Economic Downturn? Fo' Shizzle...

In a past life I worked for two major auction houses in their jewelry departments. In those days, everyone was still swooning from their dot.com buzz and buying, buying buying. But, it was becoming harder and harder for auction houses to get their hands on single-owner collections or privately owned important jewels. (No joke - that is the auction category - Important Jewels.) Most of what you see in their glossy catalogs is property from the trade/jewelry dealers.

Auctions are supposed to be glamorous, exciting, filled with big names and high bidding. It's all smoke and mirrors, baby. I learned quickly that auction houses survive off of the Three D's: Debt, Divorce and Death.

At the end of the day, most items are relinquished for sale under sad circumstances. Very few people are going to part with a fine piece of jewelry just because they don't wear it very often. Think about it...you're still holding on to your prom dress from senior year and you're never going to wear that again. Oh, no wait that's me...

So imagine my surprise and amusement when I heard about 'Hip Hop's Crown Jewels' at Phillips dePury & Company on October 1. Hmmm...which of the three D's brought this on..???

Things must not be so swell for Hip Hop's royalty if they are slingin' bling to make some chedda'. (But, I guess it's better than slingin' the other kind of rocks...) Not to mention, the Phillips people for procuring the sale, considering they make their living off of snob appeal and this has zero. And I'm not sure if the hip-hop community is interested in buying jewelry with patina (aka used.)

I know, I know - a portion is going to charity. But that's all about some good PR and the write-off. Let me just tell you...times must be tough. For realz.

On a lighter note...It's rumored that celebrity gyno, Dr. Rand Pink, is putting a pink and black diamond encrusted medallion that spells PUSSY (a gift from a rapper patient) on the auction block. Subtle. No? (And you thought a fruit basket to the office at the holidays was overkill?)

Could you imagine if you went in for your yearly and your doctor is rockin' that?! What's next? Is the nurse asking for your "sample" in Lil' Jon's chalice ?




Word. I'm out.

Stay tuned for this late breaking story...

Mr. News Readin' is concerned that he sounds effeminate with all the hairstyling and bronzer talk.

To clear up any misconceptions you may have developed about the News Readin' Husband, I'll share what he ate when he came home last night. Bear in mind, he had already enjoyed a healthy dinner consisting of a chili coney & tots from Sonic.

He then proceeded to anchor the 10 o'clock news without so much as a belch. Well done, Mr. News Readin'! What a pro...

Okay, back to his 11:30 pm snack:


There. Happy now? Half a box of Cheese Nips, couple of bottles of the King and a pint of choc. chip mint...Trust me, no one will think your effeminate. They'll just think you are a fat a*$.

But alas, just another one of life's cruel jokes...Mr. News Readin' has a 32 inch waist. Ughh. Sometimes its tough to love a man who would probably look better in my Old Navy lounge pants.

At least my hair is better.

Team coverage of this developing story...

"Mmmmm... I look good. I mean really good. Hey everyone! Come and see how good I look!"
- Ron Burgandy from Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy

Mr. News Readin' is particular about his hair. He likes to have it cut every two and a half weeks, because he tends to get a little fluffy on the sides. As most men approaching a certain age, the old hairline is creeping back a bit. But thanks to genetics and his commitment to Aveda products, there are some resilient fighters up front. All in all, he's got some good looking hair. Very important in his line of work.

Moving as often as we have can really stymie any chance of a long lasting hairstylist/client relationship. You finally reach the point where they know what you like, whether you want to chat it up or read InStyle and who your favorite is on Project Runway. Then somebody has to go and get a new job, in a new town, with a whole new slew of people to potentially cut...ahem...style your locks.

As soon as Mr. News Readin' settles into his desk at a new station, his first question, after locating the men's room, is "Where do y'all get your hair did?" Usually the station has an arrangement with a hair salon in town that trades services for ads. In City K, not the case. Mr. News Readin' was on his own to find some lucky thang to style his news readin' hair. So we both went to a recommended, highly visible salon. It was pure chance, that he sat in "Amy's" chair one fateful night. And now, Mr. News Readin' may have a situation with his said stylist.

I should mention that styling the hair of local news talent seems to come with its own celeb status. And that makes sense. Your work is seen on a daily basis by thousands of people and you have bragging rights (if that's what you want to brag about...) So it's no wonder that Amy is a leetle sensitive about Mr. News Readin' seeing other stylists, but some comments and occurrences over the past year have caused our guy to think seriously about breaking-up with her.

