Puppies

We went on a nice, long walk through the brownstones this evening with the puppy. The weather here has been really unbelievable, and as we strolled I counted my blessings.

It couldn't have been colder than 45 degrees, and there was an especially amazing warm breeze.

We walked down our street and up a few more, slow and easy.

We walked to the promenade and looked at the city across the river, we watched the sun set, and then, when Peter could no longer walk a straight line and got distracted by every wadded napkin on the street, we took a seat on a wooden bench outside the Connecticut Muffin and people-watched for a while. (Brandon loves to people-watch.) (Peter Pan licked the concrete.)

It was early nighttime now so we could see into apartment windows at all the artwork and fireplace mantles and book cases. And that is my favorite.

Just then a woman with a black labrador walked past. Peter immediately stood at attention. He's not used to a lot of dogs, and while he has perfect manners, you never know what the other dog is gonna bring to things, so we tightened his leash.

As soon as the lab made eye contact with Peter Pan his ears perked up and his eyes got this manic glow as he pulled against his leash. Peter stared intently at his new buddy. The owner of the lab tugged the leash and apologized profusely and brought out a treat, and suddenly the lab's attention went straight from "puppypuppypuppy!" to "treattreattreat," but for a few precious seconds, Peter and this lab were engaged in a very intense, very meaningful eye-contact conversation.

After the lab left I asked Brandon what he thought they talked about. Brandon thought about it and said, "Well, the lab said, 'Hi, are you new here?' and then Peter Pan said 'Yeah! I'm a puppy! Wanna lick my face? I have poop stuck on my bum!'"

My Favorite Is Cherry.

Today I came home from work in a funk. It was one of those days where I never totally woke up this morning, and no matter much I ate I never actually felt full.

Clearly enough was enough and I decided to take matters in my own hands.

And so when I got home I ate two Pop Tarts.

Which means I actually ate four Pop Tarts. Because of the packaging on Pop Tarts is dumb.

That is 800 calories of Pop Tarts!

I was partially relieved because finally the box was finished and I knew I would no longer be tempted. Pop Tarts are one of those things that my mom never bought us as kids because Pop Tarts demand to be eaten all in one sitting.

Which reminds me. The cereal aisle is really bad news for me. The whole dang aisle. I don't much get into ice cream or donuts or hot dogs or whatever, but Cheerios! Cheerios are the greatest and I can eat a whole box, bowl after bowl after bowl. And that's the plain Cheerios, don't even get me started on Wheaties. Ohh, Wheaties! And Frosted Mini Wheats! (I digress.) Cereals and Pop-Tarts are things that just cannot exist in my home or I will blow up like a marshmallow (ohhh yeah, marshmallows too, mmmm), and so once I stuffed the last of the Pop Tart in my face in one big piece and I knew it was over, and that I'd never buy Pop Tarts again, and that I was going to be okay, well, it was a relief.

Then The Husband came home and said, "I have a treat for you!"

And of course when I looked at the bag he was carrying I saw that unmistakeable logo on the front. POP. TARTS. (Did you see that one coming?)

Out With The Old

The end of 2005 will be ushered out with much blowing of noses and consumption of Nyquil at the Holbrook house, and 2006 will be ushered in with more of the same. And when I ask The Husband for a back tickle in the New Year his answer will be the same as it was in the Old Year: "I'm trying to sleep!”

Peter Pan took his first outdoor steps today as he had his final round of shots earlier this week. He is immune! Hallelujah! Quarantine was rough, and not allowing his paws to touch a floor another dog may have touched was a little bit sanity-consuming, but we made it through! We celebrated by dressing him up in his jaunty Isaac Mizrahi trench coat and booties and taking him for a very jaunty but terribly ADD style walk in the snow. It went like this: walk walk walk - stop to sniff- walk walk walk- lick the cement!- walk walk walk- gotta catch the leaf gotta catch the leaf!- walk walk walk- run run run! - wait, where was I going? And then we let him race down the hall on our floor, and let me tell you, with good carpeted traction and free space to run, that dog can catch some speed! And then he whimpered at the door while The Husband took a shower. He could find no solace in his mommy who was sitting on the couch fully available and waiting for love. So sad.

So, here's to your New Year, and here's to ours as well, which The Husband has decided will be a Naked New Year; a new tradition he swears up and down we're starting tonight. We'll see about that one. Happy New Year!

thoughts on trains.

I like taking the Number 2 train because the announcements are done by a tag team of what I like to imagine is a happily married couple. First the woman tells you what stop you're at and what stop is next; then the man tells you to "Stand clear of the closing doors, please." I like it because the man is looking out for our safety (as all men should, really) and the woman is being kind and telling us where we are.

It is much preferable to the Number 5 train. I dislike it when I'm told, "This is the last stop on this train - please exit the train immediately," because that means I have to sit at the Bowling Green stop for just about forever with the tacky orange subway tiles where it’s hot and sticky until another train comes along, and really.

That's it, kids.

CHRISTMAS IN NEW YORK

faster, santa!