The Musings of the Absolutely Fabulous Ms. N.

An older couple decides to go to the doctor for a checkup. The doctor
tells them that they're physically okay, but they might want to start
writing things down to help them remember. Later that night while
watching TV, the old man gets up from his chair. His wife asks, "Where
are you going?"

"To the kitchen" he replies.

"Will you get me a bowl of ice cream?"

"Sure."

"Don't you think you should write it down so you can remember it?" she
asks.

"No, I can remember it."

"Well, I'd like some strawberries on top, too. You'd better write it
down because you know you'll forget it."

He says, "I can remember that. You want a bowl of ice cream with strawberries."

"I'd also like whipped cream. I'm certain you'll forget that, so you'd
better write it down" she retorts.

Irritated, he says, "I don't need to write it down, I can remember it.
Leave me alone. Ice cream with strawberries and whipped cream

I got it, for goodness sake." Then he grumbles into the kitchen.

After about 20 minutes the old man returns from the kitchen and hands
his wife a plate of bacon and eggs.

She stares at the plate for a moment and says - "Where's my toast?

I am now addicted to the TV reality show Project Runway. I usually don't like to watch shows like this (because I rather hate reality TV) but I saw a few episodes the other day on a Bravo marathon and now I am hooked. It combines all my faves; fashion, NYC and divas. On a recent episode the designers had to create a dress for Nicky Hilton. I personally can't stand her and I think she is rather fugly. While reading Manolo's Shoe Blog there was a thread where people were commenting on this episode. Heidi Klum (in all her pregnant glory) commented that Ms. Hilton was a fashion designer. The first think that I thought after I heard that was, "since when"? She has no credentials and is a trust fund baby. Someone posted the following comment (which made me laugh)...

Nicky Hilton: further proof that anyone with a trust fund and a Bedazzler can be a clothing designer.

LMFAO!

I can't wait for next week's episode!

I am a huge gan of Overheard in NY. It's a website where people post overheard conversations. They are usually hilarous. I doscovered a similar site called Overheard in Philly. Not as funny but you'll find a laugh or two. Here is one of my faves so far.....

New Philly Tourism Slogan

Teenager 1: "My feet hurt... lets go home."
Teenager 2: "No."
Teenager 1: "Why not?"
Teenager 2: "Because I'm not going back to fuckin’ Jersey!"

2nd and Market

You Are a Lace Bra!

Dreamy, romantic, and ultra-feminine You're a womanly woman who makes guys feel like men Your perfect guy is strong, determined, and handsome With a softer side that only you can draw out

I took the plunge on Saturday and bought some knitting needles and some yarn from AC Moore. Oh, and a "Learn to Knit" book too. I have wanted to learn for a while but I haven't had the motivation. I used to crochet when I was little, with my mom. But when she died I never picked it up again. I need a hobby to keep me busy. Though my social calendar has been filling up lately which is kinda nice. :)

While surfing the net last week I came upon this cool knitting site. It's super helpful in that the author has made little videos that you can follow along and knit along with her. I learn to cast-on this way. I was trying to follow the way that the book was showing me but it was too hard. I think that I am going to make a few potholders and see how the whole thing goes. Watch out! You may be receiving a scarf as a gift from me next year!

I went to my very first book club last night. We read "Ten Little Indians" by Alexie Sherman. I had a good time and Mr. K was amused that I stayed out late on a weekday. I told him it was only once a month so I guess I could live a little :) Thanks to Ms. GreyCats for inviting me and for her friends for letting me in. Next month we are reading James Baldwin.

What is with the freaking Sodoku craze? I just dont get it. I also cant do it. AARRGGHH. I did find a web sodoku that I can almost do. It took me almost 10 minutes to finish an easy puzzle. Mr. K, on the other hand, plays these puzzles all the time. He even buys the NY Post* (which I detest) to get two puzzles.

Web Sodoku

*I did buy the Post today but only because they had a story on Howard Stern and new decency rules that Sirius us supposed to start following. I wish I could get my 50 cents back. What a rag.

Last week we had some serious wind up here in the greater Philly area. I was getting ready for work and was about to head out the door when all of a sudden I heard this huge thud and my who apt building shook. I was like "what the eff was that?" and my poor cats were looking at me like "what the eff was that"? I walk out of my apt to my car and this huge tree was resting against the roof of the apt next to mine. I was freaked out because it could have very well been my apt that could have been hit. I called the emergency number for the apt complex and left for work. When I got home that night I saw that they had removed the tree and had chopped it down leaving the stump. You could see the roots sticking up and the tree left a five foot round whole in the ground where it once stood.

