Bone China

As I left work tonight I have noticed a change in the air.  Cold, crisp and the holiday shoppers are out.  There are Christmas Tree's on sidewalks waiting to be taken home and dressed up. The stores are decked bright and shiny.  Bloomingdales has strung a million lights outside the city block wide building.  Victoria's Secret Flagship Store has had it's grand opening and the line to get in is out the door.  

The holiday's are upon us and it is in the air.  

As I strolled to the subway, enjoying the lights, I passed a shop that sells 'Authentic Chinese Art"  Something caught my eye and I gasped as I passed.  I did not gasp out in joy...more like fear.  I hope I am not offending anyone but this "Fine Bone China Figure" FREAKED ME OUT...

...ummmmm, what is that???  Here is a closer look...

What the hell is that?  Seriously.  I have enough night terrors!  Can you imagine THAT on my nightstand breathing it's octopus breath on me?  And are those really octopi? 

Octopi...Octopuses...Octopi...Octopuses

Also...are they trying to kill the Chinese man or are they his friends?  They have 'friendly' faces. And by 'friendly', I mean in a clown like creepy way.  A clown with a really long nose...or an octopus with a really long nose.  what??

Who knows.

One thing I know for sure...I won't be surprised if my night terror's tonight include a Chinese Man screaming angry words at me while octopi with creepy clown faces are trying to strangle me.  

Ahhhhh, sweet dreams.

A Tail of the Turkey Thief

We spoil our cats Mickey and Bean.  I hate to admit it, but it's true.  So, in true fashion, we decided to share our Thanksgiving with the beasts.  We shredded up some turkey breast and shared in the festivities.

Well...apparently, that wasn't enough for Mick...

"You're holding out on me!"

"I smell more turkey"

 

"I think this might be a better angle."

"JACKPOT!  Thank God they haven't trimmed my claws like the keep promising!"

Needless to say, Mick won out on the thievery.  I valued my face more than getting the turkey back.  Now, if you will excuse me, it sounds like Mick is tearing up aluminum foil.  Apparently he likes left over dinner rolls...

far from sleepy

You know you're tired when at 6:45 am you pass a homeless man sleeping in a sleeping bag on the ground...and you're jealous.

Cabrini Blvd

Needed a break.  My head has been murky lately and I had to get out.  Strapped on my shoes...threw my camera over my shoulder...and headed north on Cabrini Blvd.  The views always surprise me...even after 10 years of living here.

--hudson river

--the jokes on them...

--hudson river

--george washington bridge

--continuing on cabrini

--fort tryon park: entrance to heather gardens.  i'm not lying.  that is what it's called

--seems like it might be spring...

--tall and stark

--reminds me of a spider web

Is the grass greener?

...apparently it is.  Just ask my cats.

Every morning we feed Mick and Josie a 1/2 of can of wet food.  They both get the same thing. If one gets chicken...they both get chicken.  If one gets turkey and salmon, they BOTH get turkey and salmon.  

So tell me, why do they start out eating their own food but end up eating each others when the their sibling is out of the room?  Why do they start eating their sibling's food when they haven't even come close to finishing their own???  Apparently they each think the grass is greener on the other side...or the food is more savory out of a bowl other than their own...

I often get the "grass is greener" syndrome when I am at a restaurant.  Some how the husband's food is ALWAYS better than mine...I just didn't think feline experienced it as well.  

"Feed me and no one gets hurt"

 - Mickey Mantle

"WOMAN!  Why is my dinner NOT cooking?!?"

 - Josie aka Bean

Towers

On a day that feels very heavy, my heart goes out to all who lost a loved one 7 years ago today.  May our country one day heal.  May we all reach for unity, peace and love.

Stop the Whining

There is all this talk currently in the Presidential Race about " whiney women".  Palin made it very clear how she felt about Hilary Clinton.  In my un-humble opinion there is lots of double standards in relation to the gender card...but this is not what I am peeved at.

Believe it or not, it's sports related.  This is about Curt Schilling, King of the Whine.  Before I met the husband I was just a simple girl who loved football and the Packers.  (and now the Jets. That doesn't sit too well in this household since the husband is a Dolphins fan)  The husband introduced me to baseball and the Yankees.  I learned baseball by way of the Yankees.  I am a good student.  I am a loyal Red Sox hater.

