DAILY PHOTO, 28 FEBRUARY 2006

Nothing more interesting to report, kids

TUESDAY, 28 FEBRUARY 2006

The other morning Brandon was brushing his teeth and I was putting on makeup and Peter Pan was saying good morning to his favorite corners and the leg of the chair he likes to chew on. After Brandon finished brushing he went to go see what damage Peter had done while he was left to his own devices. He was probably gnawing on furniture or licking the glass coffee table, his new favorite household surface to lick, and Brandon scolded him with a "No, Peter!" and then scooped him up and brought him to the bathroom. Peter took one whiff of Brandon's minty-fresh breath and began licking Brandons face with a crazed look of pure ecstacy.

There is nothing Brandon loves more than some good puppy snogging, but after a bit he decided he needed a break. He tried to pawn the sloppy kisser off on me, but I apparantly didn't hold nearly as much interest and Peter just could not be distracted from his mission to lick Brandon's entire mouth off.

With Peter still going at it, Brandon leaned his face in close to mine. Eventually, Peter began to lick my face and Brandon's in tandem; one lick here, another there. Brandon, clearly pleased, sighed and said, "And THIS, Peter, is called a menage a trois."

UGH

SATURDAY, 25 FEBRUARY 2006

Brandon and I are desperately trying to find something to do this afternoon. It's a gorgeous day out, sunny and beautiful, and Brandon and I haven't left our 600 square-foot apartment all day (watched three movies in a row this morning in our pajamas, Be Cool, followed by Just Like Heaven, and then a personal favorite of ALL TIME, Newsies (Ahh, Christian Bale, how I love thee). Be Cool was pretty goofy, Just Like Heaven was fairly adorable (I love my Reese Witherspoon. She's my homegirl), and Newsies rocked, as always.

Brandon had the adventurous idea of going to Central Park to do some ice skating and then Serendipity for some frozen hot chocolate. A wonderful idea, but you can't just go from zero to sixty like that, and besides it'll be dark here in about three seconds. So, being the dorks with no lives that we are, we decided to see what was showing at the Regal Cinemas down on Court Street (hell, what's one more movie?).

I don't think there will ever be another time in which so many stupid, pointless, waste-of-money movies will be showing in one theatre at once.

Okay, there are two, count 'em TWO movies out in the theatres at the same time featuring a black man dressed as a woman. Two! Big Momma's House 2 and Tyler Perry's Madea's Family Reunion (the lamest title for a move EVER I might add). I'm convinced that a vortex will open and suck Brooklyn into a deep hole of nothingness, the laws of the universe have been shattered! WHO EVEN NEEDS ONE MOVIE ABOUT BLACK MEN DRESSED AS WOMEN! And poor Eddie Murphy, it's all his fault. We ought to hold him responsible in a court of law. Eddie Murphy, GUILTY. And while we're at it, Mike Meyers too. There should be a law requiring that all actors play only one role in a movie at a time. That would have made Adaptation illegal, too. And good thing too, that movie was weird.

From our window

DAILY PHOTO, 23 FEBRUARY 2006

Of love and puke

THURSDAY, 23 FEBRUARY 2006

Update on Buddy, Peter Pan's hump buddy:

The other night Peter Pan was clawing at a corner of the house. He'd been doing this for a while, including a scratch and sniff in his daily walk about the apartment, a walk that includes sniffing the cable box for the T.V., gnawing a little on my favorite pillow (damn dog!), checking inside his crate to see if any new exciting toys have appeared, and then parking it under the bar stool, where he, like I said, scratches and sniffs at the corner of the wall.

It was harmless, just a little annoying, until Hallelujah! Peter found that his persistence had paid off and the wall started to peel off. And, what else does a puppy do when something foreign has invaded his territory? He eats it.

So when we realized he'd ingested a slice of wall about the size of a silver dollar, we knew we'd be in for a morning retching by the dog. Any time he eats anything slightly questionable (tissues, q-tips, the wash instructions for a gray Abercrombie sweater) we get treated to a wake up call of a retching puppy about to hurl.

Peter did retch that night. Three times in the middle of the night. Brandon, being Husband of the Year and knowing my distaste for vomit, woke up with the dog and stayed up with him till all the paint and plaster had left the poor dog's system.

