Perfection

Not so perfect:

- Waking up early because we only have one bathroom and Michael was working the same time I was today. And we both needed to shower. It actually makes sense that I shower first on days like this because when I'm done he gets in the shower and I do my hair and makeup. That way the mirror is free for him to shave when he gets out.

But 20 minutes makes a huge difference in your sleep pattern. At least it does for me. And now I have that tired headache behind my eyes.

- Attempting to make "real" oatmeal (not instant) without any directions because we need to go grocery shopping tonight.

- Shmutz on my sleeve. What the hell? Is it oatmeal?

Perfect:

- Not immediately turning the TV on last night and curling up on the couch to read a book, something I haven't done in a very long time.

- Michael getting home 30 minutes later with a big smile on his face because "I missed you!"

- Smiling behind my book as Michael yelled at the TV during the State of State address.

- Reading my book in bed (ah the reading!) under the warm comforter and flannel sheets.

- Drifting off to sleep to the sound of Michael singing along to Dave Matthews in the next room.

Yeah, I guess life is pretty good.

Fears

I hate driving next to trucks on the highway. My friend's mom was in an accident when she was in college caused by a truck moving into her lane without noticing her there. I think that story really scarred me. Even though she told it to me 20 years ago. I always find myself scooting alllll the way over to the side of the lane whenever a truck passes me.

I'm terrified of heights. I have no idea where this came from because I used to love roller coasters, trust falls and zip lines. A few years ago Michael and I were hiking in New Hampshire and came across an old fire tower that you could climb for a great view. We got half-way up and I started to shake. I couldn't move. It took all I had to get to the top, where I basically huddled in a corner and held on for dear life. Getting down was even worse. Ever since then I avoid being up high at all costs. Except for flying. I have no fear of flying. Weird.

I'm afraid of something happening to my parents. Especially my mom, a breast cancer survivor. I refuse to watch "Step Mom" or any other movie where the mother dies. We made the mistake of watching "The Family Stone" at Christmas. I had already seen it, but forgot how it ended. I was bawling at the end and hugging my mom like there was no tomorrow.

I'm scared of wasps.

Especially big ones.

With stingers.

Can't Win 'Em All

Are soy chai lattes caffeinated? Because if they are I think I'm going through withdrawal. After drinking way too many lattes this weekend I opted not to have any today. And now I have a serious headache. Connection?

I'm also starving and am looking forward to eating my lunch that's in the fridge. Homemade lasagna and salad.

"Oh, you had time to make a lasagna this weekend?"

No, I did not. However Michael's mother had time to make him a lasagna, a big salad, a pot roast AND a carrot cake yesterday. In between church and a 3 p.m. dinner. Which I decided at the last minute not to attend. Because I had "plans". Which included CVS and the couch.

When he walked in the door that evening with heaping bags of food I felt the pangs of yet another jab at me.

I can't compete with a four-course meal made with love, control and a dash of guilt.

And she knows it.

Mother: 1
Me: 0

The Cold Has...

- caused the laundry pile to take over the bedroom because I cannot bring myself to do laundry in these temperatures. Good thing it's Friday because I am officially out of socks.

- made me look like and idiot starting my car. PJs, slippers, Michael's huge coat and full-on work hair and makeup is quite the look.

- given me a severe case of Morning Brain. Driving to work I thought to myself, "Gee, my windshield is dirty. I should clean it." It occurred to me only as the the wiper fluid was hitting my windshield that, huh, it's below freezing. And, oh yeah, the wiper fluid is freezing to my windshield.

- made me (yes, it's the cold's fault) get two soy chai lattes in two days.

- made it necessary to wear gloves.

- one of which is now covered in soy chai latte that spilled as I was crossing the street.

- made by boss wear jeans. To work. I'm shocked!

- made me wear a (cute) hat which gave me (not so cute) static hair.

Oh, winter. Boo you.

I'm Starting To Think I have Issues...

My hair looks like crap today. I have a hair appointment tonight so you would think I'd be OK with my hair looking less than perfect now. But I'm not.

For some reason I think my stylist will judge me for having a crappy hair day. I feel like my hair should be voluminous and shiny and gorgeous to prove to her that yes, I take care of my hair! I'm not a shlub! I didn't throw my hair in a ponytail when it was still wet!