But, as much as I love to see the Yankee's whip the Red Sox and as much as I like to see the Patriots lose...I never wish a player to go down.  Bitter Schilling has his head so far up his back side he doesn't know if he is shouting or farting.  

If rooting for a team other than the Pats makes me a bitter fan, then so be it.  I guarantee I will be rooting for Farve and the Jets next weekend.  

"Hey, Curt, stick a bloody sock in it!"

Gratitude

When one is struck with great emotional pain it is incredibly difficult to find gratitude. Jay and I suffered a painful loss on Thursday and it almosts feels as if my heart will not recover.

But, in the past 2 days I have had glimpses of gratitude. I have learned over the years that the best time to make a gratitude list is in times of despair. It doesn't take my pain or grief away but it does help ease it.

Here are my ABC's...

A - Advil
B - Beast (aka mickey)
C - Crista
D - Dragon Puff
E - Elastic waistbands
F - Farve #4
G - Guffawing at my husband
H - Higher Power
I - In-Laws
J - James Clifford Haddad
K - Karaoke
L - Love
M - McQuillan
N - Naps
O - Oak Trees that I can't get my arms around
P - Pancakes and Potatoes (MASHED) I have had both today.
Q - Queen of all the Beans (aka Josie)
R - Rain
S - Starbucks
T - Tenney
U - Uncle Fred, "Stiff upper lip."
V - Vacation to WA
W - Waterworks
X - Xylophone...yeah, I know it's weak...but cut me some slack!
Y - Yams - candied - preferably my mom's
Z - ZeeZee plant - I bought one today in honor of Puff

the joy of creating

Shame...

I have stopped singing, dancing, acting, performing...I haven't opened my mouth in a full belt in over 2 years.  I haven't done a step-touch in God knows how long.

Where has my creative girl gone?  Is she sleeping?  Is she afraid?  Did she just get so burned out that the creative voice is now just a pile of ashes?  It's almost like I never knew how to sing...how to express.

Do I miss it?  I don't know.  

What kind of answer is that?  I wish I could tell you.

I have been asked to sing again.  A demo.

Fear comes up.

Shame comes up.

My old acronym for FEAR???  F**k Everything And Run...

I think it's time to dust the ashes off and find the voice that enjoyed soaring.

I stole this blog from my husband

Flashback: Two nights ago, we had a delicious rotisserie chicken for dinner. After which, we threw the remains in the garbage.

Fast forward to: Last night, I tied up said garbage and left it by the door to take out the following morning.

Fast forward to: This morning around 5:30am, my wife wakes, sits up and says, "Oh, Bean threw up on the bed!" I wake with these words, but upon further review (my wife in her blindness, poking at the mess) we discovered she hadn't thrown up at all. It was a chicken leg- mysteriously similar to one consumed two nights prior. I ambled down the hall, and my suspicions we confirmed: the little brat had chewed through the bottom of the garbage bag and removed an early morning snack for herself.

Flashback (presumed): Bean, sauntering down the hall in the early morning darkness, chicken bone in jowls, howling away- as she is want to do when she is holding things in her mouth.

This female feline of many nicknames (her real name is Josie, after all) has deservedly earned another: Princess Drumstick, as so dubbed by my wife.

The button to the story is that later I discovered that Mickey Mantle, the masculine feline presence in the house, had indeed thrown up in his room down the hall. Thanks for bringing it all home, Mick.

SAUSAGE!

Crank Day

I couldn't decide what to wear today.  Things were too hot, too tight,  too uncomfortable.  After 4 outfits...finally, I make it out the door.  This is a tale tell sign of my mood.

It's freakin' hot and muggy right now.  As soon as I walk out the door into the swamp, my hair resembles an overgrown chia pet.

My 30 minute train ride was accompanied by a Snoop Dog wanna be.  For 30 minutes he rapped along with his ipod.  "...cause your moving too fast and your ass is too fat...know what I mean...I'm the shit...I'm the shit...my swag, my swag, my swag, my swag"  

I am almost homicidal by the time I get to 59th St.

Why do parents pierce their baby's ears?  

Cigarette smoke on a 90 degree day with 67% humidity.  Someone choke me.

Ordering a Portabella Mushroom and Spinach Quesadilla only to find out after you return to the office that they forgot the spinach.

People stepping on the back of my flip flops AND NOT APOLOGIZING!  

