Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

The only reason I mention the dark green sock dangling off the chandelier in our foyer is that it may be a fire hazard. Tom and/or Sophie managed to perch the sock up there after brunch on Sunday. They took all the socks out of the ski clothes bin in the upstairs hallway and lobbed them one by one over the banister. Their stinky missiles were aimed at Sophie's mommy and me. We were minding our own business downstairs when the maelstrom of fuzzy socks rained down upon us. The sock on the chandelier is the single POW captured during the skirmish. Hopefully it won't ignite the whole house.

Our neighbor across the street, once an ambulance-chasing lawyer, recently metamorphosed himself into a beautiful black-robed judge. The governor appointed him to the bench after some political hobnobbing paid off. The invite was engraved. Lovely. Said to RSVP by January 18, but we only got the invite on the 19th. Oh yes. Fillin' up the room with the B-listers. We certainly weren't imperious enough to not go. Never know when a judge will come in handy. Plus I wanted to nibble on rich hors d'vours with all the lawyers in their lighthearted "not-guilty" embroidered ties and scales of justice cufflinks. It was delightful. Even if the judge's wife did ask us about the plastic rocket hothouse in our front lawn. I will have to take over some of my homegrown tomatos this year.

The somersaults she makes us do in jujitsu class at the YMCA froth my brain juices into a turbulent swirl of the vomitious dizzies. I only do maybe one somersault instead of the required three for warm up. My sensai is on to me. She says to the whole class that if we cheat we're only hurting ourselves but my piece of the mat gets the brunt of her stink eye. One day when I puke all over her foot she'll know I was doing it for her own safety.

After the most logistically advanced night of my music review career involving late-night car services to places named Armonk NY, a La Quinta Inn, and three people from my office who picked me up at an ungodly hour on the way to Connecticut for a full-on business pitch Friday AM, I have successfully returned to tell my tale. Terminal 5 , the new venue on 56th & 11th, is much more solid in the way of structural underpinnings than the ramshackle fire traps in the East Village where the floors undulate after the music starts and the crowd gets bouncy. I'm a fan of cement underfoot... but kinda missed downtown's sleazy old world charm. Two levels of balconies provide ample viewing angles for punctual ticket-holders who capture barstools up front. Linda and I salmoned around under them on the main floor. We sandwiched ourselves about fifteen feet off stage left in between a muscular black dude and some bitch who kept bludgeoning me with her enormous handbag. Louis XIV played a...

Over the weekend, I pounded out the finishing touches on the new toilet paper holder. It is not placed exactly where I wanted because we had to find a stud. Iron is a weighty substance. My toilet paper holder is made from 1" x 1/2" hotrolled bar stock. It took me two days to hammer it down to 1/2" x 1/2" round in the middle there. The average blacksmith strikes the anvil 1000 times in 4 hours, according to this dude named Randy I met at the Pig Iron Pig Roast. Randy mainly consisted of bicepts.

"I don't want to go camping." "No that's not true. I have gone camping before, so I am allowed to say I don't like camping. Growing up, every summer I went to summer camp." "I hiked on the Appalachian Trail with the Boy Scouts. I mean the Indian Guides." "I'm practically crunchy."

I became a Hells Angel as soon as I careened over a speedbump and knocked off a pipe under my car I now classify as one of the "Important Pipes." I didn't look much different, but looks can be deceiving. You could hear the roaring sputtering fracas that became my vehicle coming for about ten miles. Which seemed like twenty miles because it took me so long to arrive. My speedometer topped out at 50 due to the major hitch in my giddyup. I drove the whole way home on County Route 202 given my fear of getting shot driving 50 mph on I-287. I flashed my gang sign to all the bikers I passed except there were mainly SUVs and four-door sedans given this is créme de la suburbia. When my guy at the garage told me he needed to order a part from Brooklyn so I should come back tomorrow, I said that it was a good thing I drove a decrepit VW bug in the 80s and was thus skilled in the art called Barely Making It Over a Hill By Getting A Running Start and Flooring It. You should be happy t...

Tom took out the Christmas tree today. For the first time in five years, we'll be on time for curbside pick up. Generally we wait until right around Easter. I feel terrible about it. We have betrayed our tree. I strive to make sure the tree knows it did not die for short-term frivolity. But Tom isn't a big fan of my Long Haul Three Months of Tree Plan. He whipped our poor conifer outside in a very stealthy fashion. The only reason I figured out what he'd been up to was the conspicuous and lengthy trail of pine needles. Sometimes I think about not getting a tree at all, but then I drive by one of the roadside stands on Christmas Eve and see all the homeless trees forlornly lined up out there under the cold grey sky. Condemned to die without ever completing their mission. We have to save at least one tree from such a woebegone fate! Plus they smell really good. So we wait until the last minute and take home one of the orphan trees. We decorate it and say nice things about it ...

Working himself into a kerkuffle, Noel H Ballentine MD fires my dad, his patient, for allegedly asking far too many questions. The good doctor does not appreciate reckless meddling into the status of one's own health. Proving he's no bedside chatterbot, Dr. Ballentine avoids more annoying "discussion" by doing the firing over email: I am thinking at this point that I am not the right doctor for [you]. I do not feel trusted, or appreciated. I think it is time for [you] to find another physician ... Then Dr. Ballentine and his crazy fightin' fingers really go wild west: It would be my strong suggestion that [you] find a practice other than [the Hershey Medical Center]. I would not want to be in the position of having to cover for another physician in the future. Let me boldly paraphrase: "This enormous hospital ain't big enough for the both of us. Since I work here, you need to get the hell out of dodge." My pop, never one to back down from a fist fig...

