The short version--updated

The main impetus for our urge to look elsewhere is that our our upstairs neighbor, who used to be annoying and kind of farcical, has now gone completely off her high-and-mighty Harvard professor rocker and is edging toward unbearable. As in, should be living in a single family house, NOT a condo where you share space with other people. My impression was always that academics could be reasoned with, but I've since learned (and been told by my favorite academic), that this is not true. She's perfectly content to pull shit that is patently false, such as insist that her leaky gas line be paid for by the entire house because "it's a safety issue" (hello, do you not understand the way condo assessments work?) and make intrusive, offensive claims, such as that her unit is being polluted by tainted air from the cat boxes in our basement and it is "affecting the quality of her life." Never mind that she is happy to stomp on our heads at 6am, midnight, whenever she decides to forget that her living room is directly over our bedroom, despite the fact that we have asked her repeatedly, politely, and reasonably to be more considerate. Or that the place she says her unit smells like cat is in her bathroom, where the previous owners stored their cat's litter box. Or that our basement is three floors below her. Or that I am OCD about cleaning our cats' litter boxes because my greatest nightmare is for someone to walk into our house, wrinkle their nose, and say "Oh, you must have cats." Or that we have complied in a neighborly way with her requests to insulate pipes and block any openings that might somehow lead to her unit. Now she is threatening to fine us $5 a day for having 3 cats. True, our condo docs allow us to have one cat, but until now no one ever gave a damn. Our condo board president has a dog that is larger than what the condo docs allow, too. So really our neighbor, who I call SMTT (which stands for a nickname that is rude enough for me to keep it to myself), is just being malicious and vindictive.

SMTT is also the woman who bought a unit in a house built in 1886 and FREAKED OUT when she discovered that the house was, gasp, imperfect. That there were spots of dry rot on the exterior walls and mold in the grout of her brick walls. Lady, if you can't handle an old house, BUY NEW CONSTRUCTION. In a single family home. Where you can be a flaky control freak and mistress of your domain. Otherwise, please check your shit at the door.

Casa

This weekend was a bit of an adventure, in some ways good and in others that were challenging. I moved the wisteria so it is now along the ugly-ass chain link fence that runs along one side of our property line (but belongs to our neighbors). Now the wisteria can climb and be free and hopefully provide some more privacy along that part of the patio. I also moved both rose of sharon bushes and got rid of the rocks that were lyng along one side of that weird patch of yard. In the process, I also found a lot of slugs (ew) and two big nests of the nasty red ants that I've been battling for a year now.

A more creative person would think of ways to use those rocks in that weird back space, maybe to create a little rock garden, but my brain doesn't work this way. So the rocks are still in a pile until I figure out what to do with them.

On Sunday, we hit a bunch of open houses in a suburb north of the city. We are still a year or so away from being in a position to sell our place and move, but some new factors have come into play that may or may not speed up our process (I'll get to that in a minute, and no, I'm not pregnant). Neither of us was terribly familiar with the suburb, but it has a good reputation, good schools, a stop on the commuter rail, and nice houses for prices that won't cause collective apoplexy. It was my first foray into house hunting, as Lunchboy bought our place right before we started dating, so I've never had the chance to shop for homes. After watching what is probably way too much Flip That House, it was interesting to see what's on the market and how people are presenting their properties for sale. Of the four places we saw, there was only one that I really liked, a bungalow with lots of light and a distinctly non-Colonial layout.

But are we really ready for the 'burbs? This is the question. And the answer is that we are not sure. Pros: space and quiet and privacy. Cons: far away from friends and community, will mean relying a lot more on the car. We're spoiled because right now we have everything we need two blocks down the hill. I know that kids will change the equation in a major way, and I wish we had St. Paul, MN-like neighborhoods in Boston, close to the city but still very lowkey and affordable. So we have a lot to think about (thankfully we also have lots of time to think!)

Hangin' tough

In the end, I did not get New Kids On The Block tickets. Not because I didn't try but because we couldn't get through the Ticketmaster site and were already being scalped for upwards of $200.

Am I alone in asking WTF?? $200 for New Kids tickets? I was unaware that the loss of 5 grown men's dignity was that pricy.

To console ourselves, my best friend and I have watched this video a few times. It's somehow deeply satisfying to see the looks on the guys' faces change from "What on earth have I gotten myself into? Why am I doing this AGAIN???" to "Yeah, I've still got those moves! Bring on the ladies and their hot cougar moms!"

Instead, Lunchboy and I got tickets to see Duran Duran in two weeks. I'll have to content my teenybopper self with dancing along to "Girls on Film."

Does "makes a mean mixed drink" count for anything?

Update: the full charts for husbands and wives can be found here (thanks to Lunchboy :)

I found this on The Morning News and it made me think of my grandfather, who I know I've mentioned in the past because he often (as in, every time I saw him) used to tell me that I would never find a husband if I couldn't cook or sew. "Grandpa," I replied, "If I'm dating someone who can't cook for himself than I don't want to marry him." Then learned to sew, went out and found myself an amazing cook and married him a lightspeed before he could realize that I was deadly serious when I told him I hated to cook.

Apparently, however, if we were back in 1939 I'd be begging for scraps in a boneyard or something.

As per the Marital Rating Scale: Wife's Chart, I freely own up to #9 in the demerit column: "Puts cold feet on husband at night to warm them." But hopefully that's balanced out
by #6 in the Merits column: "Neat housekeeper: tidy and clean." As for "good sense of humor: jolly and gay," I'll leave that one alone. Because, you know, I ALWAYS dress for breakfast, slather myself in red nail polish, and treasure my closet full of beloved soiled, ragged dresses to wear around the house.

???

I would like to know where the accompanying Husband's Chart can be found, please.

In contrast

If you looked at the garden photos and thought, "Um, that's not so great," well, you'd be right. But here's what it looked like three years ago:







So while I am far from having a talented green thumb, I think I've made some progress.

If only it was like Viva Pinata

Some newly green images of my budding urban garden. I have to emphasize once again that I do not know what I'm doing, so it's a mess. But so far I haven't killed anything major and I'm having fun with it.

Beginner garden, with newly planted salvia, ice plants, hens and chicks, bleeding heart, and wild columbine:



The weird back area, with rose of sharon budding, the lilac blooming (why this one and not the one in the front? Who knows.) And the wisteria, still tied up:



The ginormous rhododendron tree, providing shade:



Sideways lilies and hosta on their way up:



The area I do not know what to do with:



Up front, peonies, hydrangea, and lilac, oh my!

Just like that river twisting through a dusty land

We booked our flights out to San Francisco! Road trip is ON! Woohoo!!!!

At Bligh's suggestion, I am now on the prowl for good road trip music so we can load up the iPod. Do you have any suggestions?

I am home today trying to kick the last of whatever this bug is. It is gorgeous outside and I am thinking about relocating my sorry ass to the porch for a little sun. I'm going to feel really bad if I infect the book club tonight, though I think only 4 people are coming, which is kind of a blessing. More Trader Joe's cookies for us later :)

Netflix is taking a leeetle too long with the next disc of The Wire. We are 70% of the way through Season 3 -- as always, we're behind the ball on what everyone else knew was awesome years ago -- and our addiction is full-blown and ridiculous. Just so you're aware in case we have a son one day and he somehow gets named Omar.

Gelegenheit

Despite the cold, rainy weather and the cold/flu I picked up from Lunchboy's BF (who is now-- very gladly -- back in his own home), the weekend was both comforting and, somehow, productive. The weather was a bummer mainly because the Somerville Open Studios were this weekend and it's a lot less fun to wander around looking at art when it's crappy outside. Because of the rain and my cold, we only ventured out to our neighbor's studio across the street. This time we were prepared for the scrotal art, but we paid more attention to her garden and peony drawings and we went home with two semi-labial partial proofs of ocean peonies that I am quite fond of but unsure where to hang.

