Dirty Rocky

This is what happens when we let the dogs outside a day after it rains:



Did I mention that he's a WHITE Siberian Husky?

Scout from the 70s

I am in love with my iphone because I can take photos like THIS.

You Spin Me Right Round

Right now my arms feel like they're about to fall off, my hands are shaking, and I feel sick to my stomach--I even have the shakes. What happened to me? I just failed my first spin class.

This class felt like TORTURE. And it's not only because that teeny-tiny seat just about dug right into my lady parts. I'm still feeling the burn.

Just ten minutes into the class, I felt like getting out--and the worst part was I didn't even know how long the class was going on. We cycled like super-crazy, then we got up and cycled standing up for five whole minutes--the longest five minutes of my life, then we were supposed to hunch over and cycle some more like crazy, still balancing on our feet.

On my way home from the workout I called my sister Jenny.

Me: I just took my first spin class.

Jenny: That's great! Wasn't it super-fun?

Me: No, it was TORTURE.

Jenny: What? Did you tell the instructor it was your first class?

Me: Yes, and all she said was--"Good luck keeping up! Ha. Ha. Ha."

Jenny: She's supposed to make sure that you're seated in correctly and show you how the resistance levels work.

Me: My arms feel like they're about to fall off and my hands are shaking.

Jenny: That's not good. I think you're seat was too high. There's NO REASON why your arms should hurt. Your legs should hurt. That instructor doesn't sound very good. I think you should try it again with another instructor.

Me: I'm NEVER trying this again. The whole time I was on the bike, I was all, "I HATE THIS. Why do people like this?"

Jenny: No, you should come to my gym. I have a great instructor and it's really fun if you do it right. I have to show you because it seems like you were supporting yourself with your arms and hands and you're really supposed to be working your core.

Me: I didn't know that! I wasn't working my core at all! Sucky Westchester lady's gym! Y'know, I took a Zumba class there too and it was all over the place.

Jenny: Oh, Young is a great dancer and she can't do Zumba. That's for pros.

Me: Okay, I'll try a class with you with a GOOD instructor and see if I like it. I definitely think I was doing something wrong because my lady parts are all sore too.

Jenny: Oh THAT? That's normal. You're just going to have to get used to it.

Dog Food Hoarder

I love Trader Joe's, but the one thing that drives me a bit nutty about that store is that sometimes for no good reason, they decide to discontinue something that I have grown to love with no warning. That happened to Oregon Chai, those yummy spicy papadums, those really crazy delicious garden burger chicken patties, to name just a few. I mean, with no warning? That means that there's no time to hoard supplies.

The one thing that I have CONSTANT paranoia about is the Bench & Field holistic dog food.

Yes, I feed my dogs holistic dog food. Why? Because when Scout was a puppy, she used to have an explosive diarrhea problem. I tried several different kinds of food including Iams, Nutro, and PHD dog food and it wasn't until we moved to Westchester that I picked up a bag of Bench & Field dog food on a lark and...discovered...that Scout's poop no longer just pooled on the sidewalk whenever she squatted down. Try picking that up...it made us VERY popular neighbors back in the Queens days.

Another reason I like buying the Bench & Field food is that the company is great. About five years ago, there was a problem with a Bench & Field shipment to our local Trader Joe's and I called Bench & Field in a panic. The customer service person calmed me down and told me that she would overnight a bag of dog food to me FOR FREE.

Scout is two months away from being 12 years old and she's in great shape. In fact, every time I tell people she's 12, they marvel at how great she looks. Both of my dogs are in super condition (knock on wood) and I know that this food plays a large role in this.

We really cannot be without this dog food. In fact, just last year when Peter and I went to Denver, I got a call at about 6am in the morning and one of the poor boys at the dog kennel said that Scout's poops were getting a bit soft, so he gave her a special veterinary dog food and now she was exploding poop all over the place and he wanted to call in a doctor ASAP.

After I talked him down from the cliff, and believe me, I understand that cliff. I talked Peter down from that same cliff when Scout was still a puppy and I had left Peter alone with the care of this puppy for the first time. As soon as the plane touched down, I called to tell Peter I had landed safely and his first words to me were:

"I AM GETTING RID OF YOUR DOG!"

Apparently, when Peter came back from dropping me off at the airport, Scout had exploded diarrhea all over her dog kennel, rolled around in it and shook it all over our bedroom. It was all over our carpet, our bed, our walls...Peter said after he gave Scout a bath and cleaned up the mess he couldn't even look at her. He was THIS CLOSE to taking her back to the breeder.

So with this kid from the dog kennel, I explained that his first mistake was taking Scout off the Bench & Field dog food and to put her back on it IMMEDIATELY. She probably got a bit anxious so had a few soft poops and then he totally exacerbated the situation by taking Scout off the only food that has ever made her not explode feces out of her ass.

She was totally fine when we went to pick her up.

