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HELLO, I'm KARYN BOSNAK, author of the books SAVE KARYN and 20 TIMES A LADY. I live in BROOKLYN. |
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My mother and I bought Nora a trike for Christmas. She's so cute on it; her feet barely reach the pedals.
Because of this, I thought of her this past weekend when I stumbled upon the following video of trike accents. I know it's not funny when children fall, but oh c'mon... sometimes it kind of is.
This made me laugh.
I hope someone they know sees this. It sucks to lose a camera.
(Via Jakob Lodwick)
UPDATE: The camera was returned to its rightful owner!
I think Beverly woke up this morning and main-lined some sass. She's got quite an attitude and has been chasing poor Elvis around the apartment like she owns the place. (Oh yeah, she does.)
First, the season premiere of Rock of Love 2 is on tonight. I'll be tuning in, so check back later so we can gossip about the new group of hookers vying for the love and affection of one Bret Michaels.
Second, NYC is supposed to get some snow tonight, so I got Beverly a pretty pair of red snow boots for the occasion AND I took video of her practicing to walk in them; it was pretty hilarious. I'm going to try and edit it tonight, so look for it tomorrow.
Third, thanks for all the sweet responses to this post. Every one of them brought a smile to my face!
Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.
I've watched this, like, twenty times. I can't stop laughing. I want quote this kid, but I don't know how to spell what he's saying.
I had this at the bottom of the previous post, but I decided to give it its own space because I want to hear your thoughts on this and I didn't want it to get lost.
For every one story I tell on this blog, there are ten that I don't. It's not that I don't want to share them with you (believe me—sometimes it hurts not to), but more that I'm worried I might hurt or offend someone in the process. I think all bloggers know all too well about the fine line that exists between whether or not to share something.
With regards to my neighbors, perhaps I shouldn't have written about them realizing there was a chance they might stumble upon it, but I did anyway. Here's the thing: when I withhold too much and only write about surface-level crap, I start to feel really fake. I guess I felt like I could give a little something when it came to them because I hold back a lot when it comes to family, friends and boyfriends.
I miss the early days of SaveKaryn.com when I blogged anonymously. There's nothing worse than feeling like I have to write something silly and upbeat when my heart is broken because I'm afraid he will read it. Or on the other side of that, feeling like I have to hold back when I'm giddy with excitement because I don't want to put all my cards on the table. You know what I mean? I suppose I could stop blogging all together... but then who would validate me?
Ha ha! That was a joke. Well, kind of. Aw, shoot... I love you—what can I say? You complete me.
Seriously though, I know I'm not the only one who struggles with this. Thoughts?
So last night I was sitting on the couch working when I heard a knock at the door. After getting up and peering through the peep hole, I saw that it was one of my downstairs' neighbors.
Now, if you're unfamiliar with the story of my downstairs' neighbors, here it is in a nutshell:
About a month ago, I offered to rearrange my schedule to sign for a UPS package that they were having problems receiving and became peeved when they didn't thank me for doing so. Rather than shrug it off like most people would've done, I proceeded to write not one, but five posts about the situation, posts in which I called them "bitches," said I hated them, and announced to the world that I was going to tear out a page from an Emily Post book on manners and tape it to their door.
Perhaps I over-reacted. Maybe just a little.
But anyway... back to last night: one of them was paying me a visit.
After slowly opening the door, I said, "Hello," and then nervously waited for a reply. It's not that my neighbor looked daunting by any means—in fact, she was still dressed in her work clothes and looked quite lovely—it's just that I knew I had written all sorts of bad stuff about her on the internet, and now here she was, at my door.
"Hi," she replied. She then hesitated for a moment before proceeding to say, "I didn't know you had a blog."
Yeah... awkward.
As you can imagine, my cheeks immediately flared up—I was at a complete loss for words. "Oh, um..." I eventually mustered up, "I didn't think you'd ever read it."
Yeah... that was my excuse. Seriously. I say random things when I get nervous—I can't help it. I also start laughing, which is what I did next.
"I'm so sorry," I gushed, putting my hands over my face. "I'm just so"—*giggle, giggle, giggle*—"sorry."
I sounded really sincere, I'm sure.
"No, please don't be sorry," she quickly said. "You were right. We're the one who should be sorry. We should've said something. There's really no excuse for our behavior." She then reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of wine. "Here," she said, passing it over. "This is for you. We just wanted to apologize and say thank you."
Now, I gotta be honest... these girls hit a home run in trying to find a way to my heart: me likey the booze.
After thanking Kate (that's her name), I invited her inside where she proceeded to tell me how it so happened that she discovered my blog.