It's like making your teeth sparkle before going to the dentist or shaving your legs before a doctor's appointment. You want to present yourself as the best possible You. The together, competent You.

I seriously considered washing my hair last night so I would have time to straighten and style it today. Of course I chose to watch The Hills instead (Those girls have good hair. Bitches.) and didn't leave myself enough time to do it this morning.

Seriously, could I be wasting brain cells on a stupider problem? In a few hours I will be sitting smack in the middle of a salon and my hair will be sticking up in all directions between multiple layers of foil. In front of people. This does not bother me.

But a limp, semi-damp ponytail? Completely unacceptable.

Issues, people. Issues.

Necessity

Michael had a meeting after work last night and afterwards was going out with some co-workers. I knew this a week before hand. I had no problem with it.

I got home from work, made myself some dinner and settled in to read Real Simple and watch a new (finally!) episode of Gilmore Girls. The dog was being good, I was cozy in my PJs. It was a nice evening.

Around 10 I decided I was ready for bed. I did my routine, put the dog to bed and snuggled under the flannel sheets, anticipating dozing off before the end of the Law & Order: SVU re-run.

Instead, I tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. Hot, then cold, then hot again. First the pillow was too hard, then it wasn't hard enough. And I was so thirsty but didn't feel like getting up for a drink.

A little after 11 I finally fell asleep. I woke with a start around 12:15 and realized Michael wasn't home yet. While this wasn't cause for concern quite yet, I couldn't help worrying. He had to work early the next day. The meeting was far away. What if he drank too much? What if there was an accident? Why isn't he home yet?

Toss. Turn. Toss. Turn.

Just as I was debating calling him, I heard his car pull up. Phew.

He got in bed, spooned me and gave me kisses.

I was sound asleep in five minutes.

A Weighty Issue

Growing up I was always very thin. So thin, in fact, that an 8th grade french trip to Quebec was nearly ruined by a group of girlfriends who turned on me and told everyone I was anorexic. Which I was not.

I started dancing when I was three and by 17 I was a thin girl with a dancer's body. But I never really thought much about my weight. I was how I was.

And then came college. And the late nights and the dining hall food and the drinking. And consequently, a few extra pounds. I started working out and got healthy again, but the body I had in high school is long gone. I enjoy the curves that come with being a woman, and I get compliments on my body, but every now and then I am find I’m still unhappy with it.

I know I’m going to get flack for this. Michael will tell me I’m crazy. Friends will tell me that at 24 I wouldn’t want the body of an 18 year old. And maybe it’s true that only I hate my thighs.

A friend of mine is coming to visit this weekend. I am so happy that she will be here but a part of me is apprehensive about it. She’s tiny…just over 5 feet and has lost a lot of weight since college. She looks great and I’m happy for her. But there’s that voice in the back of my head that won’t stop comparing myself to her. When she’s around I feel like a house despite my 5’6”, size 6 frame.

Do men have these issues or is it reserved strictly to women? Because it really sucks.

Thanks

Dear New Guy,

You're outnumbered 4:2.

Please put the seat down.

Thanks.

Company

One thing I've learned from having a dog is privacy goes out the window. Especially when the bathroom door doesn't lock.

Imagine my surprise the first time he pushed open the door as I was sitting on the toilet. He walked right up to me, squeezed himself into the tiny area between my feet and the wall and lay down. It's amazing how vulnerable you feel, even in your own home, with the bathroom door wide open and a big animal at your feet.

Or the time no one was home and I was taking a shower and nearly DIED when a big black nose suddenly thrust itself past the shower curtain. Trust me, nothing prepares you for that.

As time went by, having Kodiak in the bathroom became more and more routine. We actually wait a minute before undressing or sitting on the toilet because we know it's just a few second before he pushes open the door and does a trademark FLOP on the floor.

To non-dog people this might sound gross or annoying, but to us it's perfectly normal. He's a love, a real people dog. He just wants to be where we are. When we take a shower, he takes a steam. When we do our business, he takes a nap.

It's actually very cute.

Except for that nose in the shower thing. I don't think I could survive that again.

Pen Pal

My first day on the job was spent running around with CNN.

