Return of the Phoenix

Harry Potter made an encore appearance this year.

Because this year, the costume actually fit him. Oh, and plus, he can now hold up his own head. And probably run a mile. He's grown a lot in a year, huh? So we pulled out the eyeliner again for spectacles and lipliner for the scar. I drew crooked glasses on his face as he laughed, grabbed for the eyeliner pencil, laughed more, and kicked me. And away we went. To school. Where the Hurricane (and his mad dancing skills) were a hit at the Ducklings' fab Halloween party.

He then made a party stop by my office for the my office Monster Mash...where he received an impressive number of votes for best costume! (His costume was extremely WAY better than the one I threw together this morning after a very last minute trip to CVS. I was tinsel. Kind of. Needless to say, I did not get very many votes for best costume.)

Then he went home, had a bath and was completely sound asleep by 6:30 p.m. A few of our neighbors came over for candy before then. But by a quarter to seven, our porch lights were out and I was in the tub; and now, at 9:30, we're all completely crashing out.

HcQ and I just commented that this was quite possibly the best Halloween we've had in a long time. Seriously. Party all day. Tucked in before ten. Best. Ever.

Hope yours is spooky fab as well. If you comment, tell all and/or link your fun Halloween stories and photos.

And may the Great Pumpkin bring you many gifts.

Luca Over Here.

Today I somewhat unexpectedly ended up at a fabulous Susan G. Komen benefit luncheon hosted by Beautique, complete with a Luca Luca fashion show. (A big thanks for the fun, Katherine. And seriously, are you completely drooling, Super Zoe?)

I’ve got to admit, my job does have its perks.

Let’s just say it was very elaborate and extremely cool. We sat three tables over from this hottie. Two tables from Chloe the Great! And a few tables over from some random people who’ve been on other lesser fantastic reality shows. They don’t get links.

But the swag! Oh my got* the swag! A giant takeaway gift bag chock full of every grande Bumble and Bumble product on the planet. Tons and I mean tons of other girly fun products. And. A $200 Luca Luca gift certificate. Which I’ve determined, after seeing the beautiful 2007 Spring/Summer Line catwalked, might buy me one sock. Maybe. But I’m hoping I can score one of the line’s signature kick arse circle necklaces. We’ll see.

Overall an aesthetically pleasing afternoon.

And seriously, do you guys think that models actually eat anything other than ice cubes?

*“Oh My Got!” is a fantastic phrase, coined by my homegirl Hailey. She’s two. And she’s brilliant. I currently try to use this phrase whenever possible.

'Tis the Season.

Around here, it's the time of year to dress like Harry Potter.

This was the Hurricane last year.
He was five weeks old.We drew glasses on his face with eyeliner.
And the Harry Potter scar thing with lipliner.


And then we left it on there for a while because it was funny.

I think you'll be seeing the exact same costume this year.
Because we already have it. And this year it actually fits.
So we've decided. Harry Potter two years in a row.
At least it gives me a great excuse to break out the eyeliner again.

And You Are?...

Who in the heck am I? Well, I’m not the first to ask. Inevitably we all face this question. And for some of us, it’s hard to really answer. Because we’re complicated.
It’s complicated.

But thank the goodness and lucky for us, we have the Internet to help point us in the right direction. To help us define who, what, when, where, why we are. Because it’s well-known that no matter how conflicted, confused and cra-zazy you may be, with the help of Blogthings, it’s really not that hard to figure it all out.

So I’ll tell you who I am.

I am Thai Food.
Trendy yet complex. People seek you out - though they're not sure why.

I’m a Classic Martini.
A sophisticated drinker, who knows that simple quality is over-rated. You’re a knowledgeable drunk, but sometimes a know-it-all when you’re blasted. Your ideal party has a real bartender. But no one mixes a better drink than you. Your drinking soulmates: those with a Chocolate Martini personality. Your drinking rivals: those with a Margarita Martini personality.

My 1920's Name: Roxie Octavia

But I Belong in 1969. (Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about!)
You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too.

Oh. And also.

I am Cheese Pizza. I am Midnight. I’m a Happy Pumpkin Face. My Christmas Song Is Winter Wonderland.

