Your Kind of Town

Some of you reading this already know that my brother and his family are moving to Chicago. Especially if you’re my brother. Or my mom.

For those of you who don’t… my brother and his family are moving to Chicago.

Today.

Well, not Chicago proper, but a friendly suburb along Lake Michigan. Imagine every neighborhood in every John Hughes movie ever. It will be like that.

Sounds amazing, right?

Truthfully, I’m thisclose to becoming a stowaway in their moving truck. Just call me Aunt Hobo.

Words fail me right now. I’ve started twelve different sentences, nothing I write seems to express what’s going through my head and heart. But this would be a short, stupid post if I ended it here, so I’ll give it a shot.

Obviously, this bittersweet. I’ll miss my munchkins like crazy. And our Super Bowl parties. And our taste tests. And our fun and games.

But more than anything, I’m incredibly proud that they had the courage to seize this amazing opportunity that came their way. My brother (like me) has never lived outside of the tri-state area, and my sister-in-law has spent nearly all her life in CT. It’s a giant leap of faith. I know it isn’t easy for them to pack up and move halfway across the country, but once they made the decision to go, everything else seemed to click into place.

That’s how I know they’re on the right track.

I don’t want to get all blubbery here (though all bets are off as I wave goodbye). Instead, as the older sister, I feel I need to prepare them for the MOST important part of their new hometown.

The food!

In our family, food is love. Maybe it’s the same in yours? While I can’t send them off with a giant tray of eggplant parm, I CAN give them a hit-list of the best eats in the Windy City.

Guys, meet Chicago’s 4 major food groups (it’s a good thing you’re not vegetarians – sincerely, you would be ostracized):

1) DEEP DISH PIZZA
Gino’s East
Must Eat: Deep dish cheese and famous crumbled sausage

Lou Malnati's
Must Eat: The Chicago Classic with Buttercrust





2) ALL-BEEF HOT DOGS
Cozy Dog Drive-In
Must Eat: A batter-dipped, fried cozy dog

Superdawg (home of Flaurie and Maurie, 10ft tall leopard-clad weiners)
Must Eat: Whoopskidog Polish sausage and Superonion chips

Poochies
Must Eat: Jumbo char dog with cheddar fries



3) ITALIAN BEEF SANDWICHES
Al’s #1 Italian Beef
Must Eat: Big beef, double dipped in pan gravy

Mr. Beef
Must Eat: Italian beef and sausage combo, topped with giardiniera, a pepper salad



4) GOOD, OLD-FASHIONED STEAKS
Gene & Georgetti
Must Eat: A t-bone and a garbage salad of antipasto and one giant shrimp

Lawry’s Prime Rib
Must Eat: Prime rib and a spinning salad bowl




BONUS MEAT:
Billy Goat Tavern
Must Eat: Cheezeborger, cheezeborger! No fries, cheeps!  No Pepsi, Coke!

Harry Caray’s
Must Eat: Chicken Vesuvio, sautéed in white wine, garlic, and olive oil

Ricobene’s
Must Eat: Breaded steak sandwich with Sunday gravy and mozzarella

Twin Anchors
Must Eat: Baby back ribs with “zesty” BBQ sauce


Hit up these joints, and Chicago will be YOUR kind of town in no time.

Oh, one more thing! On the way in, you may want to swing through Walmart for some elastic-waist pants. Just sayin’…

Safe travels and much love on this great adventure.
xoxo

PS: Anybody know any more amazing Midwestern meat? Add it below, but keep it clean – this is a family post!


tags: family, food, travel

A Century of Samoas

Amidst news of the 300lb disease-ridden feral pigs that are eating New York state farmers out of crops, and utterly gushy Olive Garden reviews out of North Dakota, you might have heard that the Girl Scouts turned 100 yesterday.

I never became a full-fledged Girl Scout, but I WAS a Brownie for 1 glorious year in the 3rd grade. And man, I loved that little polyester brown uniform!

Every other Tuesday was like a holiday because my troop would meet, and I could wear my snazzy duds to school. I loved the sweater. And the Peter Pan shirt collar.  And the orange snap-on necktie. And the beanie hat. And the shapeless pants. And the matching mini-Brownie doll my mom got me from JCPenney.

But most of all, I loved the sash.

I still have it! It’s in a bin in my brother’s basement with all my other childhood memorabilia. I recall it having a “gold” Girl Scout logo pin and a bunch of badges, all lovingly sewn on by my mom.

But only 2 of the badges really stand out in my mind, 30 (ahem) years later...

The first I remember I earned for gardening at a greenhouse. I know this because my small hands swelled up while I was doing it. Turns out I was allergic to the cactus we were planting. How could a girl from suburban New Jersey (by way of The Bronx) possibly be expected to know that?

The second I remember earning for selling the most cookies in my troop. (I believe it said “go big or go home” at the bottom in teeny tiny embroidery.)

But really, it’s my dad who should have earned the badge.

I wasn’t much for going door-to-door. Not when my high school class decided to sell stinky green bandannas as a fundraiser (that’ll be $40, mom… Go Mustangs!). Or when my CCD class decided to give us all cardboard rice bowls during Lent (yes, parents, I’ll take ALL your spare change). And certainly not when I was 8 and it was time to stimulate the cookie economy.

That’s where my dad came in.

Armed with nothing but a glossy fold-out card covered in irresistible cookie porn (aka Samoas, Tag-a-longs, Thin Mints, and Trefoils), my dad went to his office to sell those suckers.

Turns out he could sell a dumptruck of cookies to a bunch of middle-aged Wall Street dudes with a sweet tooth and 20 extra beans weighing down their alligator wallets.

If I recall, they had to attach 2 additional legal-sized pages for all the orders. A few months later, the Girl Scout bakers birthed out our jumbo-sized order and my poor dad had to schlep massive bags of cookie boxes into NYC for a week straight.

In all our cookie-fueled enthusiasm, I don’t think we thought that part sufficiently through.

The Girls have come a long way in all this time. I hear there’s even an app to locate a cookie-dealer near you, which sounds WAY riskier than going door-to-door in your neighborhood, but who am I to judge? My dad was a 37 year-old man-Brownie for a day. I never had to lift a finger, except to push sweet, sweet Tag-a-longs into my toothless mouth.

Lucky me!

(And for the record, I will pay it forward by buying all the stale candy bars, ill-fitting t-shirts, car wash coupons, and cheap gift wrapping sets that my niece and nephew will ever get saddled with selling.)

So here’s to the Girl Scouts (and to my dad) – who have inspired my lifelong love of cookies.  And the color brown.

Happy 100th birthday!


Were YOU ever a Brownie? Or do you just like to eat them? No matter, list your go-to GS cookie below... for me, coconutty Samoas and peanutbuttery Tag-a-longs are in a dead heat.


