Distraction in the form of greenery

This was going to be a post about self confidence... until I got distracted by my first CSA delivery.


Veggie delivery #1 is a pint of strawberries, a huge bunch of red leaf lettuce, a bunch of purple topped chives, a few leeks and some rhubarb. The good news is that I can definitely polish off this shipment in a week without much help... the bad new is that come Friday I'll be melancholy and vegetable-less.... until next Tuesday

Miss Alia and her beautiful boys came over for dinner and we made a big salad with the lettuce and chives (and other non-CSA goodies) and a very yummy rhubarb compote which I served over ice cream. I used this recipe for the compote but I halved the sugar and used cranberry juice because I had it on hand.



My first flower delivery also arrived and I'll be very sad on the weeks with no flowers -- these peony's are pretty enough to make it possible to overlook how messy my house is (having a job and boyfriend and friends and well... a life... make it hard to get the cleaning done).

I Broke Victoria's Secret

Yesterday I made a visit to the bra super store on a desperate mission for a tshirt bra. I did all the annoying difficult things:

1. Accepted that I would probably be paying full price
2. Talked to sales people
3. Allowed sales people to measure me
4. Walked around for strangers in only my bra.

No matter what size or style I tried on the middle band stretched in midair between my breasts instead of resting on the valley floor. Eventually the sales lady admitted that Victoria's Secret would not be able to provide me with a bra that fits. Apparently I am a huge freak.

So lesson of the day: Being a girl sucks. Boys never have to go to multiple store trying on pair after pair of underwear only to find NONE that fit correctly. This is why they have tons of extra time to take over the governments of the world. Boys suck.

So now I may have to do the most annoyed and difficult thing of all: Go to a fancy pants bra store. This will surly result in G thinking that he was right even though obviously it is impossible for him to be right because the law of the universe dictate that you can have a penis OR you can have an opinion about where people should buy bras, you cannot have both.

Thoughts on Gender

G has been working occasionally on a friend's movie about a female to male trans-sexual so I've been mulling over my thoughts on the topic for the past few months.

I can get behind the idea that an individual feels that their gender was somehow miss-assigned at birth. Since we live in a society that defines so much of a person's being based solely on their gender I can see how someone would feel that this miss-assignment needed to be rectified. I'm completely ok with someone deciding to live life as the opposite gender but when the issues of hormone replacement and surgery enter the picture I start feeling a little less sure of what's "ok".

I can't get behind cosmetic surgery when it comes to bigger boobs or thinner thighs. If a friend were to tell me that they were born with the wrong nose and wanted to correct this error by having a much cuter nose surgically installed I would advise them to learn to love the nose they were given and, perhaps more importantly, to reevaluate how important a cute nose is to their sense of self. In general I think that we should be happy with who we are and try to avoid surgery or chemically altering our bodies if they're not broken. I guess, ultimately, I'm not sure if i consider a miss-assigned gender a broken body. I'm a girl, inside and out so it's hard for me to relate to wanting to change my gender but I can't imagine cutting apart a body that has supported me my whole life.

Charm City

G and I went to Baltimore this weekend because we like to think outside of the box when it comes to romance. Also because he's creative and stuff.

A good time was had by all -- I particularly enjoyed the colorful folks we met along the way.

The first was a couple sitting next to us at lunch on Saturday. He was deaf Christian musician, she a restaurant owner who also plays professional poker(Jesus loves the gambling -- and not just with souls of the living!). I had ordered polenta to go with my yummy (if a bit cliche) Maryland crab cake and she leaned over to ask what polenta was. Since she had a bit of a southern drawl I told her it was like grits which somehow lead to her invited G to drive to Atlantic city with her to play some poker. I was of course very worried by this -- I'm cute and all but the boy loves his cards. Luckily he's (wisely) afraid of a 6 hour car ride with a mysterious 45 year old woman even if he's not afraid of me dumping his ass. The best part of this interaction came as the couple was leaving and the lady turned to me and said, "Happy Mother's Day... I hope not." I assured her I was not a mother but I'm not sure why she was so disapproving. I'd like to believe that my tummy just looks too firm to have once held a baby but I suspect she was either disapproving because I had not claimed G as my husband or because we both look young-ish (and man MD is very into carding people -- I almost forgot that I'm sneaking up on 30).

