M. Night is a buzzkill

Yesterday we had a family day. I know it sounds all domestic and white picket fence-y and sappy, but that's what it was: a day out, just us, not overly planned, let's-do-what-we-feel-like kind of day. They happen much more often when the weather is nice. Yesterday the weather was lovely, it was sunny and not very cold (at least not compared to how it's been) so we decided to do something with the girls.

We went to CMoM, the Children's Museum of Manhattan, which to me was a little boring, but the girls had fun. We had lunch at a place on the UWS called Celeste, where we enjoyed remarkably good pizza and caprese salad, but had to put up with a pretty rude waiter. We walked to the park to take the subway back to Grand Central from 81st, but then the day was still so nice that we decided to walk across the Park and take the metro from Lexington instead.

If you had asked me what my favorite place in the world was two years ago, I would have said Piazza del Duomo in Milan, or maybe the Cala Ginepro beach in Sardinia. No more. At the risk of being disowned by my parents, I'll confess that my favorite place is now Central Park. My husband used to say "why go into the city to have a picnic? We have parks here too". One walk through Central Park, and he stopped saying that. And this is a Swiss. Someone used to forests, lakes, and breathtaking scenery. But he had to admit that walking through Central Park is lovely and special. Even in Winter:

Anyway, so after a lovely day we got back home around 6pm and had dinner and so on. And then Stella wouldn't sleep, so I did what I usually do: turned off the lights, turned on Coldplay, put on the headphones and sat on the sofa with her, watching TV. She listened to Coldplay and cuddled, I watched TV: a movie by M. Night Shamalayan, his latest: The Happening. We saw all of M. Night Shamalayan's movies, and we were looking forward to watching this one, so we added it to our Netflix queue. The DVD had arrived the day before and my husband had already watched it, but I didn't even ask him if he liked it. I just assumed it would be a bit spooky but good, like his other movies (most of them, at least).

Boy, was I wrong. The Happening is not spooky, it's creepy. And it's not good. It's incredibly sad and depressing and pointless. It talks about a virus or toxin that starts spreading all of a sudden which pushes people to commit suicide, and it all starts - guess where? Central Park, NYC. That's right.

So my picture-perfect day and the mood that went with it were ruined by a depressing, creepy, bad movie. I tell ya, if I meet M. Nigh Shamalayan I will drop-kick him.

Baaaad mood!

Bad mood this morning. It might improve later on, but I can't make any promises. Unless, you know, I get a present or something. That might help. No, chocolate isn't enough today. We are swimming in it, thanks to my husband's recent trip to The Great Land of Cheese and Chocolate.

Why the bad mood? Sleepless night. And while that isn't unusual to anyone with kids (or anyone with an interesting social life – but the first scenario is much more relevant here), it wasn't their fault. It seems I might be developing CTS, which really sucks – especially considering I am about to finally get a laptop for Christmas. Awesome timing, just great.

So here's a few dark, grumpy thoughts on this fine (read: cloudy) morning.

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Stella is watching TV. Which is normally a time I cherish because I have a chance to check my e-mail (I swear, if you are saying "bad mommy" right now, I will have to respond with "Bite me". I warned you about the mood.)

Today however, I am cringing – so much so, in fact, that I think after this day they will have to invent new names for wrinkles. You know, "cringe lines" or something. Or "annoyed out of her mind" lines. Or "if I hear any more of this I'll have to shoot the TV" lines.
Because on that recent trip to Switzerland that caused the current (and above-mentioned) inundation of cheese and chocolate, my husband also bought some German DVDs for the girls. Among them, a special Christmas edition of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. In German. So what I'm hearing now is the beginning of the show, the song, which goes like this "Das is das Micky-Maus Wunderhaus/Komm herein/Wir laden euch ein" which is just, you know, wrong.

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It is NOT ok to use a real celebrity's name as your Twitter name. Because if someone (and I mean, just anyone, you know, no one in particular) was to look up a celebrity on Twitter, like say, Hugh Jackman (again, this is totally theoretical) they would be pretty blipping annoyed to find a loser who is trying to be funny by Tweeting about what he thinks Hugh Jackman is doing while filming Australia, instead of the real, sexy, fabulous, amazing REAL Hugh Jackman. Even worse, a German loser doing so. Which is, you know, just about as far as you can get from Hugh Jackman.

(I know it sounds like I have a bone to pick with Germans today. Sorry about that. It's not your fault if your language isn't pretty.)

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Yesterday I was getting all ready to go out and enjoy the sunny (albeit cold) day, but when I reached for my favorite sunglasses I found that they were broken. Big deal, right? Except these were my favorite sunglasses. The kind that works perfectly with your face shape and doesn't make your nose look bigger. I know I sound like a shallow spoiled brat from Gossip Girl. But if you found a pair of sunglasses that looked that good on your face you'd understand. Even worse, these were by Gattinoni, whose stuff I'll probably have a very hard time finding anywhere out of Italy without spending an arm and a leg. And they were a present from my mom, which means I'll never hear the end of it. (Have I mentioned she is arriving on Sunday?)

