I've Nicknamed Tuesday "Only"

My dad and I were talking last night and he mentioned that there are peaks and valleys in life and I said yeah, tell me about it. I got through telling him a roller coaster story about how my Monday and Tuesday had gone and I was saying I can't believe it's ONLY Tuesday, if the rest of the week is like this I'm not going to make it.

We continued talking and I discussed how lately my peaks and valleys have pretty much just been a series of valleys similar to the long downward plunge of a roller coaster, but broken up with some bumps (go with me here on this metaphor, the bumps being the bright spots stopping me from just plunging straight down -- can you tell I don't' ride roller coasters?!).

My dad mentioned some craziness going on at work and then he said wait, today is Tuesday! It's only Tuesday. . . (yes, we're that dim of a family we had already talked about it and had forgotten). He said, that's it, I'm nicknaming Tuesday "Only."

I've been trying to end my blog posts with silver linings, you know, so only my boy and my co-worker suffers along with me in my extreme mopiness (oh, right and all of you I im. . . and my dad. . .um, right, who am I fooling?!). But I wanted you to know, this isn't just some silver lining I've pasted on to the end of this blog post. While I will miss a number of people this Saturday who were invited but cannot make it, we're going to the Big E. It's gonna be good people. If deep fried cheese curds can't get me out of my funk for a least a day, nothing can. I have eaten vegetable soup all week in preparation for the deep fried goodness that awaits us on Saturday. There will be deep fried cheese curds, lobster rolls from the Maine state house, deep fried cheese curds, kettle corn, deep fried cheese curds, corn dogs, and cotton candy, with a cheese curd chaser. Life is good (at least life with a side of deep fried cheese curds).

Yesterday was Plain Awful/But that's/ Not Now/That's Then

To continue my Annie theme songs, yesterday was kind of rotten. Perhaps that's why today seems soo lovely. My boy didn't wake me up for church and we can't take the walk in the arb that we'd planned since it's raining, but it's been a quiet pleasant kind of day.

I woke up at nine, we went to pick up our csa, which was kale free (they ran out before we got there and gave us extra pears to make up for it -- talk about serendipitous), we stopped by Allendale farms and picked up some fun veggies to supplement this week's haul and then we came home where I started a veggie soup from the numerous vegetables we had left over from last week. We're settled in now watching the National Parks documentary. It's really great so far, though I read a sort of mixed review.

The smell of the soup is filling the house and it's a sleepy comfortable day with the promise of hunks of walnut wheat bread dipped in a warm broth as a final treat.

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

If you've read this blog at all lately, you know I am currently, mopey, homesick, feeling pulled somewhere I cannot determine.

I was really excited about that house from my last post. Really excited. I was energized and felt like I had a purpose again. Save, save, save like there was no tomorrow. I would not spend money on anything that wasn't utterly necessary. It inspired me to actually consider using the two rolls of scotts toliet paper we have (they are left over from a costco size package that I refused to use the rest of and made my boy take down to Pennsylvania so we could give it away because I couldn't even have such foul toliet paper in my house let alone use it -- yes, this toliet paper is that bad that it inspires a paragraph long paranthetical statement, try it yourself, you'll see). Anyway, if you notice, all that is in past tense. I was really excited about that house etc. I mean yeah, it's still a great house and yeah, if someone gave it to me, or if by some fluke we could afford it, I think I would be happy there (or, you know, as happy as I ever am).

This past weekend was spent with my boy's family. We went up to the White Mountains and did tons of really fun things (and there's soo much more we left unexplored, who knew the White Mountains held such treasures!). We stopped at fun spot (famous from The King of Kong) on the way up, went on the Cog Railroad, saw the bears at Clark's Trading Post and rode the rails multiple times on Sunday (the boys even got to try out a hand car even though they each had a broken arm, I mean it is called a hand car I suppose, not a hands car). When it came time for us to part ways, and for my boy and I to go down the Mass Pike while they continued the long trek home to Pennsylvania, I got teary eyed and said "I miss them already." To which my boy responded with much disdain/disbelief "Are you kidding me?!"

