If I had my way, I’d say let’s all have dinner together tomorrow. At my table, I would like to have all of the above individuals. I would like Mike Pappas to be there, too. For some reason, he laughs at my jokes. And he too gives the best hugs known to man. He’s a great teacher and an amazing farmer. Another meaningful relationship I have attained later on in life. My family needs to be there as well. I think I might be the only person alive who likes being with their family. I must have issues or something.

I want Soung to be there with David. And I want her to feel relaxed. I want them to be far enough away from the past and feel comfortable with their future, even if it’s not spent together.

Before I start to sound drunk using phrases like, “I LOVE YOU, MAN! I LOVE YOU! I DO!” I’m going to shut the hell up until next year and just let this be, even if it’s personal and I feel a little weird about putting it out there. (Sorry this has been so cheesy.)

Happy New Year, Internet people!

Over and out.

Pretty much every reason I am alive today came together perfectly on the day that I met Toby. He picked me up and let me walk again. He made me understand that it’s o.k. to love and let it be known. Toby is absolutely the most wonderful thing that has ever happen to me next to being given a life. And I imagine it will remain this way until I have his children.

I have spent days and hours of days and minutes of hours trying to write about what he means to me. And I just can’t do it. And sometimes when I hug him, I really do hope and think that one day I might just slip inside.

Toby made me realize that up until I met him, a certain part of me was walking around in the dark, fumbling around, wondering what the goddamn point was to all of this.

Someday, I hope that by putting together everything I have learned through all the people in my life, I will eventually figure out that perfect equation and let everybody know just how this feels.

For now, I’ll just stumble around a bit and hope that he’ll always be there to laugh whenever I trip and pick me up whenever I fall.

(I love you, Beaner. Here’s to 2005 together. And five is a really good number.)

Nico is my oldest friend. I have known her since I was 15 years old. That’s insane for someone who can’t stop moving. We lost touch for a while. The day I finally got up the nerve to call her, I remember making sure she wasn’t going to be there, believing that she’d be at work, just incase she wanted nothing to do with that time of her life. Much to my relief, she called back. We’ve been friends again ever since. (Thank god.)

Nico made me my wedding cake. And I keep hoping that she will soon become a famous baker and can therefore stay at home and make money doing what not only makes her happy, but that she’s good at, too. Nico is probably (and I mean this) the coolest, most interesting, most artistic person I have ever met. She’s truly fascinating. From Diane Arbus to the Müter Museum all the way to the Velvet Underground, Andy Warhol films and hermaphrodites, she introduced it all to me.

She played me to the coolest music when I was still tucking my pant legs into my socks. She was totally hip before everyone else was hip. And I actually mean that. Oh, and she does the best imitation of Janice from the Muppets.

I guess you might say, Nico kinda made me appear cooler than I really am.

Missy went to Penn State as well but I didn’t meet her until I moved to Washington, D.C. It was a good thing I did, too because it made my stay there a lot more enjoyable. Plus, I made a friend for life. Missy, too, was the catalyst for my making this post. Last night, when I was sitting there in Union Pool watching her interact with Gerry and Toby, there wasn’t any place I’d rather be.

Missy has been there for me so many times over the past 7 years, I get embarrassed knowing that I probably could live two lifetimes and still never figure out a way to pay her back for it all. The poor girl could have drowned beneath all my tears. She has helped me through the absolute roughest times of my life thus far. And for that, I am grateful beyond words.

Missy is my polar opposite. She’s kind of like one of those spices you might add to a not so pleasant dish when it’s served alone. But when a particular element is added, a plethora of other flavors suddenly come to life. It’s like that. Without her, my true intentions might go unnoticed.

Missy likes numbers and facts. I grab onto ideas that don’t have answers. Missy likes a plan (Though, she has changed a bit over the years, leaning to more whimsical movements.) I fly the seat of my pants, almost to a fault.

I can sit with Missy for hours on end writing down the top 100 best songs to break-up to. We have spent hours discussing 30 SECOND scenes in movies. We have talked to wee hours of the night and have not realized it until the sun came up again. And in spite of my begging it not to, it arrives and I know that soon I will have to go home again. (I always hated that moment. Damn sun.)

If I could ever come anywhere near Missy’s elegance and grace I might then understand what it feels like to succeed.

I met Gina through Gerry. So it’s nice they have a names which come close to one another, alphabetically, makes for a nice lead-in. And they are both architects, too. I met her at Enid’s one night. I think it was cold out but I can’t remember. We were both living in New York at the time. We were both Greenpoint dwellers. We both rode the G train to and from work everyday. I liked her instantly.

Gina is the most genuine person I have ever met. Gina looks like Zooey Deschanel. Only she’s better, because she’s Gina. Gina listens better than any other girlfriend I have ever had. Sometimes, I imagine that she might listen too well and people begin to see her as one BIG ear – like, all the time. I know I have been guilty of this.

It will come as no surprise to anyone reading this that Gina has more friends than any other person I have ever met. She knows people from all over the world. You just sort of always want to be around her. I’ve contemplated moving to Detroit numerous times. I’m that serious about it.

When I met Toby, Gina was one of the first people I wanted him to meet. She’s the friend who comes to mind when you’re wondering things like, “Who will make me look better than I probably am?” I was insistent that he meet Gina. And that time couldn’t come soon enough. I mean, who wouldn’t be excited about a girl who can operate a table saw, a jig-saw, a nail-gun, a welding (shit, I don’t even know the names of this crap). Who wouldn’t want to show off a girl who purchased a boat in the middle of Detroit and who found an attraction for an abandoned warehouse whose walls are comprised entirely of hundreds and hundreds of windows. Some, of which, are broken.

Gina called me yesterday and we FINALLY were able catch up using this invention known as a phone – an invention I have grown afraid of for some reason. And instantly, (just like it’s always been) I wanted to be sitting across from her. Gina is that person you want to see happy all the time. I think, in part, because she makes me happy all the time. Knowing she’s out there and I am a part of her circle of friends is most rewarding.

Detroit is the luckiest city on earth.

Gerry was the catalyst for the birth of this post. Last night, I called Gerry to see if he wanted to meet up for a drink. He had other plans beginning at 7:30 so he declined. A few minutes later, while Missy and I were discussing the cure for the common cold, Gerry walked in with a plastic bag full of CDs I have never heard.

These are for you.

I met gerry when I was 17. He was a recent transfer at Penn State. We were sitting on The Wall at the time. I was irritated with a group of TOTAL hipsters. Being 17 and impressionable, I said something totally inappropriate to shut everyone up. (He’ll remember what that was.) From that moment on, we were friends.

Gerry and I have known each other through so many life changes, it’s a miracle we’re still whole. He’s gotten drunk with me. He’s thrown up with me. And if he had hair, I would have held it back for him as he hurled his dinner into the toilet.

Through the years, he has consistently shared his abysmal knowledge of music, thought, people, dinners, ears, eyes, clothing, trips, ideas, movies, arguments and memories. I have counted on him so many times before. I have even taken him for granted.

