cooking in my underwear

And so it arrives, faster than ever, sneaking up on me every year. It's never a surprise, yet I'm never quite ready. There's always something left undone, always some loose-end. Unavoidable, no matter how well I prepare. Every year I vow to start Christmas shopping in July, and every year Christmas Eve finds me in a near frenzy. So before another silent night passes into the history books, and I'm left wading knee-deep in the detritus of holiday revelry, I'd like to wish you all a very Merry Christmas. And to all, a good night.

I'm standing on the boardwalk, the cold wind is biting into my reddened cheeks and my eyes are watering mercilessly. The surf is rolling in the distance, and the wooden planks beneath my feet are thrumming with the rhythm of eager footsteps. Does this all seem a little familiar? So, as if it wasn't enough for my sweetie to begin the running season with a gust of icy wind in his face, he's decided to end his season with one as well. On a chilly Sunday morning, we made our way to the Cosme's Coney Island 5K Turkey Trot, for what we believed would be a spirited and entertaining competition. What we encountered instead were about sixty hardy souls shivering on the boardwalk, waiting for the race to begin. As I surveyed the group, I picked out one or two individuals who appeared to be capable of besting my beloved in this footrace, and I immediately became confident that we would once again be bringing home some 'hardware'. And then I remembered! A glance at the

I just found out that November is National Blog Posting Month. Oh well, maybe next November.

A few weeks ago, while I was clearing out a bookshelf, I came upon a chart I had created over ten years ago to document the progress of a weight-loss regimen. At that time, I was approaching a 'milestone' birthday, and having decided that I was unacceptably overweight, I propelled myself into a serious diet and exercise plan, fastidiously recording every morsel I ate and drank, every weight I lifted and every mile I ran. My plan was an amazing success, and I showed up for my birthday celebration looking more fabulous than I ever had in my entire life. I was lean, I was fit, my body was smokin', slammin' and all the other adjectives that one could possibly apply to a woman as stunning as I was. Then, something happened. I'm not quite sure when, or how, because I didn't actually witness the event myself. If pressed for an explanation, I can only conclude that sometime in the past ten years, my brain was removed from my body, kicked about on the floor for a while,

I remember the sky, six years ago today, was an almost otherworldly shade of blue. I remember stepping off the unfamiliar crosstown bus, not wanting to be late for my software training, but stopping anyway, and removing my sunglasses for a moment to look up. The sky was perfection, not a trace of cloud, and an amazing crystalline clarity that is highly uncommon in the summer months. I remember scurrying into the lobby of the ABC News building, eager to get the class over with, so that I could escape early, and luxuriate in a few precious hours of daylight before returning to the regular workday drudge that the rest of the week would bring. I remember looking up at the jumbo television screens in the lobby, and seeing a tower in flames, and asking myself "What movie is this? and why is ABC broadcasting it at this hour? shouldn't the news be on now?" I remember the fog of surreality descending upon me when I was informed that "This IS the news!", that somebody

Yes, I have been delinquent, and I apologize most profusely for not posting more often. But it's not been for lack of material. In fact, lately I seem to have too many ideas/opinions/observations bouncing around in my brain and I appear to be in the throes of a mental traffic jam. So, as soon as I can get my thoughts to line up in an orderly manner (or at least stop bumping into each other) I will return to regularly scheduled programming.

..by the dawn's early light.. So, on the 4th of July, I'm up at the crack of dawn (about 5 a.m.) trying desperately to wake my seemingly comatose boyfriend while packing my beach bag and trying to ignore the ominous clouds gathering in the cold sky. Yes, it was madness, but there was indeed a method to it. The aforementioned boyfriend had signed up for a 4K race on the boardwalk at Long Beach, Long Island, and the only way to make the 8:30 start was to be on the very first train of the day. We were also hoping, weather permitting, to enjoy a little sand and surf after the race. The weather reports made it abundantly clear that we were hoping against hope, but it was Independence Day, damn it, and there was no room for pessimism in our emotional arsenal. Eventually, I was able to extract my sweetheart from the tangle of blankets and pillows and set him to packing and getting into his racing gear. We made the train with plenty of time to spare, but naturally, the employees of the

In case you thought that the reason I haven't posted in so long is because I have been slaving away trying to create order out the piles of boxes, clothing and wayward furniture that have turned my apartment into a knee-gouging, hip-bruising odyssey of obstacles, allow me to disabuse you of such a belief. I have been indulging most heartily in what is commonly described as 'goofing off'. Indeed, my office workload has not abated, and it is a rare occasion (such as this) when I have time to blog from my desk. But once I leave this building in the evening, pure silliness is the order of the day. In the past few weeks, I've feasted on juicy brisket and pulled-pork sandwiches at the Big Apple BBQ Block Party, I've lounged on the grass while being serenaded by the likes of The Neville Brothers, and Joan Osborne, I've eaten and shopped my way through the mile-long Seventh Heaven Street Fair, and the list goes on and on. I've even managed to squeeze in some running