Last month, every time I went to our local Trader Joe's they didn't carry the Bench & Field dog food. Not only that, but there was a strange new bag of TRADER JOE brand holistic dog food, which is something they do sometimes. They take away the brand that you have grown to love and trust and put in an imposter TRADER JOE usurper.

Of course, I kind of flipped out. I ordered a huge bag from Amazon, went to another Trader Joe location and picked up about 10 bags of dog food. Peter thought I was going nuts. But my response was, "Hey, this has been working for us for the past 13 years. It's TOO LATE to get this dog used to something new!"

Passive-Aggressive Are We?

So the other day, I was outside waiting for Peter to come out of the house so we could go out for lunch when one of my neighbors across the street--no, not the one who left huge snowpiles in front of my house...and not one of the ones who wrote me douchey notes about parking in front of their houses.

That's right--that's TWO neighbors who have written me notes about not parking in front of their houses. Is that Kah-razy or what? It's a PUBLIC STREET people!! Well, even though it's a public street, I don't want to park my car in front of people's houses if I'm going to find notes on my car, it's more aggravation than it's worth. (Unlike my sister, who would totally be parking in front of that person's house every chance she got, because she's just like that.)

Anyway, I was parked in front of yet another neighbor's house--why? Well, our driveway ramp needs to be fixed because we no longer have our cute Honda Element due to all the 800 blind spots that kept causing me minor hear attacks every time I tried to merge into traffic because there were hidden cars that suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere being driven by extremely angry people who would honk and curse at me. Hey! It wasn't my fault!! It was the Honda Element blind spot! I once nearly ran over a lady because I stopped at a stop sign, looked at the street and no one was on it. I proceeded to drive--and apparently a thin woman was totally hidden by the metal between the windshield window and the passenger window of the Element. She screamed at me and I was all, Hey! I didn't see you! It's not me, it's this car!

Basically, if you see an Element on the road, STAY CLEAR! And if you're crossing the street in front of an Element, WATCH OUT!

Oh, did I digress again? Sorry!

Every time we go up and down the ramp of our driveway, it scrapes the undersides of our cars--and we like to keep our mufflers ON our cars. So, it's not a huge priority to fix this, but for now, we're parking on the street.

So I was waiting for Peter to come out of the house when I see the neighbor and three middle-school-aged girls get out of his Highlander. Then he faces his kids and shouts really loud, "I WOULD HAVE PARKED ON THE STREET BUT SSSOOOOMMMMEEEEBBBBOOOODDDDYYYY TOOK MY SPOT!" Then he ran into his house.

My ears heard his shouting, but my brain hadn't processed what he had said yet, so my first thought was: Wow, he really is super-mad at his daughter--and why does he need to shout at her in public?

Then a few moments later, my brain finally kicked in and I was all: He was passive-aggressively communicating with ME!

I mean, what a COWARD! Not only does he not have the balls to just come over to me and say, "Stop parking in MY SPOT." He ran into his house after his outburst like a total pussy!

I've mentioned before that it's not difficult to find parking on my block. At most, you'll be one or two houses down from yours. In Queens where I grew up, you're lucky if you can see your apartment from the parking spot you find. So you have to walk a few feet to get to your house. Is that any reason to get so worked up?

The fact is, people ALWAYS park in front of my house, which is why I have to park in front of OTHER PEOPLE'S houses!! See how that works? And by the way, that guy who screamed before he ran into his house? His wife is always parking her car in MY SPOT. I should totally scream at her. What a BITCH.

Alien in the Bedroom

I have had trouble sleeping my entire life. I still remember being at my aunt's house for a sleepover and I was in a room filled with children (she had 5 daughters) and I lay there listening to my cousins breathe for HOURS. At home at least I could turn on my secret flashlight and read my Trixie Belden books, but at my cousin's house I could ony stare into space.

Some time in the night, my aunt comes into the room and I pretend to sleep. Because if you are a kid and have as much trouble sleeping as I do and you grew up with my father, you learn to fake-sleep or you're hauled out of bed to stand in a corner. Because in the child-raising manual he got when I was born, punishment cures insomnia.

My aunt then takes the pillow from my head as I lay there fake-sleeping. And of course, not only do I have trouble sleeping, but I absolutely cannot sleep without a pillow. My aunt kind of did stuff like that to me my whole childhood--little things that just made me think, "Why do you hate me and what the hell have I ever done to you?"

After college, my constant insomnia turned into nightmare-laden sleep...and then, the most annoying part of this whole thing was that the family snoring on my father's side, which I thought I had escaped, came down on me--hard. Granted, I didn't bring the walls down like my dad's younger sister, nor did I snore as loud as my grandparents, I mean, talk about insomnia, when I went to visit them, I slept next to my grandmother on a futon and my grandfather slept on the other side of the room and the snoring IN STEREO drove me to get up and play with my dolls at 3am just about every night.

I was completely embarrassed about my snoring until one time I went on a road-trip with my friends and while I was in the back waking up from a nap, I overheard my friend Nicole complain about my snoring and my other friend Mike said, "I think it's kind of cute."

