to blog the options still seem quite lame. Am I missing something? If you know of something other than Blogspot out there that you might suggest let me know. Blogspot has served me quite well for many years but still had me face some annoying technical challeges that I will not miss. Neither will my inhouse tech guy otherwise known as E - my husband.

For those of you that have followed More Than Donuts for a while now I am forever grateful to you. You changed my life with your faithful readership and your helpful feedback. I loved all of it. The good, the bad and the ugly.

I will be blogging on occasion elsewhere. If you are interested in knowing where please email me at kdunkcreative@gmail.com and I will tell you where to find me.

My new blogging venue might be pink and flashy and full of ads and sort of My Space looking but hey...my jeans might not fit but at least I'll look cute.

Missing you already.

B/F/F
xoxoxo
KDunk

SHE WANTS TO KNOW

Recently I stumbled across a health fair. Due to my recent back pain I thought to myself, "Hey wow. Perfect timing." And what do you know? There was a guy there with a card table and a giant skeleton on a wire ready to solve all my problems. For free.

So I waited patiently. The line wasn't too long and I passed the time scanning the table with its plethora of health pamphlets that read like the opening lines to infomercials - "TIRED OF SEVERE BACK PAIN?", "PINCHED NERVE GOT YOU DOWN?", etc. I even spotted a pamphlet on Sciatica which I was tempted to pocket for Helen my senior citizen Brooklyn neighbor who I pass on a regular basis to which our exhange is always the following:

K: Hi Helen! How are you?
H: Not good. I got sciatica. In both butts.

The doc on call was a Chiropractor. Nice guy with a 'could be a friend of Tony Sopranos back in the day' look about him. His hair was neatly combed back and his gold chain gleamed in the the light.

He asked me some questions. Wheeled the skeleton over. Asked that I stand up so he could feel my spine. Just then his phone rang. It was on the table and went off to the unfortunate tune of La Cucaracha.

He yelled agressively at his assistant who was handing out pamphlets...

Tony Chiropractor: LISA!
Tony: LISA! GET THE PHONE!
Tony: (to me) Sorry about that...
Lisa: (picks up Tony' cell phone) Uh-huh-oh I don't know. Let me ask him.
Tony: (to me) So as I was saying...your back needs..
Lisa: Tony. Sorry to interrupt. Maria is on the phone.
Tony: Lisa...I'm with a client
Lisa: I know Tony but...
Tony: Lisa...what does she want?
Lisa: She wants to know what kind of (points to her head) you need...
Tony: What?
Lisa: She wants to know...what kind of (points to top of her head again) you need...
Tony: What the fu...what?
Lisa: MARIA WANTS TO KNOW WHAT KIND OF GEL YOU NEED!
Tony: Oh...Jesus Christ.
Tony: Tell her the same stuff I always get!!!
Tony: (to me) Sorry about that...as I was saying...

All I know is that I walked away more tense that when I arrived.
Glad it was free.

FIRST GUNS N' ROSES CONCERT WITH MOM

DOUBLE DOORS

Well...you haven't missed much. Let me tell ya.

First...I was holed up in an edit room since Thanksgiving working on a massive celebrity press packed project which I can not speak of so end of story there. I haven't had a day off since and let me tell you I am looking forward to vacation! We are no longer going to Portugal for various reasons - boo hoo - but we are going to the Yucatan so I'm excited about that! Please send any recommendations for food, drink, sights, etc. in such places as Merida or Chichen Itza or Tulum or anywhere in the area if you have them.

After that...despite being on such a good health run for a while there - have suffered from some annoying health issues repeating themselves. Worthy enough of me exploring the slightly expensive nutritionist I've had my eye on for a while.

Then...some somewhat depressing and sad family crap to deal with.

