I have a strict NYC anti-traipsing policy.

As sure as my friends know that I will disappear from the Christmas party, they know the first question I will ask when they present a social plan to me is, “Look, I don’t care if this joint is in Timbuktu. You just better know EXACTLY how to get there. Point A to Point B. I am not traipsing all over New York City!”

Here’s the deal… if you have a friend in New York City who wants to take you to a birthday party, one-woman show, speakeasy, or zoo, make 100% sure that they know exactly where they are going… Exactly! Make sure they have written the subway directions and exact address down on parchment paper, sealed it in wax, and had it authorized by a notary public. Do not even leave your couch if they say something like, “Oh, it’s in Alphabet City somewhere. I went there with my ex-boyfriend a couple of years ago. He was hitting on this bartender the whole night… I was so pissed! Anyway, I’ll find it.”

Do not trust this friend! I guarantee you will be wandering aimlessly around the East Village in boots that were most definitely not made for walking in the middle of February for at least 2 hours. You will have at least three fights before giving up and drinking margaritas in angry silence at the TGIFridays near Penn Station.

I won’t traipse!

…Unless this guy shows up.

Andrew, my best friend of 417 years and prolific postcard writer, was in town this week to catch up with the old crew. He was the first of our college theater department to get to the city, and the first one to get the hell out. Andrew is singing beautifully and loudly in Florida these days. So when he comes to the city, he is not playing. He’s looking to be as weird and funny as possible with as many of our old friends as he can. Andrew wants to eat the cheesiest pizza and the sweetest cupcake this city has to offer.

Since It’s almost impossible to avoid traipsing in conditions like these, I figured this was as good a time as any to hone my skills. It was also a great opportunity to practice for the ultimate traipse; hosting my Australian-Swedish friend named Conan. This is his first visit to New York City and he is fixing to bust this town wide open. I am thrilled and terrified.

Here are 10 tips from Sarah’s Saturday Traipse to make your New York City traipse a pleasant and memorable one.

Rule #1: Remove all productive life goals or objectives for at least 24 hours from the start of the Traipse.
Don’t worry, I broke the first rule right at the start. I thought one little trip to J&R to research DSLR cameras would be harmless. I underestimated the crazy cool confusion of Chinatown, which is mostly just crazy. Andrew and I had to completely shutdown and be above our bodies to push past the counterfeit bag shoppers and Dim Sum restaurant to get to J&R.

Rule #2: You will get lost. Don’t freak out.
We definitely got to J&R a half-hour later than we should have. But the wise traipster makes the most out of it. Andrew and I got to check out City Hall and run down every awesome Ghostbusters quote we could think of. “We came. We saw. We kicked its ass!” I love that movie so much I can’t stand it. If you want to get all agro before your first trip to New York City, skip When Harry Met Sally and head straight to this 80s comedy. Classic New York.

Rule #3: Don’t hate on other boroughs.
I felt a little defensive when I saw a gazillion tourists walking over and taking pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge. Whatever, the Queensboro and Tri-boro bridges are pretty great, too! But a traipse is not the time for borough beef. Now is the time to take in all that New York City has to offer. Give credit where credit is due. Get your Queens camera out and recognize.

Rule #4: Eat whatever you want, whenever you want, where ever you want.
…because you CAN eat whatever, whenever, and where ever you want. You’re in New York City! Don’t settle for any joint because you’re starving or you’re nervous something better won’t turn up. Andrew and I walked west for a good half-hour until we ran into Dos Caminos and their fish tacos, pomegranate margarita, and freshly made guacamole brunch. This is not the only thing on the menu, of course. But it felt like it was since it was exactly what I wanted. We walked off that day drink to get exactly what Andrew wanted, a cupcake at Sweet Revenge.

Rule #5: Prepare for the second wind.
There’s a moment when you could head home and call it a New York City day. But there’s also a moment after spending so many hours with your fellow traipster that the jokes have gotten too weird and funny to possibly stop now. I think it was around the time I called my Blackberry a “blueberry” by mistake that I knew I was in for the long haul. A good indicator for me is when I start doing this dance. Picture Will Ferrel as “Frank the Tank” doing the Twist.

