The Cats Say It's Time to Go

My bubbe dislikes cats. She says that they are "false, and hypnotize
you." Dana's cats, though, are pretty honest. They are sending clear
signals to my allergies that it is time for me to go.

I had a great time. The monster truck rally rocked. I ate lots of junk food. I went to a mall. I had brunch with Maren. Dana and I watched home movies of us as
kids that I just had transferred from 8 mm film on to DVD. One of the films turned out to be of my mom's 30th birthday and another was of Dana's 1st birthday, which was cool because Dana's 30th birthday is today. (Happy birthday, chooch!) Most important, I spent lots of time with Marcus, who is a little thief. Yes, he stole my heart. (Cue the cheesy music.)

But now it is time to go. My eyes itch. My nose is stuffed. My ass is frozen. Sadness. Fortunately, Marcus's 1st birthday is just around the corner, so I'll see everyone again in April or early May in Chicago to celebrate the little bugger. Yay!

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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Monster Trucks!

My sister's 30th birthday is Monday. Back before I remembered how bad winter is in the midwest, I decided that I would visit her over the holiday weekend and join her celebration. Living in New York has spoiled me. Sure, it gets cold here and snows, but this is kid stuff compared to what I grew up with in the Chicago area. I have become soft.

I expressed my fears to Dana. She told me to wear layers. I laughed. "It's 25 degrees here and I am already wearing a hat, scarf, down coat, lined mittens, tights, knee socks, leather boots up to my knees, jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and a sweater (and, of course, undies). I am still cold." She laughed. "Damn, you're a wuss."

And speaking of wusses, when she told me a few days ago that she would like to celebrate her birthday at a monster truck rally, I hesitated. Part of me was really, really, really excited. The other part feared the Confederate flag waving, pick up truck riding majority of the audience. I assumed that I had enough sense of self-preservation not to get into a fight with anyone, but who knows? I challenged a fucked up Jamie Kennedy at his own documentary. (Not that he was a threat, but it shows that when I feel insulted, I don't think before I open my mouth.)

However, excitement got the better of me, and I cannot wait! Not only does the show feature truck stars Killer Bee, Rislone Defender, Bar’s Leaks Eliminator, Storm Damage, "the ever so popular monster truck 'The General,'" but - but! - if we arrive early enough, we can take a family ride on a monster truck known as Bone Crusher. Fuck, this will be amazing. Bring on the monster trucks!

Now, if only my flight gets there OK, given all the snow, and equally importantly, gets me back on Monday...

Blizzard!

As of this middle of the night writing, New York City is expected to get up to 14 inches of snow. Husband and I had tickets to a Michael Jackson tribute show put on by my favorite cover band production house, The Loser's Lounge. Before I left, I spoke with my family (via Skype - I feel so tech savvy, years after the fact...), and they suggested we stay in.

"Dudes, this is NYC!" I assured them. "The subway will be no problem."

This was accurate. The subway came and got us there in a timely fashion.* It was actually nice to wander around as snow came down. The sidewalks and street were quiet, devoid of traffic. The show rocked. We had tea afterward, then journeyed through the blizzard home.

Anyway, the show was one reason why I hadn't made plans to travel home this weekend. (Another reason is that my in-laws were supposed to come to our place in the afternoon and have a belated Hanukkah celebration, but that was canceled due to said blizzard. The main reason, though, is that I'm exhausted from school and work and writing and just needed to sit around and rest.) My sister and nephew are at my parents' house this weekend, and I really wanted to go. Now I'm relieved that I didn't make plans. Even if I got out last night or this morning, I can't imagine being able to get back in time for work on Monday.

All that got me thinking about the passengers who are stranded at airports around the country due to the storm. I felt bad for them. Then I read an article on CNN.com that noted that Greyhound canceled 300 routes from New England to Jacksonville, FL, stranding lots and lots of people at Greyhound bus terminals. The Red Cross has been called for assistance. Yeah, that is one of my worst nightmares.

*This will no longer be possible in the spring. Thanks to gross mismanagement of the Metropolitan Transit Authority under 12 years of Republican "leadership,"** major service cuts are to be implemented.
**Although Husband points out that if Democrats were in control, the situation would be just as bad because the state is so fucking corrupt.

What Happens in London, Goes on My Blog*

As always, London was brilliant. I am sadder than ever that Husband's potential job in London fell through last summer. I so adore it.

My flight landed a bit early on Thursday night, customs was empty, and the tube came almost right away, so I arrived at my friend Mara's doorstep around 9 pm. We hung out with another friend of hers, then went out to meet a crowd of randy Brits for drinks. (I even had a Pimm's, which horrified the experienced drinkers, as they informed me, "Pimm's is a summer drink." However, they were even more horrified to discover that otherwise I rarely, if ever, imbibe.)

Friday, Mara and I hung around her neighborhood until the afternoon. Then we had fish and chips at The Golden Hind in Marylebone (which is the neighborhood Husband and I planned to move to before the deal fell through). On the way, we walked through a festively decorated passage:After eating, we decided to eat more, and went to Borough Market, where I saw pheasants for the first time:I also ate many samples of cheese and the most delicious custard tart ever ingested.We then wandered around a bit, then called it a day and had dinner at her flat. (Mara is an amazing cook.)

On Saturday, we headed out early to try and eat breakfast at Gordon's Wine Bar, which is thought to be the oldest wine bar in London, and literally is partly in a cave. However, it didn't open until 11, and we were planned to take a walking tour at 10:30, so we dived into a little cafe instead.

The walking tour was excellent. I learned about the installation of London's sewer system after the summer of "The Great Stink," when the Thames was so rancid that members of Parliament could not open their windows. I also learned that the Waterloo Bridge was built by an all-women crew, since the men went off to WWII. Shockingly, it still stands today:I mean, who'd've thunk that women could do construction 'n' shit? Sigh...

I also got a brilliant shot of the original Scotland Yard from the 5th floor terrace of Royal Festival Hall, which is a great public building in and of itself:
(It's the reddish brink one.)

Next, we went through an area revitalized and operated by the Coin Street Community Corporation, a community development group. The organization does affordable housing, social services, and commercial space. I have no idea what all this carved wood was about, but I loved it:The whole thing once again made me sad that a) I didn't move there, as I would love to work for an organization like that; and b) that I won't work in community development directly with my new job. Oh well.

Finally on the walking tour, I loved this collection of M. Potato Heads in someone's arched doorway:Mara had to work on Sunday, but Husband came into town for work, so I spent the day with him. We headed east to see an exhibit of works by Sophie Calle (totally brilliant) at the Whitechapel Gallery, then beigels with salt beef (aka corned beef) at my favourite bagel place in the world, Brick Lane Beigel Bake. On the way to the gallery, we passed the smartest store awning ever: Husband loved that the banner above it advertised a weight loss clinic. Down the street, we saw:Full (from beigels, not Tubby Isaacs jellied eels), we headed back to the fancy area near our hotel, stopping at Selfriges Department Store's Really Really Great Garage Sale, which took place in the car park. I am honestly not sure what the hell it was - lots of random junk on tables, and some women kept trying to get me to buy a word process for 5 GPB - but it did have, uh, reindeer:
And that was my whirlwind weekend in London. Yes, I cried on the tube as I headed toward the airport on Sunday night. The good news is that Steph is coming to stay with me this weekend, so that will be fun. It's always easier to come back from a trip when there are other good things to look forward to.

*For the most part...

Visiting the Queen

Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?
I've been to London to visit the Queen.
Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there?
I frightened a mouse under her chair.

Yes, today I am on my way to London to visit my friend Mara, who is a queen in my mind. (I hope, however, to not encounter any mice, under her chair or wherever.) I have not seen Mara or her adorable daughter or amusing husband in over a year, so I booked my flight with frequent flier miles a few weeks ago, hoping that if I found a job before then that I could work around my trip. So far, so good. I only wish that my class schedule had permitted me more than a long weekend trip.

Husband actually will also be there for work, although he is not arriving until Sat. and I depart Sunday night. We have jolly times planned with lots of eating and wandering around and museum-going. I shall post pictures.

I adore London. Last summer, it seemed that Husband would move there for work for four years, and although it scared me a little to leave the US, I became very excited about the adventure. Once I got into it, of course, the plan was called off. Logistically, that's good since I wound up going back to school and I didn't want to live away from Husband for months at a time, and then my sister had a baby and I'd never get to see him if I lived so far away. But I'm still a bit sad that it didn't work out. Maybe another time. In the meantime, I'll enjoy my trip.

Discoveries and New Projects

First, the important things - here are pictures of Marcus from my visit to my parents' house this weekend:With Great Grandma in the car.
On Tante Suzanne's lap in Grandma and Grandpa's living room.
With Daddy and Grandma in the kitchen.

