What’s up with the barometric pressure and this stream of numbing headaches as of late? I hope I can rally for The Zog’s party tomorrow night because a certain someone will hate me if I’m as boring tomorrow night as I was while eating her awesome offal.

In other news, I have succumbed to Third Party Applications on Facebook and am now Scrabulating like nobody’s business.

No, seriously, it’s none of your business. Scrabulous is like, a scrimmage. The real game is on a Thursday night in an NYU law school dorm watching bad network television and waiting for your dinner to be delivered with two other women who will wipe the floor with you and make you like it. Also, challenges, bullshitting, and an agreed-upon dictionary are involved.

Okay, and this compare people application? It’s like, slam book 2.0. Not that I ever made one of those. Not that it was ever confiscated by the guidance counselor when I was in eighth grade, thus resulting in me and my friends being called into the office and then my friends announcing to me that they had discussed the issue amongst themselves and decided that they no longer wanted to be my friend. Uh… What was I talking about?

Oh yeah. Apparently I am TRUSTWORTHY and CONFIDENT! Preceding paragraph notwithstanding. And my good friend Findog had this to add:

“Being trapped on a desert island with ANP? Hmmmm… Can you really be trapped when you wake up one morning and are surrounded by 500 people because ANP has somehow organized a celebrity pub crawl on a deserted island? I think not…

That reminds me.  Gotta book the trip to The Rubez …  Not that I have any money (hello, $2,200/month rent and obscene purchasing of hot shoes and hot outfits thanks to a surge in my social calendar in late October).

But hey!  Who needs money when you have credit?!

(More on that in a bit.  Don’t nobody go applyin’ for any credit cards just yet, ya hear?)

My head hurts.  Now to see if Dorie’s played a word yet.

Around this time marks the one year anniversary of my love affair with one Rachel Suzanne. It breaks down like this:

• Rachel demands I go out with her one Friday night. We meet up at Lolita at Liam The Comedian’s birthday party. A beautiful friendship is beginning.
• We party at The Zog’s for New Year’s. This friendship is truly blossoming.
• ARUBA. I was nervous at first about a trip like this, never having done one, but Rachel and I get along so easily and are such lax travel companions … Commence full-on mutual adoration-fest!

It has not been all fluffy bunnies, however. We have been through some all-terrain this year. Job changes, the literal & metaphorical loss of loved ones, and a few ass hats, nutsacks, and douchebags have crossed our paths. But we are truly friends with benefits.

Not those kinds of benefits, ya pervs. But benefits such as free professional haircoloring courtesy Rachel’s new company.

I can’t tell you how much I learned about beauty and the beauty industry simply by sitting there listening to the trainer brief these stylists. There’s so much chemistry that goes into hair color (did you know that some are basic vs. acidic?) and it really is a science. (I told Rachel that’s going to be what turns me around on the issue of beauty.)

Rachel’s tutelage of ANP began in Aruba, where I watched her get ready each day and accessorize with various jewelry things and handbags. In a way she was like the big sister or Western mother I’d never had, watching her get ready and primp and all that shit. After that, I started buying nice handbags and jewelry — though I am still no Rachel Suzanne. (Not everyone can be a Junior Miss!) But now it’s evolving into Even More Things Girly.

I mean, my hair! I’m so psyched about my hair. I can’t stop pawing it and tossing it about. They’ve totally given me Angie Harmon’s haircolor, brought down the brassiness of my highlights, given me a nice shiny glaze.

Heaven! I feel like a total glamour puss.

Quoth ANP 3.1: Meow.

Back to empire-building.

One of my doctor friends was in town this weekend. He’s not a complete bozo; Yale undergrad, Johns Hopkins med school & residency in a very competitive field (radiology). I mentioned how my therapist is back in action after liver cancer when –

DOCTOR: W-w-wait, ANP. You’re in therapy? You’re the most normal person I know.

ANP: And why do you think that is, dipshit?

And, SCENE.

Yeah, I “don’t” “have” “dandruff”, either.

This post sponsored by Nizoral-AD. P.S. I love you Venga Boy! Signed, The Crack Whore.

(Okay, I promise this is the last of the Weekend Quotables. I just know some people are gonna bitch if they don’t get air time, even if anonymously. I’m taking the microphone back now.)

Not sure if I’ll be able to blog this weekend, but I wanted to wish my fabulous Canuckian basketball teammate Lisa very good luck and send her super good vibes for the New York City marathon this weekend. I wish I could cheer her on in person but alas, I’ll be in Flah-rida.

You go, girl! And thank you for all the inspiration!

Related: My pictures of the 2006 NYC Marathon, as taken from Bedford Avenue in Billyburg

Nothing.

& everything.

I just wanna give a shout out to another person I love who, in partnership with her baby daddy, just gave the universe another human to love.

Congratulations to Priscilla & Joe!  Now, the question remains:  whatever shall you name the puppy?

Now, for those moms who read my blog:

1. What’s the best piece of advice you were given before &/or when you became a brand new mom?
2. What advice would you give yourself on the day you became a mom (you know, assuming that whole time travel / alternate universe thing could be jiggered with)?

I love you, P!  You’re a fantastic mother already.

But I do kinda wish I’d gotten the breast pump in honor of D-Tittle.