The next morning I awoke to an empty bed. I stumbled in to the living room and saw my boys passed out from exhaustion on the couch. Peter had patches of vomit on his fur and sadly, there was a casualty. Peter Pan had puked all over Buddy. The last time I put Buddy through the wash it ripped out half his stuffing and made it so his neck would twist around a full 360 degrees, and I knew another wash was not in Buddy's future. And so, I picked him up by the tail, held him far away from my body and held my breath, and after a quick goodbye to Peter's little puppyness, I threw him unceremoniously down the trash chute down the hall. It was very sad. But what a relief! Nobody in this house should be having more sex than me, damnit!

Peter's fine now, and Brandon stayed home from work and slept in till 11, so he's fine too. And I'm fine, also. Thanks for asking!

Can you believe it? I went to prom with this guy.

DAILY PHOTO, 22 FEBRUARY 2006

Schmamerican Schmidol

WEDNESDAY, 22 FEBRUARY 2006

Tonight during American Idol both Brandon and I were floored by the hunkiness that is Ace, with the flowing locks, the pretty pecs, the soulful eyes, and his nose of all things, which is my favorite feature. Brandon was woeing his existence for not having shoulder length naturally curly brown hair (though I am quite partial to strawberry blondes at this point).

Then came this nugget of thoughtfulness from the husband: "You know, the dawg might have said he wasn't fake, but I think he looks a little too pretty. Like maybe he's a model and has a stylist."

Of course, I had to interrupt.

"Woah woah woah. Wait. 'The Dawg??'"

Folks, too much American Idol can rot your brain and cause you to speak like a renob. They should flash this before broadcasting the show so parents can shuffle kids to another room to safely consume Telletubbies and Barney, shows that are positively educational in comparison. Yes? No?

Also, I think the Joe Cocker look-alike might have a mental handicap. Does nobody else think this?

A Snow Story

DAILY PHOTO, 21 FEBRUARY 2006

Shoes, glorious shoes

TUESDAY, 21 FEBRUARY 2006

T-minus one month til Spring. Oh Spring, come save me from the blah of heavy coats! Please!

In other news, I lost my favorite pair of earrings today. Well, that is to say I realized today that they were lost. The last time I lost anything was when I was living at home and had sisters who would manage to get my favorite things "lost" so once I was back at school for a semester they'd be able to wear it safely and thus claim it as their own. And I'm wondering if these earrings could have been stolen back at Christmas and I'm just now noticing it? Could it be?

And in related news, The Limited does not have a website so I can't replace them without putting on real pants and DAMN that pisses me off.

Message to The Limited: GET WITH IT!

And in other shopping tales of heroics and fantasy, here's this. Scene: Macy's - yesterday. Shoe department. Nine West. The players: Natalucci, and a Diary-of-a-Mad-Black-Woman type lady bored stiff waiting for a friend who was trying on shoes.

So I'm sitting there, hemming and hawing over a pair of sexy black pumps and wondering if I really need them/will I ever wear them/what would I wear them with (ladies, you hear me, mmmm-hmm) and this woman was getting a giant-sized kick out of watching me.

Here's the background on this story: I'm a very vocal thinker. I've been known talk to myself when thinking too hard, and I'm a very focused shopper. I like to agonize and overthink my purchases until finally I start chucking anything within arms reach into my cart while foaming at the mouth. But this was Macy's, not Target, and a certain level of decorum must be maintained.

I'm such a vocal thinker that once I was driving around with a mega to-do list and so caught up was I in the geographic groupings of errands that once I finally worked out a game plan in my head I called my mother just to tell her what I'd decided, as a way of hearing the plan out loud to see if it still made sense. After I'd finished relaying my plan for the afternoon my mom said, "Oookay. That sounds good?" I'M SLIGHTLY DERANGED LIKE THAT.

So, back to Macy's and the sexy black pumps. I was sure I loved them. But I was on a budget. If I got them, I'd be sacrificing H&M money. You see my dilemma? Anyway, this black woman was smirking at me from a distance until I started to walk around the mirrors to see how the shoes "walked." She snapped her fingers and said, "STRUT it girlfriend!" From then on it was all out, and she was giving me advice and telling me things like, "Girrrl, those shoes is HOTT!" and "You wear those with sleek pair of payants, and you DAAAMN fine, girl!"

