Selected Shorts at Symphony Space

I keep meaning to take in a Selected Shorts performance, and now it seems that the final program in this year's series is upon us. And look, Robert Sean Leonard, who I had a crush on back in the day from his work in Dead Poet's Society and Swing Kids, will be reading a Jonathan Lethem story that I've heard great things about. So I'm a-goin'. Anyone interested in going? Here's an excerpt from the website:

The final evening of the Selected Shorts season features four diverse tales of things lost and found.“The Spray” by Jonathan Lethem, read by Robert Sean Leonard, “Hanwell in Hell” by Zadie Smith, read by actor David Strathairn, “Death of the Right Fielder” by Stuart Dybek, read by Stephen Lang and “The Fine Art of Sighing” by Bernard Cooper, read by actor Isaiah Sheffer, explores the deep joy in sighing, a mysterious occurrence on the baseball field, a spray that makes missing things appear and a daughter's growing understanding of her father.

The performance is May 25th at 6:30pm, on a Wednesday night and the tickets cost like $25.

No Disresepct to my Homegirl O

A great post by Jennifer Weiner, author of Good in Bed, about why it is pathetic to place the entire future of contemporary literature sales in Oprah's hands.

They Just Want to Make Sure I'm Paying Attention

So I'm flipping through my German grammar review book, trying to remember how to express the tense "to have been", when I come across this rather random verb valency chart. I really can't figure out what the point is, or how they chose which verbs to include, but that is now well besides the point, because I can't get beyond the first example in the chart:

Der Nackte Affe hat den Penis/das Hirn.

Let me translate for you friends:

The naked monkey has the penis/the brain.

Pardon?

First of all, why not "a penis"/"a brain"? Whose penis does the naked monkey's have? His own (the penis of the monkey)? The zookeeper's (the penis of the zookeeper)? And wouldn't the monkey have a penis regardless of being naked? In fact, when is a monkey not naked? Do the grammarians want to clarify here than we're not talking about one of those Bedtime for Bonzo showbiz chimps? Or were they counting on the fact that no one would probably make it all the way to page 137 of Essential German Grammar?

The Nicest Thing Just Happened to Me

Little Boss just came up to me and said, "So, what did the guys do for you yesterday? Did they take you out?"

I just gave him a long blank look. I had no idea what he was talking about. Does he think its my birthday? Wait, is it my birthday? No, I'm pretty sure it is not.

"You know. Administrative Professionals Day."

This elicited loud peals of laughter from me.

"What? You're not an Administrative Professional?"

"Yes, I am but we didn't..."

And from behind his back Little Boss produces a large golden Godiva bag. I was so surprised (I didn't even know yesterday was anything more complicated than "Wednesday") my hand flew over my mouth and I exclaimed his name. He presented me with a large box of chocolates (The Milk Chocolate Assortment; this makes that one Peanut Butter Cup I've been squirrelling away in my purse look rather pathetic).

"This is not to demean your position, but to glorify it. Read the card," he said.

"Is the note auf Deutsch?" I asked.

"Hell, it's in broken English." He thanked me for my help and support and then continued to sincerely thank me. My guys may be a little brusk sometimes but they are generally appreciative and I am very grateful. I'm lucky to be here. So to honor this special day, I am actually now going to attempt to do some work.

Admittedly, I was the one eating dry cereal with my fingers...

...but at least I wasn't the one who brought my American Girl Doll on the train.

A Comparison:

Nine year old girl on F Train, wearing: pink skirt, pink sweater, pink vest, pink sunglasses, pink (Barbie) backpack, black boots. Reading: Stuart Little by E.B. White

Cupcake on the F Train this morning wearing: pink tee, pink cardigan, pink shoes, pink bag, pink jacket, black pants. Reading: Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson.

See, kid? You have nothing to fear from adulthood. Except rent destabilization. And dying alone.

You Talking to Me?

Is anyone interested in checking out some of the action at the Tribeca Film Festival this weekend? I'd be down with checking out some new/short/foreign/indie films.

Queen for a Day

It's so nice when a friend calls you at the office from her office and you can both congratulate each other on what big girls you are.

Here are some gems from my conversation with Queenie.

Regarding her new crush:

Queenie: No, no. He's self-made. That's hot.
Cupcake: Yeah, self-made is hot.

Queenie: I was at a party the other night and he was mixing martinis in a Ziploc container ... and I just love how his last name has so many syllables. He even has a "Z"! Who has a "Z"?

Queenie: The only problem is, he's an atheist and a vegetarian.
Cupcake: An atheist and a vegetarian? I could almost handle an atheist, but a vegetarian? That's going to be a problem.
Queenie: Yeah, it's the opposite for me, but I knew you'd say that.

Regarding how we spend our free time:

Cupcake: You're definitely going on my blog today. This whole conversation is blog-worthy.


Queenie: Do you ever go to Craig's List?
Cupcake: Yeah. (Duh).
Queenie: Do you ever look at the personals?
Cupcake: Hell, I've dated from the Craig's List personals.
Queenie: But do you ever look at the really dirty ones?
Cupcake: Of course!
Queenie: Me too. Especially the "men for men". I'm fascinated by them. What kind of person am I?
Cupcake: Well, you're a person who is a lot like me, but I don't know if that's any comfort...

