The morning glory is quickly becoming one of my favorites flowers.
Thanks to our friend, Brian — he gave Sam and I this potted plant back in April. Last summer Brian saved the seeds from his morning glories and planted them this past spring. He had a few different varities, so when he planted them he wasn’t sure what colors each new plant would produce. The colors are a brilliant shade of blue and purple.
Every morning on my way out the door they make me smile.
Last Saturday night was your typical summer Saturday at The Red Barn – hectic. The restaurant was packed; the ambient music was muffled by the voices of numerous restaurant guests; but to my surprise The Red Barn team handled the chaos effortlessly. Not to mention there was a famous chick in the house — Parker Posey, and I waited on her.
Although I must admit when Chris, the owner, said Parker Posey was in the restaurant I had no idea who she was talking about, but when I walked over to the table I recognized her face right away.
Over my nine seasons at The Red Barn, there have been a handful of infamous famous people who have dined at this establishment. Those with celebrity status and also, those with less recognized faces, who I will brand “well-connected people” – NYC judges, doctors, CEOs, bankers, photographers, TV reporters, journalists. The list could go on forever. [I once catered a private party at Martha Stewart’s former assistant’s house. The flamboyant group drank from three hundred dollar crystal glasses and ate their puff pastries off irreplaceable antique dishes.]
I would say, roughly eighty percent of the “regular” patrons of the Red Barn have money coming out of every crevice of their body, and they have the superior attitude to prove it. Since, the restaurant is owned by two New Yorkers and only open on the weekends, The Red Barn is a perfect social gathering/ eatery for all of the above weekenders. In a way, I blame the presence of these over zealous NYC pre-madonnas for the over development of once beautiful farm land.
Once upon a time, there was an open field in Old Kinderhookthat had one stop light and when you were waiting for the light to turn green you could gaze across the field and see the sun setting on a silhouette of the Catskill Mountains. That traffic light has now been replaced by a well-trafficked round-a-bout, and the green grass has been swapped for every franchise imaginable — CVS, McD’s, Stewarts, DD’s, and a mini strip mall, complete with a dollar store and Hannaford. I remember when Co. County was filled with families who had grown up in the area. The small town that I grew up in is now filled with weekenders – we’re talking total domination. C’est la vie…
P.S. Parker and her bf, Scott, were a both dolls, generous tippers, and a delight to wait on — a modest couple, who shared appetizers and split their main entrée. Parker even ordered a carafe of the house wine.
I have lived in the same apartment in downtown Albany for a little over three years now, and over time I have made friends with many of my neighbors. Sadly, one woman and her cat, Silky, will be leaving the neighborhood.
Last night she let Sam and me in on a little neighborhood secret: a block over from our apartment there is a huge apple tree growing in someone’s backyard, and this tree ain’t no crab-apple tree either. Apparently, the owners of the property welcome neighbors to pick apples because the tree gets bogged down with fruit, as there is no one to pick all them apples. The fruit isn’t quite rip yet — they’re still very tart, but I think that makes a great apple pie, right? — Too bad, I don’t bake.
I’d tell you where the tree is, but then you would steal all the apples. Although there is definitely enough fruit on this tree for our whole neighborhood.
My neighbors are definitely not on the “green” bandwagon. Grant it, they have a blue recycling bin, [which I gave to them], but sometimes I see leftover McD’s in their recycling bin!
Not too mention, some of the items they put on the curb for trash night are a bit ridiculous, i.e. the car hood that was left out this past Monday night. Like where did the rest of the car go? I’m guessing this is going to sit on the curb for a few weeks. [Large items like this you have to call the city to pickup, which I’m assuming they didn’t do]. They also left these perfectly good deck chairs a few months back — what gives?
Don’t you know there are a ton of metal recycling facilities in Albany that will PAY you for your hood?
Sam had four Audi wheels that no one wanted to buy on craigslist – he later sold them to a metal recycling center and got seventy bucks for them, which was more than what he would’ve received from a buyer on craigslist. I feel like there is a common misconception that plastic, cans, and newspaper are the only items that can be recycled.
I thought about putting a sticky note on their door to tell them they were throwing money in the trash, but then I thought — how can I fit this car hood in my Mini?
Having been both a blonde and a brunette, I agree that blondes do have more fun. My theory: fair-hair is significantly brighter than say someone with darker hair, making it more eye-catching. Attention is thus drawn to the all the blonde chicks [whether their babes or not]. Look at all the blondes of Hollywood — Britney Spears, for example, now you know she was having fun when she shaved off all her hair.
Obviously, the color of my hair is blonde, but in general I don’t feel like your stereotypical “blonde bombshell.” Take out the “blonde” part [it’s merely descriptive anyway], and your left with “bombshell.” I can be classified as a hot mess or a complete disaster.
Case in point, I’m an accident waiting to happen. I trip over my own feet at least once a day, and I’m not talking about those uneven Albany sidewalks that occasionally get in the way. My feet seem to collapse beneath me, check out my knees – I have major scars. I’m constantly finding bruises on my body, and I can never remember what I bumped into that would cause such a huge mark to appear on my body.
When I wake-up in the morning I have bags under my eyes and my breathe smells just as bad as everyone else’s; and like most I could withstand to lose a few pounds. The majority of people, [i.e. men] probably wouldn’t find my rock and teddy bear collections too exciting or even interesting for that matter.
Although, I show confidence and poise when I’m out with my friends, I feel like a huge nerd underneath, who only looks cool from the outside. Usually, my smiles and nods mean I have no idea what you are saying, but I will smile politely so you keep talking. I’m always worried if I have something in my teeth or if I have a big booger hanging out of my nostril.
Maybe we’re all geeks trying to have fun, even those of us who are blonde.