To get these shoes to fit just right a girl working at the shoe department brought by a pair of insoles. They were AMAZING. Ladies: INSOLES. Jubilantly I announced, "I'll take them!" The saleslady started to explain that I could buy the insoles if I wanted, and this put my Mad-Black-Woman girlfriend over the top.

"Ohhh no. You gonna give her those insoles for FREE you HEAR? You ain't gon' CHARGE her for those, uhhhh-uh."

The saleslady looked really uncomfortable. She glanced around and, clearly scared to death by this woman, snuck the insoles into the shoe box and told me that if I wanted any more I'd have to pay for them. My Mad-Black-Woman girlfriend, satisfied, folded her arms and said, "Mmmmmm-hmm." (Insert snapping neck and pursed lips).

After the saleslady had left I looked at her mouthed "THANKS!" and she said, "You bet, girlfriend."

And that is why I love New York City.

Retail therapy

MONDAY, 20 FEBRUARY 2006

Today I bought a denim vest. A denim vest! What is, this? 1992?

H&M told me I needed a denim vest, and you know what, I believed them, and I bought one, and now, well, now of course I am fabulous. And Parisien Chic. And very Sienna Miller. Check it, folks.

I also went to Macy's today in Herald Square. The only other time I'd been there was on my 15th birthday, which happened to fall on Rosh Hashana, and since Jewish holidays are da bomb and we always had them off when we lived in Connecticut, my mom and I celebrated by spending the day in the city. One of the things we did on that day was see David Letterman, thus sparking a lifelong crush on crusty old men (le sigh). Oh, and we also went to Macy's.

The great thing about Macy's is when you take the escalator up and up and right around the 4th floor the elevators are wooden. Woo! It's a blast from the past! And a department store! When you are me and my mother there is nothing more fabulous than shopping and history. Really, shopping and anything beats all. Today I really wished I was with my mom 'cause we'd have had a great time shopping together, and that's one of the few rough things about living in this fair city; my inproximity to my momma.

Macy's is one heck of an experience when you're by yourself and haven't been there before. The place is huge, there's every designer you'd ever imagine, and it's a labyrinth of a place. A few times I had to stop myself and wonder if I had been travelling in circles, and the only way I managed to make it out alive was by remembering that the subway was by the Louis Vuitton section, and I'm the kind of girl who could find a Louis Vuitton with her eyes closed and both legs torn off.

Sorry, that last bit of macabre is to be blamed on Sin City, which we watched last night until I decided it would give me nightmares if we didn't turn it off and watch Ice Dancing on the Olympics STAT. We may have watched half of it, tops. And it was GROSS. Don't rent it. What a pervy comic book.

Anyway, on this wonderful President's Day I think we should stop and give thanks to Washington, Lincoln, FDR, Clinton (heck, why not) and even good old Georgey-boy in office now for giving me this day off from work so I could spend an entire 6 hours in the sales racks husband-free, and surrounded by the people in this world who love me most: retail employees. Hallelujah, Amen.

A new feature at Natalucci: Crazy of the Day

DAILY PHOTO, 16 FEBRUARY 2006

How I managed to write about this I'll never know, but I'm not surprised

THURSDAY, 16 FEBRUARY 2006

To the person who found my website by Googling "why should i unpotty train myself:" That is totally bizarre. And slightly awesome, no? I sincerely hope you found what you were looking for.

In which I am a craft blog

THURSDAY, 16 FEBRUARY 2006

I ordered some yarn from Purl, a yarn store in Soho, and the sad thing is I ordered it over the internet rather than taking the train the four stops it'd take to get to Soho. My excuse was the waist high snow and the freakishly cold temperatures that slammed us over the weekend. At the time I thought there could be nothing better than cozying up on the sofa with my knitting needles and a fabulous scarf in the making.

Tomorrow it's going to hit 60 degrees. There you go.

I went to bed last night all burning throat and sinuses and figured that today would be as good a day as any to sleep on the couch with the dog all day rather than going to work. And boy was I right. And, Internet, I have a new found respect for the sleeping stamina of puppies. That dog laid there on the couch with me like the champion of couch-potatoes that he is, being moved just once by his owner who carried him to his puppy pad to go pee, and then back to the couch for more napping. It was pathetic, and beautiful. Something I could definitely not do everyday.