I'm not a big crier and it wasn't my family we were leaving. . . So now I am homesick not only for my family, but for my boy's family as well. Great. If I didn't know where I was being pulled before. I certainly don't know. Perhaps picking someplace random to move like Weekawken, NJ wouldn't be a terrible first step. It would be that much closer to both our families and a move would certainly keep us too busy to notice a feeling of being adrift and purposeless.

I started this post on Wednesday, and by the time I got home and started a couple of loads of laundry and a pulled pork pizza (with caramelized onions, yum!!), I was feeling contented and purposeful again. Unfortunately, the bbq sauce I put on was slightly runny and the sharp cheese I had chosen was apparently a little too greasy and while the apartment filled with smoke I fell right back into my negative nelly thinking. It did remind me of this part of It's the Hard Knock Life "Don't it seem like there's never any light!/Once a day, don't you wanna throw the towel in?/It's easier than puttin' up a fight."

Today is a new day though, and the sun is shining (no, it literally is, this isn't me giving up on bitterness) and so there's hope that tonight at least I won't end the night sulking. Seriously, who am I kidding?

In My Father's House there are Many Rooms

So when I was planning to move to Boston, my future (now former) roommate and I set aside one week to look for an apartment. We made an offer on one apartment and it was taken right out from under us. Then, the last day we'd allotted for the search, we found it. Yeah, in retrospect, it was a little slummy, but there was off street parking and it was a somewhat open floor plan and near some nightlife (though the closest we got to night life was coming home late from class and studying). We had a slum lord, but in the grand scheme of things not even a really slummy slum lord and the police officer living next door was really very kind and would fix major problems.

My roommate moved on to bigger and better things (she now gets to put dr. in front of her name) and I needed a new place to stay. I had just joined a small group and a woman in the group had a friend who was looking for a roommate. This place was even better than my first place, I had my own room this time, there was still a good flow for socializing and my roommate and I, while not terribly close, got along quite well.

That roommate too decided to move on to bigger and better things and two other really fun women were looking for someplace to call home. We searched high and low and found nothing that was a good fit. There were lots and lots of slums far out of our price range and one "compromise" apartment that would mean street parking for two cars and as far as we could tell, no front porch ever! Then, the clouds opened and it was as if a dove flew down and said "This is my apartment in which I am well pleased!" In desperation one of the women posted what we were looking for and in what price range. Randomly, the person who was to become our landlord for the next 2 + years saw that posting. Even now, thinking back on that apartment I almost cry tears of joy.

It was like God had crafted that place exactly for the three of us. There was central air conditioning for the Alaskan in me, two parking spots for our precisely two cars, three rooms, one perfect for each of us, and every little detail, down to bike hooks in the basement demonstrated that this place was ours. It was meant to be. There was no other explanation as far as I could tell. It swooped in right when we needed it and answered every singly petty prayer we had about a place to live. When we finished looking at it the first time we went back to my friend's apartment baked brownies and rushed back to ask when/where do we sign?! I had decided to live in this apartment until I got married -- and even after if I could convince the landlord to sell the place to me!

It didn't exactly follow through on that plan (much to my regret, still to this day). I did manage to outlast my two other roommates. And I still dearly love the place, but last June I moved out. I moved into another place that I really felt had been perfectly created for this part of my life. A cheap place with lots of space (another serendipitous find by the friend who found my last apartment) near friends so my boy and I had a community. A good apartment to help us save money and pay off debt. Last week, we moved my friend out of the apartment I loved so dearly and it felt like a loss again.

Then, randomly searching trulia last Friday, I found something that replaced that apartment in my heart. I found a house that I couldn't find a flaw big enough for it to stop nagging at me, calling to me, whispering sweet nothings at all hours (sure you might call it a stalker, I call it mine). It had everything I could dream of in a house, it had space for a garage and to build an in-law apartment (if and when we ever have money), it had a real yard, big enough for tons of tomato plants (and a grape arbor lush with grapes, my boy loves wild grapes), it had three large bedrooms, and a basement where we could store stuff (instead of behind a curtain in our living room). It's still in our area, but in a slightly less fancy section, in a section that is close to a community center and should be slightly cheaper to buy in. Except. . . . This place is not. It's not cheap at all. In fact it's at least $50,000 overpriced. I was trying to figure out a way we could afford the place. I figured, if we offered them $50,000 less than what they wanted and we could come up with a 10% down payment we could totally afford the mortgage, taxes and insurance. The problem (you're thinking _the_ problem as in ONE? and I am ignoring you) is we don't really have any savings. We've worked on paying off debt, not on saving (don't lecture, I know it's stupid). I tried to figure out how we could swing it. I told my boy, well, I have $5,000 saved and we could use the $8,000 incentive as part of the down payment if we can convince someone to give us a loan and the people to drop their price tons all before November 30th, and we can save my paycheck for the next two plus months and then you can borrow the rest from your 401(k). And if you didn't think I'd lost my boy before then (well you'd be wrong) I certainly did at that point. He put his foot down. He pointed out our credit card debt. He mentioned the fact that we should be focused on other things, not houses.

