Last week we had our old gross bathroom floor demolished and new swanky tile floor was installed. Normally, we try to do home improvement projects ourselves but sometimes it is best to hire a pro.
The pros were done in like four days which was fantastic. And now I have a lovely new floor that is even and easy to clean. Plus it looks about 10,000 times better.
Of course now, I'm looking at the old bathroom counter which has seen better days. And then the paint could use some touching up - maybe it would be easier to just repaint the whole thing. And the tile in the shower surround might need a little TLC.
Or we could demo out the rest and do something new!
Luckily, I've volunteered to help friends paint at their house this weekend. So by Monday I might have let go of my thirst for destruction. Or at least Deeps will have taken some time to hide the crowbar.
We were driving in to work on Monday - I was getting a drop-off near the T - when I spotted something that sent my heart aflutter.
Me: Oh My God! Deeps: What? Me: (pointing excitedly) Stop the car! Deeps: I'm in the middle of the road. Me: Pull over in the parking lot. Deeps: You shouldn't yell and point in my face while I'm driving. Me: But there's a turkey! Deeps: What? Me: Look!
We observed an enormous male turkey hanging out under a low tree. He was staring at an office building near Alewife.
Me: That is the biggest turkey I've ever seen. Deeps: How many turkeys have you seen? Me: I grew up in Indiana, so I've see a few. Also peacocks. Deeps: That's weird. Me: Drive over by the turkey, I want to take a picture. Deeps: For what? Me: The internet! Deeps: We need to go to work. You stay away from the turkey. Me: But... if I don't take the picture then I'll never make it on the deadly turkey watch section of Universal Hub. Deeps: What a tragedy. Me: I'm letting Adam Gaffin know that you hate Universal Hub. Deeps: I don't hate Universal Hub. Besides, that turkey looks big and angry. Me: That's how all turkeys look! Deeps: I wouldn't know. Me: I think Adam loves turkeys and would like to see this turkey. Deeps: Haven't been featured for a while, have you? Me: No. Deeps: You can't engineer interest... Me: I think I can with that turkey picture.
Today I saw Canadian Geese in the parking lot, but no turkey. If only I could get a picture of the geese fighting the turkey....
I landed Saturday morning after flying all night from San Francisco. I was pretty out of sorts for most of the day. Sunday morning I ran a few errands at the grocery store before settling down to make the usual Sunday brunchcast spread.
Deeps woke up very late, claiming he hadn't slept well while I was away. Whatever gets you through the day, dear.
Sometime around 11 AM he started the soft sell.
Deeps: Did you read anything about Mario Kart? Me: Not really. I heard it was coming out. Deeps: Do you think you might want to play it? Me: Is it cooperative? Deeps: Not really. But it's supposed to be a really fun racing game. Me: I like racing games. Deeps: We have that old one that you don't play. Me: I don't really like the controls. Deeps: I think you might like the game. It could be fun for us to play. Me: I guess we could rent it. Deeps: Yeah, if we wait a while I guess we could rent it. Me: That sounds good to me. Deeps: So you're interested in the game? Me: Sure!
He wandered off to get dressed while I figure out what shows we'd talk about. Sometime around 12 he announced he was going to "run errands."
Sometime around 12:45 Deeps rolled into the house with a big grin on my face.
Deeps: I found it! Me: What? Deeps: I had to go to Watertown but I found the game. Me: What game? Deeps: Mario Kart! Me: Oh the game I wanted? Deeps: You said you were interested.
Deeps had a birthday this week. We opted to take the day off and do all the stuff that he enjoys.
I had no idea the man liked food so much. I feel like we just ate all day. First a trip to the favorite bakery where they have that muffin he likes; then to the fancy cheese store to see if any delicious new cheese arrived; then to the pizza place in our old neighborhood where you can get lunch for two for around $5; then the most glorious record store in all the land looking for that new thing from that band; then the most lovely comic book store because he heard this one book was really good; then the fantastic used book store because they were having a huge sale; a side trip to get gourmet cupcakes because the place has a great name; and lastly a fine dinner at a little divey joint that serves pretty passable crab cakes.
Exhausting, fantastic, oh and we played video games too.
Looking at this list we did lots of stuff I liked - I might have squeezed in a trip to the pedicurist. But hey - it wasn't my day.
I think life is filled with little moments - encounters - where you discover you have an opinion about something you'd never really considered before.
For example, when looking for a house we had a checklist of stuff we wanted: three bedrooms, off-street parking, at least two bathrooms. It was a relatively simple list but then we were also applying new criteria based on gathering new information - seeing houses.
Prior to house hunting I didn't have any real thoughts about kitchen sinks. But after going though a few houses we determined we liked undermount sinks where you could wipe down a counter directly into the sink without going over a lip.
Apparently, members of the household have opinions about things that are even more mundane than sinks. This came up last night.
Deeps announced he wasn't interested in leftovers - delicious! - but wanted to make himself a sandwich. His sandwich skills are limited, so I expected he go with an ol' fashioned PB&J.
Me: Be careful with the peanut butter. Deeps: Why? Me: It isn't as dense as the stuff we've had in the past. Deeps: Okay. Me: It spreads more easily.
Moments later. Deeps: I don't like this new peanut butter. Me: Why not? Deeps: It's too gooey. Me: I guess I won't buy it again.
Sure - you thought you had sorted through all the opinions you have about peanut butter: delicious/not delicious or creamy/crunchy. But now there's a new dimension to consider: gooey/not gooey.
Deeps and I have a lot of interests - art, film, cooking, hiking, photography, and books to name a few - but we really like television. We like it so much we do a weekly pop culture podcast primarily about TV. (Are you still not listening? Because that hurts my feelings - I mean feeling.)
Anyway, the Writer's Strike was a little tougher on us than the usual TV viewer. Not only do we watch TV but we talk about it and other people listen to us discuss it. We muddled through and now that the strike is over, we are just a few weeks away from lots of returning television. Of course, that long run to new television was never more apparent than Wednesday night.
We had sent back our Netflix and the new shipment hadn't arrived yet. We stared down a hideous hour of TV featuring stuff like "Reality Narcissist" and "Suitcase or No Suitcase". I opted to explore the wonders of cable TV "on demand" which means you can watch total crap whenever you want.
Oh and the crap I found. I watched an episode of Fantasy Island from approximately 1978 (if my reading of roman numerals is right).
It was full of stars: Abe Vigoda, Cesar Romero, John Saxon, Don Knotts, Lisa Hartman and Florence Henderson. Two of the three stories covered topics that I were very popular in the 70s - nuns in crisis and satanists.
It was awful. Deeps actually begged me to stop watching. When I tried to fire up another episode, he suggested we just go to bed early.
I have a ground hog who lives under the shed in my backyard. He enjoys eating my hostas and taking one dainty bite from each of my tomatoes.
At least he did when I last saw his round body splayed out in the grass. He was casually napping in the sun in September. I haven't really seen him since then. But I'm sure he's still in the back yard, huddled up for a long winter's slumber.
Deeps did not care what the ground hog - mine or the famous one - said on Saturday. He had his own proclamation - the sun was out, it was a little warmer and he wanted to enjoy the day.
"I am psychologically over winter," he announced. "I will not shovel anymore. I'm finished."
"Look," I replied. "We're barely into February. This is still winter. February in the northern hemisphere is winter. Nobody disputes that."
Deeps grumbled that he was not going to shovel anymore. "We'll power out of the driveway instead. Isn't that what all-wheel-drive is for?"
I think somebody needs a little warm-weather getaway. I can swing that, as long as he doesn't dislodge our transmission before then.
Ever have a day where you could easily break into heaving sobs or slug someone in the face? I had a day like that yesterday.
These things happen. I'm not much for crying and punching people is frowned upon. So I have to come up with a different solution for blowing off steam.
I have been getting up in the wee hours of the morning to hit the treadmill and do a little cardio, combined with light strength training. That helps. But last night, it was not enough.
My mood was so foul that really only thing could snap me out of my funk - a little jalapeno pizza and blowing up stuff. Deeps suggested we pick up a pizza on the way home and then spend some quality time playing Lego Star Wars for the Wii.
I'm not a super huge Star Wars fan. I've seen the original three films - but I somehow skipped most of the newest three. So some parts of the game are confusing and unfamiliar. But I wield a light saber with the best of them.
Okay, sometimes I accidentally kill Deeps. But he's a good sport about it.
That's really important in a husband: the ability to forgive video game fouls, to know when your wife needs pizza for dinner, and to know that sometimes when she mutters to herself while flying around and killing stuff - well, that's best left without further comment.
I rolled in to see the nerds very briefly on Friday night. After a long day at the office, I was kind of beat. So I didn't stay long, but I offered up a few helpful identifiers for puzzles.
Apparently I'm your source for photos of young celebrities who are now old, once prominent German tennis players, founding fathers, and ex-presidents. It's a gift, really.
Deeps came home after the first "night" sometime around 4:30 in the morning. Like all people coming home late at night, trying not to wake their spouses he is at his loudest. Luckily, he just smelled of Mountain Dew and Doritos.
After an exciting brunch at a local diner, he headed back to the grind. I ran a bunch of errands. And last night, I dreamed in German. I made jokes, I was witty, and I chatted with German tourists visiting Boston.
