W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> Moi, Toi, et VoI: June 2006

Friday, June 30, 2006


Why not get on the bandwagon too?

Ten years ago
...Just graduated from college. Living in Dupont Circle in DC whoring myself as a paralegal at Mayer, Brown & Hell, literally counting the days on a calendar with big red Xs until I could quit. On the way to moving to Boston with Mr. X....

Five years ago...Watched 9/11 unfold on my fucking roof. I was at FCI, about four blocks from WTC. They didn't want us to leave the building at first, but then we wised up and walked home. We lived about a mile away. Military on the closed-off streets (these kids with their semi autos looked more scared than we did!). People streaming past our apartment covered in white dust. Very quiet and eerily calm. Giuliani was estimating 10,000 dead. The smell of electrical fire in the apartment for four months...impromptu sobbing in the streets. Then That Year of Unprecedented Community in New York. It was surreal.

One year ago...Moving to Philly. Rearranging everything to take a risk and move here. No job, no prospects, but in the process of closing on a beautiful house in G Ho we never could have dreamed of afforded in New York. I know I liked Philly from the start. I've always felt an affinity for this place. Reminds me a lot of Chicago in certain respects - the downtown part of Center City, the grittiness, the people...this is a great place to start fresh. Makes me realize just how very hard it is to live in New York. You don't notice it until you leave and get perspective.

Yesterday...I fired one of my bakers. But then I rehired him "on probation" because he's a good guy, is very loyal to me and I know he loves his job. I think everything will be okay now.

Today...I got a supersweet email from someone telling me that they were planning a fun day trip for me while I'm in Scotland! It made my day! (xx, you!)

Tomorrow...I will be at work. Yet again. And maybe a BBQ with Rasputina at the Human GI Joe's place. Ermmm....or maybe.I'll.just.sit.that.one.out.and.be.antisocial.for.once. (xx!)

5 Snacks I Enjoy...Pepperoni Pizza Combos, Cheddar Combos, Fat Free Pringles, wasabi peas, brie and bleu cheese fondue at Ten Stone, bread.

5 Songs I Know All the Words To...Oh jesus. I know most of the words to most of the songs I know. Except for the ones that are unintelligible. And then I just make them up.

5 Regrets...Not taking care of this relationship stuff sooner (Lather and repeat four more times).

5 Television Shows I Watch Weekly...Big Love, ANTM, Top Chef, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Project Runway. (I get the creepy feeling y'all already knew all of that.)

5 Things I Would Do With $100,000,000.00...Pay off loans, pay off loans, sell The Canary, pay off friends' and family's loans, buy a bunch of pieds a terre in places I love.

5 Locations I Would Love to Run Away To...Reykjavik, Vermont, Cape Town, Riga, or Vegas. (I'm kidding about two of those places...but which ones?)

5 Things I Hate Doing...Bookkeeping, cleaning the cat box, looking at my bank statements, sitting in traffic, rolling a joint under pressure.

5 Things I Like Doing...Frosting cupcakes, singing in the car, walking everywhere, buying toiletries in foreign countries, buying shoes in foreign countries. (Not necessarily in that order!)

5 Things I Would Never Wear...mom jeans, broomstick skirts, anything Gucci, jeans that are so low slung you see pelvis, peasant shirts.

5 Recently Seen Movies I Like...Crap, I haven't been to the movies in MONTHS. I swear, I think the last movie I saw was the Batman movie.

5 Famous People I'd Like To Meet...GWB, so I could kick him in the shins, John Kerry so I could kick him in the shins...hmmm...not feeling very starstruck at the moment because I haven't been to the movies in months.

5 Biggest Joys of the Moment...Upcoming trip!, being my own boss, watching people freak out over my cupcakes (it's all about the buttercream...), being free, awesome human beings.

Happy Blogiversary.

Wow. It’s been a year. I can’t believe it.

In honor of commemorating this day, I’ve decided to share a bit of my life that I’ve never talked about before on The Blog. There are some of you who already know and can read the subtext of a lot of my posts, but for the rest of you, I wanted to share a huge thing going on right now a) so you can understand my occasional yet endearing insanity and b) because I wanted to return the favor. I truly appreciate all of you because you share so much of your own lives with me. I don’t know most of you personally, but you faithful readers, who post supportive and funny comments, generally just make me feel good. And reading about you is fun, interesting, poignant, sometimes sad, but always honest. I love blogging!



I’m in the middle of a divorce.


Let me just start by saying please don’t say “I am so sorry”. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Without getting into details, let’s just say it was the best thing for both of us. I can tell you with all honesty, that I’m happy.

