Fat Ass

Magnolia.
My fat ass lunch break.



(Heidi made me do it.)

BYOB

When Kelsey used to live 2 blocks from me, we were in a fantastic habit of once a week trying a restaurant in the neighborhood that neither of us had been to. Living in the ever-growing Lower East Side, its an easy and even necessary task.

Last night we sort of picked up the tradition again and tried a new place only because it was BYOB and listed as ‘cheap’.
Jeeb Thai Tapas. I walk by Jeeb on Orchard several times a week, so I was really surprised that I’ve never been since not only is it great and BYOB, they have outdoor seating too!
There are 2 more BYOB places in a 2 block radius to Jeeb that I'm trying next. The try a new restaurant habit is back.

Work

Where I spend 50 hours a week.

A little depressing, isn’t it?

Washington Square Jazz

On my walk home last night I went through Washington Square Park where a jazz band was performing. I had to stick around and listen for bit since the weather had a perfect summer evening breeze, the crowd was eclectic and the music was smooth.

I love New York.

Ramona Quimby

I got my hair cut last night. I get my hair cut at Bumble & Bumble and between cuts Anne, the amazing hair stylist for the news gives me my “fringe” trims (last night I learned that ‘bangs’ is “cheap salon sounding”. Whatever.). I usually don’t give a lot of direction in a hair cut besides saying, “just don’t make my cut look anything like Ramona Quimby… age 8.”
The cut came out fine. I'm still far from looking like Ramona Quimby, but apparently there is a problem with my color.
Lucas (the Jaime Oliver look-alike stylist who has a cute accent and hasn't pissed me off until now): I don’t have time tonight, but do you want to make an appointment to come back for some color?
Me: Not really. Why, do you think that I need color?
Lucas: Yes.
Me: I kind of like my color.
Lucas: Who colors it now?
Me: God.
Lucas: Well… you have fine hair. Color will also give you more texture.
Me (not wanting to piss him off since he was holding sheers next to my face): I’ll think about it.

So now I have a complex about my hair color, which totally prevented me from getting the satisfaction of looking at my new hair cut in every store window like a Vidal Sassoon commercial on my walk home.

RIP Fillet

Fillet died yesterday. When I found him he was on the bottom of the very tall bowl that is his home, so it was hard to pin it on Oliver.
Oliver has killed several fish in the past. He started with Günther (the love child that my old roommate, Marissa and I had) then he killed Sushi shortly after I moved into my new place (I think it was out of anger for the move).
Last month Suzanne, Erika and I won fish at the Mermaid Parade. My prize, Ariel didn't make it through the night. I came home to a dead fish in my bedroom (Ariel’s bowl was in the kitchen. Oliver performed the senseless act 2 rooms away, the beast.)
Fillet has been around for over a year (I did some online research and that's about the life span of a beta) but I'm still a little sad. Tonight I’ll get a new fish to bring into the house of horror.





The picture from the Mermaid Parade is hilarious to me since all 3 of our fish didn't make it 24 hours. However mine was the only one which was murdered.

Future Ice Cream

On our way out of Yankee Stadium we passed a stand for “Dippin’ Dots. The ice cream of the future”. I can’t remember why, but we stopped to taste it. I'm giving the thumbs up in this picture... but its not good. I don’t like what the future holds. I’d rather stick to the ice cream of the past.

Yankees

My boss gave me last minute tickets to the Yankees game, so Jamie and I went last night. I'm not exactly a sports fan; I'm the opposite of a sports fan. Unless its the Olympics, I have never voluntarily watched any sporting event on television. And in 4 years of college (in Texas, mind you) I only attended something like 8 football games.
I’ve actually been to a Yankees game before back when I was an intern, but nevertheless, I still wanted to go.

Jamie and I were sitting in the first row of the top tier (thanks again, Kenny) talking amongst ourselves when the guy sitting next to me chimed in to make me feel like I really didn't belong.
Me: oooo, I like that guy, #13. So nice that he threw that ball into the crowd. And I like how he tucks his pants into his socks. It makes him look like a golfer in the ‘20s. I like him!! Go #13.
Guy sitting next to me: Yeah. That's A Rod. Hes actually the most popular player.
Me: OOOOOOO. The guy with Madonna!
Poor guy. He probably spent a lot for his tickets and was pissed that 2 girls that clearly had no place there were sitting beside him.

