friday fillers

• Brownie-stuffed chocolate chip cookies. Yes, yes, a million times yes.

• Blogs are all abuzz with the recent passing of Nora Ephron - and this one is no exception. Here are a few of of her best film moments and here is a cute mash-up of some memorable scenes from her movies.

• My "aaaw!" quota for the day.

• Suri Cruise is not only the most well-dressed kid, she's also the snarkiest.

• I'm bummed that I missed the annual Mermaid Parade in Coney Island, but I can live vicariously through these wacky photos.

• I'm sorry, but I can't get enough of looking at awkward family photos. These are GOLD.

 

luggage as decoration

Every day, I pass this antique store with the most charming merchandise - tin stools, library catalogs, beaten-up couches and other random treasures. Just recently, I saw a beautiful pair of vintage suitcases. The way the two were stacked on top of each other reminded me of an image I pinned a while back. In the photo, the old suitcases are used as a nightstand - I loved the idea of using them as a decorative piece. So I bought 'em!

I'm happy to have these, not only for the old-fashioned flair they give to the living room, but for using as a holder for random things that I'd like out keep out of sight (i.e., extra linens and things). I get really excited for dual purpose items.

secret single behavior

Or SSB, as Carrie Bradshaw put it.

It was the episode where Aidan moves in and Carrie reluctantly comes to terms with having someone else in her space. She felt she could no longer freely snack on her stacked saltines, while standing up in the kitchen and reading Vogue. She'd too embarassed having a man see her indulge in such a weird ritual.

Personally, I don't find that to be too bad. My boyfriend has seen me do much stranger things.

It got me thinking about my own SSB. What behaviors have I acquired over the years that I'd be a little embarrassed to have Bob see me do? Now that we're living together, we've gotten a pretty good idea of each other's quirks (that's a nice way of saying "annoying habits", by the way). But is there something else? Something unusual - like when Charlotte stared at her pores in the mirror for hours.

The thing is, Bob has some pretty bad habits himself, so I'm not really ashamed to do much in front of him. But here goes my list anyway:

1.) Sleep with tweezers under my pillow. Let me just say this: I do not do it anymore.  But my poor friend Jen once almost poked her eye out while she was sleeping in my bed once (good thing she had a sense of humor about it!). But when I was sleeping on my own, one side of the bed was usually covered in magazines, makeup tools, clothes, pens, you name it. I happily and comfortably always slept on the left side. There was room for both of us. As in me and my mess.

2.)  I practice my America's Next Top Model poses in front of the full-length mirror. Sometimes, I'll even put on heels for added effect. I've already perfected the hunch.

3.) When I'm cooking, I'll pretend I have my own show on the Food Network and walk my imaginary audience through the steps.  And combine the ingredients like so...you guys, this is going to come out so great! I'm a really cheesy host.

So...do you have SSB? Spill please!

i cleaned

 Like, really cleaned. And it is a BIG deal.

For weeks, I've been flitting about just lightly cleaning the house every two weeks or so. Oh you know, a little dusting here, a little vacuuming there. Nothing special.

But it's irked me. I've been cringing at the sight of dusty corners that the vacuum just can't reach and at the counter that just never seems to stay crumb-free for at least 5 minutes. I blame it on my laziness. Who wants to spend their free time cleaning? I have more important things to do. Like watching Pretty Little Liars.

Last Friday, I came home from work with a very ambitious plan. I'm going to tackle that tub, I'm going to attack that stove, I'm going to grab the greasy microwave by the horns and make it my bitch. This whole place is going to be cleaned so well that it will shine like a brand spankin' new convertible, damnit.

And I did. It was 10 p.m. and I was finally done. The tub was scrubbed, the floors were mopped (twice), things were in its rightful place. All was right with the world. I was tired, achy and hungry, but all that mattered was that it was DONE. And the new car shine! There was new car shine all over the place!

It's good to complete things. Makes me feel weightless and like I can take on the next big project: deep-cleaning the fridge.

Very very exciting things to come people...

friday fillers

• This is what happens when you cheat on a tattoo artist. [Update: this might be a fake story, as pointed out below in the comments!]

• Fellow bloggers, do you blog ahead or you more spontaneous? I'm a little bit of both.

• Things you may not have known about the dapper Cary Grant.

• Blueberry milk. Sounds weird. At first.

• Make your own gorgeously embellished bobby pins. It looks really easy!

• Would you ever wear a bralet? After seeing this post, I may consider it.

• If you click on no other links, at least click on this one. I promise, it's worth it.

lucky boy

When I first met Lucky, he was friendly, affectionate and so adorable. I instantly loved him.

