This is as dressed up as I got for Halloween. (I was helping Mike accessorize his costume during our lunch break). After a long week, I'm thrilled to be in sweats in my quiet, warm apartment with TBID miles away working on music stuff. My date tonight is Spike Lee.

Dear People Who Leave Comments,

I just found some comments I never saw and thus, never responded to. My apologies. I do like to reply to them and even set up a Blogger alert that's supposed to notify me of your responses to my posts.

It doesn't work.

Grrr.

Belated thanks,
Amanda

Has anyone else noticed that Target now sucks?

First, the Bullseye Bodega was disappointing.

Then I bought a bathroom cabinet of wretched quality and even worse instructions. (The thing literally couldn’t be assembled, and I’d lost the receipt).

Today I opened a new pack of footless tights - tights I carefully inspected as much as I could before buying - and they had a hole. A hole in my new tights I hadn’t even worn!

Bullseye? Bullshit.

Adventures in Signage, Pt. 10

Her experience.

There's nothing like starting your morning with a $2 scorn and coffee breakfast.

Anyone else notice that this looks like the female reproductive system? Women might be more likely to buy the stationery kit, I guess, and this is somewhat subliminal. But geez, the stamp is the vagina!

I know "female" refers to the connector, but that seems a little weird to me. Oh well, at least it's not labeled a "woman." I'd have to get all consciousness-raising and "Gender is a social construct!" up in Best Buy. Again.

It's the old Republican Dude Recession Special at my neighborhood grocery store!

"You look fabulous in red," the old man said to me this morning as I walked in the rain, dodging puddles and shifting my umbrella up and down as I maneuvered through heavy, squeaky foot traffic.

The day had just begun, and I was ready for bed.

I slid through the long cavity of the Times Square subway system and rode to work. There were only three total people in my car, I noticed. The others had been sealed in since upper Manhattan or the Bronx and were dry. The rest of the city was at work already, counting minutes and skipping lunch.

New York goes soft in rain and slow. Tonight both are forecast. People would look each other in the eyes and hold the gaze if they weren't huddled in their apartments alone or with people they already know.

Hi, everyone.

I had a very structured, productive day, so please understand when I tell you that I can now barely put three sentences together. Because so many of you nice people stopped by today, I'm going to post something. It'll be extremely stream-of-conscious, and I'm giving myself a certain small amount of time. Ready? Okay, let's go.

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Why I want a bulldog right now:

My heart just exploded a little.

*

This weekend was kind of odd. TBID and I made plans to visit this place that was on The Sopranos. It's apparently a good place to dispose of dead bodies. It's also a good place to get caught in the rain with nothing to do, as we went through with our trip despite an 80% chance of rain. Then we went to Philadelphia. It's the same kind of place, I guess, minus The Sopranos.

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I am now obsessed with high-end sliders. I ate them Saturday, Sunday, and made plans to have them tomorrow night with the man I used to beard. Sometimes it's embarrassing to have such juvenile food fetishes. I won't ever really enjoy a leek soup.

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Today I thought to myself: "It's been a really long time since I accidentally wore my underwear inside out."

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Tomorrow, I'm interviewing a big company that rhymes with Moogle. Thursday, I get to talk to Kraft. I ate so much macaroni and cheese as a kid that I feel like I should get sentimental or something.

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I'm doing a decent job keeping my book blog up-to-date. It's quite teacherly.

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John Legend's new album, Evolver, drops tomorrow. I'm thinking he will have finally sold his soul and sound really poppy, but he just looks so good doing it. Guess who will be going to his next concert and screaming like an idiot? TBID. And me.

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I plan to do NaBloPoMo again this November. The idea of writing a blog entry every day fills me with trepidation. Please email me or leave a comment if you have any topic suggestions.

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Nabokov is so great.

*

And I'm done. That's all she wrote.

I see a woman on the subway who refuses to move closer to her neighbor and free up what is obviously room for one more person to sit down. I notice she's reading Why Men Love Bitches.

I walk up her and ask, "Could you scoot over a little?"

She doesn't look at me. Instead, she waits a minute and then moves silently. I thank her.

