My mom doesn't like tapas.

This is a throw back to way back. I'm shocked I haven't told it yet. 

When L was in the hospital, my aunt came to visit while my mom was staying with us. The baby was in the hospital and was going to be there, for who knew how long. They stayed at our apartment, while the ball&chain and I camped out at the hospital. We had an awesome tapas place down the street from our apartment at the time. We suggested one night, they go. The conversation when a little like this:

Them: Where should we go for dinner?
Me: Oh, you should check out the tapas place on the corner. It's ridiculous. Get the corn.
Them: A tapas place?
Me: Yes! The ball&chain LOVES it! (I remember throwing that in, because no one trusts my recommendations, but he's a trusted source. I also remember telling the some subset of: we go there all the time.) Not only is local, but delicious. That's our go-to when people are visiting or someone is in the neighborhood and we meet for dinner. It's fun for groups, but we go just us - all the time.
Them: REALLY? 
Me: Yes, they have brunch too, but the dinner is ridiculous. The corn is amazing.
Them: Huh.

Fast forward, months later. 

My mom is visiting, everything is back to normal. We walked to a diner down the street for breakfast one random Sunday. Next door? The aforementioned tapas place. (Seriously. If you are in the South End of Boston, Toro. Go there.)

Me: Did you guys end up going there?
My mom: Where?
Me: There, that's the tapas place I told you about, with the corn.
My mom: NO! And honestly I was telling Uncle Ricky about it, we can't believe the ball&chain goes to the topless place.
Me: TOPLESS? I said TAPAS. Small plates. Spanish food?!
My mom: OOOOH that makes so much more sense.

Tapas - topless. Classic. And the amount of people my mom told we were frequent regulars at the local boobie bar? Even better.  Apparently, it wasn't so much that it was a strip club that she was most surprised about.  More so, that he went to a gentleman's club that serves food.

6 years ago: today

6.years. I can't even believe it. I remember it clearly.

A week ago (6 years ago) I had ventured away from my usual lunch selection and added salmon to my salad. I was a frequent flyer at my office's salad bar. I got the same thing, every day. This one day, they offered salmon at the salad bar and I went for it. Salmon? Salad bar? Somebody call the salmonella police*.

Anyway, I had eaten this salmon in my salad and for days I was not the same.

Days.

And everyday, at some point in some way I would say, "Jesus. My stomach is not right." And after the first few times, one of my friends would make some comment about perhaps it wasn't the fish. Maybe I was knocked up.

People are predictable funny.  When you are at a ripe age and dating someone everyone asks, "when are you getting married?" After you get married, everyone asks, "when are you going to have kids?" Once you have a kid, everyone asks, "when are you going to have another?" At this point, the ball&chain had locked down our forever contract for 4 months. I was used to the "when are you going to a baby" question.

My friend's persistent "maybe you are knocked up" to my persistent "I'm never having salmon again" was starting to get to me. It was a Friday night, and as per usual, I met friends after work for many some drinks. She had said "knocked up" one too many times. It was like her voice was echoing in my head as I stumbled walked home. There was a pharmacy en route to my final destination. I stopped in and picked up a test, to finally put the "knocked up" comments to rest. We weren't trying, but we weren't not trying. Let's just lock this down so I can be at peace, her voice echoing in my head was getting to me.

I came home and the ball&chain was sitting on the couch. I walked past him, said I had to go the bathroom. I did. But I also had to pee on a sick. I did. I had to put the "knocked up" comments to rest. I didn't.

I.was.knocked.up. And kinda buzzed.

I proceed to freak out and the ball&chain who was not expecting this was first beyond confused and then beyond concerned as I started to problem solve our way out of this.

Me, "Wait. The line isn't all the way - it's faded! That must mean something."
Him, as he reads the instructions: "It says, the clarity of the line doesn't matter. If it kind of shows up, it's positive."
Me, "Wait! I've had a few beers. Maybe alcohol changes the accuracy!"
Him, as he reads the instructions: "It says, While alcohol and illegal drugs do not affect pregnancy test results, remember that you should NOT drink alcohol or use illegal drugs if there is any possibility you could become pregnant."
Me,"FFFFUUUUCCCCCKKKK!!!!!"

6 years ago today, I have never been more surprised. Surprised isn't even the word. 6 years ago today, I found out my life was about to change. Forever. And never had I ever gotten the reaction so right.

"FFFFUUUUCCCCCKKKK!!!!!"**

*Sure, salmonella is apparently connected to chicken, but whatever. "Salmon" is in salmonella, let's go with it.
**In the most loving way, possible.  

Too soon.

We are always moving. We've always been moving. It feels like we'll always keep moving.  This move is harder than any other move. 

Rewind:

2005(ish)
When we moved in with each other, we lived in a lovely little place in Charlestown, MA. It was perfection, if you didn't pay attention to the slanting floors or the 300 square feet.*  It was a "cozy" one bedroom, exposed brick, in an awesome area of the 'Town, cobble stone streets, views of the city and bridge, cheap, close to it all. We loved it. 

