Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Property Managers

I'm sure that mothers everywhere want the best things in life for their children. What's the point of gestating a baby for nine months, raising them through childhood and paying for their college tuition just so they can grow up to be the property manager of our new coop apartment? I'm sure the mother of our property manager asks herself this question every single day of her life.

Right before we closed on our apartment, we did what the real estate biz calls a "walk-through." Which is basically a formality of walking through the apartment, making sure that everything turns on and nothing has fallen apart from the time you looked at it and the day you are officially the new owner.

This is usually a formality, but during our walk-through, water was leaking everywhere -- out of the bathroom sink, gallons of water poured from the dishwasher and the bottom of the kitchen sink, it was a NIGHTMARE.

Of course I got completely freaked out and I was literally shaking as I sat in the law office where our closing was scheduled. When my attorney walked in, I told her that I needed to speak to her privately, and when I told her the problem, she said to me, "Well, there's nothing you can do about this. We're closing right now."

Just so you know, don't hire our real estate attorney. (I won't mention names, but her initials are CM and she works out of Mount Kisco). This was the last thing I needed to hear, especially from someone we pay to be OUR advocate. Because I ended up having to do the negotiations to get the seller's attorney to ensure that this stuff would be fixed -- while our attorney was chit-chatting with the bank's attorney about the last time they all went fishing together. At one point, the seller's attorney (who was the building's attorney, since we bought the unit straight from the building) said, "That sounds to me like it's just a gasket. Sometimes when a sink isn't used for a few months, the gasket gets loose."

My useless attorney who still uses an aol mail account for her law business says, "Yeah, y'know it's probably a GASKET."

I was shaking with anger at this point and I'm usually a very nice person, but push me to this limit and all I can say is that I let her HAVE IT. I turned to her and said in a very slow and calm voice, "I would appreciate it if you don't try to ARGUE FOR THE OTHER SIDE. You are OUR ATTORNEY. I would appreciate it if you would SIDE WITH US."

A hush fell over the whole room.

FINALLY, we got it sorted out that the building would take care of the plumbing issues, which is all we wanted. I don't know who they sent, but we're still having trouble with our bathroom sink and the water from our kitchen tap comes out hot -- on both sides. It's been about a month since closing and just yesterday some new plumbers came over and took a look under the kitchen sink and told us that all the hook-ups were done incorrectly and that no hot water was coming into the dishwasher.

I emailed our property manager, who on his nicest day is a putz, and he didn't reply. So I called him today and asked him if he was going to give the okay to fix the dishwasher.

"I'm debating it," he said.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked. I mean, what does he mean by that? I'm debating it? Does that mean -- yes, I know that I should have this problem fixed, but I don't want to?

"Your problem was that the dishwasher was leaking. It's not leaking anymore, is it?"

"But nothing is hooked up correctly under the sink. We're getting hot water on both taps and apparently, there's only cold water going into the dishwasher."

"That's because we got one of the newer ENERGY EFFICIENT dishwasher which has its own heating system so that you don't need to have hot water going into it."

"I know about those ENERGY EFFICIENT dishwasher and it's more ENERGY EFFICIENT to wash the dishes with HOT WATER than to have to HEAT COLD WATER to wash the dishes."

"Oh."

"I don't have a problem going to the board with this issue, I'm sure they'll side with me with the fact that you had agreed to FIX THE PROBLEM, which means not just ensuring that the dishwasher doesn't leak, but that IT WORKS."

Dealing with this property manager is kind of like dealing with my younger cousins growing up. Everything is a struggle until I say, "I'm going to tell your parents." And then all of a sudden, it's like the sun breaks out of the clouds. Because as soon as I mention going to the board, this guy is all nice as can be and all "of course we need to fix your dishwasher."

Peter's ready to call it quits with this guy and just hire our own plumber because the aggravation isn't worth it, but I'm all like, "But there's a PRINCIPLE here! THEY agreed to fix it!"

And Peter's all, "Arguing with this jerk is a WASTE OF LIFE."

Hiss and Vinegar

At this point we have had the cat almost two weeks now and she is still TERRIFIED of the dogs. We put up a divider between Peter's office and the living room so that the dogs don't go rushing into the office to try to eat her. We've also been sleeping on the sofa in the living room because we don't have a bed yet.

Yesterday, the cat decided to jump over the divider and sleep under our makeshift bed, which I didn't realize until this morning, when the dogs were sniffing under the bed and I heard hysterical hissing sounds underneath me. Peter thinks this is because she has become so attached to me that she wants to be around me, and I'm all, "So why does she hide whenever I go into the office?"

And since Peter's family has had numerous cats while he was growing up, he says, "Because she's a cat, not a dog. Hiding is what cats do."

We've discovered that this cat hisses at just about anything: vacuum cleaner, dogs, an accidental touch on the tail. Oh, and let's not forget about the dreaded BROOM. She hates that thing with a vengeance that comes straight from the dark depths of her soul. Somewhere in her short life a broom has done her a large wrong. Whenever Peter sweeps the floor in his office, she goes into conniptions.

Yesterday we went to Petsmart and bought several jingle-jangly plastic balls for her to play with and when I tossed one at her, she ran away from it and gave me a dirty look that said, "Why are you doing this to me?" I let Peter pick out the toy at the store because of his previous cat experience and he said that cats LOVE this stuff.

When she ran away, he looked at me and said, "Well, I guess this isn't going to be the first time this cat makes a liar out of me."

Moved In...Kinda

In recent days, Peter has told his mother that it's okay to call every day. She coming up against the doldrums of summer. My theory is that between Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, she's got events coming up on the horizon she can look forward to, but during the summer, it's just one long stretch of being reminded how little your older children care about you.

One mean trick Peter's sister plays on his mother is telling her that they're going to invite her to stay over soon. In my mother-in-law's vocabulary, "soon" is synonymous with "this weekend." So several weeks ago, she turned down an invitation to her grandson's bride's wedding shower in order to go to her daughter's house. And because she told Peter that she was going to Long Island that weekend, he made no plans to visit. By the way, did I ever mention that she NEVER gets invited to do anything? So the one time this millennium she got invited to something, she turned it down to keep herself free just in case her daughter just happened to feel like having her over.

So when she called that Saturday and Peter said, "I thought you weren't home this weekend," she got extremely agitated and a pus-filled vitriolic tirade flew out of her body and Peter was all, "I was gonna come by and see you, but now I'm not. Good. Bye." Okay, he didn't verbally say it because he's too nice to, but those were the undertones.

These past few days she's been leaving messages on our answering machine that go like this:

"Peter? Are you there? Are you there? Why you no call me? Are you okay? Okay...."

When he tells her that we're EXTREMELY BUSY, I don't think she gets it. So I told him today that he should bring her over here where she can sit in the one crevice that is not overtaken by boxes while I paint and he organizes his office, just so she can fully comprehend what he means by WE ARE BUSY.

The Unnamed Emily Mortimer Project

I'm so sorry that the postings have been nonexistent! We just found out last Friday that we could close on our condo yesterday, so I've been in a packing and labeling frenzy and hadn't had internet access in the last few days. PLUS we're trying to acclimate our brand-new kitty with our two dogs and let's just say that it is NOT going very well.

I wanted to name her Emily Mortimer, but since Peter hates that name, we're calling her Meow Meow, otherwise known as The Unnamed Emily Mortimer Project. Every other day I vacillate between keeping her and giving her away. She's sweet and affectionate, although a bit skittish, which is understandable since she was a stray. But she is TERRIFIED of the dogs, and yet brazen enough to jump over the pet gate just to be subjected to her terror. I guess cats are just not that bright. We might have to give her away to someone who doesn't have dogs, but we're still holding out hope that they will be able to acclimate to each other.

Anyway, we're really glad to be back in Mamaroneck! We've been going to Sal's Pizza almost every other day since our kitchen is a MESS. However, I do believe that their slices are growing smaller and smaller as we speak. Pretty soon they will be bite-sized.

A great, big, HUGE thank you to the commenter who suggested Al's Moving Company. They did a GREAT job and were the nicest movers I've ever encountered. I could write a tragic novella describing my experience with past movers (Flat Rate and Seaman's. Please, do not EVER hire Seaman's Movers. They are the sucks.)

There is tons of new news and I will post more later!

I Think She's Traumadized

Last night, at around 11pm, Peter and I got back from Borders and were bringing massive amounts of cardboard boxes (Thanks Borders Managers!) into the house, when a mewling noise caught Peter's attention. This was the same mewling noise that we have been hearing in the middle of the night.

An itty-bitty kitty came out of the darkness and went right up to Peter. He went to get me and said, "You've got to see what's out here."

Well, I did, and in about two seconds I was sitting on the floor petting and playing with the cutest kitty ever made. She looked a bit rough around the edges, but she was extremely friendly. We were kind of worried about her being out there so we decided to put her in one of Scout's kennels. We tried to lure her in with a can of cat food given to us by a nice neighbor, but when Peter finally got her close enough to push her into the kennel, she freaked out and there was cat food EVERYWHERE.

By the way, cat food smells disgusting. It kinda smells like vomit. Why do cats like to eat vomit.

As soon as we threw her into the kennel, Peter turned to me and said, "Fuck! We have a cat now!"

All through the night, we were trying to decide what to do. What if this kitty doesn't get along with the dogs? What if it's not tame enough to keep as a pet? What if we hate having a cat?

In the morning, after we got up, we went to the kennel and found the most fucked-up kitten ever created. She did not look that messed up last night, but apparently she had been thrashing herself against the kennel so badly that her nose is all bloody. One of her eyes got smaller than the other, so she looks like an insane cock-eyed-crazy-cat. And in the bright light of morning, her fur looked all mangy and messed up.

It must be kind of like when a drunk guy brings a cute girl home and in the morning, comes to discover that she's got one eye bigger than the other and she's kinda fugly.

When I said this to Peter, he said. "That's not really fair. She's had a really rough night, probably the roughest night she's every had. She's totally traumadized."

