Tag Archives: truth

On the setting of not just the sun but your life

Just below the Tropic of Cancer and 17 degrees above the Equator, lies the island paradise of Nevis. Nevis is not the place you would expect to find a gathering of charming septuagenarians, but the perfect place for a children’s author and her companion researching a new book, “Grandpa’s Gone: A child’s guide to dealing with loss.” Montpelier Plantation Inn was an unexpected place for on the spot research. The average age of the other guests was around 68. At one point, we suspected a premier service of checking on the sunning bodies with a mirror under the nose was in the offing. But it was a great place for a little R&R (Rest and Relaxation). R&R stands for ‘rest and relaxation’: it’s an acronym. The gentle cooing of birds and the nattering of aging Brits by the pool made us feel truly, colonially comfortable.

The room was fine. The bathroom needed a reno, but the king sized bed with fine linens were outstanding. As was the view of the sea and setting sun from our private veranda. It was as if we were watching the sun set, not just over the water, but over a dying empire.

Montpelier has three dining options, very fine privee dining in the sugar mill, fine dining in the main house and casual at the pool side bar. They post the menu daily for the fine dining and one would never think to see Stilton cream and Parmesan frothed pumpkin risotto on a menu in the Caribbean, but at Montpelier such continental gastronomic concoctions are de riguer. That’s French. The food is not bad, not at all, it was one of the allures for us. We just expected a little less cruise ship gourmet and a little more tarted up island rustic. Being from New York City, it’s hard to forget that you can’t get Tonkatsu style ramen delivered at 3am. We did enjoyed the Spanish theme night with bocerones that were likely FedExed in and, better than the tinned ones in Whole Foods. The staff incredulously honored my request for a hang over curing fried egg a top their Angus beef (really?) burger and my companion’s desire for a simple jerk chicken sandwich (on a bun, not a wrap, please). Given my incomplete and anecdotal survey of the clientele, the chef is working to the best he can with the lowest expectations from his diners. It’s as if the nose-to-farm-to-tail-to-table movement blew right by on the Trade Winds. Do get the spiney lobster scramble and any of the salads with passion fruit vinaigrette, they are the few dishes that seem to use local ingredients.

Also, explore the grounds! There’s a tennis court we didn’t use, lovely botanic gardens we didn’t stroll around and a spa we did not get rubbed at. We usually slept in until well past solar apex. Although, we did enjoy a night of pure excess topped with a late night excursion out to the fields to find the best part of the grounds, a hammock. Perfect to lull a dopamine overloaded brain in the breezy tropical moonlight. We did use the pool, though it could use a heater, lest the cold water shocks a guest into a slightly premature heart attack.

Over all, Montpelier was charming, the staff attentive and the rum punch on arrival delicious and sorely needed. I would recommendMontpelier to any one who wants to enjoy a secluded retreat and see what’s in store for them as life is waning. If you like your beach time well spent with doddering British ‘mums’ and avuncular Scottish ‘pups’ then use the private beach and shuttle. Thankfully, we never woke early enough to catch it and we spent our time on Pinney’s Beach which is a $15 cab ride from the hotel. We would definitely return! If only for the hammock and the glimpse into America’s future as the next empire in decline!

2013 is totally going to be my year! 5 ways I’ll get a man!

Guys! Just look at my new glasses! You know 2013 is going to be my year! I am going to get a total make over and radically change my life! I am going to get a husband this year! Oh yeah! Just you wait and see – I’m going to change into the Cheryl that banker dudes will be lining up around the block to put a ring on! Here’s how!

1. Get a job in “fashion”! Screw this comedy/day job bullshit. All the husbands are going for fashion chicks. Lord knows, I could use one of those guys! AND –  It’s not a job that anyone is ever sad to see you leave either. Catty bitches, I can’t wait to count myself among them. They can’t wait to talk about how fat any girls thighs actually were after they’ve left. “Gross! Her ass left an imprint on her chair even! Ew!” My man won’t be threatened by my job in fashion, but he’ll probably cheat on me with those catty bitches. I’ll just be prepared and  have cleaned out my closet to make room for all those forgive-me-presents I’ll get in handbag form.