Then later...I got summoned for jury duty. I got my slip. It said call X phone number the night before to see if I needed to come in. Only problem - the phone number was busy. All the time. For like...hours. I thought I was crazy and then E called and same thing. So I was forced to go the next morning and line up in the cold with all the 300 plus angry pissed off Brooklyn people that couldn't get through the phone line the night before either. Once inside we had to sit there and listen to a stressed out clerk guy who said that the phone line AND the backup system has never gone down in the history of his time working there and they were sending a repair guy down from Albany (who cares!) to fix it immediately. Yeah...well that's nice. Now what since half the room wasn't even due to show up today? Angry outbursts, deep sighs, people throwing newspapers to the ground in outrage. Quite a scene.

But lucky for me I got out of it. How might you ask? Did I lie? No. I am the worst person to ever come up with or even attempt to tell a lie so no I didn't. Instead, I did something that came quite naturally to me. I did something dumb. That's right - dumb.

When it came time to collect the juror slips from the row I was sitting in I had to confess that I accidentally mailed in (which is true) portion A and C of my juror paperwork when really they only asked one to mail in C if I wanted to purpose a new date to serve should I have a conflict of any sort (LIKE A MUCH NEEDED UPCOMING VACATION TO MEXICO)

Angry Clerk: Where is your portion A?
Dummy: Uhhh...oops. Sorry I think I mailed it in with portion C
Angry Clerk: You MAILED portion A AND C - is that what you are telling me?
Dummy: Um. Yes. Apparently I did. Sorry about that.
Angry Clerk (deep sigh): Go through those double doors...tell them...what you did.

I wasn't sure who 'them' were awaiting me on the other side of the doors but if I had to guess it might include a panel of people from my past -

Mrs. Williamson my 3rd grade teacher, "She never read directions!"
My mother, "She over thinks everything!"
Hippie ex-boyfriend, "Dude. Just chill. Stop rushing through things in your life."

Instead it was a nice woman dressed in a black ribbed turtleneck chomping on gum. Said no problem! See you at the end of Feb!

And finally...today I woke up with a severe pain in my lower back that had been creeping up since Sunday. It was the kind where you have to roll over to one side and then slowly raise yourself up with your arms to push yourself up to get out of bed. Walking felt like knives into my lower back. And today while standing on the subway platform on my way to work I dropped my Metrocard. Unable to bend over I just stared at it. The best $4 I never spent.

See...you haven't missed much.

NOTE TO DUDE IPOD USER

Dear Dude Listening To His Ipod On The Subway,

Just because YOU are wearing an iPod
doesn't mean I CAN'T hear you
when you fart.

Thanks

MISSING

When you plan a wedding it is inevitable you will obsess about something. Some about the color of the napkins and others about the food. For me it was a photo slide show that I painstakingly put together featuring at least one photo of mostly everyone at the wedding that attended.

I gathered the photos from old college and family photo albums. I emailed relatives far away for photos even my parents hadn't seen. I called E's Aunt in Califoria for ones of him as a child he didn't know about. Needless to say I lost a lot of sleep over the project but the end result was over 200 amazing photos spanning all periods of our life with friends and family - the focus on them and not us.

The day of the wedding the slide show started. We had planned for it to run on a loop on a big screen that came down dramatically from the ceiling while people were finishing eating and walking around before dessert. Instead they sat glued in their seats laughing and watching each and every photo from all the various eras.

When the slideshow got to about 40 photos all of the sudden the loop began and started right back to the beginning. I panicked. It played the same 40 once more and than looped again. Where were the other 160 photos I had gathered?

I don't have many regrets from my wedding but that is the biggest one. Tonight while fishing through an old box from the basement I came across those CDs. It sounds super dramatic but my stomach drops each time I pop in the cds and remember which ones never made it to the big screen.

The bottom line is that people enjoyed the night and most importantly I married my husband. In the end people did get something from the slideshow and I guess when it comes down to it only I knew what they were missing.