In fact, after just a few hours of laziness I felt compelled to do the laundry (where did that come from?) just to break up the monotony of snoozing in between episodes of Easy Entertaining with Michael Chiarello.

Overall I'd say though I'm not feeling better, I'm also not feeling so self-indulgent as to require another day off, and really, that's the point of a sick day, isn't it? Just to feel like you had one?

So, now to round this off nicely and end in full circle. I ordered two skiens of black cotton yarn and three skiens of white and a new pair of bamboo knitting needles. I intend to knit a rockin' black and white striped scarf to go with my rockin' black hair and white pale face which hasn't seen the sun in months. And I will document my progress, like any good craft-blogger would (Loobylu and Little Birds: I worship you). Just as soon as my yarn gets here from far away in Soho.

My metrodog

WEDNESDAY, 15 REBRUARY 2006

I'm totally outing my dog today. We think he's gay.

Before Peter Pan was Peter Pan and was still lovingly called "Male C" by his breeders, we bought a brown stuffed horse from Target. It was intended to be a litter-mate stand in for Peter when he came to our home to make the transition a little easier. We imagined Peter and Buddy (that's what we named him, cause he's his buddy, get it?) pal-ing around and being friends forever, and then cuddling up at night and not whining or crying for his brothers back in Indiana at all.

And when we first got Peter, that's what happened:

And then, one day, Peter mounted. What happened next I hardly need to explain. You get the idea. I was horrified. DISGUSTED.

I yelled in his direction to get his attention and promptly hid Buddy. But at night I didn't have the heart to make Peter sleep by himself, he was still such a little dude, so every night Peter got Buddy back, and every afternoon when Peter was feeling randy and started harrassing poor Buddy, I'd hide him again, and so on and so forth.

But lately, Buddy has fallen by the wayside as Peter Pan has found a new lover. The cat down the hall. It was adorbale. When we'd go for walks he'd stop by the kitty's door and sniff and sniff. The cat loves Peter back just as much and would sniff from the other side of the door. We could see his legs and face through the shadows in under the door, and always giggled that Peter had a girlfriend. Nevermind it was an interspecies relationship, I mean after all I'm a 21st century gal. We're open minded.

One day we were talking with the kitty's owner and he mentioned how his cat would go bonkers any time Peter's jingling collar walked by in the hall outside. I laughed and told him that Peter is just as crazy for the cat, and that we call her his girlfriend. Yeah, he said, but our cat is a boy.

Duh duh duhuuhhh.

You know, it's alright. I mean, we tried to raise him to be a loving puppy, we never told him who he could or couldn't love. Really, I blame it on his metrodog lifestyle. A small dog in the little city, exposed to art and culture and fabulous gay clothing designers... I mean, it was bound to happen! So we're supportive of his lifestyle.

Let's just say today's bath was much sloppier than this one

DAILY PHOTO, 14 February 2006

Mattie

TUESDAY, 14 FEBRUARY 2006

Today I wore all black, and tonight Brandon and I have no plans, not because I dislike Valentine's Day or anything, but because Valentine's Day dislikes ME.

To properly give background to this I must explain that my maiden name is Lovin. This has set me up for a world of Valentine's expectations. For weeks before Valentine's day kids at school would tease me and say stupid things like, "Oooh, are you LOVIN Valentine's Day??" and "I'm LOVIN this or that" and blah blah blah you get the picture.

In high school I embraced it and would pass out cheesy valentines to friends and we'd joke around about it all and it was kinda fun. Up till this point I'd never had a real live boyfriend (a subject suited for a whole entry in and of itself so we won't go there now) and of course I planned and dreamed for the day when I'd stop giving stupid paper hearts to friends and have a boyfriend to get me gifts and take me to dinner. Sigh.

So when I actually had a boyfriend my freshman year of college (a long-distance boyfriend, ugh) I, of course, had massive, unrealistic expectations and knew FOR SURE that this was going to be the best Valentine's Day OF MY LIFE.