Powered by almost 12 hours of Nyquil-induced sleep, I went to the Despot today and bought bleeding heart, salvia, three small ice plants, some lamb's ears, hens and chicks, and one other thing I can't remember the name of. It's supposed to be nice this week, so I hope to put them all in the ground soon. So far everything else seems to be growing happily. The hosta are just poking through now.

I'm almost finished with The Book Thief, which I'm reading for a book club that I joined a month ago. It's a very good book, the kind whose words stick in your head for no good reason, so that I'll be walking through the supermarket and "saukerl" will suddenly spool through my brain. Not a nice word, I think, but it stays with you. I'm still not sure how I managed to do this, but despite only having attended one meeting of this book group, I am now hosting the next meeting this Wednesday. Hence my rush to finish the book, and also my frantic trip to Trader Joe's to get munchies for the meeting. Entertaining is not my forte (surprise, since it usually involves cooking or dealing with food), so this is me stretching my horizons.

We got takeout Chinese for dinner last night and my fortune cookie read, "Practice makes perfect."

I think the Nyquil also enabled a McNulty dream. Eeeep.

Road trip

So there is a good chance that our big summer vacation will be a cross-country trip from San Francisco to Boston!

For real. We are extremely excited.

In June, our great friends J&K (otherwise knows as the Ims) are semi-reluctantly relocating to Brookline after 10 years in Noe Valley. Rather than putting their car on a truck, they are considering letting us drive it out here for them.

We had so much fun on our trip up the California coast, and this would let us see so many other places that we might not otherwise get to for a really long time, so my fingers are crossed that it happens. It would be my first major road trip traveling light (my life won't be stuffed into the back seat) and sans Scully fretting loudly in her carrier, so we'd really be free to do as we pleased.

(Scully would actually be missed--my little white girl has become a road trip pro and it wouldn't quite be the same without her company. But I think we'll manage :) Cat screaming while driving through the Donner Pass? Not so much.)

We aren't quite sure which route we'd do, but I think that's half the fun of a trip like this--the opportunity to have a mostly spontaneous adventure. Yosemite? The Badlands? A side trip to see friends in St. Paul? Who knows... Updates to come!

You don't have to dream it all, just live a day

I am in DC til tomorrow for a 2-day web meeting. Delta decided to be cruel a few months ago and changed its 7am flight to 6:40am and I'm sorry but that's inhuman. Some travel days go better than others. Today was ok. On the plus side, the line at security wasn't too bad. On the down side, they were playing Christmas music in Terminal A at 6am. Also, I bumped into a guy I rowed with at Colby while wandering toward my gate and the first thing he said (of course) was, "My wife is due in June. How about you--any kids?" Seriously? STFU.

Usually I take the opportunity to use the flight as a 75-minute nap, but today a perky blond lady decided to talk during the entire flight (who DOES that?) and there was no napping to be had. As a result, I am cranky and kind of zombie-like, so it's probably better that we have a mandatory group dinner tonight and I can't see MeanG or Gimp.

I tried to improve the morning with an egg and cheese sandwich from the deli around the corner but now my stomach is not so sure that was a good idea.

It is pouring here, so hard that flower petals are being blown off the trees and for a minute we all thought it was snowing.

My name is Rio

This weekend was a fallback to my teenage years. First, I babysat for the first time since high school. I was never a big babysitter when I was a teenager. All my friends seemed to love it but every time I was faced with a fussy toddler or a demanding 7-year-old, I'd quail. What was I supposed to say to them?
I never knew what to say or where to draw the line. On Friday, however, we spelled our friends D&D, who live down the hill and have the world's cutest 6-month-old. C is a joy to be around, even when teething, so that says a lot. As we stood on the doorstep, Lunchboy turned to me and asked a vital question: "Do you know how to change a diaper?" And for a second I had to think about it because it's been years. Luckily, today's diapers are pretty idiot-proof and they even have handy-dandy reusable velcro-type tabs. Who knew?

Then Saturday I escaped the testosterone-fest at our house by going to my best friend's place for a sleepover. Sleepover! A word I cannot say to Lunchboy without him asking if there are going to be naked pillow fights or sexy time (gotta lay off the Family Guy, babe). Rather, we drank some wine, ate really good food from Idyllwild, and watched Mansfield Park on DVD. Then we read each other's tarot cards and giggled about boys. It was divine.

Sunday I planted some campanula, phlox, and hosta that I bought at Idyllwild. There is a whole area of the walkway that I can't do anything with because we are allegedly enlarging the window and that will mean digging up a lot of square footage and also maybe relocating a gas line, so I am reluctant to spend money on plants that will have to either get moved or be destroyed. But no decision has been made about when this will happen, and right now the blank stretch of weedy mulch is so ugly. Must. make. decision.

Powder room

In addition to my garden project/obsession, we (I) just started work on our downstairs bathroom. What can I say, I like having something to do, and it helps distract me from the emotional drama-coughing-videogaming that is also taking place in the house. This is tangible evidence of what happens when one watches too much Flip That House, though I am not sure that there is such a thing as too much Flip. It's house porn, schadenfreude, and learning experience all in one. Plus, it makes major house renovations look like they can take place within a measly half hour.

The bathroom, which until last week was a dingy off-white and was full of all the stuff we don't have closet space for downstairs, is now painted Behr's Cumberland Fog (there is absolutely NOT a paint chip living in my purse in case of random trips to Marshall's) and has been emptied of 2 trips to Goodwill's worth of crap and two huge bags of toiletries that are destined for a women's shelter a few blocks away. It now feels empty in a glorious way. The Cure people at Apartment Therapy might be proud if my house were ever pretty enough to post there.

ANYWAY.

Last night I exercised my bargain muscles at Marshall's and Target and now we have a new shower curtain, bathroom mirror, etagere, and towel ring. I have not yet figured out how to hang the mirror but the rest of the stuff is in there and it actually looks semi-grown up, which is such a concept.

On a side note, we have pretty much decided to do about half of what the realtor suggested and leave the rest to chance. It is just not worth stressing over.

I aim to get the mirror up this weekend and also take some pictures of my lovely, greening-up-nicely plants. I have pots and pots of empty soil waiting outside for the arrival of pretty annuals, but right now all I've seen are pansies and to be honest I hate pansies. There you have it.

I am a Petunia What Flower Are You?

Maybe it has sprung

85 degrees today! Bliss! Spring might actually be here.

House guest

Lunchboy is traveling for work this week and, in a twist of fate, we are hosting his best friend, who just broke up with his live-in girlfriend and needed a safe harbor. Having been there, I am happy to be able to offer that harbor. It is, however, a new experience to share our home with someone I don't know that well. Because, you know, it's not awkward at all to shower when he's in the living room and have to walk by in my robe. He also has the flu. I think that he probably shares the feeling of strangeness to be here when Lunchboy isn't, because he has spent his time either watching hockey on TV or playing Warcraft in the basement. Not so much talking. Lots of coughing, though. The cats are the most confused. They like the BF but aren't quite sure why he isn't leaving. They look at me as if to ask, "Where did dad go? Have you replaced him?" I keep telling them that no, no one has been replaced, but that doesn't keep them from clinging to me like burrs, especially at night. Usually they dislike closed doors, but they are extremely uncurious about the closed basement door.

