saturday in the park

on tap today: the brooklyn botanical gardens' annual cherry blossom festival.

there was a karate demonstration where a guy flew over four people and broke a board in half with his foot.

tons of superfans dressed head to toe in homemade anime outfits with full body makeup.

and a parasol parade.

but the cherry blossoms stole the show.

din da da dum do do

we were grown ups again yesterday and went back to moma with our fancy membership.

georges ribemont dessaignes, silence, 1915

apparently georges was not at all the silent type. according to moma's blurb, parisians at dada gatherings could look forward to him threatening to "rip out your spoiled teeth, your pummeled ears, your tongue full of sores."  webster's defines dadaism as "a movement in art and literature based on deliberate irrationality and negation of traditional artistic values."  and very anti-bourgeois. 

okay.  i thought it was a cool painting about a trumpet.  i like trumpets.

marcel duchamp, network of stoppages, 1914

the moma blurb had nothing to say about my man marcel, but this is a very cool site if you like what you see.  in fact please do go see.  he's awesome.  apparently this was dada too.  i thought this painting was gorgeous, and i'm surprised that this was the deliberate opposite of conventional beauty then.

they had an interactive microsoft paint program in the education center. we are appleheads in kalkatroona, but was was very fucking cool.  we took The Child there and she loved it. 

i try not to curse around The Child.

ruggy tubble, the storm before the calm, 2011

(subtitled: i love my wife very much)

it is subtitled thusly because ruggy has been quite dada today and is out buying me a bottle of wine to prove the subtitle.

hold the phone

beangirl finally sewed something adult sized.

oh my!

no, you don't say!

i still have better shoes.

skirt: marie from burdastyle

tank: zara

earrings: momma-in-law's

belt: daffy's

shoes: steve madden

crappy photos: tribute to beangirl. godsakes woman, go read patty's post on taking a good photo. NOW.

a flock of birds

(post script as pre-script: HOLY COW you guys liked my BSG dress!  thanks thankya thank you everyone!  i wish blogger had that little reply button so i could get a response to each of you, reading your comments made me SO happy.  haaalloooooo blogger technicians, blogger number three billion and one dials the request line for a reply button.  i guess i have to rethink its wearability... it's going in the front of the closet now.)

This weekend we had the pleasure of seeing our favorite jazz trio blow the roof off at Blue Note. We waited on line, in the rain, at the last minute, and squeezed ourselves into a tiny table with three new friends. The Bad Plus has the best type of fans. Everyone is so eager to hear them, so tipsy at the thought of the sounds about to happen, all smiles and hello strangers, you are our new fabulous best friends simply because you have so wisely chosen to spend your evening here! Come and sit at our tiny table with our blessings. Sadly our friends were allergic to the carpet and had to vacate the premises, what great good luck for you! Order your wine! 

Joshua Redman performed with them, and it is here that I must confess my general disdain surrounding the saxophone.  I don't know what it is about it, but it walks a very fine line with me.  A "CD 101.9" line. A cool  line. 

(It is a hot summer day.  Marcy marches down the street hand in hand with Rob. They pass a saxophonist playing for coins. Marcy has been studying up on jazz lately, and finding that she adores it, is now an instant expert on the subject.)

Marcy: I HATE saxophones.

Rob:  Really?

Marcy:  YES.  They're all smooth jazz and I hate them.

(arriving home, Rob puts ye olde ipod on shuffle, genre of jazz.)

Marcy: I LOVE this song.  I love ALL his stuff.  who is this again?

Rob:  Charlie Parker.

Rob enjoys immediately and stealthily proving me wrong when I make blanket declarations as such. I once announced to a waitress at a wine bar that I did not like malbec, and I would have a cabernet. Rob ordered a cab and a malbec, and surreptitiously put the malbec in front of me. Of course I said it was the best cab I'd ever had.