I might compare Gerry to my comfort food. He’s the mashed potato dish I crave when I am sad. He’s the grilled cheese and tomato soup I crave when I am cold. He’s the mac and cheese I crave when I am feeling extravagant. He’s a coffee cup on my Sunday morning.

My life would totally and absolutely suck if I hadn’t said something totally inappropriate one day on The Wall at Penn State University. I would have heard less music and travelled to lesser lands. It’d surely be less colorful.

I met Donald in Downward Facing Dog. Sort of. I first noticed Donald practicing at the best yoga studio on the Eastern seaboard: 18th and Yoga. But I was too afraid to go up to him then. Instead, I waited until we were all out playing pool one night and I noticed him from across the bar. I normally don’t do this sort of thing. But there was something very approachable about Donnie.

Do you frequent 18th and Yoga?

And almost instantly we became friends.

(Here he is with Missy.)

Donald makes me laugh almost every time I am near him. He has made me laugh reading an email. And if Donald enjoyed the company of ladies, and I wasn’t happily married, I would have begged him for a date.

Let’s see. He plays a mean game of pool. He likes yoga. He has great knack for choosing careers AND hobbies. He drinks good booze and eats good foods. He dresses well, looks fashionable, and can make a sad person smile at any moment. And, oh yeah, his hugs are amazing. One time, he gave me a scarf. Later, Toby called it my “Tim Burton” scarf. And who doesn’t love Tim Burton? And who doesn’t like to get something which ensues warmth?

Donald is the best person I have met in my most recent years.

There have been moments where I doubt myself. (Actually, it happens quite a bit.) I might spend an entire day believing I’m a bad person; that I’m rude and thoughtless, uncaring, and totally selfish. At times like this all the moments, where I could (and should) have been a better person, rush to the front row and cheer on whatever insecure thought I am holding.

But then there are days like yesterday. I start to think about the friends I keep and I realize how caring and thoughtful they are. Last night, as I looked around at the people who were at my table, it occurred to me that I must not be that bad person I convince myself of sometimes. How else would someone have such great fiends?

Today, I would like to introduce some of the people who make me like myself – the ones who keep me happy about who I am.

(Now, how’s that for proving selfish?)

Sad news today, Jerry Orbach died. Toby and I were very disappointed to see him leave Law and Order. It just hasn’t been the same since he left.

I’ve been on a pretty strict diet for about a month now. It’s known as the very popular, widely practiced MIHOW diet. You may have heard of it. After reading the Southbeach Diet book about six months ago, giving it a try and failing miserably after being confronted by a plate of french fries, I decided to follow my own this time. That way, there really is no where (or no one, rather) to fall from.

When I tried this the first time, I was setting myself up for failure. In San Francisco, I ate to feel happy. For lunch, I would eat an ENTIRE burrito from the Mexican place up the street. (If you knew the size of these bitches, you’d be shocked.) At the end of the day, when Toby came home from work, after sitting around doing nothing and feeling sorry for myself, the first thing I wanted to do was consume the biggest plate of cheesy pasta and wash it down with a loaf of garlic bread and some wine.

Nutshell: Gained weight. Felt like shit. Did nothing.

This time, I’m happy. And I didn’t even realize it was so until last night as we were walking to Daddy’s to meet Gerry and Anna. I’m happy. So I might as well look happy, too.

Basically, I calculate everything I consume using Web sites and books. I even carry around a little orange notepad around my neck and diligently add everything up. That way, at the end of the day, I can find out how much I’ve taken in. It’s fascinating if you start paying attention to the science behind eating. Truly.

Perhaps, this is just something to do because I have some time during the day and I have a constant need to amuse myself. Or maybe I’m determined this time and joining a gym (right now) is not an option. I hope it lasts, I do. As long as no one introduces me to a plate of fries or a bowl of macaroni and cheese, I should be fine.

This year, Toby and I combined a few of our New Year’s resolutions. I think this has to do with sharing one, very huge future goal. Anyway, here are a few of mine with at least one goal in mind:

• 1). Pay off ALL of my debt. (We almost had this completed until we moved across the country twice.)
• 2). Figure out what I want to do with my life.
• 3). Lose 25 pounds.
• 4). Take up a new hobby. (I’m looking for suggestions. And if it makes me money, I’ll give you 10 percent of whatever I make).
• 5). Become a better long-distant friend. (I am STILL sitting on a gift I purchased for Nico in July.)
• 6). Use, less, commas, while writing.
• 7). Pay more attention to new music.

SEGWAY

I wasn’t really up on the latest and greatest this year. Actually, I haven’t been up on the latest and greatest IN years. There was a time when are all I cared about were movies and music. I’ve become lazy at 30. I’m going to give this a shot anyway, knowing full-well I’ll remember something or hear something in a year from now that came out this year and regret some of my choices.

Top 5 Albums of 2004:

• 5). TV On the Radio: Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes
• 4). PJ Harvey: Uh Huh Her
• 3). Interpol: Antics
• 2). Modest Mouse: Good News for People Who Like Bad News
• 1). The Postal Service: Give Up

I had The Shins: Chutes Too Narrow on there as well as an M Ward: Transfiguration of Vincent. And wouldn’t you know, but both of these CDs came out in 2003. I’m always a year behind. This is why I don’t play this game too often. M Ward does, however, have a new CD coming out in February. Yay.

Anyway, The Postal Service is my top favorite album of 2004. My goodness, is it wonderful. I have a feeling, had I been exposed to it sooner, I would have really enjoyed Arcade Fire: Funeral. But I only just heard about them recently.

I would do movies, but I think my head might explode should I try.

...but would you take a look at what happen to Lana in Canada? Holy crap. This is what I get for leaving the house and slacking off on my blog reading. Damn.

Should you be reading this, would you kindly send along an email address at mihow at this domain dot com? I would like to hook you up with the NYC insider information.

Thank you, Maddie. (Hopefully, you are reading this.)

Apparently, because of something Toby Joe said, we’re at war with Alabama. I received a threatening email message. It read:

OOOOOOHHHHHHHH….Toby thinks he’s sooooo tough. I’m soooooo scared. Bring it on Uncle Toby!!!!

Attached to the message was this image:

Simone is like Mod.

It seems that some kind of funk has snuck up on me. I’m not depressed, outwardly. And I don’t feel down, necessarily. But I do feel sort of “whatever”, endlessly. I feel like walking around answering questions like Napoleon Dynamite. A conversation might go like this:

Hey Michele! What do you want to do for dinner?

GOD! I DON’T care. I’ll have whatever I FEEL like. GAWD!

And then I’ll stomp off with my head aimed towards the ground, killing pebbles (and something smaller).