26.2

Given my real estate rant from the other day, I am going to hold off on venting about the $200 ticket we got driving up to Portsmouth the other day (allegedly for travelling in the passing lane -- WTF?) or the adventure that is getting into and around my office on Patriots Day, aka Marathon Day. Most companies in Boston give their people Patriots Day off, not because it is a real holiday but because functioning in the city while the marathon is taking place (not to mention the Red Sox game going on over at Fenway) is next to impossible. Not my company. So while I’d prefer to be cheering on the runners at the finish line, which is a stone’s throw from my office, I am at my computer attempting to figure out how to get lunch when every place is either closed or mobbed. The medical tents are right in front of Trinity Church, so my coworkers and I are in the strange position of being able to watch as runners stagger/walk/crawl/are carried into for some fluids and support.

It is, however, a spectacular spring day and to me that makes it better. I always feel really badly for the runners when it’s cold, rainy, or really really hot.

Pushing Daisey

My friend Mike Daisey’s latest monologue is reviewed in today’s NYT. They also did a feature. Yes, he really is that cool. Here is Mr. Daisey’s website: if you live near where he’ll be performing in the next few months, you should go check him out. His shows are powerful, though-provoking theatrical experiences that create a performer-audience rapport that is really magical.

I can't handle the truth

We had a realtor over to the house on Thursday. Joe sold the condo above ours last summer, for an amount that truly shocked and impressed us (TRUE shock and awe). Of course, that was before the real estate market and the economy took a spectacular nose dive into a pile of pig poop. We aren't planning on moving right now -- and after Joe's visit I'm not sure we'll be moving EVER -- but we'd asked him to come by and tell us what types of things we'd need to do in order to get the house ready for sale, perhaps next spring or summer. In a very nice, very helpful, very professional way, he told we were being smart by thinking ahead, but given the laundry list of tasks he set before us, I'm not so sure I buy that. I don't think we're smart -- I think we're fucked.

I knew we had some upgrading to do. I knew our kitchen was fine but probably not of "buy me immediately!" quality. But here is what we learned (other than the fact that unless the market turns around in the next year, we'll be eating a large chunk of change -- this is what Lunchboy gets for buying at the top of the market. Oy.):

1. Our walls are textured and this is bad. We should have someone put a smoothing layer on them, but only if this is cost-effective.

2. Our walls are painted colors other than beige and this is bad. We should promptly paint them (he suggested November Rain by Benjamin Moore). After the smoothing is done, of course.

3. Our counters are not granite and this is bad. We should rip out all our lower cabinets, install a corner sink and a new, L-shaped counter/cabinet arrangement. But only if this is cost-effective.

4. Our decision to refrain from installing an overhead light in the bedroom was bad. (there is a cap in the ceiling but no actual electrical wires and it would cost like $500 and many holes in the ceiling and walls to rectify this). We should rectify it.

5. The tile on the basement floor is bad -- it makes people think that there might be water problems. Eeeep. We should consider putting Pergo or bamboo over the entire basement floor to cover the tile and warm up the space.

6. Our decision to enlarge one basement window to make it an official "egress" window is good. We should also wall off half the basement and install a closet to make it an official 2-bedroom. If we do this, we might actually be able to sell the place for what we paid.

7. Our (my) decluttering efforts have been good but inadequate. We will have to get rid of or store at least half our stuff before putting the place on the market. My attempts at decorating were transparently bad. I got the impression that our condo's lack of resemblance to the Crate and Barrel/Pottery Barn catalogs was a mark against us.

None of these were personal comments, of course. Joe looked at the place from the point of view of how best to sell it quickly. I am grateful for the insight. But please pardon me while I drink myself into a coma of sufficient strength to blunt the cost and stress of actually implementing these changes. It's hard to see the benefit of sinking $10K-$20K into a house that we'll be lucky if we break even on. And that's AFTER all the other stuff we've done, like insulating and drying out the basement.

*weep*

Renting doesn't look so bad at the moment...

Birthday gardening

It is a gorgeous day today. We spent last night up in Portsmouth and this morning we walked around, enjoying the blue sky, the sun, and the friendliness of the people up there. I always think of Gimp when I am in Portsmouth. The Thomas Laighton was docked when we walked by and a few Pelican-looking guys were boarding. No boat tours out to the Isles of Shoals til May, though, so we poor non-Star folk were out of luck.

When we got back home to Somerville, I planted the last lilac and the grassy stuff, which is apparently called blue fescue. Then I got off my lazy butt and took the pictures I've been promising to take. It's no great shakes, but here is an early spring look at the garden as it stands right now.


Newly watered rose of sharon, lilac, wisteria, and blue fescue:



The above shot is of our frustratingly strange back space that I am still trying to figure out what to do with. Container gardens on top of that ugly cement shelf?


Peonies and hydrangea:



These were planted by the side of the porch leading out to the front of the house.


Lilac and heather leading out to the front:




View from the street (to the left you can see the rosemary and lavender I planted last week):

For times like these

We got tickets to see REM and Radiohead this summer at the Tweeter Center.

I am excited and yet I somehow also feel like I'm trying to be 25 again. The last time I was at the Tweeter Center, it was still Great Woods and it had a big lawn (or muddy slope). I went with friends about 10 years ago for some festival that involved Ben Folds Five and maybe Kula Shaker. Not being much of a concert person (maybe because I get overwhelmed by loud noise and crowds) I remember having a good time but being somewhat annoyed by all the tweaked out 19-year-olds who were peeing in corners. And that was before parking at the Tweeter Center turned into an Olympic sport.

Still, I have always wanted to see REM. I wish I'd seen them in their Superman days. Radiohead's OK Computer tour was possibly the best live music experience I've ever had, so I'm excited to see them do their new album, which I really like. "You're All I Need" was kind of the theme song to my winter. My lunchtime yoga teachers played it in almost every class from December to March.

Run, florist, run

I bought a wisteria shrub on Sunday. I love wisteria. It's so pretty. Yet the people at the nursery warned me repeatedly that wisteria will pull down anything it grows on. Clearly they could tell that I do not know what the hell I'm doing. Though the wisteria is still in its pot, curled contentedly around a piece of wood, I can't help imagining that it's related to the pitcher plant in Little Shop of Horrors, just waiting to be unleashed on my unsuspecting fence.

Gimp--HELP!

My industrious neighbor has planters of violets and pansies hanging from the porch already. IT'S APRIL! It's still cold a lot. I am so not that dedicated.

Pimp my ride

I realized today that I never resolved the “what happened to Lunchboy’s car?” question that I posed here a few weeks ago. Well, we still don’t know. The police never found anything (surprise—I’d be amazed if they actually looked in the first place). Thankfully, our insurance company declared it a loss right away, which saved a lot of paperwork and frustration. They gifted us with a rental, a lavender Chevy Malibu that reeked of cigarette smoke that gave us about three weeks worth of lines such as, “we’re rockin’ the Malibu!” Lunchboy drove the ‘Bu gratefully but with increasing aggravation—ironically, the door locks were unreliable, for example—and a few days before we had to return it we went car shopping.

At first we wanted to be responsible urban citizens and get a compact hybrid. But when we went to the Toyota dealership in Brighton, plans changed. First of all, who puts a car dealership in BRIGHTON, a place where going for a test drive means entering into an extended, elaborate exercise in road rage? Yet there it was. Then we got an incompetent salesman who could not have turned us off more. On a superficial note, he couldn’t pronounce Prius and because we are infants we couldn’t stop giggling after the 40th time he said “Preebit.” The giggling helped us from venting our road rage onto him after he persisted in trying to sell us a Camry that we had made clear we did not want. As soon as humanly possible, we got out of there and went to the dealership where Lunchboy had bought his old (stolen) car and leased the 2008 model of the car he’d had. Though it’s not an SUV or a gas guzzler by any means, we rationalized it by acknowledging that he drives his car so little that he only has to fill up the gas tank every other month or so. I do, however, understand why people say “screw Earth!” when they buy cars because I was sold on the not-Prius when I learned it had heated seats. I am a sucker for heated seats. It’s a weakness, I know.

