It Was the BUST of Times ...

Around 12 years ago my old friend Won't bought me a BUST Magazine because it had a funny article on Madonna in it, and I've got some Madonna worship in me. It was their Goddess Issue, filled with wonderful tidbits and clever articles written by, and about, gals just like me circa 1996 - single, a little left of center, a lot interested in having a different perspective on things. It was the complete antithesis of Cosmopolitan, not so much in subject matter as much as viewpoint.

The pages even LOOKED like me ... filled as they were with collages of retro images in arresting black and white all coming together like a young girl's bedroom cork board. (Oh, woe ... do young girls even HAVE cork boards in their rooms anymore? Or has Facebook et al relieved young girls of the need to pin up every single thing they ever got their hands on that suddenly seemed cool ... from a ticket stub to a business card from a funky store ... to a message scrawled on a post it note? Does anyone even WRITE in pen anymore? DAMN YOU, INTERNET! cried the Blogger ...)

Anyway, I loved this magazine. It reminded me of all the cool magazines I'd get during the 80s when New York was full of new wave and androgyny and black rubber bracelets. It was edgy and a little amateurish, but in an appealing way that worked.

Plus, all the models were real live girls who looked more like me than the usual fare served up by Elle, let's say ... or Glamour. (Well, truth be told, they actually looked more like those girls in that Gardasil commercial than they looked like me ... but still, on the spectrum, I was closer to their zone than the Christy Turlington zone).

I was working at TIME at the time ... such a very very different magazine in every way imaginable. I dreamed of working at a funky magazine like BUST... roaming the creative halls and living life on MY terms --- YEAH! (Air kick w. platform boots). Instead, I trudged to my boring little job every day, wishing I could be one of the fantastic San Fran chicks who popped into the BUST offices every day regaling their co-workers with the results of the fantastic new all-organic hair care products they'd tested the night before for one of the articles. Everyone got to participate there -- even interns! Whereas the closest I got to being a part of TIME magazine editorial was keeping up "space over day-rate" spreadsheets on all the contract photographers. Yeeeee. Haaaaaaaa.

I tried to tell a few women at work about BUST, but one woman mis-remembered the title and ... well ... let's just say she that when she asked for it at her local (New Jersey Transit) Hudson News she was pointed in the direction of a very different, more bosom-related aisle than she'd bargained for. It's BUST, my dear, BUST. Not Boobs, Busty, or Tiny Tops. BUST.

Anyway throughout my late 20s and early 30s I loved BUST ... I waited eagerly for it to come out (quarterly! oh no!) and when it arrived in my mailbox I raced up the 3 flights and read it cover to cover. Sure, I was embarrassed that the mail carrier got an eyeful when (s)he delivered the issue that had a full page ad for the Rabbit on the back cover (think that episode of Sex and the City), but then again ... so what! I was a liberated woman of the 90s! (yes, the 90s). It was my right to subscribe to any grrrrrl power magazine I chose, and who cared what they advertised. (Air kick with platform boots ... AGAIN!)

Throughout the years BUST changed. Not a lot at first, but enough. And, let's face it kids ... throughout the years I changed too. Again, not a lot at first, but enough. By the time BUST was perfect bound and printed on 80lb stock, I was just randomly flipping through it for the captions.

It was rare for me to actually sit down and devour an issue with the same fervor that I'd done in those early years. Still ... I kept subscribing and each time one arrived I put it lovingly to the side. Because I really thought I'd find the time one day to sit on a Sunday afternoon, in winter, as the light streamed in through the window, and curl up with a cup of strong coffee and read to my heart's content. Never happened. We'd grown apart, me and BUST. We were just phoning it in. (Cue that sad song from Toy Story 2).

Eventually, rather than just watch them stack up, I canceled my subscription. Sure, it was tough at first, but soon enough I got used to not having BUST around. Still, I just couldn't part with those archived issues. That's why the Container Store makes those boxes. For all those people with Magazine Guilt.

Recently after the honeymoon, Quibbit and I started re-arranging my small small small apartment to simultaneous a) get his stuff situated while also b) creating more space for two grown people to exist in. This, in reality, is much like the loaves and the fishes in reverse. I mean, seriously, how in the world can you expect to keep adding things and yet still have an empty basket - devoid of bread and fish?

Easy - you basically just do that Sell, Keep, Toss thing only in my case it's Donate, Keep, Toss. It's hard, sure. And if you've lived in the same place for 15 years alone ... well then it's REALLY hard. But not only did I do it, I was the one who demanded it, so really, I can't complain.

So, there I was ... staring down boxes and piles of never-read BUSTs. Wow ... seriously. Wow. Had it come to this? Marriage or BUST? Well, of course it had to, for the punny phrasing alone. Marriage or BUST - who ever heard of such a thing? As if I'd choose a magazine over a mate? hahahahaha. But I love a good pun.

So, out went the issues ... Bye-Bye Bjork, The Donnas, Le Tigre and Amy Sedaris. Bye old standby articles like Ayun Halliday's "Mother Superior". Bye ads for Repro Depot and Babeland and Damed Dollies (yes, that's one screaming her head off over there. Rock thought I resembled a Dolly. Note: we broke up just weeks after). I'll miss you, fo' shizzle, BUST o' My Youth. But, you know, the old girl's growing up.

The BUSTs got recycled, the space got made and lo and behold ... I could now see the floor around my desk. WOW! I should have done this years ago. But really ... we both know I had to wait till it was time ... Marriage or BUST indeed. Not to say I won't pick one up on the news stand some time. I might. But all in all, my BUST days are behind me.

When You're Done Here ...

Feel free to go here.

I laughed and laughed.

And laughed some more ...

I Thee Wed ...

Oct 16, 2008 - Thursday
Quibbit and I have the day off, and spend it doing last minute things. At the train station we run into Danielle Ferland another one for the list; her looks and voice are unmistakable ... I'd know that Little Red Riding Hood anywhere!

"Excuse me," she says to me ... pointing toward the tracks, "Does this side go to Brooklyn?" She's got her toddler son (or possibly nephew) squirming around in her arms.