It wasn't my plan to make any grave commentary on current events on this forum, but I found this particular experience so very unsettling that I felt I had to set it free from my mind: While I was busy compressing time and space this weekend, a small bit of grist for the YouTube mill was coalescing on TV screens all over the world. Rachel Smith, the USA delegate at the 2007 Miss Universe competition slipped while traversing the stage and fell on her backside. I didn't watch the broadcast myself, I've grown rather weary of beauty pageants lately, and this year's lack of a Trinidad & Tobago delegate all but guaranteed that I would be paying no attention at all to the night's proceedings. But even I, amid the jumble of boxes and disassembled furniture that have overrun my life, could not escape the news of the (in my opinion) unfortunate event. The general lack of decorum and hospitality exhibited by the Mexican audience was also a source of controversy. Now, I am

It's finally here! The long Memorial Day weekend marks the unofficial start of summer. All over the city, barbecue grills are flaring, flip-flops are flapping and you can almost hear the snap-snap-snap of a million tubes of sunblock flipping open. New York City is gearing up for fun in the sun. Lush, green spaces are beckoning, with grasses plump, cool and healthy from copious (and some would say excessive) doses of spring rain. The lunchtime crowd jostles daily for precious fountain-side seats. The very air, it seems, is trembling with anticipation. But for me, at least for the next few days, anticipation is all I will have. You see, my boyfriend of many years, my sweetie, my honey bunny, my one and only, is moving in with me this weekend. And while the vast majority of Gothamites will be heading off to their summer retreats, sprawling their winter-pale bodies over every available inch of grass, consuming tremendous amounts of grilled meats, or raiding Old Navy for cargo shorts a

Just to give everyone a quick update: The biopsy results are negative. Just some surface irritation that should go away eventually. I have to schedule another pap test in three months to make sure all is well. Yaaaaaaay!!!! Now I can get on with the business of having a fun (and very hectic) summer! Thanks so much to everyone for your good wishes and support. It truly meant a lot to me.

A couple of months ago, with the help and support of someone very dear to me, I became, for the first time in about 10 years, entirely debt-free. Of course, there should be high-fives and abundant celebratory toasts at this momentous occasion. But instead of being at peace, and revelling in my new found financial freedom, I seem to have become downright terrified of spending money. I can only compare this to the phenomenon that many amputees claim to have experienced, a sensation that the missing limb is actually still there! I still feel the weight of the appendage that I carried for over a decade. In fact, I've found myself checking my credit-card balance several times a week, each time believing that my burden would suddenly re-appear, and each time finding the balance at zero, and each time being strangely disappointed that there was no balance due. And I've taken to wringing my hands in anxiety over the 'extra' money in my bank account at the end of the month. Was

The colposcopy was not as painful as I anticipated, but it was a lot messier! Results in about two weeks.

I am just emerging from a blistering, hectic week at work, followed by a Saturday replete with "I really should do [insert boring weekend chore here], but I'd rather take a nap" moments. I will post again soon. I promise!

And it WAS, for a while, but sooner or later, reality was bound smack me in the head (or a more southerly body part, in this case). The results of my follow-up exam are abnormal. So, in three weeks, I must submit to a colposcopy. For those who want extensive, clinical details about this procedure, click here . For those who do not, let's just say the doctor's going to poke around in my hoo-hah for a few minutes to see what the hell is going on down there. It's NOT cancer, they told me, but they need to see if it's anything of concern. So I'm just gonna chill, and put this out of my mind until the time comes. Yeah, right!

