May I Please Buy Just One Stamp?

My sister and I went to Staples the other day and she asked the cashier for one stamp. The lady looked at her as if Jenny was a drooling two-year-old and said, "We need to sell those in sheets."

I laughed and said:

"Hmmm...let's see...I need one pen cap, two sheets of paper, one piece of Scotch tape..."

We are Finally Getting a Sofa Thing

Tomorrow people are going to deliver a brand-new khaki-colored sofa that converts into a bed so that we can finally have a real guest room and not a room-full-of-junk-I-should-have-thrown-out-months-ago. I went through my room-full of junk, and because I'm a hoarder, it's really difficult for me to get rid of anything, even the spare flooring left over from when we got our floors put in. I mean, what if we need a plank of wood floor some day? And the fifth copy of the AAA New York City map? What if that Jehovah's Witness who comes over every weekend asks me how to get to the Triborough Bridge? I'll be able to give him my map. How horrible would I feel if I said to him, "Oh, I had a map, actually 5, but I wanted less clutter in my home so I threw is out. Sorry!"

But I am trying to be good about things, and not bury Peter in stuff. Also, I know that we will move from this place some day (probably soon, since Peter doesn't like condo-living. Once you go house-living, you can't go back. Plus we're too lazy to take out the dogs) and I don't want to have another nightmarish move where I am confronted by the boxes and boxes of junk I've accumulated.

The sofa that converts into a bed will be for our guest bedroom, so that our guests will be able to stay overnight. Peter has been trying to get me to clean that room up for weeks so that his mother can stay here for the weekend. It's been four months because, quite frankly, that's not much incentive.

If Peter had said, this guest bedroom needs to be cleaned out so that Kate Winslet can come spend the night, I would have had it done in two seconds. By throwing away all my stuff. Nothing's too good for Kate, my celebrity-best-friend.

We Don't Know That Person

Macy's keeps calling our phone number and telling us that they are trying to get in touch with Gloria Dingler. We keep ignoring these messages, but they have been really persistent.

Peter finally picks up the phone the other day to let them know that they can stop calling us, because we don't know Gloria Dingler and she doesn't live here. The conversation went like this:

Phone Operator: Alright, I'll call back another time.

Peter: But this is not her number.

PO: Yes, but this is the phone number she gave us, and we have to call that number.

Peter: No matter how many times you call that number, she's still not going to be here.

PO: It doesn't matter.

Peter: May I speak with your manager?

PO: I am the manager, sir. We're trying to collect this debt and I need to call this number.

So Peter got really aggravated and told her to take the number off the account. She said she would, but Peter doesn't believe her.

Of course, I'm thinking, "Gloria Dingler? Can that name sound more fake? She might as well be named Esmerelda Fragilistic.

Anyway, just in case Gloria Dingler is a real person and if you happen to know Gloria Dingler, Macy's is looking for her.

The Dog Park Does Not Like Us

It's been too long since the dogs have gotten any exercise. I admit that it's my fault. I'm the one that is home most days, but they're big, and I'm a little hesitant to take them to dog parks by myself.

Yesterday, Peter agreed to go with us, so I found a dog park in a nearby town. We have the worst luck in the world when it comes to going to a restaurant/museum/dog park. For instance, last month I decided that we should try a new restaurant. I kept reading great reviews about The Inn at Pound Ridge, which supposedly has really good brunches, and it's about 15 minutes away from us, so I check out the web site, and we went. Of course, we get there and guess what? Closed and under new management.

My pet peeve is an establishment that has a non-updated web site. Why have a web site if you're not going to have accurate information on it?

Yesterday I checked out the dog park web site, downloaded directions, and rounded up the dogs. It was a beautiful day, 70 degrees in January, the most perfect winter day in New York ever. We get there with our handy new Garmin and Peter says, "I hope there's not too many people there."

We get there, there were strange twists and turns and we would have never found it on our own without "Jill," our handy electronic Garmin-voice. As we approach the dog park, Peter said, "Oh, great! There isn't anyone there at all."

