My Pet Miniature Elephant

The other night I had one of the most terrifical dreams I've ever had. I had LOVED elephants for as long as I can remember. My friends are always getting me elephant pendants, lamps, and paper made from elephant poop (okay--two people have given me this as gifts--I love elephants, not their poop! If I hear that you like dogs, do I give you a bag of my dog's poop?).

In my dream. Peter and I were living in some sort of city. We were renting this huge and awesome apartment and we had a roommate--who had a miniature elephant from Ethiopia as a pet. She was all:

"Oh, this elephant? I got him in Ethiopia when I lived there for a few years."

Okay, so in my dream, I totally fell in love with this elephant--which looked like one of those baby elephants you see on TV. It was about as tall as a Great Dane--so pretty big, but so sweet and cute! And in my dream, I was trying to concoct all these ways that I could kidnap her because my roommate was never going to let her go.

The roommate got this last-minute call--I guess she worked for some sort of organization like the Red Cross or something like that and was called away to Sarajevo, or some other remote country. She asked if I would take the miniature elephant because she didn't want to have her quarantined for 4 weeks like she had to when she brought it to America.

Peter said to her, "Oh, I don't think that's a good idea."

And of course, I totally elbowed him in the stomach and said, "WE'LL TAKE HER!"

The rest of my dream was telling Peter that I would never, ever ask for anything else for as long as I lived if I can have a pet elephant. And we were already living with her!

And then I woke up.

You know that hazy state you're in right after you wake up from a dream? Well, I went over to my computer and looked up "Miniature Elephant as Pets" because I sort of believed that they were out there. And when I found a link, I got SOOOO excited--I mean, I'll go to the ends of the earth to get me a miniature pet elephant.

Apparently, this was a facebook page for the "Society for the Introduction of Miniature Elephants as Pets." It's sort of a jokey site created by someone who had the idea before I had my dream. And no, miniature elephants don't exist...yet. Bummer.

Eeeeeeeeeek!

A few weeks ago, when I was in Kentucky, I talked to Peter on the phone and he said, "I think I hear an animal in our bedroom wall."

It's not that I didn't believe him, but Peter's ears suffered through years of playing in extremely loud clubs and rock concerts without earplugs. So yes, I believed that he heard something, but I wasn't really convinced that it was an animal.

About a week later, we were in our bedroom and he said, "That! Do you HEAR that?"

I did hear a little something, but it was very faint and I'm not even sure if I trusted my ears. But then the next morning when I woke up, I distinctly heard something that sounded like chewing in the wall.

I googled "animal in wall" and came across websites featuring birds and possums and raccoons caught in between the walls.

An hour later, I was blithely getting a Swiffer cloth to Swiffer around the living room floor. I pressed down on the box to lift up the flap and AMOUSERANOVERMYHAND!!!! Oops, sorry. I meant: A...MOUSE...RAN...ACROSS...MY...HAND.

Just at that moment, Peter turned the doorknob as he returned from work and heard my bloodcurdling scream that sounded a bit like: "UUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
(deepbreath) AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEE (deepbreath) EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

He said that at first, my frenzied, high-pitched scream made him think that I had hurt myself, but then my scream took on a frantic energy that made him think, "Oh, yeah. That noise I've been hearing is probably a mouse!"

Apparently, the mouse had been FEASTING on the bird seed that we keep under the sink--which is also where we keep our cleaning supplies.

That night we went to Home Depot and picked up these plastic kill and contain mousetraps because they didn't have what my friend who lives in Park Slope calls the "Mouse Electric Chair."

It looked pretty flimsy, but it caught the mouse a few days later. At least, I hope it was that mouse and I hope that it was the only mouse in the house.

Although, Peter and I keep wondering, how was is that the mouse was in the Swiffer box the moment I reached for it? Was he sleeping in there like Stuart Little?

Birthday Party

My sister Judy had a birthday party dinner last week and it was really wonderful. You know the feeling you get when you get so happy that it makes you feel sad? I felt a bit like that.