"Yes, it does ..." I say, and then, before she has a chance to move away I blurt out (so un-Luvvie-like) "Are you a star?"

Of course she laughs. "I'm not a STAR, but I am an actress ..." and I cut here off here to continue my non-Luvvie-like intrusion ... "Into the Woods?"

And she smiles ... but it's clear she's got to get back to her toddler son (nephew) and get on with her "life". She gets off at Union Street and I wonder if she's auditioning for some community theatre thing ...

Oct 17, 2008 - Friday
Blissfully happy ... that I'm not starring in my own reality show!

As Quibbit makes his way to lower Manhattan to meet his dad and sister (fresh from the airport) and pick up the tuxes, I stay at home packing up various suitcases (one for the night at my parent's house, one for the wedding night). I vacillate between joy and hysterics as one moment finds me admiring my wedding shoes, while the next moment finds me unable to find the Marriage License.

Luvvie [on phone to mother]: We can't get married! They won't marry us! I can't find the license! I lost the license! We just looked at it! (This goes on for a while, as mother calmly interjects, at appropriate intervals)

Mom: Yes you can ... yes they will ... you'll find it ... no you didn't ... it's there somewhere ... don't worry ... (repeat till Luvvie is apoplectic - I won't be calmed down!!).

Of course, the license was right where we left it.

Rehearsal night was amazing ...
Seeing GoldenBoy and MattyMoo for the first time in YEARS, having everyone gathered in the church -- friends, kids, parents, siblings, all feeling wonderful, all laughing ... joking ... catching up. Then, to the neighborhood diner ... to heck with these fancy "rehearsal dinner"s!!! Just good old fashioned tuna melts, burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches ... and cup cakes for the kids from a neighboring table. Then, to bed early and dreaming of the day to come!

Oct 18, 2008 WEDDING DAY!
I wake up at my parent's house feeling amazing. Not nervous ... just the right amount of giddy but amazingly calm and joyful. I sing "Wedding Day! Wedding Day!" to my parents as we have some breakfast together, then mom and I are off to the beauty parlor at 10:00 for our hair. It's surreal to be there, on my wedding day, but in a really fun way, just soaking in the neighborhood women who told the stories of their wedding days ... the funny parts, the amazing parts ... so many hugs at the end, and still the day is just starting!

Meanwhile, on the other side of Brooklyn ...
Quibbit wakes up and gets ready for his haircut ... looks in the mirror and thinks he should do something about his dark eye circles. He (the furthest thing from a metro sexual) wanders into the M.A.C. cosmetics store around the corner and charmingly says ... "It's my wedding day ... help!" The girls are happy to help him, and full of good wishes. He then makes his way to cut his hair ... and throws in a manicure for good measure. ("Everyone will be looking at our hands!" I must have said a million times ... )

He goes back to the apartment, gathers up his bags, take the garbage to throw away, and heads to my parents' house. When changing at the express stop he looks down and realizes he has taken the garbage with him ... so he throws it in the nearest receptacle at the train station. Totally Quibbit.

Back at Mom and Dad's ...
Relatives start arriving, Honor Attendants, and flowers! Everyone is happy, no one is nervous, no one snaps. Makeup is applied, hair is curled, perfume, dusting powered, stockings, earrings ...

Photographer arrives and starts taking candid shots. Quibbit arrives and we play Marco Polo ... calling to each other but avoiding seeing each other. It's all a happy blur, and somehow all our clothes come on correctly,

and we start making our way to the Church. My voluminous dress takes up much of the back seat of the limo ... my Mom and Dad take up the other available spots.


At the Church ...
Di, Dad and I stand in the back, and oddly I'm not crying buckets the way I'd imagine I'd be. I'm just filled with this great happiness that seems to take me over and make me terribly gracious. I hear Clair de Lune being played and am very happy ... we'd asked the organist to play it. It's a moon song, and Quibbit and I have a moon theme ... and no one needs to know, but we know.

Finally, the song starts to play, and Di makes her way down the aisle. Dad and I are supposed to wait for her to get all the way down there but it's so far, and I'm so eager, and so we wait till she's half way down. As we start to walk there's so much flashing before my eyes, but all of it is coated in this misty happiness, and when I start to see faces smiling at me I can't help but smile back through these eyes shining with tears ... and I see M watching me ... her face is red with tears but she's smiling, and i just have to laugh with her ... we'd been in exact opposite spots five years ago, and I knew how she was feeling.

I looked up at one point, up at the huge cathedral ceiling of the church and just took in the huge expanse of it all, stopping the moment for a bit so that I could pick it up later and remember it ... remember this amazing feeling of perfectness as I walk down the aisle toward Quibbit.

Five feet from the end I have to just break into an enormous smile because everyone has their cameras out ... there are flashbulbs in my face and I feel like a celebrity, so many eyes on me ... but me just waiting to see my love.

The people part, and there's Quibbit ... I'm amazed at how regal he looks, how stately, and how his face is full of this overwhelming love for me. I kiss my dad on the cheek, then give him a hug ... then another little kiss ... it's a happy moment but I know he's been worried about crying too much, and I want to reassure him that he did just right.

I take Quibbit's hand and the ceremony begins. One by one, the Wonderful Moments happen. GoldenBoy does the first reading and when he's done he comes and gives me a kiss ... 24 years later and here we are, sharing this wonderful moment together.

All Through The Ceremony ...
Quibbit and I stay very present, we smile at each other constantly, we hold hands throughout, and we whisper to each other. Because, of course, we can.

We get ready to say our own vows ... when Quibbit reads his I'm astonished at how lovely they are, and of course at the same time I'm not astonished at all ... Quibbit puts 100% of himself in everything he does. His words are so powerful that even the priest feels they should be acknowledged ... and encourages everyone to applaud. it's a moment that makes us laugh. I say my vows and am overcome by how much I love Quibbit ... my voice cracks a few times, but I get through it. I look at Quibbit as he listens to me and we lock eyes ... it's been like this from that first moment.

We exchange rings, and then continue on ... at some point I look over at Di and she whispers "You're married now!" "I know!" I say, in an exaggerated way, and we both smile because we're being purposely playful. "You look different!" she says, and it's both true and a parody of the truth. I love her for saying it ...