Nothing.

I can't decide if guys are really into her or not.

Previously on The Best Saturday Ever: Our heroine and TBOHID (the boy our heroine is dating) managed to wake up early, travel upstate, and pick apples off of trees, actual trees made of tree materials.

After paying for the apples, eating cider donuts, and pretending to get lost in the corn maize, we were quite hungry. TBID and I got back in the car and drove down New Paltz's bustling strip of restaurants, antique stores, a post office, and some esoterica supply store. There be hippies around those parts.

We ate at this Mexican restaurant with fancy little dishes for a very low price. I think it might have been there that we talked about how fruit picking might belong on the Stuff White People Like website. I guess it makes sense that if you or your family have ever had to toil as a field worker in the hot sun, day in and day out, you might be more wont to pick up produce at the grocery store. Anyway, don't think I'm racist for typing that. It was just one thread of the conversation, and I promise we're pale but enlightened.

Post-lunch, we planned to go hiking. And when I say "planned," I mean that we had vague directions to Mohonk Preserve and some fruit leather. We didn't actually know what kind of trails or parking lot we planned to travel. But like I said, I was rooting for bears -- big ones that only wanted the cape gooseberry fruit leather neither of us likes very much, but looked like they wanted blood.

I'd previously been to Mohonk for a teacher retreat at the charter school where I once worked, the one where kids were not completely insane. However, I'd never hiked during that trip. I'd hung out on the grounds of Mohonk Mountain House canoeing and riding horses as if in a commercial for allergy medicine. Ask your doctor if this blog is right for you.

TBID and I drove over the bridge and through the woods, arriving at the visitor center. We paid a small admission fee, took some maps, and were sent on our way. That's it. No one cared who we were or what trail we intended to take. In such a tort-filled world, less than two hours away from a city where you practically have to get an STD test before renting a bike (because sometimes one cannot resist a good looking banana seat), we didn't sign anything.

This would lead you to believe that the trails weren't such a big deal. I was a little disappointed. Surely, the potential for bears would warrant a waiver. Even more interesting types of flies would, but alas. TBID and I sat down to study the map and figure out what trail to take. There was one that was supposed to show a crag. We chose it.

We got back into the Dadmobile and headed a few miles down the road to the trailhead. Trees sparkled with reds and golds and the road wound on. I knew TBID was pretending he was in a car commercial, so I tried to be reverent while snapping pictures of Mother Nature as if she were married to Brad Pitt and had sexy, humanitarian tattoos.

Once TBID and I got where we needed to be, we parked and promptly forgot where the car was. I'm hopeless at this even in civilization where there are numbered lanes. I made a mental note: The car is parked near some trees. That'd keep things straight!

The first part of the hike involved a walk through a field, followed by a wooded trek. It seemed so very doable, until things took a turn for the uphill and the steep. I patted myself on the back for not wearing Converse sneakers, "because they're so much more versatile." When dangling off a broken foot.

The trail was overall manageable; pretty soon things smoothed out. Where was the crag? TBID consulted the map and led the way. I kept pausing to take pictures and allow him to make that face, the quizzical one that asks, "Aren't you from the middle of nowhere? Do you have to take a picture of another tree?" Yes and yes!

Then we saw it - the bleached white crag shining in the sun. Tiny people darted around on top of it, high in the clouds. "Wow," we both murmured. "I think the trail goes right to the base of it." Hopefully, there'd be some way to get some fraction of that view.

We walked and walked until we saw the rocky mass in front of us. The jagged boulders that compose the base loomed large and heavy. There didn't seem to be a trail like the ones we'd been on. How did those people get up there?

I don't remember how it happened, but TBID or maybe I discovered painted dots on some of the boulders. We consulted the map to see that there was an optional strenuous rock scramble up Bonticou Crag. This had to be it, and those yellow marks had to designate where one could get one's footing. If one were indeed crazy enough to climb sharp rocks at crazy angles.

We were in.

The initial scramble wasn't so bad. I'm really flexible and pretty small. TBID is over six feet tall with a bulky chest and arms. We connected the dots easily with me in front.

Then I looked down.

