Camp Mighty is in a few weeks. About 150 people are descending upon the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs for a few days to talk Life Lists and party. I’m so excited! I can’t wait to soak up some sun and inspiration.

Requirement for my attendance is raising money for Charity:Water. My first thought, of course, was some sort of photography thing I could do, but that sounded less fun than hosting a happy hour in Manhattan, which is exactly what I’m doing. Here are the details:

November 3, 7pm – 11pm

Billy Hurricane’s
25 Avenue B (btwn. 2nd and 3rd street)
New York, NY

Open bar from 7 – 8

$5 suggested donation.

There will be drink specials all night, and they have a full burger menu, too.

Five bucks for open bar?! You can totally drink more than that in an hour. I think even my teetotaler friends can put more than that away in Diet Cokes.

To raise more dollars for this awesome charity, there will be raffle prizes and a photobooth set up. We’re taking cash, checks and, because the world is awesome and I can swipe a credit card with my iPhone, we’re taking plastic, too.

Hosting a charity event is on my Life List anyway, so this is perfect.

See you there? You can RSVP on Facebook here (preferred) or leave a comment on this post.

If you can’t make it but you’d still like to donate, you can use PayPal to send in a donation (use my email address theAmberShow at gmail). If you leave me your address, I will hand-write a poem just for you and put it in the mail.

If you’re in New York City tonight looking for something to do, you might want to swing by the Cupcakes and Dates Charity auction hosted by a few of my lovely friends. They’re auctioning off dates with bachelors and bachelorettes to the highest bidder, and all the money raised goes to the American Cancer Society.

You can also bid on ME! The winning bidder’s “date” will be a one hour photoshoot package. (although if you bid big, I might throw in a little something extra. No promises… but I totally don’t have a gag reflex. What? It’s for charity.)

There will be a bake sale element, too, and trust me – I know some of the people who are baking for it, and they turn out some quality goods.

If you want to go but you don’t know anyone, text me at 424-226-2378 to say that you’re coming and Rob and I will meet you out front so you don’t even have to walk in solo. We will hang out for the evening, ok?

Ok!

Necessary info:

“Cupcakes & Dates” charity event

The Pressbox
932 2nd Avenue (corner of 50th & 2nd Ave)

7-11 pm

On the morning of August 25 in New York City, two same-sex couples are getting married, legally, for free, in an event hosted by A Practical Wedding and Lowe Events.

That night, there is going to be a gigantic wedding reception, open to the public, with drinks, a DJ, awesome decorations and an open wine bar. Rob and I will be there, and I hope you’ll come, too. Save me a dance! Tickets to the event are $20 on on sale here.

Will I see you there? I hope so!

p.s. Even if you can’t make it, you can buy a tote bag to support the event. Cute, right?

It’s morning, around 5, and I hear our apartment door open.

“Rob!” I whisper, poking him awake. “I hear something!” In the movies, it’s always the lady that wakes up first when there’s a strange noise in the house, and that’s no stereotype. We lay tense in the dark, listening, doing that thing where you’re pretty sure what you’re hearing is not really someone walking around your apartment, waiting for the moment it becomes obvious it’s just a neighbor coming home late and brushing against your door, waiting for the moment you can laugh, roll over, and fall back to sleep.

Our our key sets hang together in the living room; they start to jingle, a totally distinct sound that makes it REALLY clear that someone is, in fact, in our apartment… and touching our keys.

Rob springs up, wooden baseball bat in hand and runs to the living room while I fumble for my glasses. The light in the living room slams on, and something INSANE happens to Rob’s voice. It goes mad, and deep, and LOUD, and really fucking scary.

“YOU DO NOT LIVE HERE. GET OUT.”

I think “Well, duh.” Of course the burglar knows he doesn’t live here. I reach for my own bat and curl my fingers around its handle, ready to be backup in case Rob goes down, because the fact that this person might have a gun has not occurred to either of us. I sneak to the doorway, but Matty is faster, brushing by me to see our new friend. (The other two never bother to get out of their dog beds. All three are useless.)

The purp, all 15 years and 80 pounds of him, was wobbling and incoherent. I’m living room now, bat in hand, pumped up and itching to go one-two with Rob in a mega beat-down. Rob’s words suddenly make sense: this kid doesn’t know his own name let alone where he is. The smell of sugar and alcohol is heavy in the air and he’s stumbling, slurring, slumping.

