Guest Post: The Food Corner

Hi y'all! Ladies, stop everything you're doing, hang up on the caterers and tell the members that their cancellation refund checks are in the mail. And Becca, stop doing whatever you do all day. Have ya tried these yet?

Olive oil? Garlic? FETA?? Every seemingly-sinful bite practically screams "Bryan" - and at only 80 calories per serving, you'd be screaming right back (if your mouth wasn't full of tangy Mediterranean flavor).

I didn't want to wait until we were all at the salon to dish about these. They're just THAT GOOD!!!

Oh, Becca - I just thought of what I should have said at the beginning for you. "Suspend" what you're doing! Get it? I still don't know what you do though.

Bye y'all!

I'm In L.A. Trick!

Hi, I'm back to chat about my fancy L.A. weekend! Oh, and the title of this blog refers to a song that Jessica introduced me to... listening to it on the radio, whilst in L.A. was so fetch (sorry, we watched Mean Girls in L.A!)

So, I guess my L.A. extravaganza started at the airport when I received three rapid-fire, stalkerish messages from Mark, asking if I was by a Cosi and holding a UBurger bag. That crazy guy had shown up to surprise me before I left, though he couldn't get through security, resulting in a semi-dramatic movie airport scene in which we stood, double doors (opened by a security guard) between us. It was like Field of Dreams...though I'm fairly certain I wouldn't have aged if I'd stepped through the door; it just would've been a biotch to get back through security. Anyway, after a few awkward I love you's (some security guards are so nosy!) Mark left (and saw Ben Affleck on the T- WHAT??) and I flew to L.A. trick! I don't actually know what that means.

My flight was uneventful...had a BM (sup Bekka?), watched He's Just Not That Into You (if you can read the title, skip the movie!) and slept. The only notable instance was when the window-seat man to my left excused himself to go to the bathroom. As I stood in the aisle waiting for him to climb out, I awkwardly announced that I had to go too and hoped he "didn't mind if I followed him to the bathroom!" He smiled nervously and didn't talk to me for the rest of the flight. I guess some people don't like being assigned Bathroom Buddies anymore.

Jessica picked me up at the airport and, after an appropriate amount of screaming and hugging and I can't believe you're/I'm in L.A.'s, we headed to Santa Monica! We first walked on the Santa Monica pier with the rest of the hoodlums, opting for chatter and wacky pictures rather than flirting and drug deals (just this once), and then settled in at Yankees, a giant sports bar, for a drink. I suavely attempted to pay for a five dollar beer with one dollar (I've never been good at math) and we hung out for awhile, grabbing sushi from an all-night healthy convenient store on the way home!!! I love L.A.

I'm sorry but Saturday, guys, was SO much fun. First we went to this huge designers market held in the penthouse of a huge building in downtown L.A. It was awesome; people were selling clothes, earrings, kid stuff, bags, accessories...a bunch of funky stuff. AND they had a DJ, food and free wine and PBR. You really can't top shopping with a buzz- am I wrong?! Jessica and I got earrings, shirts (hers is western and mine has a lady with an afro on it!) and some other stuff and then headed to Hollywood Blvd. for some more shopping at that "amazing store, only found in L.A."

Okay, backstory: Last year, when Mark and I visited Jessica, we found this awesome store where I proceeded to buy almost everything. Ever since then, we've been all, Man, if only they had that store on the east coast and What a unique find! Ummm, turns out the store's name is XXI...followed by Forever. Jessica and I finally put together that the store we've been lusting after is a friggin' Forever 21. Which can be found at every mall in the United States. What did I say about my math skillz? I always struggled with roman numerals. Whatevs, I bought three dresses, a skirt and a shirt :)

We then had a light lunch of chopped salad and sweet potato fries (they put sea salt and cracked peppercorns on the fries! Incredible!) at the Roosevelt Hotel and then, naturally, headed to the Beverly Hills Hotel for a drink. After tossing the car keys to a valet, we proceeded to sip Bellinis on the veranda overlooking the hotel pool and cabanas. Basically, just another Saturday afternoon! So, so much fun. They even gave us marinated mozzarella cheese and spicy peanuts for free (well, as an accompaniment to our $20 drinks, I suppose). Then, just because it seemed like the right thing to do, we held an impromptu photo shoot in the hotel bathroom (which was bigger than my apartment, by the way) featuring us spinning, sitting on fancy chairs, and posing by the marble sinks. It was crazy, but classy, and was only interrupted by some old bag who clearly did not approve of our whimsical antics. Guess what? We didn't approve of hers either.