And On Average, I Would Sell Out For: $1,084,347

But I am 76% open minded.
You are so open minded that your brain may have fallen out! Well, not really. But you may be confused on where you stand. You don't have a judgemental bone in your body, and you're very accepting. You enjoy the best of every life philosophy, even if you sometimes contradict yourself.

I Belong in Dublin.
Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions. You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

Because My Personality Is Like Alcohol.
You're the life of the party, a total flirt, and probably a pretty big jokester. Sometimes your behavior gets you in trouble, but you still remain socially acceptable. You're a pretty bad driver, and you're dancing could also use a little work!

And My Bumper Sticker Should Be:
Anything worth taking seriously - is worth making fun of.

Because I am a dreaming soul.
Souls you are most compatible with: Newborn Soul, Prophet Soul, and Traveler Soul

I am Sanguine. I am an INFP. My EQ: 147

In a Past Life, I Was: A Diseased Belly Dancer.
Where You Lived: Romania. How You Died: In Childbirth.

And.

In This Life, Will Die at Age 88.

And. I guess that pretty much sums it up.

Who are you people?

A Curry-Filled Life

I like to think that I've had my share of adventures.

As I believe I've mentioned, I was on a jury for months. Then. I was hit by a very drunk bimbo idiot wrong-direction really-fast-speeding almost-killing-me-and-Super-Zoe driver; and so therefore couldn't walk for months.

And.

Then. I worked with someone in a professional setting who legally changed his name to Dr. Cat and answered the telephone, "Meow."

For real.

I've seen things, people. Things you wouldn't understand. Things you couldn't understand. Things you shouldn't understand. So I'm not scared of the odd experience.

However, when someone suggested I try curried pumpkin apple soup, I was afraid.

For fairly obvious reasons, I had a few problems with this suggestion. Pumpkin. Apple. And Soup. Three things that are usually completely fine on their own, but together, not so normal. Kind of like The Blue Man Group.

Plus, then there's curry. Hate. Hate. Well, hated. Forever I hated curry. But then, thanks to the aforementioned drunk bimbo and a fantastic resulting head injury, it seems I began to actually crave the stuff. Crave it. And I have no idea why. But after the wreck, curry, my former enemy, was all I wanted to consume.

So. I tried this.

Curried Pumpkin-Apple Soup Recipe

4 Macintosh apples - peeled, cored and chopped
1 tablespoon butter
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 tablespoon curry powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 cups chopped fresh pumpkin
4 cups chicken broth
1 cup water
1 teaspoon white sugar

Melt butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion, garlic, curry, and cumin; saute, stirring often, until onion is soft and fragrant. Stir in apples, pumpkin, broth, water, and sugar. Bring to a boil, stirring often. Cover, and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. Puree soup in a food processor or a blender. Return soup to saucepan; reheat, covered, over low heat.


And oddly enough, it was really good.

So it's become a Autumn tradition. And it always makes me think a bit. This, and really anything featuring my once spicy adversary, reminds me of how thankful I am to experience the everyday adventures of this life, on the other side of my crash course in curry appreciation.

We'll Be Right Back in Two and Two...

Let’s just go ahead and admit it, advertising is not all bad.

Seriously Fiz, it’s not.

Plus, we’re all thinking people. Okay, granted, some of us are thinking about snogging Oscar the Grouch. But still. We're thinking.

We’re not mindless robots, forced to purchase whatever we see promoted. I mean, can someone really make you buy something you don’t want or need? I don’t think so. Neither does Mom-101. And she should know.

So, keeping all that in mind, check this out. I saw it first over at Jaelithe’s place.

And before you use this to start arguing the evils of advertising, please remember that this spot was created and developed by an advertising agency. As part of a PR campaign. And it's brilliant. So there. And don’t hate. A lot of advertising geniuses (and PR brainchildren, for that matter) are fantastic people who do amazing work.

Secondly, and more importantly, you should feel free to sit back and enjoy the pretty pictures, but please, do not by any means attempt to bodyslam yourself to try them at home. Unless you have a team of 50, many hours, and a professional lighting crew. And photoshop.