Tags: family, food, holidays, pop culture

Angels

To say I have unresolved feelings about 9/11 is the understatement of the decade.

I thought about not writing this post because I don’t want to read it. I have spent the last 10 years burying every emotion, ignoring every image, and suppressing every memory because I just can not deal.

Even now.

It was a time of bottomless sorrow.  No question about that.  Although I must say, of all the unimaginable things to come out of that sunny September day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed) came one important realization: I now believe in guardian angels.

Call it fate, faith, whatever you will, I am thankful for several interventions that changed the course of events that day. Here's how the universe said, it’s not your time... 


SCHEDULE
Several days prior to the attacks, an executive at my company was scheduled to attend a conference.  He was to be a guest speaker at a breakfast being held on Sept 11th at Windows on the World, a restaurant on the 106 & 107th floors of the World Trade Center, Tower 1.

I had a good relationship with the publication sponsoring the breakfast, and I had been in contact with the event organizer via phone and email several times to coordinate the details. My boss, another colleague, and I were determining which of us would attend the event with this executive, when a scheduling conflict arose.  He decided last-minute to cancel his appearance, making it unnecessary for any of us to go.

I can't even remember what the excuse was, but everyone who did attend, including the woman I was emailing with, lost their lives that day.



SCHOOLTEACHER
I was living in Pine Brook at the time, and left for work that Tuesday like I did every morning. I would drive to Hoboken, park my car in a lot, and take the PATH train across the river to my office in lower Manhattan -- about 8 blocks from the WTC.

I was about to turn on to Changebride Road, the main street that ran through my town, when a woman flagged me down. Never in my 20+ years of living there had someone stopped me, but there she was, needing help. She said she was a teacher at one of the elementary schools in town. Her car had broken down (though there was no car in sight), and she wondered if I could give her a lift to school. Taking her clear across town would have made me very late for work, so I offered her my cell phone instead to contact her principal, or AAA, or her husband for help. She made a quick call and we parted ways.

The whole exchange took less than 10 minutes, but I know the time I spent with this stranger on a street corner in the middle of nowhere saved both my life and my dad’s. Here’s why…



DISCONNECTED
I was running late after stopping for the schoolteacher, eventually pulling into the lot in Hoboken around 8:45am. I should have already been on the train, so I quickly paid the parking attendant. My back was to the city, as I simultaneously heard an explosive sound and saw an expression cross her face that made me afraid to turn around.

Past the train station, I had a clear view of lower Manhattan.  One of the Twin Towers was billowing with grey smoke. My dad worked in Tower 1, on the 25th floor. I panicked and immediately called him. He told me they felt a pretty good jolt but they were alright. He said they’d been instructed to “stay put” and then the phone cut out.

I tried re-dialing but it was no use. The lines were all jammed, and would remain that way for hours. I saw a crowd gathering by the entrance to the trains, and I made my way over to a policeman so I could hear his radio. It was then that I watched the second plane fly directly into the left side of the second building, disappearing into a puff of fiery smoke. It was about 9am.  I remember someone in the crowd grabbed my hand and cried, “Oh no, not again.”

Completely frantic and realizing no one was getting in or out of the city, I ultimately left to be with my mom. I was in a fog, driving past the Meadowlands on Route 3 about an hour later when Peter Jennings’ voice on the radio told me the first tower had come down. I nearly ran my car into the barricade in the median.  I was home with my mother and my brother, glued to the TV, when we saw the second tower fall at 10:30am. No one had heard from my father since he told me he planned to stay put. We all feared the worst. My brother collapsed into a ball on the living room floor. I ran to the kitchen to vomit in the sink.

Sometime after 12:30pm, the phone rang. It was my dad, from a pay phone.  I can remember screaming to the operator that yes, we would accept the charges of his collect call.  He sounded disoriented, and had no idea the towers had fallen. Apparently, he had been assisting the first responders to pass out wet rags for people to cover their faces and was in the lobby helping to direct people away from seeing the carnage left by people who jumped 100 stories out of sheer desperation. Then, he suddenly left and headed south towards the Staten Island Ferry. He knew I worked on Water Street, but he wasn’t sure in which building, so he went door to door looking for me.

Our call earlier had been disconnected before I could tell him I never made it across the river that morning. He just assumed I had. His need to find me is what drove him away from that scene in the nick of time and undoubtedly saved his life.


ELEVATOR
Several hours after we heard my dad was ok, he arrived at my aunt’s apartment at 65th and Madison. With no way to get in or out of the city, and all streets shut down, he walked the 5 miles, covered in ashes. A dear friend of mine worked in Tower 2 of the WTC at the time. Her company occupied some of the highest floors in the building, putting her above the point of impact and seemingly sealing her fate.

I can remember being too afraid to know the truth, but I gathered up my courage to give her a call. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I had a sick pit in my stomach. Around 5pm that evening, my phone rang again. It was my friend. She would later learn that her colleagues made a life-changing decision to leave when they did. The group that went down in the elevator with her -- in the 15 minutes between the first and second hit -- were saved. The others were among her nearly 200 co-workers who never made it out.


FACE IN A CROWD
Thousands of stories surfaced over the next few days.  It took a full week for the city to open up again. The following Tuesday, I boarded a ferry, bound for lower Manhattan because the PATH trains were nonexistent. The boat was jam-packed, but totally silent, as we rode across the Hudson, utterly shell-shocked.

The smoke and soot still hung in the air, coating every surface.  A burnt smell stung my nose. Tears were streaming down my face as we pulled into the dock. Along the shoreline, I could see dozens of armed guards, dressed in camo and carrying assault weapons. A tank was there to greet us. It would stay like that every day, for months.  It was more than I could handle. This wasn't New York. It was a warzone.

As I stepped off the boat, a familiar face appeared. It was my boss. No, he was more than that -- he was a wonderful friend who came down to the ferry to escort me to the office. It turned out my mother had called him to let him know how upset I was. Ordinarily, I would have been humiliated by that, but these weren’t ordinary times. I was a petrified 28 year old girl. I will never forget his kindness that day, especially when I later learned that his partner had been sick, but he dropped everything to help me. He is an angel on earth, and still has a special place in my heart.




Divine intervention changed the course of our lives, and countless others, that day. I personally knew 10 people who were not as fortunate.

Every year, I go out of my way to avoid the retrospectives. I'm just not that strong.  Besides, I don't need to watch a recap of that unthinkable day -- all I need to do is close my eyes and see it unfold. This year, I decided to avoid the city altogether and set up camp with my brother, sister-in-law, and the munchkins up in CT.

We'll spend the day at the zoo, celebrate life, and count our many blessings.  Here's hoping you can too.


tags: city life, family, jersey, politics

Mamma's Eggplant Parmigiana

It's Mother’s Day and I’m in NYC, while my mom’s more than 1K miles away in FL.

