(my laptop’s on a) Midnight Train to Georgia

Hello!  I’m back.  And I hope you’ll see me posting a little more frequently (and certainly more succinctly) from now on.  You see, I’ve been to a blogging workshop this weekend, and for the first time – well – ever, I’ve had the time and space to focus on what I want this blog to be.  I’ve been fortunate enough to have been mentored for a few days by Melbourne writer Karen Andrews, of Miscellaneous Mum.  And now it’s over to me to put all of that wisdom imparted into practice right here.  

No pressure to be brilliant or anything…

My hello! coffee, West Village, NYC

My hello! coffee, West Village, NYC

As a few of you will know, I’ve been writing about my experiences as a parent, and as a 30-something-turned-40-something woman for a little while now.  In fact, it’s been almost a year since my first nail-biting, bumbling foray into the blogiverse.

This time last year I was floating around on my own little cloud 9, looking ahead to two wonderful, child-free weeks in New York City.  The blog was merely a seed of a thought, and my anxieties around leaving our two children for that length of time had taken shape as my own personal guilt-gremlins (who were prodding me at regular intervals).

Sadly, there’ll be no international jet-setting for us this year, but with school and kinder now up and running, I find myself with just a fraction more time to myself, and a hankering to be creative.  I figure it’s time to put some concerted effort into Life is a Minestrone, and see what comes about.  You’ll be pleased to know that I also plan on putting a concerted effort into drinking coffee, and indulging in the occasional nap on the couch.  I figure I deserve at least that, after 7 years of having to go to the toilet with an audience. 

Many of you have been generous in reading my verbose accounts so far, and have made me feel so encouraged with your liking and sharing (ooh, and I do love the comments!).  It’s gratifying to see that people are reading my musings, and that they’re eliciting the odd chortle from time to time.  

So here ends my little Hello speech.  But I’ll leave you with a valuable life lesson I learnt this weekend on my way home from blogging school:

It turns out that you (that is, I) don’t need to be drunk, or otherwise incapacitated, to do really stupid things on public transport.  For example, disembarking a train carriage carrying only a telephone and a water bottle, and failing to remember that when you boarded the carriage, you were in possession of a bag (containing laptop and credit card).  Oops.  Double oops.

Flinders St Station

Bye bye laptop bag….(Photo: Omer Ziv)

The good news story is that I was saved from my stupidity by a very nice end-of-line station-master, and a very forward-thinking husband (who immediately threw the children into the car for ‘a big train chase’), after my panicked call.  He was on the platform at Lilydale when the train arrived, and had said laptop bag delivered straight into his arms.  Computer, credit card, cash, all intact.

I did have a good forty minutes or so though, to ponder my idiocy, and imagine all the ways I was utterly screwed if someone did decide to adopt my bag as their own.  There were many self-inflicted mental slaps about the face, during that time.

View from Melbourne train

An idiot’s view (Photo: Yuyang Rihcard Lu)

As a result, I am in the process of drafting a policy document for myself around the use of smart phones and various (very engrossing) social media on public transport.

If you’re so inclined, you can join me in my sheepishnes, and tell me about something equally stupid that you’ve done in recent times.

It can’t possibly be just me… Can it?



Operation Out of House


I would like to introduce you to my daughter, India, who we have recently renamed Fang .  She is missing one of her front top teeth, and the other is attached by only a few threads, as it has been for the past few weeks.   The fang hangs lower than her other teeth, is twisted sideways, and juts out to the front, which gives her an air of scurvy victim / trailer trash child.  It makes eating so difficult that she has to chew with her mouth open, to avoid biting down on the fang.  But will she part with it?  NO!  I think she enjoys the reaction, when people peer into her mouth to see what all the fuss is about, and then shrink away, revolted, at the sight of it.