At this point, we don't know if we're going to be keeping her forever. We hope that it works out and we're trying it out for now. It's going to take a LOOOONG time before she's acclimated with us much less the dogs. I don't know if I want a cat for the next 15 years, but I kind of feel like she came up to us for a reason (even though the reason may just be that she's a kitten and that's what kittens do) and I want to see what happens.

Also, a side of me wonders if she's the reincarnation of someone I used to know. If it's my Uncle Jack, she should be a nice cat. If she's my grandmother. Hmmmm...This may get interesting.

Like, What Are You Saying?

A few weeks ago, my sister and I were at our parents' Japanese restaurant and we were having a conversation. An older gentleman who kind of reminded me of Peter O'Toole kept looking over at us. He was sitting, waiting for his to-go order. I thought that he wanted to jump into our conversation. My parents are very friendly with their customers, so they usually want to get to know us. My mother can make friends with anybody. She got that from my grandmother. My grandmother makes friends on the bus traveling from Princeton up to Manhattan.

"But Ama!" I said to her once. "You don't speak ANY English. How do you communicate?"

"Well," she said. "Sometimes these old American ladies sit next to me on the bus and they just start talking. By the time they're talking a few minutes, I feel too bad to let them know that I can't understand a word they're saying."

"How do they not pick up on this?"

"Every once in a while, I'll say 'uh-huh' and 'NO!' and that seems to do the trick."

Boy, those old ladies sure are easy to fool.

So this old guy kept staring at my sister and me and when his order was ready, he spend a good portion of time talking to my mother. My mother's English is not so good. I don't understand how someone who spent 5 years in Japan can speak Japanese fluently, but the same person, who comes to the United States and has been here about thirty years, still cannot read a Vogue magazine.

"What did that old guy say?" I asked my mom.

"Oh, he thought that I spent too much money on you girls because you like so many things."

"He did NOT say that!" my dad said. "What he SAID was that you girls say the work 'like' too often and you should be punished. Every time you say 'like' you should have to put a dollar in a can."

First of all, I do say "like" a lot and I can't help it. I don't know why or how I picked up this terrible habit and I blame that Catholic elementary school I attended. I'm lucky to have escaped without a Queens accent. Second of all, how DARE this old guy sit there and judge how I speak? I mean, English was my THIRD language, so even if I say "like" once in a while, cut me a break!

I think that every time that guy acts all judgey, he should have to put a dollar in a can!

What the Hell Happened to 3 o'clock?

The best time to call my sister is 3pm, because it's right after dinnertime in Tanzania. Her birthday was about a week ago and I have not been able to wish her a Happy Birthday! because everything in my life decides that it must happen at 3pm.

Day 1: Closing on the new place.
Day 2: Dealing with handyman over crazy plumbing problems in the new place.
(post coming up, I promise!--I'm still PROCESSING THE TRAUMA)
Day 3: Meeting at the magazine where I work.
Day 4: Totally overslept and then totally forgot about calling.
Day 5: Terribly long phone call with a client.
Day 6: Went out to lunch with Peter. Came back too late.
Day 7: Dentist's appointment (two cavities. boo.)

And I won't be able to call tomorrow, because the cable guy is going to show up between 2-4pm at the new place.

So I guess my sister will have been 21 for about a year before I'll be able to say, "Hey! Remember the day you were born? I do!"

I think my life is just too exciting at 3pm. She probably should have gone to Asia this summer, because nothing's really happening at 7 o'clock.

Side note: On the invitation for that fourth of July wedding, it stated that the wedding was going to take place at "Four-Thirty O Clock." Does that seem right?

We're Moving...Again!

Peter and I just closed on an apartment in Mamaroneck, where we used to live. It's a really nice place and closer to the city, which is key, since we go down there a lot.

We really liked Mount Kisco, but most of our friends and family are further south and Peter's going to be starting a new job in New Rochelle, so this way he'll be closer to work.

I'm excited about this, but everything leading up to this move is going to take up a lot of time and energy -- did I mention that I absolutely hate moving? Just thinking about it gives me a huge headache. We've moved about three times in the past few years and not once did we hire the right company -- so if anyone knows of a great moving company in Westchester, please let me know.

I guess Peter's no longer going to be the Count of Monte Kisco.

Breaking News

I was watching the new Denise Richards reality show and a BREAKING NEWS STORY usurped my show. Peter rushed into the room and said, "What's going on? Isn't that the E! channel?"

"If they're breaking news into E! it must be really serious."

We sat there, watching a French person speaking French and since I had the TV screen expanded, we couldn't see the subtitles just under the surface. Quickly, I grabbed the remote and changed the setting so that we could see the subtitles. And when I saw that it was that stupid Angelina Jolie's French doctor, it made me so mad.

"I can't believe that they're BREAKING NEWS into the SHOW I WAS WATCHING for this MEANINGLESSNESS!"

When I looked at Peter, he gave me this look he always gives me when I'm being totally stupid. It's a look that says, "And...?" As in, "Let me give you a few seconds to process what you just said and run it through your brain, because you obviously skipped that part last time."

"Okay, fine," I said. "I can't believe that they're breaking into my meaningless show with their meaningless news!"

WONDERFUL

So we survived the fourth of July wedding. It know that Peter was very nervous at first, driving to the wedding. Of course it was a really long Catholic wedding with a lot of standing up and kneeling and standing up again. I kind of felt sorry for the priest because he was like, "Do you promise to raise your future children Catholic? You promise, right? Yup, you said it and now you have to."

Whenever we attend christenings and weddings, the priests do act a bit harrumphy about all the people the Catholic Church has lost over the years, especially when people are supposed to go up and take communion, and he tells everyone not to come up if you're not prepared -- and then only five people go up.

We did the receiving line and Peter kind of hesitated before going up to his sister, and he almost turned around to walk away, but she acted very normally and thanked us for coming. Later, at the reception, Peter's nephew was kind of all goofy around Peter, as if they were still very close. I guess he just doesn't get it. We showed up because it was an obligation, but it's difficult when people who have acted in an awful manner in the past assumes everything is okay just because you show up at his wedding. There's a large disconnect there.

I think that it was a bit healing for Peter to see everyone one last time. He doesn't think that we will see his older sister's family ever again. I'm still processing what happened, so I'll post more about the wedding later on.

The nicest thing happened. We were sitting at this table with an older gentleman, someone whose wife had worked with Peter's sister about 45 years ago. I was a little tipsy (after downing four drinks as soon as we got there) and talked with him about all sorts of things. At some point I went to the bathroom and Peter said that while I was gone, this guy said to him:

"I've met a lot of people in my life, but that woman you're with? She's WONDERFUL."

And then when Peter told him that we were married, he said:

"Oh! Now THAT makes sense!"

And then he went on and on about how lucky Peter was, which was really sweet. Dealing with Peter's family is really trying because no one seems to want to get to know me and whenever I reach out to people, it's met with nothingness. So it's so affirming when other people say: Hey! You're WONDERFUL.

Going "Poo-Free"

Last night I decided to try a new way of washing my hair. I found it here.

My usual shampoo is a very no-nonsense cheap-o Head and Shoulders 2-in-1 shampoo I've been using since forever. Mostly because it's the only shampoo that doesn't leave my hair all gunked up. I have really wonky asian hair that is straight, but has this (very) slight wave to it that makes it kick out.

Okay. I have to come clean. My hair is fabulous. It's my own fault that I am too lazy to actually brush it and put product in it. Because it is so straight, I can go for several weeks without brushing it.

I have this strange thing with vanity. I attended an almost all-white Catholic school with mostly Italian and Irish kids. Suffice it to say that diversity isn't very prized in an Irish/Italian Catholic environment. For the first fourteen years of my life I was convinced that I was hideous and would end up a lone spinster like those witches in fairy tales.

The style that was popular in my elementary/junior high school was the gaudy Guidette with her pouf of hair-sprayed hair and long red fashion nails. Let's not forget those shiny pink lip-glossed lips. Gloss that come in the white plastic tubs you buy at the local drugstore. And the mascara! Oh yes, the mascara!

During this time I learned to not look at mirrors too much. I used to have to wear a uniform so there goes any need to pay attention to fashion. My only desire in high school was to blend into the crowd.

After junior high, I attended a school that was VERY asian. In fact, there were so many asians, I no longer stood out! Okay, it was a nerd school, but for the first time in my life, I fit in!!

I started to wear makeup, do my hair, and wear all sorts of ridiculous outfits (after all, it was the early nineties).

Then I met my friend Amanda, who had been horrified that a mutual friend of hours took two hours every morning to get ready for school.

"Do you mean," Amanda said. "That this girl spends TWO HOURS looking at herself in the mirror?"

I never thought about it that way before. Through Amanda, I was given books by Derrida, Wittgenstein, Kristeva, and JD Salinger. She introduced me to The Cure, New Order, and indie punk bands. We bought second-hand clothes by the bag and wore the same thing three days in a row. It was a messy, dirty, fabulous life. I no longer cared how I looked. I went out on dates in my ugly white sweatshirt with the orange collar and sleeves. I felt that if the guy didn't like what I looked like all non-dressed-up, then he wasn't worth dating.

As it turns out, it was a very effective way of weeding out the duds. Although it probably only works when you're 22-years-old.

Anyway, I've recently wanted to go more green in terms of the products Peter and I use in our house. I now only use green products to clean almost everything (except for the occasional use of bleach) and yesterday I learned about a new way to wash my hair using baking soda. It's not just good for baking!

I put one tablespoon of baking soda into one cup of hot water. After I wet my hair, I poured this mixture on my head and rubbed it in for about a minute. Then I rinsed it, finished my shower and went to bed.

Yes, I take my showers at night. It's something I've always done. I like to go to bed all clean. I've been trying to convert Peter since we met, but he is a morning-showerer.

The next morning, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my hair was shiny, bouncy, and smooth. This baking soda thing is the greatest shampoo ever! I'm going to keep using it for a few weeks before I decide if I'm going to completely go "poo-free" -- so hopefully this will work out because it's even easier than the Head and Shoulders 2-in-1. Not only am I lazy, but I'm frugal too and baking soda only costs pennies. So I can save a whole $20/year!

