Archive for the ‘NYC Livin’’ Category

Here’s a list of all the things I will most definitely accomplish this summer. Luxurious summer homes in the Hamptons and exquisite meals in Michelin Star restaurants be damned! I’m a simple gal. On your mark, get set, go.

  1. Shower every single day.
  2. Go to the bathroom without a 3-year-old talking to me through the door.
  3. Stop housing all the Cheddar Bunnies.
  4. Refrain from picking at all of LJ’s beige dinner leftovers.
  5. Eat something other than LJ’s PB&J crust for lunch.
  6. Relish the fact that the kid doesn’t know she can get out of her bed anytime she wants.
  7. Stop singing the theme to Miss Spider’s Sunny Patch friends.
  8. Put my head in the oven if I start rapping the tunes from Bubble Guppies any more than I already am.
  9. Read an entire issue of US Weekly while sitting at the beach.
  10. Accomplish #9 while at the beach, ALONE.
  11. Read 5 new books other than the Pinkalicious series.
  12. Turn off the tv during the day.
  13. Refrain from letting LJ watch the entire Toy Story trilogy in one sitting.
  14. Stop asking the kid “Do you have to go tinkle?” every twenty minutes.
  15. Remember to bring a drink and snack to the playground for ME- no more stealing her juiceboxes.
  16. Bring sand toys to the playground every time- no more ghetto plastic spoons and bottle caps.
  17. Stop trying to pressure LJ to master the scooter.
  18. Stop pressuring LJ to go down the slide.
  19. Start being grateful that my kid is timid and careful and sweet as a peach.
  20. Go on at least 4 dates with my husband.
  21. Spend a weekday morning at the MOMA by myself.
  22. Spend a weekday morning at the Guggenheim by myself.
  23. Dye my hair blonde again. Brown makes me cranky.
  24. See college friends I haven’t seen since 1997.
  25. Have drinks, go to the movies, laugh my ass off with some girlfriends.
  26. Go to the Farmer’s Market EVERY Saturday.
  27. Don’t let all the farmer’s market greens wilt and turn squiggly in the fridge. Cook them.
  28. Drink more fun cocktails, less beer and wine.
  29. Get takeout only once a week.
  30. Spend a day out on the North Fork (LI).
  31. Get a pie from Briermere farms.
  32. Bake more pies.
  33. Start making my own pasta.
  34. Make ice cream.
  35. Go to the gym more due to all the pies, pasta and ice cream.
  36. Smother LJ with more kisses, even when she’s sweaty, covered in sunscreen and coated in sand like a chicken cutlet.
  37. Try to make a baby.
  38. Take the dog for more long walks so she stops wigging out.
  39. Repaint the closet door that the 4-legged psychopath has scratched to bits in fits of anxious mania.
  40. Stop forgetting to buy the fancy organic dog food and feeding her Cheerios instead.
  41. Sweep the mountains of dog hair that waft past me every day.
  42. Give that furry stinkbutt more baths. Or, at least one.
  43. Start actually doing the yoga on the Wii that we bought for THAT purpose.
  44. Have more all-day picnics in the park.
  45. Fly a kite successfully for the FIRST time in my life.
  46. Go peach and berry picking.
  47. Milk a cow somewhere. Or, well, at least SEE a cow.
  48. WATER THE DAMN PLANTS! (What is with my aversion to helping plants not die?)
  49. Go visit a special friend in Massachusetts, even though I hate the Patriots, Red Sox, Celtics and Bruins.
  50. Cherish the awesomeness that is my tiny family.
Linking up with Mama Kat and her writing prompt!

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When people come over our tiny apartment, I’m often asked things like:

How is your apartment so neat and semi-minimalist with a 3-year-old? Where’s all your stuff?

For example, here’s a picture from a corner of our living room.

Ok. I’m totally full of shit. That’s an image from Design Within Reach (SWOON!), but owning a pair of 6k Barcelona chairs with their ottomans is on my bucket list.

My living room looks NOTHING like this, unfortunately, but it IS fairly neat. I despise tchotchkes, anything that reads “Home Sweet Home”, and plastic, beeping toys. On the surface, it looks fairly minimalist and organized. Behind closed doors, though…. THAT’s my dirty little secret.

Are you ready to see inside our 3 closets in their current state?


Excellent, right?

So while on the outside you see this

(Again, total lie. Thanks DWR.)

…when you scratch the surface it’s a fucking disaster.

Yay honesty!


For this Wordless Wednesday I linked up with the fab mamas at Live and Love… Out Loud, Project Alicia, and Angry Julie Monday.

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Last week we had a few days where NYC was just unbearably steamy, especially for the beginning of June, so we headed to my favorite weekday time-suck: The Brooklyn Museum. The weekday mornings are always ridiculously empty, almost in a deserted, slasher flick way, so I don’t feel bad when LJ starts shouting “LOOK MOMMY!! LOOK AT HER BOOBIES!!! THAT LADY’S NAKED!! HAHA!!”. Before we left our apartment we made a scavenger hunt list of all the things we wanted to find in the artwork: a dog, a train, a princess, a river, a circle, a tiger, a mommy, some kids and a red square. We found them all because my kid is a super intellectual tiny genius. (NOT AT ALL because I bribed her, and told her if she helped me find everything on the list I’d buy her something from the store. Not at ALL.)

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After my horrific, soul-crushing Monday, I have to say: I kicked Tuesday’s butt!  LJ and I spent the entire day at Coney Island where we just LOVE the kitsch, the rides, the snacks and the overall awesomeness. (Plus, running into Zach Galifianakis around every corner didn’t hurt.)