The Ceremony is Over, and We're Married!
We fly down the aisle, so happy, so elated ... ebullient ... other words that mean bouncy. We stop and kiss, but the photographer didn't get it ... she tells us to do it again ... and again ... and we do ... because it's funny ...the whole church laughs. The receiving line is a big, happy, wonderful blur ... one fabulous face after another and everyone so happy ... people saying funny things ... Ant's opening line: "So, what's new?" So fun. Then bubbles, pictures, cheers, and more pictures! Everyone is happy, everyone is smiling, and Quibbit and I feeling like the eye of the (good) storm, just enjoying it all.

Then Into the Limo ...
Just the 2 of us ... finally alone and so very happy. We break open the champagne and drink ... smiling, laughing ... we've combined our last names into a hyphenated name for both of us ... we call each other Mr. and Mrs. Quibb-a-Roo and toast, and kiss ... awash in this amazing glow. Just around the corner from our reception our limo takes us through Times Square ... tourists are everywhere and the car is surrounded ... Strangers shouting congratulations! at us, taking our picture as we laugh, a little embarrassed at all the attention but so happy to be a part of people's excitement ... as much as they want to be part of ours. Even the limo driver has to laugh ... he's never been swarmed before.

Then to the Bridal Suite ...
On top of the world! The 21st floor overlooking all of Times Square ... Floor to Ceiling windows on 2 sides of the room, flooding it with lights that seem like fireworks, like the whole world is celebrating with us. More photos, then Quibbit goes down to see the guests (and get a platter of cheese) while Di works to bustle the dress. I slip on huge Mary Jane platform shoes that I'd worn at work, every day, for seven years ... they look monstrous but they're very comfortable and I can run in them if I have to. We laugh that these are actually my "comfy shoes".

Down to the reception ...
The place looks amazing. An old theatre, now refurbished, but still filled with the Ghosts of Broadway Shows Past. People are there, enjoying themselves, and all so happy to see us. We make the rounds, and it's one happy moment after another. Everyone is excited and happy, everyone can't wait to see the room which, till now, has been closed off.

And then it's time for us to be announced ...
First parents and sisters, then Honor Attendants Di and Quimica, and then us ... Mr. and Mrs. Quibb-a-Roo ... we head for the stage amidst clapping and a standing ovation ... like winning the Tony ... but better of course. Our first dance ... Dusty Springfield cooing "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?" and the world disappears .... it's Quibbit and me twirling slowly under the lights, dazzling, perfect, his eyes locked on mine and I feel more love than I ever thought existed. Then our second dance, Polyphonic Spree's "Light and Day" just like we planned... a song that started out slow so that people would dance with us, then an exuberant burst of happiness ... Quibbit and I break apart and start jumping joyfully ... we're all over the stage like maniacs, like bubbles bumping around in a glass of champagne.

People are watching us, smiling ... they circle us and start to clap but this isn't a moment for the spotlight, this is a moment for everyone to join with us and jump around too ... and I gesture ... and they do. I'm amazed at the people jumping around ... senior citizens putting us to shame with their moves ...

Riding on the whirlwind of the dance...
Our friend Ohbeeb comes forward to give us our second ceremony ... our second blessing. She speaks of our Love Tornado that was sweeping everyone in the room into a joyful celebration. She invites everyone in the room to go and continue to spread the love that we inspired that night ... to continue loving with as much power as possible.

The night continues on ...
Full of treasured moments ... wonderful speeches, amazing food and drink, and crazy dancing! There are moments that Quibbit and I share privately (like taking the stage and tangoing across it as people sat an ate ... or dancing to our own private joke "Dreams of the Everyday Housewife" ...). There are moments that we shared with our families, and moments that we shared with the whole room!

When it was over some core people lingered ... we watched as the flowers were put away and finally allowed ourselves to be tired. Still as happy as we were when the day begun, probably even happier, Quibbit and I said our final good nights and went up to our room on the top of the world. It was the end of a wonderful day ... and it was just the beginning....

For Better ... For Worse ...

A quote from Ellen DeGeneres:

"Watching the returns on election night was an amazing experience. Barack Obama is our new president. Change is here. I, like millions of Americans, felt like we had taken a giant step towards equality. We were watching history.

"This morning, when it was clear that Proposition 8 had passed in California, I can’t explain the feeling I had. I was saddened beyond belief. Here we just had a giant step towards equality and then on the very next day, we took a giant step away.

"I believe one day a 'ban on gay marriage' will sound totally ridiculous. In the meantime, I will continue to speak out for equality for all of us."

FOR BETTER: On October 18th, 2008 I married my love, Quibbit.
FOR WORSE: Now, just weeks later, couples who finally got the opportunity to do the same, had the right cruelly taken away.

How in the world can someone be so bold as to insinuate their own lifestyle choices into the lives of others?

My big question for some time now has been ... what exactly does it mean to be married? Ever since Quibbit and I got engaged it's been a question I've turned over and over in my head. Why do people get married? More specifically ... why did Quibbit and I choose to get married? And then further ... why did we choose to have a wedding ... a church ceremony followed by a reception populated by our friends and family? And how would I feel if I was told that no matter how much I loved my partner, that I was simply unfit to have the same joy, the same process, the same rights, both legal and human as every other "acceptable" loving couple? All these years I thought my longstanding friendships with people who were gay gave me an insite into their struggle. But no one just took away my wedding day ... no one just undid my choice. I realize I know NOTHING of what it feels like.

When people say "I don't believe in marriage", I would like it so much more if they qualified it with "for myself" or anything else that keeps me out of their self referential loop. Further, I would ask the same for those who say "I don't believe gays should be married". Please, keep others out of your self referential loop. These are some of the same people who feel that being gay is a choice. A bad choice. What's bad is the CHOICE to be close minded. Love, in whatever form, on whatever level, abiding by whatever terms, is never wrong, never bad. And should NEVER be controlled by those who don't understand or participate in it. You simply shouldn't legislate an emotion, a belief ... a core essence of existence.

