nesting weekend

i'm nesting this weekend. and TBS agrees that this is a good idea -- i can tell, because Sex and the City is on for the next 3 hours. so awesome.

my exciting agenda for today includes cleaning the kitchen, cleaning my craft room and then making chicken parmesan and cupcakes. i am also entertaining the idea of a karaoke party tonight where i may seriously rock out some Abba.

we interrupt this blog post with a pure dose of reality:

i just took a good look at my craft room. holy crap do i have an amazing amount of crap. maybe i need to stop nesting so much and start -- um. deconstructing my nest? what's the opposite of nesting? whatever it is, that's what i have to do.

any organization tips out there? because. holy. cow. do i need help.

As if I didn't feel old enough already...

The Pretend Husband woke up Saturday with a pain in his foot. Although he had been drinking with a friend the night before, he couldn't remember falling or kicking anything. The pain continued through the weekend with the PH rebuffing my attempts to get him to see a doctor. At one point, as he winced in pain, I asked him if it was worse than labor pains, but he said he couldn't determine that.

The pain got worse over the next three days until he couldn't stand it any longer and got an appointment with the doctor this morning. And the diagnosis? He has gout.

GOUT! As in, the disease usually only seen in old people or movies about life in the 1800s. I didn't even realize you could get gout anymore. I thought it had gone the way of the mumps or those Victorian-era vapors or something.

But he has it... and to save you a trip to WebMD, I'll tell you that it's a build-up of acid in the joints that causes extreme pain. And the kicker? (pun totally intended) It's actually described on the Internet as just as bad, if not worse than, labor pains (which the PH has mentioned so much I threatened to punch him in the head the next time I have to hear it...)

And the other thing? The pain is made worse by excessive alcohol intake and large amounts of protein. So the steak and beer the PH consumed on Sunday to take his mind off the pain may not have been such a good idea after all.

Things Not to Do On a Date

First off, I know. I'm a serious blog slacker this week and last week. I'm really sorry. I'm making the rounds tonight, however, as I drink my third martini.

(Note from SJ: I started this Friday, but finishing Saturday. In the 24 hour period, I've had four martinis. I consider that a decent average. In fact, I should really make another one.)

My comments will likely get funnier, however -- so there's that.

But I was inspired by a friend of mine and a show that he saw that was seriously disturbing. Except that it wasn't the concert that was disturbing. It was in fact, the serious PDA issue going on.

So we had a discussion about the serious mistakes we've witnessed (or in my case, actually experienced) over the years. It brought me to this here list of skin crawling dating moments -- and just plain "you're doing it wrong" moments in my romantic life.

1) Your tongue is not a weapon.
I hope you've never experienced it -- but sadly, I bet a few of you may know what I'm talking about. Guys, when you stab your tongue so deeply and violently into our mouths that we can no longer breathe, it's not enjoyable. And that gagging noise is me begging for oxygen. Or trying to tell you something but can't form proper sounds because you have stifled me with TOO MUCH tongue. Incidentally, it is *never* okay to lick someone's face. Unless your name is Bailey and you're my springer spaniel.

2) DUDE. Get Your Hands... Off...
There are few things worse than being inappropriately groped in public -- particularly when you're, say, in line at the grocery store. There's a limit to my love. And that limit is in plain sight when I could run into my kindergarten teacher, or worse, my mom.

3) Ouch. Stop. Stabbing me with your chin.
Have you ever met the angry kisser? I have. He used to attack me. I'm not sure if he was so afraid of rejection that his method of attempting to kiss me was to do it machine gun style, but whatever the reason, it was a scary thing. I tended to dodge. I dodged once and nearly got a black eye, however. Note: This is far worse if the dude has sharp, pointy facial hair.

4) The neck grab.
Okay - now, I admit, that I do sometimes like a little -- minor -- forcefulness. Like for instance, we're in a heated debate over the election of 1912 (which, is highly possible. Have you met my husband? History geek. And I love him for it), and in order to shut me up, he decides to kiss me. Okay, so my husband doesn't do this - but I wouldn't mind if he did. However -- what is *not* okay is when the dude wrestles you from behind and puts you in a chokehold. This is least effective when the guy is your height or shorter than you. I'm not sure why they think the Vulcan neck pinch is acceptable and necessary to kiss you.