He belonged to the neighbors who me and my parents grew close to. From time to time, we would take him in as a favor to the them. When they let him free in the yard, he'd run over to our back door and scratch on the screen. "Let me in!" he was saying. We would, of course, always let him in. Within seconds, he would throw himself on his back and demand for his belly to be rubbed. We always gave in to that too.

I have a ton of stories about Lucky. The day he was scared of a bunny. The day he sneezed in my face. The day he refused to be walked when it was snowing out (which was also the day he won a staring contest with my Mom). The days he greeted me by licking my toes. The day my Dad secretly fed him yellow rice and the evidence stuck all over his beard.

My Mom and I gave him a nickname - Lucky Buffalo (you had to be there). Sometimes, I called him My Little Boy Blue (don't actually know how that one came about, but it was a term of endearment nonetheless).

Though he was the neighbors' dog, he belonged to us too. He was a part of both of our families.

Little Lucky boy, may he rest in peace. He will be so very missed.

taste of home

My grandmother's back in town! This means home-cooked Puerto-Rican meals and frequent trips to the Latin grocery store, i.e. Goya in every aisle, ha! I was seduced by the varieties of guava pastes, cola champagnes (it's not what it sounds like) and coconut sodas. It took all my might not to clean out the shelves and bring back a Costco-sized load of everything.

She's staying with my parents so they will be the ones to enjoy her fried plantains, rice with milk and rice & beans on the daily. I'll have to make a point to get myself out there more often with plastic containers in tow, like the classy lady that I am.

My favorite are her arepas which is basically a variation of fried dough. Not only are they so good, but it's a taste of my childhood (chocolate milk is also a contender). I have yet to try another that rivals hers. It's just the right amount of crispness on the outside, pillow-soft on the inside.

I'm curious to know, is there any food or meal that brings you back to your childhood that you still enjoy now? Something that can't be replicated as your mother/grandmother/whoever makes (or made) it.

adventures in weekending: the day before father's day

The Saturday before Father's Day, you can always find me out and about - somewhat frantically - trying to find a gift for my Dad. After Bob and I walked the High Line from 23rd St. to 14th, we headed to Bowery's Kitchen Supply at the Chelsea Market.

See, my Dad loves to cook. And he's really great at it. So a professional restaurant supply store seemed right up his alley. Surely there must be something he doesn't own already! How wrong I was. The entire store is his kitchen! I walked around with a pair of bamboo utensils used for salad tossing before I set them down and said to myself, a giant bamboo fork and spoon for Father's Day? Maybe not.

And so I headed out the market empty-handed. But not before stopping for Jacques Torres cookies. I needed that consolation.

Speaking of food (and since when am I not talking about food?), we had a terrific lunch at Pipa's. I've had a love affair with jamon Serrano, since I tried it at a Spanish restaurant some months ago. So imagine my delighted surprise when I learned Pipa's served it in a sandwich with melted Manchego, toasted crusty bread and honey aioli - done and done.

You need to go there. Now.

By the way, I ended up getting my Dad this. You just can't go wrong with some good cuts of meat.

architecture of paris

I am in such awe at how magnificent these old structures are. The intricate details are like nothing I've seen in my life. It's one of those things where you can see spy a new feature every time you come back to it. They don't make buildings like these anymore! The Notre Dame cathedral (in the first photo) was probably my favorite thing to look at. It's so massive and intimidating.

Be sure to check out one of my favorite shots of the Notre Dame via Bob's Instagram (spooky!).



p.s. Most of these photos were taken by the bf.

paris is for lovers

It's the ideal setting for handheld walks on narrow, cobblestone streets, sitting alongside the river with ice cream cones in tow and just observing acts of love and kindness in art, on storefronts and even on bridges.

Like many before us, Bob and I wrote a special message on a padlock and fixed it on the Pont des Arts, famous for this romantic tradition. I never considered myself a romantic before I met Bob, but I guess he (along with Paris's help) brings it out of me. 

Paris, the city of love. Truly.

 

sweets of paris

Bob and I had our fair share of memorable meals in Paris, but it's the sweets that really stood out for me. Flaky, buttery pain au chocolat once a day (at least!) for breakfast on the go. We indulged in Berthillon's famous ice cream a couple of times - once just wasn't enough (I'm still dreaming about it). Macarons from Ladurée were an absolute must. I'm just glad that New York has a store of their own that I can visit anytime the craving hits. And desserts like profiteroles and crème brûlée to follow every lunch and dinner.

Not too shabby.


Confession: this is slightly off-topic and I'm a little ashamed to admit this, but I broke my fast-food strike and tried McDonald's out of sheer curiosity! Bob had the steak sandwich, au poivre (naturally) and I had a burger and fries. Verdict: the burgers taste the same, but when it comes to the fries, the U.S. has got Paris beat. Though I can't say I'm surprised to learn that America does junk food better. Sadly, it's kind of our thing!