Of course, I think my nephew is perfect. I stupidly wore a sweater that is dry clean only, and he did not spit up or drool on me. Clever baby!

When I was not fawning over Marcus, I looked through a trove of documents that my dad had stashed away. They turned out to have critical testimonies from my grandparents about how they spent their years before, during, and immediately after World War II. I now have a comprehensive timeline of where they were and what they did. This should make my thesis (which is about my family) so much richer. I still have so many unanswered questions, though.

My return home also will allow me to start a new online project. When I was last there in July, I found a notebook containing my first "novel," the writing of which I am dating (through scientific methods like context clue guessing) to 8th grade. It is a hilarious, tragic, cringe-inducing story of friendship, bullying, and crushes. This afternoon I shall create a blog for it, and type up a new chapter every day (or as often as time permits). Yes, my new career as a YA author awaits... ha ha ha.

Speaking of Licking...

On Saturday, I discovered that Del Monte made Daniel Craig-sicles on Britain. According to The Daily Mail, the frozen treats were available from June 1 to June 7. Curses! (I am incredibly impressed at the artistry that went into the popsicles - they really look like Daniel Craig in Casino Royale!)

Anyhow, that afternoon, Husband and I went to David Farmland with Alex Elliot, her husband, and their two kids. I am as impressed by Davis Farmland as I am by the Craig-sicles. The animals were all very well-behaved (including the human ones also visiting) and I enjoyed petting goats, sheep, and calves.

One calf, in particular, really seemed to like me and would not stop licking me, including my butt as I bent down to pet another calf:





She even licked my armpit, which was more than enough for me - I finally left the calf pen. I bet that calf would also have enjoyed a Daniel Craig-sicle, though.

Chai Anxiety

Today's Urban Dictionary word of the day is chai anxiety. I can't say that I meet their definition of chai anxiety (anxiousness caused by too many coffee shop options), but it did seem oddly fitting for me and all the other women in my family. We are definitely people who carry around a lot of anxiety in general, although lately we are justified in feeling extra-anxious.

My nephew Marcus is still in the hospital, recovering from necrotizing enterocolitis (NEC). However, he was finally allowed to eat breast milk yesterday, after a ten day course of IV feeding. The process of re-introducing food is slow: his allowance was 1/3 of an ounce every four hours to start. He will be in the hospital until at least Saturday.

My sister and her husband have been amazingly strong throughout the ordeal. Ryan had to return to work this week, so Dana is holding up the fort by herself now. She will go to the NICU every day alone to be with Marcus. My mom and I wanted to be there this week, but she has work and I have an interview tomorrow (and hopefully one or two more before the week is over). I'm flying out on Friday, and staying until Tuesday, June 16. My mom is taking the train on Saturday and staying through the following weekend, when my dad will join her out there. We are all hopeful that Marcus will be home for Father's Day.

It's a long story how my mom came to her Amtrak reservation (she's on the California Zephyr - how awesome is that?!?!), but she's never taken the train before. "Did she spazz out about her luggage?" my sister asked me when I explained the travel arrangements. My sister knows our mom too well - her chai anxiety was sky high when I booked her train ticket. In rapid succession, she asked me whether there was a bathroom on the train, if food was available, and how the luggage is handled, the luggage being a sticking point. I assured her that a porter could help her place her suitcase in the luggage rack. Still, she worried about the luggage.

We could all use a nice cup of tea to calm our chai anxiety.

Off the Beaten (Subway) Track: The Tour

The debut walking tour for Off the Beaten (Subway) Track was a smashing success! It was organized by the New York City Transit Museum, and all 30 slots sold out. The motley crew of explorers journeyed with me to the Socrates Sculpture Park, past a dental studio that displays weird dentures in its window, into the Cathedral of St. Demetrios to see the saint's ankle bone, through the Louis Armstrong House Museum, and onto the Queens Museum of Art. In between, we stopped at the Euro Market, at a pizza place, and at the Lemon King of Corona for refreshments. (The tour was blurbed in Time Out New York, too!!!)

Husband took many photos, including this one of me proudly leading the troops across the street:


I wore a ridiculous wide brimmed hat with a big red flower on it so that people could spot my short head in a crowd:


Plus my hat kept the sun off my ghostly face during the 88 degree day. It's the same hat I wore throughout my trip to India two years ago. I bought it when I was in high school, thinking it was the height of style. Now it is my touring hat. I still believe it is the epitome of fashion.

Lord, I Was Born a Rumbling Man

The less pleasant symptoms of my undiagnosed mysterious digestive ailment returned last week, making my life stink. These include:

• Gas that could kill infants, toddlers, and small animals;


• Explosive bowel movements that fill a toilet bowl; and


• Acid reflux.

Thus far I have been spared the once a month, wake up in the middle of the night vomiting that is so violent it comes through my nose. Unfortunately, I also have not experienced the only upside of this misery: weight loss!* Even more disappointing, my ailment strikes hardest during my free time. So while my evenings and weekends are spent groaning and trying not to smoke Husband out of the apartment with my toxic fumes, the stupid condition doesn't lead me to miss work. It's bullshit.

Still, the other odors in the air at the Allman Brothers concert that I attended on Friday night were far stronger than my noxious gases, so I didn't feel too self-conscious in that regard. The show did remind me how conservative I am at heart. Not only is smoking not permitted in public places in New York City, but the historic theater that the show was at was recently restored, so I was seething from the second the envelope of various smokes enrobed my head when when I walked through the lobby. People were also spilling their beers everywhere. Between the ashes and the beverage, I fumed about the useless of restoring the building. Plus, all the smoke gave me a headache and made my throat itch. Later, I fell asleep during one of the many jam sessions. I did groove to special guest Bruce Willis's harmonious harmonica, though. That was exciting.

Rumble, rumble.

*No need to worry, though, I'm just trying to look on the bright side of a bad situation; every cloud has it's silver lining; etc.; etc.)

Ridiculousness

It is approximately seven degrees in New York. I know that this is not nearly as cold as it is in Chicago or Iowa or other Midwestern or northern states, but for NYC, it is much colder than usual. Still, an intrepid friend who lives in Staten Island had a belated New Year's BBQ today. He made lamb and sausage on the grill on his terrace, which we ate inside. It was fun.

On the way to his apartment, Husband and I passed this house:

The picture makes it look like the house is supported by the Hummer, which makes me laugh. In person, however, it was clear that the stupid SUV is so fucking oversized that it is double the height of the car port.

Another ridiculous item I came across this weekend is the American Life League's protest of Krispy Kreme donuts for offering a choice of a free donut on inauguration day. According to the nutters, the words "freedom of choice" indicate that Krispy Kreme supports abortion on demand. Honestly, if a Southern-owned donut chain were that liberal, I'd freaking eat there all the time. Instead, this is just fucking stupid, albeit sort of funny (the comments on the post I linked to are gut busting). The pseudo-abortion link reminds me of king cakes, which are eaten in New Orleans at Mardi Gras. A plastic toy baby is baked into the cake, and whoever finds the baby in his or her piece gets good luck...

The last ridiculous thing that crossed my mind is how surprised I am that animal rights groups have not been protesting the way geese are being treated by the media covering the US Airways crash landing in the Hudson River. If geese are people too, then there were a lot of fatalities when the flock was decimated by the plane's engines. Fortunately, I haven't seen any groups suing on behalf of the geese. Maybe someone should alert the American Life League.

Enjoying California: A Pictorial with Rambling Commentary

Despite my unfortunate mislabeling of the previous post as "fun trips that are not fun any more" rather than "fun trips," I am having a great time on my jaunt through the sunny (albeit not overly warm) state of California.

Here Liz and I are outside the Museum of Jurassic Technology:

(I got my ridiculously fashionable coat on sale at Esprit during the snowstorm that prevented me from visiting Alex a few weekends ago. While shopping, '80s music was playing over the sound system and I felt like I was in junior high all over again - the setting and sounds were the same, although to be fair, I didn't shop at Esprit back in the day, as it was out of my price range, but I am majorly digressing here. The point is, the coat is cute and now too tight because I've eaten an enormous quantity of marzipan and other baked goods while on my trip.)

On my birthday (Saturday), we drive up to see Suebob. She showed us around her town and treated us to the yummiest tacos and guacamole ever. Her house is adorable, and I loved meeting Goldie, her sweet golden retriever. (Husband was not tormented by Goldie, so no worries.)

Then Husband and I headed to Santa Barbara, where we stayed at an overpriced hotel by the ocean. I decadently ate lobster tail for dinner. For dessert, Husband and I picked up marzipan petit fours from The Andersen, a Danish bakery, and ate it once the stupid hotel found a room for us with working heat. Luxury hotel my ass...