Rule #6: Coordinate your commute and cell phone communication perfectly.
Andrew and I wanted to get in touch with some other folks, but keep our journey moving at a nice pace. Solution? Send your text before you hop on the train and check your messages when you transfer at Times Square. You’ll always get at least a bar or two of service. Plus, you get to watch this very talented doll do an electronic hula to a man playing the keyboard as you wait for your call.

Rule #7: Just go with it!
We had about 20 minutes to kill before we met up with some friends. I have spent 8 years avoiding Times Square at all cost. But not this night! I’m not going to be here forever (ahem hem cough cough, more on this later) and I will not leave without this photo. Don’t worry, we got about a hundred of them.

Rule #8: Catch up with old friends.
Andrew’s a professional actor in Florida now. His former roommate Evan is on Broadway. I’m a businesslady now who says stuff like “branding” and “ratings” all of the time. But back in the day, I watched these two play video games for hours, and they saw me fall off a bed once. Very long story and a very good one at that. Traipses give you lots of time to remember.

Rule #9: When you think the night can’t get any weirder, get weirder.
If the traipse seems to be losing some steam take more pictures, go to another bar, tell another funny story. Now is the time to dig deep! Below are two classic Sarah/Andrew examples of taking things to the next bizarre level. First, Andrew starts a new dance craze…

Then I demonstrate my version of the Twist.

And finally, I insist on this picture.

Yeah, sorry. All of this weirdness has to happen in public to really make it worth it.

Rule #10: End the night with a slice of pizza.
No buts about it, it is pretty much the law here.

The 24 hour window is essential to the perfect New York City traipse. You will be totally exhausted and not much good to anyone for a while. But mostly, it gives you the time to reflect on your amazing and weird day. Or in my case, the amazing and weird 8 years I have had in this city with amazing and weird friends.

I heart NYC.

Umm… no pressure or anything!

I’m all for reading inspirational tea leaves in the morning, or when I’m a great mood at night. But this kind of fortune was waaaay too much for me after yesterday’s Cranky Pants. “Merge with infinity”? How the hell do I do that?! I don’t think I’m getting there through meditation because my foot still cramps up from time, making the journey difficult. Also, I definitely schedule my sittings around So You Think You Can Dance. I’m not sure if we can fit infinity in there.

Yogi tea, please develop a special variety of tea called Maximum Comfort. It should only have sayings that make me feel cozy, relaxed, skinny, and funny.

Cozy: Your down comforter will feel just right set under your chin.
Unchallenged: Push all of those feelings way down to your toes.
Skinny: Your two workouts this week really seem to have paid off. Why don’t you have some cookies?
Funny: I’m your deNSity…Oh wait, I mean, your destiny.”

To infinity and beyond!

Kicked off Day 1 of NaNoWriMo with three fresh baked cookies for breakfast. Martha Stewart’s Kitchen Sink Cookies recipe is perfect for using up those leftover ingredients. It’s even better for making my belly big, round, and jolly. Thank God that is the last of the frozen dough. INoBakNoMo cookies until December.

Decided that the 2000 words I wanted to write today simply had to wait until after I cooked some chili. Martha Stewart’s False Alarm Vegetarian chili is perfect for procrastination. I did all of my shopping in the Queens Sunday uniform; hoodie, old t-shirt, no make-up, and a pony tail to accentuate your roots so that everyone knows you are way overdue for a hair appointment.

Hit up the produce market for required ingredients and wondered for the 1000th time why everyone doesn’t just steal all of these veggies and just run. Probably because we would never use up all of the produce in time and it would just go bad in the fridge.

Opened every can in my pantry and the one beer I bought at the bodgea for my chili. One of the many hidden surprises of New York City; it costs a gazillion dollars to live here, but no one objects to breaking up a 6 pack at the convenience store if you have to make chili.