I was pretty lucky that the tree didn't cause any real damage. I was lucky that I wasn't the squirrel that I found near one of the entrances to by building. It's been dead for a while and has started decaying. I call the complex to come and pick it up along with all the damn branches that they felled tree left behind but as of this writing nothing has been done. There is no way that I am picking up the dead, decaying squirrel myself. I wonder how he died. I saw no obvious signs of trauma. I think I am gonna bug the complex again and ask them to move him. He's giving me the creeps.

The third installment of my short story...


Thanksgiving morning K and I head out to Brooklyn. We braved Turnpike traffic and made it home in time for lunch. Before heading to Green Peas’ dinner my boyfriend and I were stopping at another uncle’s house for Thanksgiving lunch. I have to hit both sets of uncle’s for Thanksgiving because if I don’t I will never hear the end of it. It’s like being the child of divorced parents only worse. If I missed the holiday one of them would be so offended that I would receive a phone call from a distant relative as to why I was absent. In order to avoid any unpleasantness I make sure that I attend both events every year.
When we arrive we are greeted by my family and I hand over one of the pies to my Aunt Elvis (nicknamed so because her entire living room is adorned with everything Elvis). I proudly tell her that it’s a pumpkin pie that I made myself.
“You made it yourself?” she asks.
“Yes” I said beaming.
“You actually know how to cook?” interrupts my cousin JJ from the kitchen.
“I know how to cook” I replied. I could feel my face flush.
“She made a pie?” asks my cousin’s boyfriend Chapo just as my cousin smacks his hand away from the potato salad he almost sneaked a taste of.
“Goddamn. Is it so far fetched to think that I could have possibly made a pie?” I thought as I forced a smile on my face.

When we are seated at the dining room table my cousin asks me if I was planning on going to aunt Green Peas. Knowing full well that they know the answer to this question I say, “Yes, we are. Sometime around 5 p.m.”.
Swallowing hard because I know what is going to come next JJ says “Watch out, she once put green peas in her rice”.
I look over at K and say “And to this day they still won’t let anyone forget it”
K looked slightly unsure of what to say and voted to say nothing. Which was a good move on his part being a white boy and never having heard the story before.

A long, long time ago in 1995 my uncle John and his family was invited to dinner over at his brother’s (who is married to aunt Green Pea). On the menu was fried chicken with a teriyaki glaze, a tossed salad, red beans and white rice. Everyone sits down to eat and we start passing plates around. When the rice was passed I would see the look of horror on some individuals who will remain nameless. As we sat there and ate my cousin Tom who was about 10 years old at the time says, “Why are there peas in the rice”? Everyone stopped eating. I couldn’t bear to look up off of my plate. My uncle John made some statement to the effect of “Shut up”. My aunt Green Peas said something about how she wanted to try something new. Tom replied “We never have peas in our rice. It’s nasty”. I was mortified. Everyone glared at Tom and he never said another word.

This was the last time that John’s family was invited to dinner and Aunt Green Peas never put peas in her rice again.

I have been meaning to post a Philly Shoutout for a while now but for some reason I haven't. Today I am going to post a PSO to Joe at American Mortal. This fabulous salon on Walnut between 6th and 7th was a godsend to me. I am obsessive about my hair and I won't let anyone touch it. I visited East End Salon on Arch St back in October to get a quick cut and the whole experience was a nightmare. Not only did they keep me waiting for 50 minutes but the cut I got wasn't worth the $40 I paid (even after they offered me a discount after I complained). They have a great waxer and a manicurist but I swore never to go back there for a haircut.

Then I found American Mortals. I made an appointment and I came out with a great cut. For me getting my haircut is like a religious experience. AM is my place of worship and Joe is my hair god. He listened to what I wanted, went to work and I am loving my hair! The place is totally cool and unpretentious (unlike EE where the reception is totally snobby). The price was great and I plan on going back for a color. So if you are in the market for a haircut I highly recommened AM.

I am giving them a 5 out of 5 scissor rating.

Dear Lord,
I pray for Wisdom to understand my man;
Love to forgive him;
And Patience for his moods.
Because, Lord, if I pray for Strength,
I'll beat him to death.
AMEN

This is how I felt this weekend. Mr. K and I have been going thru a really rough time lately. But I think that things have finally worked themselves out. He needs to learn to stand up for what he wants (even if that means that he needs to tell me to shut up) and I need to have more patience. Sometimes I try to get things to move along and not realizing that sometimes it takes time to get what you want.

