Bitch blog

I'm usually quite cheerful, but I'm having a bout of PMS, so sue me for my bitchy attitude, okay?

I'm currently annoyed because:
1-I'm going away with my hubby tomorrow and I have yet to pack. This is very unlike me. I am an anal retentive packer and usually create a spreadsheet to help guide me through the annoying process of packing. The fact that our bag is not yet packed leaves me feeling anxious and unsettled.

2-The bitch at Hale and Hearty (the soup/salad/sandwich joint I get my lunch from 4 out of 5 days of the work week) forgot to give me a fork for my salad. So I walked from Hale and Hearty to the park on Riverside Drive to eat my lunch, read my book, and enjoy the 72 degree weather (which will not be around tomorrow when I have off), only to discover that I didn't have a fork with which to eat said salad. So I had to pack everything up and walk back to my office, get a fork, and then sit inside while every other person in NYC gets to enjoy the weather but me.

3-I have way too much to do before I leave work today. It's not all going to get done. I've resigned myself to my failure, but I'm still not happy about it.

4-I'm going to miss my cats while I'm away this weekend. I know that seems trite, but there it is.

And finally,
5-I really don't understand why the men in my office insist on not putting the goddamned toilet seat down after they finish peeing (we have unisex bathrooms here). It's like they all think that their mothers work here. Mamma's got a real job honey so be a man and put the freaking seat down. You would think you wouldn't be grossed out about touching the damned thing, especially considering you had to touch it to lift it up in the first place, and I'm willing to bet my salary that you didn't wash your hands before touching your genitalia. So put the damned thing down, gross pig boy.

Bah! The bitch-fest is over. The day may proceed as scheduled.

Next Tribe/Lucky Cat/Poetry!

James and Rob's band Next Tribe is playing tomorrow night at Lucky Cat in Williamsburg...and I'll be reading poetry with them during their set. I'm so excited! If you aren't busy tomorrow night--hell, even if you are--come to Lucky Cat, hear some awesome music, congratulate James on finding out the sex of his first born (a boy!), and hear a poem or two. Check out their website for details:

www.nexttribe.com

Mrs. Death

Mrs. Death…

I get to be Mrs. Death on the radio this weekend—I am so excited about this! I know, I know. Explanation please. Here goes. Brad went to SUNY—Oneonta and was DJ/Radio director-type-person (I should know the name of his position, but I don’t—sorry baby) and his radio station is hosting alumni weekend this weekend. So Sean (AKA SeanoftheDead), John, Elizalou, Jenn, even Eliza’s dog Mocha (I freaking love hugging that dog by the way—just thought I’d let you know), Brad, and I are all going up to Oneonta on Friday and we’re spending the weekend. And to top it all off, we get to be on the radio Sunday! Brad’s radio personality was Dr. Death, so of course, I get to be Mrs. Death. I am very, very excited. Way back in the day when I went to SUNY—New Paltz (for one year and then came running back to Brooklyn) I was a DJ and had so much fun. I was convinced that no one ever listened to my roommate Noreen and I—until one day when we played the unedited version of “Suck My Kiss” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers and then we got suspended because people called up the station and ratted us out to the station manager. It sucked to be suspended, but at least we knew people were really listening to us! But anyway, we’re going away this weekend and I am so excited to be on the radio…now all of those retarded conversations that Brad and I always have will be broadcasted for all of Oneonta to hear. Hooray! And hooray even more for the Jacuzzi in the suite we’re staying in. Sweet!

Snapfish...

I got pictures from Snapfish yesterday--and I proceeded to come into work this morning and immediately make a collage of kitty pictures because that is just how nuts I am...

From the top left going clockwise...Melora (Vivian's kitty--white & black), Elphie (grey) & Grendel (orange & white), Sawyer (grey and tan tiger striped), Helena (black & white), and Grendel...

Helena got spayed!

I took Helena to get spayed this morning and just got a phone call a little while ago that the surgery is complete and everything is fine! Hooray! I was so stressed this morning, I was actually weeping like a lunatic when they took her in. All of our kitties are like babies to me, but Helena is special because Brad and I found her together. She's really like our child. She was so good too. The vet had to actually try to get her to stop purring by making her smell an alchol swab so she could listen to her heart. She was just purring like a little happy girly.

I'm so relieved that everything is okay. Animal Kind (our vet) is such a great hospital. Most vets don't keep cats overnight when they are spayed or neutered, but Animal Kind does because there is always a risk that the kitty will run a temperature and then need antibotics to prevent infection. I'm not happy that she won't be with us tonight, but it makes me feel good to know that they are taking such good care of her. We're going to visit her tonight (have you ever heard of a vet that has visiting hours??!) and then we get to take her home tomorrow. I can't wait to see her! Meow!

