for love

they say, if you're going to write, you better just write. you aren't supposed to holdback. you aren't supposed to be afraid of what anyone thinks of what you have to say, or don't have to say. you're supposed to strip yourself of fears and let your naked brain product just fly high in the wind for all to see!

but, it's not always easy to do that. 

i know that until i came out, i was terrified of what might come out of my brain, and it kept me from delving into my real creative abilities. really. well, that, and all the drinking i was doing to avoid my real self and all of that..well..i'll save that rant for my therapist. bottom line is, being closeted kind of made it hard to truly find my real ability to write.

let's not even count the number of times i passed out snooki-style with my head in my dog's bed, computer next to me, beer in hand, in the literal closet i [way too ironically] lived in on 21st street, after coming home wasted from the bar and trying to get that novel written. surprisingly, it doesn't work like that. you kinda need to be there for the work to get accomplished. so yeah, it's easy to stifle the writer inside when there's stuff you don't want to come out.

and this can be a serious problem. this can cause one to fail.

in this case, it caused me to fail you. it made me not blog for like, way too long. and i apologize. i was afraid to write about love and valentine's day because i was afraid of you all hating on me for it. i didn't want to lose any of my precious readers.  

but you know what? screw it! i love valentine's day. 

ever since i was little i loved it. my mother would wake me up that day and say HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! and her mother would call as i was eating my breakfast before school and i'd talk to nana on the phone and she'd tell me that my great-great-uncle or great-grandfather or triple-removed-great-cousin or someone was born on valentine's day and his middle name was valentine or valentino and i really wish she were still alive cuz i'd love to ask her about it right now and get those facts. i could call my mom, but we spoke already today and if i get going on the phone with her again right now, this blog will seriously never be written.

(plus, who wouldn't want their nana to still be alive so they could call her up right now?)

but hey whatever the exact facts, this family story always made me really happy, feeling connected to the holiday, and i'd go to school probably wearing pink or red like a big nerd and not really care if i got any valentines from the boy(s) i'd convinced myself i had crushes on, and eat all the chocolate and hearts with words on 'em that i wanted. yum.

when i grew up got older, if i didn't have a boyfriend at the time, my single friends and i would get together and do something fun and girly. one year, four or five of us girls (+ pete) went over to sara's, ordered-in some tasty food, and had a spontaneous dance party. it's one of my fondest high school memories.

in college, any relationships i had were long-distance, so i'd talk to my boy on the phone and tell him i loved my flowers or card or whatever sweet thoughtful thing he'd sent my way, and then go get pretty darn drunk with my single dude friends. again, fun holiday.

point:  significant other or not, young or old[er], this bitch likes celebrating love.

this year, for the second year in a row, i've had the most wonderful valentine i could have ever wished on any *star* for. this girl rocks. i want her in my life, forever. she gets me. i get her. we work. she inspires and encourages me. we have a whole lot of fun. and you know what?

i think she kinda likes me, too. 

and really, that's all i wanted to say. all of this, you've read, and all i wanted to say was that i had a lovely valentine's day--valentine's day weekend, for that matter. i wanted to show you the vast improvements made in the pancake department (by none other than my pretty valentine) since the days of no baking powder. i mean, just look at these beauties

okay, it took me about two weeks to get to this, so yeah, clearly i was procrastinating, too. but i was afraid to show simply this picture, cuz i didn't want to piss any of you off! honestly. duh. and then i didn't blog about some "home improvement" stuff that makes me giggle with joy, as they signify my boo's imminent official move-in. (that'll be another post, as clearly i've taken up too much of your time here.) plus, i was busy on a ski trip. which will also be blogged about soon. give me some time. it's hard-push moving weekend. anyway, i'm back bitches, and i love love.


for syrup

yes i know i am yet to really get into the whole reason-im-lesbiansforpancakes-thing

but don't hold your breath thru this ditty waiting for me to do so. after all, this one--you noseyfaces--is simply for syrup. there's a good shot lesbians and/or pancakes will be mentioned today--and maybs even the word "for." how many times have you seen it so far in this post? just take a guess. 

