Dear Tyler...
I realize you disappear from the planet only to reappear in very random places at very random times, but this one might have to take the cake.


Mae Catherine Stewart

Born at 1:21pm, 6 pounds, 15 ounces.
I can now officially NOT concentrate on a damn thing and am tempted to leave work, no explanation necessary.
I'm an Auntie!
How I wish I were home...


So Bek has officially been in labor for a LOOONG time.
Light contractions started Monday afternoon and lasted all the way through yesterday.
At which time they turned into hard contractions.
They finally went into the hospital last night around 10.
As of 12:37pm today, it seems little Mae decided to turn around, so now they are trying to turn her back around and point her in the correct direction.
Good lord. I'm in need of a nap just writing that.

Dead Ringers

They look alike. They really do.


Meet Dr. Balboa

The contents of my day off go a little something like this:
Reverberating, clanging, banging construction that was shaking plaster off of my ceiling and onto my floor.
At 8am.
Waiting, amidst all the noise, for the UPS man to deliver my new phone, watching the minutes tick away until 2:30 arrived, at which time I had to be at the doctor.
Madness and a rising heart-rate as the pounding upstairs got louder.
Teeth-chattering nervousness about said doctor appointment.
A ride on the 6 train to the Upper East Side.
Blood drawn.
Anxious tears finally spilling down my face as a very annoyed doctor checked my vitals and tried to tell me that I was not, indeed, going to drop dead.
My heart racing and skipping beats.
Interested doctor listening to flighty said heart for a very long time, then hooking me back up to the machine to watch it beat.
Being told I need to CALM DOWN, relax, sit still.
Reassurance that everything is completely normal, but a referral to a cardiologist none-the-less.
Taking the 6 train back downtown and wandering around in a starved daze.
Some potato chips, a banana, orange juice, apple juice and a brownie at Sound Lounge.
A sardine-packed ride on the N train into Brooklyn.
A trip to the bike shop to finally fix my two-years-flat-tire.
Three new bottles of nail-polish.
One prescription to medically induce relaxation.
One pretty darn good chicken taco (but not as good as the ones at the tortilla factory by Jeff & Candy's place.)
A bike ride back to Dean Street as the sun set in vibrant pinks and oranges.
A manicure by the best boyfriend in the entire universe, complete with purple and light pink tiger stripes.
A bowl of home-made carrot soup.
One episode of Top Chef.
One very tired, extremely spent Molly Wog passing out on the couch.


Do's that are Don'ts

Some do's I can guarantee I will NOT be sporting.
I would highly recommend browsing this site.
If not for inspiration, then for laughs.
Oh, the laughs.

Kiss the Buckett!

Heading to get my hairs did this evening.
And boy, it's about time.
Tommy is in high demand, and a dear friend, so I really go to great lengths (no pun intended) not to bother him.
He usually ends up texting me to come in once he realizes it's been over half a year and then begins to imagine the cacophony that might be growing from my head.
Right now, all my ends are split and dried out and ready to be hacked the heck off.
I brushed it last night, immediately turning it into a great, overzealous frame of frizz and static.
I quickly contained it in a bun and tried not to have nightmares about my wild hair animal eating my head clean off.
Trim? Glaze? Bangs? Layers?
Only tomorrow will tell...



Turns out I know nothing of it.
Patrick Bertoletti.
35 dozen (YES, DOZEN) oysters in eight minutes (YES, MINUTES).
I think the photo says it all.
Do the math, then gag away.


I started my Saturday with a piece of toast and followed that with a Russo's sandwich, which are pretty much God's gift to bread.
I also stopped at Subway on my walk to the train to get a fountain coke.
Once I arrived in Brooklyn, I ate some olives out on the patio, sun on my back, birds at the feeder.
I then decided I had no choice but to make pasta.
Sardines, red onion, garlic, olive oil, red pepper flakes, thyme, lemon and a little parmesan.
If you hate sardines, fear not. They melt and disappear completely into the sauce, leaving only a rich, nutty flavor and zero fishiness.
I then walked over to my sister's, where I ate a lemon popsicle and demanded she make french fries, which I mostly ate myself.
Then we went out for sushi.
And was I full yet? Not quite.
Thankfully, I WAS tired, so after the trek home I fell right into a deep slumber.
Enter Sunday.
Woke up to no rain, which was a pleasant surprise, but I felt like a walking eye-crust.
Everything was too bright and I was having a hard time shaking the haze of my morning dreams.
Until Toddy Coffee made his appearance.
And I usually only drink a very mini mug of him, because he is super strong and will wrestle you right out of your skin if you aren't careful.
But I decided on a full mug, and drank the whole thing with eggs and bacon and sprout salad.
An hour later I was a jittery mess.
I tried my best not to shake and then run screaming out the front window like an over-caffeinated train wreck.
So how about some mixed drinks?
Hours later we followed said drinks with a HUGE, steaming, utterly delicious bowl of slow roasted pork, coconut rice and creamed spinach.
Which we then followed with a trip to The Chocolate Room.
Which was then followed by visions of vomit and buttons popping off my pants.
My pallet had thrown in the towel.
We took a lap around the block, trying to settle my overloaded stomach.
It didn't really work.
I lay awake until well after 1am, listening to things rumble around in my belly and watching, horrified, as the caffeine from the chocolate pummeled around behind my lids, forcing me to open them every minute or so to make sure my eyeballs were still intact.
One moral of the story? Caffeine is not my friend. No matter which way I spin it, he's just not.
The other moral of the story? Salad.
Yes, I think so.
For the next two years.


It's Friday.
The last two hours have absolutely crawled by.
From here I am heading to St. Marks to see if I can find the new Breeders album.
And then I am going to feed Stella kitty.
I'm told she'll run circles around me and act as if she hasn't eaten in days.
I can't wait.
From there, I'm going to buy some flowers.
And then I'll be homeward bound.
And I won't even care if my neighbor is STILL tromping around in her high-heeled boots.
Because it's Friday.
Also, midtown smells like puke.
Particularly where I work, which is right by Madison Square Garden.
I walked outside yesterday. SPRING! Took a deep breath. PUKE!
Is it because of all the games and shows and imbibing that happens around here?
I'll never know.
And that's okay.
Because it's Friday.


Gnarls Barkley said it best...

Is it truly necessary that you throw public hissy fits AND cell phones?
Is spitting on a police officer a good idea?
Is assault really the answer?
When crazy is calling, I guess so.
Get ahold of yourself, you insane diva.
Put those long-ass legs of yours to use and do us all a favor: walk off the face of the planet.


2001: A Space Odyssey

This film is a trip, in the truest sense of the word.
Released in 1968, it is a long, freaky peek into what Kubrick saw the future to be, what he saw life to be, and death.
I saw it on Saturday and still find myself referencing it throughout my days.
From the dawn of man to the depths of space, it's pretty incredible stuff.
Prepare yourself for long orchestral scenes where nothing really happens, followed by scenes that have you holding your breath and nearly scared out of your mind.