(no title can sum this up)

The story has broken and the rumors are true.

Our residence on this- the inferior but always fascinating and undeniably life-changing coast- is coming to an end.
...
Eric and I are moving to San Francisco.

Pause for simultaneous sobbing, cheering, wailing, sniffling, clapping, and sighing. All coming from me.

This was a pretty hard decision for the old hubs and I. We (especially me) are still very much in love with New York. It is an incredible city with a personality all of its own (I mean, really, I seriously doubt that I will even have a muffin stolen straight out of my lap ever again) and I am certain that nowhere else I will reside will live up to the mystique that Manhattan has offered for the past four years. Even on the worst of days, fighting my way through mobs of tourists or fruitlessly attempting to shield myself from the ice pellets affectionately known as the "wintry mix", I have come to embrace this city for all that it is.

But life has a way of interrupting your stride just when it gets a little too cushy- so off to the better coast we go. And, just so we're clear, it's only better because the people are slightly less high-strung and it's much closer to Colorado, aka the best place in the world.

Since my feelings about this whole situation are still basically unidentified (I'll be sure to let you know when I find them) and I'm not quite ready to wax poetically about my New York experience (not that this blog hasn't been pure poetry all along), for now, I'll stick to the short story of the big move:

Eric the Genius got a new, awesome job at Dolby. Though he no longer will get to mingle with movie stars or whisk me away to Bermuda "on business", he does have business cards printed in Japanese and gets every other Friday off, so really it's not a bad trade.

I'll continue to work for the League at least until June out of our new "West Coast Office." The best part of this deal is not that I get to work in my pajamas. No, I'm just excited to finally get an assistant of my own.



And, that assistant's name is Tucky Lou. (Look how good at it she's going to be!)

Speaking of Miss Tucky Lou, she has a big 6 weeks ahead of her. Our sweet and sour little Bronx kitten is going to get to go on a plane, visit Nancy's house, spend a week and a half hanging out (ALONE) with Nancy's furball/cat, Hubble, and then settle into brand new digs in San Francisco. Let's just hope Tucky hasn't come completely unhinged by 2011.

So that's the plan- we leave New York on December 19, and you better believe we're starting in on our New York Bucket List. That, of course, deserves a post of it's own, but this list consists mainly of restaurants I need to visit. Clearly, I have a one-track mind.

Get ready San Francisco! We're coming for you and we won't settle until we've found the best brunch and/or $3 margarita you have to offer!

PS- While I was writing this someone on TV said "Who doesn't love fried dough and sugar?" I so emphatically agree with that statement that I almost made it the title of this post. I mean, that's a true statement if I ever heard one and nothing else seemed to adequately sum up my feelings. Thank you, fried dough. You always have been a loyal friend.

Lowest Common Denominator

DISCLAIMER: The following post may or may not contain a rant. Despite being repeatedly instructed by my yoga teachers to remain unharmed in the face of life's trials and tribulations, I find that humans continuously make me HARMED. You have been warned.

It's been a while since I have blatantly voiced my less than positive opinion about the intelligence of my fellow citizens, which is probably good because holier-than-thou doesn't look good on anyone. Even me. But, lately I've been in a particularly judge-y mood. This could be for any number of reasons including, but not limited to, the increasing prevalence of absurd furry boots, the (count 'em!) TWO cell phones that went off last week while I was seeing Next To Normal, our new neighbors that insist on playing Rock Band every single night, and my new-found infatuation with Chelsea Handler. (I know, I KNOW. So obvious, so cliche, so low-brow. But, you guys, this girl has the EXACT same opinions about human behavior as me. Namely, that most everyone out there is short a few tools in their shed, if you know what I mean.)

So, yesterday I had a truly lovely New York day- a workout, a latte, a long walk rambling The Ramble in Central Park, listening to an amazing band in said park, a cocktail or three...and a movie. A nice 9:30 am, $6 movie (and I'm sure it's obvious that this is the only time I go to movies, given my predisposition toward falling asleep early in the evening, not spending more than $10 on anything other than food and booze, and avoiding crowds at all costs.)

I went to see Morning Glory (the new Rachel McAdams movie) and, I'm not ashamed to say, it was not terrible. It was actually NOT stupid and even a little smart at times. Overall, a win.

Except other people were in the theater with me. And they, overall, were NOT a win.

Being a 9:30 am showing, there were approximately 14 people in the theater- me, 4 old people, and 8 (yes, that's right- EIGHT) twenty-something girls out for a pre-brunch giggle-fest, who just so happened to pick the same row as me. So these girls, apparently, thought this movie was HILARIOUS. Were they laughing at the witty writing that sometimes made a surprise appearance or even at Rachel McAdams strangely sad but completely endearing and relatable awkwardness? No, no- these ladies (all eight of them) reserved their howling and hand-clapping and knee-slapping for the Asian weatherman who may as well have predicted it would lain on the palade later that day in Ros Angeres. For example.