IN THE NAME OF STOCKING STUFFERS

I hate when you go into a store that has the potential for some silly Christmas stocking stuffer type gifts but it’s called something embarrassing like, “Bedazzled Jazzy Jams” or something of the like and you hope and pray you don’t run into anyone you know – and then when you enter the doors of BJJ they act like you’ve just walked through the doors of Bergdorf Goodman and ask you to please ‘check your bag’ which is the size of a 4x6 photo in fear you might steal something from the store which is no bigger than an ice cream truck. And worse - once you make it through high security the ‘bouncer’ of Bedazzled Jazzy Jams – a large man with a skull and dagger tattoo on his forearm - hands you a tiny wicker basket lined with blue and white gingham fabric and asks that you please put any merchandise you may want to buy in the basket as you walk around. And then you say all tough and annoyed,
“What if I don’t want to carry a basket?” which is overheard by the sourpuss cashier who flashes a stern glance to the Bedazzled Jazzy Jams bouncer who at this point looks like he might take you out back - so you are then forced to grab the stupid basket and walk around the store like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz without her Toto.

I hate that.

WHAT IT'S LIKE TO DATE ME

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 hand...you still manage to sound tender and sweet when saying,

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

PEPPERONI SWEATER

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.

Then...

-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!

But...today 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"

Finally...

-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.

CAMILLA'S CREPES

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.

WHERE WAS I?

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?

WHAT I HAVE BEEN DOING THAT IS KEEPING ME FROM BLOGGING:

WORK WORK WORK WORK WORK WORK AND MORE WORK
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.

BELLY DANCING
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".

LAUNDRY
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.

POSTCARDS
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:

KDunk
P.O. Box 30106
New York, NY 10011

MY SUPER COOL PROJECT
I have been busy working on my super cool project which I will not tell you about unless you send me an email: kdunkcreative@gmail.com and say you want to be part of it.

KILLING MICE
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.

LISTENING TO HIGHLY ANNOYING PEOPLE EVERYWHERE I GO
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?

YOGA WITH GENE SIMMONS

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.

FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH

This weekend my father turns 60. It's a good age. Especially on him. He still runs a few times a week. Plays tennis. Is very handsome and fashionable. Comes into the city to hear the blues. Writes. Gives great advice. Is up on anything and everything pop culture related. Always calls and emails us to ask how we are doing. Plays practical jokes that keep us laughing. And yet still manages to annoy each and every one of us - Mom, my sister and I - with his inability to A.) Run a simple errand at the grocery store without returning with the exact opposite of what you asked for or B.) Shop like a normal person without dashing through the store at neck breaking speed as if on the game show Supermarket Sweep. Hey, the guy needs some flaws.

Finding a gift for his 60th has been difficult. My sister, Mother and I agree the guy is impossible to buy for. If he doesn't like it - it's all over his face. Not in a mean way but rather just in a very honest way like, "Why in God's name would I possibly want this?". You can't blame him. He's half Irish and to say he wears his emotions on his sleeve is a huge understatement.

I have bought only one gift in my lifetime that my father liked. It was for Christmas and it was an old vintage radio that he could put on the shelf in his office. He actually really liked it. I know because when I attempted in dire straits the next Christmas to recreate the same reaction with vintage radio number two - his face told me everuthing. One...was enough...thank you.

It doesn't help matters that my Dad is very good at giving gifts. But he's most known in our family for giving good practical joke gifts. The classic story was how one time when we were younger, my Aunt (his sister) and Uncle had a somewhat uptight engagement party in Westchester to celebrate their recent engagement. At the party my father was especially giddy and upbeat. Strange. Then...there was a knock at the door. The door was opened. And much to the surprise and horror of all the guests, my crying sister and his stunned newly engaged sister - standing before us was a three hundred pound white guy dressed as a Buddah in an orange loin cloth complete with mini-finger cymbals hired (by my father) to sing the party a few tunes. Um.......

Remembering this story recently I speed dialed my sister and we happily agreed in glee that for Dad's 60th it might be payback time. This week I placed a call to a Long Island singing telegram service. Someone to attend my father's 60th party this upcoming weekend.

K: Hello - I'm calling to find out more about your singing telegrams.