Poo.

Sure I sent her presents, and we talk at least 2x per day, and I see her every other month.  But it’s not enough. I miss being with her on days like today. I know she misses being with her kids, too.

My dad is often the life of the party, but my mom is shy when you first meet her. Observing her surroundings, hanging in the background, taking it all in. My mom doesn’t come up to you -- you go to her. But when she’s comfortable with you, she’s the warmest, most thoughtful, generous and kind woman you’ll ever know.

She has a HUGE heart and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for us.

She can be funny too. One of my favorite mom-isms is when she says, “Fat you can lose, ugly is forever.” So in her honor, I’m posting a beloved family recipe for eggplant parmigiana. It's not low calorie -- it's fried and it's cheesy and delicious.  If you want healthy, don't bother.  Eat a veggie burger instead. 

Whether in Pine Brook or Del Boca Vista, we’ve made this meal together many times – it reminds me of family, love, and home. If you cook this dish with your mom, make sure Frank Sinatra plays in the background as you dance around the kitchen… Ol' Blue Eyes makes it taste better.

And now, without further ado, I give you...

THE BEST EGGPLANT PARM YOU'LL EVER EAT

TIME:
If this doesn't take about 6 hours, you didn't do it right

SERVES:
9-12 portions

INGREDIENTS:
For the fried eggplant:

• 6 medium eggplants
• Kosher salt
• 4C seasoned breadcrumbs
• Locatelli pecorino romano grated cheese
• 5-6 eggs
• 1 large brick of Polly-O whole milk mozzarella cheese
• Olive oil

For the Sunday gravy:

• 4 cans of Tuttorosso tomato puree
• 2 cans of Tuttorosso crushed tomatoes
• 2 cans of Contadina tomato paste
• 1 package of 3-way ground beef, pork, and veal
• 1 package of sweet Italian sausage
• 1 package of braciole (super thin flank steak)
• 1 package boneless pork spare ribs 
• 2 sticks of Hormel pepperoni
• 4C seasoned bread crumbs
• Locatelli pecorino romano grated cheese
• 2-3 eggs
• Polaner minced garlic
• Italian flat leaf parsley
• Olive oil
• Salt & pepper

DIRECTIONS:

1. The first thing you should know is that we don't measure anything.  It's all by taste and by the look of it. We improvise, and so should you...
2. Most people who think they don't like eggplant say it's because it's bitter and seedy.  That's because it wasn't made right.  To avoid that, first peel the eggplants with a vegetable peeler.  Then slice them about a 1/2 inch thick. Next, find a big grill pan and start lining it with layers of sliced eggplant.  After each layer, give a liberal toss of the kosher salt.  Once they're all on there, top it with an upside-down sheet pan and place some cookbooks or a cast-iron pot on top to weigh it down. This is THE most important step, as it will draw out the bitterness and pack down the seeds.  Liquid will accumulate in the grooves of the grill pan, so do this by the sink, so you can easily dump it.  Keep it like that for about an hour.
3. While your eggplant slices are busy "juicing," you can prepare the gravy (aka the red sauce).  We use this gravy for eggplant, lasagna, baked ziti, chicken parm -- you name it.  Pour the 6 cans of crushed and pureed tomatoes into a large pot and keep it on a back burner.  Fill one empty can about halfway with water and swirl it around to get all the bits off the bottom and the sides.  Pour that water from can to can, until you've got it all.  Then dump that tomatoey water into the pot too.  For thinner gravy, add a little more water.  Season with salt and pepper.  Bring it up to a boil then reduce to low, stirring occasionally to keep the bottom from burning.
4. Since the pepperoni is already cooked, cut it into chunks, about 3-4 inches long, and put them in the gravy.  They will plump up and absorb the tomato sauce while cooking to become the most delicious pepperoni you ever had.
5. Next it's time to deal with the uncooked meats.  We don't put uncooked meats into the gravy.  That's a big no-no.  So fill a pan about a 1/2 inch deep with olive oil.  Don't use extra virgin here, it's a waste.  Any brand of regular is fine, go with what's on sale because you'll use a lot of it.  The sausage and boneless ribs can cook just as they are, from the package right into the oil, on medium heat.  Turn them often to brown on all sides and use tongs so you don't lose all the juices in the sausage.  Once they're cooked, set them aside until all the meats are ready to take a soak in the gravy.
6. Now, it's meatball time.  If you have an issue with veal or pork, you can just use all ground beef.  Put the meat in a large bowl.  Sprinkle on some grated cheese and breadcrumbs, add some chopped parsley, salt, pepper, and 2 of the eggs.  Then stick your hands in there and mush it all together.  This is the part I like the least, so my mom does it.  Make sure you take your jewelry off!  If the meat feels dry, add another egg.  If it's too moist, add more cheese and breadcrumbs.  Form them into balls and pop them into the olive oil for frying on a medium heat.  Keep adding oil as needed, and set aside the cooked meatballs.
7. Last up for the meats is the braciole.  Take the thin flank steak and spread it with the minced garlic, then sprinkle grated cheese, and more chopped parsley.  Cut the meat into slices and roll each slice up.  Tie the rolls at each end with kitchen string or butcher's twine, like a little bundle, to keep all the filling inside.  Then, pop those into the oil too, turning until browned, and set aside once cooked. Keep the strings on for now, but remember to take them off when it's time to eat!
8. Once all the meat is done, we make the roux.  This is NOT the traditional white flour and butter mixture, but it IS still used for thickening.  And it's key to the flavor and texture of the gravy. Take the pan you used to cook the meats, and add 1 can of tomato paste and a handful of grated cheese.  Stir this around on medium/high heat, to help incorporate what's left of the cooked oil and meat drippings into the tomato paste.  Add more tomato paste and cheese until all the liquids are fully absorbed.  Keep stirring this thick paste constantly until it starts turning a bit darker.  When it's done, add the roux to the gravy pot.  While you're at it add about a spoonful of garlic, too.  More or less, if you like.
9. Now it's time to get the meats into the gravy pot.  Stir it one last time before adding the meat, because it will be difficult to stir afterwards.  Cut the sausages to allow the juices to run into the gravy, then add this and the rest of the meats to the pot.  The pepperoni should already be looking plumper by now, from sitting in the gravy all this time.  If it's getting crowded, use 2 gravy pots!  But keep a mix of the meats in each, and keep the heat on low. 
10. Tired yet?  If so, you can do the whole meat & gravy piece the day before and just keep it in the fridge until you are ready to assemble the eggplant parm.
11. Ok, back to the eggplant.  By now, all the bitterness will be gone and it's time to fry those babies up.  Grab 2 shallow bowls and a plate.  In the first bowl, crack a couple eggs and stir them around until the whites and the yolks are incorporated.  In the second bowl, add the seasoned breadcrumbs and stir in some grated cheese.  First dip each piece of sliced eggplant in the egg, then toss them in the breadcrumb mix, and set them aside on the plate, fully coated.  Keep doing that until you're done, adding more egg or breadcrumbs/cheese to the bowls whenever needed.
12. Fill a new pan with oil, about 1/4 an inch high, and start frying the eggplant.  Flip them to cook on both sides, use a fork or tongs, but be careful not to pull the breading off.  Use 2 pans to move things along more quickly, if you want.  Keep an eye on them, they don't take too long to cook.  When browned on both sides, put the fried eggplant on a dish or tray lined with paper towels to soak up any excess olive oil.  (And munch on a few, just to make sure they're good.) 
13. Go back to the gravy pot(s).  By now, the meats have had a good long soak.  Pull out all the meat, and a little gravy to keep the meats from drying out, into an oven-safe dish so it's easy to heat up.  Having the meat out of the way will make it easier to ladle the gravy. 
14. The time has FINALLY come to assemble everything.  Grab a Pyrex baking dish.  Really any size works, you could use 2 small square dishes, or 1 large rectangular one.  Now's also a good time to grate the mozzarella cheese.  You'll be tempted to use a bag of the pre-shredded cheese, but it's worth shredding it yourself because it melts so much better.
15. Pour a few ladles of gravy into the baking dish and spread it around to coat the whole bottom.  Then start a layer of eggplant slices.  It's better to overlap if they don't fit exactly, than to leave gaps.  Top that with a good sprinkling of the shredded mozzarella.  Top that with a few more ladles of gravy.  Keep going, layer by layer, until you reach the top.  For the top layer, do it in reverse, first gravy, then cheese -- make sure the gravy covers everything, then sprinkle a little mozzarella and grated pecorino romano across the top as a finishing touch.
16. Bake all of this in a 350 degree pre-heated oven.  Everything is already cooked, but you want the flavors to blend and the cheeses to melt.  It will take about 30 minutes or so until the sides start to bubble and brown.  Then you know it's done.
17. It's super easy (by comparison) to serve this up with some baked ziti, or even plain macaroni in gravy, but it also stands on its own.  Serve the meats on the side with a nice salad and some bread.
18. By now, everyone in the house will be bugging you to ask when dinner will be done.  Make them set the table to feel like they are helping.  If you can stand it, let the eggplant cool for a few minutes before slicing and it will come out more easily.  If not, just dig in, your stomach won't know the difference. 
19. Mangia!
20. Keep in mind, as good as this tastes now, it gets even better as left-overs the next day.

