Or, Option C: I'm hotter than even I realized.

Running from one job to the other on Friday, I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for anything that would get me through the rest of my 15-hour day. I walked in wearing a grey fleece, jeans and my black leather boots. Now, these boots are the kind with a pointy toe and a tall, thin heel that have been called my-- uh-- "make love to me" boots (kids, never mind what that means. And kids, why are you reading this blog? I'm sometime embarrassed to have SJ's mom reading my stuff, let alone small children!)

Anyway, the boots are pretty awesome and were also pretty much covered up by my jeans (and did I mentioned I was wearing a drab, gray fleece?) So, I'm standing at the counter and I hear a man say, "Those are nice boots." I turn around and find a guy in a fraying sweatshirt and baggy jeans with a big gut and his 10-year-old son standing next to him. Seeing as how his son was there, I simply answered, "Thank you" and turned back around.

But, seriously, what was that about? I think we have a couple of options here. Option A: This guy, despite his complete lack of fashion sense in his own wardrobe, is a connoisseur of women's fashion and truly appreciated my choice of footwear for the day. Option B: Despite the presence of his 10-year-old son and the fact that there was nothing else appealing about what I was wearing, he was drawn in by my fantastic-- uh-- "make love to me" boots and couldn't resist commenting on them. Either way, it was creepy (not that I would stop wearing the boots or anything, but still, it was creepy.)

Happy ThanksChristmasGiving, everyone!

So, I hope you're not really jealous, Internet, that KAT and I now live within a really long and exhausting but not so far that it's not doable walking distance from each other.

How amazing is that, right? And only slightly further from us is the lovely and amazing home improvement mistress of all that is power tool related: SRG.

It's fabulous, I tell you. Every day I come home from work and am struck a) by how freaking dark it is and b) by the fact that I have a coat closet.

And, as of Saturday, a WASHER AND DRYER that SING TO ME. Oh yes.

It's the little things, folks. I've been forbidden from doing all of the updating I really want to do - which is mainly, things like paint, new light fixtures and carpet. It's not like I'm knocking down walls like we did last time. And I'm totally on board with taking our time re: furniture and such.

But don't make a girl stare at ugly brass fixtures for too long. Or this:

Ugliest crown molding you ever did see. I am itching to paint, but I'm forbidden until we can fully agree on.. everything.

Which is sad for me, because it obviously means I'm never going to paint. Woe to me.

But not really sad woe. Because I still have room to put up three Christmas trees during this week of ThanksChristmasgiving. And for that, and a thousand other things that have to do with my new house, my awesome friends and family that helped me unpack, I am eternally grateful.

And for those of you that are wondering, the dinner count stands at:
me and J over KAT's house the night before closing
KAT and the PH coming over Friday to help us unpack and celebrate
dinner with the KAT and PH on Sunday
and then dinner at their house again on Wednesday (we didn't get our new oven yet, and KAT obviously missed us)
KAT and the PH over our house yesterday to celebrate the new oven.
And we have plans for going over there on Wednesday.

Also, we may or may not have met them at Target and we may or may not have also had ice cream with them on Saturday night. For dinner.

With all of this increase in the social calendar, our neighborhood shall be revitalized in no time. Although, since I have yet to see a neighbor, I wonder if they realize that they're in need of revitalization?

Just you wait, B-town. KAT and sj are coming with crockpots to a neighborhood near you.

Decisions, decisions...

Since the Pretend Husband went into business for himself, there's been a bit of belt-tightening in the KAT household. To the point where anything involving money results in a long discussion and/or debate.

For the PH's birthday last month, he wouldn't let me buy him any gifts. Which I smoothly got around by not buying presents, but instead buying food and making him breakfast, lunch, dinner and three desserts (it probably would have been cheaper to just buy him a Wii game already!)

With my birthday and Christmas coming up, negotiations have been going at a feverish pace. We agreed yesterday to purchase garage door openers as our only Christmas gifts (which sounds lame, but I am so, so excited about them, which just makes me lame, I guess). As for my birthday, the PH tried to convince me to institute a ban on gifts, but I wasn't having any of that (especially because he can't bake to save his life so I'd basically be getting chicken for my birthday).

