Clareified

The hippest cat in the hood.

I still remember getting the text, three years ago, announcing your super early arrival. July is the bestest birthday month of them all! Too bad VinNay and Smokey don’t know anything about that!

Now, tis my joyous happy birthday season, so I hate to bring down the mood of the blog with my sad tales of starving on my birthday after missing my reservation at Rosa Mexicano because a monsoon hit Brooklyn and traffic made grocery shopping take four hours instead of forty minutes.

I shall spare you the misery of carrying my forty pound birthday cake to Tribeca and somehow dropping the bootleg 7/11 turkey sandwich I bought, somewhere along the route from the bodega to the poker game.

Never you mind that I’ve been miserably sick *twice* in the last three weeks and the kind resident who perused my chart as I sucked in oxygen from a tube, was all “hey, you just had a birthday, huh”?
And when I nodded weakly beneath the plastic mask, she said, in a pitying voice, matched only by the pitying look in her eye, “well, happy belated birthday.”

No, ye shall hear none of those self indulgent tales of woe today! That kind of transparent grasp for lots and lots of comments to make me feel better is something I might have done when I was 29 or 30.
But now that I am 31, I am wiser and tougher and I focus on the awesome positive things.

Like…um… I got to eat cake for dinner on my birthday! And Charlie let me hijack his bimonthly poker game and everyone there sang me happy birthday…well, almost everyone… Oh and Charlie got me a designer momufuko cake which was deee-licious and Mary didn’t get any! Ha!

And though I didn’t win the tournament, that meant I got to go home early and get in a good night’s rest for my barbecue the next day.

In keeping with the theme of this particular birthday season, I shanghai’d Pi’s gorgeous Ditmas Park house and we grilled out on her porch.
(OH. MY. GOSH! Baby Alexander is totally walking already! He’s three months old, so no one believes me AND he won’t walk for anyone else, so I can’t videorecord it, BUT IT HAPPENED!!)

Ahem. Where was I?

Oh, it was fun! My nemesis Amanda drove down from Connecticut with a fancy delicious vanilla cake decorated to celebrate the sweet, darling young lady that I am. And she totally won herself fans. My mom was all “can you make a cake for my birthday in August”?

Why is my mom always trying to remind people that her birthday is in August? So unseemly. Doesn’t she know you’re just supposed to let Facebook gently nudge your nearest and dearest? Sheesh.
Speaking of facebook, I had SOOOO MANY WALL POSTS! I couldn’t even get through them all to make notations on all the people who I still talk to and all the people who are dead to me. That’s a lie. I did that the very next morning. *whistles*
Oh, young Sidney and his dad came to the BBQ too. Ugarles hands me his usual buns from Errol’s (a treat I used to get as a kid when my godmother lived across the street from Ugarles’ current house.) And he says “there was a homeless man on the train and I thought about giving him the buns, but I didn’t want to find out if you could actually kill someone with sideeye.”
OH! Mary got me a set of live action plush angry birds, and Sidney was totally whacking the pig like a pro. I’m all “how does a two-year-old know how to play angry birds?”
And Ugarles is all “um…what? You think I parent? That’s what smartphones are for, woman.”

He’s lucky his boy is a genius. Like seriously, I was showing off Sidney’s vocabulary to all my friends like I had something to do with it. “Sidney, what are those called?”

“The cymbals, I told you that already,” he sighs.

“See? See? That Patriots outfit I bought for him when he was baby TOTALLY made him brilliant!”

And then when Amanda was all “what color is that,” he just about laughed in her face. “I dunno, it might be cobalt, but I guess it’s closer to navy.”

His parents should rent him out.

Hmmm, what else? Oh, my twitter friend starfishncoffee came, so my mom was all “two black friends?! WOW!”

Yeah, that’s right. I’m hip.

Props to Pdov (who Alexander totally loves! What is it with the Asians and the Jews?) Peter, Pretty Numbers and Gene for making it out to the BBQ AND the late night poker game. You guys are the bestest!