On Sunday, we started out bright and early and hit the little town of Solvang, which was founded by Danish immigrants who were sick of midwestern winters. The town remains 60% Danish, and is full of cheesy architecture that I loved. We bought more marzipan pastries from Olsen's, which displayed a ginormous gingerbread house:

From there, we drove up the road to a lavender farm that Liz recommended. It was heavenly, which of course means that we departed the sublime and descended into the grotesque. We made a pit stop at the world famous Madonna Inn (featuring a waterfall in the men's restroom as well as loads of pink decorations and ornate insanity around the hotel) on the way to San Luis Obispo, where we had to check out Bubble Gum Alley:


Then it was on to Hearst Castle, which was probably the most obscene place I ever visited. It is very nice that the man was generous to his guests, but damn. It is hard to say an ill word about the gorgeous indoor swimming pool, which had thousands of pieces of Venetian glass tile glowing under the water.

After a long day, what better way to relax than to spend the night in a spacious, heated yurt? (Maybe something with a bathro


Once we unpacked, we sat on the porch and gazed at the gajillions of stars in the sky. It was incredible! In the morning, I took this photo of our lodgings:


If it had a bathroom, it would have been perfect... Oh well. It was still a worthwhile experience. Husband and I hiked two short trails in two different state parks for breathtaking views of nature:



Winding up our sightseeing journey at Winchester Mystery House, designed by Mrs. Winchester (inheritor of the Winchester Rifle Co. fortune) to confuse the spirits of the people killed by Winchester rifles. Featuring doors that open into walls (or sheer drops, as seen below ), stairs that end at ceilings, and mysterious nooks and crannies, it was quite a contrast to Hearst Castle.


Last, but not least, Husband and I landed in Count Mockula's delightful home, where her sweetie cooked us a yummy meal, her adorable baby entertained us, and we savored after dinner hot chocolate before heading off to our (free) hotel, from which I am blogging right now while attempting to keep my eyes open. We'll see Kara and her family again tomorrow (and Suebob, too!), then head to San Francisco for a few days.

Good times!!! (Pictures can be made bigger by clicking on them. And thanks for bearing with this loooooong post.)

(Fictional) Police Dramas

During the snow storm that hit NYC this past weekend and prevented me from getting to Massachusetts to see the Alex Elliot family, Husband, cousin Rebecca (who is staying at our place while on winter break, which is very handy as she will take care of Tycho Bunnae while we are away), and I watched six episodes of season one of The Wire. Husband and I received the DVD set from my parents for Hanukkah. We love, love, love it so far. The plan is to watch the last seven episodes on Xmas Eve while eating corned beef, Chinese cuisine, or some other traditional Xmas Jew-y food.

Two years ago for Hanukkah and/or my birthday (memory fails me), my parents gave me the first two seasons of the mid-80s police show Hunter. This was, along with The Golden Girls, my favorite show back in the day. I'd babysit on Saturday nights, playing with the kids for the minimal time required, then watching the fine TV line up. During Hunter, I would call my friend/unrequited crush Jeremy, and we would watch the show together over the phone. Ah, those were the days!

Around this time last year, I blew many hours watching my Hunter DVDs, but did not get to see them all. Now that I have some time again, I popped in three episodes last night. While both shows have snappy dialogue and semi-rogue male cop leads partnered with impressive female detectives, compared to The Wire, Hunter seems a little ridiculous. Perhaps it is the 20 year time difference? The geographic disparities? The fact that almost every episode of Hunter ends with a car chase, Hunter shooting out the tires of the perp's car, and then the car blowing up? Whatever the reason, it is fun to watch.

Slipper When Wet

"Watch out when you go in the shower," my mom said to my sister on Saturday morning. "The tub is slippery."

"Duh! That's how tubs are!"

"No, really. The cleaning people came and removed five inches of soap scum, so it's extra slippery."

That said, I had a very nice visit today. My nuclear unit took in the latest movie starring my long lost twin Adrien Brody, Cadillac Records, which I enjoyed. Lots of food for thought. Then I obtained a new white turtleneck for a mere $7, which I will use to replace the stained one I've had since junior high.

For dinner, we celebrated my birthday at Red Lobster, which was a special treat for me. (Sometimes I just want to promote osmosis my eating salty cheddar biscuits. Ha ha - no really, my peach-bourbon BBQ shrimp and scallops were good.) Afterward, we had cake at home. Usually I love yellow cake with fudge icing from Jewel, the local grocery chain, but the cake I picked out wasn't so moist and the frosting detached from the cake in clumps. I took the opportunity to interview my grandma and bubbe about their families, though, and that was nice for the most part.

Assuming the weather is agreeable (it's supposed to rain), I'm heading back to my own ten inches of soap scum this evening, and I'm sad that it went by so fast, although I look forward to seeing Husband. And I got an upgrade on the flight back, so that will be nice.

The Hubris! The Hubris!

Assuming that I do not get messed up by a blizzard (an actual one, not the political one), I will be in the Chicago area this afternoon for a weekend visit with my family. Initially, Husband was to join me on Friday afternoon, and my sister and her hubby were to arrive on Friday night. However, Husband canceled due to a potential storm at work, and Dana and Ryan nixed their plans out of fear of potential weather conditions. So that leaves little old me.

Thanks to the political tornado that just roared through Chicago, I think it should be an interesting time to be there. Like most denizens of Illinois, I was never a huge fan of Blagojevich, but quite frankly, his Republican opponents for office were pretty much equally corrupt and disgusting. Or at least it seemed so when good ol' Blago was somewhat sane. There is only one explanation I can come up with for why a man who has been under investigation for corruption for three years would try to sell a Senate seat, pressure the Tribune to fire its editorial board, and demand high paying jobs: he's been driven insane by hubris. I sort of picture him in a muumuu in the heart of darkness,* whispering, "The hubris! The hubris!" as Fitzgerald tries to drag him out of his cocoon.**

Anyway, should be an interesting trip. Besides talking about politics,*** I plan to interview both my grandmothers about our family history. I'm sure that this will generate some colorful commentary, which I look forward to sharing.

*Springfield, IL, the state capital - if you've never been there, let me assure you that the best part about it is that the municipal parking garage near the capitol building was extremely cheap the last time I was there, which was spring 1994.
**Man, that would make a good parody movie, wouldn't it? Sort of Tropic Thunder meets All the President's Men.
***When I asked my bubbe what she thought about Blago's corruption, she said it was bad and then began ranting about how corrupt the Bush administration is. Forget falling fruit - sometimes the fruit is still hanging on the tree. I think this has many layers of meaning, but I'm rambling too much already.

Thanksgiving

With all that is going on in the world lately (and always, I suppose), it seems harder than ever to focus on the positive things in life at Thanksgiving. But maybe that's the point: it's a time to think about what is good and to ponder what one can do to make those good things go further.

Of course, as I typed this, I managed to gouge a large chunk of skin out of my kneecap. (Perhaps a reminder that I am better at cynical sarcasm and righteous indignity rather than sincerity?) So, I'm cutting my Thanksgiving post short to mop up the blood oozing out of my knee.

Hope you have a great day!

Circulation

It's 24 degrees outside, and an ominous sign that my hands are freezing although I have yet to leave my apartment. I'm heading down to Philly today to see my beloved Steph. We are taking in a Maurice Sendak exhibit, which sounds really cool. (A few weeks ago, Husband, my cousin, and I saw a Babar exhibit in NYC, so this children's book writer-illustrator exhibits are in vogue right now.) Husband was supposed to join me (and drive), but he hurt his back. Thus I am taking the bus.

Bolt Bus is only $10 to get there, and it has wifi, a feature that I will sadly not take advantage of since I don't want to lug my laptop around the museum, and it is way too cold to leave it in Steph's car. The downside to the $10 bus is that I have to wait for it outside. Did I mention that it is 24 degrees and my hands are already freezing although I have yet to leave my apartment?

Good Old Fashioned Fun

Tavern Night at the Queens County Farm Museum was fantastic! Husband and I were seated in the part of the farmhouse built in the 1770s. We shared a table with three other people. Two of them have attended the event for the past 14 years. The other woman was also a tyro. We talked about international affairs, travel, things to do in New York (I think they should have written Off the Beaten (Subway) Track instead of me!), and the newbie's family.

More important, the food was great. It was cooked in the fireplace/hearth in the room in cauldrons, iron spits, and copper pots. The fire kept the room toasty, and along with candles, served as the only source of lighting. I was fearful that there would be no bathroom in order to maintain authenticity, but fortunately no chamber pots or outhouses were required.