Oh, hello, OBVIOUS!

Don't get me wrong- it's not that I don't love making fun of stereotypes. This can be comedy gold. Morning Glory, while sufficiently enjoyable, is no where near comedy gold, except, it seems, to my eight Saturday morning movie sisters.

And then, don't even get me started on the trio that waltzed in halfway through the movie and basically set up a four-course picnic- I was just waiting for the champagne to come out (only if they shared!).

To top it off, someone's cell phone not only rang, but the person ANSWERED it and had a whole conversation!

What is WRONG with people??

Despite there being just over a dozen people enjoying this film with me yesterday morning, I was once again shown that, without a doubt, we are only as good as our weakest link. And so, it is with utmost urgency that I'm BEGGING you, my friends and family, my intelligent and savvy and hilarious companions in this odd and distracted world-- Don't. Get. Stupid.

We are the only hope for the future.

It's the most wonderful time of the year...

I'm not even referring to the smell of cinnamon and spice in the crisp fall air, the breathtaking, vibrant colors of Central Park, or, my favorite of all days in the fall, the MARATHON tomorrow (I get really excited and inspired every year to just run and run and run. And that lasts for all of one or two days, but it sure is fun while it lasts!)


No, all that amazing fall stuff is completely BORING compared to what I did this week.

I saw the gayest, I mean greatest, show on earth: The Radio City Christmas Spectacular, starring (who else) Paul Staroba.

(cue the chorus of angels.

And a kick line.)

I confess that, until Thursday, I had never so much set foot inside the famed Radio City Music Hall, let alone enjoyed a Rockettes' kick line, live and in person. So, when Superstar Paul invited me to the dress rehearsal I obviously had to go. Now, I don't know what Radio City looks like normally, but I am here to tell you that today (and everyday until New Years), it appears that Christmas has thrown up all over it. Really. There is glitter everywhere, plus wreathes and twinkly lights and candles and bangles and bows and trees and ornaments and gingerbread houses EVERYWHERE. And that's just the lobby!

Inside is where the magic really happens. As would be expected from the gayest, I mean greatest, show on earth starring 36 dancing girls that all look freakishly the same and do everything in unison, this Spectacle had EVERYTHING. Those robots/Rockettes are just the beginning.

Here is my Radio City Top Ten List:

10. A 3D SLEIGHRIDE through New York. No one can tell me that is not awesome. But, I warn you, there is a goose that flies straight at your face during that movie, and that's some scary stuff. I'm just sayin'...

9. Cannons that shoot multi-colored streamers into the audience (which the audience obviously has to spend several minutes collecting so everyone can take home their souvenir piece of the Spectacle.)

8. One hundred billion dancing Santa Clauses. I'm sure that needs no further explanation.

7. Little kids flying through the air and then letting their holiday spirit rip on a Broadway pop showstopper about Santa.

6. CAMELS. And DONKEYS. And SHEEP.

5. Giant teddy bears, of all shapes, sizes, and nationalities, dancing The Nutcracker (I'm serious! There were Chinese bears, Russian bears, and Ballerina bears, to name just a few.)

4. Ice skaters. On real ice. (I know. I KNOW!)

3. Real live elves (warning: do not go to this particular gay show if you happen to be afraid of little people. There are plenty of other gay shows available, even if they don't quite have the trimmings of this particular Spectacle)

2. The cream of the crop of Chorus Boys. I have never, in all my years of show choir and dancing and singing and musical theater, seen boys so excited to be on a stage. And, I daresay, I never will again. I actually thought one of them might burst at the end, he was smiling THAT big.

1. And, of course, Superstar Paul Staroba rising out of the orchestra pit, tinkling the ivories, wearing a bright red jacket. Unfortunately, he wasn't wearing a Santa suit, as I had hoped, or even sequins, which would have been just as good, but this was still mighty exciting for me. And everyone else, I bet.

So there you have it- Christmas time is here, with all it's happiness and cheer. Even though I consider myself incredibly lucky to have had this experience, Paul is the truly lucky one here. HE gets to be part of this gay Spectacle at least 100 more times before Christmas is even really here!

Happy Day After Halloween!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

OMG. I cannot stop laughing at how hilarious we are!

And check out Paul's cankles:

Halloween is really all about the details, you know what I'm saying?





So, ANYWAYS, in addition to packing on a few extra pounds around our ankles (and elsewhere) for Halloween, we also carved a pumpkin with a SMEARED FACE!



Turns out we are GENIUSES at Halloween!