I'm by no means acrophobic, but I felt my stomach find its way to my throat. We'd scaled the rocks pretty quickly and now they were below us and looking sharper than ever. There was no lifeguard on duty or any other hikers to be seen. And who was I kidding? I'm not a hiker, and neither is TBID. We just happen to have sneakers and health insurance.

The trick was to keep my head up and focus on finding the next dot. Every little while, there'd be a small flat surface where I could rest. Otherwise, it was an upcrag battle and the yellow circles were quickly becoming a casualty. How was I supposed to know where to put my foot? I imagined what my body would look like impaled by stone. What kinds of animals would eat me? Would it even be possible for TBID to scramble the other way and check on me/scream at God while weeping over my broken body?

Twice, I had to stop. "I'm so scared of falling," I told TBID. "What if something happens to one of us?"

"Then it happens while we're together," he replied. "How can I help you?"

He offered to go ahead, but I wanted to know he had my back and could catch me if I was hanging somewhere by my fingernails. Then I had to put my foot less than an inch away from nothingness hundreds of feet on high. This time, I asked him to go ahead and take one of my hands. I held my breath and made it up.

Again, I couldn't let myself look down. That was all the past. I had to focus on the distance, which was becoming more and more clear now. Soon I was at the last steep part. Then I was on top. TBID was steps behind.

It was one of the most exhilarating things that I've ever done. Up almost 1200 feet in the air, I couldn't believe what TBID and I had accomplished. My heart was so full of love and appreciation for him, for the bear that hadn't attacked us, for the guides that didn't tell us we could have died on our hike, for my family who would only hear about this experience, for just about everyone I've ever met...

We talked and surveyed the land. The Catskills surrounded us. Occasionally, we'd spot a tiny house or water tower amid all those colorful trees we'd looked at from below merely hours ago. It was magnificent.

Next time we'll stay up there for hours, but we had to hurry down. The sun was setting fast. We found a regular trail down that was steep, which felt much tougher after our scramble up. I nearly fell a few times and stumbled upon a large, black snake. TBID was impressed that I screamed. The only other time I had that day was when we were on top of the crag and bellowing each other's names. Locals were probably wondering, "Whoever Amanda-da-da-da is, she'd better shut up!"

Soon enough, we found ourselves turned around in the woods with no light, save TBID's Blackberry. This was a different kind of scary. At least we weren't hundreds of feet in the air. Now all we had to worry about was something happening that might inspire a horror film in the near future. I didn't hear any chainsaws.

After what felt like hours of winding around, we found the car. It had never looked so inviting. We spent the rest of the night thinking about what we'd done. It was truly the first time we felt fear together, and we'd survived. Like Survivor survived.

I don't need some colored mark to know that I'm going to stay on this path.

When we last left off, our heroine (that would be me) wanted to drag the guy she's dating to the country. Or at least some place where there are drive-thru windows.

Two weekends ago, TBID and I got up very early for a drive to upstate New York. We went to New Paltz, which isn't far at all but feels like a different world. The leaves were changing colors and the air was crisp. Meanwhile, the only thing changing colors back at home was some garbage waiting to be picked up. You can't deny the altitude coming from the next corner over from mine - there are full-time potheads there 9 to 5. But I was looking more for a Rocky Mountain high, if you will, and the city doesn't deliver.

Our rented Volvo was blasting Earth Wind and Fire, because TBID really aspires to be the cool dad. We talked books and whatever else it is we discuss during long stretches of cruising. Now that we know each other pretty well, there's not a lot of breaking news. "Hey, check out the new Carmex in chapstick form," I might share. "About time, right?"

We pulled into a rest stop at one point to get snacks and gas, but not gas from our snacks. TBID and I have different views about what would make a good roadside treat. Mine: chips, water, and more chips. His: a cheese plate with raw veggies. That or Burger King. I reminded him that we might enjoy our day and want to plan other trips in our lifetimes. Why not skip the Burger King and eat the healthful bounty that is nacho cheese Doritos? Lunchables were the compromise.