And thirdly, let it be a motivator to enjoy a freaking sigh of relief today as you step up and proudly order that venti, extra-hot, half-caf, delish straight up. Skip the low-fat, schmo-fat. And for baby Jesus' sake, drink your latte with regular milk, like God and Chuck Woolery intended.

Added in the light of the morning: Okay, okay, maybe some advertising can be somewhat bad. But it's not all bad. Seriously, how can this be bad?

We're All Consuming...

If it's true that you are what you eat, then tonight, we are page 202 of this month's Cooking Light.

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If my mom (the now Nana con Queso) is right, and you are what you put in your head, then the Hurricane and I are as follows:

Books:
Me: Besides about 40 blogs (Most are found by links in the comments section, so link to them and read them; they're good. If you comment here and don't have a blog, you should...Super Zoe, Sistaconqueso, Em, Janey, Merkin, etc...because they'd be really good reads, and I'd read them.), I finally finished "The History of Love" this weekend. Fantastic.

The Hurricane: Amy Wilson Sanger books. Perfect for a little foodie. He especially likes "First Book of Sushi" and "Hola Jalapeno!". Let me just give you a taste of the first two pages..."Hola Jalapeno! I say, hello my chile friend. Seniorita Quesadilla, cheese is melting out your end." And. There's really no need to say more.

Music:
Me: Just bought the new one from Madeleine Peyroux on Friday to listen to on our drive out of town. I'm still listening to it tonight. It's fantastic for a rainy night in.

The Hurricane: This is a must have. "The Colours Are Brighter" CD is a collection of children's songs by Franz Ferdinand, Snow Patrol, Belle & Sebastian, The Divine Comedy, and so on, to raise funds for the Save the Children Charity. It's hands-down the best children's album I've ever heard. Much better than the Baby Einstein Traveling Songs CD, which actually drove me so crazy that I was forced to throw it out of the car window last week.

Programs:
Me: In an experiment, we have ditched cable television. I know. But since all of our favorite HBO shows are off until next year, we thought it would be a good time to see how much less TV we watched if we only have the networks. So, I currently watch this, along with the rest of the world. And reading what the writers blog about it the next day, is almost as fun as watching it.

The Hurricane: Charlie and Lola. I'm not sure who loves this more. Him or me. Probably me. Lucky for us, we have about 27 episodes on our TiVo. And I never get tired of them. The Hurricane doesn't seem to either. Plus, it provides the best background noise of anything currently on TV today.

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However, if Coco Channel is right, and you are what you wear...
Then we are fabulous.

Me: My latest shoe purchase.

The Hurricane: His latest shoe purchase.

A Purple State of Mind

The longer I’m around, the more I find that I’m a marketer’s challenge. A lawyer’s nightmare. A politician’s headache. And believe me, I know. Because it’s my job to market things. Once upon a time, I was on a jury for almost seven months. And yes, I’ve even worked for politicians. Honestly. And I’m telling you now, I’d hate my type if I were the type.

Because I’m impossible to profile.Well, impossible to accurately profile. Just when you think you’ve got me pegged, I tend to stop, surprise or scare you by accidentally throwing a wrench belief, idea, background or preference. It seems I don’t completely fit into any demographic, geographic or even psychographic pie chart. That’s right. I don’t fit.

Not that I’m a misfit, mind you. Because that’s not quite accurate either. I simply don’t exactly match the segmentations of any particular assumption. Or label.

Now here comes the part where I say I don’t like labels. Which, of course, is like saying, “I’m very pro good health.” Because, honestly. Who does? Like labels. And yet, obviously and oddly, we do seem to spend a lot of time assigning them. To others. To ourselves. To friends, relatives, countrymen. Customers. Groups. Races, cultures, ideas. To states. To beliefs. To values. To most. Including and excluding all.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Ah yes, because you’re a, then you’re obviously b, c, d, e, and f.

And if you’re doing a, then you’re always e, i, o, u and sometimes y.

And you, since you’re wearing j, driving r, and doing q, then you’re obviously g, s, p, l and x. Definitely x.

Right.

