Archive for March 17, 2011


Let me get this straight.

A woman woke up in her home to find a strange man standing over her bed, in his underwear, with her husband, who also is in his underwear.

The woman was then informed by her half nekkid husband that he’d been taken hostage by a screwdriver-wielding man and a woman who forced him to inhale a substance that he assumed was crack cocaine. They then pushed him into his home and demanded money.

He had no cash on his person, so he promptly obliged the “attackers” by going to a nearby bank ATM to take out $800. The husband and the criminals returned to the house, where they forced him to smoke more of the “substance”, strip down to his skivvies and pay his wife a visit upstairs.

(Just let that sink in for a hot minute.)

(I’ll wait…)

THEN, when his wife decides the best course of action is to call the police, he stops her.
He tells her to let them do what they want.

Apparently, “what they want” included “crazy screwdriver underpants” man making advances to the (understandably) bewildered wife. She refused, of course, and stayed in her room, where her husband again wouldn’t let her call the police.
He continued to refuse this request until after the two “assailants” left their house $800 richer and in possession of his car keys, wallet and garage door opener.

Shockingly, the police found this story lacking a ring of truth, and came up with a very different scenario.

Horny husband finds a couple and decides to “Spice up your life” by paying them to have a sex party in his home, with his wife.
Who knows absolutely NOTHING about this plan.

My guess is the topic of multiple partners never came up once in the Fakhoury household. I’m also guessing that if any “substance” was used, the husband knew exactly what it was, because that’s what he ordered.

What I love is that he continued to stick to this ridiculous story with the police.

Can’t you just picture it?

After the husband finally broke down after being interrogated, after learning that the couple ratted him out, after the truth came out and after all of this ends up in the police blotter. Somebody had to ask him, “Why didn’t you just bring up your idea about another couple to your wife before this incident?”
And I can hear his answer: “That would have been too embarrassing!”

This is so dumbass, I actually made this face:

This was too funny not to talk about, people.
This guy may get a write-in vote into the DA Hall of Fame on his first try!
Bravo, sir!


A producer of the Oscar winner “The King’s Speech,” brought the coveted trophy home to his family, only to have it damaged by his 15 month-old daughter. Luckily for him, this isn’t the first time this has happened and the Oscar Hospital was happy to help.
Yes, I said Oscar Hospital.

As an adult, you think to yourself, “Why would you give a baby your Oscar?!”
As an actor, you think to yourself, “Why would you give a baby your Oscar?!”
As a parent, you think to yourself, “Why would you give your baby your Oscar?”
As an experienced parent, you think, “Why didn’t you just put the baby in your lap before you took the picture?”

It’s all about perspective, people.

Bill Cosby was right…

Actual conversation I just had with my Little Man:

Me: What would possess you to eat your cereal out of your Lego plane?!
LM: I… don’t… know!!
Me: I don’t know, either!

Well, at least I don’t have to clean milk out of the darn thing.
He keeps them separate, a la Sally Albright.
Don’t want the Honey bunches of Oats gettin’ soggy.

Here we go again

So, I had my first day of rehearsal Wednesday.
I’m in a new play by a friend of mine, Nicholas Santasier. It’s called NOTCHES.You heard me, people. As in bedpost. The whole show’s about the dating scene in our fair city, complete with a cast of characters you’ll find disturbingly familiar.

Anyway, that afternoon I prepared my Little Man and myself for the journey.
See, in addition to my performance schedule, my husband is an improv man. It’s what he does. I like to stick to a script. We play to our strengths.
And he’s recently been cast on a house team at the PIT. Basically, that means he performs with his team once a week and we have to find a way around conflicts.

So, I washed the dishes and gave Little Man a snack (and a little something for myself) before getting him dressed and me packed to head out. Jason’s show was at 7:00 and ended at 7:30. I needed to be at rehearsal at 8:00. His show is at the PIT on the East Side of town. My rehearsal? West Side. Of course it is!!

I hauled us off to the N train, and switched over to the 6, landing us right on 23rd St. Perfect! I stop off to find a place where Little Guy can get a bathroom break and a cookie and some milk for the road before getting to Daddy for “the hand-off”. It’s all about the timing.

I waited two minutes outside the PIT (because, well pre-schooler in dimly-lit bar… I do have standards) until Jason came out. There, we kissed and hugged and Jason scooped up Little Man and I said, “He’s had cookies. He should be fine,” said goodbye and hauled myself off to the West Side.

Guess what? After rushing there, they hadn’t gotten to my entrance yet, so my hurrying was (almost) all for naught.
Such is the life.

Breakin’ up the Ol’ Gang

When I first became a mommy, I was completely unaware of the loneliness.

In no time at all, in between changes, feedings, tummy time, etc., you realize that you want to talk to someone. You really want to talk to anyone over 21.

That is why the Good Lord invented play groups.

Your babies can get together and “play” with each other, yeah, yeah, yeah.

The real reason they were created was so that mommies could congregate and commiserate for an hour or so before going back into your binky-ridden house, alone.

One of the mommies I knew from post-natal yoga, in her infinite wisdom, organized a play group in her church. It got pretty popular pretty quickly. The babies got to play and interact (i.e. play adjacent to each other, with the occasional toy snatching thrown in) with each other, while the mommies (or daddies) had a little adult interaction of their own.

But now, it seems a pattern is developing.

A year and a half ago, the mommy who organized it had to leave the church for missionary work. But she left the group in the capable hands of a good friend.

I just got news that the good friend is packing up her family and heading down to Louisiana.

I hate this idea. Mind you, it’s for completely selfish reasons. I have nothing against Louisiana itself and logically, it makes sense. The grandparents live in the area and can help her when she needs it. I can’t blame her for that. It’s just that, if she’s down there, she can’t be up here and that… eh sucks.

And another mommy friend (who happens to specialize in baked goods) is thinking about following suit and heading South, too.

And there’s a possibility that we’ll lose the play group in the process, which REALLY sucks.

Now, I’m not delusional. I know that New York changes all of the time and I never expected all of our kids to grow up together. Heck, my Little Man’s four now and soon, they’ll probably have to shoo him out of the group for being too old. It’s the Menudo principle.

Like I said, it’s totally selfish. I’ve grown to know these women and share with them. And a lot of us have already moved away. To lose those last few ties would be really rough for me. Of course, I can always find a new group, but it takes a while to form those bonds.

To see if your kids can play together without it turning into a Gymboree free-for-all.

To know that this person will watch your child just as cautiously as they watch their own.

To have the other mommy take one look at you and know if you need them to just take the baby to give your arms a break, a cup of coffee and a seat or a chardonnay and an ear to bend.

I’ve watched their kids hug my kid, for no other reason than they’ve been around each other since they were babies and they have that trust with each other. I’ve watched our boys and girls giggle together and make those first attempts at contact. I’ve watched them cry and try to comfort whomever is mourning the recent loss of their cookie. I’ve watched them chase after each other, endlessly, without knowing why and having the time of their lives.

But see, while that was happening, we got to be friends, too. We’ve had birthday parties together and cleaned up spills and watched each other’s kids while the other mommy made a quick dash to the bathroom for an uninterrupted pee. (Trust me, as a mom, you cherish those things.)

And now, there’s an expiration date on those things. On the memories, on the support, all of it. And I will miss it. I do miss it. The moms that I hear from in Florida, Alabama, New Jersey, Virginia, Romania… I miss them all.

And when I miss people and babies and moments in time, as ridiculous as it sounds, my pangs of regret are best echoed by Avenue Q, of all things.

I wish I had taken more pictures.