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Let the record state that if you’re planning to attend a store opening, and are planning to take pictures that you’re then planning to share with the company, don’t arrive after you’ve been drinking.

It’s at times like these when I’m relieved that I’m not a surgeon. Or part of Barrack Obama’s security detail. Even a dressmaker, all of those pointy needles and other stabby things.

It wasn’t always the case. I used to have a job where drinking wasn’t part of the job. It was much easier to demarcate that line in the sand – these are the times when drinking is acceptable – these are the times when drinking is not.

But then you start to work in environments where drinking is the norm. And in some cases, where NOT having a beverage in your hand is completely unacceptable. Like that event a few weeks ago for Edible Manhattan where against my will, I was forced to drink moonshine and talk about local spirits all night.

For legal reasons, let’s strike that last sentence. It was willful, all of it, I apologize. Sometimes I can’t even admit these things to myself.

The day of the Edible event was a long one. It started out with working lunch where I was taking food photos for a restaurant. You can’t very well take photos of lunch without a cocktail in the mix. And sometimes that first cocktail needs another one on the table for balance.

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It’s likely that I’m snorkeling off the shore of some Caribbean island right now. So to stave off any jealousy or daggers thrown in my general direction, let’s pretend that we’re still in New York contending with Month 5 of sleet and snow.

Though the temps may have been lower than hoped this spring, it hasn’t stopped us from getting out and exploring the city on foot.

Emma was off on Spring Break last week, a full week earlier than the other kids. And since we’re traveling this week, she gets to skip a full week of school. Translation: that is SO NOT fair MOM.

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I told Lauren that it wasn’t fair that she was born first and had my complete attention for the first two years of her life. And that she’ll get her driver’s license first. AKA zip it.

So back to last week. Emma knows not to broadcast what actually took place since it was nothing short of incredible.

Monday took this form: lunch–chocolate store–Sephora–nails. 

We took a breather on Tuesday, just enough rest to recharge the batteries and prepare our feet for another day of walking.

On Wednesday we spent the day on the Lower East Side doing the following:

Park visit:

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As if Monday’s visit to Lilac Chocolates didn’t provide us with enough sweets, we were determined to visit Economy Candy.

We headed off on Rivington and quickly realized that we were heading in the wrong direction. But in one of those fortuitous twists of fate, we ended up at the tip of the alley that leads down to Freemans Restaurant.

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I’ve been called a lot of names in my life. A favorite, from middle school, was “Fur”. Fortunately it had nothing to do with body hair; it was a shortened version of my last name which was deemed unpronounceable. Which is all well and good until your boyfriend starts referring to you as “Furburger”.

Back in the bling bling days of the early aughts, when J.Lo and Ben Affleck were doing their horizontal yacht thing in rap videos, I earned the slightly more palatable nickname at work: J.Fo.

As in “what’s going on in that tiny cube J.Fo?”

(that would be the cube with no windows, two computer monitors and a headset).

“Nothing much, just planning my exit strategy from this sweatshop and the name isn’t helping.”

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That conversation didn’t happen but my, did I fantasize.

In one of my first blog posts I referenced one of my earlier, husband-assigned nicknames: the “pocket wife”. Both of us are at fault for our size difference; him with his ceiling-grazing stature, me with my child-sized clothing.

However, if we’re really going to get into it, one of us came this close to receiving college scholarship funding from the [blank] club of America. Size discrimination is real. I’m not saying who it was, but here’s a hint: this person never went by the name of “Fur”.

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“It’s Pi Day!”

“Pi day, what’s that you say?”

“Yes, yes, it’s Pi day. Only 4.13 days away!”

“4.13 days until…”

“3.14 you say?”

“Yes, I say, I say! Pi day is just 4.13 days away!”

Or so might have written Dr. Seuss if he’d been aware of this day…this day, Pi Day.

4.13 days from today.

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Last week I wrote about Foragers Market in Chelsea, which is my go-to grocery store here in Manhattan and they were kind enough to share it on their own blog. Over the past few months, I’ve become friendly with Maggie, who runs their branding/social media and does all of the packaging design. You’ll hear more about Maggie in a few weeks when I unveil a top-secret new blog design. 

Not so top secret anymore. But I do have some great news. The blog is getting a facelift, and one of my key objectives is to remove all of the sidebar advertising. Because nobody should be forced to look at that nonsense when they’re trying to scrutinize a simple cocktail recipe. Correct?

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I’m so thrilled to have a touch of Foragers’ style in the new blog design. Before I met Maggie, who I consider to be a mega-talented illustrator and designer, I carried the packaging from a Foragers Market chocolate bar in my purse for a whole year. I just knew that somehow I wanted to infuse a little bit of hand-drawn illustration into the blog one day.

It was like meeting a celebrity when Maggie and I finally met – as in “YOU were the person who designed my favorite chocolate bar wrapper?” (followed by some mental weeping and bowing)

And next week – starting on March 9 I’ll be hosting Foragers’ Instagram feed for a week, sharing all kinds of products that I buy in the store, and what I make with them. If you’re on Instagram, you should check them out @foragersnyc.

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