A few weeks later my boss received a letter from a man in Ohio who had seen him on TV. In almost un-legible handwriting he wrote of his interest in our company, his life in the Navy and his past vacations to New England. Enclosed was a photo of him standing by a flower bed. The note on the back read "I am 79 years now. I was 58 in the photo."

His name is Norm.

My boss had no plans of writing back to him, but the letter struck a soft spot in me. Maybe this man lived alone with no family. Maybe his hobby is watching the news and writing to people he sees. Maybe he's waiting for someone to write back.

So I did.

And what developed was sort of a pen pal. Every so often I receive a letter from Norm. Most take awhile to get through since his handwriting is so bad, but they are always amusing. He's told me about his hobbies (woodcarving and NASCAR), his family("Got a nephew around those parts") and his friend's pool ("It's very cool and relaxing.") He writes without rhyme or reason, underlining certain passages or writing some in red ink. ("I've always liked to watch the Friday night fights from Foxwoods", "I bought a Japanese truck...a Tundra.")

He's sent me postcards of Ohio, stickers and another photo (again of him at 58, not 79.) I keep the conversation light, talk mostly about the weather or ask him questions about himself. Maybe it's because I'm cautious (or paranoid?) or maybe it's because I'm a New Yorker, but I never divulge anything very personal about myself.

Or maybe it's because he kept asking for a photo and was trying to guess what movie star I looked like.

The creepy old man stuff aside, I like hearing from Norm and I like to think that my letters bring him some joy.

I haven't heard from Norm in awhile and whenever a long stretch of time passes I wonder if he's still alive. I know that sounds morbid, but he is getting up there. And if he does pass, will I ever know?

I like to think that he's just very busy making his wood carvings and driving his Japanese Tundra.

Is It Friday Yet?

Last night I sliced my finger while trying to open a bottle of fancy olive oil. The wound cuts across my finger at a ridiculous angle, making it impossible to cover the whole thing with a bandaid. It hurts. A lot.

I'm really beginning to hate the words "strategize", "micro-manage" and "team".

My skin is still rebelling like a petulant teenager.

Now that it's getting cold I have to fight the feelings that always creep up around this time of year. Maybe it's a mild case of Seasonal Affective Disorder, but winter makes me want to curl up in my bed and stay there. I'm hoping to get through the season with vitamins, working out, snuggling and wine.

Lots of wine.

Grievances

Mother Nature -- I knew it had to become winter sometime, but couldn't we have eased into it? Fourteen degrees is not what I wanted to encounter this morning.

Skin -- I've done everything to appease you. I have washed, lotioned and cared for you just as I should. I did nothing to deserve the breakout on my chin. Nothing! You are 24 years old. I suggest you start acting like it.

Shoes -- Why do you hurt me? I know you're just a smidge higher than I usually wear to work but I really thought you would pull through. Apparently you are made for the walk from the car to the bar and nothing more. You are so beautiful on the outside, yet your true colors are showing.

Fridge -- Why are you so empty? Why can't you just fill yourself up? I really don't want to go shopping for you. And I absolutely cannot go after work. I'm wearing beautiful yet evil shoes. I refuse to walk around a grocery store.

I refuse.

Return Of The Date

Despite the weather, yesterday was a nice day. We slept in, took the dog for a long walk, shopped for my elliptical (yay!) and went out for dinner.

Over a shared appetizer of steamed dumplings it dawned on me that I could not remember the last time we went on a date. We always used to go on dates. In college we had a "date night" once a week, no matter what.

I guess sometime in the past few years, between work and life, we settled into a routine. A comfortable, happy routine...but a routine none the less.

It's funny how relationships change. I saved some emails Michael wrote me the first few months we were dating. I had just finished my freshman year and had returned to NY for the summer. The time apart was agony. The torture of new, young love was enough to make me realize I never wanted to be apart again. (Incidentally, that was the only summer I ever went back home.)

They are the sweetest letters and I really cherish them. Everything was new, we were so in love. We were both high on the new relationship buzz and the curiosity and excitement of the unknown.

Every six months or so I read those letters as a reminder of where we came from, what our relationship was built upon. They always make me smile.