Time to Sew a Canadian Flag patch on your Backpack

Trust The Onion to cut out the partisan bullshit and tell it like it really is.

Report: US Foreign Policy Hurting American Students' Chances of Getting Laid Abroad

Boris, can you hear me?

I just spent two hours on the phone with an IT guy in Germany named Boris. Two hours. I've had dates and surgeries that lasted less than two hours. I haven't spent two consecutive hours with my best friend since, oh, February? It was rather cozy, speaking a hodge podge of German and English, discussing the finer points of King Of Queens and making fun of the Spanish while waiting for files to copy, and print jobs to clear. And when he accessed my desktop through remote access, there was something so intimate about having him in my PC, and he could see everything I could see and thereby validate all my tech concerns. Yes, your print memory is low, it's not all in your head. He even stayed late, an hour past the close of his work day to help me. And when I told him I'd call back tomorrow morning after a HP technician could be consulted, he told me he was looking forward to it.

AM New York Guy. FedEx Guy. IT Boris. Guy at the Laundry who told me "Nancy" was one of the first English words he learned ... what the hell? How can I be such a total dating amateur, so relationship-retarded and yet hit it off with every customer service representitive who stumbles into my strange, small universe?

Maybe I should stop buying stamps online and actually go to the Post Office. Who knows? I might get lucky.

She Just Walks Around With It

Hey I found a new blog that I like: She Just Walks Around With It.

It's kind of like a West Coast Cupcake, our writing styles and topics are very similar, leading me once more to the crushing realization that I am actually not unique. At all.

"let's face it. ObGyns are the Voldemorts of doctors."

She also provides this helpful equation:

[aside: you know, i used to tell my boyfriend all my silly goings-on throughout the day. now i tell my blog. you do the math. (KS + Blog = my blog is my boyfriend = SPINSTER)]

A little close to home, Kristy, but hey, we're laughing on the outside...

Happy Feet?

Dude. It should not be this difficult to find an Adult Tap Dance Class in Brooklyn. If you know of one, please drop an email.

What is This Thing (Called Love)?

To the woman from the law office who shares the ladies' room on the 14th Floor with me:

At first when I heard you talking I thought that someone else had followed you into the rest room, but there was only one set of foot falls. Then when I heard the faraway man's voice, I realized you were talking on your cell phone. Not only did you expose him to your gushing urination, then tell him, "Hold on, I'm in the bathroom," (just in case he mistakenly thought you had taken a day trip to Niagra), you then went on to subject him to some (albeit ladylike) grunts before resuming your conversation about what the two of you would watch together on TV tonight.

My question for you is, is this what people mean when they talk about love? I'm just asking because I don't know.

"I am a very important person with an active social life*. I cannot just sit around waiting for you to grace God's greatest borough.

*Please note, "active social life" is relative. For example, compared to a Carmelite nun, I am Paris Hilton."


An excerpt from an email sent to Garrett this morning. He is in the odd habit of calling me on his way out of Brooklyn. This makes no sense seeing as how ever since the Dodgers left, I am the big attraction in this hood. I don't know what this is about, but if I had to guess I'd say it has something to do with a certain redhead from Indiana.

I received a certificate of completion for the Seminar I attended in Germany. I am quite proud. I showed it to the boss but he wasn't too enthusiastic. I think on my lunch break I'll go purchase some fruit-shaped magnets so I can hang it on the fridge in the kitchen.

A Conversation with my Taxi Driver in Germany

Scene: April 2005. A small town outside Mainz. The driver picked me up at the Frankfurt Airport. Unable to find the conference center, we are momentarily lost. Driver pulls out the map.

"I see, I see. It is back there. We passed it. You didn't say anything!"

"I did not know. It is my first time here."

"Where are you from?"

"New York."

"New York? New York is here in this place?"

"Well, I am here. For a few days."

"You are American or German? Or German-American?"

"Come on. I'm American. You don't think my German is terrible?"

"No, not at all. Well, it sounded a little strange, but I thought 'perhaps she comes from Bavaria'. [...] You traveled here alone?"

"Yes, but three of my colleagues are arriving tomorrow. I'll meet them in Mainz."

"But your husband is in New York?"

"I don't have a husband. I am too young."

"A boyfriend, then?"

"No, no boyfriend."

"No boyfriend either!"

"No, unfortunately not."

"Why 'unfortunately'? Do you want a boyfriend or not? If you want one, go out and get one. It is simple."

"I don't know. Yeah, I guess I want one. These are hard questions."

"So, what are you doing tonight around 6:00pm?"

[...]

Arriving at my destination, the driver asks, "So, you don't want me to be your boyfriend?"

"I don't want a German boyfriend."

"Why not? What is wrong with German men?"

"Nothing, but I live in New York. What am I going to do with a German boyfriend?"

"I can be your boyfriend! I am a Turk! Not German, Turk!"