Then Valentine's Day rolled around and the boyfriend at the time who shall remain nameless but let's just say that he is/was a LOSER completely forgot Valentine's Day. FORGOT. I sent him what little I could afford on my student's budget (I think I used my money from my meal card and most likely starved for two days to do it) and in return he did SQUAT. And that night on the phone when I brought it up, trying to be all coy and maybe-it's-still-in-the-mail, he pulled the whole "huh? was I supposed to send you something?" crap.

Fast forward to the Valentine's Day where I had a different boyfriend - and not just a boyfriend! an almost-fiancee boyfriend! named Brandon! (hint, this is the guy I'm married to now)- and I was thinking OF COURSE this is going to be the Valentine's Day that rocks my world and fulfills my surname!

So we made plans to go out for a Valentine's Day breakfast, you know, start the day out right, and then after a long day of classes, meet up for a romantic dinner. And we agreed that we would exchange gifts over breakfast, right? So, being the poor student still and being full of love and creativity and wanting to show that even though I couldn't get him something nice I could at least dedicate a good chunk of my time to a thoughtful gift, I set out to making a homemade gift to set all time records for awesome homemade gifts.

Internet, I made him a mailbox, a bright red mailbox, with a mailbox flag with a heart at the top, and I stuffed that mailbox with homemade cards and homemade envelopes. The addresses on the envelopes (oh yes, I addressed the envelopes, and yes, this is just the sort of cheesy, over-the-top that girlfriends from hell do for their unsuspecting boyfriends that get bad raps for all girlfriends, and quickly in my defense let me just say that we were PRACTICALLY ENGAGED and I had SEEN THE RING so there) where was I? Right, I'd addressed the envelopes with dates like the the date of our first date, which was the somethingth of April, so it was like 42002 or something Branbury Ave (which was the place we were living at the time) and yadda yadda yadda. IT WAS CUTE, DAMNIT. And I filled the mailbox with candy and it was meant to be something you eat and then throw away in lieu of an X-Box or whatever I would have gotten him with money. Whew! I could have just told you I hand-made something and that it was thoughtful, but instead I've gone on and on and I suppose I could erase it all and start over, but then this blog wouldn't be real. So, it stays.

Anyway. We meet for breakfast. I give him my aforementioned Thoughtful Gift. He gives me, wait for it, an N*Sync candle. Ha-ha, he says, I got it at Hallmark THIS MORNING and thought it was FUNNY. FUNNY!

The fact that there ever was a wedding after this is miraculous, I know that's what you're thinking. AND YOU'RE RIGHT.

So during breakfast the thoughts are swimming in my head and I'm going, okay, don't be a retarded girlfriend and just let it go, there's always this romantic dinner, I'M SURE THAT WASN'T IT. And then, just to cover my bases in case that WAS it, I told him that it was cute and it'll be funny to put it next to the NICE THING he was saving for tonight. Heh heh, smooth huh. Yeah I know, not so much.

So while I'm at school I find out later that he is combing the mall trying to find a nice gift, cause huh, he hadn't figured on that before! But I don't know this at the time.

Dinner rolls around. He picks me up. Brought back down to earth by the morning let-down I scrapped my cute outfit and went for a more casual outfit just in case things followed suit, and good thing, too, cause the bonehead didn't make reservations and we wound up driving from one packed 2-hour wait restaurant to another while I started to realize I was practically engaged to the least romantic man ever, and that I was SO going to plan the Valentine's Day dinners from now on.

We found a place, a great place, and I had sushi for the first time, and loved it. And it turned out Brandon had found something at the mall while shopping in a panic: a silver bracelet he'd had engraved with "Forever My Lovin." (Quick background: I'd been struggling with whether to take his last name or keep mine, which I loved, and this, darn it, was very thoughtful. It made me teary-eyed.)

This wonderful, sweet gift and this surprisingly great restaurant made up for the wonky morning and I had a nice, if not slightly emotionally-unstable, first-Valentine's-with-Brandon memory.

But lest you think that Brandon learned his lesson... the next year I did something incredibly thoughtful which Brandon had no hope in the world of topping, and he in turn tried to top it by doing NOTHING. NOT EVEN A CARD, FOLKS. But, he did find a nice sushi place, thus starting a Valentine's Sushi Tradition.