I stopped being embarrassed about it because if someone liked you, they would think it's "kind of cute."

I am so jealous of Peter because he can fall asleep the moment he presses a pillow under his head. I mean, it's pretty amazing. I'll be talking to him and he'll get into bed and as soon as he's in a horizontal position, he's fast asleep. Plus, he says that he's never had ANY trouble sleeping. I'm sure it's some kind of fairy godmother trick because I've never met another human who has NEVER had any trouble falling asleep.

If I had a fairy godmother, I'd ask for the gift of easy sleeping. And if I had two fairy godmothers, I'd ask for being able to find a parking spot in front of any place I visited. Yup, forget beauty and grace.

So Peter and I have been married for almost 7 years now and my snoring and nightmares have gotten really bad--so he made me go see a sleep specialist. I had to go in to a sleep lab a couple of times and I got hooked up to a zillion wires. The verdict is I have sleep apnea and now have to sleep hooked up with a CPAP machine that will blow air into my lungs.

Tonight I put the machine on for the first time and showed it to Peter.

"How sexy is this?" I said. "It's like sleeping with an alien."

He looked me straight in the eyes and said. "You. Need. This."

And then he rolled over and fell asleep.

Westchester Has Turned Me Into a Jonathan Franzen Character

So I yelled at an old man.

Yup, I've finally gone off the deep end.

Remember those snowpiles I mentioned a few posts back? Well, we've had those piles of snow on either sides of our driveway since December 16!

Yes, that's SINCE LAST YEAR people!!

And when I went over to the neighbor across the street to ask him to please stop pushing all of his snow to our side of the street, he responded by saying:

"Well, where else should I put it?"

Uhm...oh, I don't know...maybe YOUR side of the street? Maybe YOUR backyard you big DOUCHE? How about I hire a crew to stuff it all up your pooper?

So a few days ago it snowed again and I was sick of it. I spent two hours digging out the snow and putting the snow on HIS side of the street. Then, a window went up in the house and an old man shouted at me. He said:

"Why are you putting all your snow on our side of the street? How am I supposed to drive over all that snow when I get out of my spot?"

I look over at him and I throw down my shovel and point at the HUGE piles of snow on my side of the street. And then I proceed to scream at this extremely old man:

"Do you SEE the HUGE PILES of snow on our side of the street? YOUR LANDLORD has been doing this to us ALL WINTER! Well, it's not cool, is it? I'm totally SICK OF IT and we don't get any sun on our side of the street so the snow DOESN'T MELT. If I put the snow on your side of the street it will melt by tomorrow! WE HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO PULL IN AND OUT OF OUR DRIVEWAY SINCE DECEMBER 16TH! And what are you talking about? That's NOT EVEN YOUR CAR parked next to that snow!"

Yes, not my best moment.

Then the landlord opens his door and just stands there staring at me with his hands on his hips. I mean, it was really weird. I thought, you know, if this was a movie, he would come out here and help me with the snow. I thought he was going to come out and talk to me, but no...he just spent the next half-hour watching me shovel snow.

When I told my friend about this, she said, "Oh, dear. You HAVE TO move back into the city. You've just turned into a Jonathan Franzen character."

And I was all, "Duuuuude. I'm turning into Patty Berglund."

Of course, as soon as I yelled at the old man, I stopped pushing the snow to their side of the street. I was a bit embarrassed because I knew that even though our neighbor was being a total douche, I shouldn't have escalated it. In fact, when I told Peter about it, he was all:

"Are you okay?"

As in, do we need to send you to a mental hospital to calm down?

I am just so sick of my stupid note-leaving neighbors who are so crotchety and awful and do douchey things. But on the bright side, when the neighbor cleaned out the snow in his driveway, he didn't push it all against our side of the street this time...so maybe my crazy rant wasn't for nothing after all.

Bronchitis in California

Peter and I just came back from a week-long Valentine's trip to a lovely resort hotel in California, but unfortunately, I was sick the entire time and I got Peter totally sick. And even though we were wheezing and coughing almost the entire time, we still had a good time (although we spent almost all of our time in the hotel).

Driving around the central valley of California, Peter and I kept saying to ourselves, "Uhm...WHY to we live in NY? Because it's perfect weather here all year round! Why have we been so stupid our entire lives?"

At one point, Peter turned and asked me, "Okay, why are you resistant to the idea of moving here?"

I really couldn't think of any real reason. But a large part of my brain was all one big ball of resistance.

And then he said, "I know. It's difficult. Because we're such New York people and California...well, it's the anti-New York."

Then it all clicked. I mean, of course that's why I'm so resistant. California is the anti-New York. It's like turning my back on a place where they do almost everything the way I'm used to and then moving to a place that's three hours behind. And yes, I know a bunch of people who have moved to California, including a whole bunch of people I went to college with, but the thought of being so far away from the center of the universe is a bit daunting.