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I knew there was something to make me feel better! This irreverent humor blog is my new favorite: Just another ink-stained wretch.

And if you, like me, woke up in a bad mood, this Tweet might help. Even if you aren't in a celratory mood yet, there's hope ;-) National Cupcake day, people!

Holy... it IS true, we never stop learning! (letter to myself)

Dear Elisa,

I think you REALLY need to wake up properly before you do anything at all in the morning. Either that, or the universe thinks you are too cocky and you should remember you don't know everything, so you should get some lessons, starting NOW.

Lesson 1: do not use olive oil spray on a cast iron pan that is already on the burner, with an actual flame underneath it. Not unless you want to have eyebrows flambé for breakfast. You were lucky to have barely escaped that one. Consider it a warning.

Lesson 2: you know that hyper-sensitive fire alarm right outside the kitchen? You know how it goes off any time you fry, caramelize or bake anything, and the only way you normally avoid it is by turning on the your stove's exhaust fan? Good. Well, since the exhaust fan is broken and you keep forgetting to call the repairman, you should have expected the aforementioned hyper-sensitive fire alarm to go off when you made breakfast this morning, you silly moo – hence alerting all your neighbors that you were cooking something, and likely burning it.

From now until the fan is fixed, you are to open any and all windows in the kitchen and let in the freezing-cold New York winter air, in the hope that this morning's occurrence can be avoided. You choose, either you call the repairman or you'll have to start wearing your winter coat while making breakfast.

Lesson 3: what is wrong with you, going to the mall on the first week of going on a diet? The mall, where you have to pass Harry & David and a cafeteria to go to Sephora, and you have to pass Starbucks, Godiva and the pretzel place to go to Gap Baby, and where you have to go upstairs to the food court to go to the family restroom. Honestly. You know you can't resist carbs when your blood sugar is low. And you know you can't resist anything chocolate-filled or chocolate-covered... ever. Testing your willpower, were you? Bad idea. Don't make that face, you know what the results were! Starbucks Mint Brownies 1, Willpower 0.

Ah, what a great start to the day. It builds character, I tell ya.

It's Saturday: clean your fridge, get coffee, and for goodness sakes, don't lock yourself out

For those of you who didn't know it, today was National Clean Your Fridge Day – which, I am sorry, but comes up with these things? And when are they going to come up with a Global "Your House Is A Mess So Get Off The PC" Day? Because that I could actually get on board with. But anyway – do you think I cleaned my fridge today? No, of course not. What I did was spend 5 hours in a room with about 30 other people, for my Defensive Driving Course, or whatever it's called. It was actually not that bad, except I had no coffee. No. Coffee.

"Why, Elisa? Why would you go to a 5-hour class without coffee?" You may ask. (Or at least, the few of you who care may ask.) Ooooh, don't get me started. Or actually do. Because I am just dying to tell you about how I planned the whole morning perfectly so that I would have time to go to the Chiro, drop by Trader Joe's to get a sandwich and a smoothie to take with me for lunch, and then swing by Stabucks for a Grande Soy Vanilla Latte with an extra shot, and then arrive to the driving school 15 minutes before the class, and all without breaking a sweat.
To accomplish that, I moved our Saturday Chiro appointment from 9.20am to 8.30am, and got up early despite the fact that Stella woke me up at 4.30 again and didn't fall back asleep for over an hour, and that's only after I brought her into my bed and she twirled and pulled my hair for what felt like an eternity before falling asleep and almost pushing me off the side of the bed.

(Ooh, boo-hoo. Worse night have happened and people still got up. Yes. But ready to face a 5-hour class without coffee? Don't think so.)

So. Despite that, I got up, got ready, did my makeup and straightened my hair, got dressed and was out the door and at the chiro on time with the family. And miraculously, we were out of there at 9.30 and had plenty of time to go to Trader Joe's and do our stuff. We were out of there before 10 (!!) and getting ready to get our Starbucks drinks and maybe even drop by the house to pick up my cell, because we had plenty of time. THAT'S when my husband realized he had, once again, left the keys in the car. We were locked out. And THAT'S when the light drizzle changed into pouring rain, so I coulnd't even follow my first instinct, which was to walk to Starbucks with the girls and wait there, peacefully enjoying a lovely hot coffee drink, while my (obviously mommybrained) husband waited for the road assistance guy.