A man that sounded like Steve Buscemi said:

SB: Well...whadda you want? I got a Jew Grandma, a Bag Person (?), a Tony Soprano, a crazy Chinamen, an Islander Hockey playa and the California Raisin.

Weeding my way mentally through the first highly offensive part of the list I was intrigued by the California Raisins option. It seemed so strange and outdated and totally scary. I could see it now. A group of rainsins forcing my father to get up on the table and sing, "Heard It Through The Grapevine" - I loved it.

K: How much for the California Raisins?

Steve Buscemi: What do mean raisins? I got one
raisin.

K: But wait...it's the California RaiSINS - plural. What does the one raisin do?

SB: He comes in, he has a costume on like a big prune, he's got the white oversized hands and feet...

K:(laughing) ...oh I get it...and the sunglasses...haha

SB: (deadpan) There are no sunglasses.

K: No sunglasses? But that's like...the whole look of the raisin

SB: No sunglasses.

K: No sunglasses?

SB: Fifty. Extra.

K: (sigh) Ok well...I'll have to call you back thanks

After doing the Math my sister and I agreed the joke turned out to be more pricy than it was worth.

In other news - I am still working on my creative project. If you would like to be part of my project and have been too shy to contact me - please do. It's a cool project and I'd love you to be part of it. Email: KDunkcreative@gmail.com.

STUPID ANNOYING PEOPLE ON SUBWAY THAT WATCH TOO MUCH FOX NEWS

Today after work I took a Yoga class. Actually it's taught at my work which sounds odd but it isn't. It's quite nice and also convenient. Alas...when it was over I took my nice Zen self to the subway where I proceeded to immediately lose any and all relaxation as I then had to wait close to 20 minutes for a stupid train to come in the 10,000 degree subway station.

Then I boarded the train. I headed to the only seat available next to a hipster girl with hair in her eyes with giant boobs who was acting so cool reading her cool book blah blah. But her bag was in the empty seat and as I hovered over her she SIGHED and slowly moved her bag from the empty seat. Um...

When I sat down I closed my eyes trying to regain anything at all learned and leftover from my Yoga class. But then a large man crushed my foot. I opened my eyes to a big Italian American guy around my age, gold chain around his neck, dark hair combed back neatly, a wild black and white shirt on with glitter and patterns and 'Euro' jeans with perfectly ripped holes in exactly all the right places. White shoes.

He said: (quite loudly) WOAHHHHHHH! SORRY!!!!!!

Which startled me and even the cool girl next to me.

Me: Um...it's fine. Really.

And then he tettered his way over to lean his back on the subway car doors. He was drunk.

How did I know he was drunk? He was hiccuping. Like a drunk person in a cartoon. And he was saying the occasional loud thing to no one in particular in a slurred speech like, "BACK OF THE SUBWAY CAR. THAT'S WHERE WE'RE STANDING" or "ALL THESE SIGNS AND POSTERS" and then pointing to an ad at the top of the subway car but not able to keep his arm up too long in the air before it fell down to his sides with a slap.

It's uncomfortable to watch a 'put together' person drunk. Something extra sad about it. Did his girlfriend dump him? Did he get fired from his job? Were the shiny silk pants at Club Monaco actually NOT on sale as he had hoped? He tettered some more when the doors opened. People started to move away.

Then a somewhat clueless pregnant woman holding what appeared to be take out Mexican food sat down in an empty seat right underneath where the drunk guy clung on for dear life to the subway pole above her. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. He almost fell when the subway jerked out of the tunnel. I was afraid he was going to fall on her.

And then...some dry heaves and then...he puked. A subway chorus of "UGH!!!!!". People scattered like roaches. Luckily pregnant lady got up and out of there in time. I found myself saying something random and smartass out loud, "Saw that coming!" to no one in particular.

Worse - a crazy woman to my left (who had given her salad to a homeless man earlier on the train only after saying, "I hate salad. The dressing is horrible. Here take it.") stared at the puke and said in all seriousness to the woman next to her,

"I wonder if he has the E. Coli Virus from eating spinach? It's going around."