I had a dream last night I had a pet ant (and something smaller). Having a pet ant as well as something smaller registered as normal behavior in this particular dream. Today, I have no clue what the “something smaller” may have been. In last night’s dream, I watched my bizarre pets run in circles for hours near a back door we don’t really have. I decided that a pet ant (and something smaller) needed “more room to move around.” So I let them go outside for a bit. In the end, someone either stepped on the ant (and something smaller) or they both ran off. Either way, I never found my pet ant (or something smaller) and I woke up antless. (If you think for a second I’m making this most ridiculous dream up, you’re sadly mistaken.)

My cat won’t stop screaming between the hours of 4 a.m. and 5 a.m. Last night was better, but he still screamed. It begins, like clockwork, at 4. Sometimes (like Saturday night) it goes on for 2 hours. Other times, it stops right after waking us up from a deep slumber. There are ghosts (or something smaller) bugging him. I just know it.

I wish they were day-ghosts.

It’s a day, you might say. And it’s cold out and there is no more holiday and my bank account is screaming at whatever carnage I put it through last month. There are trips I must take to that post office, the bank and the Laundromat. There is shopping to be done at the grocery store. Missy arrives tomorrow. Today is her birthday.

(P.S. Happy Birthday, Missy! Bring me your self, a pet ant [and something smaller], and I’ll take you out on the town in search of a smile.)

Here are some images taken over the past couple days.

(Captions, if any, below each image. Click on thumbnail to enlarge.)

These fellas moved in next door to us. But I don’t think they’re staying.

We made vegan (meatless) lasagna on Thursday night. While it might not look pretty, this was some of the best lasagna I have ever had. We simply devoured it. I wish I could marry it and make out with it in between bites. Holy crap, yummy.

Mama B’s on Graham avenue. We stopped here before our shopping adventure on Christmas Eve and had some coffee.

And Toby took a shot of the celery.

Here we are on Christmas day at Rock Center Cafe. We had a late lunch/early dinner with the family and then continued on to see the tree and make an attempt at seeing a movie. Everything but Blade was sold out.

Here is the ice skating rink at Rockafeller Center. We did not skate. The line was about 3 miles long. Or maybe that was just the folks lining up for Dick Clark’s New Year’s Bash.

This is my mother, the eskimo.

Here is a drummer person.

And the guy who sells cotton candy.

And here are some NY style soft pretzels. Yum. Pretzels. (When I lived in DC, I used to eat this everyday for lunch. Healthy.)

Yellow cab. I have no clue why I took this. And even less of a clue as to why I put it up here.

Here is a picture of someone hailing a cab. They probably got the last ticket to The Incredibles.

This is a blurry shot of the inside of NBC studios. Or some studio. I wasn’t really paying attention.

And here are the fatties. They are back. This was taken this morning.

A shot out back taken this morning. Those are my pajama pants. How much if I put them on right now? They are frozen solid.

This was a gift I received from an online person. It was really quite thoughtful. You can’t really see these to read them because I really don’t have any idea how to use my camera (yet), but you’ll get the general idea.

“For strength through idle times.”

Coffee.

“For wisdom through helpless times.”

Bush survival bible.

“For sweetness through bitter times.”

MmmmmmMmmmmmm chocolate

“For relief through troublesome times.”

GW Bush toilet paper.

“For inspiration through dull times.”

Booze.

Overall, we had a great holiday. I ate too many cookies. (Which I have been trying to avoid.) We spent too much money. (But it was worth it in the end.) Toby got me a kick ass new color printer and some soap. My folks got me some soap as well. I have soap which should last me for two years or more. I got a wonderful new sweater and some socks and a hat. Toby got me a most amazing flour sifter and a new old-fashioned popcorn maker. I love the holidays. Now, it’s time to get depressed and look towards months worth of cold weather without all the blinky lights and candle-lit windows.

One year ago today and two years ago today.

The movie that was amazingly well done but doesn’t scream “holiday spirit” and instead will depress you and cause you to have nightmares all night long is Stoked: The Rise and Fall of Gator. It was totally captivating and unbelievably sad.

And a movie that may lack holiday cheer but will bring one to cheer out loud from their couch is Nepoleon Dynamite

Tonight, I think we’ll stick to A Christmas Story or maybe Christmas Vacation.

I didn’t know quite what to say or do today so I figured I’d let this guy have his way with you all instead.

Mala heeee mala whooooooo mala heee mala ha ha!

Stay tuned for pictures of NYC on Christmas Eve. Yippee!

One year ago today. And two years ago today.

And I still don’t have a Dyson.

Over AIM:

• tobyjoe: we have a half day today
• mihow: oh yea?
• mihow: that’s awesome
• mihow: when you heading home?
• tobyjoe: well, 3 hours off
• tobyjoe: i’ll probably be home around 8ish
• tobyjoe: i have to shop
• tobyjoe: i just don’t know where to buy a pet long eared donkey

I would love a miniature, long-eared pet donkey.

I had a not so original idea this morning: Take a picture of what you see out back every day for one month. I’m not sure if I’ll follow through with this for two reasons. One, I’m lazy. And two, it’s been done before (and flawlessly) by so many other (more interesting) people. I think it was even done in a movie or two. One of those movies was either Blue in the Face or Smoke. I can’t remember which one. Anyway, here are some pictures taken this morning (and one from last night).

Cold and gray here in Brooklyn.

Upper Manhattan. I call this “The Antenna King.”

I made low-cal peach pie last night. This one was a bit higher in calories than the raspberry pie and the blueberry pie because of the top crust. (The crust is the bulk of its calories. Each crust holds 400 calories worth of wheat flour. Are you annoyed with my calorie talk yet? Imagine how Toby must feel. (Note to family members who read this: I think I might need some pie pans. Look at that sad bastard, barely keeping up.)

The peach pie is the best one yet. We nearly consumed the entire thing in one sitting. Toby is inhaling it.

And here is our still very naked Christmas tree. I think we need more ornaments and some tinsel for Tucker to destroy come Saturday.

We live near the BQE (Brooklyn, Queens Expressway.) It’s literally about three or four houses down—houses that are butted up right next to one another. I can see it from the front of the apartment as well as the back. During the day and often times at night, the house shakes with the passing of heavier trucks. And that’s not all we’ve noticed. It seems that some nights are louder than others. For example, Thursday late-nights, the trucks sound emptier and are therefore louder. While the house may shake less because they weigh less, they make more noise – a hollow almost guttural sound.

It’s kinda spooky.

Remember yesterday’s tuna post? Rest assured, the kitties who live out back are totally fine and fuzzy and well fed today.

One chunk of tuna landed on the little guy’s back and the black fella ate it off. Awwwww

Yesterday, while moving through my usual Internet reading routine, I visited Blurbomat and read this post. Later that evening, during dinner, Toby and I had a two hour discussion about comment spam and blogging.

As many of you already know, Toby Joe is a big geek. He wrote this Web site for me using PHP. Each time he updates mihow.com he takes something from before and expands upon it, making it better, or he fixes something he now sees as “incorrect”. (He finally conquered three years of my using Amazon.com links and their fondness for using ampersands, which consequently, used to break this site). I appreciate Toby’s work and his maintaining this Web site more than you can possibly imagine.

