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There once was a girl who loved iced coffee so much and so obsessively that she dreamt of it and woke up saying its name. Before she knew it, she was drinking three a day: one grabbed from Pret A Manger en route to work, one at 10am from the deli downstairs, or Starbucks (coffee part 2), and one mid-afternoon fix for no good reason whatsover.

She preferred it VERY specifically: drowning, CLUTTERED with ice – about 70% ice, 30% actual coffee. She preferred it so she could consume the drink in it’s entirety during the walk back to work. She preferred it with skim milk and one splenda; she liked it so cold it burned her hands.

This girl loved iced coffee so terribly that one time, in Rome, when she could not find it and was tired of yelling FREGGO to confused Italian waiters – she purchased separately a large cup of ice and a 3 doppio’s. Stirring, shaking, waiting, she finally got her fix. French people starred. What the f*#k is wrong with Americans? ( I don’t know, the French. I really don’t know. It’s just who I am.)

One day, recently, she sat down to crunch the numbers of her tepid affair. Shocked, she was, at the result: 1,095 iced coffees a year. $2,190 on sweet cold Joe. Starring at the reality of these figures, she realized that she kind of wanted an iced coffee.

She checked the clock. 9pm.

Hmm.

So she put on pants and went to get it.

Dear Manhattan,

 Your lodging options suck and are expensive and force people to get uber excited about the smallest things. You put a patch of grass behind an apartment and call it a garden. And the sad thing is, we believe you.

Please see this picture placed in an add for a ‘luxury apartment’ boasting ‘huge closets:’

So – yeah. You’re pretty much a liar. Also, you stink.

Jk, jk. Loveee youuuu.

But seriously. You stink.

Your friend,

Bekah

Oh, the sweet popsicles of our youthtime. Oh, how they drip down our hands and color our crooked teeth.  A good actory friend of mine, Greg Miller, recently lost his job with Bear Stern. Instead of being pouty and weepy about it, He and his wife have made the better choice – investing their time and efforts into the best darn Popsicle Company you ever did see. They boast flavors like Lemon Rosemary and Grape Kiwi and Cucumber Chili – made with all organic, fresh ingredients. Tell me you are not titalized by that, and I will call you a liar.So far, they’ve been frequenting farmer’s markets and fairs, it seems, to vend their sweet Good, but keep your eyes peeled – it seems like soon, you might be able to buy them online. Who doesn’t want to come home to a fruit chunky popsicle?  I sure do.I mean I LIKE the baby kitty, but he is not organic, nor does he quench my universal summertime need to put cold things in my face. Then again, I could put him in the refrigerator.Hmmm.   

 Wow. Not only are they still around – people pay $35 to see them. More importantly, Zooey Deschanel’s band,   She and Him.  How F ing cute are they? Gah. If she were any cuter, as a whole, I might puke on her cute vintage dress.

 Instead, you should really read This. Love. Time Travel. People making out while Time Traveling.  Best book I have read since the Bible or perhaps the Babysitter’s Club.  

 He leaves tommorrow for Kuwait. Happy thoughts, please; Happy thoughts.  

 Victory!This weekend, my short play which we will call ‘Art’ was a winner in the Samuel French Short play festival (www.samuelfrench.com/oobfestival / too lazy to link.) I was really not all that confident about the play, wrote it really quickly when Eliz’s brother passed away, sort of passed it off as something that was maybe too simple or too sweet. I was pleasantly surprised by the outcome, and I’m sorry, but perhaps reminded that I’m kinda good, or can be, if I let myself forget what I’m doing.  This was my third year with the festival  - under new management this year, I was quite impressed – they really scaled back the number of participating plays from something insane like 100 to something more manageable like 40. It’s real cute and awesome and soccer camp / dodgeball esque, with plays advancing to finals and then competing for the chance to be published. Super fun and good reason to and Sport a sweaty Dress. Another improvement this year was the  champagne toast each night to announce the finalists/winners.  I am huge proponent of champagne, celebrations, and finding any and all reasons to feel special. 

….is my new favorite recreational sport. Thanks to Simon, Carrie’s sexy sweet singer/songwriter British Grown up Boyfriend man, this is presently what I am doing.

It involves walking around the upper west side in little upper west side-ish dress, pretending to live on the upper west side,  walking said dog (Charlotte, a rambuncious black lab mix) around the upper west side, eating  the foods and drinking the drinks of a person who lives on the Upper West Side, takin excessive amounts of cabs, more pretending, literally walking around the corner to the gym, having  kitchen stocked with your favorites, and attempting to take iphoto pictures of said Upper West Side dog who will not sit still, which looks lie this:

Um – any way I could make a career out of this?

I am very proud of myself. I have sworn off drinking and taking pictures of myself. For real. My will power is a force to be reckoned with.   Seriously. I’m not doing it anymore, At All.    

…..ew.

 http://www.macphersoncrafts.com/

 They are called ‘Re-born babies.’

Um.

Why?