Just A Little View Out Our Window

A Snow Story

The other day it snowed. 

 (A lot.)

It was still snowing 

when we ventured outside for a potty.

At first, the Pan wasn't so sure.

But eventually he got the hang of it.

He even made a snowday buddy.

Peter Pan the snowdog from the front:

And the back:

The End.

Retail Therapy

Today I bought a denim vest. H&M told me I needed a denim vest, and so I bought the denim vest.

I also went to Macy's today in Herald Square.

The only other time I'd been to Macy’s was on my 15th birthday, which happened to fall on Rosh Hashana that year, and since Jewish holidays are awesome and we lived on the East Coast and always had the Jewish holidays off, my mom and I got to spend the day wandering around the city eating bagels. Another thing we did that day was see David Letterman, thus beginning my lifelong crush on crusty old men. Also, we went to Macy's.

The very greatest thing about Macy's is that when you take the escalator up and up and up, right around the 4th floor the elevators turn wooden. Today I really wished I was with my mom because we'd have had a great time shopping together, and one of the few rough things about living in this city is how rarely I get to see to my momma. Macy's is one heck of an experience when you're by your lonesome.

So on this wonderful President's Day I give thanks to Washington and Lincoln for giving me this day off so I could spend an entire six hours in the sales racks, surrounded by the people in this world who love me most: retail employees.

My Favorite Subway Entertainment

Morning Views

not bad, brooklyn.

This! Is! Jeopardy!

The Holbs has developed an addiction to Jeopardy. He watches it daily, along with the rest of the Geritol community. Since The Holbs is better at such things as arm wrestling and thumb wars, we inevitably watch what he wants to watch, which these days means King of the Hill, and now also Jeopardy!, but I draw the line at Wheel of Fortune because as my Granny Goose used to say, Wheel of Fortune is for ninnies.

As we were watching Jeopardy! (!!) tonight, the puppy pottied on his puppy pad. The Holbs has a weird sixth sense when it comes to pooping and announced from across the living room, "The dog is pooping!”

While I cleaned up (my turn), The Holbstrebek yelled things intermittently, like, "Byzantine Empire!" "The Louvre!" and "Landscapes!"

My brother, who has a birthday on Monday and will be 11, starteed calling Brandon "Bean Dip" the other day. Just randomly. He threw it out there one day while he was visiting for Christmas and it is the awesomest nickname for anybody EVER.

But what I want to know is this: What happened to Alex Trebek's mustache? He looks like a thumb. Maybe someone should tell him to grow it back.

The Elusive Subway Lion In His Natural Habitat

Grammy-Inspired Deep Thoughts

Holbs: You know what U2 is? U2 is like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, bringing peace to the world through music.

Me: Hmm.

OH-VAR-IES

I realized just the other day that I am now at the exact child-bearing age that I pre-determined for myself as the ideal age for bearing children when I was 13 years old. I must have been really in tune with junk when I was 13, because suddenly I have become baby hungry. My clock is ticking. I am a ticking time bomb. I need a baby.

I see a baby, I want it. I want to hold it and change its diaper and nurse it and nibble its toes. I keep waking from dreams where I have a baby and spend all day cooing at it and then always I lose the baby and spend the rest of the dream wondering, hey, don’t I have a baby? And then I usually find the baby in the bathroom.

I've taken to holding Peter Pan like a baby to get a quick fix, rocking him back and forth and singing You Are My Sunshine softly in his ear. Peter Pan loves this and will even put his head lovingly on my shoulder while we sway.

And so, last night, I delivered my ultimatum to the husband. We Will Have Children! I declared. I mean, not immediately. Brandon agreed and we shook on it. He worries I'm getting too clucky, and that I may spontaneously impregnate due to sheer, overwhelming desire alone. I've checked with my ovaries and they assure me that this is, in fact, possible. So. We are on the baby train. Our stop may not be for a bit yet, but the train, we are on it. We have tickets. We are headed for babyville. We are on the Local, not the Express.

In the meantime, the puppy looks sleepy, so I think I'll take advantage by dusting him in baby powder and rocking him to sleep.

And You Say, Stay

My cute little husband has a bit of a crush on Lisa Loeb. You know Lisa Loeb? Stay? Do you eat sleep do you breathe me anymore? Do you sleep do you count sheep anymore? I like Lisa Loeb. But Brandon loves Lisa Loeb. We watch her show "#1 Single" on E! (E!!!!) and Brandon's face lights up and he smiles wistfully and sighs longingly and watches intently. I really like the show because she lives in a fantastic apartment in Manhattan and goes on dates all over the city and I like to try and see if I recognize places, and also she does this cute little narrative thing that I enjoy. My Holbs tries to play it smooth, and I sure do appreciate that but sometimes he lets little things slip like, "Don't you like this show?" and, "Isn't she cute?" and just recently, "You should do your hair like that."

And then comes my favorite part, the part when he says, "You know, you sort of look like her, when you wear your glasses." I think I like it because, for one thing, Lisa Loeb is pretty cute, you know, and for another thing, if my husband is going to have a crush on someone that isn’t me, it’s nice to know that at least he likes people who remind him of me, which means I must not be all that far off from his ideal, and that is comforting. Right?

I have a pair of Clark Kent glasses I wore in college because I'm a Back-Row Lurker and can't see well more than fifteen feet in front of me. I don't wear them much anymore except when we're at the movies and then Brandon will be very sly and say something like, "You look very cute right now."

Brandon Holbrook just now, as Number One Single is on the television box this very minute as I type: "I know what Lisa Loeb needs in a man. She needs someone not intimidated by her fame. Someone very strong, and..."

I must confess here that I completely tuned him out because I could tell he was only describing himself and I knew that any more of it would send me to giggling, and that wouldn't have been very nice of me at all, seeing as he was trying to be all sly and not let on that secretly when it's dark and we're going to bed he pretends that I'm Lisa Loeb while we cuddle. But you know what, I'm okay with this. I'm okay with this because sometimes I pretend the person I’m snuggling back with is George Clooney. No harm in that!

So, Internet, for your consideration:

Me

Lisa Loeb

Me



I don't see it.

Ouch.

On my way home from work today, somewhere between Fulton Street and Borough Hall, I managed to find a headache and a blister and put them in my pocket. And then they conspired to take my soul, and as anyone who's had that happen can attest, the only thing left to do was to eat two bagels and three bowls of cheerios. So I did. And it helped.