Muffins Galore.

Although I wrote a previous post about not understanding current day technology in jest, it seems that this particular sentiment has shacked up with my declaration of love for Luke’s Lobster to produce what happened last week. Maybe common Internet knowledge temporarily escaped me or perhaps it was a Freudian memory lapse, no one can be sure- however what is certain is that my blueberry muffin offering has been made more public than initially intended.

Long story short what was meant to induce a few chuckles amongst friends may or may not have reached the subject of my profession. So after dusting off my muffin recipe and testing it out at this weekend’s cocktail party I am ready to follow through on my promise. I may not deliver on the clams since I don’t think they’ll make it past my stomach post Cape Memorial Day clamming excursion, however muffins are en route once I have confirmation those UES doors are open.

Coastal Companions

In case you haven’t heard there is a new lobsterman in town and I have been dying to get a piece. I basically can’t turn anywhere without hearing more about Luke’s Lobster, a restaurant in the East Village primarily offering Lobster Rolls, and I still have yet to get my hands on one. Despite the fact that haven’t tasted the delectable crustacean filled treat, I have determined that there is substantial evidence to indicate that Luke from Luke’s Lobster is my soul mate.

1. Hello he’s adorable, I’m adorable, and together we would just be a bundle of cuteness.
2. I am a licensed shell fisherwoman. I know they’ve been looking to expand to clam rolls….
3. He’s opening a new shop just four blocks away from my apartment! Coincidence? I don’t think so.
4. New England blood runs deep right? ME? MA? We are basically neighbors!

Okay my reasons might be weak and sparse, but I am fairly certain they might pan out to something substantial. I plan to welcome him to the UES with a basket of blueberry muffins, ones that once provoked a marriage proposal, and a bucket of clams. Stay tuned.

Digital Who What Now?

In the recent past, it has come to my attention that I am officially old. I don’t know if I somehow blacked out or entered a coma for a few years, but I have become completely out of touch with how the current world operates. It all started when I told a friend I would tweet her from St. John to let her know how my trip was going. Then I realized that I don’t think you can actually tweet someone and even if it were possible, I don’t know how to do it.

Four Square? Isn’t that a recess pastime in which a dodge ball is passed from one student to another in chalk drawn court? Apparently it is now an online tracking system in which users can run micro communities and predators can monitor one’s every move. I tried to participate, but I think I actually was thinking of the previous version and I have yet to successfully become the mayor of any online businesses.

Chat Roulette? Maybe I am just sensitive, but I don’t need another venue in which to get instantly rejected or otherwise horrified. I am not sure of the end goal for this service, but I definitely am too scared to find out. I don’t have an iphone or an ipad or any kind of berry. Other than the frozen strawberries in my freezer for a.m. smoothies. I guess I need to enter the digital era? I might start to get a little lonely all by myself in the real world.

And finally- the reason why I love New York currently. Yesterday I had a picnic in central park, played chess, and planted my very own marigold in honor of Earth day. Central Park- I love you and plan on having as many picnics as physically possible now that my picnic backpack has been replenished. See you around!

Show a little compassion.

While witnessing somewhat of a break-up last week while out dining with a friend, I had a pretty substantial revelation. Although, I cannot be certain of what I witnessed since this is in no way about me, but a stranger at a restaurant, the intimate nature of the restaurant allowed me to heavily eavesdrop and observe and my overall extraction from their painful dialogue was that this was indeed a break-up. Based on my gatherings, I reached the conclusion that there should be a dress code for break-ups.

If you know you are going to have a serious discussion that could potentially end emotionally or uncomfortably, you need to dress for the occasion. You want to look composed enough to indicate your care for the other person, but casual enough to designate that this is not a date that will end on a celebratory note. Darker colors might be appropriate and convenient in the event that you need to make a quick getaway from your venue if the recipient causes a scene.

In this particular situation the female, who I will note, in an unbiased fashion, was shockingly gorgeous, was dressed in a grey dress with black tights and flats. This is a safe choice for any occasion; however the male was sporting a glorified version of a Hawaiian shirt with jeans. I will also note here that it was clear that the male was putting the kibosh on the relationship.