While I was married, I often felt very lonely. And now that I am actually alone, I don’t feel so lonely anymore. And that’s not to say that I don’t feel sad about what’s lost or think about how I could have done things differently.

And then there are those times when I wish there was someone there to curl up on the couch and watch crap television with, to tell me I’m clever and pretty, or put his hand on the small of my back as we walk out the door. Prior to being alone, I had shut off the part of me that wanted those things. I figured I didn’t need them, that they were unimportant or silly. But really and truly, that’s not true. But for now, it’s okay to be by myself.

So all this is very new to me. And exciting and fun and scary. There are a million new insecurities that run through my mind now. The most obvious one being Will I Be Alone Forever? Maybe, The Realist in me points out. But it's still better than Being Lonely any day of the week.

That sounds pitiful, says The Optimist in me. Everything will work out and you will not be Alone Forever. Only if you want to be.

I'm pretty damn sure I don't want to be.

But for now, it's okay.

Thursday, June 29, 2006


I returned a couple of things at H&M today. One of them was a jean skirt that was just too optimistically small.

The H&M woman holds the skirt in front of her, turns it around, frowns, inspects the tags (which are still on) and asks me if I've worn it.

"No. It was too small."

She looks at me skeptically, holds the skirt in front of her, turns it around, frowns, inspects the tags, looks at me again, and inspects the tags again. And then she sniffs it.

Then she refunds my money.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Brushes With Fame.

1. Chef Jurgen, one of my chef-instructors at FCI, was on Queer Eye last night! I thought I recognized that tomato tarte! He seemed much more meek than I remember him in class. "When do we take the apple galette out of the oven, Chef?' [in severe Austrian accent] 'WHEN IT'S DONE'! That dude can make anything out of marzipan. Anything.

2. I was quoted in a review of that 'disgusting yet delicious' cheesesteak bar place I mentioned a week or so ago. Anonymously, thank god, because it was a verbatim email I wrote to K about how I fished that fucker out of the garbage and ate it.

3. Someone from the Electric Factory came to The Canary today and bought cupcakes for Dave Matthews.

Unrelated: Martin Bashir is an anchor on Nightline now? WTF?

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

RotD: Answers to 16 Questions I am Often Asked.

1. I don't weigh 600 lbs because I don't eat everything I make/because I sell what I make.
2. No, in fact, I don't love chocolate at all. I prefer it in small doses as a condiment.
3. Everything is good!
4. I don't have a favorite. I am sick to death of everything I make. The only things I eat on a regular basis are my cran raisin oatmeal sandwich cookies filled with cream cheese frosting. And I'll be sick of them very soon.
5. Yes, you can have a fork/napkin if you ask me nicely. Then I won't scowl at you.
6. I don't do cannolis. Make a left at the sushi bar.
7. I don't do pies. Make a right at the roast pork joint, go to the end of the aisle, then make another right.
8. I dropped out of grad school because I hated it, loved baking, and switched to pastry school.
9. French Culinary Institute.
10. About a year ago from New York.
11. I think Magnolia is overrated. No cupcake is worth waiting in line for for an hour. Not even mine. You're a sucker if you do.
12. 6:00.
13. About eight weeks now.
14. The one on the right is peanut butter buttercream; the one on the left is coffee buttercream.
15. It's an homage to my cat.*
16. I can't see what you're pointing at. Please check The Cupcake Map.

*This is, in fact, an untruism but explaining that the name is a clever marketing ploy isn't what you want to hear.

Monday, June 26, 2006

RofD: Random Shit

OK, so GG and I just had our every-three-week-or-so detox/recon night at Pico de Gallo. And can I say that, while yes, I'm probably legally drunk at this moment, that I absolutely love GG and think she is a super fantabulous friend and don't know what I'd do without her here in Philly?

Even though, on the outside we seem like two totally different people, we are in fact, pretty frickin' similar? And that we just get each other? You know what I'm sayin'?

(Even though I can't really pinpoint the differences other than the basic Mason-Dixon Line stuff...which seem obvious but whatever...look beyond the superficial, people!)

Hmmm..what to reveal about myself today...a mere 4 days before the Big Reveal...hmmmm....not very interesting, but I get migraines from changes in barometric pressure? Lame, I know. Maybe I'll have something more interesting tomorrow....who knows...Sorry to disappoint.

