Last One. No Really.

Months and months and months have gone by since I said I was going to take down this blog and I still haven't done it. Not because I'm too nostalgic, it's really not that, it's because I'm too lazy. I just don't want to deal with having to archive or download or copy-and-paste or whatever it is that's going to be required in order for me to not have Frosty-Licous up anymore. I just don't want to bother with it. And besides, I still dig this website. I dig the growing up I did when I was writing it, and I like to refer back to it once in a while when I'm writing A Serious Girl.

Which is why I've decided, once and for all, not to take down this blog. Also? You never know when I'll get the urge to post something supremely inappropriate on the Internet.

In case you're here for the first time, let me just warn you that what you'll find among these posts are the rantings of a Valley Girl in her early twenties, newly married, living in a tenement apartment in Hells Kitchen, Manhattan with her husband and four animals, and freaking the fuck out because she just moved three thousand miles away from everyone she's ever loved in her entire life. Of course she has her wonderful husband, so kind and gentle is he that he never even complained when she nicknamed him Poompy at one point, thank god she grew out of that. Anyway, that girl was me, and when I was thinking back over 2009 on the eve of 2010, I decided I wasn't that girl anymore and I wanted a new website.

Of course, as it turns out, I'm absolutely still that girl, I'm just that girl with a little bit more life under her belt, a better understanding of what she wants and enough confidence to finally go after it. You can read about my more recent antics on ASeriousGirl.com. Thanks for visiting!

A Serious Girl

Welcome to 2010! A shiny new year, a clean slate, a brand-new beginning.

Frosty-licious started in May of 2007. In the two years and seven months I've been writing this website I've shared hundreds of snippets from my life, dropped tidbits here and there, told stories and jokes, all the while hiding behind a mask I've worn my entire life: A Girl Who Is Pretty And That's All That Counts. The more I wrote the more I realized how I hide behind poop jokes, how I play dumb, that I'm the girl who proudly wears balls on her forehead. And frankly? I'm tired of it. I'm tired of being a cute-but-dumb joke. I'm tired of conforming to the image I think people want to see. Sure, I'll always laugh at my teabag photos, but I'm realizing there's a lot more to me than that. In 2010 I want to embrace my smart side. I want to grow up and become the role model I want for my daughters. I want to become the woman I know I can be.

This New Year is the year I will throw off the pretty little mask. This is the year I will explore and learn and wonder and fail and stand up again and be proud of what I manage to accomplish, whatever it is. This year I will let myself dream big, silly, wild dreams that could never come true because as much as I believe, unicorns don't exist. I will let myself dream sweet dreams and secret dreams and self-indulgent dreams and grown-up dreams.

This year I will stop saying mean things to the body I see in the mirror. I will feed myself and my husband healthy meals and I will exercise in ways that let me move and dance and feel good. I will love my body the way it is instead of wishing it would be different. This year I will cut out alcohol and caffeine, except for one cup of coffee in the morning and the occasional pint of beer with good friends. I will enjoy my life alone with my husband, so that when we finally have children we can say how much we looked forward to them while appreciating the time we spent before them. I will support my husband while he works and studies and I will do whatever I can to help him succeed.

This year is the year I will go back to school. My application is in, I'm just waiting to see if I am accepted and when I can start. I'm not sure what I'm going to study, but I'm leaning very far towards math and sciences. It turns out I really enjoy math, of all things, and Mike, who's been tutoring me, says I have an innate ability for it. And I've always secretly loved science, I just never thought I was smart enough to study it. I will also take a Spanish class this year, one that requires that I sit in a seat and practice with other students, out loud and in person. This year I will work and save money and we will pay off our credit card debt and start saving so that having a family won't feel like a financial disaster. This year I will go home at least once to spend time with my brothers and sisters, niece and nephews, cousins, friends, my Nani, my parents. I will fly to Seattle and spend time with my family there so I can remember where I come from.

In celebration of the new year and all I hope to accomplish, I have started a new website. A new blog. A place for me to stretch my arms without the superficial, saccharine-sweet label 'Frosty-licious'. I hated that name the moment I chose it and I've carried it around for nearly three years. I've been eager to shed that persona for a long time, I just didn't know how. Frosty-licious is too much the girl I used to be and not at all the woman I hope to grow into. She's too weighed down by the garbage I wallowed in the first two years I wrote here. It's time to clean house. Get rid of the clutter. I want room to spread out and explore. A bigger closet so I can try on different hats. A longer road for all the different shoes I walk in. An empty room so I can dance.

I'm really excited about the new website. I've been working on it for several months and I've had the opportunity to collaborate and receive guidance and advice from some wonderful people. It is an entirely new adventure and it is definitely a work in progress. I'm not sure what will happen with Frosty-licious. I may not be completely done here and the new site may turn out to be different enough that I could write regularly in both. We'll see what happens. In the mean time, I am very proud and very excited to introduce you to my new blog: A Serious Girl.

Thank you for being a part of my journey, for rallying with me, for reading my words. May 2010 hold blessings for you all. I hope to see you on my other side.

I've finally decided my future lies beyond the yellow brick road

I've been thinking about my New Years Resolutions for several days, but try as I might I can't write about my resolutions without writing about all that has happened in the past year. How can we look forward without first learning from our past?