Helena hanging out in my closet:

NYC Spa Week

April 17th through the 23rd is NYC Spa week. There are tons of spas offering usually pricey treatments for only $50! What a steal!

So here's a question--If I'm allergic to chocolate, is it a bad idea to get a chocolate and rose petal massage? I think it would be an amazing treatment, but I'll probably end up pink, blotchy, and itchy. And possibly dead. But be honest--chocolate and rose petals? How good does that sound? I think I'll pass on that particular treatment, but someone else should do it and tell me all about it.

Steven

I had lunch with my friend Steven today--I haven't seen him since I got married. That's almost a year and a half ago. Funny how you don't see someone for that long, and it feels like you hung out two days ago. I'm glad for that. When I think about all of the people that I've called "friends" in my lifetime that were little more than aquaintances-realized-after-the-fact, it makes me happy that I've been right about calling him my friend all along. I've missed him a lot this past year and a half, but shit happens. Life happens. You get older, priorities change, the running around going out constantly, always needing to be in large groups of people--it gets old, especially after you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. And the real friends are always able to slip back into that groove you've always had and things are like they always were. We were laughing about how old we are--compared to 10 years ago when we first met and were worried about going to shows and Riverrun, the literary journal that we worked on together in college--to now, and how we're thinking about where our parents and parent's-in-law will spend their "golden" years, the cost of having and raising a baby, and buying a house. Totally different mindsets, but it makes sense. I think at some point in your life you stop. Think. Realize that there are a handful of things, family, and friends that are worth giving a shit about, and all the rest can go rot. Steven is one that is worth giving a shit about.

New Fav Blog!!!

I am obsessed with "my favorites" lately--as you can tell by all my "My favorite" titles of blogs lately. I can't help it. Life is pretty darn good and I would rather point out the good things to share than bitch.

Anyway, I've been checking out lots of new blogs lately, and by far, my current favorite is www.CuteOverload.com How can you go wrong with tons of cute pictures that make you coo like a retard. I click into this site at least once a day to get my cuteness fix. Love it.

Easter Sunday

I spent Easter Sunday with my immediate family, and it was a really, really great day. My mom invited my mother-in-law and granny-in-law to Easter dinner at a great neighborhood Italian place (New Corners) in Brooklyn, and it was one of the nicest Easters I've had in years...



Me in my Easter outfit (please note the shoes that I instructed Bradley to make sure he got in the shot).



The hubby and I.



My brother, G, and I. (Yes, he's single and 26. And he has his own apartment, a good job, and is a funny bastard. He's also a guido, but has the biggest heart ever. So if you know of a nice girl, please let me know--I'm trying to get him hooked up with someone who isn't a skank.)



Brad, Mom, and G.

My new favorite thing about spring...

My neighborhood fruit-cart guy is back. All over Manhattan, the fruit-cart guys hibernate or migrate (I really have no idea) in the winter, taking their lucious fruit and veggie wares with them, forcing me to buy the produce I purchase on my way to work or on the way home in grocery stores. But no more! With the beautiful 60 and 70 degree days we've been having lately, my fruit-cart guy is back! He's back, he's back! That means I bought yummy rasberries for my morning smoothie and a green apple for my afternoon snack on my way in, and I'm thinking about picking up some mangos for salsa this evening. What is it about the fruit carts that make me want to buy more produce? It must be the allure of the freshness--you know he got up in the morning and picked up his fruit. He loaded up his cart this morning when he got to his destination (in this case, the corner of West 85th and Broadway). It hasn't been sitting there for god only knows how long. It's fresh and yummy and delicious. Hooray for the return of the fruit-cart guy!

You know you're doing something right...

When you go bathing suit shopping and you don't want to kill yourself. It's a good feeling. All my dieting and watching every single thing that I eat is definitely starting to pay off.

Brad and I headed out to the Tanger Outlet Malls this past Saturday in a effort to spend some time outside, but also pick up a couple of things that we needed. It was a beautiful day for a drive, we spend way more time outside than inside (even enjoyed the first Italian ices of the year!), and I managed to snag an awesome Juicy Couture tankini with matching board shorts--and I thought it looked pretty darn cute. Here's a picture--though the top is slightly different (it has a little tie thingy) and the suit is in lime green! The shorts are pink with green and white detailing...super, super cute. And it is an awesome feeling to not be totally self-conscious in your suit. Whoo-hoo!

One of my favorite things about my job...