Addendum 6/27, 6:30 am: Woke up fearing the worst about this post. The second after I got up and stuck my contacts in my face, I rushed over to the computer to reassure myself that the babbling was limited. Ok, I feel a bit better. Though, Martha, I dreamt that I crank called you and asked for 'Marisa' and you said 'Marisa's too young to be on the phone!' and after I hung up I realized that my accent probably gave me away. Then you International *69'd me.

And GG, your Skoal is safe and sound in my freezer. Waaaay in the back. So I won't sneak any.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

RotD: My Illogical Hatred of Milk.

There are two foods that I hate more than anything else, anytime, any place, anywhere in The Universe. Forever and Ever Amen. Really.

Beets and Milk.

I'm not going to even get into beets. Beets taste like dirt. And dirt doesn't taste good. Eating dirt is a symptom of pica, a psychological disorder. So, if you eat beets then you must have pica.

Milk. Oh how you make me shiver. A glass of milk is about the most disgusting thing there is. I'm not totally anti-milk. Just drinking it. I don't know what it is, because I use milk all the time in cakes. I drink about six lattes a day. And if I want some cereal, I use it as a condiment, where I just wet the cereal to the point where it won't scratch my throat when I swallow. Or if I have a chocolate chip cookie, I will dip the cookie in a bowl of milk. But I'd never, ever actually take a sip from a glass.

And don't even get me started on The Glass of Milk with Ice. I know! It's completely nonsensical. But there's something about mixing the milk with water that gives me the heebeejeebees.

But the most insane thing is that I love all other forms of dairy. I'm a cheese whore and will eat almost any kind of cheese you set in front of me. Yogurt rocks. And I love sour cream. Who doesn't love bacteria-riddled heated cream? And clotted cream is the freaking Food of the Gods.

I honestly don't know where this started. Had to be in my early childhood because I've always felt this way about milk. I was forced to drink it. I used to hold my nose and chug that fucker down as fast as humanly possible otherwise I wasn't allowed to leave the table. It wasn't like I could spit it into my napkin like the peas I was also forced to consume and feed them to the dog under the table. The logistics of such a maneuver were beyond my six-year old capabilities.

Borscht. Are you KIDDING ME?

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Blast From the Past.

Last night I had a shindig and J, my best friend from junior and senior years in high school showed up unexpectedly.

"oh. My. GOD!"

We hadn't seen each other in eight years. It was totally wild because she pretty much looked the same, but with longer hair and oddly enough, taller than I remember. Maybe I've just become shorter as I've become more decrepit.

She kept in contact with more people from our crazy high school than I did and mentioned how this guy that we both had this crush on (hers was major, mine was more ancillary, but still) ran across her path in DC and now he's a Flaming Republican.

It really is a pity when the cute ones cross over to The Dark Side.

I'd recently been going through some old pictures of The Kairos Retreat*, and I came across one of KK and had thought how he was still so my type. KK was sooo laid back and sooo cool. And sooo real. He had all the makings to be The Artful Loner. And, harbinger of harbingers, he was the one who introduced us to The Fountainhead which spawned the subsequent My Year of Objectivism.

I had a blast listening to her tales of crossed paths, rumors about blow jobs in backseats, out of the closet stories. Totally fascinating.

We were closest during high school, but our freshman years in college we still hung out because we both came out to school on the East Coast. About a week after I started at Sarah Lawrence**, I was ready to leave and Bryn Mawr and Barnard were at the top of my transfer list so I spent a lot of time in Philly with J.

"Remember when you bashed that guy over the head with a poster tube at the Morrissey show?"

I swear I do not remember buying a poster at any Morrissey show. That's the weird thing.

I (still) have a (/n unfair) reputation for being the devil on my friends' shoulders. Just ask Wilman.

Long story short, I was rejected from Bryn Mawr. I don't remember my personal statement but it would be no surprise if it had been about the dynamic convergence of my life, some Smiths song, Camel Lights and The Fountainhead. This was no doubt a blessing in disguise as I think I would have gone bananas there. Or become a Flaming She-Devil Feminist Type. ** Barnard was a much better choice.

* A 3-day Jesuit-induced cultist retreat for small groups of seniors that involved praying, crying and becoming BFFs with the people in your group for about a month. Reveal of the Day: I grew up Catholic, but converted to Judaism eight years ago. How'd you like how I slipped that one in there?

** Yes, there is such a thing as Fundamentalist Liberals.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Reveal of the Day: Lists.

Things That Make Me Cry
Banana-flavored food.
The Chicago accent.
The end of We Were the Mulvaneys.
The end of Rabbit at Rest.
Thinking of those people trapped in those buildings who knew they were going to die.
Thinking of people I knew who died in dumbass ways.