And although the infatuation has melted away, what remains is something strong and wonderful. We're no longer planning our next date, but our future, our family, our lives. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

But what had a tendency to get lost in the fray is that time we used to sit aside just for each other. Moving in together gave us the advantage of seeing each other every day. Together time became synonymous with dinner, tv and bed. And while that is all well and good, I don't think either of us realized how much we missed that special time.

Until last night.

So as we dug into our entrees it was decided. We will bring back date night.

And I can't wait.

Randomness...or Sneakers and Speakers*

This week is the first full week I've worked since Christmas. It's been so tough to get up early five days in a row. I mean, God. The agony.

I left 15 minutes early today because I was up! And ready! So why not?(!) Apparently leaving 15 minutes early means you will encounter 10 times as many asshats on the road. Lesson learned: no more leaving early.

I went out last night for my mid-week martinis with Jen. We ran into some people she went to high school with, including a guy I worked with briefly at a coffee shop in college. He didn't recognize me. I guess I'm just that memorable.

*During the conversation he mentioned that earlier in the day he had bought sneakers and speakers. I just liked the way it sounds.

Also in that group of people was a guy that apparently applied for my job. Obviously, he did not get it. Because I did. Awkward...

And towards the end of the evening a group of people erupted in applause because a couple got engaged in the bar. My thoughts alternated between "They just got engaged in the bar!" to "They just got engaged in the bar?" Well, OK. Thoughts? Let's be honest here. That was said out loud. Blame it on the two martinis.

While getting ready to run the dishwasher this morning I happened to stop and read the label.

On the front: New! So effective, no need to prewash!

On the back: For best results fill both regular and prewash compartments.

Huh.

And finally, it's National De-Lurking Week! I know you're out there, I check my stats. You're all over the world! So stop by and say Hi. Love me? Let me know. Hate me? Let me know that, too. I can take it. And all those loyal readers that have never commented (cough, JEN) here's your chance.

Fashion Faux Pas

While out to lunch today I spotted one of Those Guys. You know the kind, the vintage Nike wearing, European-cut clothing sporting, my-hair-is-meant-to-look-unwashed type of guy. He would have pulled off the look perfectly if under his sporty zip-up he wasn't wearing a Family Guy t-shirt. Not quite a fashion disaster, but a definite oops. We've all had them. We look back at pictures and cringe at the "what was I thinking?" moments. Mine? Oh...there were many.

I owned a pair of red Tweety Bird sneakers. I thought they were the coolest thing ever. I was in 5th grade and was styyyyling, baby. Oh yeah.

I'd also like to point out that I searched Ebay just do you could actually see the horror that used to reside on my feet. Thank God my taste in shoes has improved.

Like any child born in the 80s, I also wore an assortment of snap bracelets. My favorite one was zebra striped and furry. I also had a few metallic ones and one that was a really great shade of lime green. I used to coordinated them to my scrunch socks. Until they were banned from school for being dangerous. Apparently if you took off the fabric coating they were nothing more than a bendy, metal WEAPON.

The mock turtleneck. But not just any mock turtleneck, oh no. A velour mock turtleneck. In long sleeve, short sleeve and a dress. I sported black, stripes, forest green and the dress....the dress was an iridescent purple that changed from dark to light depended on if you brushed the velour up or down. I may have worn the dress with clear platform jellies.

Overalls. An almost daily outfit in the 7th grade, complete with the baby t-shirt and boxers. You know, so a strip of your midsection was showing, but not enough to be considered inappropriate. My favorite boxers? Blue flannel with sheep on them. That I made in Home Ec. Yeah.
So overall, it was pretty bad. But at least it wasn't a Family Guy t-shirt.

Ladies Who Lunch

Sometimes I think I'd be really good at being a woman of leisure. Or a lady that lunches.

Don't get me wrong, I like to work. It's nice to feel accomplished doing something I enjoy and I didn't go to college for nothing.

But sometimes I envy the women who don't have to work. The women that can role out of bed and go to the gym, do their grocery shopping mid-day and come home and watch Oprah. Sometimes I really want to be one of those women.

And then there's the stay-at-home Mom. I read my fair share of mommy blogs and I know that it's not all fun and games. I've worked with kids and I know how hard it is to only have a baby to talk to all day. But I've thought about it and when I have a baby, I think I want to stay home with them. At least for awhile.