He is sure that if this house sells (he may have said when. . .I am ignoring that), there will be plenty of other, different houses that will also be a perfect fit for us. I am not convinced. Did I mention this house has central air conditioning?! No houses in Boston come equipped with central air. Anyway, I am praying that they are in slight denial about the market and how much their house is worth. I am also praying that they don't decide to really sell this house till the spring. I am praying that one of those stupid people who always buys during the 20% off part of the going out of business sale (SO DUMB) doesn't swoop in and buy at the far too high price. I am praying that all of this works out so that in the spring I can be living in what I consider to be MY house. The house, that like my last apartment, was fearfully and wonderfully made just for ME.

Oh, and why didn't I post a link or a picture? Cause even though I am trying to put it in God's hands, I am still superstitious and don't want to call extra attention to the place. Email me if you're interested (and didn't already see my google talk status on Friday :)). Also, don't think this is just a completely selfish desire (maybe mostly selfish, but not completely) the in-law apartment desire is so that all of you lovely people spread hither and yon can come stay with us for extended periods! It's almost the compound I've been yearning for, almost.

Egg(plant) on My Face

So I hesitate to post this knowing that the most comments I ever got on this blog was for a throw away post on kale -- I never knew how controversial vegetables were :). But I LOVE eggplant. LOVE it. But only when other people make it for me. I like it when I order it in restaurants, in eggplant parm, in my very favorite dim sum dish which I can only see described as eggplant and shrimp, I love random eggplant dips, and miso dipped eggplant that's grilled. I really do love eggplant.

I have had terrible luck cooking eggplant though, and I don't want tons of tips, I've read the tips, I've watched the alton brown episode. I am just no good at eggplant. I didn't grow up with it, I don't exactly know the ins and outs of eggplant even though I've read and watched shows on them and I just don't think I care enough, I prefer buying my eggplant already prepared.

At least, I was no good. I tried this recipe last night and though it could use some tweaking (on my end, not necessarily theirs -- for one thing I had no scallions in my fridge), I think it came out lovely. My boy, who is not an eggplant fan, said that "if it was too much trouble, you don't have to make it again." Code for, I don't really like it.

But it was not too much trouble at all. We get two eggplants in our csa every week. While making this recipe is slightly more intensive than just throwing out the eggplants, it's not that much more intensive, and takes way less time (in the sense that we cannot bear to throw out perfectly good veggies, so those eggplants have to rot in the fridge before we can just toss them-- I realize it's not hands on time). This meal was thrown together in less than 30 min and was a great main course for me and a nice side for my boy. So one eggplant recipe down, millions more to go!

As for our other continuing problem, to update you on the status of our house, we have three and a half rooms cleaned and two and a half to go (I am counting the pantry as a half room).

Also, there is absolutely no sign of the rat, we've moved every single piece of furniture in every room and swept behind and under them (even the two and a half rooms not counted as thoroughly cleaned). This has confirmed to my boy that one of his two theories is correct. Either our rat was someones pet who came to visit and then left (explaining how it was able to resist the uber tempting Reese's peanut butter cups on the traps) or, the rat was a ghost rat. Yes, I realize the latter theory is ridiculous. I tried to convince him that he was wrong based on the fact that the rat ate our Easter candy. My boy pointed out that Casper and Slimer both ate food. So now our rat has been classified as a Casper/Slimer type ghost. I am so glad that got cleared up. It will be much easier to catch him now! Where's Egon when you need him?