I know this sounds like a lot of work -- and it is -- but it's worth it.  This is probably the first time this recipe has been written down, and certainly the first time it's ever been posted to the Internet.  I hope you enjoy it as much as we do. 

To my mom, my sister-in-law, my college roommates, and all the other great moms reading this, Happy Mother's Day!  May you always have an eggplant parm in the oven, a table full of loved ones, and someone ELSE to wash the dishes!


tags: family, food, holidays

Love (x2)

Nearly 2 years ago, I became an aunt for the very first time to my niece, Grace Elizabeth. And from the second that little pink munchkin rolled down the hallway at Bridgeport Hospital, I've been totally smitten.

Love at first sight.

About 2 weeks ago, I became an aunt for a second time, now to a little boy named Thomas John. And I've fallen instantly in love. Again.

One of the things I'm getting a kick out of are the differences between them.

Gracie is a bundle of curiosity and personality. She has her own mind (even if I can only understand about 28% of what she says). One minute, you can see her wheels turning, trying to make sense that the "Tommy" we've all been pointing to in her mom's tummy is now the little meatball on her lap. The next, she's scooting around the house with her pink and purple shopping cart, while coloring on papers (and occasionally tables), and eating yogurt/applesauce/mushy chicken, and reading 17 books. Upside down.

She's a total riot. And a ham. And an awful lot like her Aunt Jenny at that age. Or so I'm told.

Tommy, from what I've observed so far, is such a boy. I can totally see his sister when I look at his sweet face, but with darker hair, a more olive complexion, and meatier hands. He's mellow and thoughtful. Can babies be deep in thought? If so, he is. He sleeps mostly right now, but when he does open those big blue peepers, you can actually see that he's taking in the world around him. He seems satisfied with everything, then drifts back off to dreamland.

Perfectly content.

No matter the chaos swirling around, he's just chillin' the most. Except for when he's hungry. Just like his dad.

I truly can't wait to see what awesome people they grow up to be. But one of the things I'm most looking forward to (besides NOT cheating at Uno with them), is watching their relationship develop with each other. As playmates. As tattle-tales. As co-conspirators. And ultimately, as best friends.

I have NO idea what's in store for me in the kid department. There was a long period of time where I thought I might never have the opportunity to be a parent. Then, for a brief moment, I was absolutely certain I would. Now, who knows? But I feel so very blessed to have these little ones in my life.

They are pure joy.

Here's hoping each of you has a little joy in your life too!


tags: family

Fun & Games

Did you know 1/11/11 was the 40th anniversary of the card game Uno?

No? Me neither.

But if I’m to believe a couple of guys dressed up as a Wild Card and a Blue #4 who were standing outside Grand Central this morning, it’s true.

Who said one is the loneliest number? I love this game!

I have the BEST childhood memories of playing Uno with my little brother and our grandma. I can remember spending summers at her house in Jersey, sitting in the dining room with its giant wooden chairs.

She was Italian, so every game began with a meal to keep up our strength.  She would buy Entenmann’s lemon pie for me and blueberry crumb for my brother. We’d eat a big ol’ hunk, then we’d break out the cards and play Uno for hours in tournaments that lasted until school started in the fall.

Skip! Reverse! Draw 4! SUCH fun.

Now before you get all, “Awwww,” on me, you should probably know one thing: I cheated my ass off.

(don’t worry, it has since grown back with a vengeance)

You should also know I'm not a dishonest person.  I didn’t initially set out to cheat. In fact, up until my brother was about 5 or 6 years old, I used to just naturally win every single game we played, given our 5 year age difference. But something awful happened when he started the 2nd grade. He got smarter!

So, I turned to a life of crime…

He'd ask all wide-eyed and innocent, “Wanna play Monopoly, Jenny?” Well, sure! And while he turned his back to see what hijinks Gobo was up to down in Fraggle Rock, I’d swap little green houses for big red hotels. And my $50 bills magically became $500s before he could say, “Do not pass Go.”

“Feeling like Scrabble?” Oh yeah! I think I even convinced him that we were supposed to pick eachother’s letters. He never questioned it, even with round after round of letters like XPQZKJY.