We have at least one episode daily, where she accidentally bites down on the fang, it jabs into her gum the wrong way, and her mouth fills with blood.  Distraught wailing, blood dripping from her open, panicked mouth and fang jutting out in the middle.  Really?  REALLY? I find myself saying, through clenched teeth, whilst mustering up my fake Zen, nothing-phases-me voice.  ‘Just let me pull it out’ I say.  ‘It’s not helping you eat, and it’s making you upset’. ‘Nooooooooo!!!! I don’t want tooooooo!!!’ she wails, desperately guarding her precious fang, and scuttling off to the bathroom to examine her bloody mouth in the mirror.

God help me.  What kind of torturous ride am I in for when Fang grows into a teenager?!

She already exhibits the wild mood swings and kick-ass attitude of an angsty teen.  She has recently mastered the foot-stomping, squinty-eyed tantrum of utter contempt (these are actually quite funny when I am able to mentally extract myself from the situation and watch from a distance).  And she will definitely be amongst the nominees for Best Dramatic Actress this year, with her ‘nobody understands me, I never get what I want and you all suck’ tantrums.

The first sign of these tantrums is when the tears start to well, then the face crumples and morphs grotesquely into that open-mouthed grimace which is simultaneously hilarious and heartbreaking.   Only children can pull this one off.  There is a brief window where you can get away with such wailing and hysterics, and sometimes I don’t blame her for bunging it on and giving it her best shot.  After all, every now and then it actually works, when we’re simply too exhausted to put up a fight.

But all this angst, in a six and a half year old body?  I just don’t know if I have the ticker for it.  Hence, the inception of Operation Out of House.

It’s a strategy which has been taking shape in my conscious over the past few weeks, back in frosty Melbourne.  I’m not generally one for profound realisations or grand resolutions, but being catapulted over to New York City and back in the space of two weeks will do that to you – it’s somewhat destabilising.  That amazing land of fun and frivolity, contrasted with reality in freezing suburban Melbourne.  Work, housework, supermarketing, cooking, nagging, disciplining, humouring, cajoling…

Allow me to compare and contrast:

a)  Wake up whenever, shower at own leisure and ponder over suitable outfit, followed by tasty omelette and potatoes in little Parisian inspired cafe.

b)  Peel eyes open at sound of incessantly beeping alarm clock and drag self out of bed.  Eat toast in polar fleece dressing gown at kitchen bench, whilst simultaneously making lunches, washing dishes and barking commands: ‘India get dressed – NO you CANNOT wear your summer dress it is 2 degrees outside’.. ‘Arlo stop poking the fruit and eat your toast’… ‘Look in the drawer… the bottom one’…. ‘Arlo for the last time would you PLEASE GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF YOUR PANTS?!!’

And so you see, why I require a plan of action to help preserve my sanity.

Operation Out Of House is about just that: getting out and doing more stuff (stuff being a pretty broad term).  Planning things to look forward to, and orchestrating reasons to get a bit tarted up and hit the town.  Calling the uncles in to babysit, even if it is just to venture down the road for the kinder fund-raiser trivia night.  It doesn’t have to be glamorous, just out, and preferably with people.

Winter brings out the hibernation instinct in all of us, and there are not many among us who can resist the allure of Ugg boots and the forgiving waistband of trackies in this weather (in Camberwell, they are referred to as yoga pants).  In fact, more than one of my friends have recently admitted to changing into their jamies and dressing gown the moment they arrive home from school pickup!  For the uninitiated among you, this would generally be any time from 4pm onward, depending on the schedule of after school activities.  Well I salute you ladies (you know who you are).  I see your dressing gown and I raise you a blankie and a glass of wine.

My signature winter item is a pilled old cardigan which I refer to as my house jacket.  It looks a bit like a doormat, but keeps out the drafts and doesn’t show up tea stains.  It is strictly an inside, non-entertaining garment, not even allowable for supermarket outings.  

So if my operation is a success, I’ll be spending a little less time ensconced in my daggy house jacket, and a litte more time taking in the company of friends in the worlds most liveable city.

