Booze and Cigarettes

That will be $2.25.

My husband has officially turned into an old man.

Do you remember going to a museum with active exhibits, and your dad or Grandpa just wanted to watch all of the movies explaining whatever the hell the exhibit was about?

This has become Tim. We went to the NYC Transit Museum. This is a museum with AN ENTIRE DOUBLE PLATFORM OF TRAINS just waiting for Elijah to GO FRIGGEN CRAZY on them, and there is Tim, watching a video about how the MTA processes its money each day. This would be like taking me to a winery and watching a video on corks when there is a tasting going on 50 feet away. LET ME GET MY WINE ON!!! I wouldn’t give a damn about corks and Elijah didn’t give a damn about the fact that “the MTA processes more money in one day than some countries!” We know that. They take our money. Every.Damn.Day. Let the kid play conductor. The kid who runs around all day saying “TIME TUNNEL, NEXT STOP, TARANADON STATION!!” He’s slightly obsessed with “Dinosaur Train.”

DWT-Driving While Toddler.

Having an active but relaxing weekend is pretty much my favorite thing to do. A walk around the best borough on earth with my three faves, and a trip to a museum that my son thinks was designed just for him? (And every other little boy on the planet of NYC?-yes, we’re our own planet. Brooklyn is the command center-we have lightsabers made of awesome) It was SO much fun. This picture makes Tim’s belly look way bigger than it is. I have no idea why.

He likes me more than what he looks like here. It was an old train, there was WAY more to do than hang with me.

And then? A little idea.

I SHOULD GO BLONDE. Or not. You know. Whatevs.

The ads in the train were the BEST part. So much booze and so many smokes. Kents, anyone? Salems? No. Camels. They’re for the real men.

A Down Home, White Trash Spectacular.

Everyone is getting hitched. I’ve been hitched for roughly 93847598345 years, so seeing all the new brides and their cuteness really warms the cockles.  Tim and I had the best, most white trash (or Asian trash, but who’s keeping score) wedding on the planet.

Tim and I had originally planned an elaborate wedding and reception at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens with koi fish, and sushi and a crapton of Kosher offerings for our Kashrut comrades.

Tim’s work and stupid criminals who like to be idiots and injure people changed our plans. While I was sad to lose out at the time, looking back, I was so overweight when we married, I’d be horrified at the pictures now. I’d still remember how happy I was to be married, but I’d have felt very insecure about my appearance. Vain but true.

So we did the next best thing, we called up our besties one afternoon, headed to the Staten Island JOP and did it up right. In blue jeans, with an orchid in my hair. Deliriously happy. We didn’t even tell our parents we were doing it that day. We called them afterward.

There was a homeless guy singing to his cat outside, and to this day I refer to whatever alien language that guy was singing, as “our wedding song.” Awesome #1.

Awesome #2 was that we headed INTO NJ to go to dinner and went to….wait for it…..wait for it….CHI CHI’S (the celebration of food….and marriage!) All I could think of was the fab WT wedding my friend Julia, and I saw at a Denny’s in Ohio. Fabulous.

SOPAPILLAS!!! FREE NACHOS!! WEDDING RECEPTION EXTRAORDINAIRE!!

I had 2 tequila rose margaritas, because I was 21 and celebrating. Nothing says “Happily Ever After” like Tequila Rose. After leaving Chi Chi’s and doing some shopping at the also defunct, Great Indoors, (I needed candles!) We headed into Manhattan to go to La Ferrara bakery in Little Italy because they have tiny wedding cakes. We were then told that those tiny wedding cakes are GROSS and we ordered tiramisu. CAUSE WE’RE BALLERS.

worst.hangovers.ever.

Every anniversary, save for this past anniversary when we were at a wedding, we have celebrated it by eating Mexican food and Italian dessert. In hindsight, this is not the wisest decision, intestinally speaking, for romance. However, if you have enough TR, you really don’t care.

Where was your wedding? (or where do you want to marry?)

Favorite food served? (or what do you want served?)

Adopt a Mullet.

Could the weather be any more craptastic? Outside it looks like a tribe of a thousand dead cats are peeing on earth from ASPCA heaven.  I don’t know why they chose to piss on Brooklyn, we adopt EVERYTHING. Cats, children, hipster trends, farms, peculiar causes. If you slap an “adopt me” sign on it, SOMEONE in Park Slope WILL adopt it.  I am actually thinking of sitting on a corner with an “adopt me” sign around my neck and see if someone will pay my student loans.

We’re going crazy from the boredom!! We have played dress up, danced, played games, watched tv, ate lunch, tried to NOT kill each other. (SUCCESS!)