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This past weekend was deliciously exhausting as we celebrated LJ’s 3rd birthday. It involved an entire Saturday spent with friends here

…followed by a Sunday in the neighborhood with the family. Both days involved absurd amounts of cake, cupcakes, grilled goods, sunburns and “mommy and daddy” juice. Oh, and party hats, of course.

Monday, though…Monday has already decided that too much fun was had this weekend. Monday has decided that my lazy days of lolling about in the sun have been too many. Monday is a total dick.

It started out lovely. LJ and I headed over bright and early to Baked in Red Hook for some chocolatey, sugar-laden goods for breakfast (because we didn’t have enough this weekend), and a latte the size of my face. Have you been there? If you haven’t, you should. Get the sweet & salty brownie. It’s one of Oprah’s “favorite things”, and I could eat 5678 of them. (Assuming you care what Oprah thinks. I don’t. They’re amazing, though. Eat them.) Also, if you watched Top Chef: Desserts, one of the pastry chefs was on it, and I saw him working in the kitchen this morning… so there’s that. Yay Baked!

It was about halfway through this gigantic latte, just when the caffeine was sending me into a full-blown panic attack, that I got the phone call from Carson’s playgroup. Carson’s my dog. Yes, I send her to a playgroup. Like a kid. It’s NYC, she has anxiety and needs the exercise and socialization: so we send her 3 mornings a week to play in the park with a zillion other dogs. Stop fucking judging me! I can FEEL you all judging me, and I don’t care. Her playgroup is a lifesaver for all of us.

Anyway, Eva (the owner) called and left a message that Carson had bitten her tongue while playing ball, it was bleeding a little bit but it was nothing serious, and she should be totally fine by the time her walker dropped her back off into the apartment. No big deal. LJ and I finished up our breakfast and headed over to Fairway to do a little food shopping before heading back home.

Sitting at a traffic light under the BQE overpass, waiting to turn onto 14th Street to head home, I was listening to some radio show talk about the “rape cop”, and how this epic scumbag lives in Park Slope (He doesn’t. 20th Street isn’t Park Slope, but whatever.). Apparently people are putting up flyers around the neighborhood with his picture, saying things like, “Rape Cop lives on this street”, and some guy on the radio was kind of defending him (and his trashy wife). Fueled by that soup bowl-sized latte, I found myself getting fired up and a little grouchy. As I’m sitting there quietly stewing, two things happen. First LJ suddenly shouts out, “I HAVE TO GO POOPY!!” to which I tell her she MUST wait, there’s just no other option. Then some unidentifiable black sludge falls from the BQE overpass onto my arm, which was resting on the edge of the door (my window was open). As it hit my arm it splattered the most vile, toxic-smelling shit all over my FACE and shirt. My face. A little bit even went on my lips. I can’t even imagine what it was, and I’m trying not to think about it until I grow a third arm and start hallucinating. (Note to self: keep the windows closed when driving back from Red Hook.)

We get back to Park Slope and start circling to find a parking spot. Usually this isn’t a problem. Today? TWENTY MINUTES of circling. Not good. ESPECIALLY when your preschooler’s shouts of “I HAVE TO GO POOPY!!” suddenly come to a puzzling halt. She had pooped in her princess skirt and started to quietly cry. I finally zip into a spot a block away and trudge home carrying 4 overstuffed bags of groceries, the weeping kid trailing behind me with a log of shit in her underwear.

I was SO UNPREPARED for the scene in my apartment. Remember the dog’s tongue? Yeah. It hadn’t stopped bleeding. Apparently not even a little bit. It was as if someone was brutally murdered in my home. Carson greeted me at the door, excitedly wiggling her butt and sending drops of blood flying all around her. The off-white walls, the floors, the rug, the couch. The COUCH!! Covered in about 3 dozen giant drops of blood. I throw the bags of groceries on the floor, grab sniffly LJ (with shit in her underwear) and SPRINT around the corner to get some hydrogen peroxide at the bodega. Five minutes later I burst through the front door again to find that my awesome, AWESOME bloody bitch had gone through the groceries, pulled out a box of chocolate chip granola bars, and proceeded to eat them ON THE BLOOD-STAINED COUCH. Now there was blood AND chocolate all over our less-than-a-year-old West Elm sectional. YAY! Here are some hints of the carnage:

3 pillows.

The rug doesn’t look bad here, but 500 of those drops make it pretty unsalvageable. Thank god it’s only from Ikea. (Please note the stray granola bar crumbs.)

Yes, that’s blood smeared all over the laptop. WTF?

Two hours later and the couch has been saved; the rug is on its way to the trash; the walls and floor have been scrubbed and the kid’s butt has been cleaned.

Fuck you, Monday!

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I’m as sick as a dog that’s been run over by a steam roller, so in lieu of a snarky rant about nonsense, or a long-winded post about rodents: I give you one of my favorite videos.

With a creative director dad and an (unemployed) art teacher mom, this kid will have art shoved down her sweet throat at every available opportunity. The other day she actually told me that she hated art but she thinks the Fresh Beat Band is awesome. She knows nothing.

If you live in the tri-state area, have you been to Storm King? You MUST. It’s AWESOME. So go (if it ever stops raining).

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We live within walking distance of what I think is one of the most stunning spots in Brooklyn: Greenwood Cemetery. No, I’m not goth, but I do find something very serene about the rolling hills and monuments smack dab in the middle of NYC. Among a number of famous authors and historical figures buried here is my grandmother, the original stoopmama, who passed away last year at the amazing age of 103. (103!!) There’s a post about her hilariously snarky personality and fascinating life currently in the works (she actually went to speakeasies!). For now, though, here are some images of our last visit to leave some flowers for Nana AND see the grave of my favorite painter, Jean Michel Basquiat:

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