"Will you come and live in New York?"

"Well, you see, I have a wife and three children."

"That is a problem."

"It is a big problem."

When will I learn?

Tastee D-Lite, I can't believe I fell for it again. Everyday I walk by and see your flavors, and everyday I get exctied, because everyday I forget that all of your flavors tast exactly the same. There is not even a taste diferential between brown Tastee D-Lite and white Tastee D-Lite. The only exception to this rule is Cherry Tastee D-Lite, which tastes like ass. I don't know about you, but I don't find that very delightful.

Today's flavors Peanut Butter and Jelly (which I've never tried just on the off chance that this does have a taste) and Butterscotch Fudge. Yum! I love butterscotch! Nope, no taste. No butterscotch taste, no fudge taste, no butter taste even. Tastee D-Lite tastes like wet. Well, you big frauds, you have sold your last kiddie cone with chocolate sprinkles to this cupcake!

Oh, I coined a new phrase:

hue-miliation (n.)- the embarassment that comes from realizing your new purple pants are the exact same shade as Barney the Dinosaur. I swear they didn't look like this in the store.

A Rollercoaster Ride of Emotions

Those of you who know me from time spent in another country back in the day will remember that I love Kinder Schockolade Uberraschungs-Eier, or chocolate Surprise Eggs. These little gems are made by a German chocolate company, and you get a hollow chocolate egg with milk chocolate on the outside and white chocolate on the inside (the chocolate quality is fair- other products in the Kinder line are much better). The big hook here is that inside the egg is a capsule filled with a toy surprise. Also, the toys have to be assembled, and these are not wimpy over-simplified toys. Some have taken me half an hour to assemble (keep in mind, however, that I am a Spaz).

I was complaining in Germany that I found a store to buy Surprise Eggs in New York, but one egg cost me $3.00. The other Frauen clearly thought I was crazy, because in Germany they retail for about 95 Euro cents. So, I was thrilled to find a Koren deli in Brooklyn stocking these beauties for only $1.19 USD. Of course, these particular eggs are imported from Poland, possibly why they are cheaper? and go by the catchy name "Kinder Niespodzianka".

I brought my Surprise Egg to work, opened it up, ate the chocolate as an afterthought and assembled my toy: a pink and orange dragon, whose assembly nearly caused my fingers to bleed. No problem! It's all part of the fun surprise! Then I saw an insert that advertised the Magical Kinder Egg Webiste. Joy!

The site has animation that made me giddy, and a choice of many, many languages. Let's play the Introduction again in Czech! Hooray! I even became a registered user so I could enjoy all the benefits of the site (location: "other country", age "24"). So I'm happily clicking away when the dancing egg asks me to enter my Magic Code. Wha? What Magic Code? They are showing an inset of a Magic Code that I should have found in my egg. Huh? Where is my damn Magic Code? I want to unlock the free games and qualify to win prizes and MORE SURPRISES! My life is so boring (not really). I need the excitement that only crappy European children-pandering chocolate-themed animation can provide!!

Perhaps I missed it in the capsule. I begin digging through the trash under my desk. "Where's my Magic Code? Where's my Magic Code?," I whine. I can now say with certainty, after emptying my 36 inch trash can, there was no Magic Code in my egg. Man, is anyone else tired of the Poles always getting the short end of the stick? Look at me! I'm a decision-making Kinder Executive, "Don't bother sending precious Magic Codes to Warsaw, those philistines won't appreciate them. Chosing between the two varieties of dish detergent at the store is all the excitement those folks can handle!"

I am starting a new quest to collect Kinder Surprise Magic Codes. Then I will deliver them to the children of Poland. Because that is the kind of person I am.

What I'm Reading Now

I'm reading a great novel now, I love discovering new fiction before some TV Schmuck picks it as a Book Club book and it immediately becomes over-exposed and trendy. This book came out in 2003, so I don't think we're in danger of Kelly Ripa giving it her stamp of approval. It's called Bruiser, by Ian Chorao. It's about a nine-year-old boy growing up on the Upper West Side in 1970s Manhattan. One day he agrees to runaway with the girl who lives across the alley... Wonderful narrative from a child's point of view, delightfully dark without being sentimental or self-indulgent.

"Teenage girls are all right, but I don't like the boys. Teenage boys look like lizards. Their eyes are always half shut, fooling you that they're calm and nice. But right then their eyes snap open wide. And they're running at you and you start runing, but they're bigger and faster and they catch you like nothing. You squirm, but they've got you tight. And that part feels goot at first, a little like being hugged, but they always do it harder until you can't help it, and you make funny squeaks because it feels like your insides are popping."

Assume the position.

Cupcakes, just got back from a fabulous lunch: chicken parmigana big enough to stretch into two meals and a slice of coconut layer cake at Buttercup Bakeshop, which I managed not to finish.
[Note]: cleaning the plate is a major victory in Cupcake's World. In Germany, when I didn't finish my meal at the Friday evening banquet I was told, "In Germany when you do not clean your plate we say you will bring bad weather tomorrow."