Thanks to Alceste and Dawn 2 for making my descent into alcoholism easier.

Thanks to the Jakes for funding my future ill advised late night Amazon shopping sprees.

Thanks to Smokey for nicely complementing Pearatty’s gift with a huge box of fancy coffee beans! I’m going to plant some and try to grow a coffee tree. I AM! I AM! YOU CAN’T STOP ME!

Thanks to the anonymous donor who got me the awesome sceenplaywriting software I’ve been coveting FOREVER!

OH and thanks to Fisch, who, in addition to getting me awesome presents, took my laptop from infected and dying to just slow and old. I would give him extra props for working on it in the middle of the night even though he has pneumonia, but I know he was just terrified that I would make good on my promise to move into his son’s room if I had to buy a new laptop that I couldn’t afford.

I also managed not to end up in twitter jail this year for tweeting too much! Huzzah for me! AND THE METS won on my birthday!

METS! WON! Huzzah!

Okay, so now you totally think the birthday post is over, right? And you’re like all ready to comment awesome comments and then… your phone rings and it’s KAZ AND TITO!

“Huh? what? No, the post is over guys, I’ve already ended it with my traditional “huzzah…” you’re on your way over? With my birthday key lime pie?!

“What? It’s not key lime?” O_O

“Oh, no, you were joking? It IS keylime! O-KAY! Then I guess the birthday post can continue for a little while longer.”

THAT TOTALLY HAPPENED! I had already left Pi’s house and was all “oh…no keylime pie…er…I mean no wonderful hanging out with Kaz and Tito.”

Not that I noted all those who weren’t there and put them on lists.

Oh, Pearatty was also all “yeah we’re flying out to Toronto,” in the first week of July. And I was all yeah “Toronto” suuurrreeee. I mean, no way is my adorable Arizona nephew flying East *during my birthday month* and NOT coming to see me in Brooklyn. Right? RIGHT? But, as if he could read my mind, her husband kept sending daily pictures like “here we are on the plane to Toronto.”

“Here we are landing in Toronto.”

“This is our hotel in Toronto.”

“Here we are eating the local Toronto dish of Toronto fried Toronto beans.”

Then, finally a shot of the whole family holding up a “seriously, Dawn, we’re in Toronto. We are not coming to your BBQ in Brooklyn. To-ron-to” sign.

I’m keeping the fresh towels out in the Pearatty suite, though, you know… just in case.

But yeah, so anyway, after the BBQ was over Kaz and Tito came by my apartment and we had birthday party number two…or three. I was all “wooo, I went from no key lime pie at all to key lime pie all for myself!”

“What do you mean, you are going to stay and eat key lime pie with me? Who says? That was not what I agreed to.”

But it was fun. Kaz played with the live angry birds even though something something open source freeware code. And we watched Machete and I learned that my George Foreman grill actually makes really good hamburgers and hot dogs VERY FAST!

Oh yes, it’s been a Dawn Summers BBQ everyday since then. OH and they got me THE. GREATEST. T-shirt. EVER.

Okay and now the birthday post is over.

*looks around* *checks phone* *checks mailbox*

Huzzah!

Countdown math even Dawn Summers can do!

I got a present today that I can open tomorrow and everything…though the delicious aroma already tells me I know what it is!

My mom gave me a card. I was all “today isn’t my birthday.” She’s all “It’s around now isn’t it?”

O_o

Shady Pines, Ma, Shaaayyydeeeee Piiiinnnnneeesssss!

OMG! Totally almost got into a t-bone car crash today! Car is now at the dealership and I won’t have a vehicle until Tuesday…like a homeless person.

Where can I hire those guys with that thing that carried Cleopatra around? I have stuff to do!

This weekend should be fun. We’re cutting our hair off, manicure and pedicuring it up and *gasp* possibly doing that evil threading thing again…I haven’t decided…

Mets take on our dreaded mortal enemies today in Citifield. I wanted to go, but no car plus busy with the hair, so I’m going to settle for flatscreen viewage.

