Would you have sex with this man?

Aside from the fact that money does not fall from the sky (seriously, if that Tokyo handout happened in NYC, I guaran-damn-tee you nobody would be turning it in) Cape Cod is a pretty amazing place. Giant sand dunes overlooking the ocean, the heady scent of pine and damp grass and sea salt, hawks and bunnies and fireflies and a really fucking bright moon... (Of course it doesn't hurt to stay in a fabulous ultra-mod pad with sweeping views of the beach and a killer pool.) While I'm happy to be home, New York is decidedly lacking in the natural beauty department. (No Kristopher, our ladies don't count.)

I spent my first day back being followed by the cats (the Prozac-prone black one still won't let me out of her sight. She follows me from room to room, shadowing me like a small, furry ghost) and catching up on crap television. SPEAKING OF, The Two Coreys?

(insert sound of head exploding)

I'm not sure what I expected (aside from brilliance) but this thing is deader than these boys' careers. (I love how in the credits they introduce Feldman as a "working actor". A-wha?) Sure it's a phony premise (whatevs, it's TV) but everything is so set up, so REHEARSED, that even the pretense of realism is gone. In the first episode (and by "first episode" I clearly mean "the five minutes that I managed to sit through") you actually see Corey Feldman waiting for his cue before "spontaneously" making out with his wife in the hot tub. (Gee, wouldn't it be funny if Corey Haim "spontaneously interrupted" them? Oh look! There he goes!)

The only redeeming thing - and it's a small one - is watching the Haimster. This dude did so many drugs that his brain is Capital F Fried. While I sound like an awful human being (Watching brain damage is fun!) he's so out of it that he's actually, dare I say, entertaining. Not entertaining enough to keep me watching, but still.

On the other hand there's Rock of Love, Bret Michael's skankfest. Here's what I love about this thing - the man has NO SHAME. He's there to live in a house with twenty of the "most beautiful women in the world" (his words, not mine) and screw as many of them as possible. No faux-redeeming "I just want to find my soulmate" booshit here - just strippers, booze, and plenty of disasterous fashion choices. How skanky is all this? In the last episode the man attached an electrode to his penis so he could measure his arousal levels while the women gave him phone sex.

Two words: Awe-some.

I'll write a real one soon

That's it, I'm moving to Tokyo.

I'm about to embarrass myself

Okay, one quickie before I'm off: I have a new favorite show.

"Scott Baio Is 45 And Single"

Okay first off, the title is killer. What a way to cut to the chase! I have no real affection for Chachi - frankly I couldn't care less why he's 45 and single (although after watching the first episode I'm not tremendously surprised) - but the show is actually really compelling. He's - gasp - taking this stuff seriously! Who goes on reality television to deal with reality?! He seems genuinely upset about the fact that he can't commit and can't understand why. (His choice of wardrobe and women could have something to do with it. The whole long-sleeve-shirts-under-ironic-tees look? You're 45. Take a couple of Grow Up pills and call me in the morning. And don't get me started on your girlfriend...) But to me, the biggest question is not why Scott Baio Is 45 And Single, but how Scott Baio still manages to have an agent. Has he done anything since Charles In Charge? He must be making some kind of money because his house is amazing. Flat screen TV, koi pond, nice views... Those Happy Days residuals must be pretty freaking sweet, that's all I have to say.

Speaking of bad shows, anybody caught Rock of Love, the new Bret Michaels dating show? Le awesome, peeps. Le awesome.

HP Spoilers! (Kidding. Kidding.)

I'm off to Cape Cod to bask by the sea and enjoy a sweet pad (we won't discuss how much rentals on the Cape cost per week... not that I'm paying) and eat lots of food and swim in the pool and generally prance around pretending I'm rich.

Oh, and watch a kid a little too.

I won't have computer access so no postings for a while but I should have plenty to say when I get back.

Thank god I'm getting out of Dodge for the week because trying to avoid all the Harry Potter spoilers is exhausting. Unfortunately I won't be able to read the damn thing until Matt gets back in August. (I refuse to buy two copies.) My prediction (based on absolutely nothing)? Harry dies, Neville dies, Alan Rickman dies. The only two left standing are Hermione and Ron, and maybe Ginny Weasley. Unless Bruce Willis or one of the Transformers busts in to kick Voldemort's ass. That'd be awesome.