I know gay couples who have been together for years and are 100% committed without being married. I know straight couples who also aren't married but are committed. Look, I can't seem to pin down why a wedding is so much more than the components. I just know that to me it is. I KNOW that something magical happened the day Quibbit and I stood in church, bonding our lives together. I saw it in our friend's faces. I've read it in words of people who were so moved by our day that they needed to tell us how deeply they were affected. But that day was simply an outward manifestation of what we've felt for each other from the beginning.

Our love and celebration was all around us, intangible, sparkling ... amazing. And Quibbit and I, by a stroke of luck, were able to have our day because our genders are considered an appropriate pairing.

If someone came to me today and told me that my marriage was now overturned I wouldn't even know how to process that. Because, ultimately, you can't go back and undo something that's been done. It begs the question of why anything is important ... why anything matters ... why we navigate through challenges at all ... I don't know the answer. I'm just asking the questions.

When I saw Ellen and Portia's beautiful wedding photos, I'd never felt so happy for a celebrity couple. I saw love and celebration, contentment, happiness ... and above all ... a click. Two spirits who came together and found their origin in each other. Why would strangers want to overturn something so meaningful simply because they don't understand it? Once again, I repeat what I'd said MONTHS ago ... it's the fine line between understanding and appreciating. You can think you understand what a process means ... and you can even appreciate what that process means for yourself. But unless you are completely without prejudice (and talking all across the board here ... ), TRUE prejudice -- an adverse opinion or leaning formed without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge -- you simply cannot appreciate what the process means to other people. And therefore you have no right to meddle in it. I can't even imagine what it feels like to be hated by countless people for the simple expression of my love to my partner. I've been close friends with several gay people over the course of my life but until now I really didn't even slightly understand how awful it feels to be alienated by people who don't agree with how you choose to celebrate your love. I guess because it wasn't even an issue for me, I didn't understand that still, it was an issue for them.

"We don't need a piece of paper to prove our commitment" is often said. I find it odd that people even qualify that. No one needs anything to make something so. But if two people choose to get that little piece of paper ... isn't it hypocritical to demonize them for it? If you put meaning into something, then it holds meaning for you. Not to mention, it makes it legal, and give you protection under the law. So, in the most unromantic of lights, it sure does mean something.

All anyone asks for, ultimately, is understanding. And support of their decisions. And a little love along the way, instead of judgment. It's all I wanted from my friends ... and it's all I want for all my gay friends every where -- those who chose to have a ceremony, and those who didn't.

Quibbit, who's watched me cry over this, said that Proposition 8 may have some positive consequence ... becuase it forces people to re examine their feelings on this ... and brings people like myself to become even more committed to bringing about a change for equality. And he's right. While I've only stood on the sidelines for all these years, I now feel a desperate need to align myself with other like-minded thinkers and do all that I can to make sure that, as Ellen says, one day a "ban on gay marriage" will sound totally rediculous.

I just couldn't feel right about joyfully recounting my happiness without first mentioning how truly sad I am for every loving couple who was told their day didn't mean anything ... by people who had no right to say a word.

For All The Days of My Life

On Saturday, October 18th, I will marry Quibbit. We will join our lives together, we will join our names together, we will join our hopes together ... we will join our journeys together. We will take the best of who we were before and strive to be even better ... for each other.

Quibbit ... you make me happier than I ever thought I could be.

You are my heart.
You are my love.
You are my home ...

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts.
Rest assured this troubador is acting on His part.
The union of your spirits here has caused Him to remain,
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name,
There is love. There is love.

Oh, a man shall leave his mother, and a woman leave her home.
They will travel on to where the two will be as one.
As it was in the beginning, is now until the end,
Woman draws her life from man
And gives it back again and there is love.
Oh, there's love.

Well then what's to be the reason for becoming man and wife?
Is it love that brings you here or love that brings you life?
For if loving is the answer then who's the giving for?
Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?
Oh, there's love. There is love.

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts.
Rest assured this troubador is acting on His part.
The union of your spirits here has caused Him to remain
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name
there is love. Oh, there is love.

THERE IS LOVE (Paul Stookey)

- Wedding Song -

Not In So Many Words ...

CIRCUMLOCUTION \sir-kuhm-loh-KYOO-shuhn\, noun: The use of many words to express an idea that might be expressed by few.

I have been accused of circumlocution virtually since the day I started speaking. If you flip through the pages of my life and stop at almost any day, you'll find a conversation like this one going on:

Random Teen from the Past: Luvviepuffaroo and I are going to a party tonight. Wanna come?
GoldenBoy: I might as well ... I'm only going to have to hear all the stories about it later, and it will take less of my time I just go along now.

Flip further:
Luvviepuffaroo: Well, you know, I could just take an umbrella ... it probably won't rain but I'm thinking that at least if I have one with me, then if it rains I'll be dry, as opposed to NOT carrying it around and then being caught in the rain, WISHING I'd carried it around and thinking the whole time that if only I'd taken the umbrella I'd have a much better chance of being dry. I mean, ultimately I'd much rather do something and be on the safe side, than NOT do something and run the risk of being really upset by it later ..."
Random 20something Friend From the Past: OR, "Better safe than sorry ..."

GoldenBoy STILL delights in doing this to me on the phone ... I'm not QUITE as verbose as the paragraph above, but he still is able to distill my ramblings down to just a few words. (And points it out EVERY TIME. "I did it again! I did it again!") What can I say? I like to talk.

Nothing proved my circumlocution-ness more, however, than recently when I was putting the final touches on my Great American Novel. After thinking it was finished around 14 years ago I sent it out to literary agents with high hopes, only to get one rejection letter after another. After another. After another. (Repeat this phrase another 243 times ...) It got so I wasn't able to open my mailbox anymore without seeing the dreaded flurry of little SASEs tumbling toward me, all rejection letters from Agent X telling me they just didn't think my big book o' words was marketable. I put the manuscript away in a drawer and tried to forget about it. All 145,000 words of it.

To be clear: word count in the publishing world is like dress size in the modeling world. Same equation: lower number equals more marketable. Things would have started differently for JK Rowlings if Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone hadn't skootched by at just under 80,000 words -- 76,944 to be exact. Only when the crowd was clamoring for more could she (and her publishing house) feel confident about something that weighed in at 198,227 words (as The Deathly Hallows did). Agents balk at hefty books the way Janice Dickinson balks at hefty models. As in: Good ones exist, they just don't get through the machine as easily.