In another life I was a Certified Family Law Paralegal. I was really good at it and the certification was something I worked very hard to achieve. I wanted to be a lawyer. I studied for the LSAT. I worked for several years at something that I didn't really believe I was smart enough to accomplish and every time I reached a new milestone I wondered how I'd managed it. I figured I was just doing a really good job of fooling everyone. I felt like a fraud. Only one person in my life saw me as I saw myself. She was a lawyer in the office where I worked, a bitter woman who, whenever I asked her a question, would snort and say, "It's a good thing you're pretty." Like I said, she saw right through me.

It turns out she and I were both wrong. That's probably the most important thing I'm taking away from 2009. This was the year that I learned I'm smart. I've spent my entire life believing that I'm pretty, but I'm not very smart, so being pretty is the best quality I have. The very best thing about me is the way that I look. My favorite feature's are my eyelashes and my feminine little feet, but I also like how long my nail-beds are and the way my bellybutton is shaped. Never in a million years would I ever tell you that I like my sense of humor or that my favorite feature is the part of me that loves doing math problems.

That's kind of messed up, I realize. But this year I realized it. I became aware of it. That's pretty awesome.

This year I learned that the way I look doesn't actually mean anything. It doesn't matter. It's an accessory. I don't have to play dumb anymore. It isn't endearing or cute or funny and it doesn't feel good. I also learned a lot about my priorities. I learned what I will and won't do for my career. I learned that it's wonderful to make plans and it's wonderful for those plans to change. I learned that what I want will always grow and change because as I reach my goals they will undoubtedly shape-shift and that is the nature of the beast. That is being human.

This year was the year Mike worked his way onto the Deans List with a 4.0 GPA. He finished thirty-four credits and will be eligible for his AA by the end of summer 2010. He became a New York City Emergency Medical Technician. He unearthed all our art supplies and discovered a gift for painting and woodcarving. He spent twenty-one days hiking the JMT with his brother.

This year we learned how to be a family. We learned how to be our own, unique, special, crazy little family. We started talking about babies this year. It's still a ways off, for a variety of reasons, but for the first time in our six-year relationship we're on the same page about babies.

This year we began to explore parts of the City we'd never seen and in doing so, discovered a city we fell madly in love with. This was the year that I found space to stretch out and practice yoga. I rediscovered my love of writing. My blog went from being a place where I whined and ranted and wrote silly things I didn't really care about to being a place where I found peace and solace and comfort and joy.

This was the year I learned how much I love my extended family; my wonderful siblings and my parents, my niece, my nephews, cousins, aunts, uncles. I realized how important my roots are, and how much I have to learn about Michael's roots. I learned that I have a support group in my family; a pep squad and a team of coaches. That even when we make mistakes and hurt each other and get angry we still love one another and we are still a family.

This year I wanted a white Christmas and I got two.

The most memorable moment was when Mike said this is the year he's been happier than he's been in his entire life.

This year I fell in love with my life.

I'm really excited about the new year.

A breath in the middle of it all

Oh my gosh it feels so good to be here again.

I have been away for far too long and let me tell you, it has hurt. I'm sorry about all the snake-eats-mouse photos. I fell off The Project wagon a few weeks back and kept thinking I'd be able to pick it up again and so had all these photos laying around, photos I'd taken all on the same day, of Meph eating these four mice, and I just set them all to scheduled posts because I didn't want to disappear completely. But I disappeared anyway.

I have so many stories I want to write and so many things to tell you that I don't even know where to begin. And yet? I have no idea when I'll be able to write them all down. But it is a priority, it really is, I am terribly in love with this thing called writing.

I'm also really in love with our fabulous new apartment, which isn't so new anymore, we've been here for exactly six months now and I cannot believe how our life has changed since we've changed our space. I think it is not a coincidence.

Mike has become completely consumed with school and it is one of the most wonderful, exciting, beautiful things I've ever watched happen. I don't use those words lightly, I really don't. It really is exquisite how hard he is studying and how much he is learning and the relationships he's developing with his teachers. He's turned being a student into a career and he is advancing beautifully. He consistently earns the highest grades in his classes and sets the curve for the rest of the students. He has real conversations and debates with his teachers that cause them to ask him to stay after class because they want to talk to him more, know more about him, why he's in school, what he did before, what his plans for the future are. The other students email him and call him asking for help and advice and he tutors them happily because it helps him learn. I imagine that he is the kind of student that makes teachers glad they are teachers.

There's a story I need to write about the time I nearly killed Meph by loving him too much and how it set a red flag for Michael, the way I love by smothering. It's kind of funny and very scary and something I need to watch. It turns out there is some obsessive-compulsive in me and while it isn't a joke, it is manageable.

And that leads into a story about how I move about my home arranging and decorating and dusting and scouring how I feel as if I am moving not in my body, but my mother's body. Or Aunt Sue's body. How much I see them in me, the women before me, and how happy I feel in those moments.

I want to write about how I'm figuring out that all the things on my to-do list will eventually get done, maybe not on my timeline, but eventually. There is no need to worry. And I'm not talking about my laundry to-do list. I'm talking about my life to-do list.

I want to update you on the worms and the dog's raw diet and our CSA and our new furniture.

There are so many things I want to say.

And also? I need to catch up on what's going on with you.

I get between 30-50 unique hits a day on this website. I can only account for about 20 of my readers. That means that there are between 10 and 30 people checking out this site and I have no idea who they are. Of the 20 people I can account for, 15 have their own blogs, which I usually read consistently. But I have been a bad internet friend. I haven't been able to read anyone. But please don't feel bad because I've been an even worse personal friend.

I'm working on that.