A big, round belly filled with chili and cookies makes writing a lot easier.

“I could have had candy and apples and gum! And cookies and money and all sorts of things!”

I’ve been doing this monologue all week. Oh wait, I’ve been doing it all my life. In fact, when I was upset with my mother when I was a little girl I used to yell, “you owe me restitution!!”

I told you I was obsessed.

Get out there and kick Lucy’s football this weekend.
Save some Mounds bars for me.
You can keep the rocks.

Where have you been?! Were there apple cider donuts there?! Did you have to amputate?!

Alright, hold up hold up hold up! There is a perfectly good explanation for my absence-an explanation that will not only give you a deeper look into my complicated soul, but is also perfect for the upcoming holiday.

You guys…I’m a Ghost.

Not like Jacob Marley Patrick Swayze (RIP), or Casper. “The Ghost” is a very specific psychological personality type that you may never have known the name for, but I am positive that you have encountered. Basically, The Ghost is the friend in your social circle who takes off from a major party or event without any warning or a polite goodbye. Here’s a quick way to identify your Ghost, a typical conversation between friends of a Ghost…

Two people at what is objectively the best party of the year.
Person 1: Hey, hey! Where the hell is Brett?
Person 2: Pffff, please…he took off!”

Persons 1 and 2 have been haunted by Brett, The Ghost. Like Brett, I too take off. Sarahcentric readers, you were haunted by me for a whole week.

Why do I do it? Why do we, The Ghosts, do it? I have no idea. I recognize that it’s a totally d–k thing to do. My friends usually kick off the holiday parties with this speech, “Sarah!! If you’re going to leave just tell us!” Since I’m pretty sure I black out before I make my paranormal exits, I can’t tell you exactly what it is that makes me go back on my promise. No one else has been there to witness my disappearance and tell me what brought it on. My friend Andrew, one of the most skilled Ghosts I’ve ever met, was exposed one New Year’s Eve. Mutual friends of our were searching for him, when one looked up just in time to see him literally running RUNNING down 44th Street in Manhattan. He got away, but the jig was up. Andrew was forever the friend who officially “takes off”.

So why did I Ghost out on this blog all week? I don’t know. Did anything awesome happen while I was away? I remember bits and pieces.

1) My youngest brother Aaron, (pictured above with the best family cat to ever exist, Casper), turned 25 last week. A happy, happy Birthday to the Golden Child!

2) I fell asleep on my couch one night, (please, I have no idea why), and woke up to a PBS doc on TV and heard this, “I can’t imagine a world without lizards!” Umm…ok…

3) Last night, I had a dream I was in Australia wearing a fantastic purple dress that this annoying waitress kept spilling blue paint all over.

So there you have it, a glimpse into the other plane where we, The Ghosts, exist. Another dimension where clumsy waitresses rule, is chock full of lizards, and Casper can be both a cat and a ghost.

Spooky.

Well, it happened.
The food processor finally attacked me.
Sneaky little jerk!

I always thought it would come during a complicated sugo recipe, or maybe a new pie crust experiment-when I cursed at it while taking it down from the tiny cabinet it lives in, or wrestled with the stupid bowl which I am convinced that only engineers who graduate from Stanford can snap into place! But no. The Food Processor is too clever for that.

It waited until last night, when I felt my safest and consequently most vulnerable. Here I am like freaking Bambi cleaning my apartment feeling safe and secure, when I pick up the cheese grater attachment. I have never used this blade once in my entire life. Maybe that’s why I put my finger through the long slice slot as if it were a handle and not a samurai sword. Or maybe, just maybe, The Blade lunged for my finger and screamed “hiiiiii-YAH!”. We’ll never know.

I do know that for a few brief moments after the slice and dice, I reached a new level of human consciousness. I was no longer Sarah Jackson. I was one of those Communion aliens or perhaps a Pre-Cog, capable of great wisdom and a thorough understanding of the human condition.

