Archive for August, 2005
I never in my entire life thought I would say this, but things went astonishingly perfectly.
You don’t understand, this DOESN’T HAPPEN TO ME. I’m the one that has movers that show up 11 hours and 9 days late and charge me thousands of dollars because they didn’t notice that my house has stairs. I’m the one that gets stranded in nine different states, making wrong turns every other exit, and adding four days and 15 hours to the trip, combined with five flat tires and a side trip to an emergency room because of a surprise UTI. Toothless crazy people flock to me, and I spend most of my evenings in terror that some lunatic from Falling Springs, Virginia in the shack that sells peaches thought I had nice hair and wanted to get a closer look at the shade of it in my hotel room, so he followed me home.
But none of those things happened, I am almost sorry to report. PERFECT. The drive was perfect. Katrina threw a wrench in it, but it was a welcome distraction – we spent an extra day in a resort in Charleston lolling around our hotel room, watching movies and snuggling with the Snapper.
The Snapper. Let me say that pets make everything better – EVERYTHING. The hotels felt homey because of his furry little presence and sweet mews. He screamed in the car for about two hours of each day, but eventually, he ACTUALLY STOPPED and allowed us to listen to soothing books on tape.
I’m a little disappointed, actually. I mean, I didn’t want four days of pure squalor and misery, but I wanted SOMETHING to write about. What fun is writing about joy and happiness and PERFECT DRIVING WEATHER? I’d hate me if I were reading this – who deserves such things?
In other news, I had no idea that happiness – pure, unadulterated HAPPINESS – could come from a house in the suburbs with a laundry room big enough to dance around in, with my very own – YES! – washer and dryer. I have practically humped the pair of them in sheer ecstasy, and if I had known that this and only this was the key to fulfillment in life, I would have bought my own ages ago, and moved them from apartment to apartment in a nomadic washing spree.
You think I’m kidding. I’m not. I have done 14 loads of laundry in two days, and have spent countless hours blissfully cleaning the lint tray and lovingly counting the hundreds of combinations of washing and drying cycles available at my disposal. If Adam can’t find me, he knows I am in the laundry room, probably French kissing the washing machine and getting high off of the fumes of my Tide Clean Breeze (with a touch of Downy!).
Tomorrow, I go back to work. In my HOME OFFICE. Pants and even underwear are optional because NO ONE WILL SEE ME. I have yet another zit between my freaking eyebrows and I do not care because again, NO ONE WILL SEE ME BECAUSE I WORK FROM HOME!
I don’t deserve this, you know. I’m not just saying this. I’m honestly humbled.
August 30th, 2005
The movers are en route. They said they’d be here somewhere between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. today. Which means that I’m not really expecting them to show up until 8 p.m. this evening. Or maybe tomorrow. If we’re lucky.
We get on the road to Florida on Wednesday. Our entire lives have been reduced to 42 UHaul boxes. I’m too numb with all of the agony of packing to really care about the significance of the life change we’re undertaking. However, I’m pretty damn upbeat for a pissy curmudgeon like myself.
The cat isn’t doing so well. Poor thing senses our stress and is wandering the halls screaming like nobody’s business. I keep trying to snuggle him and dose him with flower essences – I feel like a disingenuous closet hippie who has resorted to last-ditch homeopathic measures. And, well, that’s exactly what I am. Walnut essence supposedly imparts a feeling of calm in the waves of change. I’ve been dosing myself as much as him. Frankly, I think the fact that the essence is suspended in brandy is far more effective than the essence itself.
We land in Florida on Saturday, three days after driving with the cat – who refuses to hold down any sort of sedative, from Dramamine to Benadryl – and will no doubt scream, cry and pee for 30 straight hours on the highway, in ten different states. Let me know if you hear us. I’ll be crying as loudly as he’s wailing.
Wish us luck, and catch you on the other side.
August 22nd, 2005
This is actually the first time I’ve been tagged. Tiggity tagged by ParisJiggityJasmal.
The rules: if you want to be tagged (is that right? I don’t even know what MEME stands for, other than Mure et Musc Extreme by L’Artisan), simply say ‘interview me’ in the comments, and I will give you five questions to answer, but they will not be the same five questions.
I’m going away for the weekend to a wedding, so don’t expect anything until Monday. And have a nice weekend, y’hear?
1. You have just been given $5,000.00 to spend frivolously, recklessly, and selfishly. Nothing practical. How do you spend it?
I’m traveling. Definitely traveling. I feel guilty spending money on travel, even though the memories of the trips are so much more valuable than anything I could buy with that money. Which I guess makes it not frivolous nor reckless, but it’s something I don’t spend enough money on in my life, and I think something I’ll regret not doing enough of. And I want to go to Greece, Italy and about 100 other countries, but I’ll have to keep it limited. The 5K doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty about missing work, or give me the strength to hop on a trans-Atlantic flight, but it does solve a piece of the cost issue.
I’m so boring, yes? BORING.