We have a roof-deck. My job is on the Upper Westside in Manhattan, and the building is only 4 stories high, so we have roof access and my company built a roof-deck that they throw parties on during the summer. It's pretty sweet. When it's not being used for parties, I get to relax in the sun and eat my lunch up there. Occasionally, my boss and I even schedule meetings on the roof-deck because it's nice to be out in the sunshine. Needless to say, on this gorgeous 70 degree sunshine filled day, that is where you will find me between the hours of 1 and 2 pm.

Coach saga continued...

Coach got back to me about my purse today, and even though they sent the bag to their master repair person in New Jersey (where I could go and pick it up if I wanted to) they are sticking with their original assessment and have decided not to repair the bag. However, since I absolutely do not want that bag destroyed, they are sending me a 50 percent off coupon for my next purchase.

I've got to tell you, I'm still not happy. Why can't they just fix the purse? I really don't understand. It may not look 100 percent perfect on the inside (because they'll need to cut the lining to get to the leather and all that jazz), but at least the purse would be useable. Now I have to take the purse to get repaired on my own. I really only wanted that purse anyway. Even though I told the woman to find me another purse, I really just wanted my purse--the one that was will me through all that nonsense. I've got proof! Check it out:



See in the lower right hand corner? There's the purse. That's us in the Louie Armstrong Airport in N.O. right after Hurricane Katrina. I mean, that purse has been through a LOT with me. It's more than just a purse to me. If it had been any other purse (with the exception perhaps of the first one that Brad ever gave me), I would have taken the credit.

I'm just happy that I'm gettin my purse back. Even if I only use it occasionally, I would rather have it than not have it.

Coach update...

I just got off the phone with Snotty Bitch (a.k.a. the Coach Rep down in Jacksonville, FL) and apparently, after she tried offering me just about every freaking purse in a similar style or size that Coach had produced in the last two years, she told me that they absolutely do not have any other of the black patent leather gallery totes in that size and they would send it up to New Jersey, where their master repair person would attempt to fix it. Hello! Isn't that all I really wanted to begin with??? I just wanted my freaking purse fixed. I didn't want a new one. I wanted that exact purse--the one I sent them, the one that I dragged with me through god only knows how many dramas, the worse of them being Hurricane Katrina. I wanted my purse. It reminded me of Apple just a teensy bit--it's easier and cheaper to replace than repair, so replace whenever possible. So honestly, if that was what was going to happen, why couldn't they just spare me the drama and asked me outright from the get-go if I would rather have a new purse or if I absolutely wanted this one repaired? Because in every other case, I probably would have taken the credit, but because it was this particular purse, I wanted it repaired. It has sentimental value. I can't help it. I'm a sap like that. Well, I'm getting a phone call from the supreame bitch tomorrow to find out the outcome of the purse drama and I shall let you know what is going to happen. One way or another I'm writing Coach a very, very nasty letter.

At War with Coach

On Friday I received a letter in the mail that my beloved black patent leather gallery tote bag was received by Coach and deemed “not up to Coach standards” and that they have decided not to repair it. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I was distraught. How could they do this to me? My all time favorite Coach purse-—not up to their standards? They won’t repair it? They’re offering me a credit for what it cost me back then??? Say it isn’t so! Oh say it isn’t so. Brad promised to call them for me on Monday and make my case. He has a golden tongue and I often say that he’d be able to sell the Pope holy water, so if anyone would be able to get some satisfaction from Coach, it would be Bradley.

Brad called me a little while ago, and needless to say, he wasn’t happy. Apparently the woman that he was talking to was a real bitch and wasn’t willing to do anything to make us happy. She also wasn’t willing to talk to Brad. So I called her back, bitch that she was, and the snotty bitch came up with three options—she’d send it back to us and if we could get it repaired, then Coach would foot the bill for the repairs (as though I’d want anyone besides them to work on it—come on now. Why else would I have mailed it to them?), I could accept the freaking credit for exactly the amount that the bag was worth two years ago (hello—the bag was $400 back then—and it was a limited edition tote bag. All their limited edition stuff in that size is now $600 and more—why would I accept a credit if I can’t get something comparable? It needs to be in leather, not that canvas or nylon bullshit, and the same approximate size), or they could send me the bag back and they could give me half off on another purse (still not acceptable—why do I have to fork money over for their poor workmanship?). I told the snotty bitch (because she really was snotty) that she could only make me happy two ways: 1-Find another purse. I don’t care how she finds it, where she finds it, or who she has to kill, but find one, and find it fast. Coach is notorious for saving stock of all of their purses for just these occasions. I told her that I simply refuse to believe that there is not another purse in existence somewhere in the world. There is—she needs to make it her business to get it and then get it to me. 2-Issue me a credit for the amount of the purse, along with 25 percent off (and they can be used together) so I may get a purse of equal value to replace the one that is going to be destroyed.