2007
When we moved around in Boston, it was out of pregnancy panic necessity.  When I found out we were knocked up, I couldn't get out the once loved 1 bedroom fast enough. We needed space. There would be a baby. The baby would have stuff. The baby would need a room (though I did consider blocking off an area with a curtain in the living room/kitchen/bar stool area). We would get an au pair for childcare because I work for the company, believe in the program, and the wait for daycare in or around Boston is approximately 24 years*. We had to move. Fast.

And move we did; to a lovely (over priced) duplex in the South End of Boston. On the corner of bougie & hit the deck, it's a drive by! Oh but how it was (mostly glorious). The location was divine (to one side), exposed brick (I'm a sucker), TONS of space (to clean), small outdoor space (despite looking over a Dunkin Donut's parking lot, gorgeous kitchen, our first apartment with laundry IN the unit, and always lots of fun. 

We left because of how much the ball&chain was traveling (now laughable), and needing to be more central to where he was going. It was sad to leave Boston, but an important step for our family. It was exciting. It was sad to leave, but not so much - sad - NOOO I'm not ready, more so... Awe. This stinks. Not even, sucks. Actually, that's not true. If I'm being totally honest? We were ready.

2009
We moved to Connecticut, hated our apartment but we made it our own.  It was great to be close (enough) to family & friends, exploring a town I once knew as a college student (spoiler alert: totally not the same). We got to spend time with good friends and I tried to connect with new ones. I was getting there.* We got our first taste of suburban main street, and fell in love with the (possibility) of community.

2011
BOOM. We find out we're moving. Destination: St. Louis, Missouri. 

I can't say I was a fan of the idea, but I can't tell if it was the whole "pick up and move half way across the country thing" or the fact that it was the "7+ months pregnant, moving half way across the country thing." It's hard to say. I guess the reasons aren't important. The bottom line: I wasn't happy. We were up for the adventure, we knew we had to do it, it was good for the ball&chain's career. We said we'd move for as long as L wasn't in middle school.  We sucked it up and powered through. We figured, we'll be in & out in two years and just get 'er done. But God damn it, you crazy ass hoosier, I love you. I fucking love you (yes, F bomb warranted).

It's the little things, like family friendly activities that aren't cheesy, are mostly free, and almost always serve beer. It's the deliciously fresh food, reasonable prices (of most anything), and mostly nice people. The arches in the doorways and cross that hangs in our entry way because our landlords left it in a pocket of the wall - stuck on with old gum or tack - and even after re-painting the place we thought it belonged. The farmer's market that has the best breakfast burrito that has ever been burritoed (and live music, a play ground and kick ass produce). The central standard time zone; best time zone, ever. You aren't so far off either coast to feel disconnected, TV shows are on earlier, you can wake up later, it's really the best time zone there is. Truth. The walk we do, behind our neighborhood, into Washington University. All kinds of secret little passages, in between buildings that look like castles. Bike rides around the neighborhood, the sidewalks, even the god damn grass that I keep killing and the endless plants in the countless gardens that the owners had set up. I love those stupid plants.

I won't miss the heat. That shit is bananas (110 degrees at 8 pm is not right. It's been 90 or higher since February, and our electric bill this month was disgusting). Which reminds me, I'm gonna miss our central air. Cost, be damned.

It's the big things. It's our neighbors, who admire our children. Our neighborhood, who embodies what you see in good ol' family friendly Disney movies (before Lindsay Lohan broke in). It's where we brought our (newest) baby home. And as far as we are from family, and as much as it's hard a lot of the time, it's where we get to really be our own family.  We are able to spend time together in ways that when we are closer, we can't. We have birthdays, dinners, communions, baptisms, showers - the endless obligations that you want to be there for - you just don't get the time we get here.

What are we doing this weekend? Nothing. Hanging out with each other, and we love it.

St. Louis, is where we got all that time together. All that exploring. All that ... I don't know? Family.

The kid has made friends here, she has play dates, she takes dance class, and attends creative camps during the summer. The counselors know her. I want them to see how much she'll grow from this year to next year - like they did this past year. I want to have Halloween here, again. God damn it, I want to march in the July 4th parade again. Oh my god, I just realized. We're going to miss apple festivals, St. Patrick's Day parades, and a hot air balloon race that kicked ass. I'm also realizing all the pictures and posts I forgot to write or publish. I can't link you there, but trust me: good times.  As soon as we figured out all that we loved, and all that we are looking forward to for "next time," it's gone. 

I know, maybe we won't find all of that where we are going - but some portion of this ramble list will be in Cleveland. They have sidewalks there and maybe even plants to kill. It's not the same. It won't be the same {insert toddler strength tantrum here}.

I'm heart broken about the move.*

There are some exciting aspects.  It's a great opportunity for the ball&chain, MUCH less travel during the week, new places to explore.  I do love to set up shop and make a house our home. I've become quite good at it, if I do say so myself. We still get quality time and continue our adventure.