Apparently something really big went BOOM near Grand Central yesterday. Seeing as how Grand Central isn't very far from my humble abode, it shook me a bit. I mean the fact that things blow up is scary, but mostly I'm concerned with that giant plume of smoke. This, from this morning's top headline:

"ASBESTOS IN DUST, NOT AIR AFTER NEW YORK BLAST"

Oh, so it was in the dust! You mean that dust right there? The dust that reportedly wafted as high as the nearby Chrystler Building? GOOD THING IT DIDN'T GET INTO THE AIR.

Call me a skeptic, but after 9/11 and the whole Guiliani/EPA battle (they claim he muzzled them when told the air wasn't safe), telling me that there was asbestos in the dust but not the air feels a touch "truthy", to borrow a Colbert-ism. When I go out today, remind me to wear my cat litter mask. (Remind me to blog about my cat litter mask...)

Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.

Yes, gentle readers, that is indeed a slice of bacon. A slice of bacon on a candy bar.

I was wandering around SoHo today when I happened upon Vosges, my favorite chocolate shop in all of NYC. Vosges is known for coming up with unexpectly delicious flavor combos - things like the Goji Chocolate Bar (tibetan goji berries, pink Himalayan salt and deep milk chocolate) or their Naga Bar (sweet Indian curry powder, coconut flakes and chocolate) so when I saw this, their newest creation, I was curious.

And by "curious" I mean "totally nasted out".

Don't get me wrong, I get it. The whole salty/sweet thing? Huge turn on. Come on, a few slices of really crisp bacon dipped in maple syrup? I dare you to deny the delicious. But bacon and chocolate? Not a ride I wanted to go on. Still, I couldn't help noticing that the bars - the bacon-chocolate bars - were completely sold out. And as we all know, if there's a bandwagon on which I can jump, I will take a flying leap.

I turned to the Buddy Holly-esque countergay and held up the bar, scrunching my nose skeptically.

"Oh honey," he said, lowering his voice, "it is un-be-lievable." Then he said the magic words:

"LET ME SEE IF I HAVE ANY SAMPLES."

He held out the box reverently, his eyes shining with anticipation. I took my time, hunting for the largest piece, and popped it into my mouth.

It was...

It was...

Friends, I think I was Punked.

Chocolate covered bacon. I just ate a piece of chocolate covered bacon. Just thinking about it makes my innards queasy. Why?! Why would someone do this to chocolate? And more specifically, why would someone eat it?! (Well, it was free...) But as stupid as I may be, remember this: there are at least a dozen other people walking around with $8 bacon bars tucked in their bags. I may be dumb, but I ain't that dumb.

Is there a Cat Whisperer?

HAPPY BASTILLE DAY! Eat some crepes! French kiss your wife! Behead a neighbor!

It's Saturday night in NYC and what am I doing? Laundry. That's been the extent of my day. I almost made it to the new Harry Potter this afternoon but I got distracted by the thought of lunch. It doesn't take much to get me off track these days. When I told Matt that pregnant women's brains shrink 8% he said the sweetest thing...

"I thought you looked a little dumber!"

'Til death do us part, folks.

Speaking of (husbands, not death), that man's been gone a long time. I miss him, and not just because he entertains the cats. And carries all the laundry. And helps me clean the house. And entertains the cats. And lifts the really heavy mattress which technically I'm not supposed to do but if I don't I'll be sleeping sheetless for the next three weeks. And entertains the cats. Seriously, the hardest part of his being gone is the lack of sleep. The cats are still - STILL - on a rampage. Val runs around the house screaming bloody murder which is nice and direct but Tinkerbell... she's more subtle.

12:30 am: You've just started nodding off. Then you feel something coming toward you. You open your eyes just in time to see a small, stinky paw reaching toward your face.

Lather, rinse, repeat roughly seventy-two more times and you've got a decent idea what my nights are like. Sure, it's almost cute - until you catch a whiff and remember where that paw has been. Between the yelling and the pawing (don't get me started on my bladder) sleep deprivation ain't waiting for no squawking kid. Still, I've got a week off coming up which is beyond awesome. Tomorrow I have big plans to tidy the place for a visiting K. Polly. He's rumored to be staying chez Ali but seeing as how he has giant make-out plans for this trip (no, not involving me) I'm not sure how much time he'll actually spend here. Still, I am my mother's child which means a trip to Trader Joe's and some significant de-cat hairing of the couch. At least until lunch.

Dun-dun. Dun-dun-dun-dun...