Despite my lack of sports patronage, I had a great time!!!! And where else are you encouraged to drink a $9.50 Bud Light in public?

Lunch Hour

One of my favorite ways to break up a day in a newsroom.

Sunday Funday

I had every intention of getting up to go out to the NYC Half Marathon when my alarm went off at 6:30. Unfortunately I turned off my alarm and slept in until the Con Edison jackhammer decided that I had enough sleep. (I'm sorry Heidi and Deskin.)
Instead of hanging out with runners, I met my new favorite friend, Jamie for brunch at Bondi Road (unlimited mimosas!!)… Later Suzanne met up with us at Marshall Stack to “play games and drink”. Sunday continues to be my favorite day of the week.

Boeing Boeing

Friday night I joined Heidi and her brother, Deskin to see Boeing Boeing on Broadway.
Its a quirky and cute play set in the 60’s about a man in Paris who dates 3 flight attendants; an Italian, a New Yorker, and a German.

Personally, I have a bit of a soft spot for Germans so it made the play all the better since the German was by far the best character. She was a stereotypical German to extreme. She was demanding, the tallest/most buxom of the 3, and she spoke with a stern and angry voice (not exactly the sweet Heidi Klum). She made the play not just funny, but hilarious.

Go see it if you can.



(Thanks again, Heidi)

Weekend Wake-up

Saturday 9:01am


Sunday 9:01am












I hate you Con Edison.

Dog Walker

Lately I’ve been thinking about why I'm still doing the job that I am. I love it a lot of the time and for a girl who loves gossip, I work in a place that is paid to seek out gossip. I rarely dread the Monday morning commute and I get away with a way too many moments of personal emails, phone calls, online shopping and even time spent blogging.
But during lunch today I saw these guys and I was a bit jealous of their job. Granted, the pay is low, the weather in New York is 70% of the time horrible, not to mention that they pick up dog poop all day. Nevertheless, I was jealous.
Maybe I should just get my own dog and walk him, then I can have it all…

Gladys Knight

After more than one glass of Cristal I was somehow talked into joining a group over to a karaoke bar. Yes, I sang karaoke. Poorly. Thankfully it was a private room so I only had to display my shame for a small handful of people. I butchered ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’ and made a bit of ass of my self in front of my coworkers.

(Don’t worry mom, only one of those beers was mine.)

Beaver Street

Last night I went down to Beaver Street. (I didn't even know that there was a Beaver Street in Manhattan until yesterday. Clearly I have a 12 year olds sense of humor. Saying Beaver Street is hilarious to me.) Anyways, I went to Beaver Street to go to a coworkers going away party at the oldest restaurant in the United States, Del Monicos. It’s the quintessential old New York. Every president since Lincoln has eaten there.
Heidi and I met “the mayor of Del Monicos” who bought us our wine then asked if we would prefer to switch to Cristal… ummmmm, YES PLEASE.
So far, my experience on Beaver Street has been delightful!

More Like Janice

I work in a building where ‘Live with Regis and Kelly’ tapes on the ground floor. In the mornings our lobby is crowded with over a hundred tourists with tickets to be in the audience. Each of these guests knows that they will get the chance to see someone famous so they are looking at every employee in my building as potentially being a celebrity.
This morning I got “Oh my gosh, mom… is that Renee Zellweger???”. This is nothing new for me. I think that Renee is pretty, has fine blonde hair and squinty eyes like me, but I don’t see it AT ALL. I’ve been mistaken for Renee since the day I moved to New York. Through her awkwardly skinny phase, to her pixie haircut. At least once a season someone swears they just saw Renee Zellweger when they see me (I even signed her autograph once when waiting in front of the Guggenheim).
I actually can’t think of any celebrity that I look similar to, accept of course Janice from The Muppet Show.

Stay Golden

One of my favorite ways to cure a bad day is to watch back-to-back episodes of The Golden Girls and eat mac ‘n cheese (usually with hot dogs cut up in it). I love The Golden Girls. Its one of very few shows that I voluntarily watch.

My soft spot is usually for Dorothy since our sense of humor is about the same. That, and my friend Marisol and I share the same fear of growing old to look like her (I guess its because we are both tall with lower voices). But right now my soft spot is for Sophia since Estelle Getty died this morning.
I'm actually really sad about it. I wish that I didn’t have plans tonight so that I could watch some Golden Girls and eat mac ‘n cheese… I guess I could settle for a slice of Sicilian pizza.