Let's review some examples:
"I guess my schedule was inconvenient for you."
"I was wondering when you were going to come in...I could see you in the background of the newsroom."
"I'll shift clients to fit you in - you know that."
*All said while holding scissors next to Mr. News Readin's head

Bonus material:

• Incessant prattling about sometimes ex / sometimes not ex boyfriend
• Visible jealousy when Mr. News Readin' has seen another stylist for a spur of the moment trim
• Left Mr. News Readin' in the chair for 20 minutes while she finished a blow out (apparently this was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back...)

So the NRH is now experiencing what most women endure at least twice in their lives. The cut and run.

Maybe he's just going to have to sacrifice the head massage and 20 minute shampoo and go to the barber shop. My fear is that this one has the potential to become a stalker. He thinks I'm being dramatic.

Ummm...helllooo....FYI to Mr. News Readin': Nobody else was getting a massage or a 20 minute shampoo at the sinks...you do the math.

Love,
Mrs. News Readin'

Update: The Mommy Mafia

Apparently, the Mommy Mafia is reading...Guess what I found in my mailbox today?

A Hanna Andersson catalog. It might as well have been a horse head in my bed.

Nice try, Ladies. But it's gonna take a little bit more than that - like two bottles of an Argentinian Malbec - and the guarantee of a really good Push Present from the NRH - to get me in your crew.

Cooking Segment

A few posts back I mentioned a delicious goat cheese pizza I prepared for Mr. News Readin' after a long day of...well...news reading.

I took some liberties with two different recipes from Tyler Florence and Sandra Lee. Now remember, Mr. News Readin's palate has matured in our five years of marriage, but he's no Tom Colicchio. (Read: we no longer buy the cheese that squirts out of a can.)

Here it is:

1 10 oz. ready-to bake pizza dough
1 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
½ cup marinara sauce
1 (3 ounces) package of prosciutto, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 garlic clove, chopped
1 fresh rosemary sprig, needles stripped from stem
3/4 cup of mushrooms (crimini, portobello or oyster), chopped
1 ounce goat cheese, crumbled
½ cup freshly grated pecorino
2 tbsp. fresh basil, chopped

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.

Coat a saute pan with olive oil and place over medium heat. When the oil begins to look hazy, add prosciutto, stirring for a minute or two to render the fat and flavor. Add in garlic and rosemary, sauteing for a minute. Add mushrooms, cooking until nicely brown. Season with salt and pepper, as needed. (Note: prosciutto can be quite salty, so I would strongly recommend not using any additional salt.)

Lay pizza crust on a foil-covered pizza pan or cookie sheet. Spread sauce evenly over pizza crust. Sprinkle sauteed mushrooms and prosciutto over the top, leaving a 1-inch border around the edge. Sprinkle goat cheese, followed by basil.

Bake for 12-15 minutes, depending on how crispy you like your crust.
Before cutting the pizza, grate pecorino over the top. Cut into 6 slices.

Buon appetito!

In Depth Report: The Mommy Mafia

Part I of our ongoing in-depth investigation...

Their power stretches from coast-to-coast and around the globe. They look like everyday women - but secretly they gather in small groups at Mommy's Morning Out, KinderMusic, Starbucks and stride through parks with strollers two-by-two.

D.I.N.Ks* beware. They know who you are and are persuasive in their dealings.

*Double Income No Kids

They are the Mommy Mafia.

Mr. News Readin' and I do not have children. We've got as much as we can handle with a dog and a cat and Mr. News Readin's fan mail. But, we are looking into it. I'll keep you posted.

In our previous stop (the City in Two States) the Mommy Mafia was in full effect. These chicks were smart. Marry young, have two kids and let's close-up that Candy Store. They worked out, lunched, made the cocktail party circuit and always had a babysitter. They made it look easy...and they drew you into the fold ever so gently. In la Cosa Nostra, you are brought into the ranks during a ritual that includes pricking the index finger and spilling blood onto a sacred image, usually of a saint. (Did I mention I'm Italian...) For the Mommy Mafia, this rite is known as a Baby Shower.

If you are married and childless at a baby shower, you are most definitely in the minority and a guest with a bullseye on your back. The Mommy Mafia plans these events to showcase the tiny, sweet, things that you too - can have stacked to the ceilings. They'll even try to appeal to your husband with baby monitors, reminding him of his walkie-talkie days.

Ohhhh....you start thinking about Orient Expressed, Just Ducky and the baby section of the Pottery Barn Kids catalog (one might ask why I even get that catalog? Hmmmm...) and you start wishing that you didn't have to wait 9 months to have a baby of your very own. Then the Mafia makes a slip-up. Someone mentions a "mucuos plug."

Say what??!! And justthatfast - you have escaped their grips.