Things That Annoy Me
Fundamentalists of any ilk.
Blind Republicans.
Waiting in line.
When the grocery checker waits to pack your bags until after your credit card has gone through, thereby wasting valuable time twiddling his thumbs instead of getting you out of there three minutes earlier.
Arrogant people.
People who are so sincerely nice they make you feel like a real bitch.
People who wear therapy as a badge of honor.
Slow walkers.
Chewing noises.
The harmonium.
People who are afraid of The World.
Misuse of the word 'literally'.

Things I Adore
Skirts with prints.
Gorgeous upholstery fabrics.
Craftster and Etsy.
Smoking cigs and drinking scotch.
My music.
Painting a room a great color.
Writing a new recipe.
Junk food.
Good bread and expensive cheese.
Bananas (the movie, not the fruit.)
Quirky, cute people.
Flirting while talking about cake.
Nice eyes.
The Well-Tempered Clavier.
The Boden catalogue.
Crap reality television.
East Village, NYC.
The gentle 'ding ding' of bicycle bells in Amsterdam.
People who are sincerely nice but still have a little edge.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Reveal of the Day.

My middle name is Catherine.

Head On The Bar...Redux Triple Squared.


Just got back from Fluid. Spent the evening sipping whisky sours with J (not the recently pregnant one, but of course, because this is Philly, he knows her, but that's not how we know each other....) catching up after his 3 week sprint traipsing around Europe, talking about cute boys, veggie haggis, some place in Edinburgh called Monster Mash which he insisted I check out, and running into (literally) Prince William while at St. Andrews (who is more adorable in real life than on the teevee). We didn't dance a lick, but that was perfectly ok, because we got to chat and chat and chat...

I don't know why I feel the need to write other than the the fact that I am totally wired and pissed off about being hosed by someone whom I thought was my friend but whatever. Not totally hosed. Just slightly. I just feel like she was being slightly dishonest and using me but whatever. That is the way that the cookie crumbles I suppose.

People are so weird. So weird.

Never trust a baker.

But anyhoo...I've decided to reveal one thing about myself until my Blogiversary. I can't guarantee that it's interesting or that telling, but whatever.

So here goes....

I skipped seventh grade. (With PeopleCat, my oldest, dearest friend on The Earth).

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

You Can Call Creedmore and Cancel My Rez.

No, this picture has not been altered. These are cupcakes made with leftover buttercream from a Thomas the Tank Engine cake I did. I'm bringing them to a birthday party at Fluid tonight. I'll call them RaveCakes!

Too bad I didn't have any leftover Harry Potter-inspired frosting - black, purple, gold and 'Gandalf Grey' (or 'Fresh Cement' in J.Crew speak). I'm still waiting for the call from the seven year old's mom's lawyer about her white couch and carpet being smeared permanently with The Colors of Mordor (I know, I know! I just wanted to write the word 'Mordor'.)

And thanks to my buddies who wrote and stopped by to give me good wishes and make sure I'm ok. I assure you, I am. In fact, someone commented that, considering everything, they're quite impressed I haven't had a breakdown sooner! I'll take the compliment!!

Stupid Customer Quote of the Day: [Pointing to a blondie] "I'll take two of those whities, please."

Monday, June 19, 2006

Warning: This Post is Not in the Least Bit Amusing.

Not that I think my posts are normally the least bit amusing. But at least I usually try.

I am depressed.

No, not depressed, just severely stressed out. Between The Canary and some other shit I've had to contend with lately, I am spent, blogger friends. Spent.

So tired I could just crawl under the covers and fall asleep in two seconds flat. But no doubt I'd wake up like I have been, heart racing, thinking about the myriad shit circling through my brain that must be done. Like yesterday.

This is the time when a blog is the perfect place to vent. You don't need to kvetch and whine to your friends, who've heard your shit 100 times before. Readers can choose to read or not. It's sort of a semi-anonymous public diary.

In a nutshell, here's how I'm feeling lately:

1. Broke.
2. Ugly.
3. Broke.
4. Unloveable.
5. Broke.
6. Fat.
7. Unloveable.
8. Scared shitless.
9. Broke.
10. Ugly, Unloveable, Fat, Scared Shitless, and Broke.

See, this is the kind of crap that you can't really say to your 'live' friends because you sound whiney as all getout. So, I leave it for you to savor, Bloggerbuddies. Take it as you will. I'll be better next post, I swear. It's pretty rare that I actually post basketcase-y like, right? I mean, I refer to losing it quite a bit, but I rarely devote an entire completely whingey 200 words to it. Right? Right?