"What do I care what the weather is like here tomorrow? I'll be flying back to New York," I say, playing Ugly American.

"But you will bring rain for us," says baby-faced Martin. (More about sweet middle-school-esque mutual flirtation with older German colleague to follow later. Unless he finds this site). [End note]

So just in case your stomach is as full as mine, I advise you to get out your air-sick bags, forward the phone to voicemail and get ready to hurl. Of course, any young job-seeker in New York knows that the most desirable internships in the city go to the offspring of the wealthy via either direct or indirect means; the only 23-year olds I know who can afford to take an unpaid 40 hr per week internship in New York are getting serious financial aid from B.O.D. (Bank of Dad). Now New York Magazine confirms our worst fears:
"At a recent City Harvest fundraiser, Lot 1 at the silent auction was a semester-long internship at Deutsch Advertising, for which someone forked over $7,000. Then there was Lot 7, a summer internship with Jon Gordon 'currently co-president of production at Miramax' [which sold for $7,500, thanks Dad!]".

What's that? Haven't tossed your cookies yet? Then check out this piece about the convergence of religion, commerce and the aching desire to be hip: The new SoHo Synagogue, opening this fall, will offer "Orthodox services, "Torah cocktails", and organized trips to the Hamptons for Shabbat."

"We call it a boutique synagogue. You might have to RSVP. There might be a roped line. It will totally be a scene. But it's all kosher," reports the 28-year old Rabbi running the joint.

When are the Catholics going to take the hint and start pandering to me? Hello, Pope Bennedict? Can I call you Benny? Look, these Sunday morning services are really putting a cramp in my style, what with those being prime Bruch hours and all. Maybe we could shoot for a Tuesday evening? I could squeeze you in somewhere between Happy Hour and The Office. Thanks.

Learn from Cupcake's Mistakes

Introducing my new regular column which will be hosted on The STIR Foundation's Website. We're kicking things off with "Zip me up boss?": Lessons From My First Business Trip. You feedback on the piece or anything on the STIR website is encouraged.

Another Fashion Casualty

The Princess of Darkness just returned home, a little unexpectedly since I knew she was supposed to be at some Editorial Workshop.
"I just spent the last of my food money on a strapless bra. Because I really needed one."
"Um, do you have a function you're going to, and a dress that needs a strapless bra..."
"No, just, you know, shirts. Like what you're wearing. If I were you, I'd be fine. But I have this problem..."

Okay, point of contention. Princess of Darkness is always going on, well, she's always going on about something, but she's also always going on about how she has these double D boobs that are just another cross she must bear in the passion play that is her daily existence. Here's the rub: no way she's a double D. She's not bigger than me, not that I would take issue about this with any other person but, there you are. I'm Italian. I've got relatives with boobs so big they couldn't breast feed out of fear they would smother the baby. POD, you're fine. Maybe you only think your boobs are so big becuase you've haven't been naked since adolescence since you are Brittish and therefore oddly prudish. You're supposed to measure your bust with your bra off.

Thirty seconds of silence.

"Hey Nancy? Do want a Jack and Coke and to go to Barnes and Noble? Or does that only sound attractive to me?"
"Uh, no thanks." What I would really like is more quiet alone time.

One minute of silence.

"So, I'm totally slacking off right now, I'm supposed to be someplace."
"Yeah, your workshop, I know."
"But I walked all the way down there and looked in but compared to the other women there I looked like I was dressed like a homeless woman and I just couldn't handle it. So I turned around, bought a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bag of peanuts and got on the train."
"And a strapless bra."
"And a strapless bra."

I sigh out her name. "Don't let those women intimidate you. Just hold your head up and act like you belong there." Cupcakes, I'm tired of conceeding New York to them, the women SmartyCake calls "the girls with the pointy toed boots." They're stealing our men, they're stealing our hang-out spots, alumnae networking events, copy-editing workshops, paid internships and hell, they're even stealing Brooklyn. No more. I will not be drummed out of any more events or places because I'm feeling fashionably inadequate. (To say nothing of the pretty factor; compared to some of my Barbie Doll contemporaries in this city I feel like a Smurf. I want to chill in the Dream House, but I know I'll just be dragged out to back up He-Man in the siege at Skelator's Castle). Cupcakes, let's take back this city.

Two minutes of silence.

"Nancy, tell me a story before I go out?"
"No, I don't think so," I say through my closed bedroom door. At the moment I'd settle for taking back my personal space.

Tonight, a very special Muppet Babies.

Ever wonder what your favorite TV Show would be like if Art Garfunkel made a guest appearance? McSweeney's knows.

Anything with Interns is funnier.

Do you like Overheard in New York?

Do you have a job?

Then you'll love Overheard in the Office.

If you love something, set it free...

AM New York Guy: I admit it, I am a coward. I purposely went out of my way today so that I wouldn't have to pass you. It's just that, well, I think we both know our relationship took a big step forward yesterday, and I'm just not sure how I want to proceed.

