In the afternoon I ran uptown to meet my family at the Met rooftop to see the Jeff Koons sculpture exhibit. Ashley was proud of herself because the whole trip to the city to see the Koons was her idea--and she got it from clicking on a cool icon on her google home page this morning (the wonders of the internet!). She and her friend Hannah took lots of fun pics of their reflections in the sculptures, for which the late afternoon light was perfect.

Back inside the museum on the 2nd floor, I tried to explain a little bit about Impressionism to the girls, but when I showed them a Matisse the girls were not...um...impressed. "It looks like a kid could have painted this," Hannah said. She pointed out the "yucky brown color" on an armchair in the painting, and the "squiggles" that the artist left in pencil (probably from early stages of creating the piece). I tried to defend it, and explain that this was revolutionary--painting such flat figures--and it was at the time and that no one would have dared to create such a piece until artists like him came along. The girls nodded their heads like they were listening. Then I looked at it through their eyes. Hm. If I hadn't studied art history, or the art that preceded the Impressionists, then sure, my sister and her friend had a point. It DID look like a kid could have painted it. Yeah Matisse, get some skills man!

Actually I did have a pretty culturally enriching weekend. Yesterday I went to hear Catherine Millet speak at the Alliance Francaise because work got some of its employees free tickets to the PEN World Voices events. I was surprised that she didn't speak English and needed a translator, but it was pretty cool because I got to brush up on my French skills. Unfortunately, they didn't talk much about her book, "The Sexual Life of Catherine M" as much as they discussed French arts, the "Plastics Movement", and politics. I took a nice little nap. I would have liked to hear her talk about her escapades in Les Bois de Boulogne. But I'm excited because she spoke about her next book which is all about Jealousy. Perfect pre-wedding reading!

Tonight I fell asleep on the couch at 9pm, then woke up cranky at 10 demanding J what he was planning on making for dinner. See, I am spoiled. He usually is the dinner person, so I was literally at a loss of what to do when it was nearly time for bed and J was still on the computer working and that hot dog I had at 5 o'clock was long forgotten. I need to brush up on cooking skills. At least I am an A plus cleaning woman!

Off to bed to face another work week. Happy early Cinqo de Mayo!

Anyway, it was me and all his dudes and a few of them were on the prowl. Being a nice wing-woman, I tried to scope out the few girls at the club who seemed cute, pretty and willing to talk to someone. I pointed out half a dozen of them to J's friends, and encourage them to go up to these girls, and here were the excuses:

1) She's all the way over there!
2) She hasn't made eye contact with me yet!
3) Way too expensive! (there was an auction for "sexy singles" on stage where the proceeds went to charity--even though it was a 2 girls for the price of 1 deal! And the winner would get champagne and a VIP booth!
4) Yeah, but she just walked the other way!

I watched these guys stand, pouting, drink in hand the way that either I or my girlfriends have stood pouting, drink in hand on those nights when we just HOPED and PRAYED someone cute and nice would come talk to us. And here we were, at this Bridge & Tunnel club with these horrible men around us somehow managing to pick up girls, and my friends--very attractive, non-skeezy, successful guys--were having trouble mustering the strength and resolve to make a move.

So if the single guys out there are acting like girls, i.e. waiting for girls to come and talk to them...Gee. What are all the single women to do?

Weekend so far was fab. Friday night we went to Jersey to go to temple with my parents and to hear my dad speak about fertility and the Bible. He gave a wonderful speech about how science and technology may put a sperm and an egg together, but God (or some unknown mysterious force) is what turns that combination into a living thing with a soul. He also referenced Superman, Young Frankenstein, and gollums. You know...To bring it to layman's terms.

I fell asleep on my thirteen-year-old sister's bed before the car came to get us. Meanwhile my sister entertained J with ramblings about how she needs to buy a new bikini for our upcoming family vacation.
(News! She went to Abercrombie and bought TWO bikinis, in fact, just yesterday!)

I finally went to the Monday Room at Public. The sommelier was hysterical-looking. My friends and I could barely contain a laugh every time he came to pour us another glass of wine: He had an eccentric Charlie Chaplin like moustache, overgrown hair that covered half his face, dark-rimmed nerd glasses, a tight-fitting European suit, and a Borat-like accent to boot. Now, I am sure I will see him in the New York Magazine Look Book pages next week, but c'mon. He's like, a Borat. Ok, an extremely nice Borat who brought out a fantastic tasting menu that paired things I'd never thought of eating together, like pickled beets and eel with an egg on top or ravioli with snail and foie gras inside. We had a great time, but I think I am off of wine for a while.

