Like That New Show on NBC About the Celebs Being Related to Other Dead Famous People

The snow.

It falls.

Thus I have summed up the last 72 hours of uninterrupted news stories on television, in print, and online for the tri-state area. Consider yourself up to speed.

Now I don't know what it is about the news around here but if I were a foreigner visiting this country for the first time and tuned in to the tv for 5 minutes I'd be all, "Are you serious? (With Indonesian accent, of course)". And then my American friend would say, "Ummm, yeah. The weather is kind of a big deal here. I don't know if you've heard of Al Roker, but he's kind of a god". And then me as an Indonesian tourist would go, "Ahhh-haaaa! Bring me to this Al Roker. He must have the answers which I seek". And you see where this is going. You don't? Well, either do I, don't look at me.

Anywhothere, we're all off to see more apartments today, which is right up there with wanting to jab my longest metal utensil into an electric socket while standing in a puddle of water holding a live grenade, but it is necessary. And necessity is the mother of invention. So that makes me... Related to Albert Einstien I'm pretty sure. Need to check the facts on that one, but I'll get back to you.

Have a great Saturday!

In The Criminal Justice System...

I totally forgot to tell you this weird factoid of the day from Monday. Now, with our current living situation, aka living in bfing Egypt*, I rarely have an urge to take public transit. And considering I have always had a hate-hate relationship with the MTA, remember that totally fun transit strike of 2005?, add to that my 2+ hours of subway ride from our old place in Brooklyn to my job in Washington Heights (read: corner of 168th Street and oh-my-gosh-are-you-serious-with-this-commute?), equals I would rather exercise in a bikini in front of my strictly Hasidic rabbi neighbor than take the bus and subway anywhere not medical-emergency necessary. Enough said.

So! When I do actually partake of ye ol' subway, I have the pleasure of treating it like some sort of mass commune with the people of New York City. Cut to this past Monday when I had to jump the 1/B/C trains from W 72nd St. to 42nd and 8th Ave to pickup my cell phone from my friend Carly (whose house we spent the Super Bowl at and I was totally awesome to leave my cell phone there and in no way willing to turn our car around on the way home to go get it, thus requiring me to retrieve it on Monday {holy run-on sentence}) and I'm somewhat in a hurry. As I swipe my metrocard and begin to walk through the turnstile, this "WOMAN" comes barreling, much like a stampeding hippopotamus, through my turnstile. Oh hell no.

And because all I need at this point in my life is a good subway knifing, I push her backwards through the turnstile. Did you hear that?

I.push.a.completely.strange.crazy.person.backwards.through.the.turnstile.

Yeah. I thought that deserved repeating. And, weirdly enough, she lets me, giving little resistance. But once I'm through, she grabs me, drags me off to the side of the entrance and keeps repeating, "Pull over, pull over!" And then, "I'm a cop. What were you doing?" Yeah. Seriously. And then the ex-barreling hippo turned SVU cop says, "Thanks to you someone just got away. I was following someone. If anyone ever pushes you like that, they're a cop, and get out of their way". And she just walks off as I mumble some sort of apologetic trailed off sentence.

Now, you tell me, was she for real? Because that sounds pretty f-ing made up. And I consider myself somewhat of an expert in the area.

*Wow, two references to Egypt in 1 week. Did a buzzer go off somewhere or something?

Notes to Samantha Brown

(Excerpt from my drunken email to Samantha Brown last night.)

Congratulations on 10 years of amazing travels on the travel channel!...Letmegetstraighttothepoint,Iamnotoneforverbosityorbeatingaroundthebush.Iwouldlovetoanchoranewprojecthighlightingtravelaroundtheglobewithatoddler.MyhusbandandIarecurrentlyNewYorkers,originallyhighschoolsweetheartsfromColumbus,Ohio,onthebrinkofconcuringourgreatestambitions,withourmostimportantaudienceintow,our18montholdson,Griffin.Callmeanytime,IhaveincredibledreamsofhoppingthemetroinCairo,andhikingtheapalachiantrail.