One of the best things about having a one-of-a-kind Web site (by “one-of-a-kind” I mean the software it uses) is I haven’t gone through the perils of comment spam. Not only have I not experienced it, but up until recently, after speaking with Missy at Listen Missy and watching Essl foam at the mouth over his plethora of gambling spam, I hadn’t realized how absolutely huge and annoying it’d become. And I’m still not sure I really understand the intensity of the problem since I haven’t experience it firsthand.

Toby seems to think that the community as a whole needs to change and the software behind it and the way it’s designed needs to be reevaluated and reworked. Basically, (and hopefully he will correct me if I’m wrong) the foundation needs to be rebuilt. On the flip-side, I wanted to look at the problem and come up with ways to destroy it.

Last night, as I was trying to fall asleep, I began to think about everything he said. And, like many times after I have a discussion with Toby Joe, I have to chew on his words for a while before the ideas begin to fall into place. (He’s a smart one, that hubby of mine.) And I think I summed it up in my head; If he were a healthcare professional, he’d take preventative measures against future health problems. Not that humans generally practice this, but I think it’s safe to say that many times it’s better to put a lot of money, thought and time into something up front to avoid a frustrating battle down the line.

Perhaps the community does need to be rebuilt from the ground up. Perhaps building plug-in after plug-in, barely keeping up with these spam-bots (which are growing more and more intelligent by the hour), isn’t the right way to go about it.

I am trying to imagine a world without the Internet. And when I do, the inner workings of my head scream the shrillest most disturbing screech. Without the Internet, there would and COULD actually be MORE human beings actually OUT farting and shopping.

I just returned from a four hour shopping extravaganza. And I’m about damn ready to puke. But I can’t puke because I don’t have ONE drop of solid food in my stomach. I haven’t eaten anything since last night’s tuna.

I visited all of the following stores (for reasons I can not go into until after Christmas):

Filene’s Basment, DSW, The Goth Store on Third Avenue, the OTHER Goth store on Third Avenue (you know, the one right next to the mother ship), Forbidden Planet, Canal Jeans, FCUK, The outside shopping thing on Union Square, A shoe store (I don’t know the name), PC Richards (or whatever his name is), some card shop, and, lastly, but so not leastly, MACY’s on 34th street.

AND HOLY SWEET NESTOR THE LONG EARED XMAS DONKEY, Macy’s sucks during the holidays. What a nightmare. What an absolute conscious nightmare. It was even worse than the one I had just before I woke up this morning. That was the one where my parents were trying to force me into marrying someone like [if not the actual] Arnold Schwarzenegger. And when I kept saying, “I don’t like that man. He’s not my type! I like this other man named TobyJoe!” they insisted. And it became horrible when I realized that I might have to spend my life with something other than TobyJoe, thereby giving him to someone else, luckier. And as funny as the alternative may seem to you, I woke up in a cold sweat, whimpering.

Macy’s sucked. Macy was almost worse than marrying Arnold Schwarzenegger and giving up TobyJoe.

And here I am, home again, with only THREE presents.

Failure.

But, alas, NOW I must eat.

Last night I was opening a can of tuna when I realized it was filled with oil. Annoyed with myself, I thought, “You ALWAYS check this kind of thing, Michele. What the hell?” I turned to check on the other can of tuna I purchased at the same time. That tuna was submerged in water. Tuna is supposed to be in water. Duh.

Damn grocery people, mixing it up.

I had already opened the can of tuna submerged in murky oil, so I decided to turn to the three kitties who live out back behind the neighbor’s house. I have fed them tuna from our third floor window before and know for a fact that they are usually outside. I find this to be torturous, actually. I think about them all the time and have wanted to bring them inside several times. And it’s worse when it’s as cold as it was last night.

Poor babies. I’ll feed them some oily tuna. That will warm them up.

I reached for the window in the kitchen, the only window without a screen. This is the window one uses the hang the laundry out to dry when it’s not 40 below zero and there isn’t white shit blowing off of every rooftop in Brooklyn. It’s been too cold to do laundry lately. And besides, our machine broke last week, we’re getting a new one installed today, as a matter of fact.

The sill was covered in water. Along with water surrounding the base of the window, there is a layer of ice which had built up along the sides and glass. ICE! Thick ice. I called on Toby.

Toby, can you come look at this?

I stood in the kitchen, a can of oily tuna in one hand, and a paper towel in the other trying to explain to him why and how I was trying to get out the window open at 10 p.m.

You can’t get out there right now. It’s frozen shut. You’ll end up breaking it.

But I need to feed the kitties.

Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You can’t feed the kitties. The window is frozen shut. It will have to wait till tomorrow.

In my head, these cats were going to die without the oily tuna. They would freeze to death like the Nestor, the Long Eared Christmas Donkey’s mother had, a death which would have been the Long Eared Christmas Donkey’s had his mother not have loved him so much and he wasn’t destined to carry Mary and the unborn Baby Jesus to Jerusalem on a night in the future.

I really have to feed those kitties.

It will have to wait till tomorrow when the sun comes out and the window thaws.

I wrapped the can up in a layer of tinfoil and put it on the window sill till morning. (Only not really. I used the fridge. But we could use the windowsill considering it’s a bloody freezer.)

This morning, before proceeding outdoors to buy presents, I must check on the welfare of these furry future life savers and give them some oily tuna. They are, after all, the only creatures I know of who might like this weird species of tuna who would rather swim through oil over perfectly wholesome all-natural spring water.

Tuna will give these kitties fuel and keep them alive. I will thereby be helping Jesus.

You might need to see the inside of my head to understand this nonsense.

My amazing husband’s PHP5 book is finally on Amazon. How totally friggin cool is that?

He’s in the thick of it now, and stressing pretty hard. But once it’s all over, I hope he looks back on all of this and thinks to himself, “I have a tech book for sale on Amazon.”

The pie I made tonight looked uglier, yet it tasted better. The chocolate (even though it looked like human crap) was an added bonus. If I can make it look pretty, all will be good.

However, tomorrow, I think I’ll make a peach pie.

Today, I will be making a chocolate, mixed berry pie. I am going to wing the chocolate. And I worry a bit about how it will end up. I’m using baker’s chocolate and I’m going to add my own sweetener. You can witness the birth of yesterday’s blueberry pie by clicking here.

For dinner, it’s stuffed mushrooms and miso tofu.

Pictures of today’s mess to come.

---

Later:

Today, I tried an mixed-berry pie. I purchased fresh blueberries, raspberries and blackberries. I also purchased Baker’s Chocolate and some Splenda (again).

At first everything was going just fine. I made the crust just the same way I did yesterday. I put that in the oven and let it bake for a while. In the meantime, I put 3/4 of each tub of berries into a saucepan and began to mash them (with a masher, duh.) Here they are slightly mashed and just now on the stove.

