I and Love and You

Drove with my sis to Brooklyn last weekend. FUN. My uber-generous mom is there staying at a friend's apartment and treating us to all sorts of goodies; my nephew, also in Brooklyn, hosted us, took us to restaurants and basically catered to our every whim. He's a keeper.

My favorite stop: The Brooklyn Flea Market. Check out the ornate ceiling!

I wanted everything there. Instead, I bought a few metal letters that I plan to affix to the bathroom wall and spell a nice little reminder to the fresh batch of boys that visit on a continual basis, "Wash your hands."

We had fun with these letters over lunch making all sorts of useless phrases.

We bought lottery tix (fingers crossed!) and picked out houses that we wanted in my girlfriend Abby's neighborhood where my mom is staying. My mom and sis are going to split the brick duplex. I'll take the white townhouse, thank you very much. 

Had fun shopping, eating and just spending time with family. So so so so awesome.

The only drawback was the complimentary Sopranos tour of NJ that our GPS unexpectedly provided on the way home. Hello industrial park . . . hey, what are those Hefty bags scattered across the road filled with? Body parts?

Oh, and looky here: it says "Child Molester" on the green fence. Lovely. Let's stop and take a picture!

All in all, a great weekend. Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.

Photo Per Day #3: Hungerford Urban Artisans

I'm trying to buy local this Christmas. As such, Son #2 and I went to the Hungerford building today and bought a few awesome presents from the temporary stalls of the Rochester area Etsy craftsmen's Craftmas sale and a gorgeous something-something from one of the resident artists.

Such amazing talent from traditional artists (e.g., painters, scupltors, jewelers) and non-traditional artists like a guy who recreates children's books with balloon art. Run, run, as fast as you can . . .  

There was a great design studio with heaps of colorful, adorable girls fashions.  I would have bought Son #2 a great monkey skirt but he declined.

Not only did I want to buy a few thing for myself (e.g., knit cap, bunny yoga statue), I want a studio of my own. For what, I know not. I just want to dance.

Who Put the End in Weekend?

The weekend that got away. Oh where, oh where, have my Saturdays gone? Oh where, oh where can they be?

On Friday night, we attended the annual pumpkin carving party. Food. Wine. Bonfire. Garage filled with tables upon tables of kids and adults carving pumpkins. The event is punctuated each year with our friend Brad carving a pumpkin with a chainsaw while the votes are tabulated.

Carving with a chainsaw

A few of the many pumpkins waiting to be judged

Saturday, we stood in the chilly autumn air, covered in blankets, to watch Son #2's Little League team (finally) beat their opponents. After suffering loss upon loss, it felt so good.

And Sunday, after brunch with my girlfriends, Son #2 and I hit the batting cages. I seriously should have worn batting gloves -- I never realized how much hitting a baseball hurts your hands! Ouch.

 Next time, I'm coming prepared. And I'm taking no prisoners.

Go Public (or Go Home)

On Wednesday night, I went down with the Chinchildren to our local NPR & PBS affiliate, WXXI, to watch the Chinchillas perform live for the music series OnStage. So much fun. I hadn't been in a TV studio since I went to see one of my old bosses get interviewed on Sally Jessy Raphael (remember her?). This recent taping was clearly a much more interesting experience, to say the least.

It felt so Austin City Limits-like. Groovy baby.

Photo courtesy of (aka "stolen from") the Stan the Man's Facebook page.

Dishap Defined

We've been playing this game in the evenings lately where I repeatedly throw an inflatable ball toward the back door and the kids try to block it from hitting. Or I throw it into the air and the kids have to dive for the couch and catch it before it lands. Except when we knock a lamp over or cause items to fall from the mantle, there are usually a few funny plays that make us laugh.

In the midst of the mayhem the other night, Son #2 said, "Stop laughing at my dishaps." We asked him, "What's a dishap?" and he responded, "It's a mishap and a disability."

