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!

some more thoughts on subways.

I was on the slowest subway in all of the world this morning. We were stopped for 15 minutes at the bottom of the East River because of "signal failure." Under the East River for crying out loud! The longer you sit there the more you're aware that you're trapped under some five million gallons of water and I might be exaggerating but it was a lot to think about.

I asked The Husband if his train experience was similar to mine, as he'd left for work 30 minutes earlier than me and left me to put on makeup and make vital wardrobe decisions all by my lonesome, and he said no. (No!)