Hot Sauce Heaven

In my recent New York City adventure, I had the great good luck to cross the East River to Brooklyn, go straight to my girl Kelly's house, and have this guy make me breakfast.

 Hello Danny!

It was a breakfast fit for kings. And queens. And, you know, all the lowly jacks and their friends.

Plus?

Kelly. Who shared her bottle of Veuve Cliquot with me.

Hello, lovah.

 

Danny's plantanos were phenomenal, especially accompanied by all of Kelly and Danny's hot sauces. I tried them all, had lots of favorites, and had a moment when my brain said to me, "You have got to upgrade your hot sauce assemblage."

But then I went home, and Mistah and I celebrated my triumphant return with take-out steak burritos on Sunday night. We gathered all our hot sauces . . .

. . . and I realized our hot sauce bar isn't so shabby after all.

In fact, it's seriously awesome.

Especially when we remembered the secret, special homemade hot sauces that live in the fridge.

Hot Sauce Heaven, baby.

march forth: day 1ish

I am recently recovered from a whirlwind couple of weeks. Back to back business trips could easily be avoided by someone in my line of work. I usually make do with one conference every year, sometimes two. This year the two opportunities most aligned with my current work mode happened to fall within a week of each other, and both were impossible to resist because they were being held in the cities where my people dwell! My peeps! What was I supposed to do, not go? please.

First up on the March Forth death tour was the city that never sleeps, the big apple, en why see.

I arrived at 4:58 am and made a beeline for my favorite vantage point on the upper west side:

Good Morning, New York!

I love Mary Beth's apartment. It's just perfectly precise and appointed. There is a place for everything, and everything fits neatly into its place. MB is the best hostess, too. It's like she knows me. After graciously opening her door at the buttcrack of dawn, we hugged and I dumped my stuff and we climbed right into her bed. It was early, man. We were cognizant of the fact that Mar had to get up for work in a few hours but also full of stories and sister love and chatter. We indulged ourselves for a lovely little while then said good night/morning and chased some zzzzzzzz's. I was dimly aware of the movement that indicated an alarm and my sister getting up and out, I tried really hard to drag myself up to consciousness to say hello/goodbye/I love you, but next thing I knew it was 11:00 and time to get my own self moving.

Have I mentioned that I love my sister's apartment? It's more than just a living space. It's Mary Beth. I got up grinning from ear to ear just to be there and have such a grand adventure ahead of me.

But first, coffee:

I had been instructed to just press brew, and leave whatever was undrunk in the pot for eventual chilling into ice coffee.

I headed over to the living room with my cuppa and the literature (say that in ellie's brittish voice) that Mar had left for me on the kitchen counter

Helpful tidbits and transportation guides, walking maps and subway suggestions. A metro card, happy hour fliers, and wait.... what's that in the upper left corner?!

I die.

Mary Beth is a HedHead, ya know. 6 of those 7 Playbills are from Jane Street! None of them featured the original slip of a girly boy from communist east Berlin, his very self John Cameron Mitchell, but we were poised to remedy that imminently.

Moving back to the kitchen, I availed myself of some breakfast

Inside, I found stuffed grape leaves from the west side market. I know!

I gotta tell you people, it was shaping up to be a very good day. I prepared to set off into the wilderness with my trusty stead rolly bag by my side.

Not so fast, Kowalsky

What? I was tired. And I  had to wait for my phone to charge in MB's patented useful and culturally representative charging station

The flag of Lebanon provides a cooling breeze to the Korean maiden. Wait, where's Ireland? Mary Beth!

Eventually, I really had no choice but to leave. I emailed my family, telling them my plan to head out for a bite before traipsing down through the park to check in at my down-down-downtown hotel before the evening activities. I wasn't hungry, but that seemed like a minor obstacle.

My watch said 10am.

Ah, Artie's. I love that place, love those sidewalk tables, love that pile of rare meat on a roll. I can't pretend I'm a native new yorker with my $.75 kaiser roll in place of rye, but the giant rolly bag already gave me away

Then, the Park!

It was a gorgeous, sunny day. The snow melted in rivers that ran across my shoes and my rolly bag. One wheel broke. It felt sad for the snow?

I grabbed a cab in Columbus Circle and soon arrived at my 3-day home in the financial district

That bed!

My view!

I had just a few minutes to unpack and change before hopping into a cab toward SoHo

To meet these yahoos under the shade of the St. Patrick's Day tree

We thought we'd just have the one stop, but someone turned out to be a birthday boy in waiting, so what were we supposed to do? Not stay out til midnight?

I know entirely too much about this man and his sister.

This guy hated us so much, but we thought maybe it was an act so we kept trying to make him love us.

These two had some issues to discuss

But they're lovers, not fighters

We ended the night with some good old fashioned blurry thug selfies

MB might be a great hostess, but she's a terrible thug.

Next stop: China!

Cha, cha, cha, changes....

Good morning dear readers of me and you and ellie.

Have you been wondering what's going on? What's with all the no posts, late posts (okay, so that's my norm), and not-in-order posts?

We've been going through a bit of a transition here. You may have sensed -- with the increasing re-posts, and later-and-later-in-the-day posts, and hints dropped in various recent blog posts -- that we're a wee bit overwhelmed with other life stuff.

