The other night, I was sitting on the couch watching a movie on DVR. Everything was cozy—the cats were in their various spots, the doors were locked, and the AC was going strong. Suddenly, there was a huge crashing noise in the basement. Old houses make noise, especially at night, but this was something very different. Cringer and Griffin ran away with their tails between their legs. Scully got all perky-eared and wary. And I was completely terrified. Lunchboy was in Chicago for two nights and our upstairs neighbors had just moved to San Francisco, so I was all alone on our side of the house.
Now, part of me felt like a wuss for getting so scared. But we live on the ground floor and recently there’s been a rash of serious crime in our otherwise quiet neighborhood, including a car break-in and a couple of shootings. I get terrible cell phone reception in our house. Suddenly I felt completely isolated and vulnerable. I called Lunchboy but there wasn’t much he could do. I turned on the basement light and tried to see if someone had broken through the basement windows, but things looked normal. I was shaking, though.
I went to bed that night and slept on Lunchboy’s side because it was closer to the window (potential escape route?) with a carving knife on the night table and my cell phone open and predialed to 911. Today I read this and no, you are not alone. But ADT might be getting a nice call from us this weekend.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Sort of like those Home Depot commercials where the parent puts the kid up to it
Last weekend we went to see my best friend and her family in central Mass. Her oldest son was our ring bearer. He is possible the cutest child ever. In the car on the way to get ice cream, he turned to me, an impossibly serious expression on his 5-year old face.
"Moxie?"
"Yes, Ivan?"
"When are you going to get a baby in your belly?"
*silence*
"I don't know, Ivan. A couple of years, maybe. Why?"
"Because you need to have a baby!"
"Did your mother put you up to this?"
*crazed giggling*
"Moxie?"
"Yes, Ivan?"
"When are you going to get a baby in your belly?"
*silence*
"I don't know, Ivan. A couple of years, maybe. Why?"
"Because you need to have a baby!"
"Did your mother put you up to this?"
*crazed giggling*
Blue light
Total work insanity. I edit until I can't see straight and then edit some more. Somehow I've become a proofreader in addition to writing and editing. When work is over, I am happiest when I don't have to read anything. I've become that person who inadvertently edits menus and gets angry about commas.
The good part is that I'm off the pill and the Lexapro. For the first time in years, I feel stable and sane.
Reunion was fun. Also, crazy. Campus looked exactly the same and I kept having these weird moments of temporal distortion when I'd feel as if no time had passed at all. The fact that everyone was floating in a sea of beer helped the deja vu. No one can say that the class of 97 forgot how to drink. The party in our class headquarters started around noon on Friday and was still going strong when we left on Sunday. And just like college, I was ready to be hide and be totally antisocial by Saturday night.
The good part is that I'm off the pill and the Lexapro. For the first time in years, I feel stable and sane.
Reunion was fun. Also, crazy. Campus looked exactly the same and I kept having these weird moments of temporal distortion when I'd feel as if no time had passed at all. The fact that everyone was floating in a sea of beer helped the deja vu. No one can say that the class of 97 forgot how to drink. The party in our class headquarters started around noon on Friday and was still going strong when we left on Sunday. And just like college, I was ready to be hide and be totally antisocial by Saturday night.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Far and wide
I grew up having cats and my parents were always adamant about letting those cats go outside. I think it was because they wanted to be able to boot the cats out the door when things got loud at 4am. Sometimes the cats would be gone for just a few minutes, but other times they’d vanish for hours and occasionally for days at a time. When one of the cats would go off on walkabout, as we called it, we always wondered where they went and what they were doing (in addition to praying that they were ok, which always came first). A cat owner in Germany had the same questions, so he attached a camera to his cat’s collar and recorded his kitty’s outdoor adventures. Check them out here (thanks to BoingBoing).
Way over the line
This week’s Dear Prudence column cracked me up. The lead item was, well, a little too familiar. My sophomore year in college, I dated M, a little blond rower boy who happened to be two years younger than me. This meant that he was a senior in high school and, as high school people tend to do, he lived at home with his mother, who was a nurse. Whenever I took the bus down to Boston to see him, we’d stay at his house and everyone involved tried to pretend that *nothing* was happening when his bedroom door was closed. Except that M’s mother decided to try and be cool about it, but in very unnerving ways. She left pamphlets about contraception on the breakfast table. She asked me what I was using just to be sure that there were no unexpected children on the way (her words, not mine). Every so often she’d knock on his door to make sure “we were ok.” And one very memorable time, after she’d returned from a whitewater canoeing trip and we’d stayed in M’s room until 2pm, we all ran into each other in the kitchen and she said, “My muscles are really, really sore. Are you guys sore?” And it was just so wrong and inappropriate and weird that my skin literally crawled and I had to leave the room.
Not that dating a high school senior when I was in college was a great choice on my part, or that M’s mother was wrong to try and find a way to deal with what must have been a deeply unnerving experience for her. But this was the woman who once told me that when M had been constipated in the not too distant past, she’d tried to help him out manually, a la Bobby and Whitney. There were no boundaries in that house. Eventually M realized this—years after we broke up, he graduated from college and moved immediately to LA, as far as he could get from Boston. I saw his mother once on the street in 2004. When she found out I used to live in LA, she said, “So people DO come back from the west coast.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “Not when they go there to escape their families.”
Not that dating a high school senior when I was in college was a great choice on my part, or that M’s mother was wrong to try and find a way to deal with what must have been a deeply unnerving experience for her. But this was the woman who once told me that when M had been constipated in the not too distant past, she’d tried to help him out manually, a la Bobby and Whitney. There were no boundaries in that house. Eventually M realized this—years after we broke up, he graduated from college and moved immediately to LA, as far as he could get from Boston. I saw his mother once on the street in 2004. When she found out I used to live in LA, she said, “So people DO come back from the west coast.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “Not when they go there to escape their families.”
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Paeonia officinalis
I planted a peony bush on Sunday. I’m a sucker for peonies—something about the rich, densely layered thickness of their blooms. People tell me that peonies must be coddled and coaxed into blooming, but I’m hoping this one will soak up the sun in our side yard, take a cue from the oversized, exuberantly blooming rhododendron, and burst forth with a little color, if not this year than next.
For a few weeks there, I was suffering from an intense case of keeping up with the Joneses. Our neighbors, who don’t seem to do anything other than work on their condo and their yard, created a nicely designed little patch of garden on their side of the house. I felt like a slacker. They have actual porch furniture and we have two plastic Adirondack chairs and a metal Simpsons drink tray. I love the Homer table but you should see the looks they shoot at us when they think we’re not looking. In our own time, though, we’ve somehow turned what were weedy patches of crabgrass into two halfway decent gardens. I’d tell you what I planted other than the peony, but I threw away the little ID tags (what? I made sure they needed direct sun, I planted them in direct sun and now all I need is for them to evade death. Names are for people who have green thumbs). This weekend is reunion (!!!) but maybe we’ll get around to mulching next weekend. Then I’ll post some pictures.
For a few weeks there, I was suffering from an intense case of keeping up with the Joneses. Our neighbors, who don’t seem to do anything other than work on their condo and their yard, created a nicely designed little patch of garden on their side of the house. I felt like a slacker. They have actual porch furniture and we have two plastic Adirondack chairs and a metal Simpsons drink tray. I love the Homer table but you should see the looks they shoot at us when they think we’re not looking. In our own time, though, we’ve somehow turned what were weedy patches of crabgrass into two halfway decent gardens. I’d tell you what I planted other than the peony, but I threw away the little ID tags (what? I made sure they needed direct sun, I planted them in direct sun and now all I need is for them to evade death. Names are for people who have green thumbs). This weekend is reunion (!!!) but maybe we’ll get around to mulching next weekend. Then I’ll post some pictures.
They don't know from Mars and Venus
I read this story and am still thinking about it. If you have a few minutes, take a look. Imagine what it’s like living in a country where men and women are completely segregated, where women can’t drive or vote or sit in Starbucks, or stand in front of a bank because *GASP* men can see you through the window. Yesterday I lost it because the basement guy condescended to me on the phone but spoke patiently to Lunchboy with that “Hey, we’re guys, we understand each other” thing. I hate that feeling. Then I read Megan Stack's story and it put yesterday into perspective.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
You thought I was exaggerating
But no, I wasn't. Here's how the right (non-guest room) side of the basement looks after day one of Project Dry House:
From the stairs:
The corner:
More trench:
Where the sump pump will actually be installed:
From the stairs:
The corner:
More trench:
Where the sump pump will actually be installed:
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Flying solo
The next two days will be an adventure. Lunchboy is out in Napa for a conference and while he's gone the basement people have decided to grace us with their presence. At the same time, our upstairs neighbors (who we just found out are moving to San Francisco next month--I'm excited for them but sad to see them go) are having their skylights replaced. I'll be catsitting for their Pancake while trying to convince our three girls that two days of jackhammering (the basement stuff) and a week of loud banging (the skylights) are not the end of the world. Technically I'll be working from home, but we'll see how much I can get done with all the noise and activity.
We had tried to see if I could fly out to SF with Lunchboy so we could make a long weekend of it on the west coast, but with the house repairs and the outrageous plane fares, it wasn't meant to be. I'm bummed but kind of relieved--it'll be nice to have a relaxing weekend at home once all the craziness is over.
My mom is coming over tomorrow afternoon for some food and a little gardening. She's promised me a cutting from her lilac tree and we'll see if I can get it to live in the sunny corner of the garden.
We had tried to see if I could fly out to SF with Lunchboy so we could make a long weekend of it on the west coast, but with the house repairs and the outrageous plane fares, it wasn't meant to be. I'm bummed but kind of relieved--it'll be nice to have a relaxing weekend at home once all the craziness is over.
My mom is coming over tomorrow afternoon for some food and a little gardening. She's promised me a cutting from her lilac tree and we'll see if I can get it to live in the sunny corner of the garden.
Sally Hansen would be proud
When women want to do some bonding and feel pretty, we go get mani-pedis. Cats, however, are not much for nail care. They preen and scratch and do that funny thing where they clean between their toes and make a silly munching sound. But beyond that, they let their nails alone. Which is why our cats are less than happy right now--last night we gave them manicures.
It was a love thing, not a vanity thing. Our girls are spoiled and they like to scratch things, especially the new couches which, as soon as they were delivered, Griffin honed in on as if the couches were god's gift to her manual dexterity. Couch scratching didn't used to be a problem. The old, ratty couch was a hand me down, ugly as sin, and neither of us gave a damn if the cats tore it to shreds. The new couches are different story. I've always been extremely anti-declawing but over the past few weeks I've begun to understand why some people do it. It's hard to watch as our beloved cats have attempted to rip our new purchases to bits.
First we tried to cover all the spots they liked to scratch with blankets. When that didn't work, we got them a nice, big scratching post that they immediately began using as a bed. Griffin sits on the base and plays queen of the mountain. That cat has attitude. Though they eventually started scratching the scratching post, they continued to rip at the couch. So finally we got these.
Applying the claw covers was...interesting. They did not appreciate it. They're still a little unsure about what's on their paws but at least now their couch scratching is a lot less effective. And Griffin has only managed to knaw one of them off (the claw cover, not her paw or the couch.) Now if only we could find a solution like this for Scully's litter box issues...
It was a love thing, not a vanity thing. Our girls are spoiled and they like to scratch things, especially the new couches which, as soon as they were delivered, Griffin honed in on as if the couches were god's gift to her manual dexterity. Couch scratching didn't used to be a problem. The old, ratty couch was a hand me down, ugly as sin, and neither of us gave a damn if the cats tore it to shreds. The new couches are different story. I've always been extremely anti-declawing but over the past few weeks I've begun to understand why some people do it. It's hard to watch as our beloved cats have attempted to rip our new purchases to bits.
First we tried to cover all the spots they liked to scratch with blankets. When that didn't work, we got them a nice, big scratching post that they immediately began using as a bed. Griffin sits on the base and plays queen of the mountain. That cat has attitude. Though they eventually started scratching the scratching post, they continued to rip at the couch. So finally we got these.
Applying the claw covers was...interesting. They did not appreciate it. They're still a little unsure about what's on their paws but at least now their couch scratching is a lot less effective. And Griffin has only managed to knaw one of them off (the claw cover, not her paw or the couch.) Now if only we could find a solution like this for Scully's litter box issues...
Monday, May 21, 2007
Strange celebrity dream #4?
Does this one count?
I dreamed that I went to see Metallica play at a bit outdoor arena, like Tanglewood but much bigger and more badass. I arrived at the concert on horseback, right as the band started playing “Comfortably Numb,” which the crowd thought that Metallica had written. Nikki Sixx was on guitar.
All I can say is that this is the least disturbing dream I’ve had after watching The Sopranos.
Lloyd Alexander died last week and that made me sad. I loved the Chronicles of Prydain, though Eilonwy was always a bit of a twit. When I was younger, I used to read my favorite books over and over and over again until my mother would take them away and hide them. By the time she took the Prydain books away, the bindings were falling apart.