We entered New Paltz after some traffic. The town was quaint and homey and cheap. A movie theater marquee advertised four dollar matinees. "Yet another reason to move here!" I hollered. Being in a new, beautiful place makes me think I could muster up the energy to move again. Ahh, temporary naivete. The fall foliage was a tapestry welcoming us from either side of the road. We started talking about Beetlejuice and how that covered bridge car accident haunts me to this day.

Our first stop was Dressel Farms, which is now my favorite place to pick apples. I've only been to one other one, but this place is wonderful. Fuller of wonder. It even has furry chickens, which is what my dad responded when I told him what I had for dinner one night. "Furry chicken?!" he asked incredulously. "No, curry chicken," I explained. "Furry chicken?!"

The orchard is extensive with many varieties available for picking. TBID and I made it back with eight pounds of Idared, Cortland, Fuji, Golden Delicious, and Braeburn apples. That's not counting all the apples we ate as we were testing out each row of trees.

It was a beautiful day with heavy sun and a slight chill. We worked up a sweat walking all the way to the back of the orchard, looking over our shoulders for the hayride tractor as if for a cab.

Post-picking, I introduced TBID to cider donuts. He was curious about the ingredients in them and promptly shut up with one taste. Cider donuts are made with partially hydrogenated heaven, I think. We bought three for our hike and some Honeycrisp apples. Did you know those babies are patented and only a select few orchards can afford to cultivate the trees?

And pumpkins! I don't care for the taste, but I can't get enough of them. Weeks ago, I found a tiny one for a dollar at a Brooklyn deli. TBID bought it for me, and we named it Ike in the cab back to Manhattan. There was much fuss made over Ike, as he is our first gourd. He travels from my bedroom to the living room, but has recently tried decorating the back of the toilet. He's on that New Yorker issue I can't finish, because I just don't have to go like that.

Dressel Farms was a whole pumpkin and squash mill, so TBID and I took some pictures. As you can imagine, the urge to play a props game a la Whose Line Is It Anyway? couldn't be suppressed.

(I'll continue with part two of The Best Saturday Ever tomorrow...)

Some people fall in love and get fat. I got cheap, and I was already cheap. My thrifting activity dropped off in the last five months or so. But I've gotten back in the habit in the last few weeks, as my tutoring load has lightened. It really isn't the most logical venture - I'm shopping more on less money. Oh, well. Maybe that's why AM New York didn't really let me share my "wisdom" a few months ago.

Here's what I bought today for $20:

The bold scarf is by Nik-Nik, a brand that made shirts that would bring Dan Fogelberg to tears back in the 1970s. They were that beautiful. I'm not 100% sure my find is vintage, but I'll label it as such. It's old, anyway. I intend to wear it bandit-style, which I did with another one on Friday. Behold:

Nothing says, "Don't mess with me. I could rob Duane Reade," like a befeathered scarf. Trust.

My other treasures include a Gucci tie and new, never worn Clarks Privo shoes. The tie will make a fine addition to my snazzy collection, and I'll be breaking the shoes in over the week.

Hast thou yet been convinced to visit thy local Goodwill? I hope so.

Mommy, wow!

I've a book blog now.

Six male writers answer the question "What makes an ideal woman?" Insight is achieved:

I am fed up with women always claiming that what they find most sexy is a sense of humour. Because it isn’t true. I know this because I am hilarious. Way more funny than most of the slack-arsed, car-obsessed, office wonk baldies you’ll meet in a wine bar on a Friday night, and yet I practically never get laid. If it were true that women are turned on by a man who makes them laugh, Woody Allen wouldn’t have had to marry his own daughter.

It's a good thing I have dental insurance. I made caramel apples tonight and have nearly extracted some lower incisors in my zeal. Caramel is mad sticky, yo. I can't get it off my face, so I'm rubbing vigorously with my index finger and then sticking said finger in my mouth. Can't waste my treats! I'm country, ya'll.

The apples were my treat for getting to Thursday. This week has been a whirlwind and not in a good way. I had the best Saturday of my life maybe in upstate New York last weekend - pictures will be posted soon. Then I ran errands in the city on Sunday and got sexually harassed. I've actually decided to call the police about it tomorrow. (I didn't the night it happened, because it's an unsolvable case, and I didn't even get a good look at my attackers). I was very shaken up when it occurred and will write about it in the future.

