He Likes It!

Happy Halloween.

And Happy Birthday to my hunk of a husband.

I gave Seth his birthday gift(s) 36 minutes ago, and for 36 minutes we haven't spoken. You know a husband likes a birthday present when, after you give it to him, he is so enthralled with it that when you begin a story and then stop MID-story, MID-sentence, MID-word, and he doesn't acknowledge you even started a story. Sethie likes it! He likes it!

It's a book about Star Wars.

Go figure.

Hasn't looked up once since he pulled it out of the bag.

Not once.

You know how they say men are like children?...

OHP!! He just spoke.

Seth: Cool. Did you know the phrase "May the force be with you" was derived from the Christian phrase "May the Lord be with you and your spirit" which St. Paul sometimes uses as the end of his letters?

Me: How do you know that's true?

Seth: Cuz it says here in the book.

What's New

I have good news.

I booked a show!: the musical, Oliver. Guess all that 6 in the morning stuff pays off. I start rehearsals on Tuesday. I'm playing Bet, and the show's in New York. Which is maybe the best news of all, because I sure like doing shows and sleeping in my own bed at night.

It's the same theater I worked at last year, the one that the New York Times reviewed. It's in Long Island in a town called Northport, so it's a ways out. The theater provides travel, through train or van. But we rehearse at a studio in Manhattan.

My cousin's wedding was beautiful. I'm back home. I'm really tired. The whole extended family went to a karaoke bar AFTER the reception on Saturday, and I'm not sure I've fully recovered. Have you ever been to a karaoke bar with your aunts and uncles and cousins and MOM and DAD? It's kinda weird. I have stories to tell about my weekend, but I'm just so tired.

We're 6 days away from election day.

Seth's birthday is on Friday, and we're celebrating at a friend's house with Halloween cupcakes. Seth and I are going to our very favorite restaurant in NYC on Saturday. TABOON. Mmmmm. Ooh I need to get reservations for that.

I'm behind on laundry, and cleaning, and errands, and my dry cleaning has been at the cleaners for a week now cuz I keep forgetting to pick it up.

The other day, the 7 yr old boy I babysit asked me what a "bagina" was. (Yep, that's how he said it: with a "b") After saying WHAT?? I asked him where he heard that word. He said at school, and that his friend said it was girls' underwear. I said...mmm wellll I think that's a good question for your parents. He asked why he had to ask his parents. I said just because.

That's what's new with me. Getting ready for a new show and discussing the word "bagina."

Riddle Me This

As I'm getting ready to leave this morning (I'm in Oklahoma for a cousin's wedding), I say to Seth:

Me: Well hun, I'm glad you'll have the weekend for your dissertation. You can really, ya know, bite the bullet.

Seth: Awww, that doesn't sound good.

Me: What?

Seth: Bite the bullet means like, to die.

Me: It DOES?!?! No way! I thought it meant to like, ya know, suffer through it. Get it done.

Seth: No, I think it means to die.

Oh SE-eth. I have a little something to SHOWWW YOUUUU!

Please click here. Hurry! Now! Everyone! Click!

Change of subject. Before I go on, I must insert here: I don't know a lot about designer stuff. Really, I don't. I don't go out and try to buy the best brand names, because I've never cared, and anytime anyone's said to me, Oh my gosh, this handbag I saw was amazing. It was (insert designer brand name here), I think: I have no idea what that means.

Now, along with hand-me-down clothes, I recently got a hand-me-down handbag. Designer. Louis Vuitton.

More on this later. But I had to preface for this next section here.

OK, so after I laugh about the phrase I THOUGHT I'd botched and ask Seth to please not tell anyone, it's time to go. I pick up my sheek Louis Vuitton designer handbag, realizing fully the unprecedented moment, and with renewed vigor SAY:

Me: WELL! Me and Vidal are outa here.

Seth let me get all the way to the door before correcting me.

Oh, and Seth? I think you meant: Bite the dust.

HA! Take THAT oh power in the universe that jumbles up all my phrases of good intent! haHA!! One point: FancyPants.

Confession: Nanny No-No

What's wrong with me?

I'm babysitting my friend's little boy this week, remember - the heart stealer?. He and I were running errands yesterday, after undergoing the painful process of getting a one-year-old AND his stroller down a flight of stairs in a walk-up building, out two heavy doors, and down another mini-flight of stairs outside.

When we came to a corner and waited for the street light to change at the crosswalk (my rulebook for walking in NYC is modified with babies in my care), a guy sitting on a fire hydrant (couldn't tell you why he was sitting on a fire hydrant) says hi to my friend's curly haired, blue eyed toddler.

He says in a manner much to personal for strangers on the streets of New York City, "Hey little guy! Hi! Ohhhh...WOW!...what beautiful eyes!"

Then the stranger looks at me and says, "WOW! Congratulations!"

Now, aside from the fact that that is the weirdest way to say somebody's baby is cute, like the parents have won some providential prize or something, overlooking that fact, I say with a sheepish grin,

"Thanks."

The light changed. I got my white walking man. I crossed the street.

THANKS? Thanks. THANKS! What? Now why in the world did I take credit for a baby that's not mine?!?! I've been thinking about this long and hard since yesterday, because the second I said thanks and crossed the street, I debated turning around and saying, Ummm...actually.... And though I myself KNOW I am not in any way, shape, or form a nut nanny, I can't help but think: Hand That Rocks the Cradle.