I dreamed that I went to see Metallica play at a bit outdoor arena, like Tanglewood but much bigger and more badass. I arrived at the concert on horseback, right as the band started playing “Comfortably Numb,” which the crowd thought that Metallica had written. Nikki Sixx was on guitar.
All I can say is that this is the least disturbing dream I’ve had after watching The Sopranos.
Lloyd Alexander died last week and that made me sad. I loved the Chronicles of Prydain, though Eilonwy was always a bit of a twit. When I was younger, I used to read my favorite books over and over and over again until my mother would take them away and hide them. By the time she took the Prydain books away, the bindings were falling apart.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Not here for the clothes
There's a clique at my yoga studio and it's pissing me off. Yoga studios are not where cliques are supposed to be--I kind of thought studios were anti-clique, seeing as yoga is a pretty individual discipline. But the clique is there and I can't ignore it: the four or five women who comprise the clique always somehow end up on a mat next to or in front of me.
I call them the Lemonheads because their main activity is gossiping about their Lululemon and Be Present yoga clothes. Judging from their conversations, which I try to but rarely succeed in blocking out, their favorite weekend activity is making shopping pilgrimmages to the Lululemon store in Hingham so they can debut their newest purchases in class on Monday night.
When I lived in LA, the general obsession with matching, color coordinated yoga ensembles was annoying but...it was LA and people there can be very silly. It's weird to hear these smart women talk as if practice is just a sweaty runway show. I try to relax and be less judgmental but sometimes it's hard, especially when the last ten minutes before class are filled with this:
"Oh my god, that is the cutest top! Come here, does it match the waistband on my pants? I think it does. OK, I have to order this online tomorrow."
"That lime green is so great! I think I have that top in white--don't you LOVE it?"
"Wait, is that purple a new color in the agility pants? It's pretty! And it goes so well with that lavender top!"
"I was just out in Hingham and they had a whole new line for sale. You should check it out this weekend!"
I guess it's irritating because for me the yoga studio is a retreat from all that. Maybe that's where the yoga really is, though--learning to breathe through the things that aren't pleasant, even when they pop up in unexpected places.
I call them the Lemonheads because their main activity is gossiping about their Lululemon and Be Present yoga clothes. Judging from their conversations, which I try to but rarely succeed in blocking out, their favorite weekend activity is making shopping pilgrimmages to the Lululemon store in Hingham so they can debut their newest purchases in class on Monday night.
When I lived in LA, the general obsession with matching, color coordinated yoga ensembles was annoying but...it was LA and people there can be very silly. It's weird to hear these smart women talk as if practice is just a sweaty runway show. I try to relax and be less judgmental but sometimes it's hard, especially when the last ten minutes before class are filled with this:
"Oh my god, that is the cutest top! Come here, does it match the waistband on my pants? I think it does. OK, I have to order this online tomorrow."
"That lime green is so great! I think I have that top in white--don't you LOVE it?"
"Wait, is that purple a new color in the agility pants? It's pretty! And it goes so well with that lavender top!"
"I was just out in Hingham and they had a whole new line for sale. You should check it out this weekend!"
I guess it's irritating because for me the yoga studio is a retreat from all that. Maybe that's where the yoga really is, though--learning to breathe through the things that aren't pleasant, even when they pop up in unexpected places.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Break a hymen
My ten-year college reunion is coming up next month and the anxiety dreams have already begun. There’s no real reason to be anxious—it’s not like a high school reunion, which would have really major psychological implications. There’s no one I’m afraid to see at the Colby reunion, no ex boyfriends or ex friends to deal with, no one whose opinion of me would matter. Honestly, it’ll be a great time. A bunch of us hatched a grand plan to rent a house on one of the Belgrade Lakes, but no one got their act together and by the time we started looking all the houses were rented, so instead we’re staying in the dorms. Extra long twin beds!! Shared bathrooms!! Beer die parties in the lounge!! Woo!
So why is there still something weird about going back? I’m excited to show Lunchboy around campus, and to see all the changes that have been made since we graduated. The dorms? From what I hear they’re now luxury complexes as opposed to the tiny boxes we lived in back in the day. And the dining halls, which were always decent, are now supposedly 4-star eating establishments. Do they still have wok night? Taco night? Vegan night at Foss? Can I still have 5 bowls of Lucky Charms or make a Belgian waffle with whipped cream for dinner?
Reunion also offers the opportunity to do all the things I didn’t get to do as an undergrad, without any of the consequences. I always heard about people getting busy in the stacks at the library but the one time I ever got a guy back there, he was too chicken to get it going. I never signed my name in the library tower or streaked the Student Center or went skinny dipping in Johnson Pond. And Janice Kassman can’t touch me now so maybe it’s time to throw a big f*ing party. With alcohol. Maybe we’ll take the alcohol to the library stairs just so we can watch her jump up and down in frustration that 1. alcohol exists and 2. she can’t take it away this time.
Still, I keep dreaming that we get back to campus and I can’t find my way to the Student Center, where I have to go because all my course materials are in my mailbox. I’m surrounded by all the skinny girls who wore cute, expensive dresses to the semi-formals but I can’t find any of my friends. The place feels familiar and alien at the same time. I know where I am but can’t find my way.
So why is there still something weird about going back? I’m excited to show Lunchboy around campus, and to see all the changes that have been made since we graduated. The dorms? From what I hear they’re now luxury complexes as opposed to the tiny boxes we lived in back in the day. And the dining halls, which were always decent, are now supposedly 4-star eating establishments. Do they still have wok night? Taco night? Vegan night at Foss? Can I still have 5 bowls of Lucky Charms or make a Belgian waffle with whipped cream for dinner?
Reunion also offers the opportunity to do all the things I didn’t get to do as an undergrad, without any of the consequences. I always heard about people getting busy in the stacks at the library but the one time I ever got a guy back there, he was too chicken to get it going. I never signed my name in the library tower or streaked the Student Center or went skinny dipping in Johnson Pond. And Janice Kassman can’t touch me now so maybe it’s time to throw a big f*ing party. With alcohol. Maybe we’ll take the alcohol to the library stairs just so we can watch her jump up and down in frustration that 1. alcohol exists and 2. she can’t take it away this time.
Still, I keep dreaming that we get back to campus and I can’t find my way to the Student Center, where I have to go because all my course materials are in my mailbox. I’m surrounded by all the skinny girls who wore cute, expensive dresses to the semi-formals but I can’t find any of my friends. The place feels familiar and alien at the same time. I know where I am but can’t find my way.
All I need is a machine gun for a leg
I bumped into a coworker on the T this morning. He asked me, as people do when they make small talk, if I had any big weekend plans. “I’m going to watch zombies,” I said. I’m not sure whether it was the enthusiasm in my voice or the fact that I was enthusiastic about zombies that caused the look of fear on the guy’s face, but it was definitely not the answer he was expecting.
I was reading a review of 28 Weeks Later in the NYT this morning. The movie stars two people named Mackintosh Muggleton and Imogen Poots. Can you get more British than that? Can they get eaten by zombies just for having names like those?
28 Days Later terrified me for a good two months, not just because it’s an excellent suspense thriller, but because it was on TV almost every night and it was one of those movies that I couldn’t not watch if it was on. This caused some problems, given the fact that it kept me from doing laundry for a little while, but that was three years ago. I am psyched to see the sequel and yes, I’ve already let Lunchboy know that he’ll be keeping me company on all trips to the basement for the next X number of months.
I was reading a review of 28 Weeks Later in the NYT this morning. The movie stars two people named Mackintosh Muggleton and Imogen Poots. Can you get more British than that? Can they get eaten by zombies just for having names like those?
28 Days Later terrified me for a good two months, not just because it’s an excellent suspense thriller, but because it was on TV almost every night and it was one of those movies that I couldn’t not watch if it was on. This caused some problems, given the fact that it kept me from doing laundry for a little while, but that was three years ago. I am psyched to see the sequel and yes, I’ve already let Lunchboy know that he’ll be keeping me company on all trips to the basement for the next X number of months.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Offsprung
Lunchboy and I have gotten into that new show Notes from the Underbelly. Neither of us are proud of this fact. It's a good show but I think it's probably funny to us because a shockingly large number of our friends, coworkers, and extended family have recently hopped on the baby train. Also, Cooper reminds me a lot of a lawyer I used to know in LA.
We joke a lot about babies--we CAN joke because we aren't ever around actual babies and since none of said friends, coworkers, or extended family have actually had their babies yet, we haven't been forced to face the gritty reality of parenthood. My best friend has two boys who are 3 and 5, but they are the kind of angelic, charismatic kids that make having offspring seem like it's only slightly tougher and less enjoyable than getting a daily spa massage while eating caramel straight from the jar.
Two of our friends, both of whom live in Somerville, got pregnant unexpectedly right around the same time and for a while we all joked that the Somerville water must be full of fertility cooties. It could have been true--the stuff in th Somerville water supply is mysterious and definitely capable of f*ing with your body. The truth, however, had to do with the porosity of latex and the effectiveness of withdrawal. One of these friends, who is about to enter her second trimester, had brunch with Lunchboy two weeks ago and he was astounded when she consumed about three plates worth of food and left the table still hungry. Days later, he continues to look up and, out of nowhere, say things like, "I can't believe how much she ate! I can't wait til you're like that." Then again, he jokes that I must already be pregnant because I'm constantly starving and exhausted. That would be the Pill, seeing as it works by making your body think it's already pregnant. Right? When I'm not eating, I'm napping. What can I say--I like food and naps. The week before my period, all I want is sugar and carbs. Vegetables become completely unattractive but cookies? Suddenly and totally irresistible.
Lunchboy's excitement and enthusiasm is wonderful. But we're not ready for kids quite yet. We talk about it a lot but then the cats do something gross or loud and really, 3 cats feels like it's enough for now. Plus, when they yell I can just throw them in the bedroom and close the door and you definitely can't do that with kids.
We joke a lot about babies--we CAN joke because we aren't ever around actual babies and since none of said friends, coworkers, or extended family have actually had their babies yet, we haven't been forced to face the gritty reality of parenthood. My best friend has two boys who are 3 and 5, but they are the kind of angelic, charismatic kids that make having offspring seem like it's only slightly tougher and less enjoyable than getting a daily spa massage while eating caramel straight from the jar.
Two of our friends, both of whom live in Somerville, got pregnant unexpectedly right around the same time and for a while we all joked that the Somerville water must be full of fertility cooties. It could have been true--the stuff in th Somerville water supply is mysterious and definitely capable of f*ing with your body. The truth, however, had to do with the porosity of latex and the effectiveness of withdrawal. One of these friends, who is about to enter her second trimester, had brunch with Lunchboy two weeks ago and he was astounded when she consumed about three plates worth of food and left the table still hungry. Days later, he continues to look up and, out of nowhere, say things like, "I can't believe how much she ate! I can't wait til you're like that." Then again, he jokes that I must already be pregnant because I'm constantly starving and exhausted. That would be the Pill, seeing as it works by making your body think it's already pregnant. Right? When I'm not eating, I'm napping. What can I say--I like food and naps. The week before my period, all I want is sugar and carbs. Vegetables become completely unattractive but cookies? Suddenly and totally irresistible.
Lunchboy's excitement and enthusiasm is wonderful. But we're not ready for kids quite yet. We talk about it a lot but then the cats do something gross or loud and really, 3 cats feels like it's enough for now. Plus, when they yell I can just throw them in the bedroom and close the door and you definitely can't do that with kids.
Overheard
In the elevator at work:
Man: "Work is my refuge from my kids."
Woman: "Hahaha. You're joking."
Man: "No, I'm not. When I get sick, [boss] tells me to go home but it's so much worse there. At least work is quiet and there aren't toys all over the place."
Woman: tightfaced, visibly angry, "Imagine how your wife feels, home all day."
Man: shudders, "I try not to."
Man: "Work is my refuge from my kids."
Woman: "Hahaha. You're joking."
Man: "No, I'm not. When I get sick, [boss] tells me to go home but it's so much worse there. At least work is quiet and there aren't toys all over the place."
Woman: tightfaced, visibly angry, "Imagine how your wife feels, home all day."
Man: shudders, "I try not to."
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Catching up
There are days when work is so busy that by the time 5pm rolls around, the last thing I want to do is look at a computer screen again for the rest of the day, so no blogging happens. Then there are days when I just can’t think of anything to write. Both of these have been happening a lot lately.
Let’s see. We went to see Mike Daisey’s Monopoly last week, which was amazing. I liked it even better than Invincible Summer. The Somerville Open Studios were this past weekend and they were fun. We checked out Brickbottom, Joy St. and the Mixit Studios near Davis before “stopping” at home to get jackets and somehow falling asleep/playing Viva Pinata two afternoons in a row. Bliss. Napping is highly underrated. We did not check out our neighbor’s penis art this year, though I was tempted just so I could send a postcard to Higgypiggy and Chiz in LA.