It's become too much of a responsibility of the majority of us, SO, instead of chucking it all together, we've decided to pare it down to one post per me or you jacquie or ellie, per week. You'll see a new post on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from here forward. I'm still not clear on who has which day --  but it will work itself out.

We hope our abbreviated format won't deter you from continuing to stop by to see what's up.

xoxo,
Beth

Oh, and PS, in true me&you&ellie style, don't forget that:

Jacquie Was Here

Jacquie was. She really really was.

At least I think she was.

No, she was! I have proof!

Proof!

Somehow, the event at Mom's condo was called a Chinese Auction.

We are none of us Chinese.

But we did win a lot of auction items . . .

. . . like, most of them.

. . . like, almost all of them.

And we -- okay, okay, Jacquie -- was awfully cute doing so.

Mom tells us that her neighbors, her peeps of a certain age, as they say, are still talking about us, terrorizing their auction.

And why wouldn't they?

After all, Jacquie wuz here.

blocked

haaaaay! remember when I used to write words? stories and social commentary and nonsensical nonsence? sigh. I do too. vaguely. life has been a whirlwind these last several whiles, and I don't really see that changing in the too-near future. I feel badly about this, because I like to write for this blog and I like to write in general. It's always been my therapy and my release, just pouring it out for some invisible audience but really for me.  It was easy when my kids were little and their biggest concerns were adorable and naiive and veritably inconsequential. They are older now, teenagers. Their lives are complicated and while still funny and adorable and endearing, they want and deserve privacy. I've got my own stories and experiences and anecdotes that I'd like to be writing about, but here I am in this king sized bed in Chicago, full of funnies and observations about these last couple of weeks, yet my fat frankenstein fingers on this tiny ipad keyboard just can't/won't get it out there. blocked, distracted, worried, overextended...call it what you will. I just don't have it to give right now.  
whattayagonnado? I don't know, but here's a motherfucking Monet:

I'm sick of being normal

It's been a tough week at work.

Actually I've been feeling very dissatisfied at work in general lately, which isn't surprising after nearly 18 years at the same company. Yes, I've held various positions over these many years, but nothing has really changed much in the past few.

But here's the thing -- I feel trapped. I don't feel as though I can easily let it go or trade it in. I feel as though I really, really have to think before leaving this job that is not helping me grow in any way, any more. It's pretty damn flexible. I work from home once a week, and can do so whenever needed. I recently asked for an additional work from home day, and expect I'll get it. When I am I the office, I've got a sunny one to myself, where no one bothers me, and I can come and go as I please. Although I don't have a great retirement plan or even dental, my medical is damn good, and I get that steady paycheck that has thus far supported me and my kiddos.

It's comfortable, if not challenging, safe, if not satisfying.

That's a terrible way to go through life, though, is it not? Simply going through the motions to get the paycheck to pay the bills for all the things you think you need?

I feel as though there must be a better way.

Someday I'll break through my fear to find out.

Happy St. Paddy's Day, Godbless

Happy St. Patrick's Day my little leprechauns!

We were lucky enough to make it to New London for its adorable parade on Sunday . . .

. . . led by our friend St. Francis DePeter, aka The Grand Marshall. Or, as we call him, TGM. Or as his granddaughter calls him, Saint March-ell.

The day was full of leprechauns . . .

. . . including, naturally, a water-skiing leprechaun . . .

. . . and hordey-horse leprechauns.

There was the obligatory tchotchke leprechaun, even though all the bars were giving out bling for free . . .

But really, we were all there for one reason . . .

. . .  the TGM.

Nobody had a better time at the Parade than its Grand, Sainted March-ell.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!!

Bhakti Chai

So, my teacher was down in So Cal for an early morning event last Friday -- a quick 90-minute class sponsored by Bhakti Chai at the ginormous Natural Products Expo West 2015up in Anaheim.

I was asked by her staff to come up and help out if I'd be up for it. I was. And I did. I was totally up for it.

It meant getting up and out of the house before 5 am, but it was completely worth it. The drive up was pretty damn spectacular, no traffic and a full moon over the ocean for much of the way. The forcast for 50 degrees at 9 am was way off, it was probably already 65 degrees by the time I was out there at 6:45 am, and by 9 am? Well it was downright warm -- reaching the mid 80s later that day.

Janet lead the yoga, but the event also featured music, handled by MC Yogi and DJ Drez. Have you heard MC Yogi's new album? Only Love is Real? Ah, it's a goodie. Love his collaboration with Trevor Hall -- track 11. I'd never met either MC Yogi or DJ Drez before, so that was a serious treat.

There's DJ Drez now, Janet's pointing him out in case you're confused.

And here's MC Yogi, pumping up the crowd with that sunshine lighting him up from behind.

In addition to singing and writing songs, he's also good at lending a hand.
 Or two.

There were a lot of people out that morning. And they seemed to to do whatever the hell Janet said.

Feet up

Butt down

Gut up

Squat and grab your neighbor, etc.

Right around 9 am, the threesome winded it down, shared various words of wisdom via song and spoken word, and left a crowd full of happy faces.