My favorite of the New Yorker cartoons I have on my refrigerator:

One Goal in 2009: Prepare and eat quinoa.

I'm trying to eat healthier these days and use my kitchen. (Don't worry, I'll have TBID to supervise in case of fire or the strong impulse to order pizza).

Do you have any great quinoa recipe ideas? I'm not a vegetarian, so bring on the meat.

Remember when I used to post iPhone pictures from my life about once a week? I did it for awhile before I seriously pondered whether I was cool enough to subject the masses to it. A bag of potatoes would roll its eyes - all of them - at some of the things I photograph.

Well, I'm putting you through it all again. Why? Because there's always some pervert who wants to see the ugly shirt I didn't buy at the thrift store. Hey pervert, enjoy:

I got my hair did last week. The colorist was the best. We talked about gay bars in New York and why some women are catty. Also, solved world hunger.

I found myself on the Staten Island ferry recently. It was serene in an "I can't feel my toes! I took a damn picture. Can we go inside now?" sort of way.

Unlike its sisters emblazoned with "Hottie" or some such thing that's often not true of the person wearing the shirt, this shirt is designed to let the world know that the wearer... Talks to people? Is not afraid to make eye contact or speak above a whisper?

I see this kooky guy on the subway sometimes when I'm on my way to tutoring. He's always wearing those magnifying jeweler's glasses. I'm not sure if he has vision problems, is a fashionista, or just hopes to advertise his services. He reminds me of my dad.

This spoofy truck was parked on Lenox Avenue in Harlem. I may have lost street cred when I took a picture, but that's aight.

Some days I wish I could dress like this.

The marshmallow outfit, I mean. I occasionally dress like the dad.


Check out the Cosby sweater. He wears it well.

I wanted to get closer for a better shot, but Cosby sweaters can be dangerous when approached in the wild.

It's now 23 degrees out, whereas two days ago I took these pictures:

My mom crocheted two scarves for me for Christmas and is working on one now for TBID. Meanwhile, I cannot sew on a button.

There's no greater relief than unlocking your door and setting down your bags after a long day of travel. I'm back in New York with lots of mail (Christmas cards - yay!) and some unpacking to do.

My trip home was short and sweet. The weather didn't exactly cooperate, and I didn't do everything I'd hoped to. But I slept late and ate heartily and laughed a lot.

Now I'm ready for 2009, I think.

Eek! Visiting Texas isn't conducive to writing. I hope everyone has had a happy holiday. I'll be back with the words upon returning to New York.

In the meantime, I'll be binging on Bravo, ice cream, and time with loved ones.

Howdy.

I made it back to Texas in one piece and two carry-ons. My rescheduled Saturday flight to North Carolina allowed me to fly stand-by on two others to Dallas and Corpus Christi. There were no long layovers after all. But I did hang out in Texas in a wool sweater that reads "I Heart Your Rosy Cheeks." (I also heart air conditioning and sought it out, as my cheeks were beyond rosy and just about desiccated).

The short-sleeved tops were all in my checked luggage. Unfortunately, a cold front with excessive wind and misty rain hit the night I flew in. My down coat needed to get from my apartment to a cab early Saturday morning is now getting play here on the Gulf Coast. Sigh.

I hope all of you are having a merry time wherever you hang your hat, coat, or if you're lucky, flip flops.

Horrible news, guys.

After hearing about the snowstorm headed to New York today, I tried to leave early yesterday morning. My airline said nothing was available. Meteorologists didn't expect the first snowflakes until around the time my flight took off, so I hoped I'd be safe in Texas without seeing any of the storm.

Last night, my flight - and every other flight I could've taken to Texas today - was cancelled. I was told to try again Sunday and then Monday.

After hours on the phone while simultaneously researching other options that would force me to lose money (I paid a whopping $547 for the round trip), I got a flight for tomorrow. I will be leaving New York at 8:15 a.m. and arriving in Texas at 11:45 p.m. On top of that, there may be further delays if it continues to snow.

Please use any belief system or clout with deities you have to keep snow from further delaying my travel plans. It's kind of like me saying, "Pray nothing else interferes with my right to abuse myself." Tomorrow is already going to suck if it goes according to schedule. If it doesn't, it will somehow unfathomably suck even more. I may have to freak out up in some piece in New York, North Carolina, or Dallas.