Years later I decided to give it another shot. I took my "finished" novel and presented it to my writing group. One hearty soul, the one man in the group, took the time to read the whole thing. His criticism was harsh, but fair ... great story, not so great writing. (Hey, I'd accused Stephen King of this my whole life ... ). It was salvageable, he said, it just had to be completely rewritten and heavily edited.

I decided to give it a shot. After all ... 14 years HAD gone by ... my writing had gotten better ... and I wasn't in such desperate need to prove how smart I was anymore. I cut out pages and pages of characters having long, boring existential conversations that did nothing to move the plot forward. I tightened, punched up and textured until one day last month, like a Sculptor, I knew it was finished because there was nothing else to take away.

It now weighs in at a very slimming 110,000 words. That's THIRTY FIVE THOUSAND NON-ESSENTIAL WORDS ... gone. And never missed. Amazing.

So, the question is, after all that -- is it a good book? I've had a few friends read it (or parts of it) over the years, and always got relatively good feedback. That's what friends do ... they cheerleader their way through your small successes. It's hard to know. There's one reader, though, who I choose to believe over all the others. Random Subway Chick.

Years ago, I'd given a first draft to my dad and he read it on his daily commute. One day, without him knowing it, a girl had been reading over his shoulder. When he put it away she tapped his arm ... "Excuse me," she said, "What's that your reading?"
Dad: It's a novel my daughter's written.
Random Subway Chick: Wow! Is it published? I'd love to buy it! I've been reading it over your shoulder and I can't wait to see what happens next!

I think about Random Subway Chick a lot. Because New York is FILLED with random subway chicks ... and they're my target audience. Along with any other person who's facing a long train ride, bus ride, plane ride, and wants to dig their teeth into a good story that will make the commute fly by. As well as any person who likes to stay up late into the night reading just one more chapter ... And any person who's not looking for a cookie cutter story with a happy ending. So ... if that's you ... stay tuned. I promise, you'll enjoy every single word.

You Want Lettuce and Tomato On That?

Boy oh boy ... how I love a good sandwich. I know they're the worst things for you. I know they're full of bleached flour, processed meats, gloppy condiments, fats, salt and nitrates. I know that. What's your point? You are what you eat so I am a big ole sandwich. When I die you can wrap me in some wax paper, bury me in one of those little deli containers and put me on that great conveyor belt to the sky.

Quibbit likes them too, but he is the King of the Dagwood Sandwich. Early on in our relationship I'd asked him what ingredients would he combine to make his favorite burger. By way of example, I created mine for him: English Muffin bun, a big juicy burger seasoned with basil, slathered in Hellman's Mayonnaise and Frank's Red Hot Sauce ... some sauteed onions and thick cut apple smoked bacon on the top. Yum.

He responded by building his for me: bottom bun, mayonnaise, avocado and onions, honey mustard, all beef patty, cheddar cheese, ranch dressing, Doritos, sauteed lettuce and cabbage with garlic, 2nd all beef patty, Swiss cheese, ketchup, more mayonnaise, slice of lettuce and top bun.

Of course I've watch him eat things that make the above look tame. I've learned not to ask what he's jamming between two overtaxed slices of bread. If it crunches I just assume it's the Doritos. Or pretzel sticks. Or peanuts. Or saltines. Or granola. Or sunflower seeds. Or wasbi peas. One time it was trail mix.

A few years ago I caught a great documentary on PBS called Sandwiches That You Will Like (which is a little like calling your clothing line Dresses That You Will Wear). It does a great job of traveling across America and showing how the definition of a sandwich changes with the landscape. I love hearing people, full of conviction, talking about their city's sandwich and why it's the best, not like any other Blah and Blah Sandwiches from any other place in the whole US of A! It reminded me of the time my friend's cousin came back from Italy praising the corner markets and the plethora of prosciutto and provolone sandwiches. "It's so common ... like getting a ham and cheese in America". We laughed our butts off at that. Um, maybe because prosciutto and provolone IS ham and cheese.

Anyway, I love this show -- I've seen it twice and I'm thinking of buying the DVD (or accepting it as a Christmas present). What makes the show so special is not that it's a program about food ... though that's part of it. No, what makes it great is that it's a program about people and their relationship to food; it's about tradition, habits, customs, comfort. It's about folks reveling in the fact that in their little corner of the world, this is how it's done:


This is the kind of program that makes you want to grab your map, get in the car, and just drive across America seeking these places out. Luckily, I actually have been to a few of these fine establishments and when time allows, I intend to visit a few more. For now, here are the 3 I sampled:

Living in New York you can't escape the siren song of a good Pastrami Sandwich. And what better place to get one than at Katz's Delicatessen ... a New York tradition for over a hundred years. Quibbit and I just went there recently and almost died (happily) of a meat overdose. He got the Corned Beef Sandwich and I got the pastrami ... between the 2 of us I think we were able to eat 2/5th ... we had to take the rest home. And we both kept on eating corned beef, pastrami and rye bread for another two days! I repeat ... You are what you eat!

I've also been lucky enough to sample authentic Philly Cheese Steak Sandwiches when a friend of mine took me back to her home town. It was really cold the weekend we were there, and we spent a long time shivering on line waiting to order our sandwiches, staring across the street at the OTHER long line of people waiting to get THEIR sandwiches. The first day we went to Geno's, the second day to Pat's. I liked one better than the other but can't remember which ... so I guess when I go back I'll have to do another taste test. I'll have to go again with a local, because even though there were big signs everywhere explaining how to order, I still made my friend order for me because I was too intimidated. Yes ... I. Was. Too. Intimidated. Huh.

When another friend and I were kicking around in New Orleans, I was thrilled when we stumbled upon Central Grocery ...