(don't you hate[/secret-nerd-style-love] those emails that test your attentiveness like that? you're like, well i guess the sender thinks i should read a bit more closely if sara's always sending me this stuff, or i've been sending real shittly-edited emails to tranda lately so she thinks i need..wow, how did I miss three?!)

but let's do syrup a solid here and consider just it for the time being. 

like buddy the elf, you know there are more uses for syrup than just putting it on pancakes. most of u probs just put syrup on pancakes, waffles, french toast, and breakfast sausages. that's all i ever thought it was truly intended for as a kid. 

but then something quite close to magical happened one day. 

i must have been around eight. i'm pretty sure that was when my sister told me that my beloved lunch sandwich was partially made up of livers. who knew?! liverwurst?! why would that be made of liver? oh. oh! ew, jen! no!! that really is the worst!!! (yes i was that punny at eight.) so i stopped eating that meat. if you can call it meat. anyway, i was beginning to realize that meat is pretty disgusting. and while i had always loved breakfast sausages, i started to wonder what was in them one morning as they  sat on my plate. my sister poured a little bit of extra syrup on her plate because she liked "when some of it slid over from the pancakes and got onto the sausages." i followed suit. before i knew it, i found out that syrup also tasted great on bacon--another meat that i was beginning to..not quite enjoy. 

so then, the magical day!  

i'm in high school, about to scarf down a big breakfast platter at somewhere like i-hop. you can eat that crap all the time when you're a teenager, so you do. i poured a bunch of syrup onto my pancakes, and it slid over onto my hash browns. you can imagine my horror as the grease and the syrup converged on my plate. i figured i would just leave those alone and have the rest. and then, i couldn't stop myself and had to clean my plate. so i ate 'em. i did. 

and they. were. so. good.

so i started asking for a side of syrup with anything that came with breakfast potatoes..of any sort. not one waiter has ever obliged without first glancing at my plate, then back at me..and back at the plate, and finally walking away looking puzzled. they don't understand what i want the syrup for. they're thinking they forgot about my pancakes, or forgot that i required syrup for..my..cheddar and tomato omelet..and..home fries..? each agonizing couple of moments when the waiter is looking so confused, i sit there and smile politely, hoping not to draw any more attention to myself, thinking 

don't ask me what it is for, please..i know it is weird, but don't knock it 'til you try it.

i don't care. i like syrup. i don't sit around eating candies and bonbons, so can't i have a little sugar on my plate from time to time? so what if now i realized it actually tastes great on a cheese omelet, too, and now allow eggs some exposure to the sticky condiment? it's okay, right? sure.

that was kind of all fine and good. but like most things in life, too much of a good thing is..bad. but i wasn't there yet. i thought my syrup-cravings were odd but at least on the level of "normal." until i actually made, ate, and enjoyed the grossest snack one could ever imagine. twice in an hour. really. i was almost too embarrassed to share this, but you must know something:

if you ever get desperate in the middle of the night and find out that all you have is some leftover cavatappi pasta (sans sauce), some grated cheddar and parm cheeses, a lil adobo, and some syrup..you actually have a delicious snack on your hands. heat it up a little before you put the syrup on, just to soften the cheese. you won't be sorry. you also won't want to tell your girlfriend that you ate it, because she's going to think you are much more disgusting than liverwurst

i think the worst part of it is the fact that i contemplated making this mash up of gross for quite a few minutes. minutes. only minutes. and why, did i deduce, that this was an acceptable thing to make for myself? to be called FOOD?! 

because it didn't really look that gross in elf. i couldn't imagine any syrup-lover (at any level) to honestly say they didn't want to know what it tasted like. so, you're welcome. i've gone to the moon. you can do it, without regret or revulsion, and blame it on me getting the snack into your brains when you tell people and they think you are horrific. i'd suggest just keeping it to yourself, though.


for being uncool

i'm not really sure why i subscribe to things like urbandaddy or thrillist except to hear about deals (read:  free) in my 'hood on food and booze and other random goodies that infrequently come up, because these sites and daily emails are really targeted towards people that are a lot cooler than i.

you know, people like yourselves! 

who like to know about the newest trendy brunch spot, or the opening of some exclusive lounge or, whatever. you want to get a reservation at the brand new gastropub as soon as humanly possible, and you can even define "gastropub" without sounding like a tool

see, i kinda just go with the flow. my planning skills aren't the problem, i just really don't care where i'm headed. as long as i'm with friends and the music is good, i'm happy really in any location or crowd. i guess i do have one request:  not to be anywhere that will put me at risk of someone's fake tan rubbing off on me. not too much to ask, and so i generally stay out of establishments filled with oompa-loompa-colored-persons. problem solved.

bottom line, i'm pretty easy [to please]. 

so when i got an email about a new pub serving meat pies and other delicious treats opening up on the UES, i got excited - two of my besties live right there! dinner date! plans! let's go! i love an excuse to get together for drinks and snacks. so we went. last night. and it was horrendous.

