The world is our parrotlet

The other day Anna and I were walking up Amsterdam and we saw a hand-written sign. "Lost: parrotlet, light blue body with a pink beak. $1000 reward." Now, usually, I'm the one to leap at the chance to read every credit card offer, talk about my frequent flyer plans, and explore the financial benefits of organ donation. But on this particular day, it was Anna who started staring at every pigeon in the sky, asking me if it was light blue.
Now, before I go on, I should mention Anna's pathological fear of birds. She crosses streets to avoid them. When pigeons roosted outside her window, she explored the option of legal restraint. Not a bird fan. So the idea of her chasing a parrotlet across the rooftops...
"Anna, I can think no person in this world less likely to collect that reward. That bird has a better chance of catching you."
So then we got into a teamwork discussion. Anna suggested that I could scale the buildings, locate the bird and, you know, flush it Annawards, and then..."Uh, so how about 60-40?" she asked. I suggested, as a more equitable split, that maybe I'd take her out to dinner.
So far, the parrotlet has proven elusive.

Schmalentine's

"Happy VD!" Office Manager said to me as I left today.

And a happy VD it has been. We just had a lovely dinner here, little steaks with bacon wrapped around them, Julia Child's fancy rice, spinach salad, and peas with prosciutto. Incidentally, spellcheck wants to change 'prosciutto' to 'prostitute.' "That is where spellcheck and I differ," Ed says.

It's so quiet in our apartment. We had a real conversation over dinner, just like always, even though we were dressed up in fancy clothes and eating extra good food. I was thinking, this weekend when someone told us that his relationship had become too Old Married Couple, how well OMC has worked out for us. It's just nice. We enjoy it. And yes, I am wearing my pajama pants as I write this, as I can almost every evening now that I don't have to go out to see my boyfriend.

We don't do a lot of fighting, Ed and I. The occasional dispute, and a fair number of conversations that end with, "Well, fine, let's look it up and see who's right." But not many fights. And we have tiny chocolate cakes. Life is good.

starstruck on a tuesday night

Ed and I saw Hurlyburly last night, courtesy of my ever-gracious and generous and extremely pretty former roommate (also the person responsible for the insurance of a delicate part of Ethan Hawke's anatomy, but that's another story). Thanks, Am! We love you!

The play was so good, so absorbing, so well-acted. We were totally blown away. I'd recommend it, if there were tickets left to be had. The rest of you poor souls will just have to hope the run gets extended.

As we were leaving the theater I was, as is my wont, fumbling awkwardly with my coat when Ed jabbed me with his elbow, just a little.

A: What?!
E, through his teeth: Errel Sreep.
A: What is wrong with you?
E: Errel SREEEEP! [indicates a woman leaving the row in front of us]
A: OH!

And yes, there she was. Even more gorgeous in person than on screen. Unfortunately, all either of us could think about was the most recent thing we saw her in, Adaptation. For instance, this scene:

Or later, when she's sleeping with the weird orchid guy.

Which, let's face it, is not something we could very easily compliment her on, there in the small mob leaving the theater last night.

"You were just AWESOME when you were high on that plant, staring at your feet, in that one movie?"

Yeah. No.