I'm seriously close to homicide.  

Clearly these are serious problems to have...

The Fighting Irish

Here is Irish.  

She is 20.

In human years...you would be 96.

This girl is amazing.  

Rats

I get to order supplies for a corporate company.  Now, being the supply kleptomaniac that I am, this is a treat.  Paging thru catalogues and surfing the employee site feeds every bit of shop-aholic inside of me.  I get the power to decide what pens you use and if you get to write on college ruled paper or grade-school "I'm learning how to write the alphabet" ruled paper.   I get to decided if I want to have plastic covered paperclips, which are very girlie, or the sterile metal clips, which come in two options...smooth or rippled for better gripping.  I am prone to get the girlie ones just for spite.  I get the executive decision of picking out staplers, tape dispensers, pens, pencils, scissors, letter openers, rulers, notebooks, highlighters...the list goes on.  I also get to buy the organization tools to make the supply closet pristine.  If only I had a corporate account at "The Container Store" the office supply closet would far surpass my closet at home.  In fact, it already does surpass my home because the items I purchase are "free".  There is no need to enter the $800.00 bill into my spreadsheet at home...or at least conveniently place the receipt on the pile of disorganized papers on my desk at home waiting to be entered into my spreadsheet.  

There is always a small thrill placing that order...and excitement that rips thru my body knowing that very soon pastel colored post it's will be sitting on my desk waiting to be used. 

The downside of my pristine supply closet are the rats that invade it.  The rats that invade my work of art are the mature corporate geniuses that work for my corporate company.  They are geniuses to me because they work in Technology.  That is a word that doesn't sit will with me...Technology...it's all so matter of fact, such a science, such a garbly gook language, that only a mind resembling a vortex could operate within Technology.

These genius rats invade my closet with no respect for the art of organization, the art of the order, or the art of genius it takes to order just the right pen or just the right ergonomically fit stapler.  They tear thru the plastic coverings on the post-it notes only to leave behind the garbage like a overused tissue.  They empty boxes of pens only to leave the torn up boxes cluttering the shelves.  I guess since rats don't have opposable thumbs they are unable to open the boxes that hold the pens like a considerate human.  No, they need to shred the box into smaller pieces to grab the pen in their mouth and scurry out of the room before anyone shines a light on them.  

Which brings me to another thing...where is the rats nest that holds all the supplies?  Without a doubt I will proudly carry the shiny new supplies to the supply closet and put everything away with great care and thought, only to return 3 days later to find only crumbs  and droppings left.   Where have they gone?  Where is the King Rat and why is he demanding that the closet be emptied as soon as it is full?  How does he know that it is full?  Damn him, and damn his followers...they love stealing everything and leaving a mess in their wake only to have this college graduate clean up their mess and start the process all over again.  

I am convinced that this huge corporate company has rats.  I base my conclusion on that no human being I know would ever make such a mess at such an upstanding company and expect another person to clean it up.  Everyone here is respectable and kind and wouldn't scurry to a dark corner once a light hits  their beady little eyes...

The A Train

Tourist run amuck in the city.  They slow you down, they get in your way, they bring their children...

..riding the train when a family of 4 get on board.  They were strapped in with their fanny packs and sneakers.  They were blonde and blue eyed complete with 1 boy and 1 girl.  The boy, about 7, clearly enjoyed too many Chicken Mc Nuggets.  

As they rode the train the chubby one was swinging on the pole. All of a sudden he stopped dead in his tracks and started staring at me.  Then, to my amazement, he stuck his tongue out and licked the pole!  LICKED THE POLE!!  I looked at his parents and they were paying him no mind.  

I looked back at the chubby one and he had this maniacal look in his eyes and he stuck his tongue out again and proceeded to clean the pole, all the while he was staring at me.  I made a face at him like,  "EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW, no, no, no, no, no, NO....GROOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSS!"  I then mouthed, "Don't do that!"

The chubbster then lifted his fat little hand and flipped me off.  FLIPPED ME OFF!!!  I gasped..he laughed.    

Go ahead kid, lick away.  Lick your fat ass off. 