Judy has developmental disabilities so she kind of operates like a seven-year-old at times. Her friends were mostly from her school and programs she's involved in and a few of her friends have Down's Syndrome. My family picked a restaurant that does events with people who have developmental disabilities and the waitstaff was super-nice (The Bicycle Club in Englewood Cliff, NJ--a really nice space with great people).

When the menus were passed out, one of the kids asked if there was a party menu and when my sister Jenny said, "No party menu, you can order anything you want in the regular menu."

He gasped, "We can order off the REGULAR menu?"

You could tell that inside, he was thinking: Boy, this is CLASS.

It was sweet to see all those kids together. Each person has different disabilities. For example, some kids are shy about asking where the bathroom was, some kids won't eat vegetables, some have special food restrictions, some need help walking because they have physical disabilities. What was amazing was that they all knew each other so well, that they helped each other out.

One girl took away her all her neighbor's vegetables because he won't eat his ribs if vegetables are touching them. (Of course, I'm thinking: Man, his poops must be tough!) One girl with Down's Syndrome needed to go to the bathroom and a friend helped her find it. It was nice to see that everyone had their strengths and weaknesses and as a group of friends, they all worked together to help each other out. I wished that more people could be like that.

Jenny also made these gorgeous decorations with banners, place cards, cupcake flags and goodie bags. She spent hours and hours printing them up and putting it all together. And it did not go unappreciated. When we wrapped up the party, we discovered that a lot of the kids kept all those paper decorations--even the cupcake flags. How cute is that?

Jenny got cupcakes from Manhattan for the party, and on the way home, one of the girls told her mom, "We ate cupcakes from NEW YORK!" It was just so nice because these kids just APPRECIATED the hell out of every little thing and it did kind of make us feel like a million bucks.

I mean, the night was all:

"You're so PRETTY!"
"Where'd you get this? You MADE this? WOW! You're REALLY GOOD!"
"Judy, your sisters are SO NICE!"
"Who's this? Hi! Nice to meet you!"
"I LOVE your dress!"

What's not to love?

I've heard of so many people who terminate their Down's Syndrome babies and it actually made me cry when I got home because these kids were so sweet and kind. And I know that growing up, a lot of my parents' friends have felt sorry for us, but we're so lucky to have Judy in our lives.

I mean, who else has a person in their lives who, no matter what he or she does, will ALWAYS love them unconditionally?

This is how nice my sister Judy is--when she first started work at the library, there was a co-worker there who HATED Judy. In fact, she tried to get the boss to get rid of Judy a bunch of times. I mean, what a creep, right?

About a few months after Judy started her job, I asked her how this co-worker was doing--and if she was being any nicer. Judy said:

"Oh, YES. She's SOOO much nicer now."

"Really?" I asked her. "What's different?"

"Now, sometimes she says hi!"

The Bangs That Never Were

When I was young, my mother used to cut my hair herself and she kept all of her children in bangs up until we were in junior high school. I haven't had bangs in about twenty-five years, but I had been hankering for a change, so I decided that when I went for my haircut, I was going to get bangs.

I've tried to get bangs before, but many hairdressers have talked me out of it, saying that my forehead was too small, my hair was too stiff, I'm too lazy for the upkeep, blah, blah, blah.

When I call up the salon I go to, I was told that my (very expensive) hairdresser was out of town for the next few weeks on vacation. I've had my hair cut with the other senior stylist they have, but I wasn't that happy with it, so I googled around for another salon who can do Asian hair. I found this Japanese hair salon in Scarsdale and thought, "Well, they're Asian, so they should do Asian hair well, right?"

I got there and I told the guy that my hair was really thick, so I wanted my hair thinned out and that I wanted short bangs. However, I did ask him if he thought that my hair could do bangs. He looked at me and said, "Yes, of course."

An hour later, I looked like a mulletted rat.

And I don't know why, because I was paying for a VERY EXPENSIVE haircut, but I didn't want to make a fuss. When the guy looked at my hair, he gave me his card and even offered to fix it if I didn't like it. You know it's bad when the stylist is already offering that while you're still sitting in his chair. I said it looked cute because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Meanwhile, I was crying in the car on the way home.