Four months ago, a routine doctor's visit, a routine test, followed by the routine 'we'll send you the results in two weeks'. And the two weeks go by, and nothing. Did I miss the e-mail, did my answering machine go wonky? But hey, no news is good news, right? Week three, there's the e-mail 'Results abnormal. Please schedule a follow-up appointment in three months.' Abnormal? What does that mean? Is it minor? Is it serious? So I wonder, then I worry, then I scour the Internet. As they say - six of one, half a dozen of the other. For every article I read that scares me, there is another that eases my mind. But still, I worry, because I'm really good at it. And I ask a close friend. "Abnormal?" she says "No reason to panic. I've had those before!" And she goes on to say that they have to do X and they have to do Y, and then you're fine. No reason to worry. So I worry a little less each day. Things become all blurry in my head, an

So, the boyfriend announces that he is going out to dinner with a few co-workers tonight, and the first thought that runs through my mind is 'great, I don't have to cook tonight!' I was immediately disturbed by my reaction, simply because I count myself among the dwindling group of people who really LOVE to cook. And now I'm starting to wonder if I actually do love it anymore. Back in my youthful and carefree days, I would often cook for fun, even for adventure. I remember peeling my first tomatillo as fondly as some people remember their first kiss. Cooking used to be a pleasure, a form of relaxation and most importantly, something I almost never had to do. Back then, I could exist on a diet of greasy take-out food without any fear that my waistline would expand, or my cholesterol skyrocket. But that was many years, and quite a few dress-sizes ago, and my culinary focus has turned to healthful, tasty, well-prepared foods that are pretty hard to come by in take-out fo

Contrary to the results of this quiz, I'm probably MORE Irish than I think. As far as I know, I have no Irish ancestry whatsoever. But the love of my live is an Irish-American cutie, so I think that counts for something. You're 45% Irish You're probably less Irish than you think you are... But you're still more Irish than most. How Irish Are You?

Yesterday, the first verified wave of spring fever descended upon Gotham. The afflicted (myself among them) were easy to spot, parading in shirtsleeves and bare legs, as the temperature soared to a delightful 70 degrees. Even though New York City lucked out tremendously this year as far as winter weather goes, the frigid temperatures over the last few weeks left us itching, literally and figuratively, for balmier days. But Mother Nature proves to be a fickle mistress indeed, for as I write, temperatures plummet, and a thin veil of snow-like precipitation begins to whiten the night sky. If forecasts are to be believed, it's possible that the city may be blanketed by six inches of the stuff within the next 24 hours, and we'll have to wait yet another week before temperatures venture back into flip-flop territory. So I wait patiently. And from time to time, I console myself by gently stroking the crisp, white skirt that peeks ever so bashfully from the back of my closet. Soon, my

So, if I show up at my boyfriend's apartment with no makeup on, my hair in a bun, wearing an old t-shirt, baggy jeans and trainers, he immediately wants to go out for a night on the town! He wants a fancy dinner at a swanky restaurant, and a visit to the neighbourhood jazz club. But if I'm fully made-up, with flawless hair and a dressy outfit, his reaction is usually this - "let's order in and watch some TV". Is this his (not so) clever way of avoiding having to take me out? He knows there's no way in hell I'm setting foot in a nice restaurant or club looking busted. I'm just not that kind of girl. Or does he genuinely not care how I look when we go out? It his ill-timed exuberance just coincidental? The next time he goes into couch-potato mode after I've gone through the trouble of applying liquid eyeliner, I'm putting my stiletto-clad foot down! I am not wrestling with a flatiron for half an hour so I can spend the rest of the night on the s

As I made my way home tonight from a mind-numbing day at the office, shivering and tired, I decided to stop in at the small supermarket near my apartment to pick up a six-pack of beer. With nothing more on my mind than how this small action would save me from having to trek out into the cold later on for the inevitable beer-run, I shuffled down the aisle and made my selection from the beer case. I plunked the six-pack down on the cashier's counter and started rummaging through the bottomless pit that masquerades as my handbag when the cashier uttered a phrase that shocked me into a stupor: "Can I see some I.D.?" It seemed to take forever to fish that little laminated card out of my wallet, my hands were shaking so badly. What happened after that is a complete blur, because by the time I came to my senses, I was hanging up my coat in the living room. Was that cashier completely insane? Or maybe she had poor eyesight? How else can I explain the fact that I've just been

The good news: I lost about 2 pounds today. The bad news: It was 100 percent skin! I held out for as long as I could, slathering my body with gooey, oil-laden body-washes, applying handful after handful of thick creams, shunning the loofah, the pumice or any device or method that threatened to breach the ever so thin line between 'bronze, sun-showered goddess' and 'peeling reptilian hag'. It's been 11 days since I returned from Trinidad , and, as is my custom after this annual pilgrimage, I have been living in denial of the natural process of skin renewal. Hoping to hold on to my deep almond glow for as long as possible, I abandoned my regular exfoliation regimen while my scrubby bath gloves lay neglected on the edge of the tub. But tonight in the shower, I bit the bullet, and scrubbed every reachable inch of my skin with reckless abandon. IT FELT GOOD! Not wanting to immediately witness the resulting carnage, I remained cloistered in the the steamy bathroom for ha