To the best of my knowledge, I don't speak German. At least when I'm awake.
A few years ago Deeps gave me a little single-cup coffee maker. We call it "the fancy coffee maker" although, it isn't especially fancy given that you can find it on your average Target end cap display. But whatever. It is fancy to me!
Deeps doesn't drink coffee and I usually only have time for a cup in the AM so this little coffee maker - it uses single serve pods - works pretty well for me. Except the coffee in the pods is hideous.
It's weak, it's dull, and it's a little too expensive for something so crappy. I've tolerated this for a few years but a couple of weeks ago I started trying to hack the Senseo.
First, I tried making my own pods with tea filters. I'd read that other people had done it successfully - but clearly they are better with their arts and crafts skills than I am. I just made a big, watery mess with coffee everywhere except in the cup.
I kind of gave up for a while, but then I spotted something on Amazon that would allow me to use my own coffee without filters. I debated ordering it, but finally took the plunge and could not be more pleased.
Now I have the extremely delicious and dark French Roast in the morning. No weak, lame coffee for me. And that's important because I am down to one cup of caffeinated coffee a day. It makes me so happy in the morning, I don't even mind hauling out of bed at an ungodly hour for work.
Deeps noted that I wasn't so grumpy in the morning. French Roast saves marriages! I don't have to waste money buying supplemental coffee at work. French Roast is fiscally sound!
Yesterday the weather guys were saying 1-3 inches of snow for today.
This morning it's up to 8-12 inches of snow. I could make a crass joke, but I'll skip it. What this means for me is that I'm going to have to shovel. Deeps usually let's me skip shovel duty if we get a very light snow.
But once we get into half a foot territory it is all hands on deck. We shovel as a team, I think he sneaked it into the marriage vows.
I'll take pictures. We'll make cocoa. I'll need to take about three hours to get home from work. Hooray! Winter.
My father-in-law been hounding Deeps for several years about a GPS navigation system. Namely FIL would like to give us one.
We like gadgets - but we like stuff we're likely to use. We're just not likely to use the GPS. New England maps are notoriously unreliable, stuff is forever being re-routed. And our non-digital solution means that every time we get in the car we have an adventure.
I'm not trying to put rose-colored glasses on the situation - it's always an adventure. A nerve-wracking, hair-raising adventure that will one day result in our deaths.
Anyway.
A box arrived in the mail and inside was a GPS navigator for the car - Merry Christmas, love FIL. Despite the stupidity of the gift, we decided to take it for a test run out to suburbs we don't really know very well.
Out of the gate, the GPS told us to take a non-preferred route to interstate 93. Deeps ignored the weird, computery voice. I think the voice started to get mad at us.
It kept demanding that we turn right. Eventually we made our way to the highway and the GPS started to squawk again.
GPS: garbled Me: What's it saying? Deeps: Can you turn it up? Me: It's at max volume. Deeps: Is it saying Tarpulin? Me: Is there an exit we should be taking. Deeps: I don't really understand this thing.
About 10 minutes later we determined that the GPS was mispronouncing "Carpool Lane".
Just as we solved that mystery, we entered some tunnels and then things took a turn.
GPS: You have arrived at your destination. Me: Uhm - you're wrong. Deeps: We're in the middle of a tunnel. Me: I don't see any amazing stores near by. Deeps: I suppose you could do some holiday shopping here, but you'd probably be disappointed. Me: Especially when you got run over by a giant truck.
Eventually we left the tunnel and I started pushing buttons to get the GPS to remember the destination we'd programmed.
Deeps: It doesn't seem that bad. It just got a little confused. Me: You can't replace me with this - I'm the family navigator. I don't get us lost. Deeps: Except when you miss the turn. Me: That's because you don't listen. Deeps: *muttering* Me: And you don't listen to your Robot Girlfriend either. Deeps: Whatever. Me: She won't make you soup when you're sick. Deeps: This is a very generous but ridiculous gift. Me: I know. Deeps: It isn't really very practical for us. Me: I know. Deeps: I don't know why they insist on giving us stuff like this. Me: It is the magic of the holidays.
My non-denominational holiday totem went up earlier this weekend in a flurry of purple, ugly, and baking. Friends came over, we ate cookies, we dance and danced and possibly revolved. A baby slept, the cat hid and all was merry and bright.
But like with all beautiful and misunderstood things, tragedy would eventually strike.
The coffee table was moved out of the living room, temporarily, to the hallway by the closet. The tree sat atop the table while we rocked out in the living room. Seriously - you need room for the over 30 set with the Dance Dance Revolution.
After everyone left, Deeps decided to take out the trash which required shoes which were in the closet blocked by the table with the tree. He pushed the table aside and the tree toppled over onto the carpet.
He righted the tree, pushed again, and toppled the tree onto the hardwood floor - ornaments shattered along with my glittery, purple dreams.
I looked at the tree and glanced up to the beloved, but clumsy mathematician I married. How can one man be so smart but do something so stupid - twice?
Deeps looked stricken. He knew what I was thinking. We cleaned up the mess, I laughed a little, trying not to reveal my deep and weird affection for the ugly tree.
The ornaments are gone now. The tree has been packed away again. Deeps pleaded that we give the tree another shot - that he'd be careful. But I faced the facts - my wobbly tree was likely to be taken out again a cat, a guest or again by my husband. I couldn't face more ornamental destruction.
Maybe next year we'll get a real tree. For now, I'm content with some favorite ornaments in a big glass jar, the soft glow of the television and my husband dances, dances and revolves for my delight.
Plus - he does the laundry, and that makes most clumsy things he does very forgivable.
Tomorrow I'm waiting at home for a delivery - boring! So I thought this would be a good opportunity to get my baking on.
I really thought Deeps would step up over Thanksgiving to bake me some biscotti. Didn't happen. But with gentle coaxing from me - I think he's up for some hot oven action.
That sounds dirty.
Anyway, we're planning on doing some fun holiday baking to remind our neighbors that we are still around and to not hate us when we don't rake our leaves in a timely manner.
Plus it is easier to lure friends over with the promise of fresh baked goods. Actually, they call to invite themselves over to play with the Wii - but whatever. I still have friends.
Earlier this week I picked up a loaf of some kind of organic wheat bread from Trader Joe's. I've noticed something a little strange about it. It doesn't really toast.
Me: Do you think there is something wrong with the toaster? This bread doesn't really change color when you toast it. Deeps: Does it toast? Is the texture different? Me: A little. Deeps: Interesting. When I made toast with the other bread it worked fine. Me: I think it is the bread. It's too dense or something. Deeps: Maybe it is untoastable because it is organic and good for you. Me: That's probably wrong. Deeps: Like Pop Tarts. They don't really toast. They just get hot. Me: You're thinking is probably flawed. Deeps: This could change everything.
Deeps and I are having a relaxed and quiet Thanksgiving at home. Just us, the cat, and the Wii. We hear there might be snow.
Normally I'd go for Thanksgiving in a box - but since it is just us, I figured I'd go smaller - less than a 30 pound bird. I think we can still feel full on less than 15 pounds of turkey. Each.
Deeps might bake this year. This is about the time of year when he gets intrigued by baking complicated stuff. I think it appeals to the scientist in him. His kitchen creations live somewhere between Good Eats and Mythbusters.
I can only hope whatever he comes up with is delicious. And doesn't explode.
It's starting to get a little chilly 'round these parts. That's pretty typical for New England this time of year.
Last night Deeps was sorting through some winter gear - gloves, hats, and scarves - when he noticed that his "favorite scarf" was a mess of holes and tears.
Deeps: It looks like something ate it. Me: What? Are the others eaten? Deeps: Just mine.
I pulled out the little storage baskets holding our stuff and noticed a couple of dead moths behind them. Eww.
Me: I guess a moth ate your scarf. Deeps: We should have used mothballs. Me: No. Deeps: It would have saved my scarf. Me: But we'd have smelled like mothballs. That is totally unacceptable. Besides, who has stuff eaten by moths anymore? Is this Dickensian England? Deeps: I really liked that scarf.
I'm going to hear about this for a while. But there will be no mothballs. Cedar balls, lavender oil, whatever - no mothballs. The smell... Our marriage couldn't take it.
I listen to the PRI podcasts for Marketplace a day after they air - last night while walking to the T I listened to Monday's podcast.
Near the end of the episode I heard a funny piece from Sandra Tsing Loh about shady Halloween stores. While hunting for a costume for her 2nd grader she mentioned that many of the displays in those places are graphic and freaked out her kids.
I chuckled a bit and thought nothing more of it.
Then around 11:15 last night, minutes after I fell asleep, I awoke to the sound of screaming. My screaming. Apparently I'd had one of those weird, brief nightmares where I'm not so out that I can't still move around. I was sitting up, swinging at the imaginary skeleton that was hanging over my bed. The skeleton looked like the type Tsing Loh described in her piece.
Clearly I was working through some issues with Public Radio and Halloween.
Deeps raced up the stairs to find me laughing at my stupid dream.
Me: It was just a nightmare. Deeps: You're okay? Me: Yeah. And don't worry. Whatever it was, I was punching the hell out of it anyway. Deeps: When I come to bed, I'm going to announce it so you don't punch me. Me: That's probably a good idea.
At the end of the summer we look at the list of projects we wanted to do and see how we fared. And we check to see if there is anything more we'd like to get finished before winter.