We shoved him out into the hall, assuming he lives elsewhere in the building; maybe a friend of the teenager on the fourth floor, even though that doesn’t make sense: our neighbor is a nice kid, respectful, and this doesn’t seem like the kind of company he would keep. We get back into bed and a minute later hear yelling above us; two minutes later the police are on our doorstep. He had made it to the fourth floor and got into our neighbor’s house, then ran back out and onto the street. By the time the cops got there, he was gone.

“You just left your door unlocked? That’s really dangerous!” NYPD doesn’t so much admonish you as bitch you out. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Crazy, man.”

And it is. We totally spaced on bolting the door.

We go back to bed again and tuck every part of my body I can around Rob, clinging to him like a baby monkey.

All is quiet until 6:30 when the door rattles, softly (having been properly secured); it’s the same kid again.

I dial 911, Rob does more yelling and eventually the police come back and tell him, “dude, you’re in the wrong apartment building, and also, how old are you again? And you were drinking?” This is when I find out how old he is, that he is named Christian, and that he is going to be in a LOT of trouble. Our neighbors put a note on the door asking everyone to please remember to keep the door locked. I’m fine, but I think Rob is still jittery.

Can I just say a word about NYPD? They are PROMPT. I wasn’t even off the the phone with 911 before they were knocking on our door. And they’re so diverse! A Puerto Rican lady (the one that bitched us out) came, flipping from English to Spanish getting the story from our neighbors and us. She was with one of those “Fuggedaboutdit!” Brooklyn guys, a darker, Italian guy with muscles like crazy, and a black cop with corn rows. It was kind of the best thing ever.

photo by Rob

My friend Emily invited Rob and me to a swap meet being held at the music venue Southpaw in Park Slope. I didn’t think it would be so great, but it was only $5 each, for charity, and we got a free beer. We gathered up a few items and headed over.

I’m so glad we did! I immediately spotted three pint glasses, the kind you get in a bar when you order a draft beer but can’t ever seem to find in a store. I’ve been looking for these FOR-EV-ER. A little while later someone brought in this mans plaid wool scarf similar to the one I tried to steal from my friend Dan last winter. The fringe is a little scruffy, but not bad. I snapped it up.

Then last Sunday my stylish friend Netta and her plus-size styling company XoXoNettaP hosted a clothing swap, specifically for sizes 8 and up. (Best idea ever, right? Go here for more info.)

I had several dresses to contribute that I’ve sized out of. They got snapped up right away and it made me happy to see them twirled-around with, squealed over, and inspire sassy poses.

I’m a pack-rat by nature but a minimalist by necessity (teeny apartment!), so seeing my old stuff appreciated was an emotionally satisfying way to get rid of clutter.

Even more fun, Netta can’t help herself – she bounced around the room picking things out for people. We all left with arms full of good stuff.

I think I found a new hobby! Have you ever gone to one? Did you get anything good? Who wants to be my swap meet buddy?!

I’m thrilled when someone tells me I inspired them to make a Life List, so I was busting with pride when Rob posted his own recently and then checked off “Competitively Eat”. He actually founded L.A.C.E. – the League of Amateur Competitive Eating – and then hosted its first event this past Saturday at the Burger Bistro, a few miles south of us in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

We take fun very seriously.

The enthusiasm it garnered was surprising. It got written up a bunch of places, including the New York Times, and the place was packed when we arrived. Rob was giddy!

Professional eater Will Millender was there to give a demo (something I wish I could un-see) and be a judge. He brought along his championship belt.

Rob had a good run and came in second with 10 sliders in five minutes. This photo of him mid-competition makes me laugh! He was gross and sweaty.

Horray to you, Rob, for following your dreams – even if your wife thinks they’re kind of disgusting.

Did you have a good weekend?

Rob and I went to Park Here! an indoor space in Nolita that has been converted into a springtime park. There were fake trees, fake grass and scenery of lush foliage on the walls. People were spread out on the “lawn” picnic-style, eating from the food vendors that had set up shop there. Recorded birdsong was piped in to give it an even more authentic “outdoors in nice weather” feeling, and there were even real dried leaves scattered around! It was weird and a little dystopian, but we were still a bit sad to step back into the snow.