It doesn't change the loss I feel. I didn't cry when we moved from Connecticut to Missouri. I cried when we said goodbye to people. It made me sad to think of L (and our baby to be) not being able to see their family & friends as much as she did. It wrecks me to know that our family relays on pictures, youtube videos and skype to see our babies when they do, and it's not often. That hurts. But moving? Eh. It was a pain in the ass, and I wasn't happy about it - but I bucked up and we moved.

I've already cried a few times, just thinking of moving from here. My heart is heavy and I'm truly sad. Like NOOO I'm not ready, sad. Thinking of someone else in this house, hurts my heart. It sounds so dramatic. I assure you, it doesn't make it any less true. I love this house. I love this neighborhood. I love this god damn city.

I'm not ready.


*An estimate, but probably close.

7 minutes in heaven or 15 on a shuttle bus

8 years ago, a week or so ago (the 30th) I was hours deep into a crush and realization that a guy who always been one of my favorite people could perhaps be my most favorite person, ever. Wink. I've told the long story, but the good part, the really good part, is always the first part. 

8 years ago our mutual friends were getting hitched. Side note on those birds? They were friends in high school and found each other in a new light years later. Secretly crushing, for what possibly could be years. Just like us. Secretly crushing, until the right moment.  

Our right moment was at the wedding.

Standard wedding table photo, with a side of love blooming.

Lee and her betrothed got married over Memorial Day weekend in 2004. The wedding weekend was amazing. Fun. It was the group of friends you know you will slip right into the best time ever, either way. It was was a time in our life when we weren't inundated by weddings, when they were the most fun.  A reunion. Word on the street was Christoph was coming to the wedding. He was a mutual friend of the group that guaranteed the best time, ever. We always had the best time together.  When I heard he was coming, I knew it would be a good time. 


We spent the weekend together, as we were part of a few not needed for the day to day wedding party responsibilities.  As anticipated, it was a good time. We laughed, all weekend. Best. Time. Ever. When we hung out? We had the kinds of laughs where your face hurt. Serious injury of fun.

And I'm not entirely sure when it happened, but at some point through out the weekend - I knew. I knew there was something there. Like a magical something. We were at a wedding, so there was fun. There was dancing, there was drinking, there was an open bar and I don't want to blame it on the a a a a a alcohol, but I can't say it didn't help.


There was this moment, on the way home. This special, open bar induced moment, that no one is sure who initiated, but we kissed. Really kissed.  And then the next thing we knew, we were thrown out of the moment to hear an audience. "Guarro & Coleman (our nicknames) are making out!" Dare I say, this was bigger news than the wedding itself.

Who needs your eyes open to see love?

We made out a bit more, once we got back to the hotel. Totally classy. First base and nothing else, though we tried to hide in a bush or something thinking that would help the paparazzi.There is more to our love story, but not worth telling - because not much out does making out in the back of a shuttle bus.


And that, my friends, is how we found each other.


Best damn wedding ever. Best damn love story ever. Best damn guy.

Sometimes being caught with your pants down is a win.

I wasn't one of those girls that dreamed about how it would happen; the day my betrothed would ask for my hand in marriage.  I thought about it, but not the way I hear people describe... "I envisioned this day since I was a little girl."  That wasn't me.  That said? I certainly didn't think it would go down the way it did. Our story is not romantic. It is not dreamy. It is our story and ours alone. Also, it's to be filed under: it could only happen to us.

Disclaimer: this story is better told in person. I was inspired by Girls Gone Child to share. If you haven't seen her playlist of uber romatico proposals? Go check it out. Need a good cry? See people proclaim their love for each other. Good stuff. 

Side note: I am so freaking glad this isn't on video.
Truth: there is a little bit of me that wishes it was.

-------

The set up: Picture it, it was 2005 and I was in the throws of relocating.  I was moving from New York to Massachusetts.  We were going to live in sin after our long-distance relationship. Finally no more weekends filled with traffic. No more figuring out schedules and stressing over who would go where.  Same state. Same city. Same apartment. Glorious.

Before the glory, there had to be some pain.  That's where moving me comes in.

The week of the big move we talked about "the plan" - I figured he would take the train from Boston so that one of us could drive my car while the other drove the moving truck. But OH my Lord he kept arguing with me - he wanted to drive down. My argument: what are we going to do with TWO cars, ONE moving truck and TWO people?!?! He didn't want to take the train.  I later learned he planned to drive so he could speak to my parents, in person.  Apparently he didn't think ahead about the logistics of how many drivers there were vs. vehicles to drive.  At the time?  It was so freaking annoying. It made no sense.

I won, obviously.

When I picked him up from the train he was weird. So freaking weird. I didn't have time for the weird, I had things to do.  In addition to packing up my apartment, I may or may not have had some work to do. I suggested that we go back to my office, if he came with me I knew I'd focus and go faster.  Then we could go back to my apartment and finish packing. But OH my Lord he kept arguing with me - he wanted to go back to the apartment first. He wanted to change. My argument: you can change at the office?!?! He kept talking about getting a jump on the packing and he kept pacing.  I later learned he was just nervous.  At the time? It was so freaking annoying. It made no sense.

I won, obviously. 