Puhlease. The only person in our house with any physical limitations is me. Just ask the ceiling fan/light fixture how it felt after I smashed it to pieces with the Shake Weight. Maybe I should only be allowed to play outdoors. Better yet, maybe I should stick to reading books; leave the activities to the pros.

Oh, oh, oh, oh Wilco

What's on the docket this weekend?

Why a quick trip across the lake to Toronto with my girlfriend Yams to see Nick Lowe and Wilco. Hey, that rhymes! Oh, oh, oh, oh Nick Lowe.

Watching the Detectives

I arrived at work this morning to find my usually locked door slightly ajar. And by slightly ajar, I mean completely smashed off the door frame.

Pretty subtle, eh? The perp (I never get to use that term!) used our water bottle in the hallway as a battering ram. Clever, right?

Me, not being fully awake at 7:00 a.m., thought the following: Hmmm, why is our water bottle on the ground? Wow, did I leave the door unlocked last night? What is that mess on the floor?

I continued to walk into my office where I noticed my laptop unplugged and moved. Odd, right? Ohhhhhhhhhh, wait a minute . . .

None too quick.

Of course, I immediately called the police. The dispatcher asked if anyone else was there. "Nope, the entire parking lot and garage are empty." Just then I heard footsteps. "Oh, I take that back, I hear someone upstairs."

Her response, "Get outside and away from the building right now." (The killer is in the house!)

So the cops came, looked around, took fingerprints and heaps of photos, asked oodles of questions about ex-coworkers/marital status/disputes and left. Now I'm sitting here alone waiting for someone from the building management to fix my door; otherwise, I cannot leave to go anywhere. No clients today anyway but now no errands. No library research. No nothing.

Super sleuth that I am, I did mention to the officers how the alarm did, in fact, say "burglary in progress" when I turned it off this morning. However, it says that almost every day. So often that they disconnected the alarm from the 911 system. I also mentioned how the door to the front lawn was wide open. Also a daily event. What none of us noticed was the hallway window open or the footprints in the side yard leading to my window. Scary . . .

When we packed up the office and moved everything to Denver last week, I didn't think there would be so many fun and fabulous events in store for me. Sure, my friend Charlie -- who is suddenly alone in an office in Baltimore -- and I joked about naked Skype-ing (time to go on the diet!) but never did I imagine I could be all alone with danger. Danger! Lucky me.

What's freaky is that nothing was taken. Aborted attempt? Someone messing with me? 

I guess this means I should leave before it gets dark every night. Always an upside!

Summer Vacation: Stop #5

Our final stop on Summer Vacation 2011 was spent at a beautiful resort in the mountains of PA: the Bedford Springs Hotel. It turned out to be a great place to explore. I started immediately upon check-in by heading to the tavern with Grannie and Son #2 in tow. We also found the game room with giant puzzles, chess boards, books, etc. Every room was so well appointed.

And there were little surprises hidden throughout. Nooks and crannies to escape and read a book. It had the requisite gift and pro shops but also a candy store as well as this sweet (!)  ice cream and cupcake shop.

Pretty sure I could live here--especially if we could have hot chocolate for breakfast every morning!

We had the luxuriously warm, spring-fed, indoor pool to ourselves. That's me impersonating a jumbo shrimp.

Thanks to Hurricane Irene, we had the dark, overcast, outdoor pool to ourselves, as well.

 

Time to leave the pools, go back to the room to change and start driving home.

The only wave of "can we go now?" boredom struck as we waited for the car. Hey, that's what the large ottomans in the lobby are for, right?

Goodbye summer. Goodbye vacation.

Summer Vacation: Stop #2

Our second stop: Our nation's capital where we stayed at the Dupont Circle Hotel. I felt so Sydney Ellen Wade-ish! (Looove her.)

