Sunday, December 30, 2007

New Year's: No Longer Just Another Shitty Holiday

Have you ever:
a) spent New Year's Eve on the D train hugging a 4-pack of Charmin, crying?
b) run around a New Year's party screaming "I haven't been this high since high school!" only to spend the next day so hungover that you could do nothing but lie in bed and watch 17 hours of "Flip That House?"
c) been punched in the vagina on New Year's Eve by your little sister's drunk friend?
If you answered "yes" to any of the above, then you probably hate New Year's as much as I do. But I think that's all because I looked at New Year's as a holiday that was supposed to be wildly celebrated, and not a fresh start. This year, I'm going to celebrate the beginning of 2008--for real. 2007 was probably the best and worst year of my life. And I'm damn glad that it's almost over (the year, not my life).

Last Minute Tax Write-Off Anyone?

As many of you know, I'm a little obsessed with Scrabble lately. I'm getting pretty good at it. But not good enough to win a tournament without cheating.

Before I began spending my days glued to the computer "professionally," I was a volunteer tutor at 826NYC, a non-profit, after-school drop-in center founded in California (826 Valencia) by Dave Eggers. While 826 helps kids with all of their homework, the main goal of the organization is to support students age 6-18 with their creative and expository writing skills.

Great right? A free after-school, drop-in writing lab! Yes! But it costs money to run. That's why I've signed up with my friend Dan(Team: The Prospering Cheaters) for Scrabble for Cheaters, January 19. But it costs us every time we cheat. Plus, we're playing with the likes of John Hodgman and John Oliver (The Daily Show) and Peter Dinklage (The Station Agent), and frankly we want to kick their asses... while raising money for the kids, of course.

Don't you want The Prospering Cheaters to invent a word in your honor ($500) or maybe just buy an extra vowel ($50)? Also, don't you want a tax write-off before January 1?

Donate to the Prospering Cheaters

Learn more about 826NYC

Thanks and happy New Year!

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

eefers Has Moved. Sort Of.

It looks I'm now a permanent fixture over at Nerve's Scanner. So come visit. I post much more frequently, and frankly, it's better stuff.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007


Hey Kids. I'm guest blogging over at Nerve's Scanner blog this week. Come visit.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

132 Brooklyn Buildings Have Four Months to Improve

The Department of Housing preservation compiled a list of 200 buildings in the city with numerous outstanding violations and has given them four months to make the majority of the repairs. While the Astral is not mentioned in the NYT article, I would be surprised if it's not on the list. With 120 units, many of which are infested with bedbugs and have leaky ceilings (and probably mold), I imagine it has to be at the top of the HDP's list. If not, it should be.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Some Things That Have Annoyed Me in the Last 18 Hours

1. ThosefuckingATMsthateatyourcard. Yeah. I left my card in an ATM last night and didn't realize it until this morning when I went to buy some breakfast.

2. Rather, this afternoon. My phone decided last night that it would switch over to Daylight Savings Time a week early, and I didn't know any better. As far as I knew, I woke early. So I took my sweet time getting ready and opened the store an hour late today. Now, every time I set it back to the correct time manually, it changes back to what it thinks it should be (an hour earlier). I'm going to be so screwed this week.

Halloween Costumes

I always pull together my Halloween costume at the last minute. No matter how much thought I put into it the entire month of October, the perfect costume never comes to me until I'm on my way out the door to celebrate with slutty cats and French maids. Last night was no exception. I arrived home at 8 with the vague idea of dressing up as VMA Britney, but needed to leave by 8:30 and didn't have time to buy a wig and my silver bikini was no where to be found. I thought about what I could utilize (my red hair) and took an inventory of the clothes I haven't yet packed for my move (very few). What I came up with was a pretty-dam-good-if-I-do-say-so-myself Pippi Longstocking.
I can't take credit for this industrious Halloweening of mine. I owe it to my father. My parents divorced when I was three, and my mother never celebrated Halloween because her crazy religion didn't allow it. Dad arrived one year realizing we didn't have costumes and not wanting to endure the picked through pink plastic princesses and black wigs of K-Mart. He did, however, have a few sheets in his car--a pale blue sheet and a Budweiser sheet (maybe he'd just done laundry? or he knew we weren't going to be dressed up?). A few holes and a piece or two of string later, my sister Jo and I were instantly transformed into ghosts. I don't remember which one of us actually ended up as the Budweiser ghost; I know neither of us wanted to be, and we fought about it. I also know my dad felt bad, but what I wouldn't give to be the Budweiser ghost now.

Friday, October 19, 2007


Welcome to the world of CHAIN TEXT MESSAGES. Maybe this isn't news (I'm throwing my cell phone out the window if it's not) but I just got my first:
"I better get this back! I love you to pieces! =) Today is best friend day. Send to twelve friends you can't live without."

Dad to Me: Drop the Subject

My dad refuses to go to my website. I shouldn't be all that surprised, he had to hang up the phone after he called to tell me that my health insurance statement had been sent to him and I warned him that he would find birth control on it. We didn't talk for weeks after that. Later, he googled me, only to find a first-person piece I'd written on colonic irrigation. I guess the "my ass had finally lost its virginity" line really got to him.