I might as well be a Miss America finalist. I’d like to solve world hunger for a thousand, Alex!
Really, other than travel, it would probably be a hell of a lot more exciting, albeit equally cliche, if I ran into Bergdorf Goodman and raided the handbag department. Yes, the handbag department, not fragrance. I’m in that kind of mood.
2. You just got hired as an assistant to Clay Aiken( HA) on his new world tour. What is your job description?
I want to set up the dressing room. You know, make sure he has M&Ms in the right color and everything. I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who leaked that kind of information to US Weekly. I’m sure they’d pay me a relatively high amount of money for the inside scoop, right? I could take photos of him and stalk him like the paparazzi, only I’d be someone he knows, so I could get GREAT photos. AND I could report back to all the papers how he likes his dressing rooms all white with various scents of Diptyque candles and insists that I pick out all the brown M&Ms because they remind him of poop.
Ooh ooh, or I could try to seduce him, get rejected, and sell the story to the Mirror about how he’s gay! OR, if I were successful, talk about how he is in bed. With photos. But then I’d have to sleep with him, and that’s just GROSS.
3. You are going to Monaco for the whole summer, and you can have ONLY 3 songs in your I-Pod. What are your songs and why did you pick them?
Christ, this was hard. Music can change my mood, get me through a long flight, and even change the course of my whole day. And yet, strangely, the three that I’m choosing surprise even me.
First of all, I’m embarrassed to admit that my first choice is a Dave Matthews song. I know, it’s not cool to listen to Dave Matthews anymore, given his universal appeal to the fraternity crowd (do I NEED to remind you of the elephant walk?) and the fact that he sold out, in many people’s minds. But fuck it, because honestly, the concept of a sellout is so stupidly lame, for starters. I was never cool, why start now? And I feel compelled to add that I don’t listen to him anymore, but I sure did in college! Who didn’t? And I have fond memories of that time. Lame as it is, the song is from my history – from a day right after I’d graduated college, coming out of depression and was trying to find a job. I was miserable, unsure, unstable and a complete jerk, if I really thought about it.
‘Pig’ is the song. Basically it’s about how every day is a gift, and we’re all greedy assholes for expecting more from every day, when essentially the earth and everything in it is pretty freaking cool. I listened to that when I was depressed and it changed and entire week of my life, and kind of turned me around. I’m not saying that there were other factors, but I’ll always remember those lyrics:
Is this not enough/The blessed sip of life/Is it not enough/Staring down at the ground/Oh then complain and pray for more from above/You greedy little pig
And I realized I was being a selfish ass, and that life was too short to mess around with and waste. I was also 22, and easily affected by the drama of a song, a moment, a breeze. A fact I sorely regret is missing too much from my life now. But listening to that song takes me back there and always makes me happy – and reminds me to quit being so selfish and greedy, open my eyes, and appreciate what I have, even if it’s just a sunny day, a cozy bed or a cold rain.
Second song is ‘Mercy Street’ by Peter Gabriel. Another song from my youth that I adore. No real reason other than it’s my favorite Peter Gabriel song, and I’ve been enamored with him since his early days with Genesis. There are so many good ones to choose from, but this one always touches me in a weird way, even though I can’t relate to much of what it’s about.
Third is ‘Fair’ by Remy Zero. I don’t know why, other than it’s kind of a sexy song, for a sexy country and Cinjun Tate is hot.
4. Have you always been funny and witty, or is it something that has come with age?
First of all, thank you for saying that. Secondly, no, I wasn’t always all that funny. I took myself way too seriously when I was younger, which actually makes me laugh today. Depression will do that to you, though. And then I realized that life is too short to take yourself too seriously.
The thing is, I’m not trying to be funny for the sake of being funny. I genuinely find most of the things I talk about funny, and want to share them with people. Life is FUNNY. People are funny. Every single day, I find something mind-bogglingly hilarious, and at least ten things amusing enough to make me cackle out loud. The day I lose my sense of humor will be the day I die.
5. Fave movie from your teen years?
Oddly, the Four Seasons with Alan Alda and Carol Burnett. A mature choice for a teenager, non? It’s about four couples that are lifelong friends and vacation together throughout each of the four seasons. It’s what I always wanted my life to be like growing up – it made me realize that friendships are still the same, no matter how old you are.
August 7th, 2005
Drunken blogging, anyone? HOO BOY! Let me tell you something about my day. All I wanted, all day – the WHOLE DAY, starting at 10 a.m., was a superfly dirty Ketel One martini with extra olives. If those olives could have been stuffed with blue cheese, there would have been an entirely DIFFERENT LEVEL of excitement going on, but alas, the only place I could convince the husband to go for dinner was Victoria’s Station, and apparently blue cheese stuffed olives aren’t on their menu.
It’s okay. I had a few of their regular ones, extra dirty with extra olives, thank you very much. And a giant steak. And I loved every freaking MINUTE OF IT.