Redman's saxophone screamed along with The Bad Plus and I grinned like a freak. Their notes raced around the club, spinning and breaking and diving and plunging. My sis-in-law put it perfectly: they played like a flock of birds, completely changing directions with one mind.  

But I did miss just the trio, especially on Reid Anderson's "People Like You".  I wanted to put that tune up here but I would kind of die if I embedded a youtube video and somehow the band saw it and was all great thanks for the love and the pirated frigging video.  So here's a clip of them from the awesome bbc show "Later with Jools Holland", it's been up for four years so I figure it has the stamp of approval...

sew weekly sunday: resurrection dress

i might be a cylon.

when ruggy heard the sew weekly theme for this week was all about kick ass women from the small screen, he said i should be wonder woman.  really? i said surprised.  yeah,  he said wide eyed, because you are a Wonder Woman to me.

sorry peeps, he's mine.

we're battlestar galactica freaks.  watched the whole series twice through already and will probably do it again.  it is CHOCK FULL of strong women. so we pondered starbuck... she's the badass blonde (oh yeah, and he's a she in the remake).  but landed on the left with boomer.  also known as sharon valeri. also known as cylon, model number eight.  lieutenant, pilot, wife, brat, wearer of awesome outfits.

i wanted something that had a military feel to it, but, like boomer, had split personalities. 

this ain't your daddy's BSG. the cylons have evolved since the seventies. now they look just like us, right down to the blood in their weird machine veins. 

they resurrect themselves every time they bite it, downloading into a new body.  oh yeah, and they get a REALLY COOL NEW OUTFIT every time.  if i was a cylon, i might bite it just to see what outfit i got. 

but the real reason for resurrection is, sadly, not fashion.  no, no, the cylon resurrects to learn from its mistakes... hopefully. (some of them don't, you know.)

unfortunately, i think i might be one of the ones that don't. i'm really too stubborn to admit i'm ever wrong.

but i'm working on it.  should only take several thousand more downloads to get it right.

fabric: stretch jersey, form the wonkiest cut yard i've ever had. luckily i only got one, at $5 per.

pattern: the laura dress from burdastyle, free for me because i am an online pack rat of the first order, and like a good cylon downloaded every weekly pattern before they started put price tags on. it had to happen.  (now it's $4, and totally worth it.)

year: 2009

notions: zipper, $2

time to complete: 8 hours. fitting, considering my inspiration.

first worn: this weekend

wear again: possibly in my next download. i'm not so much feeling it this time around. maybe next time i'll get more boobs and less hips that are poorly accentuated by diagonal pockets.

total cost: $7

(speaking of resurrection, i get the irony.  BSG actually dives heavily into religion and belief systems, cylons have "one true god" and the humans have many deities, like greek mythology.  plus they fight this neverending battle to annihilate each other.  it is highly awesome stuff, you should check it out of you haven't already.)

grand central conflagration: seriously, what is it about lines?

(this is not grand central. but it is certainly majestic.)

ruggy and i were in grand central station, on our way to a lovely evening. of course we were running late.  i made ruggy promise to slow down, as it was totally our friend's fault that we were late, and friend could pick us up on the next train or i could break my ankle running on the decrepit subway stairs.

this always gets ruggy.  noooooOOOOOoooooo, he says, don'tsaythati'llslowdown.

we had nine minutes to make the train, but fortune smiled, and the two ticket machines had incredibly short queues.  so i leave ruggy second in line, and traipse off to find a bottle of water that's not dasani (fruitless search; pepsi/coke have taken over the world in all beverage related forms).  walking back empty handed, i see that ruggy's line has grown stagnant, while several peeps in line-to-the-right have come and gone.  the same confused woman is poking the "back" button on the touch screen like it's whack-a-mole.  the clock ticking, ruggy tries to stay calm as a man beseeches him in spanglish.  we can't tell if he wants us to buy him a ticket for a dollar, or maybe he needs a dollar to have enough to buy a ticket?  ruggy's southern sensibilities wreak havoc on his new york training in situations like these.  the man walks sadly away, and ruggy looks at me like he's just inadvertently drowned the guy's kitten.  i have a dollar, i say, i'll go find him.

