Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Could I Ever Like Football?

Last night I chose Wild Mahi Mahi at the only good restaurant around here with my mother over meeting my High School friends at a Restaurant Bar to "watch the game".

I knew what choice I was making- also nobody else would go to dinner with my mom. Dad wasn't home and Margaret and Shane wanted pizza. If I had to, I would have eaten almond butter.

She proceeded to be coerced by the waiter into buying a whole bottle of Red and drinking 1.5 glasses as opposed to 1- so I designatedly drove home.

Only then did I realize one of my friends had texted me during my captivating dinner asking me if I was still coming to watch the game. 

I am so bad at keeping up with the things I say I "might" do. Its getting to a point where people might be noticing that I am Miss Flightypants. I don't want to be seen that way.

There is a friends dinner downtown in Philadephia tonight, and I am GOING damnit. And I will bring wine like I said I would!

But lets bring this back to Football. Getting together to "watch the game" last night was a great excuse to get together out in a public arena, for the people who DO follow it, and something to do for those who don't care. 

I don't care. But I recognize that SO many people care. Like CARE care. And I am not talking about the people who follow it and know what's going on casually. Thats great! I wish I knew what was going on, too. How can I care if I don't even know where these burly men and dog fighting convicts are supposed to be running?

But the extent that some people get involved in these games is psychotic. Where it seems like their very happiness depends on the outcome of a game that has never had anything to do with them. It might even be crazier than how much I was/am involved with Harry Potter. (Um)

I care about ....things too. As I said... Harry Potter. And.... TV! I love meeting people who share my passion for Thursday Night NBC comedy. It literally is the mortar of many of my friendships.

SO, HEY. Why not see what this whole Football thing is all about. For some reason or another, I admire the woman who knows what's going on. People care about it. Maybe its stupid, but its HAPPENING EEVVVERywhere. People are TALKING about it. Why not know what's going on. Why not get in on the action!? Like her?:

So during the last 6 minutes of the game I had my brother explained some things. I actually said out loud "WOW, that was close!".

I am going to watch next Sunday- and then I guess I'll google "Playoffs" if they are in it.

This is a social experiment, kind of.

With any luck, I'll be as cool as him in no time.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010


Maybe the new name for this Blahg should be"Boring you with Babies Blahg"

Oh well.

I always hated carrots

via MY blog from last year

I guess I've just gotten significantly less cute in the process.

I want to stop posting about children.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Baby Bitch Face

I am doing nothing with my life these days. I go back to NY in a few more days and I plan on doing as little as possible in the meanwhile. But... its amazing how fast it become monotonous.

While looking through some baby pictures today at the happy child I was:

I also found some early signs that I was going to become a bitch-face-pro. And also that I would have chronic chubby cheeks.


Bra for the Eyes

The best part about being home is finding my great sleep mask.

I couldn't find it for a while when I would come home- so I had to buy a new one from Ricky's in New York that was satin and made for girls with smaller heads than me, so that it squeezed my brain every night.

But, a few days ago I saw it in my bra drawer... somebody put it there thinking it was a bra. And I guess I don't blame them except for the fact that it is about 10 sizes smaller than I would need.

So to showcase my "bra for the eyes", as I have lovingly dubbed it, my sister took a little photo shoot of me and my long lost friend.

induces beautiful sleep


annoying "artsy" photos taken with the "retroCamera" app on my phone:

margaret and the blizz

the lamps and the blizz

At 10:30 Pm my mother decided to go for a blizzard walk- so naturally I thought that was a great idea. I got all bundled up in snow gear - had Margaret document my outfit with a camera only to find that Flash + Snow Pants = Tron Legacy.

The walk was freezing, but thankfully my face went numb after a little while so it wasn't as painful.

It was still snowing the whole time. (it was so fun)

Then I slept with my window cracked open because my room is SO hot and woke up to snow on my face.

The wind blew the snow all around and the plow came so it doesn't look as intense as it really was. This morning:

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Christmas Lessons

Christmas went smoothly- which is kind of boring. But it DID snow yesterday! Which is miraculous. And it is snowing now.

Dad "We really are getting that blizzard"
Me "Should I go stock up on stuff?"
Dad "What stuff? I just got Tuna and Peanut Butter From Trader Joes"
Me "perfect"


It really was filled with family, food and ... general good tidings.

(I do not understand why my photos upload from my phone not fully loaded. IT IS VERY ANNOYING. So Until I figure out that issue, I must deal with a grey bar under all my pictures. I guess I could crop it out....)