After just under two hours of him pacing around my office and longer than I intended to, we eventually get back to my apartment.  Gotta pack. Gotta go! And he can finally change. Jesus. What a woman!

The scene: My woman boyfriend was changing and I start in by washing some dishes. As soon as I start running the water I realize nature is calling. I gotta pee, but this pot has to soak.  I have a stroke of genius.  I'll let the water run on the pot and scoot in the bathroom.  I go in and sit down, just as the dog nudges the door open. So now I'm peeing with the door open. Even though we are moving in together we weren't quite at the point where we are peeing with the door open. I think to myself, "Self, I should probably get up and shut the door. Well, it'll only be a second and hey we've got to get to this place sooner or later."

The inevitable: Just then, I hear him.

"Hey, J..."

He walks out of my bedroom toward the sink in the kitchen, because don't forget - the water is running. He thinks I'm doing the dishes. Instead I am on the toilet. Peeing.

So, for those of you that aren't paying attention. I'm peeing. I hear him call my name. I look up - in the mirror. In the bathroom, because I'm PEEING.  The mirror faces my bedroom door - which is where he is walking out of (freshly changed) wearing a different t-shirt. I see that he doesn't see that I'm at the sink. I see his t-shirt. 

J WILL YOU MARRY ME

He hears me at this point.
Me: "Oh.My.GOD. NOOOOO WAY!"

To catch you up, I'm on the toilet. Pants down and my beau comes in - pacing (again) in and out of the bathroom.

Him: "What should I do? WHAT should I DO?"

Now, I'm off the toilet. Pants still down - crouching in the corner screaming "GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!!!!"

Laughing so hard- I might have peed my pants if I had pants on or I wasn't JUST peeing.

The End: Eventually I get some pants on (it took longer than I'd like to admit) and come out of the bathroom.  I (have to) believe there were some lovely words spoken.  Down on one knee he asked if I would be his wife.  I said yes to what will be a lifetime of laughs, an amazing family, a partner in life and as a token of what is to come? A story I wouldn't believe except I was there, a beautiful ring and a t-shirt.

Before the snake escaped... Bronx Zoo memories

Little known fact. The ball & chain is afraid of snakes. Like scream like a woman and run for your life, forsake your wife and child and get the hell out of dodge scared. There is an understanding, if a snake comes a crawling, I'm on my own.

In a "Post-Snake Escaped" world, he may never return to the Bronx Zoo. I'm glad I have the memories I have then...

1983

2009

What will you be for Halloween tomorrow?

The kid asked me the other night what we will be for Halloween tomorrow. This year was a great year for this family. It all came together and Tink had a plan, she skipped houses that weren't bright with welcoming candy giving light or that seemed to have a line. She knew it was a matter of getting in and out, all the while putting on her charm to hustle the fool behind the candy bowl into providing two treats instead of one.  She is no fool.  She also knew to skip any houses that seemed to have "lines" or crowds. Such a different from years past.  


Of course her first Halloween, it was just about making sure she was adorable, CHECK.  In year two, still no candy but dressing up fun. Last year though, her first year trick or treating, is my favorite memory.  I realize though, I didn't mention it last year. 


The following are the top 5 reasons I loved Halloween last year, and it will still remain my favorite, despite how kick fairy wings, this year was. 


1.  Seriously. Adorable. Child. A gnome? Can you stand it? 

2. We dressed up as a family. 

3. Some of the costume was homemade to boot. Sure those felt hats don't look like much, but I remain fingerprint-less due to some severe causalities in the war between me and the hot glue gun. Even Nana Lu got one! I only remember her being a serial 'punk rocker' utilizing a random rainbow colored wig I wore for a dance recital. That wig came out every Halloween, for I'm sure 10 consecutive years. OH if only I had a picture of that. 

4.  Speaking of Nana Lu, it was a pretty great night to have my mom here.  She babysat for us the night before, I think but stuck around to be able to take her first grandchild trick or treating for the first time. There aren't a lot of firsts of firsts going around, so it was pretty cool, if I do say so myself.

5. The experience of trick or treating with a two year old. 


Trick or treating went a little like this:


L walks down the street, we walk up to the door. We ring the bell or knock on the door. Door opens, person remarks at the (obvious) cuteness of the girl. Usually mistaking her as an elf, despite the CLEAR gnome qualities.  Girl remains quiet, sometimes smiles. All adults (3:1) prompt her to say "Trick or Treat." Girl ignores. Adult smiles, provides candy. We say "thank you" and walk away. Anywhere between 3 and 5 seconds on our trip back to the sidewalk, to hit the next house, we get the loudest and clearest outburst from the girl:

TRICK OR TREAT!!!!!


With out fail, walking away from the house it would kick in to say it and with out fail, she wouldn't say it when faced with the candy bowl in her face. It made me laugh each time. She makes me laugh. My first born jumping into her first trick or treating experience, figuring out that you may not get it right - but dressed up with a smile that won't quit - you'll get some goodies. That will forever be one of my favorite Halloweens.

THIS POST IS PROUDLY LINKED UP WITH THE SITS GIRLS HALLOWEEN EVENT.