P.S. I was trying to find some pics of me as a brunette darker version of my blondeself, but these are all I have on my current computer [they were scanned in].
me, left, and my cousin heather
I was more of a strawberry blonde back then, right?
I'm the non-bald one.
I guess my hair color fluctuates, kind of like my moods [but that's for another post].
You would think a rainy day would thin out the crowd in Saratoga just a little bit, but both Broadway and the Saratoga Race Track were bustling with people. My dad, mom, Sam, Meg and her boyfriend, Justin, started the day off at the Grey Gelding for lunch on Broadway. I always order the double veggie burger with Chipotle sauce and a glass of pinot noir. Sadly, they were out of guacamole, which is usually served with their French fries, but my veggie burger with alfalfa sprouts on a pretzel bun was superb non the less.
The Track. I’m not much of a gambler, and I have a hard enough time parting with my money for things that qualify as necessities, [i.e. utilities, cable, and groceries]. Let’s face it- what are the odds of your horse making it to the finish line first? Sometimes, I will place a few bucks on a horse with a funny name like “Miss Priss” or “Stanley the Stallion.” For the most part, I visit the Track more for the atmosphere. People watching is almost always entertaining, especially the ladies wearing ridiculously, funny hats; listening to people’s interesting strategies; and the smell of horse droppings that reminds me of the horse farm I grew up next to. [Just kidding- it never really smelled, but as a kid, I woke up and saw horses out my window every morning]. Horses are magnificent, agile creatures; when they run their manes flow so freely, their hind legs kick up so effortlessly.
The odds. The farm I grew up next to was specifically for breeding race horses, and my mom’s boss [a big horse gambler], also owns a few racing horses. So, maybe this is why my mom was feeling lucky Sunday at the Track. Her boss told her that it’s all about the way the horse looks, specifically their eyes, winners always have a “fire,” and apparently you should check whether or not the horse looks tired [but they all look pretty jittery to me]. I’m really not sure what all that means, but my mom found a horse she liked on race #7. So, she gave my dad twenty bucks to bet on her horse, but apparently there are several ways to place a bet. My dad didn’t want to spend twenty bucks on one race, so he only bet a few dollars on my mom’s horse and pocketed the rest [my dad is way stingier with money than I am]. The horse my mom picked won, but my dad didn’t bet properly, so my mom never got to claim her fifty bucks [or something like that, again, not too sure on this betting stuff]. Here’s a guide.
The win. In the eighth race, my mom picked another horse, and his odds were 20 to 1, meaning he most likely was going to lose, and when no one bid on poor little Freddy The Cap, his odds went down to 32 to 1. Feeling lucky, my mom threw down twenty bucks on her firey-eyed horse. Did I mention Bobby Flay was at the Track the same day, for a signing of his new cook book, “Burgers, Fries and Shakes”? As the announcer of the last race, Flay must have brought my mom and Freddy the Cap some good luck because Freddy won first place, and my mom pocketed $670 bucks.
P.S. My mom is the coolest because she decided to split the money six ways. Thanks Mom!
Dreaming of an unforgivable kiss.
Not permissible. Inexcusable.
A boundary should never be broken.
A breeze whispers in your ear.
Inevitable delight.
Just give in.
No need to put up a fight.
The hand
Delicately stroking a breast.
Fingers softly entangled in hair.
She could feel the heat of the sand.
Warm breathe still lingering in the air.
A reaction so arousing to swallow.
To taste a kiss of his lips.
He, wanting the novelty of her hips.
Sweetly clutching her hand.
As they kissed
The smell so lovable.
Likely forgettable.
Definitely unpardonable.
The Mini Cooper, a spunky, energetic little car with attitude. [Hello! Have you seen The Italian Job?]. My little go-cart and I have been speeding cruising down the highway since August of 2007. Two years later, and I am still totally in love with her, but we have been through some rough patches together.
Literally five days after I drove my Mini off the lot, I parked on the U-Albany campus and received a door-ding the size of my index finger [$150 bucks]. A month later I discovered two huge gashes on my back bumper [$300]. Or how about the time I killed bambi in Columbia County? I replaced the head light, bonnet and those perfect black pin strips [thank God for car insurance or that would have set me back $2,000]. Oh yeah and last winter was fun when we had over two feet of snow, I could barely dig her out of the snowball she had been plowed into [snow tires are a must]. Not too mention, the stiff suspension makes her a rough rider.
In addition to the above physical mishaps, there have been some technical ones too. Like when I had to bring her in and get her computer rebooted because she went hay wire, or when I had to get towed last winter because the throttle was frozen. There was the recall of the exhaust pipes because they stuck out too much and some idiot burned themselves. Sometimes strange warning lights go off for no reason and the sunroof doesn’t always function properly. Rumor has it that, the my Mini is very fickle and perhaps jinxed- maybe that’s why we get along so well.
Even though all this sounds like a pain in the ass, there are a lot of features that really make me love this car. There is always room to squeeze her in a tight parking spot, and when there is no one in the back-seat the vehicle is actually quite spacious. No one mooches for rides because they don’t want to squeeze in the back seat. The Mini saves on gas [when you’re not flooring it] with an average 35 MPG. There is enough horse power [172 to be exact] under the hood for all five feet three inches of me, and I have the speeding tickets to prove it. I can’t forget the Mini Cooper Club, and if you see another motoring Mini, a friendly wave is a must.
With that said, I still wouldn’t trade her in for a more comfortable four-door sedan or high performance speed racer. I’m perfectly content with my Mini, and to me, the car will always be seamless. When you’re driving in a Mini Cooper you just feel cool, like you’re wearing your best accessory. So, Happy Anniversary to me and my Mini: two years of fun. Hopefully, we will last as long as Rachel and Chariot.