I stepped out with my little Fanged one at the Australian Ballet last week, and it was fantastic!  Despite the expected amount of fidgeting and a few grumpy looks some older patrons, it was a declared a success.  An ice cream at the first interval, followed by a packet of crisps at the second.  Alright!  Dressing up, getting out of the house and introducing my daughter to The Arts – surely that’s worth triple points?

tien datLunch in Box Hill with a bestie and our two hungry, manic four year old boys was another experiment I undertook this week.   It was somewhat less cosmopolitan than the ballet, but we did manage to keep them both seated and fit in a Tsingtao and a chat over our noodles.  Cheers to us.

At the same restaurant a few days later, I enjoyed an adult date with Sally, where we fitted in a spot of reminiscing of that fabulous week together in NYC.   After years of SMSing each other agenda items (one has to make the most of uninterupted conversations and cover all current issues), I finally went all out and printed a meeting agenda.  It worked a treat, and were wrapping up the last few items as the staff stacked chairs on the tables around us.

My next evil plan, under the auspice of Operation Out Of House is to finalise a date for a girls weekend at my in-laws’ beach house.  The email has gone out, the scene has been set for two glorious nights to ourselves.  Now we just have to hope the calendar gods smile on us, and allow four frazzled women to do what they do best:  Cook, eat, drink, sleep and talk until we’re blue in the face.

Tien Dat


New York State of Mind

Well you didn’t think I could leave it there did you?

It turns out that blogging is quite addictive, and I’ve been feeling rather lost without it.  Of course, there’s not been that much to blog about since I’ve been home. Unless you care to hear about my household austerity measures, such as our week-long TV ban, and the resumption of our alcohol free weeknight policy?  I must say, I didn’t quite think through the combined effect of these two measures on my delicate, post holiday psyche.

toothless grinEverything went swimmingly on the home front while we were away wining, dining, shopping and exploring, which is testament to our fabulous parents.  The only obvious difference on our return was a much tidier, more orderly house than I have ever kept, and a few extra gaps in India’s mouth. Too easy.  When can we do it again?!

Yup, the magic of New York is fast disappearing in the rear vision mirror, and comedown was pretty rough at the one week mark. Long lunches and shopping in the West Village were but a fond memory, as I donned my apron for canteen duty at 9am Friday morning.

I’m serious –  I really am now a fully-fledged tuck-shop lady!  And when you add to the equation a long weekend spent looking after a very unwell and clingy little man, it’s been harsh on my buzz, to say the least.

crazy glasses

On the upside, of course, catching up on all the squeezes and snuggles was delightful.  Also, having several new wardrobe additions, including a lovely winter coat and new bag, are a great way to help buffer the reentry into a bleak Melbourne winter.  And when people ask me where they are from, I get to say ‘oh, um, I got this in New York last week’.  That’s pretty cool too.

So now, in a desperate bid to relive those magic few weeks, I thought I’d catalogue some of my packing hints, shopping highlights and favourite ‘investments’.  Humour me here, please – it’s my form of therapy.


Shoes just about deserve an entry of their own (and did require an additional suitcase of their own, for the trip home).

Firstly, at least one pair of supportive, comfy, pre-broken-in shoes are essential.  My tan coloured Kumfs (don’t laugh!) lived up to their name as we walked our way from one side of Manhattan to another.

A few great purchases from Macy’s (above) were these Ecco gladiator style sandles, and a pair of platform wedged black sandles in a generic Macy’s brand.  Quality, comfortable and infinitely more affordable than in Australia.

Camper storeAgain on the quality front, one day we happened upon the Camper store (you can almost see the twinkle in Cam’s eyes here).  Just one example of our opportunistic shopping technique:

Me:  Oh, I don’t need any more shoes, but I did want to just check out the price of Campers over here {gravitates sheepishly toward door}

Cam:  I love this shop.  I’m getting at least two pairs.  I actually could do with three.  When was the last time I bought shoes at home?