And no, I am not kidding. You may notice a little something off from my regular literary prose, which may or may not be related to the fact that Griffin ripped off my space bar yesterday and in my haste to tell Samantha my ingenious and highly profitable idea, I had no time to fix it. Also? Why I chose riding the Metro in Egypt and hiking the misspelled "Apalachian" Trail as exciting travels to entice Samantha with, I cannot explain at this point in time. Only to say that those would in fact be badass, or children-services-call, things to do with an 18 month old.

Part of me thinks I should leave it as is before sending it to the Travel Channel. And if they aren't open-minded enough to think I am television-worthy, then I don't want to work for them anyway. I mean, if they hired that fat guy to eat the world's most disgusting food, I've got to at least have a shot, right?

If not, I'll just start my own show with Anthony Bourdain... Now there's a guy who would love my show. I'm positive it would make his Tivo.

Don't Tell Me This Means I've Finally Grown Up

Another chapter from our trip home was not-so-fantastic and involved the one where you tell your family that you were just kidding about moving home this summer after 4+ years in a far, far away land called New York City, and that in reality you were going to stay in the far, far away land for another 2-ish years, only nobody likes that kind of story so turns out they are not going to give you the Caldecott Medal for that one...

Unfortunately, thus is the story of Grant, Griffin, and my situation as of late and it's been a roller coaster of emotional breakdowns, awkward silences, and several pig latin cuss words (which incidentally detracts a bit from the point of cuss words). All I can say in a nutshell is that life is not linear, and when curves come you have to either be ready to take the turn or end up lieing in a ditch somewhere bitching about your bad luck while everyone else passes you by.

Though many would see this as a story of compromise, I see it as a story of trust. Trust that your spouse is truly your partner in life, whose goal it is to see to it that you accomplish the most you possibly can in your life, both spiritually and concretely, regardless of his/her personal ambitions, and trusting that you will do the same for him/her, thereby ensuring each of your happiness and fulfillment will always be at the forefront of your relationship together. It's also a story of trust from your family. That the person you chose to spend the rest of your life in partnership with will always do what's best for you, so that they can rest assured you are being loved as much as is humanly possible.

And somehow, this little algorithm of mine makes life's speedbumps seem a bit more manageable.

Here's One for Ortho Tri Cyclen

Call me crazy, but I think my OB is trying to send me subliminal messages. I mean, it's not that crazy considering those people who think they were abducted by ufo's, but you know... If I constantly compared myself to those people I'd end up digging for unicorn caves in the Indian Ocean. (I'm just saying.)

So anyway, I saw my doc this week and she asked tons of questions per usual including the ever-popular "What are you using for birth control?" To which I replied, "Condoms". To which she replied with a blank stare and nervous little cough. Now, maybe I'm being oversensitive, or maybe it's the fact that she delivers, oh maybe 236 babies a day for her living, but I definitely picked up on some negative vibes after this exchange.

Yada, yada, yada and just as she was getting ready to leave she quickly asked, "And what method of birth control are you using?"

....

Now, I have an intensely invigorating and quasi-intellectual position for my hospital and consider myself somewhat medically educated. But all that aside, I think she's debating between telling me that my choice of contraception is not actually considered birth control or if she should just go ahead and schedule my next visit in a month to see how far along I am.

Lady. Understand this. I have an 18 month old cross between the Tasmanian Devil and a fire hose who still routinely wakes up screaming for me at 4:30am. That's the best birth control there is.

This One's Going in the Baby Book

From time to time I hear things from my Grant like, "Do not blog about this" or "I don't want this to end up on your blog" and "This is not to go on your website". Which, of course you know translates to "ABSOLUTELY BLOGWORTHY" in my brain of brains, or lack thereof. Hereafter lies the latest addition to this group... (Faint of Heart Disclaimer: If you have problems reading, talking, hearing, or otherwise being part of certain feminine matters regarding the "special time of the month", you may want to sit this one out).