I love you all.

Goodnight.

It's easier than we thought it would be

I really am not sure how all this started. For years we've talked about making our home a space that was more an artists studio than a living space. We've dreamt and whispered about how wonderful it would be if everywhere we looked there was a work in progress, if any time we wanted we could pick up a paint brush or a mallet or an instrument or a pencil and just play. But it has only been in the last several weeks that we've made it a reality.

And neither of us really know what we are doing. We are each confident in a few creative outlets and the rest are a wild experiment. Sometimes I feel frustrated and embarrassed and he talks me out of it. And other times he gets frustrated and embarrassed and I talk him out of it. Our biggest fight in years happened this week when I came home from work and he'd put away all of his paints and hidden his canvases under the bed and turned our "studio" back into a "living room". I don't remember the last time I cried that hard. I felt terribly threatened.

The next day I pulled all the art supplies out again, found his canvases, set up the easel. And that night he started working on his third piece in as many weeks. And they are all works in progress and he is just learning and it is incredible to witness.

And what am I doing? I'm writing. I'm playing with my camera. I'm getting a lot more auditions than usual and nailing them. I'm learning guitar. I'm practicing yoga on a near daily basis. I'm cooking. COOKING! And enjoying it! Life is full of wonder, sometimes.

07.12.09

This counts. IT COUNTS.

Adam took this photo so technically it doesn't count. Technically. But I've never been a very technical person and this photo so perfectly captures my absolute favorite moment of this day, more so than any photo I took.

Our first two years in this city were so hard. A hardness I couldn't have prepared for, a hardness that we're both still not sure how we managed to survive. I know I can speak for Mike when I say we both felt isolated, terribly alone, out of place. We worked our tails off to make a cruddy rat-hole a cozy home, but we didn't have a family to share it with. Yes, we had each other and our animals, thank goodness. But, and I can't speak for Michael on this, I am used to having a huge family of relatives and friends that I can surround myself with at any time of day or night. But in New York? There wasn't anyone.

Yet.

It takes a long time to forge the kinds of relationships that become like family, whether you are blood related or not. That was not something I understood until I moved across the country. It has really helped that Adam, one of my very closest chosen family members, moved here in September. But it has also helped that we've been here a while and the people who were strangers two years ago, are friends we've known for two years now.

Lately I just haven't felt so alone. Or isolated. And certainly not out of place. Our shiny, new apartment is almost always full of people, laughter, and music. Cocktails flow freely and the food is always delicious and we always stay up much later than we should. And I am so, so, so grateful for that.

I picked this photo because even I can see the happiness on my face here. Mike and I did not know the photo was being taken, so what's captured is a totally genuine moment. And I realize that it looks like I am strangling my husband, but really what I am doing is scratching under his chin, something that both of us think the other couldn't possibly love as much as we do. But we both love it. Oh, how we love it.

07.08.09

I'm practically peeing my pants.

It has been a very exciting week, Internet Friends. Very. Exciting. I have about a hundred-eighty-three projects (that's an exact number) going right now, including the editing of a brand-new film reel, the writing of a children's book (What-what?), auditions and call-backs gallore, and a garden. I have a garden. I live in Manhattan and I have a garden.

Ok, it isn't really a garden. It's more of a collection of potted plants that I can eat when they're done growing. BUT STILL.

Do you remember when I posted all about sustainable eating and community supported agriculture and how I lusted after large open spaces where I could grow vegetables? Well, dreams come true, folks. They really do come true.

This past Tuesday Mike and I were the proud recipients of our very first CSA share. We are members of the West Harlem Community Supported Agriculture Program, which means that every Tuesday we get a big box of organic, locally grown fruits and vegetables. AND IT IS LIKE CHRISTMAS, IT IS THAT FUN.

Look what we got this week:

Is this not the Most Beautiful bok choy you've EVER SEEN?

What the F is this? I can't even tell you. But it was delicious.

(It's called Kohlrabi)

And it comes in red, too, in case you were wondering.

Also, in case you can't tell by my husband's beard, we are hippies now.

This is a garlic flower. Did you know that garlic flowers?

And you know what it tastes like? GARLIC.

It's beautiful and wonderful and grown in New York state.

And here is a sneak-peak of our bedroom. (It's not done yet.)

Those flowers? They came from the CSA also.

F-ing-A. How happy am I?

And this? This?

LIVE HERBS WERE ALSO A PART OF OUR CSA.

Oregano and Thyme.

How badass is that?

VERY VERY BADASS.

We also got a sh** ton of kale, swiss chard, strawberries, and other stuff I am too excited to remember.

The other thing that was freaking awesome was that four days before we picked up our CSA share, our good friends Josie and Johnny came over for dinner and brought us this house-warming gift:

Basil, sweet basil and cilantro

A TOMATO PLANT! AAAAAHHHHHH!

I am ridiculously excited about the tomato plant. RIDICULOUSLY. EXCITED. And since I took this photo, our little tomato plant has grown even bigger and is even more beautiful and holy crap I am growing a vegetable. It is my very first time ever growing a vegetable or herbs. And forever and ever, wherever I live, wherever I roam, whenever I grow vegetables and herbs I will think of Josie and Johnny because they got me started.

I am so freaking happy right now. Who knew that vegetables and herbs could make a girl THIS happy? It is the little things in life, truly.