Me:  Okay then we’re allowed two each.

Awesome.  I love it when Cam embraces his inner shopper!!

Hunter Original red pairSpring turned out to be rather psychotic on the weather front, meaning some very cold, wet days.  And as soon as the heavens opened, women all over town appeared wearing dressy gumboots – I was so tempted to join the locals and invest in a pair!  They looked super cute, parked outside their apartment doors.

In the end I think it was lucky I didn’t have the luggage space, as now that I’m back in Glen Iris, I just don’t think I could pull off wearing $100+ gumboots to school pickup.  Except maybe these red ones though…  Are they hot or not?


Now I would love to report that I cruised 5th Ave and bought a pair of Jimmy Choos, or at least peered into the Prada windows.  But alas!  It just wasn’t within my budget or time constraints in the end.  My last few purchases included these fantastic, slightly granny-esque heels, and some cute platform sandles.  Pity I’ll have to wait out winter before I can actually wear all my new sandles.


Cam's new hat!How fetching is Cam in this flat cap from somewhere in Soho?  A great holiday hat!  And we have discussed the idea that he needs to slowly incorporate it into his Melbourne life, so as to not appear too ‘I’ve been to New York and now I wear this hat everywhere’.

My little crochet’d beret came in handy on bad hair days – an excellent way to hide the fuzz factor in the drizzly, humid weather.  Another fave is this great – I think 1920’s-style – sunhat.  I was compelled to purchase it when Cam was selecting his, as I just couldn’t hang out in a hat-shop for that long and not buy something (you can also spy here the mustard-yellow Campers that have become a wardrobe staple back home).

hat on the highline


Dresses made up the majority of my half-full suitcase on the way over.  I needed to look the part whilst exploring – I needed to integrate!  There was no room for Lululemon trackie dacks and flurescent trainers in my suitcase. Truth be told, I even purchased a few of these in the months leading up to our trip, for the reason that they would be perfect for New York. Dedicated, hey?

CosmopolitanI have Modcloth to thank for these two lovely frocks:  I don’t have a full shot of the green peacock number above, but it was a great suitcase dress, needing no ironing, being soft and fully lined.  It went very well with my cosmopolitan, as you can see.

The blue check and chambray number below saw me walk the Brooklyn Bridge in style (except when I had to stop twice, to re-band-aid my poor feet).

Modcloth frock #2

My cheap, comfy, age-old LBD got quite a few work-outs.  Worn here with tied checked shirt in a faint nod to rockabilly (minus the fabulous, coiffed hair – who has time for that?).Union Square

And last but not least, my lovely green dress by Trashy Diva.  I shan’t bang on about it any further, except to say I was pretty happy to have an occasion to bust it out last weekend.

Green Dress

The bag and coat

I took two light jackets with me and had a good winter coat on my shopping list.

6CIt was a few days into the trip when we stumbled upon Century 21 in downtown Manhattan: A kind of cut-price department store / jumble sale with labels as far as the eye can see.   In the matter of thirty minutes, I snapped up my red riding hood coat (DKNY) and coordinating Cole Haan handbag.  My tip – go early, get in and get out!

Here I am pretending to open the door and be the owner of apartment 6C, in my jacket. Aren’t I lucky that I have a husband who likes to play along and be the paparazzi?The bag

Above is my new bag – actually an early birthday present from my lovely brother and partner.  An envelope of dead presidents with a ‘here – choose yourself something nice for your birthday in NYC’ note.  Love your work boys!

So there you have it, I think that’s just about a wrap.  

The final thought I’ll leave you with is the indulgent joy of picking up your freshly laundered clothes – all securely shrink-wrapped into a dense little bundle, when you’ve been out all day exploring.  I miss that, as I sit on my couch and stare at the heavily laden clothes horse in front of the heater…

So Long New York City

Soho streetsWhat a magic last day.  Thank you New York for turning on blue skies and warm breezes, as we hoofed it around the streets for one last tour.  Over to Union Square, down to Soho, across to East Village and back (and that was just the morning).

