2.  Let’s see… I met two very awesome law school students from Texas. Mariel and Amber. And they made me laugh an entire night with stories.

3. I’m getting my motorcycle license next week. Currently, I have a permit. You know, you don’t fully appreciate the size of a city bus until one almost clips your back wheel.

4. Boss and I went to The Paris Club last weekend. We met and took pictures with Gail Simmons, Cat Cora and Curtis Stone. Curtis Stone put his arm around Boss and made this face:

I suspect he wanted her to try his truffles. Meanwhile, I proposed to Gail Simmons.

Not to be outdone, Boss put on a cow mask and we got a nice pic with Cat Cora in the background, unsuspecting of her bovine neighbor.

5. And how is Little Filthy? He’s fine.

Me: “How old were we when we found out that Santa isn’t real?”

My Mother: “Hmmmm, I think 4 and 5.”

Me: ”Ohhh, we were just snooping, I guess? When we found the suit in the closet?”

My Mother: “What? That’s not how you found out…”

Me: ”What? I thought that’s how…? We were snooping in the spare bedroom closet and saw the Santa suit?”

My Mother: “No…It was Christmas Eve and Santa came to the house and his pants fell down.”

Me: *Blink* “What?”

My Mother: ”His pants fell down and then you knew it wasn’t Santa.”

Me: ”I can’t …I can’t help but feel that you’re leaving out some crucial details. It’s really weird that we would know it wasn’t Santa once his pants came down. Right? Like, that seems like some sort of red flag.”

We had these older next door neighbors whom my sister and I called Grandma Kay and Grandpa Lou. My sister vaguely remembered that Grandpa Lou had dressed up  like Santa that year.

So then I started to think about it and I could remember a picture from one of our photo albums of my Grandpa Lou dressed up like Santa but sans beard. Instead, he had a white handkerchief across his face like a freaking train robber. Or like he was trying to survive a dust storm.

I said, “Wait… is that the year Grandpa Lou wore a handkerchief as a beard?!”

My mother nodded.

I said, “Let me get this straight. You guys didn’t have a beard and so you just thought you’d wing it with a white handkerchief?!”

My mother nodded.

Apparently, Grandpa Lou came in, proceeded to hand out gifts and then his big old Santa pants fell down and revealed Grandpa Lou’s dress pants underneath which made everyone laugh so hard that they gave up the entire charade.

So I found out that Santa isn’t real when some bogus train-robbing bandit sandstorm-surviving Santa Claus lost his pants on Christmas Eve.

I feel like this isn’t normal.

Little Filthy sleeping on his paws (ab0ve)

PEACH YOGURT – DELICIOUS.

?

Black cherry yogurt? ALSO DELICIOUS.

I like to snap picture of the lake when I snag a cab home.

?

Dinner party at my sister’s – figs, gorgonzola, honey.

Little Filthy had an upset stomach here. He ate grapes off a table. Thought he might be toxic but the little boy pulled through and was back to himself in about a week. Scary!

There was a lot of travel at the end of the year. Little Filthy disapproves.

Legs got Little Filthy a pumpkin shirt.

Dinner one night.

Unfortunately, Little Filthy has learned that he just needs to climb over the back of the couch to look out the windows. *sigh*

Eggs lined up. These are from the restaurant Next. I was at the Food and Wine magazine event at the Museum of Contemporary Art.

Playing LEGOS with my nephew.

Dinner at the loft.

First snow fall.

Passed out.

?

I had a cold for a few days this month. I picked up some of these cough drops – Halls Refresh.

Then I looked at the package. What the hell, exactly, is “Advanced Moisture Action” and why do I want it? It just sounds…. off putting.

The best part, however, is the little letters right above the picture of the cough drop.

It says “ENLARGED.”

You know, in case you thought the cough drop was an actual inch across.

I have too much time on my hands when I have a cold.

I sometimes have trouble sleeping. I just… don’t have the urge to sleep until the wee morning hours and then, I sleep fitfully. Not all the time, mind you. The last three nights, I’ve had a solid 8 hours of sleep without any problem. But sometimes, it just doesn’t seem to be clicking. When that most recently happened, I decided to take Ambien.

I had some great warnings on Twitter.

“I once Ambien-sleep-walked.”

“I Ambien-sleep-ate!”

My personal favorite: “I Ambien-joined Match.com.”

But what surprised me the most were the dire warnings “not to fight it.” I was told to turn off the lights and rest in bed.

“Don’t fight it! Go to bed!”

“If you fight it, bad things happen.”

I don’t get this. I mean, what’s the point of a goddamn sleeping pill if it doesn’t knock me on my ass? If I was willing to just go to bed and rest there, I wouldn’t need this pill. Capiche? I want to be made sleepy. I want to want to go to bed. I want to be as sleepy as I remember being in church when I was a teenager. You know. Church Sleepy. God, seriously, was there ever a more sleepy sleepy than Church Sleepy?? Christ, if I could go to church right now, I’d sleep like the dead.

But seriously, some things aren’t worth selling your soul for.

I digress.

I complained to Instigator that I feel that a drug is sort of bullshit if I can just beat it with my mind. I mean, if all it takes to defeat Ambien is simply not wanting to go to sleep, how great a drug can it be? She politely informed me that not resting after taking Ambien is like taking aspirin for a headache and then banging your head against the wall and still expecting the aspirin to work. You have to help the drug work.

I told her that I want to be knocked on my ass and put down for a nap like I’ve had it coming. I want to be passed out asleep against my will. I want this shit to be magic.

She said, “Oh. What you want is Propofol.”

YES.

Is that jackass Conrad Murray in jail or is he still for hire?

See previous exhibit here.

Unfortunately, my services have again become necessary. For follow-up, please see QT’s most recent entry here.