first off, we done been lied to! this was no longer supposed to be the "soft opening" with the half-assed menu! this was time to get into the meat pies! what the heck is a meat pie?! i wanted to know! and i don't even eat most meats! i was just curious! but we got there, and there were no meat pies. there wasn't even a full bar. and you all know how i feel about liquor. i couldn't even take beer seriously at that point, so we drank a bottle of wine. at least there was wine. which is good, because we couldn't understand our waiter (who stole the table from our original waitress, i might add, which made me feel very strange about ordering from or tipping this snakey man) so we really were not sure what we had even ordered to eat, so at least the wine buzz hazed over the actual food i was putting into my mouth. there was goat cheese in something, too, which obviously made up for a lot. like the fact that our waiter even poured the wine incorrectly. hello, can i get a job here? i can do yours better than you seem to be doing it. thanks.

so then i'm thinking about the first time my family and i went to papa razzi trattoria on long island. it had just opened up. and my brother was bussing tables there. so we stopped by. 

the tablecloths were still damp. the napkins were, too. the waitress practically pulled up a chair beside us, she was there so often. it was a little much. so, ok, they had just opened. things weren't really in full swing yet. so, we let it slide. the food was delicious. and it was right down the block from our house, so we were definitely going back, many times. 

but what's the deal? why do people feel the need to rush to openings of new restaurants? i get it, it's cool. i get that part. but i'd rather stay uncool. i'd rather wait a few weeks--months even!--for the sake of letting them sort themselves out. that way i can eat something off a real menu, and maybe even get some normal service from the waitstaff. 


for beer

guys, it's finally time to take beer seriously

i say this probably once a year. it's usually the day after i've managed to not do this and instead drank about 50 of them, and am laying in a ball on my couch, suffering the consequences. this time, it is two days after failing to take beer seriously, because i just had The Weekend Of Emergency Doctor Visits and needed to process these thoughts for you outside of the setting of scrubs, syringes, and bright lights. the sterile environment kinda makes me want to sterilize my liver with booze so the creative juices aren't really flowing for me in the hospital, you know? plus, emergency rooms kinda stress me out. plus, i had some fun in the middle of these ER visits, during which--you guessed it--i did not take beer seriously.

i'm like, no, i will not just bring beers to this superbowl party. i will also bring a bottle of scotch, cuz that's how i do. i will not just drink bud light, cuz i'll get too full before the pizza arrives, not be able to fit three slices into my belly, and i'll be hungry again ten minutes after all the food is gone, and still sober. and burping. and peeing, far too often. i don't care if you have DVR! we aren't pausing the game every eight minutes so i can pee without missing anything, because i'm the slowest human being you know, so you know i will be in the bathroom for probably just as long as it will take me to have to pee again the next time, before even finishing another beer, and we just don't have that sort of time on our hands! i mean, some of your guests have work the next day! what's that? you do, too, caitlin. okay, so i'm not just drinking beer. problem solved. live tv. great. everyone wins. 

so i drink half a bottle of dewars and forget that my jets aren't playing, and get excited that the guys in green are winning cuz..oh, wait, those aren't the jets. fuck this! i'll have some of that four loco, whatever! yeah! put it on ice! and, no, i do not want a beer while you are up, williams. oh, fine, i'll have a bud light. with another scotch. yeah, thanks.

the game ends, my lady and i try to convince everyone to go to thelastgaybaronchristopherstreetbeforethewater, and find ourselves stumbling (alone) across the street, through puddles of slush, and most likely not slipping on the piles of icesnow lining the curbs. i mean, i don't have any new bruises--falling certainly is not to blame for any of those trips to the ER this weekend.

we "score" the pool table in back (there are like, six other people hanging out in there) my boo brings over some beers, and i go back to the bartender to get some quarters. and you know what? i'll also have a shot of jame-o, cuz my girl thinks beer is sufficient but that's for babies. i need my liquor, dammit! ha-ha..oh, okay, i'll take jim beam if you are out of jameson..yeah..thanks, just one. 

gulp, cringe, return to pool table. 

apparently this happened a few more times. the receipt i found in my pocket yesterday says so. so does this: 

yeah. i don't think i was "allowed" to give this to our bartender. my girl intercepted it. 

clearly i need to get over my desire to become a plumber, or i'm going to find myself up to my elbows in a lot of shit. and i'm not even trying to be punny here..a friend recently did the good deed of talking some sense into me about this. i thought i'd love to be a plumber. when i got laid off from my job in publishing, i thought, that's what i should totally do! i'm a master with a plunger. and all that stuff in the tank of the toilet? i know how to rig that ish when it breaks, no problem. i can be a plumber! why not?? and then my friend luckily pointed out that there would also be INDUSTRIAL jobs. industrial-sized poo jobs?! no thank you! no thank you! 