It's one thing if we were going out there for a job or a reason, but to pick everything up and move away from all of our family just for nice weather and a cute house? In February, it's always a good idea, but then the sun comes out in March and New York is lovely for a few weeks before the deadening heat of the summer. And, oh yeah, we have bedbugs here. Maybe we should move to California.

Snowpiles

We have been hit by snowstorm after snowstorm and as I pull out of my driveway each day, I notice that there are no huge snowpiles around other people's driveways, but I don't give it much thought.

Then last week, after our last storm, Peter stomps into the bedroom and wakes me up and he is FURIOUS.

As I wipe my bleary eyes, he lets out this HUGE rant and I'm all, "What did you do to my mild-mannered husband and who are you?"

Apparently, he noticed that our neighbors across the street dig out their driveways and their side of the street by pushing all the snow onto our side of the street. The neighbor directly across the street from us snowplow all their driveway snow right up to our driveway so that it now looks like this:



It's hard to tell in this photo, but there are two huge mountains of snow on each side of our driveway, making it super-difficult to maneuver our car in and out. It's been really annoying because the snow has not melted since the last week of December. It's ultra-more annoying because our side of the street GETS NO SUN. That's right, their side of the street gets sun all day so that the snow would eventually melt, but the shadow from our house prevents any sort of sunlight to hit these huge mounds of snow.

Peter was incensed because this is completely crappy unneighborly behavior and very inconsiderate.

I offered to go across the street to talk to the neighbors about maybe not pushing all their snow to our side of the street and he was all, "Oh, really? You think that'll make a difference? That they DON'T KNOW that they shouldn't be pushing their snow in front of our driveway?"

The thing is, we live on a block populated by older people who have been here for the past twenty-five years. So they won't really be taking too kindly to some newcomer who's going to ask them to change their ways.

Sometimes I really hate living in the suburbs--I can't believe how much time I waste talking about these stupid neighbors. Just last week I parked in front of one of our neighbor's houses and received a note on my car telling me not to park my car there. Keep in mind that we've lived here 5 years and this was the first time I had ever parked my car in front of this house. Also, I was only parked there for 3 hours--I only parked my car on the street because we were planning on going right back outside. I don't mind getting a note on my car, but I think it's the height of cowardice to not sign a note. I mean, really, neighbors! Own up to your stupid notes!

My sister said that I should park my car there again and leave a note on my car that says:

"Please forward all correspondence to the blue Accord parked across the street."

Austin Is Awesome...and Weird

A few weeks ago my friend Hannah invited me and a couple of girls to her house for a psychic friends visit. Hannah's ex-roommate discovered psychic abilities a few years ago and now makes a living as a medium. I know, sounds kind of nutty, but I am totally into it.

My mom is a bit in tuned to that sort of thing--she's saved us a lot of money on long-distance calls in my childhood because all she has to do is think of a person and that person will call her. Plus, every time she's had a car accident, she had dreamed of one beforehand--of course, why would she would still take the car? Uhm... still can't understand THAT one.

Okay, so during this meeting, the psychic urged me to take a look at Austin, Texas because my guides are convinced that I would be happy there...she also said to stay away from Toronto because there was "bad karma" there.

Now I'm afraid to go to Toronto.

But for the Christmas holiday season, Peter and I went to Austin and aside from the soft water, we really loved it. The water was really kind of gross. Whenever we washed our hands with soap, it still felt grimy and slippery, like we couldn't get the suds off.

We went to see Tron at the Alamo Drafthouse. There's just nothing more fun than watching a terrible 3-D movie with your favorite person while eating macaroni and cheese and enjoying an orange creamsicle. The drafthouse is right next to Austin Vintage Guitars. Since Peter has started playing music again, we've been hitting vintage guitar shops everywhere we go.

Thanks to my sister's ex-roommate Selena, who sent us a list of vegetarian-friendly places, we went to eat at Casa de Luz, one of the best meals I've ever had, they make this taco thing with this awesome green sauce. The people there were nice (although a bit floopy) and the best meal (and good for you too) you can get for $12 per person. East Side Cafe was also great, unfortunately, we blew our load the first night out by ordering every vegetarian dish on their menu. We wanted to go back there later that week, but we had already tried everything...tip for you guys...PACE yourselves.

One of the best parts of the trip was going to this little airstream trailer and getting cupcakes at Hey Cupcake! Little did we know how famous it was--that cream cheese frosting is the best I've EVER had.

Oh yeah, we had a good meal, but an unpleasant waitstaff experience at Bouldin Creek Cafe the first time we went. Now, pretty much everybody likes me. Gay men, old ladies, babies, young girls, boys, you name it. And most of time, gay women like me, but for some reason, when I asked for more time with the menu, I just got on our lesbian waitress's last nerve and so she completely ignored us pretty much throughout our meal when Peter needed some stuff from her. In fact, on our way to the car, he said, "We got bad service because she DIDN'T LIKE YOU."