After we checked in, we relaxed, ate lunch in the groovy bar, watched the crowds walk by and, just as we were headed out to explore the city, Son #1 fell ill. Different son. Same illness? So the kids and Grannie hung for the afternoon as I walked over to my girlfriend/BFF Kim's yoga studio to meet her and her darling daughter. Later that night, my fabulous girlfriend Kristy came in from Northern VA and, due to the torrential rain, we had an overpriced, bland, nondescript dinner (followed by watery, bland martinis) just across the street at Kramerbooks and Afterwords Cafe as the lightening lit up the skies over the atrium in which we were dining. Scary and yet very cool.

The next day, we did many of the requisite kid-friendly things in town: walked from the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial stopping at the WWII Memorial and Washington Monument along the way. (Long walk! Oppressive heat!) We ended our day of sightseeing at Son #1's favorite stop: The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, of course.

Madeline showing a strong proclivity toward her hippie parents' liberal bias.

Afternoon tea for some; dinner for others.

Cupcakes and chocolate croissants for breakfast at the Firehook bakery! Yum! All's fair game when traveling with Grannie. No need to use your hands. 

Riding on the metro . . .

Is that a monument in the distance or are you just glad to see us?

I have better pics of everyone under their favorite states at the WWII Memorial; however, this photo is my fave because it captures Son #1 clearly complaining about something that I'm, as usual, doing to annoy him!

Next stop: the beach. Amen. Amen.

Punch Drunk

When I was in grad school, a little shop on Schoen Place become available for rent. I called the landlord and asked about the price per square foot. "What do you have in mind for the space?" he asked. I told him I was thinking of a Wine Bar.

"A wine bar? What the hell is that?"

When I told him, I swear to God, he barked that there was no such thing and hung up on me. I was fit to be tied.

Anyhoo, yesterday, my girlfriend Ellen and Dan, her boyfriend, were chatting with me about what the next foodie craze may be. Last night, as we were watching the Food Channel (or some derivative), it occurred to me that the time is ripe for a Punch Bar.

I would need a highly trained mixologist and a constantly changing menu of delicious, punch-bowl recipes made with ingredients like absinthe, exotic herbs/spices sourced daily from my organic greenhouse, high-end/scarcely known liquors made by elves, bizarre fruit juices from other planets, flaming concoctions, etc. Like the mai tai gone wild and refashioned for the new millennium.

Fun, right?

I'm Not No Limburger

Drove to Lockport, just north of Buffalo, last night to see the B-52's with the kiddos and the boy next door.

Gorgeous night. Outdoor show.

Pretty sure the entire city of Buffalo smokes. Until last night, I wouldn't have guessed that a cloud of smoke could hover over a crowd outside; I would have been wrong. Blech.

Son #1 told me that I was allowed to dance but made me promise that I would not make any of my crazy rally cries. I acquiesced. The lady next to me did not make any such agreement. After one of her howling outcries, I received the snake eye and responded, "I swear to God, that wasn't me."

When she did it again, he was stunned. Yes, I am not alone in my madness. (Hey, so don't that make you feel a whole lot better, huh?)

Everybody goes to parties. They dance this mess around.

Let's Groove

I went to dinner at Bistro 135 with my girlfriends from Saatchi last night
LET THIS GROOVE, GET YOU TO MOVE
Such a great little restaurant
IT'S ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT
Beautiful outdoor patio that feels like it came straight out of the Upper East Side
LET THIS GROOVE, SET IN YOUR SHOES
Delicious food: calamari, spicy chicken sliders, black bean hummus, squash ravioli
STAND UP, ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT
$5 martinis (I had a grape cosmopolitan)
GONNA TELL YOU WHAT YOU CAN DO
Usually with a good jazz band playing on the stage upstairs
WITH MY LOVE, ALRIGHT
Last night we were regaled by a loud disco band
LET YOU KNOW GIRL YOU'RE LOOKING GOOD
What?
YOU'RE OUT OF SIGHT, ALRIGHT
I need my miracle ear, what?
JUST MOVE YOURSELF AND GLIDE LIKE A 747
But we still managed to have heaps of fun
AND LOSE YOURSELF IN THE SKY AMONG THE CLOUDS IN THE HEAVENS
And dance our way, through the dance floor, out of the bar
LET THIS GROOVE, LIGHT UP YOUR FUSE, IT'S ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT
Into the quiet night

Seabreeze

The boys and I scored free tickets from the boss to Seabreeze today: Rochester's answer to Coney Island. Hot. Sunny. Perfect. The busiest day of the year for the park. D'oh!

