life and other complications

Justin v. Food

watching a *little* too much Adam Richman has clearly gotten to Justin, as this is what just arrived in my mailbox:

accompanied (in all seriousness) by these brave words:

"I think I could do this if I didn’t have any white bread and chose the sides carefully.  Might be more if I saw it but thinking about 1/2 lb of 4 things doesn’t really scare me much."

now, i love Hill Country as much (ok, more) than your average person, yet i still can't decide if i'm more impressed or disgusted that Justin thinks this is A) something he ought to do, and B) something he is truly capable of doing. and, even worse, i can't really figure out if i should be grossed out at myself for being a little bit jealous of him if he actually follows through. and that i have been actually sitting here thinking about a strategy to accomplish this (the challenge is to eat it all in under an hour; if you do so, it's free. if not, you're out $65). i'm thinking the lean brisket could be a real sticking point-- ok, see? this is clearly an endeavor that Jenny Craig would *not* endorse and, even if Adam Richman is way cooler than JC, i'm meant to be on a beach in two weeks, so i need to focus up and keep my nose clean. (with a furlough for Superbowl Sunday, mais oui).

Sleepless nights

If you had to guess which one of these three is keeping me up at night, you might guess that it's the baby. You'd be wrong. It's solitaire and the internet. Yeah, he's an easy culprit as babies are usually the evil forces behind new mom sleep deprivation. But my "high sleep needs" (read: lazy) baby is blameless. That boy's been down since 7:30pm and I don't plan on hearing from him until 8/8:15am.

And yet I'm up and, for some reason, finding it incredibly important to up my winning percentage on an iPhone solitaire game. Am I officially too old to use FML unironically? Whatever-- FML!

adventures in babysitting

since the youngest of my babysitting charges is now finished with college, and kind of a grown up, i figured it was time to go back to my roots and get my babysit on again. it's been quite a long time since i've babysat, as i'm not sure if watching Winston all these years counted.
so it worked out well that Sam and Mark had cause to celebrate in the city--Sam's parents' 40th wedding anniversary--and needed a sitter. enter, Justin and i (ok, the whole Thurston/Lovey thing* had a good run, but in my dotage i grow lazier still and having to remember additional names is tough. so done and done-- it's all about reality now) who filled the bill in that (a) we love Henry lots; and--the perhaps determinative factor--(b) the rest of their trusted babysitting crew was going to be celebrating along with them. however it came about, J and i were excited to give the babysitting thing a go, even going out there a couple of weekends ago for a Henry-gets-put-to-bed demo**.

armed with detailed written instructions, as i'd requested, we then handled the parents-leaving-kid-not-noticing-they're-gone moment with aplomb. and the multiple episodes of Dora on DVR definitely helped our cause. (here's a quick Dora query-- is every episode one where they have to get to a thing/destination, they whip out the map, have three stops on the way, and try to avoid Swiper who is more likely than not riding a handcar like the Wile E Coyote in a Road Runner cartoon?) we played some stacking games, sorted shapes and before we knew it, Henry was fed, in PJs and we'd gone through Goodnight, Moon. into the crib he went, and then that was it. not a peep.

although i had brought my camera to take lots of pictures, i soon learned that photographing an eighteen-month old is *way* harder when you're the one watching him. this was my only photo op after Sam and Mark had departed:

instead, there are many photos of me intently staring at and listening to the baby monitor to make sure Henry was moving/breathing, once we had put him to bed:


then, there was Justin, also ever vigilant--just not regarding Henry--re: the Final Four:

all in all, babysitting was a success. it didn't hurt that we had the most perfectly cheerful and fun little guy under our care. (and, no, this does not mean one of our own is in the works-- this kid thing is way hard work. and i am way way lazy. so TBD, ok?)

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* besides, EvilA has retired from blogging and doesn't even read my blog anymore anyways. (i'll pour one out for the formerly rantastic fellow).

** this was totally at my our own insistence as Sam and Mark could not be more easygoing and required no such prep work on our part. yes, i am neurotic.

new tricks?

back in the day (1981 or so), my mom tried to be rational with me and use positive incentives (i.e. cold hard cash), to get me to do some basic chores. ever the lawyer, i suppose i wanted it committed to a written contract, so she couldn't try to change terms on the fly or--the horror--renege.  see below for that contract:
 

well, here we are 27 years later, and still i have a hard time with all of these save #3. (and without live-in help, the housekeeper's day off is now seven days off so, yeah, that one's way tougher now too). T is horribly sad seeing this list and realizing it's not just that i've picked up some new habits in regard to being sort of a lazy ne'er-do-well unfond of straightening up, being polite and lending a hand. i, frankly, take solace in the fact that i've *always* sucked and, thus, am not going downhill but am holding strong! 

it really is amazing though that my character and who i am today, is kind of who i was when i was six. scary? un peu.

that's right-- you can say that a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, Raph Waldo Emerson-- i know how to stick to my guns. whatever the consequences.