GENIUS

This photo is genius and you must see it. Be sure to stare at it a moment to take it all in.

ONE WEB DAY

OneWebDay is Earth Day for the Internet--a day to make sure that we
don't take the Internet for granted. I wrote something for it here.

LETTER OF THE WEEK: A BELATED HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO MY HUSBAND

Dearest Husband,

Happy One Year Anniversary to you...us. Like I say dramatically when our plane lands at any airport after a long flight, “We made it.”

There is a lot less drama now. More strength. Less beads of sweat. More hand holding. Less white knuckling through life although I’m not so sure any couple is totally free from it. More of me changing the roll of toilet paper when it’s empty and more of you folding the laundry. Hey - things are looking up.

On our recent trip to Oregon, we cracked open some watery beer and cheap champagne, sat out on our tiny motel porch and in the blinding sun overlooking a cliff of trees that lead down to the water - we re-read our vows. Things were different this time.

On our actual wedding day as you confessed – you were fairly choked up and you could barely read your vows. Surprisingly on our wedding day I remained calm, cool and collected cracking jokes like Jerry Seinfeld and reading my vows while reminding the audience of the two drink minimum.

Tables were turned this time. When you read vows you were the calm, cool and collected one. Your vows were so real and sweet and thoughtful and most of all - timeless. When I began to read mine - I was a blubbering mess. Partially because I realized my vows were not sweet and timeless but rather strange and already outdated. Nor were they promises just lists of reasons why I loved you. All I could think about was, “YOU LET ME READ THESE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE WE KNOW?” and “WHAT IS OUR FUTURE KID GOING TO THINK?” Dad’s timeless vows. Mom’s lame and outdated vows.

I love you for always remembering to change the ribbon in my typewriter…
I love you for exposing me to so many great musical eight tracks…
I love you for offering to help iron my denim pant suits…

Ugh. Regardless I do love you for so many reasons even if some are outdated.

I got one line right and may that never change.

All I want to be is your wife today.

And

I love you.

SHOP GIRL

What is up with those stores that appear like they might possibly be in the price range in which you can afford - like hipster but nice - but then when you actually go in the store and pick up a tag everything from a pair of earrings to a jacket to a purse in no less than $498? Who shops there? I'm all for the occasional splurge but come on.

Last night I went to a fancy store in Brooklyn where my husband was kind and generous enough to get my a gift certificate for my birthday. Lucky for me I ended up with something beautiful and that I would never have treated myself to which is the whole point but still...this is how it went down.

Walk in shop. Browse through rack by front door. Everything 'cheap' is $998. Look at woman next to me who looks about my age, has my style with armful of clothes adding up to the amoung of $500,000. Wonder how on earth is this girl affording to shop here without eating for an entire month. Look at her waistline. Realize that is exactly what she does in order to shop here. Sigh.

Continue shopping. Look for something in price range of my certificate. Getting nervous seeing as shop is small and I am now almost half way through it. Shop gets a little more busy which takes pressure off me moving at a snails pace and under scrutiny of girl running shop.

Finally look in 50% off jewelry case. All of the necklaces are made of summer beads or plastic. There are all $348 - that is with the 50% off. Continue on and am relieved to actually see a Sales Rack. Thumb through sales rack but everything screams SUMMER and is either made of straw or grass or suntan lotion or hot dogs. Cannot wear through winter and most likely will not last until next summer. Continue on to home accessories.

Look at journals - $500. Tote bags - have too many. Candle in the shape of a bird - pick up to consider buying and girl says, "That is not for sale."

Hats - cannot justify leaving store with only a hat that could have bought at GAP for $23. Scarves - ok - there are two that I like. One beautiful, purple wrap type thing that is very me and nice but costs entire gift certificate and doesn't seem worth the price. Second scarf - black lace - and size of a tissue - for $45 (what a score!!!!) that fell on the ground and is hidden behind a wooden rack. Decide on the cheaper black scarf so can get rest of the cash back and spend the rest of my certificate money elsewhere.