*very*happy*sigh*

Just because you can't put a bow on it

Oh, how I long to live a simple little life. When I was little I would dream about how romantic it would be to be married to a writer and live in a tiny apartment in Paris and work at the flower shop downstairs, knowing that my husband was upstairs tap-tapping at his typewriter (because of course it is more romantic to write at a typewriter than a computer). I would stop at the market on my way home and pick up greens for dinner. After, we'd sip wine and he'd dry the dishes while I washed. Then we'd curl up in bed and read until we were too sleepy. And the next day we'd get up and do it all again.

Oh, how I long for a simple little life. How tired I am of the city and living in a little apartment, how tired I am of chasing dreams and not knowing and worrying over the future. How I often feel like I'm being punished because I didn't choose a more direct career path, and that maybe, if I'd picked a "grown-up" career, I could have all the little things I want so badly. The little things like waking up in the morning and just being able to sip my coffee and visit with Michael while he gets ready for his day. Little things like having a little home and a little garden, where I could bake and cook and grow vegetables and take care of my babies and at the end of the day we'd all curl up and read a little and love a little and sleep a little. And the next day it would all start over again.

The other night I was folding laundry in the bedroom while Mike was working on some writing, Theo curled in his lap, Valentine curled on the bed amongst the clean socks, Feist on the stereo, our bellies full of something wonderful Mike had fixed for dinner, dishes drip-drying in the kitchen, and I realized what an asshole I am. I already have a simple little life. I'm lusting after something I already possess. My life couldn't possibly be any littler or any simpler. It may not look like it belongs in the pages of Better Homes & Gardens, it may not have a white picket fence around it, it may not be the cookie-cutter shape I grew up thinking it should be, but it is exactly the life I am dreaming about.

Does that happen to you? Do you ever catch yourself talking about wanting something and then realizing that what you want is actually right in front of your face, if only you'd take a moment to appreciate it? I'm really working on that. I'm really working on learning to appreciate every little moment as it happens because it is the only thing we really have. This moment right now. And when I am able to take a deep breath and stop fretting over the future, and not obsess over the past, I realize that what I've got right this second is actually pretty perfect.

And the other thing? Right here and now I resolve to never again accuse myself of not having a "grown-up" career. My career is not only something grown-ups do, but it's something that brilliant, world-changing, noble, courageous grown-ups do. In the words of the great Helen Hayes:

"When I consider how many of the world's greatest minds -- Sophocles,
Aristophanes, Shakespeare, Goethe, Moliere, Ibsen, Shaw -- have clothed their
ideas in The Dramatic Form; when I consider the enjoyment, the enrichment, and
the enlightenment that The Theatre has brought into the lives of countless
millions down through the ages -- I Become Very Proud of My Profession."

Yes, I know I've said this before, but what needs to grow-up is me, not my career. And I'm working on it, I really am. A little bit every day. See?

Leap, and I will appear.

In an ongoing effort not to feel like a complete asshole about the state of my career, I have spent some time this week putting together packages to send to casting people that I would like to audition for. It always feels like such a torturous project because I know that 99.7% of the time, it is a big waste of energy and money. But I also know that 0.03% of the time, actors get calls from cold mailings. So, it's with a heavy heart and the hope of being one of those 0.03% of people that I take pains over my cover letter and carefully cut my resume to fit my head shot, and label my demo and put it all into an envelope and buy a million dollars of postage and send it on its way. But I do it.

And also, by the way, my career just sucks right now. Career? What career? Ha. It ain't a career unless you're paying your bills with it. But it IS an adventure and holy Peter Pan, you guys, I live in Manhattan and I'm chasing my dream.

But do you know how hard I have to work to feel excited about it? Because most of the time I just feel like I'm pounding my head on a block of cement while wearing pants made out of sand paper and soaking in a tub of rotting sardines and hot vinegar. And I feel hopeless. And I just want to pack it all in and head back to sunny El Lay.

I'm in the habit of saying little prayers, asking for little signs that I'm on the right path, that I'm doing the right thing, that I should stay in New York and not catch the next plane to the sun. AND I KEEP GETTING THESE LITTLE SIGNS. It's the weirdest fuckin' thing. I feel hopeless, I ask for a sign, I get a sign. In March when I asked for a sign? I found an apartment that was not only a way better deal than the one we had, but also way cheaper than anything comparable we could afford in L.A. Then I felt hopeless again and I asked for a sign and Estelle Parsons pulled me aside after a workshop to say, "We were lucky to watch you today." Then today? Then today I started feeling hopeless again, even after putting together my mailings, even after updating my website and finally (FINALLY IT'S BEEN ABOUT A YEAR) re-editing Ashley Andrews so it isn't so long and obnoxious, I was feeling all sad and hopeless and I was sorting my mail and I got my new equity card. And it came attached to a piece of paper that said this:

"It has been said that an Actor must have the hide of a rhinoceros, the courage and audacity of a lion, and most importantly, the fragile vulnerability of an egg. It also has been said, and I'm not sure by whom, that the moment of not knowing is the moment that has the greatest potential for creativity. The professional and private lives of most Actors are filled to the brim with moments of not knowing. Actors are survivors and will continue to strive because they have the need to celebrate, in performance, that sacred communion between Actor and audience."

Robert Prosky

1930 - 2008

And I felt .... liberated.

I'm going to have that piece of paper framed.

And, because we can't take ourselves too seriously, check out the new re-edited Ashley Andrews video. If you want. No pressure.

DID YOU WATCH IT YET?