5) The Stone Lipped Man.
Have you met him? He's a really super awesomely nice guy. But somehow, he managed to turn 26 without ever learning how to kiss. I was about 22. We dated a few times, and he refused to make a move. Finally, one night after cooking me dinner, he attempted to kiss me. Only he somehow replaced his lips when I wasn't looking with cold, hard marble. It was just. I mean. No. Not good.

6) Sand paper face.
Before every date, I make a point to shave my legs. Even now, when my dates are going to Home Depot with my husband -- still I shave my legs. But goodness. Those make out sessions with guys who don't shave -- OUCH. I like having skin on my face. And I like kissing you. Don't make me choose.

7) The questionable move.
Maybe I don't speak for all women, but I know I speak for most of the ones I know: don't make us make the first move. It can be subtle. We don't need a hollywood kiss. Just maybe -- the brush of your lips across the cheek. A forehead kiss. Something sweet, romantic and subtle enough to let us know that you're into us. There's nothing worse than those limbo dates. And trust me - we do analyze these moments for hours on end. No pressure.

I'm sure I missed some things... and I would be willing to bet that our reading public has some good stories. So, let's hear them. Worse dating faux pas? Anybody? Is this thing on?

Well, at least SJ will have someone to wait with at the ER...

I don't know if it's from getting older or hanging out with SJ too much or what, but my lack of coordination has been increasing lately (although it probably says something that I just searched our blog for "fell off chair" and three posts came up, including this oh-so-coordinated moment when I fell off my office chair).

Well, yesterday was a good example of why I maybe need to be wrapped up in bubble wrap and made to sit on the couch with SJ instead of, say, playing soccer or, you know, walking. It started when I not once, but twice, smashed my ankle against a chair while trying to stand up. The Pretend Husband just shook his head as I writhed in pain.

But it was even better (and in public!) when I lost all coordination at my soccer game last night. The first incident was while I was on the field and got tripped by a woman from the other team. It was one of those slow-motion times when you try to catch yourself, almost do, start to fall over again, writhe around trying to keep yourself from falling, start to stand up and then fall flat on your face (or, in my case, right on the ball). It felt like it took a full 20 seconds for all this to happen, although I'm sure it wasn't quite that much of a show. 

Then, while standing on the side of the field, the ball was kicked toward me and instead of scooping it up like a normal person, I took a step back to get out of the way. Except my soccer bag was right behind me and I fell backward over onto my butt. Well, except there was a huge net behind me that caught me and left me in an awkward crouch flailing around trying to stand back up. It would have been fine with me if no one noticed, but of course everyone was looking toward the ball at the time (and the dude from the other team coming over to get the ball had to ask me if I was OK, drawing even more attention to the flopping fish of a woman trying to de-tangle herself from the net).

I sat on my office chair verrrrrry carefully this morning and plan on staying here, without trying to walk or move around, for the rest of the day. I think it's safest for us all that way.

Today is a good day.

I'm going to take a break from my blog-coma to just share my thoughts about today.

I don't work in a very politically charged environment. It seems more of a keep it up your sleeve kind of office. But today, for a moment, a handful of us gathered in the large conference room to watch the inauguration on CNN live.

For 30 minutes, a handful of like-minded but very different people sat in awe, watching a truly historic moment. I've seen the facebook updates all day long -- some people arguing that despite the historical significance, he has no magic wand. And while that's true, I think something should be said for such an amazing rally of people who seem just a bit more hopeful and a bit happier.

It's amazing to watch, and I'm happy to sit back and watch stoic people smile, and watch cynical people crack - just enough - to think, well, maybe.

While I was watching, I heard from a friend who's traveling in Europe. Where he was in Brussels, people were gathered around a TV to watch.