“Curious. There is my left ring finger with a new and large flap at the tip. How dark, beautiful, and tragic it all is. We are one. One are we. Are we one?
Wait…is that blood?!! Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod GROSS GROSS GROSS!!”

I was pulled back from the brink of death by some great friends on Facebook and Twitter. They stuck with me from “just cut my finger and it’s making me a little nauseous. What’s the protocol?”, to “if I don’t make it through this, Jess you can have my cookbooks and Jason you get my Lord of the Rings DVDs” and ending with, “I WANNA LIVE! I WANNA LIVE!!”

They were able to cut through my freakout with important tips like pressure and elevation. And most importantly, “Sarah! If you can Facebook, you are probably ok!!”

I am telling you though, it was almost curtains for me! I saw the other side, and it was filled with donuts, cider, and hayrides.

I would have stayed, but a voice told me that my friends and family still needed me.

Who else would make the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies?

The Travel Bug that bit me this summer was a big son of a bitch. Not your average, everyday, “I should sign up for the Travelzoo top 20 discounts email” variety. It was a Superbug from the same lab that developed deer ticks, killer bees, and blue/red spiders whose bites turn nerdy New Yorkers into Spider-man. All day… every day…every minute of the day, I am daydreaming about New Zealand, France, and Vietnam. So many things I want to see and so little time (or money) to see it all.

Lucky for me, there is one trip that doesn’t require millions of dollars and vacation days. Any native Upstate New Yorker worth their weight in apples will tell you that the first Fall weekend in their hometown is pretty much the most important of the year. I just got back into the city last night. Here are some highlights…

The bus ride isn’t 21 hours, only 2. But between negotiating Port Authority and the torturous seats, I swear to God it may as well be. Don’t expect a peaceful ride reading a book. The windy roads make this bus worse than any tummy-tossing roller coaster at Six Flags. You should also be prepared for whatever local you pick up who was divinely designated to make the trip at least 20% worse for you. For example, this weekend’s trip featured the vocal stylings of a rather eccentric man who liked to make up his own songs as he went along and then sing them as loudly as possible. Went a little something like this…

“INDIVIDUAL!!!
(mumble, mumble, whistling, mumble)
INDIVIDUAL!!
(mumble, mumble, humming, whistling, mumble)
INDIVIDUAL!!”

I hope that song is available on iTunes.

Any tour upstate must begin in the driveway. This where I learned to rollerskate, wrote plays with my sister, and broke several garage windows. You also get some local color right off the bat. That tree is autumn raging, and look at our neighbor’s clothesline. There are actual CLOTHES hanging from it.

My little brother Aaron is an excellent guide, even with a mouth full of cereal. (Why do boys love cereal soooo much?) Aaron can spin a crazy yarn about the three most notorious dogs to ever live in our neighborhood. 3) Princess, the Doberman Pinscher who we swear was rabid and would have eaten all of us for dinner if it wasn’t for that fence. 2) Bullet, the white German Shepard at the top of the street who never came after any of us but who was as big as a dinosaur. And number 1, hands down-the dreaded Jocko; a Boxer who Aaron SWEARS to this day cornered him in a backyard.

No Upstate sightseeing would be complete without a trip to one of the orchards. You can get all the pumpkins and raspberries you want. But you better choose that one apple wisely.

My sister and I did not pick this time. We headed straight for the farm market where they sell apples, fudge, mulling spices, homemade peanut butter, pies, sunflowers, mums, and of course…

…DONUTS!! This batch was pretty good, but not the best. The best donuts are at the more commercial orchard down the road. But they don’t have this view.

That tree is on fire!

Seriously…people still hang laundry?!

Growing up with apple orchards and clotheslines is great. But being a grown-up who can hang out at the local winery all day is even better.

Brick oven pizza, hard cider from local apples, fruit and cheese, all while listening to The Cure. The only thing that could have made this day better would have been a Donut pizza. Whatever, they have donut ice cream sandwiches, don’t they?