Colorful Folk number 3 accosted us on the sidewalk outside of our hotel. He has the weirdest accent I had ever heard, it was Scottish meats southern Tennesee and G swears it's the typical Baltimore accent (enhanced by a good portion of booze). I could barely understand half of what he said but I did get that he is "not the town drunk, though [he was] a little drunk." and that I should not "be scared of the black people, they ain't scared of [me]." He also encouraged G and I to "spend the whole night in [our] hotel room fucking!" This was when we waved awkwardly and quickly walked away trying not too giggle too loudly (we are, after all, almost 30, not 11 -- a fact that shocks both bar tenders and mature adults alike).

Our next dose of Baltimore hospitality came by the keg-load. We were in the hotel enjoying the pool and sauna when in stumbled 15 waxed and oiled hunks of frat boy on a mission. It was the usual mission -- get drunk, engage in homo erotic behavior, make vaguely sexist comments and then trick a member of the fairer sex into making a life long commitment to raising one of their own. They joined us in the sauna and preceded to pour beer on the rocks (no boys, it does not smell better in here now, and beer never ever is served on the rocks -- you seem like beer experts I'd have expected you to know this already.) and then play a rollicking game of "shoulders" where they got to beat on each others bare chests. We soon returned to our room.

Our cabbie yesterday afternoon at first seemed fairly normal, until we got lost looking for a movie theatre buried in the John Hopkin's university campus. We're driving around feeling perplexed that 40th street does not appear in between 39th St and 41st St when he announces, "I have to go to the hospital." Hoping that he did not mean immediately I hesitantly asked why to which he replied, "I have a lot of pain." I really had no where to go with that so I sat quietly until he announced "I'm very tired, I might fall asleep." Trying to lighten things up I joked, "You shouldn't tell us that while you're driving us around." He said, "well you should know, I might get in an accident." I was quiet for the duration of the ride except for the very loud eye raising in G's direction.

So we learned that when G and I join our powers together we become FREAK MAGNET! At least we'll never be bored.

Free Cuppa

People are very passionate about coffee. They love it. They need it. It’s amazing. It’s awful. It’s spawned clichés, devotees and a million kitsch gift ideas (Best of: A friend of mine has a “fuck decaf” bumper sticker). It’s the goto topic for morning elevator banter (“Tired huh?” “Yeah, no caffeine yet.” “The Monday morning giver of life, eh?” “Yeah, I actually prefer the blood of newborn possums suckled from their warm little bellies but caffeine’ll do in a pinch.”).

I don’t have very strong feelings about coffee. It’s ok (with half a cup of milk and 3 sugars). I’ll gladly use it as an excuse to make a midday trip out of the office or drink a cup or two as part of a social obligation. It doesn’t really keep me awake or make me jittery. I didn’t own a coffee maker for my first year and half out of college and only acquired one when one when my office moved (there are very few free things that I’ll refuse as you’ll soon see…). Until G started spending weekends at my house I hardly ever used it. So, it should be noted before I continue this post that I am extremely unqualified to offer my opinion on the quality of coffee.

A month or so ago I found out that Boca Java had started a line of blog themed coffees, more importantly they were offering a free coffee sampler pack to bloggers who offered to review the coffee. F-R-E-E! Then I found out that only residents of the USA were eligible, which meant that my coffee loving Canadian friend couldn’t get himself any free coffee. Think of how jealous he would be if *I* got free coffee! F-R-E-E!!! COFFEE!

I got my huge pack of 48oz (6 types) of free coffee (plus a mug and a hat) a couple of weeks ago and this is my requisite review: yummy! You know what tastes good? Coffee masked by Hazelnut flavored fake dairy product with tons of (probably cancer causing) high fructose corn syrup!