The end of an era

So David Sedaris talks about how when his cat died it felt like the end of an era, "The cat's death struck me as the end of an era. It was, of course, the end of her era, but with the death of a pet there's always that urge to string black crepe over an entire ten- or twenty-year period. The end of my safe college life, the last of my thirty-inch waist, my faltering relationship with my first real boyfriend: I cried for it all and wondered why so few songs were written about cats."

When "The last MASH unit worldwide was deactivated in 2006 in a nod to the increased capabilities of combat support hospitals." it felt mildly like the end of an era. But then I wasn't actually in the Korean war I had just watched Mash repeatedly.

I just found out today though (that's right people, the one who won MASH trivia --uh, right at her birthday party, but still I think it was fair and square-- didn't find out until TWO DAYS LATER), that Larry Gelbart died on the 11th. And so, while he was 81 and only worked on the show the first four years, I still feel like it's the end of the era. God help me when Alan Alda dies (I just double checked to make sure he was still alive since clearly I can't count on any of you to tell me things like this).

I remember my mom crying when Lucille Ball died (or maybe it was when Desi Arnaz died? but that seems so unlikely). Anyway, my dad pointed out that it wasn't like they were going to make any more episodes of "I Love Lucy" and I did think it was odd that she was crying over some celebrity we didn't even know. Now I think, perhaps, she was just crying for the end of that era. Whatever that era encapsulated for her.

P.S. In reference to my post earlier, it would be lovely to just shove our crap in one room and close the door, but there will be 9 people sleeping in our 2-3 bedroom apartment. We don't have a room in the house that will be hidden -- we don't even really have much in the way of closet space to hide stuff.

7 Years Bad Luck

If you couldn't tell by my title, my plan didn't work. We have spent the weekend cleaning for my boy's family's visit. Mostly this has consisted of shredding and throwing out massive amounts of paper, doing copious amounts of laundry and using the broom far more than any witch could imagine. Our house is currently still a disaster area.

My boy just came in saw that I was on the computer and mentioned that I would need to clean my room. Um, thanks, I didn't think we were going to draw a map so our guests would know how to avoid the piles. . .

In the process of moving the coffee table so we could sweep under the couch, we managed to break a mirror and when we reached for it, we knocked over a bottle of water. That's basically an accurate snapshot of how this weekend is going. I am considering going back to bed. That will entail shoving over the three loads of laundry on the bed, but I am willing to make that sacrifice. Think my boy will accept that?

200th Post

This is my 200th post (were you hoping for something more monumental? Perhaps you're reading the wrong blog. . .). I am reading a book about a guy who read the entire Encyclopaedia Brittanica I was going to avoid talking about it since I planned on giving it to my dad for Christmas. Last night though, in the emotion section, I came across an entry that may help my mopiness. It's called facial feedback hypothesis. Basically if I smile like a goon, I should start to feel better. I like how A. J. Jacobs put it though: "This is when your brain senses that your facial muscles are in a happy position, so the brain figures, Hey, I must be happy. (The brain can be remarkably stupid sometimes.)" Anyway, that's my plan for this weekend. That, and actually cleaning -- my boy's family comes in six days!!!

Sprialing out of Control

I was looking back at some of my posts from when I started this blog in 2006. I remembered starting it because, among other things, I was upset about a particular person who had stolen money from me in my own home and had threatened my roommate at the time that she'd commit suicide, insinuating that it would be my roommate's fault, because my roommate had asked one of our pastors how to deal with the fact that the woman had also blatantly stolen money off of a table when we'd been out with a large group of friends.

It's been awhile at this point and I can actually laugh at the picture of this woman stealing cash from my purse while my roommate and I were "shopping" in our pantry for choice foods we could send her home with. We filled two large whole foods bags with food, picking out our favorite rice dishes and canned goods, leaving behind things like canned peas (don't even ask me how canned peas got in our house, I am vehemently opposed). Anyway, I think that's funny now.

At the time though, I was very angry. So looking back at my recent posts, I was wondering how I balanced the angst with still being interesting and keeping a sense of humor. It turns out, that more strange things happened around me at the time (or at least I noticed strange things more).

So I haven't posted particularly recently because I am still fairly mopey and restless; feeling pulled somewhere else, but also not knowing what or where that "somewhere else" is. I also don't know where the funny went. . .