When I first started exiting on your side of the 53rd and Lexington Ave. Station, it seemed as though you were paying special attention to me, but I figured that I must have been mistaken. Still, I tried to always say "No thank you," when you attempted to hand me an AM New York. Hey, I understand it must be frustrating, after all, it's a free paper. You're giving it away for free, and people still aren't interested. Trust me, I can relate. But after a couple months, you became more brazen, walking with me, and we began our sweet little 30 seconds of flirting a day. Somedays I tried to sneak past you, in a crowd of people, but I know you always saw me, even when you didn't call out to me. Then, last week, you began whacking me with the paper, saying, "You're going to take one, take a paper."

Still, I demurred, blushing the whole time, I'm sure. Then I left the country for a few days. How to explain! I didn't want you to think I was avoiding you, actually I found being wacked with a free tabloid rather endearing. So yesterday, to celebrate my return, my heart was softened. When you said "I'm comin' to bother you, I'm comin' to bother you," what could I do but reach out and take a paper?

"Finally," you said. "Thank you."

I tried to act like it was no big deal, quickly folding the paper into my tote bag, but your effusive praise followed me past the Au Bon Pain and up the stairs.

AM New York Guy, where do we go from here? I just couldn't face you again today, so I exited out the other side. Did you see me? Did you think, gasp, I was going to take a Metro from your rival? Never, never I swear to you. Look, what we have is really special, and I don't want to mess it up. I just need to figure out what I want. Do I want to take the paper everyday? Can I go back to not taking a paper after we've taken this big step? I just need ... some time ... and space.

Home Again, Home Again.

Well, I returned home safely from Mainz. Honnestly, I was a little sad to leave. From the instant I arrived I was treated like a total Rock Star, old friend, little sister, or valuable member of the team. Also, I was killing there. Apparently, I'm very funny in German. I thought, I should move here, I could be the next Seinfeld... If it weren't for the gorgeous weather I returned to here in the New York, it would be a total bummer indeed.

Watch this space for boring details and anecdotes that probably don't translate very well.

Sie können mich einen kleiner, runder Kuchen nennen

because I am unterwegs, baby.

Später gators. Cupcake loves you all. Now hold my calls.

Before this vein in the back of my head explodes...

does anyone else want to get in on this and ask for one impossible thing that absolutely positively had to be done half an hour ago? Last call.

They Forgot "Lyrical Gangster"

Thanks to Googlism:

"Nancy is close to going to hell"

"Nancy is no stranger to mixed wrestling"

"Nancy is so hot right now"

"Nancy is no longer to be feared as the perfectly dressed river heights goddess"

"Nancy is a residential robot here at acroname"

more

STRESS.

Just go to your happy place, Nancy, just go to your happy place...

As a person who spent time this morning waiting on line at the Foreign Currency Window at the Citi Financial Center, I have this entreaty to the gentlemen of Manhattan: Please, do not send your trophy wife to purchase your Swiss Francs/Euros/Yen. Currency rates and transaction fees may be a bit much for a woman who hasn't balanced her own checkbook since ... never. Send your personal assistant, your dog walker, you pre-teen; really, you don't need to be a math whiz, anyone who can follow basic directions will do. Thank you on behalf of bank employees and fellow customers everywhere.

Anything You Can Do, Cupcake Can Do Better

Q. Cupcake, why aren't you posting visually stimulating images to compliment your witty posts?

A. Because Hello/Picasa, which hosts my photos, for reasons known only to its spiteful God stopped working for me more than a week ago and I am too damn busy trying to cooordinate a business trip for four people to Germany involving two airlines, four flights, three car services and two hotels to do anything about it.

Q. Cupcake, what's up with the crappy Word of the Day in the Sidebar?

A. For a couple of days I tried out a "Quote of the Day" and a "Word of the Day" module on my blog, but they were lame. I thought, I could do better than this. So I will.

I will periodically post a quote from a work of literature, contemporary, classic, fiction or non-fiction, hell, I'll quote from Aaron McGruder's Boondocks if I want to. The first person who correctly identifies the source of the quote will win a prize. Post your answers as comments, don't be sending me all sorts of crazy emails.

Today's Quote:

" 'Most of the time we're loved for what we can do rather than for who we are. It's not such a bad thing, being loved for what you can do.'

'But the other is better,' Gen said."

Health Insurance is a Beautiful Thing

Brooklyn Cupcakes, I went to a Dermatologist yesterday. I really liked him, he's on 7th Avenue in The Slope, and he even has Saturday hours. If you're looking for a convienient Dermatologist, email me and I'll give you his contact info.

The kooky thing is, he wants me just to wash my face with soap. Just soap! No more self-heating anti-blackhead scrub, no more foaming facial clenser, no more astringent (I knew that stuff couldn't be good), no more pore refining masks, just a bar of Aveeno Oatmeal Soap. We'll see how it goes. I fear that giving up Biore cold-turkey is going to be akin to quitting smoking.

Now here's your assignment: do you know of a good real estate broker who works in Brooklyn? I'm thinking the Park Slope, Prospect Heights, Windsor Terrace area; someone who won't laugh at me if I'm looking for a Studio for under $950 a month. Feel free to post or send me an email with a phone number.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Oops! It turns out he is just not that into you. If you would like to crawl under your desk and cry, turn to page 37.