And here they are after about 15 minutes. I added about 1/4 cup Splenda to this as well. (No, I do not work for Splenda. No, they are not paying me.)

I took the reduced fruit and placed it into my pie crust. This is what it looked like before I put it back into the oven. I used the remainder of the berries (the 1/4 left of each) and decorated the top.

This is where I start to fuck up. I took a bar of Baker’s Chocolate and put it into the saucepan. I added some more sugar and then began to stir. I added some soy milk in desperation and then some water and then (after desperately hitting up the internets) some butter. And this happen:

And it looked fine. So I began to pour it onto the pie. And then it turned into something one might find in the trash can at a nursery. Since it looked like baby poop, I tasted it. It tasted fine.

But it was too late. I had already dripped baby poop all over it.

I just had a piece. It tastes perfectly good but it looks special. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find out a little more about Baker’s chocolate first.

This weekend was lovely. We didn’t do much after a very long night out with friends on Friday. It began with a festive Chopping Block Christmas party at the Telephone Bar. We had drinks and ate dinner. It was great talking to Matthew again and meeting his new wife, Lorie. Rachel looks wonderful and her husband (who I’d never met) is a sweetheart as well. And it was great to talk to Charles again. I may have undereaten and therefore over-drank, and for that I do apologize—too much holiday cheer, indeed. At around 10:30, we left to meet up with Gerry, Bob, Tanya, Michael and Michael’s girlfriend, Vanessa at Von. We stayed there for a while, caught up, sipped wine and then headed to CBGBs to meet up with Ben Scanlon who had invited us to a book release party for Let Fury Have the Hour.

I think we took at cab home at around 2. I promptly fell into bed and didn’t wake up again until about 10 a.m. the following day.

On Saturday, we watched Dodgeball and Collateral. Dodgeball was actually funny. I laughed quite a bit, I have to admit. (“Donde esta la biblioteca, Pedro?”) Good fun. Collateral was o.k. It was only a wee bit over-the-top, in my opinion. Unless, I don’t know something about the club scene in LA or what druglords will go through to kill witnesses. But it was entertaining for a cold Saturday and so we watched it in its entirety. Jamie Foxx is amazing.

That evening, Toby went into the city to meet some folks to play pool. I stayed in and watched Law and Order, MadTV and Saturday Night Live. (Note: Womba Sketch = brilliant. Blue Christmas? Also brilliant.)

On Sunday, we woke up early, sipped coffee and unpacked some more (still living beneath boxes and clutter). We picked up a Christmas tree and decorated it. I made a low calorie blueberry pie (where you can all discuss chemically enhanced food and look at pictures) and we watched Desperate Housewives by candlelight.

It’s a weekend such as the one I just had where I am sure of why I moved back east. And this morning we woke up to snow.

Lately, I have been exploring “healthy” baking. Last week I made an apple cobbler. I used whole wheat flour, apples, a few tablespoons of Sugar In the Raw, two tablespoons of lite butter, cinnamon and nutmeg. The entire pie was about 700 calories. (That’s good, right?)

Tonight, I wanted to try a blueberry pie. I made the crust using whole wheat flour (again), lite butter, EnerG egg replacer, vanilla extract and Splenda. I baked that for 15 minutes. While the crust was baking, I poured two containers of fresh blueberries into a saucepan and reduced them for about 20 minutes.

I mixed in a half cup of Splenda and a little touch of water. I let that cool. I poured the mixture into the pie crust and added some fresh, whole blueberries.

To give it some crunch, I sprinkled some granola on top. I baked it all for about 30 minutes and I had a low-cal blueberry pie. :] And it’s good!

Tomorrow, it’s peaches. I think.

If anyone knows of any freelance and/or full time work in the tri-state area, I suddenly have some time on my hands.

Today is even more bizarre than last week’s bizarre day. And here I thought it wasn’t possible.

(Days like today, no, weeks like this, make me believe in God. Because this is entirely too comedic to be circumstantial.)

At a rest stop in Texas, Toby and I pulled over to use the bathroom and buy some bottled water. Driving through the chimney top of Texas is like driving on a heavily-policed piece of brown cardboard. We had driven through Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, Indiana, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, Utah, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and no other state was as flat and desolate as northern Texas.

The gas station was directly off the highway. Judging by the number of cars and the worn look of its parking lot, I’d say hundreds of travelers driving along route 40 pulled over at this particular gas station. It was well-kept. Besides the daily build-up of used ketchup packets, candy wrappers, molted straw paper, and once puffed, now left for dead cigarette butts, this well-lit gas station was pretty well maintained.

Toby grabbed a bottle of water from the back and then proceeded to check out the number of animal skulls one could purchase from the gift shop. This came as no surprise to us in Texas, but had some of the items been available for sale at a rest stop in Washington D.C. or San Francisco, one might begin to heavily surveil its shop-keeper.

We should get one of these for our Brooklyn Apartment.

Toby said to me from another isle.

How much is it?

40 bucks. Too much to spend on an animal skull.

I ducked into the bathroom to pee. We had to be in Tulsa by nightfall. I needed my second wind.

I’ll be right back. I have to pee. Check for magnets.

I entered the white tiled hallway leading me to a well-lit women’s restroom. I walked into the stall straight ahead. There is a thought which goes through my head every time I enter a restroom. Basically, whatever stall seems most readily available is probably the stall the others turned down. Operating under this rationale, one would not pick the stall furthest away or darkest or the one less “visible”, they would pick the stall directly in front of them. So I chose door number 1.

What sat behind stall door number 1 ended up being a wonderful. And apparently it blew my theory all to shit. Stall number one featured three large sheets of paper which were pasted to the walls like wallpaper. On each sheet of paper were hundreds of individuals’ scribbles. Written above the one on the back of the door, were these words:

Tell us where you’re going and where you’ve been.

Oh my god, I’d entered a “Loo Journal”. And in this particular one there were already hundreds of comments.

Here is where I admit to something. Usually, I hover. The times I do not hover, I am usually A). Drunk B). Tired (so I wipe the seat off). C). Reading about everyone else’s life while sweeping along route 40 through the chimney of Texas.

Written before me were so many stories. One women was driving through Texas with her brother. He was moving to California. Their U-haul broke down and they were waiting for a replacement. One gal hated Bush and wanted Texas to know about it. She was from Arizona. Another family was from North Carolina to Texas to welcome home a soldier. A couple named Mike and Dee (HEY! I know Mike and Dee!, I thought as I read more.) were driving from Florida to Arizona. They were from Florida. (Not the same Mike and Dee.) Still more wanted to leave messages about how much they loved the state where GW Bush was born and raised. Others talked about Thanksgiving. And still others about war. One person even mentioned a death in the family and how they were driving to a funeral.

There were maybe a hundred stories written on these sheets. And I wanted to own each and every one of them. I didn’t just want to read them, I wanted to have them as proof. I sat comfortably on the toilet reading more and more. I was probably in there for a bit too long. I pictured Toby out there among the animal bones wondering if I was partaking in “that one thing in which we do not speak about” in our house. I decided that should probably wrap this up.

