3 Easy Steps To Get On My Good Side

Step 1: Leave on a jet plane, late at night from Manhattan, bound for SLC. Tuck a 25 lb. bag of the best cookies ever 'neath your arm:

Step 2: Arrive to SLC in the wee hours of the morn. Leave this on my bathroom counter:

Step 3: Share them with me for breakfast every day for a week, until they're gone. When all hope is lost and the last nibble enjoyed, find the last precious one, and surprise me all over again:

Special thanks to my bro-in-law, B., who shares my eating habits and is therefore officially on my good side.

To House Or Not To House? That Is The Question.

We're still looking for some permanent digs here in our new locale. It's been a struggle to find something we both like/agree on. Five months and a few hundred home tours later, we're finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

We've come to the decision that it is quite likely we do not want a house. We are condo dwellers. It was a hard fought battle. Here's how it all played out:

Me: I don't do boy jobs, i.e. mow, snowblow, rake, take garbage out, shovel, and the like.

G: I don't really do them either.

Condo:1 point.

House: 0 points.

Me: Why do said jobs when I can pay a reasonable monthly fee for someone else to do them?

G: I've built a financial model that shows the benefit of the fee as it offsets the cost of purchasing equipment to do said laborious jobs.

Me: Life is too short to snowblow.

Condo: 2 big ones

House: nada.

Me: Trash shoot.

G: 'Nuff said.

Condo: 3 ways to melt my heart

House: starting to look unappealing.

Me: I want a pool!!!

G: I want a hot tub, heated garage, gym, and clubhouse.

Condo: 4 dancing panda bears tossing rose petals for excess

House: nearing extinction.

Me: It's no NYC pad with a sweet view and wacko neighbors, but it'll do.

G: Synthetic city living. I like the idea.

Condo: 5 "you had me at HOA's"

House: 6 feet under.

Enchanting

Peachy, puffy, poofy, and perfectly over the top. What's not to like?

Plus, it's filmed in my old 'hood. Woot! Woot!

Reason #22 I Miss Manhattan: Cucch

In Manhattan, we have a friend named Cucch. That's not his real name, just what everyone calls him. He's a big-talking, wise-cracking, hard-working Italian from Boston with a thick accent. And one of our dear friends. He always has a good story to tell, and his most recent email was no exception.

He sent a recent news article about his uncle, The Cheeseman, who owns a cheese shop, and is also the supposed mob boss of Boston. People who know people like this are priceless. Not something you see everyday. Unless you live in New York City. Where things like this are pretty normal. Virtually everyone is a transplant from somewhere, which makes for great storytelling. Love that about the city. Take a few million people from all over, pile them on top of each other on a tiny island, shake it all up, and you'll end up with some of the most amazing life stories you've ever heard.

Like A Moth to the Flame

I woke up early this morning and made a beeline for Target. Had to check out the Erin Fetherston collection. I tried on practically everything. So if you have a question about fit or sizing, don't hesitate to ask. Seriously though. I should hardly be thinking of myself. I mean, at this time of year, shouldn't I just be thankful for the clothes I have this week? And then next week, realize that I need to buy for others, not me. I can't help myself. I have an unhealthy relationship with Target's GO Designers. Like I havehavehave to see them nownownow. The sense of urgency is beyond ridiculous. Once, in NY, I made my husband drive us out Jersey to a Target that wasn't by NYC cuz I just knew the closest ones would be picked over. Another time, I made my sister take me even though her baby wanted to go home and eat. He obviously doesn't appreciate designer clothing. At a discount, no less!

But what I'm meaning to say is that if you watched the Erin Fetherston video Ali put up on her blog, you'll realize that she hit the nail on the head. Erin, not Ali (sorry, sis). Her video captures the essence of her collection so perfectly (read the sign toward the beginning of it and you'll catch on quickly). Ethereal, playful, charming. Hearts (not just appliqued but we're talking all buttons are heart shaped buttons), bows, frills. Fantasyland...just like she says. How fun would it be to live (and design) in her world?

Reason #7 I Miss Manhattan (Part I)

Reason #41 I Like Living Outside Manhattan

Target. Duh. This one's so obvious it almost pains me to say it. Almost. But I was gonna title this post "An Ode to Target, Part I", but I couldn't decide and then I remembered that I wouldn't be able to even drive to Target at 8:30 p.m. in Manhattan on a Thursday night and wander the aisles, just because. Hence, the title.