We were talking about putting in a new storm door when I raised a topic that's been bugging me for a few days.
Me: The toilet has been making weird sounds for a while. Deeps: Oh yeah? Me: It gurgles and glugs. Deeps: It's always done that. Me: I don't think it's supposed to be so noisy. Deeps: I don't know if it's a big deal. Me: I think the toilet might be haunted. Deeps: I don't think so. Me: It's unhappy and wants to make itself heard. Heed my warning! The toilet is haunted. Deeps: I can try to fix it. Me: That's all I want. Deeps: That reminds me, we should pick up Halloween candy soon.
This morning we were driving to work - well, Deeps was giving me a courtesy drop-off closer to the train station on his way to work.
We were having a very pleasant morning. We chatted a bit about the day and we approached a big intersection. A few bicyclists rode past us and we gave them some space at the red light.
It had been red for a few moments and we slowly rolled to a stop.
Then a big thud jostled us both.
A lady had hit us from behind. If she'd hit us much harder, she'd have pushed us into the cyclists.
I might have busted out something like, "Oh my goodness gracious me!" - or WTF!. I can't be sure. Deeps and I turned to look at the woman behind us. She just did a little shoulder shrug like "whoops." She didn't get out of the car.
She didn't hit us very hard, but she did hit us. We quickly popped out of the car to assess any damage. There wasn't any. Bumpers are for bumping, we reminded ourselves. She never bothered to inspect the damage to her car or ours. She just waved at us - like the the prom queen.
I got back in the car with disgust, Deeps pulled away and we assessed the situation.
Deeps: I'm not even sure what to say to someone that stupid so early in the day. Me: You tell her that she shouldn't be such an irresponsible %@$#!. Deeps: I'm not going to call her that. Me: I know - that's what I'm here for. I swear for the family.
I'm hoping this won't be an annual event.The car wreck - not the swearing. That's a weekly event.
Our friends recently had a baby and while Deeps and I are old pros at playing the doting friends/aunt and uncle, they are new parents.
I've tried not to give too much unsolicited advice. But over the weekend I couldn't resist.
Their baby had a little wetting incident that took out his outfit and Deeps' in the process.
I suggested they go for bigger diapers. I haven't heard if it has made a difference yet, but I hope it didn't make things worse.
Deeps wasn't especially flustered by the wetting either. Kids have let loose on us in many ways from vomit to spaghetti sauce. It's all about proximity.
But we might have been a little too casual about it. When we got home we put away mail and started doing a few chores when I got a whiff of my husband.
Me: You stink. Deeps: A baby peed on me. Me: Yes, but now you need to do something about it. Deeps: I thought babies weren't supposed to stink that much when they are little. Me: Well, clearly this child is exceptional.
Me: You didn't turn the air conditioner on in the bedroom. Deeps: But you did now? Me: Yeah, it's really hot upstairs. Deeps: It'll cool down soon. Me: It is 85 degrees at 11:30! Deeps: You'll be fine. Me: It's too hot to sleep. Deeps: It'll cool off soon enough. Me: You make it hard for me, when you say stuff like that.
Later....
Me: How was your doctor's appointment? Deeps: Fine. Me: Did you ask her about your foot? Deeps: No. Me: You've been hobbling around and your toe is almost black. Deeps: It's just a blood blister. It looks much better. Me: You've been limping and complaining for two days. Deeps: So? Me: And you were at the doctor and you didn't ask her about it? Deeps: No. Me: I don't know what to do with you sometimes.
Even later....
I was putting away the groceries when I found a little carton of hand-packed Strawberry-Kiwi sorbet.
Me: Where'd you find this? I thought they were out. Deeps: I asked someone for it. Me: Aww, thanks. Deeps: I know it's your favorite.
Deeps was out of town this week for a business trip. He was due to take a very late night flight back to Boston and he left me a series of messages with updates.
7:30 Hi, it's me. I'm at the airport really early. But what do I care? Ooh, I think Fisher Stevens is getting his shoes shined.
7:45 Looks like there are a lot of delays. I'll let you know if I'm delayed. I don't see Fisher Stevens anymore.
8:00 My flight is overbooked and I'm in a middle seat. And I lost my magazine.
I was at the grocery store when all this went down, so I called him back when I got home. We agreed flying is awful (which is putting a crimp in my plans to do a big trip to Europe later this year). And that being in the middle seat was extra awful on a long flight.
Me: Maybe you can sit by a baby and a chatty salesman. Deeps: I can only hope. Me: Or a baby and Fisher Stevens. Deeps: I think he's going to Chicago. Me: It's probably better to fly with Fisher Stevens than Cat Stevens. Deeps: Or Ted Kennedy. Me: Just stay off the no fly list.
Does it help if I promise that this is the last time I throw Wii into the title of a blog post to make a bad pun?
I promise!
So we had a long weekend - like many in the U.S. - and we played a tremendous amount of virtual tennis. Friday was extremely hot. We got a call around 8 to meet some friends for ice cream. After enjoying in the cool sensations of frozen confections, our friends casually raised the topic of the Wii.
Perhaps they could come over to play?
Of course!
Saturday we invited more friends over to play video games and eat pizza. Very quickly we reverted to our 14-year-old selves. We had a great time.
Then Sunday we podcasted, as usual, and afterwards Derek and Deeps played video games while I edited. I won't go so far as to say Derek was here for a long time - but he showed up for brunch around noonish and we kicked him out around 9 PM. After a late dinner of course.
Yesterday was free of Wii. We went to a cookout and ate too much. Our arms needed a break - I don't want to develop Wii Tennis elbow.
Our five year wedding anniversary is coming up. We've been together a long time - it's a milestone event. And how do we mark this occasion? Well a couple of years ago we went to Italy and bought a house. Last year we ordered pizza.
This year we'll be playing Tennis - Wii Tennis.
When the Wii came out last year I joked that there'd be no problem getting one for our anniversary. I was wrong.
About a month ago while on a trip to Jersey we checked at stores in MA, CT, NY and NJ without luck. I tried online. I listened to the Wicked Good Podcast for tips - I even got some inside scoop from WGP's Steve about when shipments might arrive. But I had no luck.
I'd given up. And frankly, I wasn't totally sure that we were ready for our first video game system. Every time one is introduced, we'd ask our friend who reviews games for a living. He'd tell us about the wonders of the latest system. We'd listen eagerly and then interest would fade out. Mostly, we just played with his stuff.
While we were in Indianapolis, I accidentally found a Wii and snatched it up immediately. It was not too hard to get on the plane, I just told security and they X-rayed it a couple of times.
Last night we played each other for the first time. He proclaimed that he has "an awesome forehand." He was so proud. I snickered a little.
He hasn't quite figured out that I'm stealthily inserting exercise into his media consumption. Wait until DDR for the Wii comes out. He'll be unstoppable.
Sometimes we go on walks after dinner. It's pretty easy to lure Deeps out of the house with the promise of ice cream.
A few nights ago we walked around the center and popped into our local frogurtorium. In line in front of us was a lady with her toddler age daughter. The girl was at the beginning of a melt-down (get it!) over ice cream. She was kind of writhing around and ended up pulling her dress over her head.
We've all been there. I can't begin to tell you what I'm like when I don't get my frogurts. Deeps and I stifled giggles.
A moment later a lady with a cat carrier rolled in. The cat was not happy - and let us all know about it by several sad wails.
We got our ice cream (and frogurt!) and high-tailed it out of the store. We rounded the corner to head home when we nearly ran into a tall women dressed in a black mini dress and white Go-Go boots.
As we walked away we tried to figure out where the Go-Go boots lady was headed. We didn't assume she was meeting up with the cat lady or tantrum girl. I suggested the local school might be doing a non-traditional fund raiser (scandalous!) but Deeps pointed to the theater where a few bands were playing.
We approached our house and started to cross the street when a woman came racing down and did a big U-turn - Starsky and Hutch style - around us. We jumped back on the sidewalk and she ignored us as she went back up the street and whipped into a parking spot.
Deeps and I shook our heads, muttering. Deeps asked if the lady might be Giant Dog lady. I started to reply when the barking started. The giant dog, fond of lunging at me in the most menacing manner, came bounding out of the car. I pushed Deeps up against a tree and we kind of hid.
"If anything goes wrong, throw your ice cream at the dog and run for your life!" I instructed.
The dog eventually wandered into his house while his owner bellowed to someone out of sight. With the dog safely secured we continued on our way.
I think the journey to Mordor took less time.
We encountered a few more dogs - German Short hair Pointers - and they seemed ambivalent to us. A cat jumped out and startled me. Some squirrels scampered by. The evil bluebird called out.
I'm starting to appreciate Deeps' perspective. He doesn't much care for dogs and nature doesn't do much for him either. After our little stroll, I can see why.
Every day Deeps and I have the same conversation. Well, besides the 'What's for dinner?' chat.
We talk about what we read on the Internet.
Over time we talk about the same people and sites. So I guess those people - and their sites - have become household names. For example, I was complaining about how boring Veronica Mars was on Tuesday. Then I invoke support. "Sepinwall agrees with me," I intone. Alan Sepinwall is a TV critic in Newark and he also has a really fantastic blog called What's Alan Watching?