If you want to go purchase a copy of He Is Just Not That Into You and beat yourself with it until you black out, turn to page 62.

If you want to go hang out with a baby who loves you unconditionally and a friend who will list faults you didn't even know he had in explanation of why he is not worthy, turn to page 8.

If, however, you want to treat yourself to a mixed half-dozen of Red Velvet, Buttercup Yellow and German Chocolate then climb into bed with them and the knowldege that this too shall pass, congratulations, you have reached full blown Cupcakehood.

Now You Know

From New York Intern, Ten Things You Didn't Know About Interns including "Iterns Have Feelings Too" and "Interns Can Combine to Form Voltron". Yeah, that's right.

Say It Ain't So, Cookie.

Breaking News from Dessert Land: First, let me point out that so far, this story has been sent to me by two cupcakes, T-Diddy and Mondolicious (who cited the incident as "Cookiegate"). Friends know Cupcake very well. Now for the headline: COOKIE MONSTER TO EAT FEWER COOKIES.

Wha???

To gel with Sesame Street's objective this year of promoting healthier habits in children, Cookie Monster will learn that cookies are a "sometimes food." Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist, who has filmed Public Service Spots teaching Elmo how to exercise by jumping up and down (bet the MD came in handy for that one; by the way, anyone who actually has children will tell you that the last thing they want is for the kiddies to be doing more jumping around) had this to say on the subject, "His sage advice opened our eyes to the simple joys of a tasty cookie and now reminds us that moderation is the key to healthy living." Frist, I think you might be taking Cookie, essentially an electric blue throw rug with dislocated pupils, a bit too seriously; but kudos on being the first person I know of to refer to one of my favorite monsters as "sage". Remember, we are talking about a monster that has been known to eat a few plates in his zeal to scarf all the cookies.

In addition to learning moderation, Cookie will also be snacking on healthier cookies as opposed to his standard chocolate chip. Now, Cupcake loves children and wants all children to be happy and healthy, but give me a freakin' break here. Why not point out to Elmo that he's naked? We could teach shame, I mean, modesty to the little fella by putting some pants on him. In addition to teaching healthy eating habits and the importance of exercise, the Street will also be stepping up lessons on hygeine. That's going to be a tough one, guys. I'd love to see the song "Boogers may live in your nose, but they don't belong in your mouth."

Look, despite the fact that twenty years later, "C is for Cookie" still runs through my head with very little prompting, I also remember such classics as "Captain Vegetable". Remember? He gently educates Andy (candy) and "My name is Eddie, I like spaghetti" with "It is I, Captain Vegetable, with my carrots and celery..." Sesame Street, it ain't broke; don't fix it.

And just in case you're wondering, my name is Nancy. It has been six days since my last cupcake.

Things Only a Corporate Nanny Can Get Away With.

If the Annual Reports come in, and the box is very heavy and you don't feel like moving it, it is probably not good form, professionally speaking, to put the large box on your desk so that when Little Boss returns from lunch he asks, "What's that?". You say, "The Annual Reports just came in, but that box is very heavy. I'm going to ask Big Boss to move it when he gets back." Because then Little Boss will say, "I can move it for you." Now you can say, "I don't know about that; it's pretty heavy." Because then Little Boss will almost certainly snap, "I said I could handle it. Where do you want it?"

Like I said, probably not very professional, but highly effective.

And if you go into your boss's office with two new prospective deals that arrived that morning via messenger, it is probably not appropriate, upon seeing the sheer chaos of his desk that is so littered with half-foot stacks of paper that you can no longer tell what color the wood underneath is, to remark, "Jesus!", especially if your boss in Jewish, and the Pope just died (seems especially innapropriate).

But if your boss replies, "Hey, it was clean at the begining of the week, I've been busy. It'll get better.", you can assume that you have landed in the exactly right job for you and you should not take stupid risks to jeopardize being fired from said job. Like excessive blogging on company time.

Okay, I don't mean to be blathering on like some navel-contemplating hippie about these new Friendster horoscopes, but I'm telling you man, they are spot on! Let's look at my joint horoscope with T-Diddy for today:

"If one of you were an old dog, the other one would suddenly be having spectacular results teaching you new tricks. In fact, the energy between you two has all the advantages of puppyhood (goofiness, freshness, irresistibility) with all the best points of experience (pragmatism, stick-to-it-ive-ness, a certain inner calm). If you've got a project already under way, infuse it with new energy and exuberant ideas, then buckle down to the hard work. If you don't, one may present itself now."

Hello! STIR Foundation, anyone? [Big Announcement Coming Soon, Watch This Space]. In the meantime, check out the site and join my campaign to get Tom to make the font bigger. My eyes! My eyes!

Helpful Cupcake Reminders

Ah Lieblings, a day without blogging is like, well, like a cupcake without frosting (a muffin, if you will). But alas, I was home sick yesterday, with some tummy bug that has been plaguing me since the weekend, and I'd like to knock it out before I fly internationally next week. I don't want to spend my first time in First Class hitting pause repeatedly on my personal Movies-On-Demand screen, sprinting down the aisle, clutching a [possibly fur-lined] Air-Sick bag (everything is better in First Class).