But here’s what happens with this. Quite often, if you don’t fit into a particular shape, then you’re labeled undecided. Which I find to be quite inaccurate, because I’m very extremely decided about most everything. (Just ask the HcQ.) However, I’ve also found that my decisions don’t fall into the pattern that you might expect or appreciate. And eventually, they’ll fall into a seemingly random yet quite contemplated pattern with which you completely won’t understand or agree. At all.

And that’s all I’ll say about that.

But I will say that today I was asked to join a certain group. A reconciliation group of sorts. And I agree with the premise and concept almost wholeheartedly…Bring a bunch of different profiles together for connection, discussion, friendship, understanding. (And no, it’s not The Real World.) So that we will all learn that you and me are free to be you and me. And love will abound. (And no, not that kind of love. I already said it’s not The Real World.) In order to create change. Or at least to expand some horizons, including our own.

However, as much as I respect this theory…the practice of bringing types together, as if you were directing a diversity brochure photo shoot, just seems a little, I don’t know, practiced. Contrived. Affected. Artificial. Schmaltzy.

Am I completely jaded? Probably. Skeptical. I know. Terrible. Maybe. After all, how can I find fault in this idea and cause? And how can I not want to be a part of something that is designed to create so much good?

Well, for starters, because I want it to work.

And I can tell you right now, I don’t completely represent the thoughts, the words, or the deeds of the type I’m assigned to represent. And I’m really not even sure what type that is. I have my guesses though. And I can tell you now, I will not represent nor will I keep it real.

On another note, I’m also guessing, I’m not selected to represent the over age 65 group. However, you wouldn’t know that if you read the direct mail I received today. An AARP specialty item catalog. Addressed specifically to me. What the heck did I purchase or sign up for to make some marketing company think I fell into that category?

Like I said, marketer’s challenge. Even my TiVo can’t figure me out. Yesterday, it recorded Doodlebops, The Pimp Chronicles, Inside the NFL (in Spanish) and yes, The Real World.

And if TiVo doesn't get me, who will?

Shake it, brah.

This Love Thursday, I want you to understand how much the Hurricane LOVES to start his morning with a walk around the neighborhood.

With his maracas.

Because.
Sometimes you just have to take your maracas when you go on a walk.

Or you'll scream your head off.

*Okay, I realize on the last two posts, I've gone a bit photo crazy. I promise new words soon. But if you came here to read words, words and more words now, now, now, then read this. If you haven't. And if you are inclined. Etc. It's a blast from the past. And it features all words and no pictures anywhere. Considering the topic, that's probably not all bad.

Celebrity Hairdos

Sometimes, when people don't cut your hair, you look like this.

And people start to say that you look like Goldie Hawn's grandson.

But, I mean, come on, your hair isn't that long.
And, even if it is, who cares?
That's the celebaby boy style. Right?It's SoCal cool and all that.

However, when you go to your grandmother's house,
she insists the extra locks are in your way.

And your mom caves.


So with no skills and/or training whatsoever,
your mom cuts your hair herself.


In a kitchen.
With no mirrors or professionals anywhere to be found.


And so now, you look like a completely different celebrity...

One of the guys from Dumb and Dumber.

Which causes the ladies to shield their eyes in terror.
Or to instantly fall asleep.

1 + 1 = All you got. Go.

Back when I spent silly amounts of time in the Armstrong Browning Library, I had an 8 a.m. class that very often began with an on-the-spot requirement that we use two and only two words to describe a given topic, circumstance, situation, altercation, and/or whatever the professor pulled out of his arse.

At the beginning of the semester, it was intimidating, then it became annoying, then irreverent and frankly kind-of fun.

As is my way, I had totally forgotten about this biweekly ritual of old, until I ran across this over the weekend. The challenge: describe your current state in two words. And only two words.

So what are my two words?

Well, my initial reaction was to say: Honkytonk Badonkadonk. Because I've been using those words a lot since I learned them Friday as the main lyrics to a real-to-life song, on which someone is currently making big money. Which makes me laugh and flinch and frown. But then, of course, silly me, I realized that was complete wishful thinking because clearly Honky Tonk alone is two words.

So my second response is very Yin/Yang. I’m both “fairly motivated” and “sleep deprived”. My sleep deprivation keeps me from being quite motivated. And my fairly motivated part is just enough to keep me up way too late at night, adding to my sleep deprivation. It’s a sid vicious cycle. So that’s me. Currently. And right now, I think the “Sleep Deprived” is winning.