Last week Deeps mentioned something that "my friend, Tim Goodman, said." Tim Goodman is the TV critic at the San Francisco Chronicle and he blogs at The Bastard Machine.
Then there's our local connection. I love Universal Hub - it is a fantastic source for all cool blog happenings in the greater Boston area. Deeps and I both read and talk about UH so frequently that UH inadvertently lead to a little argument.
See, Deeps refuses to allow me to post pictures of him to the blog. So last year there was a snowstorm and I blogged about it - including a picture of Deeps holding a shovel over his head in triumph. We'd shoveled the entire driveway and were feeling good about it. Deeps was completely obscured by his cold-weather gear.
I would have gotten away with it too if not for the Universal Hub. Instead I got a little phone call and a verbal cease and desist.
Who expects these things from her husband? I guess I do.
Someday I'll search out Adam, over at UH and buy him a drink. He's sparked a fight between me and Deeps, so he's practically family.
Last night we did some grocery shopping in Porter and swung through Davis so that Deeps could pick up some tickets for the Boston Independent Film Festival.
After buying the tickets we headed home. At a stoplight he thrust a printout of the schedule at me.
Me: What's this? Deeps: The schedule. I thought there might be some stuff you'd like to see. Me: I can't really read this right now? Deeps: Why? Me: The type is too small and we're driving on a bumpy road. Deeps: Are you kidding? Me: No! This is maybe six point type! We're driving! Deeps: I had no idea your vision was so poor. Me: It's not that bad. Deeps: Can you hear me? Me: Don't start. Deeps: I want you to know that as you become more infirm I will take care of you. Me: SIX! POINT! TYPE!
Deeps and I were milling about in the kitchen - as we sometimes do - preparing dinner.
The cat wandered in and let loose a sad howly-meow to alert me that she'd like food. I told her she gets fed before I got to bed. Apparently I think the cat can understand English.
She sat by her food bowl and meowed some more.
I reached to give her a few pieces of dry food.
Deeps: I thought you feed her later. Me: I do. Deeps: Then she can wait, right? Me: She can, but I she's been pretty good. She hasn't been waking me up in the morning or breaking stuff. Deeps: Ah Poopus, the soft bigotry of lowered expectations. Me: I'm blogging that. Deeps: Why should today be any different?
Wednesday night we met in Harvard Square for dinner and a movie. The plan was to hit The Brattle after dinner for Super Cops. I'll get to that in a second.
We ate dinner at a large restaurant, I'll leave it unnamed. When we got there around 6:15 it was bustling but not overly busy. The waitress sat us next to a family - mom, dad, infant and a couple of teens. I think it was a teacher/exchange student set up. Whatever.
About 15 minutes into our meal, an interesting smell wafted in my direction. I took a deep breath and the aroma overwhelmed me - poopy pants.
I whipped my head over to the infant, the most likely culprit. She seemed pretty innocent and her parents were holding her. They didn't seem like the type to ignore a stinky diaper. Maybe it was a fluke. The smell went away quickly.
A few minutes later it came wafted through again. Deeps smelled it and made a face. We tried to figure out where it was coming from but had no luck. Eventually we paid the bill and left.
Mysterious mystery? Oh yes!
The night improved when we got out into the fresh air and we headed over to the Brattle. Deeps walked up to the window to find buy tickets and stopped short. The movie we were supposed to see was not showing.
This happens from time-to-time at the Brattle when they order old or obscure prints. We were scheduled to see Super Cops - I was particularly excited about the "Hey It's That Guy" pair up of both Ron Leibman and David Selby. Deeps couldn't remember who David Selby is. Clearly he never watched Falcon Crest.
Deeps talked to the ticket guy and returned with a report.
Deeps: So they are going to show The French Connection. Me: A fine film. Deeps: Yeah. Me: I don't really want to watch it. Deeps: Yeah, me either. Me: I was ready for Super Cops. Deeps: I don't know if it is a good movie. It's just obscure. Me: Still. So are they going to show it when the print arrives. Deeps: Apparently someone stole the print. Me: Really? Deeps: That's what the guy said. Me: Wow. Deeps: I know. Me: Who do you call? The regular police or the super police. Deeps: I knew you'd make that joke. Me: This is serious, some dude is wandering around with giant 35 mm film cannisters - what do you even do with this? Deeps: Wallpaper? Me: Make a chandelier. Deeps: We should go home. Me: I think the restaurant funk has seriously affected our ability to deal with this situation properly.
The gentle scrape, scrape sound woke us up around 7:50 this morning. I had a suspicion it would be my very diligent neighbor, cleaning his sidewalk.
I tried to ignore the sound, but then the cat started howling and I couldn’t hide much longer. Deeps headed for the bathroom.
“Hey, since you are up can you go feed the cat?” I asked from under a pile of warm blankets.
“So’s your face,” he replied.
I laughed really hard.
We both got up and got dressed in warm gear and pulled out extra pants and socks to wear when we were done digging out.
Since it was barely 8 in the morning I suggested, in the name of decency, that we wait until 9 before shoveling - so that we could have some breakfast and see when the storm might end.
Deeps looked out the window and spotted the neighbors who were scraping; he motioned me over. It wasn’t the guy we suspected. It was the pair of old ladies who live down the street. They were out in matching winter gear – one all in sea foam green and the other resplendent in dusky pink. They both sported those rain bonnets I’ve never seen on a woman under 75 years old.
I sighed heavily.
“Now we have to go,” I said. “Look at them. They’re already down to bare asphalt.”
Deeps nodded and handed me my boots. I thought this was brave, considering what happened to him after the last snow storm.
About ten minutes later I was making the gentle scraping sounds on the sidewalk while Deeps tackled the giant snow bank at the foot of the driveway. The old lady team was almost done with their clearing.
I noticed other neighbors had rolled out of bed early to start shoveling as well.
The old ladies are really doing a service for the neighborhood. They shame us all into action – with matching winter wear no less – before 9 o’clock in the morning.
I'm sure a lot of married people play the game of who can hold out the longest before doing some chore around the house like laundry or the dishes.
We don't have that problem. We do play chicken - with grocery shopping.
I can't think of any single chore that we hate more. So we're supposed to get a snow storm or something tomorrow, that means someone had to blink.
Me: It's supposed to snow a lot tomorrow. Deeps: Yeah, I heard it was only a few inches. Me: Ah. Well, either way, we should be ready. Deeps: I know well the shovels are. Me: Yeah, I've been tripping over them for three months. Deeps: I just like to be ready. Me: But we don't have any food. Deeps: Oh. Me: Have you looked in the fridge? Deeps: We have food. Me: You can hear an echo in there. Deeps: We have butter. Me: What meal can I make with butter? Deeps: Sandwiches? Me: We'd need bread. Deeps: Fine. We'll go to the grocery store. Me: As a team. Deeps: As a team. Me: You never leave a man behind.
We got to the grocery store just in time, before the screaming hordes came blazing in buy up all the good stuff. I'm happy to report that we got milk, bread and eggs. Plus two kinds of sausage for brunch!
When you read beautiful poetry about spring, you get a sense of its fecundity – but with all birth and creation… there’s some gross stuff.
Spring kind of stinks. At least for the first few weeks. All the gross stuff that was hidden away by snow, decomposing over winter is now exposed to the light and the air. It smells.
And let’s not forget what else comes with spring – babies. To get babies, you’ve got to go through mating season, which is loud (I hear you freaking evil blue jay!) and sometimes smelly. I’m writing specifically of skunks.
We drove along Route 2 a few days ago – it had been a warmish day – and we had the windows down. The air felt clean and good. Then suddenly, without warning the stench of skunk love hit us. We rolled up our windows a held our breath a few moments.
I pinched my nose and looked at Deeps. I saw him muttering and shaking his head.
“Stinks like spring,” he said.
“It’s one of Byron’s less successful poems,” I replied.
We were at the Guggenheim yesterday because someone wanted to see the big Spanish Painting exhibit for his birthday.
I don’t normally get to take side trips in to the city when we visit the family in Jersey – so this was a total bonus for me. Plus, I got a chocolate croissant. Score!
We arrived fairly early and started working our way up through the galleries. A giant herd of kids ambled along in front of us. I reckon they were about eight-years-old. A docent talked to the kids – they sprawled on the floor and started drawing pictures.
Deeps and I watched the kids admire the art and their own handiwork for a few minutes. Then we heard some anxious parents talk to their children as they pushed ahead. A pair of twin girls trailed behind their parents. The kids looked kind of bored – one hung back a lot.
Mom: Violet, who painted this? Violet: Renoir? Mom: No. Look at the subject matter. Who paints ladies like this? Violet: Uhm. Mom: It’s Degas. Now tell me what influenced him.
In the span of a few feet we saw two different models for exposing children to art. And then Deeps and I dreamed up a third.
Me: Hah. Ol’ Chuckles had some problems. Deeps: The entire Spanish Court did. That’s why you shouldn’t marry your sister. Me: What do you think they tell the kids when they show them the paintings of the Spanish Court? Deeps: It’s a good story. Me: For giving your kids nightmares.
Darren wrote a very funny post about his love of hot and spicy food.
I'm the only one in my immediate family who really enjoys the super spicy food. And I found just the right man to marry - a man with an even higher tolerance for hot foods. I should note that each summer I grow jalapenos and habaneros. We like the hot.