two more peeps in line-to-the-right happily get their tickets and move on.  confused lady desperately punches at the screen in front of her.  ruggy breathes deeply.

sad man is a very quick bunny.  he's all the way past the central clock by the time i get twenty paces out.  or maybe it's because i've decided come hell or high water, i'm TAKING IT SLOW, and thusly, as there's no hope of catching him, i stop, turn around, and glance at ruggy's progress.  this is what i witness:

ruggy:  HOly SHITballs!!!

(ruggy turns sharply sideways, a la wile e coyote, and runs full tilt away from the ticket line.)

i know where he's going.  he's headed to the ticket booths on the other side of the stairs.  and i know why he did it.  confused woman had brought ruggy to the very short end of his "i'm taking it slow" rope.  like me, ruggy doesn't do well in lines.  but direct confrontation with strangers is not so much in his genetic makeup.  instead, his syncopated decree (think chris farley) only threw his fellow travelers into a state of complete bewilderment.  i gazed from a distance, amused, as he bolted like a triathlete at the starting gun.  confused lady blinked in wonder at the ruggy-sized hole in the line behind her.  a family of tourists stared at said hole and sniffed the air for insanity as tourist dad put a protective arm around son and daughter.

i strolled to the ticket booths around the corner, quietly chuckling, and watched in gleeful anticipation as a woman slammed obnoxiously into ruggy while squeezing between him and her friend.  i don't know why she chose that spot; there was ample room on the other side.  ruggy's spine went bolt straight and his shoulders stiffened as he held the last ounce of his cool in.  luckily she threw a "sorry" over her shoulder and that was enough.  just barely.  by oona standards, i would've went OFF.

tickets in hand, he turned fuming away from the machine.  i couldn't help but break into a grin.  he caught my eye and shook his head in laughter.  as much as he is an absolute perfect gentleman and chides me for my public outbursts, ruggy loses his shit too.

(only when i lose mine, people know what it's about.  i don't give them much choice.)  

flick it good

i made a little hamsa hand out of a long overlocked strip of green jersey to adorn the wine we brought to my friend's seder last night.

my favorite part of the service (and there were many; i think passover can be really beautiful) was the ten plagues. you dip your pinky in wine and flick it off onto your plate to remember & rid the world of said plague. this was the only part of the evening where you were required to sit up straight, as you were remembering the strife and all. the rest of the night, you were supposed to recline and relax during the service and meal. 

we each picked something extra to flick off. my plate, and the surrounding vicinity, was quite red. i was very passionate in my flicking, and said each word with much vehemence and gnashing of teeth. 

can i just say, i can really get behind a religion that requires you to sit back, relax, and drink three full glasses of wine before you even begin the meal?

power steering

i miss my tank.

when we landed in LA for those very strange few years, a car was an absolute must. i decided i wanted a used car for under $1000, and had no doubt that i could make this happen. i do get what i want.

i trolled craigslist, that treasure trove of The Deal, and came up with nothing. except, that is, cars from the 90s with too much mileage and not near enough looks. we took our best find to a mechanic to get it checked out, and when he pronounced it a clunker i could've cried with joy. the sweet girl trying to sell it did cry, but that was okay with me; she was checking ruggy out. and her boobs were WAY bigger than mine.

the mechanic promised to call us if anything came into the shop. he did, in fact, have an old car in the back, but he didn't think the "lady" would like it. that's because this gentleman had spent too many years in LA fixing cars for status obsessed women. i was not that woman. i piped up and asked to see the car immediately. okayaaaaaay, he said, butchu not gonna liiiiike it. 

the second we turned the corner and saw tank sitting there, ruggy knew we weren't going home without him. it was instant love. he had no AC. no stereo. no power steering. no power ANYTHING. but he would be mine.