(Thanks to Jordan for giving me the shirt a few years ago. I still wear it. And to Molly: clearly the picture shows that I won “the accessory off” of Girls Trip 2006)

Dim Sum

I’ve been told that one craves the food that you eat the most of. I crave Mexican food and Dim Sum. No matter the season (however I prefer the colder months since over 90 degrees Chinatown can smell like a dead fish dipped in raw sewage) I try to go to Dim Sum every Sunday that I'm in town. For several months in a row, my friend Doug and I would religiously go every week teaching ourselves through trial and error which of the dozens of restaurants in Chinatown serves the freshest, cheapest and most authentic Dim Sum. One place would be too dirty while another would have too many white patrons (a sure sign that its not authentic enough).

Last Sunday I took my friend Heidi to her first Dim Sum at Crystal Palace on Mott Street (not my favorite, but a great place for first timers since its more shrimp and less chicken feet) and as you can see, sometimes it can be a slippery experience.

(and I apologize for my horrible laugh in the background. I’d like to think that its very rare that I sound like that.)

Sweet and Morbid

One of my favorite friends, Kelsey Butt officially has a website for her music. http://sweetandmorbid.com/

Get to know her now so that you can say that you knew her when…



(The picture has nothing to do with her music but its my favorite picture of her. (Sorry Kelsey, I'm not taking it down. Its too amazing))

Street... Art?

I live in the Lower East Side, so I'm used to random and sometimes offensive street art. I actually describe where my apartment is to people by pointing out a tag that says ‘Neckface’.

This weekend I came across this one a few blocks down from me. I kind of like it in a sick way, but I'm really hoping that something a little less scary will replace it by the time my 2 and ½ year old niece comes in town.

Not the Tail Bone

Saturday afternoon Suzanne and I rode our bikes down to the South Street Seaport. The Bodies Exhibit wasn’t the destination we had in mind, but since it was 100 degrees outside and neither of us had been in, I pulled out the press pass for some free air conditioning.
It was actually very interesting and not as disturbing as I was anticipating (although I'm a little offended that they only had 2 female bodies, one of which was a display to show what fat deposits look like).

In the nervous system area there was a very cute French curator answering questions with his laser pointer and lab coat. So I asked Suzanne to ask him something (I'm not sure why I got so shy)
Suzanne: So, is that the tail bone?
Cute French Museum Employee: what?? Way back there? (pointing past the circular white thing coming up from his pelvis)
Suzanne: No… there (pointing to the circular white thing coming up from his pelvis)
Me: Suzanne (making cutting throat gestures to her) not the tail bone. Defiantly not the tail bone.
Cute French Museum Employee: No. That is the rectum.
Suzanne: Ooooooooo. Thanks.

That was our last question for him.

Citizens (attempted) Arrest

Friday after work I was on the phone in my bedroom sitting on my window ledge when I noticed a woman burning a fire in the median of the street below. I cut Melissa off of whatever story she was telling and called 311 (311 is New York City's phone number for government information and non-emergency services). It was my first time to call so I was pleasantly surprised to find that you can actually talk to a live person within a minute.

Me: Yeah, hi. This isn’t an emergency or anything but I'm in my apartment looking onto the street and there is a woman in the median burning a fire… in the Lower East Side… In NEW YORK CITY. I mean, its a super contained fire in a metal trash can… it actually looks like shes burning her household waste or something… but its a fire… I'm pretty sure its frowned upon. (I'm not sure why I started speaking like such a bonehead)

After a few more minutes of describing where exactly this lady was I hung up and called Melissa back.
3 minutes later of course she had poured water on her fire and put a lid on her container and walked away just as the NYPD called me back.

Dispatcher: Ma’am, theres an officer on your corner. Would you mind going outside to meet him.
Me: Of course
Dispatcher: Would you please describe yourself?
Me: I'm a Caucasian female wearing a pink knee-length dress (again, I'm not sure why I feel the need to speak like this. I don’t think I’ve ever used the term ‘Caucasian’ to describe myself or any other white person until now. And knee-length? What??? Strange.)

Anyways I went outside and told the cops that she had left, but her container was still there. (they didn't feel the need to get out of their car to look at the container… which is still there, btw) And I'm not sure why I took the time to describe to the operator the “Asian-American female in a light blue shirt and khaki capri-length pants” because they were clueless as to why they were there. And for some reason there was confusion if she was 1) homeless 2) building a bomb 3) starting a fire to the trees 4) burning her papers to prevent identity theft (New Yorks Finest indeed!!)