Early in our dating career we'd go out looking for Indian food. At the time, we were both college students in western Massachusetts and finding Indian food was pretty tough. We'd drive about 30 miles for it - and it wasn't especially good.
Whenever we'd order we'd tell the waiter to bring it as spicy as possible. They would - and it would be kind of spicy, but nothing to write home about. The waiters would hover to see if they'd killed us.
In New England I find that people are a little more sensitive to hot spices. In fact, I've heard people complain about salsa - that is essentially ketchup - being too hot. This might explain why we had a tough time getting anything truly spicy.
One day Deeps told me that he'd heard of a place about 50 miles away and that they had very good Indian food. We piled in the car one cold, winter night and drove to a little town. We had to kind of hunt for the place - it was small, on a dark street and near a defunct train depot.
We were the only patrons and the chef came out to chat with us briefly while we ordered. We ordered our usual selection of delicious items and the chef asked if we wanted it spicy. Absolutely!
A short while later curries came out and we started to eat. I was probably about four bites into my meal when I realized I was in trouble.
I find Indian food has a slow burn - you don't realize what's happened until it's pretty much too late to do anything about it. I started to sweat a little. Then my nose started to run. Then I just started kind of wheezing.
Deeps figured out what happened pretty quickly as well, the food was almost too hot for him. His tolerance is slightly higher than mine so we didn't have the same reaction.
The waiter brought me more water. I kept wiping my nose and my face. My tongue felt like it was swelling. I couldn't stop sweating. My nose was like a river. Best date ever.
I went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face, to get my nose under control and to recover. I looked like I'd been running a marathon, during allergy season. I was a mess.
The chef came out with raita and lassis and apologies. He was very apologetic but we told him not to worry. We were young and could handle it.
I gave up on my Vindaloo and switched to something else. We survived unscathed and suffered to serious after-effects.
Deeps reminisces fondly about that restaurant. And every time we go out for Indian food, we wonder if this will be regular or extra spicy. So far, nobody's been able to make me sweat.
We get a lot of junk mail and credit card solicitations. So I sort through them and shred sensitive stuff and recycle everything else.
Early this week I had collected a rather impressive pile of stuff to shred. In a matter of minutes I'd done something very wrong.
Shredder: GRRR! Me: Uh oh. Deeps: What did you do? Me: I'm just shredding! Deeps: You can't put a whole piece of mail through there - you have to open stuff up! Me: I thought it could handle it. Shredder: Choke! Sputter! Me: Aw frick. Deeps: We don't have an industrial shredder. Me: I think I've done it before. Deeps: That was the last shredder. Which you broke. Me: Oh. Deeps: I don't even think we can get a shredder that would work for you. I think you'd need some kind of feral cat. Me: Feral cats shred stuff and leave a mess. I'd need a goat. Deeps: A feral goat? Me: I'll accept any goat. That would be an excellent anniversary present. Deeps: No. Me: Yeah! Five years of marriage totally equals one goat.
I bought a non-industrial shredder a few hours later. It joins another new friend that really sucks and rhymes with bison (hat tip to Kristen).
This week is school vacation week in Massachusetts. We didn’t have this kind of February break when I was in school in Indiana. We just had regular ol’ Spring Break.
Watching all of these families tromp around the city makes me think about vacations. Lots and lots of vacations.
See – I have this idea that we should take as many vacations as we can this year, just because.
Then I dig around the internets for excellent travel deals or inspiration for travel. And then I remember who I married. I don’t want to call him the Vacation Nazi, but he’s the man who switches from laid-back type B to hard-core Type A shortly after he boards the plane.
He wants a plan, every day, he wants to get up early and start attacking the city like invading Visigoths.
When we were in London, we walked miles and miles and miles every day – in the rain (the rains where most of the UK was flooded in 2000) and mud. We saw every possible museum, gallery and exhibit. I never got to go to a night club or anything because Deeps is a morning person. Not that I could really do anything at a night club because my feet stopped working sometime around 6 PM.
Paris was the same way, although I thought I could thwart Deeps by refusing to assist in translation from French. But even then he overcame his French-deficit by digging in and teaching himself enough French to read the newspaper and find stuff for us to do.
I begged to have a day to sleep in.
I was unconscious by 10 PM every night, my feet throbbing until we were roused early in the morning to take advantage of the hotel’s free breakfast.
I was thinking yesterday that maybe we should go to Italy on vacation. But after reading over this post, I’m starting to think that I might want to just take separate vacations.
Needing a vacation from your vacation isn’t really relaxing.
Deeps and I spent some quality breaking ice when the temperature climbed above freezing on Saturday.
I’ve never been on a chain gang, breaking rocks – but I’d imagine that breaking ice is probably a little bit like it. Your arms are like jelly after a few minutes.
We couldn’t find any more ice breaking tools, so I figured my semi-hoe thingey would work. It has a fork on one side and a flat hoe on the other.
I’m enjoying using the word hoe.
Anyway, Deeps was using our snow shovel which wasn’t doing the trick. The hoe and I went to town, ice chips were flying and I was making enough noise to alarm an elderly woman down the street. I think she thought I was cursing.
But the ice was thick, maybe five or six inches near the front steps, and my hoe was not quite strong enough. I gave up after about 15 minutes of fruitless efforts – the fork prongs were bent.
I paused for a few moments and spread salt. But not just any salt – table salt because everywhere in town is sold out of sidewalk salt. I figured salt was salt. It isn’t cost effective by the pound, but I spent four bucks and got enough to at least make my steps less deadly.
Deeps took the hoe to the sidewalk while I shoveled up giant pieces of ice. A few minutes later he called to me, looking rather contrite.
“I think the hoe is dead,” he said. And he was right – we’d knocked it off the handle.
“It was a good hoe and it died a noble death,” I said. I hung my head in silence.
“We have some ice left,” Deeps said.
“I’ll be in the house, I’m mourning the loss of my favorite garden tool,” I replied.
Deeps sighed, “I guess I’m going to break up the rest of the ice.”
I heard a terrible banging at the back door about an hour ago.
Deeps had gone out to break up some of the ice that has formed on the steps. It's several inches thick.
I figured he was locked out.
Instead he was hunched over and bleeding.
He fell on the ice and somehow smacked himself in the nose causing a massive nose bleed. He's okay now, but there's blood all over the driveway and the steps and the back of the house. It looks a little bit like a horror movie.
I pulled him out of his bloody, winter clothes and parked him on a chair while handing wet paper towels. We patched him up in a few minutes, and then I convinced him to throw a little ice pack on his face.
I handed him a package of peas.
Deeps: Peas? Me: Yeah, they're easy to move around so you can form it to your face. Deeps: Fine. Me: Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Deeps: No, I just fell on my side. Me: Why were on you the driveway? I told you it was deadly! Deeps: I was trying to get to the ice in front and didn't want to track snow through the house. Me: So you're tracking blood through instead. Deeps: I didn't say it was a perfect plan.
And that is why my husband has had peas pressed against his face for the past twenty minutes. We have a real ice pack, but I find the peas to be more comedic.
So we got a little snow, but we've gotten lots and lots of sleet and freezing rain.
Earlier today it sounded a lot like a giant was hurdling a million little pebbles at the house. Upstairs, the roof sounds like it might be made of tin, the noise is so loud.
Meanwhile, we've shoveled. And by we, I mean Deeps. I've been working.
And I made lunch.
And breakfast.
Things are icing up. We watched our neighbor struggle for a while trying to get his car into a relatively flat driveway. He couldn't get enough traction to get up over the curb.
People are sliding around but we're warm and safe inside. And if I'm not mistake I hear the familiar pinging of my husband stirring hot chocolate on the stove.
People are scrambling: milk, bread, eggs - the usual.
I was chatting with a colleague yesterday when she confessed that she'd gotten rid of her old snow boots and hadn't replaced them this year. Whoops. I'm hooking her up.
I don't think my office will close, but I have the option to work at home. Deeps can't work at home but I strongly suggested (demanded, threatened, yelled) that he stay home tomorrow especially if ice is in play. He can snuggle up with a book, I'll snuggle up with the laptop and we're good to go.
Except for one thing.
Me: Uh oh, I'm going to have to run to the grocery store. Deeps: We just went on Sunday. Me: Yeah, but I'm almost out of Splenda. Deeps: So? Me: Look, I need my coffee in the morning and I need Splenda for it. That's just how I roll. Deeps: Sounds like you could have a problem. Me: Oh, it won't be just my problem. Deeps: Ah, man.
The idea of being snowed in without coffee is more than I can bear.
Hey, snow isn't just for Oswego, New York anymore!
We're supposed to get something on Valentine's Day. Yesterday they said "blizzard" and today they're saying "plowable snow event." I have no idea what that means.
I assume that is somewhere between 1 and 100 inches of snow.
Sounds like we might get a lot of ice around here, so I've confirmed we have water and batteries and food. The big blanket is ready, I'm planning to work from home if the weather is bad and our Valentine plans are unchanged: eat soup and watch LOST.
My dentist was very concerned about my pain issues. But I think he was focusing on the wrong stuff.
He talked to me at length about the possibility of a root canal if I felt any extreme pain.
I tried to get him to quantify the pain for me, but he had a tough time describing it.