Our friends the Robicellies were vending cupcakes so we hung out for a while, doing our best to convince the skeptical that chicken and waffles cupcakes are really good.

Monday evening was the Sixth Annual Brooklyn Casserole Crazy Competition, hosted by Emily Farris. Rob and I came in third (out of 44) with our insane creation and we were SO excited! Our secret is that we stuffed every delicious thing we could think of into one Pyrex dish and baked it at 350 for 25 minutes.

You know I love the URDB – they were there documenting “Most Casseroles in a Room”. Then Emily called for someone to do the record, “Most Casseroles Tasted in One Minute”. The first guy to attempt it went with a spoon in one hand and a set of chopsticks, giving him points for style and creativity, but he was easily beaten by Rob and his two-spoon stuff-into-mouth-like-a-caveman method and got to 30.

Thank goodness there’s video.

The crowd chanting, “Rob! Rob! Rob!” made me all teary. Even better, Rob pledged a dollar to the Greenpoint Soup Kitchen for every casserole he tasted, and five people matched him.

My husband is the coolest.

Did you know there is free* kayaking on the East River? I didn’t! It’s courtesy of the Brooklyn Bridge Park Boathouse. We stumbled across it on Sunday. I didn’t go – I’m not into unexpectedly getting my rear end sopping wet – but I’ll be back in a swimsuit. Matt, Nicole, Tracy, Jackie and Rob tried it out, though.

Even more fun, we came at the tail end when the volunteers were packing up for the day and they needed help paddling all the gear back to storage, so everyone got extra long rides.

And extra especially fun, we ran into Sarah Cooley who was one of the volunteers.

Go check it out! (They’re in the Brooklyn Bridge Park on Sundays, but Saturdays they’re over at Pier 1 in the new Brooklyn Bridge Park extension).

*They accept donations

Maggie was in town, and unfortunately it was pouring rain. “I want tea,” she had said, and so we found ourselves folded into Cha-An, a tiny Japanese tea house in lower Manhattan, with Alice and Laura. Everyone else ordered normal tea, and I ordered the oolong. Oolong, I thought, was exotic enough to feel special (the place oozes with a unique cozy/fancy vibe) but familiar enough not to feel weird.

“The oolong; it’s the kind that you pour and pour with the little things.” said the waitress, heavily accented and seeming to struggle with English.

“It’s what now?”

“You get the little… and it comes with the tea…” she made a pouring motion again.

“Ok.” I said, not knowing at all what I ordered. “Sounds great.”

When she left I shrugged and smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

She arrived at the table with this whole… set up! It was a tall metal pitcher of hot water and a wooden box slightly smaller than a shoe box, on top of which was the following: a big glass tea pot, a small clay tea pot, loose tea in a little glass container [not pictured], an empty white porcelain cup just smaller than a shot glass, and a small ceramic tea cup with no handle. There was also a bowl containing a few lumpy, frosted green tea cookies which were pretty good.

She put the dry tea in the glass pot and then poured the water over it to brew. She poured the brewed tea into the little clay tea pot, and from there she poured it to the tea cup, then the porcelain cup, and and then she dumped it out into the wooden box which had slats to drain into itself. She did it all a second time. On the third series of pouring she dumped brewed tea from the tea cup all over the little clay tea pot, and then she handed me the little porcelain cup.

It was hot from the tea, but empty and dry. I was confused, but she was looking at me expectantly so, in one of the more awkward moments of my life, I touched the tip of my tongue to it a few times and glanced up to see if I was doing it right. I wasn’t. She laughed, and pointed to her nose.

“I think you’re just supposed to smell it.” said Laura.

“Ahh!” I said, and sniffed it. It smelled like tea. It was one of those “appreciate with all of your senses” moments, so I tried to concentrate on appreciating the aroma and not being embarrassed about the inappropriate licking. I handed it back, and the waitress smiled, set the two tea pots, the hot water and the ceramic cup in front of me and shuffled off.

Now, should you find yourself in a similar fancy tea place, you know what to do. You’re welcome.

P.S. If you go, try the scones. OMG, the scones!