That night, after regrouping, we hit up the Geisha House for some of the BEST sushi either one of us has ever head. Ummm, surf and turf sushi anyone? No biggie, it only has lobster and Filet Mignon in it! Albacore tuna with jalapeno peppers sound good?! We were flipping out. We toasted (I had the Geisha's Dream cocktail and Jessica had champagne) and basically talked about how fancy we were... because talking about how fancy you are doesn't subtract from the fanciness. Everybody know that. We then bailed on the rest of Hollywood Blvd (skanks galore!) and hit up Chateau Marmont (sup Lohan?) and then The Saddle Ranch (sup Miranda and Girls Next Door?), where the trashiest girl I've ever seen proceeded to simulate sex atop the mechanical bull. I'm talking nasty skank ho, here. We're pretty sure she worked there and was supposed to get people interested in riding the bull, but all we were interested in was some sanitizer. I'm confident that the rest of the bar felt the same way too... she was only humored with a couple weak Yeahs and Woo-hoos before she slutted her way outside. Oh, L.A.!

The next day, we hit up a Farmer's Market which was absolutely fabulous!!! The artichokes were the size of my head, there were leafy greens for miles, the fruit was perfectly ripe and juicy... amazing. I kept trying to rationalize carting a giant bag of fruit and veggies across the country, but I just couldn't make it happen. Something else that I will never make happen again? Wheat grass shots. SICK. Jessica and I were not impressed. If I want that kind of flavor again, I'll go pick some grass in my backyard and throw it in the blender with a stick and water. To make myself feel better, I tried my first crepe (awesome!) and Jessica and I split a raw, veggie taco in a cabbage leaf (double awesome!)

We then hit up Venice Beach, laid in the sand and watched the freaks (ahem, performers), followed by a long drive along the water through... to... (ahh, Jessica help me out) where we took pictures of the beautiful view, chatted, drank coffee....basically the best time ever :) THEN, I had to pack to go home...not the best time ever.

After one last dinner (I had the best turkey burger...everyone go to Barneys in Santa Monica!), our weekend was over :( Jessica drove me to the airport, where I caught the red-eye to Boston (with one half-asleep layover in Indianapolis) and walked directly into work at 9:45. So, SO worth it. It's what celebrities do.

Moral of the Story: Jessica, I had the BEST time. Thank you for being the Hostess with the Mostess and I'm sorry I was cold the whole weekend. I also never, ever want to see the Joker or Sponge Bob again. EVER. Also... I LOVE L.A!!!!!!!!!!

Let's Hear From A Jet-Setter!

So, so much has been going on and I just really want to talk about it! I have two stories to share first, though:

1. This is actually more of a fact than a story, but I look B-U-S-T-E-D today. I mean, it's pouring here in Beantown, but that's no excuse. I have on rain boots that make my clown feet look even bigger, green army pants, a shapeless gray sweater and no make-up and am sporting a serious college softball-player ponytail (this is not a good thing, for those of you who are confused). Anyway, I just wanted to let all of you who see me tonight (Mark) know that I know that I'm fugs.

2. Man, did my love of HBEs (hard-boiled eggs) bite me in the rump yesterday! Every day at work I have the same salad-- lettuce, a tomato, half a cup of black beans and one HBE, all drizzled with olive oil and Tassinari spice (what up, Vo?!) So yesterday, I decided to wash out dirty Tupperware that had housed my Sarah Salad the previous week. Lifted the lid and son of a b!#&h if I didn't unleash the most foul-smelling, horrendous odor in the universe. A coworker came out of the bathroom and stopped dead in her tracks, horrified at what she'd walked into. It smelled as if someone had cut the roof off a public restroom, filled it with rotten eggs and vegetables, and left it to bake in the hot sun. My office isn't that big and all I could hear was frantic cries of Oh my GOD! and What IS that? It was mortifying. The Russian accountant opened a window and our IT girl offered a 3 oz. bottle of body spray, but it was like trying to put out a fire with a shot glass of water. I had to run (literally, I sprinted) to CVS to buy an extra strength bottle of Febreze. Both the owner and CFO left early and I can't be sure I didn't smoke 'em out.