I'm happy to have seen it. I hope for the best. I feel today, more than most days, that there is always hope for change, because change is inevitable. It will happen. It's just a matter of keeping up with the tide.

Hugs and kisses to you, Interweb.

Love,
sj

I would have been sweeping entire displays of Breyer's off the shelf into my cart

The Pretend Husband and I hit up the grocery store on Sunday morning, something we always try to avoid because... well, you've probably all been to the grocery store on a weekend so I'm sure I don't need to explain any further. I have to admit that it wasn't that bad because the PH pushed the cart around the outside of the store while I darted up and down the aisles, but still, so.many.people.in.my.way.

Well, in the midst of our shopping, a store employee made an announcement that some lady and her kid had won  a 60-second shopping spree and were going to be running through the store in a few minutes. Then, they warned everyone to clear a path for her, gave a countdown...  and she was off.

We watched from about halfway down the store as this woman came (somewhat leisurely) running out of an aisle and booked for the seafood department. Am I the only one who thinks it's a bad idea to hold this kind of contest when the store is packed and it just snowed (so the floors are wet from boots tracking it all in)? This poor woman was probably concentrating more on not breaking her neck than getting a bunch of free food.

We watched as no one moved out of this woman's way and she threw a couple of different cuts of meat into her cart then ran (in a sauntering manner... I would have done so much better) toward... the syrup aisle? We didn't see if she grabbed some maple syrup or perhaps some cold cereal, but would that really have been your next stop? Someone obviously never watched "Supermarket Sweep."

And you can add this one to the list of "How I Know I'm Getting Old" because my thought while watching this poor woman try to score some free meat wasn't "Oh, how fun," but rather, "Oh my gosh, what if she slips and falls? Hasn't anyone thought of the store's liability if something happens?" (Can you tell I'm married to an attorney?)

The KAT Family... Making Bonehead Decisions Since 2007

Start polishing up those awards, folks, because the Pretend Husband and I just won two big ones. First, my ridiculous decision that netted me the "Wife of the Year Award." On Friday, I took the day off work to be home while the kitchen cabinets installers installed... our kitchen cabinets. Knowing it would be boring to sit around by myself, I invited a friend from high school who was in town for a few days to keep me company.

She came over and we quickly settled onto the couch to begin looking up everyone we ever knew on Facebook (don't worry, I still haven't gone over to the dark side... but she had an account). The PH kept interrupting us with phone calls asking me to keep an eye on the installers and I kept brushing him off, "I know, I know. I've got it under control." By the time he called to tell me I had to make sure they put the island in the correct place, I was annoyed and said, "Hon, I'm an adult. I got this."

Well, 20 minutes later, the guys yelled, "OK, we're all set here. Have a good day" and left. And I walked into the kitchen to find the island almost two feet too close to the wall. I swore, I panicked, I called the PH and almost started crying as he got (understandably) angry that I hadn't paid attention. He was pissed that we were now going to have holes in our brand new kitchen floor when they moved the island into the correct position. Finally, in a panic, I called the cabinet place to explain what happened and the guy's response was, "Did they anchor it?" I said, "You mean there's a chance they didn't?" and my friend and I lifted it in unison. "Oh, thank goodness, now my husband and I don't have to get a divorce!" I said to the guy before calling the PH with the good news. Still, my first place win had already been ensured.

But the PH followed my win up a few days later when he swept the "Father of the Year" category. The same friend was over (she is such a distraction!) and we were playing Wii while the dogs had a grudge match all over the house. The PH got home around 9 p.m. with a pizza so we all sat down to eat. About an hour later, my friend was talking about how funny the dogs were when they wrestled when I looked down and saw only Molly. So I started walking through the house to make sure Casey wasn't getting into trouble... and couldn't find Casey. Then I ran through the house, calling for Casey and opening closet doors in case she had accidentally gotten closed inside.

As everyone started putting on shoes and coats so we could comb the neighborhood, I opened the front door, yelled for Casey and held the door open as she came running around the corner of the house. She was a bit wet and a little cold, but no worse for the wear. In fact, I think the PH was more scarred by the experience than she was.