Wait on line. Shop girl does not know how to ring in a gift certificate. Manager is called. 20 minutes go past which in New York time is an eternity. I hear Manager say to girl to give me store credit. I laugh and smile and say, "Actually - cash back would be great." And she says, "We only do store credit." My face drops.

A long pause and I say one second. I reach for the purple scarf using entire amount of my certificate. Despite hating these people and never wanting to come here again, I leave with my pretty purple scarf that I love and try to remember that frankly... that is what only matters.

THROW DOWN

Do you ever wish celeb chef Bobby Flay would just...go away? Leave poor normal Annie's Mac N' Cheese eatin' people like us alone?

And what about his new show 'Throwdown With Bobby'? It is so totally sad and sometimes depressing. Have you seen it? I can barely watch it. Basically Bobby travels across America to find people in small towns that are famous for that ONE thing - their ribs or their pie or their pizza, etc. Bobby then surprises these innocent people at their home or family bbq or kid's birthday party or giant family reunion and challenges them to a showdown in making their signature dish. Yes. That dish. The only dish they are known for. In front of all of their family and friends.

Great. Thanks. That sounds fun.

First of all:

What family member signed their husband, sister, mother or whatever up for this horrible and severly stressful situation?

What if I were that poor husband guy who slaved away at the office all week and my only real 'down time' besides cleaning out the garage was making my 'signature' ribs for close family and friends. And then what if my wife called the Food Network and signed me up for this show where in the middle of my family bbq where I was happily cooking up a storm of ribs for the people I know and love - Bobby Flay arrives in a catering truck with 75 state of the art gas grills and fifty midgets to set everything up and veggies flown in from New York's Chelsea Market and an actual live animal from Texas to slaughter on camera for the fresh ribs to make...STEAL...take away my thunder by making MY RIBS but instead with HIS TOUCH - ribs smoked in hickory chips, dipped in an ancho chili rub with a side of Maple-Horseradish dipping sauce and a side of Jicama Slaw...UGH. NO.

And yet in the end does any of it matter?
No. Why?

Because Bobby is better than you. Yes you.

WIFE SWAP

There is one show I'm not 'allowed' to watch in the house and it's called 'Wife Swap'. It drives E mad. If you don't know what the show is about the idea is that two families swap wives for a week and they film how things go down. And boy do they go down. The swaps are often between two polar opposites - a religious, conservative, stay at home wife swaps with a tattooed, green haired punk wife. Or a biker, meat eatin' wife swaps places with a hippie, raw food enthusiast wife. Not matter what they pair up - chaos ensues.

Despite not being 'allowed' to watch it I sneak it in like cigarettes when E is in the bathroom or takes calls on his cell phone. I can't help but get hooked each time I see a bit of it even if I can never quite believe how dumb the husbands are each episode. They are always 'surprised' and 'amazed' when the tables are turned and they are required to follow by the rules of their new wife. Shut up and eat your raw carrots buddy.

Tonight - E made two pizzas. He rolled out the dough, he prepared the various ingredients, he cooked the pizzas on the grill so they had the perfect smoked flavors, etc. The entire production took an hour or so and the pizzas came out looking like ultimate perfection.

As you know from my former post, it had been a hard day. The honest truth was the day didn't quite get any better from when I lost all my photographs from the month of August (read below) but the thought of a nice dinner of fresh pizza and wine sounded like it might make things better.

I set the table and we got ready to eat our yummy meal:



But then...like a total spaz...I set my water glass down too hard on the table and it knocked against my wine glass which then caused glass to shatter all over the two pizzas. Cut to E looking with a flashlight in desperate atempts to save our meal:



Bottom line is - today sucked. Big time. And thanks to a day of emotional ups and downs topped off with two shattered glass pizzas - I might now qualify for one of those stupid crazy women on Wife Swap. Sure. Go ahead. Swap me out for a week and replace me with a poised wife with several external hard drives that never loses a thing. Only please - just promise you'll take me back.