At the bar, I ordered a whipped syllabus. The drink is concocted with cream, egg whites, white wine, sugar, lemon juice, and lemon zest, then topped with meringue, nutmeg, and cinnamon. It was fabulous! Husband and I shared a hot buttered rum, which literally consisted of hot rum and a huge wad of butter that the bartender threw in. Husband also imbibed something called an orange shrub, which was insanely potent. One of the volunteers at the event (dressed in colonial garb, of course) told us that a cherry shrub is made by fermenting cherries in whiskey for three weeks, so I think that the orange shrub must be similar.

As for the fare, the menu consisted of:
- Fresh bread with freshly churned butter
- Pickled artichokes and cucumbers
- Black olives
- Cream of peanut soup (tasted like melted peanut butter - yum!)
- Roast beef with a brown sugar glaze
- Chicken fricassee
- King's Arms sweet potatoes (amazing)
- Maced green beans (pretty yummy)
- Cinnamon flop (a fantastic gooey cinnamon cake)
- Apricot fool (some sort of flavored whipped cream - delish)

Next year, we want to bring our in-laws. Husband and I think that Mother-in-Law, a former history teacher whose favorite musical is 1776, will love it.

Old-ness and New-ness

On Saturday, Husband and I journeyed down to Philadelphia to meet up with Steph for a haunted tour of the old part of town. I invited one of my new friends from school - let's call her Jill - to join us. It is very hard to sufficiently prepare people for the hurricane that is Steph. She met up with us about two hours after we arrived at Reading Terminal Market and stuffed our faces silly with Amish and other goodies.

Steph and I proceeded to horrify Jill with our loud discourse on whether it is more insulting to call someone a "snatchface" or a "cuntface." Steph, Husband, and I agreed that cunt was much worse, although Jill said that in the part of the world in which she grew up, "snatch" was a verboten word. My grandmother believes that "cunt" is a perfectly harmless word, but that "fuck" is an awful word that should never be used. Interesting, isn't it?

Today, another new friend from school - let's call her Vicky - and I went to Jill's to help her paint her very dark gray bedroom an off-white. I noticed that the word "fuck" was used on occasion, but not "snatch" or "cunt." Still, much laughter was laughed.

One common thread through this weekend, beside hanging out with friends, is eating. I ate a lot. I am turning into a real Flabby McFlabberstein. Of course, I would rather be a Flabby McFlabberstein than a Cunty McCunterson, but I should go to the gym more often and stop eating pancakes with peanut butter chips for dinner.

Speaking of Cunty McCunterson, the weekend also reminded me that I have far more comrades at school than enemies, so that makes me happy. To old friends and new!

Destiny and Alaska

College application time in the Reisman household was something of a battle of wills. We made a nice little tour of schools in the summer of 1993, motoring east to Boston to visit Boston University, then hopping a train to New York City to check out New York University. I think my dad hoped that once I saw how noisy, disgusting, and evil New York City was, I would come to my senses and shun the place. Instead, I left my heart in Greenwich Village, and my dad left the City with much stomach acid.

Upon the family's return to our quaint domicile at the side of the Edens Expressway (because there is nothing noisy or disgusting about living by a highway), my parents sat down with me at our ancient dining room table to discuss where I would apply to school. I read them my list, from first to last choice: NYU, BU, George Washington University (in DC), University of Iowa, and University of Illinois. "You are not applying to NYU," my father informed me.

Long story short, there was much yelling. A few weeks later, the University of Alaska at Fairbanks sent me a letter informing me that my ACT test scores qualified me to attend their fine institution of learning for free. I decided that if I could not apply to NYU, I would take them up on their generous offer and run away to the frozen tundra. My dad wrote me a check for NYU's application fee that night.

I reflected fondly on this piece of history today after reading the story and viewing the photos of yesterday's anti-Palin protest at Daily Kos. Had things turned out differently, I might have been bundled up and carrying my protest signs with Theo rather than wandering around a book festival sweating through my underwear in downtown Brooklyn on an uncharacteristically humid and sunny mid-September Sunday. Rock on, my fellow progressives!

Book Party and Belated Birthday Wishes

Today's my book party! Other than the fact that I look like a bloated version of the villainess from Superman II, I'm excited. Fun shall be had.

Also, I want to wish my cousin Rebecca a happy belated 21st birthday! The big day was last Saturday. I'll never forget the day she was born. Our family friends were visiting us (the Reisman clan) from Florida, and we were just getting ready to go out for the day when the phone rang. I was already outside, waiting in the driveway, and when I heard the news, I ran around the lawn like the lunatic I am. I was so excited to finally have a cousin! Anyway, Rebecca's been living it up in Dublin all summer, so I'm looking forward to seeing her in a few weeks when she returns to the states.

My family is here until tomorrow (which explains my blog absence for the last few days). In the meantime, I encourage everyone to submit a period story to Congratulations, You're a Woman Now! so that I have lots of good reading materials for when they depart.

Bad Medicine Must Make 'em Think They Have A Prayer

Husband and I attended Midsummer Night Swing at Lincoln Center last night for a disco night. As much fun as it was doing the hustle, it was equally fun watching men of a certain age hustle and try to swing. Some of these guys were very good dancers, too. Still, observing a guy who was probably in his mid-70s, wearing a brown printed silky shirt, a thick gold chain, sunglasses (even after the sun set), and a panama hat put his moves on women in their 20s and 30s was highly entertaining. Eventually, he settled for a woman who was in her late 40s or early 50s, but also an excellent dancer.

I asked Husband if he planned to haunt the stage for action after I died. He looked at me with genuine horror in his eyes, and frowned. "That's not going to happen," he said earnestly. We are going to die together when we are very elderly. We can hold hands."

Tonight, we are heading to Central Park for a free Bon Jovi concert presented as part of the All-Star Game festivities. There were 67,000 tickets issued, and the Great lawn only holds 50,000, so we are not sure if we will get in. My sinuses are killing me, so I didn't want to get there more than a few hours early, although it is a perfect July day.

Eco Chic or Homeless? And Life Repeats Itself

Whenever I visit my parents, I slip into a sweatshirt I bought at Venture (a Wal-Mart-type chain store in Chicago) in 1990. It has six little lessons about saving the planet with Peanuts characters doing their part. As we prepared to leave for the Taste of Chicago yesterday morning, my sister worried that it would be chilly downtown and she didn't have a jacket.

"You can wear my sweatshirt," I offered.

Dana wrinkled her nose. "No way! That thing is hideous!"

"What? What do you mean? This shirt is awesome! It's about the environment!"

Husband and Dana sighed, and tag team trashed my sweatshirt. "It's filthy," Husband said, pointing out 18 years of accumulated stains.

"It was cool in 1990," Dana sneered.

"You look homeless in it!" they said and nodded at each other.

"It's eco chic!" I insisted.

We decided to take a picture and let the blogosphere decide:

What do you think?

Regardless, Dana left the sweatshirt behind, and it turned out that she didn't need it anyway, as it was warm and sunny. Perfect weather for sharing copious amounts of food at the Taste. This included: cumin-dusted fries with mango chutney; mascarpone gelato; a banana and pork dumpling (Husband loved it; I nearly puked); breakfast pizza; regular pizza; and frozen toffee cheesecake dipped in chocolate on a stick.

After we had our fill, we went to visit Bubbe at her apartment. From there, it was birthday dinner at the Olive Garden for Granny. (Happy 85th!!!) My aunt present Husband with an early 32nd birthday present. She randomly bought him a red teddy bear named Husband, put it is a plastic skull that yelled, "Trick or Treat!" when you pop the cranium, and presented it to him. Unfortunately, he had to give the skull back.

Independence Day was capped off with a musical. My favorite musical, which I think I first saw 16 years ago and dozens of times until it closed in June 2000, is "Co-Ed Prison Sluts." It re-opened yesterday for a limited run, so I felt very fortunate to catch it. Dana and her hubby are as big fans as I, so we sang along and generally had a great time despite a slightly shaky cast.

Ah, reliving the 1990s!

One Man's Junk Is... Still Junk

(Not that junk, people!!!)

Sometimes near my apartment, homeless individuals will put a sheet, towel, or large piece of cardboard on the sidewalk and lay out a variety of items they've salvaged. The goal is to earn some pocket change by selling these treasures from the trash. I've always wondered if this actually yielded any sales until once Husband and I were walking by a now defunct OTB on 72nd Street and observed a man in a suit haggling with a homeless guy over the price of a broken toaster oven.