I have 2 Family Christmas Parties:

  • The Dooners (Dad side) on Christmas Eve
  • The McHughs (mom side) on Christmas Night

I will code each occurrence with the name Dooner or McHugh

Both gatherings are pretty nice, both are filled with LOTS of my cousins that are ALL younger than me. Both have a Polyanna for the Kids, White Elephant for the adults (where you steal gifts), Dinner, Lots of Dessert, lots of wine, and I often end up having to sing some scratchy version of a song. (Voice scratchy, I mean)

There are a few things to note:

Lesson #1:
Older "Kids" try to get in the Adult White Elephant/Chinese Polyanna get screwed.

Dooner: My 20 year old cousin brought some nice gift to the White Elephant Polyanna. He was screwed with my mother's gift of

a decorated pitchfork. My dad took pity and stole it from him. So now we have two because my mom obviously bought herself a decorated pitchfork, too.

McHugh: I, too, tried to get in on the Adult Christmas Cheer. I actually didn't give my aunt her present so I could put it into the Christmas White Elephant.

In the end I got:

something to this effect- because I didn't take a picture. An italian cookie tray (and a battery operated spaghetti-twirling-spoon). Not bad, but I opened it up for people to eat with dessert and still not as good as my pretty Anthropologie coasters that I brought (that my bald, unmarried Uncle ended up with). Poop.

Lesson #2: Outsiders must be Brave
Dooner: This woman above is my divorced Aunt's Jewish friend that she met in AA. She was perfectly nice and fine and was even able to (slightly) make fun of her own shoes... but she was a character. And so are we all, but she was her own kind of character. She spent a lot of time on her iPhone, which is a nice crutch- I guess. 

She was brave because talk can be mean. EEEEEeeeeppppp.

Lesson #3:
Don't repaint your Artist Sister's Painting as a Joke.

McHugh: My mom is an artist (of sorts), my uncle is a comedian (of sorts) and he repainted her first real painting from years ago with white to make it "brighter". He did not foresee her anger.

There is no painting in this picture but these were their general sentiments.

Some other tidbits: 
Dooner: My Uncle chose the Onion Chopping glasses. His wife Laughing in the corner.

Dooner: My Dad excited about gift that was stolen soon after
McHugh: Aunt who decorated this winter wonderland. Grandmom, Dad
McHugh: Italian Uncle (hence my cookies) and bald Uncle who has my coasters
Dooner: This shows sheer volume of people. There are so many more people I didn't show

And last, but not least-

McHugh:  This is my 4.5 year old cousin singing Miley's Hoedown Throwdown

I leave you with this. Merry Christmas.

(Note: ANY picture you see that does not have a grey bar at the bottom was painstakingly cropped by me or uploaded a second time through twitter or email. I work SO hard.)

Thursday, December 23, 2010

I need a Christmas Miracle


This is the current Philadelphia Suburb 5-Day-Weather-Report.

A few days ago it was supposed to snow on Saturday. On Christmas.

There aren't enough exciting things that happen on Christmas anymore. What with the death of Santa Clause, and the fact that I will be receiving clothes for Christmas that will probably be too small for me but I'll be forced to try them on anyway and become depressed right before going to a family party- so.... I really need a Christmas Miracle.

The most exciting thing about Christmas when you are 22 are the parties leading up to it- but since I feel like I already need to have a holiday detox from wine- that is also going to stop being exciting.

So, I guess thats why old men are always singing those songs on the radio about White Christmases and Letting it Snow. Its the last exciting thing they can look forward to when Santa and their old-man-alcoholic drinks dissappoint.


Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Silver Bells, It's Christmas time in the Suburbs

I received a Christmas Card with a half-naked man on it from Annie, and when you open it it sings: OH COME LET US ADOOORRRRRE HIMMM, over and over and stops singing right before what would be "christ the lord". 

And also.... this skeleton key bottle opener.

She must be encouraging me to shed my sobering ways.

No need, I had already had a raucous time the other night when I visited my Aunt. We drank a lot of wine by her real fireplace and wrapped all her children's presents.

Other cousin party last night (and redheaded sister).

God this post is so bad, I am bored just writing it.


In other news, my sister Margaret and I want to become famous like Justin Beiber. Here is the best we could do. 

Our 'Accoustic Firework'. I am the nanny from the Muppets. Headless. Ignore the crotch/double chin situation.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Bless the Lovers at Aroma Espresso Bar

Aroma is like Israel's Starbucks. And now it is here in North America. In Toronto and NYC.

There is an aroma next to my work on 72nd street. I had lunch there today after the family left for Vancouver because I knew if I walked all the way back to my apartment without eating I would eat my table.