So instead of doing all the stuff I would have had time to do thanks to my planning ahead, I had to sit in Trader Joe's like a bag lady (with actual shopping bags! albeit reusable ones) waiting for the guy to show up, and then rush to the class. Without coffee. And once there, I sat down and watched as people trickled in, while the teacher explained that he was allowing late arrivals until 11.15 because of the weather.
Ha.
I could have gotten my bloody coffee after all.
That's what you get for being polite.

Dangerous squeals

Stella has a really high-pitch little voice. You can tell because she has recently begun to utilize the ultrasound feature quite often. She now squeals when she is happy or having fun, and instead chooses to go for high-pitch screams when she is mad. And while I am becoming immune to this not-so-charming habit (possibly because by now I've gone half deaf), other people still find it... well, annoying is kind of a euphemism.

An example: yesterday we were at Starbucks. We go to this Starbucks quite often, because it's in the Stamford Town Center, inside Barnes & Noble, and just a short escalator away from H&M. I basically go there every time I am in Stamford, which is a lot. That Starbucks is practically a second home - ok, a third, Whole Foods would definitely come first (I know, weird combination). Anyway, where was I?

Ah, yes. We were there, all together. Stella of course started running around, which is quite normal for a toddler, and generally accepted I think. But two Russian students sitting at one of the tables would beg to differ. They were trying to study or working on a project or something, and they were annoyed that Stella was running past them. The Starbucks was far from quiet, so I didn't give it much thought. However when Sarah, who had been playing with her sister, decided to come sit down, Stella wouldn't take it. I was sitting peacefully drinking my latte and my husband was eating cheesecake and reading a magazine, when all of a sudden we heard a scream of a pitch so high that I am surprised the windows didn't shatter. Every.Single.Person. jumped on their seats. My husband and I went "shhhh!" but we had already been spotted as the parents of the screaming child.

It was over quickly, though, as I got up to play with her (which mostly consisted of me watching her while she ran back and forth between two isles of games) and she didn't scream anymore. But she squealed. Oh, the squeals. Those are pretty loud and high-pitch too. Occasionally Stella and I would go sit back down, but after just a couple of minutes she'd run away again, squealing and giggling because she knew I'd follow her. And every time I got up I could practically feel the daggers the two students were mentally throwing at me, their stares burning into back. I tell you, I felt like they were picking which scarlet letter to brand me with.

Then I'd walk by and they'd stare at me, most likely willing me to go away and stay away. It was making me uncomfortable. So when at one point I started choking on my latte I was sure they had given me the evil eye, so I told my husband I wanted to leave. He said "Oh, it's time for Sarah's hairdresser appointment" so I didn't encounter much resistance. Just as well - I am pretty sure by then every single person in Starbucks wanted to shoot us. I said as much, and my husband laughed.

Yeah, you laugh. I'm the one who got the evil eye. Now if I grow a beard or a third arm I'll have only my daughter's squeals to blame.

Take me to the fair... or NOT!

Yesterday I discovered I don't like County Fairs. In fact, I REALLY don't like them. To be fair (no pun intended), there was just the one, but considering how hyped it was and the crowd it attracts, I'm thinking it's safe to assume that if I don't like what is considered a great county fair I won't like lesser ones any better.

Allow me to backtrack a little. Last week a friend recommended we visit the Dutchess County Fair. He said "There's lots of stuff to do: animals for the kids to pet, local merchants, rides... it's really fun for kids. It's upstate New York, but it's so worth the drive. It's also a really beatiful area." So of course DH, who is in IT but is really a farm boy at heart, decided we should go. I said ok, picturing booths of beautifully handcrafted items, fresh produce and homemade honey and jam, with some small rides for the kids on the side and a "petting zoo"-type corner. Yeah, I'm totally clueless about this stuff. So sue me. I'm Italian and he's Swiss - we don't have county fairs where we are from.

Anyway, so yesterday morning I woke up early and decided to check if I could find a website for the fair, since it was so famous. Oh, I found one all right. One look at the website, and there I was, at my desk, shocked expression on my face, my mind suddenly running to the movie Babe when I repeated to myself the words "county fair". Words which were quickly followed by "oh crap" and "no way!" as I browsed through the website. Needless to say, it was not what I had imagined. You see, I don't like farm animals much. Cows can be cute, but they are the best-looking of the bunch. And the smell... yikes. But since I was outvoted and we had already rearranged our day so we could go, I gave in.

After driving for 2 hours and getting an ever-increasing "middle of nowhere" feeling, we arrive to the place. At the gate, a large plaque depicting a cow greets us, which prompts my "Oooh, a cow plate. This is promising" quip. And then we see it. The sea of cars. It's 11 AM, and there are already hundreds of cars parked outside of the fair grounds. Great. My husband has a lot of good qualities, but finding our car in a crowded parking lot isn't one of them. So the first order of the day when we get out of the car is to look around and pinpoint our location, so we don't have to spend ages trying to find our car when we leave the fair (believe me, it woulnd't be the first time).