Unfortunately I didn't think to take her picture until she was putting out her fire, but here is the “Asian-American female in a light blue shirt and khaki capri-length pants”

Long Lock

On my way to dinner last night Heidi and I spotted this guy wearing a single and long as hell dreadlock. A single lock. Past his knee pits.

Did he finally decide to remove his ridiculously long dreads and kept this one because he couldn’t fully let go, or has he been just working on the single dread for 20 years?

Either way, its nasty looking.


And I'm the ass who took his picture.

No Place Like Home

I just booked a ticket to go home (well, Sacramento where my parents live anyways) for a whole week!! Both of my sisters now have new babies, Madeline and Abel, that I haven’t been formally introduced to and I'm aching to hold them.

The worst year of my 28 was the year between college and moving to New York. It was the year that I gained 15lbs (on top of the Freshman 15 that I was still carrying) and got Oliver (against Rob’s advice which I now see was because I was single, a bit chubby, and now owned a cat). I was living in Sacramento and only had 5 local friends, 2 of whom were my parents. Every Sunday I would come over with my laundry and we would “play games and drink” (The Clarks sound like lushes, but all our Sunday afternoons really consisted of was a Mai Tai or vodka Pom by the pool with a competitive game of Scrabble or Rummikub). Sunday was the highlight of my week and one of the only things I miss about Sacramento.

For a few weeks now I’ve been feeling like Fanny Price wanting to leave Mansfield Park to join her family where she can have affection without fear or restraint; to feel as an equal of those that surround her.
I have an amazing urban family here, but there is a comfort level that I can’t seem to get to with other people who don’t have Clark in their veins, and a strong desire to “play games and drink”.

Oliver wins

I went home this afternoon. Oliver wins. The litter box is back.

Roof with a View

The highlight of my night was seeing an amazing view of my apartment (arrow in pink) – that, and the free cocktails

Fat Bastard

I would be lying if I said that I was surprised. I came home from work last night to a cat that had pooped ON MY BED.
I promptly reminded Oliver that I live way too close to Chinatown for that kind of behavior and that he is 1 more “accident” away from becoming Dim Sum.

I had plans to meet a girlfriend at a party on the roof of The Rivington Hotel at 8 so I threw everything into garbage bags (the duvet was due for a dry cleaning anyway), closed my bedroom door, covered my couch in foil (he hates foil more than he hates water) and crossed my fingers.

As of 7:45am he hadn’t gone again, but not even on the trainer seat. If I come home to poop anywhere besides where it should be I'm calling the whole thing off and going back to the litter box. Pfft.

(At Marisol’s request I included a picture of the Fat Bastard. Notice the blank guiltless look.)

Potty Training Fat

Its both disgusting and hilarious.
I'm potty training Oliver.
I saw a post for Citty Kitty on one of my favorite time wasters, apartmenttherapy.com a few weeks ago and decided to spend the $35 to teach one of the fatter cats out there to jump onto a toilet and actually balance on the porcelain rim.
After a few glasses of picnic wine I came home and decided to give Oliver the accelerated course. So the hole punching has begun. As of 7:45am he hadn’t gone so I sprinkled Oliver’s crack (catnip) in the litter before I left. I'm a little scared to come home tonight.
The first picture is the contraption on the ground “1/2 elevated to toilet height”, then the process of punching the perforated holes to a litter-free life

Imagine

Last night on my way to hear the Philharmonic in Central Park I walked past the ‘Imagine’ mosaic in Strawberry Fields. It was crowded with hippies and random tourists who I assume were there paying their respects to John Lennon or to his words. It’s a little strange seeing the flowers meticulously positioned around the letters.

I was impressed and yet somehow annoyed with their time, energy and presence.

However, I’ve yet to visit Oscar Wilde’s grave in Paris and I'm fairly certain that I would leave a lipstick kiss on the stone joining the others.

I guess we all have our gods.

Weekend Trash

This weekend I was told of an artist who boxes public trash in a shoe box size plexiglass and successfully sells it as art. My first thought was that it was Pet Rockish. If theres someone who will buy it, why wouldn't you sell it? Then I saw this trash around the city and thought that there is something interesting in the trash around us.