My First Blogiversary is coming up in 10 days. Boy oh boy! The Big Reveal. Baited Breath, people. BAITED BREATH.

And to end on a positive note, I'm diggin' Camera Obscura's Hey Lloyd from their new album, Let's Get Out of this Country (UM YEAH. YOU READ MY MIND, Tracyanne! Anyhoo...) When I first heard the song, the first thing that popped into my head was Olivia Newton-John. I'm really not sure why.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Earthquake Glue.

On Wednesday, my doctor reminded me that I am now over 30 and just can't keep up The Rockstar Lifestyle I've been living anymore (Smoking, Drinking, Eating Salami-Stuffed Cheesesteaks with Whatever's On Tap or in a Cocktail Glass with a Twist, Carousing, multiple viewings of I Shouldn't Be Alive in a row, blogging, etc...). She put me back on the pill because she thinks that it will help control my anxiety, stop the breakouts and the weight gain (ermm, yup!) and the Godawful Nearly Blackout Cramps I've been cursed with for a couple of months now.

Whenever I start to feel that my life is spinning wildly out of control, I go all ascetic on y'all and give up something. Something big. Something that I adore. And it generally involves something that I put in my mouth.

So, between the good Dr.'s Proclamation that I AM OLD and the desperate need to regain My Sanity, I've decided to give up cigarettes and meat. At the same time.

Actually, neither of them on their own is a big deal. I can't stand smoking a) when it's sweltering hot out and b) in air conditioned rooms, so that's fine. And the meat. Enh. So, I pass Rick's Cheesesteaks with my eyes averted. I can do it. No biggie. There's always the butter-slathered Amish pretzel right around the corner. I was a veggie until I moved to Philly, a/k/a Meat Lovers' Paradise (MLP). I'll just whip out Fast Food Nation for a little inspiration and all will be smooth sailing. Moo.

I know it sounds insane, but I might as well just jump on both bandwagons at the same time. Or get on both wagons. Or get on both horses. Whatever. You get the drift.

But I can't not give one last goodbye to The Greatest Meatish Food Product Ever to Be Created by Man. Ever. Don't worry, L'il One, Momma will return.

White Castle Haiku
Little greasy square
grey with holes. So good. But why?
Snap! God in meat form.

Wicked Awesome Woot Woot! P.S.: Hidden Cameras @ TLA on 6/27? Maybe. Or it's 7/5 at the Unitarian Church. I'm finding conflicting info on the Internets, but whatever. Either date, I'm game. Who's coming with me?? B?! I know you're reading this and I know you're game for anything (even though you know you'd never catch me dead at a Rasputina show but you love me anyway, right? If you can suffer through the hipsters, I'll buy you a PBR or 4. And then we'll gab about it on Friendster.)....!

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Let's Make a Deal.

On Saturdays I usually do some bakery housekeeping and end up pitching stuff that won't make it to Monday because The Circus is closed on Sundays. So I brought some cupcakes over to The Sidecar this evening because The Proprietor is my buddy and neighbor and has helped me out in too many jams to even count at this point.

And it's not just because I'm a faithful customer, people.

Anyway, 'Sidecar A', as I call him, starts pourin' the sidecars like there's no tomorrow and says, "Barter system. That's how we work around here. Cupcakes for booze."

Cupcakes for booze?

Cupcakes for booze?

Nooo....That is some dangerous territory here. Because I have 100s of cupcakes daily. I'm not kidding. What if, say, I brought over 50 cupcakes to The Sidecar? I could have cirrhosis of the liver in no time flat!

This is better than maki for cupcakes.

Egad, does this make me a boozer or a tremendously brilliant business maven?

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

I Shouldn't Be Watching This Show.

That's what I say every time I turn it on...yet I can't look away....

Watching I Shouldn't Be Alive is an awful, horrible, gut wrenching experience...yet I just can't get enough.

I watched two episodes with one eye while writing some foodie shit today. One was about a pair of mountain climbers in Alaska who get stuck on the side of a mountain called Avalanche Alley for 8 days and the other one was about 4 guys whose plane crashes in the Sea of Cortez (a popular destination for ISBA-ers) and they float while gripping an empty cooler for 18 hours while giant squids ("Rojos Diablos") swim around them ready to eat them whole at any moment while one guy swims for 18 hours straight, gets accosted by a school of jellyfish, runs into a barrier reef 100 yards from shore, steps on sea urchins, and has to turn around and swim for another 12 hours to find a couple of Mexican fishermen who think he's a drug runner and refuse to help him at first?