Here is my sister looking far more stylish than she did the day before. She picked me up from the bus stop in the most amazing Maximum Comfort outfit I have ever seen; pepto-bismol pink yoga pants and a t-shirt as yellow as the sun. It was glorious.

The cider is awesome, the wine is mehhh, but this line-up could only be for one thing…

-HAY RIDE!

All good weekends must come to an end. There’s nothing quite as bittersweet as all of the city apple pickers lining up to leave Shangri-la.

But the ride home is a 1000 times more pleasant. Although a belly full of donuts and apples is a bit much on that winding road.

An elegant pumpkin brunch in Manhattan.
Looks divine, but I’ll take a Queens Pumpkin Kegger any day.

Heading Upstate tomorrow where those country pumpkins will most definitely bring the pain.

Three conversations from yesterday at the Comedy Central offices.

Conversation One: Remember Orange Hostess Cupcakes?
Lesley, Kim, and I having yet another discussion about cupcakes

Lesley: Did it taste like a Suzy Q?
Sarah: Ewwww. Gross.
Lesley: Oh my god, what are you talking about?!
Kim: What’s a Suzy Q?
Sarah: Gross!
Lesley: They are not!
Sarah: Doesn’t even come close to a Devil Dog.
Lesley: See? No. I don’t like those.
Kim: Yeah. They look boring.
Me: Whatever, they’re delicious! You just better have a big glass of milk nearby so you don’t choke on the dry cake.
Lesley: Oh my god, remember the orange Hostess cupcakes?!
Kim: What about TastyKakes?!
Sarah: Zingers!

Conversation 2: Squirrels can’t waterski!
Roderick’s important work question via email.

Roderick: Where did you get that footage of the monkey waterskiing?
Sarah: Huh… Do you mean the squirrel waterskiing? Pulled it from Getty.
Roderick: No. It’s a monkey on a boogie board holding a stick.
Sarah: Are you SURE it’s not a squirrel?
Roderick: No. It’s a monkey on a boogie board. But a squirrel would be cute too.

Conversation 3: The Chart
Hanging out at Kim’s cubicle. I notice several post-its stuck to her desk with times written on them.

Sarah: What are those?
Kim:…umm, my Sneeze Chart.
Sarah: Kim…what are you talking about?
Kim: Don’t get mad! Erin and I noticed that I sneeze at the same time every single morning. We decided I should track it.
Sarah: hahahaha…WHY?!
Kim: I want to see if there are any patterns!
Sarah: How long have you been doing this?!
Kim: Just for a week!
Sarah: A WEEK?!

No, I do not have a commercial kitchen available for rental in my apartment.

I understand how one might think that, however. I’ve definitely run the tiniest kitchen in the world ragged with my baking problem as of late. That batch of pumpkin chocolate chip cookies was a double, four dozen of those bad boys. And let’s not forget about my Triumph of The Pie…a “pie-umph”? A really good “Trie”?

So why so much cookie on pie action lately? Well, it is the fall and every person I know is in total Maximum Comfort mode. That’s a given. But if you re-read those entries closely, you’ll have a Sixth Sense like realization as to what’s really been happening over here in Queens.

“Wait, didn’t she mention in the pie blog that she was depressed that day? And how about the pumpkin one…I definitely sensed some sort of deep longing for security and an emotional home. OMG, It was in front of us the whole time… This b—-h is going through something!!”

No need to worry about me here, seriously. The pie was definitely borne from The Pits, no doubt. The pumpkin chocolate chippers were just an ol’ fashioned, sugary, free-for-fall. But surrounding all of this baking is a lot of change in my life… or potential change. It’s all good, (and I’m talkin’ GOOD), stuff. But this part of the show, the sitting and waiting, is kinda unbearable at times; hard to concentrate during the day and difficult to fall asleep at night. Andrew, my postcard writing best friend, tried talking me down the other night right before bed. Instead of saying goodbye at the end of the phone call, he signed off with “Alright, later. Good luck with your brain!” He knows me so well.