And so I ask you. How are you feeling today? In two words. And only in two words.

Pumpkinpalooza 2006

We're at my mom and dad's this weekend for some serious pumpkinpalooza, chock full of pumpkins, pumpkin patches, pumpkin carvings, pumpkin seeds, pumpkin jello. Okay, not pumpkin jello. But pony rides and pecan pie. Which have nothing to do with pumpkins. But they do begin with the 16th letter. And they are fun.

Because even way down here, it's beginning to feel like fall. And after this weekend, our porch, our windowsills and our dinner tables will be decorated with shades of orange.

So, since it's officially pumpkin month, I thought I'd go ahead and share my favorite pumpkin treasure. Pumpkiny pumpkin risotto. It puts the P in PDiddy. Amongst other things.

This recipe is originally from the Beverly Hills' fabulous L'Ermitage Hotel. I've been making it for several years now, and it always is served to great reviews.

Roasted Pumpkin Risotto

1 firm Kabocha squash (Japanese Pumpkin)
3 T virgin olive oil
1 medium white onion, diced
1 large clove garlic, minced or pressed
2 cups Arborio rice
1 C dry white wine
6 - 7 cups chicken or vegetable stock, well heated
4 T unsalted butter
1/2 C grated parmesan cheese
1T Italian parsley, finely chopped
1 tsp. fresh thyme, finely chopped
2 shallots, minced

Preheat oven to 450° F. Carefully cut the kabocha in half and remove the seeds with a spoon. Season each half with salt and pepper before placing in the oven. Roast for 30-45 minutes on a baking sheet. When cooled, scoop out flesh and reserve.

Cook the risotto: In a medium sized, heavy sauce pan, heat 3 T of olive oil. Saute the onion to soften (2-3 minutes). Add the Arborio rice and coat well with the oil while stirring. Over medium-high heat, add the white wine and begin to add the 6-7 cups of stock, a cup at a time, adding more as the rice absorbs it. Cook, stirring constantly, for 15-20 minutes or until the risotto is "al dente." When ready to serve, finish by adding the Kabocha, butter, parsley and parmesan. The risotto should be smooth and shiny.

IMPORTANT NOTE: In order to obtain best results, the stock added to risotto should always be hot before it is added.

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Also, you might have noticed that the queso has recently received a bit of a makeover, courtesy of Fringelements and Izzy Mom. So three cheers for them, all around, and amen. They've also given me some other ideas and inspirations to potentially redecorate more often. Maybe. And of course, I'll always take requests.

And speaking of that, I request that you check out this. Because don't we all love seeing a miracle in the making.

(And on that note, a Big Pink Whooooohoo!!! Shout Out to Janey and Brooke for doing their part to deliver the next generation of fabulous girls! Congratulations!)

Images from Social Pumpkins dot com.

A Window Into Our Home...

This Love Thursday, I’d like to shout out how much I love that someone around here does windows.

And tell you how much I love, that every other day, this same someone wakes up before the dawn of crack with the Hurricane.

Because on these every other mornings, he makes egg breakfasts, feeds Harry, cleans the house, scrubs down the kitchen, and gets completely ready for a day at the office before I even begin to moan myself awake.
(While on my every other morning, I mainly just sludge around the house and moan.)

I’m not saying he’s perfect (I think he might have missed one question on his SAT, maybe), but no matter what he’s doing, he goes all out.
In windows, in work, in life, in love.

And I love that the Hurricane is watching his every move.

82 Days, 2 Hours, 14 Minutes and 47 Seconds

Just so you know, my bikini was in no way the scariest thing we saw at the beach this weekend. Rather, it was the giant inflatable snow bubble snowman gracing the entry of a grocery store approximately 20 yards from the ocean.

A giant snowman. In a snow bubble. In a grocery store. In ocean view. In 80 degree weather. In September.

Believe me, it was seriously messing with my beach mojo.

What’s even more bizarre is that minutes later, I actually saw someone purchase one.

And I’m not even kidding.