Right in the middle of left foot yellow, Suzanne turned on a lightening elbow slam that knocked me ass over teakettle. It was the only reason I didn't win the Twister semi-finals over at Michael and Lynnie's on New Year's. The evening was a grand affair. King crab legs, the tender loins of beef, some tasty lentils and an excellent playlist. No sauerkraut. Which I swear is lucky to eat on New Year's day, although no one believes me.

Let me boldly suggest my beloved Grammy is thrifty. And a talented packrat. Witness exhibit A: one package from Christmas 2007 wrapped in newspaper from April 30, 1975.

Andrew asked me why there were little girls screaming in the background when I called to tell him we got Guitar Hero for Christmas. I should have said it was because since we got Guitar Hero, my fans won't leave me alone. But I didn't think of it fast enough. I have trouble thinking at all surrounded by piercing war whoops and powerful tiny fisticuffs. I hate it when I'm in the YMCA locker room at the same time as the junior high girls' swim team. "Courtney give it BACK!" "I mean it Courtney. GIVE it BACK!" My survival response is to crank up the iPod and try to avoid the swarming.

The mail lady is not our friend. After the snowstorm, for a whole week, she resolutely refused to disembark from her vehicle to deliver our mail. The snow plow dudes had fluffed a smallish mound of snow directly in front of our mailbox which prevented drive-by mail delivery. Maybe we should tip her more. So the day after Tom went down with an ice pick and a shovel and chiseled away at the mound, we burgeoned with excitement. We hauled up forty festive pounds of holiday catalogs and Christmas cards from hair salons the old owners of this house frequented on or before 2001 when they moved to Florida. But amidst the immediately recyclable, the 2008 Randolph Guide to Garbage glittered before my wondering eyes. I was more excited about getting it than I'd have been about an official Red Ryder carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle . Every year I read it cover to cover. Did you know that even during Spring Clean-Up Big Trash Week, you cannot throw out a boat? That ship h...

Overwhelmingly the guests were fuzzy. Glittery and fuzzy. I had a hard time keeping my hands to myself. It was calling my name, all the velvet and fur and fluffy silky feathers. I fit right in since I decked my alltogether in Grammy R's cashmere sweater and the black mink coat she wore to the Waldorf Astoria in the winter of 1935. Tom, me and our fellow partygoers swanned about Suzanne's lovely crib. Mid-evening, there was a well-attended tour that included a looksee at Margaux's tricked out playroom and Preston 's man-room. Michael K was looking buff as a gold button. After the recent ice storm, he shoveled his entire driveway so the cleaning ladies could park their mini-van. Except when the girls arrived, they decided to do a Uturn in front of the neighbor's house and they slid the entire way down the neighbor's driveway. So Michael had to go shovel their driveway too. Lynn went all limp and dreamy-eyed over Michael's strength and stamina. Melissa ro...

Yesterday for dinner I had a can of cranberry sauce. It wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done. But canned goods are extremely convenient. In my experience.

I started to write a book for tween-age girls in 2002 and the last page only got locked down so recently I remember doing it. Scott hooked me up and submitted my two hundred pages of writification to Leonardo Dicaprio's agent's company. I got a "recommended with reservations" checkmark right before I got tossed in the slushpile. For months, I've been sitting on the agent's coverage comments like a sand bag sits on the sofa. Until now. Now I am inspired. I'm gonna bundle this thing together with coverage comment spackle. Here we go! AGENT COVERAGE COMMENTS: Meeting Maldova brings up several universal themes that will surely help young audiences connect with the story. There is good use of the self awareness that everybody goes through when trying to make friends and fit in at a new school. Danielle second guesses every decision she makes because she wants people to think she is cool until she is comfortable with her new group and gains confidence. Maldova ...

The story goes that when Omas* and his wife and kids flew the whole way to England for a visit with the British in-laws, it was a busy time of year for the old birds. Banging around inside their big house in the shire. Yet despite busy schedules, grandpa took the trouble to set up a tent in the backyard for his daughter and her family. But this is the part I like the best. About the mini-fridge. Set up so the Omas family wouldn't get their food mixed up with grandma and grandpa's. Points for handy camping know-how. Never underestimate a red-coat, I guess. *Name changed because otherwise my mom would get pissed off.

I wonder what happens when you plug two devices into your computer at the same time. I'm bold like that.

Gloriousness overfloweth when you finally construct an outfit to wear with those kickin' orange fringy clogs. Hallelujah!

What does Tom say when you tell him you went to the library with Lara to drink beer? Why the hell did you go to the library? It seemed like a good idea at the time, what can I say. After scouting all available library locations, we opted to hole up in the back of the periodicals section because there are no serious readers in the periodicals section. We clustered the chairs into a fort and stared menacingly at any of the faker bookworms who ventured into the vicinity. What do you call it when you crack your beer in advance of the cough that is supposed to cover up the noise because you happen to be in the library and it is very quiet and you are not supposed to be drinking beer? A premature ejaculation.