OH, so I’ve decided that this birthday season I want to taste moscato and absinthe. Plus, try poutine. Whatever that is.
Speaking of, Happy Canada Day to Astin and Pearatty, again, whatever that is.

Now, to avoid getting killed in a traffic accident…

It’s F-train’s birthday! YAY!

Happy birthday season to me!!

Oh…wait…or is that tomorrow? Pout.

Stupid June.

Thanks to the amazon largesse of the Jakes and baby Max and his parents (wanna see a picture of him on an airplane? No? Too bad: )

I am getting a home television studio. Despite the cries and petitions being circulated by one three letter named lady whose name starts with T and ends with e and has an a in the middle, this is an AWESOME development. Hater.

When I return to blogging (uh, yeah, I’m still not back. This is an illussssiiioooonnn illllooooooooosssssssssssssiiiooon) I want to be more attentive and professional with my writing and posting, (ahem, thank you Alceste for noticing). So, we need an outlet for the lazy crazy!

Thus, we bring you Clareifeyes! (Named by this blog’s godfather, Peter, the totally not a donut stealer. )

On Liz Wheaton’s (though I think I’m more partial to ‘Eliza Wheaton’) suggestion, I’m getting a Kodak HD filmadoohickey (um? Camera?) and a tripod and remote control and extra rechargeable batteries! Wheee.)

Can anyone recommend easy to handle film editing software — preferably free and easily downloadable from the internets?

Also, what type of stuff do we want to see? I can write sitcoms, I can do reality, I can take you on tours of Brooklyn, ohhh…you can watch TV with me! Maybe I’ll do a cooking show for people who can’t cook which involves lots of mixing and microwaving. It’ll be exciting!

I don’t exactly remember how it all started, but knowing me it went something like this:

June 2009, Twitterland:

@realdawnsummers says Oh, my birthday is coming up. But as I am all shy and unassuming I won’t tell anybody.

@astinto says, hey @realdawnsummers isn’t your birthday coming up? I will make you a caramel cake!

@realdawnsummers: Oh you don’t have to go through all that trouble for little ole me, being that I am all shy and unassuming.

But @astinto insists! And makes an amazing superfantastic caramel cake for me, but when he tries to hand deliver it…on horseback, the mean border patrol guy will not allow baked goods to be brought into America. You know, because of the constant fear that jealous Canadians will try to poison us by capitalizing on our weakness for delicious, delicious baked goods. And so @astinto ate my delicious caramel cake all by himself. And probably gave some to the stupid cats just to spite me. Jerk.

So fast forward a year:

Oh, my gosh! For me? How did you even remember it was my birthday? I wonder what it could be?

CARAMEL CAKE! A lifetime supply of caramel cake!

Why, I am going to have me some cake RIGHT NOW!

OH NO. What the hell is this??? I have to COOK THIS CAKE? Damn you @astinto, damn you TO HAYLE! Why are you trying to have me burn my house down?? #RUDE.

Sure, the instructions seem simple enough…and no fire is required, but what the heck is this one tablespoon, one teaspoon thing? Really? They couldn’t just say three teaspoons? <_ < The last time I attempted a coffee cake in a bag, mixing project, well...actually, no need to revisit that unpleasantness. The aroma has mostly left the kitchen walls and my eyebrow has grown back nicely. But okay. I am a grown woman with TWO ivy League degrees, I CAN DO THIS! And if I can't, I will record every step and you will all see that the failure was NOT my fault, but the fault of this racist caramel cake. Here goes:

Step 1:

(Put cake mix in bowl.)

(Massage the caramel packet)

Step 3:

(Get one teaspoon of water and one tablespoon of water. You can’t see the water, but trust me.)

Step 4:

(Stir thouroughly.)

Step 5:

(Drizzle in the massaged caramel.)

Step 6:

(Microwave for 30 seconds…. yeah, I too am highly skeptical at this point.)

Step 7:

Allow to cool. (The picture makes my caramel cake look much more radioactive than it looked in real life.)