We rode heaps o' rides including my favorite, the Jack Rabbit, a roller coaster that, when it opened in 1920, was the fastest roller coaster in the world. It's wooden, rickety, still fast and reminds me of the days of my youth. Although they fly by at lightening speed, the panoramic vistas of the vast blue lake and white sailboats are stunning from a great height. 

I even went in the wave pool which is surprisingly fun. For most of the day, however, I relaxed poolside while the kids went down all of the slides and body flumes. Gone for hours I daresay.

Tonight: cookout and sangria at my girlfriend's across the street. Outdoor movies for the kids. 

Summertime and the living is easy.

Hey 19

The weekend is over and I'm plumb tuckered out. I spent most of Saturday with my girlfriend Mary first volunteering in the food tent at the 10 Ugly Men festival to raise money for local charities and later hanging in the VIP tent at a Steely Dan concert.

At 10 Ugly Men, we encountered the Pizza Nazi: a woman who, I'm guessing, was the volunteer coordinator and barked at everyone from volunteers to paying customers. Screaming at people who were cutting the line, "You may think you're cute but I'm not serving you without a plate." Really? Do you have to be that nasty?

We had a line a mile long for people waiting for food. We also had a line of volunteers at the end waiting to serve. The bottleneck was the center where the mac and potato salads were being doled out. Those of us at the end, in an attempt to alleviate the wait, were taking orders from people earlier in the line. "You cannot serve people meat this early. They have to pass the salads." Stoopid.

One woman said to us in a feigned whimper, "If she yells at me one more time, I'm leaving. I've been here since 7:30 this morning and I'm a volunteer for chrissake."

Another volunteer taught me how to make sure the condiments and napkin holders were always full as if it were the most challenging and critical job on the planet. Oh, the pressure . . .

So we moved from flipping burgers on a sunny day with temps over 100 degrees to sipping wine and eating prime rib on a very comfortable night under the stars. My favorite part of hobnobbing with the local elite was discovering how everyone shakes hands while reading your name tag. Hello! My eyes are up here! (I'm guessing, since I was a guest of a VIP, they were trying to figure out if I was somebody noteworthy. Nope.)

Steely Dan? Never a big fan and last night was no exception. They were lifeless much akin to the giant mechanical rat that plays on the stage at Chuck E. Cheese. Before the show, Mary warned me, "I'm only staying for four songs." Okay by me. The first song was so boring, I said to no one in particular, "Oh this is my favorite" to which the dude next to me started laughing.

At the end of the fourth song, I texted Mary in the seat next to me just to give myself something to do. "Let me know when you want to leave." She responded, "Now!" so we bolted. We felt like ingrates but we did have fun before the band started. Does that count?

Friendship: Having heaps o' fun with someone regardless of one's circumstances. Sweating to death, yet laughing, while serving drunken masses? Check. Dancing in our seats while listening to crappy jazzy jazz hits? Check.

Make tonight a wonderful thing.

Five Finger Fourth Fun

What a fabulous, wonderful, sunny, awesome weekend spent first with my sis and her hubby on Seneca Lake (thank you!) and next at my girlfriend Mary's house on Keuka Lake. So. Much. Stinkin. Fun.

Tubing. Swimming. Hot tub-ing. Laughing. Over $3K worth of fireworks!