Next year. This one is the kicker, guys. The reward for still reading (and I know you deserve an award at this point). This year, tired of the nonsense, I took matters into my own hands. Instead of hoping for thoughtfulness and sincerity, I told Brandon what I wanted, how much it cost, and where to get it. Then, I procured the sushi, and waited for it all to fall into place. And it did! And it was great! So afterwards we stopped by my parents' house (ooh, romantic) and while we were there my parents' little puppy split her stitches from being spayed and her intestines fell out all over the living room floor.

This little puppy, bless her heart, was a source of trouble for my parents. Mattie was unpotty-trained and stubborn. She was nothing like their older dog, Monty, who was perfect. She was just a handful.

Once when I wasn't working and my parents had had enough, I took Mattie for a week to try and potty train her. She needed a lot of attention, which my parents were too busy to provide, and the two of us created a wonderful bond. She was my girl, and I loved her very much. My parents took her in have her spayed, and then weren't able to watch and make sure she wasn't chewing her stitches. Slowly, they'd been eroding.

That night she was acting strangely. We came in and through the din of saying hellos and smelling flower bouquets I never stooped down scooped up my little girl to give her a hello kiss and rub behind the ears. She'd been hiding under the couch being a bit shy. After we'd been there for 15 minutes, she made a very struggled effort to come and say hello to me. As she came up she suddenly began to screech. It was the worst noise I'd ever heard, so bad I plugged my ears and shut my eyes. She was in severe pain and it scared me so much I couldn't help her.

She dashed back under the couch, yelping. My mom, yelling over the puppy screams, said that I'd probably stepped on her foot. But I hadn't, and as I watched her scoot under the couch I saw a flash of red and through the bizarre haze of noise and panic I realized it was her insides.

I think I screamed. My dad saw and ran and picked her up, stuffing her intestines back inside. Brandon ran to help, my mom was screaming "Take her to the vet!" They rushed out the door before I could even process what was happening. After they were gone I realized I never got to say hello. Isn't that silly? I really thought of her as mine, and in that moment I was absolutely devastated, and so upset with myself that I hadn't been there first to pick her up and take her away.

Monty was going bananas at this point. It's really amazing how animals sense things and react. He was smelling her blood and knowing something was really wrong and began barking and running around the living room all crazed. My mom told me to take care of him, so I picked him up and ran with him to the laundry room. We sat there crying together, both of us sobbing, well I was sobbing, Monty was whining the saddest whine I'd ever heard. I held him and told him it was going to be okay and that it was just a cut.

She wasn't okay. By the time Brandon and my dad found the emergency vet open that late at night she had wiggled and squirmed her intestines almost completely out of her body. In her pain she'd bit a hole in my dad's ear. When the vet saw her he knew there was nothing they could do. My dad says that putting her down was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He says in that moment he realized all the times he hadn't been there for her and what a sweet girl she really was, and all he had was regret. He told her she was a good dog, that he loved her, and they put her down. He came home covered in blood and bile, and told me he didn't want my little brother to see it, so he went straight up to change. When he came down he looked 10 years older, and so so sad.

I've had family members die but it was never as difficult to get over as Mattie's death. For months afterward just the thought of her would send me into tears. Sometimes on the phone with my dad we'd both get choked up talking about it. In the end, I feel like she was my girl, and I was the one who should have been there for her. It was hard. Even now, to write about it makes me cry.

So this year all bets were off. Really, Valentine's Day is a silly holiday and it was wrong of me to put so much emphasis on it to the detriment of my poor husband's sanity. So this year we had a non-Valentine's Day. We went out to dinner last night, at 5 p.m., wearing sweats. Tonight I gave Peter Pan a bath and later I'll do laundry. We're ordering delivery.

I called my dad today and we had a nice chat about Mattie. He'd been planning for months to get another dog this year for Valentine's Day, so today would no longer be the Day Mattie Died but the day a new puppy came home. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Normally, my dad goes all out for Valentine's Day. This year, just like us, he's planned nothing.

But, this not doing anything is nice. Takes the edge off. No expectations. I hope you all are able to enjoy Valentine's Day without putting stress on it like I did. That you're with your loved ones and that you feel love. I think I'll always feel love on Valentine's Day - love for a scrappy dog who pooped in the dining room and left us too early.