And if this story about Casey's terrible parents doesn't tug at your heartstrings enough, listen to this. I went out the next morning to see where Casey had gone by tracking her prints in the snow. I was curious whether she had run out to the road or to a neighbor's, etc. and to the best of my investigation skills, it looks like all she did was run from the front door of the house to the side door, trying to get in. I know, I know. Good dog, bad parents.

Delurk yourselves, bitches!

Oh, I don't mean to imply that any of our lovely readers are bitches; it's just that I and my test group have determined that everything is funnier when you add the work "bitches" to it. For example:

Not funny: "We need some more drinks."

Funny: "We need some more drinks, bitches!"

Not funny: "Get out there and mow the lawn, Pretend Husband."

Funny: "Get out there and mow the lawn, bitches!"

Not funny: "My cat died yesterday."

Funny: "My cat died yesterday, bitches!"

OK, maybe not that last one...

Anyway, now that the funny lesson is over, there is a point to this post (this is where you answer, "Don't worry, bitches, we're used to having to skip to the 14th paragraph of your posts to find the point...") Well, I guess yesterday was some sort of de-lurking day where people were encouraged to come out of the darkness and leave comments on the blogs they read.

Yeah, we're a day late (bitches!), but I'd still like to know who's out there. I mean, we apparently have 23 people following the blog (and a couple more who have told me they read it, but they've been known to lie anyway) but we have never gotten close to that many comments. So, tell us a joke, announce your presence, tell us we're funny or share what you had for dinner. It doesn't matter what you say, but make sure you comment. Now, get to it (bitches!)

holy swizzle sticks, batman! get me a vodka tonic - STAT!

i'm not sure where to begin this post, because my brain is *fried.* i've had the worst week in months, with back to back meetings that required too much preparation, and i am burnt up after this kind of week.

and really, i don't have much to share. except, of course, my choice in legwear/footwear. frankly, it suits my mood. but it totally has me concerned that someone may try to drop a house on Jen.

It's a good excuse to smack him in the head with a frying pan...

I worked from home yesterday, all the while staring out into the empty living room in our house. We finally had the hardwood floors refinished and the Pretend Husband said we could begin moving furniture in that evening. Finally, I couldn't take the big, empty room any longer and began moving in a rug, then a lamp, then an end table... until all it needed when the PH got home was the couch.

So, last night, amid some grunting, a lot of groaning and definitely some filthy words, the two of us got the couch into the living room. We paused to vacuum it off, then I lit the candles in the fireplace and the four of us (the PH, Molly, Casey and moi) collapsed onto it. The lights were off, the candles were glowing in the fireplace, we were nestled together as a little family... and the PH kept jumping up to move things or clean things or list off everything that still has to be done to the house.

Every.single.time I tried to point out how much we had accomplished and perhaps bask in the glow of that accomplishment a little, the PH interrupted me to talk about what hadn't been done yet. So, in the glow of the candles, cuddled up with the dogs for the first time in our new living room, I began to plan ways to incapacitate my husband. He's going to learn to enjoy those moments even if one of us has to die trying!

I suggested keeping a bucket by the bed...

Years ago, the Pretend Husband and I lived in this tiny little cottage that was "quaint" but also "freezing" because the heater didn't work properly most of the time. And we so looked forward to buying a house together (a house with luxuries like "space to maneuver without stepping on Molly" and "heat that worked.") And when we got that house, we dreamed of someday living in a bigger house that we could fix up ourselves and bring our future children home to.

And now we have that house. We've slaved over that house and celebrated such milestones as "only having to paint the bedroom twice before agreeing on the color," "not chopping off any appendages while using tools ourselves" and "figuring out where that gushing water is coming from with a minimal amount of damage." Sounds so perfect, right?

Well, let me tell you about my weekend. Although we are living in the master bedroom on the second floor of the house, the only working bathroom is in the in-law apartment off the back of the first floor of the house. Not a problem because they are connected through the house's living room so the PH only has to go down a flight of stairs, go through the living room, walk into the apartment and find the bathroom.