Step 8:

Enjoy! And I totally did! End product was moist and deliciously caramel cake-like!

I highly recommend this product if you are trying to amuse little kids. Like if I could do it, without burning anything or having a nervous breakdown, I figure it’d be perfect for three-five year olds. And they’ll get instant gratification. They will also probably end up fat and diabetic, but everybody has their crosses to bear, no?

Astin, also sent me the “And the Heart Says Whatever” book which Snaps recommended.

All in all a kick ass and delicious birthday package! Thanks!

I didn’t even know it was a competition, but @astinto totally wins the birthday season!

I got back from my weekend getaway (I’m typing this on Malcolm and he kept autocorrecting ‘getaway’ to say ‘Jersey.’ Pretty much.) Anyway, my doorman hands me a super big box addressed to Dawn Summers! That’s me! That’s me!

And when I opened it, this is what I saw:

my first wrapped birthday present of the season!

Yay!

I’ll tell you what it is later (they, actually, he got me TWO presents! Yeah, winning the birthday season takes dedication!)

However, if I’m all getting presents, the birthday season must not be over, right? So I can get in another post…or two. (Be afraid Alceste, be very afraid! Yesterday he was doing a victory dance on twitter about my hiatus. Hmph. #RUDE Also, I AM NOT A PEDO, TAE! #NOPEDO) In essence, Astin also gave you all the gift of Dawn Summers. You’re welcome.

So what should I write about but THE poker blogger champion of the world himself!

Astin and his friends Em and Chinese Pete (Please note: Ed is neither Chinese, nor named Pete. We said Astin wins at birthday seasoning and poker blogger tournamenting, not nicknaming… Though, part of me has always kinda wanted to be known as Hanoi Jane (just the name in abstract sounds cool, not expressing any views on the actions of any persons real or imagined.) and as I’m not named Jane and have never been to Hanoi, Astin might be just the man to make this happen.) were visiting my fair city last week and as they had never been to any of “the boroughs” before, I insisted on showing off my Brooklyn.

My email of proposed activities was, therefore, quite long and ambitious. I promised carnivals, museums, parks, landmarks, architecture, history, fine cuisine, fashion, dinosaurs, air balloon rides, magic, sporting events (He’s Canadian. He doesn’t know that the Superbowl doesn’t happen in July…or in Brooklyn… O_O
*whistles*)

Naturally, he was totally in! I mean, the Superbowl AND dinosaurs! COME ON! I picked them up from their fancy Midtown hotel in the morning. It was also the morning after monkey paw wine and Mary was there all too happy to regale our guests with tales of the previous night’s shenanigans. Normally, this is where I would tell her to “shutuppa yo face,” but as I had no recollection of the evening, I too, was curious about what transpired. *Amy Winehouse shrug*

As we headed through New York’s second best borough on the way to Brooklyn, we ran into a street fair of some kind and had to take a detour. This detour took us pass “Crosby Street.” I booed. The Canadians cheered. (Note: Em is NOT Canadian. But, she has apparently been brainwashed by Canadians and pointing out that she is NOT Canadian could cause a fracture unless she is gently eased back into American life…or as we call it, “forced to live in Buffalo for a while.”)

Their cheering the cheating Crosby angered me, so I said, you like Canadia so much, you can all just walk to Brooklyn! And then I threw them out of the car. I didn’t mean Mary, but then she was all “yay! Walking is fun” and got out with them. Weirdo.

I felt kinda bad, so I decided to park in DUMBO (fake realtor created neighborhood for “the area down under the Brooklyn bridge. Or “Dumb.” Pretty much.) and went up to the bridge to find them.

Yup, they totally look like they had learned their lesson!