As soon as Tim walks in the door, I am walking out. HELLLLLLLLLLLO, GYM! I am going to run off the crazy. There is only so much cure Nate Berkus and DJ Lance can offer. Much more and I was going to need to go to Dashing Diva for pedis and cosmos.

 

What are your plans for the weekend?

-we are RELAXING. Staying in and working out!!

Do you have a favorite pedi place?

Clearly, mine is Dashing Diva and Pretty Spa-both give champagne or cosmos

Dancing Barefoot Through Cow Crap.

My kid loves me. A lot. He is super super attached to me and wants to go EVERYWHERE I go. (Unless it’s leaving the park, he’d rather stay, thank you very much.) Every time I put on my shoes, I hear the familiar ring of “Don’t go Mama, lemmeee go wif you” I could tell him I am going ANYWHERE, and he’d want to come with me.

“Honey, you can’t come with me, I’m going to an audition”

“lemmee come wif you”

“You don’t want to come with me, I’m going to go dance through cow poop barefoot”

“lemmee come wif you”

“I’m going to go do taxes in a dark room all day”

“lemmee come wif you”

“I’m going to a GOP debate”

“lemmee come wif you”

Oh you DEFINITELY don’t want to come with me to that one. Dancing though cow crap barefoot is probably more fun.

Fortunately, a lot of things can be done together. Like getting our fitness on. Ok, so he mostly half does the moves and laughs at me doing them. But he does really try. Watching him do squats is a lot like watching Elaine try to dance.

Here was our set today

  • 25 mountain climbers
  • 15 burpees
  • 25 jumping jacks
  • 25 sumo squats with weight
  • 25 lunges on left with weight
  • 25 lunges on right with weight
  • 15 push ups
  • 1 minute reverse plank
  • 1 set 100s
  • 1 minute forward plank
  • rest 30 seconds
  • repeat set.

Yesterday was “National Ice Cream Cone” day. We celebrated it at Ample Hills Creamery in Brooklyn. There was A LOT of hype about this place. There was SO MUCH hype that they sold out of ice cream so fast after opening that they had to close for several days to make more. Here’s the good part-they use locally sourced ingredients and environmentally friendly business practices, and have a great play area for kids. Here’s the negative-the ice cream was full of ice crystals and ohmahgosh sweet.

The ice cream flavor I ordered for Elijah was full of kids breakfast cereal, so I expected it to be really sweet. The gooey butter cake flavor I expected to be similarly sweet, but the cinnamon and chocolate peanut butter were also cloyingly sweet. I was so bummed. I wanted this place to be great so bad.

Back to Blue Marble for me. (Incidentally, I hear the ginger flavor is back, and it’s kinda my fave.)

Either way, eating ice cream is still better than watching a GOP debate.

 

 

Junk Food Opium Den.

To be a teen again. Actually, I’d rather chew off my own arm. As a teen, this would have been a particularly bad thing for me as it would’ve prevented me from lighting my Marlboro Menthol Light 100s.

Yep. I was a smoker. I was a FAT smoker. I was a pack a day, first thing in the morning, after every meal, last thing before bed, when I got bored, when I felt like it, smoker. Gross, right? I can’t believe I dedicated 7 years of my life to that crap.

Tonight, a certain someone in my family was confronted about cigarettes. A pack that was found on them. Their immediate answer? “They’re a friends.”

If I had a dollar for every time I used that excuse, I could buy a Prada bag. In my locker, (sorry, Mom!) on the bus, in my purse, in between my fingers about to be smoked. (My gosh I was stupid!!!)

Anyways, they said this, and I immediately burst out into uproarious laughter. I could have wet myself with laughter. If they weren’t his/hers, I’m a size 4.  Teenagers are just beyond braindead and I love them for it. Their “cause/effect” mechanism in their brain isn’t fully developed yet, so the things they say/do are just laughable. It’s kind of like watching a political debate. We know they’re lying. They know they’re lying, but the charade goes on.

Finding out they’re “smoking” not cool. The crap they tried to pass? Awesomely large, totally hilarious, all too predictable FAIL!

Something else that’s awesome? My sister in law and her fam went on a vacay to Disney and on the way home, brought back THESE!!!!

My family brings back the best junk food.

HAVE YOU HAD THESE???? I used to get them driving through WVa. They are so delicious and ADDICTIVE that you’d think they must be made with nicotene, opium, and the blood of a thousand narwhals. Had Jesus tasted one of these before he fed the 5000, he’d have said “Screw the fish, I’m manifesting Goo Goo clusters.” They’re just.that.good.

Way better than cigarettes and the taste of regret, for sure.