That's life

I roll over, and put my arm around him. I kiss the back of his neck. He reaches behind him, and while scratching his butt, he issues a phlegmy grunt. "That's romantic" I mumble. He crawls out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom singing "That's life... that's what all the people say.."

And while I chuckle into my pillow, more grunting and hacking is coming through the bathroom door. He shuffles back to bed and curls up beside me, smelling of Vicks VapoRub, and within seconds, I hear him softly snoring.

I put my arm around him. I kiss the back of his neck.

That's life.


Oui oui!

Happy Bastille Day

Aaah, le merguez frite

et le petanque

et le soleil

et le vin


What's that wet stuff falling from the sky?

Office messenger: I hope I can make it home before the rain tonight.

Office moron #1: It's gonna rain? Oh my God!

Me: How is it that you're always surprised when you hear that it's gonna rain? Don't you check the weather forecast in the morning? They said it was gonna rain.

Office moron #1: I know they said there would be rain. I just didn't think it would really rain.

Me (internal dialog): Yes, of course. Those meteorologists have absolutely no idea what they're talking about, so they just make up some random shit in order to make thousands of people tote around umbrellas that they will never use. In the future, I will be sure to consult you before I leave the house so that I can know what the real weather is going to be.


Top or bottom? What kind of question is that?

Sorry for the extended absence. I've been in a bit of a funk lately, and I don't know if this is a cause or a symptom of my writers' block. So in the absence of anything even remotely entertaining to submit, I shall instead put forward a complaint:

Toilet paper should be installed with the end hanging from the top of the roll, not the bottom, unless you have a cat, or a small child, or both.

Anyone who believes otherwise is a savage.


Sakura Matsuri

Here's one of our fun, springtime traditions. Our annual pilgrimage to the Cherry Blossom festival, at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

Allergies be damned, I wanted SAKE!!!!

Let it be known that I paid for this later on with several days of swollen, watery, itchy eyes, and a great deal of wheezing. It was worth it!

Son of a Beach

So why exactly am I freezing my butt off on the Coney Island boardwalk once again? I'll tell you why : my sweetie decided to participate in the oh-so-fun Brooklyn Half Marathon. So, being this good soldier that I am, I followed him out the very edge of our fine borough to serve as head cheerleader, documentarian and general support staff.

I do have to say that my discomfort was somewhat mitigated by the sight of the massive turnout for this particular race (close to 6000 lunatics in all). I figured that if all these scantily-clad individuals were willing to brave the chill air, it really wansn't my place to complain about my fingers being a little numb.

And so, with the blast of the starter's bullhorn, they were off!

I proceeded to follow the crowd, on foot, and by train, to cheer on these athletes at various points in the race. And for those of you who would dare sing high praises of the New York City subway system, I am sorry to inform you that the winner of this race made it to the finish line 13.1 miles away a full five minutes before I arrived, huffing and puffing. In spite of this, I was in time to watch sweetie crossing the finish line, and in the process, shattering his previous personal best, which he had established in the year 2000! Yes folks, some things really do get better with age.

Looking hardly the worse for wear

Congratulations sweetie! YOU ROCK!!!!!

I'd also like to congratulate Mr. John Henwood, the winner of the 2008 Brooklyn Half-Marathon, with whom we had the pleasure of consuming several margaritas only two nights before the race.


That oh-so-fresh feeling!

I don't think there's a way to describe how tired I was when I stumbled home tonight, sleep-deprived from wheezing my way through another night and half-addled from multiple allergy medications.

And there's my sweetie, half-asleep on the sofa. No big deal, I say, now I have the bed all to myself. So after a few kisses and a brief cuddle with my honey, I make my way to the bedroom, and find the bed COVERED IN LAUNDRY!

And without missing a beat, I nestle in among the piles of Gain-scented cotton and drift off into a fragrant dreamland for the next three hours.

It wasn't the first time I've done this, and sadly, it won't be the last.


Road warriors

One of the most valuable lessons I've learned in life is that I should never be envious of others. The wealthy, the talented and the beautiful all have their problems, some more well hidden than others, and you can never be sure what is concealed behind an oh-so-perfect facade.

But I can't help but allow a tinge of green to overtake my countenance at the thought of my dear friends the Perruccis, who have quit their jobs and are about to embark on a year-long trip around the world. No, your eyes do not deceive you. One year! Around the world! No bosses! No business suits! No commuting!