Dakshina

There was a time when I kept asking for signs and not finding them. It wasn't even that I needed to know everything was going to be ok, I just needed to know that the request was being heard, that there was something out there listening. I've never had a crisis of faith before--probably because I've never been religious--but now I understand how jarring they can be, however long they last. Today I didn't even know I needed a sign, but then I found this--out of the blue, unexpected--and it warmed me like a big, fat hug. So thank you, thank you, thank you.

Fleur de lys

Last night after work, Lunchboy and I hit the Despot and got fertilizer, top soil, and a cartful of plants. I bought some heather, some neat-looking grass (don't ask for real names, I leave those to Gimp), several pots of rosemary and a few pots of lavender. My motto: plant what you like and see what happens. When we got home, I got to work. I planted one of the pots of heather, one of the lilacs I bought last weekend, and a big potful of peonies that our neighbor across the street gave to us in the fall and that's been sitting around since then (lots of green shoots in the pot, so I think they're ok).

Tonight I plan on planting the rosemary, the lavender, and the second lilac, as well as the other pot of heather and the neat-looking grass. We have a weird little back area in the garden that I'm trying to decide what to do with--either shrubs and grass or a mess of different things that can climb up and cover the ugly cement. I'm not sure I have the energy for container gardens to go on top of the cement, but we'll see (and yes, I'll cough up a picture later on).

Our upstairs neighbor, who is a problem worthy of several posts on her own, sent Lunchboy an email yesterday asking if we'd please start using an air filter in the basement because her allergies are acting up and she's sure it's the cat dander traveling up the pipes. It's spring, lady. Welcome to allergy season. Now please stop stomping around on our heads.

My apple tree, my brightness

It’s amazing what a difference the sun makes. Even though it’s still in the 40s outside, the sun is out and it feels like spring. I went for a run at lunch and came back feeling exhilarated and energized. Everyone on the sidewalks was smiling, either because of the sun or because today is opening day at Fenway. I’m all for baseball happiness, but my fingers are crossed that the T won’t be a madhouse for rush hour.

Months ago I talked about signing up for a pottery class…and I did. I made a few things that have been given to friends and while they are far from perfect, they were an improvement on what I made in pottery 10 years ago, so hey—progress! I’m in the second week of my second term and am trying to think about what I want to make this time. I’m really enjoying making things to give to people. Any requests?

There was this episode of Friends a million years ago in which Monica is trying to get over Richard and she decides to make a whole lot of jam. “Jam is my plan,” she says. Well, I’ve decided that gardening will be my plan for the spring and summer. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the efforts of our extremely domestic and industrious neighbors, or weighed down with the obligation to water water water the stupid garden, I’m looking forward to buying plants I like, making the garden look nice, and having a hands-on project where I can see the progress on a daily basis. This past Sunday I bought two lilac trees that I'll put in the ground tomorrow. Peonies! Ranunculus! Whee! I’m sure there’s something larger to the pottery and the gardening—-molding from the clay, as it were, or planting new life with my hands-- but right now I am loving the mindless creative part of these activities. Beats hibernating on the couch or sitting at Bloc 11 watching all the babies go by.

Scully went back to the vet today to get her teeth cleaned, but they couldn’t do the cleaning because she apparently has a heart murmur and an elevated white blood cell count. The vet thinks it’s thyroid-related and he did some blood tests that are being sent out. But oh my god, I am freaking out. I know she’s a cat, not a person, but she can’t not be ok. I’ve had her for almost 10 years and she is like a part of me. A loud, white, furry part whose absence would be crushing.

Oh my god, they're back again

Rumors have been flying for months that my teenybopper nemesisis were reuniting in the near future, but I paid no attention. Partly this was out of fear--only Lunchboy has seen the box of NKTOB memorabilia that is carefully hidden in the cave that is my parent's basement, and I still cringe at the memory of waiting in Line at the Citi Club (remember that place?) to get into one of their early shows. Then there was the show at the Worcester Centrum. And I think there was at least one additional show, though I'd have to check my scrapbook (yes, there was a scrapbook).

But now it seems that the five horsemen of the apocalypse are indeed upon us (and boy, did I want to ride Joey's horse back in the day...aieeee). NKOTB is officially doing a reunion tour. And it's not an April Fool's joke.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how humiliating would it be to actually ATTEND one of the reunion concerts? Inquiring minds want to know.

Cat power

All three cats went to the vet on Saturday for their annual checkup/torture-fest. Lunchboy had to go buy a second cat carrier before the appointment because we gave away our old one when we dropped off Pepe at his new home. Because the new carrier didn't smell like cat fear and sweaty paws and vet office, Griffin and Cringer were unsure what to make of the gigantic plastic thing that appeared so suddenly in the middle of the living room. They investigated warily, doing that endlessly amusing cat head-bobbing-up-and-down thing, eventually going so far as to jump on top of it and rub their faces against the corners.

Once all three of them are in the cat jail, though, it gets ugly fast. They cry and then hear the other ones crying and then they cry louder out of collective fear and anxiety. "I am scared!!!" they say. "Hear how scared I am!! But the other two are scared, too, so I should probably be more scared than I am! Now I AM REALLY SCARED!"

Then they shed and whine and by the time we get to the vet they've tired themselves out with all the drama, so then they shut up and await their fate. It's a LOT of fun, let me tell you. And it gets even more fun when the vet hands us the bill times three.

They are, of course, fine. Scully lost weight. Cringer is edging up toward 20lbs because she eats all the food and runs only when chased. Griffin is the same weight, though it's hard to tell because she squirms so hard trying to get under our armpits and escape back into the carrier. It's funny how hard they protest about being put into the carrier at home, but how eager they are to get back into it once they're at the vet.

Once they're back at home, they forgive fast, usually because they're too busy hiding and sleeping off the effects of their shots. I seriously think that three cats might very well equal one small child (please call me on this later in life), except that I hear you can't leave your child under the bed until it's ready to stop sulking.

Lay it on me

My cabbie this morning had a penchant for prayer. He had his radio tuned to a religious station that played nothing but a recording of a man and a woman reciting the Hail Mary and the Lord’s Prayer over and over and over and over again. At 5:45am, I was too bleary to think about whether it was a sign of some kind or just a really big annoyance. Maybe it’s a blessing to be smothered with prayer so early in the morning? I figure I’ll take my blessings where I find them. All that praying turned out to be comforting in more ways than one because the cabbie’s driving was so frightening that, after the third time he almost drove us into a median strip, I figured that if we died we’d at least be covered in the god department.

At lunch, though, my fortune cookie went in the opposite direction. “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket,” it told me. Literally or figuratively? Is this the Easter Bunny taking a turn in the cookie factory? "It's just a stupid cookie," my best friend told me. "Don't read too much into it." Yes ma'am.

Crossing the Mason-Dixon

Tomorrow I am heading down to Washington, DC for two days. I go there fairly frequently for work, but this will be my first overnight trip there in about year. Last time I went down for the night, I had lovely late coffee with MeanG and then checked into a hotel room that scared me so badly I had to call the front desk and ask to be relocated. That room was haunted, I swear. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was a very angry old man yelling at me. But the hotel had no free rooms, so I was stuck with my images of the old man for the night. I have never been so glad to leave a hotel in my life.

It is, however, already spring in DC. The forecast is saying low to mid-60s and the cherry blossoms are out. I'm having dinner with Gimp and MeanG and maybe even JD tomorrow night. We have no idea where. None of us knows what's around Dupont. It'll all work itself out. And I'm staying at a non-haunted hotel, so I'm very excited. It's Kimpton, so there may actually be leopard-print bathrobes and faux-fur throws. Fake beaver pelt!