I learned two very important things while on vacation in Florida:

- I need to live near the ocean

- You couldn't pay me to live in Ft. Lauderdale

Call me a killjoy but I have yet to understand the appeal of binge drinking, neon, Harleys, henna tattoos, or Hooters. Clearly I'm missing the fundamental genome that finds listening to John Cougar Mellencamp at Guantanamo levels awesome. And while my inner Kansan loves me some chain restaurants, shelling out $17 for the fish 'n chip platter at Bubba Gump's in a city where locally caught seafood is king just seems wrong. (Not that that stopped me from ordering the fish 'n chips at Bubba Gump's, mind you. But I felt hella guilty about it.)

Lest you think my vacation was all frat boys and fake tans, there was a little something called the ocean just two blocks away. Travel and Leisure Magazine just named the Ft. Laudedale public beach one of the best and I can totally see why. The water was bathtub warm and surprisingly clear, and beach chairs and umbrellas are provided (gratis in the a.m., $10 a pop when the heat kicks in). There was a migrating school of minnows right by the shore and I got to spend some quality time surrounded by millions - seriously, millions - of tiny, silvery fish. At one point I was joking with a supremely hot Irishman (as with most of the eye candy on the beach, gay, gay, gay) about the perils of standing in the middle of a school of fish (cue the theme to "Jaws") when he calmly informed me that a week earlier he'd been standing in the very same spot when suddenly all the minnows started leaping. He wasn't sure what was happening until he looked down and saw the fin.

The FIN.

He said the shark was about 8 feet long and seemed to have absolutely no interest in him, which is cold comfort if you ask me. The craziest part is that the lifeguard didn't seem to care. He simply said thanks and sat right back down. Apparently there has never been a shark attack that far south so he wasn't worried. (Uh, to me that just means there's a first time for everything.)

Needless to say, I kept my eyes peeled for leaping fish.

Speaking of fish - at the risk of sounding like a dumbass, is mahi-mahi dolphin? I ask because mahi-mahi was described on almost every menu in Ft. Lauderdale as dolphin meat. Could this possibly be true? Have I spent the bulk of my adult life eating Flipper?! 'Scuze me whilst I Google....

*UPDATE: While mahi-mahi is part of a species of fish called "dolphin", it is in no way related to the mammal. To which I say "whew".

Slowly but surely, I'll get back to this. Takes a girl a while to recover from three solid days of fried food and neon.

New Yorkers never cease to amaze me.

Today I had a very New York experience. There was a gang fight in the subway car next to mine and one of the guys got stabbed.

I discovered that there was a gang fight in the subway car next to mine because all of a sudden half the car went running to the window to watch. Not only did they watch, people actually cheered them on! Oh yeah! I'm sitting there panicking that they're going to pull out guns and storm our car (I was all set to scramble under the seats) but luckily we reached our stop without it raining bullets (or knives, whatever). As I was racing out of there I couldn't help but notice that most of the people from the stabbing car were wandering out all slow and easy, like nothing had happened. A few people did scream for the conductor to call 9-1-1 but aside from that it was business as usual.

Me? I hauled ass upstairs to safety. I got a kid in my belly, I don't need to feign cool.

Boys, bees, and beaches

Okay friends, it's time to mark your calendars: Sunday, July 29th, A&E

"The Two Coreys"

That's right, Feldog and the Haimster are back and I'll be first in line to watch the train wreck. (Seriously, it's in my day planner. Highlighted.) Yes it's going to suck. Yes, I'm going to hate that santimonious son-of-a-bitch Corey Feldman even more than I did when he was on The Surreal Life and yes, Corey Haim now looks like the kind of guy who keeps trying to squeegee your windshield but I cannot wait (cannot wait!) to see it. They took Lohan's 21st birthday bash away from me but this baby's mine, all mine.

In other news, it's cherry season at the farmer's market. Next to tomato season, cherry season is my absolute fave. I don't get that excited about the strawberries for some reason (although after listening to a report on NPR about how store-bought strawberries are grown I'll never eat shortcake again) but the cherries totally get me. I also bought some fantastic lettuce there last weekend. (Fear not, dear husband. It was only $4.50.) Talk about fresh picked! (How fresh was it, you ask?) So fresh I found a freaking BEE in it. And it was still alive!

I'm getting ready to head to Ft. Lauderdale this weekend for some much-needed R&R with dad. We're staying at a place called the Ask Me Inn. (Swear to Christ.) It's supposed to be quite lovely and very close to the beach which is really all I care about. Speaking of, yesterday Matt called me from the beach and announced that we are moving to California. So there's that.