Two seconds later he says, "Uh, oh. There isn't anyone there at all."

That's right. Because it's CLOSED until April.

The dog park Sucks Balls AND it doesn't update its web site. It deserves to go to internet hell.

I Almost Killed a Baby...But it was Her Mother's Fault

Last week, I took my (cell phone) loser sister to get a new cell phone. It was December 28, a day that will live on in infamy as The Worst Day to Travel to New York City. I spent about five hours stuck in traffic moving about a half-inch every ten minutes.

At one point, I wanted to make a left turn and although the light had just turned green for me, a lady with her toddler walking right behind her decided to push her way across the street. As soon as she passed my car, I step on the gas. At that moment, the lady throws her baby back in front of my car and by some miracle of God, my peripheral vision catches this and I slam on the brakes. Generally, when people walk past my car, I am not expecting them to come back and throw their baby under my tires.

I was inches away from killing her baby and Jenny, who was sitting in the passenger's seat said, "I was already bracing myself for the impact."

She demonstrated this by making a sad face and smooshing her head against the headrest. It was kind of a cute sad face, a face that said, "If I hadn't lost my cell phone, then my sister would not be driving me to the Verizon store and your baby would still be alive."

I couldn't help but put both hands to my face as I watched the mother pick up her daughter and move back onto the sidewalk. She and I stared at each other, and in that moment we both recognized what could have happened.

The lesson I have learned is this: If you have a stupid mother, just be thankful that you got out of childhood alive. Because when you were too young to remember, she might have thrown you in front of oncoming traffic.

I was still getting my bearings, but because this is New York City, everyone behind me started honking like crazy. Because it's THEIR TURN to move another half-inch and they don't want to lose their opportunity.

New Year's Resolution

I don't know how to decorate. I was raised by a woman who does not believe in knick-knacks. Whenever anyone would give my mother a lovely vase, a ceramic bowl, or a porcelain dolphin, she looks at it and wonders why a person would throw away perfectly good money on clutter. This same person does not get into the habit of hanging anything up on the walls. I grew up in a very, shall we say, MINIMALIST household.

For the longest time, the only things hanging up on the wall were several paintings I did in junior high. My mother once said, "That painting is more precious to me than any Picasso. I mean, who is he to me, anyway? Picasso isn't FAMILY."

Peter and I went to Vinnie and Gretchen's house for a New Year's Eve celebration. We've been moved into our condo for the past three months, which is about the same amount of time Vinnie and Gretchen have been at their house and there are still boxes in the living room, our spare room has become our spare closet-full-of-junk-we-should-have-thrown-out-months-ago. The basement is a nightmare, and I still haven't unwrapped one of our dining room chairs.

Anyway, when we walked into Gretchen's house - it was DONE. Plates hung up on the wall, Christmas decorations with a real Christmas tree and presents under it, all the furniture unpacked, with a plant and candlesticks on the dining room table. The lady has about three jobs, a four-year-old to take care of, and manages to whip her household into shape.

On my way home, Peter consoled me by saying, "Gretchen grew up in a decorated house. She learned all this from her mom. I mean, your mom is kind of like, 'Hey! I got this picture of a water-fall from one of my customers...and I'm going to put it...HERE! Behind the stereo speakers!'"

Gretchen told me that she spent a crazy amount of money for all the furniture and stuff and it's going to take her four years to pay it off - but at least she gets to live in a nice place for four years. I'm so frugal, we still don't have a REAL dining room table.

My New Year's Resolution is to make my house a home - even if I have to spend gobs of money.

Tomatillo Restaurant

We had lunch at this new place I've discovered - Tomatillo Restaurant. It's located in Dobbs Ferry and it's fantastic! It's a mexican restaurant which tries to use organic produce from the local area. We had burritos, which were excellent and their french fries were the best I've ever tasted.

The sad thing is that the Louisiana Cajun Cafe, which was on the same block, no longer exists. I really liked their Jambalaya. Oh well.