I have never walked as much in my life as I have in the last two weeks.  And l think it befitting that I have never bought as many pairs of shoes in the space of two weeks.  We are now just hoping that the suspiciously cheap  extra suitcase we have acquired will survive the trip home with our precious cargo.

Something you should know about New York City, is that there is a serious shortage of public toilets.  In our situation, this results in a self-perpetuating problem: need toilet so head for nearest bar -> purchase beverage to allow use of toilet facilities -> need toilet again an hour later -> head to nearest bar -> purchase beverage…  You see the problem here?  This is Cam, ruminating over the issue at one of our many pitstops yesterday.pitstop

Los AmericanosWe took the opportunity to revisit one of our favourite establishments on our last day.  Los Americanos in Tribeca – seriously the most amazing vibe, incredible Mexican food, and as cheap as chips.  It inspired a conversation we had, about exploring great gluten friendly cuisines of the world.  The idea is that Cam cooks, and I blog about it – genius!

On the shopping front, I had to stop in at Sephora, on an important errand for a friend back home.  A world of cosmetics!  However, Cam was getting antsy, so it was probably for the best when I handed my list to the nearest salesperson.  She spirited me around the store popping things into my handbasket a mile a minute, and we were out of there in a jiffy.  Miss Marty – the jobs done.

High LineI also had to revisit Enz’s one last time.  I had an inkling there would be good-bye present waiting for me, and I was on the money.  Enter The Jeans.  Forties style, high waisted, rolled up blue denim loveliness.  I have been looking for a pair of these suckers forever.

And when I say high waisted, I mean it.  Cam initially balked at their, um, highness, but was won over by Mariann (owner and designer), who quickly set him straight.  You can see me here, posing on the High Line, after a quick stop home for a costume change.  Just go ahead and call me Harry High Pants – I know that’s what you’re thinking.

And now I find myself awake at 6am, eating a (seriously good) cookie and contemplating the epic task of packing.  We fly out tonight, homeward bound to see our two beautiful little mites.  Man, I’ve missed them.  They have apparently behaved like angels for their grandparents (although we have the feeling that they will instantly morph into Satan’s spawn the moment the grandies are out the door).  Oh well, it’s a fair cop I suppose, after our two weeks in this wonderland of eating, drinking, shopping and sleeping.

And for those of you who have already visited this amazing city, you can imagine how we feel about saying good-bye: a little bit heartbroken.

So long New York City.  You’re the shiznit.

They misspelt it!

Bright Sunshiny Day

Icy cold 7th AveI have just peeked out of my window and caught a glimpse of blue skye – joy oh joy!  We really need some fair weather to tick off the last few things on our To Do list.  We’re yet to walk the High Line, or take a trip on the Staten Island ferry, and must visit the Brooklyn markets and waterfront.  Only two days left.  Tick tock, tick tock.

After a tropical spell last week, it suddenly turned icy, blustering and wet (being used to Melbourne weather, we’re feeling right at home).  For a few days the cold and rain was quaint – it gave us a little feel for what winter might be like here in New York.  It also gave me occasion to don my new winter jacket, and to shelter in the haven of warm bars and restaurants.  There’s nothing like a fortifying drink to lift your spirits and warm your belly, and to remind you that you’re on holiday.  So what was Cam’s response, when I suggested we duck into a bar for a pre-lunch ale at 11.45am? You had me at hello.

Giant Lego X-wing

We visited the enormous Lego X-Wing which has landed in Times Square, with a gazillion other tourists.  And we visited the BIGGEST TOY SHOP IN THE WORLD, where we acquired a remote control UFO.  I think it will go down a treat with the munchkins back home.

MOMAOur wet day time table activities have included visiting MOMA (as evidenced by this shot of me, where I actually seem to be staring into space, and not at the artwork).  I think I was scoping someone’s gallery outfit and making mental notes.  Do you like how I match the painting though?