We park and make our way to the entrance. The sign at the ticket booth lists the DON'Ts of the fairgrounds: no cans, no bottles, no pets, etc. And then in large letters at the bottom: SHOES AND SHIRT REQUIRED. I start giggling, point it to DH and say "wow, this a classy place". People start to stare. DH shushes me. Then I see in front of us a man with a slogan t-shirt which says "YEAH, YOU RIGHT" on the back. At which point I giggle again, then start digging through my handbag (mentally kicking myself for not bringing a notebook) and start grabbing the camera, going "oh, I am SO blogging about this". DH admonishes me "Do not spoil this for all of us". "What!" I say, all innocent-looking.

We step in, and the rest is... well, not history, really. But it can be summarized pretty much like this: junk food, rides, farm animals, pig races, trucks, more junk food. Oh, and crafts. Never seen so many crochet doilies in my life. Wait, that's unfair, there were also some cool things, like these bong-shaped smoothie glasses:


or these airbrushed t-shirts:


No, I didn't buy any. But I did buy some pretty good raw honey and agave nectar. And there were these wooden bangles in these amazing colors, all shiny and gorgeous, I could have bought 10 of them.

But all in all, we spent there the same amount of time we spent on the road - 4 hours - which is not a good balance.

Next time they want to see animals we'll go to the Bronx zoo: it's closer, it's prettier and it smells better.

Though the fair was kind of a zoo too.


P.S. If you, unlike me, actually like fairs, you'll probably love this one. But I'd recommend getting there early, because the later you come, the harder it will be to find a parking space that isn't miles away (not kidding!) from the entrance. And you finding your car afterwards won't be a picnick either ;-)

The 80s are back - RUN!!

I'm a child of the 90s. That is, I was actually a child in the 80s, but my "coming of age", my teen years, my oh-that's-how-the-world-works moments, all happened in the 90s. I'm quite proud of that - afterall the 90s had better fashion, better dance music, better hairdos and makeup - what else is important to a teenager?

Don't get me wrong, I do look to the 80s with fondness in some respects, precisely:
- cult movies: Back to the future, E.T., Roger Rabbit, Indiana Jones, and oh, remember when Star Wars movies didn't suck?
- dance movies (that didn't involve tap dancing): Footloose, Flashdance, Dirty Dancing
- the creation of the modern romatic comedy (I know, movies again, but it does deserve its own category): When Harry met Sally, Say Anything - I love John Cusack!)
- music: The Police, The Bangles, The Cures, Duran Duran (sorry boys, not the same since)...

However in other respects the 80s fall squarely in my "things I'd rather not see again, like, EVER" category: I literally cringe when I think of the big hair, flashy eyeshadows, fluorescent clothing and accessories. I mean, seriously - already just a few years into the 90s I looked at 80s fashion and style (or better, lack of style) and thought "wow, that was a mistake - glad it's over". Except it isn't. Except the 80s have been worming their way back into fashion, thanks to some nostalgic or simply out-of-fresh-ideas designer, and now they won't leave.

It started slowly, a few years back, with some leg warmers worn over t-strap heels. Innocent enough, we though, and while I would never wear that, I though it looked sort of grungy-cool, sort of Kate Moss, sort of "it's so uncool it's fabulous", sort of "I don't care but I look fabulous anyway".

Then the skinny jeans came back, and those stuck. Fine, with a modern twist they sort of look ok. (Note: leggings do not get the same pass.)

Then the ballet flats - and I shivered because I had hated them back then too, but then some designers came out with such cool styles I gave in too - afterall a fabulous pair of flat is the best pick for everyday wear for a busy (but always trendy!) mom.

Then it was the toys: Care Bears, My Little Pony, Cabbage Patch kids - I was actually happy about that, not in a nostalgic way, mind you, but more in a "aha! I can afford them NOW!" way (which is kind of sad, I know). My little one loves them, so it's all good.

Then it was Lacoste's turn: after undergoing an apparent overhaul, they came back with a bang. And brought with them the polo, except more colorful, younger, more hip (sort of). And suddenly you see people wearing polo shirts, not just golfers and my dad. Fine, bring them on. Unbuttoned, they are more flattering than t-shirts and look more polished, unless you overdo it and start falling a bit too much on the preppy side (sorry, Ralph Lauren aficionados).

But I draw the line at big hair and tapered pants. That's just too much. I'm not giving in, that's just unflattering, ridiculous and just plain ugly.

Unfortunately not everone agrees. Rihanna has been sporting them often, out shopping and at awards shows - granted, she looks adorable either way, but the pants really should be ditched. Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so - Gap had decided to make tapered jeans part of their collection, calling them "classic jeans", but they didn't sell well and now they are on sale for 9.99.

Why uncover perfectly buried ugly trends? Been there, worn that. Ok, now I feel old. But at least I dress well.