Yes, I'm going to Germany on business for a few days next week, or as New Guy calls it, "Milwaulke with an 8 hour flight", so posting will be limited. But just imagine all the bloggy goodness I will be bringing back with me. I promise to make it up to you.

Excerpt from New Guy Rambling: "It might as well be Milwaulke as far as I'm concerned, Milwaulke with an 8 hour flight. I'd prefer Milwaulke, in fact, because then there wouldn't be that whole language hassle."

The stereotype of Americans as ego-centric culturally ambivalent lazy doofs is so unfair.

Now, for some helpful reminders. Have you filed your Tax Returns yet? April 15th is fast approaching, and Cupcake knows that for some of you this will be your first time filing without Daddy's help. Remember, it is not enough just to figure out how much you owe, you actually then have to pay it. Bummer, I know.

And while we're giving out helpful reminders: Cupcake Dudes, go take a powder, won't you? I need to talk with the Cupcake Ladies. Girls, when was the last time you did a breast self-exam? Yeah. That's what I thought. I know, it's just so easy to forget. So I'm reminding you. Cupcake says go feel yourself up. Or, better yet, find someone else to do it for you.

That is all.

Can you handle some teenage awkwardness?

Okay, so I just did a blog search on "North Kingstown High School", the old Alma Mater, because, well, just because I'm at work and what else am I going to do? Work? Didn't think so. Well, I went to check out this blog called From the Crazy Mind of a Redhead.

Well, what do we have here? Some 16-soon-to-be-17- year-old at NKHS opining that she has never been kissed and is possibly the only 16- year old in Rhode Island suffering this fate and if anyone does try to kiss her she will probably laugh a lot, or stab that person with her nose, which is really big, and just generally be preoccupied that someone will get to see how big her big pores are close up.

And I'm thinking, I'm sorry, was I abducted by aliens and deposited back in time eight years ago where I briefly wrote a blog under the name Kate until I woke up in a cornfield? Is there another Nancy living the same parallel life as me except for the difference that she was born in 1989. [Oh my God, someone was born in 1989?? That's like, the year the Wall came down. Christ no, you can't ask what wall.]

Kate, here's all I can say: North Kingstown High School, red hair, big nose, big pores, never been kissed? You do not walk alone. Although I would never have admitted to it at age 16, since I was too busy preoccuping myself with gender inequality in the school systems, advocating gay rights, trying to decide how I felt about the Electoral College, and foreign cinema, I too worried about the exact same things. Guess what? I had my first kiss at 17. It wasn't that great.

But it gets better.

Friendster gets Funky. Could Phriendster be next?

Friendster, who seems to have gotten wind that they are just so 2004, has undergone a lot of improvements lately: blog hosting, messaging, birthday notification, expanded photo albums. But even I wasn't prepared for what I encountered this morning: horoscopes. Not just my horoscope, but Friendster was then kind enough to inform me how I can expect to relate to my friends today via the "Joint Horoscope" Feature. Bonus or bogus? Well, let's look at what the fates have to say about me and the Princess of Darkness for today:

"Rub-a-dub-dub -- are things getting a mite soapy when it comes to a certain situation? If the lather is rising, it's time to rinse and figure out a way to not repeat past events, especially if all they do is get everyone's dander up. You and your friend should sit down and -- most importantly -- break it down: How, exactly, are you two rubbing each other the wrong way? What can you do to stop?"

Well, color me a believer.

The Sweet Warmth of the Fleeting Rays of Fame

Woo hoo! For a limited time, Cupcake Mafia is on the front page of NYC Bloggers. Check it out here. Hey, you try describing your blog in 40 words or less.

Perhaps I should start assembling my dowery of contemporay literary fiction and furniture I salvaged from 8th Avenue.

So, I pulled out the ol' High School Yearbook. Now, before you think I'm one of those Nostalgia Queens or people who (correctly) assume that high school will always be the best four years of their life, I'm really no such thing. But I was out with some people Saturday night who were reminiscing about their high school days, so I figured, why not pull out the Skipper's Log 1999? Yeah, you heard right. North Kingstown High School: home of the Skippers. Anyway, I learned one important lesson from this little stroll down memory lane. I should go back to curly hair. Not "perm" curly, but, you know, "wavy" curly. Anyone out there remember me with curly hair? Cute, right?

Wait, there was another point I was going to make. Oh yeah, so I'm reading all the notes classmates wrote in the pages of my yearbook. And some of the messages are really heart-breakingly sweet, really beautiful and gracious compliments from people I can't even remember now. I wish I remembered this resource as a morale booster six months ago when I was broke, couldn't get a job to save my life and this city had almost broken me down.