Last night I was in a really good mood driving home from work. I stopped at the grocery store and despite how much I hate it there, I was actually looking forward to picking out dinner. I strolled around, picking up fresh vegetables and shrimp and rice and I even managed to plan dinner for the next day. (Yes, I own a crockpot and yes, it is fantastic.)

When I got home I was actually looking forward to cooking. Michael greeted me with a big smile and a kiss and the dog showered me with kisses. After dinner Michael met up with some friends but I opted to stay home because I was tired.

But after realizing that Gilmore Girls was a repeat again, I decided lying on the couch would just not do.

So I cleaned.

As in vacuumed and straightened and scrubbed... and I think I have a serious problem because I actually enjoyed it.

A clean house is a happy house and who cares if I just vacuumed on Sunday? Right?

So it got me thinking. But the truth is, I'd probably be bored. Sure, being a freelance writer (yeah, I'd still write) with lots of free time sounds glamorous, but would I really want to do it everyday? Probably not.

Unless I was a lady who lunches. Because that would be fun.

Because Reading Is Good For The Mind

Every day I receive about 40 emails from a service that compiles topics that writers are working on and gives them access to possible sources (like me.) Basically, if the topic applies to my work, I respond.

On average I read through hundreds of topics each day ranging from financial to health to business. And every now and then a topic jumps out at me as really weird. So for your enjoyment, I've compiled some of my favorites from the last two days. With comments. Of course.

And remember, these are topics for articles you might very well read one day. By real writers. In real publications.

Fabulous Funerals
I don't know about you, but I wouldn't usually catagorize a funeral as fabulous. What makes a funeral fabulous? Do you have to make a special request to have a fabulous funeral? It there going to be a special on E! about fabulous funerals? Because I'm not going to lie, I might watch it. And how do I make sure that my own funeral will be fabulous?

Female Facial Hair
Not quite as captivating as Fabulous Funerals and to be honest I'm not sure I'd want to read this article. Maybe it's because I'm not a sufferer of female facial hair. Maybe it's because there's a thousand and one commercials for ways to get rid of it! Forever! Or maybe it's because I find it hard to believe someone could devote a whole article to the topic.

Companies That Engage Employees With Words
As opposed to engaging us with pictures and candy and shiny things and puppies. Ooooooh soft puppy. Must work harder....

Daddy Lit
Like Chick Lit? For dads? So instead of a novel about a sexy and single girl in the city it's about...? Dads? Do men want to read this?

Self Esteem and Girls: Overcoming the Curse
The Curse! If only someone had written an article when I was in middle school about my self esteem and how I could overcome the Curse. If only! My whole life could have been different. And such wisdom I could have passed on about the Curse! In fact, the Curse would become only an urban legend that we told our own children. "You think you have it bad? When I was your age I had to walk five miles to school in the snow with no shoes and I WAS CURSED!"

Recruiting New Nuns
Is this a how-to guide? In case I wanted to recruit my own nuns? And once recruited, could we do fun things, like make an all-nun softball team?

Male Attorney Fashions
Because when picking my attorney, the most important thing is who he's wearing. I will settle for nothing less than Prada.

How to be OK Without Being Nice
Now this I would read. How to be OK Without Being Nice...To Your Future Mother In Law.

Little Luxuries

Once a day: Warm flannel sheets, a piece of good dark chocolate, deciding what shoes to wear, rich and fragrant shea butter lotion, playing with the dog, cozying with Michael.

Once a week: A soy chai latte, carpooling with a good friend, Gilmore Girls, a glass of good wine, mid-week martinis with Jen.

Once a month: Massage therapy appointment, a new pair of shoes, bargain hunting at Marshalls, New York style pizza.

Once every six weeks: Hair appointment.

Once a year: Anniversary dinner, a big shopping splurge on clothes for the next season, (OK, so maybe that's twice a year...) sorority reunion, Mom's Thanksgiving dinner, toasting the new year.

What are your little luxuries? Go ahead, I love comments.

Why I Hate Doing Laundry

A photo essay:

So, I hate doing laundry. Hate. It. With a passion. There are many reasons I hate doing laundry, which include the carrying, the sorting, the folding and the putting away. Wait, isn't that everything that is involved in doing laundry? Oh yeah, that's right. I hate it all.