I Love Boston, but Those Red Sox Fans Better Chill

Yesterday Peter and I made an impromptu visit to Boston. Yes, we drive 3 hours to go on a day trip. We told our friend John we were going and his reaction was that it's not worth it.

"What do you do? Drive for six hours just to spend about four hours in Boston?"

Why? Is that crazy?

This is something I've always done with my parents. We'll drive four hours to go to a restaurant we like. Every spring, we'd drive all the way to Washington DC from NYC just to look at cherry blossoms for about an hour. Sometimes you just want to go to another city, isn't that why we have cars?

On the way there, we stopped by a visitor center on the highway to pee. The old guy behind the counter gave Peter a look of evil and it took me a moment to figure out that Peter was wearing his Yankee hat!

Walking with Peter down Newbury Street when he's wearing a Yankee hat is a misery of dirty looks and constant barrage of: "Nice haaat."s (picture Boston accent here)

Peter wanted to get a Boston Red Sox hat because he likes their colors and he likes the team as long as they don't play the Yankees, but I am putting my foot down. No Red Sox hat is allowed in my home, just because of all the stupid fans that have given us such a hard time in the past. In NY, I would never notice if someone was wearing a Red Sox hat, let alone make a comment about it.

When we got into town, Peter stuffed his hat into his pocket and people pretty much left us alone.

Walking down Boylston Street, we noticed that Boston is now about 65% Asian. When did that happen? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's an improvement :) -- but since when? Is it because there are a million colleges and universities there and Asians love to study? Hmmmm...

Also, Peter noticed that there are a lot more attractive people in Boston now. Is Boston the new New York? Now THAT will really piss off those Bostonians.

They Said This Would Happen!

Hey! I got my first hatemail!

Okay, more like hate comment.

I've arrived!!

I'm strangely ecstatic about this. In fact, I'm so excited and I can't stop grinning.

Yes, I know it appears that we're being complete jerks about this stupid wedding, but it's mainly because there's a lot I haven't explained to my readership so here goes (take a deep breath):

We're not exactly happy to be attending this wedding because Peter has a very strained relationship with that part of the family. Basically, his sister and mother had a falling out over the purchase of a kitchen appliance.

Although Peter has purchased a dishwasher, a refrigerator, a sofa, a dining room table, three air conditioners, a microwave, and any other household appliance that needed purchasing in his parental home, when his eldest sister decided to purchase a new stove for his mother, her husband informed Peter that he would be chipping in for it. That was fine for him, in fact, he had wanted to buy his mother a stove just a few months previously for her birthday, but his mother insisted that she didn't need nor want a stove and she would actually prefer the cash, thank you very much.

I think that Peter's mother keeps quiet about all the things he does buy for her because she wants to play the martyr card in front of her other children. So this whole time there has been a lot of resentment amongst the other children (who only visit her once or twice a year) on how Peter had been fleecing her dry until he met me (the villainess) and then he moved out and abandoned her. I'm sure she never tells them that he paid off the large credit card debt she accrued buying Christmas presents for them. I'm pretty sure that all she does is complain about the stuff that Peter doesn't do for her instead of looking at all the things he does. Basically she's a glass-half-empty kind of person. If the glass is Peter and the empty air is all the unrealistic things she expects from her youngest son.

Okay, back to the original story: New York has this strange law that the stove store cannot hook up the stove. You need to unhook the old stove if you want to have the store carry it off and you need to hook up the new stove. I'm not sure why a Sears technician cannot do this, but he can't and don't even mention it to him because he will shrug his jumpsuited arms at you.

So when the new stove got delivered, Peter's mom insisted on not asking her landlord to unhook the old stove. I don't know why, but she was really against it. So for a few days there were two stoves in her kitchen. Then, there was a phone call from Peter's sister to Peter wherein he told her about this strange New York Stove Law.

In frustration, she called Sears and had them cart away the new stove and return it and she no longer wanted to buy the stove for her mother. In fact, she didn't speak to her or Peter for about four years.

You know how sometimes a stove isn't just a stove? I think that this stove represented a lot of things to Peter's sister and what happened was just the last straw. The fact of the matter is that Peter was born when his mother was in her forties and his elder siblings were already adults, so a lot of water got filled up under a lot of bridges even by the time he was born. There's a lot of crazy family dynamics that he doesn't even understand because they predate him. So this stove thing happened and his sister snapped.

During this time, Peter's father died. (That was a complete nightmare in and of itself without any support system for Peter or his mother during this terrible time.) Peter's eldest sister's entire family did not attend the wake, the funeral, or make any phone calls to the family.

There was a lot of resentment all around, and Peter's mother still has not forgiven them for not attending the funeral. I mean, I had to pick out the coffin and I was all, "The one with the big gold cross. No! The one with the roses. No! The one with the big gold cross. Wait. Uhm. I'm not sure. Can you show me all of them for the third time?" The funeral director was very patient and nice and I was so afraid of picking the wrong casket and the whole time I wished that someone older and wiser could help us out. (Ultimately, the funeral director assured me that yes, the one with the roses is completely appropriate and very Catholic-y)

It's true that for a long time Peter and I have judged this family very harshly for what they put his mother through and the embarrassment this caused her in front of all the other people who attended the funeral service. She doesn't like to feel that her family has completely fallen apart, but sometimes being confronted with it at the age of 84 is extremely difficult and she's not very good at dealing with feelings.

Peter has tried his best to reach out to his nephew. He had called him and not received any telephone calls back. He had asked his nephew to serve as a groomsman at our wedding, hoping that this would mend things a little, but his sister's family did not attend. In fact, their RSVP note was written in ALL CAPS to convey the fervency of their refusal, I suppose.

Because Peter's nephew did attend our wedding and he did stand up for us at our wedding, Peter feels obligated to attend his nephew's. Also, we understand firsthand what it's like when family does not attend a wedding since his sister did not attend ours. We didn't want to do that to anyone else. So we are attending the wedding, but we have reservations about everything. This will be the first time he will have seen his sister in about six years and he's not sure how that's going to be like. He doesn't really understand why his sister has removed herself from our lives, this was a sister that he had felt very connected to until six years ago. He feels that this relationship is completely damaged and irreparable.

The reason we're attending this wedding is that we were invited. And yes, it probably didn't matter which day of the year it was going to happen, but the fact that it was happening over the 4th of July weekend gave me an excuse to bitch and moan about it without really talking about the real issues.

But now that piece of hatemail has forced me to open up that can of worms, so THANK YOU HATEMAIL!

I am trying to be more positive and hopeful about this Friday and I guess that means I'm going to have to stop bitching and moaning. Which sucks because I LOVE bitching and moaning!

So okay, positive feelings from now on!

Second String

As I had mentioned previously, we're going to a wedding on the Fourth a July. And no, we're NOT HAPPY about this. A friend of mine commented that only very rarely does a Fourth of July happen to fall on a long weekend day and to take away that long weekend from everyone who has to be at the wedding (guests and also the catering staff) is not okay. Fine. Fine. Fine. Enough ranting about this stupid freaking wedding already!

Yesterday, Peter got invited to the bachelor party, which of course, is being held on Saturday. That's right. 2 days notice.

I mean, which is ruder? Not getting invited to an event or getting invited two days before the event? You might as well tell the person that a lot of other people couldn't make it and now you're calling the second string people. I'm annoyed whenever people are phony and I think this is a completely asshole thing to do. Just man up and not invite a person at all instead of using the "I invited him two days before the event so I invited him" rationalization.

Every day I get more and more annoyed that this wedding is going to be on the Fourth.

But I'm not the only one. Peter's nephew put down a "plus one" on his response (according to his grandmother) so I asked him who he was bringing.

"Oh. I'm not bringing anyone."

"You can't do that! They have to pay for that plate!"

"Uhm. They're getting married on the Fourth of July. That's my 'fuck you' in return for their 'fuck you.'"

Isn't family grand?

Thank God It Wasn't Acoustic

One of my many 35th birthday presents this year were two tickets to the 15th anniversary of Liz Phair's "Exile in Guyville" concert. 15 YEARS!!!! Yah, we're old.

When Peter and I first met, he loved that album. And then when he met me, it was one of the only CDs I ever kept in my car, so we would listen to it over and over and over again. Finally, it got to the point that he declared that we must exile "Exile in Guyville." It's truly one of the best angsty break-up albums ever created. I love breakup albums. Listening to those songs has the same effect as reading my stupid journal entries from college. Nostalgic and sad and happy all at the same time.

Right before we left the house for the concert, Peter went on the internet and found this website announcing that Liz Phair was going to play an acoustic show.

Peter was VERY upset and said he NEVER WOULD HAVE BOUGHT the tickets if he had known it was going to be an ACOUSTIC show. How the hell is she supposed to play all those songs acoustically?

When we got to the concert venue, Peter asked me if I could see a drum kit on stage. There were a zillion million people there and I'm shorter than he is, so I don't know why he was asking me. He ran up a set of stairs and came back with a HUGE smile on his face because the drum kit? IT WAS THERE!!!!

Whew!

The awesome thing was that there wasn't a terrible opening band. Liz Phair came on a few minutes after showtime and played the whole album. She looked adorable and halfway through the concert, she took a few steps back and I saw that she was wearing the teeny-tiniest pair of shorts. Yes, it took me about an hour to get a glimpse of her legs because of all the tops of heads in front of me. Why do all the tallest people insist on being right up front at a concert? Tall people suck.

It was an awesome concert. I loved my birthday present.

What's Wrong With Liz Cho's Feet?

Every week I get about 15 people on my website because they put in the keywords "Liz Cho Feet." It's the second most popular keyword phrase for my website. I didn't think anything about it, because I know that there are foot fetishists out there, so I'm sure "blah-blah-famous-celebrity" plus "feet" would rank high on any list of words searched.

However, today I was telling someone this story and she said, "Well now I'm worried. Is there something wrong with Liz Cho's feet? Maybe she has really deformed feet."

Now I'm worried too.

I'm also worried about her hair. Those people at ABC News don't know how to make Asian hair look nice.

That is Incredible

My favorite shows growing up were Little House on the Prairie and The Incredible Hulk. They were the perfect bookends to my school week. Little House on Mondays and Hulk on Fridays.