my mechanic angel said he would tune him up, and i should come back with whatever i wanted to pay. i mean, whatever. just said to decide on a number. i obsessed for over a week. our thousand dollar limit had fallen considerably, as work was, shall we say, slow to start in lalaland. after much internet searching and dad interrogating of the worth of a 1981 honda civic wagon (the phrase "he should pay YOU to take it" came up on several used car forums), i decided.

i walked into the gas station with $200 but was too embarrassed to name my price. angel promised he would take whatever it was, because he could tell i was a good person. this does not happen in LA. i almost cried again as he smiled, put my pittance in his pocket, and gave me the keys. 

come on, how could you not love a man with this much junk in the trunk? we were kindred spirits.

i learned about coolant, and washed him once a week, and developed some kick ass upper arms from the sheer force it took to make a right turn. tank held my martini shaker of coffee with nary a spill, carried me safely across lanes of freeway traffic, and talked to me often, always in the gruff but kind voice of robert loggia.

i would drive up to job interviews, hair windblown and tiny battery operated radio shack speakers tinning out some jazz, and get the biggest, toothiest grins you've ever seen. tank just made peeps happy.

this is a rare shot of me in the backseat. it was not often i gave the keys over to ruggy-- he had his motorcycle. and for some reason, tank seemed to overheat on him.

i mean, all you had to do to avoid that was blast the heat and put him in neutral. no biggie.

but every time tank had a problem (which he did, oh yes) i took him back to my mechanic angel and he fixed him right up. 

then one day my angel retired, and i was suddenly back in NY, and without me, tank overheated more and more until finally he died of blown head gaskets. as ruggy puts it, his heart stopped ticking. when we finally packed up our LA digs, i watched them hook tank up to a flatbed and drive him away to a charity.

and then i DID cry.

have you ever fallen in love with a machine? did he sound like robert loggia, too?

sew weekly sunday: my mom is prettier than your mom

well, hello again. come on in. have a tall glass of iced tea. i'll make it a long island if you want. 

speaking of coma inducing drinks named after american isles, a very special hello to my peeps in the US of A! hey folks! how's it goin'? relaxing sunday? ADMIT IT! you are spending every last second of this weekend frantically finishing your taxes! i cannot imagine what you are going through, as i just skipped over to the local PO saturday morning and mailed our taxes off, without incident. i mean, there was a mildly annoying dude in line on his phone, blathering about what the contingency plan would be were it to rain on the day in cellular question. dude, just live. if it rains, you'll get wet. your taxes are done.

for the childhood challenge over at le sew weekly, i pored over tiny oona photos carefully scanned and copied by my dad, presented in an album by the parental balloonas as a birthday prize last year. i pretty much demanded this gift, so i wasn't surprised, but i WAS surprised they did it. balloonas don't take well to demands.

are you surprised i wanted pictures of myself for my birthday? no? GOOD. my self-involved air of brattiness is coming along nicely. allow me to add to said air.  i'm sorry, but how pretty is my mom?

i did not find inspiration in the copious unbearably cute polaroids of myself. no, i was most inspired by this shot of my mom. as a wee kalkatroonan, i remember staring at it in awe. it looked like the golden sunlight was coming right out of her gorgeous smile. i wanted to be her. she was so stylish and graceful and pretty sitting up there. and still very much is. pretty, that is. she's come down from the tree.

armed with my maternal inspiration, i decided it was time to successfully tackle my first pair of wear-outdoors pants. i've tried before, but have always emerged beaten. badly. 

although mom's in white & khaki here, she's always in bold color & print. so i decided to play with the sepia tones in the photo, but use a wild print in homage.

i had all intentions of dragging ruggy to the park today and finding a tree, but after three days of soaking the couch in various liquids, we decided to lounge around the house instead. so you get a window and the fancy little sepia button on my rinky dink canon.