Tonight, he called to tell me he'd seen that I'd made the July 8 New York Times. He had searched that site for my name, assuming it was safe and that he'd not find anything he didn't want to. I told him to visit the press section of my casserole website to see all the other press I'd gotten, and that there was only one thing that might bother him, "but I'd be happy to warn--"

"No, I won't go to your website."

"But it's just--"

"No, Emily. Drop the subject."

"But I can warn you wha--"

"Emily, drop the subject now. I'm not going to your website."

"This is ridiculous, it's not even-"

"DROP the subject, Emily."

Alright. How 'bout them Chiefs?

Sunday, October 07, 2007

Best Craigslist Missed Connection Title. Ever.

Here. [NSFW]

UPDATE: It's gone now, but the title was something like "sucked your dick a little in McDonald's."

Monday, October 01, 2007

Life in the Astral

I live in The Astral, a landmarked building in Greenpoint. From the outside it is beautiful. From the inside, it is a death trap. My lease is up in a month; I've been here eleven miserable months. Since I moved in, my bathroom has flooded multiple times through the ceiling and I've been fighting an uphill battle to keep the building's bedbugs from closing in on me. To keep this post short, I'll give you just a brief overview of the past few months.

June 15-ish: I ask the super to replace my bathroom floor which has been coming up in pieces, and to remove the mold -- both results of the constant flooding. He says he'll do it while I'm in New Hampshire.

August 21: I return from New Hampshire to a still moldy, flooded bathroom.

August 27, 2007: When walking out of my apartment to take some trash to the street, I slip and fall on the wet stairs. I fall straight onto my back, and cannot move. Instead of helping me up, the man who had been cleaning the floor grabs his mop to sop up the rest of the water. There were no signs warning me of wet stairs. After about a minute and a half of crying, immobile (while being mopped around), I crawl back to my apartment and get myself halfway onto my bed, where I wait for friends to come help me.

September 15-ish: I ask the super to please fix the bathroom, and tell him that water is pouring out of the ceiling "right now." He says he's busy fixing the pipes and when that's all done, he will fix my bathroom.

September 20th-ish (a weekday, mid-afternoon): I look out my kitchen window into the building's "courtyard" and see the super accompanying a young woman dressed in stilettos and a bathrobe to the "work" shed. He is carrying a camera.

September 25: I return from a night out to find a giant cockroach in the entry way to the building. I find a man on the street to kill it for me before I can go in (yes, I'm a girl).

September 26: My bathroom floods again. Super says he'll send someone in ten minutes. Thirty minutes pass and I have to leave. I come home and nothing is fixed.

Bathroom mid-flood:

September 28: My friend leaves my place and says she saw a dog pissing on the dead cockroach... that's still there (see September 25).

September 30: As I'm walking home with boxes a local business owner asks me what's up. "I'm finally leaving the Atral," I say. "My apartment is falling down around me and the super won't fix it."

"Maybe if you pose for him he will," jokes the man. I ask him what he knows. Apparently the super runs an amateur pornography photo business. Apparently he also does this during business hours, when he could be fixing my bathroom (see September 20-ish). Eh?

The mold in the bathroom is growing out of control and is impossible to clean. In the evening, a mushroom begins to grow from the ceiling.

October 1: I'm in the bathroom brushing and flossing and get very dizzy. My throat has been burning for hours. I remember I'm allergic to mold. I remember that I often wake up with a headache. This is most likely toxic mold.

I won't bother to mention the bedbugs. Not even that one I caught biting me last night. In addition to moving costs, I now have to buy a new bed. Among other things.

I've given my notice, and am refusing to pay rent for October. What are the next steps I should take? Help!?

Bonus Picture: The Crack in my Kitchen Wall
(Behind that wall is the bathroom. Days ago, it was hairline.. or so I thought.):

Sunday, September 30, 2007

Venus in Furs, Live

Found this via boingboing: the Velvet Underground playing Venus in Furs at The Factory.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Deep Thoughts, by Jack Handy

Last night, a friend called for advice. Her cat's butt was particularly smelly. I had no advice for her other than seeing the vet, and when she showed up at my house later, she admitted to trying to solve the problem with Febreze.

Later that night, in my drunken state, when considering just how ridiculous her solution was, I was reminded of a similarly ridiculous little story that my sister Jo and I used to laugh about for hours. It was in a collection of "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy," and Jo and I discovered it when visiting my aunt in Atlanta ten years ago. She kept the book in the guest room and we opened it up one night in bed and read this particular story and could not stop laughing:
If you want to sue somebody, just get a little plastic skeleton and lay it in their yard. Then tell them their ants ate your baby.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Lay, Lady, Lay

I am not a pretty sleeper. I know this. In fact, one Halloween, when I'd passed out on the couch, my then-boyfriend decided it would be funny to take a series of pictures of me asleep, dressed up like a mouse, with my little mouse nose in its final stages of being smudged off, looking like one of Jerry's Kids. It was funny. Then.

Those things are funny when you're in love. And when the person laughing at you has already decided that s/he wants to be with you even if you're a retarded, drooling sleeper with frequent gas and a tendency to cry at episodes of Grey's Anatomy.