I contemplated taking the sheet with Mike and Dee’s name written on it. I know a Mike and Dee from San Francisco who do a lot of driving. This couple could be their East coast twin. I could just take that one, the biggest one. I could fold it up and put it in my pock and none would be the wiser. Then, I could show it to Toby, these stories other people shared. I would have their voices in my pocket.

In two short seconds I had acted out the crime in my head and had talked myself out of it. I couldn’t steal their stories, literally shutting off their voices from everyone else but me and Toby. So I didn’t take the sheet. And I exited the bathroom.

Toby was standing beneath the animal heads, right behind the cheap plastic Texas snowglobes and ceramic cacti.

Hey. You ready?

Yeah. I have to do something first. Do you have a pen?

No. Why?

I’ll tell you in a minute.

I walked back up to the woman behind the registered and asked her for a pen.

I’d like to write on your bathroom wall if you don’t mind.

We don’t mind one bit!

She handed me a black pen and I walked back into the first stall. I sat back down onto the toilet. With pen in hand, I picked a small spot towards the bottom. It was in the middle. It was big enough to write a paragraph or maybe two. It was there at a rest stop in Texas, I began to write our story.

Apparently, last year I kept deleting posts as well.

But the year before I wrote about Xena. Good times.

Toby Joe and I saw an apparition on the L train last night. We were pretty sure that this person was no longer around. But lo and behold, we managed to capture him on camera.

(Click on the picture to zoom.)

P.S. Admittedly, this will only make sense to maybe three of us.

To the sphincter(s) who choose to drive like speed demons, out to revenge upon anyone going the normal speed limit at 7:45 in the morning, in order to maybe hit the BQE 1 tenth of a second faster than had they not been a total asshole, all the while driving A GEO TRACKER?!! ARE YOU DELUSIONAL? Contrary to whatever that salesman told you at the GEO dealer, contrary to whatever relative (or friend) told you about its color, it’s pastel.

Men drive Trackers or Sidekicks or whatever they’re called. Is it because they can’t get a lady sidekick? And a certain kind of man drives a GEO Tracker. And they are often seen acting like total shit-releasing body parts on a mission to scare and annoy all. Maybe they act like this to cover up the fact that their penis [which we can’t see while you’re in your mobile unit, by the way] is actually the size of an Oscar Meyer Miniature Wiener.

I picture these men yelling “SUZUKI!” and thinking they know kung-fu or something. Bastard.

Tomorrow’s topic: PT Cruisers are the new Tracker.

Currently, I work in Chelsea on 7th Avenue and 19th street. I hop on the L at Graham Avenue (the closest L stop to our house. It’s about a 7 block walk). I take the L to the 6th Avenue and walk up to 19th from there.

This takes anywhere from 20 to 30 minutes. I’m constantly amazed at how quickly arrive to work in the morning. Last time I lived in Brooklyn I worked in SoHo. That commute took anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour. (That has a lot to do with why I began taking so many pictures. Which I plan on starting again soon.) I had to transfer three times.

(The view from my desk taken at 9:00 a.m. this morning.)

Should I choose to work here, I’ll be living rather large in the commute department.

We’re almost done opening every box from our recent move. I think we have about 5 left. Last time we moved across the country, we ended up with some broken pottery. Which is such a bummer considering we hand threw it all. These things happen, though.

This time, it seems we’re coming out breakage-free. And I’m quite pleased by this. None of my records were broken. Nor was our pottery. We didn’t lose the TV or the stereo equipment. And Toby’s scooter miraculously survived unscratched and dented. But it hasn’t been entirely breakage-free.

On Sunday, I was emptying a box. I was down to the very last item. As it became time to cut the tape and fold the box, I found something peculiar where the flaps come together.

It seems that a small person, no bigger than a mouse, perhaps even a Who, climbed into our box and had somewhere along the bumpy road had broken their eyeglasses. And I knew just the bobble head fool who did so.

It seems that Raphie actually DID shoot his eye out on the way across the country. Because he used to look like this:

We’re bringing a lawsuit against Door to Door and Citi to Citi moving for this tragic event. It’s a good thing they didn’t break our leglamp, because that would have been a little too creepy. Next thing you know the Grinch will actually steal Christmas by not blessing me with a tree this year, dammit.

We will finally have cable come next week. (Assuming one of us can actually be there.) You know, there is a reason that drugstores, video stores, malls, and dry cleaners are open late. WE WORK FOR A LIVING. Why can’t cable, electric, gas, phone, and bank people work a later shift? This “window” thing they use sucks.

Anyway, we got the monster package. We got it all. I will never leave the house (‘cept for work) ever again. I can’t hardly wait. I care for cable TV that much.

We are such a horrible species. I am shocked by this verdict. How is it abortion is deemed as a true horror, yet sentencing someone to death warrants a cheer and a smile? Is there ACTUAL evidence behind Peterson’s guilt? Can these jurors say, beyond a reasonable doubt, that he is directly responsible for these murders? I’m not saying I think he’s innocent, but the death penalty? Haven’t people realized how many times we’ve put the wrong person on death row?

I can’t believe Peterson is being sentenced to death while OJ is playing golf and banging hookers.

What a fucked up world. How do people sleep at night?

Yesterday evening, Toby Joe and I met Gerry at Sea. Sea is the new and improved Thai restaurant in Williamsburg. When you walk into Sea, one of the first things you will see is a small pool. Off to the right, there is a plastic chair that dangles from the ceiling. To the left, there is a bench. It hangs from the ceiling by two chains. The place is dark. During the week, it’s affordable and fairly quiet. On the weekends, gals and guys from “Lowng” Island make the trek into the “city” and “go out” for the night. The place is overflowing with perfume and long arms. It’s the hotspot on the weekends.

But last night it was pretty chill. And when Toby and I walked in, I had the strange sensation I’d been there before. Then, it occurred to me. When the waiter came over, I would ask for a basket of bread. When he’d inevitably refuse, I’d turn bitchy. The place reminded me of the restaurant used in the movie Garden State.

Gerry arrived a bit later.

Place is crazy, isn’t it? Over-the-top.

Yeah. But I kind of like it.

That movie….

He snapped his fingers to call on the title.

Garden State was filmed here.

No wonder it was so familiar. It was the place where it was filmed. And apparently, Williamsburg acts as a decent backdrop for Hollywood now.

I guess I got this job. I’m not sure how that happen, but it seems as tho it has happened. Weird. He keeps saying to folks “I have hired a new person, full-time. Her name is Michele.”

In the meantime, however, someone else called me today asking if I might come in for an interview. I am unable to call this person back (while here) and I’m not even sure that I can come in for an interview considering I am the only person who will be here for the next few days.

Life confuses me. As usual.