We strolled around the promenade area for a bit, but it was 110 degrees and watching all the dumb tourists lined up for Grimaldi’s pizza, made us hungry for real food. (Dear Clareified readers: DO NOT. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. STAND ON LINE WHEN THE “REWARD” AT THE END OF IT IS GRIMALDI’S PIZZA! Or a Magnolia cupcake. SERIOUSLY. Promise me. PLEASE. Double pinky swear. You’re all better than that. Yes. Even you!)
So, off we go to the land of delicious pizza, DiFara’s. Now, I never know if he is really going to be open or not, so I tried not to build it up too much, cause we might very well end up at L&B and they would LIKE IT. Dangnabit.

“Vinnay says this pizza ruined all other pizza in the world for him…nay all other food and now he drives 11 hours from Buffalo twice a day to get his fix! I’m SOOOOO looking forward to this!”

Well, so much for not building it up. Fingers crosssed…

BOOM! He was open. AND THERE WAS NO LINE! And then, I made the classic rookie mistake…decided to go park first. DAMN YOU, DAWN! DAMN YOU TO HELL!

By the time we got back, there was a line a sheet long and the wait was on. The hot, sweltering, standing up on the sidewalk wait.

30 minutes. Chinese Pete breaks down and goes to buy an ice cream cone.

60 minutes. I break down and buy the last slice offered in one of their stupid “by the slice pies”. I pepper it up like I like it, then realize I should offer a piece to my guests. Poor Astin gets a mouthful of pepper flakes. MAH BAD!

“Hey, there’s a guy in there who looks like Henry Winkler,” Mary says at minute 83.

I peer inside. “Dude, that is Henry Winkler.”

She goes and strikes up a conversation. I heard “EEEEHHHH” and saw lots of thumbs up through the window.

Or I imagined that. It was very hot and we were very hungry. Finally, the pie was ready and we went back to my aparment to eat it. Air conditioning! Chairs. I was totally ready to spend the rest of the day there.

“So…what up with the dinosaurs?”

Huh? What?

“And the museum and carnivals and parks?”

Look people, I gave you Difara’s! And now air conditioning and chairs! CHHHAAAIIIRRRSSSS!!!

Fine.

We hop back in Prince Eli and head for the Brooklyn museum. Which I TOTALLY knew where it was, no matter what stupidfaced Mary and her judgmental tone would suggest. I’ll JUDGE YOU RIGHT IN THE HEAD! (I did mention it was very hot, right?)

There was an Andy Warhol exhibit on, so we walked through that. I planted myself in front of the exhibit called “Andy Warhol TV.” It was a TV. Showing stuff. I dunno. There were chairs and it was air conditioned. It reminded me of the time I went to the musuem with F-train and Pearatty and we got separated, but F-train promptly found me in “movie theater” exhibit. He goes “I followed the sound of the TV and figured you’d be there.” And I was!

Anyway, then we lost Mary. Then Chinese Pete, who is Korean, decided to go look at the “Asian art” floor. When he left, Astin turned to Em and I and said, “I bet when he gets back he’s gonna complain that it was all Chinese art and they only had one Korean thing and it was from the Kim Jong Il collection.” We laughed and headed up to the top floor. Where we saw this cool exhibit:

It’s Farrah Fawcett AND MICHAEL JACKSON! Separated by McEnroe! He was spared! We also went to the Egyptian exhibit where we discovered that Frida Kahlo is a dang dirty plagerist who stole all her art from some unknown Egyptian painter! #truestory Also, does anyone get scared walking through museums that they’ll unlock an ancient curse through one of the artifacts? No? Um…me neither…but Astin was TOTALLY terrified the WHOLE time! I was like “aww, don’t worry, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” But then he and Em went into the mummy exhibit and I screamed “You’re on your own!” and ran away.

You think I’m exaggerating.
O_O

When Chinese Pete came back he goes “Yeah, the whole thing is basically just Chinese art!” And Astin, Em and I start cracking up. Mary was still lost. Though, there was a pretty young schoolgirl waiting impatiently in the lobby of the musuem. But she was fawning over this little Asian toddler, so no way could it be our Mary… *Gasp* It was! (Ha! Told you, I would tell!) Mary was fawning over a chii–iildd. Mary was fawning over a chii-illd.

