A conversation between husbands

So I have this friend whose husband my husband gets along with just splendidly. And they communicate like two peas in a pod, often by word-association, onomatopoeia (or however you spell that damn word), alliteration...you name it. And when they strike upon something exciting, well, let's just say that it gets confusing and quite often you're not sure what they were talking about in the first place. And neither are they.

In Whole Foods today:

husband number 1: Hey, do you want to get some caricature? They have a caricature counter!!

husband number 2: Hmm...caricature...what's that? Have you heard of chiaroscuro?

husband number 1: Is that like chorizo?

husband number 2: It's Brazilian BBQ. It's a Texas thing...it's run by a bunch of guys from Texas.

Me: Hey, we need to move on, and it's C-H-A-R-C-U-T-E-R-I-E, as in, do you need any ham for sandwiches this week?

husbands number 1 and 2: Oh.

And then there was some version of singing the word charcuterie as if it were the title of the next off-Broadway hit.

Seriously

Dude. I'm really glad that I've finally reached the point in my life where people's opinions of me seem largely irrelevant because there has already been some serious discussion today over whether or not I am an idiot. Did I mention that I love that unmentionable thing that I do everyday THAT I CANNOT MENTION HERE?

Shop Snobs

Are good-looks and the ability to recognize the latest Alexander Wang handbag really adequate qualifications for acting like a TOTAL SNOB? I tend to think not. But the girls in the boutique down the street from my apartment clearly disagree. Or maybe it was that she knew it was on wait-list at Barneys!

But who am I to talk? I impress people with the fact that I can chug four pints of Guinness and still eat a hamburger and fries. With mayonnaise. And, oh, I can spell, and oh, they are giving me a Master's Degree!

Take that, skinny bitches.

Dear Manhattan:

I am so sorry if, at exactly 9:38 this morning, your dogs were howling wildly or your kids were crying and gripping at your legs because yes, that was me screaming "THAT'S A FUCKING WALK SIGN, DUDE" at the very top of my lungs at the intersection of Central Park South and Sixth Avenue. And when I say screaming, I don't mean that I raised my voice. I mean that I got out my broom and a can of mace and I was all over that car with all four limbs flailing and all of the tourists were like, "get me out of this place, these people are nuts" and all of the New Yorkers were like, "blah blah blah get off of that car, lady, you're holding up my fucking walk sign over here." And so I picked myself up, gave the cab the finger, and walked on to my fancy office on Madison Avenue.

P.S. This is true.

How does he do it?

It's no secret around here: I am a wee bit dramatic, and prone to perhaps the occasional exaggeration. My husband, he often either bears the brunt of this or is slightly entertained. Take, for instance, a little snippet of the conversation that we just had after coming home from the gym a couple of evenings ago. I was craving chips insanely and the only ones we had were stale--chips I had bought and opened well over a month ago to go with my trans-fat filled "queso cheese dip-" something I likely procured from the local convenience store. My husband has this one little annoying quality--but just this one--of not drying his hands after he washes them. Instead he gives them a cursory pat on the closest object, often of a fabric nature but not always.

So in this instance he brushes his hands against a towel hanging from the oven door and sticks it into the chips. WET.

"OH MY GOD-AAAA!"

His eyes get really wide like he's racking his brain to figure out what he did in the past hour, day, or maybe year of his life to produce this fit of despair.

"AHHH...YOU...WET HANDS...CHIPS....NOOOOOO!!!" was all I get out of my mouth.

And then, I went on. Yes, I did: "I can't believe you. I cannot believe I have to live with someone like you! That is soooo disgusting."

He was all "Dude, let me get my wet hand out of this bag so that you can enjoy your STALE chips."

And I was like, "UUGHH....Thanks."

Occasionally he has a sense of humor.

Pencil vs. A-line=Boring

One of my very best and brilliantly funny friends poignantly put into words the waning of my fleeting desire to enter the world of the New York City fashion industry:

"Pencil vs. A-line=Boring."

And when I think about like that, even lamps and rugs sound more interesting.

to follow: 20 posts in 30 days

Well several exciting events have taken place since I last updated this blog over three months ago. Among them: I finished classes, though I still have to write my thesis; we moved apartments, just 15 blocks up the park, but still...; Sara Palin announced her resignation as the governor of Alaska; and we excitedly found out that we had free cable, watched lots and lots of free cable, and then tragically lost our free cable--because I guess the guy who lived in this apartment before us and was paying for our "free" cable finally wised up and canceled it--boo hoo, the end, now I have nothing to live for. Oh, and also, I grew up. I forgot to mention that.

All kidding aside, I have made the time in between all of the free cable-watching to think a bit about what I want this blog to be, why, and to chalk up the courage to commit to writing it. This is also the reason I have chosen not to update for a while. So here it is: I express myself best through writing and this self-expression is essential to my well-being. Short and sweet. Boring or not. I also adore words and sentences and am less happy when my life is devoid of them. You might consider this blog like having a cup of tea with me, or coffee, or iced cardamom chocolate, or beer, or wine and cheese...the list of what I could consume goes on and on. And frankly, I'm worth knowing--being able to utter those words and mean them is what clued me in to the fact that I've grown up, at least a bit. That said, I hope to strike a balance, in my life and in my words, between gravitas and utter light-heartedness, because though I believe in seeking, learning, and evolving, I'm still not sure that this thing we're doing (life) is really that big of a deal. Though certainly the weight of being human feels very, very real, I just cannot shake the feeling that we are tethered tightly to a joke. Not a rude joke, no not at all, a cute little slip-of-a-joke that probably just dissolves in your mouth when attempted to be told. Besides, don't you think that whether life sucks or not is kind of a pointless thing to debate? I mean, don't most of us have to do it anyway? This is why some of my posts are and will continue to be silly and irreverent and some of them pensive and seemingly more thoughtful.

So here, I'm committing...yikes...something I hate to do, to writing 20 posts in 30 days, because it helps me--helps me feel like I'm communicating, helps me with all of the other writing I have to do, helps me say "I like ya'll, I really do, and I want to talk, I just do it better in writing. So leave a comment and let me know you were here."