mom might be glowing because dad was the one behind the camera. here's what happens to me when ruggy pulls the trigger:

guess what i did. no, seriously, guess what i did, because i sure as hell couldn't repeat it if i tried. i made amy butler's wide leg lounge pants as a jumping off point, because where better to start for wear-outdoors pants than wear-indoors pajama pants pattern? elementary.

added length to pattern waist and hem, played with the side seams, took the center back in, added back darts, a side invisible zip, cut some of the waist off, made up a buttoned waist band closure-- oh wait, i'm sorry, did i say button closure? i meant FULLY FRIGGING FUNCTIONAL BUTTON CLOSURE.

that's right, folks. and i didn't go through the unmitigated torture of a hand bound buttonhole. or even try to futz with the crippled buttonhole function on my kenmore. nope, i remembered a little trick i saw in a vintage simplicity pattern involving an opening for a wrap skirt, and i applied it here.

i rock.

oh yeah, and my dad could totally beat your dad's ass.

fabric: linen, three yards, $15 total

patterns: amy butler's lounge pants, vintage simplicity 7910 (skirt band instructions only) and a whole lotta my head.

year: 70s to present

notions: invisible zip $1, cotton thread (stash), plastic buttons (stash)

time to complete: about twelve hours altogether. what with Cat One and Cat Two, this one was a doozy.

first worn: in the future, to see our favorite jazz trio next week!

wear again: hells yeah.

total cost: $16

cat astrophe

*not either of our two costly cats.

new sofa: $700.

seven gallons of nature's miracle: $200.

trip to the vet: $700.

trying on the high waisted linen pants you fukakte'd out of a pajama pattern and having them fit perfectly:

NOT AS PRICELESS AS IT SHOULD BE CONSIDERING THAT'S $1600.

but still, nice.

PIFFFFFF(T).

i get it. everybody's too busy to play along on pay it forward. but guess what you get if you do? BOOTY!

check it! i got a purse, fancy chocolate, an embroidered mirror, the cutest tin ever, and a lovely handwritten note from the equally lovely nette!

come on. can you stand it? HOW ADORABLE IS THIS FREAKING TAG??? don't hate, non-players. 

i want the children in this little note to skip on over and do my chores for me. they look like they'd be happy to oblige.

okay. here's the deal. i only have TWO peeps to send a booty box to. i need THREE MORE to pay my karmic debt. you want in? you have to work for it. put a post up on your blog promising to send out five handmade goodies to five peeps. it could be a doily for a dollhouse, no need to get a second mortgage. if you're terrified by the number, i guess you could slack and make it three peeps, i've seen it done. (slacker.) 

who knows what you'll get, o fearless crafter, should you choose to partake. i have ever changing moods, and an endless supply of white wine.

the first three peeps to comment on this post that they're in get the remaining three boxes. now, don't get all confused if there are comments already, the original post had eleven comments and one taker (and a very funny story, if i do say so myself. and i do.)

sewing for children: what, exactly, is the point again?

I woke up Saturday morning with a strong desire to cut and serge this vintage Simplicity pattern. Having had great success with my last foray into jersey, I was sure I could be done within an hour. And, as we were seeing friends this weekend, of course I needed something new to wear. Really, I had NOTHING. 

Many of our friends happen to be blessed with children of various ages, one of which would be present. It has been called into question that I do not babysit them. It's true. I don't. I'm afraid of killing the children (accidentally, of course). Ruggy babysits often. But that's okay, because I sew, and I make handmade things for the children! Or at least I thought I would, until I realized it would A) cut into my sewing time and B) become useless within a week's worth of growing spurt. But, I am also realizing now that C) it's sew, or sit.