The dry basement people are coming on Friday to install the new drain and sump pump. I am excited and also a little nervous because they’ll have to tear up a bunch of tile, dry wall, and baseboards to put in the drain and get rid of water damage (not to mention the jackhammering to get through the cement floor. We haven’t told the cats about this.) Since neither of us is particularly well versed in home repair, I’ve been calling contractors and repair people to get estimates for the cleanup work after the drain is installed. I’m very excited about the prospect of having a dry basement but very nervous about the contractor/cleanup part because I don’t know what I’m doing and don’t want to do something stupid and/or extremely expensive by accident. I am now very interested in taking some home repair classes. Not that I intend to do a lot of the heavy work but at least I won’t feel so ignorant. Why can’t it all be as easy as putting together furniture from Target?
One of the many good things about getting this basement work done is that it’s forcing us to deal with the pile of crap that’s been accumulating in the middle of the basement over the past year. One of the things we want to do once the basement stops leaking is put in some storage and shelving down there, but since that hasn’t happened yet, we haven’t had anywhere to put the giant, talking cardboard Darth Vader or the bags of stuff that Lunchboy says he wants to sell on eBay. Goodwill, here we come. Does anyone know where I can recycle a dead computer monitor in Cambridge or Somerville?
Let’s see. We went to see Mike Daisey’s Monopoly last week, which was amazing. I liked it even better than Invincible Summer. The Somerville Open Studios were this past weekend and they were fun. We checked out Brickbottom, Joy St. and the Mixit Studios near Davis before “stopping” at home to get jackets and somehow falling asleep/playing Viva Pinata two afternoons in a row. Bliss. Napping is highly underrated. We did not check out our neighbor’s penis art this year, though I was tempted just so I could send a postcard to Higgypiggy and Chiz in LA.
The dry basement people are coming on Friday to install the new drain and sump pump. I am excited and also a little nervous because they’ll have to tear up a bunch of tile, dry wall, and baseboards to put in the drain and get rid of water damage (not to mention the jackhammering to get through the cement floor. We haven’t told the cats about this.) Since neither of us is particularly well versed in home repair, I’ve been calling contractors and repair people to get estimates for the cleanup work after the drain is installed. I’m very excited about the prospect of having a dry basement but very nervous about the contractor/cleanup part because I don’t know what I’m doing and don’t want to do something stupid and/or extremely expensive by accident. I am now very interested in taking some home repair classes. Not that I intend to do a lot of the heavy work but at least I won’t feel so ignorant. Why can’t it all be as easy as putting together furniture from Target?
One of the many good things about getting this basement work done is that it’s forcing us to deal with the pile of crap that’s been accumulating in the middle of the basement over the past year. One of the things we want to do once the basement stops leaking is put in some storage and shelving down there, but since that hasn’t happened yet, we haven’t had anywhere to put the giant, talking cardboard Darth Vader or the bags of stuff that Lunchboy says he wants to sell on eBay. Goodwill, here we come. Does anyone know where I can recycle a dead computer monitor in Cambridge or Somerville?
Monday, April 30, 2007
I'll be finished gloating after this
Six months ago, when football season was in full swing and there were rumors swirling that the Patriots would find a way to trade for Randy Moss, I emailed Lunchboy (who had Randy Moss on his fantasy team) and said, “How interesting would it be if Randy Moss came to Boston?” “It’ll never happen,” he said. “Moss makes noise all the time and every team out there knows he’s just trouble.” And little football newbie that I am, I sat back and took his word for it, even though I had a hunch.
Fast forward to last week. Surprise, surprise.
Per our official agreement, I get five “I told you so’s” on this one and this post counts as #2 (when the trade was on the nightly news, I shrieked, “I so called it!” at the TV.) In the interest of preserving my marriage and in warding off a jinx on the 2007 fantasy football season, I won’t get into the final standings from 2006 or talk about certain articles that were published. But let’s just say that Moxie? She is still in the game.
Fast forward to last week. Surprise, surprise.
Per our official agreement, I get five “I told you so’s” on this one and this post counts as #2 (when the trade was on the nightly news, I shrieked, “I so called it!” at the TV.) In the interest of preserving my marriage and in warding off a jinx on the 2007 fantasy football season, I won’t get into the final standings from 2006 or talk about certain articles that were published. But let’s just say that Moxie? She is still in the game.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Feisty
It’s amazing how much difference the weather makes. Last week people were getting seriously testy on the T. I saw a couple of angry exchanges that wouldn’t have happened in October and probably won’t happen now, just because everyone is a little happier that the sun is out.
I camped out on the porch this weekend while Lunchboy played with his new Xbox. Not that Gears of War isn’t cool, but I just couldn’t be inside any longer. We opened the windows and the cats sat behind the screen, sniffing the air as if they’d never smelled spring before. Scully rolled around in the garden and took her first dirt nap of the season. I have to get out there and rake so my hosta can actually surface. Maybe tomorrow.
We also found a couch this weekend, at long last. Perhaps the universe took pity on us after we muscled through a long lunch with my family sans alcohol, but finally the couch shopping is *finished*. The new set arrives Friday, which means only 3 more days of old couch-induced back pain. I am probably more excited about the couch than I should be—god knows I’ve talked my friends’ ears off about it—so now everyone can be glad that there will be no more talk of furniture shopping, at least not for a while. We’re having a sump pump and a new French drain installed in the basement next month and it’s going to be a long time before we’ll be opening the wallet again. Hopefully it will also be a long time, as in NEVER, that we’ll have to deal with flooding.
The sun and the couch—these things are cool. This, however, is not. At all. It’s shitty that something like this could happen anywhere today, but that it happened in Boston is somehow more offensive, more embarrassing. The most perplexing thing about it is that I don’t remember anything from Mike’s show that would offend a bunch of Christian activists. Not that what happened would be ok even if the show had controversial material of some sort but still. Why?
I camped out on the porch this weekend while Lunchboy played with his new Xbox. Not that Gears of War isn’t cool, but I just couldn’t be inside any longer. We opened the windows and the cats sat behind the screen, sniffing the air as if they’d never smelled spring before. Scully rolled around in the garden and took her first dirt nap of the season. I have to get out there and rake so my hosta can actually surface. Maybe tomorrow.
We also found a couch this weekend, at long last. Perhaps the universe took pity on us after we muscled through a long lunch with my family sans alcohol, but finally the couch shopping is *finished*. The new set arrives Friday, which means only 3 more days of old couch-induced back pain. I am probably more excited about the couch than I should be—god knows I’ve talked my friends’ ears off about it—so now everyone can be glad that there will be no more talk of furniture shopping, at least not for a while. We’re having a sump pump and a new French drain installed in the basement next month and it’s going to be a long time before we’ll be opening the wallet again. Hopefully it will also be a long time, as in NEVER, that we’ll have to deal with flooding.
The sun and the couch—these things are cool. This, however, is not. At all. It’s shitty that something like this could happen anywhere today, but that it happened in Boston is somehow more offensive, more embarrassing. The most perplexing thing about it is that I don’t remember anything from Mike’s show that would offend a bunch of Christian activists. Not that what happened would be ok even if the show had controversial material of some sort but still. Why?
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Naptime
This is really the smartest idea of the year. We need several of these in Boston, especially now that the city is in full Ray Bradbury mode.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Let's hope those May flowers are really freaking gorgeous
I'm not a coffee drinker and Lunchboy is a Starbucks latte fiend. Nevertheless, we have a coffee maker on a shelf in the kitchen that only sees action when his mother comes to visit. Today, however, the coffee pot came in very handy for bailing water out of the pseudo French drain in our basement. This drain has caused some problems in the past, and we've been talking to basement people to come and install a real drain that will keep our basement dry on days like this. Unfortunately, the work hasn't been done yet and now there's groundwater welling up in the drain, which means I have to bail using the coffee pot or attempt to hook up our complicated sump pump system, which involves duct tape and multiple hoses going out the basement window. I'm not afraid of doing it but it's really a two-person job and I'm just hoping it can wait until Lunchboy gets home tomorrow.
The cats think the whole thing is fascinating, though. They hover curiously while I bail and follow me when I empty the bucket in the bathroom. I bet it wouldn't be as interesting if their paws were getting wet.
The cats think the whole thing is fascinating, though. They hover curiously while I bail and follow me when I empty the bucket in the bathroom. I bet it wouldn't be as interesting if their paws were getting wet.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Tales of joy and woe
On Friday night we went to see Mike Daisey perform his new monologue, Invincible Summer, at the ART. At Colby, Mike was one of those rare performers whose talent mesmerized, and everyone knew he was destined to go on to greater things of a scope far exceeding the realm of college theater. So I was completely unsurprised when Invincible Summer proved to be stellar. Not many performers can create emotional, compelling stories while sitting at a table, flipping pages, but Mike's words grab you and don't let go.
After the show, we met up with Mike and his lovely, warm, dramaturg wife Jean-Michele and went out for pho. They told more stories over dinner. His show is full of extremely personal details and having just been privy to bits on his parent's divorce, his marriage, and his deeply personal response to being in the middle of the shit on September 11th, I had the odd sensation of feeling like I knew him really well and yet not at all. It was good to see them.
Mike's performing in Cambridge through the first week of May. You should go--the show is really good.
After the show, we met up with Mike and his lovely, warm, dramaturg wife Jean-Michele and went out for pho. They told more stories over dinner. His show is full of extremely personal details and having just been privy to bits on his parent's divorce, his marriage, and his deeply personal response to being in the middle of the shit on September 11th, I had the odd sensation of feeling like I knew him really well and yet not at all. It was good to see them.
Mike's performing in Cambridge through the first week of May. You should go--the show is really good.
Grabbing hands grab all they can
Turns out that if you're in the market for a new couch, as we are, the worst possible time to visit Jordan's Furniture is on a weekend--particularly the last weekend of their brilliant little "you get your furniture free if the Red Sox win the World Series" marketing ploy. It was, as they say, a madhouse. In the 2.5 hours we spent at the Reading store, two things of note occurred. First, we saw Elliot, of Barry and Elliot, floating around the store, which was kind of cool. All the salespeople were genuflecting before him. He looks and sounds just like he does in the TV commercials, and it's really weird to feel that frisson of pseudo-celebrity recognition over someone who is mostly known for his cheesy furniture commercials. Maybe it's his scads of money? I don't know.
Second, we were so ready to be done with couch shopping and to get the hell out of that store that we found and bought a couch (in a much-debated red), only to get home and realize that we had just bought a red couch for our yellow living room and what the hell were we thinking. So we called and cancelled the order, fighting the grumpiness that came from the knowledge that we now have to continue shopping for a couch. But at least it won't be at that store, in those crazy-making crowds.
Second, we were so ready to be done with couch shopping and to get the hell out of that store that we found and bought a couch (in a much-debated red), only to get home and realize that we had just bought a red couch for our yellow living room and what the hell were we thinking. So we called and cancelled the order, fighting the grumpiness that came from the knowledge that we now have to continue shopping for a couch. But at least it won't be at that store, in those crazy-making crowds.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
PMS
All I've wanted all day were fish tacos from La Salsa and Snickers frozen yogurt from Big Chill.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Fromage
I'm not sure how this got by me, but April is National Grilled Cheese Month. A whole month--dedicated to the eating of grilled cheese sandwiches. Could anything be more wonderful?
A friend's fiance likes to have a birthday week--not just a day, a full week. Given this new knowledge, I think I'll take that precedent one step further and celebrate a birthday month by eating as many grilled cheese sandwiches as possible. In an ideal world, we could go to all these places, but I think I'm up for the challenge of finding good grilled cheese here in Boston. Picco has one that always rolls my eyes back into my head.
A friend's fiance likes to have a birthday week--not just a day, a full week. Given this new knowledge, I think I'll take that precedent one step further and celebrate a birthday month by eating as many grilled cheese sandwiches as possible. In an ideal world, we could go to all these places, but I think I'm up for the challenge of finding good grilled cheese here in Boston. Picco has one that always rolls my eyes back into my head.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
It's a mystery
I have never understood why people come to work when they're sick. Not just suffering from a cold, because that's pretty much a permanent condition in Boston and we should all just have IVs full of Sudafed implanted in our arms from November to May, but hardcore, high fever, messy bathroom sick. And yet people do this--they insist on working when they really should be in bed (or at least in their own bathroom, where their germs are less likely to migrate). Work is very important. This I know. But it's just work. And it's both unfair and unproductive to show up just for the face time, so your boss can see that you've heroically dragged yourself out of bed. Because what ends up happening is that you infect everyone in your office, which is why I'm home with the stomach flu today. And yes, I am bitter.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Crunch
So I am officially done with headstand, at least for now. I messed up my neck in practice two weeks ago and no matter how much attention I pay to my alignment in headstand, it just hurts. Last night I held headstand for the full 20 breaths and I woke up at 4am with a pounding headache and an aching neck.
That said, I’m finally starting to learn how to vinyasa out of supta konasana, though I’m still falling on my face half the time.
The kid in me is dying for this.