That is comfort, I guess. And after my break-up, I wanted comfort more than anything. I was so used to sleeping next to someone big and warm, that whether it was my best girlfriend (who was not big) or a rebound (who was not big, either), I just needed to fall asleep next to a warm body. I asked my friend Liz to stay the night probably far too often--so often that the one time (that I know of) that a giant cockroach made a pilgrimage across my bed, Liz's face was there to serve as a buffer between la cuca rocha and me. She was there. And I was grateful. Not only was I grateful that the cockroach had crawled on her face and not mine, but I was grateful that she was there in spite of whatever noises or fluids may have been coming out of my body at the time. I slept better with someone else in my bed. Period.

Fast forward a few months and I'm back to my old, pre-relationship ways. I love my bed. And I love that if the corner of the sheet is coming off of the mattress, that I did it, and I'm responsible for putting it back. I want to drool and snore alone, and, for the most part, I want my bed to myself. Sharing a bed makes me conscious of the fact that I'm an ugly sleeper, and who wants their last thought of the day to be "I'm falling into ugly?"

Maybe this is what getting over something is--getting re-acquainted and comfortable with old habits... while getting comfortable with new ones, like cooking dinner for oneself and Running for Fat People.

Monday, September 10, 2007

The Things We Learn by Accident

The older I get, the more I learn, by accident. I'm sure this is something my parents knew all along, and I'm just beginning to figure it out. Anyway, turns out if I run at noon when it's overcast and rainy, as opposed to running at noon when it's 80ยบ in the blazing sun, I don't feel like I'm going to die so much. In fact, I can extend Running for Fat People for ten minutes and still not feel like I'm going to die. I knew I wanted fall to come for a reason, I just couldn't figure out the reason.

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Old Lady Hips

One thing I didn't mention about camp is that, surprisingly, I gained about ten pounds while I was there (or so I'm guessing it was ten pounds, I don't believe in scales). Because there were 100 people fighting for the food, my survival instincts would kick in at meal time. Fearful that I'd be hungry by the next meal (because I always was) or that some eleven-year-old would take the last piece of French toast, I binged, or hoarded, as it were. It's fair to say that I ate as much at every meal as I generally do in a day in Brooklyn.

Upon returning to the city and trying to regain some semblance of Greenpoint chic (skinny jeans, etc.), I realized that my clothes no longer fit. And by no longer fit, I mean that every pair of pants I have to suck in to zip up gives me a giant muffin top when I breathe out. If you don't know what a a muffin top is, think about it. Still don't know? Picture me in a pair of jeans that's too tight at the waist and think about it again.

Add to this the fact that I am now making at least eight casseroles a week.

So I did what any somewhat shallow 25-year-old would do and began a running program. It's not just any running program. In fact, I call it "Running for Fat People," and it might as well be called that because it's really called "From Couch to 5K." It's simple. Really simple. This is not to say that I didn't feel like I was going to die when I was done yesterday, because I did, a little. But in the spirit of wanting to burn the fat as quickly as possible, yesterday I decided that I would run again today, even though "Running for Fat People" advised me not to. I believed for the past 24 hours that I would be running right now. And then I woke up a while ago to find that my hips hurt. My hips! Of all the places on my body that shouldn't hurt me until I'm 65, my fucking hips hurt.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

The Only Reality Show I Ever Need to Go On. Ever. (Except Maybe "The Next Pussycat Doll")

And no, it's not The Next Food Network Star.

Anyone who has spent any significant amount of time with me knows that I often spontaneously break into song. And I don't stop after just one line; I keep going, and going, and going, and going, and going.

On NBC's The Singing Bee, contestants are fed the beginning of pop songs by karaoke-grade singers and must fill in the lyrics when the singer suddenly stops. So far, I'm nailing this show (Love is a Battlefield, Like a Virgin, Son of a Preacher Man, I'll be There, Stand by Your Man).

Thank you, NBC for teaching me two things:
1. I am not, as I once believed, too good for reality TV, and
2. My ex-boyfriend looks just like Joey Fatone. The resemblance is scary, and not in a good way.

P.S. The grand prize is $50,000. In the bag.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

One Time, at Arts Camp

I edited video. For the first time since doing it on an A-B Roller in high school ten years ago:

Camp rocks my world.

It's Gonna Blow Your Effing Mind

I haven't posted much lately. Mostly because I'm lazy, but also because I was a counselor at an arts camp in New Hampshire for a month. We did many, many cool things, but the coolest of all, I'm convinced, is the barbarian movie, titled simply and ingeniously "Barbarian Movie." Watch the trailer. It will blow your mind.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Would You Rather?

Remember this game? Let's play:

Would you rather find the bloody stump of a human leg or the jointed curvature of a centipede leg in your bed upon coming home from a night out?

Me? I'd take a bloody stump any day.