Also, if you have anything wonderful I might like to read during a layover, I'd love you to pass it along today. Maybe there are some great articles you found or a short story you'd like me to critique or even another blog you recommend I check out. I am a captive audience. You can email me or send a link through the comments.

P.S. To the Amanda who asked me for travel advice via comments: I'll be getting back to you tomorrow.

Remember how I'm on vacation now?

Last night, I lost my voice.

Tonight, my throat is starting to get sore.

WHYYYYYY?

I'd like to think someone left this balloon on the subway in case someone else was having a bad day.

Since seeing the CEO of my company shimmy and thrust his pelvis to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go"(which did indeed invigorate me before I left the holiday party), I am officially on vacation. I had to take a lot of time off, because I kind of forgot to use my days and had no desire to spend a lot of money on trips. That is what 2009 must be about - I want to go on trips. Not the guilt or head or power kind.

Well, those are okay, I guess. But I also want the kind with currency exchanges and sleeping in a bed with itchy sheets and bad wallpaper.

This week, I'll tell you about my resolutions for next year and my year in review, which I'm already looking forward to researching, as I remember nothing. How is it December 14th today? I feel that I should be recovering from studying for my Gender, Class, and Ethnicity in American Literature and Film final or eating leftover Christmas school party cookies or something. Not sitting in my pajamas planning a wild night of cleaning my juicer and uploading cds from the library on my iTunes while thinking about the economy.

When did I grow up, and how do I make it stop?

The best thing you could possibly fit on one of those small Post-It notes.

Does anyone know that horrible song called something like "Christmas, Where Are You?" It's probably playing at your local slow-paced pharmacy right now. Basically, it's about this woman with exactly four brain cells who is looking for Christmas, but can't seem to find it. She starts just outright asking the holiday where it is, hence the title.

I listen to it while I eat lunch at the deli sometimes, rolling my eyes and thinking, "It's December 25th. Always. Damn girl, get a calendar."

Also, It's got vocal acrobatics so bad Celine Dion would think it sucks.

I was trying to explain to TBID the extent of the song's awfulness, and he tried to say that all Christmas music is terrible.

Not so! I like Alvin and the Chipmunks songs, "Silver Bells," and I guess that's it for now. Maybe you have suggestions. I'd shake my booty to anything that sounds Motown enough.

TBID finally admitted that there is one awesomely salvageable Christmas song. I hadn't even heard it until recently. Maybe because I've been busy trying to get "Christmas, Where Are You?" out of my head by boxing my ears and shrieking.

Advil, where are you?

FAIL Blog, have I got a submission for you.

Yesterday, TBID emailed me excitedly about an amazing new product targeted to people who are both lazy and health-conscious. Batter Blaster, is a pressurized can of pancake/waffle batter that you simply spray onto a griddle or pan.

Forget the name that's at the very least, hard to say, and at the very worst, kind of pornographic. TBID and I occasionally like pancakes, and it just sounded fun and easy to use.

He went to Whole Foods to apprehend some Batter Blaster; I got my pan and spatula out. We even pondered getting some fruit to add to the batter, but decided to make traditional flapjacks.

Well, traditional in someone else's household maybe. Not mine, where pancakes are edible. The batter sprayed out of the can easily and cooked very quickly, but the pancakes ended up well done in a very bad way.

Observe:

TBID blamed my cheap pan first. Then he blamed a dearth of cooking oil. Finally, fingers were pointed at the plastic spatula, which he said made it too difficult to flip the pancakes. "Is this your only spatula?" he asked. "No," I said. "But the nice one's for company. Of course this is my one spatula!"

Four unsuccessful blackened-pieces-of-bread-we-called-pancakes later, brunch was served. I ate a few bites of the one pancake that turned out light enough. It had this odd lemony flavor. TBID ate the dark ones and tried to say they were good before admitting the experiment was a bust.

I told him he should've just let me squirt a batter bra on his chest and then leaned over the stovetop. Maybe next time he'll listen.

I'm spending the night unwinding after attempting to do all my Christmas shopping in one day. Caveat: I'm only buying for my family and the kids I tutor - fewer than 10 people.

But I'm exhausted! The streets are overrun with slow-moving tourists weighed down with shopping bags and universal American excess. And the strollers! Since when do babies enjoy shopping? You'd think there'd be an abundance of babysitters now, given that our economy has officially started shopping the dollar zone at Target and entering the contests on the back of the Quizno's receipt. I had to keep headphones in all day, so I wouldn't get stabby.