Now all I need is for McNulty to make an appearance at the bar and MeanG and I can die happy.

Recharging

We're the kids in America

It's about that time. The Girl Scout Cookies, they have arrived en masse. It’s going to be a Thin Mint month. Everyone who ordered cookies to support their coworker’s children is leaving their bounty in the office kitchen for other people (like me) to eat, which, on a day like today, means Samoas for breakfast.

My mom sent me this article today. Usually the articles she sends are very mom-like and tend to be titled something along the lines of, “Experts Say Eat Ice Cream Daily For Those Trying To Conceive,” so I am always cautious when I open her emails, but this one I liked. The concept of energy vampires is interesting. Over the last few years I’ve put distance between myself and some vampiric friends. I think I’ve also been a bit of a vampire before, so I’m throwing no stones here. There is nothing fun about being on either side of that process, but there is guilt enough to drown in. A little vindication is comforting -- but not entirely exculpatory.

I was also glad for the article because I’ve been on something of a media diet since we got back from vacation and wouldn’t have seen it otherwise. As Lunchboy (and my mom) would tell you, I tend to take way too much of what’s going on in the world into my head and onto my shoulders (as if worrying or being angry about things I can’t change will somehow have impact). This means I’m not waking up at 3am because somewhere in the world baby seals are being clubbed, but it also meant that, at dinner with friends in town from San Francisco, someone asked what I thought about Sarah Lacy and I had no idea what they were talking about. Oops.

Grand theft auto

We woke up on Sunday morning to discover that Lunchboy's car was not where he parked it before we left. This was more than a little surprising because, while we live in Somerville, our neighborhood tends to be fairly safe and while bad things happen closer to Highland Ave., it's rare for felonies of any kind to occur near us (maybe this is because the mayor lives up the hill?)

Lunchboy looked all up and down the street and then called the towing companies to make sure it hadn't been towed for some reason, but no luck. Regretfully (and angrily), he went down to the police station and filed a stolen car report. Thankfully, our insurance company is working with us instead of throwing up lots of red tape.

Later that night, I got into my car to go to yoga and stopped in my tracks. The driver's seat was really far back and the mirrors were all out of wack. Then I checked the change drawer and, sure enough, it was empty. This is not the first time this has happened to us (and I'm guessing to lots of other people in Union Square), but it's no less infuriating and upsetting. I'm grateful that no one was hurt and that it was a car, not the house itself, or something much worse. I count myself lucky that I still have my car, but I no longer feel safe leaving it on the curb (not like I have any other choice).

We've played with the idea of moving on and off since last summer, but had shelved the idea before our trip because we really love our neighborhood (and the market sucks for house sellers). We have friends who live in walking distance in every direction, two parks that are only a block away, a library close by, and pretty much everything we need just down the hill. But having the car stolen puts everything in a new light. Not that we can do much about the real estate market, but suffice it to say that we won't be staying around for longer than is necessary.

St. Martin

We've been back for a few days, but this is the first chance I've had to post some photos. We had a wonderful time--the trip was everything we needed and more than I could have hoped for.

This was our hotel, looking up from the beach:




The beach itself was amazing:



It's hard to see from that photo, but there were pelicans that spent all day hanging out on the cliff to the left, sunning themselves and then swooping down to catch fish in the water below.

We settled ourselves in at one of these cabanas and didn't really move for a week:



The further up the beach you went, the more swimwear became optional. One afternoon I took a long stroll without my bikini top and it felt amazing--I've always envied men's ability to take off their shirts when the weather gets hot. On our last day, we laughed as an older man dashed back behind the bushes after going for a skinny dip. It was really lovely to be in a place where no one cared if you went au natural (though I think Lunchboy would say that mostly people who shouldn't be looked at took advantage of the policy).

In case the ocean got too rough, there was an infinity pool nearby:



What would vacation be without a resident cat (this one was especially friendly at lunchtime):




Around 5pm, we'd go up and settle ourselves onto the comfy chairs on the porch behind our room:



Our view from the porch:



See those boats on the water? The Heinecken Regatta was taking place during the week we were there. Neither of us had any idea what was going on (we are not boat savvy) but it was lots of fun to watch the boats go by.



Happy couple, warm and relaxed!

Guilt trip

Please don't abandon me!




You cannot leave if I sit on your pants:

Bain de soleil

I do not think I'm alone in feeling like February has been a draining month. The cold and snow, coupled with what seems like a universal inability to slow down, have left me feeling like a heel that's been ground into piles of slush just a few too many times. I always bitch about winter, but this has been my first full winter without the benefit of antidepressants, and as glad as I am to be clean and clear of medication, I might reconsider the intelligence of taking on the dark seasons without a little help (more than the strategic use of Ativan) in the future.

Back in December, when things were a lot darker, we made plans for a nice vacation and it's finally happening. On Sunday we leave for a week in St. Martin. People at work keep asking me if I'm excited and I am, but the trip still feels theoretical. It probably won't feel real til we get on the plane (5:30am--ouch!) but then...sun and sand for miles in every direction.

When we started planning this trip, our travel agent (who walks on water in our opinion: 1. she gets amazing deals, 2. she got us out of our bad hotel in Kauai and put us in a heavenly hotel for $6 more per night, and 3. actually calls us when airfares drop) raved about St. Martin and then she giggled. "There's one thing you really need to know about before you go there," she said. "There are a lot of topless and nude beaches, and that makes some people uncomfortable." Personally, I couldn't care less, particularly since I made the cardinal mistake of stepping into an H&M dressing room yesterday without preparing myself for the harsh evil that is fluorescent lighting, so I will be wearing a lovely muumuu this entire vacation. I am not kidding. But the idea of letting loose, of no longer feeling frozen and rigid inside and out because I'm either trying to stay warm or trying to hold it together, sounds like a dream. So clothing-optional kind of sounds nice. Also, it can't hurt to get sun on every inch of skin, right? Unless I get burned. Ouch.

One of the big reasons Lunchboy and I got married in the winter is so that we'd have an excuse to go somewhere warm on our anniversary every year. This was so totally premeditated. I'll post photos when we're back....

While you're drinking Diet Snapple

It’s no secret that I’m an admirer of Matt Damon (just as it’s no secret that Lunchboy is an admirer of Jessica Alba, though I’m convinced my admiration is slightly more altruistic. Six of one, half-dozen of the other). Let’s just say that Sarah Silverman’s YouTube video with Mr. Damon was wildly popular in our household, so much so that at any given time you might find one of us singing part of the “I’m F*ing Matt Damon” song only to have the other jump in at the appropriate time.

“On the bed, on the floor, on the towel by the door…”

“In the tub, in the car, up against the minibar.”

It’s naughty. Then today I found out that Jimmy Kimmel and Ben Affleck ran their revenge video last night and now I can’t wait to go home and watch (I am unable to watch YouTube at work—I wonder why?) But seriously—who runs that during the Oscars? Some of us were busy watching in hopes that the Bourne Ultimatum would win in all three sound and editing categories...

Paper

That line, that clichéd line from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, is stuck in my head:

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it.”

I feel like that’s happening right now. Every day is full and the days go by so fast that by the end of the week I’m gasping for breath and wondering where the week went. At New Years, I resolved to stay open to new things and so far it’s worked, but the other night I looked up from my glass of wine and told Lunchboy that I feel like I’m trying to do too much and as a result I’m doing it all badly.

Speaking of time flying by, yesterday was our one year anniversary. WHEREDIDTHETIMEGO??? It has been a good year, full of laughter and adventures, challenges and growth. But even when things were difficult, there was no one else I wanted to be standing next to. We always have each other's backs.