This method of sales seemed unique to the homeless population of New York City. However, this morning Dr. P and I went to the Swap Shop of Sunrise, FL, and I learned that other vendors use the same method to display their wares. Seriously, this was the crappiest flea market I've ever been to. (The nicest is the Aloha Swap Meet in Honolulu - that place kicks ass. The second crappiest is somewhere by O'Hare airport. There's an average flea market every Sunday on the backtop of a public school on 76th Street and Columbus Ave., but I digress.) Some vendors were normal, with tents and tables or stalls chock full of sunglasses, toiletries that "fell off the truck," and low quality underwear and linens. Others were a little fancier, inside the air conditioned hall. Others replicated the New York City Homeless Person Method of Selling Shit. They had large sheets or table clothes spread over their patch of pavement at the flea market and were selling items that clearly were on the overused side of used. Dr. P and I winced at the ones who lined the ground with second- (or third- or fourth-) hand car seats, which is really dangerous because buyers don't know if the product was damaged internally in an accident before. (I think it is even illegal to resell car seats in some states.)
Anyway, the whole flea market was quite a scene. There were even porn vendors.

After the flea market, we hit the beach. Happily, the water was super warm and we frolicked in the surf for a bit. I even didn't mind sitting on the sand. (I hate sand. A lot.) For some reason, my left arm and the back of my right hand burned, so we only stayed two hours. It was so nice to be in the refreshing breeze. (Incidentally, no one sold anything off their beach towels.)

Tomorrow, I'm heading back to NYC first thing in the morning. I can't believe the weekend is over already. Time sure flies when you are having fun looking at other people's used porn magazines.

Gone Fishin'

Husband and I are visiting Dr. P in southern Florida this weekend. I almost didn't make it here, though. As I was heading to the subway to go to the airport, I tripped on some unknown object and went flying. Unfortunately, I am not very good at remaining airborn, and quickly landed on the concrete plaza, smashing my knee, scraping my hands, and also getting mud on myself. Blah. Fortunately, the rest of the trip was uneventful, and I made it down in more or less one piece.

As we headed to Hollywood Beach for dinner and an evening stroll on the boardwalk last night, I noticed that we passed by the Fishing Hall of Fame and Museum. Boy, was I excited! I'm not sure I can convince Dr. P and Husband that this is something that we must go to, but I shall try my best. I'm sure that this fine establishment is chock full of fascinating information and wonderful moments in the world of fishing.

Something's Fishy in Here

A good general rule of thumb is to be wary of "fresh fish" in areas in that are not near bodies of water (other than polluted rivers). Disregarding this nugget of wisdom on Saturday, Steph, Husband, and I headed to a sushi restaurant for lunch at the King of Prussia Mall. Right in the entryway was a large fish tank:



I had a difficult time using Husband's camera phone, so in case the contents of the tank are not obvious from this blurry shot, I'll enumerate: those ain't fish. The tank is instead filled with empty bottles of alcohol. (This had no bearing on my poor camera skills, by the way.) Despite this glaring warning to turn back, we asked for a table for three. Here's Steph eagerly awaiting her bento box:



Isn't she adorable? Miraculously, none of us got food poisoning, and somehow the sushi was even OK tasting.

While waiting for my fishy meal, I did some math. I learned about the King of Prussia Mall and decided I must visit this enormous paean to shopping someday when I was approximately 16 years old and working at Chiron Publications. (A bookstore that seems to no longer be there frequently special ordered exciting titles like In the Ever After or Uncursing the Dark for customers, and I processed the orders.) Currently, I am 32. This means that it took me exactly half of my life to achieve my goal and go to this mall. I don't know if that is impressive or pathetic, but I can't say that I felt I accomplished anything important on my trip. It was fun, though.

Fun in the Sun

At the early hour of 10:45 PM on Friday, I met the train carrying my dear friend Alex at Penn Station. We stopped off on the way to my apartment to pick up some baked goods at the new Upper West Side Magnolia Bakery outpost, then chatted with Husband while stuffing yellow cake (chocolate frosting for Alex; pink frosting for me - in both cases, the cake was merely adequate) down our gullets. Husband packed it in around 12:30 AM, and Alex and I continued our conversation until 2:00. This is the latest night I have had in months.

Saturday morning was bright and sunny. Alex and I set out in a freezing wind to have brunch at a restaurant highly recommended by Sara. We were excited for our Meyer Lemon pancakes (Alex) and eggs and grits (me), but when the food finally came (worst.service.ever), they shorted Alex a pancake and my food was only OK. Still, it was a heavy meal, and we decided to walk it off in Central Park. Originally, we planned to run, but thought it was too cold to go out without coats. We were wrong, but enjoyed our 6 mile hike in the bright (albeit sort of cold) sunshine.

The evening was capped off at a party at sister-in-law's (SIL) 30th birthday party, in which a sommelier came to their apartment and told amusing stories about wine. The stories (and cheese and amazing cakes shaped like a wine bottle with SIL's name on it, a small cheese, and marzipan grapes) were the highlight of the evening for your teetotaling blog host. As usual, I ate too much and ended the evening with bad gas.

As there was more coldish sun today, Alex and I set out to run the reservoir in Central Park. We had a lot of fun, and it made me feel great. I haven't run in ages, thanks to sinus issues, the sea urchin spines in my feet, and general laziness. (It also made me miss Dr. P, who used to be my running partner when she lived in New York.) I resolved to start running regularly again.

And that's that.

Hungover

Last night, Husband and I binged on Scrabble. After a game with Brother-in-Law ended with my victory at 11:30 pm, he wisely called it a night. Following his departure, Husband challenged me to a one-on-one game, in which he throughly trounced me by a margin of 102 points. I called for a tie-breaker, which I won by a mere six points. It was 2:26 AM when we finished.

Our overindulgence in Scrabble came only one night after we had a barbecue spree. I swear I woke up on Sunday with a pork headache. However, it was worth it. The pulled pork, ribs, yams, and cheesy corn that I stuffed myself with were about the best you can get this side of the Mason-Dixon line. (Although nothing will ever better Jim Neely's Interstate BBQ in Memphis, TN. My meal there this past summer was one of the best three meals I ever ate.) Probably I should not have topped off with chocolate covered pretzels and chocolate covered cranberries while watching a version of Say Anything on TVLand that was so poorly cut, it was actually hard to understand what was going on.

As is always the case with a weekend spree, today is reckoning day. We are tidying up the apartment, Husband is going to help me apply for some jobs, and we'll hit the gym. I can't handle any more excitement, although I did eat left over sweet potatoes for breakfast with a side of Valentine's chocolate that I bought at the drug store yesterday for 50% off.

When You Are Out of Shirts, It's Time to Go

As always, time flies when I am having fun. I'm heading back to NYC tomorrow (Monday), and while I am very sad because I won't get to see Count Mockula again until the summer (the BlogHer conference is in San Francisco this year in July), I am happy that I had the chance to come out now and celebrate the impending arrival of her baby with her and her friends and family. Her friend Monkeygirl threw an amazing shower, and I loved hanging out with her all weekend. Mr. Count Mockula and Count Mockula Mom are awesome, too. (Actually, watching the Count Mockula Mom and Daughter interactions made me really miss my mom.) The whole weekend was wonderful!

While I hate to go back - and not only because I just discovered that the temperature in NYC is only 15 right now - it's time. Not only do I have to go back to my consulting jobs, but I ran out of clothes to wear already. Somehow I managed to pack three days of undies and socks and my pjs, Theo, and meds, but only brought one extra shirt. I suppose it is better that I packed the right amount of clean underwear, but there's really only so long I want to alternate between the shirt I wore on the plane on Friday and the shirt I wore to the shower on Saturday.

When I get back (or if I have a lot of time at the airport), I'll post my pictures from the trip. We drove around the Delta area on Sunday, and saw this amazing town that is frozen in time due to ridiculous legal issues over the land. I so wish that Count Mockula and I did not live so far away.

Get on Board

I've been awake for 20 hours, so please excuse any delirium that is above and beyond my usual ramblings. Happily, my flight to San Francisco was smooth and on time. After a long BART (subway) ride from one end of the system to the other, I was delighted to discover that Amtrak runs double decker trains in northern California. The ride to Sacramento was delayed (as I was warned it would be), but very lovely. Mountains, water, and all sorts of interesting things lay outside the high windows of the top deck as we sat around on the tracks.

Count Mockula looks utterly adorable as she waddles around. I finally met her friend Monkeygirl (who used to have a blog), and she is super fun. We had delicious Lebanese food for dinner. Desert was the best baklava I ever had. As usual, I ate too much.

Looking forward to the shower and possibly getting to meet Hectic Mom Undone while I am out here. Weekends rock.

Call Me the Morton Salt Girl

You know, when it rains, it pours? (Plus my language is certainly salty.) I went from worrying that I'd never have paid employment again to having more project offers that I can possibly calendar, but will anyway. Of course, some of the will likely fall by the wayside, so I likely won't be overbooked when the dust settles. And some of the things I hope will disappear, as they are for projects that drive me insane. (Those are the ones that I have to charge a lot for, as I need to build a legal defense fund in the event that I go batshit and throttle someone. Good lawyers cost a lot of money, although I suspect that any jury will grant me an insanity plea when they hear the details of some of this work.)