Dinner at the Switz. Clam bake and pig roast the next day. (Did you know that pigs come with their eyes still in their sockets? Did you also know that the eyes don't pop right out -- they require serious hacking, cutting, sawing, pulling? Did you know that my girlfriends puke easily? And they don't like eyeballs thrown at them? I learned a lot this weekend.)

I love, love, love my friends. They're hilarious, wild, smart, crazy, beautiful, genuine and kind. And so are their kids.

Rumor has it that I missed even more fun on the last night as my kids joined us earlier that day and I was worried (rightly so) that it would get out of control so we left at nightfall. Dodged a bullet. Good for them. Sad for me! I began to see it coming when Son #1 saw my girlfriend Anne’s cigarettes and asked her (in a sincerely shocked voice), “You SMOKE?” and she responded, “No! They’re your mom’s.” Thankfully he's quick enough to know when someone is messing with him.

Instead, we celebrated the Fourth with a neighborhood firepit and rum cocktails that I made and the neighbors dubbed the Five Finger Death Punch. We walked over to the soccer field to watch the fireworks from all the surrounding towns and country clubs. The kids then roughed it in a tent in our yard with their iPods.

I want this summer to last forever.

Must. Keep. Clam.

I don't know what it is. My Catholic school edumacation? My mom's propensity to copy edit menus in restaurants? Facebook typos kill me. The occasional error, I get. We live in a fast-paced world and nobody is perfect. Yet I have "friends," and I use the term loosely, who cannot post on FB without an error.

One such friend posts god-awful things about his wife, pictures of hot chicks in bikinis, shout-outs to his business (seriously) and rants about Obama -- all of which contain misspellings. The other day, he wrote a long post that had no errors. My immediate reaction was to clap and say to myself, "You did it!"

His most recent post has a picture of a woman in a thin bra, short-shorts and high heels and reads, "If you voted during the last presidential election to prove that you are not a racist, vote this presidential election to prove your not a moron (I was gonna post a political photo, but lets face it, we (all my male and lesbian friends) would much rather look at an attractive female......."

Exactly: prove that your (sic) not a moron

Anyhoo, if you're a freak like I am, you may really enjoy this little link. A virtual gift from the gods. Shorter and sweeter (and marginally less off-color) than its kissing cousin.

In response, I created this masterpiece with (once again) my mad PowerPoint clip art skillz.

Adopting George

When we went to the Montgomery County Fair in Texas a couple of months ago, Son #2 wanted to win a giant stuffed banana with dreadlocks. Can you blame him? I let him try a couple of times until it dawned on me that idiot mama (i.e., me) would have to carry that thing through the airport or, worse yet, check it like luggage and pay an extra baggage fee. Nu-uh. Not me. He was crushed.

Fast forward to this past Friday night at our local carnival. The kids and I were casually meandering through the game tents when Son #2 shrieked and took off like a bat out of hell.

Yep, giant bananas (of the hairless variety). He tried to win one, as did Son #1 and I, but none of us won the game. (Hmmm. Odds stacked against us? At a carnival? Shocking.)

Later, we found a game where everyone is a winner. It was simply a giant bucket stationed approximately one foot away. The kids each got a fist-sized ball and threw it in. Unless you’re Michael J. Fox, you cannot lose. Both kids selected plastic, old west, cowboy style pistols with a bag of marble sized bullets. What better to shoot in my car on the drive home?

Needless to say, before leaving, and after many, many games (goodbye college funds), Son #2 looked a bit unhappy. He had to go back and get that banana; it had his name on it. So back we went. And, because everything that kid touches is gold, he won. Even the carnie did a bit of a double-take.

Son #2 immediately grabbed his new giant banana, hugged it and named it George. Then he grabbed his gun, pointed it at the banana’s forehead and said loudly to the watching crowd, “nobody move or I shoot the banana.”

As we walked through the carnival the remainder of the night, Son #2 was flogged by other aspiring banana-owners. “Dude, I spent like $50 trying to win that banana. How did you do it?” Son #2 nonchalantly played it totally cool, “It was easy.” The level of admiration received from other 8-15 year old boys was unreal. I felt like I was hanging with somebody famous.