“How about a game of Life?” Ab-so-lutely! My little pink and blue peg people multiplied quicker than a wet Gremlin, just so I could collect more cash presents.

“Anyone for Battleship?” This was too EASY! Maybe we played it wrong, but we could never see eachother’s boards, so if F8 was called, suddenly my submarine just scooted across the ocean. Nobody’s sinking MY battleship!

But Uno? Ah, that one really made me flex my phony muscles. It was the ultimate cheating challenge. No board.  No tiny pieces to manipulate.  No paper money to steal.  The real key with Uno was that I always volunteered to shuffle.

Never trust the shuffler.

As the cards made shuffling sounds, I’d quickly slide the good ones onto my lap with my pinky and then pepper them back into the deck so they would come up every 3rd card.  When I dealt, starting on my left, I'd be flush with picture cards and they'd have nothing but numbers. I was like a budding Penn & Teller with my sleight of hand.

Keep in mind, I was like, 12 at the time. But the fun and games came to a SCREECHING halt one day when we were playing Life and my brother caught me with my hand in the money pot. Hoo boy. That was not my finest hour. 

But I think it was a growing experience for us both. He came to realize he could kick my cheating ass, in more ways than one (or uno, if you prefer). And I came to realize that nobody likes a cheater.

Lesson learned!

I don’t cheat at games anymore.  Mainly because they all watch me like a hawk.  I'm pretty positive that the minute my brother reads this blog post, he's going to fire off an email to me (he maaay still be a little bitter). But I do hope he will also remember the fun times we had as kids playing games like Uno.

I can't wait to eat pie and play games with his kids too. And I promise NOT to teach them how to play "Aunt Jenny Style."

What was YOUR favorite game to play (or to cheat)?  Confess below...


tags: family, jersey, pop culture

Home Sweet Pineapple

I moved back into my old apartment this weekend. It feels good to be back in NYC. I don’t belong in CT anymore. Maybe I never did.

As you know, this was my 3rd move in 5 months. Losing everything at once -- my home, the man I loved, and the family we were creating -- was almost unbearable. So there isn't a big enough word to describe the relief I'm feeling right now.

I am home. Finally.

I have my stuff back. Finally!

And I can move on -- FINALLY -- from what has been the worst summer of my life.

It's almost surreal.  I feel like I want to swallow my key so no one can take it away from me. And I just might (if I smother it in cheese first).

I lived with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece for 10 weeks.  Ironically, that's EXACTLY as long as I lived with my ex-fiance. Hardly seems like any time at all, in the scheme of things, you know?

I know the only way I was able to get through any of this was with their support. Welcoming me into their home without any idea of how long I would need to stay was an incredible gesture that I will never forget. They were there for me in ways I didn't know were even possible. It definitely brought us closer together.

I will miss so many things. Our Sunday family dinners. And watching Sesame Street every morning with my niece. Actually, I won’t miss any of those things because I’ll be back often -- but as a visitor!

Now, I know there’s been some concern over whether coming back to my apt would stir up too many memories, but I’m glad to say it’s no more than usual. And I haven’t cried in 2 days. That’s got to be worth something, right? Plus, the building made some changes -- they removed the doors from my kitchen, changed the kitchen sink faucet, gave me a new peephole, and new blinds. The roof deck is now open. They even paved 2nd ave for me. And I’ve replaced all of my bright red accessories with things that are soothing blue.  It’s like a totally different place. So I can totally forget.

Sort of.

Anyway, when I decide to try this relationship thing again -- IF I decide to try this again -- God help the poor guy. Seriously. Aside from my brand-new RAGING trust issues, there are about 50 people he's going to have to assure that he won't break my heart or else they just might break his legs.

Eh. Maybe I'll save everyone the trouble and just become a nun.

But only if I get to keep my apartment.

PS: If you’re wondering what’s up with this picture, it’s Spongebob Squarepants’ home because I’m also thinking of a very special Spongebob fan who turned 8 today. Even though I can’t be a part of her life anymore, I hope she knows I loved her very much and would have absolutely adored being her step-mom. I hope she doesn't miss me at all, but I miss her tons.

PPS: Now that my life is back in order, I can officially look forward and stop looking back. This means no more posts about my breakup or my relationship. You can be the judge of how successful I am at that...


tags: breakup, city life, family

Blogger-In-Law

Happy 2010!

(If you are reading this aloud to friends, that's "twenty-ten" NOT "two-thousand and ten" or the dreaded "twenty-o-ten").

Yes, I’m 15 days late with my New Years greeting. Or maybe... I'm 30 days early! Chinese New Year begins on Feb 14, after all, and I hear it's the year of the tiger.

Roar. Or is it grrrr? Meow? I dunno.

Anyway, since we are at the dawn of a brand-new decade, I resolve to exercise more (no I don't). And eat healthier (nope -- couldn't even keep my 2009 resolution to eat more junk!). And blog more (well, TRY to blog more).

But you know who’s NOT a blogger slacker like me? My brother-in-law-to-be! He just started his own blog. And it’s the perfect antidote to the estrogen-fest happening here. Plus it gets updated MULTIPLE times per day.

I have blog envy.

Now, you may be wondering, how do I know if his blog, The Lighter Side of Sports, is right for me? If you answer “no” to the following questions, I think you’ll enjoy his Sports Center meets The Onion mash-up:

1) Do you like watching the commercials MORE than the actual Super Bowl?
If no, click here. If yes, do not click here.

2) Do you go to a baseball game JUST for the snacks?
If no, click here. If yes, do not click here.

3) When a body check happens on the ice, are you at the AIRPORT in winter?
If no, click here. If yes, you know the drill.

Unfortunately, I DO watch the Super Bowl for the commercials. I’m ALL about the baseball snacks. And I once got body checked in the Calgary airport (let’s just say it wasn’t pretty to be manhandled by a large woman named Shirley).

So I won’t be reading his blog. If anything funny happens, let me know.

(I kid!)

Seriously, check it out if you’re smart. But ONLY if you’re smart. I don’t need a bunch of dummies going over there telling Colin that Jenny sent them...

Any other blogs we should be reading? List them below!

Joy to the World

I have been a blogger slacker. I know this. You know this. We all know this. Mea culpa.

As a peace offering, I come bearing good news. Actually... scratch that. This is super-terrific-happy-HUGE-totally awesome-fantastically wonderful-can’t even believe this is happening-somebody PLEASE PINCH ME news.

I am engaged!

I KNOW!!! News this good bears repeating: I. Am. Engaged. WOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO!!!! You may think it’s kinda sudden, but I say, when you know, you know. And, believe me, we know.

You know?

Of course you do! You faithfully followed my online dating disasters. You cheered when I officially took myself off the market because I met a truly wonderful man. And now, I believe it is only fitting to share how this perfect engagement happened.