Sally and I attended a Broadway show last night: It’s Nice Work If You Can Get It, starring none other than Matthew Broderick.  It was fantastic.  And instead of having to line up in the horrendous queues which snaked all the way through Times Square, we got lucky.  I somehow charmed the ticket booth man at the Imperial Theatre into giving us the last few great seats for a steal.  What a nice man!  I will always remember him fondly…

Vin Sur VingtThis is Sally and I at Vin Sur Vingt, a lovely French wine bar in the village, where we took in our pre-theatre wine and cheese.  Beautiful.

It was here that we continued our discussion of New Yorkers and their glamorous gumboots.  It appears they must be from Hunter, and cost approximately $130 at Bloomingdales.  Could we get away with them in Melbourne, or would we just look like wankers?  Neither of us have the suitcase space anyway, so it was all theoretical.

Sally and cosmopolitan

Sally and Jon are heading to Boston on the train today, bringing an end to our New York chapter together.

So we thought it necessary to finish last night with a cocktail.  You guessed it – it’s a cosmopolitan.

Farewell Sal.  Keep it real in Boston.

Harlem Nights

We had the most extraordinary experience last night. One to top all others this trip.

Our friends Sally and Jon had met a lady called Berta the previous evening, and she had extended the invitation to join her at the American Legion in Harlem, for their Thursday jam session. We were going to a jam session in Harlem – it felt cool just saying it! But it was important to sign the book. You gotta sign the book.

We took the subway, then found our way through the streets – rows and rows of familiar looking brownstones – to the one in particular we were looking for. The sign on the door said simply ‘PULL UP YOU PANTS or STAY OUT’. And after a collective hitch of our pants, we went in.

American LegionThe next couple of hours were just magic. We sat at one of seven or eight small tables, sipped on drinks which came in individual bottles tiny bottles, and took in the talents of the amazing locals who got up to do their thing. Pretty soon they motioned our way, and it was Jon’s turn play. ‘Hey DOWN UNDER!‘ boomed one of the locals, ‘Come on up here and show us how you play!’. Eeeeeek!

Jon at the American LegionAnd of course, Jon absolutely blitzed it. He did us proud. The three of us were wearing the hugest grins, and I know that at least I had goosebumps. The ringing endorsement was when one dapper gentleman turned to another and said casually ‘that white boy can play’. Yup, that’s my friend Jon up there.

We’re both just loving this city, and it’s various enclaves and people, with their disarmingly familiar accents. Every day feels like a constant stream of nostalgia. The subway announcements are reminiscent of Bladerunner, all cheerful and chipper: ‘Stand clear of the closing doors please!’. And there’s the flamboyant gay guy who entertained us as we ate at a restaurant in the Village; he was, like, sooo, like, FANTASTIC, like, oh my God, like, I can’t believe how loud and gay and American this guy was!! (I said all of that in my New York accent). Love it.Dude in purple

And walking around town and on the subway, I am struck by all of these stylish men and women going about their life. I want to take their picture and tell them how amazing they look! But of course then I’d feel like a total tourist noob. So instead, I took this guy’s picture when he wasn’t looking.

Can you see how he’s got his own style going on here? He owns it.

And I have to relate how chuffed I was when in the Macy’s shoe department, a gent remarked to me (insert deep New York accent) ‘I like your dress. You look good’. Well thank you Mr cool middle-aged black dude, sitting with his wife while she tries on shoes, and giving me props for my fashion sense. You made my morning.

And if you’d like to see my ‘New Yorker certified’ outfit, here I am earlier that day, grinning cheesily on the Brooklyn Bridge (with my jaunty hat, purchased for $5 from a street vendor). Brooklyn BridgeSome more NY moments: Here I am in Central Park, where we ate a little picnic on a park bench. Fromage D’Affinois, trout salad, busker playing the saxophone. Oh God. How am I supposed to adjust when I come home in four days’ time? Sigh..