My most tedious endeavor today was shopping at a bead store. My mom has taken up bracelet making and asked for some beads and semi-precious stones. I ended up at this place filled with tiny tray after tiny tray of beads of all colors and consistencies. I was looking around so much that I think employees thought I was a shoplifter. I tried to be thrifty with my bead purchasing decisions, staying within my budget and my mom's palette. Did you know some of the tiniest beads you could ever put on a string sell for a dollar each? That's a song on iTunes. Or a small hamburger. I'll never look at accessories on Etsy the same way again.

I'm happy with the gifts I purchased, but I still have my tutees left. I'll probably lazy out and get gift cards from Barnes & Noble. Is it too controlling of me to write book suggestions on the card? I worry that Jing might get something too easy or Borun won't find anything he wants to read.

Another thing that delights me this fatigued evening? That TBID did not need a present. I'd been trying to talk him into this interesting non-denominational way to show each other how much we care by getting small, yet valuable items and putting them in a large, felt sock-like item that has the option of being hung somewhere. (Not to be confused with a Christmas stocking. This is a Non-Christmas Amanda and TBID Winter Celebration Sock-like Item).

TBID saw right through that, of course.

So no presents for him, and no presents for me from him. How quickly my materialism dissolves. Dating a Nice Jewish Guy is one of my handy Recession Survival Tools. Hell, it's a Holiday Survival Tool. One less present is so much more.

Has anyone found themselves calendar shopping already? I went to Staples last night to pick up the At-A-Glance kind I mount on the wall by my desk at home. TBID helped me find another I will use elsewhere - Nice Jewish Guys 2009.

Here's one Mensch of the Month:

Okay, this is my last short entry tonight. I'm procrastinating taking a shower, which no one should do past the age of 10.

Here are some interesting searches that brought people to my blog today:

dante's maxim symbolic retribution
what does a parasite look like in poop
"shaggy steve" photographer
"i dropped out of teach for america"

If this doesn't summarize my life in New York, I don't know what does.

Today I was at the deli where I eat lunch almost everyday in the winter with no cash. I rarely use my debit card for small daily purchases, as I experienced debit card fraud last year and like to limit how many people have access to my card number.

Also, the picture on the card is from when I was 18, an age at which I hadn't mastered eyebrow plucking.

I took my food to the counter. I piled it on, because the food is charged by the pound and I anticipated a $5 debit card minimum. The total rang up to just over $5 and I got out my debit card.

"We have $10 minimum," the cashier said.

Who buys a $10 lunch at the deli, especially now?

"That's crazy," I told her. I was not adding on exorbitantly priced pack of gum or beverages to my order. Even then, I wouldn't be at the $10 mark. I asked the woman to hold my food, so I could go to the bank.

I walked outside, shaking my head. I thought it would be nice to abandon the food with her, but that would throw a wrench in my future lunchtime plans. Where else can I get spaghetti with egg whites?

The line at the bank was long. I took my place and silently urged everyone to hurry up. Those people who take forever to step aside drive me nuts. They're the exact same people who buy something small, like a coffee at a street cart, and then take five minutes to rearrange their wallets. The same people who stop in the middle of the sidewalk to massage their bunioned feet and then text someone about said bunioned feet.

The guy in front of me in line was like that. He couldn't get enough of the ATM, stroking its buttons and wiping the screen. I was getting really frustrated until he said the machine wasn't allowing him to withdraw money.

So I waited for the next available ATM. Then this other guy in line asked if I was going to use the available machine, to which I responded, "This guy said it's not allowing withdrawals." I'm so glad he checked, though, because it's totally normal for someone in line to forget he or she is in a line and to get confused and think he or she is actually watching a glorious sunset from a yacht in the Caribbean.

Maybe I shouldn't have been so trusting, but I didn't feel like trying it out for myself. What if it didn't work, and then the person behind me accomplished a task first?

When I got to another machine, it wouldn't read my card. Then it started to beep. And then it gave me some money. It may not have even been from my account. Who knows? It was all very dysfunctional.

I went to the deli and paid for my food, which was lukewarm by then. I sat down with a sigh, glad to finally be eating lunch. The guy across the table from me, two seats over, was moving his lips as he silently read some cheesy mystery book. He'd spilled large brown streams of something on his shirt. Then he started coughing really loudly and wiping his expectoration on his pants.

Tomorrow, I think I might bring lunch from home.