So, four martinis later, I have decided that it really is all going to be okay. We’re going to move, and we’re going to make friends and we’re going to survive. And I am GOING to survive living next to my in-laws, even if my mother in law thinks that the stress related to finding a pad for her dog crate is equal to or greater than that of buying a house and moving across the country. (“I know what you mean about the stress. I was up ALL NIGHT trying to think if I should get the one printed with the bones or the teddy bears!”)
I’m guessing you think I’m kidding about the last part, but alas, I am not. It’s a conversation I wish I hadn’t been a part of, but was. She’s really okay, most of the time, but there are moments. Good lord, those moments.
Stop laughing. Or crying. Or whatever. Because like I said, hey! It’s going to be FINE! And you’re thinking, “Wow! She is TOTALLY DRUNK! And DELUSIONAL!”
And right you are, my friend, right you are.
*today’s song and blog title brought to you by J-Kwon. Care to guess any of the others in Hrmph annals?
August 5th, 2005
In the final weeks before any new life event, I am a miserable person to be around. I’ve noticed a pattern beginning to emerge, and suddenly I become Debbie Downer times 50, determined that I, or someone I love, is about to die, the world is falling apart and that I need to take a step back and remove myself from whatever situation I’m about to leap into, pronto, or our lives as we know it will end in disaster.
Take my wedding for example: two weeks before the big day, I almost called it off. I was CONVINCED that I was making the mistake of a lifetime. Suddenly, all the wonderful things about Adam dissipated (a challenge, given how truly fabulous he is), and I became convinced that my wedding wasn’t a joyous occasion, but the exact moment that I would be exiled to the ninth level of hell. Thank God Adam had more sense than I did, for when I sheepishly suggested that perhaps a wedding wasn’t a great idea, he simply replied,
“Um, no. Not having this discussion. I don’t care if you divorce me the next day, but after all the months of this planning bullshit, we are HAVING THIS WEDDING.”
End of discussion. Lesser men would have taken the opportunity. And thank GOD, because of course it passed, the day was wonderful, and being married truly rocks, I swear. I wanted to get married, I should have gotten married and what a GREAT idea it was! Just in case, you know, there was any doubt.
The move is a little different, in that at no point have I felt like backing out was an option – in fact, I’m half looking forward to it, in a way. It’s just that I’m convinced that all world crises and incidents are bound to converge on me and that we’ll never get there. I shock myself with my ability to become so paranoid and self-centered that I think all these things are going to happen TO ME, never mind the poor people they are happening to every day. I’m pretty disgusted with myself, actually.
Plane crash in Toronto? Oh my GOD that means that my flight to a wedding next weekend is going down in a thunderstorm. Road rage shootings in Lynn and Brockton? The next man I flip off on 128 is going to gun me down. Some poor kid’s mother dies on MTV’s The Real World? Speed dial mom, because that means she’s going down. Dad, too. And then I start crying.
Tonight I panicked that the folks from Craig’s List that we’re selling our bookcases to are going to show up tomorrow night wielding knives, machetes and other weapons, kill us, take our money and leave the bookcases. I’ve also become convinced that I have at least four different types of cancer, panicked and hovered over EVERY SINGLE MOVE Adam makes and if it involves getting into a motor vehicle, I practically strap him in myself. And if he takes more than three seconds to make a move towards the seatbelt, I start screeching about the dangers of Boston traffic and high-speed accidents and weeping that I can’t live without him, so won’t he please PUT ON THAT SEATBELT?
Thank God I know from experience that this will pass. Right? RIGHT?
And for those of you keeping score, the flightiness continues. Tonight, after a nice long run, I turned on the shower, took all of my clothes off and stepped in.
With my sneakers on.
August 3rd, 2005
Moving is getting to us. I’ve found my keys in the freezer, put the cheese in the baggie drawer, and thought my car was stolen, only to remember that I had taken Adam’s car to work instead of my own.
Today, I called our auto attendant to test how it directed my calls. When I dialed through to my own extension, I ANSWERED THE PHONE.
Three times in a row.
“Hello? HELLO? HELLOOOOOO?” All irritated that I was getting pranked. I was PRANKING MYSELF.
After the car-stealing incident, I picked up my car from the dealer and went to the grocery store. After I hopped in the car at dusk, I realized SOMEONE WAS IN THE BACKSEAT OF MY CAR. I screamed and pepper sprayed the intruder, flailing my arms like a flag boy and crying like a banshee.
The intruder didn’t budge and I ran screaming from the vehicle, admittedly because the pepper spray nearly smoked me out, not because I was using any sort of common sense. When I stopped coughing from the giant cloud of pepper spray that filled the car and my lungs, I realized I had just pepper sprayed an empty backseat. The Honda dealermen had PUT IN THE THIRD HEADREST and I hadn’t noticed. I attacked the headrest, thinking it was an intruder in my locked car.
To make matters worse, as I was writing this, I just used the oven’s broiler to make toast, ate the toast, cleaned the bathroom and took a shower. Came out to get some water and guess what? THE BROILER WAS STILL ON.
I am truly a menace.
August 1st, 2005