Later, Peter said that he only meant that if we had hoped to get ANY kind of good service from anyone, it was if she liked me...and she clearly didn't. Fortunately, we went back on another night and our gay waiter was practically tripping on himself to provide me with the best service, including getting me a special desserty thing that wasn't even on the menu. So my argument to him is that, even though I was a woman, perhaps HE could have done a better job charming the lesbian waitress, since I clearly charmed the gay waiter.

According to our guidebook, The Clay Pit was the spot to hit for Indian food. We went for the lunch buffet, but since we're used to the Jackson Diner, the food was merely...meh. Of course, the Jackson Diner has pretty much ruined us for any other Indian buffet. We're used to having practically ten meal choices with free dosas, tandoori, dessert, salad as well as naan bread. So when we went to Clay Pit, we were all, huh? Only three meal choices? But to be honest, all of the Indian people who were there ordered off the menu--so I suggest you skip the buffet and order off the menu, it seemed that's what the locals were doing.

We had a great time and ate a lot. There was so much for vegetarians in Austin. The only thing we didn't try was the pizza. Every time we passed a pizza joint, Peter said, "Soft water pizza. I just don't think that could be any good."

Mega

So my mother called me up last week and her first question to me when I picked up the phone was:

"WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Okay, ten heart attacks later, I'm all, "WHY? WHY? WHAT HAS HAPPENED?"

Apparently, she just wanted to get a hold of me to tell me to purchase MegaMillions tickets because according to her Tibetan sushi chef, a psychic from the Chinese newspaper said that the next winner was going to be a woman, born under the Gemini sign, who lives in New York State.

That's ME!

So she wanted to get a hold of me because I needed to get my coat on and run over to the local gas station to pick up my winning ticket.

My mom is a bit in tune with psychic forces herself, so I was getting my jacket and Peter came with me.

While I was in the car, I thought, which gas station am I going to bless with the fantastic reputation of being a winner?

At one point, Peter asks me, "Why are you doing this?"

I said, "Look, once a year, my mother asks me to do a crazy thing and I do it. Last time I had to burn a piece of paper, but water on the ashes and pour it over my head."

"You did WHAT?" Peter said.

"Yeah, I didn't TELL you about it because you would have told me that it was CRAZY."

"I don't think you should have told me now," he said.


I was really bummed when I didn't win, because she had me totally convinced.

Oh well, I made a deal with myself that I will do ONE crazy thing for my mom each year--and she used it up early this year!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

Standing in the bathroom, I told Peter that, "2011 is going to be the year I CONQUER SOAP SCUM!!!"

I thought that would elicit a laugh from Peter, but he looked at me with an eyebrow raised and said, "You know, you said that last year."

I was all, "What? I did? I don't even remember!"

Oh well. Maybe I'll succeed this year. Now that I have this written record of it to remind me.

So much happened last year. Rocky got skunked, one of our cars was caught up in a tornado (thank goodness no one was in it), our other car was hit by a drunk driver (while we were in it), Rocky ran away during Peter's mom's birthday party (luckily some nice people found him), my grandfather passed away and Peter got cancer.

Although we hit some rough patches last year, we had some fun times. Peter has picked up the guitar again and is back to writing songs. We did a lot of traveling. We went to Denver, Austin, Nashville, and both Portlands--the one in Maine and the one in Oregon. Guess which one Peter liked better? The one that had more vegetarian options and didn't "smell like fish."

At the close of last year, a year we were on pins and needles just trying to survive, I asked Peter, "Was this year the worst year of your life?"

And he looked at me and said, "Of course not. Some really great things happened this year."

The reason I didn't post so much last year was that I wanted to respect Peter's request not to write about what he was going through while it was happening---but it was such a large part of our lives that it didn't ring true not to write about it so it felt easier to just not post. Then a few weeks led to a few months and pretty soon I became another deadbeat blogger even after Peter gave me the okay.

So, another one of my New Year's resolutions is to post regularly on this blog again. After all, I have my dozen fans to think about...plus all those people who come here to find out about Liz Cho's feet.

Don't You DARE!!

About two hours before we had to leave for our flight to Portland, OR, my parents come over to pick up the new menu I had designed for them. I wanted to make sure that everything was 100% perfect before I made up a batch. My dad looks everything over and gives it the okay and so we go into Peter's office to print them out. Meanwhile, my mother settles herself in my kitchen so she can cook up sesame and Yakisoba noodles for us to bring on our flight. Isn't she great?

As soon as we get into Peter's garage/office/man cave, my dad complains about HOW MUSTY it is in here and WHAT IS THAT SMELL? (my room freshener from Crabtree and Evelyn) He was all, WE HAVE TO OPEN A WINDOW! WHY IS THERE ONLY ONE WINDOW? He was about to try to open the garage door when I flung myself in his path.

"DADDY! The garage door is BOLTED to the floor! I am going to the airport in TWO HOURS. I think we can handle non-fresh air for the next FIVE MINUTES!"