... which I knew all about from the program. We immediately went in and purchased the most wonderful Muffuletta Sandwich I'd every had. (Truth be told, I'd only had one once before at some wannabe New Orleans bar in Manhattan where the drinks are watered down, the food is tasteless and badly fried and the Muffuletta Sandwich is lousy). But here was the real thing! We couldn't wait to dig in! We shared one ... it was that big ... and even had leftovers for later. Next to the drinking-all-day-and-night-in-the-street thing and the super hot jazz and the man who tried to take my friend and me home with him to "let nature take its course" (an offer we refused, but a story we gleefully repeated), this Muffuletta Sandwich was the best part of our trip.

So, hopefully, Quibbit and I will get around to Kentucky one day in order to sample a Hot Brown Sandwich ... and then maybe we'll take another trip to Maine and get a Lobster Roll from Red's Eats. Heck, I'd even try and get to Domilise's for a fried oyster Po'Boy. (Hey, did you even WATCH the clip up there?) But I can tell you right now ... as far as the Fried Brain Sandwich goes ... I'll let Quibbit tackle that one alone.

For close to 3,000 more ways to make a sandwich, try this website.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

When I was a little girl ... five or so ... my parents took me and another little friend to a ball game. I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be taken ... I don't think I showed even one ounce of interest in baseball at all at that age. I remember none of it ... except for the stories which came afterward -- stories of me spending the entire time facing the BACK of the stadium looking for the hot dog man. THAT I believe ...

When I was a bigger girl ... twenty or so ... my boyfriend Blob took me to another baseball game. (His name wasn't Blob back then ... that's just what he devolved into). I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be taken. I don't think I showed even one ounce of interest in baseball at all at that age. I remember none of it ... except for the part where Blob got my under aged butt a huge bucket of beer (he was 32 at the time ...) and then embarrassed me by shelling an entire bag of peanuts and throwing the remains all over the floor. "Stop doing that!" I'd hissed ... "Everyone here does it!" he'd replied, but all I saw was a bunch of people giving him dirty looks.

When I was a bit older ... thirty something or so ... Won't, his sister Nat, and the extended group of friends were excited about the Subway Series and asked me to come watch the opening game in a bar with them. I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be invited. I don't think I showed even an ounce of interest in baseball at that age ...ahhh, but wait. Here's the paradigm shift, kiddies ...

The 2000 Subway Series got me completely hooked. Hooked isn't even the word; I was completely obsessed. For the first time in my life I really understood what it meant to be a fan and root (root, root) for the home team.  You have to understand that my interest in sports was so lacking that when I was a sales assistant at Sport Magazine I garnered months of ribbing after I asked my manager "Is hockey a pro sport?"

My friend from Boston, Ant, said to me one day back then, "You know, the rest of the country doesn't care about this World Series ... only New York cares." And I'd replied, "New York doesn't CARE that no one else cares. If New York had its way it would be a Subway Series every time!" I got so wrapped up in the game that I actually bought one of those little vanity magazines that listed all the players, I talked baseball with guys in the hall, I asked everyone if they were following the game, and when the final game fell on my parent's anniversary I tapped my foot nervously, wondering if I'd have enough time to finish up the play I'd taken them to (The Best Man) and still get to Won't and Nat who were in a bar down near Charles Street in time to see if we won. ("We" being the Yankees ... since that's the team my friends were rooting for. I secretly rooted for both).   Can you believe it?  Broadway vs. Baseball ... and Baseball actually winning?  Well, the play did end in time, (and much to the glee of the entire audience, at the curtain call one of the main characters stepped out of the line to announce the score ...) and I did get to the bar, and I did scream and hollar as the Yankees won, and I did linger in that bar with Won't and Nat afterwards and bask in the glow of being a Real Sports Fan.

And then it all vanished as quickly as it came.  Years went by, and I always remembered the Subway Series of 2000 fondly ... but I'd never had a desire to recreate it whatsoever.  

Recently there's been a lot of talk about how Yankee Stadium is closing ... so much so that I didn't even realize that Shea Stadium (home of the Mets) was closing down as well. What I DO know is that Yankee tickets were going for hundreds of dollars these past weeks ... whereas Quibbit got some Mets tickets for free when he donated some blood a few weeks back.

I thought it was quaint that he brought them to me with the idea that we'd actually go to the game. I nodded an enthusiastic "maybe" but really ... I sincerely doubted I'd go.

But an outing is an outing and when the day finally came this week I was actually in the mood to get out there. We took the (relatively quick) subway ride out to Shea and, once there, could actually feel the excitement in the air. We got there early so that we could scope the place out and wander around ... our seats were way up high (of course) but the great thing about stadiums is the stadium seating (duh ...) and from our seats we could see everything. We sat out in the wonderful night air, taking in the sky, the crowd, the atmosphere, eating five dollar hot dogs and drinking eight dollar beverages.  I was completely immersed and having a great time!

By the time the game started, I was ready. At one point I cheered loudly, my arms pumping the air, thrilled to join my voice to the thousands who were screaming too. "Did you see that?" Quibbit asked, "The blah bla blah did this bla blah bla thing and the ..." I finally just held up my hand and said "Boo ... I don't know what happened. I just scream when everyone else does". Trust me ... it's really fun to scream your head off and be joyful just for the experience of it.  I doubt anyone around me could tell that I was actually completely clueless about the whole thing.

While we were sitting there, during a lull, I told Quibbit the story of a sales conference we'd had while I was at Sport Magazine. The 2 assistants (myself and another girl) tagged along to all the outings during the conference, nights at Smith and Wollensky or other places that served meat with a side of meat ... followed by drinks in various sports bars till the wee hours. The guys were accomodating and told us everything we wanted to know about the various games we watched. One guy said to me, "Here, let me teach you a phrase that will work on any guy ... if he takes you out to a game or a sports bar, and everyone is cheering, turn to him and say 'That was a particularly high percentage play!" If everyone's booing, say the opposite 'That wasn't a particularly high percentage play!" It will impress whatever guy you're with." Throughout the years I've pulled that little gem out of my bag of tricks often, and I've always been grateful to that anonymous sales guy ... because it always did get a rather good response.

Eventually as the game at Shea wore on it got really cold outside, and Quibbit and I decided to go home, even though the game was still in full swing -- we'd had a good time, and it really didn't matter to either of us who won the game (yes, blasphemous, I know).  And I'm also really glad that I got to go to one ball game at Shea Stadium.  Ahh, Shea, I hardly knew ye.  Thanks for all the memories.  Or, you know, just the one.  But still ... thanks.