Toby and I began our weekend by drinking too much at The Abby with Gerry. We saw 11 a.m. just shy of noon and stumbled into the kitchen for some pierogies and sauerkraut. I hate mornings like this following evening I love.

One of the biggest hangover remedies (next to Advil and water, of course) are video rentals. And thankfully, we still had Dogville and Close Your Eyes (Doctor Sleep). We watched Close Your Eyes first. It was o.k. Only o.k. I mean, how many creepy movies about religious weirdos can one watch? While I was not irritated by the time spent having watched this film, I’m not sure I would have given it my thumb.

Dogville.

Holy mother of God this move kicked my ass. Not only did it kick my ass, but it kicked my ass so hard it made me happy. Dogville is, by far, one of the best films I have seen in a long, long time.

In a nutshell: I adored Dogville. I loved the set, the story, the acting, the lighting, the plot, the moral, the cast, the snow, the dialogue, the narration, the names, the small figurines, the thoughts, the wardrobe, and most importantly, the care involved. Very rarely do movies make me feel so unbelievably sad and devastated and then lift me up to heights unimaginable. It’s rare I enjoy cold retaliation. But when it’s good, it’s damn good—like a fatty dessert or a cup of coffee late at night.

I’m going to shut up now.

Later on Saturday evening, Toby and I went to Old Devil Moon and ate stuff to celebrate Toby’s 27th Birthday. After that, we decided to see Closer on 3rd Avenue. We got seats near the rear. And wouldn’t you know, but Jullian Moore and her boyfriend (husband?), Bart Freundlich walked in and plopped their butts two rows in front of us. And so I tapped her on the shoulder.

“Jullianne, first of all… HUGE FAN. HUGE! Second of all, today is my husband’s birthday. This is Toby.”

I pointed to Toby.

“You’re on his list. You know, THE list.”

I wink to make my point.

“And well, if you’re not doing anything later, it’s ok with me if you have birthday sex with him.”

O.K. that didn’t really happen. But there she was, sitting right in front of us with her hot hubby watching the movie Closer. We could smell her hair. And she’s as beautiful in real life as she on screen.

Closer.

You know, I have heard NOTHING but wonderful things about Closer from numerous people. But I didn’t love it. I liked it o.k. (at first) but I guess maybe I just didn’t “get it.” I didn’t believe in the characters’ actions. At times the movie seemed forced and not entirely believable. Then again, maybe it was because I watched it only hours after finishing Dogville. And, well, if you’ve read this far, you know by now how much I adored Dogville. :]

This is a picture of Toby sitting in our place fifteen minute before our stuff showed up. YES! Our stuff showed up. Can you believe it? As I write this, I am on a couch and James Spader is behind my monitor on the TeeVee. We have stuff. Now you can all come over.

On Saturday, before the movie, we went to the outdoor Christmas shopping extravaganza which takes place on Union Square every year. I took only a few images.

This wasn’t here when I moved away back in 2002. I think it was still some really old, crappy drug store. It’s rather alarming. Very bright. Filene’s Basement is hardly a basement.

One year ago today. And two years ago today.

(I should rename this site to “I worship the Toby Joe” apparently.)

Today is Toby’s birthday. He is 27 years old. He’s just a little dude. Right now he is out trying to find us something to consume other than instant coffee. (I really should have gone with him, but I’m tired and I’m doing our laundry as it’s finally not raining here on the big apple.)

If you are an unfortunate member of the mihow cell phone club, you were probably phoned at some obscene hour last night and asked to stop whatever it is you were doing and celebrate Toby’s birthday. We may have left you messages. We may have even spoken to you. I’m not sure. Because I was playing Galaga when this idea was conceived.

Anyway, it’s Toby’s birthday. And I love him. I adore him, quite honestly. He pretty much rescued me three years ago. And, for that, I literally owe him my life.

Happy Birthday, my sweet and lovely Toby Joe.

The other night Toby and I watched The Stepford Wives. While totally over the top, I could not stop watching this film. And it had nothing to do with the story, either. Instead, I couldn’t get over (still can’t) how unbelievably out of this world attractive Nicole Kidman is. (If you can get over the whole Tom Cruise-had-his-gay-penis-in-her-vagina thing.) There is no question as to why she was cast as the lead in this film about robotic wives. I don’t think this particular australian is human.

Last night, we rented Dogville. We haven’t watched it yet, but plan on it tonight. Let me just say that I don’t think Jennifer Jason Leigh will be invited to our intimate celebrity threesome after all. I think Nicole may have moved out in front. She’ll be coming from the land down under our sheets.

Oh, how I missed you and the schizophrenic East coast weather. But do you mind lightning up a wee bit so I can wash and therefore line dry our clothing?

Sincerely,

mihow

Last week (Saturday morning to be exact), we moved into a new one bedroom apartment in Greenpoint/Williamsburg. We love the place. It’s pretty big. There’s a lot of light (except for that middle room, but nothing a few candles can’t cure). There’s a laundry machine (but no dryer). There’s a view of Manhattan and it’s near everything we know.

Our stuff hasn’t arrived in Brooklyn yet. (Which reminds me, I have to call and see where our stuff is.) In the meantime, here is every item we have in our apartment right now.

• 1). One air matress.
• 2). One desktop computer. (For DVD rentals, yo. This has been a blessing.)
• 3). One green plastic bin.
• 4). One flat screen 17 inch Apple monitor.
• 5). Two pillows.
• 6). Two blankets.
• 7). Three sheets.
• 8). Two very red and very cheap towels. (We bought them at Dee and Dee and they leave hundreds of little red blobs all over you when you dry off. I have washed them twice, line dried them twice, and they still leave hundreds of red blobs on you. One day, Toby was at work, peeing. When he first looked down at his penis, there was what appeared to be a big red sore. Panicked, and ready to kill me for stepping out of the marriage, he touched it. And it fell to the floor like a feather on wind. The red blobs follow us everywhere.)
• 9). One cast iron frying pan.
• 10). One pot.
• 11). Four cheap plastic plates.
• 12). Two cheap plastic cups.
• 13). One TV stand taken in from the street.
• 14). Two laptops (did I say that already?)
• 15). Clothing and some toiletries.
• 16). One partial portfolio.
• 17). A few cameras and some camera junk.
• 18). Some food.
• 19). One wrapped present for Toby Joe.

And that really is it. No rugs or chairs or tv sets. (HOW DO YOU PEOPLE LIVE WITHOUT TELEVISION?!!! I’m still trying to picture a world without digital cable. And that terrifies me, but NOT having a TV altogether? Are you insane?)

If our stuff doesn’t arrive soon, feel free to send us the things you have rested your ass on this week.

While I am here I a forced to use OS 9. I hate OS 9. I haven’t used OS 9 in years. It shocks me people haven’t moved over yet. There are many things I could bitch about right now regarding OS 9, but I won’t. I will say this much, some blogs look like absolute poop on OS 9 using Internet Explorer.

I can’t believe I’m using Explorer on OS 9 as my current eyewear. It’s like buying your glasses from a drug store.