I also rudely and dangerously counted my money (under) the table and found they gave me a hefty Chreestmas bonus.

But I ordered a Moroccan Soup, Middle Eastern Salad, and a coffee. They always give you a little chocolate that I never eat because it is milk chocolate and I am snobby.

They have long tables that you share with other people. Very close to me at the table these foreign lovers were repeatedly kissing each other and holding each others' faces across the table. EUGHHHhhhhhh FOREIGNERSSSSSS. And also: EEUUUGGHHHHhhhhhhh LOVERS.

I mean. I was trying to eat my soup. I slurped and slurped and they... well, they were very annoying. But I tried to make a point to bless them in my mind so I would not energetically hate happy people in love (that is also what my self help audio book tried to teach me). But I never actually did bless them for real in my mind. It was fake blessing which is the wrong kind.

I tried to take a picture of them to put here but that would have been obvious. Then IIII would have officially been the weird one. Not them.

W.C. Theory

Also. I have a bathroom theory. My theory is that the uniqueness/cleanness of a bathroom will reflect the uniqueness/cleanness of the establishment.

I like to do this in normal restaurants because it can tell me things about the place. If the place is nicely decorated but the bathroom is industrial- that is a bad sign. If the place is very health conscious and gourmet but the soap is industrial- BAD SIGN. Inconsistencies always draw upon where the restaurant is slacking or LYING to me.

It may be a flawed theory, but it is fun.

Sometimes I take pictures of bathrooms. Yes. I am completely normal.

But I have ALWAYS thought that Aroma's bathroom is especially AWESOME. It is a single bathroom with a nice LOCK. It is BIG. It has dark granite type tiles. It has a modern schmancy artsy flat sink. It has a good energy to it. I cannot explain! It is like a peeing haven. So, that is good for Aroma.

It had industrial type soap, but hey, its a chain. That's acceptable.

I hate hearing crazy people outside my window.

I can't wait to go to bed.

Wasted Day

You know those days, after you get 5 hours of sleep, where you have some time to try to regain that sleep by napping but you can't nap because you are so hungry instead and also drank too much coffee not long ago so you lie in bed worried that you will never ever not be tired again and realize that today is a wasted day that your could be exercising or shopping or, god forbid, creating something awesome like a screenplay or a vase in a pottery class that you don't take?

That's how I feel today. I woke up earlier than I have in months - before the family left for Vancouver. Not only did I arrive with dirty hair, the same shirt as yesterday and a red, eyemakeupless face, but, I very strongly feel the presence of a double chin that I didn't have two weeks ago.


I am supposed to babysit someone else tonight (biting boy), and so I will. Maybe I will wash my hair before I go, maybe I won't. That is life.

I'm also supposed to go out with my friend Alex tonight after, but I don't think I can. I don't think my red eyes and shaky hands will make it.

Maybe I'll do 5 minutes of yoga in my room before I collapse in an exasperated heap ontop of myself.

I don't even have anything important or difficult to do. I am not supporting myself and a baby and  juggling a full time job. I am so sick of complaining about sleep.

Some people live their whole life on 4 hours of sleep.

Martha Stewart does and she is an exceptionally productive entrepreneur/criminal. Bethenny Frankel does too.

I don't think that living on minimal sleep is a good thing, but if these women can fuel a highly productive life on no sleep - then I can manage one day like this.

I raise my kombucha to better days, regular sleep schedules, and eating/living like a pretentious French woman again.

God give me sleep tonight.
(So I can go shopping tomorrow...)

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Turn Into a Pumpkin

Wellllll I just poured pepper into my yogurt thinking it was cinnamon. That is what happens when I try to prepare my food in the dark.

The Point

Last night was so great. Mainly because I went out, met my friend, discussed life paths and men- and after two drinks of prosecco, I left and got home by twelve.

Yes, 12:00 midnight, the time that people my age go out on a Saturday in New York, I went home. I turned into a pumpkin at midnight and it was the best.

look at me running

Its so easy to get that third(+...) drink and then stay out till 2:00(+...) only to realize you ended up talking to a 50 year old bald guy for 30 minutes just to be nice and "not be a door-closer". No. NO.

My new rule is, if I am at a party or a bar, and the night is progressing as lamely as it usually does, when it turns midnight:  I get to turn into a pumpkin and GO HOME.

That is all I ever really want to do anyway. And it takes me forever to get home these days because my friends live down in the hip part of town and I live up where the old ladies live.

"Nothing good ever happens after midnight" may be a saying that parents use to keep their slutty 16-year-old home by 11:30, but it is probably true.

