Another Awkward Week [5.9.14]

Guuuys, I’m BACK! Just a few hours after writing last week’s sad post, bemoaning my lack of awkward moments, I went out for fries (my second plate of fries for the day but who’s counting?!), misjudged the size of the opening on the ketchup bottle, and poured about 6 gallons of the stuff all over the dish. 20140502_181226


Immediately upon spilling, as my friends rushed to help clean it up like normal people, I yelled “YES! I’M BACK!” and whipped out my camera to document it for posterity.

BOOM. It was touch and go there for a while but I it is safe to say the awkward train has left the station. Choo choo!

Why would anyone say that? No one talks like that.

I am a hot mess this morning. I had long-planned dinner with my girlfriends last night that started weird when I called it "sensual"  instead of "sophisticated" on the google calendar invite and ended weird when one of the girls, who works for Peanut Butter & Company, busted out half a dozen jars of fancy peanut butters and we all just sat there in the middle of a restaurant drinking beers and eating peanut butter right out of the jar. It was both sophisticated and sensual, for sure. I feel less than amazing this morning...can you get a peanut butter hangover? Is that a thing? OY! Enough rambling, let’s take a look back at what was keeping it awkward this week.


These Tulips:


Fresh, alive and BEAUTIFUL. I left them for at least 3 more days after snapping this photo.

See also: our garbage covered dining room table. My house is such a hovel. SIGH.

These Cake Stands:


I got to go with one of my authors to the Martha Stewart headquarters located waaayyyy on the West Side of Manhattan. It was really neat. They have this HUGE prop library just chock full of kitchen gadgets and bowls and plates and vases and, of course, cake stands...just imagine like, the biggest West Elm + the biggest Pottery Barn + Macy's Herald Square + Martha Stewart Living Magazine + all of your wildest dreams come true and that's pretty much what this place was like.

Jen and I both arrived late due to train troubles, and she had to be on live radio, so the moment we arrived they whisked us right up the back staircase and into their radio studio. WHO should we see, as we're sprinting down the hall? Why Martha herself!!! Walking out of the ladies room! Like a regular person!

It was awesome.

It turns out that had we not been late, we would have actually gotten to meet her and have a conversation with her which would have, obviously, been amazing. Buuuut I'm kind of glad it happened this way. It's a slightly better story and now I get to tell the whole wide world that Martha Stewart pees in a shared bathroom just like a commoner!


This Fancy Cocktail:


I realized I was going to be home alone the other night and decided to enjoy the evening with a crisp glass of white wine on ice, like the WASPy desperate housewife I apparently aspire to be.

But then I remembered that we had no wine in the house and I'm not letting myself spend money on anything that's not wedding or move related so I gave up on my dreamo of vino. But THEN I remembered that I had a few plastic mini bottle of the upscale Sutter Home Vintage floating around my office, left over from a work project so I secretly stuck a bottle in my purse, carted it home, broke out the ice cubes and had the classiest little party for one you ever did see.

On the upside, at least I used a glass! I would have just stuck in a bendy straw…but we were all out.

This project, by the way, was a complete disaster in and of itself. My colleague and I came up with this adorable summer reads package, and we were so proud of ourselves. We stuffed a tote bag with some of our hottest summer titles + a mini bottle of wine (of the classiest variety, clearly. Publishing money!) and cookies and we mailed them to all these editors and it turns out we didn't wrap the cookies very well because they all smashed so instead of these adorable tote bags, everyone's packages were just covered top to bottom in crushed chocolate and cookie crumbs and people had to throw them out. Whoops!   A+++ work right there.

These Jeans:


I wore these pantaloons to work yesterday and for some reason, something on the inside seam of my right leg kept poking me. I don’t know what it was – these are not new, so it wasn't a tag or anything. I did just get them back from the laundry, so perhaps there were some shards of glass floating around in the dryer and one of them got stuck inside my jeans seam and then started waging war on my inner thigh?

That sounds like a super normal and likely scenario.

ANYWAY, I was walking to gym over lunch and the poking got SO painful I could barely walk. I told myself to keep going, I just had to make it one more block to the gym and I could take the pants off in the locker room and inspect them. I made it five more steps, but the pain was unbearable, so I stopped and adjusted the jeans from the outside, hoping that would do the trick.

No dice.

I made it five more steps and was in such excruciating pain, I realized I couldn’t wait to the locker room to go deep…I had to get inside my pants.

Now, I was walking on a crowded sidewalk, so I tried to be as inconspicuous as I could. I turned away from the street and as quickly as possible, jammed my hand down the inside of my jeans and sort of rubbed around the inner-mid-thigh area, hoping to dislodge the sharp object.

As I quickly withdrew my hands from down in my pants, I looked up and realized that I had turned away from the street, oh yes, and instead was DIRECTLY FACING a middle school.

A MIDDLE SCHOOL. I was standing on the street, with my hand shoved down my pants in front of a middle school.

I belong in jail.

And on a similar note...

This Photo:


I probably can’t show the actual photo for legal reasons.