Friday, July 06, 2007

Life Imitates Art

It's about 4 a.m. and I'm lying in bed. I just was working on a piece about the giant cockroaches that have taken over my life and I look over and a giant fucking house centipede (remember those guys?) was crawling across the wall. I jumped up and sprayed it. I thought it fell down behind the bed and proceeded to sit on the bed (I was naked, mind you) to make sure I'd eliminated it. I didn't see any traces of it, save a leg or twelve stuck to the wall where I'd sprayed, so I figured I'd killed it. I stood up to get a tissue for the wall and realized it had been under my bare ass cheek the entire time, still squirming. Now, I admit I was getting a little too sentimental with the cockroach story--no one wants to hear about my formative years in subsidized housing--and needed to be stopped, but this is just too much to handle. Seriously, I'm now freaked out by the sight of my own hair on my pillow. I just cannot deal with this shit. We won't even talk about what happened to my friend Liz.. OK, we will: a giant cockroach crawled across her face in my bed a couple weeks ago. I live in squalor.

Thursday, June 28, 2007


Sometimes I just feel like there's good karma, or energy--or whatever you choose to call it--floating around me. These past few days, I've felt it. In addition to having my first lunch with my editor, signing my book contract, and seeing Wilco yet again (I'm obsessed; it began as good break-up music and now is just damn good music), I've very randomly met so many cool, wonderful people. And it just makes me so fucking happy. Sure, the people upstairs just flooded my bathroom for the fourth time in two months and it's three hundred degrees here and I have absolutely no money. Life is still good; I can't really complain. That's all I'm sayin'.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Sexy, Sexy Casserole

Check out Sex Advice from Casserole Bakers at, featuring eefers and a few Casserole Party competitors (there's even a champion in there).

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

The Saddest Girl Ever

It's beginning to sink in that I'm not going to get to see Wilco at the Warsaw on June 26... or at any of their New York shows. Somehow I missed the pre-sale and now I can't afford to pay some asshole $225 for a ticket. If I could afford it, believe me I would, but I can't. And that sucks. I can't believe that Wilco will be in my city and I won't be there to see it.

For anyone out there with an extra ticket, I'm on the verge of selling myself into prostitution here...

Shallow Democrat

Call me a shallow Democrat. I was so excited about Hillary's new ad, I went to her website to watch it again. This is when I learned that her campaign song is by none other than the most annoying Canadian ever: Celine Dion. Apparently a vote took place. Obviously I missed it. So, I sent Hillary's staff this message:
I think the choice of Celine Dion's "You and I" is a terrible choice for a campaign song. Forget the fact that she's Canadian (that barely concerns me). Let's focus on the fact that she's terrible/cheesy/annoying. I am a would-be/could-be Hillary supporter (undecided Democrat) who has voted for Senator Clinton in the past. I am a seasoned canvasser who could even end up with some volunteer time on my hands, but if I have to listen to that song for the next year, I might have to seriously reconsider.

Emily Farris
Brooklyn, NY
I realize now that I used "choice" twice in the same sentence. And I apologize.

Rha Rha Rhee Rhee Cyclones Had a Victory

Last night I went to the Brooklyn Cyclones season opener, and it was much better than last year, when the Cyclones lost 0-18 to the Staten Island Yankees. The Cyclones pulled off a 5-1 win against the Yanks this year.

Again, post-game we (though a different we than last year) went to ride the Cyclone. The person I was with had never been on it and I suggested we sit in the last seat, to get the full effect. I think we both got off with whiplash (though I think his was worse than mine, I had some idea what to expect).

I then decided that having a Nathan's hot dog post Cyclone was a good idea. It was not. The last two times I've had a hot dog, said hot dog has been a night cap of sorts. And both times I ended up on the bathroom floor around 2 a.m. No more hot dogs for eefers.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

The Twilight Zone

OK, not exactly twilight, but the world is a very different place in the morning. Since returning from my trip, I've had a hard time sleeping late. I never quite recovered from Netherlands time, which is fine, because getting up at 7 in Amsterdam is like getting up at 1 in the afternoon on the East Coast. And I used to do that -- often. I've now found a happy medium and wake up around 9 every day. Fine. I'm actually more productive when I get up early. Go figure.

Anyway, I'm going to The Meatwave today and wanted to pick up a nice cut of steak and some sausage, but at 10:00 on a Sunday none of the meat markets in Greenpoint are open. I'm going to blame it on Sunday and not this crazy time we call "morning."

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Not Cool

Apparently, I am not cool enough to sell my clothes in Williamsburg.

When I lived in Park Slope (and its general vicinity), I would take my clothes that I no longer wore or that no longer fit to Beacon's Closet, to sell. More often than not, they'd buy what I took in. I have a pretty good eye for what's wearable and what's not... or so I'd like to think.

Today, I took about five pair of jeans, many cute, vintage dresses, and even a few pairs of lightly worn shoes to the Williamsburg branch. I left with $15 and most of what I walked in with.

I already knew my hipness wasn't quite up to par in this neighborhood, but it didn't really affect me. Until now. Park Slope geeks: prepare yourself for my flared Gap jeans and Hush Puppies. They're coming your way.

Monday, June 11, 2007

My Favorite Part

Everyone keeps asking me what was my favorite part of my European Adventure. And it was strangely non-European, in a way.