Unless it is a rare occasion- I won't stay. (AND this way I get to tell myself that I am Cinderella which clearly means that long-term everything will turn out swimmingly, and short-term I get to head back to the safety of my home and the comfort of my cheese.)

I have to remind myself that the main reason I go out anyway is to see my friends and talk to them in a human way- besides Facebook chat. And I guess if we can't do it in our own homes and must do it out at a bar just in case a Prince*** walks in with my freaking shoe that I left at a party last week- I will adjust and meet my friends earlier. We can still have lots of hangout time, no hangover, and no 50 year old texting me the next day.

(***I'm kidding about the Prince and the Shoes... I would just buy a NEW pair of shoes)


Wow, that goat cheese log just went fast! I just bought it this afternoon and opened it 35 minutes ago.

But the real tale tonight is one of adventure and self improvement:

I have a serious case of bitch-face when I am walking down the street. It's purpose is to discourage people from talking to me and/or overly aggressive construction workers or broken-english speaking men saying "damn, sweet assssss" or enticing me with other poetry.

I would recommend any lone female to use bitch face when walking down the street. It is like locking your car. It won't prevent all break-ins (comments), but will deter many.

Then, on the flip side- I am addicted to self-help/spiritual books. I also love the occasional self-help audio-book. One that I recently listened to said to "engage with people on a regular basis"- old ladies, babies, animals, girls, men. This is for the general purpose of having a more giving, open, approachable... like energy field or something, in order for you to not eventually die alone: Engage with everyone. Not just hot guys. (Which is too scary to do anyway, let's be honest).

I took the subway downtown to the West Village tonight to meet my friend who lives in Brooklyn to catch up and have drinks. In the subway I listened to my headphones and then realized I was not being engaging. So I decided to give the occasional half smile to people in order to not shut myself off- energetically, of course. But then these old guys on the subway were leering as I sat there smiling, so I immediately employed bitch-face again. They still leered. Car unlocked.

As I walked out of the subway at West 4th street, I saw a couple pouring over a map (safe!). This was my time! Let's be nice! I took it upon myself to take out my earphones (big step), walk over them, and say: "Do you need help?"

Blank stare.

They didn't speak English. And also gave me kind of "What is the matter with you? We didn't even ask you for help" expressions.

I backed away from them, gesturing wildly and saying: "Oh! Oh! You're fine... ehhhh... sorry."

Of course.

Hey, I tried.

Happpy Effing Saturday Night/Sunday Morning.

The many versions of bitch-face:

never looks at you

the lookaway


over it


are you kidding me


getting really pissed now

You may wonder why I am so fresh faced and dewey-eyed above. Just kidding. Bitch face doesn't put on makeup for a morning photoshoot because then she would be scared of your judgement. And Bitch Face is NOT scared of your judgement.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Don't Bite the Babysitter

So, I wrote recently about how babysitting is so awesome because all I have to do is sit around and eat muffins. And then last night happened.

I was actually physically beaten with a plastic baseball bat over and over and over maliciously, then spit on over and over and over and then bitten a few times till I cracked, called their mother to come back and started hysterically crying.

That is what I get for being such a little bitch: "oooh, look at my great life of sitting around eating peoples' food. I have the best-side job in the world, suckaaasszzzzzz".

That is what I get.
I guess.

Also, I had just watched the Modern Family episode where Lily is biting people.

Also #2, I was clearly obsessed with biting into these muffins. So the child bit into me. And that is karma in it's simplest form.

Though I am talking lightly of it now it was quite a dire situation last night. I cried for a long time when I got home- chewed peoples' ears off (get it!?) about whether I would go back or not. Emailed with the mom all night. First saying I was quitting - then saying I would go back. The mom cried all night last night too. We all cried about this biting, batting boy.

I decided to be saintly and come back to give the little vampire another shot. I know I am a good babysitter- and he is normally nice and apparently loves me (pshaw). So here I am, sitting on their computer with the boys in bed and my bite mark fading into a distant memory.

If I am ever bitten or hitten or spitten on again, I am actually quitting. But tonight was somehow completely opposite of last night.

Strangely enough- when I arrived again tonight and the little 4 year old handed me his apology drawing it said: Sorry (with a backwards S), was covered in hearts, and he drew a cake and a hamburger on it.

So... now that this blog I write has practically become an annoying Babysitting Blog, it is still not not a food blog. Because food is karmically following me everywhere I go. I bite it and I get bitten. What can we do except eat more muffins? Which is what I just did.

Peace out. Its Saturday Friday Night.
Don't bite the babysitter.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Paid to eat Muffins- kind of

It is starting to alarm me that I am paid to play and eat these familys' food and read Dr. Seuss books.