Would You Like A Free Transit Map? Free Map? Would You Like A Free Map? Transit Map? Did You Get Your Free Map? Would You Like One? Free Map?

It's always nice to volunteer for something that takes you outside for the day, especially when the weather is as nice as it was today.

I work for a pretty big, well known company and we launched a really big feature today, so I was happy to help distribute some free wallet sized transit maps that had some of our branding on them.  There were teams of us all over New York today.

I stood in front of Port Authority with 3 of my other co-workers, all of us decked out in matching t-shirts that advertised our new feature, all of us handing out these useful little transit maps.  Surprisingly, people were really friendly and fun (who doesn't want a free sample of something?) and in the 3 hours that we were out there I have to say that not one person was rude, and maybe only 10 people walked by without making any eye contact at all.  Even the people who weren't interested at least smiled and said something.  I handed out almost 1,300 cards ... that's a lot of smiles.

I'm not an Ian McShane fan ... let me just say that right up front.  In fact, I make a point out of saying so every time I see that movie trailer for Death Race.  Not him again I always hiss to Quibbit in the dark as he nods for the millionth time, I can't stand him!

But there I was today, standing on the corner by Port Authority, handing out these maps, smiling brightly at each person passing by, doing my patter Free Map?  Would you like a transit map?  Did you get one?  Can I give you a map?  Free Map?  Would you like a free map? ... when there he was.  Ian McShane -- walking right toward me as I just kept doing my schtick to everyone ... and he actually made eye contact, flashed me a brilliant, genuine smile, said "No thanks, Darlin'" and went back to his conversation.  Hmmmmm.  I take it all back, Ian McShane.  You are a really terrific guy.  I'm happy to add you to my list.

Chocolate and Pickles? Yes. Chocolate. And. Pickles.

 Just a few more weeks now!  Quibbit, Mom, Dad and I have been getting all the final pieces of the wedding into place -- flowers, menu, accessories ... and Quibbit and I got the marriage license this week ... amazing.  But also a bit overwhelming.  Go here, check this, count that, set this up, don't forget these things, have this done by Wednesday, send this contract to that address before this amount of time ... it's a lot to keep in your brain, no matter how much help you get or how much fun it is.

So I thought we all needed a break this weekend.  I'd decided a few months back to give out truffles as wedding favors, but we were still deciding on which chocolatier to use.  We'd gotten a few suggestions, so we decided to check out one of them: MarieBelle, a wonderful chocolate shop filled with beautiful items up front and featuring a quaint Cacao Bar / Tea Salon in the back where you can have crepes (sweet or savory) and choose from several different hot chocolates (from the relatively mild Aztec - only 63% cacao - to the mischievous Spicy - spiked with cinnamon, nutmeg and chipotle) made one of two ways (European style with water, or American style with milk).  

The shop had so many things to offer, but my favorite were these Pin-Up Girls Chocolates that were really retro and kitchy.  Part of me wanted to pick these as wedding favors but I didn't think it would go over well with some of the people who didn't get my 1) sense of humor and 2) love of camp.  Still, there's no law saying I can't send them along as Christmas presents ...

We wound up spending around 2 hours in the salon, really just enjoying our crepes, our cocoa, and conversation.  It was relatively empty when we got there at 1:00 but by 3:00 every seat was taken and people were waiting ... so I suggest getting there early if you plan on going for brunch.

It just so happens that on the VERY SAME DAY that we decided to go to MarieBelle's ON THE VERY SAME STREET (Broome Street -- but further east ... down by Orchard Street) they were holding the Eight Annual Pickle Day!  And if there's one thing Quibbit loves, it's a pickle.  So we took the 15 block walk to the Lower East Side (slowly ... it was pretty hot out) and when we got there the fair was in full swing.  Almost TOO much of a swing ... lines were long, stalls were packed, ever inch of sidewalk was taken up by people walking left to right ... unless it was taken up by the other people walking right to left.  We were able to get some pickle samples, but ultimately they were few and far between.   Still, I'd grown up in New York, knowing about the pickle district and knowing that a real pickle doesn't come in a jar off a shelf any more than a real ravioli comes in a can.  But Quibbit didn't grow up in this magical land, so it was good for him to see The Pickle Guys and Guss' Pickles up close and in person.  I promised we'd come back again when it wasn't so  ... pickley.  I mean ... it was a great day, but I think we'll have more fun going back some time in winter.  Just in time for the Christmas Pickle Tree.

We finished up the day by wandering over to Ludlow Street where we ducked into the cool, dark Pianos for some great Original Sin cider and chicken fingers.   Hey, it can't all be chocolate and pickles all the time!  At some point I got a little tipsy ... and when (in the spirit of the day) Quibbit called me a pretty smart pickle I replied "That's right!  I'm a Smitty Part Pickle!"  I found this uproariously funny and repeated it waaaaay too many times but again ... tipsy.  I made Quibbit promise to call me a Smitty Part Pickle some unexpected time in the future.  Maybe it CAN be all pickles all the time ...

Operator!

Oh no!  My Something Or Other from XYZ Company isn't working!  I better call them right away and straighten this out!

Luvvie: [dialing] Oh, so happy there's a customer service number. This will be solved in no time!

Robot:  Hello, and welcome to the XYZ Company.  Our menu has changed recently so please listen carefully to all options.  Para Espanol, press ZERO. To buy another Something Or Other, press or say ONE.  To find out about our new and improved Something Or Other, press or say SEVEN.  If you are calling from out of state, press or say TWO.  To hear this menu again at any time, press pound.  Wait, we're not done ...  To learn the history of our company, press or say FIVE.  To find the nearest store in your area, press or say THREE.  To speak to a customer representative, press or say EIGHT.

Luvvie:  Yay!  Finally! [pressing eight] Just a few more seconds now!

Robot: [Pretending to be human]  Okay.  Before we begin I'll need some information from you. Press or say the fourteen digit account code so I can locate your records.    