This is why I had my friend Marisol come with me to get my hair put up the day of my wedding. I needed a hair advocate because when I'm sitting in that chair, I lose all ability to think straight and I'm so afraid of hurting the stylist's feelings that I don't ask for what I want.

So now I've been pinning back my bangs until they grow back, which according to google will be six months.

The Bra Whisperer

I was sitting at a good-bye lunch with the magazine gang last week (our managing editor and three interns were leaving us for greener pastures) and I kept tugging at my bra because it was chafing my right boob. I was trying to figure out what was wrong and I thought that perhaps after all these years of practice, I had simply put my bra on all twisted up. I was sitting there sipping my extremely delicious butternut squash soup with dollops of creme fraiche when I simply could not take it any longer and went to the bathroom to investigate.

Yes, I went to the bathroom and took off my bra. And it wasn't all twisted, in fact, the underwire had BROKEN IN HALF. Yes people, my boob broke the underwire in my bra.

In the past I've had underwires just poke out and decide to leave themselves on Boston's Newbury Street. Apparently, Boston likes to see me without a bra on.

But this was the first time the underwire BROKE IN HALF. I asked all my friends if that had happened to them before and they were like, "Uhm. No. What's wrong with your boob?"

Unfortunately, my publisher and I had a very important meeting so I couldn't just go braless, so I MacGyvered the damned thing with some rolled up paper towels to act as wire supports.

That's when my publisher told me about the Orthodox Jew Bra Lady, who is the New York Bra Whisperer. She can look at any woman and know instantly what size bra she should were.

"Do you think that it'll be weird to tell them that I'm just going to wear it out of the store like a pair of shoes?" I asked.

"Are you kidding me?" she said. "ALL of my friends walk out of there wearing their new bras."

Unfortunately, when we drove by, it was CLOSED. Nerts!

Slovenly Vs. Sloppy

The other day I bumped into a person I know from town at the local coffee shop. She was wearing this old strappy-type dress that hung so low that her boobs were kind of hanging all out. And we're not talking movie-star boobs, but momish boobs. Plus, she was carrying around this really old pocketbook--it was dark with dirt and yuckiness. Also, she didn't look like she had washed her hair in days. She's kind of a salesperson, so I didn't understand why she doesn't take more care with her appearance.

I came home and told Peter that I didn't understand why my friend wanted to look so slovenly.

"Well, you look slovenly sometimes."

"Uh... Uhm... EXCUSE ME?" I said. "I may look SLOPPY all the time, but I don't EVER LOOK SLOVENLY."

Apparently, Peter didn't know the difference.

Sloppy is when you might not iron your shirt so it's still a bit wrinkly, but slovenly is when you don't even bother putting on a bra.

So after a loooong discussion where he took back the part about saying I was SLOVENLY--I said:

"The thing is, she IS married. Isn't it her husband's job to tell her that she doesn't look very good in that dress?"

And Peter said: "Oh, nooooooooo. That's the LAST thing he would ever do."

Goo Is What Tape Is All About

House of Yes is now playing on Hulu!

It's on my favorites list. I love Parker Posey and the writing is incredible:

"Goo is what tape is all about. Goo is what makes it tape instead of PAPER!"

"If she were ill I could give her an aspirin, I could put her to bed, I could make her that soup you're supposed to make. But I cannot. I mean, I can make the soup, for Heaven's sake, it comes in a can."

"Excuse me, I'm going to go baste the turkey and hide the kitchen knives."

"Boy, it's been a long day."
"Not as long as yesterday. Yesterday was 24 hours."

"Oh, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. There's this thing I heard. And if I thought for one second it was true I would probably kill myself. Does your fiancee work in a doughnut shop?"
"A Doughnut King, actually."
"A Doughnut King? So is she like, the Queen? Are we entertaining royalty?"
"She would be more of a Doughnut Lady-in-Waiting."
"So she's sort of a marginal donut figure."
"In all fairness, she is a minor and not a major doughnut...figure."