Sincerely,

Random Esquire

This morning at the grocery store, the woman bagging my stuff said, “Do you mind if I put the shampoo in with your groceries?”

Now, first of all, it wasn’t shampoo. I got body wash for the 2nd bathroom because you can’t give guests a bar of soap. You know why? It’s just fucking gross. I mean, if I have to tell you that, then you’ve clearly never been a guest at someone’s home and gotten into the shower only to see a bar of soap staring at you with a single black, curly hair stuck on it. You follow?

Okay, so, she said, “Do you mind if I put the shampoo in with your groceries?”

I said, “No, I plan on eating the shampoo.”

She said, very softly, “…oh…”

I sort of wanted to roll my eyes or tell her I was kidding but then I figure she might as well think I’m a weirdo if she’s so gullible. I mean, life’s got harder lessons down the road for the likes of her.

2.  I might have a somewhat nosy neighbor. I take some pride in not fully answering her questions. The first time I met her, she said, “Ohhh, so you’re the new neighbor! I was wondering when I’d meet you. So… are you married? or did you buy your place alone?”

I said, “I have a dog.”

Then yesterday morning, I walked in early with some bags and she said, “Oh! Did you go to the Farmers’ Market?” Which, really, I don’t get why she would think that is the only place a person goes in the morning. Instead of telling her what I did, I said, “I’m a morning person!”

Whatever.

3.  Did you know that if you move and you decide not to take your bed frame and instead, you just put your mattress on the floor for a few weeks while you look for furniture..well, did you know that if you do that, your dog will think you are fucking awesome for giving him such a huge bed even if he finds it strange that you insist on sharing it with him? Little Filthy was disappointed when the bedroom furniture arrived.

My schedule has definitely changed since moving. Hence tirades like this from QTMama. I used to stay up until 1-2 a.m. regularly. Now, it hits 10 p.m. and I start to think of bed. WTF.

4.  I have still not purchased living room or dining room (they are all one big room) furniture. It has been suggested by more than one person that I simply put basketball hoops up on either end and call it a day.

5.  Little Filthy is completely baffled by the glass doored shower. He growls like mad when I open or close the doors. And once I am inside, when I close the doors, he somehow thinks I can no longer see him and he makes a beeline for the trashcan, getting up on his hind legs and peeking inside for goodies. I then yell, “Hey!” and about startle him to death. I really don’t get this dog.

So you’ve heard of me, the Big Sister who can now just be referred to as BS.  About me – a 39 yr old working mom in a NYC suburb.  Although I’m not from the East coast, I have lived here now for about 15 years which means I have:

1- evolved my ability to be an aggressive driver;

2- temporarily became a disciple of eating (insert food fad here: cupcakes, rice pudding, boba tea, meatballs, ramen noodles etc) and (insert exercise/health fad here: yoga, jivamukti yoga, bar method, blueprint cleanse);

3- a heightened intolerance for people who lack self-awareness (loud talkers on cell phones, people who walk on the side walk in NYC shoulder to shoulder);  AND

4 – a big ego.

I have two kids; I’ll call them Ferdinand (3 yrs old) and Isabella (5 yrs old) not because they’re Spanish but because they behave like royalty.   I’ll spend more time discussing them later – today’s entry is about husbands.

I was recently in Hawaii for work.

Really for work?  Yes, I did work (as least as possible) and yes, I did eat (fad foods:  Puka dog, loco moco) and yes, I did try paddleboarding.  The following week, friends of ours were hosting a Hawaii-themed party so I thought would it be cute if we ALL (the family) wore the same printed Hawaiian outfits.  Me and Isabella in matching MuMu dresses (think Mrs. Roper in colorful Hibiscus prints) with plumeria in our hair, and Daddy and Ferdinand wearing same print in Hawaiian shirts.  This is how the conversation went down.

BS to spouse:  “Hey, I was thinking that for the Hawaiian party next week we could all wear matching outfits, really go with the theme.  All four of us in cute bright printed Hawaiian shirts and dresses.”

Do you all have images of Griswold family wearing matching berets?

Spouse: “Really?? I think you guys would look cute but I think I’ll abstain.”

BS: “But come on, the kids are only young for a short amount of time. I’m only going to be able to dress them for a brief time so if we ever want to do it, it’s now.  It’ll be cute!”

Spouse:  “No”

So, spouse is usually a good sport about things but I’m sure he was thinking, “Geeez, our friends all know you have my nutsack in a sling, do we really have to arrive at a party and announce it with a superbowl ad?”

I think you guys all know the couples I’m talking about here. Where you know that the wife runs the show and rules the household.  I’m not saying that my house is like that but maybe it’s more important for my friends to think it’s run like that.  In the end, the kids wore matching outfits, we just honored the theme of the party by getting shit-faced on mai-tais.

Glad to insert myself into RandomEsq’s blog here  – Mahalo!

Do you have some examples you’ve seen where you can tell that the woman is totally in charge, bossing her husband around?

You know what my sister said?

“Yes.”

This both makes me laugh and cringe at the same time.  But mostly laugh.

2.  I spoke with my sister this morning. She said, about my nephew, “He’s sitting in the middle of an inner tube. In the yard. With a mouthful of waffle. And a strawberry in his hand.”

I think this is awesome.

3.  Speaking of things that crack me up, I thought my Jesus Rapture picture was very funny. My sister, however, did not.  I sent her a text message that said, “The Rapture is tomrorow!” with the picture attached.

Her response: “wtf??”

Then, “Why do u have a photo of jc w ur name on it”

then, “Where did u get that??”

I said, “You want one, don’t you?”

She said, “No. Not funny to me. Dumb. Read Bossy Pants. That’s funny.”

Sometimes, everything my sister does strikes me as hilarious.