Moral of my story: The salad is amazing, but wash the Tupperware out that night if you want to be invited to any work functions.

Okay, so I have officially been promoted to celebrity status (right, like I wasn't there before!) Two weekends ago, I was in New York City for the Tribeca Film Festival and last weekend I was in Los Angeles!!! Seriously, so amazing.

Mark bought me the NYC trip for Christmas and we had the BEST time. We saw five movies:

Paintball: Only go with a gun to your head...and even then, I'd probably just take the gunshot.
Queen to Play: Beautiful, touching, extraordinarily acted...our favorite of the weekend!
Handsome Harry: An interesting storyline, with very solid performances by an outstanding ensemble cast. My #3 pick, Mark's #2.
Serious Moonlight: Unfortunately, a major movie misstep. A terrible concept and Meg Ryan needs a Botox intervention. #4 for both of us.
The Good Guy: A very creative spin on a basic idea. A superb debut for a first time writer; highly entertaining. My #2 pick, Mark's #3.

It was just so cool. The Tribeca Program Director introduced the director of the film and he/she introduced the movie...and then walked back to his/her seat where the stars of the movie were sitting, which was RIGHT BEHIND US! At first, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to concentrate (hi, no biggie, just out to watch a movie with celebrities!) but I was able to pull it together. Which was good, because after the film, the stars came up to the front with the director to discuss the film! Mark and I totally caught on too, and started sitting front and center in either the first or second row, where I could properly paparazzi everyone. We saw: Kevin Kline, Steve Buscemi, Aidan Quinn, Jamey Sheridan, Campbell Scott, Anna Chlumsky, Alexis Bledel and Andrew McCarthy...among a buttload of others! Kevin Kline is witty and charming and Alexis Bledel is clearly only comfortable in front of a camera. Oh, and I'm almost certain that Steve Buscemi looked at me once. OH! And Phoebe Cates was there because she's married to Kevin Kline. OH! And they're doing a remake of Drop Dead Fred! I don't know if she'll sign on, but man, am I excited.

The rest of the weekend was so much fun too... Mark and I shopped a lot, ate good food (mostly), and held proper movie review sessions in local bars. One bar had Kung Pao calamari and a bathroom that only played Justin Timberlake songs, displaying a giant mosaic of him on the wall. It's like they knew I was coming! OH! And as we were leaving on Sunday, who does Mark casually strike up a conversation with in a convenient store?!?! Ummm, DEAN WINTERS! Okay, that name might not ring a bell, but does Dennis Duffy (30 Rock) or F$*# Buddy (Sex and the City)?!?! Mark was so cool too...he was all, "What's up, man?" and Dean was like, "Nothing, what's up with you?" Dean was really nice and it was so exciting. So exciting, in fact, that we forgot the new overnight bag I had just bought, at the convenient store! That's so New York of us.

Moral of the Story: Thank you for the best present, Mark! And celebrities, thank you for hanging out with me. That's the way it's supposed to be, can't you see that?

Guys, I have to go home for the night... L.A. Story (Ha! Get it?!) tomorrow!

Told you!!

See?!! Suspenders are IN!! I think these outfits are so cute!!


And the suspender skirt on the right is on sale for $28 at Urban Outfitters right now!!




Bottom Line: Suspenders RULE! Suspender haters DROOL!!!

What if I bite my nails forever? Actually, "bite" isn't even an appropriate term anymore. I'm so far past that. Destroy? Annihilate? Wage war on? But it's not my fault- I am 100% addicted (drug addicts and alcoholics out there, can I get a "HELL YEAH?!") If it doesn't gross out the five of you that read my blog, I'd like to attempt to describe the thought process of an CNB (Crazy Nail Biter). It's as if my mind is independent from the rest of my body...like it's me and my nails against my mind. I honestly don't even think my teeth want to be involved, but unfortunately, they're a key player.