The Olsen Chronicles

 

From the archives of Guarro Gone Wild we unearth a wild night for the girls from 2006.  Clearly a night out like this is a cry for help. Someone help Michelle Tanner, even with her new party pals the likes of girl scouts, boy scouts and Debbie Gibson it looks like they are up to no good. I've heard of family love, but this is taking it to a whole other level. Where is Danny, Uncle Jesse & Joey when you need them?*

*If you are new here, this post may not make much sense. Maybe you aren't new and you are still totally confused. Check out my last post for more details and how I was inspired to bring back a Halloween of yore. 

The change and likeness of this post and pictures is different than what or how I usually post.  It might look familiar to you! Isn't imitation the best form of flattery - Guarros Gone Wild is Pink is the New Blog for Halloween, because why the heck not? Dressing up is FUN - Happy Halloween

THIS POST IS PROUDLY LINKED UP WITH THE SITS GIRLS HALLOWEEN EVENT.

Signora & The Backpack

In high school I had a teacher, we'll call her Signora.  I took her class for years and I can't tell you I retained anything, subject related. To keep myself in the class I had to write the words I had to know over and over again to remember them. We're talking Bart Simpson style.

It wasn't perfect, but it worked out. I took the Italian from 8th grade through 12th even though I could have stopped after 10th, I stayed. I elected to stay because despite never learning an ounce of Italian (though I can understand way more than I can speak or admit to understanding) - I learned more about myself in that one class, with that one teacher, than I learned anywhere else. 

You know those Hallmark movies, where the teacher goes into the inner city and saves a young gangster from a life of crime and incarceration? That was what it was like from me - except we were in the suburbs of Long Island, I was actually a pretty good kid and didn't need saving. 

I was a good kid, for the most part. I made decent decisions for most of high school, but I have always been an older soul.  I had a great group of friends I hung out with and some really good friends, at the time.  That said, when there were dances or events I would often be found on the sidelines chatting with the teachers - chatting with Signora.   I remember once at a school event we were in our usual chat spot and we were talking about my douche of a boyfriend at the time.  She looked at me square in the face, into my eyes, the kind of stare where you look into some one's soul and in a direct and almost unnerving way laid it out for me. I'm better than that, I'm better than this relationship.  I'm a strong person becoming a woman and I didn't 'need' things like I thought I did. Eventually I'd get that - if not that day but it hit a nerve somewhere in there. Did I go through life looking for the 'right' situation, like the way Signora told me about? Absolutely not. Did I at some point in the beginning of my relationship with the ball & chain remember that conversation and agree in silence that things CAN be easy? Absolutely.

The thing that stands out the most, that I still carry with me is a backpack she once talked about.  This, of course, has nothing to do with the Italian. I wrote a speech my senior year of college to be read at commencement.  I was chosen as one of the finalist to read and even bought my first suit for the audition.  I didn't make it, but the experience, like all things through out my life still exist in my backpack. 

(This is the part of the experience I break out my box of photos from high school & college to reference the speech - because I'm a hoarder with out being buried by my hording efforts.  It's also around this time that I realize, in re-reading my speech that it wasn't Signora that gave me the backpack theory but some unnamed professor in college.  To keep the integrity of the post, I'll tell you truth. It wasn't Signora but I'll get back to why I'm keeping it in the story in a moment.)

What's the backpack theory? 

Through out your life you carry with you a backpack,  middle school style.  It holds your memories. It influences who you are.  What you carry in your backpack drives how you interpret things.  It holds your experiences.  As time goes by your backpack can become overstuffed - you subconsciously clean house. New memories become more vivid and on top, while old ones stay in the bottom. 

It's nothing new, but it's stuck to me, as Signora has.  A woman who took her job beyond the Italian language.  For years I have recalled this story in my head wanting to write a post about how she made an impressionable difference in my life. I admire that kind of passing impression.

I keep the backpack theory in because regardless of who shared it with me, she's prominent on my backpack like a broken in patch she comes with me.  As I meet people and continue to journey through life she remains a major influential person I have come across. I wonder if she realizes the time she took to get to know me has helped to shape the woman I am today. 

Once again - big ups to the SITS girls and to the sponsors of the Back to Blogging event, Standards of Excellence, Westar Kitchen & Bath, and Florida Builder Appliances.  Put that in your backpack.

The Love of a Parent (or Close)

I was resent an email that I wrote almost two years ago by a coworker.  She kept the email in her 'warm and fuzzy' folder.  This is a folder that lots of us have, where we keep feel good emails that make us laugh or well simply put, give the warm and fuzzy feeling. In reading it, I realized how much I miss this kind of interaction and childcare.  Especially coming off of a week where L's daycare has been closed and we've had to juggle childcare.  By in large, C was able to take off a few days but there was a day or two that we absolutely used the TV to occupy the kid.  I suspect this will hold up the delivery of my "Super Mom" cape, however sometimes most times I need to go with the motto, "whatever it takes." It is what it is. The following is the full email sent, though some of the names have been altered to protect the innocent.


----


Hi All!