I am not proud to admit this, but we kind of let the pile grow a little too long. Or rather, a little too high. So I think to myself, wouldn't it be easier to carry if I put it in the upright basket?

Oh, God. I think it just multiplied. Or tripled. Is that seriously all our laundry? Kill me now.

You might think that would be the worst of it. But you would think wrong. Because when your house was built in 1900, the luxury of a laundry room does not exist. Oh no. The washer and dryer? They're in the basement. How do you get to the basement? You go outside. And open the bulkhead and walk down the most treacherous stairs ever carrying the above monstrosity.

OK. Made it down without falling or bruising my shin. Perhaps the task will look easier once I've sorted the clothes.

No. It does not. And yes, I have literally just aired my dirty laundry in front of the world.

(Hours later) This is all that remains of my entire afternoon of laundry. And I know where Michael's t-shirts go. I just can't bring myself to deal with one more piece of laundry.

Ugh. That was awful. Have I mentioned I hate doing laundry?

Dreamer

I had the strangest dreams last night. And I know you probably don't want to hear about my dreams, but it's my blog. So there.

The first dream was awful.

I dreamt Michael and I lived in this big house and we had a cat. We went out somewhere and when we returned we ran into a couple on the street. They had greasy hair and both looked like they were on some serious drugs. We started to walk by them and the guy pulled my arm and said with an evil sneer, "sorry about your cat."

The next thing I know we're in the house and everything is ransacked and for some reason I'm concerned that they went through my underwear drawer. Michael goes in the backyard and tells me not to come out. I go anyway and there is a bonfire. I never actually see it, but I know the cat is in it.

Weird. Creepy. Scary. What the hell? I have no idea where that came from.

The second dream...I know exactly where that came from. Last night before bed I was on the computer looking at rings. Yes, rings. So shoot me.

Michael asked me to go outside with him. It was snowing and beautiful and he had a box in his hand and I thought, "this is it!" He handed me the box and when I opened it there was about a dozen bands and fake diamonds in all shapes and sizes. I was supposed to assemble my dream ring with the pieces and show him the finished product. He told me once I was finished he would send away for it and the company would FedEx the real thing.

I remember being so disappointed because now it wasn't going to be a surprise.

Seriously, what did I eat before bed?

2007

Happy 2007! Ignoring the fact that the entire left side of my face was stuffed up and phlegm was collecting in my lungs for days, (mmm, nice) this weekend was great. Boobeski showed up on Saturday and we headed out for a day of shopping with Jen.

Sunday started with more shopping (I bought shoes. Surprised? I'm allowed...it was birthday weekend,) followed by a birthday dinner with us and Michael. Then in typical girly fashion, we took almost two hours to get ready to go out. Poor Michael was bombarded with estrogen and makeup and hair products until he retreated to the couch to watch some television.

My friend Margaret and her boyfriend showed up just in time to go out and we all headed to a local bar. The rest of the night was so much fun...good drinks, good company and a ton of hilarious pictures.

I said goodbye to 2006 with a champagne toast and the sweetest kiss from the man I love. (Saaaaaappy! Yeah, yeah. I know.) It was a wonderful birthday.

Now it's back to work after 10 days of vacation. Of course it's a very short week because my family is coming tomorrow night. So I can't really complain.

I got a few phone calls and a couple of hand-grabs from various people asking "Where's the ring?" In the back of my mind I had hoped it would happen by my birthday, until Michael and I talked about it on the way home from NY. He didn't want me to get my hopes up for a New Year's surprise because he knows me and he knows that if it didn't happen I wouldn't be able to hide my disappointment. So he told me flat out. Not this week.

I was bummed for a little bit until I realized that it's too predictable anyway. He's always saying he knows I want to be surprised so why would he do it when I was expecting it? And he asked me to show him what kind of rings I like...which I did. Immediately. So I'm taking that as a good sign.

So no, I was not disappointed that I didn't ring in 2007 with something sparkly on my hand. Because 2006 was a really great year. And I think 2007 is going to be even better.

(Snuggling at the bar? What can I say...he smells really good.)