Yesterday, I went back to a due diligence gig from a few weeks ago. Mostly the work is boring financial analysis, so the hard parts are staying awake and getting all the data that I need. Gathering information from people is like removing a thorn from the paw of a lion. It only helps them in the end to let me extract what I need, but everyone acts like I'm asking them to sacrifice their first born. To make things easier, I even put together a chart for each organization in which they can just fill in the blanks. What is returned to me in nearly every case is a chart they designed that has different information in it. Yeah. If they don't have the info, they could save themselves hours by just telling me that instead of putting together of info that I won't use, which is why I didn't ask for it in the first place.

Today I had taught my first class at a university. It is a one credit, four week class at the City University about basic budgeting for child care businesses. I was very pleased. My goal is to help people learn this extremely boring shit in an entertaining way. I don't know if anyone learned anything this morning, but they were entertained, so I feel successful. Teaching is good. I should rustle up some other work like this in the future. The class ends at the end of the month.

Anyway, that's where my time has been going. Tomorrow I am over-the-top excited to go to Sacramento for Count Mockula's baby shower. I can't wait to see her and meet her family and friends. Since this exciting journey was brought to me by a voucher Husband had for a free flight, I will be flying in to San Francisco, taking BART to Richmond, then taking Amtrak to Sacramento. Weirdly, I find this more appealing than what I initially tried to book (but was denied by the airline), which was a flight to Dallas with a connection to Sacramento. Both methods require a full day of travel each way, which is sort of funny. The point is, I'm working a lot now, and I can't wait to play.

Periods, and Anger, and Cookies - Oh My!

It's true that my food cravings are worse when I'm on the rag or about to be hanging with Aunt Flo. This is probably why I've wanting pudding so badly for the last four days. Also, I suspect it is why I became utterly enraged at something someone wrote on Friday. Usually, I'd probably be angry about it, but not fixate on the statement to the point where I could not focus on anything else.

While I was sputtering about on Friday, I noticed that I was ravenously hungry. Suddenly, it dawned on me that being really angry seems to make need to eat. It probably explains why I ate non-stop for the last year or so that I worked at my former employer. I was furious all the time. It apparently takes a lot of energy to sustain that level of anger. Who woulda thunk?

Regardless of my level of fury, I ate an enormous quantity of junk this weekend. Breakfast was cookies and a granola bar. While in Pennsylvania with Steph, I had an afternoon lunch tea. Then meatballs at Ikea. Then breakfast for dinner at Cracker Barrel. (For the record, the grits at Cracker Barrel are probably made from the same recipe as the gruel fed to Oliver Twist, but damn if the blackberry cobbler is not the tastiest confection this side of the Mason Dixon line.) When I got home, I had a cookie "midnight snack." All I ate on Sunday morning were cookies and string cheese.

Anyway, I was completely amused on Sunday afternoon on my way back from the gym when I saw the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile parked in front of the Jewish Community Center. I ran to get my camera, but by the time I got back outside, it was pulling away.Still, I think it is pretty funny to see the Weinermobile cruising up the streets of Manhattan. Hot dogs. Yum....

Sunday Blahs

It's Sunday. That means I am tired for no good reason and under-motivated. However, it is also my assigned day to post at BlogHer, so I wrote up a rambling essay on how child care workers are completely screwed by our dysfunctional American society that needs women to work but insists that they are bad mothers if they work.

On another note of American dysfunction, I received a nice letter yesterday from my unsurance company with a detailed explanation of why they rejected my bilateral breast MRI. It turns out that my doctor is a lazy son of a bitch who neglected to submit very basic information such as: the age of my first menstrual period, my age at first live birth, the number of previous breast biopsies including the pathology and my ethnicity. Perhaps this information would make no difference at all, but it certainly is not hard to submit. There are 45 days in which this information can be submitted for consideration. I shall call the unsurance company myself tomorrow. Then I will search for a new doctor. Bah.

Otherwise, Husband and I had a delightful Saturday. We visited Dianne and her precocious daughter and fun husband for the day. Steph also joined us for good eating at a hibachi grill place and two rounds of bowling. We raced back to the City to join Dr. H for her 30th birthday bash, which was fun. (Dianne's birthday was this past Thursday, so happy belated birthday to her!)

Maybe my lethargy is explained by a Diet Coke, cake, cookie, and Jelly Belly hangover? My hard partying ways are catching up to me...

Kids Do the Darndest Things

This is the "conversation" I imagine took place between my friend Mara and her adorable 10 month old daughter and saboteur, Adena, right before the photo below was snapped (you may need to click on the picture to enlarge it and see the details):

Adena: Mom, can I have a sibling?

Mara: Not now, honey.

Adena: Oh yeah? We'll see about that!



I love how intently Adena is studying the directions upside down. Husband and I are spending Thanksgiving with Mara and her family. We are so excited! It's not every holiday that I get to spend time with friends and their babies who have bright futures as either sex educators or counterinsurgents (for progressive causes, of course).

Busy, Busy, Busy and Ewwww

Not that other people aren't super busy and finding time to blog, but this weekend was a little bit over the top for me. Yesterday Husband and I left at noon for the wedding of his coworker. It was supposed to take two hours to drive there, but thanks to weather and traffic, we arrived 3 hours and 15 minutes later, just in time to see the wedding party posing for post-ceremony pictures. We killed time at a bar across the street until the reception began at 5 pm.

After four hours of food and fun at the reception, we headed home. This time it took slightly under two hours. However, that means that I spent more time in the car in the lovely dress that I spent too much money on at Filene's Basement than I did at the wedding itself. This is not entirely bad, as it was sort of low cut and I felt self-conscious in it. Still, it was cute. Hopefully I will get to wear it again sometime soon and take a picture in it. In two weeks, I'll be at yet another wedding, but am going to wear something else.

Today, Husband left for a business trip to London and Milan. (While I hate that he will be gone this week, he is giddy that it is another chance for him to accumulate frequent flier miles that we can use for personal travel in the future.) I took the bus to exciting Hellertown, PA, where I met my friend Steph and spent a freezing afternoon at the Dorney Park amusement park. Happily we capped the evening off at Waffle House. Even burning my waffle and putting cheese under the grits so that it melted onto the bowl as much as the grits ("What did you expect?" Steph asked as I grumbled about the stupidity that would lead someone to put cheese on the bottom. "This isn't the South; they don't understand.") could not spoil the deliciousness of the meal.

My bus back to New York was 30 minutes late. It seems that the highway between the first stop and Hellertown was reduced from three lanes to one. When the bus arrived, the driver proudly told me that he "applied some K-Y Jelly to slide through traffic" to get there. Um, that is an image I didn't need. And you probably didn't, either.

The Whole Story

Although Brother-in-Law's (BiL) wedding was not until Saturday night, the gang headed down to New Jersey for the event on Friday afternoon. During the 90 minute drive, traffic clogged the roads and rain poured down in bucketfuls. Bubbe took the time to tell my mom and I how essentially every party she attended over the past two decades made her puke at some point. From her 40th wedding anniversary surprise party (she "vomited it up" from the shock) to my sister's bat mitzvah (undercooked broccoli made her "vomited it up" because she can't eat raw vegetables), we heard it all.

Fortunately, no one that I know of vomited it up after the wedding. On the other hand, the bathroom door in Big O's room fell off and all the guest rooms smelled like there was a mold infestation. Plus, one of the three elevators broke down and was not repaired for some time and the hotel deigned to have service elevators, which meant that the poor room service folks and maids were left standing with their carts as elevators chock full of people passed them repeatedly. At least the beds were super comfy.

As I mentioned in the previous post, I had a blast at the reception dancing it up with the family. I was rather self-conscious about the brown bridesmaid's dress from the get go (while the cut of the dress was very flattering, I felt like I looked like a big turd so much brown, although I am very happy that it was brown instead of orange or seafoam green or some other completely cruel hue), at least my $195 of alterations left me secure that it would fit me well. Oh did I say it fit me well? My bad. At first it fit perfectly, but as the night flew by, the top expanded and expanded. It happened with the other ladies as well, I noticed. We were all hauling our tops up and hoping that our boobs wouldn't fly out. There's no rationale for this, as the fabric was not stretchy. This (nor my imperfectly shaved armpits) did not stop me from throwing my arms up in the air while boogying it up.

After brunch on Sunday, we dropped Sister and Sister's Husband off at the airport (sob!) and spent the afternoon with my parents, bubbe, and Husband's parents at our place. It was very pleasant. My parents stayed at a hole-in-the-wall hotel (there are no hotels in Manhattan other than this one that gives guests private bathrooms in their cells for only $100 a night plus tax). It smelled in the hallway, but not like a mold infestation and the cell had a beautiful view of the Hudson River and lights of New Jersey's east bank. They came back to my apartment this morning to wash up.