Whenever I watch this show, I usually end up curled up in a ball on the couch, chewing my nails to nubbins. If there were a little video recorder in my person, it would show the adrenalin surging through my veins and my heart beating faster and faster as my coritosol-er dumps more and more of that shit into my blood.

And then I weep when the helicopter picks them up.

And isn't it always a little nerve wracking when the helicopter first finds them and they're waving their life jackets or backpacks or whatever like mad and the helicopter turns around and they are so disappointed? But just you knows it's coming back even though they don't, even though they're narrating the show so they definitely survived but they don't know it yet in the story? You know what I mean.

God Bless TiVo.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

For Real For Real: Heart Attack on a Roll.

Tonight I went with a food writer friend to review this bar in Northeast that just got voted one of the Top 50 Bars in Esquire.

This was the most obscene meal I'd ever eaten.

This is the second half of the house special. I can't even remember what it was called, as the blood vessels in my brain are now too clogged with fat to recall the information properly.

Ribeye Cheesesteak, gooey white American cheese, spicy mayo on surprise! a layer of salami. All nesting comfortably in a fresh, soft roll.

Pity to throw it out really. I'm seriously contemplating fishing it out of the trash and eating the rest of it.

Monday, June 12, 2006

FreakNik: Part One (No Doubt...)

As far as Mondays go, today wasn't so so bad. Largely in part because someone came and put in a deposit on a wedding cake today.

But I'm still scared shitless. When I actually examine how much money I've plunged into this project, I start to feel absolutely sick to my stomach. Granted, most of the really huge expenses have already been 'paid for' [read: paid via my small business loan, not exactly paid off...]. The one big expense still coming down the pike is all of my logo shit...the actual logo design, the business cards, the stickers, the menus, the bags... You don't even want to know how much all this shit is going to cost me.

And it's not that I don't think it's worth it. I think R earned his keep big time. Anybody who's seen the logo loves it. I adore it. It's absolutely perfect. I understand the importance of branding, believe me. But...but...oh boyyeeeeeeeeeeee!

Sweet Jesus, hear my prayers.

I'm starting to freak out. Just the teensiest weensiest bit. A little bit. Yeah, just a little itty bitty bit! Oy!

And my face is breaking out like I'm 15 again. I'm eating garbage and I'm drinking way too much wine, I'm sure.

The nervous breakdown is coming. I just know it. The question is if I can just retain some semblance of sanity until the end of August and then I can get on a plane and sleep through my trip. Sleep. That's all I need right now. Some sleep. And a winning lotto ticket.


Cupcake Goddesses, if you can hear me....PLEASE MAKE THE CANARY WORK. I will do whatever you ask. Please. Please don't make me wind up living in a cardboard box on 21st & Christian with my cats. That would be bad. And scary. And there'd be no place to put my eBay France polka dotted mules and cheese from DiBruno Brothers. Please Goddesses. Hear this prayer. Please. Oh. Please. Oh. Please.

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Don't Know Nothin' 'Bout Birthin' No Babies.

Yesterday A called to say that he and J were at the hospital and this could be it.

Turns out to be a false alarm and they've decided to swing by The Circus to make sure J's maternity leave minion comes in and opens her shop without a problem.


"No, I need to wait until My Minion comes. Otherwise I won't be able to go home and relax." [read: "IF I GO HOME, THERE'S NOTHING ELSE TO THINK ABOUT OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT I'M ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH THROUGH MY VAGINA TO THIS CHILD."]

I fed A cupcakes and cigarettes and kept J company at the table while he went out to check on the shop. I try to distract J ["Woo hoo!" Look at that hottie in the brown shirt over by the shoe shine! Woot woot! Hey, check that freak out! The one with the brown shirt! Over by the shoe shine! Good god!"] as I watch her face change shape and color and her eyes turn into little glassy slits every few minutes, all while she's clenching her fingers so tightly that they start to look like little purple Vienna sausages.

Condoms: $4.00
Vasectomy $1200
Watching a woman go into labor: Fucking priceless.

Anyway, I'm happy to report today that J and A are the proud parents of one little boy, who has the best name, though I won't share it with you. Welcome the newest member of The Circus!

Lookin' forward to the bris. [read: Muuurrgg.....]

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Psychic Caramel Part Deux.

I had a reading yesterday.