The crew that runs City K ,where we currently reside, is brutal and rivals only the Russian mob in their ruthlessness. If you have a child, we can protect you - we can keep you under our watchful eye, they say. Remain a D.I.N.K and we can offer you nothing but pity. But unlike the Russian mob, who convene in the mist-filled tiled rooms of Lower East Side bathhouses, these Mommies congregate and solicit membership at my monthly Junior League meetings. And it seems they have gotten to Mr. News Readin'.

While out strolling with our four-legged baby named Putter, Mr. News Readin' busts out with, "You know I've been thinking about insert double family name and I really like it."

Hold the freakin' phone. Since when does he even know our family names and how did he know to put the two together?! I knew immediately - they were on to me. Then...the first invitation to a City K Baby Shower arrived. These Mommies were not be underestimated.

So, I'm heading to their Baby Shower tomorrow. But, I'm ready...and I think there is still a chance that Mr. News Readin' has not totally been initiated.

When picking out the Baby Bjorn for the mommy-to-be, he wanted to know who the guy was on the box because it wasn't Björn Borg.

Whew! That was close...

I'm ready for my close-up.

The harsh lights of a television studio and off-site camera set-ups, force news folks to wear makeup. Thanks to HDTV, we now know that they spackle that stuff on like clowns. Mr. News Readin', has sort of taken to makeup in a funny yet, possibly concerning manner. Application is still a skill he is mastering but, he knows what concealer is and more importantly where it goes on his face.

The downside of his makeup wearing is having to go out and replenish the stock. For me, it's no big deal. Just head over to the mall and hit Sephora or a department store counter and pick-up what I need and get suckered in for about $75 of more crap just to get the free gift. But, for the NRH buying makeup is a daunting task that we need to make mental preparation for the entire week preceding the excursion. This past Saturday we geared up, had a hearty breakfast and headed to the mall to buy him some damn makeup.

I'm always forced to go with, for fear that someone may think he's preparing for a big Saturday night out in full-on drag. We beelined it for a "my first make-up experience" at the Clinique counter, because the NRH proclaimed Lancome, "too expensive and the colors are never natural." See!!?? Terrifying.
(Note to the NRH: drag queens don't buy their makeup at the Clinique counter. K?)


Monica was a sweetheart. And totally professional. She helped our guy find the perfect concealer, bronzer and makeup remover/cleanser (sucker!) And while she dabbed and blended, I scooted over to shoes to see if the Michael Kors slingbacks I've been coveting were on sale yet. I could see the NRH squirming in the chair while looking in the hand held mirror saying, "mmm...yeah...it just brightens me up." Sweet baby, Jesus.

Besides some sideways stares from men 50+ and one 6 year old boy shouting, "Mommy, why is that man getting blush put on his face?" - it went swimmingly. And the NRH only told Monica once that he was on the news - to dispel any concerns she might have about his extracurricular activities.

Not such a local celebrity moment...but under eye darkness be gone!

Stay tuned...Sports is up next

So the NRH filled-in for the evening sports guy Sunday and Monday night. In my mind it's pretty hard for a viewer to see the guy who usually covers city and county politics say things like, "It's never ifffy when it's Griffey," for two nights and then take him seriously on Tuesday. But, management obviously thinks it works and it thrills the NRH to say such things.

Truth be known, before the NRH was hard hitting political reporter (we're talking County Commission meetings here...yawn) he wanted to be clever sports reporter. And thanks to a friend of the family, even snagged himself an interview at ESPN back before I was Mrs. News Readin'. You can only imagine the thrill when they offered him a job as...(cue Debbie Downer music) the guy who holds the camera cord and tidies up the competitive eating video library. And just that quickly - the NRH realized he would never sit next to Stuart Scott and wonder about his wonky eye.

Although fun being sports guy, it also meant that he didn't get home until midnight on Monday night and had to be at work at 8:30 am on Tuesday. Now, usually I would not take any pity on him for such a schedule. It's not like he's taking the dark cart down into the coal mines?! But I did feel like he needed a dinner of his choosing. When I inquired his response was - get ready - goat cheese pizza.

Ummm. Okay. (Note: never have I ever served him goat cheese pizza.) Fear not! I wasn't going to let him down. So I served the NRH goat cheese pizza with mushrooms and prosciutto and it was fabulous.


Mrs. News Readin' in another stunning defeat over What's for Dinner!

Recipe forthcoming.

From the Land of Local Celebrity

The Land of Local Celebrity is a scary place, indeed. (We'll get to the freaky stuff in a later post.) There are, however, some moments of, "Well, awwwriiight."