I think that I’m being pretty darn reasonable if you ask me. And considering the snotty bitch gave me bs excuses like “Well I haven’t had much time to work on this yet,” and “I am the supervisor on the floor right now” and “I’m sorry, but I can’t repair the purse even though I know that is what you really want,” she’s lucky I don’t fly down to Florida and rip her throat out with my bare hands. Not for nothing, but I spend a sick amount of money at Coach every year. I buy, on average, 4 to 5 purses there per year. Not to mention the scarves, gloves, key chains, and presents that I buy for other people. The least they could do is make a very good customer happy. All I have to say is that if they don’t, this will be the last time I ever deal with them, and Gucci and Kate Spade are going to be very, very happy.

Boobies

My boss often tells me about the cute things that his kids come out with sometimes--his daughter Lena is 2, his son Miles is 4. I've met Miles and he is adorable--one of those so-cute-you-want-to-bite-them sort of kids. Anyway, Lena had quite the observation this morning. "Daddy, I have small boobies." Which my boss proceeded to tell me that it was simply a statement of fact and she was perfectly okay with her two year old small boobies. That made me happy. Can't have any self-depreciating image-conscious two-year olds.
Lena's boobie observation made me think about my own obsession with boobies when I was little. At not quite 4 years old, my mother (pregnant with my brother at the time), took me to the Staten Island Mall to get my picture taken with Santa. I had throughly rehersed what I wanted. A new Easy Bake Oven, a set of roller skates, a Little Orphan Annie dress--and you guessed it--BOOBS! I climbed up on his lap, rattled off my list, and closed with the boob request. I don't remember what Santa's reaction was, or who prompted me to come out with boobs, but I must say, though Santa may not have delivered that year, he certainly made sure to do so later in life.

Snow!?!

WTF???? It is NOT supposed to be snowing in NYC in April. Especially not these huge giant snowflakes that are currently falling outside my office window. I protest. I wore skirts last week without pantyhose. I had flip-flops on this past Sunday. Now I'm back to my winter coat (a cute coat, but still) and gloves for crying-freaking-out loud. It looks like all the kids in the city are up on the roofs having a giant pillow fight. I shit you not--the flakes are that big. I wish I had my digital camera to prove it. This is just not cool on so many levels.

Cravings...

***If you have "that time of the month" phobias, don't read the below blog***

Grrr. How the hell do you stay on WW when your body is massively craving salt? All I want to do right now is eat an entire bag of salt & vinegar potato chips. Yum. Or chocolate covered pretzels. Whoever thought of that is a bloody genius. The perfect combo of sweet and salty...oh god. I'm killing myself. Must...have...salt...now....
I think I need to get myself a salt-lick. You know, like gerbils and hamsters have? I can just lick my salt-lick whenever I have salt cravings and keep myself from (as Eve would put it) having a big ole' party with myself and eating an entire bag of chips.

I'm drinking lots of Yogi Moon Cycle tea, which should help the cravings. But still. Chips! Salt! Tomorrow I'll start fiending for chocolate, which I absolutely cannot eat unless I want to turn into a giant walking pimple in cute shoes. Eww.

Punk'd

So for April Fools I was determined to punk my husband but what to do? The radio had been blaring all morning about April Fool jokes and make sure you watch out for those tricksters! He would definitely know if I tried something. But still--I was determined.

We got up fairly early on Saturday morning and drove out to Queens so Brad could go to the same hairdresser hes been going to for I-can't-tell-you how long. The plan was I was going to drop him off, I'd park, and then I'd walk around and maybe go get a coffee or something. Well, the planets or gods or something must have been on my side, because after I dropped him off I found a parking spot on the same street a little ways up from the salon, and a cab was right in front of me, driver still inside. "Oh no. This is just too good," I thought. So I grabbed my cell phone and speed dialed him. He picked up the phone and I began my Oscar-caliber performance. "Baby-you-have-to-come-outside-a-cab-backed-into-me-when-was-parking-and-the-crazy-guy-is-yelling-at-me," I hyperventalated into the phone. "Oh-my-god, oh-my-god, are you hurt? Are you okay? I'm coming right now." Click! And he hung up the phone. I got out of the car and walked closer to the salon, but was standing in the street so when he'd see me, he'd also see the car behind me and the cab right in front of me. A couple of seconds go by and Brad rushes out of the salon, running up to me, his hair all wet and a hat on his head. I almost felt bad. He runs up to me, and I look at him, big dopey smile on my face, and say, "April Fools!" Luckily Brad is a very good sport and appreciated how perfect the set up was and didn't kill me. He summed it up perfectly: "I love you, but you're evil!" Heeheeheehee! The look on his face before and after was priceless. Brad got punk'd!