Regarding the last post:

Dr. Smith comes in this morning and sees his message from caller Jane Doe from yesterday. And starts LAUGHING. He looks at me and says, "Did you take this message?"

"Yes, I did."
"Pssshhh. I'm not writing this woman a letter! SHE'S CRAZY."
"Uh ... Yeah. That was pretty clear."

And then I told him what I told you guys.

And he rolled his eyes and said, "She's never going to be a therapist because she's nuts. She refuses to cooperate with our program. She's NOT a student in good standing because she won't do ANY of the things she needs to do to be a good student. What a nut job."

He said that.

He called her a 'nut job'.

I FELT SO VINDICATED.

Also? I just drank a dirty vodka martini on an empty stomach. But know what? I TOTALLY DESERVE IT. IT'S BEEN A LONG WEEK. So there. Now I'm going to lay inb ed and wathc the entire second seaosn of Heroes'. And also typeing while tpsy is a bad idea. Wheeeeeeeee~!

If you're my mother, you might want to skip this. Also, if you're under 18, shield your virgin eyes.

Me: If we had a son, would you want to circumcise him?

Him: I don't know. I've never thought about it. ... ... ... Why? Do you have strong feelings about it?

Me: Not really. I kind of don't want to do it because I'm afraid of the open wound. Wounded infant penis is scary.

Him: It's no big deal.

Me: And what if the doctor's knife slips? And cuts it off?

Him: That's not going to happen.

Me: But then I do want to do it because I'm worried he'll get made fun of if we don't.

Him: That's ridiculous. Who would make fun of him?

Me: Immature, uninformed teenage girls. Or boys. Whichever. They're both vicious.

Him: Our son is not going to be showing his penis to girls or boys when he's in high school.

Me: Dude. Of course he is.

Him: He is not.

Me: Well, he won't be waving it around, but he's going to be getting handjobs and stuff.

Him: No, he's not.

Me: Don't you want our son to be a healthy teenage boy?

Him: Healthy teenage boys don't run around getting handjobs.

Me: (A sideways look.) Um... he'll be a freak with a capital 'F' if he makes it through his senior year without getting a handjob.

Him: ... ... ...

Me: Oh my god.

Him: I'm done talking to you.

Me: HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?

Him: I'm leaving the room now.

Me: But you had girlfriends! How did you - ?

Him: We never had this conversation.

We don't hold back here.

I was at the laundry mat tonight and bumped into one of my neighbors. 

Wait. 

Why was I at the laundry mat when I have a perfectly lovely laundry room in the basement of my fabulous new apartment? Because Theo has regressed since our move and is punishing us for disrupting his life by pissing wherever he wants, whenever he wants. And last night he felt like pissing rivers all over my down comforter. It's a good thing he's pretty.

Anyway, Mike wasn't able to wash the comforter today and I didn't get home from work until after seven and the basement closes at seven, so if I wanted to sleep with a clean comforter tonight, which I did, I had to walk down the block and wash my comforter at the laundry mat. (How's THAT for a run-on sentence? Anyone want to correct it? Anyone? I DARE YOU.)

So I'm at the laundry mat (how long is it going to take for me to tell this story? Years. Seriously. Years.) and I'm REALLY REALLY GRUMPY because, of course, this is the 26th day of my .... erhm .... cycle, and so I believe that Mike didn't wash the comforter on purpose, because he hates me. Because that makes sense. Not washing piss-soaked comforter = spouse hates you. While I'm at the laundry mat Mike calls me to tell me all about this community volunteering meeting he went to, and he's all excited, but I'm Grumpy so I say:

"I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW." 

And he's all: "What are you so mad about?" 

And I'm all: "I'M IN PUBLIC AND I DON'T WANT TO DISCUSS IT." 

And then he's all: "What did I do?" 

And I'm like: "I'M GOING TO HANG UP ON YOU BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING NICE TO SAY RIGHT NOW."

And then I hang up on him. (Aren't I pleasant?) That's when I notice my next-door neighbor standing beside to me. I smile weakly, because I'm grumpy and have no energy for smiles. 

She looks me up and down for a minute and then she says, "Damn. You were such a bitch on the phone."

"Pardon me?"

"I said, You were such a bitch on the phone."

And then I laughed. Because, you know what? She was totally right.

At least I know where I stand.

Me: Look at this.

Him: Is that a mosquito bite?

Me: It's a lump! And a gash! 

Him: It looks like a mosquito bite.

Me: I banged my head on your new bathroom cabinet!

Him: Oh my gosh! Did you hurt the cabinet?

Not eligible for XY rating.

This weekend Valentine woke me up in the middle of the night by vomiting all over my face. I jumped awake thinking someone had dumped a bucket of warm water on my head, but it was just Valentine, her wet little nose pressed to mine, emptying the contents of her belly all over her mama. Because that's what widdle babies do when dey don't feel well. And I did what any mama would do. I wiped myself off, put Valentine back to bed, laid a towel over the wet spot on my mattress, and fell back asleep.

The next morning I got up, went about my normal morning routine, and then settled in to work on the unpacking. Around noon, I noticed Michael staring at me.

"What?"
"Um ... have you ... showered today?"
"What? Why?"
"Because, um, it looks like you still have dog vomit in your hair."

"Huh? Oh. Whatevs. It's just a little dog puke."

"..."

"What?"
"That's a hormone thing, isn't it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Someone threw up on you ten hours ago and you still haven't showered."

"It was mostly water. And it came from Valentine."