Here is a picture of our wacky, crazy wedding cake:



And here is Lunchboy with our cake top after a day of defrosting:





I was a little nervous about eating the cake because over the course of the year that it's lived in our freezer, the freezer itself has inadvertently defrosted about four or five times. The cake smelled really sweet but tasted fine. We both remembered why we wished we'd gotten to have more of it at the wedding!

Yes, those are the Oscars on in the background. And yes, I look tired. Sometimes life just feels like A LOT. But even A LOT is more manageable when you have the best teammate in the world. My heart is full and I am keenly aware that I am very blessed.

I couldn't resist

Bought from the new comic book store down the hill:

Drat

I got a flu shot in November and Lunchboy didn't. So of course it makes sense that I've had the flu for 5 days and he's had one or two passing moments where he felt like he was getting sick but then proceeded to be fine.

On the plus side, being high on Nyquil made the Pats game on Sunday a little easier to watch.

Long past due

Seen on the beach during our Christmas trip to Florida:

Tastes like...burning!

Tonight Lunchboy will be vaporizing his taste buds at the East Coast Grill’s Hell Night. I’m not sure how a man who loves frying his tongue ended up marrying someone who’s a self-proclaimed spice wuss, but there you have it. This is the man who used to have spicy food parties with his friends to see who could eat the spiciest thing on the table. Once, two of his friends ate something (he still won't tell me what) that was so spicy they temporarily lost their hearing. They recount this story and laugh at the humor of it all.

Fun! Hahaha!!!!

Me, I order my Indian food mild to medium and avoid anything that resembles a pepper because you never know what it could entail (this stems from an incident at Boston Beer Works involving nachos, hidden jalapenos, and liquid streaming from every orifice in my face—good times). So while he’s off annihilating his mouth and digestive tract, I’ll be cozy on the couch watching Mansfield Park and eating something extremely bland, and waiting to see if he has smoke coming out his ears when he walks in the door.

High as a kite--a very short kite

If you happen to be like me and don't mind trying things that have the potential to cause whole-body muscle pain, then check out MetroRock . On Wednesday night, Lunchboy and I went with a bunch of friends who caught the climbing bug, and we had a complete blast. After a one-hour safety class on knots and belaying, we were released onto the climbing floor to do our best. There were lean, muscular people going up the hard routes and making it look easy, but I quickly learned that even the "easy" routes were NOT a walk in the park.

I’ve always liked the “up” part of adventures—hiking, stairs, trees, whathaveyou—and less so the down part (down takes forever and is so hard on the shins), so indoor climbing was extra fun because you get totally wrapped up in how you’re going to get up and then you get to come down very quickly and easily before going right back up another route. I understand why real climbers tackle tall challenges—you get to keep going up. The walls at MetroRock are about 40-50 feet up, which didn’t look that tall from the ground but felt very high up once I got going. Also, who knew that climbing involved so many muscles? After two ascents, I could barely close my hands because my forearms were so tired. It’s hard! Two days later, I'm still stiff and sore but we're definitely going back.

Clean and clear

So far January has been a month of purging. I've brought more stuff to Goodwill since New Years than ever before. I'm the first to admit that I've been a bit manic about it. Every time I open a closet or a drawer or go downstairs to the basement, I have the urge to clear out the old and rearrange what's left. Last weekend we finally finished the basement repairs (woohoo!) and I went into a 2-day frenzy of cleaning and moving things around. I took two carloads of stuff to Goodwill and now the basement is spacious and organized--one half is a comfy guest room and the other half is Lunchboy's office. There are still a few logistical things to figure out (where to put the cat boxes?) but now being home feels much more peaceful.

Emotionally, it's been more of a struggle. My hormones are all over the place and some days I'm way up while others I'm way, way down. About 10 days ago, my best friend's mother, who is a really warm, intuitive person, did an angel card reading for me (sort of like tarot but with angels). I wasn't anticipating much but it ended up being pretty powerful and because I have a weird quirk where I'm uncomfortable crying in front of other people, I held in a lot of tears. Big mistake. All that emotion sat in me like a chest cold--seriously, that's exactly what it felt like, except it's easier to cough than it is to make yourself cry--until last night, when out of the blue it all came out in a scalding rush. Lunchboy just held me. There wasn't anything to say, except what lay at the root of it all: I'm afraid it will happen again. I'm working on letting that fear go. We're not trying again anytime soon but still. It's like a fog that no amount of meditation or positive thinking can pierce. I don't know what to do with it, except what I've been doing, which is just being and trying to fill my time with things that are fun and distracting.

I promise, I really am trying to let this go.

Watch the stars

I have been missing California lately, steadily, persistently. Then I read this article in NYT yesterday and was struck motionless. Sometimes a writer says something that hits a spot you didn't even know was tender. It's a piercing moment, reading words that articulate a feeling so much better than I ever could because how can you write them if you don't even know you're feeling them. So thank you, Laura Dave:

"Maybe this is what we get in life, a few great loves: loves that return us to ourselves when we need it most. And maybe some of those loves aren't people, but places, real and adopted homes, that fill us up with light and energy and hope at moments when we feel especially tired or lost. That is the beauty of love in all its forms. We don't know when or how it is going to save us."

I am blessed in love. And California is one of those places for me.

Plain Jane

This is clap your hands and bounce up and down in your office chair exciting. Four months of Jane Austen movies on PBS! Suddenly, winter isn’t looking so bleak anymore.

It is, however, Lunchboy’s worst nightmare (wait—his nightmare might be an Anne of Green Gables marathon, but let’s not get our hopes up). Last night I watched “Persuasion,” which I Tivoed on Sunday. The movie was 90 minutes long and Lunchboy spent the entire hour and a half swanning around the house with his arm draped over his forehead, pained to the point of melodrama that he couldn’t play Wii and had to tolerate a movie that *gasp* involved FEELINGS and EMOTIONS. Periodically he’d pause in the living room to watch and then ask what was going on. “Will you please just sit and watch?” I finally said. “It’s not that bad.” “Baby, he replied, “that might actually be more emasculating than being sent to CVS for maxi pads.”

Where are the pasties, precious?

I am currently irritated because I wrote a whole blog post and then accidentally closed the Word window without saving it first. This is what I get for writing blog material when I’m not at home.

There is a pole dancing studio one floor up from my gym near work (the gym I recently quit as part of my resolution to take better care of and therefore be nicer to and stop beating up my body). The sign for the pole dancing studio used to be really small and nondescript, like it wanted to be hidden. Maybe the owners felt the need to be subtle or maybe their students didn’t want anyone to know where they were going? I’m guessing here, only because if I were taking pole dancing classes you can bet your ass I’d tell everyone I knew, though probably not anyone I worked with, and so subtle signage in the vicinity of work would be nice. But that’s neither here nor there. Today I walked up and there’s a new, bright pink sign for the pole dancing studio posted right in the middle of the glass door to the building. Carmen Electra would be proud. Just as I walked in, a flock of youngish women came flooding out. I was so curious—did they come from dance class? Did they think I was going to dance class? It adds a whole new level of excitement to going to the stupid gym, at least for the three weeks that are left in my membership.

It's that little souvenir

I ran some errands on Boyleston and Newbury during lunch today (after eating a meal that was not cereal and loving every bite) because it is...wait for it...almost 70 degrees outside.

??!!??!!??!!??!!

My heart goes out to the polar bears, who deserve to have all the seasonal pack ice they need, but by God if this is global warming I am welcoming it with open arms.

The stereo in The Gap was playing “Here’s Where The Story Ends,” a song that never fails to make me sing along, so anyone that was in hearing distance looked at me like I’d grown a second head, but I was so happy because of the weather that I didn’t care. It felt good just to be out in the world. I’m probably being a little overeffusive, but I’m taking to heart something that Lunchboy said last night, which was that it’s important to think positive. I can’t do it all the time but when I’m in a positive mood I’m making the most of it.

