Friday, February 7, 2014

Cough up a furball Friday

I know, I know, I should be blogging about the opening of the XXII Olympic Winter Games; or about the Olympic-rainbow-gay-flag logo Google posted today, flying the world over in protest of Putin's anti-gay atmosphere at the winter games (good job Google!); or about the leak of two American diplomats discussing the future of the Ukraine, BUT, I'm not going to.

Russia is so far away, and all of the above mentioned is so thought-provoking, and controversial, and, WELL it's Friday. I simply do not feel like getting riled up about bigots or careless government employees half a world away.

So instead, instead you'll be treated to calming, fuzzy, feel-good photos of cats.

 Yes, I'm going back to fourth grade and all of those cute cat calendars and posters I used to have.

C'mon, you know you want to....

Googly eyes

Get it!

Get it!!

What every cat thinks she looks like...

Serious sideways look

I have come to meet your leader


Get it!!!

Oh my goodnezz; did you see that, Rover?
Ach, the acting is simply amazing!

Pretty please?

Tadasana

They'll never find me here

Not tonight, honey, I have a headache

Swagga

Formal wear

Savasana

One for the Corey girls

And let's not forget Valentine's day...
Purrfect for a Friday, no?

Thursday, February 6, 2014

At Least It's Not A Tsunami

I try to never complain . . .

. . . about the weather.

Sure, yes, okay. This is a Winter For The Ages.

Even Mr. Weather Man agrees "This is like a 1970s-'80s winter . . . "

Those of us who remember those endless winters, we are finally, officially corroborated. All those memories of those long, harsh winters are actually true. We did walk to school in the snow uphill every day. Uphill in both directions. Barefoot.

But when I walked downtown yesterday, my shoes swimming in slush, and thanked the kind gentlekid for shoveling the sidewalk in front of a downtown business, and he said, "Be careful; another storm is coming Sunday," and I replied, "Hey, it's another day," and he responded, "At least it's not a Tsunami . . . "

. . . I agreed. He's right.

So we've got some snow and some sleet and some freezing rain and some cold. At least it's not hail. Or a bombogenesis. Or a plague of locust.

At least it's not a tsunami.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

fast times

The mall was a viable option for the passing of time back in the dark ages when I was a kid. Granted, the Norwalk Mall wasn’t exactly a hub of high fashion society. In fact, I can’t quite remember which retail stores were in there at all, but I do remember how to get there… it was somewhere over by the library-ish part of town? Is that right?

Downtown in general was close enough to walk to thus worthy of prime loitering potential, even before many of us started our retail careers at the good old NBS. Wall Street, Norwalk, Connecticut had a perfect assortment of candy, clothes, entertainment, and places to make fun of. What more could we girls ask? 

The mall was a building, much unlike the sprawling, palm lined playgrounds that we have here in California. My kids have spent plenty of time at various malls, but mostly for a more singular purpose than just to hang out.

Last weekend, Beth's oldest girl came for a sleepover, and my girl had some money burning a hole in her pocket, and was desperate to purchase this. I agreed to take the girls to the mall, and at first it mostly looked like this:
 
stay 10 steps behind us, pay for things
In fact, I texted that very photo to a friend and coerced her to come and loiter with me.

But first, there was this

 Ah, Claire's. Claire's Boutique of Hellfire.
That place is beyond horrific. One million tiny things shoved onto four tiny walls, an affront to the senses on every level.

But still, if you can't beat em....


Eventually, my friend showed up and we enjoyed a cold beverage or three on a central patio where we could send the girls off hither and yon to check out stores and pick out outfits and spend various hard earned cash. They purchased matching outfits for themselves, and so we asked them to pick out matching outfits for us, and they adorably chose workout duds. Awwww.

At a certain point during this interlude, my girl protested the idea of going to another store because she'd run out of money (withOUT, I might add, procuring the one item she had so coveted, now only available online, but only to girls who had saved $20).  I said: "Just go, look around, try stuff on!" She was all like "MOM."

She was appalled at the idea of going browsing with no intent to buy, had never considered such a thing! I argued that this was the very POINT of the mall, to look around and laugh about stuff you'd never buy, and/or covet the things you wished that you could buy.

I had to convince her myself by heading into Aeropostale to pick out prom and bridesmaids dresses for everyone we knew. Maybe my friend and I even bought matching shirts.

I think I showed my girl how it's done when you're a pretty-much grown up girl at the mall.