Now everyone is gone, which makes me sad. Overall, the whole weekend was fantastic and I only yelled at my various relatives a few times despite being tired and crabby. I guess it's back to my "usual" routine, whatever the hell that is.

And a Good Time Was Had by All...

Yesterday was Brother-in-Law's wedding, which is why I've been MIA online this weekend. Here I am in my bridesmaid costume:



Have no fear: Sister and Mom asked me what the hell I was thinking with the earrings, so I took them off and wore my regular little studs. The maid of honor did my make-up for me, using the crap that I bought a few months ago when I was interviewed for a documentary about abortion. Is it not amazing? I love that it subtlety brightens my crabby sourpuss. (And although Husband and I are pictured together elsewhere on the internet, I cropped him out of this picture. He looked very handsome in his best man tux, though.)

Anyway, my whole family (minus poor Granny, who was not able to come at the last minute due to health issues - wah! it would have been ever more fun with her) came out and we had a blast at the wedding. Sister and Sister's Husband went back to Iowa today. My mom, dad, and bubbe are in my living room as I type this. More tomorrow after they leave.

Major Bummer and a Glimmer of Hope

Bah. After a delicious and horribly unhealthy dinner with Des last night, I called my parents to discuss logistics for their trip to New York for brother-in-law's (BIL) wedding. My first call to them was to let them know that I would call them when I got off the train.

"Oh, is Des still with you?" my mom asked when she heard that we had dinner.

"No, I'm on my way to the subway and she already went to a different one. Did you want to say hi to her?"

"Yeah."

Twenty-five minutes later, I called back and my dad answered. "Your grandmother is not coming to the wedding," he said bluntly. "Her sciatica is acting up."

Later, my mom got back on the horn. "I'm thinking that maybe we can use the credit for her flight to come to New York over my spring break."

I am sooooooo disappointed that I won't get to see Granny this weekend, but my mom's idea is brilliant. A visit from them is something to very much look forward to. Then we can all hang out with Des.

One Year Later

One year ago today, at about this time, I packed up the Powerpuff Girl figurines, the pictures of Husband and my sister, and a squishy stress-relief ball shaped like a green paper advertising the Child Care and Adult Food Program, and I left my job at a nonprofit community development financial reinstitution after nearly five years. It took me two years and two previous attempts to quit, but mounting frustration, seething rage, and desperation at working in an agency that took 40 cents of every dollar that I fundraised to cover overhead costs while offering me absolutely zero support took its toll. Every year I received glowing reviews from my direct and indirect bosses about how I continually exceeded expectations and single-handedly oversaw a program to build more child care center for low income kids in New York City, but not once was I ever offered a job promotion or job title that reflected the full amount of work I performed. While my peers and externally partners respected me, I was rewarded with suspicion and wrath from the upper echelons of the agency for not fundraising enough to cover their five-figure bonuses and six-figure salaries. (This is not secret info, by the way: it is all public in the agency's Form 990.)

My bosses liked to tell people that I left to write my book about unusual things to see in do in New York City, and that is partly true. Within 8 months, a small publisher in Nashville bought my book, I published several articles in local newspapers, and began writing a memoir about puberty and other bodily betrayals. Not working for those wretched fucks improved my mood for the first time in years, but I didn't fully escape their tentacles. Since these wonderful accomplishments didn't pay very much and I felt guilty about living off my husband (something I swore from a young age that I would never do), I agreed to consult for a City agency, working closely with my friend who took my old job. Obviously, there has not yet be enough distance for me to get over my experience yet.

Still, today is a day I am celebrating because I took important steps toward a new career. I indulged in a piece of guava bizcocho Dominicano, a traditional yellow cake with frosting so sweet that I actually felt the sugar granules in the neon pink frosting crunching in my teeth. Husband and I then headed out to the Queens County Farm Museum, the last site I plan to visit for my book. (Yay!) We toured a farmhouse that has been on the site since the late 1700s, pet sheep, and wandered around in the seasonal three acre corn maze. The unseasonably warm day of fun was capped off with gyros (pronounced with a hard "g" in Chicago, a soft "g" in New York, and a "y" in Greece).

As we trudged out of the farm, sweaty and full of meat, a family passed us on their way in. Their teenage son was wearing a t-shirt that read, "I (heart) hot moms." Husband and I exchanged glances. "That shirt would not be disturbing if the guy who was wearing it was not 16," Husband remarked.

You can say all that again. Here's to another wacky and weird year of change.

New Month, New Hope?

Maybe it is just me, but September? Really fucking sucked overall. While it began and ended with visits from two close friends, I spilled an enormous number of tears over various trials and tribulations. October seems to have some promise to be better, though.

Oct. 6: One year anniversary of my last day with my wretched former employer
Oct. 13: Steph is visiting
Oct. 18-21: My family will be in NYC to attend Brother-in-Law's wedding
Oct. 19: Two year blogiversary of CUSS!
Oct. 31: Halloween (Although I doubt that I can squeeze into my dirndl this year, I still look forward to the Festival of Candy. Of course, that is exactly why I can't fit into my dirndl anymore.)

If I'm lucky, I can squeeze in a trip to Pittsburgh to see my old friend J. (aka the Sauce). The book is due on Nov. 1, so it depends how the writing is going. I think I'm right on track, if not a bit ahead of schedule, so if she's free, that would be great. Now if the little rain cloud that hovered over me almost all September would dissipate, that would seal the deal.

Enjoy your October.

That's the End of That

Today was certainly an emotional day. I said good-bye to Dr. P as she returned to Florida, and the Mets said good-bye to their fans by losing to Florida in a manner consistent with their track record over the past few weeks. Although I will cheer on my original home team, the Chicago Cubs, as they seek their first World Series victory in 99 years, my heart's not really in it. After they blew the 2004 season in the exact same manner as the Mets just threw this season into the crapper, I decided that 20 years of having my heart crushed was enough, and I stopped following them regularly. Plus, a Cubs championship is definitely a sign of the apocalypse, and despite my intense loathing of the human race, I'm not sure that I am ready for the world to end.

Regardless, I guarantee that the departure of Dr. P and the Mets season shall free up more of my time. I hope to get caught up on reading blogs and on Heroes and CSI. Since baseball is no longer a distraction/obsession, CUSS will return to a normal stories involving personal follies and rants. My whole family will be in town in October for Brother-in-Law's wedding, so expect excellent fodder in late October. Much better than the World Series, indeed.

The Weekend Outlook

The good news: Dr. P is in town and staying with me. This makes me happy and we are living it up, if you consider eating out with other pals every night, running in various parks, shopping at Old Navy and Chelsea Market, and visiting a museum and touring a brewery to be the high life, which I do.

The bad news: Dr. P is not a baseball person, and everyone else we are hanging out with (thus far) is a rabid Mets fan like I am. The poor woman is therefore stuck listening to the rest of us moan and groan about the pathetic situation that we now face for the (lack of) post-season.

I'm going to miss her like a mad motherfucker when she returns to Florida on Sunday.

Onto the Field

It was a weekend of sports, and it was a weekend of losses. Friday night, Husband and I watched the Mets blow their first game against Philadelphia thanks to lazy and sloppy play. We did, however, get a kick out of the free fake mustaches distributed to 20,000 extremely lucky fans in honor of Keith Hernandez, former Mets player and cokehead, and current TV announcer who sometimes talks with food in his mouth. Saturday, we attended the game in person to encourage them. Other than the free cute hats that were given to a lucky group of 25,000 fans and the quality time I spent with Husband and the in-laws, I would say it was not the best use of my time. Sitting in a windy, shady part of the stadium, I froze my ass off as the Mets once again played like shit. Finally, on Sunday, I witnessed the Giants suck ass, although at least the seats we had (second row behind the 20 yard line on the Giants' side) were excellent and I got a free useless calendar that I threw out immediately. Also, being at the Giants game prevented me from watching the Mets play worse than your local Little League team, so that was some avoided aggravation. Good times.

This weekend also saw a personal kick-off to the GRE season. To apply to the Hunter College MFA program, I must face my nemesis. I did answered 125 questions from the verbal portion (I haven't faced my biggest challenge yet, which is the quantitative section) and did mostly OK. I played the antonyms section like the Mets, though. It's bit hard to identify the correct antonym when I don't recognize the word at all. Out of 30 words, I didn't even have the foggiest idea what 15 of them meant. I guessed well on one of those. Yeah.

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

Yet another fine comment as to what people hope to find when they search for jewish pussy on the internet:

i wanted to learn about jewish pussy. so far, i have been afraid to
find out because they are attached to jewish women.