Creature from the Black Legume

Here is The Bean. It was brought to my attention that Mickey Mantle had made an appearance and Bean did not. Mickey is a showman. He loves the spotlight. Bean, not so much. There was much forcing to capture this shot of her. Lot of flying fur and meowing. Her real name is Josie. It's a long story of how she went from Josie to Bean. I blame the husband, the nickname fanatic. He can tell you the path on his own blog if he wishes.

I am still picking fur out of my mouth from trying to capture the money shot. eck

Ignorance is bliss?

New York City's Board of Health approved a measure that will require restaurants in the city with 15 or more locations nationally to display calorie count information next to menu items. The New York Post quotes Margo Wootan, nutrition policy director of the Center for Science in the Public Interest: "It's going to get a lot easier to make informed choices at New York City's chain restaurants this spring."

This sucks.  

I can no longer feign ignorance that my chocolate chunk cookie from Starbucks is no big deal.  It hits the charts at a "measly" 420 calories.  

NYC as of March 31st has begun to post the calories of items on their menu.  I have to say...it makes a difference.  My choices have been altered.  I went into Chipotle on Saturday craving a steak burrito bowl.  mmmmm...beef.  My usual:  Steak, rice, black beans (my mouth is watering), tomato salsa, hot sauce, sour cream and guacamole.  All of that = deliciouso.  As I stood in line I saw that my burrito bowl, depending on what I get, could range from 250 calories to 850 calories.  850 calories?!?! Holy Crap!!!  I changed my order.  I dropped the sour cream and guac and half the rice.

One of their slogans is "Contains Only Real Food".  Yep...if you aren't careful, real fattening food! 

Today, I stopped at Starbucks with my dear friend Cristina.  We had been shopping at a flea market and desperately wanted something cool to drink and something sweet to eat.  We 'settled' for 2 double chocolate chip cookies.  (1 for each)  They are 2 bite cookies at 80 calories a pop.  I hate to admit that the tiny cookie was amazingly delicious.  I had it finished by the time I got out the door. As a sugar addict I was bummed that the experience was over but by the time I hit the next block I was happy that I hadn't consumed another 340 calories.  

In a way, I am grateful to know how much I am putting in my body.  Awareness is key.  I also know that when I actually commit and purchase my 420 calorie chocolate chunk cookie (and I WILL!) I will savor every last crumb...

I just won't commit as often.  

Hill

Answer me this...

When is it strength and perseverance and when are you just beating a dead horse and causing damage to the entire party?

Woof

Dog lovers, UNITE!


I am a huge dog lover. I have a lot of friends who say they are also dog lovers. But I ask you this...how can you be a true dog lover if you discriminate?!?


A dear friend of mine, let's call him Samson, had some discriminatory comments about the dog that appeared on my blog. "Get rid of that 'explicit' awful teeny tiny dog. Didn't you meet any nice Labs or Retrievers or Corgis on your walk? You know - real dogs?"


Now, I love Samson, but how can he call himself a dog lover if he can't love ALL dogs? Why doesn't a Yorkie or a Dachshund get the same street credit as a Bernese Mountain or a German Shepherd? Is a Bulldog better than a Pug? Where do you draw the line? Is it height? Is it weight? How about the color of fur?


My brother-in-law, let's call him Carl, has the same idea. If a dog needs to wear a sweater in the winter, then it's not, 'you know - a real dog'!


Another friend states that he loves dogs...unless you can punt them.


I believe that all dogs have hearts as big as the world...not matter how big or small they are. They will always love you and always be waiting with baited breath to hear your keys in the door no matter how much they weigh or how big their paws are.











So, God bless the mother who could love this face...

Toast and Jam

About a year and a half ago my husband and I decided to get creative while painting a room in our apartment. I saw the room as a retreat from the rat race of the city. A place to close the door and find some peace and serenity. I wanted warm corals...the sense of calming warmth. We carefully chose "Mexican Chile" for the ceiling, "Guava Jam" for the walls and white trim. It was perfect...in theory.

Reality was that it was nuclear. It burned our retinas. It caused headaches. The ceiling turned out to be a red-ish terracotta...the walls looked like an diseased salmon died, became bloated and then exploded. I cried for days. All that freakin' hard work WASTED. The room just pissed me off.

I shunned it for a year and a half.