Facebook may have known it first, but YOU’LL know it best…

We’d been talking about getting engaged for a while. I knew it was looming. Hell, I even picked out the ring! I kind of assumed it would happen over a weekend, either before or after the holidays.

So, my parents recently came up from Florida -- 5 whole days (and nights) in my 550 sqft deluxe apartment in the sky, and we had a great time! But since my boyfriend and I didn't have very much time together that weekend, I suggested that I visit him in CT on Monday, after my mom and dad were safely back in the Sunshine State.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll just see you on Wednesday.”

“Fine,” I said, and hung up the phone. Disappointed.

Shortly after, I received a text saying he’d reconsidered. Turns out, I was right! I really should come up for a visit on Monday night.

I paused momentarily on the fact that I was right. (That’s always lovely to hear.) And then I made plans to come visit, all the while thinking this was MY idea...

Fast forward to Monday after work. I caught the 5:28 out of Grand Central and arrived in Stamford around 6:15. He picked me up at the train station, as per usual, and let me know he’d ordered us pepperoni pizzas from a local place we love, Colony. Yum.

We grabbed the pizzas and drove back to his condo. When we walked in the door, I saw his halls were all decked out for Christmas. His tree was framed in the picture window. Amidst the twinkle lights, about a hundred different ornaments hung from the branches -- ranging from Jimmy Buffett margaritas to Dolphins helmets to Montauk lighthouses -- each one with a special significance. The house smelled of the holidays, a mix of cranberry and evergreen. And three little stockings hung from the windowsill.

One for him. One for his 7 year old daughter. And one for me. (Awwww!)

It felt like a normal night, with a dash of holiday cheer. We chatted and enjoyed our pizza. We watched two episodes of The Office. And I told him the most long-winded, never-ending saga about a good friend’s horrible date (remind me to tell you about it sometime -- it’s a doozy!).

I must have blathered on for thirty minutes straight. At least.

Around 8pm, I flipped on the TV Guide menu to see that Santa Claus Is Coming to Town was on ABC. We were totally in the mood for a Christmas cartoon, but not that one. So he dug into his extensive DVD collection and popped in ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. You know the one -- with the mice? And the broken clock? Love it.

Anyway, just before he hit play, he disappeared. I didn’t think much of it. When he came back into the living room, I saw a flash of orange in his hand. “Score,” I thought. “A Reese’s peanut butter cup!”

Um… it wasn’t a peanut butter cup.

He approached me as I was sitting on the couch, by the light of the Christmas tree, and dropped to one knee. The orange flash was actually a ring box. And inside was the most beautiful ring I’ve ever worn. And the most precious gift I’ve ever received.

The ring has three stones -- one to represent him, his daughter, and me -- with a sparkly deep blue sapphire in the center, which just happens to be the birthstone for September (the month he was born).

I was SO stunned I may have blacked out for a minute. (Is that what I THINK it is? Is this happening?? Did he fall off the couch, or is he really on one knee? OMG, it IS happening!!!) At first, this inner dialogue prevented me from hearing the lovely words coming from my boyfriend’s -- now fiancé’s -- mouth. But once I snapped out of shock, I said yes. Yes. YEESSSS!

And I’m pretty sure I thanked him about fifty times.

That’s when the waterworks started. Now, I don’t consider myself a big crier, but these were tears of joy. When I went to hug him and pulled away, a giant streak of my black/brown mascara went across his cheek like he had just been accosted by Tammy Faye Bakker. It wasn’t pretty.

But it was perfect. Perfectly romantic. Perfectly us.

So that’s the story. And before you ask, we have NO idea about a wedding date yet, but it will be sooner than later. We’re thinking this summer, maybe?

Because as much as I love being his fiancée, I truly can’t wait to become his wife.

xoxo

The World Is Lousy with Jennifers

Don’t believe me?

Guaranteed you have a good friend, or a buddy at work, or a neighbor, or an ex-girlfriend, or a dogwalker named Jennifer (or Jenny or Jen, but NEVER Jenn or Jenifer or Genifer).

And probably not just one either -- more like five!

Take me, for example. When I was in college, my roommate for all four years was also named Jen. And by the time we were seniors, FOUR out of the EIGHT girls living in our house were named Jen (that’s 50% Jen!).

I’m totally convinced that one day, in the not so distant future, Jennifer will be a Scary Old Lady Name (much like Mildred, or Agnes) and retirement communities across the country will be overrun with them.

I can just imagine all the wrinkly old biddies that will pick up their confused little heads every time someone calls out that name. They’ll have to get nicknames to help differentiate, like Recently Had Hip Replacement Surgery Jen, and Always Forgets Her Glasses Jen, and Stinks Kinda Like Ben-Gay Jen.

It will be chaos.

Anyway, the pervasiveness of my name within my age group isn’t just a gut feeling. It’s a fact. According to the rankings issued by the Social Security Administration last week (and they ought to know!), Jennifer is now the 84th most popular girl’s name. Okay. But that’s in a world filled with Nevaehs (#34), Makaylas (#37), and Destinys (#48)…

Back in boring times, Jennifer first broke the top 20 most popular baby names in 1965. In its Glory Days, it ranked as the #1 girl’s name for FIFTEEN STRAIGHT YEARS -- from 1970 - 1984. In 1985, it slipped to #3 -- which was the beginning of its merciful descent.

The Reign of Jennifer makes it the 2nd most popular girl’s name in the last 100 YEARS. (In case you are curious, Mary takes the crown as the 1st most popular from 1909 – 1946 and again from 1953 – 1961.)

So… who cares (other than the obvious 8 gazillion Jennifers out there)?

Well, I think my peers who are now parents have also taken note of the “dime a dozen” quality of many of our first names and are coming up with better alternatives for their own kids. Back in February, I told you about 10 babies being born to my own family and friends, and now, they’ve all arrived – happy, healthy, and cute as buttons!

What’s better? They ALL have unique names! (Though it does NOT escape my attention that two of the moms listed below are also named Jennifer…)

Welcome to the World:

Lindsay (#380) JoyBorn in March to Cara & Mike (and big sisters Jillian & Alyssa)

Grace (#21) ElizabethBorn on May 6th to Liz & Steve

Rebecca (#119) Belle
Born on May 14th to Anne & Dave

William (#8) Charles
Born on May 22nd to Jen & Adam (and big sister Cielle and big brother Ryan)

Roya (*) LilyBorn on June 6th to Minoo & Rob
(*Roya is totally original and way too cool for a ranking!)