But back to Target. Oh, Target, how I love thee, let me count the ways...Just kidding, if I actually did this, I lalalalove Target so so so much we'd be here 'til kingdom come. Even though I pronounce it like a Frenchi doofus, "Tar-jay"--soft on the "jay"--it's only because it's like a pet name or something. I don't know. What I do know is that my heart skips a beat when I walk in the doors. I have the layout memorized (seriously...love that every store has basically the same layout), and a route that I take every single time.

Walk in the doors, take a right into the electronics department and see if any good movies are on sale, head to the back to check out the seasonal gear (Halloween at the moment), walk down the middle aisle and see if there are any good shoes that I can't live without, take a right and that puts me smack dab in the womens/juniors clothing department where I always always always check out and covet the latest GO designer before making my way to the beauty/hygiene section, then straight away to the grocery in case I need any small items, and finally I'm on my way.

My latest find was really really stellar. Right next to the beauty section where they sometimes have seasonal candies and delights, what did my wondrous eyes behold? Flippin' Franken Berry, Count Chocula, and yes---hold your breath---Boo Berry cereals. When I was a kid I loved Boo Berry so so much. I'm really not a cereal person anymore, but you betcha I bought the last box on the shelf. On sale for 0.99 cents! I would like to personally shake the hand of the individual who had the idea to bring the classic 3 Monsters cereals back for a Halloween go-'round.

Ahh. Sigh. I've been to Target twice this week, and all is well in the world.

Campbells

It's officially official. Fall is here. It all started when I realized today was the first day I quit craving shave ice and had a hankering for a warm bowl of soup. This was further confirmed when it seemed everyone else had the same idea I did. It took 3 stops before I found a spot that hadn't run out of soup for lunch.

It also makes me miss NYC. Fall is the best best best time of year to be in the city. If I were there today, I'd first of all get me a nice bowl of soup to go from Au Bon Pain in Rockefeller Center, sit down on a bench and enjoy the people watching alongside my soup. Then I'd hop on over to the MOMA to enjoy some more soup, Andy Warhol style.

Reason #22 I Like Living Outside Manhattan

Costco. Because is there anything, I ask you, more maddening than paying 3x's as much as you should for anything and everything, and then having to heave and ho it all the way home on the stinky subway? Or worse yet, carry it slung over your arms in the middle of a snowstorm while you walk the 20 minutes to your apartment? I love you Manhattan, with all of my heart, but seriously. Sure, you can have your groceries delivered in the city, which is all well and good (especially in winter), but still. They don't always always bring exactly what you ask for, never deliver on time, and don't have the best selection. So it all boils down to ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Triple ugh.

Which brings me to my next point...


I lalalalove Costco. Most recently, for their fake Uggs. Aka, Fuggs. I've got a few pair of the real deal, but refuse to wear them out of doors for fear of them wearing out, getting dirty, scuffed, and chuffed (you may remember in my list of 100 things about me, when I said I've got a huge fear of things wearing out---this absolutely applies to my Uggs). But that's not the point. What is the point, is that last weekend we went to Costco, and what did my wondrous eyes behold? There, just inside the garage-like doorway, were a virtual mountain of Fuggs. Was this too good to be true? I had heard rumors of the existence of these Fuggs from Ashley up in Boston last year. But, alack, had no resources to procure them (i.e., Costco, time, and a car). And even when I did finally make it out of the city to a Costco, they had already sold out and I was informed there would be no more. I had resigned myself to the fact that my dream had died, and I would indeed, have to wear out my Uggs. But no. Costco has once again rescued and revived my dream of having perfect Uggs and ugly Fuggs. $34.99. Are they out of their mind?!? No, they're just Costco. The place where dreams really do come true.

What the Dr. Ordered

I'm off to The Valley for a few days of R&R. I may still be around, but just in case...

In the meantime, Ashley has written a touching essay about 9-11 (and offers a fabulous book recommendation). World Trade Center used to be my neighborhood. With surrounding buildings still shrouded in black cloth, it's as though the whole area is still mourning. A haunting reminder of our own vulnerability and loved ones lost.

Reason #17 I Like Living Outside Manhattan

Laundry day. Because, is there anything, I ask you, more repulsive than sharing a laundry room with NY's whosits and whatsits? To be sure, I lived in a fine luxury building with a laundry on every floor. But still. Finding a foreign hair amongst your intimates? Grossity gross gross gross.

