... And To Laugh Again

Last weekend, I saw this sign taped to this guy's car (with Massachusetts plates) that was blocking the driveway of my old building (c'mon - it has to be a guy who drives a Dodge Charger and parks ridiculously, right?): If you can't read it, it says: Hey Mass-Hole, You're blocking our driveway by this much. Do it again and the police will be called! Use some consideration next time. Red Sox Suck!
First of all, I'm not sure if "Masshole" needs to be hyphenated, and second of all I know exactly who wrote this sign - it HAS to be the landlord's daughter. She's such a curmudgeon with Transitions lenses and the ability to hold a grudge like no other. (For example, one time I had (loud) friends over and she knocked on my door at 10 pm on a Saturday, and said we'll wake the neighbors. Translation: I'm trying to watch my stories, and you're not allowed to have fun. After that she didn't say "hello" to me for like a month.)
Anyway, I was carrying many bags of groceries home when I saw this, but was laughing so much I had to put them down and take a picture. It felt really good to laugh, and I haven't seen this car on the street since.

Somebody to Love

Last night for Valentine's Day I went on a date with myself. I had a few invitations to be out and about, but decided to stay home for a few reasons: 1) I was out until 2 am the previous night with my newly-engaged, finalist in the best couple contest friends "celebrating" 2) I went to brunch VERY early at Sullivan Diner and had french toast with a SIDE of toast and more coffee and water than the waiter was comfortable with and then walked uptown window shopping/flea marketing with a friend and finally 3) because I had two awesome movies from Netflix, Queen Under Review: The Freddie Mercury Story and The Last Waltz, the Martin Scorsese documentary on The Band's last concert.
This may not seem like the most exciting thing to do on the Hallmark Holiday, but it was perfect. The Last Waltz is highly-recommended. The Band was friends with some of the most amazing musical artists of their time, and some of my personal favorites: Neil Young, Van Morrison (who does NOT match his voice at all - hello purple suede glittered outfit!), Muddy Waters and Bob Dylan, to name a few.
The Freddie Mercury Story was amazing for a whole other set of reasons. Queen is definitely one of my favorite bands, but I didn't know much about them. Last summer I was shocked to find out that my aunt and uncle (who are in their 60s) had NEVER heard of them before. I always thought they were comparable in popularity to U2 or Coldplay (who my aunt LOVES) today. I burned them all the music from Queen I had, and my uncle's response? "Hm, I thought they wrote this music for baseball games!"
My favorite part of the documentary was when they were discussing Freddie Mercury's sexuality. One of the talking heads said, "It became abundantly obvious he was homosexual when he grew his moustache." Wait, what? Now, I'm not here to judge anyone - including the intelligence of the British who have given us such brilliance as English muffins - but, it wasn't obvious when he was dancing around in a bare-chested unitard? Or how about the music video where he wore a black, leather mini-skirt. No?
But before you pity me (hopefully you don't), my night wasn't without a little steamy action. When the guy who delivered my supper showed up, I realized that after I gave him a pretty generous tip and went back inside my apartment, my shirt was pulled down revealing a significant portion of my right boob. Nice.
Happy Valentine's Day!

The Ultimate in Man Babies

Last night, I went with a friend to see "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button". I loved the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, but quickly realized even through the previews, that it wouldn't be the same.

When we were waiting for the movie to start we talked about the normal stuff: New Year's plans, Christmas vacations, and, of course, Man Babies.

We were probably pretty obnoxious to other theater goers because as soon as they showed Benjamin Button as a "baby" we were obnoxiously disgusted. But our loudest guffaw was when Benjamin's mother called him, "not a boy, but a man child".

Please to enjoy, some of my favorite "man childs":

Giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up let's go - let's look at the snow!

Happy Holidays from my half-naked, half-cowboy, half-mermaid house to yours.

Thank God

Fairy Tales Do Come True ...

My humble little space on the Internets is listed on another site telling others that it's a great place for Nick Lachey news, photos, videos and MORE.