Today I had a bad experience at Balthazar. I was waiting to meet my friend Julie-Anne, and figured I'd put our names down for a table. How bad could it be on a Monday when most people are getting back from their long-weekends? I saw Yoko Ono and Sean Lennon sitting against the back wall where J and I usually sit. I guess I am not "usual" enough because the hostess explained that they were all booked up for the rest of brunch. I waited by the bar for Julie-Anne to arrive. Next thing I know she's standing by the hostess's podium and being ushered to a table for two. "They know me here," she explained. But still! Why was I treated like a common tourist?!? I made sure to give the hostess the evil eye on my way out.

So that's the restaurant run down. Basically, this weekend could be boiled down to the following activities: EAT, PRAY, HATE. Sort of like the NYTimes bestselling book, but more...you know, real.

See you at the show...

I jumped from the cliff! J was there to catch me.

But here’s the catch: Her maid of honor is her cat, “Lady”. It seriously says so on Gill’s wedding registry website

So I got to thinkin’…Who is going to plan the bachelorette party? The cat? It was a fair question. Because I think if I hadn’t brought it up, poor Gill would be party-less. Good thing I reminded Lady that she has some work to do! She even replied to the mass email:

Ladies-

Alexis was right, as the Maid of Honor, I would be
happy to plan the bachelorette party.

But I'm going to need to set a few ground rules first:
1) I'm on an all-protein diet, and I will be serving
tuna, shrimp dinner, and seafood feast.
2) There will be lots of self-grooming
3) I have been known to enjoy a dime-sized bag of that
wonderful, green herb.
4) I sleep a lot, but I'm kind of a night owl
5) I know you're all close with Gillian, but I think
she's going to want to sleep with me.
6) You ladies may drink a lot but, at the end of the
night, one of you is going to be cleaning up my puke.
7) Good luck getting me in the car.

Nothin' but Love,
Lady

P.S. I like massages.

"One caramel apple SPIDER!"

The guy working with her behind the bar corrected her. "It's called CIDER."

"Spider. That's what I said."

"No, cider. C-I-D-E-R."

"I ain't never heard of that before."

"You never heard of apple cider?"

"Nope. And you know, I'm still shocked that you can actually MAKE foam. I didn't know where that came from before!"

MK had to look away so as not to burst out laughing in the barista's face. I guess the pickings were low when they hired that one, huh?

In other news, I went to Greenpoint Brooklyn for the first time ever yesterday. J and I met with wedding photographers there. It is such an odd place--it's like being in another country. A Polish country. I didn't see one non-white person there. The bakeries are amazing. Almost every block smells like freshly-baking pastries and bread. We bought a chocolate babka for J's aunt's party (later that night), and the bakery had every type of bread imaginable baked right on the premises. They even had crescent shaped bagels! Sadly, I am still doing the gluten-free (or less strictly, wheat-free) for my headaches and being near and inside bakeries is just torture.

Oh, and I joined the gym again. Not to get in shape as much as just wanting to get those feel-good endorphins going. For someone who used to go every day to the gym it has been so freeing to take a six month break. But I'm ready for sweating again. The Crunch gym that I joined has spin classes, hip hop, and yoga. Basically those are all the activities I like to do, all in one place. And it is actually clean! I can't believe I put up with the cruddy NYSC all those years.

While I was getting the grand tour of the place, the gym representative (wearing stiletto knee-high boots, a low-cut shirt, and spandex) suddenly pulled me behind a pillar and motioned for me to keep my voice low.

"Shhhh! Don't look! That guy over there has been stalking me!"

She pointed to the entrance of the gym, to a slim unassuming-looking nebishy guy. "Ugh. I can't STAND needy trannies."

"???"

"C'mon, let's make a run for that wall over there!"

So apparently I'll be sharing my gym time with needy trannies. I am determined not to make any friends at this gym. Just in case.

Oh, she also asked me how old I was. When I told her I was twenty-seven, she responded:

"So you're no spring chicken. I can say that, because I'm thirty-two."

Way to make me feel good, Lady!

Mmm. Meow! So cute! So fuzzy and lovable.

Jesse is allergic to cats.

Since this is the man I am going to spend the rest of my life with, I have to come to terms with the fact that the only cat we can ever buy/adopt will look like this:

Its Dr. Evil's cat from Austin Powers. Or a gremlin. Its horrible!

Woe's me. The reality of marriage now settles upon me...A lifetime of hairless cats.

We're Elves

Laughing out loud.