Husband claims there's good reason to be afraid. Of course, he'll pay for that snarky bit. (Just kidding.)

Today I spent part of the day lost in a literal and metaphorical woodland in upper Manhattan. (Long story, which I will post tomorrow night after I get back from the Mets game. Those fuckers better not fuck up like they did this evening or I'm taking them into the woodshed.)

The Summer's Over

Technically, summer doesn't end for a few more weeks, but I always think of Labor Day as the social end of summer. Darkness falls sooner, people re-gear up for work, and school gets underway. As usual, I look back and wonder where the hell the summer went.

Now that it's fall, I'm officially freaking out about finishing the book. It is due Nov. 1. I know that it will be done and fine and there's no need to worry. Fall makes everything seem so much more serious, though.

In the meantime, I enjoyed my first weekend of autumn. Friday night, Husband and I watched the Mets roar back from their pathetic five game losing streak. Saturday, we took a semi-private Pilates lesson and found it invigorating. Then we watched the Mets game until I left to join Steph at a scavenger hunt at the Met. Sunday, I ran four miles on the treadmill then a bunch of fine friends came over and watched two Muppets classics - The Muppet Movie and the greatest dramedy of all time, The Great Muppet Caper - and ate ice cream. (I stole the idea for Muppet Sundae from Count Mockula. Brilliant.) Today, Husband and I drove Rebecca up to school in Westchester and then went to the gym and now will watch the Mets game.

Other than my front lower tooth breaking (again!), I can't complain at all. Happy Labor Day.

Saying What I Mean, Not What It Sounds Like

In a discussion about the various search terms that lead people to our blogs, I loudly announced, "I get a lot of young pussy."

And I wonder why I "project" radical lesbian? Oy.

On a slightly related note, I learned from The Branding Consultant that I need a short tag line for my blog. I pondered "Cunts, Whores, Bitches, Complaints," but thought maybe that was both too vague and too clear. Karrie suggested "Life is getting hairy." I love it. It's perfect timing, too, as I hope to attend a session on pimping my blog template later this morning. Hopefully, some good changes (including my new exciting tag line, which I am altering slightly to "Because life is hairy") are ahead.

Some Things Never Change, Some Things Go Down the Toilet

Sister spent a good portion of the afternoon yesterday cleaning out a storage closet in the basement that formerly served as our dad's office. Not only does the room - a walled off section of the basement - contain toys that we have not used in years, but it also has records from our educational careers. Every report card, including ones from Sunday and Hebrew schools, was saved. My dad began compiling dossiers with the material.

My dossier contained a psychological report from testing that I underwent on June 3, 1983 and June 10, 1983. I was in first grade, and my mom and I cannot figure out why I was referred for testing. (My best guess is because I developed serious asthma that year and nearly died.) What fascinates me are the following findings:

[Suzanne] appears to be a sensitive, aesthetic child who also demonstrates issues with power and control... who is experiencing very little difficulty in terms of her own perception of her behavior, intelligence, school functioning, personal appearance, popularity, happiness and satisfaction, as well as perceived level of anxiety. It appears that Suzanne has a very positive self-concept and that she is experiencing herself in very positive and instrumental terms.

Yay! Go young me. Too bad all that disappeared a few years later when puberty hit like a tons of bricks, never to be recovered again.

In this [mother-daughter] relationship, it appears that Suzanne could be experienced as oppositional, negative and determined to seek her own way even if it is at her expense and contrary to even her own best interests. At times, it appears that Suzanne views herself as having carried a power struggle to such extremes that she has ruined things for herself... She does appear to perceive herself as capable of winning these power struggles and when she does so she may even give in to her mother's original demands because she may even, in her heart, agree with these demands. Her power struggles may include highly manipulative and effective methods which at times may be highly dramatic (e.g. running away).

It scares me that even at 7.5 years old, I was doing things that I do today. Except that I'll engage in battles of wills with just about anybody, not merely my poor mom. In the end, though, my evaluation said that, "She appears to enjoy her home life and views it as a great source of protection and contentment." Very true today as well.

Speaking of enjoying home life, in the ride to my grandmother's party last night (which I only wish I had the foresight to podcast), we discussed teddy bears, butter biscuits, and beavers. This is Granny's lingo for breasts, vaginas, and fur coats.

Take a Hike

Ah, the Poconos. Not too much has changed there since the 1970s. It's good times.

Steph and I cruised around randomly for awhile after I checked out her cute little house in the woods and my eyes nearly fell out of my head after her cat stuck his face in mine. We decided to stop at Bushkill Falls, billed as "The Niagara of Pennsylvania." (I picture the park owners puffing up with pride when they say this.) Turns out that after you escape the parking lot full of fudge shops, Indian trinkets, and crap souvenirs, there are wonderful hiking trails around the waterfalls and in the forest. Thanks to the impromptu nature of our visit, we had neither proper shoes (well, I had gym shoes) or socks, insect spray, or sunscreen.

Steph glided over the rocks and the tree trunks in her flip flops, while I tripped over every single object. I was glad that I wasn't wearing my clogs or I definitely would have broken my ankle and/or fallen into the waterfall and cracked my skull open. Regardless, we had a great time trekking and will definitely go back another time.

That mostly sums up my trip to the Poconos, minus the gross overeating and stopping at sad little shops in the area. Husband, on the other hand, spent the weekend on the Jersey shore in a boarding house for a lame bachelor "party" that included a guido bar and an "antiseptic" (his word) strip club that didn't have a liquor license. Oh, I laugh and laugh.
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On another note, thanks for all the bathing suit support and commiseration.

Poking the Poconos

The Shag Stick and I are hiking over two state borders later this morning to visit our buddy Steph. She lives in the boonies in Pennsylvania, plus we always have wacky times together, so I'm sure many fine stories will result from the day.

A Patriotic Proposal

Dear Elected Official,

I know that there are many serious issues our country is supposedly facing right now (and I say supposedly because mostly we don't do anything productive about them, not because they are not serious), but I must point out a very important problem we as a nation experienced yesterday: the 4th of July fell on a Wednesday. Many of us freedom (from work)-loving citizens found this distracting. We had to work on Monday and Tuesday, then go right back to work on Thursday and Friday unless we wanted to use vacation or personal days. Is it not the right of every American to enjoy a long weekend as the result of non-religious federal holidays?

If you would pass a law banning the 4^th of July from falling on a Wednesday that would resolve this upsetting situation. Since I know that Congress has little to no control over the calendar, I find it acceptable for the law to say that if the 4^th of July falls on a Wednesday, as a nation, it will officially be observed the following day. Then we can have fireworks on the evening of the 4^th and no one will have to go to work the next day. (Lovable but unpatriotic haters like Suebob can skip the fireworks, though, and still get the next day off. They need it to soothe their dogs' frayed nerves.)

I am concerned that not passing this law shows that you have no respect for the hard work of our Founding Fathers (and their wives, like Abigail Adams who often gave them good ideas and got no credit). Every year, we show our love for past presidents by guaranteeing that Presidents' Day falls on a Monday. Memorial Day and Labor Day are also cherished days on every American's calendar. I know that people generally don't give a rat's ass about veterans (other than lip service about our gratitude for making the world free and shit), which is why the Veteran's Administration health system gets cut every year, so it makes sense that Veteran's Day remain on Nov. 11. No need to give people a long weekend to celebrate them, which is the point: do we want to lump the birth of our nation in with Veteran's Day? No! We want people to have time to spend with their families, overeating hot dogs (or in my case, dumplings) and getting into arguments about how to best cut a chocolate chip cookie cake frosted with a big old American flag without worrying about finishing the rest of the week at work.

This law will be the best thing to happen to our nation since we founded it, you'll get the love of the people forever, and it was all my brilliant idea! I am sure that bipartisan support will be easy to garner, and the idiot in the big chair at the White House will sign it right away into law, as he loves taking long vacations, so he'll get it.

Sincerely,

Suzanne Reisman

Self-Awareness

Yesterday, Husband and I spent a day outside in the warm but not hot sun at our godson's first birthday party in MA. (He's Alex's kid, so it was very nice to see her, too.) During the party, Godson eagerly crawled around to explore the spacious backyard. At one point, however, he began to cry.

"Godson is crying, but it's because he's a baby," another child, about to enter kindergarten, informed Husband.

"Yes, babies sometimes cry," he replied. "Sometimes they are hungry, sometimes they want their diapers changed, or sometimes they are hurt."

"I cry sometimes, too, especially when I don't get my way," the child told Husband in a serious tone. "Then I get a time out."

When Husband told me this story, we laughed and laughed over the kid's honesty. On the other hand, I had a sinus headache last night and my allergies are killing me today, which is exactly what happened last time I spent so much time outdoors. This kid seems to have a better understand of actions and consequences than I do.