I became obsessed with The Hulk ever since my parents took me to the Universal Theme Park in Hollywood, CA where I actually got to meet The Hulk. I begged and begged my parents to buy me The Hulk dining set, which included; a plastic plate with three grooves cut out for your basic food groups, a plastic cereal bowl, and a plastic mug. All emblazoned with The Hulk in various states of Hulkiness.

My parents were not cheap, but when we first arrived in this country, my father didn't earn much money, so I didn't have many things growing up. It was pretty amazing whenever I asked for something and actually got it. I got a lot of mileage out of that purchase because for years I would not eat one meal without using that dining set.

I am convinced that I met the actual Hulk, but Peter insists that it must have been a stunt guy. After I met him I got to lift up a yellow and orange van with my mother. These events are as clear to me as something that happened two minutes ago. I'm pretty certain that it was the actual Hulk no matter what he says.

I love The Hulk as if he were a member of my family. And every week, as I watched the last few minutes of the show -- hearing that sad musical refrain (do doo do dooooo...do doo do dooo) as Bill Bixby walks with his head bent low down a dirt path -- I would be close to tears.

A few years ago, I was extremely excited to experience Ang Lee's "Hulk." Oscar-award-winner director, my favorite television character of all time, Jennifer Connelly, etc. etc. This was going to be the greatest cinematic feature of all time!

Of course, the first sign of trouble was Eric Bana, he of the ruination of all things cinematic. Only he could make revenge-seeking Jewish assassins boring (Munich). But I was still keeping that flame of hope alive...until I went to see the movie. Which was the biggest disappointment EVER.

So now, there's this new Hulk movie, and I had extra-bigger-high-hopes for this one. Ed Norton's in it, and he doesn't ruin movies! He's in Fight Club and Red Dragon and he's been nominated for Oscars...

ALAS! I hear through the grapevine that this new Hulk movie is even more of a disaster than the original. So I asked my sister yesterday while she was over my place:

"Why can't they make a good movie about The Hulk? I mean, it's all there...The gamma-radiation, the great protagonist, the villain who thinks he's doing the right thing even though he isn't, it's like The Fugitive on ACID. This movie can practically write itself. Why can't people just put it together properly?"

"I know," she said. "What's so INCREDIBLE about THE INCREDIBLE HULK is that they can't make a great movie out of this. That's the INCREDIBLE part."

Bio-De-Breakable

We've been taking the dogs to the Kensico Dam for early evening walks this spring. It's good exercise for us and the dogs and it's actually brought us all closer together. The dogs have been happier and they're actually more affectionate.

Walks are bonding. Cesar was right!

The great thing about this park is that they have dog poop bag dispensers all over the place and yesterday I got one and noticed that it was bio-degradable! This is very good news because I've just been made aware of all the terrible plastic that's going in landfills everywhere to never break down and piling up all over the planet.

So when Rocky pooped, Peter picked it up with the bio-degradable bag and said, "Gross! This bag almost broke on me!"

I guess that's the thing with bio-de-breakable-degradable bags.

Worried About Making Friends

My sister Jenny is heading off to Africa in a few days, a continent that no one in my immediate family has ever set foot on. I have no idea why she's even interested in this kind of thing, but she's been taking Swahili for the past few years and now she's taking her new language skills out on a test run.

As the day of her departure approaches, I get more and more nervous.

Because I'm so much older than her, I feel a bit more parental toward her than the normal sibling relationship: kind of like a third parent, but one with no power, sort of like a step-mother. I remember when we brought her home from the hospital -- my mother held Jenny in her arms as we rode the car home. Internally, I was freaking out because I felt that it was highly unsafe for this fragile baby to be transported in the car without any protective gear. But I kept this to myself. My parents were not the type of people who liked to be told what they ought to be doing by a teenager. And by my parents, I mean my father.

When we got her home, my father placed her on the crib mattress on the floor in the living room so that we could all look at her. She hardly weighed anything at all when you held her; it didn't seem normal. That day, I kept rushing to her side to check to make sure she was breathing. It's a good thing that she was a pleasant baby because I jostled her about five times an hour during her first few days of life. I think my paranoia irritated my parents.

Watching her prepare to leave for Africa, I get the same kind of feeling I got when we brought her home. I want to stuff her in a car seat and surround her with a dozen air bags, but she still has to go out into the world on her own. And the world she wants to go to is Africa.

The other day I asked her if she was scared.

"Yeah, I am scared," she admitted. "I'm scared that I'm going to be really lonely there and I'm not going to make friends. Or that no one is going to like me."

"WHAT? You're scared you're not going to MAKE FRIENDS? Aren't you scared that you're going to get robbed or mugged?"

"Uhmmm... Yeah, I guess I'm a little scared of that too."

Suitcase Story

When my sister came over our place to help out with our tag sale, she saw that I had two of my mother's suitcases in the basement. I told her that one of them was broken, which we didn't discover until I tried to close it while the taxi was already waiting at our front door.

"Oh," she said. "That suitcase has been broken for a while. I knew about that."

Which begs the question: Why did my mother lend me a busted suitcase?

This is the sort of things she does, which makes me think that she lives in a parallel universe, one in which suitcases miraculously fix themselves.

This busted suitcase caused Peter and me a tremendous amount of stress. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is after spending two hours finally managing to squeeze everything we wanted to bring into the suitcase -- only to discover that we couldn't lock it? All this so that we could check our bags for once in our lives.

(This came after an hour-long conversation on checking vs. not-checking, with me always on the side of not-checking because I grew up as a paranoid New Yorker. I haven't checked a bag in about fifteen years. I have really bad luck with checking because my bags are always sent to Alaska whenever I'm going to any other location. Peter finally won the debate by saying, "I will BUY YOU a new WHATEVER GETS LOST if we can PLEASE CHECK THE STUPID FREAKIN' BAGS!)

Luckily (I thought), I had borrowed not one, but TWO suitcases from my mom for precisely this event. But as it turns out, I should have borrowed THREE suitcases because the other one was missing its keys, keys my mother forgot to include when she lent me the suitcase. So we ended up having to not-check our bags. And we are now going to buy our own suitcases so that we will know what our suitcase situation is at all times. And no one is allowed to borrow our suitcases because that would put the knowledge of our suitcase situation into jeopardy once again, and we can't have that.

However, I did find a couple of my dad's bank statements and some important papers in his suitcase. When I told my mother about it, she said, "So THAT's where it went! Your dad is SOOO disorganized. We would NEVER have found that paperwork if you hadn't borrowed the suitcase!"

The sad thing is that I have inherited my father's keen sense of organization. Which drives Peter Up. The. Wall.

Is That a Bat?

Tonight Peter steamed some cauliflower and totally forgot about it. About half an hour later, we're watching late night television and we hear this squeaking and whistling noise. Peter keeps saying, "Pause the TV!" and, "What's that noise?" The best one was, "Is that a bat?"

I told him that it sounded like a rice cooker.

Finally, he got up and walked around the apartment, something a normal person would have done the second he heard that noise. When he got to the kitchen, he said, "Oh yeah! I'm steaming cauliflower!"

Help Us!!!!

Today I went to see Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull.

It was bad.

You know it's a bad movie when everyone sitting around us is checking their watches every few minutes.

My sister and I went to the theater at 62nd street and Lex. It's one of those strange movie theaters in NYC that go up and up and up. It's more vertical than horizontal, and when we walked in, the ticket taker told us that the restrooms were on the first floor, which is downstairs.

I needed to pee because I always need to pee. Peter says that I have the bladder of an 80-year-old woman.

We went to the bathroom and took the escalator up, but when we got to that level, the only other escalator was coming down to us. We tried to run up the down escalator, but then other people started to come down.

Immediately, I scream at these people:

"Get help! We're STUCK! Don't come down! Get help!"

And only in New York would this group of people completely ignore us and walk past us...to open the exit door located right behind me.

GREAT STUFF!

Two days ago, on the hottest day ever created, my condo had its annual tag sale. I thought that it would be a great opportunity to get rid of stuff that I didn't want to move into my new place.

My very first problem was that I didn't have any tables to put the stuff on, so my sister suggested that I put towels and blankets on the floor. She is a veteran of many tag sales and garage sales, so that's what I did. She was also oh-so-nice enough to actually come and help me with the sale since Peter said in no uncertain terms that he would NOT be helping me AT ALL and that I WAS CRAZY to even try to attempt to sell my junk.

At around 9:42am, I called my sister, who said she would be here at 8:30am - she's usually punctual, but when I called, her sleepy voice said, "Oh, crap."

At 10am, I laid down a dozen towels and loaded all my stuff onto them... BY MYSELF while Peter was sleeping soundly in bed. Although he did at one point open up one eyelid and say, "You aren't going to ask me to help you, are you? Because this is a really stupid idea and you are ON YOUR OWN."

Thanks.

Jenny got there by 10:30am and said, "Hey! I brought all my crap...uh...I meant...GREAT STUFF!"

After she laid all her stuff out, we had a mass of people come by who bought some clothes, a bar of soap, my 4 tubes of Aquafresh toothpaste, and a bunch of rags. As I looked at all my things, I said to Jenny:

"Y'know. When I put all this stuff together, I thought it was great stuff, but now that they're all laid out on the asphalt, it kind of looks like just a bunch of crap no one is going to want."

"Don't feel bad," Jenny said. "I mean, if it was stuff you wanted, you wouldn't be trying to sell it."

"I just wished I had better things to sell...but why would I want to sell my good things?"

"My point exactly."

Our big accomplishment of the day was selling a HUGE stuffed dog Jenny's friend won at Great Adventure, and has been sitting in our house for 4 years causing my parents mountains of distress. But whenever we told them to just throw it out, my mother wouldn't because she said that some kid out in the world is going to LOVE this stupid stuffed dog, so she felt bad just chucking it out.

Well, we found her. This little girl asked me how much we were selling the dog for and I said, "A Dollar!"

Her mom smiled and gave me a dollar and the look on that little girl's face was priceless. This whole tag sale idea was worth it if only to see that expression on her face, because after 6 hours of standing in 95 degree sunstrokey weather, we made about 80 dollars.