Jack (1999 - 2008)

Jack (1999-2008)

last night, or rather early this morning, my parents' cat Jack died. Jack was kind of clumsy, always adorable and had the sweetest personality. sadly, for the last few months, no doctor could figure out what was wrong with him-- he was limping a bit and also seemed a bit shier, but was still the sweet cat we knew.  on Monday, fairly suddenly, we realized things had taken a turn for the worse and my mom brought him to the vet's office.  the doctors didn't think anything was seriously wrong with him, but kept him overnight for some tests and observation.  when my dad brought him back home last night, my mom could tell that he was really unwell. they brought him back to the vet at 9pm or so and they were going to run some more tests.  then at midnight the phone rang-- he'd had a seizure.  then at 1am, the vet called again to let my mom know he had died, despite every effort. they said he did not suffer, so that's comforting but the whole thing is still shocking.  we will miss him a lot and so will Winston, as the two of them were kind of BFF.

what to expect when you're expecting

for instance, if you were pregnant and had registered for lots of wonderful baby things, you might expect the above the email.

thing is, i'm *not*. so why is Amazon sending Thurston emails claiming that i have psychotically delusionally prematurely registered? no clue. but i can tell you this-- after the last store with a registry tried to blow me up similarly. (See Bloomingdales Wedding Registry T and i a box of wrapped-in-white glasses off of our registry from a then-very-not-yet-engaged *me*).

i may be crazy (just a bit), but i say now for all the world four people who may or may not still read this since my posting has been, shall we say, sporadic:

i have never registered for anything before the said thing was in the works.

of course, a few days later, we did receive an "oops" email from Amazon, explaining that the Baby Registry email was a technical glitch. but for those few moments after T received that "someone bought you a gift off your baby registry" email, i could tell that the theme from Psycho was playing in his head. (it's not like i have been walking around speaking in a British accent or anything. sheesh!)

internet registries, why are you trying to make me look insane?

everything old is new again

so about that moving business, after just-shy-of 13 years (more like 3+ for Thurston) in our old apartment, we closed on it last week. and i have to say, i am *way* more nostalgic than i thought i'd be. after all, we're getting a bigger place with my long coveted very own bathroom. (sharing was never my forte). but, unsurprisingly, i built up about a million memories in good, old 8D, so it's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday it.  here i am trying to do:

(ok, so i won't miss those closet doors, but still...)

and then the other part that makes it hard? this is what we left behind:

and this is what we're getting:

(yes, that's wall paper *on* the shower door. not pictured--same wallpaper on the ceiling too).

oh, yeah, and there's also the punch in the gut perk that while we gut the newly purchased, yet very old, apartment, we are (again) living with my parents on the Upper East. so the wind? it's been taken a bit out of my sails. the new place will be awesome when it's eventually done, it will have the kitchen i've always dreamed of, the aforementioned bathroom of my own, and better views. but until then, oof, it's hard out here for a pimp.

i don't have time for this kind of bullshit

out of the mouths of babes... so over Labor Day weekend (and, yeah, i've been busy since then--hence the utter lack of light blogging, Thurston and i decided to be very, very New York. (read: we didn't remember to plan an away weekend). Friday night it was down to Tides for an awesomely delicious dinner.
(if you've not been, go! we've now been more than once and this place rules!!)
some crabcakes, calamari and scallops later, we headed back up to our (temporary, or so i keep telling myself) Upper East Side abode and geared up for a big Saturday in the city.