This was a woman whom B recommended, and I know a couple of other people who’ve seen this woman before and they swear by her. So I figured, why the hell not? Hell! She’s only $30! At worst, it’s an hour of entertainment. At worse worst, I’ve gotten 80 minutes of exercise walking to Broad and Wharton.

This woman was out of a frickin’ movie. Seriously. She had the turban and the hoop earrings. Her house is a hovel, completely crammed with cats, and the walls were smothered in maps and cut-out New Age-y poems and Novenas and such. There was every incarnation of Jesus imaginable strewn about the place, not to mention the Marys and voodoo dolls. This woman was a freakin’ trip. And so South Philly. Oh so South Philly.

(For those of you not from Philly, just imagine someone being from the South side of any major American city…I’m thinking Chicago and Boston, two towns I know like the back of my hand. And their Southsiders are just like South Philly Southsiders. It’s uncanny.)

So this woman has my astrological chart in hand. She babbles a lot about constellations and houses and moons and such. She tells me I’m a 9 Path (I knew this. It means I’ve been around The Universe block many times), and that I’m an Old Soul. I’m here in this life to experience Experiences, as I’ve already Been There, Done That so many times before in so many other lives. Sigh.

And I have to agree.

I am highly sensitive to other peoples’ energies. (True.) To the point that I feel physically exhausted when I encounter people with negative energy (So true.) I have to be careful when buying vintage clothes because apparently I can even pick up on people’s emotional garbage energy in clothes that they’ve tossed. If I buy any used clothes, I must put them in the sun for a couple of days to psychically clean them.

I attract “crazies and needy people”. (Hello! Turkey Boy!) The ideal romantic relationship for me is a fellow Old Soul who is extremely smart. (Yup.)

I’m getting fat. (?!)

(Erm, yeah. That’s what she said.)

Then she said a lot of crazy relationship and career shit that freaked me out and left me essentially mute for the rest of the day. Poor J & B.

But hell, for $30 and an hour and a half of talking about me…that’s a better deal than my therapist!

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Queen of All the Hipsters. Really? Naah...

One of my bakers accused me of being a hipster. But she claims she still loves me anyway.

Aww noo......

Seriously, in Philly this is the Insult of Insults.

Let's back up here. For those of you who don't reside in The City of Brotherly Love, let me just 'splain somethin'. Philadelphians are obsessed with the concept of Hipsterdom. What's a hipster, you ask? Am I a hipster? Are you a hipster? Does the fact that I own a Vespa or live in squalor make me a hipster?

Maybe. Maybe. Most likely. Most definitely.

A hipster, from what I can glean, is a person in their late 20s to early 30s who wears ironic t-shirts and expensive glasses, rides a crappy but colorful vintage bike or Vespa, frequents the likes of The Khyber, The Last Drop and of course, listens to...Belle & Sebastian and its ilk. I guess. And the Belles are always the musical butt of every Hipster joke out here. Am I right or am I right, Center City-ites? But I swear to you, I don't live in squalor. I can't stand squalor. It's just not for me.

OK fine. I guess the orange John Kerry Is A Rock Star t-shirt and the black cat Bevels count. And I have friends at the City Paper. But hell, I don't own a bike of any kind, though this Jetta thing is getting rather old and I'm considering going old school and just hoofing or getting some shitty bike to ride around on. And aye, B&S-ishness fine. But still. I am not a hipster....I'm just a displaced New Yorker.

And that's the part I just don't get. As a recent transplant, these folks that people pejoratively call 'hipsters' are merely people who look like they ought to be walking around The East Village or Williamsburg. I just don't get it. And honestly, I don't get what the freakin' problem is here. Live and let live. Live Free or Die!

Speaking of, there was a huge feature in one of the local rags about it a couple of months ago, entitled 'Die Hipster Die!' and I recently saw a margarita named La Onda ("The Hipster") at Cantina El Caballito (owned by the folks who own the Royal Tavern (who also own The Khyber), a place I sold cakes to...but anyway...).

I swear to you, I hear the word 'hipster' used more in a day here than I ever heard in a year anywhere else I've ever lived. What's the deal, Philly natives?

Monday, June 05, 2006

Why Was This Night Like No Other?

Because for once I forgot my cell phone at home. And it actually mattered.

I was going to rant about Philly's sick obsession with Hipsterism today, but alas, no. Instead we will talk about the three hours I spent in the Ikea parking lot this evening. Phone-less. With a car that refused to go into Drive.

Faithful readers will faithfully remember how much I love my car. And how much my car loves me, obviously, to leave me stranded in parking lots in South Philly at dusk as bait for rapists and crazies. Ha.