Central parkBuddakan

Here is Cam, fumbling blindly for his meal, when we dined at Buddakan the other night (for any SATC fans reading, it’s where Carrie and Big’s pre-wedding dinner was filmed).

I wish I could say it was another amazing NY experience, but as we were ushered through the huge, cavernous space to our table, with the pulsating beat in our ears, I realised it was a mistake. I think we’re just too old and grumpy to want to eat in a nightclub. The food was great, but we couldn’t wait to get back out into the lovely night air. Phew.

And before I go, I did promise many shots of me with rosy cheeks and wine in hand. So here’s one of Sally and I, scoffing a quick wine before our trip to Harlem last night. Cheers!

Quick drink with Sal

No. 64 Perry St


Our apartmentOn to stage two of our New York experience, and our residence is in the West Village, downtown, where streets are leafy and hipsters plentiful.

Unfortunately, Cam is lacking a Ned Kelly style beard and black rimmed spectacles, so that kind of gives us away as tourists.  But the good thing about the hipsters, is that wherever they go, proper coffee can be found.

We’re staying in a lovely, serene little apartment that looks out over a church roof and a leafy courtyard.  I am so envious of the owner of this apartment.  Who are these people who live here and go about their lives in this amazing city?  Anyway, for the next seven days, it’s ours.

Now, on to some random New York moments:

He’s when I purchased a gigantic pretzel (it was taunting me – I had to).

Yes, it's a big pretzelHere’s Cam’s ‘amazing!?!’ face, after he found this rare vinyl at a record shop in the Village.  Incredulous CamAnd here we both are at Murray’s Cheese Bar, partaking in some pre-dinner cheese and wine wanking.  Actually it was cheese and beer wanking for me.

Murray's Cheese Bar

No. 64 Perry St

A shopping afternoon in East Village with my friend Sally was pretty fun.  We lunched and we shopped and we walked until my feet nearly gave up on me.  Today I had to seek out some ‘flip flops’ uptown, to give my blisters a break (can I tell you how hard it is to find Havaianas in this city??).

I also have to disclose, at this stage, that I have taken a certain pilgrimage, as have thousands before me.  I googled it.  I sought it out.  I made Sally take a picture of me on Carrie’s stoop.  I know it’s silly for a grown woman to do, but I did it, and here it is (don’t judge me, okay?).

Joan Holloway

Joan Holloway (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

After our shopping expedition, where I acted as buyers’ advocate for Sally, assisting her in the purchase of a few new dresses and some awesome shoes, we happend upon Enz’s. This is where I found The Dress.  My New York Dress.  My favourite, special, I-can-be-Joan-Holloway-from-Madmen-if-I-close-my-eyes-and-wish dress.  When I have occasion to wear it, I will blog it, you can be certain.

For the time being, you can look at Joan here and imagine I am her.

More Tales from the City that Never Sleeps

Jetlag has does some really odd things to my circadian rythyms.  So I’m up at a ridiculous hour again, and reporting on days one and two in NYC.  Who needs more than two hours sleep in a row, I ask you?

Cam shops till he dropsOn the shopping front, Cam has utterly surprised me by throwing himself into it with gusto – It’s like an alternate universe.  Yesterday I found myself having to sit down by the changing room to wait and rest up, while he debated whether he should get the 34/32 or the 34/34 size pants.  I’ve had to put an embargo on any further jeans purchases, lest he take up all the suitcase space.

Due to the seemingly irreversible jet-lag, we are forced to siesta in the afternoon, and sometimes these siestas last a little longer than anticipated (ah – woops, where’s the daylight gone?).  So much to my bewilderment, we’re wide awake and out exploring until the early hours.

We spent Friday night in the East Village, with pre-dinner drinks at Jules Bistro – a Parisian style live jazz bar tucked down underneath the street.  Now if you know Cam, you can picture the expression of pure joy on his face, as we drank at the bar and listened to live music.  In Manhattan.  He went to a little happy place, bless him.