It's been a nutty couple of weeks. I am beginning to regret that I have not been planning my wedding since I was five like some of these girls on the internet. They have it all figured out: The dress, the venue, the appetizers, the cake. J and I have NO IDEA yet where we're having our big day or when it will be. Our plan A got totally derailed (mom didn't like the idea of her high heels digging into the grass at the outdoor wedding we'd planned at Grandpa's farm. It worked out as in the end the farm would have been an insane amount of work for J to plan and really hard on the grandparents with all the people we wanted to invite.) Plan B, Jamaica, couldn't work because my other Grandpa "doesn't fly". Last weekend we went to Woodstock to look at a beautiful venue on a mountain. But when we did the math, it was over our budget. Sigh. Something will work out.

Last Friday was really awesome. We met up with my friend Julie-Anne and her boyfriend Andrei at his art studio in Chinatown. His art was beautiful and abstract (though I don't know if he would categorize it as abstract) and changed depending on how much we dimmed the lights. We drank champagne and closed our eyes as he put up each new painting so that we'd turn around and he would hear our immediate gut reactions to it. Afterward, they took us to some secret club that Andrei belongs to. Apparently it is a big celebrity hang out (more like famous writers, theatre actors, artists rather than say, Lindsay Lohan). What I liked about it was the decor and design. On the main floor were these huge tiffany blue seats built into the wall. Above the fireplace was a John Currin-like woman's portrait and over the bar there was a chandelier made of branches. Every room had a different vibe but overall the whole place was really cozy and warm and full of surprises.

The next day we went to Peekskill to see where J does his wood firings. I hung out and took lots of pictures of the stream that ran by the property and an abandoned house while J prepared and glazed his pieces. I stole a rice ball from one of the Japanese women who were glazing (I didn't know that that was part of someone's lunch!) It was so peaceful there. Then we drove on up to Brattleboro VT to a bed and breakfast. We were greeted not so happily by a crochety old man with an affinity for bright red shirts. When I said "nice to meet you" he said "how can you be sure?". Our friends met us for dinner there later and the man asked me what I'd like to drink. He was about to make himself a martini so I said I'd have the same. He asked me how I took mine, and I said "Dirty, with olives." He looked at my friend Alan and said, "What is that young woman talking about? What is it she wants? Listen, I make a martini two ways: With vodka or with gin. Which way would you prefer?"

Tonight we have a Hannuka party at a BBQ restaurant. Not my 1st pick after eating airport food two days in a row, but I'm looking forward to celebrating with friends.

Hopefully boarding soon!

Here's the story: We went to drinks with an old coworker of ours at The Blue Owl on 2nd Ave. It was happy hour, much to our delight. The drinks were easy on the alcohol--so no one was feeling dizzy or buzzed, but our taste buds were happy. The drinks tasted like candied grape fruit. After an hour or so, we parted ways. I went to Westville to meet my Inner Monologue friends for dinner, and she went to Irving to do some writing.

The next morning she didn't come to work. My friends and I thought she slept late. I left her a message akin to "get your butt to work bitch!" but nicer.

Turns out she had to go to the hospital for a killer migraine. I sure can relate.

But its been radio silence since then.

Pick up the phone, R!

Where are you??????? It has been a week.

I started jotting down the details into my book:

"He wore a black baseball cap cocked to the side, and clutched his ratty puffy coat--the one he wore in winter AND in summer--protectively to his chest."

I noticed he was about to enter my subway car.

"He entered the subway car, stumbling as the door almost closed on his cheek."

He glanced my way.

"He glanced my way."

He started walking in my direction.

"He started walking toward me."

Shit. Of course. He staggered toward me and....sat right next to me. Of all the seats in the empty train. He began to mumble about cupcakes, and withdrew a bag of hostess cupcakes from under his shirt. Then he began to talk about Christmas. "It's Chrisssmas. GodammnissChrismas I tell yas. He tore open the cupcake bag with his teeth and spit some of the plastic in my direction. I continued writing, hoping that he would see that I was very involved. Too involved to be messed with.

"Excuse me Miss, could I please borrow a piece of paper?"

I wanted to tell him that he could keep it when he was through but I figured the less talking the better.

I don't know what he did with the paper,but he continued mumbling the way that homeless people mumble to themselves incoherently and circuitously about Christmas and cupcakes and how he didn't give a damn.

I didn't want to draw attention to myself by getting up before a stop, lest he lash out at me for being rude. I got up when the train was about to come to a stop, and just as I got up, he stopped mid-grumble to say, "Thank you very much Miss, have a good night."

Puzzling. Manners, after all.