I’m drinking calming, hippy teas at night with encouraging sayings attached to the bag. And every Sunday I focus on a recipe to stop the voices. Why? No idea. Whatever, man. It works. However, in the interest of my dark rinse jeans, which are always less stretchy than I expect them to be, I needed to cool it with the sugar and butter this weekend.

Lidia Bastianich’s “sugo”, or sauce, comes from my Italian Christmas phase from a few years back. The only real food I can cook is the kind that takes hours of sitting and stewing; chilis, sauces, chicken and dumplings. So when I was in charge of managing the Jackson Christmas eve dinner, it got very Goodfellas up in there. I was still eating meat back then, so there were a about a billion amazing sausage meatballs floating in this super rich sauce. My family appreciated it, but my brother finally put his foot down one year, “Sarah, we’re not Italian! Do we need to confuse our racial issues any further?” True, true.

So below you’ll find all of the steps to creating your own Italian Christmas, or Italian Hannukah, or Italian Kwanzaa (I better get an invite to that one, btw). I’ve left the meatball recipe out since I’m a Veg these days. But if any of you are looking for “a spicy meatball” recipe, holla at me or buy Miss Lidia’s book. They are absolutely out of this world. I left the specific directions and ingredients that are geared towards the meatball’s entry into the sauce in case you wanna go for it. I gotta admit, this sauce is definitely better with the meat. It’s still pretty damn good without, though.

Lidia’s Long-Cooked Sugo
from Lidia’s Family Table, Lidia Bastianich

• For the Soffrito

6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 medium onions
3 or 4 plump shallots, minced in a food processor
2 or 3 fat garlic cloves, minced in a food pro (about 2 tablespoons)
1 large carrot, minced in a food processor (about 1 cup)
2 large stalks celery, minced in a food processor (about 1 cup)
5 or 6 fresh bay leaves
1/4 cup tomato paste

• For the Sugo

1 35 oz can San Marzano plum tomatoes and juices, passed through a food mill (4 cups)
8 to 12 cups or more hot Turkey Broth or Vegetable Broth or plain hot water
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more if needed
1 cinnamon stick (turkey meatballs)
…or… (sausage meatballs)
2 tablespoons finely grated orange zest
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes, or to taste

Soffrito party! Frying the vegetables in the fat like this is super important according to Lidia. The flavors get crazy concentrated. But get ready to do a thousand dishes and find your food processor. (I hate food processors, p.s. Pretty sure I am definitely going to lose at least 3 fingers in one someday.)

Pour the olive oil into the pan, drop in the onions and shallots, and set over medium-high heat. Stir it for a minute or two until the onions begin to sizzle.

Drop the garlic into a hot spot and spread it out to caramelize for a minute, then stir with the onions. Stir in the carrot and celery, and get them cooking; drop in the bay leaves and cook the soffrito for another 4 minutes, until it starts to dry out. Lower heat if necessary to prevent burning.

Push the vegetables to the side and drop the tomato paste into a hot spot. Toast it for a minute or more, then blend it into the soffrito. Pour in the milled tomatoes and juices, and stir; slosh the tomato container with a cup of hot broth/water and stir that in too. Bring the sauce to a boil quickly, and cook over medium-high heat for 5 minutes or more, stirring frequently, until it has just begun to thicken.

Pour in 4 cups of the hot broth, stir it in, and note now the level of the liquid in the pan: this is about the level that the sugo should be at the very end of cooking after your meatballs have been removed. Stir in another quart of the broth and bring to a rolling boil. Stir in orange zest, thyme leaves, and up to 1/2 teaspoon of red pepper flakes, to taste.

Cover the pot and adjust the heat to maintain a steady but gentle bubbling all over the surface of the sugo. Let it cook for at least an hour or longer, checking the pot every 20 minutes or so. It should be reducing steadily. If it’s barely dropping, or not at all, raise the heat and set the cover ajar to speed its concentration. If it’s dropping super fast, lower the heat to slow the evaporation. Add hot broth or water if needed to keep the sauce at the level you want.