And hey, if the mall isn't where it's at for these girls to loiter away their free time, there's always skateworld.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Woemann's

I got out of the house early this morning. After waking to the 6:30 am airplanes that are my daily, although unwanted, alarm, I dressed quickly, dropped off the ever constant forgotten item at my ex husband's house for my daughter, and hit the highway.

I decided to stop at Starbucks for a quick cup since lunch was a long way off and I was so early.

While waiting on my order and perusing the Wall Street Journal on the rack by the door, a woman tapped me on the shoulder with a loud excuse me. I turned around, startled, and jumped out of her way -- I mean, here was an actual paying customer for the free read I was sneaking.

But no, she did not want the printed daily, she wanted to tell me how much she loved my boots, and to ask where oh where did I get them?

"Oh, these boots? I bought them at Loehmann's, years ago."

"I know where that is," she replied.

"You should head there soon," I informed her, "they're going out of business, selling everything."

After the woman walked away, I took a look at my outfit. My boots, my dress and my stockings, all purchased at Loehmann's, only my under and outer garments were not from the store on Camino Del Rio N,  I mean, seriously, without Loehmann's I would have been standing there in my bra and wool jacket. Burr.

How can this be happening? 

My mom turned my on to Loehmann's years ago, when I was still in high school. My mother was a very successful fundraiser, and had to dress up almost every day of her working years. She purchased myriad suits at Loemann's, and I took her lead and headed there whenever I needed to buy one.

The last suit I bought there, a gorgeous jacket and skirt combo, is perfection, and makes me feel like a corporate goddess when I wear it (which is admittedly not often). It's got great lines, is well made and didn't come close to breaking the bank.

Loehmann's was my go-to place for designer jeans for years, I could always find a great selection, all of which were long enough, even after washing and drying.

I'll admit, their selection has been declining over the past few years, but still.......closing? I loved hunting through the endless racks to find that one those few things I couldn't do without, which I knew I'd never see on anyone else.

But this isn't only my materialistic, bargain-hunting side mourning. This is also a bit of history closing. Loehmann's first opened in Brooklyn in 1920. It was opened by a woman, no less, Mrs Frieda Loehmann, who had to bring home the bacon when her musician husband was out of work.

Today there are 39 stores nation wide, all slated to close.

I know, I know, it's just a store, and most people don't care, or even know about Loehmann's. It's obviously dated in too many ways to be viable today, but for me, it's the end of an era. Spending an hour or two there was therapeutic, and almost always satisfying. I loved scouring the sales floor for the off price Free People shirt, or the black riding boots that someone would compliment me on, even years later. I even got a kick out of the communal dressing room if I was trying on something uncomplicated.

I'm sad for myself and for the fact that I won't be able to to introduce my own daughters to this chicest of discount stores. The grandaddymommy of them all.

At least I have the many, many rare gems in my closet that will last for years, if not forever.

Goodbye, Loehmann's, we'll miss you.

Monday, February 3, 2014

You Want A Super Bowl Party?

I'll show you a Super Bowl Party.

First? An apéritif.

Then, first course. Scungile salad with a bottle of a light, delicious white wine . . .

. . . Whoopsie! Wrong bottle . . .

There we go.

Second course. Smoked bluefish, olives, and a lovely bottle of white wine. I think this may have been the White Burgundy.

And now? Time to prep for dinner.

 Can't you just smell this lime?

(Yes, Mistah took that photo. Of course he did. That's why it's the best one.)

Garlic, natch.

Onions, of course.

Oh, and mushrooms. Beautiful mushrooms.

Is anyone al-LER-gic to mushrooms?

A party isn't a party, if you're Mistah, without bitter greens. The bitter-er, the better.

Time to start cooking.

Those very selfsame onions and garlic . . .

. . . and mushrooms . . .

. . . sautée themselves into phantasmagorical glory.

And a little red wine never hurt.

The broccoli rabe's not so bad, either.

And, oh. Oh! The lobster ravioli and mushroom ravioli.

Oh, people. Oh. The smells, the sounds, the atmosphere.

Remind me how anyone lives without six burners?

Double ravioli glory, that's what we call this one.

Mistah was outside grilling the salmon in the dark. That photo exists only in our minds' collective eye.

And then, just like that . . .

. . . perfection.

Show us what you've got, Schleck . . .

Oh yeah.

Happy Super Bowl, my friends.

And finally . . .

. . . dessert.

And what about the game, you ask?

Don't Touch That Dial.

Got it covered.