Which is one reason I had to share this:



To me, this is proof positive that Bill Belichick has exerted some bizarre, slouchy influence on the fashion world.



(thanks to ESPN)

Maybe I’ve just watched a few too many Patriots games, but seriously—throw in some knit earmuffs and you’re on the field with Tom Brady.

Desperation

Yesterday it was so cold that, once I defrosted from the morning commute, I refused to go outside again. This decision had sharp implications come lunchtime because it meant venturing into the insanity that is the Hancock tower cafeteria, a place I avoid at all costs. The cafeteria is located in the basement and I am always keenly aware of the gigantic building mass looming over my head, and I can’t help wondering what would happen if it came crashing down. Also, the cafeteria is perpetually crowded, the food is mediocre at best (try frozen pre-prepared sandwiches that still have ice on them and are thus rendered inedible) and obscenely overpriced, and the food stations are usually out of everything I want to eat roughly five minutes after the place opens for a meal. I knew it was a gamble given the cold and I was right because every other person in the building decided to avoid the cold and hit the cafeteria for lunch and the place was a madhouse. The lines at the food stations snaked around the room and it was almost impossible to walk around. I felt particularly bad for the people in the sandwich line, which always moves at a snail’s pace. In the end, I fled without buying any food, opting to go back to my nice, calm office for a nutritionally well-rounded bowl of cereal. Next time I’m just going to suck it up and hit the Rebecca’s across the street.

Happy new year!

New year, new slate.

We aren’t big new years people and it was pretty cold here on Monday, so we stayed in and had a few people over for a lowkey evening. I wore my new favorite pair of flannel pajamas because by god it was cold and I wanted to be comfortable (and I’m lame). We drank pink fizzy stuff (pretty foul) and tried not to be too upset by the way that Dick Clark looked and sounded on TV. I give him props for insisting on coming back but found myself hoping that he’d make it through the broadcast without collapsing on camera because he didn’t look so good.

The trip to Florida was GREAT—exactly what we needed. We slept and relaxed and went to the beach every day. The sun was amazing and healing and wonderful. Usually I’m very ready to come back home after we go down there but this time I wasn’t so eager. Now that we’re here, though, it’s good to be home. The cats almost had a cow when we got back. They are so spoiled by Lunchboy working from home that they take our extended absence as a personal insult. Fuzzballs!

Somehow I got caught up on everything over the break. We polished off season 5 of The Shield on Netflix, got through a backlog of stuff on the DVR, saw 5 movies, and read a pile of books. We cleaned out our closets and dresser and gave a huge garbage bag full of stuff to Goodwill. I got back on my mat more consistently than I had in the previous three months. My favorite teacher from LA is doing a workshop in Boston next week and I’m both excited and a little scared because I’m not super strong at the moment. Can I make it through his class? I’ll guess I’ll see. Oh, and last week we finally used the day spa gift certificates that Carmen gave us as a wedding present and got a couples massage at this place in Brookline Village. One of the massage beds had water in it, like a water bed. It sloshed the entire time and made me giggle, but there were people getting colonics in the next room and that was not as funny. The massage was amazing, though, so thank you again!

One of my resolutions for 2008 was to start volunteering again and to find a creative outlet that doesn’t involve writing. I’m convinced that 90% of the weird anxious energy I dealt with last year had to do with the fact that I didn’t have a project or something of my own to focus on. So Monday I signed up for an orientation session with Boston Cares and also for a pottery class at a studio near our house. I took classes there about 10 years ago, the results of which are still lurking in corners at my friend’s houses. It felt nice to make things for other people—and just to MAKE something tangible. I’m excited to give it another shot. When spring comes, I want to get more involved in the beach cleanups around here again. It may not solve the problem of what people dump into the ocean but at least it feels like I can make a tiny difference in what stays in the water and on the beaches.

Anyhoo. I made a couple of other resolutions that I will keep to myself for now just because I’m not sure if I can live up to them, but it felt good to make a list of things to grow toward.

Fantasy football championships

MeanG, it should have been yours!

The spirit lifts you up and you fall down..but then you get up again and dust your ass off

This year I had some trouble getting in the holiday spirit, and Florida is a strange place to go looking for Christmas anything (unless that anything includes tacky, of which there is plenty). When I was growing up, Christmas meant going to holiday services at our Unitarian church and then sitting in the living room inhaling the scent of pine tree and listening to music from the Nutcracker. On Christmas morning, we'd open presents and then my mom would make waffles and we'd all laze around playing with presents and avoiding the cold weather. I was a big old Christmas snob about how to celebrate Christmas, until a few years ago when I realized that the more time I spent with my parents the more I became like them, and I immediately set out to find some new traditions. Luckily, we do Christmas with Lunchboy's mom down south now and it's about as far as you can get from the way my family did things. Because Lunchboy's late father loved Outback Steakhouse, we have dinner there on Christmas eve with his mom and sister. This year his mom's new boyfriend was supposed to join us but backed out at the last minute, claiming that it "would be more comfortable if it was just us," which is code for he's had it with Lunchboy's sister's snarkiness. On Christmas morning, we open presents and go to the beach. There's a lot to be said for white Christmases, but seeing the sunlight hit the ocean speaks volumes on its own. I'm not sure where I'm going with this but all I can say is that I appreciate this Christmas for what it is. I'm still not feeling super merry, but I am feeling extremely grateful for my husband, who is kind and gives new meaning to the term "supportive," who never ceases to amaze me and has not left my side over the past three weeks; for friends who call just to say hi even though I haven't been good on email lately; for the fact that our little Pepe found a good, loving home and is safe and warm; for our ability to come here and be in the sun; for my doctor, who calls me to make sure I'm ok even though she's on vacation in North Carolina; for the fact that the world isn't as bad as it seems when things look bleak.

For the record, I'm completely aware of the fact that this has been a shitty holiday season for a lot of people and I'm under no misconception (HA!) that our little hiccup was the worst thing ever to happen in the history of the world. I can't explain why I've been in such a dark mood or why getting perspective has been harder than usual, but it has. I'm working on it and if I forgot to ask how you're doing, I'm sorry.

What dreams may come

It took us 6 months and 1500 miles to find it--in a Publix in west central Florida no less--but ohhh it was definitely worth the wait.

Running on empty

Body apparently intends to set world record for unnecessary bleeding = anemic & exhausted.

Dark, cold, wet weather that will not quit.

Doctor says not allowed to do pretty much anything but sit and go to work = frustrated & bored.

Am I ok? At this point, kind of not. Too tired to pretend otherwise.

Went to start car in order to move it yesterday & discovered car battery is dead as a doornail. Ironic?

Counting minutes to Florida: sunshine, 80 degrees, beach, ability to sleep in and take many naps.

Praying said sunshine and rest will close the book on all this by the time New Years rolls around.

Am definitely doing resolutions for 2008. Need to create lots of goals and things to look forward to.

The limit

Fuck you, Jessica Alba

I don't care that you've been on my husband's top 5 list for years, or that whole movies are made around your signature capacity to shake your goodies on camera. Until now, you seemed nice and sort of girl-next-doory and tolerable. It's not my business that three months ago you dumped your boyfriend via text message and this is probably just a way to keep him on the line. Now, however, you can kiss my ass. This is officially not fair. You have taken it too far. I hate you.


OK, I'm done now.

Nibble my ... ??