Me: Is it like, mind altering and life changing? Dentist: Yeah, that’s a good way to look at it. Me: But not stuff like being sensitive to hot and cold. Dentist: No. Sensitivity to hot and cold is normal, but like really excruciating pain is a problem. Me: I’ll keep that in mind. Dentist: Look, you’ll know it if it happens. Me: I like how you’re selling it to me.
What he kind of underplayed wasn’t the hot and cold, although I’m certainly sensitive, he didn’t mention that my face would feel so sore and tender and bruised. That I’d feel like I went a few rounds with some guy with the name Macho or Sugar in his name.
Today it is smoothies for me and more chicken soup for Deeps. Between the two of us we’re like one normal person.
Last night we had a fine dusting of snow during our drive home from work. As we slowly made our way up Massachusetts Avenue I felt like we were in some kind of heinous video game.
I was the spotter and Deeps, per usual, was the driver.
The spotter helps you, the driver, understand what terrors await you and who will try to crash into you.
A spotter might say something like: Watch out for that cop, he’s going to walk right in front of us. I don’t think the lady in the mini van sees us. I’m not sure what this guy is doing? Oh he’s on the phone. That dude may try to ram us. Why do people insist on jaywalking with their babies in a stroller? Do they not love their children? Oh God! We’re going to die! What is wrong with people.
Sometimes the spotter falls down on the job. Now in other circumstances and towns the spotter would be a backseat driver. But we drive as a team and whenever I’m not spotting I hear about it.
Why didn’t you tell me about that cop? It’s really dark out. Or Did you see that dude who tried to ram us?
Yeah, so it goes both ways. Since I’m often most-likely to die from the ramming or car crash, I figure I’ll just keep spotting and apologize later.
This kind of defensive driving is necessary and important. Now, add in a mysterious element like snow and the drive can be a little treacherous. Sure, there was a dusting of snow, but it was a enough to be a little be slippery.
Me: This added element of danger makes the drive home more exciting. Deeps: Hmm. Me: And by exciting I mean, why are these people so stupid? Deeps: I don’t think they are intentionally stupid. They’re distracted. Me: Right. It’s a hard day. You get into a vehicle that weighs, roughly, 2000 pounds and decide this is a good time to talk to your friend and do your taxes. Deeps: People are busy. Me: Yeah. Deeps: Besides, these people are just getting their stupid on. Me: What? Deeps: See, they forgot what winter is like so today is the first day that they can get their winter stupid on.
I started to laugh, but found a gasp instead as a guy ran a light and nearly sideswiped us.
Deeps: Classic winter stupid, that's what you have there.
Remember a few weeks ago when I wrote 500+ word tome about buying new furniture for my bedroom? Yeah, that was good stuff. Some day you’ll have children who will balk at writing 500 words about Huckleberry Finn.
Anyway.
The furniture was delivered and when Deeps got home, we set about tearing apart the huge boxes the goods arrived in. Now we didn’t get flat packed furniture, which was the point, and our “assembly” was pretty straight forward. We had to screw some legs onto the dressers and put the bed together.
Now when we purchased the furniture we had the option of paying $15 to have the bed frame assembled. It is just a low platform with a headboard – we opted to put it together ourselves because how hard could that be?
I’m sure you know where this is going.
It’s about three hours of hard. Three hours of tired. Three hours of stupid. Three hours of silent seething. Three hours of watching your marriage come apart at the seams. Okay, maybe not that bad. But still.
We had to put the bed together in order to go to bed – so we were motivated. I won’t go into details, but let it be known that two adults who’ve spent the week working very hard at their respective jobs are not always in the best condition to assemble furniture. Even something as simple as a box with some slats to hold up a mattress.
That night, we slept the sleep of the righteous. Before we drifted off, I asked my husband a question. Was it worth it?
Deeps replied, “I think so.”
I added that some day we might have to hire guys to move the furniture out of the bedroom, because I won’t be helping.
He laughed and said “You’re kidding, right? We’re selling the bedroom furniture with the house.”
Me: Wow. Deeps: I know. Me: You know - I actually clean under there. Deeps: Me too. I pull the bed away from the wall and vacuum behind it too. Me: I guess there is no way to easily move the dressers for cleaning, huh? Deeps: Guess not. Me: Does the cat sleep under there or something? Deeps: It looks like something bigger than a cat was under there. Me: Gross. At least we don't have a carpet under there. Deeps: Seriously, where does all this stuff come from? We've only lived here for a year and a half. Me: For a while I thought those cat litter commercials were just little stories to sell litter. Now I realize they were also warnings against cat parties. I think that's what's been going on. The Poopus has been rocking out up here. Deeps: With the other cats from the neighborhood? Could be. I know she's been sleeping on my side of the bed. Me: How do you know that? Deeps: Well, if I don't find her there when I get to bed, I find the big cat-shaped dent with the mysterious warm spot. Me: You're like Colombo! Deeps: Colombo with the hideous under bed dust bunnies. Me: I think bunnies are too small to describe these. We have to think bigger. Deeps: Mastodons? Me: Look at the big brain on you!
I have negotiated with my dentist and basically we’ve agreed to a 3x a year cleaning schedule to help stave off heinous tooth problems in the future.
I dealt with a lot of icky gum problems last year and at my last cleaning in 2006 we discussed what was in store for 2007 – just regular cleanings. Huzzah!
Then I spent all of the money from my flexible spending account on eye glasses and contact lenses since Deeps got his swanky new glasses last year. And I had no major dental worries.
Until today. Of course.
Apparently my famous pimp tooth – home to my first ever cavity at the age of nine – has developed a problem. It’s one of those teeth in the far back – so far back you can’t really see it.
First I had a regular filling. About 12 years later it fell out. Then it got fixed with a gold overlay. I kind of protested but my dentist told me to stop being a baby. I told her I didn’t want a pimp tooth. She thought that was hilarious.
So now, nearly ten years later the pimp tooth needs to be upgraded to a gold crown (pimp crown). I guess there was some decay under it and my tooth chipped and well… bad things are in store for me. My best case scenario is just having a crown put on (installed?). My worst case scenario involves the crown and a root canal or maybe an implant.
I pondered all of these things carefully before making my next move. My dentist was kind enough to explain to me all the costs involved and what my insurance would and would not cover.
Dentist: So is this something you’d like to address in the near future? Me: I had planned on installing a patio. Dentist: But now you’re getting a gold crown. Me: It isn’t the world’s greatest trade-off. Dentist: Not really. Me: I can’t sit on my gold crown and drink gin and tonics and complain about mosquitoes.
At least my dentist finds me amusing. I live to make them laugh.
I told Deeps about all this and how annoying it is. Luckily, I’m not in pain, we have insurance and the cash to cover such emergency expenses. At least, that’s what Deeps reminded me as I grumbled about flossing and fancy toothbrushes.
Me: You know, the crown alone cost more than my first car. Deeps: Wow. Me: And if I have to have a root canal on top of that – it will cost more than my second car. Deeps: You can’t think about it like that. Me: Yeah, it’s depressing to think I have two crappy cars in my mouth. Deeps: That should be the title of your first blues album.
Deeps: Just to remind you, I'm going to the movies today. Me: Oh yeah, to recover from the nerdstravaganza you're going to the movies. Deeps: It's a movie that is very rarely shown on screens. Me: What is it again? Deeps:Sátántangó. It's a Hungarian epic. Me: Okay. Deeps: I'll be back really late. It starts at 2 and runs until like 10 tonight. Me: You're going to see an eight hour movie. Deeps: Yes. Me: You know, other wives lose their husbands to football every Sunday. I lose mine to nerd puzzles and an all-day movie. Deeps: I've got a different set of priorities. Me: And I love you for it. Now.... Deeps: Yeah? Me: Are you packing sandwiches? Deeps: That is your solution to everything.
I thought “family game night” would be hours of harmless fun. Instead, Deeps and I are in a struggle to the death on a near nightly basis. I think for most people family game night is like one night a week. We’ve been playing Scrabble for days – arguing, challenging, fighting and generally being evil to each other.
It has been fantastic.
I’m a great speller but I suck at the strategy. He takes forever to plug in a word and I hate him for it. Plus I'm on a spectacular losing streak. While he’s deliberating I think of ways to plot against him.
Me: You know - if you get another triple-word score I’m going to stop feeding you. Deeps: You barely feed me now. Me: But still. Deeps: I have my cheese and crackers. Me: Then I’ll put cat treats on your pillow. Deeps: Like treats from the litter box? Me: Gross! Like those little kibble treats the cat likes. Deeps: So? Me: Then the cat will eat them and drool on your pillow. Deeps: Hmm… Me: Or worse. She’ll start sleeping on your head and you’ll wake up with cat fur in your mouth. It will be very annoying. Deeps: You need to work on your insidious torture. Me: Yeah, I should really watch some back episodes of 24 or something.
Today, we take the plunge to buy new bedroom furniture. We are grown-ups. We own property. I just paid a huge property tax bill. I guess we're probably ready to have a dresser that isn't old, broken, and the best thing I could afford in 1998.
My husband agreed with this sentiment like four months ago when he pointed out that one of the dresser drawers wasn't opening right. Then he tried to "fix it" and things haven't gone well since.
