The sun beamed in through the window as when I moseyed my way to the kitchen table with my toast and coffee this morning. The warm ray created a nice warm cocoon from the cold air that has a grip on us here in NY right now. It really was easy like Sunday morning. 

When I sit at the table alone, I always read something. Magazines are usually my material of choice. They are small doses of information with pictures to feed the imagination. Mags can be the perfect non-committal read.  For some reason, our magazine supply here at the Fuzzmop household was limited to the Harbor Freight catalog. Not exactly my first choice... but ok, beggars can’t be choosers.

Just about every online forum that I read has at one time or other made reference to H.F. having whatever hoozywhatsis that someone needs for like 90% less than every other retailer. Admittedly, like many women, I love a great bargain. Did I tell you I got a $200 pair of Betsey Johnson shoes for $30 at a store closing sale right before Christmas? No, seriously, I did! The black patent and red plaid Leopold shoes.  Every time I wear them to work I smugly chuckle to myself at my super thrifty shoes. When you only spend $30 on $200 shoes that means you have a $170 left to spend on other sale shoes! Right? Shut up. It’s new math.

Where was I? Right. Harbor Freight.  This wasn’t the first time I’ve Harbor Freight-ed. I have indeed perused their catalog before, thought it’s usually right before I deposit in the recycling bin.  There I sat at the table, sun-beaming. Sipping and thumbing, thumbing and sipping.  

“Oooh, cool. Babe! Look at this motorcycle dolly for the garage!” I call out to my sleepy-eyed, darling.

“Why are you reading the Harbor Freight catalog?” he says. “Yea, that is cool.”

“I don’t know. We don’t have anything else to read,” I say as he wanders back out to do something manly or scratch himself someplace manly.

“Babe? Did you see this solar panel thingy in here?” I shout to the living room where he’s camped out.

I have a hideously annoying habit of asking him questions when he leaves the room. I know he can’t hear me and yet, I cannot help myself. Ah, the joys of cohabitation :)  

In he comes again to see the solar panel “thingy”.

“Cool,” He says as I turn the page.

“Oooh look, they have purple wrenches!" I shout in full on, chick glee.  I was indeed impressed to see those cute wrenches in purple! If I had a set of wrenches I would totally want them to be a cute color like purple.

As always, my darling boy smiles gently at me. 

I’ve been told that:

a)      Tools aren’t cute

b)      Purple wrenches aren’t cute

c)       I need to stop getting glitter on his needle nose pliers

Whatever. The blue one is hot.

http://www.harborfreight.com/cpi/ctaf/displayitem.taf?Itemnumber=94316

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"Oooh look, they have purple wrenches!"

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On Saturday we took a ride out to Coney Island. It was unusually warm, in the 50's and it just seemed like the perfect opportunity to see this place that has been eating away at my subconscious for about 2 years now.

How I've managed to live so relatively close and yet have never encountered the visual wonder that is Coney Island is beyond me. It is like a feast for the eyes. Being able to experience it for the first time with what I'm sure is a miniscule fraction of summer visitors would be, was indeed a treat.

A tree grows in Brooklyn...

More pics to follow~

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My dog Luna.
She's.... special

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Fascinating.
Spam. Wonder in a can.

So, yea. That can of Spam right there is indeed mine. It is here. At my house. In my cabinet. That can of Spam also has a recipe on the back with a difficulty rating of 2. Not 1... 2. I feel like I could handle that. I just might be ready to embrace the greatness.

You owe it to yourself to visit the Spam website. Its uh... it's somethin' alright. Did you know there was a Spammobile? I sure didn't. And like so many other curious pursuits in my life I am strangely titilated by actually seeing the Spammobile.

To this day, I kick myself for not stopping at the Spam museum when we passed by it. I don't know what I was thinking, flippantly riding by what was obviously a golden opportunity to experience some serious Americana. Though, maybe it is for the best. By the looks of their website people apparently eat lunchmeat dildos there. I'll pass.

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