I lalalalove having my own clean, secure laundry room. Wherein I can be rest assured that my sweet nothings are cleaned to the highest standard with no intruders (ie., stray hairs, socks, wrappers, etc.). Not mingled in with the muckity muck muck of the communal laundry room.

Downpour

It's blustery and gray. A torrential downpour today. The weather is very reflective of my mood. It's moving day. Perhaps the heavens over NY have opened in sorrow over my departure. I like to think of it that way.

Fingers crossed, the movers make it over. Then I'm driving across the country with the love of my life. Stay tuned...it could get exciting...or dreadfully boring.

Tinkerbell

I sat in the garden/park across the street today when suddenly I was zapped with a puff of water by a sweet, petite fairy. Complete with gigantic glittery pink wings, yellow dress, and blonde curls. She had a spray bottle in her hand (hence the puff of water), which her mother told me was her fairy wand filled with magic potion. Bravo! Shouldn't everyday be a fairy-wings-optional day when you're 3 years old?

The Big Apple

With my imminent departure from NYC looming on the horizon, this Kenneth Jay Lane apple pendant necklace may be a nice little memento, no? I've been eyeing it for a while now. I may have to splurge. It also comes in pink, green, and white. But I like red best.

It's So So Hot

96 degrees + 80 percent humidity. It's so so hot. Yesterday, I had 2 Pinkberry's. Just to make sure I didn't melt.

Confession (or...It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To)

I've been keeping a secret for a few weeks now. I think I haven't wanted to throw it out into the open, because I'm in complete and total denial. Sunday was my birthday. I lalalalove my birthday so so so much. But this one--though fabulous beyond compare--made me a bit sad. You see, it's my last birthday living in the Big Apple.

There. I said it. And now the tears are streaming down my face. But what I really meant to say is, I'm moving. So I guess I didn't even really say it the first time. But now I did. I can barely think it, let alone utter it aloud, without getting teary and bleary and smeary-eyed.

This has been my home. Or at least that's how it feels. I was born a Mid-Westerner, raised a Westerner, and lately lived as an Easterner. Or rather a New Yorker. We're headed West again, and I'm not quite sure how I feel. We thought we were here for good. But sometimes things change, something comes along, and you just can't say no. No matter how badly you want to.

So here it is. More definite now that it's in print. I'm moving soon. Very soon. It's all happened rather quickly you see. I'm certain that the next little while, I'll be musing away on my bla bla bla blog with 'woe is me' tales of my heartbreak over leaving New York City. Bear with me. I'm coping.

4th

Plan A: Go to beach for the 4th. Problems: cloudy weather, windy, threatening rain. Feelings: Boo.

Plan B: Red Door Spa day. Problems: none. Feelings: after manicures, pedicures, waxing, and facials...ahhhh.

Plan C: Fireworks on the roof deck. Problems: drenched. Feelings: who cares? it's for 'Merica.

Black & White

Lenny's has the best black & white cookie in all of NYC. As one who regularly consumes fine baked goods, I feel I can say this with certainty. More cake-like than cookie, with just the right amount of frosting. Speaking of frosting, it's so so good. The sugary white side is sweet and the chocolaty black side has just a hint of coffee (of course, to enhance the chocolate flavor). At $1.75, it's a steal of an NYC deal too. One of my favorite treats is to get a Lenny's sandwich (#1 Lenny's Combo or the G3), specialty soda, and cookie on 74th & Columbus, then head over to Central Park for a picnic.

Found

One of my favorite NY afternoon treat spots has a small library of great picture books. My sister and I always pick out the same one and slowly peruse, discussing it's contents again and again. On our most recent trip, we were delighted to find this sweet note leafed within its pages. I love this kind of stuff. It's like peeking in on something you weren't meant to see. Happy accidents are sometimes the best kind.

Strike A Pose, There's Nothing To It...

Yesterday, as luck would have it, I was pulled aside by two Japanese girls and asked to do a quick photo shoot for their fashion glossy that publishes in Japan. Wa-wa-wa-what? This is amazing! Me? Really? You mean out of all the hipsters and beautiful people here in Soho, you want me? They took several shots in different poses for about 5 minutes and then asked me all sorts of questions about myself...name (Jamie Anne), age (28), occupation, what brand is that dress? (Proenza Schouler), where did you get that 'vintage belt'? (Banana Republic), and these sunglasses? (Nordstrom), what about that bag? (Laundry).

Is this gloating? I certainly hope not. It was pure bliss. I la-la-la-loved every second of it. I'm pretty sure it was the sunglasses that sold 'em.