If you are bringing an unsuspecting person into a negative relationship space, don’t mock the solemn tone of the event with a Hawaiian shirt. Hawaiian shirts indicate your desire to start a conga line, roast a pig, or consume a million daiquiris. It should not however, indicate the end of a romance. A button down, subdued tee or a muted sweater would be appropriate. If you have festive plans post break up, wear a little something to cover the flamboyance of your party top.

Alternatively, if I were to initiate the end of a love I wouldn’t wear anything too revealing or low-cut. I am aware that I am exceptionally considerate, however I find this similar to wearing a mini skirt to church, shorts to a funeral, or a long white dress to someone else’s wedding. It’s just inappropriate. I know I committed to focusing on my love for New York for posts moving forward so I will leave with this, the day following awkward break-up I was able to get my knives sharpened, new spring scent selected, and kitty groomed in under an hour. God I love this glorious land of convenience. I vow to remain more focused following my long awaited tropical beach getaway next week.

Love Love Love

Reason number 85 million why I love New York City is because of the sheer volume of obscure businesses within a 2-block radius. Of course the bounty of Starbucks, pizza by the slice, and Duane Reade is exceptional, but the remaining bevy of randomness is what has captured my heart. Manhattan is essentially an oversized grocery store checkout filled to capacity with impulse purchase options.

It is nice to know if I am looking for an antique overstuffed owl shaped love seat, a rare orchid, or a palm reading I won’t have to look far, but more often than not these things are purchased simply because they are there. I can easily go to the bodega to grab some milk or a pack of gum and within moments I am the owner of a pocket watch, a phonograph, or pot bellied pig.

New York has everything I need and everything I don’t. It fuels my undiagnosed ADHD, while simultaneously keeping me grounded and sane. I literally could purchase every $5 pashmina, subway churro, and pirated DVD offered to me. Potentially, there could be a day when New York lets me down, but until then my adoration continues.

I think I’ll go with this theme for a bit. New York I love you.

Fat Cat.

Prior to the procurement of my cat I determined that I would not become one of those “crazy cat ladies”. Most people don’t like cats. In fact I would tend to think that most people would agree that having a cat is not cool or sexy in the slightest and I feared that by getting a cat, it was most likely resigning to the fact that I would be alone for all eternity. Instead of deciding against the feline, I opted to be the new vision of cat owners. I would be the cool cat lady.

I planned never to post pictures of him online, or buy him novelty toys, or talk about him incessantly. Instead he would be a chic accessory to my newly acquired studio. He would be the clever sidekick in my newest chapter of life. He would be coyly aloof or fun and spunky, but never lame. Of course if I had closely examined the patterns of my personality or been even remotely realistic, I would have known immediately that none of this would be possible at all.

It was inevitable that I would become the most over the top cat owner in the history of time; buying him costumes for every national holiday, photographing, and videoing him incessantly. He is on Youtube, Facebook and the subject of numerous chain e-mails. I am that chick in bars that pulls out cell phone pics and shares them in their entirety with strangers (if that girl exists other than me, which is improbable). It was in one such instance that I recently discovered my baby is fat.

A new colleague had fallen prey to a barrage of photo sharing in the office last week when he commented on my little angel’s size. It was the third comment that week that indicated little Beauty Jr. might be slightly overweight. At first I denied this possibility with the explanation that he is perfect in every way. After my initial refusal, another colleague and I decided to do some side-by-side comparisons of his photos over time. That motivated me to call the vet and get a professional opinion. The jury is back and my cat is fat. 6 months with Mama Brady and my poor cat is obese. Poor little guy. Our diet ensues.

What is the deal guys?

There is nothing more annoying than precipitation in New York City. It is not because of the damp cold temperatures. It is not because of the puddle filled streets or the inadvertent splashing from passing cars. It isn’t even because the influence on my hair to be even more of a frizzy mess than its’ standard sloppy appearance. The overriding reason that rainy days are so exceedingly infuriating, is because of men.