And to properly circulate the intense feelings of envy among their friends and family, the Perruccis have launched a fabulous website, where we can track their whereabouts and adventures for the next year.

However, in spite of our mounting jealousy, my sweetheart and I would like to wish them both safe and happy travels, and a warm welcome wherever they venture.


Fashion weak

A red dress! Dramatic? Exciting? Standing out from the crowd? Not when everybody is wearing one! What the hell was going on at the Oscars? The yawn inducing fashion parade leads me to believe that every woman in the place was given the following directive - your dress must be either red or black, it must be either one-shouldered or strapless, and it must have a mermaid-cut skirt.

There were very few exceptions to this uniform, and I applaud the women who wore them, good, bad or ugly. Most notably : Marion Cotillard in an exquisite ivory Gaultier gown, Diablo Cody in a dress (and I use that term loosely) made from curtains apparently salvaged from a bordello, and Tilda Swinton in something that looked like it was retrieved from a box under the kitchen sink.

But even the ugly dresses earned my respect on Oscar night, simply because they stood out from the mind-numbing procession of 'safe' choices. I've gained a whole new appreciation for the oddball in all of us, and a deep feeling of sympathy for Joan Rivers. She's going to have to come up with a ton of filler to get a one-hour episode out of this bunch.


Take the red pill

So you're up late at night clicking through the channels and you come across a movie you've seen maybe fifty times. And you decide to watch it, one more time, all the way to the end. Even thought it's really late, even though you can just record it and watch it later, even though you probably have it on DVD, you've simply got to watch it just one - more - time. Here's my short list, what's yours?

The Matrix
Reservoir Dogs
The Usual Suspects
Fight Club
So I Married an Axe Murderer*

*What? A girl can't be silly every now and then?


de dance!

A couple of years ago, my sweetie and I attended a Carnival fete with my best friend and her husband. I remember being blissfully happy at that fete. Happy at the prospect of being outside, at night, in the middle of February, wearing a tank top and capris; happy because I was eating and drinking to my heart's content with the knowledge that I would be able to dance off every calorie before the end of the night; happy because I was in a country where the phrase 'wind-chill' was an entirely alien concept; happy because I was among my friends, and rapidly approaching the two days of unbridled revelry that would become Trinidad Carnival 2006.

My best friend wasn't having such a good time. She was cranky, for many reasons, some still unknown to me. She was displeased that the DJ was talking too much (I didn't notice), she was upset that the headline act didn't show up (in hindsight, a reasonable grievance, but in my eyes at the time a non-issue), she was quite riled by the deployment of the smoke machine (even though she spent most of the night with a cigarette in her hand), and she was particularly pissed at her husband, who soon after our arrival disappeared into the crowd in pursuit of a drunken good time (allow me to point out that he was not the designated driver for the night).

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a remarkable evening, but a good time was had by all, except for my best friend, of course. But on that night, one occurrence stands out in my mind. As we returned to the parking area afterwards to make our way home, the aforementioned drunken husband, not content that he had enjoyed himself enough for the evening, uttered the following statement:

"Ah want to do back inside de dance!"

Of course, my sweetie and I felt the same way he did, but common sense dictated that we keep that opinion to ourselves, given my best friend's state of mind. However, drunken hubby would not relent. "Take me back inside de dance!" he moaned. He continued in this manner at least until we were dropped off at our hotel, and most probably for quite some time afterwards. During this little diatribe, sweetie and I sat giggling in the backseat, trying to avoid my best friend's glaring gaze in the rear-view mirror.

I really don't mean to make my friend out to be a party-pooper. She is one of the most fun-loving and good-natured people I know, and I truly sympathise with her plight that night, especially since everyone around her seemed to be having the time of their lives. Nevertheless, phone calls between us in the following months were often punctuated by my wailing "take me back inside the dance!" followed by an audible grinding of teeth on her end. Over the months, the phrase has become a bit of a joke between my sweetheart and I, a half-joking lamentation uttered at the end of many a celebratory evening.

Until three weeks ago, when after the impossibly brief whirlwind that was Carnival 2008, our plane touched down at JFK. As the icy wind howled outside the cabin and a swirl of snowflakes fluttered around the bleak grey visage of a land condemned to two more months of winter, my darling turned to me and said softly "Ah want to go back inside de dance!"

I turned away, hoping he would not see the tear forming at the corner of my eye. "Me too sweetie" I whispered back "me too".


Hoppin' John

Have yourself some blackeyed peas and a glass of champagne.

2008 is going to be a very good year!