That said, I’m finally starting to learn how to vinyasa out of supta konasana, though I’m still falling on my face half the time.
The kid in me is dying for this.
Completely random
There’s an ongoing argument in our house over who should be considered the comedic actor of our generation: Ben Stiller or Will Ferrell. I’m for Will, not because his movies are always stellar but because he’s of this time. I mean, the man has played Bill Clinton and Buddy the Elf—come on. Ben Stiller grates on my nerves and he seems to always play the same character, but Lunchboy says the roles he’s played are definitive in our generation.
I was just on a work trip to DC for a few days and was amazed at how the rest of the country actually gets to experience spring. It was sunny, 67, and all the trees were starting to bloom. MeanG and I caught up for yummies at KramerBooks and there was *no need* for a jacket. Go figure. Now I’m home and it’s still freaking chilly. I know DC is unpleasant in the summer but sometimes travelling makes me wonder why the hell we stay in Boston, period.
For a long time I ignored 30 Rock because I somehow associated it with Studio 360 (a 3? A 0? Silly me). Then we tried it. I heart that show. I want Tina Fey’s wardrobe on that show. Also, loving Andy Barker, PI. Anything with one of the alums from Arrested Development is promising, and I swear that Andy Barker’s wife is Buster’s sister. Look at their faces—they must bear the same DNA. It’s striking—and wicked funny.
Things I am currently addicted to:
--Etsy
--The Real Estalker
--Apartment Therapy
Things I just don’t care about, no matter how much everyone else seems to love them:
--Sarah Silverman
--pointy shoes
--Matsuzaka
I was just on a work trip to DC for a few days and was amazed at how the rest of the country actually gets to experience spring. It was sunny, 67, and all the trees were starting to bloom. MeanG and I caught up for yummies at KramerBooks and there was *no need* for a jacket. Go figure. Now I’m home and it’s still freaking chilly. I know DC is unpleasant in the summer but sometimes travelling makes me wonder why the hell we stay in Boston, period.
For a long time I ignored 30 Rock because I somehow associated it with Studio 360 (a 3? A 0? Silly me). Then we tried it. I heart that show. I want Tina Fey’s wardrobe on that show. Also, loving Andy Barker, PI. Anything with one of the alums from Arrested Development is promising, and I swear that Andy Barker’s wife is Buster’s sister. Look at their faces—they must bear the same DNA. It’s striking—and wicked funny.
Things I am currently addicted to:
--Etsy
--The Real Estalker
--Apartment Therapy
Things I just don’t care about, no matter how much everyone else seems to love them:
--Sarah Silverman
--pointy shoes
--Matsuzaka
Friday, March 23, 2007
Makes me feel like dancing
The deadly thing about killing time in malls is that it's really easy to buy stuff. Even when you're trying not to shop. Last night I met a friend for dinner at Bambara and got there 40 minutes early, so I wandered over to the Galleria. Somehow I ended up getting these on super super sale and they make my feet so happy. Whenever I wear red shoes I think of Meang, who always has the coolest shoes ever.
Can go both ways
Name changing is in the air, I guess. Kottke posted this article about new trends in taking your significant other's last name. Having both bride and groom take both last names and hyphenate them is kind of cool. I know a couple who did a variation of this--the groom took the bride's last name and kept his name as a middle name, and vice versa with the bride. Except the two names together sounded like a sexually transmitted disease, so they both ended up taking the groom's last name.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
What would Luke do?
This is really cool. Lunchboy argues that it’s a good reason to put off writing thank you notes because using these would be a perfect touch. I completely agree but, sadly, they don’t come out until the end of May and three months feels like a very long time to delay sending thank you notes. Yes, I am anal and yes, I am a dork (if the fact that we took both class lectures and thank you notes on our honeymoon wasn’t already a big clue), but when I was little my mom wouldn’t let me play with new toys or gifts until I wrote a thank you note and it’s hard to de-program habits like that.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Vernal equinox
Life is good right now. There seems to be good news coming from every direction: engagements, pregnancies, new babies, new spouses, new jobs, blind luck, expensive car repairs covered by warranties. It’s wonderful to have so much to celebrate!!
Expanding the...mind
During a section on Shakespeare in one of my high school English classes, our teacher sent the class to see Mel Gibson’s Hamlet in theatres as part of our Greater Shakespeare Learning Experience. My best friend and I sat down in the movie theatre and couldn’t believe our luck. Movies?!? As part of class?!? How cool was that?!? Then the movie started and, despite Mel Gibson’s extreme hotness (it was 1990 after all), the movie really sucked. But we felt all superior because even with our negligible 10th grade knowledge of Shakespeare, we could tell that the movie butchered the play. Plus, Helena Bonham Carter is just really good at playing insane people. And we got to watch movies instead of do real homework.
Shortly before the wedding, Lunchboy and I decided to get one of those CD courses from The Teaching Company so we could have something educational to listen to on the plane trip to Hawaii, and also because we thought it would be fun to take a class and talk about it together. We got a 22-lecture course on Western Civilization. Did we listen to any of it on the trip to Hawaii? No. But Lunchboy is way ahead of me on the lectures. He’s up to the rise of Rome and I haven’t even started the introduction (I’m not lazy, I just like to read when I’m on the T). But on Saturday we went to see 300 and I have to say that I feel like I made up some historical ground (in a Mel Gibson kind of way). Also, I learned a lot about abdominal muscles. Overall it was an excellent educational experience. Now I actually want to learn about the Battle of Thermopylae again, but only so long as I can watch the movie for visual cues. Did I mention the abs?
Shortly before the wedding, Lunchboy and I decided to get one of those CD courses from The Teaching Company so we could have something educational to listen to on the plane trip to Hawaii, and also because we thought it would be fun to take a class and talk about it together. We got a 22-lecture course on Western Civilization. Did we listen to any of it on the trip to Hawaii? No. But Lunchboy is way ahead of me on the lectures. He’s up to the rise of Rome and I haven’t even started the introduction (I’m not lazy, I just like to read when I’m on the T). But on Saturday we went to see 300 and I have to say that I feel like I made up some historical ground (in a Mel Gibson kind of way). Also, I learned a lot about abdominal muscles. Overall it was an excellent educational experience. Now I actually want to learn about the Battle of Thermopylae again, but only so long as I can watch the movie for visual cues. Did I mention the abs?
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Mahalo
Haleakala at dawn:
Luau!
Sunset whale sighting right off the coast of Wailea:
They're waving...
By the lithified cliffs in Poi'ipu near the good hotel in Kauai:
Whale watching! Yes, this is pretty much what we did in Maui:
Smiles on the balcony of the crappy hotel in Kauai:
The coast of Kauai:
Hiking toward the Na Pali coast in Kauai:
A surprise visitor when we got home:
Luau!
Sunset whale sighting right off the coast of Wailea:
They're waving...
By the lithified cliffs in Poi'ipu near the good hotel in Kauai:
Whale watching! Yes, this is pretty much what we did in Maui:
Smiles on the balcony of the crappy hotel in Kauai:
The coast of Kauai:
Hiking toward the Na Pali coast in Kauai:
A surprise visitor when we got home:
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
At long last
Still waiting on the honeymoon photos but here are a few wedding pictures taken by Lunchboy's mom:
Mr. and Mrs. Lunchboy:
Us with our families and lots of red eye:
The cutest flower girl and ring bearer ever:
A couple of friends were smart enough to upload their photos. If you want more wedding snaps, go here and here.
Mr. and Mrs. Lunchboy:
Us with our families and lots of red eye:
The cutest flower girl and ring bearer ever:
A couple of friends were smart enough to upload their photos. If you want more wedding snaps, go here and here.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Mrs. Lunchboy
What's in a name? A lot, it turns out. When I was deciding whether to take Lunchboy's last name (I am), it never occurred to me how much I had invested in my old last name until people started calling me something else. Suddenly being married felt very..all ecompassing. After all, I'd spent almost 32 years building an identity, an education, a career, a life around the person I was with my old last name. I make a couple of vows, put on a ring, and now I'm supposed to be someone new? I don't think that's the case, but that's kind of how it feels. There's also the issue of whether to keep the old name or whether to hyphenate, but my old last name always made people think I was Jewish and I'm not, so a fresh start is nice. Hyphenation works but seems to get complicated if kids enter the picture.
Quick aside: what's up with the term "maiden name"? Who are we kidding?
The truth is, marriage is a new start. We joined our lives together and I'm not the same person I was before, so I guess it's appropriate to have a new name to go along with the new life. That said, it still takes getting used to. In all the honeymoon advice we received, no one mentioned that taking off for a week or two is an excellent--and much needed--opportunity to stop doing a quadruple take every time someone calls you by a new last name. We still giggle a little whenever it happens. That and we do the Wonder Twins fist bonk with our rings. Shh.
The other thing no one tells you is that legally changing your name is a monumental pain in the ass. It is such a confusing, convoluted, red tape-laden process that I actually shelled out for something called the Bridal Name Change Kit from the Knot--and this is after I vowed never to buy anything from that site. I just want someone to tell me how to do this. Because getting used to being a Mrs. is where I'd rather put my energy.
PS--pictures tomorrow!
Quick aside: what's up with the term "maiden name"? Who are we kidding?
The truth is, marriage is a new start. We joined our lives together and I'm not the same person I was before, so I guess it's appropriate to have a new name to go along with the new life. That said, it still takes getting used to. In all the honeymoon advice we received, no one mentioned that taking off for a week or two is an excellent--and much needed--opportunity to stop doing a quadruple take every time someone calls you by a new last name. We still giggle a little whenever it happens. That and we do the Wonder Twins fist bonk with our rings. Shh.
The other thing no one tells you is that legally changing your name is a monumental pain in the ass. It is such a confusing, convoluted, red tape-laden process that I actually shelled out for something called the Bridal Name Change Kit from the Knot--and this is after I vowed never to buy anything from that site. I just want someone to tell me how to do this. Because getting used to being a Mrs. is where I'd rather put my energy.
PS--pictures tomorrow!
The force is with us
We got back from Kauai this afternoon at about 5pm, which was noon Hawaii time and my body is completely confused (isn't daylight savings time on Sunday? Woo!) It's good to be home, although it took getting off the plane and feeling the blast of icy air come through the plane door for us to grasp the fact that it was not in fact 80 degrees outside. Ouch. I wore my flip flops all the way to baggage claim but then admitted defeat and brought out the sneakers.
Hawaii was great. Is Hawaii ever not great? I feel trite and obnoxious getting into how great it was, but we had a wonderful time. Maui was pretty and had lots of whales (we now have video clips and lots of photos of empty ocean where whales were only seconds before--those suckers are hard to catch on film). It reminded me a bit of La Jolla, California, if only because after flying 6,000 miles you expect to get off the plane and be in a foreign country, not be driving by a KMart. Not that La Jolla has Kmarts, but Wailea felt a lot like La Jolla.
Kauai, on the other hand, was wild and gorgeous and uncommercialized and spectacular. We climbed the dunes in Polihale and watched crazy waves hit the shore in five different directions at once. We did a spectacular hike on the north side of the island past the point were you can drive a car. There were no bugs (or, as Lunchboy likes to point out, snakes). After two days of being marooned at a tacky, 70s era hotel, we escaped to the Hyatt and didn't move for 3 days. Bliss.
It wasn't until we got off the plane in LA at 4am that we heard about the helicopter crash in Kauai. Scary. We saw the helicopters buzzing overhead all the time. They seemed safe. But we didn't take a helicopter tour and now I'm extra glad.
As soon as we walked in the door this afternoon, the cats were bewildered. Perhaps it was anger that we left them for two weeks, or that they had a phalanx of friends coming to look in on them (girls, you are well loved!) Or maybe it was the 8ft. tall Darth Vader cut out that Lunchboy's sister used to decorate the house for our homecoming. Not only is he huge and is holding his big pink lightsaber, he talks. "You are not a Jedi yet," he says. "Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker." Perhaps, but you are not my master. At the moment, the bed is my master. ZZzzzzzzz.
Hawaii was great. Is Hawaii ever not great? I feel trite and obnoxious getting into how great it was, but we had a wonderful time. Maui was pretty and had lots of whales (we now have video clips and lots of photos of empty ocean where whales were only seconds before--those suckers are hard to catch on film). It reminded me a bit of La Jolla, California, if only because after flying 6,000 miles you expect to get off the plane and be in a foreign country, not be driving by a KMart. Not that La Jolla has Kmarts, but Wailea felt a lot like La Jolla.
Kauai, on the other hand, was wild and gorgeous and uncommercialized and spectacular. We climbed the dunes in Polihale and watched crazy waves hit the shore in five different directions at once. We did a spectacular hike on the north side of the island past the point were you can drive a car. There were no bugs (or, as Lunchboy likes to point out, snakes). After two days of being marooned at a tacky, 70s era hotel, we escaped to the Hyatt and didn't move for 3 days. Bliss.