Bro Time with Okkervil River

Last night, after some delicious pierogies at Veselka and a stop at the Dessert Truck, my brother - in town from Philadelphia - and I went to see Okkervil River at Webster Hall.
Doors were at 7 pm, so being ever-so-punctual we got there around 7:30-ish to find the band wasn't even going on until 10 pm. We walked over to Union Square to try to see a movie, but nothing was playing (well, Beverly Hills, Chihuahua and Righteous Kill do not count) so we browsed a Halloween store where my brother finally got his first monocle - a lifelong dream. Then, we went to The Strand to read for a few hours. We separated in the store, but when we met up again on the ground floor, it turns out we were both reading the same book, the Zombie Survival Guide - no wonder he's one of my best friends.
We got back to a packed Webster Hall to catch the tail end of the second opener (yawn). Then Okkervil River went on and it was one of the best shows I've been to in a long time. I don't know much of their earlier stuff, but their last two albums have been really solid.
Also pretty solid was the 8 foot tall man who stood in front of my brother and I at the show. Seriously, he reminded me of Al from the Naked Gun movies. He only gets an honorable mention for "Worst Person at a Show I've Been To". Last night's winners were these girls who'd clearly been drinking all night; they insisted on texting on their iPhones through the whole show and talking during the more mellow songs. Maybe talking isn't the right word, it was more of a shrill pitch, especially when one of them squeaked, "GIRLS! Who wants a CO-RO-NA?!"
(other people awarded "Worst Person" honors this year were both at the Josh Ritter show in Brooklyn earlier this year: one guy was freaking out and flailing during the whole show and my friend grabbed him and yelled, "COOL OUT!" to which he responded, "ROCK OUT!"; and an annoying hipstery girl who stood right in front taking pictures of Josh Ritter all night - worst was when he turned all the lights off in the house to really take it down a notch and the girl used her flash with such reckless abandon I was afraid someone would murder her on the spot)
Despite some of the people in the crowd, it was such a good show that I'd recommend seeing them if you get a chance.

Idol Time

Yesterday I had the greatest pleasure of going with a friend of mine to see Judy Blume speak at the 92 Street Y. She had extra tickets as part of a furniture-selling deal; she is the greatest friend for inviting me along.
Judy Blume's written so many books that I LOVED growing up, specifically: Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. If you haven't read it, it's a "coming of age" story that covers all the stresses of being in sixth grade after having to watch "the video" and have "the talk" with your mother. It discusses everything from religion to menstruation belts to increasing your bust line.
The night before I could barely sleep; I was so excited. I have always been a big reader, so it was like my friend was asking me to go to Stony Brook, CT. to hang out with the Babysitters' Club or like Nancy Drew showing up at my house and saying, "C'mon, we gotta go check out this lady's twisted staircase - shit's haunted."
The best part about the event was all the little girls who were there, and just as excited as we were. I got choked up during the question and answer session when a little moppet asked, "Does it make you happy to write?" And later, when another couldn't help herself and yelled out, "I love that book! I've checked it out of the library like SIX times already." It was such an inspiring afternoon, and I'm so glad I got to see someone who is doing something I truly admire.

The BInGe E

Yesterday I went to the Big E in Western Massachusetts with my brother. It's a giant, annual fair displaying New England's best livestock, best carnival games, best childhood obesity and best in menswear and ladies' fashion (I saw more leather vests, fanny packs and overalls than I have in years. One woman had TWO fanny packs on).
Most importantly, they showcase all the food you shouldn't eat. Each state has its own expo house, and we hit them all. Here is what we ate:

- Baked potatoes with sour cream, butter, bacon bits, cheese and chives from Maine
- Maple candy from Vermont
- Cheddar cheese from Vermont
- Italian sausage from heaven
- Hot dog with cheese on it
- Root beer floats from Connecticut
- Blueberry pie a la mode from Maine

This doesn't include the Goldfish crackers I ate on the two and half hour drive up, or the pizza I ate when I got home while watching "The 750-pound man" on TLC (spoiler alert: he dies!); I needed a confidence pick-me-up. My poor tummy, my poor waist band, my poor toilet.

Bonus panties!

After coming home from a night out with my friends at 5:30 am like some sort of Van Halen groupie, I found ANOTHER box from Victoria's Secret at my door with two more pairs of underpants. Amazing!

New Game! Horse Face

Last night, my friends' band was playing a show downtown. I got to the lounge around 9 pm. They were originally supposed to play at 10 pm, but then it got pushed back to 11 pm.

We had a lot of time to kill, and a reprehensible opening act to drown out, so my friend Matt and I decided to take pictures. I came up with an idea for a new game called Horse Face.

Rules:
1. Take a picture making a silly expression
2. Review the picture with your opponent
3. Your opponent must copy the expression to the best of his ability

If the expression is a match, the opponent counter-expressions. If it's a dud, you get a letter. The pictures we took are amazing; I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time.

The ups and downs of living in New York City

You walk to the subway and see the same homeless man in a mesh shirt you see every morning on the way to work; only this time, he's proudly standing over a pile of poop. His own.

Then, you wait for the subway and see the operator in the front wearing a skeleton glove on his hand to drive the train, and this excites you to the point of joy that totally redeems what just happened.