Imagine spending the day in a Dutch market with a koffie (not that watered down drip crap they serve here, but actual espresso with a little cookie) in one hand and the best damn gelato ever, in the other. Then, riding a bike to a church turned concert venue to see Wilco. Not only did I get to see Wilco, I was right up front. And I was making eyes at Jeff Tweedy the entire time; whether or not he was making eyes back can be debated. To end a perfect day, I had frites mayo for dinner and rode a bike home in the light rain.

Does life get any better than that? I think not.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

I'm Baaack

Yeah, yeah. I'm home. I'm going through a bit of Europe withdraw, coupled with a head cold, it's giving me little pangs of depression. But it's good to be back in Amurrrica and beginning tomorrow I'm a busy bee.

Saturday, June 02, 2007

First Round of Photos...

...from my European Adventure here.

I'd write more but it's time for more Frites Mayo.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Checking In

I can't believe my trip is almost half over. Where did I leave off? Drunk and lost in London? Yeah, that was fun, but I have to say Amsterdam is probably my new favorite city (aside from New York).

But first, getting here was a trip (pun intended). My plan was to take the Underground to the airport. When I arrived at the stop, however, the Underground was closed (they're doing repairs/expansions for the 2012 Olympics). Desperate to not miss my flight, and standing in the rain with what felt like a 50 pound backpack, I asked the nearest locals--tour bus drivers--for advice. They offered to take me to the Heathrow Express train for 2 pounds; I hopped on.

Tour busses are slow; they make many stops and wet, dumbfounded tourists stand in the step well deciding whether or not to get on. But finally, I made it to the train station and waited in line to get my ticket. Apparently, though, that was like waiting in the Metrocard line for a LIRR ticket. After fifteen wasted minutes, I found the real train station, got an express ticket and was happy to be on my way. But of course, there was track work on the Express. Needless to say, I made my flight to Amsterdam. Barely.

I spent two nights in Amsterdam, and other than being followed around by multiple dorky American college boys, I had a great time and far too much food. I'm now in a small town on the coast of Holland and just visited what I imagine is the Dutch version of Target. There I found the most beautifully packaged tampons I've ever seen; they'll probably end up displayed in my apartment somewhere, and I'll post pictures when I'm home.

After two nights here, I head back to Amsterdam for another four. Then one more night in London, then home.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Day 2

While getting lost when drunk in London is not unfun, it would be far more fun if the people were friendlier.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

First Thoughts on London

I arrived in London this morning. But before I left JFK, I exchanged my money and almost cried. You know what 1,000 U.S. dollars get you? 100 pounds and 500 euros -- that's what, rather, that's all. Little ole' eefers didn't realize you have to pay to exchange your money. It's not like getting 8 quarters from the guy at the bodega for the bus. No, they sell you money by hiking up the exchange rate and then charging a commission. I did, however, turn on the charm (read: pathetic poor girl act) to have the commission waved.

So, I'm on a 20 pounds/day budget in London (luckily I'm staying with a family I used to sit for in the city and their fridge is stocked) and will be on a 40 euros/day budget in Amsterdam (after I pay for my hostels which include a free continental breakfast).

Being on said budget, I stopped into McDonald's for a 1.99 Big Mac. And you know what? The people who work at McDonald's are not unattractive. And the female employees wear skirts and nylons and little black ballet flats. They're friendly, and helpful and my Big Mac was hot, if not so fresh.

Now, if I can just avoid getting run down by a car before I have a chance to spend my fortune....

P.S. The tube costs about 6 pounds! Good thing I bought some Birkenstocks.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Hot Shot

My friend Daniel took this great shot on the Brooklyn Bridge yesterday. Yes, that's my nose. We were shooting for a piece I'm doing on sun damage for the Brooklyn Paper, hence my comment about my "sun damaged nose."

Visit Daniel Krieger's website or find him on flickr.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Book Deal

Lil' ole' me has a book deal. My contemporary casserole cookbook, tentatively titled "Hot Stuff: Not Your Mama's Casserole" will be published by Perigee books in Fall 2008. More casserole goodness here.

In It to Win It

Congratulations to my awesome (and I mean that in the godliest sense) kickball team the Divine Sisterhood of the Sacred Bleeding Heart for our first win last night. And to our captain Lia for scoring three runs!

Personally, I think the little chant I composed had a little something to do with our win:
Hail Mary
Full of speed
Make those mother kickers

Thanks be to kickball
[Brooklyn Kickball]

Friday, May 11, 2007

Fun With Paint

We just painted these rad stripes on the kitchen floor.

More images on my crazy casserole blog.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

25 Ain't So Bad

As many of my loyal readers know, I was freaking out a bit about turning 25 (it happened yesterday; if you didn't call, let the guilt ensue). My upcoming trip to Europe has eased the blow a bit and yesterday, I got a call from my agent that someone actually wants to publish my contemporary casserole cookbook (tentatively titled: Hot Stuff: Not Your Mama's Casserole). I can't say much more than that, as nothing has been signed, but this is huge, huge, huge news. To get things going, I've created a casserole-centric website, independent of eefers. Go check out, comment, and mooch the off the recipe section.

Saturday, May 05, 2007


5 days from now I will be 25.
13 days from now it will have been a month since I've had sex.
1 month from now I will already be back from Europe.