I realize I committed the biggest babysitter crime EVER.

So it's necessary I evaluate the possible reasons I would commit such a hanus crime, and here's what I've come up with.

I'm either

A) A nut nanny

B) A woman whose biological clock is ticking and...it's about. that. time.

or

C) A suspicious New Yorker who just wanted to get across the street without telling a strange man her life story.

I'm gonna go with C.

That has to be it.

Switching Wardrobes

I switched out wardrobes yesterday, which took way longer than I thought and usurped my previous plans of getting much more done. Sweaters, naturally, take up way more space than rinky dink sleeveless summerwear, and the dilemma caused me to overthrow Seth's claim to his side of the closet.

Poor Seth now has a foot or so at the end for his jeans.

But no worries. I also gave him a drawer all to himself.

I know, I know. It sounds heartless. But really, fancied friends, if you knew how long it took me to organize all our winter wear into our eensy teensy living space, you'd be proud. It was hard. DANG hard. I had to CONTINOUSLY take things out of the closet and say, Nope- won't wear that. It's gone. Nope. Nope. Nope. Ehhhhh, well if I lose some poundage I could fit back into that. Maaaaaybe I should keep it....Nope.

And on top of all that, my friend's neighbor downstairs from her cleaned out HER closet and got rid of HER clothes, and she has REALLY awesome clothes, which she gave to my friend, who in turn gave them to me. We're talking designer brand here, people. Brands I would NEVER buy because the the cost of the tag alone equals my closet's entire holdings. I mean, you can't TURN DOWN free clothes like that! No, you GIVE AWAY clothes you have to fit THOSE clothes into your closet.

Hand-me-downs are awesome. Thank you, friend's friend with impeccable style. I thank you. Once Seth gets used to the new living arrangements, he'll thank you, too.

Picking Apples and a Pumpkin Patch

This past weekend we went to a farm in New Jersey with some friends for a fall kickoff. Hot dogs, cider and donuts, pumpkins, apple orchard. Fall's here. There's no turning back now.




This is our friends' one-year-old.

Watch out, Seth. This little guy might steal my heart.



One thing's for sure. As of Saturday, I am all about fall.

I'm wondering what that guy behind me's all about.

The only apples available for picking were WAY high up in the trees. So my friend, V, and I shimmied on up and took matters into our own hands.



We ate the apples right off the trees. Mmmmm they were delicious.

This little guy thought so, too.


See what I mean? Heart stealer.

Happy fall, y'all.

City Sights

I don't have pictures for some of these:

**A woman in a bright pink button down blouse and white dress pants with a large white "Coach" or something of the sort handbag, lying on the ground, face down in the flowers that are sold on the side of the corner mart. She lifts her head, clearly drunk, and tells us over and over how her husband is such a jerk. Her well-to-do husband comes out of the corner store, sees his wife, shakes his head, and exclaims in a heavy New York accent, "What's wrong with you?!?!"

**A man in the back seat of a cab with its window rolled down yells to the driver, "STOP HERE. HERE!!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING!!...YES I DO! OH I'LL TELL YOU WHY!!! BECAUSE I'M AN AMERICAN, THAT'S WHY!!!" He gets out of the cab and storms away.

I saw this guy, from the TV show House, crossing the street. Love that show.



And this guy, going into a gym.



This nifty little Smart Car, which I absolutely love.



And as I was shlepping across town for auditions the other day, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the the shiny windows. It was the first cool day we had, on the windy side, and I forgot that on days like those you need a scarf. I improvised.

Confession: Walk Rage

As of today, I am a true New Yorker.

A while back I wrote about the different ways of crossing the street in New York City.
Today, I followed #7 in the rule book: Walk Rage.


As I crossed the street WITH THE RIGHT-OF-WAY (oh yes, I had the white walking man), a big white van took a right turn, right into me. Now when this happens, because believe it or not, it happens a lot, what ensues resembles a game of "Chicken." Who will give first? The walker has the right-of-way, but the driver , because he's turning right on a green light, doesn't want to wait on the walker, and consequently "fakes" driving right into the walker, attempting to scare the walker into stopping and letting the car pass, EVEN THOUGH THE WALKER HAS THE RIGHT-OF-WAY.

Now, see, when a driver does this to ME, I ALWAYS win. Because I take #7 in my cross walk rule book seriously. If I have the right-of-way, then I have the right-of-way. That's all there is to it, and they can wait. You might be thinking, hmmm...that's a bit severe considering she could get run over. But the thing is, if you keep walking, the driver has no choice but to stop, because surely they won't run you over.

Today, the white van almost ran me over. We played our little game of Chicken, and he didn't stop, and NOT ONLY did he not stop, he and his Hispanic friend in the passenger seat laughed at me and waved. This I clearly saw, since their windshield was a foot away from my face.

I stopped. I raised my hands in the air. I...(oh c'mon now, don't judge me)...cursed. And as I lowered my hands and the white van passed me, just inches away from my toes, a series of thoughts went through my head in a split second.

That *&#$^ almost killed me.

I had the right-of-way.

How dare they laugh.

And....

instead of bringing my right arm down to my side as I did my left, my right arm suddenly acquired a will of its own. And....

I hit that van.

Really hard, with my right hand.

Right on its fat white side.

And man, did that feel good.