"I am going to believe that this is an X chromosome thing because otherwise, this is just too disturbing. So this is an X chromosome thing. A 'getting ready to be a mommy thing'. Ok? Just tell me that's what it is."

That's when Valentine leapt off the couch, trotted over to me, put her little paws on my shoulders and started licking my face. 

"Oh god. That is disgusting."
"What are you talking about? Dese are doggy kisses! Da best widdle kisses in da world!"
"I'm filing a complaint against your hormones."
"Papa dust doesn't understand our wuv, does he baby girl? No he doesn't! He doesn't! Das a good widdle baby doggy." *smooching*snuggles*yummytimes*

" ... She eats poop. You're covered in dried vomit, kissing something that eats poop. ... ... ... WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY WIFE?"

This is the last one. I swear. No really.

You know what my new favorite sound is? The sound of my dresser drawers opening. It is like the sound of angels singing, I'm not kidding. You know what else? I have a sweater drawer! A SWEATER DRAWER. And Mike and I each have our very own sock drawer and our very own underpants drawer. Our own! One for each! No more mixing of socks and bras and panties and undershorts! It is so luxurious and wonderful and completely makes up for the paint peeling off the bathroom tiles.

I know, I know, it must be really hard to relate to somebody who shudders with pleasure when she thinks of her dresser drawers, but bear with me. Bare with me? I think it's "bear with me". Who knows. Whatevs. The point is, we are down to seven boxes in the living room and three boxes in the bathroom and then all we'll have left to do is hang our photos and art work on the walls. Of course, there will always be a little project here or there that we want to work on, like the bathroom tiles or the beading around the perimeter of the rooms, or staining the french doors or buying more furniture (it is kind of pathetic how empty the place will be when all the boxes are gone because we have no furniture), but other than that, we'll be done. Done! And then I'll take photos, post them and life will return to normal. A prettier, cozier, sunnier, more spacious normal. And then, eventually, the infatuation will wear off and I will shut the F up about my fabulous apartment and resume regular posting about dog poop and crazy people. I just have to get my head screwed on straight.

I miss you all.
Thanks for sticking around.

Movin' On Up

Say Goodbye to Tenements!

Our lease is up on May 1st and after two years of tenement living, we decided not to renew it. Sure, the bitchen has been fun. And I'll really miss the fist-sized cockroaches that scurry along the hallways. And also the dingy stairwells with the lingering poop smell. And the shower ceiling that has a habit of crashing down while you're bathing. I'll miss having an apartment that is twelve whole foot-steps from the front door to the back wall. I'll surely miss the drunken ex-homeless man that lives in our basement. And our inability to use more than one electrical appliance at a time for fear of blowing a fuse and having to wait three hours for the super to come home from the bar so he can go into the basement he refuses to give anyone but the ex-homeless man a key to and change the fuse. I will also miss having to boil water on the stove to take a bath in February because the hot water has been turned off in the building - again. And the fifteen minute walk to the closest subway station. And the landlord with his gambling problem and his habit of calling us after 11 p.m. a week before the rent is due to see if maybe we could pay early because he owes his bookie. I mean, I know how lucky we've been to have all of that for a mere $1,513.90 a month. Sure, most people in most cities could rent a house with a backyard for that, but honestly? I'm not complaining. Two years in that tenement has given me a wealth of stories to possibly write one day and that's pretty valuable, I'd say. Maybe not worth the $35,806.80 we've spent in the last two years, but hey! It's only money, right?

We have really had to cut back on our expenses (thanks, recession!) so our goal was to find a new place for around $1200 a month. And we more than met that goal when we found an apartment for $977.80, but it's a little scary the downgrade we've had to make. Really.

All right, I'm totally lying. Our new Manhattan pad is ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS. I am completely in love. I even added the apartment to my list of 5 People I Can Sleep With And My Husband Won't Get Mad. (It's cool. Mike has his own list.) My list is now officially as follows:

1. Michael C. Hall
2. Michael C. Hall
3. Michael C. Hall
4. Zac Efron (He's over 18 so it's not creepy. Shut it.)
5. Our New Apartment

I digress. Our new apartment is fabulous. It's a five minute walk to the subway, a supermarket, dry cleaners, pharmacy, and restaurants. There are five beautiful parks within a 15 block radius. And the amenities! If, five years ago, you'd have told me that I'd one day think of a bathroom sink as an amenity, I'd have laughed at you. But trust me, all you bathroom-sink-takers-for-granted, a bathroom sink is a HUGE amenity.

In addition to the fabulous bathroom sink, our new apartment also has a bathtub that is not scary. It's been refinished so it looks new and it plugs and doesn't have rust stains and years of mildew that refuse to scrub off and the best part? You don't even have to climb over the toilet to get into it. You just step in. That's it. Step and you're in. You know what else we have in our new apartment? Windows that look out at sky and have sunlight streaming in. I thought it was great to move into the tenement, with its windows just a few feet from the luxury condo complex next door and the blobs of cement permanently affixed to the glass from when they built said luxury condo complex. Those windows were an improvement from the single teensy window that was inches from an enormous cement block wall in the studio I rented in Chelsea for two grand a month. At least in the tenement we could decipher whether it was day or night without having to walk outside. But our new apartment? It has six windows. SIX. And they are all huge and when you look out of them you can see sky without having to open the window and crane your neck upwards. It's lovely. Oh! And back to sinks, because I'm really thrilled with the sink situation, the one in the kitchen, that is in addition to the one in the bathroom, is GINORMOUS. And brand-spanking new. Know what else? There are six fuses in the fuse box, which is located in the kitchen instead of in a scary, dank basement that we don't have a key to and that has drunken ex-homeless people living in it. Do you know what that means? It means that, if I were so inclined, I could watch a DVD with the AC on while blow drying my hair, heating my curling iron, brewing coffee and ironing laundry. I bet you are just now realizing all the things you take for granted about your home, huh? YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