Totally random numbers; just thought I'd share.

Also, I really hope I don't make it to the whole "a month since I've had sex" thing.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Seriously, Officer?

Tonight, while riding west on Bedford Avenue (with traffic, towards Williamsburg), as I was about to cross Willoughby--at a green light, mind you--I was nearly hit by a cop car. The headlights were turned off and the officer driving was very obviously and consciously running a red light.

Now, not only was I being a good biker and wearing a helmet and a flashing red light, I was obeying traffic laws. Yet I was still almost run down by a cop car. That's bad, right? Right. But it gets worse.

I, of course, gave the "what the hell?!" arm signal to the cops (basically just throwing my left arm up in the air). And instead of waving me on apologetically or even driving off to avoid me taking down the car number, the officer in the passenger seat hurled a paper cup out the window at me. No, s/he didn't casually toss it. S/he fucking hurled it. Just as obviously as the officer driving ran the red light, the officer in the passenger seat hurled a fucking cup at me. Hurled! Yeah...I know.

Unfortunately, after that, the car sped off and I wasn't able to get the number down. And while I believe the last two of the four digits were 77, I can't be certain. This means I can't do much about it. But I can put it out there in the blogosphere in hopes that things like this will get back to the NYPD. And yeah, I'll report it to the CCRB, but without a car number, there's not much they can do. Most likely, it will end up on the long list of unreported cop on cyclist aggression. Assholes.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Deep Thoughts

Let's say you shed more tears while in a relationship than over the end of it...

That's all.

Help Send a Poor Girl Packing

Backpacking through Europe, that is. You see, I've booked my first trip out of the country. Ever. Like I've mentioned before, that's what happens when you grow up poor in middle America. What also happens when you grow up poor in middle America, is that you have a shopping problem. And when you book your flights and hostels, find out you don't really have enough money to feel secure in your trip because you've spent too much on shoes that will be way too uncomfortable to wear while in Europe, anyway.

Now, I'm not one to go asking strangers for money, but I've heard of people who've paid off their credit card debts by posting for help online (and believe me, I won't ask you all to help me with that mess). I figure it's almost my birthday, there are probably a few loyal readers out there, or maybe some of you just want me to go away for two weeks. Or maybe you want to read about my adventures while I'm away. Either way, what I'm saying is, if you feel like donating some non- tax- deductible fun money to eefers, you'll be doing someone, somewhere, a favor. That's all. And rest assured, it's all secure.

Donate today to eefers' European Adventure.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

I Want to be the Next Pussycat Doll

Wow. I just caught the finale of Pussycat Dolls: Search for the Next Doll. It's a shame I didn't know about this sooner, because I really believe I have what it takes to be the next Pussycat Doll.

One of the judges, who I assume is already a Doll, told the three remaining girls, "You all look like the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll." Now, I don't know what "the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll" is, but I've seen them perform "Don't Cha." And if I had to guess, the true meaning of a Pussycat Doll is a girl who can dance hot, sing pretty, and look good in Spandex.

Let's begin with dancing. I not only danced in Fort Osage High School's production of "The King and I" but I was also on the drill team. What's more, is that my fellow Indianettes called me "PT." That stands for Pelvic Thrust, yo.

Second, I can sing better than those bitches. The Dolls could really use a classically-trained vocalist. Plus, I'm a professional tambourinist. How many of them can dance, sing, and play an instrument all at the same time?

Now let's talk about the clothes. It's true that I look a little lumpy in Spandex and I'm really pale. But they're always in black, anyway, and black is very slimming. And hello ladies, I can totally get a girdle and a spray-on tan.

And for extra credit, I have something that I bet none of those girls has: I can do the entire rap from TLC's "Waterfalls" from memory.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

It's About Damn Time

I just booked my first trip out of the country. Ever. (That's what happens when you grow up poor in middle-America.)

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Calling All Boob Men

The JANE Guide to Breast Health, read: a boob slide show [via Gawker].

Juicy tidbit: My boobs once appeared on Gawker.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Freak Out: The Final Countdown

I turn 25 exactly one month from today. So, start shopping for my presents (cash is always good, too) and get the straight jacket ready.


Since the beginning of time (OK, last summer) Chris and I have argued over the goodness of Cascadian Farm's organic sweet peas. He thinks I'm crazy for calling them "the good peas" and going to as many as three stores in search of them if I'm going to include peas in a dish.

Last Tuesday, we were eating at The Good Fork in Red Hook and the first thing I said when I tasted my sweet mushroom risotto was, "Oh my god, these are the good peas!"

Massive eye roll ensues.

"No one company has the monopoly on good peas," Chris argued.

After a petulant "Uh-huh!" I explained that recently, when babysitting, I'd tasted the baby's pureed peas. I asked the father if they were "the good peas... you know, Cascadian Farm?" They were.

Massive eye roll ensues. Again.

In my ongoing effort to prove I'm right about the things I truly believe in (and god dammit, I believe in these peas), I asked the server if he knew where the restaurant got their peas. He didn't but offered to ask the chef. I heard him over at the window, "Chef, where do you get your peas?" I knew by the look on her face--the look that she was slightly embarrassed to use frozen peas in her dishes--that she could only use one kind. "Cascadian Farm?" our server yelled into the kitchen.