Ashley's Haftorah

I thought it was funny that her Haftorah portion was about Sodom and Gomorrah. Even though Ash wrote the whole speech herself (that was after Justin and I bribed her with the promise of installing the new OSX Leopard for her Mac if she rewrote the speech from what she'd cut and pasted from the Rabbi), she certainly did not know what the word "sodomy" meant. Yet the poor girl has to define the Jewish day in which she comes of age with a story that is in the simplest and crudest interpretation (leave it to me) based on it. Of course she googled the word after Justin and I brought attention to it. Justin begged her to add to the end of her speech, "Rabbi? What's 'Sodomy' mean?"

ASH ON THE BUS!

ASH AND THE GALS DANCING

ME AND MY COUSIN MARGS

Nadine is also going to be on The Today Show tomorrow morning (9:42 am, to be precise!) so tune in!

Dan designed this awesome invite:

open me

We have a brand spankin' new location!!!! New performers, and a new format for the show...FUN TIMES!

Her voice was as solid and gorgeous two and a half hours later as it was in the first song. Some bands get on stage and play you a few oldies and a few newies, and call it a night. Tori actually performed. She came out on stage in a raspberry colored satin strapless dress, and a blonde bobbed wig, then sat herself down at her gorgeous bosendorfer piano. In certain songs, she'd turn around and play the other piano that was sitting behind her. Other times, she'd play BOTH pianos at the SAME TIME--straddling the two different sets of pedals at once. She did a costume change into a space-suit type thing, and donned a long-haired wig with bangs.

But the pinnacle of the performance had to be when she sang Spacedog. This is the song that anyone in the audience in their twenties listened to when they were a sullen teenager, sitting in her room, writing in her journal and feeling like no one understood. The lights on stage fell away so that Tori and her piano seemed to be floating mid-air. Everyone was rapt in attention. People were sniffling away tears all around me: my friends, the gay guys next to me, the couple behind me.

Unfortunately it was a concert where singing along was discouraged by some of the more intense audience members. Jules and I were having a grand ol' time singing "boys on my left side, boys on my right side...", when the dude in front of me leaned his head back and asked, "Excuse me, can you NOT sing?" Yeah, sure buddy. I can NOT sing. If you can go back home and listen to your Tori CD in your room. Alone P.S. You're at a CONCERT. This guy had a lot of nerve. I forgot to mention that he had one of those huge heads that once you find yourself sitting behind them you're like, "Oh crap. I'm sitting behind a HUGE head. This whole concert/play/movie is going to suck." I really should have said, "Excuse me, can you please shrink your abnormally large head? Thanks. Oh, and your girlfriend smells." That would have been much, yes. But funny. Funny.

A rude feel was in the air this weekend I guess. I went to brunch with Kari and Noa at August in the West Village this morning. I was ten minutes late (a Lex norm I shouldn't be proud of). "Oh good! You ordered coffee already." I said, as I sat down. "Well, they had been waiting for you for fifteen minutes already." The waiter informed me, unsmiling. Did I ask?

"So, what's in the frittata?" Kari asked him.
"Well you see, that's what I'm here to explain." He responded. "I'm gonna start with the top of the menu and work my way down." He continued, a pained expression on his face. God forbid we go OUT OF ORDER!!!

When he finished explaining what the fruit of the day was (grapefruit slices, some kind of fruity reduction involved), Noa asked, "Do he and the fritatta not get along or something?"

He did not show his face for the rest of the meal. Instead, a host of bus boys, and a myriad of other waiters and waitresses filled our coffee cups, brought us some salt, and toast, removed our plates,brought us water, and finally, the check.

Finally, he arrived to take our money.

"Do you have change for a five?" I asked him.

"Aw, you're KILLING me." He exclaimed and walked off in a huff.

For twenty five minutes we saw him do everything BUT go toward the cash register to get change. We decided to occupy the prime table by the window out of spite. Until we got antsy. Kari asked the hostess over to our table. She looked relieved. Like she'd been thinking: "Those girls look pissed. They don't want coffee. They're not eating. What the hell are they still here for?"

"We just want five singles." Kari explained.

"Oh!" She said, spinning around and heading to our waiter. A second later she was back, five singles in hand.

"I gave this to him ages ago. I'll slap him for you." She said with a grin.

"Be our guest." I said under my breath.

What an asshole. He purposely made us wait. The restaurant is as big as my dining room table (which seats about four dolls and maybe a teddy bear comfortably), so there is no way he "forgot about us." And every time he passed us we looked at him, and then at the money on our table. And who can forget the big "You're killing me." Certainly he knew.

Rudeness. From men. No gentlemen in this town anymore! But we knew that already.