Except this weekend, we had the floors in the living room refinished. Which meant to get to the only working bathroom in the house (as well as the only working kitchen and only working TV), we had to go out the front door of the house, around the corner through the snow, up onto a deck and into the apartment. Imagine what the neighbors thought each time they spotted me running through the yard with wet hair, wearing a bathrobe and rubber boots (although maybe they didn't think too much of it since I happened to be running by the canons my dad has guarding the yard, so how weird do I look next to that?)

Luckily, our trek outside through the snow ended this morning once the final coat of polyurethane was dry enough for us to walk on the floors. But now before I left the house, walked around outside, walked into the apartment, remembered something I left upstairs in our bedroom, walked back around outside, walked into the house, walked up the stairs, walked back down, walked back around and re-entered the apartment (rinse and repeat just about every freakin' day). Oh, and not before the PH told me his plan in case he had to use the bathroom in the middle of the night... which was to walk to one of the windows in our bedroom, open it and pee out. Seriously, how have our neighbors not all moved away by now?!?

I'd like to thank the Academy... and Sam

I won an award! I'm so honored... although I suspect that this one will be a particular challenge.

I won this:



Which is totally awesome. Thank you, Sam! I heart you and your awesome blog...

But there are rules to follow, kids, so I can't get ahead of myself. I have to do these things:

A) first list 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep!
B) pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap."

This is going to be tricky, because I have been telling you all too much about myself for a long time now. What could you *possibly* not know?

well, let's give it a whirl, shall we?

SJ's 10 Honest Confessions
1) I am a nester, a packrat and a mess. I accumulate crap so much - I have no idea where it all comes from. But I collect things in piles, and when I clean, I tend to go in the opposite direction and trash large amounts of things (though not blindly, because I also tend to take DAYS to fill two garbage bags).

2) I am terrified of being alone at night -- and being alone in general. When j is traveling, I keep the light on downstairs, and usually can't fall asleep without a few glasses of wine. While I would never remarry, I would likely have a string of bad relationships. I say this based on previous experience.

3) I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I don't plan to stay in my current field beyond the next two years. I'm hoping my next job allows me to work in sweat pants and on my couch.

4) I am a fairly private person -- well, you know... except for all of the crap I spill on the blog. But I can count on one hand the people that know my deepest, darkest thoughts and secrets. I am afraid of any one person knowing me too well, so I tend to share only small pieces of things to those five.

5) If a can of frosting is left in the fridge, I will eat it. Ergo, I only make homemade frosting.

6) I have a deep and passionate lust for DVF clothing, though my closet is limited to just one dress and one skirt. But my closet bursts forth with another 12 black dresses, 4 black skirts, and another half dozen shirt dresses of varying color and pattern.

7) I have used the power of my cleavage to my advantage, and I likely will again.

8) I am easily grated by people who claim to be addicted to exercise. In fact, I can't stand those people.

9) I hate meeting new people, and have intense anxiety about going to new places and being forced to mingle. I'd prefer to pluck out every single one of my eyelashes.

10) I cannot drink out of a bottle that someone else is drinking out of -- no matter who it is. The idea of drinking someone's backwash is enough to turn my stomach.

And now I must tag and offer this award up to 7 deserving bloggy buddies... which is tricky. Because some of my favorite people to tag have already been tagged a million times. So, I'm going to emphasize new and old favorite bloggers worthy of such an award:

srg
TishTash
Muffy
Stephanie
Geiger Girl
KAT (is it cheating if I tag my co-blogger? I submit not.)
Chris

Look out for me, Leo Dicaprio.

so. i bought myself something. a necklace. one that i would wear all the time and it would remind me of my grandmother. her stone was blue topaz -- her eyes were the color of the stone. she liked big funky rings, etc. but I thought a necklace would be most suitable.

well.

now i'm terrified of going on cruises, for fear of an iceberg.

because i may have accidentally purchased the heart of the ocean.



i mean. i'd never buy anything heart shaped. but when two different people started singing the lyrics to "My Heart Will Go On" when they saw it, it's enough to concern me.