We discussed our furniture options. At the time we didn't have a lot of choices. At least w in the Midwest the options were either very high end or very cheap. There wasn't a lot of middle of the road. I had no idea furniture and politics had so much in common.
When we were in Chicago we had a hard time finding stuff we could afford. So Ikea helped a lot. I think they have nice things - but we're ready for something that isn't flat packed.
Of course, flat pack would solve a lot of our problems. We live in an old house - now a townhouse - but once a single family home. This place clocks in at about 120 years old. Walls are uneven, hallways are narrow and closets are more implied than actually realized. Good storage is important and how to haul that furniture up three flights of stairs to our bedroom is the big dilemma.
Deeps went window shopping in lots of locations. I gave him a budget to work with - since I wasn't especially inclined to endure the hard sell of desperate furniture sales folk. He's immune to them because he'll pretend he doesn't speak English - or any language they could possibly know. It's one of his super powers.
After a few weeks he told me about something he saw that he thought I'd like. We drove to the store and took a look. We measured the door, the hallway, the other hallway, the little weird part at the top of the stairs where the hallway actually gets more narrow.
We thought we could make it work. Done. Sold. We'd just wait for a sale.
Those stupid furniture people must have been on to my plan because there was never a sale! No Halloween sale (which I'll admit, didn't surprise me), no Thanksgiving Sale, no Christmas Sale, no After-Christmas sale, and no New Year's Sale. The stuff we wanted never went on sale.
Not only am I buying stuff - but I'm paying retail? You've got to be kidding me! My husband has been very patient about this. He and I alternate playing the role of "let's just get this over with" and "let's see how this plays out."
He's been ready to pull the proverbial trigger since October. I've been holding him off until today.
I told him last night we could buy everything today. He was quietly pleased.
"Good," he said. "But we have to do it - because now that furniture is dead to me."
In less than two weeks I will lose my husband, Deeps, and my podcast partner, Derek, to a weekend full-blown nerd-dom – the 2007 MIT Mystery Hunt.
I’ve written about this before, but it happens every year. Nerds – I call them extra nerds – descend on MIT and unleash their special nerd powers on a weekend-long cornucopia of puzzles and projects and schemes.
Now, I have my own special brand of nerdiness. Some would say that having a weekly podcast about pop culture is pretty nerdy. I think of it as recording my cocktail party chatter for posterity. I’d do one on politics but I don’t want to get people angry at me.
We all have some inner nerd. If you love something so much that you obsess over every detail – you’re a nerd. That means you, insane football and baseball fans. Baseball is sport totally built for nerds, there is so much minutia you could (and have) write thousands of books, host dozens of radio and television shows.
Where was I?
Oh yes, my nerd. I have kept myself relatively removed from the nerd weekend because boys need their special time together. I find puzzles to be somewhat tedious. Last year I did show up and tackled a puzzle about America the Book – I answered all the questions and still missed the correct answer. Damn you nerds!
I haven’t decided if I’ll play any role in the festival of nerds this year. I’m inclined to clean the house and do our taxes. Say what you will about taxes, but if you’re getting cash dollars back – they get pretty exciting.
Each nerd has a job: someone books a room on the MIT campus, someone else gets the laptop gear, and another person brings printers, paper and pencils. Deeps has appointed himself the grand poobah of the food. If I participate I am often in charge telling people when they smell, when they need to eat or when they should go home.
My job isn’t so different from my blog. Or my life.
Get excited kids – just eight more days until Nerd-a-palooza!
I’d read somewhere that kidney stones were hotter than Wiis and PS3s – combined – so I had to get one.
We were enjoying a quiet evening at home, packing for our visit to Indiana when a sharp pain struck my left side. Look, sometimes a sharp pain strikes – I’m getting older. It happens.
But this was persistent and the pain was sharper and more forceful. The pain became so sharp that I had to sit and take a few deep breaths – yoga style. I took a couple of ibuprofen and hoped I’d just pulled a muscle or something. I drank a lot of water. I waited to see what happened.
About an hour later, the pain wasn’t any better it was still sharp and sudden. I took my temperature and realized I had a low-grade fever. AT this point I thought I should start looking at the Internet to determine if I had something like appendicitis – because I didn’t know where my appendix was. I do now!
FYI, your appendix is on your right side but the pain was on my left side – near my kidney. Ah ha! I’ve seen this on TV – kidney stones. I finally told Deeps we should probably go to the emergency room – just in case.
Hours later were still waiting in the ER when the angry couple came in – she was announcing that her husband was dead to her and that their marriage was a lie. He was trying to see something about… I think he said he was bleeding. Whatever – they were fighting and she was totally freaking out everyone - especially the two small kids who were waiting for Grandpa to be released.
And on the waiting room TV was To Catch a Predator on Dateline – basically the stuff of nightmares. After talk of condoms came up on the show, someone finally changed the channel to the ever-wholesome NCIS. Nothing to see here except dead bodies, people. This is your new Saturday night lineup! I wandered around looking for a bathroom while Deeps waited to hear if my name was called. That would take a few more hours.
Eventually a young fresh-faced doctor examined me. Let’s just say we were on rather intimate terms rather quickly as he wanted to rule out I didn’t have problems with my inside parts. I was poked, prodded and then out came the needles. They took blood, gave me some pain killer in a saline drip and parked me next to my worried husband.
We waited some more. After a zillion tests including a CT scan and some X-rays the doctor announced they didn’t find anything. The working theory was that in the 7+ hours that I waited at the hospital I probably passed the small kidney stone. I had all the symptoms of having a small kidney stone but didn’t actually have a stone visible. Guess all the water drinking did pay off in the end.
We were released around 4 AM. Deeps and I drove home in a daze to finish packing for Christmas. Our taxi was scheduled to arrive at 8 AM to drive us to the airport.
After our nap, we got ready in hurry and hauled suitcases to the front porch. The taxi was late, my husband was a little grumpy, I was exhausted and we settled in for a fun-filled journey through airport security. It was a very Merry Christmas indeed.
After months of hounding the man - Deeps finally relented and agreed to participate in a podcast with me.
He only agreed because Sunday's podcast was basically a disaster because of some very serious audio problems (related his birthday present to me). Whatever. He's on the air now and there's no going back!
You can listen to us talk about Scrubs, The Office, How I Met Your Mother and preview some of the midseason replacements - as well as yell at the cat for attacking my foot. It's like I got the family band together at last!
My husband is also my personal technology support. I can do most tech support myself, but Deeps has an inordinate amount of patience with tech problems, small children and IKEA furniture assembly.
For my birthday he picked up a little gadget I asked for to help improve the audio quality of my podcasts. It doesn't seem to be working right - or maybe we're not working it right.
Anyway, late last night - or it seemed late to me - I was awakened by his voice. And I saw a form standing next to the bed.
Deeps: Are you awake? Me: Yeah. Deeps: I crashed the old computer. Me: What? Deeps: Something with the new audio stuff freaked out the machine and I'm stupid, I should have known. Me: Am I dreaming? Deeps: No. Me: Are you sure? Deeps: Yeah. We'll have to call Peaches to help us extract the data. Me: Oh. Deeps: I'll have to buy him dinner or something. Me: Are you sure I'm not dreaming? This is the kind of thing I'd dream about. Except you'd be a celebrity. Deeps: Go back to sleep. Me: I'm trying!
Me: So a lady nearly mowed me down in pedestrian crosswalk by my office. Deeps: Again? Me: I'd say it is a near daily experience. Deeps: Maybe she was from out of town. Or outerspace. Me: Or just from like - Alston or something. Deeps: Was it a tiny woman in a giant SUV? Me: Surprisingly no. Deeps: Hmm. Me: I was thinking about taking pictures at all the places where I've almost been killed. Deeps: What? Me: I could make a Flikr set. Deeps: How many places could it possibly be? Me: Well, that's the problem. I'd have to photograph every intersection I cross. Oh and every rotary. Deeps: Yeah the rotaries are tough. Me: Then I could publish a book of near miss photos. Deeps: Just in time for Christmas. Me: Yeah, nothing says 'I love you' like this. Deeps: I think that may be too dark for the holidays. Me: Or any other day.
I'm back from my road/business trip. It was productive, I ate some questionable food and slept like a champ. I guess that late night cocktail helped.
Fun facts - my husband subsisted on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, pizza and apparently fancy hot chocolate. He has never made hot chocolate before, but I guess he bought some from a fancy cheese store.... I have no idea what happened. But the cat is still alive and the heat still works. So I guess I should be thankful.
I don't know what the term is to describe this phenomenon - but sometimes Deeps and I leave messages for each other through our browser windows. We leave stuff open that that we think the other person might want to read.
This doesn't always guarantee that someone will read what you've left up, but it's a low-rent, passive-aggressive way of making your point.
Last week I left up an article about how many types of bacteria live in the household sponges that people like to use in their kitchen. (I'm anti-sponge, he's pro-sponge)
Yep. I have pink eye for the second time in about three weeks. Totally bizarre. I've called the eye doctor per my GP's advice. So there's that.
In other weird news I spotted a giant coyote on my way to work yesterday. We were driving near the big Alewife T station, approaching the back entrance when I spotted a big dog in the distance.
Deeps is a little skittish around animals - he wasn't raised with any pets and I think large animals make him nervous. This coyote wasn't quite as small as I've seen in the past near my parents' house in Indiana. I wasn't inclined to say anything to him about it, but then he said that the dog looked sick.