This morning as the Kat (my au pair) and I were chatting about the day, her class from last night and the plan for the day when she asked me with GREAT excitement, “So… how was last night?!?!?!”

I looked at her puzzled because last night was okay but not much to get excited about- I mean I knew she had her big presentation for class but in terms of us- we just watched some TV and ate dinner but what else was I missing???

I said we had a good night, we relaxed, ate dinner- OOH right! L had her first meal of solids- we were testing out how that yummy rice in a box was going to be! I told her how it went, that while I think we got more ON her than we did IN her, she seemed to enjoy it all.

This is when I thought of you, because it was at that moment I realized how much I appreciate the Cat and how right the program is for my family.  She was so excited for L's first ‘meal’ and was so excited to see the pictures that I took! She said how last night she was thinking she was missing L's first real food and forgot to ask that I take pictures- she was so glad that I did. (Meanwhile I thought, of course I took pictures- she’s only 5 months old and I think I have over 1,000 pictures of her!!! I’m kind of obsessed with taking them!) Anyway, I wanted to share because it was just yesterday we were talking about being a host mom and what it’s like. Even with balancing act of  sharing your home with someone and all of that- comes with it moments like this you realize that someone loves your baby almost as much as you do!!

That’s the scoop- and that’s why I thought of you this morning!

Evacuation

Shortly after we discovered our mouse problem, I came home to a ringing room line.  The University’s Residential office was calling to inform us that we were being evacuated. Apparently the walls of the entire quad were filled with field mice.  The only way they could address the problem was to bomb the whole block of student housing. We were being asked to stay “with a friend” or a hotel.  A hotel the University would not reimburse for.  I fought with the idiot in the Residential Living Office claiming that it was the University’s responsibility.  I don’t remember how we got off the phone, but I remember being a real asshole to make a point.  None of my roommates were home, but knowing their love for sleep and their dislike for sharing; bunking with friends would not be an option.  Maybe we could all split a hotel room? All I knew is I had to pack, I didn’t want to be rushed and as soon as they came home and heard that the wall was full of mini beasts we’d be in my car before I had a chance to grab what I needed.   I pictured the scene as if the house was on fire - they would run screaming through out the quad with no hope for rationalization.

I didn’t take late classes, as I preferred to be home earlier.  My roommates liked to sleep until noon or have ample hours of designated nap time during the afternoon so I was always home first.  As I waited on the couch with my duffel bag packed and ready to go, I sat  in silence waiting for the crew to get home and tried to listen for the bastards taking over our wall linings. 

This was before cell phones, archaic I know.  It felt like I was waiting for hours when now I could have sent a text, updated a status or started a group “My apartment is taken over by mice!” Before all that technology was available we did crazy things like knock on doors. I wanted to see what the rest of the quad was going; we should all go together- try to get a group rate or something.  I started knocking on my neighbor’s door – to my surprise that bitch from Res Life hadn’t yet called everyone. I chalked it up to her trying to figure out the finance part. Before she had to deal with more angry students.  I let my neighbors know of the infestation and how we had to leave tonight, etc etc. As soon as I finished being the bearer of bad news for at least 2-3 apartments full of people I headed home and was greeted by my roommates. I dropped the bad news.  Instead of the historically comedic reaction I was counting on from Shaniqua I was met with denial.  NO one believed me – they said I must be joking.  Why would I lie about this? I explained I just went through the quad informing anyone who was home. Call the office for yourself! 

Then the phone rang.  

Maybe it was my cold reaction to Shaniqua’s fears of having mice parasites take over her intestines or maybe Tia Maria* couldn’t miss out on the fun. On the phone was a high school friend of Emilita & Shaniqua, Tia Maria.  Calling to let them in on the fun she just had with me.  Mrs. Whoever from the Res Life office was our very own Tia Maria  calling from her dorm room to have some fun. Prank calls are the genetic gift given to all of their home town's residents. There were no mice in the walls, there was no extermination, I didn’t need to pack up for the weekend – I needed to go through the quad and take back what I had just explained – if only I could have text them, updated my status or sent an email.

*Disclaimer: All true identities have been changed to protect the guilty.

Fear of Eggs

Picture it, my senior year of college my roommates and I sat on the couch -  watching TV – likely a little General Hospital, our afternoon jam.  There were 5 of us total in that apartment. 4 official roommates and a squatter. Shaniqua, Leona, Emilita, me and Liza. For fun, that's what we'll go with.* 

Shaniqua sat on the smaller couch chomping on the just debuted Doritos 3D.  About 15 minutes into her snack I looked over and thought I’d sample the tasty treat – asked for the bag and begrudgingly  she handed it over. 

As I dove into the bag I realized that there was slim pickings, as she had devoured the bag with the exception of a few crumbs.  Before I could give her a hard time my hand, as it searched for more than scraps, had more freedom than expected.  My hand went through the bag.  As I inspected the issue it became clear that Shaniqua was not the first in the house to snack on the 3Ds.  The corner of the bag was completely chewed out – so large that it was with no effort I could reach through the bag and wave to my unsuspecting roommate on the other side of the room.