And I still haven't told you about the beautiful elevator, the clean and shiny marble stairwells, the enormous and clean laundry facility in the basement, which is also clean and well-lit and full of windows, the buzzer that works and is hooked up to an intercom system next to our front door. I didn't talk about the trash shoot which is right next to our front door and doesn't smell, not even a little bit. I haven't told you about how the bedroom has a door, a real bedroom door that shuts, and how this aforementioned bedroom with a door is larger than the tenement living room. I haven't described the new living room that is larger than the bedroom, has brand-new gorgeous french doors and the most beautiful antique wood flooring. And since I am so excited about all the things that make our new apartment so utterly, breathtakingly fabulous, I'm going to leave out the part about how the kitchen and bathroom linoleum are completely trashed and that, because the apartment is priced so far below market (thanks, rent stabilization!), they refused to replace them, so we are forced to do it ourselves. I also won't mention how the brand-new kitchen cabinets were nailed into the drywall and so hanging off the walls at precarious angles, and how Mike had to pull them down and re-hang them correctly using firring strips, screws and the wall studs. And I am most definitely going to leave out the part about how the brokers fee cost us our first and second born children and also our souls. I'm not going to mention any of those things because, bathroom sink! Buzzer! Elevator! Trash shoot! Laundry room! Sunlight! Space! Closets! Less than five minutes to train platform! HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS. WE'RE MOVING INTO A BEAUTIFUL BUILDING AND WE ARE SAVING OVER FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS A MONTH ON OUR RENT. That is totally worth using the all-caps key inappropriately.

$977.80 per month. $977.80. Nine hundred seventy-seven dollars and eighty cents. Say it with me. $977.80. Isn't that beautiful? It's my new favorite number. Move over 11! Make way for 977.80.

This is probably where an editor would tell me to shut the F up now, but I can't. Because you know what? After next week, I will never again have to bundle up and walk through rain, sleet, snow, ice and general misery to do my laundry or take out the trash. I will never again fumble to unlock my front door because my slumlord doesn't pay the building electric bill. I will never again have to put on my shoes and run downstairs to let a friend into my building. I will never again have to climb over my toilet to take a shower, bang my knees on the bathroom door trying to shut it so I can have privacy when I poop, or brush my teeth in the same sink I wash my dishes in. And that is so so so cool.

Wanna see photos? Of course you do. Click here and grab a bib because you will start salivating.

p.s. In other news, I just booked a leading role in a workshop of a very very exciting new play. I'll write more about that later. I am so excited I can't believe it's really happening. 

p.s.2. Expect posting this week to be light, what with all the packing and moving and rehearsing I'll be doing. But just think how many wonderful stories I'll have when I come back!

p.s.3. If things keep going this well, I might start to genuinely enjoy this wild metropolis I am trying to call home.

Say Hello to Luxury Living!

Donna Reed? Don't think so.

Instead of going to my high school's planned Disneyland Grad Night after graduation, my best friends and I rented a cabin in Mammoth, CA for a week. It cost the same amount of money as the Disney Grad Night, only instead of one lame chaperoned night at Disney it was seven days of uninterrupted-by-parents fun. Don't worry, we were all very well behaved. Disappointingly well behaved. In fact, we got up early every day and participated in G-rated activities like sledding and sight-seeing and hiking and we were in bed by nine every night, exhausted by all the wholesome fun. Seriously. The thing that sticks out in my mind the most about that trip is all the times George lectured me on how I was "worse than Peggy Bundy" and that he would "feel sorry for any man who would end up married to Tricia." He was mad (with good reason, I'll admit) because every night after dinner, I curled up on the sofa with bon bons and watched t.v. while he washed the dishes. Come to think of it, any time there were any chores to be done in the cabin, you could find me watching t.v. and eating bon bons while George did the chores.

For as long as Mike and I have been together, people have teased us that he's a better housewife than I am. Especially after we moved to New York and Mike's work hours dropped from 80+ a week to 20 a week and he suddenly, without being asked, took over all the domestic duties. He did all of our laundry, all the grocery shopping, he'd wake me up in the mornings with coffee and breakfast, he'd fix my lunch every day, and when I got home from work there was always a clean apartment, happy dogs and a hot dinner waiting. It was heavenly.

This past autumn, Mike's work load shot back up to 50 - 60 hours a week and I floundered, not sure how to take care of myself. Suddenly I had to fix my own coffee and clean the apartment and wash the clothes? What was I to do? I'm too embarrassed to say how long we went without clean socks and underpants. Such a vast quantity of pet hair accumulated in the apartment from my failure to vacuum, that we often found ourselves cuddling a mound of fur-shed that we'd mistaken for a live animal. And since I'm not a cook, I decided an acceptable dinner was a bag of carrots and some sliced cheese. In my defense, it takes a lot of effort to spend my days sleeping until noon and then laying around on the couch in my jammies while I eat yet another pint of Ben & Jerry's. But I'm not complaining.