Now, Kate said she has a friend who's been telling her for a while now about a writer that she likes, a writer who happens to be me. (Hi, Kate's friend, if you're reading this!) "She lives in Brooklyn," her friend said, "and she's written two books and has a really funny blog—you need to check it out." So, Kate did.
After logging on to Pretty in the City, Kate saw my name and picture at the top and thought to herself, Hmmm... this girl looks familiar. "I think I know her," she said to her friend. She then realized how. "I think she lives in my building."
"Your building?" her friend replied. "She writes about her neighbors all the time!"
Not thinking that she was one of the neighbors, Kate found the posts, read them, and quickly realized she was.
Seeing as though she was really nice, I felt bad and apologized to her again, but she told me not to worry. She said she and her friends ended up getting a big laugh over everything, so no harm done. (She also said that she travels a lot for work and was crazy-busy during the whole UPS-thing, so that explains her flakiness!)
So anyway, that's the story!
To both of my neighbors... I'd like to publicly apologize for the things I said about you. You seem very nice and I look forward to getting to know both of you better.
To Kate's friend... Thanks for telling your friends about my books and blog!
Okay, off to write my thank-you note now!
Offering to sign for a neighbor's FexEx package: Zero dollars.
Repeatedly blasting them on my blog because they didn't thank me for doing so: Zero dollars.
Having one of them knock on my door last night and say, "Hi, I read your blog...": PRICELESS.
Story coming in a few!
UPDATE: Don't hate me... I have to run to the post office before they close and I don't want to rush through writing the story just to get it up, so it'll come about 7:30. It's only because I love you that I'm making you wait. I'm committed to providing you with nothing but the best. (Do you like how I tried to turn that around?) xx
I am so PMS-ing. Earlier today I cried over Dog Whisperer. Then I cried over a promo for Carson Kressley's new show, How to Look Good Naked. (It was more over the quote from the NY Times, "The greatest triumph of cognitive therapy that reality television has ever produced.") And now I just cried over Ugly Betty. (When she—oops! Scroll down to the bottom of this post because it's a spoiler!)
I'm not even sad—I'm just moved, that's all.
Sometimes I love nothing more than to cry (doing so aloud makes it better) and then smile because it's so satisfying.
Tears of empathy, that's what they are. Tears that say, "I feel what it is you're going through, whether it be pain, sorrow, joy, happiness, nervousness, or excitement."
Grey's Anatomy is on right now. They just showed Bailey having a breakdown in the promo. Tears are gonna flow again, I can feel it.
Scroll down for Betty comment!
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When she strutted herself down that runway! Go, Betty!
Are you registered to vote? Find out instantly at VotePoke.org.
VotePoke also allows you to find out if your friends are registered to vote (which is kind of weird to me, but whatev), so bug them if they're not!
I have to go to the bathroom right now and this is what my bathroom looks like:
A worker was here earlier patching up a hole in the ceiling and he left it like this while waiting for the Spackle to dry. Should I remove the plastic from the toilet or find someplace else to go? It looks like he's got it tied around there really nicely.
Oh, and in case you're wondering... yes, my bathroom really is that small. It measures two feet by five feet. The shower/tub is on the other side of the apartment, behind a half-wall that separates it from the kitchen. Strange, isn't it?
I've been in some old East Village apartments where the tub is in the kitchen and the toilet is in a "toilet closet" of sorts, similar to mine, and I think this is how my apartment used to be set up (or, still is, for that matter) because I can tell the wall hasn't always been there. (That was a long sentence.) I'll take pictures of it later for you, once I figure out what to do.
UPDATE: I removed the plastic and went, but I didn't realize he painted so I got paint all over myself in the process.
(Why did I post this? Did you really need to know this? I ask myself this question a lot.)
I'm home! I'm home! I'm so happy to be here, even though my entire apartment is smaller than my room at my sister's house. (Sad, isn't it?)
I fell asleep on the couch last night at eight o'clock. I live such a rock n' roll lifestyle.
Right now I'm catching up on missed episodes of Dog Whisperer. Cesar Milan is such a badass. Like, I bet he's what God looks like. I fully expect him to meet me at heaven's gate when I get there.
Beverly has no respect for me as a pack leader. I need Cesar to come over and straighten her butt out.
UPDATE: I'm crying right now over Dog Whisperer. The owner of two yappy little Yorkies (a police officer) just got all teared-up because he feels like a failure as a dog daddy. He said, "I'm really emotional when it comes to kids and animals. I have a soft spot for people who can't defend themselves. That's probably why I'm a police officer." I think I love him.
UPDATE 2: I nurture Beverly's insecurity in the dog park. (She hates dog parks.) I allow her to sit on my lap and hide behind my legs.