I went to Ikea to get an easel for the shabby chic mirror I picked up earlier at Linens N Things to write the espresso drinks on a la Brasserie style because my $3k espresso machine is entirely invisible behind a pole in my shop and no one knows I'm shilling $4 cafe lattes and have two (two!) experienced uber competent baristas who can make you the driest/foamiest/wettiest/double Red Eyed espresso skim au lait you've ever seen in your life dammit. Anyway, the stupid fucking safety feature on the gear shift decides not to go into drive. Fucker is just stuck. Car starts fine, but it won't go anywhere. Oh yeah, and on the way over some woman stops me at a light to tell me all of my brake lights are out. All of them.

Grrreeat. No more effortless cruisin' with The Bats. Must pay more attention now so I don't get rearended because I'm not so sure the other guy's insurance would cover me if my fuckin brake lights aren't functioning.

Oh yeah, did I mention that the car just came back from the shop last week with a whole new set of brakes? God damn, this is sounding really familiar.

And of course, today I've forgotten my fuckin phone which means I must a) dig up enough change to make a few phone calls b) at the pay phone that's where-is-it-anyway?

Advantage to being stranded in the Ikea parking lot while I wait for 2 hours for AAA: Chick-Fil-A. I was so discombulated I scarfed down my Cool Chicken Caesar Wrap, thinking to myself the entire time 'Wow, this fucker seems really fuckin healthy!' until I realize the super maxi-pad sized tube of Caesar dressing in the bottom of the bag that I failed to utilize.

AAA Tow Guy: "Jettas are my most popular car."

(Am I babbling? Because I feel like I'm babbling. Maybe ranting is a better word. My fingers are flying and the wine is disappearing. I probably won't even spellcheck this fucker when I'm done because I don't want the fuckin spellchecker to ask me over and over again what the word 'fucker' means.)

OK. I'll stop now. You get the drift. But hear this Miss Jetta: You Are Dead To Me. C'est Fini. We're finished, Sister. There's only room for one sassy, incorrigble, stubborn chickadee here. Sayonara, baby.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

There's No Other Reason to Post

other than Ye Olde '03 Bonny Monte I'm still lovin'. And it was on sale, I'm sure because there was 'a rush' on the stuff and they figured, 'Eh, that brown haired girl with the polka dotted computer bag and the *new smaller* boobs keeps buying it. Let's cut that chicky A Deal. So she doesn't go running off to Delaware to buy her booze. Because clearly she's a good customer. And we wouldn't want to cut her off. Might cause a seizure. And then the City might get sued. And then we couldn't get those new updated American history books for the school system. And that would be bad.'

Mindfuck a la Royale continued today. But seriously whatever. People suck. Big time. But seriously seriously whatever. It's all good. The skin grows thicker daily. Life is hard. In vino veritas. Am I right, or am I right, girls? I've decided I'm not going to change being an open, nice person simply to play The Game. Please. Games suck. Big time. Whatever.

I realize I've been using that phrase a lot. Sorry. Whatever.

And today was the the best $$$$$$ day ever at The Canary. I shan't complain. Philly still rocks.


Errmmm...random incoming email received from Person I Went To Grammar School With. PeopleCat, did he email you too? Or am I just The Lucky One?


Notes From The Chef: Raspberry Tootsie Pops are excellent dipped in '03 Bonny Monte.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

I am Philly's Undisputed Queen of Desserts

according to the city paper today....

but honestly I feel more like The Scullery Maid.

My kitchen sink has been clogged for days. I've Drano-ed the bejeezus out of it, but now the sink is Loch Drano. And it's not moving a semi-centimeter. I've given up attempting to wash dishes in the bathroom sink and have taken to drinking wine straight from the bottle to avoid the flatware pile-up that is amassing on my stovetop. This evening I put a frozen enchilada (!) in the oven (ready made plate!) and when I took it out and set it on the counter...

Kerrrpllop! Right into Loch Drano it went. After 50 freakin' minutes in the oven. I've resorted to eating frozen peaches now. And the wine. Of course.

I had a dream I got a phone call from a person I call my friend only because I have known her for a bazillion years and have no definitive beef with her. I think it was a dream, but I'm not sure. Maybe she did call, but it's unlikely. Maybe I was in a drunken haze and she really did call but it only seems like a dream. It was days ago. Too many calls ago to still be on the cell. It would be weird of her to call, but not so weird that it couldn't be real. I probably won't call her 'back'. Just wait and see if it was real or not.