"Yeah, Cascadian Farm," she yelled back with a pleased smile.

Someone else had a pleased smile that night, too.

Thanks to my friend Julie Powell for the awesome title.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Oh Those Kids at Google...

Pretty funny shit. Pun intended. I love it when the Powers That Be play April Fool's jokes on us. And I love it that Google is a Power That Be.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Squashing the Competition

Check out coverage of the Casserole Party in this week's Time Out. Finally, finally! I've been dubbed the "Queen of Casseroles" in print. I'd like to change it to "Casserole Queen" but it will do for now.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Goddamn You, Jonathan Lethem

Tonight, my friend and I were enjoying a nice, quiet dinner at Bar Tabac, our usual date spot. The host crammed us next to another two-top, instead of giving us some space, because they were obviously reserving a six-top for someone. Fine. We try to order the "cheapest bottle of red" and end up with the next-to-cheapest bottle of red. Fine. We order dinner and before I've even finished my goat cheese salad, our waiter asks us to move to a table in the other room because they need ours for "another party." I look over and fucking Jonathan Lethem has filled the six top with his writer friends, and apparently has more coming. Who knew he was that important? Who knew that the ridiculously-aloof Bar Tabac staff had any idea who Jonathan Lethem is? We move to the other table in the other room. Does anyone at Jonathan Lethem's table thank us for giving up our table mid-meal? No. We try for fifteen minutes to get a dessert menu, and after the busboy gives us new bread (as if we've just been seated for dinner) we talk him into sending our waiter--who has decided since Jonathan Lethem & Co. are in--that we no longer exist. We order a flourless chocolate cake, thinking "he'll of course comp us; he moved us in the middle of our dinner for Christ's sake." We order another piece. I have to wave my candle in the air to get the waiter to notice that we want the check. It arrives. Finally. No comps. Goddamn you, Jonathan Lethem. You owe me chocolate cake.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Gone Red

There's a lot going on in my life right now, and since I'm not a 17-year-old blogging on MySpace, I won't tell you all about it. What I will tell you, is that I needed a change. The result? A new tattoo, and this:

Friday, March 09, 2007

How Not to Max Out My Credit Cards

Here's an idea: I start wearing really frumpy, baggy clothes ("Poor girl. She's about to turn 25 and she dresses like a 65-year-old lunch lady."). Then, someone nominates me for What Not to Wear. I pretend I have no idea how to make myself look good. They give me $5,000 to spend on new clothes. Who's down?

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Homophobia's New York Home

As much as I love their Signature Salad, Cosi (the coffee shop/sandwich chain with so-so coffee) has done gone and pissed me off (allegedly). From an email alert someone forwarded me this morning:
"Last night, I went to the opening of an exhibit at a Cosi restaurant here in New Rochelle, sponsored by the Empire State Pride Agenda. The exhibit features about 35 pictures of same sex couples, framed in rainbow colors, each with a few words about why marriage equality is important. It's a very simple, and very powerful, exhibition, and felt very personal for me, seeing the movement that I've helped to build come to my hometown for the first time.

And now, a day later, we need to come together to fight ignorance: Cosi corporate has announced that they will be TAKING THE EXHIBIT DOWN THIS MORNING (Wed 2/28) at 11:00 AM, in response to numerous complaints and threats the corporation has received from anti-gay people. We need to let Cosi know that the symbolism of their cowardice will not be lost on anyone, and that, if they follow through with this repudiation of their own gesture of openness, they're going to lose a hell of a lot of business from fair-minded people here in New York and all their markets across the country."
If any of this pisses you off you can leave a comment on Cosi's corporate website, or better yet, call the New Rochelle store to voice your displeasure at 914-637-8300.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Shameless Self Promotion

I'm all about the country music this week. Check out my Sex Advice from Country Musicians for Nerve and my story about the Johnny Cash Birthday Bash for the Brooklyn Papers (disclaimer, I did not include, or approve the inclusion of, the Yiddish in my nut graph... a shiksa writing about country music? Come on. Nor is that my conclusion. Just needed to state that.)

Monday, February 12, 2007

You Know You've Made it When article you've written has been cited in a text book. [Item 1, Row 5]

Yes, it was a crappy round-up I wrote on beauty companies selling special products for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Yes, I wrote it while doing a college internship at Women's Wear Daily. Yes, there was "additional reporting from." And, yes, the text book is the third edition of Marketing Management, which is only available online.

You also know you google yourself too much when you find this out on page 15 of your name. At 1:32 a.m.

Sunday, February 11, 2007


Question: At what point does one really become an adult? Because I'm going through this quarter-life crisis thing (don't worry, I'll save the long version for some low-rent chick mag). There are times I still feel like I'm a teenager, or even a kid, pretending to be an adult, but when I look at it objectively (I'm 24, have been living on my own since I was 18, bitch about my bills every day and have far surpassed puberty), I'm just a bad adult. And then I have these terrifying moments when I realize that I am absolutely an adult.