Lydia (#120) Rose
Born on June 10th to Jen & Nate

Peyton (#60) VictoriaBorn in July to Stacey & Lou (and big brother, little Lou)

Evan (#38) CarterBorn on July 30th to Joanna & Robert

Bryce (#116) ThomasBorn on August 7th to Sheila & Kyle (and big sister Lilly)

Matthew (#10) FinbarBorn on August 8th to Pam & Gerry (and big sister Elena)


Congrats to all the new moms and dads! Much love to all of you.

Now don’t let me be Little Miss Vain all by myself -- check how popular YOUR name is and add it to the comments below! And sorry, but “Anonymous” won’t appear on the list...

Love

On Wednesday night at 9:48pm, I became an aunt for the very first time to a beautiful baby girl, named Grace Elizabeth. She surprised us all 3 weeks early, but I think she just really wanted to make a dramatic entrance on her first Mother’s Day.

Mission accomplished.

While she is just one of the many babies being born in my life right now, of course, she is by FAR my favorite. She is 6lbs 10oz and 20 inches of pure joy. Here’s just a few of the thousands of reasons why:

1) From the minute I saw her, less than an hour old, she was pink. Perfectly pink like every little girl should be.

2) She has very long fingers, so delicate you can’t even believe there are any bones in them. But she’s strong too, especially when she does not want to stick her arm inside her onesie, or keep her fingers inside her mittens, or her feet inside her socks. No doubt she will be tall, and artistic with hands like she has.

3) She has the most adorable dimple on her right cheek, just like her daddy. And watching my little brother (who’s a very big 6’5”) care for this little peanut is so sweet and gentle, it brings tears to my eyes in the best possible way.

4) Her hair. As a baby, I was bald until I was about 9 months old (I’ve made up for lost time, tenfold). My brother, on the other hand, was born with a good amount of black hair, that later turned orange-ish (the Turnip Phase, as it is affectionately known in my family), which then settled on the most gorgeous platinum blonde by the time he was about 3 months old. His daughter, is the perfect middle ground -- light blonde downy fuzz around the edges, and silky soft light brown hair all over her head. No turnips here -- that must be my sister-in-law’s good influence!

5) I remember the stories of the day I was born, hearing that my grandmother and my father got soaking wet in the hospital parking lot from all the rain that day. The same thing happened to me the night Gracie was born as I was leaving the hospital. The downpour made me smile and feel like my grandmother, her great-grandmother, was still here, watching over us.

Lots of surreal memories swirl in my head from a day that began with a 5:30am phone call and ended at 3am the next morning when I fell asleep on my brother’s couch in Connecticut. I remember seeing “Deadliest Catch” playing on the TV in the unfamiliar hospital waiting room as I sat alongside a concerned father who would later be sent home for the 3rd time as his single daughter left with false labor pains. I remember getting text message updates from my brother throughout the day and night, which I then relayed by phone to my parents all the way in Florida and by email to my aunt in New York, realizing what a blessing technology can be, wondering how people ever managed without this kind of lifeline. I remember getting cash from the ATM and offering it to my brother, as if he was going to tip the doctors after delivery for a job well done.

I remember sitting downstairs with him in the small window of time he had after my sister-in-law was given an epidural, as he ate a turkey wrap in about 3 bites -- looking in one second like a little boy, and in another like a grown man -- his face full of awe, excitement, and exhaustion. I remember as a new mommy, daddy, and baby slept in the hospital, I came back to their quiet house, with everything still frozen in the bright disarray of a surprise 4am water breaking. And finally, I remember that their cat saw this as his opportunity to mess with me by throwing up all over the house (fyi, the cat and I are still not speaking).

I sat in the hospital, waiting for the news, my mind wandering to the other newborns in the nursery. There were 7 altogether, including Gracie, 3 girls and 4 boys. I couldn’t help but wonder if all these babies, were bonded in some way -- linked for coming into the world at the same time, laying side by side. I wondered where life would take them, who they would become.

As I leaned against the glass, I wished them health, I wished them happiness, and I wished them love.

Toilet Bowl Boyfriend

In keeping with the rules of Lent, I ordered up a plain cheese pizza tonight. About 15 minutes after I placed the order, my phone rang. Naturally, I assumed it was the lobby telling me the delivery guy was on his way up.

It wasn’t.

My mom was on the other end. She likes to check in to make sure I made it home safely. It’s cute, really. So we chit-chatted for a few minutes, and I think I successfully convinced her I would survive yet another day in the Big Bad City. Then, I happened to mention that I ordered a pizza. Plain cheese – just like Jesus likes it.

You’re familiar with the phrase, “no good deed goes unpunished,” yes? Well, the conversation went a little something like this:

MOM: Oh no…
ME: What?
MOM: It’s just…well, I just thought you were in for the night.
ME: I am in for the night. The pizza comes to me.
MOM: But you have to open the door.
ME: Yes, that’s generally how food gets inside.
MOM: But you don’t know who this guy is.
ME: Yes I do. He’s the pizza delivery guy.
MOM: But you don’t know what he’s up to.
ME: Delivering pizzas, I think.
MOM: He could take advantage of the situation.
ME: What situation?
MOM: That you’re ALONE.
ME: Huh?
MOM: You hear about it all the time on the news.
ME: Mmm-hmm…
MOM: Flush the toilet when the doorbell rings!
ME: Okay…
MOM: Then, turn on the shower. Are you writing this down?
ME: Uh-huh…
MOM: I’ll send you some of Dad’s pants. Underwear too.
ME: (silence)
MOM: You can keep them on the couch.
ME: Awesome.
MOM: That way, he’ll know you’re not alone.

So, let me get this straight: I need to invent a hungry slob of a boyfriend who orders dinner, then leaves his dirty clothes strewn all over the living room BEFORE taking a dump (and a shower!), just to trick a random delivery guy into believing I’m not alone.

Being single is SO complicated.

Oh Baby

Wow. I now know TEN women who are having babies between April and August.

-- My sister-in-law
-- My roommate from college
-- My roommate from college’s sister-in-law
-- 2 other friends from college
-- 3 friends at my current job
-- 2 friends from former jobs

Um, what the hell happened last year? Was there a blackout? Nothing good on TV? Has news of the recession become the ultimate aphrodisiac? Ooh, unemployment is soooo HOT!

I don’t know, but I really hate to be left out of a trend, so I’m here to announce I have some happy news: I’m pregnant too!

(Try not to hit your head when you pass out from shock.)

Yes, I expect to give birth to Pringle in the fall. I think I’ll name him “Salty.”

Ok, I’m kidding. But seriously, congrats to all the moms and dads-to-be! And congrats to me, I’m going to officially be an aunt to a beautiful baby girl called Grace. I can’t wait to meet her in late May or early June (arrival time will be directly correlated to whether she takes after her mom or her dad). Suffice it to say, she will be quite spoiled in the best possible way.

Much love to you all, always.

