Going Dutch. Or Danish?

Ooooh, I had the best weekend. The weather was unbelievable. We lounged in Central Park and sipped champagne. Out of cans. Don’t knock it til you try it – it’s this new thing that I read about in Parenting magazine of all places! Coppola makes a cham in a can – called Sophia, and it was just as good as any cham from a bottle.

How cute is that? Comes in a 4-pak. All pretty like.

Also, we just about punched a guy who asked us if we wanted a tour of the park like 14 times. He had NO issues with personal space. And he smelled like horse shit.

We strolled 7th avenue, enjoyed dinner and people watching, talked to each other without a kid interrupting a million times. Slept in. Napped. Ate and drank a lot. Even got to watch a lil bit of baseball, which was heavenly. Hot as HELL but heavenly. Did that make any sense at all?

Totally typical MommaKiss part of the weeknd? It’s Saturday morning around 9.30 and we’re walking thru Times Square so that I can spend a fortune in Sephora and all these crazy foreigners are around. Hooting and hollering and wearing beanie-bopper-thingys on their heads and stickers on their faces. And they’re all wearing Orange – which aided in our realization that they were Denmark soccer supporters, totally shitfaced at a completely unreasonable hour of the day. Guess who else was wearing orange? This kid. Yep. So I joined right in. Marched down the sidewalk w/ them, pretending to know Dutch (is that what they speak in Denmark?*) and screaming and having a blast.

Here’s my orange shirt – and my kick ass fedora [with pigtails, natch]. It was a good weekend ;)

*OK, the people of Denmark speak Danish. Who the hell speaks Dutch? Regardless, now I want a cheese danish. Or raspberry danish. Or cheese with raspberry danish. Which doesn't help AT ALL with the food detox I'm currently rockin.