It wasn't until we got off the plane in LA at 4am that we heard about the helicopter crash in Kauai. Scary. We saw the helicopters buzzing overhead all the time. They seemed safe. But we didn't take a helicopter tour and now I'm extra glad.
As soon as we walked in the door this afternoon, the cats were bewildered. Perhaps it was anger that we left them for two weeks, or that they had a phalanx of friends coming to look in on them (girls, you are well loved!) Or maybe it was the 8ft. tall Darth Vader cut out that Lunchboy's sister used to decorate the house for our homecoming. Not only is he huge and is holding his big pink lightsaber, he talks. "You are not a Jedi yet," he says. "Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker." Perhaps, but you are not my master. At the moment, the bed is my master. ZZzzzzzzz.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
WHALES!
We're in Maui until Saturday and then we head to Kauai. Unbeknownst to us, Maui is apparently one of the best vantage points to watch the annual whale migration that happens between November and April. Whole pods of whales are hanging out in the bay off west and south Maui--in the morning and evening, we've seen their spouts and the occasional roll of a smooth back or a fin. But tonight we had the most amazing experience. We were walking along the waterfront path in Wailea, where we're staying, and there were whale spouts going off all over the place, sometimes as close as a few hundred yards offshore. Then, out of nowhere, a mother whale breached and then began slapping her tail and dorsal fin on the water about 250 yards offshore. She slapped her tail about 15-20 times and then got started on her dorsal fin. That fin must have been 20 feet long. It was the most exciting, beautiful, incredibly moving thing to see--we felt so blessed and lucky to be there. Every so often, the baby whale would flash a fin or roll around near its mother. Everyone on the path stopped in their tracks to watch. Lunchboy managed to catch some of the action on camera, but in our exhausted haze on Sunday we forgot to pack the cord that connects the camera to the laptop (duh), so pictures will have to wait :( But then---lots of pictures.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Married!
The wedding was a total blast. It went by very quickly, like everyone said it would, but it was really, really wonderful to celebrate with so many people that we love.
Now, packing. Watching the Oscars red carpet. Trying to keep my eyes open. Our flight leaves at the butt crack of dawn and then....off to the beaches of Hawaii. We'll have a computer with us and I will try to post but I can't promise anything.
Gimp, you have no excuses :)
Meang--good luck on the bar!!!!!!!!!!! I have no doubt you'll rock the house, just like your husband did on the dance floor last night. Also, we love our new blue mugs :)
Now, packing. Watching the Oscars red carpet. Trying to keep my eyes open. Our flight leaves at the butt crack of dawn and then....off to the beaches of Hawaii. We'll have a computer with us and I will try to post but I can't promise anything.
Gimp, you have no excuses :)
Meang--good luck on the bar!!!!!!!!!!! I have no doubt you'll rock the house, just like your husband did on the dance floor last night. Also, we love our new blue mugs :)
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Frenetic train of thought
Everyone told me that the week before the wedding would be insane and I didn’t believe them. How very wrong I was. We have a list of things to do on our coffee table and it just keeps growing, no matter how many things I cross off. I’ve been waking up at 3am worrying about parking of all things—what if people park in the wrong part of the garage and get locked in once it closes at 10pm??? How will the hotel let guests know that they can self-park in PART of this garage but not ALL of it (the other part belongs to the mall next door and that’s the part that closes). Then all I can think of is Mr. Henslowe from Shakespeare in Love saying, “It’ll all work out.” And I ask how and he says, “It’s a mystery!” It’s a sad state of affairs.
UPDATE--the garage closes at 1am on Saturdays. Hooray!
I’ve been pretty calm for the past 7 months, mostly because I’ve adopted an “I’ll avoid this so it doesn’t stress me out” approach but this week I’ve turned into the kind of wide-eyed, anxious, control freaky woman that cable TV makes shows about and it’s a little weird. I’ve watched my friends turn into this woman during the week before their weddings and it’s like aliens came down to earth and took over my friends’ bodies and now they’ve got me, too. The programs, they must be done exactly right. The papers have to coordinate. And I really, really need to just chill out but at this point I’m running on pure adrenaline and it feels like a freight train that can’t be stopped. A good train but an unstoppable one with lots of details that have to be taken care of or the whole thing could derail like there had just been a huge ice storm or something.
Yesterday I was standing in the changing room at Target (the new Proenza Schouler line is CUTE) and I made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror sans clothes and literally burst into tears. Somehow other brides stress themselves down two sizes but me, I go on the stupid pill one month before my wedding and miraculously gain 10 pounds. I can see the 10 pounds—it’s there in the jiggly parts that didn’t used to be jiggly and even though I bought a new bikini for the honeymoon right now I am feeling that there is no way I will wear anything but a giant sack to the beach. Who sells Hawaiian beach sacks because I want several.
UPDATE--the garage closes at 1am on Saturdays. Hooray!
I’ve been pretty calm for the past 7 months, mostly because I’ve adopted an “I’ll avoid this so it doesn’t stress me out” approach but this week I’ve turned into the kind of wide-eyed, anxious, control freaky woman that cable TV makes shows about and it’s a little weird. I’ve watched my friends turn into this woman during the week before their weddings and it’s like aliens came down to earth and took over my friends’ bodies and now they’ve got me, too. The programs, they must be done exactly right. The papers have to coordinate. And I really, really need to just chill out but at this point I’m running on pure adrenaline and it feels like a freight train that can’t be stopped. A good train but an unstoppable one with lots of details that have to be taken care of or the whole thing could derail like there had just been a huge ice storm or something.
Yesterday I was standing in the changing room at Target (the new Proenza Schouler line is CUTE) and I made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror sans clothes and literally burst into tears. Somehow other brides stress themselves down two sizes but me, I go on the stupid pill one month before my wedding and miraculously gain 10 pounds. I can see the 10 pounds—it’s there in the jiggly parts that didn’t used to be jiggly and even though I bought a new bikini for the honeymoon right now I am feeling that there is no way I will wear anything but a giant sack to the beach. Who sells Hawaiian beach sacks because I want several.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
La la la (fingers in ears)
After waking up to the sounds of sirens, screeching tires, and cars flailing their way out of icy berths, I made an executive decision to work from home today. Well, that wasn’t all of it. There was the fact that the pipes froze at some point during the night and they needed babysitting with the space heater and the hair dryer, too. But I’m trying to focus on the nice part about being able to stay inside all day.
Two weeks ago, dealing with frozen pipes by myself might have made me slightly hysterical but given the fact that the last 14 days have witnessed a litany of house upkeep issues that I’ve dealt with sans Lunchboy, it’s getting to be routine. For a while I was frustrated and angry about the fact that I was left here to deal with everything—drafty windows, broken heating, basement flooding, total cat insanity, all laundry, shopping, and every last minute wedding to-do (particularly thank you notes) by myself while he got to stay in cozy, heated hotels around the greater NYC/NJ area, but anger didn’t get me anywhere so I let it go. I’m still upset about the basement flooding last night that ruined a favourite (and expensively framed) poster that I brought back from my junior year abroad in Italy, though. I really loved that print.
Anyhoo. The decision to work from home was apparently a good one because when I tried to walk down to Subway at lunch, I discovered that the neighbourhood is pretty much unwalkable. Also, our garbage and recycling bins are frozen into place and I don’t think they’re going anywhere until spring.
Currently avoiding: seating chart, place cards, table names, printing the programs. I want one of those magical wedding planners from “Whose Wedding Is It Anyway,” which I have to stop watching or my brain might explode.
That said--9 days!!!!!!!!! WOOHOOO!!!!!
Two weeks ago, dealing with frozen pipes by myself might have made me slightly hysterical but given the fact that the last 14 days have witnessed a litany of house upkeep issues that I’ve dealt with sans Lunchboy, it’s getting to be routine. For a while I was frustrated and angry about the fact that I was left here to deal with everything—drafty windows, broken heating, basement flooding, total cat insanity, all laundry, shopping, and every last minute wedding to-do (particularly thank you notes) by myself while he got to stay in cozy, heated hotels around the greater NYC/NJ area, but anger didn’t get me anywhere so I let it go. I’m still upset about the basement flooding last night that ruined a favourite (and expensively framed) poster that I brought back from my junior year abroad in Italy, though. I really loved that print.
Anyhoo. The decision to work from home was apparently a good one because when I tried to walk down to Subway at lunch, I discovered that the neighbourhood is pretty much unwalkable. Also, our garbage and recycling bins are frozen into place and I don’t think they’re going anywhere until spring.
Currently avoiding: seating chart, place cards, table names, printing the programs. I want one of those magical wedding planners from “Whose Wedding Is It Anyway,” which I have to stop watching or my brain might explode.
That said--9 days!!!!!!!!! WOOHOOO!!!!!
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Coffee now!!!!
We decided to skip Valentine's Day this year and it's a huge relief. I hadn't realized how much pressure goes along with that holiday...well, that's not true. The shitty thing about Valentine's Day is how loaded it is with expectations. Too many expectations will wreck any situation and there's no way to avoid them in this case. Gifts, flowers, dinner, creative ways to express your affection--and it's all expected. Retch. Historically, Valentine's Day has not been my friend, except for the fact that it's Bligh's birthday (happy birthday, Bligh!) but it doesn't always get better when you have a significant other to celebrate with. After this, I might actually boycott Valentine's from here on out. I'd rather give a hug when it's least expected than when it's taken for granted, you know?
In two weeks, we'll be on the beach in Maui. Given how freaking cold it is outside, the existence of the beach seems almost dream-like. I lose circulation in my toes on the way to the bus in the morning and they don't get feeling back until after I've been parked in front of the space heater under my desk at work for a good 10 minutes. Gotta love Reynaud's syndrome. They actually turn white and go numb--it's the weirdest feeling.
Side note--the brain fuzzies are gone and so is Danger Week! Woo! I was a bit of a weepy puss this month but I'll take tears over irrational anger any day. Tears are cathartic, even when they come out of nowhere. The cats, however, are very perplexed. Why is mom so upset? I have to assure them that everything is fine, that I am not leaving their father, I am simply melting down over the complete lack of chocolate in the house. That and the fact that I'm going to sleep alone again for the umpteenth time. But bring me M&Ms and that'll make it better. They haven't made it to CVS yet, though.
In two weeks, we'll be on the beach in Maui. Given how freaking cold it is outside, the existence of the beach seems almost dream-like. I lose circulation in my toes on the way to the bus in the morning and they don't get feeling back until after I've been parked in front of the space heater under my desk at work for a good 10 minutes. Gotta love Reynaud's syndrome. They actually turn white and go numb--it's the weirdest feeling.
Side note--the brain fuzzies are gone and so is Danger Week! Woo! I was a bit of a weepy puss this month but I'll take tears over irrational anger any day. Tears are cathartic, even when they come out of nowhere. The cats, however, are very perplexed. Why is mom so upset? I have to assure them that everything is fine, that I am not leaving their father, I am simply melting down over the complete lack of chocolate in the house. That and the fact that I'm going to sleep alone again for the umpteenth time. But bring me M&Ms and that'll make it better. They haven't made it to CVS yet, though.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Time keeps on ticking
12 days to go. How did that happen? I keep thinking, "Oh we can do that next weekend!" and then realizing that no, we can't. Because we'll be getting married and then collapsing from the sheer relief of no longer having to plan.
Hold on, hold on--it's less than two weeks til the wedding and the wedding is still on! Sweet! I think half the reason I've been a giant, walking anxiety attack is that part of my brain is waiting for the other shoe to drop, so whew. Take that, brain!
Needless to say, things have been busy. I keep meaning to post--in fact, I write posts and them email them to myself so I can blog at home, but then I get home, decide I hate what I wrote and hit delete. So here we are, weeks later and pas de posts. We had some layoffs at work, which is also why there has been a lot less posting. Fortunately I'm still employed and I would like to keep it that way, what with all the bills that are coming due and all. You can budget all you want for a wedding but in reality the budget goes out the window the closer you get to D Day. Really, what's $30 for a ring pillow when you've just racked up $2k in floral expenses? I fully expect a personally delivered holiday gift from American Express this year.
I miss Lunchboy. He's been home for roughly 12 hours in the past two weeks.
Hold on, hold on--it's less than two weeks til the wedding and the wedding is still on! Sweet! I think half the reason I've been a giant, walking anxiety attack is that part of my brain is waiting for the other shoe to drop, so whew. Take that, brain!
Needless to say, things have been busy. I keep meaning to post--in fact, I write posts and them email them to myself so I can blog at home, but then I get home, decide I hate what I wrote and hit delete. So here we are, weeks later and pas de posts. We had some layoffs at work, which is also why there has been a lot less posting. Fortunately I'm still employed and I would like to keep it that way, what with all the bills that are coming due and all. You can budget all you want for a wedding but in reality the budget goes out the window the closer you get to D Day. Really, what's $30 for a ring pillow when you've just racked up $2k in floral expenses? I fully expect a personally delivered holiday gift from American Express this year.