2. Use “totally”, “totes” and “totes-mcgotes” more! How are I’m going to get a man if he thinks that I’ve actually have thoughts and can use vocabulary. Any man that gets a six figure bonus is lying when he says he wants a smart girl. He wants some one who went to Barnard just to be able to say she went to Barnard. Who majored in International Studies or some other marriageable subject. Not anything that would get her a career, or anything crazy! I can fool them!

3. Three words for you – Brunch, BRUnch, BRUNCH! That’s right! I am going have to spend my Saturdays either with my catty co-workers at brunch, or with my catty friends bitching about my catty co-workers, or trying to draw my man into conversation with either set of catty bitches while consuming over priced eggs and prosecco mimosas. I will not be a real lady unless I’m brunching hard core.

4.  Anal. No one wants to buy before they try any more. Where’d the good old fashioned days go?

5.  Listen only to Taylor Swift, Nikki Minaj and David Guetta while doing Pilates and Kegle exercises. Because I don’t need any music that will give me any ideas in my pretty head or distract me from the most important things about snagging and keeping a man. Keeping your stomach and pussy tight!

Here’s to 2013! When I spend all of my disposable income on eyelash extensions, manicures and dinner “dresses” from BeBe! That should work, right?

5 ways to spend your last night on earth

According to the Mayan calendar, tonight is your last night on Earth! That’s it! I’m pretty sure that I am just going to wake up tomorrow to another failed apocalypse that I’ve gotten my hopes up for.  Just like the pile of failed relationships, so many disappointments. I mean, I stock piled water, canned food for Y2K and for what! Nothing! That’s right! Nothing. But I’ll take any excuse to make poor decisions and blame them on something else. “Make out? Sure! The world’s ending tomorrow!” Pry yourself from Facebook and Twitter and take a look at the 5 ways you could spend your last night on earth.

1. Watching all of Arrested Development. You only have one more night to try to get all those inside jokes! Do you really want to die not understanding “Luchos de Muchachos?”

2. Out a bar. If you’ve only got one more night on earth, tonights the night to have filthy bar sex. Tragedy makes women wet, I thought men figured that out already.

3. Looting! If this is it, then you deserve that Louis Vuitton flat screen TV validation you’ve always craved.

4. Call your mom. No seriously. Call your mom. She brought you into this world and her disappointment should usher you out of it.

5. Praying that the Mayans got it wrong and you get to live another day regretting the poor choices you made the night before after having one too many shots of Jameson.

BONUS number 6. Listening to Fleetwood Mac. Hands down some of the best music to go out to.

Don’t fuck around. If this is it, the last night on earth, call some one you love and make sure you fully put your foot in your mouth. It’s exactly what I am going to be doing.

holiday traditions or the feeling you are in a drunk time machine


It’s that time of year for holiday cheer and traditions that you can pass down for generations to come, Your uncle ranting against the “Mexicans” – to him everyone that isn’t white bread American, is a “Mexican” including white Europeans with accents. So charming, Your middle aged aunt trying desperately to keep up her youth and competing with your cousin, her daughter. “Yes, these are new this year! 36Ds! Aren’t they great! You can touch them later.” And your grandfather trying to drunken teach you how to Lindy hop despite the fact that he did that last year, and the year before and the year before that. And, really, Lindy hop? Why not something a little cooler, like West Coast swing? All of this while you are trying to keep down some overcooked ham and mac and cheese made with orange cheddar. Traditions are great! Didn’t this all happen last year?

This year, I am cultivating a few new holiday traditions of my own. I should start now to make sure that they are fully solidified before I use them to torture my future children. First, I am just going to other peoples families for the next few years. There is nothing like watching some one else’s parents faces sink in disappointment. Schadenfreudelicious! I can study them, so when the time comes, I can replicate that deep, deep wrinkle in the forehead that says, “I can’t believe we paid for college for this” without saying a single word.

Second, I am working on cultivating a sense of classism. Racism isn’t going to cool that much longer, but it’s always going to be ok to hate on the poor! My idea of charity is going to be making sure that no child goes with out a set of ALF pogs this holiday season.

Lastly, I’m truly cultivating my high functioning alcoholism. If there’s anything that I have learned all these years of knocked over trees and stupid wet Christmas tea towel fights, is that a controlled drunk is the best kind. You get to walk out of there with a serious buzz and your sense of superiority intact. Even if your ass is wet from getting slapped with a reindeer towel.

some people just don’t know how to handle a disaster

In this sketch, it turns out that person is Mayor Bloomberg’s interpreter.