Back to the 'Brook

Now that I’m a city girl, one of the things I miss most is my car. That’s where Zipcar comes in. My first experience, renting a Mini Cooper named Melhman, was rocky (he had a flat tire, which I had to fix). Since then I’ve switched to a BMW named Bern and he’s been Old Reliable.

It’s rare that I have access to a car these days, so my agenda yesterday was jam-packed:

8:00AM
I picked up my Zipcar from a nearby Manhattan garage. This really is a brilliant concept, renting nice cars by the hour with gas included, but they need a street team to check up on the fleet. Bern was way overdue for a service, which he reminded me every time I turned the engine on. There was also some dried-up ketchup near the gear shift, which I tried to avoid touching at all costs.

9:00AM
I couldn’t go all the way to Pine Brook without doing a drive-by of the old homestead. After all, we lived there for 25 years! Making my way up a street I’ve driven a million times before, I could see it sitting on the hill. Several familiar markers were missing, like our mailbox and some front-yard landscaping, but the biggest difference was the number of trees that had been chopped down. It must have been a dozen. These were 50+ year old trees -- the neighbors couldn’t have liked that at all! I immediately decided that while it looked like our house, it didn’t look like our home anymore, and continued driving. Curiosity satisfied.

9:15AM
No trip to Pine Brook is complete without a visit to 7-Eleven. I miss that little place! So I went in and picked up a yummy buttered roll, a true NJ delicacy.

9:30AM
I suppose there are dentists in NYC. Some might even be good. But I seriously love my dentist, so I’ll happily travel back to the ‘Brook 2x per year for my cleanings. We watch Food Network together, he tells me stories, and he gives me lessons about teeth. Yesterday’s lesson was about brushing after lunch. I said it grosses me out to brush in a public bathroom. He said that’s ok, just drink a bottle of water after drinking any soda and I’d be fine until I got home. Thanks, doc! As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I unwrapped my buttered roll with one hand and chewed it up with my newly clean teeth. To be on the safe side, I also drank a bottle of water afterwards.

10:15AM
Immediately following my dentist appointment, I went, naturally, to a candy store. Bromilow's in West Caldwell makes the most amazing home-made chocolates, but the cream of the crop is their chocolate-covered potato chip. Salty-sweet heaven. I picked up two boxes to give as gifts. (I won’t say who the gifts are for, because they may be reading this!)

10:30AM
I know I said I’d never set foot in a grocery store again, but I'm a sucker for Kings apple pie, and since they're practically next door to the chocolate shop, I simply had to bring one home. They were even having a sale on bottled water -- $3.99 for a 28-pack. That same case (with 4 less) is $8.99 on my beloved Fresh Direct, plus a delivery fee. Another reason to love NJ -- cheap water.

11:00AM
The city that never sleeps has everything… except for Target. What a crime! So one of the highlights of my day involved visiting the bullseye in Fairfield. My back seemed to be holding up, so I went up and down every aisle in the store, stocking up on all sorts of holiday treats. Sing it with me: There's no place like Target at Christmas to save. I may need to watch less TV.

12:30PM
I don’t think news of the recession has made its way to Willowbrook Mall in Wayne. I circled the parking lot 7 times to find a space, which I finally did right up front (score 1 for me -- in your face, parking lot!). Once inside, the stores were so crowded, I had to beat my way through with a stick. I’m kidding...I used a golf club.

1:30PM
My tour ended in Totowa, where I attended a 5-year old’s Little Mermaid birthday party. It was so much fun to catch up with old friends (big shout out to Jen, Adam, and Mike!). And I’m comforted to know that hide & seek, dress-up and tea parties are still very much in vogue.

All in all, it was a great day. Who says you can’t go home again?

Thankful

As I write this, I’m lying in bed, strapped to a heating pad.

To understand what happened, we need to go back about 3 weeks. I noticed that the heater in my living room was on the fritz. The vents felt hot, but the air wasn’t blowing and it wouldn’t really turn on (or off). Not liking the idea of random people roaming around my pad while I wasn’t home, I waited to get it fixed until my parents were in town. So on Wednesday, aka Thanksgiving Eve, I took my mom to the doctor for her regular appointment while my dad was stationed inside my apartment all day on heater patrol.

When I came home from my Good Deed, I immediately noticed my furniture was askew. Obviously things had to be moved for the workers to get to said busted heater. But I ignored the fact that heat was now flowing freely because the OCD Fairy whispered in my ear. Must. Fix. Furniture. Now.

I think you see where this is going.

As my dad helped my mom off with her coat, I pushed my sleeper sofa roughly 4 inches to the left. Ah, that’s better. But then the rug got scrunched up. So I bent down and lifted the end of the sofa to straighten it out. Ok good. Now that order was restored in the world, I sat on the sofa and realized my coffee table was too far away. I couldn’t be expected to live like this! So I leaned forward to pull a large wooden table (containing several shelves and drawers full of magazines, catalogues, and books) toward me.

I pulled. My back popped.

Actually, maybe it was more of a tear. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. Either way, I instantly knew something bad had happened. On Thanksgiving Eve.

By 7pm the shooting pains and spasms made it crystal clear I was on the DL. I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t lie down, and I knew there was no way I could drag my sorry ass onto a CT-bound Metro North train for various Turkey Day festivities.

Now, to say my family isn’t great with sudden changes in plans is the understatement of the millennium. But I have to say, they rolled with this one. My awesome brother drove down early Thanksgiving morning to pick up my dad and drop off all the fixings for turkey sandwiches, plus an apple pie, pop-tarts (classic pilgrim fare) and even a cheerful plant. He’s definitely lobbying for Brother of the Year (little did he know, he already had it in the bag). As my dad headed north to represent the family at the official dinner, my sweet mom stayed with me all day and made the most delicious sandwich ever -- with paper-thin turkey, moist stuffing, and tart cranberry sauce, it was Thanksgiving on a Bun.

Fast forward to today: I’ve spent about 89 of the last 90 hours in bed. I feel like Grandpa Joe from Willy Wonka. I might look like him too. I’m much better, but still not great. I think I’ve successfully avoided a trip to the Scary New York City Emergency Room. Still, I could use a hot shower, and I may be getting an ulcer from all the Tylenol I’ve been taking. But I am pretty thankful for my amazing family.

Oh, I also discovered a new channel on TV – LMN (Lifetime Movie Network). I got sucked into their mini-series marathon, specifically Lace, where Phoebe Cates, in all her 1984 big hair and shoulder-padded splendor, turned in her finest performance. In a very strange attempt at a foreign accent (Irish, maybe? Or was it German?), she uttered what could be the best line ever, “Now, which one of you bitches is my mother?”

Even though I filled up on turkey, I still had room for cheese.

So, did your Turkey Day go as planned?