One of the fun things about commuting on the train is the people you see every day – it’s sort of comforting and weirdly I start to think I know them, when I really don’t. Do any of you guys do this?*

One of my VERY favorite subway buddies is this little boy who is maaaybe three years old and I see him some mornings, riding the uptown 1 train with his mom. This kid is SO flipping cute – he has little glasses and you KNOW how much I love toddlers with glasses (I hope our future children inherit their dad’s near blindness instead of my, ahem, better than perfect , vision.) and I can just tell he’s charmingly nerdy, he’s always reading books or playing like, math games with his mom and I LOVE him.

Yesterday morning it was drizzly and my BCFWIACS (Best Child Friend Who Is Actually a Complete Stranger) was wearing a mini rain slicker, galoshes and…wait for it…a knit sweater with the superman logo on it. Not a sweatshirt, but an actual like, wool sweater with the iconic logo on the front. It was soooooooo cute that I took a photo because I wanted to show all my pals how cute my BCFWIACS was looking that morning. Did I bust this picture out over our peanut butter feast last night? Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't.

Basically what I’m saying is please forward all my mail to the New York State Home for Deranged Criminal Women because that is where I’m headed.

Annnnd on that note, I think it’s best if I shut this whole thing down before I actually get condemned. How was everyone else’s week?! Big weekend plans? I’m going to Philly for a wedding of one of my study abroad buddies that should be one heck of a party. I’m excited! I wonder what my BCFWIACS will do all weekend??!!!! 


* We're going to be publishing a book allll about this phenomenon next winter (I think?) called Girl on a Train (probably!) and it's AMAZING and creepy and awesome and I assume you'll all rush right out and buy it when we do!

And One Happy List!

Woof! I was such a Grouchy Gertrude last week! But today is a new day, friends and everything’s coming up HoBags.  This afternoon I’m off to Baltimore for my 5-year college reunion and while I’m out of town, my boyfriend is moving from Philly to Brooklyn, barely a mile away from me.  No longer will I have to take the bolt bus to get laid! I mean, yes, this reunion is a sign of my impending old age and a reminder of the many things I have not yet accomplished and going from long distance to short distance means I have to shave my legs more than twice a month and maybe we’ll realize we actually can’t stand each other and break up and life will be horrible but I’m not dwelling on those things right now. Today I am a Positive Patty, a Happy Henrietta, an Optimistic Oksana...I could do this all day, folks. To celebrate my grand mood and reverse any lingering negative energies from my last post, herewith is a not-nearly complete list, with very limited commentary, of a few very strange, very specific things that never fail to fill me with glee.

Small children wit]h eyeglasses. It is well documented here how much I love kiddos, but none of them are cuter to me than the the ones with glasses. Not little girls with curly hair or little black boys with miniature Timberlands, not even twins wearing matching footie pajamas. It’s the bespectacled ones who get me every time. My kiddos will have to inherit this trait from their father, as I have 20-10 vision which is, NBD, better than perfect. I wouldn’t be surprised to find me trolling local sperm banks for donors with genetic eye disorders. Love me dem lil four eyes!

And please don’t call the authorities, I swear I’m not a pedophile.

Watching old eps of Law & Order and spotting now famous guest stars before they hit it big. Above you can see William H. Macy on the stand, testifying that he did not rape those girls at the drug rehab center when in fact, he so did do that. William H! You devil. Or have you seen the one where Victor Garber (spoiler alert!) gets the death penalty for murdering his wife, or John Krasinksi as a high school basketball star/witness? Love it! And check this out

Biting cleanly into a Kraft Single so I can see my teeth marks. If I die in a tragic fire, I hope they use cheese to check my dental records.

When cute old men still wear hats when out on the town.

Or older African American women who still dress to the nines for church.

When my land lady, who is crazy, but in like, a good way, decorates our apartment for holidays...or whatever. Above is our apartment at Halloween. At Christmas time it was adorned with wreaths, lights, strange furry polar bears and garlands a-plenty. All year long she has it decked out with plaques bearing biblical quotes (Our God Is An Awesome God!) and hundreds of photos of the Obama family. I love that crazy broad. This weekend she’s getting married (congrats, gurrl) and here’s what she’s done to the place:

I die!

Ok that's all for now! TAFN! Off to Bodymore Murderland with this girl. You Sassy Sallies have a fantastic weekend and feel free to share your own happies in the comments! (Please! I assume it goes with out saying that my ultimate happy maker is attention.)

Some Awkward (Hypothetical!) Questions

Some quick totally hypothetical questions: 1. If you are looking at a person's profile on The Facebook, sayyyy maybe a girl you went to HS with but haven't spoken to in like 8 years and accidentally "Like" one of her posts (let's say it is a video about Michael Vick, who you DO love but wouldn't necessarily give the 'ol FB thumbs up) and then very quickly "unlike" the post, will the person know you did that or will your creeper activities just disappear into the abyss?

2. On a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being Kate Middleton and 10 being Pigpen from Peanuts, how gross is it to sleep in a t-shirt for a few days and then wear said t-shirt to the office? Does it make it less gross if it is kind of cute and fitted, not like a giant thing you got free at the college job fair?