So, there's a note in the back of my book with a post script that reads "PS The marriage offer is still on and valid." Okay, possibly not that unusual for a high school yearbook inscription, but the thing is, I'm looking at this guy's name and I have no idea who it is. After meditating on it for five minutes I am able to remember the guy but not the marriage proposal. I'm sure it was one of those "If I'm not married when I'm 40 and you're not married when you're 40...", but what if, in my youthful stupidity, I thought 25 was old? What if I'm sitting in my apartment in Brooklyn sometime next January when the buzzer goes, and leaning into the intercom I hear, "Woman, it's time." JF, if you're out there and you remember this, perhaps you could refresh me on the details.

Meanwhile, back in reality or something like it, my life is coming dangerously close to resembling When Harry Met Sally. If only I could figure out if I'm playing Harry or Sally ...

Rationale takes a holiday from Midtown.

In the past three days I have seen five men in full Scottish regalia including beatiful tartan kilts all in the Midtown area. And yet the guy standing outside Grand Central handing out flyers to win free airfare to Scotland is wearing a pink rayon skirt. People, a man in a skirt does not a Scot make.

Opening my delivery from Office Depot today, I felt tears welling up in my eyes when I beheld my new Pop-Up Post-It Note dispenser. It is just. That. Beautiful. And no, smartass, it's not "that time of the month".

Dispatch from this side of the Desk.

Scene: I am dipping a Godiva Chocolate Egg that Little Boss brought in for me into my coffee mug, resulting in a coffee-gooey chocolate morsel which I then put in my face causing melty chocolate to linger on my lips and fingertips. New Guy walks up to hand me a receipt for mileage for some business trip, and looks at me quizzically. It takes me a few swallows before I can even answer. "You caught me eating chocolate," I say. "No Problem," say New Guy, who I think considers me kind of a retarded little sister.

Man, the work is piling up today. That doesn't mean I won't be blogging, it just means I'll be feeling that much more guilty as I'm searching back issues of Real Simple as the emails from Big Boss crowd into my inbox.

This just in: FedEx Guy is no longer "name unknown"; his name is Mike. And of course, due to the nature of our relationship, he not only knows my name, but how to spell it (unlike some close friends of mine).

And now for the crux of the post:

Jonathan Safran Foer, despite your intermitent vegetarianism (sorry cupcakes, can't find a link to the essay he wrote for Real Simple, you'll have to look it up the old-fashioned way: like, paper and stuff. Beware of paper cuts, moisterize first!), you know you will always have a prominent spot on my list of Jews I'd Like to Screw [a series of haikus possibly soon to be published by me in pamphlet form, you know, kind of like Thomas Paine's Common Sense except ... okay, actually, nothing like Tom Paine's Common Sense]. Still, we can't help but feel the tiny bit jealous at your success, literary and now real estate. Gawker captures our sentiments exactly. Does the large back yard at your new place mean you'll be walking your dog less in Prospect Park? This is going to put a damper on future stalking attempts.

What's up in the Bloggerhood

From The L Magazine's site I found a link to NYC Bloggers, a site that seeks to map all New York blogs by the closest subway station. Here's a look at others who are blogging in Park Slope. Look for Cupcake's Blog up here soon! To check out who's blogging in your neighborhood (makes stalking so much more convienient), click here.

Another great find: Overheard in New York. I don't know if this happens to you, but I am constantly overhearing such gems from my fellow Strap Hangers, I always vow to write them down, but of course immediately get distracted, usually by something shiny. Well, someone is on the ball, and is writing them all down and will probably get a book deal and be rolling in dough while I'm scratching my but on the subway wondering hey, where did that flash of light come from? Does someone have tin foil? For an example, and one of my favorites, click here. If you don't get it, you need to spend more time watching The Food Network.

I could just canoodle this canoo!

Two things you need to know about me: I'm lazy and my German grammar is not very good. Unfortunately, my job at Die Bank fills my days with questions like, what is the first person singular Präteritum of erhalten? What is the past participle of anziehen? Well, I found a new website that does the thinking for me, Canoo.net. They conjugate verbs for you and do other gramatic stuff, like, "Oh, that's how to form the genitiv plural of Regenschirm." Thanks Canoo, you know that less time working means more time blogging.

Dear John.

Dear John,

Since I am unwilling to subscribe to Match.com, I am unable to respond to the e-mail you sent me last night. So perhaps I can address some points here; you'll get closure and I'll get to keep my $21.99 or whatever it is Match charges these days. I am flattered that you think I "seem interesting" (swoon!). Good news: I am interesting! However, you will not get to experience this in person. Here is why: 31 is too old for me. It says so in my profile, but perhaps you were too distracted by my "interesting" profile to take note. Also, although you are 31, in the photo you posted on your profile you look to be about 17. I find this both confusing and creepy. You seem to think that it is very important that you are "Ivy Educated" as you mention this about four or five times. Sadly, you picked the one girl on Match.com who doesn't give a shit. Really? Ivy School? Is that were they taught you such bon mots as "I like to spend time with people I like."? I got into the Ivies and turned them down. Bummer for you. And in conclusion: Staten Island. Not gonna happen.

Good luck on your search, I know you'll find the right girl for you. Afterall, you seem very interesting.