Me: He has mange. Deeps: Oh yeah? Me: Lots of coyotes do. Deeps: That's a coyote? Me: Yeah. Deeps: So I've finally seen one? Me: Yep. Deeps: And now I'm going to drop you off just a few hundred feet from the coyote to walk to the station? Me: Of course! Deeps: Can you out run a coyote? Me: He's probably more afraid of me than I'd be of him. Deeps: I finished listening to the This American Life Halloween episode where the lady is attacked by a rabid raccoon. Me: I'll probably avoid that. Deeps: Fine, but if you're attacked by wolves commuting to work don't blame me. Me: I think it's much more likely I would be attacked by a pack of tourists. Deeps: And you have no idea if they are vaccinated against rabies either. Me: Exactly.
Dana, our cat, who is also called Poopus, has to go to the vet later this week. WE got the little postcard in the mail addressed to the cat reminding us it was time to get a check up.
This coincides with some kind of weird little growth on her chin. I couldn’t get a good look at it this morning since I was heading out for work and she was very squirmy. She also weighs 16 pounds so… it’s hard to maneuver her with one hand and check her face with the other.
I mentioned this to Deeps this morning and he agreed to help me with her when we got home.
Flash forward to after dinner (mmmm… burrito night!) and he’s got the cat wrapped up in a blanket while I try to hold her head up to see what’s on her face. I’m not really sure I could do anything but at least I could determine if the spot was tender and if she’s in pain.
She started to wriggle around – a lot. See, we stupid humans tried the maneuver on her that also sometimes signals the dreaded cutting of the nails. She was starting to wig out so I told Deeps to let her go as she squirmed out of his arms.
I’m not sure if it was the “excitement” or the fact that we’d been maybe squeezing her a little too hard – but she landed on the ground and started to loudly wheeze. I tried to comfort her and get her to relax, which she did… by throwing up. Twice. Giant hair balls.
Sorry, was that overshare?
Anyway, the cat doesn’t appear to be overly bothered by what looks like a giant cat zit. She’s not coughing up anything. She looks pretty content curled up on the rug. And we have an appointment on Wednesday. She’s learned a new defensive maneuver – vomiting at will and I can’t say that I’m looking forward to messing with her again.
I’ve already warned the vet’s office that Dana is half evil and is inclined to “very bad behavior” once she gets there. The vet tech assured me they could handle it. Apparently there’s a note in her file and a support team is on stand-by.
Yesterday was a tough day of yard work. Deeps was motivated to deal with the huge deluge of leaves that migrated in our yard. We only have one tree in the front and two pine trees in the back, but every year our neighbors’ trees unload into our yard.
We’ve already done two rounds of tree clean up.
I’m not sure what happened. We worked for several hours doing clean up. I felt pretty good – if not smelly. I cut down a small dead tree that was propping up the neighbors climbing rose bush (please do not try to come between New Englanders and their overgrown shrubbery).
Okay, I didn’t actually cut it down… I ripped it out because it was so dead and rotty. Then we hacked that dead thing to pieces. It was very satisfying.
Afterwards I called my Dad – there’s a point to my story – to wish him a happy birthday. We chatted for a few minutes and then when it was over I wrapped up the call.
Deeps looked at me from the dining table.
Me: What? Deeps: Are you okay? Me: Yeah. Deeps: You realize you just wished your father a Happy New Year. Me: Did I really? Deeps: Yep. Me: Wow. Deeps: You probably need to eat something. You never know when you’re done. Me: Maybe he didn’t notice. Deeps: If he did, he probably thinks you’re drunk. Me: So what else is new? Hey when did you put the blinds down? Deeps: Uhm, you did that before you got on the phone. Me: I should probably eat something. Deeps: Good idea.
I don’t really play Scrabble. I’m not a huge fan. But sometimes events conspire against me.
My college roommate and friend of more than a decade, Kristen, was (and I believe still is) a huge Scrabble fan. We were excellent roommates. Or rather, she was an excellent roommate. I’m not really sure what I brought to the table.
I thought of K when I came across Stefan Fatsis’ funny book Word Freak which covers his efforts to become a world-class Scrabble player.
Scrabble was the source of one of very few fights*. We were playing Scrabble at her house one day and I wasn’t really into it. But Kristen was very competitive and sensed that I wasn’t especially interested. This … I might say infuriated her. Since she's coming to my house soon, I'll leave out any foggy recollections I may have had. Let's just say tempers flared and words were exchanged.
And that was the last time we played Scrabble.
* For those who care - our other fight was the awful incident involving Christmas. She’d decorated our apartment with all kinds of festive lights for the holidays. I came home from working (possibly all night) at the newspaper and sat down on the couch, exhausted. I chatted with her for a few minutes, but didn’t comment on the decorations. I don’t think I’d really noticed.
She was unhappy.
Then we bickered like an old married couple and stopped in the middle of our fight when we realized K had become like my wife and I had become like her loutish husband. So we decided that we should go find some boys to hang around with or something.
I’ve become totally obsessed with podcasts. I like listening to other people talk about their interests and their lives.
So yesterday while working on a particularly gnarly project I listened to what might be my most favorite single episode of any podcast ever – how to survive a zombie uprising.
I like the frank and brutal pragmatism of the podcasters. It’s also funny.
Deeps and I live a few blocks from a cemetery and we like to walk through it after dinner. Every time we round the bend with the spooky tree, the weird pond thing and the old tombstones I like to mention the possible zombie hordes.
“Do you think they’ll head for us or toward the center?” I asked my husband. “Well there are more people in the center,” he answered. “And a Starbucks.”
I love and hate when daylight savings is over and we get that extra hour. I like to sleep. This weekend, we ended up using that extra hour in the massive basement reorganization. I can live with that – but I really had planned on using that extra hour for a nap.
Anyway, what’s important here is that Deeps has expanded his storage options for his massive CD collections. Men and CDs go together like peanut butter and jelly. You can’t stop them for amassing more CDs. I’ve even suggested that he might want to go all digital. He wasn’t interested.
As long as he’s happy, I’m happy. And when I’m happy, he’s happy. I’m happy – he’s happy. Maybe I’ll get to squeeze in that nap sometime later.
Deeps is hard to rattle when it comes to…. Just about anything. But that doesn’t stop me from trying.
Me: What’s going on with your hair? Deeps: What? Me: Your hair looks different. Deeps: Hmm. Me: Yeah, like… like anchorman hair. But I like it. Deeps: Oh I used your shampoo. Me: The red stuff or the volumizer? Deeps: I guess the volumizer since my hair isn’t red. Me: And the bathroom doesn’t look like you’ve hacked up a body. Deeps: Is that from the shampoo? Me: Wow. I had no idea that volumizer actually works. Deeps: I guess it does. Me: I think I have too much hair for it to work. Deeps: And I have just enough.
Deeps picked me up at the train station and I was a little cranky. I'm not sure what the source of cranky is, but I have a suspicion that it's because I'm very, very sore.
See - yesterday I go this bright idea to go to the gym for a good workout. I arrived early enough to make it to the 15 minute abs class. A colleague was at the gym as well and I suggested we go to the class together. Because – you know… 15 minutes, how hard could that be?
Oh my.
About two minutes into the class I realized I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.
And whenever I can move my neck and head again, I’ll probably return to the class. I don’t know anything else like exercise that can make you feel so awful and still seem like a good idea later.
Anyway, I’m incredibly stiff and cranky. A week off from the gym for a cold didn’t help things at all.
As we drove home I was listening to Marketplace because I’m fascinated by stuff I don’t understand (finance) and Kai Ryssdal’s voice is very soothing. But then one of the reporters was doing a story that started to annoy me.
Me: Why does he say five grand and up to five times that? Deeps: You mean instead of five to 25 grand? Me: Why beat around the bush? Just say five to 25. What an *@@&^%#! Deeps: That’s harsh. Me: (muttering) Total *=!+ move. Deeps: So it’s going to be like that is it? Me: I guess so.
A few times a year, I have to go down to visit the family of my beloved and beleaguered husband. I don’t know if he’s excited about these trips but it’s my best opportunity to spend quality time driving around New Jersey.
Say what you will about Jersey, but it has a lot of shopping opportunities. I haven’t seen so many Targets and diners and Nordstrom’s in my whole life. After we drive around a lot – without shopping – I then get to go to my in-law’s house. They keep the median indoor temperature around 80 degrees. Then I get to sleep on the world’s hardest bed. On the world’s hardest pillow next to my beloved husband.
I like to remind myself how much I love him. This is important so that I don’t try to escape in the middle of the night with the car and the one of my shoes.
But I tried to have a better attitude about the trip this year. We spent 10 quality hours driving to and from Jersey and I saw lots of lovely fall foliage. So I guess it was the longest and most awkward… and hot leaf peeping trip ever.
Deeps picked me up from the Alewife T station after work last night.
Me: (sweating) Deeps: Are you okay? Me: It was really hot on the train. Deeps: Ew. Me: And it smelled like… Deeps: bad? Me: Only if you consider the complex bouquet of old hobo urine and moldy take-out bad. Deeps: Huh. Me: Yeah. Deeps: So what’s for dinner? Me: I’m going to need a moment before I answer that.