T has been dying to go to the Whitney Summer of Love exhibit for, like, ever, and i finally capitulated. it's not that i hate museums, but that i really, really hate hippies. (damn dirty tree-huggers). ok, i don't *love* museums. but i do love Thurston, so we were off to the Whitney bright and early. luckily, T is a member so we were able to forego the out-the-door line and cruise on in. membership *does* have its privileges.

to my surprise, the exhibit wasn't terribly boring and T seemed to enjoy himself throroughly. i did like this one light show part that surely would have given me a seizure, had i been Beavis. but the true highlight happened just as T and i were waiting for the elevator to head down to the lobby. next to us was a hipster dad, a bit older than we, and his little hip child who couldn't have been more than four years old. anyway, i'm not sure what preceded in his conversation, but i did catch the kid telling his dad, in a pretty stern tone to boot:
"dad, i don't have time for this kind of bullshit."
i wasn't quite sure i had heard correctly, but boy was it my lucky day. because the kid then repeats, angrily-er and louder:
"dad, I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS KIND OF BULLSHIT!"

to me, this was a lesson in why i need to clean up my mouth if i ever plan of having kids. to T, this was a lesson in how effectively the young fellow was able to communicate: "he got his point across didn't he? i mean, who *does* have that kind of time?" who, indeed. 

not T and i, as we were off to the 79th Street Boat Basin Café, where we convinced the Bean to meet us for lunch. i'd never been before and we could not have picked a more beautiful day to go. the weather was just perfect as was the company. we finished off Saturday in the meatpacking district, where we checked out Nomad John's sweet place, overlooking the Hudson River. though i was still full from my lunchtime burger (gotta love food that comes in a basket), we hit up Barbuto where i managed to eat more.

the next day was all about the Jerz, where i managed to a) spend some q.t. with little Henry; b) eat lots of bagels; c) eat lots of ribs and d) get hit with a baseball bat.  i'll let you figure out which of those was not a highlight. more on N.J. and the rest of Labor Day weekend in another post. because, as was so eloquently mentioned, i don't have time for this kind of bullshit.

magic (and not of the awesome Olivia Newton-John sort)

i'll bet your in-laws' weekend bbq* did not feature a slight sleight of hand artist:

(the sweat just means he's working hard).

this is where i tell you that i kinda, sorta hate magicians. (enough so that the photo-cake with a picture that *i* took and no credit thrown to me didn't even get my hackles up a bit**). maybe that's fairly unoriginal, as is my distaste for clowns, mimes and jugglers. basically anything even tangentially related to the circus makes my "why, God, WHY!??!" list. (especially that unicorn, but don't even get me started on that again).

this may all spring from the "traumatic" experience i endured when my dad (literally) ran off and joined the circus. i think i may have blocked this memory until my grandma--also an attendee of said "bbq"--reminded me of the incident. when we were younger, my dad used to take us to the Big Apple Circus, which is basically a lower-key, more old-timey (read: less goats with horns stapled to their heads) kind of circus.  and my dad, in his generosity, would buy us all first row seats. funny thing about the Big Apple Circus--they endorse audience participation. long story short, a clown recruited my dad to participate. and boy did he ever! he went onstage in the ring and then--unprompted--made as if he were going to try to escape and run back to his seat. he did high-stepping funny running and everything. much to my mortification. can you imagine the trauma this would inflict upon a young Lovey, trying to believe that, despite being at a circus with her whole family, she was even a little bit cool? can you? my dad *pretended that he too was a clown*!! words cannot express the horror.

ok. this has brought back too many of the memories. i may suffer some repressed PTSD.

fin.

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* there was not any barbeque food, to be sure, but i didn't really know what you call an outdoor, non-occasion gathering. bbq seemed to work best. for the record, the food was 6-foot long heroes.

** really. i'm not even thinking of calling EvilA re: any type of infringement suit. unless of course any money was made off that cake, in which case i demand 70%!!

trading spaces

funny thing about renovating our apartment--
just about as the gut renovation wrapped up, with all the perfect little details added as per our specifications (slide out shelving, skim-coated walls, double thick carrera marble, marble mosaic backsplash), we decided to buy a different, decidedly *un*renovated apartment. thus, ensuring that we shall never get to reap the fruits of our the contractors' labor.

isn't it ironic*? (dontcha think?)

besides, the new apartment has touches we'd never even had nightmares about thought of! like metallic wallpaper, akin to this:

on the walls, and the ceiling, and the shower door, and the shower valance... bet you hadn't come up with that either. (well, unless you decorated your place back in the early sixties.)

and i know i forgot to build a blender/multi-appliance device into our counter. but the new apartment? it's got that covered:

[photo via jessamyn on Flickr]

that's the story in the life of the Howells. crazy stuff, i tell ya...

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* yeah, i'm using the Alanis version of irony here rather than the proper, say, O.Henry version. basically, what i'm getting at is that the timing kinda sucks, and we're a bit foolish. but damned if we won't have plenty of extra room to be foolish in. that's so how we roll.