You know you need a blog when...

One of my best friends, Karley, is...The Best! Devoted friend, mother and wife she does it all and somehow manages to always look hot while doing so. It is a phenomenon I hope to have learned by proxy once it's my turn. She's also one of the funniest people I know. Not the kind of funny you try to be in order to make people laugh, but the kind of funny you simply are because it's part of your personality and people can't help but laugh.

Karley needs a blog. Badly. Instead, she emails in the middle of the night to write about her most recent adventures. In the past week I have woken up to some well needed and much appreciated laughs that cannot go unshared. Since I have a blog, and Karley's permission, please enjoy some Classic Karley stories.

Also, a shout out to Xander (her 16 month old/my nephew) for which these could not be possible without. Love you both!!!!!

OCT. 28, 2009

SUBJECT: New York Post Article

First, a preface....

T minus four minutes before an outburst. We survived the first few shops unscathed but Xan's preliminary tantrum tactics have begun. Time is precious people. Seldom can I venture through the streets north of my hood but the most dazzling four letter word dripping from every boutique door is fogging my logic making it easy to act upon emotion.... SALE SALE SALE. Custom made clothing originally costing obscene amounts now literally selling for dollars. Its my love/hate relationship with this economy, or I suppose the one silver lining of the recession. I need to buy more time for Xander...or should I say create more time. Milk! Need Milk. I see a bodega but I just can't rationalize spending four dollars on milk right now when I have two gallons sitting in my fridge with limited shelf life. Must prioritize the value of the dollar with little room for compromise; like I said, its a recession! Spend next to nothing (a steal really) on exclusive clothing that will return to original cost two years from now...an investment. Spend money on milk when I already have some waiting at home...wasteful. Oh wait, what's that I see?! Green awning, white bold letters in serif font...of course, a Starbucks. Problem solved :)

Al woke up this morning and read the New York Post as usual.

He then came into our bedroom and woke me up--a strict No, No--shoving this page in my face and saying "That's YOU isn't it!"

After sleepily scanning I found this little snippet....

Yes dear! :)

NOV 4, 2009

SUBJECT: For your entertainment
I was making an elaborate dinner for my family, in full Betty Crocker mode. I'm talking sauteed cherry tomatoes and fingerling potatoes, sole fillet and steamed broccoli. That's right, Betty Crocker in da house!

Xan was chillin in the kitchen a few feet from me near the elevator door (SIDE NOTE: Many NYC apartments have elevator doors that open up directly into the apartments, serving as front doors). I had the stove hood fan full blast, which means it was blaring loud. Full concentration people. I mean anytime I have two pans or more on my stove top I'm the equivalent of a Ritalin commercial candidate. After adding a touch more of garlic I look over to Xander for some moral support and my kid was GONDI. I glanced down the hall knowing he couldn't have walked more than two feet since the last I saw him and......nada. Although he's never done so before, yes, the only other place he could be was in the elevator. The oven fan was so loud I didn't hear the dumb elevator open in my own house. Betty Crocker has left the building!

I frantically called the elevator, pushing the button 900 times but it was too late. Someone in the lobby had called it before me and down down down it went. I telephoned the doorman, no answer. Memories of being stuck in that very elevator for twenty minutes flashed through my mind as I imagined my sixteen month old having to do the same. I at least was stuck once with all of my groceries; enough food to last a month. I was sure Xander had nothing more than some crumbs in the corners of his mouth and a semi-wet diaper. I felt sick. After what seemed like a freaking century I hear a very faint "bing" knowing it had safely reached the lobby. Hoping it would come straight back to me and that my child would stay inside the elevator even though the door would open at the lobby (miracles do happen) I figured my front door was the next stop. WRONG. Of course, the worst possible pit stop it could make: the floor right below me. That meant my neighbor was the one who called it from the lobby and saw my son in there alone. My neighbor who refers to me as "Al's little wife". Who has given commentary on my young mommy age saying "You're practically a child yourself", and will also refuse to take the elevator with anyone else while she has her baby in tow because she fears the shared airspace is toxic. Yes, she got that pleasant surprise while waiting for the elevator in the lobby.

There was no where else possible the elevator could go next but my door and I stood there... my nose centimeters away from the door imagining it opening a thousand times in my head before it actually does. It opened. Doorman holding baby. There was nothing I could say. Could I try to tell him that I was literally feet away from Xander but couldn't hear the elevator because I was cooking a bomb dinner for my boys and needed to blast the hood fan because the slightest amount of smoke signals our smokedector?? Or that I've never had to think twice about Xander near the elevator because he's never been tall enough to reach the call button until apparently today?? And that although the elevator door was just to the side of me I have no peripheral vision while cooking because if I don't stare completely at the multiple pans while cooking, I might as well order takeout in advance?? Nope. I don't say anything but give sigh of relief and a "Thank You". I'll save the speech for child services.

So much for babysitting swaps with my neighbor downstairs! Needless to say we found a solution to this new elevator/Xander problem and are having a handyman come ASAP so this doesn't happen again!