Ruggy makes us caffeine, the best espresso in town to be exact, as we ponder our Saturday morning goals.

oona: Maybe I can whip up a little apron for The Child. 

ruggy: Oh, babe you should, that'd be nice.

oona: Yeah, I can just make a little half apron from my Sew Weekly challenge, I already have the pattern and it's super easy.

ruggy: No, you should make a top half for it too, and a pocket would be great. I mean wouldn't her parents love it if she wore it at the dinner table and it was really cute and covered up her clothing so she wouldn't get messy but she'd still look pretty and hey make it ADJUSTABLE so she can grow into it you know just make the neck part longer and as she gets bigger you can let the waist out and add fabric to the bottom, YOU KNOW?

(oona blinks at ruggy. He has had too much espresso.)

So yeah, I didn't make my dress. I stomped away from the table to make a HALF apron, goddammit, but of course, ruggy's idea was stuck in my brain, and every step of the way I added another unbearably cute and totally time consuming detail. I mean, a child's apron must have pleats, bien sur. And cute trim. This is half apron stage, which took, appropriately, half an hour. Then the madness began.

I'd been saving this trim for 5 years now, I found it for a dollar a yard when I met Russell Crowe in lalaland's garment district. It's a good thing I saved it to bestow on a child whose age meant she could give a rat's ass about such details. Oh yeah, and every time I didn't get the topstitching perfectly straight, I had to rip it out. Because, you know, she would definitely notice.

Oh, wouldja look at that. A top half. And an adjustable strap. With buttons. And a nice little pleated pocket. AND ALL OF MY TRIM. I was left with like two inches when all was said and done. Yeah, you bet your ass I saved it. Maybe I'll put a ridiculously tiny bow on something adult sized.

Several hours later, I wrapped it up in some red tissue paper and presented it to The Child. 

She was quite enamored of the tissue paper.

oona: Here, Child, an apron for you! 

parents: Oh, look what auntie oona made for you!

(The Child grabs the tissue paper, holding it across her shoulders as if it were a garment.) 

child: Red.

I mean, seriously.

She did love the pocket, though.

(PS: Parents, I ADORE The Child.)

sew weekly sunday: how nice of you to drop by

oh, hello darling, are the ladies from sew weekly here yet?

i was just having a little cocktail and light reading after sewing up this frock. it's tiring work, you know.

what's that, dear? you need help with the hors d'oeuvres? you must be mistaken, i don't cook.

this? no lamb, this isn't an apron. it's an accessory.

i can see where you might be confused.

have a peek at the back. see? no apron strings. vintage brooch. brooch versus bow. accessory. not to be sullied by cooking. that's quite alright, love. i'll remove it to avoid any further faux pas. i'm sorry, i didn't quite catch that sweetheart, what did you say?

i'm supposed to wear BLACK?

black is for funerals. and it doesn't go with the exposed zipper. i decline. but i will have another cocktail.

we''ll just have to mix those martinis strong, darling. they won't notice a thing.

fabric: leopard and gold silky-ish stuff, both gifted

patterns: burda 2/2011/101, $5.40, and petal vintage apron, free! hmm, free... as, compared to the many fab free BSwebsite patterns, this particular "pattern" should have been. 

year: 2011 & 1959

notions: exposed zipper, $2, and a box of black dye, unused. i don't own a single black dress. i thought, well, after this challenge, at least i'll have one. maybe i can wear it to a conservative dinner. or a funeral. then decided i didn't want to be going to any funerals any time soon.

time to complete: 5 hours

first worn: a hot minute ago.

wear again?: possibly... but the apron is destined for the seam ripper. more drinking. less cooking.

total cost: $7.40

IAAT is the battle cry

i was pretty friggin excited to read that beangirl had created a blog award. i made myself labor through her boring answers to her own questions instead of skipping right to the end to see if i'd won. true to form, she made me sweat and put me last.

this award is totally self serving. see for yourself, she readily admits it:

"These things have to start somewhere, right?  Why not me?  And I mean, I figure I can operate under the time-honored tradition of believing that what is highly annoying in others is totally fabulous in oneself.  Ergo, another meme with which to blatantly promote oneself whilst simultaneously irritating the crap out of everyone else.  Awesomeness."

mucho awesomeness. beangirl, i heartily accept. ask away. be warned that as promised, my answers are gonna kick your answers' ass.