I miss Lunchboy. He's been home for roughly 12 hours in the past two weeks.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
And now we burgle
I'm not sure what's better--that Boston shut itself down today because of some Mooninites, or that Boston.com made some poor sucker write about Aqua Teen Hunger Force in a serious tone:
"Aqua Teen Hunger Force...involves animated characters that are depicted as fast food products, including a ball of ground meat, French fries, and a milk shake."
It's not quite a TV show all about stacking boxes, but then no one's been brainwashed and forced to stick a broomstick up their butt either.
"Aqua Teen Hunger Force...involves animated characters that are depicted as fast food products, including a ball of ground meat, French fries, and a milk shake."
It's not quite a TV show all about stacking boxes, but then no one's been brainwashed and forced to stick a broomstick up their butt either.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Anodyne
OK, so maybe I’m not dealing with stress well right now. My brain is still pretty fuzzy from the meds switch. This week is much, much better than last week, when I was intermittently nauseous and ravenous, couldn’t concentrate on anything for more than 30 seconds, had a hard time formulating words in my head, and was generally a mess (but a very, very quiet mess because I didn’t want anyone at work to know.) Still, I got some funny looks when I’d say “sorry” instead of “unfortunately,” for example, or when I’d get inappropriately enthusiastic about things that didn’t require so much enthusiasm. But while the fuzzy jitteriness persists, I already feel less numb than I used to and that’s a pleasant change.
One of the things I’ve found that’s effective in helping to keep the brain fuzzies under control is exercise. The earlier I work out in the day, the less fuzzy I am for the rest of the day, a situation made slightly complicated by the fact that I’m physically incapable of getting up early to work out. I’ve tried—for years—and the best I can do is 10am on the weekends. It’s too cold to run at lunch right now and the Boston Baptiste studio just closed (I was really sad about that), so I’ve had to summon a little ingenuity because I’m unwilling to fork over for a second gym membership to one of the pricy places in Copley. My solution? Stairs (surprise!) I brought some running shoes into work and climbed the emergency stairs in my building. Insane? Trying not to be. Too bad this got cancelled for the year.
Sidenote: Gimp, meang and Vance—you must see this. You’ll understand. Meang—congrats on being an aunt!!!!!!! We’ll miss you in a few weeks, but I have no doubt you’re going to kick ass on the DC bar. Do us proud!
One of the things I’ve found that’s effective in helping to keep the brain fuzzies under control is exercise. The earlier I work out in the day, the less fuzzy I am for the rest of the day, a situation made slightly complicated by the fact that I’m physically incapable of getting up early to work out. I’ve tried—for years—and the best I can do is 10am on the weekends. It’s too cold to run at lunch right now and the Boston Baptiste studio just closed (I was really sad about that), so I’ve had to summon a little ingenuity because I’m unwilling to fork over for a second gym membership to one of the pricy places in Copley. My solution? Stairs (surprise!) I brought some running shoes into work and climbed the emergency stairs in my building. Insane? Trying not to be. Too bad this got cancelled for the year.
Sidenote: Gimp, meang and Vance—you must see this. You’ll understand. Meang—congrats on being an aunt!!!!!!! We’ll miss you in a few weeks, but I have no doubt you’re going to kick ass on the DC bar. Do us proud!
Warning: MBTA/CharlieCard rant ahead
The past few days on the T have sucked. Usually I just stick my head in my magazine and pay no attention to why the train is stopped/dark/packed beyond capacity because the MBTA is incapable of trafficking more Lechmere trains during rush hour, but after today I can't ignore it anymore.
This morning I tried to use my handy WageWorks credit card to buy my Linkpass for February. On my first try, the machine at Lechmere told me that the WageWorks card, which is automatically loaded with $59 from my paycheck every month, had no value on it. I tried again and the machine told me the card was denied. I tried a third time and the transaction went through up until I waved my CharlieCard at the target to finish the transaction and then the machine magically voided everything and cancelled the transaction. The MBTA lady at Lechmere was no help—she’d apparently never seen a WageWorks card before, which strikes me as weird because everyone who used to get their T pass in the mail—and that’s a lot of commuters--now has to use these faux Visa cards to buy their passes at the CharlieCard machines. Pissed off, I got on the train and went to work. At lunch, I decided to try again at Copley. Again, the machine gave me three different reasons why it wouldn’t accept my card. The MBTA guy at Copley sent me to Back Bay, where the same thing happened—no card luck and no help from the MBTA lady hovering near the CharlieCard machines.
Now really freaking peeved, I went back to work and called up WageWorks to find out why the hell my card wouldn’t work in the CharlieCard machines. After being on hold for 15 minutes, a guy named Cass got on the line. Cass told me that my card did indeed have the $59 required to buy my monthly LinkPass but since the CharlieCard machines had malfunctioned and I’d tried to use the card so many times in one day, the funds were frozen until Friday. I tried to explain that Friday was February 2 and that I needed my pass for February 1. This was very perplexing to Cass—he had no idea what to tell me. He couldn’t tell me whether the people at the MBTA office (which is apparently at Downtown Crossing and not Back Bay) would be able to help me or whether they could unfreeze the funds. He suggested that I buy the pass out of pocket and then fax WageWorks a form so they could reimburse me.
PAIN IN MY ASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why bother having this stupid credit card system if the CharlieCard machines can’t read the cards??? What was so wrong with the old system of tokens and nice, easy passes that came in the mail? Why bother having people at the T to help you if they have no clue what's going on? Why do I have to fork over because the stupid MBTA can’t make their machines work in the cold? Hello—it’s Boston!!!! It gets f*ing cold here—plan for it!
This morning I tried to use my handy WageWorks credit card to buy my Linkpass for February. On my first try, the machine at Lechmere told me that the WageWorks card, which is automatically loaded with $59 from my paycheck every month, had no value on it. I tried again and the machine told me the card was denied. I tried a third time and the transaction went through up until I waved my CharlieCard at the target to finish the transaction and then the machine magically voided everything and cancelled the transaction. The MBTA lady at Lechmere was no help—she’d apparently never seen a WageWorks card before, which strikes me as weird because everyone who used to get their T pass in the mail—and that’s a lot of commuters--now has to use these faux Visa cards to buy their passes at the CharlieCard machines. Pissed off, I got on the train and went to work. At lunch, I decided to try again at Copley. Again, the machine gave me three different reasons why it wouldn’t accept my card. The MBTA guy at Copley sent me to Back Bay, where the same thing happened—no card luck and no help from the MBTA lady hovering near the CharlieCard machines.
Now really freaking peeved, I went back to work and called up WageWorks to find out why the hell my card wouldn’t work in the CharlieCard machines. After being on hold for 15 minutes, a guy named Cass got on the line. Cass told me that my card did indeed have the $59 required to buy my monthly LinkPass but since the CharlieCard machines had malfunctioned and I’d tried to use the card so many times in one day, the funds were frozen until Friday. I tried to explain that Friday was February 2 and that I needed my pass for February 1. This was very perplexing to Cass—he had no idea what to tell me. He couldn’t tell me whether the people at the MBTA office (which is apparently at Downtown Crossing and not Back Bay) would be able to help me or whether they could unfreeze the funds. He suggested that I buy the pass out of pocket and then fax WageWorks a form so they could reimburse me.
PAIN IN MY ASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why bother having this stupid credit card system if the CharlieCard machines can’t read the cards??? What was so wrong with the old system of tokens and nice, easy passes that came in the mail? Why bother having people at the T to help you if they have no clue what's going on? Why do I have to fork over because the stupid MBTA can’t make their machines work in the cold? Hello—it’s Boston!!!! It gets f*ing cold here—plan for it!
Friday, January 26, 2007
Ice ice ice
It’s too cold to do anything except drink tea and huddle by my contraband space heater, which is technically illegal in my office but is the only sane option other than wearing my gigantic, poofy green parka at work all day. A few friends asked if we wanted to go see Pan’s Labyrinth tonight and we passed because all I want to do is go home and huddle under the blankets by the somewhat less illegal space heater in our living room. I do want to see Pan’s Labyrinth, though.
It’s cold at home, too. The cats wait for us to sit down and then immediately try to burrow into our body cavities. The walls in our house are cold. This morning I asked Lunchboy what kind of insulation we had and his response was, “Maybe none?” He’s one of those people who are permanently warm no matter what the weather’s like, so maybe he didn’t ask the insulation question when he bought the condo. As someone who’s cold when it’s 80 degrees and sunny, that question would have been at the top of my list. I’m so glad we had a non-winter until this week because we are too wedding poor to do much about the fact that the house is a heat sink. It’s another excuse to share body heat
It’s cold at home, too. The cats wait for us to sit down and then immediately try to burrow into our body cavities. The walls in our house are cold. This morning I asked Lunchboy what kind of insulation we had and his response was, “Maybe none?” He’s one of those people who are permanently warm no matter what the weather’s like, so maybe he didn’t ask the insulation question when he bought the condo. As someone who’s cold when it’s 80 degrees and sunny, that question would have been at the top of my list. I’m so glad we had a non-winter until this week because we are too wedding poor to do much about the fact that the house is a heat sink. It’s another excuse to share body heat
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Tasty tasty
There are large chunks of this past weekend that I’ve blacked out, partly due to massive alcohol consumption and partly from denial (that would be the Patriots game).
The bachelorette party was on Friday and it was a total blast. Sassy women + lots of drinks + Chippendales boys + late night of dancing = good times. I seriously do not remember the last time I was up until 4am and I don’t know if I could do it again soon, by my god that was a night to remember (if I could remember all of it, that is.) I have pictures but they are kind of incriminating.
Call me naïve but I had no idea that a Chippendales show was interactive—I really thought it was a stage show with assigned seats etc. Silly me. And thank god for the multiple peachy drinks the girls fed me at Red Fez because otherwise I would have been paralyzed by mortification. Those Chippendales boys are not shy.
After the show, we went down to Encore for a while and listened to the piano. Across the room, two tables of impeccably made-up trannies were watching us and laughing. Then we headed back up to the Roxy. That was my first time getting patted down by club security—it made me feel my age.
We danced until all hours and then headed home. Lunchboy had waited up for us. If it were me and I had four loud, drunk people on my couch at 3am, I might not have been as easygoing as he was, but he was a total trooper. He made sure everyone got home and got to bed safely, that we all had greasy food for breakfast, that I didn’t have to get off the couch all day Saturday (which was huge because I wasn’t capable of being anything other than a lump.) I know the bachelorette party is all about having one last night of fun before marriage, but I was just so glad to come home to him. The Chippendales boys were hunky but they weren’t Lunchboy. I get the best one out there.
The bachelorette party was on Friday and it was a total blast. Sassy women + lots of drinks + Chippendales boys + late night of dancing = good times. I seriously do not remember the last time I was up until 4am and I don’t know if I could do it again soon, by my god that was a night to remember (if I could remember all of it, that is.) I have pictures but they are kind of incriminating.
Call me naïve but I had no idea that a Chippendales show was interactive—I really thought it was a stage show with assigned seats etc. Silly me. And thank god for the multiple peachy drinks the girls fed me at Red Fez because otherwise I would have been paralyzed by mortification. Those Chippendales boys are not shy.
After the show, we went down to Encore for a while and listened to the piano. Across the room, two tables of impeccably made-up trannies were watching us and laughing. Then we headed back up to the Roxy. That was my first time getting patted down by club security—it made me feel my age.
We danced until all hours and then headed home. Lunchboy had waited up for us. If it were me and I had four loud, drunk people on my couch at 3am, I might not have been as easygoing as he was, but he was a total trooper. He made sure everyone got home and got to bed safely, that we all had greasy food for breakfast, that I didn’t have to get off the couch all day Saturday (which was huge because I wasn’t capable of being anything other than a lump.) I know the bachelorette party is all about having one last night of fun before marriage, but I was just so glad to come home to him. The Chippendales boys were hunky but they weren’t Lunchboy. I get the best one out there.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Kind of in shock
There’s a lot of badness in Sudbury today. Things like this don’t happen there very often, if at all (not because they can’t, they just don’t usually). But in addition to the awful fact that a high school kid was stabbed to death in one of my alma mater’s bathrooms this morning, my father shared a fragment of conversation that took place in his gym this morning, a tidbit that displayed what he termed “an unfortunate predisposition” that is not alien to the swanky suburbs west of Boston. As a group of people discussed the tragedy in the locker room right after the news broke, one man piped up with, “Was it one of those blacks?”
I wish I was kidding.
My heart goes out to the family of the victim.
When I graduated from LS almost 15 years ago (!!), the most trouble the school faced was a student body-wide protest march from the school to the police station on the day of the Rodney King verdict. Were we more idealistic or just blessed with luck?
I wish I was kidding.
My heart goes out to the family of the victim.