After that we went on a driving tour of Bed-Stuy. Em is a big Cosby Show fan, so I thought it’d be cool to see the neighborhood they were pretending that the Cosbys lived in. But then we saw a dude pretty much attack this poor girl and so I drove away very fast. Sadly, also not an exaggeration.

Next up: the carnivals! We went to Coney Island, walked the boardwalk and then *SOMEBODY* was all “Let’s ride the Cyclone.”

This seemed like a good idea right up until I had paid $8 to get on. And then we were on line. The line is caged in behind these white prison gates. I threaded my fingers through the gate holes and gripped them with white knuckled fear.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I DOING? AND WHY THE HELL HAD I JUST PAID MONEY TO DO IT?

The others found this amusing.

“You can’t back out now, Dawn, we’ll all make fun of you!”

Um…you all will be dead, I thought looking up at the rickety ass, loose boards on America’s oldest, shoddiest, wooden rollercoaster.

The line snaked closer to the ride.

I want out!

“Come on. You can’t back out. The Cyclone is an American treasure. To ride it is a sign of a true Patriot,” Astin said.

Hmm. Well, it is an American treasure. And I AM a Patriot! The Patriotiest Patriot there ever was, in fact!

He’s right! If I do NOT ride this ride, the terrorists will win! Up yours Bin Laden! And then I got in. And as it clacked upwards toward the first drop, I was all “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

And then Em’s boob made a jump for it!

And then all went black.

There were tears, and screams and promises to God if he would spare our lives. He did. We said “Ha! We had our fingers crossed!”

The night ended at my favorite seafood place in Sheepshead Bay. (Don’t worry, no sheep.) We had a hilarious time listening to the life and times of Toronto’s Young and Restless. Seriously, the couples that Astin knows need a reality show. And I don’t even like reality shows! Also, Chinese Pete gave us the primer on how NOT to break up with a girl. Kinda like this.

I met up with them later that week, and despite many efforts to divert our dinner to the most excellent Times Square T.G.I. Friday’s (possibly the most delicious of all the T.G.I. Fridayseseses) we ended up at a little Mexican place in Hell’s Kitchen. Or whatever ritzy name the realtors are calling Hell’s Kitchen now. It was quite delicious! They had this guacamole made with apples, that was quite awesomesauce! But Chinese Peter is allergic to apples, so he couldn’t have any. And then I laughed at him. And pointed. I mean, honestly, AN APPLE allergy?! I got my comeuppance though later that night when the waiter brought us a free chocolate cake dessert drizzled with delicious caramel sauce, but then topped with deadly poison nuts.

Ed was all eating it and going ” Ha ha who’s got the weirdo allergy now?!”

And then I was sad. (Still him though, nut allergies are perfectly normal. In fact, three out of four people eating dinner at our table at that restaurant that night had nut allergies, so there.) I had ordered the caramel flan, anyway, and was totally stuffed, but then Astin took a bite of Em’s lemon cake thing and made this face like it was the most amazing thing ever, so even though I was perfectly satiated, I made myself take a bite of it and it totally made me overstuffed to the point where my stomach hurt. Astin and his stupid stupid face.

Oh, this was also the terrible terrible night of discovering the Canadian invasion.

It started off friendly enough…stories about how Canadian talk show hosts are perverts who molest children, and then make parents eat chocolate chip cookies with ketchup in them. And then stories about how in Canada Orange is spelled with two A-s. Arange.

And then… “Ryan Reynolds is Canadian.”

“He is NOT. YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW.”

“Yah huh. And Nathan Fillion!”

NOOOOO.

“And Victor Garber.”

And then I started to cry. And they laughed. And Ed got out his phone – er sorry, his “device” or “blackberry” and googled “Dawn’s favorite celebrities are all Canadian” and proceeded to rattle off all the ways Dawn’s favorite celebrities are Canadian.

Except Tom Brady, Zac Efron and Jason Bay.

LA LA LA LA LA. I don’t want to hear the ends of any sentences.