1. what size shoe do you wear? if you wear a size 7, can i borrow your shoes?

i wear an 8. that's right, i'm barely five foot three, and i wear an 8. WIDE. here's an example of a pair that your tiny weird feet will never borrow from my ample metatarsals. go scrounge in someone else's closet.

2. 30's or 60's? 

hippie all the way. 30s would probably be a difficult decade for me, considering the penchant for chapeaus. it's hard to get this much hair under a hat. oh yeah, and the segregation. that could prove tricky.

wow. just did a little research on interracial marriage and miscegenation laws. a washington, dc judge sent a couple to prison in 1959, stating in his verdict: "Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, Malay, and red, and he placed them on separate continents. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix". see for yourself. it was overturned mid-60s. according to wikipedia, that font of reliable information, miscegenation laws stayed on the books in some states till 2000, good old alabama being the last to go by a statewide vote of only 60% thumbs down on the law. i knew those laws hung their sickly, decrepit heads around for awhile, but not for that long.

you definitely can't borrow these. please, you would break your neck.

3. have you ever kissed someone you shouldn't have? 

no. i know some people answered yes, but i'm not a slut. however, my senior year in high school, i caught my boyfriend kissing someone HE shouldn't have. at a drama club party. in my bedroom, where we were keeping the coats. they tried to hide in the closet. so actually, yeah, i never should have kissed that jackass in the first place.

you could borrow these vintage beauties, they're a little small. in fact they'd rock with that tunic you keep mentioning. but you're never going to finish that, so no boots for you.

4. have you ever been poisoned? was it by the girlfriend of the person you kissed? that is awesomely "knot's landing." 

YES. just about a year ago, i was at a party with my coworkers. we had the upstairs bar to ourselves, but the restaurant below was quite shady. like one of those stephen king lowmen areas that just feel funny. upstairs was happy, lots of dancing going on, and people leaving drinks on tables. i had one mojito, and suddenly when it was time to leave i couldn't walk straight. i had the good sense to attach myself to five of my extremely drunk male coworkers, who walked me home on their way to the next bar. i blacked out on the bathroom floor and when i opened the door it was 2 in the afternoon. ruggy was out of town, and when i told him i couldn't believe one drink did that to me, (i've never had so much as a bad hangover, as i've said before, kalkatroonans do hold their liquor), he told me he was pretty certain someone put something in my drink. then made me promise to never go to a party without him again. i freaked the hell out. i was ready to pack it up and move to ohio the next day, but i hear this is not specific to the city of new york. 

more of an NBC public service announcement than knot's landing. peeps! never leave your drink unattended, and always order something clear. (but above all, always order something. chardonnay works nicely.)

5. who's on your "celebrity free pass" list (top 5)? 

are you ready for me to rock your world? tommy lee jones. ed harris. dave matthews. ray lamontagne. peter frigging gabriel. YOU KNOW I'M RIGHT.

stop drooling.

alrighty, here are my I Am What I Am And What I Am Is All That Picks. sassy, outspoken peeps who i enjoy the hell out of. i could've easily made this list a lot longer. i truly despise the awarding part, so thanks, beangirl! this was awesome!

emilykate: emily kate, beth: modern jax, reana louise: curves pattens and pins, katja: of dreams and seams, laurwyn: quirky pretty cute, lisette: what would nancy drew wear, and meg, of meg the grand, who actually awarded me a stylish blogger award, because as i have stated before i am so very awesome. and bratty. bratty enough to take the award, but not so awesome that i can think of seven more facts.

(but i can think of more blogs. want more sassiness? debi. jorth. don. tanit-isis. patty. oh go have a look at my links list, godsakes.)