You need to know how much I wish I’d had my camera with me to capture the moment of insanity. But I didn’t. Because seriously, who hauls a camera into a beachside grocery store on the off chance of witnessing a woman, wearing neon-white sunscreen, purchase a giant inflatable snowman snow globe?

In September.

What do you say we all take pause for a moment here. And join hands together to just say no to Christmas/Chanukah celebrations before Columbus Day. Period. And then let's just say, that from now on, if you do break this law and buy tinsel or offer tidings pre daylight savings time, then neither Santa nor the Chanukah Armadillo should visit you and yours.

And please note that I say 'from now on' because today I received news that Robeez is already offering its holiday collection.


And. Um. If you think I haven’t already ordered a pair of the Reindeer Robeez for the Hurricane, well, you’d be very extremely wrong.

I hate my own guts.

Monday Tidbits.

1. I just found out that my favorite coffee shop is closing. (The coffee shop that I came to all the freaking time during the mid-90s, during the Grand Poobah Heyday of coffee shops. It’s like the end of an extremely caffeinated era.) I’m actually sitting in said coffee shop right now. And the guy working at the counter told me they were closing. Not because Starbucks (don't hate) is overtaking the universe to the point that no one buys the coffee here. No. This place is packed. (Mainly packed with people like me mooching their free WiFi.) They’re closing because the spa next door bought this very cool space and is expanding into it. I think I may have found the only reason I could ever dislike a spa.
So never say never and all that.

2. Some guy who I haven’t seen in 4,000 years just came up to me as I was writing this, and without urging, caught me up on the last 3,999 years of his life; so now I have even less countdown time to enjoy my favorite coffee shop in peace. (That was kinda mean, but I’m still in mourning over #1, so forgive me. Rudeness is one of the grief stages, isn’t it?)

3. So I'm thinking, isn’t it weird that you can live in a city of 5+ million people, and you will always run into someone you know (or knew) in a coffee shop. I mean, it's still weird to me. Because I grew up in towns of 600 and 7,000. Amazing. It's like the time the guy who worked at Starbucks commented on the fact that he liked my new hair cut. I took it as a sign that a.) I went there way too often and b.) I should never go there again.

4. Speaking of not being so anonymous, I met a Bloggette for lunch in real life last week. It was a first. And I think it means I’ve officially crossed over the blogging edge. Only it was totally worth it because she is great. In Blogland and in real life. Funny, smart, good at parties, a great dancer, all of it. Jenny from Mama Drama. We had a very lively conversation (as reported here with some very cool makeover tips that I plan to try out soon. Watch for it.) And. I think I have a new friend. Which, let’s face it, is a treat that doesn’t happen nearly as often as spas takeover coffee shops. Plus, we can meet in the Village for lunch. And I think we all know that proximity is a high priority for me. In friendship and otherwise. So yeah. So far this blogging thing is not so bad.

5. Speaking of the blogging, the person who got me into this to begin with is in NYC this week. Just hanging. And blogging about it. You can read all about that here.

6. And speaking of the Padrino, when he’s not on vacation (Seriously, how much vacation can one person actually take yet still remain employed?), he lives in DC down the road from my fab friend Janey, who is planning on having a baby on my birthday. (Thanks Janey, best bday gift ever!) Janey was here this weekend, so I was beyond happy to have brunch with her and Geyer yesterday. Girls’ brunch on Sunday is really the best. The best. It should be a rule.

7. Speaking of rules. I rarely enjoy them.
(Except in the case of a brunch rule, I'm sure I could make an exception.)

8. And speaking of enjoyment. After spending time with the girls, I came home to a visit from Super Zoe and Law Boy. Wonder twin powers activate. Quick visit, but Super Zoe is my Home Girl. I think I want that on a Tshirt. And speaking of Tshirts, she gave the Hurricane this one yesterday. Cute huh?
9. And speaking of the Hurricane, I’m going to go ahead and get out of this soon-to-be spa and go home to kiss his big fat cheeks.

10. And speaking of that, well, yes, actually, the morning sprint, jog, walk sessions are going just fine. Thank you for asking. And if you’re still reading, thanks for reading a list. Because currently lists are the only tidbits of scraps that keep my crazed life glued together. Later skaters.

And Happy Monday.