We have now welcomed a new, highly coveted banana/scratching post into our family.

The ride home. (I hope George is old enough to ride in the front seat. He didn’t come with a birth certificate.)

Reenacting the dramatic hostage crisis in the driveway.

Surprising daddy, Godfather style, upon his arrival home after a late night gig.

And, not to overlook my first and other love, Son #1’s new killer, blowup baseball bat.

The Royal Wedding

I was talking to my friend Petey the other day about his upcoming nuptials. The marriage part, no fear; the part where everyone is staring at you during the service, ugh. Agreed.

Imagine being Kate & Will. Yikes!

Yet, she handled it with poise, sophistication, grace, aplomb, and so on. They both seemed to be cracking up, at times. I even think there was a slight air of "Take this biyotches!" Check. And Mate.

Watching the royal wedding from my couch this morning was fun while the hubby read the tweets from the live bloggers on dlisted. (Did they have to stop to get Camilla an apple or carrot? Touching.)

Vastly different experience than when I was living in Jersey UK in 1986 and Fergie married Prince Andrew. I was working in my girlfriend's health food shop and we, along with all of the shopkeepers in Quennevais Parade, were drinking champagne, waving flags and celebrating. Sure, we were miles away from the event, across the Channel (well, almost), but yet on English soil -- quite the festivity.

I want to agree with John Oliver's coverage on the Daily Show that 80% of Brits don't care about the royal wedding; however, there's something about it that's undeniably cool. Maybe it's the 1936 diamond tiara borrowed from the Queen, the reverential curtsy, the horse drawn carriages (that are downright pretentious for others but seriously awesome if you're royalty), the Union Jack flags lining the streets or, more comprehensively, the fairytale-like nature of the entire event.

Swoon. 

As the cover Newsweek proclaimed a few weeks ago, and a recent sermon in church touched upon, "In a world gone to hell, thank God, a wedding." So true.

Time to put on my white gloves, one finger at a time, and pour myself some Pink Champale.

Ghost Town

After last year's nightmare travel to/from the Barbados, we almost didn't go on vacation this year but then we spotted a SniqueAway deal on a fabulous hotel in Texas, La Torretta, and jumped on it. I honestly can't bear the thought of not going away somewhere. I crave adventure. Life's too short, right? Fun. Relaxation. Sunshine. Family. Love. (Very grateful.)

The best part of this trip, aside from the relative proximity of flying to Houston vs. Barbados (via Queens), was that we bookended our fabulous resort stay with a trip to NASA/Houston Space Center on the front-end and the Houston Aquarium, Chocolate Bar, the Shops at Rice University and a wonderful dinner at Prego with our beautiful granddaughter/niece/cousin Leigh on the back-end. What else? We went to the Montgomery County Fair (great for people watching -- Texans are really not like New Yorkers at all) and we bought the hubby a real cowboy hat at Cavender's where we learned (no joke) all about the importance of beaver in the hat body (i.e., where the higher the "X" value, the greater the percentage of beaver in the felt). Who knew? Answer: Willie Nelson, probably.

Since I'm such a sucker for providing feedback, I hope that my TripAdvisor review will be posted soon. In the meantime, I'll leave you with the song that I have been singing since we arrived at our hotel that was bizarrely barren of all tourists. We had the pool, water slides, lazy river, hot tubs, restaurants, and more -- all to ourselves. Eerie. And awesome.

Photo Per Day #20: Chinchillin'

Today's guest photo was swiped from the Internets courtesy of our friend Stan Merrell's Facebook page. Stan, who was dubbed the "omnipresent documentarian of western New York culture" by local music critic Jeff Spevak, captured a colorful, shadowy shot of last night's Chinchillas show at our favorite hotspot Abilene. Thanks Stan!