When I graduated from LS almost 15 years ago (!!), the most trouble the school faced was a student body-wide protest march from the school to the police station on the day of the Rodney King verdict. Were we more idealistic or just blessed with luck?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
That's my girl
I once read an interview with Fergie in which she claimed that her new album was about important, intimate events in her life. After listening to "London Bridge" and "Fergalicious" at the gym (and, I admit it, on KISS108), and having been completely incapable of getting their catchiness out of my head, I kinda wondered what happened during her crystal meth days that contributed to the writing of those songs. And the pants peeing that's happened to her in the past. But then I saw these pictures on Dlisted and forgave all. Because Fergie's running my stairs and I can't diss a girl who runs those stairs.
TMI
Litter isn't pretty. I’ve never understood why it’s so hard to put your trash in a trash can as opposed to throwing it on the ground. Then again, I didn’t understand why my former roommate left her Keeper on the top of the toilet—call me a neat freak. Perhaps this explains the quadruple take I did last night as I was leaving my gym and came eye to eye with someone’s used pregnancy test.
I am not kidding.
Whoever it was must have wanted the results known because she left her EPT stick sitting on top of the retaining wall around the entrance to the gym. I had looked down to avoid a patch of ice and looked up to find the white stick with one pink line in the little window right in front of my head. No idea whether one line means positive or negative.
Did she take the test on the sidewalk? Did she bring it to Twin City Plaza so she could show her boyfriend? Inquiring minds want to know. Then again, not really.
I am not kidding.
Whoever it was must have wanted the results known because she left her EPT stick sitting on top of the retaining wall around the entrance to the gym. I had looked down to avoid a patch of ice and looked up to find the white stick with one pink line in the little window right in front of my head. No idea whether one line means positive or negative.
Did she take the test on the sidewalk? Did she bring it to Twin City Plaza so she could show her boyfriend? Inquiring minds want to know. Then again, not really.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Kinda shady
I read this today on Kottke. It’s nice that people actually follow through on generous intentions. A lot of praise and attention is given to Heifer Project International and I personally don’t think it’s a great organization. I spent a weekend volunteering at a Heifer Project farm in Massachusetts back in the early 1990s. It was a disappointing experience and left me with the feeling that the organization was not all it said it was. When our group was preparing to wrap up the weekend, another man arrived on the farm. We asked him if he was there to volunteer. "No," he said. "I'm here to put a few of the animals down." Now, undoubtedly there are sick or elderly animals on farms that need euthanizing but we'd just spent all weekend feeding and mucking out stalls, and no one said anything about animals being put down--we were given the impression that these animals were being sent to needy families using donations given by organizations and individuals. It was just a feeling but it seemed pretty seedy. Ever since then I've donated money to other places that I know will actually put the funds to use.
Here goes nothing
It’s official—I am unbalanced. Seriously. As if being on antidepressants for the past 14 years wasn’t enough of a clue, my PCP has informed me that I am suffering from a hormonal imbalance, which is why I’ve been mutating into the Tazmanian Devil for a week of every month.
In the fall, I started noticing that my normal levels of PMS (read: moody, weepy and slightly needy) were becoming exaggerated. Instead of scarfing gummy bears and crying when Tim and Jason didn’t make up on Friday Night Lights, I was *raging* against the little old lady who cut me off in the bus line. I screamed at the cats. I went off on friends who hadn’t done anything wrong other than, you know, not reading my mind. The Danger Week meant extreme, irrational anger and irritability. Calm was restored once my period arrived, but in three weeks the whole thing started all over again.
How did it take me 5 months to notice this? Good question. I was starting to wonder if my brain was secretly trying to pull an Incredible Hulk, or if I was going to end up as a case study of what happens when you take SSRIs for too long. When I mentioned the anger to Lunchboy and asked if he’d noticed, he smiled that boy smile, the one that says, “I have to be very tactful or I might get castrated,” and said, “Yes.” Then I asked a few other friends and they were like, “We just figured it was wedding stress.”
I am living one of those bizarre pharmaceutical TV commercials.
So now, with 5 weeks to go before the wedding, I am going on the Pill and going off the SSRIs. If I turn into one of those creatures from 28 Days Later, you know what happened.
In the fall, I started noticing that my normal levels of PMS (read: moody, weepy and slightly needy) were becoming exaggerated. Instead of scarfing gummy bears and crying when Tim and Jason didn’t make up on Friday Night Lights, I was *raging* against the little old lady who cut me off in the bus line. I screamed at the cats. I went off on friends who hadn’t done anything wrong other than, you know, not reading my mind. The Danger Week meant extreme, irrational anger and irritability. Calm was restored once my period arrived, but in three weeks the whole thing started all over again.
How did it take me 5 months to notice this? Good question. I was starting to wonder if my brain was secretly trying to pull an Incredible Hulk, or if I was going to end up as a case study of what happens when you take SSRIs for too long. When I mentioned the anger to Lunchboy and asked if he’d noticed, he smiled that boy smile, the one that says, “I have to be very tactful or I might get castrated,” and said, “Yes.” Then I asked a few other friends and they were like, “We just figured it was wedding stress.”
I am living one of those bizarre pharmaceutical TV commercials.
So now, with 5 weeks to go before the wedding, I am going on the Pill and going off the SSRIs. If I turn into one of those creatures from 28 Days Later, you know what happened.
Insight
On my way to visit my new PCP today, an elderly man got on the elevator. He had a wide smile and a lot to say.
“It must be my lucky day, riding the elevator with two lovely women such as yourselves!” he said to me and the other woman in the elevator.
We grinned. It’s hard not to grin when you’re getting effusive, unexpected compliments.
“Everyone in this town always walks around with a frown. They all keep to themselves,” he continued. “I like to talk and get to know people.”
He’s right. Bostonians are like that. It’s too bad that we’re like that, too. This guy was like a ray of light in a very dark place.
As he got off the elevator, the other lady told him to have a nice day.
“I always do,” he said. “Who knows—it could be my last!”
“I never looked at it that way,” she replied. “That just shot my day to hell.”
I thought it was upbeat and refreshing. It’s nice to hear people live their lives so fully.
In the doctor’s office, the old man kept talking to another patient in the waiting room, though the whole room was listening. He was that kind of interesting, the kind I wish I saw more often. He had died once, he said. He got electrocuted and the hospital declared him dead, but he had an out of body experience and knew he couldn’t die yet, so he came back into his body. Now every time he closes his eyes to go to sleep, he sees a crowd of friendly faces smiling at him. “They never say anything, though,” he said. “They just look at me. Sometimes they laugh but it doesn’t feel like they’re laughing at me. Now I’m never alone.”
Every so often, he sees a face he recognizes. “I had a friend I hadn’t seen or talked to in years,” he continued. “One night he came running up to me in my dream. He was so excited to see me. I figured he had passed on and was coming to say goodbye.”
After he told the story, the doctor called him into the office. I was sad—I wanted to keep hearing about his dreams. There were lots of elderly people in the waiting room and they all seemed afraid of what was coming, but not this guy. He looked like he wasn’t a day under 90 and he had no fear. I suppose if you’ve already died once there isn’t much that feels scary.
“It must be my lucky day, riding the elevator with two lovely women such as yourselves!” he said to me and the other woman in the elevator.
We grinned. It’s hard not to grin when you’re getting effusive, unexpected compliments.
“Everyone in this town always walks around with a frown. They all keep to themselves,” he continued. “I like to talk and get to know people.”
He’s right. Bostonians are like that. It’s too bad that we’re like that, too. This guy was like a ray of light in a very dark place.
As he got off the elevator, the other lady told him to have a nice day.
“I always do,” he said. “Who knows—it could be my last!”
“I never looked at it that way,” she replied. “That just shot my day to hell.”
I thought it was upbeat and refreshing. It’s nice to hear people live their lives so fully.
In the doctor’s office, the old man kept talking to another patient in the waiting room, though the whole room was listening. He was that kind of interesting, the kind I wish I saw more often. He had died once, he said. He got electrocuted and the hospital declared him dead, but he had an out of body experience and knew he couldn’t die yet, so he came back into his body. Now every time he closes his eyes to go to sleep, he sees a crowd of friendly faces smiling at him. “They never say anything, though,” he said. “They just look at me. Sometimes they laugh but it doesn’t feel like they’re laughing at me. Now I’m never alone.”
Every so often, he sees a face he recognizes. “I had a friend I hadn’t seen or talked to in years,” he continued. “One night he came running up to me in my dream. He was so excited to see me. I figured he had passed on and was coming to say goodbye.”
After he told the story, the doctor called him into the office. I was sad—I wanted to keep hearing about his dreams. There were lots of elderly people in the waiting room and they all seemed afraid of what was coming, but not this guy. He looked like he wasn’t a day under 90 and he had no fear. I suppose if you’ve already died once there isn’t much that feels scary.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Fourth and goal
Playoff time is trying. Or at least it’s trying for me.
Unlike regular season football games, which I find soothing and amusing and somewhat brainless, playoffs are extremely tense. They are especially tense if you happen to be watching the game with die hard fans of the type that shriek and stomp and get so tense that their shoulders crawl up into their ears. They are even more tense if people come over to watch the game(s) and don’t leave…EVER. After dealing with football guests for eight hours, guests who stretched the boundaries of good manners to the point of obliteration (stiffed us on the pizza bill, left the house a mess, drank all our beer and didn’t get more, invited other people over without asking first, and generally wore on my last nerve), I was crispy fried and capable only of sitting mutely in bed, trying to find enough energy to read US Weekly.
Also, forget doing any wedding planning on playoff weekends. It’s just not possible. I tried to write thank you notes and got laughed out of my living room.
I guess I’ve just hit a point where I have a hard time giving up my weekends to the television. Calgon, take me away.
Unlike regular season football games, which I find soothing and amusing and somewhat brainless, playoffs are extremely tense. They are especially tense if you happen to be watching the game with die hard fans of the type that shriek and stomp and get so tense that their shoulders crawl up into their ears. They are even more tense if people come over to watch the game(s) and don’t leave…EVER. After dealing with football guests for eight hours, guests who stretched the boundaries of good manners to the point of obliteration (stiffed us on the pizza bill, left the house a mess, drank all our beer and didn’t get more, invited other people over without asking first, and generally wore on my last nerve), I was crispy fried and capable only of sitting mutely in bed, trying to find enough energy to read US Weekly.
Also, forget doing any wedding planning on playoff weekends. It’s just not possible. I tried to write thank you notes and got laughed out of my living room.
I guess I’ve just hit a point where I have a hard time giving up my weekends to the television. Calgon, take me away.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Nein
The Morning News would have a killer teaser for this story, but I’m tanked up on cold medicine and I can’t come up with anything good. I will say that, given the lowbrow humor that passes for witty conversation in our house, it’s a good thing we’re not getting married in Austria.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Bonne annee
I'm not much for New Years resolutions, mostly because when I've made them in the past I find it impossible to keep them. This is why I'm almost 32 and I still pick at my fingernails. Still, a new year feels like a nice, new start. I'd like to set some intentions but I haven't figured out what they are yet.
After kicking the stomach flu, I promptly came down with a bad cold. I normally associate colds with cold weather, but it's still above 50 during the day so this is a little bewildering.
The RSVPs are trickling in. People seem to be in one of two camps--send in their response card as soon as the invitation arrives, or wait until the very last minute. Even if I know people are coming to the wedding, we still need to know what they want to eat because the hotel has a thing about catering numbers. At the same time, we're observing a family phenomenon that is completely to new us. My parents insisted on inviting about 100 extended family members because if these people weren't invited, they'd allegedly never speak to my parents again. Somewhat predictably, almost none of these family members are attending and now my parents, genuinely surprised and hurt, are on the verge of not speaking to their extended families anymore. Families are very, very strange. It's really a shame because I don't think it's worth getting that angry about--people come or they don't.
Bachelorette party in two weeks. Chippendales, baby. Woo!
After kicking the stomach flu, I promptly came down with a bad cold. I normally associate colds with cold weather, but it's still above 50 during the day so this is a little bewildering.
The RSVPs are trickling in. People seem to be in one of two camps--send in their response card as soon as the invitation arrives, or wait until the very last minute. Even if I know people are coming to the wedding, we still need to know what they want to eat because the hotel has a thing about catering numbers. At the same time, we're observing a family phenomenon that is completely to new us. My parents insisted on inviting about 100 extended family members because if these people weren't invited, they'd allegedly never speak to my parents again. Somewhat predictably, almost none of these family members are attending and now my parents, genuinely surprised and hurt, are on the verge of not speaking to their extended families anymore. Families are very, very strange. It's really a shame because I don't think it's worth getting that angry about--people come or they don't.
Bachelorette party in two weeks. Chippendales, baby. Woo!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Scarred for life
We got back from Florida last night and I have never been so glad to be back in my house. Somehow both Lunchboy and I thought that escaping the clutches of elderly drivers, rural sprawl and alligators meant that our Christmas experience had blessedly ended, until I woke up this morning with his stomach flu. Now I am parked on the couch with a blanket, fuzzy socks, and clear access to the bathroom.
Despite the flu, we had to go to the hotel tonight to do the food tasting and choose linens, etc. Rescheduling wasn't an option simply because our wedding planner, who we'd never met before tonight, has been very difficult to get ahold of and I had a real fear that backing out of tonight's tasting would mean that we'd be choosing hors d'oeuvres the night before the wedding. So to the hotel we went.