On Tuesday, I got a new supervisor out of nowhere. It was an internal move, so I had some familiarity with this person. I'm not sure how to feel about the change, but intentions seem to be good and in alignment for the time being.

Due to an interview with this guy in Hong Kong today, I had to be in the office at 7:45. It's something I could have easily done as a teacher that exhausts me now. The plus side was that I left early. While I was gone, someone with whom I used to work closely in my old department was fired. It was completely unexpected and has everyone asking questions and getting paranoid. I feel terrible for my former co-worker. Times are so tough right now, and he's a good person.

And the latest: Five minutes ago, I found out one of the kids I tutor was struck by a car. Jeffrey is in fourth grade and his sister, Tiffany, was also hit. Fortunately, he only has a broken leg. I'm not sure how Tiffany is.

Sigh. I need this weekend.

TBID and I had our last debate date last night. We went out to Dirty Bird, this soulful comfort food restaurant, before tuning in. The buttermilk fried goodness and veggies fueled interesting conversation the rest of the evening.

TBID: Everyone loves to hate brussels sprouts.

Me: They're like the Paris Hilton of vegetables.

TBID: No. Too glamorous. I'd say more like the Gilbert Gottfried.

I've been planning a short blog entry since this morning, unaware that Blogger would be down most of my typical posting window anyway. Alas, the gears crank once more.

My job allows me a lot of breathing room clothing-wise. Well, really everything-wise, but that's not the point. Over the summer, one guy came to work in swim trunks. He rustled up and down the hall passing out pay stubs and no one even asked him where his floaties were.

We were all busy looking weird ourselves. I wore a skirt as a top at least twice when it was hot out, and I love ties in the fall and winter. In New York, you can get away with anything as long as you embody the right attitude: "This? This here? It is so on purpose it hurts."

Lately, I'm all about the leggings and short dresses. They're so much better than summer clothes, which always seem to equal leggings and sweaty boobs or short dresses and the stubble I always miss on the back of my ankles. Or something like that. This is what I walked out of the house wearing today:


The most expensive part of the ensemble is the iPhone I'm using to photograph it. The black tee is from Target, and I bought the mini-dress off a clearance rack last night. It cost less than the opaque black leggings I'm wearing underneath. I'm going to retire those for awhile. People fixate on them and I think I actually saw a guy's face fall on the subway when he realized they weren't see-through. Sorry perv, but you can get AM New York for free. The freshwater pearl necklace is from my mom.


My black riding boots are tall enough to keep some leg covered and make me feel like a tough would-be jockey, plus they go so well with stylish pops of color. This outfit was the best thing about work today. Besides when one of my favorite co-workers investigated a weird smell that flooded the office and then announced, "It's the shaft that stinks!"

Last Friday, I asked my officemate what animal he thought he most resembled. Not caring to give it much thought, he said he had no idea.

Sighing, I tried to prod him. "For example," I said, thinking of a co-worker with lots of dark, unkempt hair. "Phil would be a yak."

My officemate dismissed the comparison. "Phil isn't big enough to be a yak."

We got quiet and went back to our work.

"You'd be a rabbit," he finally said in a joking tone. "Because you sometimes get a crazy look in your eyes and are always about to pee."

It's true, more or less. I am always about to pee -- I drink at least three liters of water daily. My officemate hears me leave my desk approximately 4,327 times a week.

After seeing this candid picture TBID took at Sunset Park , I realize I probably often look like I have to pee, too.

Some people call it the pee pee dance. I call it just being me.

Why thrift stores rule:

I bought these treasures for a total of $15 this afternoon. Pictured clockwise, they include pristine copies of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay and Me Talk Pretty One Day for TBID, a small mother of pearl box, and a red winter hat.

The hat is so adorable that I almost want to grow my hair out so I'll look less like one of those kids with leukemia on the St. Jude's commercials.

Sparkly is usually not my thing, but the crow inside me took over when I saw the box. I'm not sure what it will store. Maybe all the pennies I saved? Too small.