And here is where I make my mistake. I turn my head around and get busy printing up the menus. A minute later, I hear a loud THUNK.

I look up and see the electrical cord for the air conditioner pulled taut and an empty space where the air conditioner used to be. I turn around and I see my mother rushing to the door to see what had happened and we exchange THE LOOK.

THE LOOK is what all the women in my family exchange with each other when my dad does something so ridiculously annoying.

I ignore the situation and continue printing up the menus while my father brings the air conditioner inside, all the while complaining about Peter not bolting the air conditioner into the window and how DANGEROUS this is.

"Daddy?" I say. "How am I going to explain to Peter why the air conditioner isn't in the window anymore?"

My father looks at me and says. "Well...just tell him that I saw it in the window...and decided to do him a favor by bringing it inside...you know...because it's getting cold."

"So he's going to believe that, out of the goodness of your heart, that you decided to bring in the air conditioner?"

"Sure, why not?"

"And how am I going to explain why it doesn't work anymore?"

"Oh, I don't think it's broken. It landed in the dirt. The dirt's not that hard."

"Okay, so I won't tell him what happens until next summer when he turns on the air conditioner and it doesn't work."

"DON'T YOU DARE tell him about this!"

I give my father a, "yah right" look.

"FINE! Tell him if you want! But if he yells at me for this, I'm yelling AT HIM for not securing that air conditioner! HE'S the one whose fault this is!"

Right. It's his fault. You see what I had to grow up with?

We Stink

I know I've been super-delinquent with this blog, but we had a really stressful summer here--Rocky got skunked, my car was caught up in a tornado in Park Slope, Peter's car was hit by a drunk driver, Rocky ran away...twice, and, oh yeah, Peter got cancer.

Whew!

And then I saw this poster:



Yup, that sums up exactly how I feel about this year.

Even though it's been a terrible summer, our house is smelling a lot better, my car is fine except that two of our passenger-side windows were blown out and right now I still hear pieces of glass skittering across my dash when I make sharp turns, Peter's car only suffered some minor bumper damage, I found Rocky the first time on our sidewalk and the second time the police found him, AND Peter went through surgery and now he's recovering and the doctors think that he'll be fine (knock on wood). Wow--I don't even think that's a real sentence.

I will tell all of these stories in later posts, but I'll start with the skunk incident:

About a month and a half ago, at 2:30 AM, Peter let Rocky and Scout into the backyard, but just as soon as he opened the door, he saw a furry little patch of black and white close to our Japanese maple tree. In an instant, Peter was screaming:

"NO!!! NO!!! Rocky! Scout! Come! COME!! COOOOOOOOME!!"

I was sitting in the living room when I heard the crazy ruckus and when I opened the door, Scout was there with a big smile on her face and Peter was having five conniptions screaming for Rocky in the dead of night. I'm pretty sure we woke up all our neighbors.

Before I knew it, Rocky ran back into the house, retching and smelling like the most God-awful awfulness ever created. There are no words for this kind of skunky awfulness. I felt like throwing up myself, and this all happened a week after Peter's surgery.

The strange thing is that when the skunk spray is fresh, it doesn't smell like the skunk smell you smell in the air whenever a skunk has sprayed. It's super-concentrated and smells like something the devil created is burning. It also permeates everything. In fact, even though Rocky hadn't gone upstairs, the next day, the upstairs smelled worse than the first floor.

Quickly, I ran to my computer to look up how to treat skunk smell and apparently, the only thing that works is hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. I ran out of the house to buy hydrogen peroxide and on the way home, I was pulled over by a cop for speeding.

Yah.

No joke.

When the cop pulled me over, I just burst into tears. I think it was all the pent-up anxiety over Peter's surgery and a scary trip to the emergency room. I hadn't dealt with any of this and so when the cop came up to the car, I blubbered all over him and told him about the skunk and the surgery and his reaction was:

"Well, I still have to write you up for speeding."

I continued to sit in my car, sobbing and then I think he caught the waft of unadulterated skunk. He jumped back a few feet and said, "Oh, I REALLY smell it on you."

That's when he let me go--because that skunk smell TRAVELS. I hadn't even gone near Rocky when I left the house. The cop just didn't want to get any of that smell on himself.

I've found the best way to get out of a moving violation. Carry skunk odor around.

I got home and Peter gave Rocky a bath with the hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. One quart hydrogen peroxide and 1/4 cup baking soda with a few squirts of liquid hand soap. It really worked, but the house smelled really rank for about two weeks and the smell lasted about two months. It was hideous. Every once in a while, even now, I smell skunk when I walk in through the door.

And the very next day, my poor friend Emily and I had a lunch date. She's so sweet that when I told her about the skunk she said:

"I'm from Missouri. There are tons of skunks there. Skunk smell doesn't bother me. I'm used to it."

When Peter heard that, he was all, "Well, if that's the case, I AM NOT ever going to Missouri."

So either Missouri is a very skunky-smelling state or Missourians are just the sweetest, most polite people ever created.

