Ode to Bun Bun.

This past Thursday, I not only had the pleasure to accompany my boss’ daughter Addie* to school, but as an added bonus I was also able to share her joy in her beloved childhood crutch, Pink Blanky. My boss and I were dropping off Addie and then continuing on to an out of office event and as we arrived at school Addie showed me her treasured childhood blanket. I was informed that Pink Blanky was actually at one time pink, not the graying mass it now represents.

“ I used to have bunny rabbit just like Pink Blanky, Addie” I said with a mature grin as I simultaneously pictured Bun-Bun perched on my bed in my current apartment.

“And then when you turned five you had to give him back right?” My boss asked with pleading eyes, apparently trying to wean her child off of the aforementioned blanky.

“Yes. “ I said firmly without hesitation, snapping out of my Bun-Bun induced haze. “Because I became a big girl.” I said smiling at Addie to let her know that this right of passage would in fact turn out alright.

As my confident smile wavered, I wondered if little Addie would call my bluff. Hop back in her carseat and demand to be driven back to my apartment to check if Bun Bun in fact had been given away at age 5. Of course she just smiled shyly and clutched on to Pink Blanky for dear life, for fear I might snatch it away a few months early. The fact is Bun Bun is still a pretty large staple in my life. He/She/It didn’t go away at age 5, 15, or 25. In fact I am pretty sure Bun Bun will be around as long as I am.

Bun Bun came to me one Easter filled with matching pink PJs, larger than life in its pink fur and white fluffy cheeks. It now sports matted gray fur and is fairly stretched out due to years of being confused as a Popple, but remains just as much of a staple as when received as a tot. Bun Bun has traveled far and wide with me, across seas, crammed in suitcases, and attended all four years of Cornell with me. As sad as it might sound, Bun Bun is my longest standing friend. And although it might presently be taking a back seat to my newest ball of love, Bun Bun this one is for you!

*All names have been changed to preserve confidentiality.

Oh How I Missed the South.

I have learned in my vast travels that there is always one certain business type that over saturates any given destination. In New York people scoff at the bounty of Starbucks, although there always seems to be a line around the block for the nectar of an extra hot no foam soy latte. In Florida, I was astounded by the bevy of Sushi-Thai restaurants, however horrified I was by the bastardization of both Japanese and Thai cuisines. And now after a fantastic road trip from Virginia to North Carolina I have discovered yet another gem that floods the streets below the Mason Dixon Line.

They are a fusion between pawnshops and gun shops called Pawn and Gun Shops. (Clever I know.) Typically these are differentiated by owner. For example Hal’s Pawn and Gun might be on Rt. 7 while Jeb’s Pawn and Gun might be located a few blocks over on Rt 121. Frightening? For a gal unaccustomed to such a high volume of either, the fusion was mildly overwhelming. However, as my journey south continued, the sheer proximity of the dynamic duo caused me to temporarily consider trading in my work laptop in for a glock.

I opted against it since I would have been fired and I think I can safely assume I would be a terrible shot, however I did enjoy a brief fantasy involving me sporting a coonskin cap and riding horseback in a manner somewhat reminiscent of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. I am now back in NYC gun-less and fancy free, but that sweet memory will always remain. And now time for a sporadic moment of gratitude for those things NYC. Thank you to the homeless man whose obscenities alerted me to the fact that my shirt was nearly entirely unbuttoned on my walk home today. No wonder that breeze felt so glorious…

Muffins Galore.

Although I wrote a previous post about not understanding current day technology in jest, it seems that this particular sentiment has shacked up with my declaration of love for Luke’s Lobster to produce what happened last week. Maybe common Internet knowledge temporarily escaped me or perhaps it was a Freudian memory lapse, no one can be sure- however what is certain is that my blueberry muffin offering has been made more public than initially intended.

Long story short what was meant to induce a few chuckles amongst friends may or may not have reached the subject of my profession. So after dusting off my muffin recipe and testing it out at this weekend’s cocktail party I am ready to follow through on my promise. I may not deliver on the clams since I don’t think they’ll make it past my stomach post Cape Memorial Day clamming excursion, however muffins are en route once I have confirmation those UES doors are open.

Coastal Companions

In case you haven’t heard there is a new lobsterman in town and I have been dying to get a piece. I basically can’t turn anywhere without hearing more about Luke’s Lobster, a restaurant in the East Village primarily offering Lobster Rolls, and I still have yet to get my hands on one. Despite the fact that haven’t tasted the delectable crustacean filled treat, I have determined that there is substantial evidence to indicate that Luke from Luke’s Lobster is my soul mate.

1. Hello he’s adorable, I’m adorable, and together we would just be a bundle of cuteness.
2. I am a licensed shell fisherwoman. I know they’ve been looking to expand to clam rolls….
3. He’s opening a new shop just four blocks away from my apartment! Coincidence? I don’t think so.
4. New England blood runs deep right? ME? MA? We are basically neighbors!

Okay my reasons might be weak and sparse, but I am fairly certain they might pan out to something substantial. I plan to welcome him to the UES with a basket of blueberry muffins, ones that once provoked a marriage proposal, and a bucket of clams. Stay tuned.