I have off on Monday. I dont have any plans but to hang out with the cats. I was sitting here thinking of where I would like to visit next and I thought that I would like to Monticello where Thomas Jefferson lived. I never got the chance to go when I lived in Maryland. I have visited Colonial Williamsburg twice and I would go every year if I could. I love it there. My favorite part is going to see the actor that portrays Thomas Jefferson. (His name is William Barker btw). Maybe this year will be the year where I will finally get to go.

Monticello official website

I have this unfortuante gift of being able to predict when bad things are going to happen. My first experience with this what when I was 10 and I predicted that my mother had died before anyone had told me. Since then I have always gone with "my gut feeling" whenever I come into a situation that may not be favorable. Lately I have predicted that my cousin wouldn't like the school she is attending. Mr. K called it the Cassandra complex. I had to ask him what he meant and he told me that Cassandra was given the gift of prediction by Apollo. When she refused his amorous advances he made sure no one would listen to her predictions. Mr. K is so smart.

I found this nice short version of the story online.


(kuh-SAN-druh) In classical mythology, a prophetess in Troy during the Trojan War whose predictions, although true, were never believed by those around her. Apollo had given her the gift of prophecy but made it worthless after she refused his amorous advances. The Greeks captured Cassandra after their victory and sacrilegiously removed her from the temple of Athena. As a result, Athena helped cause shipwrecks and enormous loss of life to the Greeks on their return home.
1
‡ A “Cassandra” is someone who constantly predicts bad news

Since I dont have a middle name I could always use Cassandra. :)

This afternoon I went to a walk on Chestnut St and walked in front of the Omni hotel. I saw either Chip or his brother Pepper Foster from the Style Network show"The Look For Less". It was definately him as I have watched that show so many times there was no way that I would have mistaken him. The only problem is that I am not sure which one it was. I remember that he was wearing the ugliest checked slip on shoes. Kinda like the ones that Sean Penn wore on "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" but there were pink and blue checked. From the pic you can see why I didnt know which one it was, they are like bookends! He was no bigger than 5 feet tall and really small. He looked totally out of place standing in front of the hotel. I just kept walking by minding my own business.

I can't say that I am a Jackson Browne fan. I know who he is but I can't remember anything he has done musically. Wasn't he dating Daryl Hannah for a while? Anyway, here is a cool video done to one of his songs protesting the war on Iraq.

Hope you enjoy.

That evening I poured through a dozen cookbooks looking for a pumpkin pie recipe. I struck gold when I found one in a Betty Crocker cookbook. Wiping the sweat off of my brow I sat down and glanced over the ingredients: Nutmeg, sweetened condensed milk, pumpkin pie filling. “I don’t have any of that stuff in my apartment” I said to my cat Leo. He looked at me with his usual distaste. I swore I heard him say, “Did you honestly think you could make a pumpkin pie?” I scowled at him as I made a list of everything that I needed. I then grabbed my car keys and headed for the grocery store.

I found everything quickly except for the sweetened condensed milk. I looked all over for that darn can. It was the day before Thanksgiving and the store was hectic. I cursed the other shoppers who wait till the last minute to but their Thanksgiving groceries. Up and down aisles. Dodging carts. I cursed my aunt for planting the thought in my head that I would bake instead of buy a pie. “Where the heck is the sweetened condescend milk?” I mutter like a loony through the store. I made my way over to the baking aisle looking for it. I was about to give up but the desire to not be a victim to the evil games that the grocery store clerks were playing by hiding the sweetened condensed milk. I broke my cardinal rule in desperation: Don’t talk to strangers at the store. But I was distressed so I asked an older woman if she had seen the sweetened condescend milk.
She looked at me with a puzzled look on her face. “No” she answers.
“Thanks” I replied when I really wanted to say, “AARRGGHH”.
I turn my cart and proceed to walk out of the aisle when I hear “Oh, Here it is”.
I turn my head and I see the woman holding a can of sweetened condescend milk. “Hallelujah” I cry. I grab two cans shoot her a “Thank you” and wheel my way to the register.