All of the coffee flavors have a blogger related theme. My favorite was “New Media Mavericks – Unfiltered Truth” because that’s what I offer here at Random Access Babble: Truth about important topics like my bras. G and I also tried “Bloggers Pajama Passion – Life is Short, Blog Hard.” In the spirit of getting the full Pajama Passion experience we drank this in our pajamas at 2 pm while bitching about the Bush administration and debating the brunch options in Astoria – it was awesome! (It was also our typical Sunday… only with better coffee.) .

In Conclusion I’d just like to say: Hey Mike! I got FREE COFFEE nanny nanny booboo! USA #1 USA!!!!!!!!!!!

Fresh Veggies in 37 days!

One of my biggest complaints about life in NYC is the lack of easily accessible high quality vegetables. I know I was very very spoiled in California between the amazing farmers market near my old apartment and my mother's ridiculously huge garden (1/4 acre of veggies for 2 people, -- this is clearly an out of control addiction to nurturing that has manifested itself in rows of spoiled greens and huge boxes of cucumbers forced on her coworkers).

I have been thinking about growing some tomatoes on my fire escape this summer but I fear watching them burn against the west facing wall especially given the upcoming office move to Brooklyn (oo.) and my inability to remember to water them when I stumble home after 9pm. Luckily a solution stumbled into my head via the blogospher -- my neighborhood has a community supported agriculture program! It turns out that for less than $11/week (!!!) these lovely people will drop of veggies (and flowers!) for me at the cafe next door. Look at what I'll be getting:







I cannot tell you how excited I am. I'm slightly worried that I may not be able to eat all my veggies since I'm unclear on how much food I'll actually be getting but they'll give any extras to charity and I certainly spend more than $11 on veggies now (and only end up guiltily throwing things away on rare occasions). It goes without saying that I'll need to discover new recipes for veggies I rarely buy but this only adds to the excitement (go ahead and start sending me recipes for chard/kale/other greens because I am woefully inadequate at cooking these).

I need to read up on the benefits of CSA's outside of my selfish desires for high quality produce... I expect I'll be even more excited once I do.

Chillin' at the 21

Back in March G and I hit up Forever 21 for an afternoon of picking out the trashiest outfits we could find and horrifying the young ladies in the dressing room area with my risqué fashion show. This game reminded me of my youth when as bored high school kids in a town of 4000 people my friends and I would head over to Kmart at 9pm and challenge each other to create the most hideous outfit possible – we had 20mins to ransack the store and meet back at the women’s dressing room to strut down the aisle in the gunnysacks. Why I am not a famous clothing designer/model is one of the great mysteries of the world – perhaps my petite forehead has been holding me back.

But I digress…

The 21 mecca in Union Square is awesome. It’s two full stories of very tiny pieces of polyester held together with metallic thread and the sticky residue of left over Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. An entire two story wall is covered in commonly mis-spelled/pronounced words. This is perhaps the greatest artistic social commentary piece of our time.



Carpool tunnel syndrome, a fate worse than death! Thank God that I saved myself by ditching my car and moving to New York. Praise Jesus!

The first time I was in this store I spent a long while talking to this wonderful earth mother outside of the dressing room -- she had on some very sensible sandals and long flowing naturally gray hair – I almost wept for her when her cute 16 year old daughter emerged from behind the curtain in a see-through yellow sports bra like contraption with the word “CHERRY” printed across her breasts.

Yesterday before boarding subway to go home to trashy TV G and I made a stop off at Forever 21 and the following conversation ensued:

B: hmm this is cute.
G: skirt?
B: tube top.
.
.
.
B: ha this is ridiculous
G: top?
B: seriously?!? It’s a skit
G: but it’s 2 inches long! And see through!
B: I’m surprised you don’t love it.

This was followed by a jaunt through the store playing the new game “Top vs. Skirt? It’s a sensation that’s sweeping the nation – catch the wave.