Yes, there is of course the mundane in baysitting. The very mundane.

banana raisin

Yet, today as I sat there with the 3-year-old eating freshly baked banana muffins by her mom- I wondered how it could be. (my writing influenced by the Grinch I read today? "He stood puzzling and puzzling, How could it be so?")

I arrived at my next babysitting job a little over an hour ago with the kids already asleep and was ushered into the kitchen and shown what dinner was for me in the fridge.

When I was alone, with at least 3 solid hours ahead of me to eat their food, use their computer and watch their tv, I noticed a big basket of freshly baked blueberry muffins on their counter baked by their other nanny, Phuntsok.


How can this be? I literally have found a (side) job, by chance, where a large chunk of time is spent rummaging through other people's kitchens and eating their expensive food. (then we get into the fact that none of these people have as high standards as me with my ingredients, so I judge them on that etc. etc. but that is a different story altogether)

However, as glorious as legitimately being paid to eat people's food can be, muffin eating is not my calling. If only this kitchen rummaging filled my soul, I'd be all set. Too bad it doesn't. Its just pretty good in the meanwhile... while I stall going on auditions and thinking up a brilliant web series.

PS. To be perfectly contradictory, I realize also that today has been an especially charmed day of Babysitting. Tomorrow may easily not be so (again with the Grinch syntax!!!???). I have recently been drawn on, kicked, tricked, splashed, yelled at and mocked.... the list continues....Today was just filled with muffins and no tantrums.

Why am I writing so formally?

3 year olds have no idea what you are talking about

I was trying to explain to the girl I babysit the other day that her apartment is the perfect size and in a perfect world I want the exact layout (minus their upstairs).

I tried to explain by saying:
"You know how Genies grant wishes? Well, if a Genie gave me three wishes, ONE of them would be to have an apartment exactly this size without the upstairs because I wouldn't need it."

She went on to point and say: "Yes and your sister could sleep in that room. Lets play a game where your sister is my mom"


Later on, while we were eating a snack of clementines and cheese sticks, she said to me:

Are you as old as my grandmother?
No. I'm not even as old as your parents.
Oh, well my dad is...... 14 years old.
No he's not, thats a teenager.
Ok, well my dad is 10.

3 year olds have no idea what you are talking about. She probably now thinks that I want to steal her apartment.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Harps and Twinkles

Thanks to a cell phone commercial, this whimsical song has been brought to my attention.

It is extremely beautiful.

I am loving songs that feature harps these days.

Here is another song that I have recently been addicted to. I listened to it for 2 weeks straight about 30 times a day:

Friday, December 3, 2010

Chocolate Chronicles

Dark Chocolate with Via Instant Coffee.
% cacao? No one knows.

There is absolutely no information on the package about this chocolate whatsoever and none online, which is bizarre.

Its a good bar of not-too-sweet chocolate, just how I like it. It is very intense with strong flavors, so I would only go for this one if I needed a real pick-me-up or Dementors were on the prowl (ie. "depression" for anyone who doesn't know, which....) It isn't main stream desserty.

Whatever. The point is I ate this chocolate. I liked it, and now I have to take a little 3 year old to a play date with her new boyfriend, Daniel.

She has had a lot of boyfriends already for a three year old

My Thanksgiving Break- Mono Style

Thanks to the fact that I have no real job with a salary, I am very flexible over holidays, which is just the way I like it. Thanksgiving I guess was still normal except that I left on Tuesday- but Christmas promises to be a magnificent extension of College Holiday Break. Let the unrealness continue!

My Thanksgiving Break at home was filled with:

  • a meltdown over having no cocktail party clothes
  • absurd preppy "men" at the reunion cocktail party fighting over who was more Southern
  • my little sister and I making bad harmonies while she played the guitar
  • me forgetting how to say Grace at Thanksgiving Dinner (oof)
  • my mother telling me I am drinking too much for just having mono
  • my mother and I driving to the running track and only staying for 20 minutes (strange on a few levels)
  • putting up Christmas decorations on Black Friday (frighteningly punctual)
  • thinking that my spleen had burst and was leaking into my abdominal cavity- which I am still wondering about except that I might be dead by now

Here are some pictures from when I wasn't melting down, "drinking too much", "running" or looking up "Burst Spleen Symptoms".

Sunset From Train

My brother and I had a nut-cracking party- notice the Cigar "Indian" in the Background

He found a walnut that looked like a brain

cousins eating cheetos- super nonquick

black friday decor

Plumber Santa

Painter Santa

It is still the season to be jolly and joyous. Fa lala!