After standing in line for what seemed like an eternity, I got back to my apartment and put all the ingredients on my kitchen counter. I had all of my bases covered. I bought two of everything so in case I messed up on one of the pies I could make a backup. Everything was going smoothly. I read the directions and found that it was indeed easy to make a pumpkin pie. I stuck both in the oven and started to clean up the mess that was now consuming my kitchen. Then I noticed it with the corner of my eye. The nutmeg I had grated with my microplain sitting in a measuring cup. “Son of a bitch” I muttered. I forgot to add the damn nutmeg! What was I going to do now? “Ah ha”! I thought, I would add it to the top of the pies. It would give it a “sprinkled” effect. Except this is what really happened when I opened up the oven. I took a pinch of the nutmeg and instead of it spreading evenly around the pie it landed in a plop where I dropped it. So I tried again. And again. My pies looked like they had an outbreak of nutmeg acne. “Shit!” I said to myself. It was too late. The pies were in the oven and almost done. I sent a quick prayer to my goddess Martha Stewart that the pies would turn out okay. At least my apartment smelled like a Yankee Candle. After the pies were baked I cooled them and stuck them in the freezer. Hopefully they would pass the family taste test nutmeg acne and all.

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Here is a first draft of my short story "Pumpkin Pies". Critique away!


I come from a family that takes food seriously. How seriously do you ask? Let’s just say that certain members of my family have still not gotten over the fact that an aunt put green peas in her white rice. This even occurred in 1995. Eleven years later certain family members continue to spin this tale to any one who tells then that they are going to have dinner with the other half of the family. “Watch out”, they say. “She once put green peas in her white rice”. This warning speaks volumes about how strongly Puerto Ricans feel about their rice. It’s the holy grail of their existence. Any woman (or man) who can master the perfect rice making technique is spoken of as if they were personally responsible for discovering Puerto Rico. I bet they get a shrine put up in the native town.
“Mira aqui Carmela. Here is the arroz tribute to Dona Ramona.”
“Ah si, Maria. That woman made a mean arroz blanco”.
If you attempt to tackle the dish and fail, diners at your table spin tales about your failure that are passed on from generation to generation.

This past Thanksgiving I was going to my aunt’s for dinner. Yes, the same Green Peas aunt. Usually I never ask if they need me to bring anything but this time for some unknown reason I did. My aunts usually take care of everything and make so much food we could feed an entire block in Brooklyn. So I was shocked when she suggested that I bring a pumpkin pie.
“A pumpkin pie?” I asked to make sure I heard correctly.
“Yes”, she restated. “A pumpkin pie”.
“Ok”, I replied.
My aunt continued, “Last year my sister brought a pumpkin pie from Entermann’s and it was so awful. It ruined your uncle’s Thanksgiving”.
“Ruined? Isn’t that a bit extreme?” I thought to myself.
“You can get one from a bakery,” she continued. But you’ll have to order it a few days in advance because they are likely to be sold out if you wait to long.” ordered my aunt. “Oh and don’t get one from a supermarket those are awful”.
Crap. Now I have to find a bakery in my part of New Jersey. I don’t even know where the closet one is. That’s what I wanted to say. What I said instead was “Ok, I’ll take care of it”.
“Good” she says. “See you and K Thursday”. She then hung up the phone.

I had exactly two days before the big event and I needed to figure out how to get a pumpkin pie that would be acceptable to my family and not get me not only uninvited to next year’s dinner but ruin my reputation. I thought about tracking down a bakery and placing a last minute order then having to pick them up on the way home from work. “Forget that,” I said, “I might as well make one”. What! What did I just say? Was I on crack? What if I failed miserably and then was the laughing stock of Thanksgiving tales for the next twenty years. But I am not one who walks away from a challenge. Plus, how hard could it be?

Little did I know.

Recently Mr. K and I went to a mutual friend's house for a New Year's Day breakfast. (BTW great waffles Mr. Roxy)! We shared waffles and sausages with the Roxy's parental units and had a great time. I shared stories about my family and how crazy they are (and how crazy they make me). Mr. Roxy had told me on a previous occasion that I should write these stories down. I usually get a good reaction when I tell my family inspired stories so I think that I will take his advice. I'll start working on my first one which will be titled "Pumpkin Pies". When I get a good version of it I will post it here.

I was sick for most of the weekend and then I come in to work today. I am coughing and wished I hadn't come in. Then my brand new umbrella broke and I had to chuck it at the PATCO station which caused me to walk in the rain when I got into Philly. So I get to my desk and some jerk left a handcart full of boxes so close to me desk that I couldn't get to my chair. AARRGGHH!

And it's only 10 am.