At 4pm, I told Peter, "You know what valuable lesson I learned from all this? I learned that I should just throw out my junk because it just isn't worth all this effort for 80 bucks."

"You couldn't of figured that out before?"

I guess not.

It's Gonna Be a Rude Wedding

A few days ago, I went to an editor's meeting at the magazine I work for and someone said something about the 4th of July. I said, "Oh, I can't go to that. I have to go to a wedding that day."

"A WEDDING on the FOURTH OF JULY!!!! HOW RUDE!!!!" One of the interns practically shouted this in my ear and I almost passed out from the fright.

Someone else said, "Who has a wedding on the fourth of July?"

The intern said, "Well, I hope you didn't get them a GIFT because you OBVIOUSLY aren't GOING!"

I said, "Well, I kind of have to go because it's my husband's nephew's wedding. And not only do I have to get them a gift, I'm going to have to give cash."

This reaction was really strange to me. More so because the intern who thinks it's SO RUDE is actually Australian, and it's kind of funny that his ire got all tangled up in his panties. The general consensus all around the table was that this person who is planning his wedding on the Fouth of July should be punished forever and mean things were said about him by complete strangers. Things like:

"He doesn't want people to attend. That way he gets the gifts without having to pay for meals."
"He wants to ruin everyone's weekend."
"He's cheap."
"He is really self-centered."
"He wants you to sit in traffic for a million years."
"He wants everyone at the wedding to resent him."

I am very upset that I have to give up my fourth of July because this is the only holiday I have with my family. My parents own a restaurant that is open on Christmas (because they have a lot of Jewish customers) and New Year's. The fourth of July is the only day they close the restaurant and we all get together to have dinner at a nice place and watch the fireworks. The fact that I have to go to this wedding really makes my sister mad and every time it gets mentioned she whines and says, "But that's OUR holiday! They get Thanksgiving, Easter and Christmas! They can't take the fourth of July too! It's not fair!"

Those Catholics are so damned selfish.

I guess it's a good thing no one in my culture gets married in July, because it is the Month of Death and a very unlucky month for marriages. Plus, the number 4 in Chinese actually sounds like "death." So no Chinese person would EVER get married on the fourth of any month, least of all the Month of Death, but then again, fireworks is good luck so perhaps they cancel each other out?

But I wouldn't chance it by having a fourth of July wedding. Hey, 1.3 billion people can't be wrong, right?

What do you think Internet? Is it extremely rude to have a wedding on the fourth of July?

Late Night Shenanigans

The other day I was taking the dogs out at three in the morning. Which is pretty normal in our household because we're up until 4am almost every other day.

One time a friend of mine who claimed to be a night owl came over our house and when he started to nod off at 2am, I complained and he said:

"I said I was a NIGHT PERSON. I never claimed to be a PRE-DAWN PERSON!!!!"

And I had to be all, "Sorry dude."

Anyway, so I am walking over to the garbage can with a plastic bag full of poop and I maneuver past all these cars that are parked along the garbage bin. I do this illegal thing where I toss the bag over the fence and it lands into the bin. The tossing over the fence is AGAINST THE CONDO ASSOCIATION RULES, but we live like rebels.

As I maneuver back out of the line of cars, I almost DIE OF A HEART ATTACK!!!!

The reason I nearly dropped dead right on the spot?

Some creepy guy with googly-eyes in parking spot #22 is talking on a cell phone and looking at me with the eyes of one of Satan's minions.

I let out a stifled scream. It was a scream that started in the back of my throat and was muffled right away by the fact that I remembered that it was 3AM IN THE MORNING and did not want to wake up everyone in Mt. Kisco.

I'm actually quite proud of my scream. In high school, my friends said it was a total Vickie-Vale-played-by-Kim-Basinger-sampled-by-Prince-in-his-Batman-song kind of scream. A genuine horror-flick scream.

Although now that I think about it, maybe I should have just let it rip because then THAT MAN'S WIFE would wake up and see whatever the hell this guy was up to. Because if you're hiding in your car talking on your cell phone in the middle of the night - you are so not living your life right.

The Dog UnWhisperer

Yesterday Peter took the dogs out and this guy with his dog came toward Rocky and Scout - and of course they immediately flip out.

"This is GREAT PRACTICE!" The guy said to Peter.

Peter hates when people come near the dogs because they are badly trained. We are not whispering to our dogs so they jump around and act crazy.

The guy proceeds to tell Peter that he recently bought Cesar's book and is trying out all the techniques. And then he said that he was surprised that the dogs at the condo don't seem to be getting along.

"Yeah," Peter said. "There are a lot of asshole dogs here -- and a lot of asshole dog owners too."

"You did NOT say that to him," I said.

"Yeah I did. What kind of asshole sees the dogs go nuts and out of control and decide to come CLOSER TO US for the purposes of PRACTICE. Someone who doesn't GIVE A SHIT about anyone else but HIMSELF... ASSHOLE."

'nuf said.

Please come up to us if you are non-asshole-y and non-dog-whispering.

Jinxed!

Right now it is raining HARD. I guess I spoke too soon yesterday.

HOWEVER, it was perfect weather all during lunch at Blu - nice view but the food was so-so.

I hope it's not going to rain on every birthday from now on! That would be a terrible reversal of fortunes.

Long Weekend of Birthday Happiness

There are several great things about being born at the end of May and one of them is Memorial Day weekend. Every year I celebrate my birthday during the whole entire weekend and I don't think that there has ever been bad weather on my birthday.

I also love buttercups because I always found buttercups on the playground right before my birthday.

Today Peter took me to Jackson Diner for a wonderful buffet lunch where I had tandoori chicken, chicken makhanwala, aloo gobi, potato dosai, and naan bread. It's hours later and I'm still full. It's really the best place to eat Indian food and I'm probably the only person in the world that is happy that they have moved into a bigger location because it means that we don't have to wait two hours for a table.

Then we went to Patel Brothers grocery store next door where we bought bags and bags of spices. Cauliflower for 99 cents, a pound of turmeric for $1.99. By the end of this shopping trip Peter was saying, "Screw you Mrs. Greens!" We left the store with bags of groceries and only spent $19! This place is like the Disney World of Food.

Afterwards we went to Carroll Gardens and walked around. I love walking around the city during Memorial Day weekend and Fourth of July weekend. I don't know why, but the city literally empties out. And I LOVE New York without a ton of people. I think Memorial Day weekend is the perfect time to visit New York City because you can always get a seat at your favorite restaurants and bars, you don't have to dodge a million people, and the weather is perfect.

Tomorrow's my real birthday day and that's when I get my PRESENTS!

Soup Lady on Oprah

The other day, while I was watching Oprah, I saw the Ladles of Love soup lady - On OPRAH! I called Peter on the telephone (because God forbid I actually get up and walk to the other side of the apartment) and said, "Soup Lady's on Oprah!"

Peter runs into the room, looks at the television, and says, "So I guess I'm about as tall as Oprah."

This is something he does every time he sees a celebrity around another celebrity or person he has met in real life.

He knows that he is a little taller than Halle Berry, so whenever she's in a movie with someone, he'll say, "I'm definitely taller than that guy, because he's shorter than Halle Berry."

Is this something all men do?

I'm Not Wrong

Peter and I were talking about something, and by talking, I mean we were probably arguing and I kept saying, "I'm not wrong."

Peter: "But you can't keep saying that because that's just YOUR view of things."

Me: "Okay fine. When I say I'm not wrong, what I mean is IN My OPINION. But what I REALLY MEAN is I'm not wrong."

Half-an-Hour Decision

Tonight Peter tuned into the Laker-Spurs basketball game, and knowing that he doesn't like both teams, I said, "Which team are you rooting for?"

"Well, we HATE both teams," he said. "It really doesn't matter."

So we're sitting around talking about the tag sale we're having next next Saturday and all of a sudden he says:

"Okay, it's taken me a half-hour, but I think I want to Spurs to win. Because we REALLY HATE the Lakers."

Thanks for clarifying what we are thinking.

Everybody's A Star

I discovered a web site the other day written by someone Peter and I used to know. It's basically a web site chronicling the everyday details of this person's daughter, written in the child's point of view.

I thought that was a strange choice because most of the posts were about how wonderful her parents are...so basically, the adults are writing wonderful things about themselves, but putting the words into the mouth of their infant. It kind of creeped me out a little bit, but it made Peter mad.

"There used to be an understanding that there are some people who did interesting things and some other people were interesting, and they put themselves out there. But now, with blogs, anybody can write about anything and put it up on the internet and feel as if they're relevant. And now you have thousands of people who think they're contributing to the world because they take the time to write some nonsense on a stupid blog."

Did I mention that Peter's a cool-person-snob? Of course, this diatribe was followed by a, "Well, not you, honey. Because YOU are INTERESTING and a GOOD WRITER."

Uh-hmmm.

And then he had another very good point:

"Do you know how much I HATE IT when I'm looking for information and I'll randomly get forwarded to someone's blog? Do you know HOW ANNOYING IT IS?"

So for all those people out there who are looking to see if Brad Pitt is a vegetarian or want to see pictures of Liz Cho's feet:

I'm sorry.

Let's Hope It's a Software Problem

The one thing I really hate about bourocrasy, oops, I mean bureaucracy (I thought that looked strange) of any kind is when people say, "Oh, don't worry, just do THIS. It'll be fine."

The nurse over at the fertility clinic basically told me that once I get my period, I should just call up some clinics for a test I needed to have done. She didn't say, "By the way. If you get your period on a Friday afternoon after 3pm, you'll have to wait until Monday morning to make any sort of appointments, by which time, EVERYTHING will have filled up."

I had a bit of misfortune because I'm supposed to get this test done on Day 5-10 of my cycle and this week happens to end on Memorial Day weekend, so there are three prime days for testing that are completely off the table. I called about seven places before I could find one that would squeeze me in. Everyone else said, "Sorry, just call back during your next cycle."

Right. The whole REASON I have to get this test done is that I HAVE NO REGULAR CYCLE. If I couldn't get an appointment, I might have to wait another THREE MONTHS.