goddam jim beam. and scotch. i almost got myself an unwanted job. all because i think beer is for pussies. meanwhile, i am one of those pussies, who should drink beer, cuz instead i drink gallons of liquor, and wake up the next day with my head splitting in half and my dog needs to go to the ER and i wish it were me being dragged off, even if it is to the vet, all because i thought a beer wouldn't suffice.

time to take it seriously. it seems there really is some kinda booze in there, and adding to it with shots and stiff drinks in rocks glasses is really uncalled for. 

at least the jets played well in the superbowl. 


for winter

granted i do not have to commute to work in the apparently-treacherous weather we are experiencing this winter in nyc, but i'm getting pretty sick and tired of complaints about it. i don't mean to make any enemies here, but if we are friends, you know how i feel about snow.

(kind of like this!!! when i see it, i want to put on all my makeup and crazy clothes (and yes i know that would be a lot of clothes for me) and run thru the streets!!!)

so, in winter's defense, i write.

don't you remember when you were like, seven, and you'd see oh, one, snowflake fall onto your mittened hand and get all excited, because it meant maybe you'd get a snowday and not have to go to school and maybe just get to play outside with your friends all day instead? wouldn't you sit by the window with your nose pressed up against the cold glass, watching the soothing snowfall accumulate before your very eyes, just feeling happy?

where did that joy go? when did you become such a grumpy bugger??

guys, it is february in new york. that means it is the winter. which means--gasp!--it is cold. if we are lucky, it snows, and we have something pretty to look at.

if we are unlucky, it rains, and then we are just cold and wet with nothing to show for it but depression on a dreary day.

(boooooo. i say boooooo to that!)

so hey, for cryingoutloud, get over it. we have four seasons here. if you don't like 'em, move somewhere that only has the one(s) you like. otherwise, enjoy the snow we are so lucky to be getting so much of! there's nothing else you can do about it! we are in themiddle of winter. don't wish it away, cuz then you wish life away and really, that's way lame.


a word on pancakes

every now and then i wake up and announce my hunger. you know, like every morning. actually usually it is typically my stomach growling that wakes me up, as alarm clocks don't do the trick.

(ask anyone i've ever lived with. even my snuggles bear wanted to clobber my sleeping head with the old school alarm clock relentlessly ringing on the bedside table each morning before elementary school.

..well, maybe don't ask him. kind of a sore subject.)

at least the hunger thing gets me out of bed these days, though.

so last week i woke up joyous as ever to a foot of snow outside and, naturally, just as ravenous. the first word out of my mouth was


so i went down to the store for some syrup (the fake and really processed kind. c'mon, no messing around; maple trees are pretty and all but i do not like their syrup) and the one ingredient i didn't have to make 'em from scratch:  baking powder.

 - as i write this, i find it kind of surprising i have flour, sugar, eggs, and both lactose-free milk and butter, and even bananas to add into a few for flair, all in my very tiny kitchen -

naturally the one store i'm willing to travel to--or, can get my 12-yr-old dog to trek with me in the snow to--doesn't have baking powder. can one use baking soda instead? i called my sister. i don't know why i called her on this one. granted she has come a very long way over the last ten years, but i do recall going over to her apartment when i was in high school and eating a "lasagna" she had made with sour cream instead of ricotta cheese. it was surprisingly tasty, but as i told her at the time, that is a DISH, not a lasagna. anyway, she tells me not to substitute the baking powder with baking soda unless i wanted to create a stomach-volcano (read:  DIARRHEA).

so we proceeded without the missing ingredient. how bad could it be?

not so bad. drowned in fake syrup and melted vegan butter, i was able to eat 'em. like, all of them. like, the next day i woke up and shoveled the last 6 into my trap and finally realized, "gee, those were quite thick." they basically sat like rocks in my belly for the rest of the day. there is no fluff to baking-powder-less pancakes*..which was kind of the part i was looking forward to. light and fluffy banana pancakes. instead, we ate pan-sans-cakes.

lesson learned:  buy bisquick.

*the internet tells me that you can use buttermilk if you don't have baking powder, and that will give you light and airy pancakes. but really, i would have pulled a snuggles on the internet if i'd gotten back from the store and asked that internet for advice and it had told me to use the buttermilk i wouldn't have had here EITHER.