3. How much Vitamin C is too much Vitamin C?

4. How long do you think it would take for this kid's parents to notice if he suddenly went missing, Elizabeth Smart style? (Except not taken by a horrible cult leader but a beautiful, loving blogger?)


5. How soon is too soon to make Elizabeth Smart jokes?


This Is My Son, Fritatta

Today while perusing The Facebook, I stumbled across someone who'd named their child "Kale." Don't ask me who this person is, I literally have no idea. I am a creep! Anyway, I was discussing this um, unique name with my sister and we have now decided we'll be naming all of our future children after tasty foods. The catch: they all have to actually sort of sound like attractive human names. Offense intended, Gwyneth.

Here's what we have so far:

Kale (thanks, Facebook lady)

Brie (mine)

Clementine (courtesy of my roommate)

Colby Jack (great one from the sis)


Aaaaaand that is all. A few discarded options included Pesto, Crab Dip and Leftover Curry. All great choices but ultimately just missing a little something special. We need your help!  There must be more. We are desperate for your input as we are both very serious and passionate about this quest to fill the earth with a generation of deliciously named babies. Best answer gets to be the dad!

Gross, nope. That last sentence was a joke! Totally serious about the other stuff, though. Help us!

One Awkward Babysitter

Good morning! Did you get up to anything good on your Friday night? I babysat, which is a cool activity for industrious 14-year olds and broke grownups alike. I love babysitting. It’s easy money for the most part and I get my kid fix for a few hours. Though my current #2 fear is getting unexpectedly knocked up (#1 fear: bedbugs) I do love, love, love me some kiddos, little dudes especially. A normal thing which is nearly impossible to explain. On my first date with Brian I said to him “I don’t know how to say this without sounding creepy, but I just love little boys.”

Ummm...still looking for a way to say that. And curious how we ever made it to date two.

Anyway, all that to say, when the opportunity presented itself to hang with a small boy at the Gramercy Hotel this weekend (again, there must be a better way to phrase that...) I jumped at the opportunity.

The night got off to an illustrious start. I arrived a few minutes early to have enough time to creep around the lobby and use the facilities which I’ll give a solid B (plush towels! but no coat hooks?!) before catching an elevator. On the elevator was a thin woman wearing head to toe black and the stankiest of stankfaces I’ve seen in my 27 years on earth.

“To what floor are you going?” she asked, in a Slavic sounding accent. “14” I replied, with confidence. “You have a key?” She asked, icily. “Oh no,” I replied, “I’m meeting my clients upstairs.” She gave me a wary look before pushing the button for 14.

Clients! Who meets clients in a hotel, I ask you? Probably lots of people like business men, masseuses, en-suite Pampered Chef Party Organizers, and of course, babysitters. But  most commonly, I’m so sure: hookers! I immediately panicked that this bitchy foreign lady who I assumed worked for the hotel would think me a prostitute, since all good prostitutes show up with a tote bag full of books and a gigantic Italian hoagie (actually, if I ever order myself a gigolo that’s exactly what I’ll demand), that I plunged into panicked over-explanation.

“I’m a babysitter, well, I’m babysitting. Friends of a friend, sort of? They’re from out of town. DC. Great hotel!”  I babbled incoherently until the doors opened and my new friend rushed out of the elevator. I followed her out. She turned and gave me a glaring look. “This isn’t floor 14,” she said, before putting her own key in her own door.

I’d assumed by her aggressive demeanor on the ride up that she was the elevator operator or in some way working for the hotel, escorting me upstairs to my babysitting/prostituting gig. Nope, she was just a  lady staying on the 6th floor, making sure I knew where I was headed. I turned around to get back on the elevator, blushing and mumbling, just as the heavy door was shutting. The door crushed me, lightly, before bouncing open again to let me through. I wasn’t worried I might die, just concerned for my sandwich. All the while the “elevator operator” stared in horror.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Oh I’m fine!” I yelled as the door began to close again. “HAHA! So clumsy! Have a great night! I’m babysitting, for a baby, the clients are parents! Haha!” until it finally closed and I was left alone with my reflection in the mirrored elevator, flushed beet red, totebag swinging, gesticulating wildly.

What a mess.

Don’t worry, I didn’t kill the kid. And my sandwich was phenomenal. I’m headed back for the same gig tonight. I wonder what the evening has in store!

One Awkward Bun in the Oven

I'm probably too old to admit this, but I often feel awkward around ladies who are prego. I can't help but imagine the happy soon-to-be-parents doin' it. I wonder what position they were in at that Touchdown! moment? Also, I fear I'll accidentally blurt out what I'm really thinking, like "OMG you're going to get so fat!" or "I hear some ladies shit themselves mid-birth!" or "God, sure hope your kid isn't ugly."

I mean...congratulations!

Also, what if the lady is just fat and you THINK she's pregnant? Mortifying.

Anyway, these are a few of the many million reasons I'm doing my best to avoid getting knocked up. Yes, I'm a little drunk right now.