In between tasting courses, I made strategic trips to the ladies room, becoming more feverish as the night proceeded. Perhaps this explains why, on my third not-so-subtle flight from the dining room, I blundered my way into the closest restroom, which just happened to be the men's room. The guy at the urinals seemed both shocked and confused, but he cheerily pointed out that because he was at a urinal, I was not in fact in the ladies room. About face. Exunt.
Strangely, it wasn't my first time surprising a guy in the loo this weekend. On the flight down to Fort Myers, I went to the back of the plane and, seeing that the little sign on the rest room was green and said "Vacant," I opened the door. The ten-year old boy on the toilet wasn't amused. Maybe the lock was stuck or he didn't know that he had to slide the little lever over to the right? Either way, I had a feeling that it was one of those moments I'd forget about in a few days but would stick with him for years. And I felt badly for that. When he came out, I made sure not to look at him so he wouldn't be any more embarrassed.
Despite the flu, we had to go to the hotel tonight to do the food tasting and choose linens, etc. Rescheduling wasn't an option simply because our wedding planner, who we'd never met before tonight, has been very difficult to get ahold of and I had a real fear that backing out of tonight's tasting would mean that we'd be choosing hors d'oeuvres the night before the wedding. So to the hotel we went.
In between tasting courses, I made strategic trips to the ladies room, becoming more feverish as the night proceeded. Perhaps this explains why, on my third not-so-subtle flight from the dining room, I blundered my way into the closest restroom, which just happened to be the men's room. The guy at the urinals seemed both shocked and confused, but he cheerily pointed out that because he was at a urinal, I was not in fact in the ladies room. About face. Exunt.
Strangely, it wasn't my first time surprising a guy in the loo this weekend. On the flight down to Fort Myers, I went to the back of the plane and, seeing that the little sign on the rest room was green and said "Vacant," I opened the door. The ten-year old boy on the toilet wasn't amused. Maybe the lock was stuck or he didn't know that he had to slide the little lever over to the right? Either way, I had a feeling that it was one of those moments I'd forget about in a few days but would stick with him for years. And I felt badly for that. When he came out, I made sure not to look at him so he wouldn't be any more embarrassed.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Ho ho ho
Parents will tell you that one of the big faux pas of holiday (or birthday) gift giving is presenting small children with toys that make noise. Though I am not a parent, I can now confidently state that another gift faux pas is giving toys that make noise to grown men who have too much time on their hands. This includes, for example, a life-sized Star Wars light saber that whooshes and zhooms and shrieks whenever you hit something with it. Give such a toy to a man who grew up during the Star Wars heyday--and give it to him on a day so rainy and windy that leaving the house is not really an option, given that the beach is off limits and everything else is closed for Christmas day--and you have a volatile situation on your hands. This gift might qualify as Worst Gift Ever in the history of Lunchboy and I will have it on the record that it is Not My Fault. Lunchboy's mom bought it for him and even she is beginning to regret her generosity. Suffice it to say that the light saber might end up living in Florida because I can just see the glee in the eyes of the TSA agents at the airport when they lay eyes on such a device. They'd throw us in the clink and then go play with the light saber in an empty plane hangar, a la George Michael.
Christmas in Florida is an adjustment, even more so than Christmas in LA was. Until today, when the skies opened up and a mini-hurricane rolled in off the Gulf of Mexico, it's been sunny and 85. The sun and heat are wonderful. But it makes all the fake snow in windows and wintery Christmas shlock even more incongruous. Then there's the sprawl. And the radio stations that play bad Christmas music 24 hours a day. Did you know that those stations existed? Because I didn't and there have been moments in the car with Lunchboy's mom, who loves bad Christmas music and keeps her radio tuned to those stations non-stop, that we have both allowed blank smiles to spread over our faces while we both secretly and very silently fantasized about throwing ourselves from the vehicle.
In addition to the festive holiday atmosphere, we can chalk up fun stars for the following memorable moments during this trip:
1. Lunchboy comes down with the stomach flu the day after we arrive and is unable to leave the couch, except for emergency trips to the loo
2. Lunchboy, valiantly but feverishly attempting to help his mother move a 200lb television, drops said TV on his foot
3. Lunchboy's mother and sister, whom I like very much, watch a record-breaking 5 hours of plastic surgery-related reality TV
4. Number of trips to the mall so far: six
Christmas in Florida is an adjustment, even more so than Christmas in LA was. Until today, when the skies opened up and a mini-hurricane rolled in off the Gulf of Mexico, it's been sunny and 85. The sun and heat are wonderful. But it makes all the fake snow in windows and wintery Christmas shlock even more incongruous. Then there's the sprawl. And the radio stations that play bad Christmas music 24 hours a day. Did you know that those stations existed? Because I didn't and there have been moments in the car with Lunchboy's mom, who loves bad Christmas music and keeps her radio tuned to those stations non-stop, that we have both allowed blank smiles to spread over our faces while we both secretly and very silently fantasized about throwing ourselves from the vehicle.
In addition to the festive holiday atmosphere, we can chalk up fun stars for the following memorable moments during this trip:
1. Lunchboy comes down with the stomach flu the day after we arrive and is unable to leave the couch, except for emergency trips to the loo
2. Lunchboy, valiantly but feverishly attempting to help his mother move a 200lb television, drops said TV on his foot
3. Lunchboy's mother and sister, whom I like very much, watch a record-breaking 5 hours of plastic surgery-related reality TV
4. Number of trips to the mall so far: six
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Not a drop to drink
Last night I dreamed hard, one of those intense dreams so vivid that when you wake up, you're unsure for a few minutes about whether it was just a dream or if it actually happened. In the dream, the world ran out of water. People were lined up for miles to get water from the last existing reservoirs and there were gunfights in the streets over access to water from water heaters, emergency stores, and even toilets. I was dying of thirst--literally--and as the dream progressed I got more fuzzy-minded and miserable. When I finally woke up, I was completely parched and I've never been so thankful for the bottle of water I keep next to the bed. I drank the whole thing in one gulp.
Speaking of dreams, Gimp was kind enough to share this with me. Anything with Damon is great by my terms, but with a headline like this one you just can't lose.
Sidenote--did anyone see Matthew McConaughey on Monday Night Football this week? Was it me or does that man need to wash his hair in the worst way?? And he was wearing a shirt, so booooo.
I went to the dentist on Monday. In the waiting room, there was a table full of donuts and cookies. Mixed messages--hello? Don't tell me to floss three times a day and then ply me with sugar.
I've been meaning to post all week but work was insane. Now I'm off to Florida for a few days to spend the holiday with Lunchboy's family. I intend to sleep late and be extremely lazy. Maybe go skinny dipping in the pool :)
The bachelor/bachelorette parties are in the works. weird weird.
Speaking of dreams, Gimp was kind enough to share this with me. Anything with Damon is great by my terms, but with a headline like this one you just can't lose.
Sidenote--did anyone see Matthew McConaughey on Monday Night Football this week? Was it me or does that man need to wash his hair in the worst way?? And he was wearing a shirt, so booooo.
I went to the dentist on Monday. In the waiting room, there was a table full of donuts and cookies. Mixed messages--hello? Don't tell me to floss three times a day and then ply me with sugar.
I've been meaning to post all week but work was insane. Now I'm off to Florida for a few days to spend the holiday with Lunchboy's family. I intend to sleep late and be extremely lazy. Maybe go skinny dipping in the pool :)
The bachelor/bachelorette parties are in the works. weird weird.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Tilt a whirl
I picked up our rings at the jewelry store yesterday.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sometimes it feels like we’re planning this fake wedding that will never actually happen, but the rings made it real. And soon—72 days. My grin almost broke my face. They are simple bands, with only a bit of finishing and filigree work. The saleslady clearly didn’t trust me, though—she didn’t want to let the rings go. “They’re safer here,” she told me. “Plus, you can get them engraved.” True and true. But we wanted them home. “Don’t leave them out somewhere visible,” she warned me. Because, you know, I was planning to leave them out on the front porch for all to see. That said, I still hid them in the house. Who am I to tempt fate?
Rehearsal dinner—done. Now we’re setting up various meetings with vendors and doing things like choosing linens and flowers. My mother is a gardener and so I asked her opinion on the flowers—mistake. As it turns out, my mother is in love with baby’s breath. She cannot comprehend a bouquet that does not include baby’s breath. I am flawed for not wanting baby’s breath in the floral arrangements. She is not, however, paying for the flowers so thankfully I get the last word on baby’s breath and that word is NO.
I am flailing a bit with Christmas this year. Usually I put a lot of effort into buying thoughtful gifts. Right now that’s translating into gift certificates because I have given up trying to decipher my family’s wish lists. Also, holidays + work stress + wedding planning = fried Moxie. Thankfully, my family is doing a delayed gift exchange closer to New Years so that gives me a little more time.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sometimes it feels like we’re planning this fake wedding that will never actually happen, but the rings made it real. And soon—72 days. My grin almost broke my face. They are simple bands, with only a bit of finishing and filigree work. The saleslady clearly didn’t trust me, though—she didn’t want to let the rings go. “They’re safer here,” she told me. “Plus, you can get them engraved.” True and true. But we wanted them home. “Don’t leave them out somewhere visible,” she warned me. Because, you know, I was planning to leave them out on the front porch for all to see. That said, I still hid them in the house. Who am I to tempt fate?
Rehearsal dinner—done. Now we’re setting up various meetings with vendors and doing things like choosing linens and flowers. My mother is a gardener and so I asked her opinion on the flowers—mistake. As it turns out, my mother is in love with baby’s breath. She cannot comprehend a bouquet that does not include baby’s breath. I am flawed for not wanting baby’s breath in the floral arrangements. She is not, however, paying for the flowers so thankfully I get the last word on baby’s breath and that word is NO.
I am flailing a bit with Christmas this year. Usually I put a lot of effort into buying thoughtful gifts. Right now that’s translating into gift certificates because I have given up trying to decipher my family’s wish lists. Also, holidays + work stress + wedding planning = fried Moxie. Thankfully, my family is doing a delayed gift exchange closer to New Years so that gives me a little more time.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Failsafe way to torpedo my day
Say to me, when I walk into the salon, "Oh, are you here to get your mustache waxed?"
No, no I'm not. But I am now in frantic need of a mirror because really, what have I been missing???????????? (am thankfully mustache-free)
No, no I'm not. But I am now in frantic need of a mirror because really, what have I been missing???????????? (am thankfully mustache-free)
Bizarre celebrity dream, Part 4
Last night I dreamed that I was flying to France with a group of friends, but my passport was lost somewhere in Matthew McConaughey’s house. It was a gorgeous house, full of shiny cookware and exotic bongos. But with my flight leaving in less than two hours, I didn’t have time to gawk. I frantically rummaged through drawers that were not mine. Then Matthew came home and was completely unfazed that a total stranger was ransacking his house. He got me a beer, a bikini, and a cab to the airport, all without putting his shirt on.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
I’ve got enough to do, and little enough to get for it, without thinking
Despite being an English major in college, I never read much Dickens. Nor did I catch the version of Bleak House that the BBC did last year, the one with Agent Scully as Lady Dedlock. But oh happy day---Lunchboy got me a subscription to Netflix as a
Christmas gift and now I am up to my ears in lovely, dreary British drama. It’s the best of both worlds,really, because I can watch Bleak House in peace while Lunchboy is on the road and is therefore not present to whine, groan, and make violent retching noises whenever the BBC logo comes onscreen. If it doesn’t involve superheroes, science fiction or things getting blown up, he’s not interested. So it’s just me and the cats, all curled up on various fleece blankets and that’s just the way I like it.
The invitations are out. Now we have to track down the hotel wedding coordinator, who is MIA. There are lots of detail-y things that remain to be done. Strangely, we seem to be reversing roles right now. The less stressed out I am, the more anxious Lunchboy becomes. He keeps asking, “Is it done? Are we married yet?” Almost, baby. Two+ months to go.
Carmen has another great article in the most recent issue of the Improper Bostonian. Check it out if you get a chance.
Christmas gift and now I am up to my ears in lovely, dreary British drama. It’s the best of both worlds,really, because I can watch Bleak House in peace while Lunchboy is on the road and is therefore not present to whine, groan, and make violent retching noises whenever the BBC logo comes onscreen. If it doesn’t involve superheroes, science fiction or things getting blown up, he’s not interested. So it’s just me and the cats, all curled up on various fleece blankets and that’s just the way I like it.
The invitations are out. Now we have to track down the hotel wedding coordinator, who is MIA. There are lots of detail-y things that remain to be done. Strangely, we seem to be reversing roles right now. The less stressed out I am, the more anxious Lunchboy becomes. He keeps asking, “Is it done? Are we married yet?” Almost, baby. Two+ months to go.
Carmen has another great article in the most recent issue of the Improper Bostonian. Check it out if you get a chance.
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