By way of perks, I think the NRH has received:
tomatoes from local farmers
fudge
mugs, mugs and more mugs
a free foot-long sub from Subway (Big shout out to the sandwich artists at Store #157)
a Cosby Show white baseball cap

Sure, we've gotten tickets to the garden show, the holiday craft fair and some Russian circus I had never heard of, but in terms of REAL local celebrity moments - there are just a handful and here is one.

I wrote this email on Thursday, November 20, 2003 to a group of friends in New York. I had been married just over two months and enjoying marital life in Western Nebraska when this all went down...enjoy. NOTE: names and places have been changed to protect the innocent.

It's Thursday - so you probably will need a laugh to get you through to Friday. Well, here it is...

Greetings from the land of boarded up strip malls, leggings and sweatshirts as a "Friday night look", mullets, grannies driving pick-up trucks with gun racks and smoking while pumping gas.

I know what you're thinking - "Oh what a glamorous life she must be leading out there with all of that - VOID of culture..." Yes, some of it is just that fabulous. But I knew News Readin' Husband had hit the pinnacle of celeb when the following incident occurred.

There we were, full cart on a Tuesday evening at Albertson's. NRH was sweet enough to join me, as I "the little woman", have to yet to learn what the proper snacks are for someone who has the palate of a 12 yr. old boy (ie.drinks that are colors beyond nature, chips, rubbery fruit things and other items that would survive a nuclear holocaust.)

It was fairly crowded for City S standards. Three lanes open - one being express. A woman who must be God's sister was working lane 3 and she was backed up with three customers waiting. Everyone else who didn't make the cut for the express aisle was forced to choose lane 5.
GASP! The horror...the boy with black nail polish and multiple piercings!!!! Devil worshipper - I'm sure!

Then, as if God had taken pity on me, albeit while ignoring my prayer to get me the hell out of this cow-town, Melinda called out from the end of lane 3 where she was bagging.

"Mr. and Mrs. News Readin' - I've got you on lane 4!"
She did so while throwing her left hand in the air with four fingers flying - as if she were claiming the fourth quarter of a football game.

As we wheeled our cart to lane 4 she greeted us with,
"Would hate for folks like you to have to wait there with everyone else."

Finally, someone had recognized our celebrity...granted it was at the Albertson's Grocery store - but I have learned, that those who beg do not have the luxury of choosing...yet.

I thought you might enjoy that little glimpse of my life...
Go head and laugh - it's what I do all day long to keep from sobbing uncontrollably over the fact that there is three hours between me and a freakin' Gap.

Love, Mrs. News Readin'

This just in...

The News Readin' husband and I are on the verge of our five year anniversary. I thought to celebrate this milestone in our marriage, that I should share the joys and shear bliss of being the wife of a hard hitting reporter/anchorman. Oh the glamour! Oh the perks! Oh he-alllll, no.

I have been had - hoodwinked - bamboozled, even. You see, dear reader, six years ago when I was living the dream in Manhattan hocking fancy yellow diamonds to Egyptian oil magnates and he was cute boyfriend pursuing a dream, the news business sounded exciting. Matt Lauer, Brian Williams, Shep Smith...you get it. Reporting live from the Vatican or perhaps running the London bureau for a while. Then the first on-air job came. And my massive reality check.

The western edge of Nebraska. Oh? Never been? It's stunning there this time of year - with all the swirling dust, blinding sun and tumbleweeds. But, I digress...

Looking back, I think cute boyfriend - now husband, was looking for a little company in the vast expanse that is Western Nebraska. So, I became Mrs. News Readin'. Eight months of hard time served in the Cornhusker's state - with the closest real city three hours away.

Four cities and three states in five years. We've lived in City K for a year now and in a couple of words - I'm adjusting. Not well and certainly not quickly.

So this is the beginning of a nod to the past - surviving a Nebraska winter at 20 below zero, learning that NASCAR really is the most-popular spectator sport firsthand and knowing that the phrase - "You ain't from these parts - is ya'?" is not a compliment. While figuring out the present and hopefully making somebody nod their head in agreement or laugh out loud.

Oh, but plenty of time for all that...the first entry is for thanking the NRH for the journey. It has definitely made me more fun at cocktail parties, an anomaly at the grocery store and the only one in my entire family who has ventured out of the confines of the Northeast. That's right. This born and bred New Yorker married a nice boy from south Georgia. Needless to say, no one at our wedding spoke the same language - but damn - they drank through the confusion.

So, NRH you will probably never read this, because the "interwebs" are for pedophiles and indie rock bands (neither of which he is - I might add.) If you had told me it would be this much fun on our first date in 1998, I probably wouldn't have believed you. And I would have ordered dessert.

Mrs. News Readin'