sugar
So yes, I missed another week of posting.
Veering from The Schedule? It’s a slippery slope I tell you. Once you start it’s easy to just keep going….
This High Line picture is from a while ago…but I don’t have a whole lot good pictures since I haven’t been doing anything fun lately…PS: Note the yellow billboard. And Ali’s double hood. Hysterical.
But I have good reasons for my lack of posting!
Because in addition to a rather unusually large workload, and a substantial amount of time having a “difference of opinion” with Maya, I’ve also been busy putting away the sugar bowl like it’s my full-time job.
Yes, my friends, Ali and I have now developed a new point of contention: the fact that he finds it impossible to put the sugar container away.
We found time for Fig & Olive…definitely a highlight of the last 2 weeks.
Here’s how things go:
- Ali makes tea and the sugar bowl finds its way out of the cupboard and on to the kitchen counter.
- Ali drops sugar on the counter. He doesn’t clean it up. (Another post.)
- Ali leaves the spoon on the counter. He doesn’t clean that up either. (Another post.)
- Finally Ali pronounces his tea perfect, leaves the sugar bowl on the counter, and walks away.
- I walk in, curse, and put the sugar bowl away.
- 3.5 – 4 hours later my caffeine-addicted husband starts the process all over again.
This “ailment” came out of nowhere and despite an admirable amount of patience on my part, it doesn’t seem to be curable.
We also ventured out for dinner once @ Pappardella. Nothing to write home about.
The interesting part of this whole situation? I’m fairly certain Ali has no idea he keeps leaving the sugar out and that I keep putting it away. He’ll read this post and say, “What at you talking about? I don’t leave the sugar out.”
Here’s what I know: He’ll put the sugar bowl away for the next few days. Maybe even a few weeks! But then, as time progresses, the sugar bowl will return back to its spot on the counter.
And we’re full circle to that slippery slope…
frozen
Last Sunday we woke up to a fridge so empty that even I – who eats the most random and disgusting of combinations – couldn’t find a thing to eat.
Since sending Ali to the grocery store has proven to be an exercise in answering 1,000 questions about products on the grocery list and their exact location on the grocery store shelf, fielding several phone calls about how something simply does not exist, and then lamenting missing items upon return, I decided to hit the grocery store solo.
And 5 steps later I learned exactly what freezing rain is.
Never thought I’d ever see / feel 5 degrees, with a windchill of 10 below…
At this point I realized I had to make a decision. Continue walking the ¾ of a mile to the store and risk breaking my neck? Or just be hungry. And deal with a hungry (and therefore cranky) Ali and Maya as well.
Obviously I had no choice but to go with Option A.
Pretty view from Bryant Park Grill
20 minutes later I nearly jumped for joy when I safely reached Trader Joe’s. I quickly bought whatever I could carry, congratulated myself on missing the usual weekend TJ-chaos, and headed home.
Very carefully.
But my congratulatory mood was a bit premature because when I was no more than 5 minutes from our front door, I slipped on ice, fell on my @#$, and watched as Maya’s coveted hash browns rolled down the street.
Lunch @ Bryant Park Grill : root vegetable soup, cod cakes, Ali’s baked pasta
The worst part of the whole situation wasn’t that my groceries were all over the filthy NYC streets, or that my beautiful new messenger bag
No, the worst part was that the man walking his dog in front of me, and the guy two feet behind me couldn’t have cared less that I’d fallen and couldn’t get up. Forget offering me a hand, or even calling out a “Are you okay?” They didn’t even glance over twice.
I think it’s safe to say that chivalry is officially dead.
a non-event
When I was growing up New Year’s Eve was always a non-event.
I know I’ve already discussed how it went each year but can we rehash for a second?
- At 7:30pm we’d bake up a Boboli for dinner.
- At 8:00pm we’d chill a bottle of Martinelli’s in preparation for midnight.
- At 8:30pm we’d settle in for a long evening of John Hughes movies on TBS, interspersed with CNN’s coverage of the Times Square scene.
At Rockefeller Center, Christmas Day, Our Gingerbread House
- At 8:32pm I’d promise myself – yet again – that one day I would move to NYC and be witness to the ball dropping on New Year’s Eve.
- At 10:15pm we’d all be fast asleep on the couch. (With the exception of my brother, who’d take advantage of the lack of supervision by doing something Terribly Bad and Not Allowed.)
A poached egg and crab cake @ Fig & Olive, Crostini Dessert @ Fig & Olive, Salmon @ La Bergamote, Salmon @ Tommy Bahama. (Tommy designs clothes and apparently dabbles in food. Who knew?)
Now that I live in NYC you’d think that my dream of celebrating in Times Square would finally come true. This is not the case. Why?
Because it’s flipping cold.
Complete Madness.
Here’s what we did instead. We enjoyed an Early Bird Dinner, walked around the corner, took the following picture of the Times Square madness, and then caught a cab, went home, and turned the heater on high.
Best New Year’s Eve ever.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 