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.

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.

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 :)

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.

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!!!!!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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 

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.