Nail biting takes up way more of my time than I'd like to acknowledge. When can't do it, I'm thinking about doing it. Interviews are the worst, as most companies frown on barbaric intervals of nail-gnawing in between "I'm the most professional person for this job" affirmations. It's not like they can't see my handiwork, though, so most of the time I end up sitting on my hands. Tough, since I'm big on gesticulation, and wind up substituting my head for my hands, Stevie Wonder style, as I chat. Bottom line, I am counting the minutes until I can be in my car, chilling out (that's code for "bite the living crap out of fingernails"). Honestly, not much relaxes me more. I've never had Valium, though...I smell a new addiction!

Every morning, I wake up with the same exact thought: Today is the day I will not touch my nails. Don't need to. Certainly not on the T (gross, right?) and I'll probably be working too hard to have time to do it during the day (uh, okay) and then it's the evening and I'll just have dinner and go to bed (suuuuuure).

Here's what really happens: I stare at my nails while I'm getting ready for work, biting maybe one or two to get my fix for the day (told you it was weird) and then bite them the entire T ride, as I'm reading my book and rationalizing, Okay it doesn't count until I get into work. Once I get to work, I study them and figure out which ones are going to be the biggest offenders (aka most attractive) that day. Those get the Band-aids, a la Michael Jackson. My thumbs are always bandaged, as they are the most satisfying, and my middle fingers rarely get touched (they're boring). I once had a very logical conversation with a four-year-old fellow nail biter, Jack, and he asked me which was my favorite nail to bite. Not wanting to condone the behavior, though pleased that someone had finally asked, I said I didn't know and asked him what he thought. "The thumb," he replied matter-of-factly and without hesitation. "It's got the most angles." My thoughts exactly, Jack.

I have to leave the Band-aids on while I work out at the gym (my nails ain't safe while I'm running or taking a class, trust me) and then end up battling the biting urge for the rest of the afternoon. If it's slow at work, forget about it-- type a sentence, bite my nails, take a phone call, bite my nails, read 48 Hours mysteries online, bite my nails. The T ride out is usually worse than the T ride in, as I've most likely given up.

The nighttime is usually where Mark steps in. If he sees my hands anywhere close to my head, I get a soft "Hey, don't do that, babe" which I find absolutely infuriating. I usually respond with a mature, "HEY! You are NOT the boss of me!" or "MY nails are NONE of your business," met with only a sigh and "I'm only trying to help you." In my defense, I really need my hands near my face... it's a comfort; I don't know why. In his defense, I cannot be trusted, he really is trying to help, and my nails are a pretty significant embarrassment to all that know me. I used to go into the bathroom or bite when he wasn't looking, but I'm really trying to stop now, and while I'll probably still keep acting like an adolescent, the reminders are very helpful. BUT, you are still not the boss of me, Mark.

For anyone who cares, I have identified the times when I am at my worst: When I've had too much coffee, when I'm lost in the car, when I'm working on schoolwork, and when I'm really, really, really bored (like the kind of bored where you fantasize about destroying the person/thing boring you).

I am at my best: With gloves on (WHAT?!) or when I'm out-of-control excited. Unfortunately that's it. Sometimes when I'm eating...but not always :(

If you see me biting, let me know. I can't tell you how to approach me, as I'll most likely rip your head off or lie and say I wasn't biting, but give it a go, okay? Since I've started writing this, I have only bitten my right pinkie twice. I was going to get hypnotized, but maybe I'll just blog more?

One final thing: Last week I told Mark that I wanted to start wearing suspenders. He got mad and said that he didn't propose to Paula Poundstone.

I've Let Megan McCafferty Down!!

So, as some of you may know, I have a slight (okay, insanely huge) obsession with author Megan McCafferty's Jessica Darling series. It all started on Christmas day 2001, when I received the book Sloppy Firsts (shut it, Sarah) as gift. I read it in, like, a day and a half and have been in love with this woman's style of writing ever since. There have been three other books in this particular series, Second Helpings, Charmed Thirds and Fourth Comings--all of which I have bought on or around their release date because, hi, I NEED to see what happens next.

Here's the thing. I found out a few months ago that Megan was releasing Perfect Fifths, her fifth (duh) and final (gasp) book in the series. While I was super sad to hear that I would no longer be able to read about the crazy shenanegans surrounding JD and her on again off again boyf Marcus, I was also SO EXCITED to be first in line to purchase the book. Keyword: "was".