Now, Relax

I've been going to an acupuncture guy for the last few months and he came highly recommended by my mother and the NY Times. Apparently, he's the best and people travel the world over to lie down in his little office on Canal Street.

Now, the whole experience of getting to Chinatown and braving the crazy traffic to make it down to the city twice a week was nerve-wracking. I've had more fun cleaning up dog pee in my kitchen. You have to do THAT twice a day when you've got an incontinent Labrador Retriever on your hands.

So we get down to Chinatown and park the car to rush to the office before it closes. Once we get there, huffing and puffing, he sets me us up in a room--most of the time Peter and I get to be in the same room, which is nice. He has us lie down and then pokes us all over with teeny needles, turns off the lights and says, "Now, relax."

As soon as he leaves the room, Peter and I always giggle, because all we can hear after the word "relax" is a thousand car horns beeping at each other right outside and two fire trucks cranking away, wailing down the street.

The Most Popular Gadget in America

The other day Peter and I took a walk in Pemaquid Point in Maine.

Oh, did I not tell you all we're on a vacation in Maine?

Of course you didn't know we were away--I haven't posted in a million years. Sorry internet. I can give you a ton of excuses why I haven't posted recently, but the truth is that I am just plain lazy.

So anyway, we're walking around and I take out my iPhone so that Peter can take a picture of me.

A lady in a Pemaquid Point sweatshirt offers to take a photo of the two of us, so I gladly hand over the iPhone. She looks at it and says:

"What is this?"

I'm all, "Uhmmm. That's the...iPhone."

And she said, "Wow! It's a lot of FUN!"

Later in the car, Peter said, "Wasn't that strange? I mean, when she asked us what the iPhone was, I almost said, 'It's the iPhone, also known as the most popular gadget in America.' I think they're a little behind the times here in Maine. The do have The Internet, don't they?"

Then I said, "I thought I was late in the game, after all, I'm the last of my friends to get one."

So we kept driving for a little while and I suddenly thought of something.

"If she's wearing a Pemaquid Point sweatshirt, then she's not from around here, is she? I mean, why would you get a tourist sweatshirt from your hometown?"

Our New Pet

We found a carpenter ant in our house, which of course, FREAKED ME OUT. I wanted to call the pest control guys and have them shoot poison into our walls to get rid of the ants which were probably going to DESTROY MY HOUSE.

But Peter? He was poking holes in the tupperware we caught the ant in and feeding it dog kibble.

He was all, "Don't PANIC. Unless you see a bunch of carpenter ants, we don't have a problem. Sometimes random ones forage for food. This does NOT mean that we're infested."

I'm so glad he's much more level-headed than I am.

The Black Yankees T-shirt

The other day Peter and I had lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen. We had been going there for years only getting the two or three vegetarian pizzas on the menu when some time last year, we had a really sweet waitress who told us that we could order any meat pizza and they can make it without the meat.

Hmmm.

So of course now we get the Santa Fe Chicken without the Chicken Pizza.

It's a pizza with caramelized onions and you top it with guacamole, salsa and sour cream.

And before you say, "wha---What?!" Let me tell you that it is AWESOME.

I didn't know that you could put salsa on everything until I went to San Francisco. My friend Andrew took me to this little oceanside mexican restaurant and they served clam chowder (since it's the law in the Bay area for every restaurant to offer this chowder) and I noticed that they topped it off with a dollop of salsa.

When I first got the bowl, I kind of crinkled my nose. But let me tell you something. It was DELICIOUS!

Anyway, so we're at the CPK and Peter said that a white guy at the restaurant was looking at Peter's T-shirt and giving him the nastiest look. Peter looked down and saw that he was wearing his 1935 New York Black Yankees T-shirt.

It got us wondering if wearing that T-shirt is actually a political statement. I mean, does that mean that we were protesting the treatment of African-Americans during the early days of baseball. Because, I'm okay with that.

I mean, when I got Peter that shirt, I just thought it was cool. Who knew we were being subversive?

Not a Cougar

I had this really strange dream last night that I was dating a 22-year-old. For some reason, I was a 36-year-old person who had a 22-year-old boyfriend in an alternate dream-world where Peter did not exist and I was still friends with this high school buddy I haven't heard from in 13 years.

So I'm walking with my friend Angela and this guy and we're at school. And this is a continuation of the math class nightmare I have about every month. When I was in high school, I had this Geometry class first period. All my friends understand that I'm a late person. I'm always late. And I was always so late for first period that most times I skipped math class. It got so bad that friends would ask me, "Who do you have for math this semester?" And I would answer, "I'm not taking math."

A few hours later, as I was sitting in American History class, I would sit up, startled and think, "Oh shit! I AM taking math!"

So in this dream, I'm in high school (as a 36-year-old for some reason) dating this young kid and still friends with Angela. Of course, I go through the whole, Oh Shit moment with the math class and I'm scrambling to take the final exams.