And wave I did.

Confused, I had to explain that the little bitty teeth marks and the missing corner of the bag indicated to me we had more than 4 girls & 1 squatter living in this apartment. I was no Nancy Drew, but the clues seemed to tell a story.

Shaniqua jumped off the couch and started dry heaving.  As I died laughing at the sight of such a reaction I went outside to talk her off the ledge.  As she dry heaved into the bushes outside our front door her fear was vocalized and my hysteria only increased as her fears were explained.

“Oooh my god!!!!! What if I ate mouse eggs???? Will mice babies hatch inside my stomach??????”

*Disclaimer: All true identities have been changed to protect the guilty.

Unexpected Wonderful

Seven years (and a few months) I made an important shift.  I started a new job for the first time in a long time. I was the new kid on the block.  I walked in to my team room, taking it all in.  While I had been out of college for a few years at this point and have held several positions, moving up quickly with in management teams and positions, I was in a different world.  I worked in smaller groups, never in large offices and frankly didn't know what I was in for.

The building was gorgeous.  Bright beautiful colors on the walls, with in the office furniture - there is a freaking pond inside.  Chipper people, everyone is smiling, the floors are color coded - I mean in comparison on where I was coming from (more on that at another time) I thought I should be skipping to my desk. I almost did.  I remember walking into my team room - holding seven of us comfortably with these massive desks the likes of Ikea would be proud of. Bright things were ahead, until I met my teammates. 

With my 'desk buddy' I was face to face with the happiest person I have (yet) to ever meet. Like sugary sweet, too much time you might get diabetes. For real. She has never cursed (true story).  A favorite of mine was her alternative for shit. Sugar Foot. True. I am fairly certain I called my mother to tell her about this, it really concerned me that she had never cursed before. Seriously, isn't that concerning? Her response will show you how or why I might think that is so confusing.

"What the fuck is Sugar Foot?"

We'll call this bird the Sweetheart. My desk buddy, scared as I was of her nice always smiling and creepy true and honest love for all, my desk buddy she was.  Sugar foot and all.

Across from me was THE Bride.  I learned a lot about weddings during the months leading up to her big days.  Beyond all things, I learned you can be frightened down to your soul and rarely show it. Sugar to my front, beyond frightening to my left and there I was in the corner or vortex of confusion.

Next to THE Bride, was the Guy.  The only guy for as far as the eye could see (for the most part).  At first, he creeped me out.  He was forever offering back massages.   Sure, it was like shooting fish in a barrel but give it a rest Casanova. NO I do NOT want a massage.  (Fast forward - I have to say I eventually gave in and pretty amazing.  The back massage, get your head out of the gutter.)

My boss, let's keep it simple - the Boss, sat in the corner, literally on top of her screen.  She would use a paperweight glass to see statistics and never said hello when we saw each other in the hallway.  To be fair, I found out later she was legally blind - but no one told me. For weeks, I just thought this bird was nuts.  I also once told her she shouldn't sit so close to the computer screen, she could go blind. Turns out I was a little late.

In the corner were two desk buddies that I'm fairly certain didn't speak. At all.  I called them both the mute girls. One had a velvet skirt on day one, I believe it was blue with a black shirt. I called and phoned a friend on this one.  I am habitually a pretty horrid dresser - but even with the (lack of) skills I have I was pretty sure black, blue (and I think brown?) combinations and velvet were out.  I needed to check in on that though, I could be wrong.  These two birds - didn't talk for what I believe to be weeks or months.  I'm not sure.  They were really successful with the role though - they had happy customers, happy teams, all was happy in that corner of the world.  I don't recall how I found that out though because again, no words.

I remember telling people that I didn't know about this job or this environment.  I'm working closely with these seven people and they are so not my people.  Not even close. I didn't think I'd find my people in this team or even cross teams. I didn't see it.

I must have been as blind as the Boss (yea I did).

• The Sweetheart was the FIRST person I called when I realized I had a crush on C.
• The Mute (non velvet) has become a trusted friend, colleague, confident and home girl bails me out of many situations - including allowing me to borrow her veil for my big day.
• The Mute (velvet) was in my wedding and this summer I am honored to be apart of her big day.  (Now called my B.) Despite being in different states and sometimes different time zones we fell in love despite the velvet and I consider her one of my best for a lifetime kind of friend.

Three incredibly influential people who remain my friends today.  There are more characters in this crazy band, but I'll start here.

Customer Service Grudge

Once upon a time in a horribly difficult place to find an apartment with a dog, I had a horrible experience with a Real Estate agency. I remember it not fondly and keep the email. Not so much for the first email, but because after my experience I emailed a short email to the manager of the company and have never heard back.

Having worked in customer service, it kind of made me throw up in my mouth. Anyway, here's the story - which ... though annoyed me at the time is also slightly hilarious that there are people out there that have the balls.

Set the stage: an apartment we signed for fell through because our last agent f'd up (another idiot Real Estate Agency - that I can't remember right now) didn't process the paperwork until the afternoon so we missed out on it.