I think, however, the 2006 me would have rushed to tell you all about what happened two weeks ago when we were out on the common. 2009 me is just tired and no longer finds these stories as fresh and charming when they happen (it takes two weeks for her to recover her sense of humor about it -- what can I say, grey hairs, and no sense of humor curmudgeon-dom is just around the corner). Also, as a warning, when I typed this up, it lost some of the funny and gained some serious length, so you might want to skim :).


Two Thursday nights ago my boy and I returned from a two week absence (you know, we'd been to the wild animal park in PA, we'd been to NY the next week etc) and you would have thought we were complete newbies the way the coffee cart we have manned for the last three years was stormed. It was like everything we'd ever taught the people about orderly lines etc. had gone out the window. People were five or six across and they were shoving and pushing (just to clarify, we don't give out free crack, diamonds, or liquor, we've got coffee, hot tea, iced tea, hot chocolate and bottled water). They wanted the bottles of water. They always do. Let's review, they're bottles of water, not vodka, they're worth 12.4 cents (and yes, that's an expensive item for our cart, but still, in the grand scheme of things, really?!). We told them ONE LINE holding one finger up and then putting our hands together to show they needed to move in, that we weren't serving more than single file. They pushed forward still six people across. we pushed our cart back, my boy stood in front making the universal pushing back motion to show them they needed to step back. They ignored him. I said everyone needs to take THREE steps backward. I took a large step held up one finger and said one loudly, took another large step held up two fingers and said two loudly, took a third large step and said three loudly while holding up three fingers. They laughed at me. I closed the cart.

I threw a blanket over the top told my boy to get out from in front of the cart where they had closed in on him even farther. There was no point in someone being crushed over 12 cent water. We stood like that for awhile at an impasse. They still didn't form a single line and they didn't step back. The people in the back of the line though, had no control over the people in the front. We are a religious group. I thought back on "Many who are last will be first and the first will be last." (at the time I didn't remember it was from Matthew 19:30 or the context, just the verse). So that's what we did, as the people in the front of the line crowded and continued to push, we worked our way from the back of the line forward. At one point an unsuspecting group member was pouring some iced tea and one of the women at the front of the line tried to convince him to just give her a bottle of water. As he was reaching for the water, I stopped him -- they will seriously take advantage of any possible way to get what they want and then more than what they know they're entitled to.

Anyway, after all this madness, we worked our way through the line and served everyone (the people in the front finally caught on and started squishing into one line slightly farther back). At this point the line for food had also dissipated, though apparently because we'd run out. It seemed like the night might be calming down. A man came up looking for some food, when he was told we didn't have any he started shouting about how he could break jaws and not to treat him like this because he wouldn't stand for it (mind you, we had no food, it wasn't discrimination, there was just nothing left). He veered around and continued to threaten to break jaws until he'd had enough and left still ranting, a dog barking after him a final good riddance.


The man with the dog (who had barked away the jaw breaker) approached my cart, clearly drunk, but in a cheerful mood. We chatted he got his drink and sat off to the side. When he was ready for a second drink he brought a hibiscus from one of the flower beds. I said it was sweet, but he really shouldn't pick the flowers. He took his drink and we chatted some more. He drifted away and then came back with another flower. If I hadn't realized he was drunk before, I surely would have at this point. The beer goggles were clearly in place.

It was time for our praise and worship circle and sermonette. We sang and the woman designated to speak that night began. She spoke on Ephesians and the double edged sword where we're damned to death and how God cannot associate with us because of our sinfulness and the beauty of what Christ did and what an incredible relationship that opens up for us. Or at least I think that's what she spoke about, I can't be sure.

You see, my flower wielding drunk friend by this point had pulled out some sticks and started juggling. Then, to up the ante, he turned them on. That's right he was juggling fire, behind the woman giving the sermonette. Juggling is putting it kindly, and slightly less menacingly. Really, he was throwing sticks with flames on the end up into the air and missing the catch then dipping down to pick one up while the other was thrown up in the air which he'd invariably miss.

I guess I could have skipped the build up to this point, since the fire "juggling" was really the crescendo, the truly unbelievable part of the evening, but I thought you might be interested in the build up as well.