I also got annoyed today because I had to cancel a get-together with a friend of mine because of all these doctor's appointments. When I explained the situation, she clicked her teeth very judgemental-like and said, "Oh, why are you doing that? You don't want to go down THAT path, do you?"

When I explained that I was going to get the baseline tests done so that I can figure out what I want to do, she kept saying things about how terrible the infertility process is and how I shouldn't do it. It took her two months having mundane sex with her husband to conceive her daughter, so I felt that she had no right to make any comments on my choices.

She went on and on and I interrupted her by saying, "Yes, well there's a possibility that there's nothing wrong physically so that I won't have to resort to anything terrible. If it's a hormone issue and I can take a pill, that's something I'd like to find out and I think it's the smart thing to do."

Basically, in Peter-computer-geek-speak, I'm hoping that it's a software problem and not a hardware problem.

Day 3!

Today I went to have some blood tests and an FSH screening. Hopefully everything went well and the blood tests will come back okay. The doctor looked at my ovaries (and so did I) - it was kind of strange to see what's going on inside my body.

At one point, the doctor was showing me my ovaries and counting the follicles. He said I had a normal amount of follicles and tried to point them out to me, but I felt the same way I used to when I tried to find images in Magic Eye posters. I kept saying, "I don't see them."

He kept pointing them out, but then after a while, he said, "Trust me. They're there."

That's good.

This exam wasn't that terrible. It's the fallopian tubes dye test later this week that is making me nervous. Eeek.

No Love for The Cafe of Love in Mount Kisco

There's a cafe that just opened up a few weeks ago that is the sister store to the soup place we love, Ladles of Love. The only bad part about the soup place is that there's no place to sit down.

Yesterday, Peter took me to the Cafe of Love in Mount Kisco and we had a really disappointing time. The soup place has plenty of vegetarian options, and the menu specifically points out what is vegetarian and what isn't. So we figured that this new restaurant would do the same. There was only one dish that didn't have meat in it, and Peter does this thing where he says, "Let's stay. There's something I can eat."

But what he really means is, "I don't want to eat here."

You would think that I could figure this out by now, but I think I get confused by Peter's very cheerful and laid-back demeanor.

What kind of sucks about Westchester is the Westchester-type. And this place was full of them. This is the guy who takes up way too much space and is super-loud-obnoxious, and when a wait person says, "Excuse me," he completely ignores them and if he moves, will not look waitstaff in the eye. Because servants don't exist.

I really can't stand Westchester-guy. But, hey! This place is in Westchester, so y'gotta expect this. It's a cute restaurant and the owner is really nice, but the vibe in that place is a little gross.

When we sit down, Peter asks for the pasta dish if they can make it without sausage, but unfortunately, they can't. There's only one other dish he can order and it was...a cheddar omelet. I mean, who has a cheddar omelet for dinner?

We ordered the pomme frites, which are pretty good, but are not really pomme frites. They're French Fries. We were expecting real European-style pomme frites.

And then, Peter's meal comes...with a side of pomme frites.

Even though, yes, we read the menu, I still felt that it was the waiter's job to let us know that the ONLY THING PETER COULD ORDER came with a side of the appetizer we ordered. He could have said, "Y'know, the thing you ordered comes with that appetizer, you might want to try something else."

That made me really mad. I used to wait tables so I know the waiter's job. He is supposed to ensure that you have a good meal and who wants to eat two portions of the same thing?

Peter kept saying, "We had the menus in front of us. We're supposed to order our own meals."

And my response was, "When I used to wait tables I would point out things like this and take the time to explain the menu because that's HOW I MADE GOOD TIPS."

My meal was really good, but I couldn't really enjoy it because I kept looking across the table at a VERY unhappy husband.

"I feel really bad about this," I said.

"Well, you should," he said.

HUH? I thought? You said? What about "Let's stay. There's something for me to eat?"

Sometimes I just don't know what to do. At other times when I have insisted we leave a restaurant, Peter gets really mad because he says things like, "I told you IT WAS OKAY. Let's STAY."

Other times, it's, "You SHOULD feel bad."

This married to a vegetarian thing is so annoying sometimes.

Another disappointing Westchester restaurant. So what else is new? The only place we keep going to in Westchester is Tomatillo, but that CANNOT be the only great place with good food and nice vibes in this county!

Progeny 2008!

When Peter and I went to the fertility specialist, the nurse gave us a whole list of tests I would have to undergo during my next menstrual cycle, which started today.

I called the office and set up about three different tests and I have to call another office to set up another, more invasive, test. Fun!

It was kind of amusing, because I called and the reaction on the other end of the line was, "So you're at Day 1!!"

In my mind today is no longer Friday but Day 1!! and Saturday is now Day 2!!

I know that I probably should have made all these appointments a few years ago. This is something my mother nags me about at least twice a week. Peter and I had a conversation about this last night, about whether it would have been better to find out earlier that I probably wouldn't be able to conceive naturally.

He said that this was all for the best, because we weren't ready to have children earlier and it wouldn't have been a good idea to try at that time.

I have very mixed feelings about this because having children is something I've always wanted to experience, but at the same time, not everyone gets to have everything they want in life.

Peter's mother considers herself the unluckiest person in the world and she had four healthy children. Having that in her life didn't make her a happy person.

I feel so very lucky to have met Peter and to be able to share my life with him.

In a few weeks, we'll have some answers about whether or not we'll be able to have children. I feel like I'm standing in a hallway of locked doors holding a string of keys and I'm not sure which doors are going to be able to open up.

I just hope that I don't become one of those women who get really bitter about other people's happiness.

When Peter's sister had trouble getting pregnant the first few years of her marriage, every time you would bring up a story about someone else having a baby, she would say something in a really snide way. One time, she said something like, "Oh yeah, they're reproducing?"

I don't think I have that kind of personality, but it's a human reaction to feel a bit sad for yourself.

It's kind of daunting when I think about all the people who had to survive cave-ins, tigers, evolution, revolutions, and all my ancestors who had to survive to adulthood to have progeny to get to a point where I could come into the world. It's pretty amazing.

Don't Blame the Dogs!

While we were on vacation, Peter received a frantic call from his mother because her eye was itchy and it was driving her crazy. When he told her to go to her doctor, her reply was, "But I went yesterday."

Hmmm.

On Mother's Day, he went to visit his mom and her eye looked like it had puffed into a sort of eye pus balloon at some point, and now the balloon had become deflated, so you could see all the flabby left-over eye balloon pooled around her eye. I hope I adequately described this in some sort of vivid second-hand manner, because I wasn't actually there. At the last minute, I didn't feel up to it because I was still tired from our plane ride the night before.

Even though this eye allergy flared up one week after her visit, she is convinced it is because of the dogs.

When she pet the dogs, Peter told her to wash her hands. This is something we do every day, every time we touch the dogs. She went to the bathroom and put her hands under the tap...but apparently decided not to squirt that germ-killing medium we call SOAP on her hands.

The other day, Peter asked her why she didn't put soap on her hands and her reply was that it was sheer stupidity. But then Peter pressed her further.

"Ma. When you wash your hands at your house, do you wash them with soap?"

"Every time."

"So...Why didn't you wash them with soap at our house."

"I don't know. That's why it's so stupid. I ALWAYS wash my hands with soap."

This is when I started to over-think this. I convinced myself that she didn't wash her hands because she didn't understand that the liquid in the convenient pump dispenser was soap. In fact, she might not even know that soap comes in a liquid form now because she lives in that time capsule she calls her apartment in the Bronx.

Peter said I was completely ridiculous. But I say that I will never overestimate someone who still cannot figure out that when you get into the passenger side of an automobile, you should not try to get in with your right foot first.

I don't believe that the dogs were the culprit, because allergies tend to flare up quite suddenly. I know, I experienced a case of Fries Hives at the City Limits Diner. I ate some Fries that they sprinkled some mysteriously delicious spices on and broke out in hives all over my arms INSTANTLY.

I'm convinced Peter's mother must have dropped a piece of paper on the street, picked it back up along with whatever microbes were laying about, and later, rubbed her hands all over her face and into the petri-dish she calls her eye.

So, just to be safe, I think she should stop coming to our house. I mean, I'm ONLY thinking of her HEALTH.

1001 Books

How could someone compile a list called 1001 Books to Read Before You Die and not have his head completely explode?

Here is a list of the complete 1001 books.

I've read 89 of those books! Actually, I've read more, but I limited myself to only the books I remember the plot of, so anything I read in fifth grade and can't remember didn't make the list.

# indicates books I listened to on tape.
* indicates books I read more than once.

My one caveat - I included Infinite Jest, even though I only read about half of it, because dude! That thing is 1088 pages - so my reasoning is that those 500 pages I read will NOT go to waste! So you could say I read 88.5 books on the list.