[Curtain up, my mother's house over the holidays which is a venerable 3 ring circus of adults, children, babies, cats, Santa, neighbors, solicitors etc etc.] The house is somewhat empty, magically, and I run to the loo to quickly pee all whilst leaving the door open so I can hear Grif getting into some kind of trouble all the way across the house, knowing I can't actually stop him, and imagining the horror I will find upon exiting said restroom.

Only this time he pops his head in for a visit just as I grab my Kotex from the drawer. He immediately begins screaming something at the top of his lungs. Now, this little 18 month-old fireball of mine is quite verbal at this age but there are still many, many, many things he says that I scratch my head at and move on because there is no possible way he is saying something intelligible to my brain (much like 90% of the things my husband says as well, but I digress). I initially do the same to this exclamatory outburst but as he keeps it up for 2 minutes I realize he is saying something. And when the realization of what it is smacks me full in the face I have to hold on to the wall to keep from falling off my "seat", both in comedic appreciation and also in fear of what he will blog about me someday...

Let me digress again for a second to give you some back story. There are several things in this world that can make my son absolutely lose his mind in excitement for. Lest anyone question his paternity or maternity, one of them is food. (Obviously). Trucks, trains, airplanes, babies, slides, dogs, and balls also rank pretty high up there on the scale of unimaginable bliss. And, within the food category also exists a hierarchy of favoritism. Starting out with chicken or meatballs, advancing to bananas and peas, then up to blueberries, and at the utmost top remain the unseated champions yogurt (or "gogurt") and cheese.

Back to my restroom experience...

After seeing me begin to unwrap my Kotex, Griffin begins circling the bathroom yelling at the top of his lungs, as if his very life depended on me understanding what he is saying, "Cheese? CHEESE! Cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese. C.H.E.E.S.E!"

I'm so proud of that kid.

Damn, Damn, Damn

I've strategically cleared my entire lunch hour (read: 10 minutes) for writing today's post and I left the damn magazine article at home. (!)

Well, there's no use crying over spilled milk, unless it's red wine and then break out the kleenex this is going to make history. So I'll try to use my memory to recall what I wanted to tell you (I know right? Scar-ey).

So I don't know if you get the magazine Parents but I do somehow and occasionally I get the chance to read it and often find some useful crap in there. Crap I wish I'd known before I did it the wrong way 18 times, but useful none the less. This month's useful crap was an article on Sleep Habits of babies and toddlers. I found the first two pages hugely vindicating sprinkled with a tip or two* I am currently trying out on the baby (or the one who runs our household now). How-to-the-ev-er. Smack dab in the center of this useful article was a quote from a doctor somewhere where it must be opposite day every F-ing day or something because this is what he said, paraphrased, "If your baby falls asleep while nursing, wake him up to a full alert state before laying him down so he will learn to put himself back to sleep".

.........................What In The Sam Hell Are You Talking About?

Let me put it this way, Doc, if you actually think any woman in her right mind would wake that sleeping baby up only to lay it down again, I want some of whatever drug you are on. Pronto. Also? What is your address because I need to know where to drop my kid off tonight so you can babysit him overnight, for the next 400 nights. And can I have your wife's cell number because I need to apologize to her for all of those nights she was up taking care of your children by herself. Poor woman (for several reasons).

Note to Parent's Senior Editor: No more Crazy Doctor consults. We're all set filling up on our own crazy for the year, thank you very much.

*The first thing I'm trying is to put him to bed as early as possible in the evenings, like 6:15pm last night, in an effort to get him more "good sleep" under the assumption that he will sleep later in the mornings** and not get up in the middle of the night screaming for his binky (or 'dinkdee!!!' as he calls it).

**Hmmmm. Would 5:15am constitute "later in the mornings"? Me thinks NO.

*2 The second thing I'm trying is a nightly massage before bed. The first night he looked at me like I had lost my mind and was trying to kill him via skin removal. The second night he went straight to OH MY GOD WOMAN I'M ABOUT TO DIE.