I am going in for the next month (or more). I’m not sure I want the job. This time around I promised myself I’d settle on the job that felt perfect instead of taking the first one that comes my way and having it not work out for whatever reason. That said, I told him I’d like to stick around for a “trial period”. We both agreed to this. I realize this could screw me in the end, but I have to do what’s right from now on. Besides, a paycheck over the holiday season is always a plus.

I finally downloaded two months worth of images from one of my cards. Below, are the images taken while we were driving from San Francisco to New York City. I didn’t go all out (like I did the last time.)

(Caption, if any, below each image.)

(Click on image to enlarge.)

This is Tucker. He planned our drive. Yay tucker. (God, do I miss him. I want my kitties so badly. It’s funny how much emptier an empty house can be without kittens.)

I hadn’t ever seen these before. And then there they were in Southern California. And wouldn’t you know, when we hit outside Pittsburgh (days later) we saw a few more along route 80.

This is about an hour away from the Arizona border.

Day two: The Grand Canyon. We drove a few hours out of our way to see her. You’ll probably figure out if I thought it was worth it by the number of pictures I took. Holy crap.

(Panoramic to come.)

The drive back to Flagstaff from the Grand Canyon was pretty spectacular as well. This peak is the tallest point in Arizona.

Again.

Imagine living there. Yeesh.

Here we are again on our way. I think we’re in New Mexico now.

New Mexico is freaking gorgeous.

And a little schizophrenic.

Big sky, for sure.

Cliffs. Rocks. Whatever. :]

Some more of New Mexico’s weirdness. Love it.

Albuquerque at night.

Day three: We’re east of Albuquerque. I guess this is called the high plaines. It was really incredible and if it weren’t so cold and we were so hungry, I would have stopped to take a better picture. Sadly, this was all I got. (Toby may have better.) Anyway, we were covered in fog for most of it and there was snow and ice covering these crazy little bushes. So cool.

And here were are in Texas at a Stuckey’s I have a half-finished story about our visit here. Woah. I’ll have that up in time. Northern Texas was flat. The flattest place I’d ever been.

Same place. Watch out, yo. But if they’re coming for you, even if they are about a 1/4 of an inch off the ground, you’ll see them from about 3 miles away.

For some reason I stopped taking pictures after this. I have no idea why. Anyway, we drove on into Tulsa and then Indianapolis. Eventually, we made it to State College where we stayed for a night or two and then headed on to our final destination: New York City.

This was my attempt at being funny and trying to take a picture of me with the guy from TV on the Radio. You see, I could see him in the reflection. I could also see me in the reflection but apparently my camera didn’t want to see either one of us in the reflection. But I posted it anyway because we’re in a hipster mall desperately in search of free internet access. Yes.

This was a second try. Again, failure.

And that is all.

.... the weirdest day of my professional life. (And remember, I worked at gay.com doing pornographic banners. Today was THAT weird.)

I have an interview today at 10:30. And because of that, I can’t do much of anything else except listen to my tummy make gurgling sounds from a feeling of nervousness. It’s percolating. (I hope it’s making coffee. That would rule.) While it’s probably not normal to beg for a job, I plan on doing just that, directly after I hand him a plate of cookies.

After my interview, I’ll be going shopping. Where I’ll shop depends entirely on how the interview goes. But I do know this much, I will be visiting B&H to pick up a digital camera card (thanks, Jon and Karo.) I might also pick up a couple of other sumthin-sumthins for a certain boy named TobyJoe whose birthday is on Saturday. If the interview goes well, I’ll buy a new car and a horse for the backyard. I’ve always wanted a horse. (And maybe a mattress because the air-mattress has lost its charm.)

Woooo hoooooooooo! Now, cross your fingers everything works out. :]

I just purchased a jar of INSTANT coffee. And it’s raining and I suddenly feel like I’m in London.

We have no coffee maker and I refuse to buy one knowing one is on its way.

I also purchased apple cobbler fixins. Yum, cobbler. (I am trying to make this a lo cal kind of thing. So it might suck. We’ll see.)

Today is my dad’s birthday. Happy birthday, bob. Maybe Toby and I will drive to SC this weekend and give you a proper party. (Actually, that’s really tempting.) Here is a picture of my dad (taken two years ago).

Anyway, I love my dad. He rules. And today is his birthday. May he eat cake and pizza from Faccia Luna.

Nothing major has changed in Brooklyn. And if it had changed, it’s now changed back. I know how folks like to repeat the past. Maybe it’s just that Toby and I have changed too much. After all, most folks don’t completely rewrite their lives in two years. But in a city the size of New York, where its occupants desire to be different, you half expect you might return to cow pastures and silos.

While Enids is now serving food, Lola Bell (yes, the famous Lola) still works there. Her hair is longer, but she still looks the same. The same guy runs Photoplay. (Scroll down halfway.) And when he recognized Toby and I while we were updating our phone number and address, and then realized how long it’s been since he’d seen us, he mentioned as much.

Where did the two of you go? California?

Yeah. First D.C. Then San Francisco. And now we’re back.

Well, we’re still here. And the movies are still the same exact price.

That, too, has not changed.

Union Pool is still rock-a-billy (or whatever the proper term used to describe men with side burns who wear dark bottoms and white tops. And is it clear that I have no idea what I’m talking about? I hope so.) Teddy’s is still exactly same. (Well, minus an unfortunate incident involving an out of control car and their storefront windows on the corner of North 8th and Berry.) Even the menu there is the same. Vera Cruz? The same. The Verb? The same. (Scarily so. Only, I’d say that the bathroom, after years of dealing with morning-after booze-bingeing runny hipster shit, might now be considered a biohazard.) The Garden is still littered with hot and goth polish teenagers. Williamsburg is still swingin’ and Greenpoint is still next to it. Le Cue is still open. Dee and Dee is still (somehow) in business and Wizard electronics as well. And Ryan Adams still hangs out at Kate’s Joint in Manhattan.

In State College last week I discovered my first apartment had been demolished to make way for a parking garage. (May it rest in peace.) When I arrived in Brooklyn to find everything pretty much exactly the same, it was the best homecoming ever. But there are some differences.

In Manhattan, we tried to go to the Veg City Diner and it was gone. Healthy Pleasures (where we once saw Parker Posey buying groceries and Toby called me from isle 5 to tell me she was in isle 3.) is now some other place and it appears to sell less insanely expensive shit. Probably the biggest change is that the G train is now fairly regular.

This has to be the easiest transition I have ever gone through. It’s even easier than our move to D.C. I feel as tho I never left.

Now, if only I can find a job.

A year ago today. And two years ago today.

I have been slacking on the “retrospective mihow” as of late.

I’m poor. I just worked out all our finances and whatnot. I shouldn’t do much of anything until I find more work. And to think there are birthdays and holidays and anniversaries upon us, it’s enough to make a happy gal weep.

I can’t do all the things I planned on doing. And that sucks.