Ugh. I know, I KNOW!
Stop yelling at me, I know I'm behind in my updates.
"Not refreshing one's blog" has been added to the (growing) list of things my mom can now nag me about, alongside the length of my hair ("I don't like it when you pin your bangs back... Just get it cut for heaven's sake..."), fiddling with the candles on the dining room table, and not returning Tupperware containers. In my defense, there's been a lot happening as of late and I've been on the road most weekends (and to be honest, blogging on an iPad is b@lls... they need an app for that... and until they do I'm too lazy to pull the laptop out at night. Sorry, friends.)
1. Big C, Beef and I had a whirlwind trip to NYC a few weeks back. We shopped uncontrollably (and yet all I bought was a handmade ring from a street vender). We ate obscenely, including a memorable meal at a michelin star restaurant where we were treated to something called "ballet service" and I ate things that included "foam" and "jus" in the list of ingredients. And we saw Raven Symone sing her teets off in Sister Act. While having a nice smelling man in a suit serve me lunch while I drank ice wine that cost an astonishing amount (considering how much it tasted like blue cheese [it could be argued, I suppose, that my pallet is not refined enough to appreciate such niceties]) was certainly a treat, highlights from this ridiculous trip include:
- Fancy Cousin being accosted on the street in broad daylight by a large man who felt the sudden urge to compliment both FC's handbag (vintage Yves, beautiful to be sure) and his "fine @ss".
- Big C commenting on the number of "Es-caa-la-days" on the road (read: Escalades)--sorry, mom... But you're so damn cute I can't not tell that story.
- Standing in FAO Schwartz waiting for Beef to use the loo (yet again...) and subsequently watching a young girl give birth to a doll. Some things you can't unsee...
- The most amazing 4-hour home cooked meal I've ever eaten, created by none other than FC and his roommate, Mary, shared with Mary's extended family, the quintessential Italian American's: Louretta, Louie, Pauly, Frankie, Serg, and Candido (who tells you to "just call me Tony" because he knows no one can pronounce his name.) Oh, and Louretta has a daughter married to a man named Fabio (of course) who owns a pizzeria in the Bronx (I can't make this sh*t up...) There was a lot of this, and this, and food I'm still dreaming about. I ate in shifts to cram it all in, and cram I did: pasta made with brie, oil and balsamic grilled veggies, fresh olive bread, platters of cheese and meat, three different deserts, hot espresso, and the largest container of Coffee Mate I've ever seen (*sing song* one of these is not like the other...)
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| Preggers Beef at Jean Georges... |
2. Bert has Tourettes, or something like that.
Fo' shizzle. Our fatty has been taken over as of late by some strange OCD-type behaviour that has him obsessively licking, frantically running, and hiding most days under our bed. It's sad to watch. My all-star vet, however, is trying her hardest to puzzle out his problems. But getting a straight answer from a cat is like trying to get a straight answer from a cat = très impossible.
Being a self-diagnosed "Crazy Cat Lady", I have of course gone out and purchased a fancy water fountain to entice him out from under the bed from time to time (which he lubs.) I suppose it's also a reward (read: guilt gift) for the twice daily oral needles he's forced to endure. Neither of us enjoy this daily routine, but the reminders I serve alongside his anti depressant/seizure medication that we're lucky these syringes are going in his mouth and not another unspeakable entrance bring little comfort.
Fingers crossed my little fur football.
3. I was an Olympic slut, passing myself between CTV, NBC, and TSN's coverage trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was being covered. It really doesn't matter when or what or who... I'm interested. Velodrome team sprint? Sure. Women's badminton? Yes please. Men's trampoline? Yup. I draw the line at indoor volleyball because it's boring (save your breath to cool your porridge, don't try arguing with me, my mind is firmly made up on the matter.) I have some observations to make, however:
- The curvature of a female gymnists spine creeps me out.
- I don't like the new "ladies" swimsuits.
- Sports with artistic components decided upon by a judge assigning a mark should not be in the Olympics. The motto is "faster, higher, stronger" not "faster, higher, stronger, and with more artistic merit." There. Feel free to argue with me about that one...
FYI, getting a good picture of yourself on the Maid of the Mist is really hard.
It's silly times if you're in the area and haven't ridden this beeatch. But I also recommend keeping your mouth closed for the duration of the trip unlike the wieners at the front of the boat screaming into the mist "OMG this is so much fuuuuuuuuun" who probably took home a bad case of e-coli alongside their souvenir key chain.
And finally...
5. Following last year's universal acceptance of "meh" as an official Scrabble-legal word, both "F-Bomb" and "sexting" were added to the Oxford English Dictionary in 2012. It gives me pleasure to imagine the folks who work for OED as stuffy old British men in monocles and cravats looking down their long pointed noses from their smoking room arm chairs:
"All in favor of 'sexting' as a word say 'aye'"
This is library humor I can get behind.