Luvvie: Wait ... I only see five numbers in my account.  Where are the other eleven?

Robot: I'm sorry, I didn't understand what you said.  Could you repeat the number?

Luvvie: I didn't say any number yet.

Robot: Okay, I think I'm going to need a little more information.  If you're calling from your home phone, please say "yes".

Luvvie: [to herself]  Ha!  I can outsmart this dang computer.  I'll press "0" for operator till I get a human being!

Robot: I'm sorry, I don't understand what you said.  If you're calling from your home phone ...

Luvvie:  [pressing frantically] zero ... zero ... zero ... [faster] zero zero zero zero zero zero zero [and faster] zerozerozerozero Dang why won't this work!  Operator!  Operator!!

Well, I'll tell you why it won't work.   Because companies have caught on to your little operator trick and have made it difficult to get a human on the phone that easily.  That's not to say that pressing zero repeatedly, faster and faster won't work for SOME companies, but for others, getting a human on the phone involves a tricky combination of numbers, pound signs and, in some cases, sneaky silence.   

But how do you know what diabolical combinations will work?  Hit 'em all and pray you get lucky?  Nah ... never that. Now you can go here and find out all the right combinations to press, the right words to say ... basically just the quickest way of getting a real human being on the phone.  Scroll down a bit on their website and find most every trick to most every company you'll ever need to call.  Poor "Emily" from Bell Canada.  She won't know what hit her.

Just another little helpful tip brought to you by Luvviepuffaroo.  You're welcome.

When Giant Bugs Attack

So tonight Quibbit and I were happily watching the first season of LOST on iTunes.  We're around 3 episodes from the season finale and yes, yes, I know, that's THREE SEASONS behind everyone else but I had some problems picking it up mid-season back then (What ... as if I'm the only one?) and then just decided it was too much trouble than it was worth.  Which of course is not true.  Thanks to iTunes I was able to catch up, albeit slowly.  I'm sure the traumas that occur during Season 1 pale in comparison to all the other stuff that happens later, but just try and remember how you felt way back in 2004.  Pretty nail biting stuff ... 

So there we are, engrossed, hardly able to focus on anything but the show ... Until .... 

All of a sudden out of the pitch black darkness I felt what seemed to be a wad of paper thrown at me.  I immediately flung it off, jumped up screaming, and scared Quibbit half to death.

We looked everywhere, but couldn't find a logical thing that it could have been.

Luvvie: You don't understand!  It was like a giant spitball thrown at me! 

Quibbit: Well, let's find it ...

Luvvie: Where did it come from?

Quibbit: I have no idea.

Luvvie: Do you think it was a ghost?

Quibbit: One can only hope ...

Well this went on for a bit ... we found a wadded up tissue across the room ... yeah, maybe that could have been it ... but who threw it at me?  (Cue scary music ...)  Could it have been that French Woman?  No, dammit!  Focus!  This isn't the Island!

Quibbit decided to go investigate in another part of the apartment.   Not that there are many "parts" to the apartment.  More like different angles to the apartment.  

Quibbit: Oh ... okay  ... I think I see what it was. 

Luvvie: A bug?

Quibbit:  Yes.  Quite a big one.  If you don't want to get upset, don't look over there ...

So I look (of course) "over there" and I see, on the wall,  the Biggest Damn Bug I've ever seen and I run to the other side of the room, but I can still see it.  Like, it was THAT BIG.

Due to my enormous fear of bugs, a few years ago for Christmas Quibbit got me (among other things) this bug zapper which I always likened to having a gun in the house.  As in: I felt much safer having it around but dreaded the time I'd have to actually use it.  

So of course, tonight was that night.  

Quibbit got the bug zapper and after a few failed attempts finally caught it in the trap, but it was SO huge that it wouldn't sink down to the zapper part and get itself fried.  So the device was, at this point, just a bug TRAPPER.  Which is fine, of course, unless you're me and living with an insane fear of bugs because then all you can imagine is that even though the trap door only goes one way and the bug has no way whatsoever of getting out, this bug will buck all odds, get loose, and (now mad at you) come and do what bugs do to human beings.  (I don't think we fully know the extent of what that is yet.  But I'm always fearful that one day we'll find out.  And boy will we regret it ...)

So since it was just trapped in the little tube, Quibbit had a chance to examine it.  "Do me a favor and Google Cicada" he told me  ... and I did, and described the picture to him and he said that's what it was that he had, trapped in the bug zapper.

Now, I have plenty of friends who live in Florida who will tell me they see these awful creatures all the time, and that's great, Friends In Florida, I'm happy for you.  And you've learned to live with them the way I've learned to watch, mildly amused, as subway rats scurry onto the subway platform (yes, folks, high above the tracks ...) as I wait for the #2 train.  I mean, I wouldn't want them any closer than the 5 meters I've put between us, but I'm not exactly sobbing with fear either.  However, Cicadas aren't (as far as I know) native to New York and I've never actually seen one in person before.  Let alone have one into my home.  They're like vampires!  You don't invite them in!

Anyway, while Quibbit was waiting patiently for the Cicada to make his way down the tube into the electric chamber I had some time to further research them.  So I scanned the Wikipedia entry which gave more information than I wanted to know ... as well as a little sound file which immediately gave me the creeps.  

But then delving further on the topic, I also find this little gem.  What? Are you kidding me? Seriously? Who in their right mind would name a restaurant after a Damn Giant Bug?  I mean, why don't you just name your place Roach Infested or Rat Droppings or Closed Because of Health Code Violations? Granted, the place looks absolutely fabulous, and I'm sure many people have eaten there and had a fantastic time, but I stand by my original thought.  And I would suggest that when there, no one order the Quail ... because traditionally Quail don't have the wingspan of a Beechcraft.  But I know a little something that does ...

Anyway, at some point the Cicada managed to accept the unavoidable (I'd like to think with a brave look on his face) and went toward the zapper part of the tube while I hummed Taps.  Quibbit waited a few more minutes before giving it a proper burial at sea. The rest of the night was spent a bit less frantic but no less nerve wracking ... I mean, there's an unopenable hatch in the middle of the jungle!  I just hope it's not filled with Giant Bugs.