Since then, we’ve ticked off a few other things on our To Do list.

MayaheulWe’ve had two of the best Mexican meals of our lives, at Mayahuel in the East Village and Los Americanos in Tribeca. Thank the dear Lord for Mexican cuisine, in this wheaty city of bagels, pizza and giant pretzels.

Last night we followed a hot tip from a friend and ate fantastic, greasy burgers and fries at 5 Napkin Burger in Hells Kitchen. Unfortunately, a few hours later, I was still clutching my belly and wondering if my heart would thud to a stop from all that lard, as we stared out at Manhattan from the top of the Empire State Building.  Radio City

And I met a true (and utterly trollied) New Yorker at a bar.  She cry-laughed while showing me the text message conversation she was having with a friend.  It went something along the lines of: ‘I’m just going through a whore stage right now’, to which the response was ‘Aren’t we all?’

And on that rather profound note, I’ll finish up for now.

A Game of Packing

I have done myself proud, and been totally restrained with my packing.   The result is one large suitcase which is HALF EMPTY.  And as a glass half full kinda girl, I see that as half a large suitcase which must be filled with loot for the return journey!  Perhaps I can also knuckle in on Cam’s space (shh, don’t tell him, he’s fiercly protective of his own 3/4 empty suitcase).

Being male and straight, Cam has packed one pair each of jeans and shorts, six t-shirts, and is taking ONE (1) pair of shoes.  His theory is that he will be overtaken by a strange New York spirit force that will enter his body and send him on crazed shopping sprees where he will buy enough to last him for the next five years.  Somewhat strange, for a guy who would normally rather stick pins in his eyes than enter into a clothing shop (let alone be forced to interact with the sales assistants).

The kids have been farewelled in fine spirits, and without so much as a tear (it was me I was worried about there).  Excellent.

In order to quell my anxiety about leaving them, I must admit to going a little OCD with the lists and instructions.  Behold: The Instructions Wall!  Everywhere you look, there are calendars (one for parents, the other for children), itineraries, instructions, lunch box guides, house rules, morning checklists – you name it, I’ve made it, and had it laminated.

So If all goes to plan from here, the next update should be from our little apartment near the West Village.  Over and out.

The Wardrobe Chronicles

I have decided that I really dislike packing.  Pre-committing and restricting my clothing choices to one suitcase for two weeks is really tricky.  For example: what the feck does one wear to best blend in amongst the Brooklyn hipster crowd at an event such as the Great Googamooga?  Yes, it is a real event, and indeed, Cam informs me just now that he has purchased our tickets.  Rad.

The closest I have come to actually packing, is to stand in front of the wardrobe, staring.  How do I decide whether they make the first cut, without trying each piece on?  And when a combination has been assembled, do I photograph?  Or enter said item and corresponding accessories into a database?  Surely there must exist some kind of universal outfit algorithm I can use, which reduces it down to a simple yes or no.

So instead, I will procrastinate, by compiling my list of the top three things that will be in my suitcase:

1.  Control undergarments

How could I set sail without my vast collection of lycra beauties?  80% of my wardrobe hinges on their sturdy construction.  And I’m not under any illusion that they actually make me look slimmer.  They simply iron out some of the bumpy bits that I would really rather be without.

I know there are women out there who regain their former taut midriffs six weeks post-birth (including one of my best friends), but I really do believe they are genetic freaks.  I’ve long since resigned myself to the fact that

a) I didn’t have an especially taut midriff to start with, and

b) The wobbly, poochy bits are here to stay, unless I become one of those odd women who decides to take up body-building and painting themselves brown, eating only broccoli and boiled chicken breasts at each meal.

2.  Cowboy boots

Love them.  They go with lots of things to make me feel a bit cool.

3.  Straightening iron

No explanation necessary.  Mad hair has no place in these chronicles.