Somehow, and I don't know how, I COMPLETELY forgot that the Perfect Fifths came out today! Maybe it's because I've been sick, maybe it's because I made plans to go out to dinner with Kerry and my friend Anu or maybe it's because I was really focused on making sure all of my shows were DVRed for the night. Whatever the reason, I feel like a REALLY bad fan. Even in years past, when I could not get to a Borders or Barnes and Noble on the release date of one of Megan's books, I ALWAYS went as soon as I could! And I NEVER actually FORGOT that a book was coming out.

I just feel a certain loyalty to Megs because I met her last year in Doylestown. She was super duper nice! She signed Fourth Comings and let me rant and rave about how much I loved her and how excited I was that she referenced both Bucks County and Kutztown in that particular book. And she talked to Mom and I for a good 10 minutes! How could I simplyFORGET that Perfect Fifths, the conclusion to a book series that I have read over and over and over again, was going on sale today?!

I know I can buy it tomorrow. I know I can use the 30% off Borders coupon that was just emailed to me today. I know Megan probably could care less. (She's just so cool like that.) But I still can't help but feel a bit guilty for not supporting my favorite gal to the best of my ability. I hope she knows that I'm still her number one fan...even if I acted like her worst enemy today.

Also, my eyebrow hurts. WTF?

Mystic Pizza

Yesterday, I had to order pizza for the office for a birthday celebration (not that I can ever partake in the festivities, unless my office really wants to see my fake-baby-lactose-potbelly in full force), so I called and ordered over the phone. Uneventful- except that I got really flustered when the pizza guy asked if I wanted jalapenos on or off the pizza (it seemed more stressful at the time)- and I said I'd pick it up in twenty-five minutes. Twenty minutes later, I peaced out of the office, armed with my trusty "directions" that the pizza place was on the left side of the street...ummmm, that would be the same street I work on.

I headed out, like, eh, I have to pee, but I'll be back in ten minutes, I'm a trooper, whatevs. I walked up the street...kept walking...kept walking... and finally stopped as I approached the turnpike (not a joke). Unfazed, I obviously chose a foreign jewelry maker to answer my directional queries, met with only a "Up-per CrUST piz-za? Piz... ZA? This... jewelry."

Okay, thanks. Walked back in the same direction, until I could see my office again (too far!), and decided to ask a friendly Newbury hipster gal. She and her skinny jeans pointed in the direction I had just come from and told me that I would walk right past it. I was like, WTF? YOU walk right past it (unproductive thinking). Turned around and headed back in the opposite direction. Far. No Upper Crust Pizza. Now at this point, I naturally assumed that they'd gone out of business in the past fifteen minutes and felt pretty annoyed that no one had given me a heads up when I'd placed the order. More importantly, my peeing situation was escalating to a sheer desperation level at an alarming rate, and I was panicking.

I next asked a group of construction workers (they eat upscale pizza, right?) and they just laughed and said that there's one in Beacon Hill (thanks), and also that "Joe's wife" once said that she had eaten at an Upper Crust on Newbury Street (double thanks).

I'd now been out of the office for a half hour and was worried that A) I would never find it B) If I did find it, the pizza would be cold and C) I would collapse from an exploded bladder and the pizza would be irrelevant. Desperately, I approached a midget douche trying to load a giant box into his small Porsche, and he proceeded to direct me back the way I'd just come, tempting me to load him onto my shoulders to physically point this f-ing place out to me.

Let me paint you a picture: I walked up and down Newbury St, on the same side of the road, over five times and Could. Not. Find. It.

Severely sweating and trying to price out how much a public urination violation would cost me, I suddenly saw my final savior up ahead: the skinny-jeaned hipster. Clutching an organic coffee and staring strangely at my red face and wild eyes, she goes, "Soooo, it's right there." And I looked up...and it's right there.

Picked the pizza up in less than three minutes and told my whole office that the pizza guys had messed up the order and made me wait while they fixed it. I felt like a major creep too, because they'd given me THREE, not just two, jalapeno containers and held the door for me as I walked out. So this will serve as my anonymous apology to Upper Crust Pizza...Sorry (and get a bigger friggin' sign!)