# On Beauty – Zadie Smith
# The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time – Mark Haddon
# Everything is Illuminated – Jonathan Safran Foer
Middlesex – Jeffrey Eugenides
# The Corrections – Jonathan Franzen
The Body Artist – Don DeLillo
# White Teeth – Zadie Smith
*The Blind Assassin – Margaret Atwood
The Poisonwood Bible – Barbara Kingsolver
Glamorama – Bret Easton Ellis
The Hours – Michael Cunningham
*The God of Small Things – Arundhati Roy
Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden
attempted - Infinite Jest – David Foster Wallace
Alias Grace – Margaret Atwood
#The Shipping News – E. Annie Proulx
Trainspotting – Irvine Welsh
The Stone Diaries – Carol Shields
*The Virgin Suicides – Jeffrey Eugenides
*The Robber Bride – Margaret Atwood
*The Secret History – Donna Tartt
Possessing the Secret of Joy – Alice Walker
Jazz – Toni Morrison
*The English Patient – Michael Ondaatje
Black Water – Joyce Carol Oates
*The Things They Carried – Tim O’Brien
*Like Life – Lorrie Moore
# Possession – A.S. Byatt
Billy Bathgate – E.L. Doctorow
Remains of the Day – Kazuo Ishiguro
The Temple of My Familiar – Alice Walker
Like Water for Chocolate – Laura Esquivel
Cat’s Eye – Margaret Atwood
Beloved – Toni Morrison
* Anagrams – Lorrie Moore
*Reasons to Live – Amy Hempel
# The Cider House Rules – John Irving
Less Than Zero – Bret Easton Ellis
*The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood
The Lover – Marguerite Duras
*The Color Purple – Alice Walker
*The House of the Spirits – Isabel Allende
Delta of Venus – Anaïs Nin
Interview With the Vampire – Anne Rice
Fear of Flying – Erica Jong
Sula – Toni Morrison
The Bluest Eye – Toni Morrison
# I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings – Maya Angelou
*The Godfather – Mario Puzo
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test – Tom Wolfe
In Cold Blood – Truman Capote
Wide Sargasso Sea – Jean Rhys
The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest – Ken Kesey
A Clockwork Orange – Anthony Burgess
*Franny and Zooey – J.D. Salinger
*To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee
Things Fall Apart – Chinua Achebe
Lord of the Flies – William Golding
*The Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger
Nineteen Eighty-Four – George Orwell
Animal Farm – George Orwell
*The Little Prince – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Out of Africa – Isak Dineson (Karen Blixen)
*Gone With the Wind – Margaret Mitchell
*To The Lighthouse – Virginia Woolf
*The Sun Also Rises – Ernest Hemingway
*Mrs. Dalloway – Virginia Woolf
*The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Trial – Franz Kafka
The Age of Innocence – Edith Wharton
Dracula – Bram Stoker
The Time Machine – H.G. Wells
*The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn – Mark Twain
The Portrait of a Lady – Henry James
Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy
*Little Women – Louisa May Alcott
Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert
*Uncle Tom’s Cabin; or, Life Among the Lonely – Harriet Beecher Stowe
The Scarlet Letter – Nathaniel Hawthorne
*Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë
*Jane Eyre – Charlotte Brontë
The Fall of the House of Usher – Edgar Allan Poe
Frankenstein – Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
*Emma – Jane Austen
*Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
*Sense and Sensibility – Jane Austen
*Aesop’s Fables – Aesopus


I know, only a nerd would do this.

Upgrade...Upgrade

Peter and I are at the Westin Dilpomat Resort Hotel & Spa in Hollywood, FL. I know, it's a mouthful, but the place is HUGE and has 2 locations.

We've had to change our rooms twice since we got here - Basically, when we first checked in, because we have different last names and we are here for a conference, the hotel booked us a room with two double beds. And even though at the lobby, when the front desk clerk said, "Two double beds, is that alright?" Peter was the one who said, "Sure!"

But when we get to the room, Peter looked at the beds and said, "Those are WAY too small! You move around WAY too much while you sleep." So I had to run downstairs and change our room. I'm sure it was annoying to the clerk. He said that they had another room with a king-sized bed, but there was no balcony, which was fine with me, because the balcony in that room basically overlooked the next building and had a lovely view of the 7Eleven.

Our next room was on the 35th floor and gorgeous! I felt a bit bad, but every time we have requested a room change at a hotel, we were given a room that was head and tails better than the one we had originally, which is positive reinforcement for negative behavior. I may have to start asking for room changes more often, if that's the case.

We had a view of the ocean and the city, and we were really happy there until a few hours ago when there was a torrential rain and thunderstorm that lasted for about ten minutes, but resulting in the cascading of water down the sides of the window which got poured all over the carpet. I think all of the rainwater in Hollywood, Fl landed on our carpet, there was so much water.

So, room change number 2 - And this last room we got is completely fantastic. Full-on ocean-view WITH a balcony! I think if we ask for another room change, we're going to get the Presidential suite.

When I told my sister this story, she said that she is very sure that hotel double-beds are smaller than real-life double beds, and I must agree. Although I'm sure the front-desk clerk would beg to differ.

Trader Joe's Joe Joes Are EVIL

The other day, a friend of mine had a bag of Trader Joe's Joe Joes in her bag and offered me one. They are an all-natural OREO cookie for those of us who read nutritional labels on all boxes. It is really the most delicious thing in the world. Later that day, when I found myself at Trader Joe's, I slipped a box into my cart.

Two days later, right before Peter and I finished the box, he said, "Do you realize that TWO of these are ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY calories?"

I was stunned. I couldn't believe that I was gobbling up THOUSANDS of calories.

He looked at me very gravely and said, "You CANNOT buy these EVER AGAIN."

You'll Need a Husband for That

I met this lady today and the minute she told me that she fed her 15-year-old poodles organic food that she makes herself, I knew that she must have been a 70's hippie-lady. And later, when I asked her what her last name was, she said, "My last name or my husband's last name, because we have DIFFERENT last names."

It's kind of funny because I didn't take my husband's last name, although a lot of my married women friends have started to do that. It's not that big a deal now, but in the 70's, when this lady did it, it was a really RADICAL notion. And I could tell that she still kind of feels that way, by her reaction.

In Taiwan, where my mother is from, a woman doesn't take her husband's last name. She's still called by her maiden name, but she may also be called So-and-so Tai Tai, which means Mrs. So-and-so.

But the last name issue got us to talking and she told me that when she first got married, she couldn't get a credit card because she kept her maiden name. The credit card company didn't issue cards to women unless they were married and had their husband's name.

Boy, how times have changed.

She Learned So Much

So Peter's mother left today. Peter told us that he needed to stop by his client's office so he had to take her home early. He asked me if I wanted to tag along, and I was like, "Go to work with you? Uh...Hmmm. No."

Then later, in the bedroom, he whispers, "I'm not going to work. Are you sure you don't want to come with me?"

My answer was, "You LIED to us?"

"Yeah. Do you want to go into the city with me?"

"YES!!"

His mother had wanted to stay until the evening, but Peter wanted to take her home early. Because he didn't want to go through the whole song and dance of guilt, he told her he had to go to his client's office, which is 15 minutes away from her apartment.

So I did tag along, since we went to The CITY!!!! And had lunch at Angelica Kitchen! And dessert at Max the Bald Man's!!!!

I LOVE The CITY!

Later, Peter said that his mother really loved reading all the magazines I got at the library.

She was amazed that I had so many People, Us Weekly, and Vogue magazines, and he told her that I got them for her. She told him that she had a lot of fun reading them and that, "I learned so much I didn't know before about celebrities!"

At least I'm doing my job - the job of celebrity educator. Maybe I should get a PhD in that.

What're They Gonna Do?

Peter's mom is staying at our place for a few days and we were all watching Dancing With the Stars, her favorite show, when Def Leppard comes on and plays "Pour Some Sugar On Me."

As soon as Joe Elliot starts to sing, Peter says, "Oh that's lame. They're totally lip-synching."

"How can you tell?"

"Because they don't sound that good live."

"But what're they gonna do? They have to sound like themselves on the radio. Or people won't know who they are."

Beware of Dog Adopting

Peter and I have been discussing ways in which we can volunteer our time and web expertise to help a local pet shelter. That is, as soon as Peter's done with his gazillion never-ending projects. It's something we've been wanting to do lately, and now that Peter's going to have his own servers, he can afford to offer this up for free.

I told him that it might be really difficult to go to these pet shelters because we're going to want to bring all the dogs home. The only reason we've been feeding, taking out, clipping the nails from this Siberian Husky, as well as trying to remove white hairs from every single thing we own (including our backgammon board!) is because we went to a pet shop and this adorable white puppy sighed and slumped down in his kennel.

And here we are, almost seven years later.

The lesson? DO NOT go to a pet store just to look at cute puppies.

Also, we have learned since then. Do NOT ever buy a puppy from a store because they get them from horrible puppy mills.

I told Peter that we are really going to have to harden our hearts when we go to these shelters and he turned to me and said:

"Oh, I'm not stepping a foot in there."

That's because Peter's got a heart mushy like a gooey old ripened banana.

Dork!

Me: You're the biggest dork.

Peter: In the sense that I am bigger than you, then yes, I may be the bigger dork. But you are, pound-for-pound, a MUCH bigger dork than I am.

Neighborly Behavior

Now that the parking spot controversy has been solved to our liking, our neighbor has been continuously parking on the line, which is actually against the condo association rules.

How do I know this? Because right before we left for our South Carolina vacation, I parked our car in the guest spot next to our spot because we have a Honda Element. The clamshell doors on our Element may seem like a good idea...unless you are not parallel parked. If you are parked in regular parking lot spots, especially spots that are super-tight, you have to open one door - smush your body all the way to the left - then open the back door. And if you need to let someone in the backseat, it means that you must both smush in together.

Because I knew this may be a problem in terms of packing up our car, I parked in the guest spot and the front wheel of my car was touching the line. I felt that since the line impinged on our assigned parking spot, it wasn't a big deal. I was only hurting myself.

Lo and behold, as soon as I got back from vacation, there was a note from the management company stating that I had parked ON THE LINE which may be SUBJECT TO LARGE FINES.

For the past few weeks, ever since they have made our spot bigger, my neighbor has now been parking on the line, the line that distinguishes between our spot and her spot. At first I had been letting it go - I figured she might have misjudged her new space. But now it's just getting annoying.

Exhibit 1:



Exhibit 2:



I would narc on her, but I'm too lazy to tattle.

And if you click on the last photo, you will see that her license plate holder says, "Angels are watching over me."

Yeah. Watching you be a jerk!

Even Though

After our meeting with the fertility specialist, Peter said:

"I feel really good about this. There were a few times while I was sitting in his office where I felt nauseous and slightly sick to my stomach, but I feel really good."

Aww...

Isn't he so sweet?

Don't Worry

Tomorrow we're going to a fertility specialist who is going to let us know if our chances of progeny are good, not good, or impossible.

It's a visit that I've been putting off for about two years. We had just recently decided that maybe having kids may not be the most terrible mistake we'll ever make in our lives. And now, it looks like we may have to go through extensive scientific experiments to find out if we even have any chance to make the most terrible mistake of our lives.

This all started because a few weeks ago, I went to my gyno and she startlingly told me that I had not ovulated the month previously and that my estrogen levels are alarmingly low.