I googled companies all over Boston and each website asked for basic information. Name, rent maximum, amenities requested, dog/cat, parking etc. Instead of spending a lot of time I made templates and mass emailed and/or cut and paste to the websites the information. I offered 1st, last, security paid immediately - as time was clicking and we needed a place to live, stat! Now to be fair - the email itself was quirky and infused some of my 'humor' - but I thought it would make the person laugh and pick up the phone. I was wrong.

If you are moving to Boston, I wouldn't use Metropolitan : Boston Real Estate. They are kind of a group of aHoles. That's not on their "About Us" page unfortunately. It should be.

I was moving from NY and had no where to put my stuff. A response to my email simply read....

From: rentals [mailto:rentals@metropolitanbre.com]
Subject: RE: Apartment in Boston

I do not have anything for you but I do know of a good psychiatrist you may want to talk things over with.

That's it. And yeah, I totally am holding on to this... I guess I should talk to someone about that.

Pet Cemetery

I've never been good with the animals. It's the truth. I mean I like them fine/ but I don't baby talk, I don't have weird cat voices (yup, I'm talking to you, B), I definitely don't stall in the streets or want to forward around cute baby animal emails. It just doesn't do it for me.

See 1:58 and 2:12.



Maybe that's why most animals hate me. Growing up, I wouldn't say we had a zoo - but we had our fair share of pets. None of their stories really ended well, more like pet cemetery.

We had a parakeet. I forget it's name. It flew into the wall one day - kamikaze style. It was never the same again. Failed suicide, permanent damage as a result. TBI - traumatic brain injury, for sure and not our last pet falling victim to this terrible condition.

We had a hamster. We came home from a long weekend trip and it basically tripped on the 2nd floor of it's hamster palace got it's toes stuck and when we got home he was hanging there. Still as a doornail. Suicide or accidental death, I'm not sure.

I had newts. I didn't realize when you touch or hold them you hurt their skin? The salt on your skin eats away at their skin. Criminally negligent manslaughter.

I had an iguana. I took that bastard everywhere, George was his name. I tried to do the whole take the iguana everywhere... fall and winter on Strong Island, not really a good idea for that. Involuntary manslaughter.

We had a Guinea pig, another return trip from a weekend away or vacation I came home to find he hung himself with his Guinea pig water bottle holder. Suicide.

Cats here and there led normal lives, a few runaways through out my childhood but nothing as crazy as Quasirover. Well, in his first life, he was Quasimoto. He was an outdoor neighborhood cat. On a fateful day someone came running out of our side door, stepped on the cat's tail. The cat jumped, fell down the stairs and hit it's head on the banister. My dad took said bleeding & excreting cat to the vet. Probably hundreds or more dollars later the cat came home and became an indoor cat. Homeboy didn't come out of the situation unscathed. He never was quite the same and was brain damaged. He thought he was a dog, thus the new name. Seriously - thought he was a dog, when we wasn't zoning out due to TMI. True story. One day he went outside, likely got lost due to memory lost and hopefully found a nice home. I just hope he didn't run out of lives, as the fall took more than 1 from his 9 lives tally.

In high school, I had a dog named Scout. He kicked ass. He jumped high, came with me everywhere. No skin issues or temperature controls to worry about. He was a pomeranian and while I'm not a cat/lap dog kind of girl, he looked more like a fox than anything. I didn't he's hair and puff him out. I loved that bastard. He would roam the neighborhood sometimes and everyone loved him. One weirdo down the street loved him a bit too much. Sometimes he would call my mom and ask if Scout to sleep over. It was weird. We'd say no of course, but every once in awhile he would escape the weirdo's grip dressed up. Clothes for pets freak me out. I moved to college and then after, and no dogs allowed. A few months before he could move in with me I got a phone call. Apparently he made a run for it, not to be found. Runaway. It's probably for the best, who knows how he would have faired.

I lived with a Beagle named Bailey, and really too many stories to tell about that crazy bastard. Love her as I may. I will say when we lived in Alston you had to place a pair of sneakers next to your bed. If you heard the cry of Bailey - meaning someone left the damn door open and home girl made a run for it - you had to go and run after her. That sucked, especially since I don't run unless I am getting chased. Nothing bad happened to her... with the exception of her overdose on birth control pills (story for another time)- until she was later killed by a drive by. God rest her soul.

After Scout ran, for some reason I needed to fill the void. My roommate & I went to the local shelter and for some godforsaken reason they gave us cats. 2 cats - a mom and daughter. They were already named, Susan & something else. Since the something else was the daughter and still a kitten I renamed her Lola. Susan and Lola. The thing is, I hate cats now and I don't know how long I liked them either. After moving out I took the cats, and moved in with a boyfriend and thanks be to Jesus the major thing that came out of that relationship was a good home for those two orphans. Word on the street they are still alive and kicking.

Finally, there is Abelle. I love her as much as I can when she isn't underfoot and playing chicken with the vacuum. L loves her so and even though I curse her from time to time she's a good dog and seems to stay out of trouble. I'd say she is coming on the longest tenure with me, so hopefully we're out of the woods and the curse has been lifted.