(And I just found the card you gave me with the red Hello Kitty wallet.  I will never forget that act of kindness. xoxoxo)

It’s practically a counterpoint to how I was feeling seven weeks ago, but I’ve been feeling extraordinarily love-y as of late. Perhaps it’s that newfangled dangle of real-deal affection that I have for myself (Whitney! Where you at, you crazy crackhead? Singin’ ’bout the greatest love and all dat?), maybe it’s this A+ global warming (go team!), maybe it’s nice to not be surrounded by cardboard boxes all day. Dunno. But I am feeling strong in my core, strong enough to stand up tall, flex my abdominals (different from simply sucking in the gut, ya know), throw my arms out and give big hugs. Virtual or otherwise.

Big Hug #1 goes to my dear friend Christopher.

Tall, dark, handsome, and often misunderstood, Chris is at once enigmatic and boringly obvo. I am sure that if he had the time to pause and reflect on his life & motivations, he’d be surprised and perplexed by what he finds. I know that over the past ten-plus years that I have been fortunate enough to have him in my life, I too have been surprised and perplexed — and delighted — as I get to know this man more deeply.

And, oh! What a wonderful man he is. I love him like a brother, tell it to him straight when he’s pissing me off or acting like a child, and take it straight-up from him when he’s returning the favor. His heart is thorny, messy, and complicated, with razor edges that, if you can navigate safely past, give way to a warmth and a kind sincerity that is hopeful and optimistic about all people.

Also. He’s funny as shit and has gotten me filthy drunk more often than I can count. Just being in his company can make me high on giggles.

But it’s his moments of somber quietude that I love most. Looking up from my hotel bed and seeing his 6′5″ frame bundled in a puffy white comforter, haloed by the bright dawn, while he’s focused on the online game of euchre glowing before him on his laptop. Getting up from the floor of a Vermont cabin and seeing him hunched over a glass, in his eyes the look of a man who’s battling a falter into his mind’s endless hallway of sadness, four empty handles of liquor in the background destined for a recycling bin, as he declares, “I’m never drinking again.” Sitting on my Brooklyn couch, having just dispensed solicited advice regarding his brand new suits and unsolicited advice about his love life, and having him quietly reply, “ANP, you’re going to make someone a really good partner someday.”

He was here just before my summer job brought me to my knees.  Or maybe, his presence reminded me how joy feels, reminded me that I don’t need to endure that which brings me sadness.

Our man in Berlin comes back to the US and A.  Click here to see the pictures.

I love you, Chris, and I continue to be so proud of you. xoxoxo

Once, when I was really sad about a boy, I jumped in my ratty ‘92 Crayola blue Geo Storm and 82 mph’ed it down to College Park Murrland to crash in Jamie’s basement. I drank too much, I puked all over his cousin’s Lexus, I tested Timex’s slogan, and I returned to Port Chester feeling oddly more clear-headed. There is something about reconnecting with people who knew me when my teeth were too big and I wore tapered pants with flannel shirts that makes me feel less swirly-whirly in the brain.

Spending time with folks like that, even when doing stuff as banal as eating dinner or drinkin’ beers or sittin’ in a car together yappin’, makes me feel solid and connected. Kinda like when I lie on the ground. Feels like the earth ain’t movin’ so fast from down there.

Right after my recent meltdown, I strapped myself into my car with two lovely ladies and drove it up to Cape Ann. College suitee Emmy B. had invited us all to Gloucester, and I enjoyed a jam-packed lovely weekend.

I got a lot of work done on the essay I’ve been wrestling with, had a wonderful time with three lovely ladiessss, and had a much-needed reminder that life is great wide big.

Full set of Gloucester pix here.

Thank you Emmy B.!  xoxo

(I am loving this new season of B & The G already.  While these hot chicks and men I can relate to get their national TV on, I’m uploadin’ some photos.)

I’ve uploaded pix from Priscilla’s baby shower!  It was a couple of weekends ago when I was still in my funk (I’ll talk about it later … swear … on … the Bible … * cough *), and it was so good to see my favorite hottie half Puerto Rock / half Dominicana.

Don’t use the butt paste all at once, girl.  Brunch soon!  xo

(Trying to get through a backlog of uploading photos because if I don’t hurry up and download-then-upload all my photos from Labor Day, my friend Emmy B. is going to kill me.)

At long last I’ve uploaded the final photos from Millsy’s weekend visit to NYC for his girl Sharon’s 30th birthday. At Jamie’s, Millsy took a lot of photos of me looking all sultry-like, which I enjoy because the pictures help rational me provide irrational me with the evidence I (she?! ugh) need to combat my (her? futz!) “I am an ugmo” voice.

But my favorite photos were the ones that captured my friendship with Jamie so nicely. This one has his sweetie li’l sis Julia in it, which I also really like. Mills is a complete clown and he made the natural laughs pour out of us.

Jamie’s in Paris now (I think) celebrating his 30th birthday with international sensation Tommy Fitz (I believe). In hindsight, I wish I’d joined him. Ah, well.

Here’s a link to the full set of photographs by Johnny Mills (whose mug you can see in Fast Company, BTW; more on that later).

Mormonic ANP sez:

Heavenly father, I thank you for the good friends that are in my life, and with them their abundant love, and ask that you watch over them so that they may swim towards their truths without too many undertows. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ my lord and savior; amen.

(ALO? Chinkara? A little editing help over here? Verily I say unto yo-yo-yo did I miss something?)