A few weeks ago we switched from Comcast to RCN, mostly because with Lunchboy working from home we needed to get a landline and router service that wasn't spotty like a Dalmatian. There is, however, one thing that cracks me up. Whereas Comcast kept their blue channels tucked away at the end of their channel list, RCN lists them high up, so if you're scrolling through the guide, you go from WWE Presents to Bulgarian Minxes 9. It's a little jarring. It's not the placement that makes me laugh (though I'm always afraid I'm going to click on the wrong thing when we have company and I'm not paying attention), it's that the porn titles are, of course, completely hilarious. Soccer Mom Sex Scandals 5. Bulgarian Minxes 9. Bombastic Bazookas 8. Nibble My Muffin 3. Tropical Booty on Fire. Ripe Melons 11. It's become such a joke that sometimes we'll scroll days ahead just to see what silly titles they've come up with next.

How does anyone take these things seriously?

Now ready to talk about something ELSE

I’m working from home today and since work is quiet, I find myself cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. Technically I’m supposed to be “resting” but I am so incredibly tired of resting. Seriously. I slept for two months and then had to lie down for a week and for crissakes I am ready to be up and about already. So I’m neatening up all the things that got strewn about or just left out over the course of the last 7 days. Remaking the guest bed with clean linens, emptying garbage cans, putting all my comfy lying-around-the-house clothes in the wash, loading the dishwasher with what seems like every glass we own. Slowly, room by room, the house is emerging from that sick-bed state. It’s even warm enough to crack a window and get a little air. It feels good.

I finally feel good, too, which is such a pleasant change. Yesterday, after 4 more days of excruciating pain and continued badness, we went back to the doctor, who told us that the medication I’d taken last Tuesday hadn’t gotten the job done and I needed to have a D&E. I won’t get into what that is because it’s pretty gross, but I will say that it’s an outpatient thing and was over quickly. I woke up from the anaesthesia and felt like one of the Cylons from the new Battlestar that get reborn in a new version of their body. I felt loopy but underneath the loopiness I felt both like a new person and also more like myself than I have in a really long time. In hindsight, I wish we’d gone with the D&E option when we had the chance last week, but we had no way of knowing the meds would crap out. Either way, now that my body is finally getting over the whole sordid experience, we can finally, FINALLY move on, too. It’s fair to say that both Lunchboy and I are fried and are eager to talk about something, anything else. For me, the house cleaning is a big part of putting this behind us.

Needless to say, I am now really looking forward to our trip to Florida. It may be boring but the warmth and change of scenery are exactly what we need. We’re starting to plan a winter vacation for our anniversary in February—no idea where yet—but we’re having fun tossing around ideas. And hey—now I’ll be able to sit in hot tubs and have the occasional mai tai, so it’s a win-win. Life is looking up. And with that, I am ready to get on with it.

Silver linings

Because we refuse to sit around being morose, and also because we’ve been encouraged to find every possible silver lining in the situation, I’ve started mentally calculating the good things about being extremely unpregnant. All of them are superficial and don’t carry much weight, and most of them are food-related, but I figure I’ll take what I can get. Here are just a few:

1. Sushi. In fact, we ate sushi for dinner on Tuesday, when neither of us was remotely hungry or in a positive frame of mind, but by god it was there and it was going to be eaten because, well, I could eat it again.

2. Clear skin.

3. No more bloating.

4. No more horrible hormonal taste in my mouth that made all food, particularly anything containing sugar, taste like dookie.

5. Vegetables. I spent the past two months having a violently nauseous reaction to fruits and vegetables, so I am genuinely enjoying eating them. Fiber! Vitamins! God, I’m old.

6. The simplicity of lunch now that I can eat lunch meats again.

7. I can go to my company’s holiday party tonight and partake of the open bar.

8. The ability to exercise without feeling like I’m going to pass out after 20 minutes.

9. Hot yoga.

10. Boobs that don’t hurt whenever they’re hit by a passing breeze.

I am very serious about the boob thing. You’d think that an inflated chest would be a big plus (especially for a small person like me), but it’s a lot less of an amenity when the stupid things hurt so much. Like, hurt when you soap up in the shower, much less try to have any fun with them.

This made me laugh (thank you Dennis!)

I am really glad to be back at work today. One thing I gleaned over the last two months was how calming it was to be in the moment, because really there wasn’t any point in fearing the future or trying to speed up time. One of the weirdest things was knowing that, no matter what I ate, how many vitamins I took, or which activities I avoided, I had absolutely no control over what was going to happen. So I am making a very mindful effort to stay as anchored in the present as I can, if only because there are so many little things to be happy about. And, strangely, I know that one day I will be psyched to once again not be able to eat sushi, vegetables, or lunch meat, to be bloated and zitty and toting painful boobs, and to be exhausted to the point of falling over. Everyone kept telling me that all the misery was worth it. At the time I wanted to hit them but now I think I understand.

Speaking out, but not ready to talk

We found out that I was pregnant in mid-October, less than a week after Lunchboy accepted the new job that would allow him to work from home most of the time. It was a surprise--we weren't trying and we hadn't planned to think seriously about having kids for another 6 months or so. I still think Scully knew before we did. A normally reserved and independent cat, she suddenly started curling up in my lap, pressing herself as tightly as she could against my body. Then I went to see my acupuncturist, who gave me a slightly alarmed look after taking my pulse and said, "Is there any way you could be pregnant?" The next night we did 5 tests and all of them were positive.

Lunchboy was immediately thrilled and excited. I was shaken and scared. Would I be a good mom? Was I ready? Were WE ready--I mean, we'd been married less than a year. Was it too soon? As if we could press the pause button or something. This made us the third couple in our group of Somerville friends who were going to be parents unexpectedly. It was real. It was happening. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

The morning sickness and exhaustion hit almost immediately. I was nauseous all day every day, and the short list of things that I could or wanted to eat was constantly changing. I fell asleep on the couch right after getting home from work. It was a major adjustment in every way. It felt strange, knowing my body wasn't my own anymore and it took me about 8 weeks to get used to that fact.

I wrote a lot of posts about how weird the whole experience was and how I was searching to find a place where I was at peace with this new development, where I could start to be happy and excited instead of feeling like I'd be put in the first car of a gigantic, scary rollercoaster over which I had no control. About a week ago I found that place and felt really good about what was happening. It had taken a little time but here we were and I was excited to be doing this. I wanted to be a mom. I was ready.

On Monday, we went to the monthly open house that the midwives at Mt. Auburn hold. I'd been feeling a little crampy on the way home from work, something that I hadn't felt before and was a little worried about but racked it up to some of the lovely digestive changes that accompany early pregnancy. But the cramps persisted and at the end of the open house I took the midwife on call aside and asked her what to do. She did a quick exam, got another midwife and they did an ultrasound, the first one we'd had. They were really quiet and told us that they wanted us to come back in the morning for another ultrasound--either they had the conception date off or there was a problem because things were smaller than they should have been at 10 weeks.

We didn't sleep much and went back in the morning. The sonographer was friendly and professional, but again very quiet as she did her work. "I'm very sorry," she said after a few minutes of scanning, "But I'm not finding a heartbeat. It should be there but it's not." Sudden. Final. That was that.

The next three days were a blur and I prefer not to think about them too closely. I have more friends who have miscarried with first pregnancies than friends who haven't, but you never think it's going to happen to you. We didn't realize how much we'd been hoping for the future until it suddenly went dark on the screen in front of us. It hits you a lot harder than you might think.

It's been so long since I've posted that I doubt anyone checks this and I am actually relieved about that because as much as I needed to write about this, it's an extremely private experience that doesn't really lend itself to conversation. I wanted to share what happened but not in a sympathy-grubbing way. We'll grieve and move on and be ok. We are already a lot more ok than we were. But it's why I've been silent for the past few months. The pregnancy permeated everything and since I didn't want to write about it until we'd hit the 13-week mark or so, I couldn't say anything because I didn't know how to talk around it. So that's the story.