Last night was one of them. I spent the evening--a Friday, mind you--sitting in front of the TV, drinking beer and watching an entire hour of QVC. At the end of said hour, I placed my first ever QVC order. And I say things like "mind you."

Thursday, February 08, 2007


This set of 5,000-6,000-year-old skeletons, found by archaeologists in Italy might possibly be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Does that make me morbid?
Embracing skeletons

Grammar Police

I've had my fair share of complaints about Gothamist's total disregard for the English language, but this time they've gone too far. They sound like a 17-year-old at a mall in Independence, Missouri (I'm from Independence; I can say that). Maybe it's a little insensitive to complain about this--considering the nature of the post--but somebody get Jen Chung Carlson a grammar lesson:
"Seems a bit odd that her son and her would both die within months of each other, and you know, there's a lot of money at stake."
Here's a little screen shot in case they decide to fix that.

Diet Pills are Bad, Mmmmmmkay?

R.I.P. Anna Nicole Smith.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Friday, January 26, 2007

Bedbugs: I Got Them From a Toilet Seat, I Swear

Fuck. I have bedbugs. While I doubt they've made it to my room yet (I have no bites), my roommate has had a steady stream of 7-12 bites (that she's convinced are bedbug bites) for the past month or so. Yesterday, she found what she thought was a baby bedbug on the shower curtain.

I spent the morning in Inspector Gadget mode, using magnifying glasses and flashlights to inspect every nook and cranny in my room, ready to attack with a product called "Kills Bedbugs." Luckily, nothing... yet.

I spent the remainder of my day on the phone trying to get someone at my management company to understand the urgency of this situation. "Don't worry, I have it under control," said the woman who minutes before told me she'd call an exterminator on Monday. Monday?!?

Then I tried calling 311 and after a series of transfers, I finally made it to the housing court of Kings County, where a woman told me they won't tell me my tenant rights over the phone. "We only give legal advice in person."

I called the management company back. Still "under control." What's been done? "I'll call the super." Great.

The worst part? The guy who lived in my apartment before me--who I happen to know--never told me he'd had bedbugs. Three fucking times. When we went to look at the place we specifically asked if they had bug problems. "Nope."

Here's how my conversation went down with him today:
me: quick question... did you guys ever have a bed bug problem?
him: oh yeah
I'm pretty sure that they come in through the front window
people drop bedbug infested matresses [sic] out there all the time
they are horrendous little fuckers
me: seriously, you guys had bed bugs?
him: 3 separate times
me: wow, i wish i would have known that
him: we got rid of them each time
shit, they're everywhere in the hood [greenpoint]
it's impossible to avoid them anymore
me: i have to admit, had i known you guys had had a problem, i wouldn't have taken this apartment
him: well...
it's not a problem in the apartment
it's a problem in the neighborhood
I guess I figured it was everywhere by now
Obviously, I'm disturbed on many levels. And obviously, I was way too nice to "him."

UPDATE: False alarm! Whew. We did a thorough investigation and extermination, and have been doing regular maintenance exterminations. I have yet to get a bite or see one. I'm not letting those fuckers in here. Ever.

UPDATE Again: We had them. Bad.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

It's What's For Dinner

Did they feed Pelosi and Cheney steak before the State of the Union? They're definitely digging in there for something. Get those tongues a pumpin!

The Way Forward: The Neighborhood Watch

Friends don't let friends watch alone--the State of the Union Address, that is. Sure it's depressing, but if you skip it, what will you talk about at the water cooler tomorrow? Because this shit preempts all of your regularly scheduled programming, eefers has taken the liberty of rounding up a few of tonight's State of the Union watch parties for you. I know there will be beer at at least two, and solidarity at all three. Note that the parties start at different times but the address begins at 9.


Park Slope Drinking Liberally & Commonwealth Bar invite you to their Third Annual State of the Union Watch Party
8:30 p.m.
Commonwealth Bar
5th Avenue at 12th Street, Brooklyn
Take the R or F to 4th Ave/9th Street


Democracy for NYC, ACT NOW and Drinking Liberally host a night of cheers, jeers, and beers (and other drinks)
8PM - 11PM
The Irish Rogue, private room upstairs
346 W 44th St (b/w 8th and 9th Aves)

Demos, GenerationEngage and Metro New York invite you to
with discussion led by Mr. Ted Sorensen, Speechwriter and Special Counsel to President Kennedy and Mr. Bill Safire, Speechwriter to Presidents Nixon, Columnist
7:00 PM: Doors open; food and refreshments served
7:30 PM: Community Q&A with Mr. Sorensen and Mr. Safire
9:00 PM: Live screening of the President’s State of the Union Address
Marble Collegiate Church, Fifth Avenue at 29th Street
NOTE: There is no fee to attend this event. All are welcome, but RSVP is required to with names and e-mail addresses for you and all your guests.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Don't Adjust Your Monitor

Turn and face the strain. eefers is going through even more ch-ch-ch-changes. And if you navigated here through blogspot or blogger, as opposed to plain old, it's even more whack. Navigate through, and maybe you'll get it. And I promise to start blogging more soon.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Happy New Year!

Resolution? Don't take pictures after three glasses of wine, two vodka cocktails and the better half of a bottle of cheap champagne.