When Mike started school full time in January, it occurred to me that maybe I ought to be taking care of him for once. I liked the idea and told him eagerly, "I'm going to get up with you every morning! At six! And make your breakfast!" And he patted me on the head and said, "Sure baby. Whatever you say." And then I continued sleeping late every morning, making him fend for himself in the gray hours of dawn. I wanted to get up, I really did. I wanted to fix his breakfast and his coffee the way he used to do for me, but our bed was just too comfy. It called to me and I had to answer. With my face in the pillow and the covers pulled up to my ears. But by mid-February, I started to get the hang of it. And you know what? I really love it. I love getting up at six and making his coffee, fixing his breakfast and packing his lunch. I love keeping the apartment clean and taking the dogs to the dog park at 9 a.m. I love that my days are longer and fuller and more productive. It's actually fun to take off my jammies and shower and eat vegetables instead of ice cream. Who'd have thunk it?

Last night Mike had to work late and I waited up for him, so we didn't get to bed until after midnight, and then we both overslept by thirty minutes, which meant I ran out of time to pack his lunch.

"It's 7:08. I have seven minutes to make your lunch. All we have is tuna fish and I don't think I can make tuna in seven minutes." I said, clearing our breakfast dishes from the table.
"Don't worry about it." He shrugged as he started bundling up.
"I should've gone to the store yesterday. If we had lunch meat I could throw together a sandwich in seven minutes."
"Really, baby. Don't worry about it."
"But what will you eat for lunch?"
"I'll buy something at school."
"But I feel like a failure!"
He put his hand on my shoulder, looked gravely into my face and said, "Take the pressure off, Pumpkin." And if he hadn't started to grin right then, and if that grin hadn't turned into a teasing little smirk, I'd have thought he was trying to comfort me when he added, "Domesticity is very new for you."

What IS the goal?

Me: If I put this pear in your lunch, will you eat it?

Him: It'll squish my sandwich.

Me: Your sandwich is going to get squished anyway.

Him: You're right. I need a sandwich-shaped box.

Me: You don't need a sandwich-shaped box.

Him: They make them.

Me: You don't need a sandwich-shaped box.

Him: YES I DO.

Me: I had a paper-bag lunch every day for thirteen years, my sandwiches were always squished, I survived.

Him: Is survival really the goal here?

All Things Considered

There aren't enough pretty words to describe how comforting it was to be with my family this past week. Between the cousins, the aunts and uncles, my siblings and my parents, it was a four day love-fest. Jacob's wake was a joyful party with over two hundred guests. He would have loved it. Everyone laughed and drank and ate and told funny Jake-stories and there were lots of bear hugs. The kind of hugs that last so long they make Sibley cringe. There was some crying, but mostly people laughed. I hope that is how my family celebrates me when I'm gone. And I hope Sibley is uncomfortable. (Hi Sibley!)

In addition to all the hugging, eating, story telling and sneaking-of-sips-of-cheap-brandy, I spent several hours pouring over old family photos, flooding my little head with memories. I finished reading A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius and It Sucked and Then I cried, and then I read Super In The City and The Nanny Diaries. (Thanks, plane flights!) Oh! Also thanks to the plane flights, I visited not only Seattle and Los Angeles, but the Twin Cities, Phoenix, San Francisco and Charlotte, North Carolina. Not that I got to see much. But still. Except for the night Kitty told ghost stories and I had to sleep with all the lights on, I slept better than I had since March 6th. And when I arrived home, I was buried in love once again. Mike had filled each room of our tiny apartment with antique roses and orange lilies (my favorite). Thank God for my wonderful family.

Last night I dreamt about Jake. He was young - a teenager - healthy, gorgeous and laughing. He wanted to play hide-and-seek with me and so we played and we laughed and I couldn't get over how happy he looked. May he always be happy and laughing, wherever he is.

Radio Silent

On Friday, March 6, 2009, my beloved cousin Jacob died of a heart attack. He was 32.

Jacob loved scuba diving. He loved music. He loved to sing karaoke and laugh and drink beer. He had recently become obsessed with an album by a singer named Alice Smith. Jacob was a romantic. He had an infectious smile. He was one of the older cousins who always treated me as if I was his equal, even though I was a little kid with pigtails and glasses. Once I was old enough to be his equal, he made me feel like I was his favorite person in the world. He had a way of making people feel like that. It was the way he listened when you talked, the way he looked in your eyes, the way he asked questions and the way he carved out time for you, no matter what else he was doing. He always said 'I love you' before hanging up the phone but never in that way that so many people say it - rushed and forced by habit. When Jake said it he said it because he wanted you to know how much he loved you. He wanted you to know how important you are. He wanted to make sure you'd heard him.

"I love you Trish."
"I love you too."

I am devastated. I am furious. I am in denial. I am confused. I am heartbroken.

Tomorrow at 4:00 a.m. I will leave my husband sleeping in our warm white bed and I will make my way across the country. As the sun is coming up, as the plane makes it's ascent, I will play the game I played as a child, searching the clouds for the faces of my dead. (Will I see him there?) I will land in Seattle at 1:23 p.m. - that time specifically chosen because in my family, that string of numbers - 123 - means "I love you". Once in Seattle, I will put my arms around the people Jake left behind and tell them how much I love them, how important they are.

I will not be posting for a while. I will be quiet. I will be thinking. I will be remembering. I will be with my family. I will be trying to heal.

Thank you for your love and support. Please pray for my family. We have suffered a terrible and unfair loss. The world is a darker place in Jake's absence.