Beginning to think of retracting my earlier statement re: useful tips.

First Ever: Video-eo-eo-e-o

Witness: Griffin 17 month montage.

(If I get my act together, and we both know that will never happen, I'll try to do this once a month. Wowsers.)

Which is Practically Scientific Research

We went to Park City with an amazing couple friend of ours, Brad and Nicole, or Bricole for future reference. The weather was amazing, the skiing was awesome, and I only had 2-3 emotional breakdowns about missing G to the izzo. Note to mom's: if you're on vacation 800 miles from your 17 month old, do not, I repeat do not try to talk to him on the phone. Disastrous. There I am, balling in the bathroom at the bottom of the ski lift as women stop to stare at the mumbling marshmallow sobbing into her cell phone. But needless to say, he was perfectly fine without us, or so we hear from the grandmom's (Who incidentally probably wouldn't tell us if he was a basketcase because they knew we would have been on the first plane back if they told us he so much as sneezed. And since it behooved them to have us gone, so they could hog him to themselves, they refrained from mentioning anything like that. Thank you, Grandmommies).

So there we are, our first night in Park City and after a 5am flight, an hour bus ride, and 4 hours of skiing, we all decide to hit the local grocery store for some provisions and also food etc. I'm cruising the cereal isle, almost comatose from exhaustion when Nicole runs over to tell me, "I think Katherine Heigl is here!"

To prove how out if it I was, I go, "The girl in Grant's class who runs the marathons? Who gives a flying rats a**, she's too skinny anyway". (Again, I was barely conscious and that is why my initial reaction was not to run up and down the isles screaming, "K-K! It's me! Your long lost, BFF! Do you want to come to my house to play?")

Nicole stares at me for a second and takes off to get another item on our list. As I near the milk and eggs isle I glance to my left and OH MY GOD, THERE'S KATHERINE HEIGL. Wait for it... Ohhhhhhhhh, Katherine Heigl, now I get it. (Brain attempting to connect neurons now.)

And friends, let me make your day. She. Doesn't. Really. Look. Like. That. Now, let me go off for a second here and I'll be back to where we started in a second. The thing, or one of the many many things about show business that pisses me off is that women are portrayed and expected to look unbelievably gorgeous at all times which is a feat not even Jesus could pull off, so that's one thing. Jesus doesn't want us to kill ourselves and airbrush virtual people out of thin air so that small children can grow up thinking the world is made up of 10 foot Barbie and Ken dolls. In fact, I believe there may be some underground footage of satan himself creating Barbie and Ken, but it's strictly on the DL so I can't show you.

Getting back to Katherine, I think she's unbelievably cute, I sincerely do. But - she has flaws, and zits, and greasy hair too. And I only stared at her for about 5 minutes, but I'm pretty sure nothing she was wearing was name brand or even new for that matter. As if I needed any more reason to stalk her, now I really want to because she's normal! Or so my assessment was after 5 minutes of staring...

Remind Me To Tell You the One About "Cheese!"

Boy oh geez it's been a while. Insert several apologetic comments here... And on to the news!

Let's take stock, shall we?

3 weeks in Ohio for Christmas vacation - Check.

1 week stint in Park City having a marvelous time skiing - Check.

2 cases of near-death gastrointestinal virus, not marvelous - Yep, check.

1 Katherine Heigl siting - Check.

423 new toddler toys I don't have anywhere to put - Check.

7 days of delaying taking down Christmas decorations - Check.

200 new words in Griffin's vocabulary - Check, check, check, CHEESE!

22 days past rent due date - Whoops and check. (Well, actually there's no check, that's the problem. See, my checkbook was among the casualties in trying to pack up way-too-much-f'ing-crap in about 15 minutes to come back to New York after my near-death viral experience last weekend. RIP checkbook, sorry Landlord.)

And most importantly, at least 37 good stories I have to tell you, just as soon as I get around to it. (Read: So if you're lucky before next Christmas...)

Ciao!