We had been putting off the kids thing for a few years because it's going to change our lives and every keeps saying, "Wait until you're ready."

No one ever says, "You want to go to Hawaii? Wait until you're ready."

They just say, "Go to Hawaii! It's terrific!"

Also, we had friends who told us after the birth of their son that it was the best thing that ever happened. And the way they kept saying it was like, "Best thing...best thing...best thing we ever did." Kind of like pod people. And then a few weeks later the husband was on the phone with Peter saying that his wife was threatening divorce.

Of course, this may have less to do with having kids than meeting, getting married and getting pregnant within a matter of weeks.

A few days ago, I started to second-guess myself and had a mild panic attack full of, "Maybe I shouldn't have waited so long! Maybe I should have gotten married and had kids ten years ago!"

Then I calmed down with the thought that if I can't have children, and this is the most terrible health problem I have in my lifetime, I would consider myself very lucky.

I have to say that I love my new gyno, not because she reminds me of Sandy Duncan with gray hair, but when she saw how alarmed I was when she told me that bad news about my estrogen levels, she said, "Don't worry. With all the technology we've got these days, if you want a baby, you'll have a baby."

This is much better than my old gyno, because when I asked her for a prescription for vitamins so that I could write off my vitamins in my flexible spending, her answer was, "You don't need that."

When I told her that I did need that, and that my flexible spending account stipulated that I needed that, she kept insisting that I didn't need it and refused to write me a prescription. So I didn't get to write off my vitamins. Suffice it to say, I don't think she would have been quite so supportive.

Ativan You

I got this spam email today which really made me laugh for no particular reason:

Ativan You Cheap Ativan

Is it funny to anyone else?

First Names

A few weeks ago, Peter and I got into the most tremendous fight about this blog. Basically, he didn't like the fact that I wrote about his family using their first names - case in point - Easter dinner.

I felt that this was ridiculous, since I've only got about twenty people who read my blog regularly. And you all know who you are... I am hardly Perez Hilton so I think that his family members are pretty safe from exposure-by-internet.

And yes, I did write their first names, but it's not like they have original one-of-a-kind names like Suri Cruise or Pax Jolie-Pitt. Their names are hobodinky regular names like Joe. There are probably about a million Joe's in the Tri-State area alone.

Every person in Westchester has a brother-in-law named Joe.

He suggested that I come up with pseudonyms, and I was all, "What am I supposed to do? Keep a log of all the fake names I come up with and keep a glossary of fake names I gave the real people who are NEVER GOING TO READ THIS BLOG EVER?" I mean, I have better things to do with my time and energy...like cruising the internet looking for ceramic fish umbrella stands.

But Peter felt that one day, y'know, that famous "One Day" everyone talks about, a member of his family will discover my web site and read all the posts about how awful they are, and will be VERY ANGRY.

To that, my response was, "But it's all true." My reasoning behind what I write on my blog is that if it is something I would not care for people to know, I do not share it, because I understand that this is published online, which means anyone with a computer is able to access it. Everything I write on my blog is something I would willingly share with anyone.

So that means, if you are a bitch at Easter dinner, I have every right to write about it. And creatively, I can put it in a poem, a short story, or in my case, a blog. So don't underestimate a writer with a chip on her shoulder. And you should never underestimate a writer with a chip on her shoulder who has a lot of time to kill.

So the long and the short of it is that Peter is no longer allowed to read my blog. Of course, he's going to read it anyway, but at least when he sees something he doesn't like, he can't say anything about it, because he's not even supposed to be reading it.

And I have promised to no longer write first names of anyone in his family.

Yes, this is what people who don't have children fight about. Things no one else give a crap about: Blog entries and who finished all the ice cream. Jealous anyone?

Nature Channel Right Outside Our House

Today Peter saw a hawk snatch a squirrel from a tree.

A squirrel was scurrying up a tree and WHOOM! The hawk just casually snatched it away.

Then, later as he was changing the doorbell (about seven months after it broke), he saw this big ant get stuck in a spiderweb and a teeny-tiny spider totally took it down.

Mount Kisco is full of nature.

How Can They Find That Many Ben Steins?

Tonight Ben Stein is scheduled to be on the Larry King show.

The very first time I saw the show, "Win Ben Stein's Money," the contestant they had on the show was named Ben Stein. My sister explained the concept of the show to me by saying, "You see, Ben Stein knows everything, so this other guy, whose name is also Ben Stein, is going to try to answer more questions than Ben Stein so he can win Ben Stein's money."

After my head reeled around the planet a few times, I asked:

"How many Ben Steins are there? How often is this show on that they can find that many people who are named Ben Stein? I mean, what do they do? Import people from Israel?"

For a moment, my sister looked at me like I was speaking in a different language. And yes, that language has a name, it's called: Stupidese.

And then I saw this look of recognition on her face, the, "Oh yes, must translate Stupidese into English" look. After all, I AM talking to MY SISTER.

"TODAY the show HAPPENS to have someone on the show named Ben Stein. But MOST of the time, the contestants are NOT named Ben Stein. The show is called Win Ben Stein's Money. Not Watch Another Ben Stein Win Ben Stein's Money."

"Yah...Gotcha."

I Still Stink!

The Crabtree and Old Lady Lotion still stinks! I've washed my hands about 17 times and the smell is still going strong. I think the fragrance has been seeped into my hands permanently.

This is La Source body lotion which I got from the Hilton Hotel in Atlanta. I had to throw it out because it's just too much!

Which is strange because I've used their soap, body wash, shampoo and conditioner and all I got was a pleasantly light scent.

I've washed my hands and put other lotions on my hands to negate the scent, but nothing is working.

I think I just might smell like this forever.

Crabtree and Old Lady

Sitting in the car on the way to the library:

Peter: What is that smell?

Me: Lotion.

Peter: What kind of lotion?

Me: Crabtree & Evelyn

Peter: More like Crabtree & Old Lady. You smell like a real estate lady.

He Puts Our Servants To Shame

I went to the doctor today, a completely new doctor picked out of the hat I call My HMO. As I was waiting for her in the examination room, I perused a copy of People Magazine that has Jennifer Lopez on the cover.

She was quoted as saying that her husband is so good with the children that he puts the help to shame.

I thought that was such a strange thing to say. On one hand, I thought, "Well, they are your kids. So, yes, you should probably take care of them better than your servants.

On the other hand...No, there is no other hand. It's kind of a weird thing to say, and a little creepy.

But then again, they live on Long Island.

When Peter and I went to his niece's christening, the priest actually said:

"You all have people you hire to help you take care of your children. And we have to act like the hired help, except we're helping Jesus."

I guess he was just speaking in a language they would understand: LongIslandese

That James Bond Guy = Yoda

=

Hold On While I Swirl My Scepter in There

We went to Peter's friend's Birthday Dinner last Saturday. He turned 40 and there was no Superbowl on, but whatever, other people can do what they want.

The thing is, whenever we go to this person's house, or he and his wife bring their child to our place, we get nervous that we won't be able to eat. Not because the food isn't good, because it is, but they have a daughter who likes to touch food that is on the table.

By the way, did I ever mention that I'm a germophobe? With a specific fear of child-carrying-bacteria?

One time she came over to our house and we had made roasted potatoes. As soon as we placed them on the table, she proceeded to touch every potato on the platter. Peter and I looked at each other like, "I guess the dogs are getting lucky tonight."

When we went to their house the other night, Peter's friend put a bowl of potato chips on the table and, since the little girl was in her fairy outfit, she took the scepter - ooops, I meant her Magic Wand, and swirled it around in the potato chips.

So when the tofu came out of the grill and was placed on the table, Peter snatched it up.

"I saw her eyeing it," Peter said. "And there's no way in HELL I'm not eating tonight!"

Artichoke Heart & Spinach Gratin

In the past, I've been reluctant to post recipes that are taken from someone's cookbook. However, I found this article that says it's okay as long as you attribute it. So here is a recipe that has been requested. It is sooooo delicious.

This recipe is adapted from Mollie Katzen's in her new book, The Vegetable Dishes I Can't Live Without.

1 6 oz bag of frozen artichoke hearts (She uses 12 oz artichokes)
1 pound of baby spinach leaves
1 Tablespoon olive oil
1 cup minced onions
2 teaspoons minced garlic
salt
ground pepper
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1/3 cup grated Asiago cheese (She uses Parmesan Cheese, but I didn't have any)

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2. Run tap water through the artichoke hearts in a colander to defrost and drain.

3. Wash and rinse spinach and drain most of the water off.

4. In a skillet, add onions and saute with olive oil for 5 minutes until translucent.

5. Add spinach, increase heat and cover. Use tongs to toss until wilted, then uncover and cook for a few minutes until the liquids have mostly evaporated.

6. Reduce heat, add garlic, salt and black pepper to taste. Stir in the artichoke hearts and cover with bread crumbs. Then cover with cheese.

7. Bake in the oven for 10-15 minutes, until cheese is golden delicious!

200 Posts!

This is my 200th post! I can't believe I've already written 200 items of random stuff!

Yay for random stuff!

Apparantly, The Tweezie Isn't Painless...Or Sturdy

I have written about my mother-in-law's facial hair before.

When she came over the house about a month ago, she had Peter put in the batteries for her new purchase, The Tweezie!

Peter and I both looked at this little plastic piece-of-crappy thing and told her not to use it because it can't possibly work. She was insistent that the commercials showed happily facial-hair-free women who were extremely happy with the results...and said that it was completely painless.

So Peter put the batteries in and we watched her march into the bathroom full of confidence. As we listened to the buzzing noises coming out of the closed bathroom door, we couldn't stop laughing.

Then, when my mother-in-law came out of the bathroom, she looked a bit stunned, and I said, "Did it hurt?"

She looked at me, incredulous, as forlorn as Jack must have been the night before the beanstalks started to grow, and said, "YES!!"

She was very upset that the infomercial ladies lied, but then last week, we went to her house and she had the Tweezie in her room. She pointed at it and said that it stopped working. When I asked why she didn't throw it out, Peter rolled his eyes and said:

"What makes you think that she'll throw that out? She has kept three television sets in this house that haven't worked since before I was born!"