For some elusive reason men feel the need to have the most gigantic umbrellas in the entire world. This effectively causes it to be nearly impossible to navigate the streets in order to get anywhere. Seriously- is it considered emasculating to have a normal sized umbrella? Are you on your way to shelter an entire homeless population? Is it some kind of a status thing? Is it flashy for a dude to have a giant umbrella? Or perhaps the elemental shield equivalent of a motorcycle? Do guys just melt upon contact with drops of rain?

I am not sure what the answer is, but I ask one thing of all men, not that any read this blog other than my Dad, who is not flooding the streets of NYC with gigantic beach umbrellas but alas. Please consider a more modest protective layer. Now I know I have a tendency to be unreasonable, so just consider it, I would be curious to see the impact it would have on morning commuters and street walkers citywide.

Too loud.

It has recently been brought to my attention that I am somewhat loud. It happened quite abruptly, while at the gym when a be speckled man provoked a near fistfight by chastising my companion and me about a week ago. This individual was experiencing difficulty focusing on his book due to our excessive volume and decided to alert us to this fact in an extremely flippant manner, incongruous to his meager appearance.

Due to the petulant nature in which tiny gym Nazi delivered his message, I determined him to be just that and t the volume of our conversation was not the issue to be amended, but rather this horrible elf be removed. It wasn’t until yesterday when I was with the aforementioned gym buddy and we were aggressively “Shushed” by a precious little elderly woman, that I had cause to reconsider. This shush spawned a montage of similar scenarios in which I have been asked to lower the volume of my voice in the past.

At this point in my life I have been asked if I am hard of hearing, compared to a screeching owl, a pack of rambunctious teenagers, and of course aggressively shushed and nearly involved in several brawls. Since it isn’t statistically likely that all of these people have been in the wrong I guess I need to take it down a notch or two. I am very excitable, so this will be a challenge ,but I am committed to at least give it a try. Alternatively, for the next 7 days (or however long I last) don’t take my subdued demeanor as a lack of enthusiasm about your thoughts, ideas, or comments. I care very deeply, however I need to figure out how to express this without also getting knifed at the gym. Besos!

cupidless.

Historically, Valentine’s Day has been one of my favorite holidays. My love stems from its excessive use of pastels, champagne, and adorable heart shaped treats. Not to mention the bevy of prixe fixe menus involving lobster, oysters, and chocolate. Up until this point in my life, Valentine’s Day to me is equivalent to heart shaped Jell-O shots, chocolate covered strawberries, and over consumption of sparkling wine.

Perhaps it is the fact that this is my 25th consecutive Valentine-less Valentine’s Day, but this year I didn’t feel the same convivial spirit around the day of St. Valentine. I skipped my annual Valentine craft night and breezed past the pink construction paper, glitter glue, and doilies in Duane Reade. I avoided the heart shaped gummies, once a famous addition to my cherry Valentine Jell-O shots, and didn’t bake a single heart shaped angel food cake.

I effectively played the part of the grinch that stole Valentine’s Day. I haven’t even yet raided the half off conversation hearts, currently discarded in pharmacy aisles nationwide. It is not that I begrudge couples their undying affection and celebrations, however this year I needed to sit Valentine’s Day out. No themed libations, outfits, baked goods, or crafts were in sight. My anti-Valentine weekend ended anticlimactically with a Roseanne marathon and me receiving a jury summons. I am glad that I enjoyed a traditional bitter single female Valentine’s Day this year, however I feel a bit unfulfilled.

So next year, it is back in full force. I will have it all. Pink beer, streamers, roses, and a heart shaped piñata. I will be baking my heart shaped whoopee pies, making aphrodisiac champagne cocktails, and rolling fresh made heart shaped pasta, while reciting love inspired haikus, and sporting heart shaped potholders. The cat is getting a bedazzled heart covered sweater vest and no one in site will be without one of my handmade Valentine’s Day cards. I am sorry I missed you this year, but I’ll see you in 2011 V-Day!