A few moments later, the three of us are off to take a motorcycle driving class (don't ask me why--it's a dream). This boyfriend is driving me crazy because he's acting all young and silly, but to tell the truth, he was adorable. Exactly the kind of kid I would have been mad for in high school. But of course, I was getting really embarrassed by him and he kept doing really juvenile stuff.

On our way to the motorcycle class, he gets stopped by a group of girls and he stays to flirt. Of course, Angela and I get mad because we're almost late for our class so we stomp off without him. We expect him to run over right away, but he stays and we act juvenile too, by not waiting for him.

Then we proceed to totally talk shit about him and I'm all, "I have to break things off with him. He's 22! I'm much too old for this. I need a grown-up!"

So we get to the class and--for some reason, the motorcycle class consisted of walking up flights and flights of stairs and waiting on lines, sort of like they have in Six Flags, and then we leave.

Then the boyfriend shows up and we harangue him for a while and he says, "I caught up with you guys and hid in the bushes. But then I heard all the shit you said about me."

Angela and I sort of stood there and blinked at him for a while. He ran off and we felt terrible.

But then I turned to her and said, "You see! I can't BE with someone who's going to HIDE IN THE BUSHES!! I can't be with someone who'se 22!"

Mother's Day Squared

We had two Mother's Day days this past weekend. My mother always works on Sundays, so this year, I suggested that we go over to Peter's mom's house on Saturday and celebrate Mother's Day with both of our mothers.

This led to an almost-argument between Peter and his mother, because even though we were going to go over her house on Saturday, she was insisting that we also go on Sunday. Mind you, Peter had JUST gone over to his mother's house that Thursday.

The whole logical statement of "But we're going SATURDAY" was completely lost on her. She started getting all hyperventilatingly nutso on him and she was about to break into tears, so Peter said fine, we were going over on Sunday, BUT WE WERE NOT EATING DINNER.

Yeah, that'll show HER.

Dealing with Peter's mother is sort of like dealing with my developmentally delayed sister growing up. If Judy did not get to watch her Power Rangers, all HELL BROKE LOOSE. And God help you if you didn't leave the television on for the Power Ranger Tip of the Day after the commercial break, because then it's just a huge tantrum involving a child screaming:

Tip!
TIP!!!!
TIP!!!!!!
TTTTTIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I know that she's 85 years old and that her marbles were never screwed on right in the first place, but it's VERY FRUSTRATING, nonetheless. And everyone's always, "But she's 85! You won't have to deal with it for much longer!"

By the way, that's a TERRIBLE argument.

And besides, she's Italian. They live forever. Her own mother lived to be 96 years old. So I know that I will be dealing with this, at the very least, for the next twenty years.

Saturday was fun, Jenny, Judy, and I took my mother to Stone Barns for a tour of their vegetable garden. The girl who took us on the tour was really sweet, but my mother kind of showed her up by knowing much more about vegetables than she did.

One particular scene:

Tour Guide: So this is the kale....

My Mom: That's CHARD!

Tour Guide: Oh, yes, you're right, that's chard...y'know, sometimes the seeds get mixed up and different things get planted where they're not supposed to.

Jenny (in a whisper to me): But isn't she supposed to know what it looks like?

Afterwards, we went to Peter's mom's house and she made enough food for 20 people.

My mom was incredulous at the amount of food and Peter said, "You know. She usually makes all this food...and it's only the three of us."

She made salad, stuffed mushrooms, roasted peppers, broccoli rabe, ravioli, zucchini parmesan, chicken parmesan, and I'm sure I'm forgetting a few other things.

At one point, I looked at my mother-in-law, and she had a look on her face like, "So, I guess this is it. THIS is my life. I'm spending all my holidays from now on with my son and ALL THESE CHINESE PEOPLE."

I felt kind of bad for her.

The next day, we went to her house AGAIN and as soon as we walk in the door she goes on and on about how everyone called her and how happy she was and how they love her SOOOOO much and that one of her daughters gave her a bag.

Later, Peter admitted that he felt a bit annoyed that she was going on and on about them, especially since she's all happy just to get a phone call from them and he can't get away with not coming over on Sunday when he's already seen her on Thursday and Saturday.

He was also annoyed because his sister told his mother that day that her daughter had her First Communion the day before. His mother was very hurt that her daughter kept this from her. She said to Peter, "If she wanted to keep it from me, why didn't she just not tell me about it? It's cruel to keep it from me and then tell me all about it the day after. Why does she want to hurt me like this?"

When Peter and I first started dating, I did judge his siblings for not visiting more often, but the more I get to know her, I can sort of understand. I don't think anyone gets any pleasure out of visiting her. Even Peter admits that it's more obligation than a real desire to visit. She's not a pleasant person to be around, but she's still his mother and he shows her that respect by seeing her once a week.

It reminds me of a JD Salinger short story--an officer asks his wife to spend more time with his aunt and the title of the story is, "Once a Week Won't Kill You."