After some time the scabs of defeat healed and the scars finally disappeared and we were finally ready to try again. (actually, it was out of sheer laziness of not doing it sooner) We decided to leave the ceiling as is. (again, out of sheer laziness) We chose to paint the walls in a warm brown, "Toasted Wheat". After 2 coats of primer and 2 coats of "toasted wheat" the room is as I always saw it. The nuclear glow seeping out the door is gone. Peace has re-entered into the apartment and I can escape. Maybe, just maybe, I will sit on my meditation pillows and check the outside rat race at the door...

...and tend to the rat race in my head.

Coffee Break

My prescription for a "crap mood"...take a walk thru Central Park and have a cappuccino...

Meet Cappuccino. She was just a tad resistant to the camera. Adorable and consumable!

Cappuccino's Dad was all to happy to 'assist' in her photo shoot.

Go Blue!

Watched the Final Four last night...

They all wore blue. Did anyone else notice that? So...the big question about Monday night's Championship game...who will wear predominately blue and who will where predominately white with blue accents?

My prediction:

Memphis will wear white.

Kansas will wear blue.

Oh...and Memphis will take the cake.

Fever

Spring...

I am awaking from the dead. The earth is warming, my senses are clearing and I have the fever. We all feel it.

I went for a walk today, on this brisk, crystal blue sky day, in the park close to my apartment. Everyone was out...moms, dads, couples, teens, babies, dogs, runners, squirrels, guys, bikers, women, picnic-ers, basketball players. There was 1 birthday party, for "Michael". Just follow the soccer themed signs to find the party.

I tend to like to tune the city noises out. I am never far from my ipod. It is another appendage. Thank goodness I left it at home. Missing the birds sing would have been a tragedy.

Disappointment

I forgot to get wet cat food. Instead of wet food in the morning he and is sister will have to eat dry food. He's not pleased.

Rotten Eggs

Not sure what is up with my stomach but it dictates my life. Food is never far from my mind. I freakin' love food.

Except oysters, the slimy bastards. I would rather vomit than eat oysters. In fact, I might throw up if I do eat one so let's just skip that whole experiment. The other thing I hate is egg yolks...also makes me throw up. When I was a kid my dad often made fried eggs. I would only eat the whites. Well, one day Pops got offended at my snub of the yolks and insisted I eat my yolks. I started bawling and screaming "I'll throw up, please don't make me!!!!!!!!" My dad wasn't going to let this one go and said, "Eat the damn yolks." (swearing added for effect) I do the dirty deed...sobbing like a drama queen...and then proceed to project bile all over the kitchen table.

Payback's a bitch.

I have a very active gag reflex. If I see someone tossing cookies the gaging starts and one needs to stay clear of a possible chain reaction. My 'loving' husband loves to test this out on me. His favorite trick is to dry heave in my presence just to watch me gag and heave involuntary in response. Ah, stupid human tricks. We are a great team at a slow party.

Well, I started out writing a completely different blog but all this talk of vomit has stolen all of my creative juices...so to speak.

Until next time...

Balancing on Noodles

I can't move. I blame the gym.

I have never been one who likes to exercise. As a child, between the age of 6 - 12, I was a huge swimmer. And I don't mean my size. I think I weighed all of 20 lbs wet. I was a maniac swimmer because my mother wanted her daughter to go to the Olympics. I had a 'backstage' mom of the swimming world.

What does a 8 year old do at swim practice when they are training to be an Olympic swimmer? Swim...swim, run, run stairs, lift weights...yes, you heard correct, lift weights. I can't remember what I bench pressed at 8, but I am sure I could have whipped your 8 year old ass. I digress...

I don't like to exercise. I didn't at 8...I don't now. But as a health conscious adult I know that it is best to keep a healthy heart by pumping some extra blood into it. It also keeps me from tripping on a flabby, saggy ass.

I haven't been in a long time...a very long time. I am the queen of excuses of why I can't go...I'm too tired, my stomach hurts, my knees ache, I just washed my hair...but, the Gods spared me of all excuses today and I went.

As bedtime is approaching I am wondering how I am going to step into the shower without a step ladder. I look forward to resting the weary body in my delicious bed. And as I wake tomorrow I will begin to think of every excuse that will take precedence over my presence at the gym.

Manicure anyone?

Signs

There is a new tradition in my apartment now that I am married. Spring Training has begun and "Field of Dreams" must be watched.

I don't think I ever realized (back in '89) that it wasn't just about baseball.

Listen.

Be willing.

Trust.

...all things that are against my nature...