Humor Me, It's My Birthday Week

And now I present unto you:
The Nat + The Holbs

You see it, right????


Birthday Week Giveaway!

On Saturday I am having a birthday. (Happy Birthday to me!)

So how about a Petunia Picklebottom giveaway? 



Today I found the most perfect little acorn while on a walk through the park with my furbabies.  
I think it's going to be a very good Autumn indeed.



It's Fashion Week! And one of my best friends from high school is in the city for a short visit. We had a few hours to kill, so we wandered over to Lincoln Center to and pretended we were Scott Schuman.

Don't you wish it could be Fashion Week every week?


Two Threes In A Row!

Happy Birthday to my favorite Spicy Holbsauce!
I love you and your crabby birthday attitude, you turkey.


35 Weeks

I've hit 35 weeks and I look fully, unmistakably pregnant. The other day at the flea market a guy at the pork sandwich station squeaked a pink pig at me and said, "Hey! This is your booth!"

Nice, Brooklyn pork person, very nice.

I used to forget that I was pregnant. Now, luckily, now there are people available to remind me that I'm pregnant. All the time! And so, yes! I am pregnant! Finally! Good job, uterus! Way to go team!

Here is Baby Huck, gestational age 35 weeks. Or, as my mom said when I showed her these photos, "Is that a basketball wearing a referee's uniform?"



Brooklyn Flea

Once upon a time there was a little Brooklyn Flea named Nat the Rat.

She lived in a little flat on Montague Street with her Brooklyn Holbsmouse. Together they ate bagels every day. They were blissfully happy, the Brooklyn Flea, her Holbsmouse, and their Pancricket.

Then one day her Brooklyn Holbsmouse got this crazy idea to go to law school, so they up and moved to Idaho.

And while that little Brooklyn Flea loved Idaho with all of her heart, she desperately wished she could go back to her little Brooklyn flat, walk her dirty Brooklyn streets, and maybe (if she was good), go to her favorite Brooklyn deli for a plain bagel with tomato and cream cheese, please.

Then one weekend, her Holbsmouse packed her up in the car and whisked her away to the real Brooklyn Flea.

(The one in Fort Greene.)

They had their first Egg Cream there. (It wasn't very good.)

I tried to narrate the babies' conversation, like this:

"Hi, I have a thing for boys with red hair, and I think you're cute."
"I don't have red hair! My hair is strawberry blonde!"

These clogs!

The end.



Fifth Avenue is telling me that the military look is going to be really big this fall. 

It looks like all of the trees in Central Park got the memo.


I Can Do Anything Good!

Have a great weekend!
(I like my pajamas!)



Brandon and the dogs went out a walk tonight before bed, just like they always do. But tonight they came home all excited!

"You will never believe what just happened!"

The story goes: Brandon was walking through the park when he saw an old guy with a white beard wearing green and red suspenders, green and red chucks, and very red trousers. Brandon told the guy he looked just like Santa Claus, and the man laughed and said, "I guess I'll see you on the 25th then!" and handed him a business card.

Brandon produced the card from his pocket with a grand flair and handed it to me.

The front.

The back.



We, The Village People

Yesterday was Constitution Day. Happy Constitution Day! To celebrate, Brandon took me to NYU to watch a guy dressed as Thomas Jefferson speak on something or other (the poor guy was hilarious, and kept slipping in and out of his accent). There were mini cupcakes involved. And then we decided to wander around the Village for a bit.

The village is my very, very favorite.

Chick-fil-a! There's one in a residence hall cafeteria. Isn't that exciting for my husband?
I will tell you this: wandering a residence hall cafeteria looking for a seat while 8 months pregnant while your husband is in line for food is weird.

At one point we happened to walk past one of the apartments I looked at during that one-day mad apartment-hunting day. I really wanted to live in the Village. Real bad. But Downtown rents are crazy. But this was a really good apartment. Right in the heart of the Village. Tinier than tiny, up a flight of stairs (no fun with a stroller, my mother kept reminding me), but with floor to ceiling bookshelves and the quaintest little details you've ever seen, and a sweet little window overlooking Christopher Square. I died for that apartment. (But, the stairs . . . and no laundry . . . and a broker fee . . . Brandon had no concept of pregnant longing that day and heartlessly instructed me to "keep looking!")

It was fun to pretend for an afternoon that we'd moved into that little apartment and to imagine for a while what our lives downtown would have been like. And oh boy, I liked it a lot.