I told the PH I want a purse for my birthday (not even an expensive one-- one that costs less than $30 at Marshall's). I've needed a purse for awhile now, but have been holding off on getting one so it can be my gift. But then my electric toothbrush died the other night so I threw that onto the birthday wish list. Which led to the following email from the PH yesterday:

Do you want a toothbrush or a purse? One or the other, my friend. Choose carefully. I will still love you if you only have one tooth (if that helps the decision making process).

I would complain that it's going to be a pretty sad birthday if I get only a toothbrush or only a purse, but it's still better than the alternative-- a plateful of chicken as my only gift.

Having a five-mile wide neighborhood could get a little tough on the trick-or-treaters

Oh man, did you ever have one of those neighbors who you could spend all sorts of time with and it's just not enough for them? Like, you let them sleep over your house on a Thursday night (and make them waffles in the morning), but THEN they still want you to visit their house on Friday night? And THEN they come over to your house on Sunday for dinner? And THEN they accept an invite to come over for dinner on Wednesday night? And THEN they invite you over for dinner the next Sunday? And THEN they want to establish a weekly dinner with you? It's so hard for the Pretend Husband and I, being just so popular with our neighbors *insert dramatic sigh here*

You may have picked up on the fact that SJ and her husband moved Friday! To our town! And all that complaining I was doing was fake and was in fact, just a way to rub it in about how much time we now get to spend with them and how awesome that is (we have decks of cards scattered all over both houses because you never know when a Setback game will need to be played!)

I would love to tell you about SJ's new house because it's huge and fabulous and, thanks to her family, had a completely organized kitchen by the time they went to bed on their first night in the house. But I don't want to steal her thunder (seriously, though, it's huge... and fabulous.)

But I will say, welcome to the neighborhood, SJ (what? I can't extend my neighborhood five miles to the west to include SJ's house?) We're excited to have you and look forward to those weekly dinners and if a game or two of Setback gets played afterward, who am I to complain?

Because a true friend turns the attention on herself when you're having medical issues...

My best friend in high school, "Bertha," was put on modified bed rest this weekend, meaning she can't leave her house for the next two weeks and can only get up from the couch to use the bathroom or sit at the dinner table, but no cooking or setting up the nursery or being on her feet. She has 10 weeks left in her pregnancy and is hoping the bed rest will not be continued through all of them since she has a lot of work left to do to prepare for this baby.

While I was on the phone with her yesterday hearing about her predicament, I tried to come up with some things she could do from the couch. I suggested she have her husband wash all of the new baby clothes and then bring her the basket so she can fold them on the couch. Then I asked her to watch "Oprah" for me today and be ready to summarize it when I call (I also vowed to call a lot more now that I have a captive audience. She can't avoid my calls now!)

Last night, I came up with a few more ideas, so I emailed her to suggest she read through the entire archive of this blog and send me an email detailing how funny she thinks I am. And, if that task gets done fast enough, how about I send her some beads and she can spend some time making crafts that I can then sell as my own? I'm still coming up with some more ideas for her and am open to suggestions.

But, please, let's make sure they benefit me in some way. Because although this concerns Bertha and whatever precautions need to be taken to keep her son healthy and safe, I've managed to make it all about me. That takes talent.

Apparently he can only be romantic for so long...

The Pretend Husband went missing this weekend. But I wasn’t even upset about it because whoever took him replaced him with a similar looking model with the biggest romantic streak you’ve ever seen.

The PH surprised me with a trip to Boston this weekend for our second wedding anniversary. We ate good food, wandered around to a million different places, hunted out the best ice cream in the city, tried to buy cannoli in the North End (the PH: “what business doesn’t take credit cards these days?!?”), napped more than our fair share and just enjoyed the crap out of the chance to spend time alone with each other with nothing else tugging at our attention.

We decided we will never own a Sleep Number Bed after a too-soft bed the first night resulted in lower back spasms for me and a too-hard bed the second night was just uncomfortable for us both (but still better than back spasms).

He decided we will never live in Boston, even after we retire and have a couple million dollars laying around just begging to be invested into a brownstone on Beacon Hill. I’m still not entirely convinced it’s not a sound plan, but we have some time to argue about it.

And I think we’re both in agreement that I’m the better driver. Oh wait, no. The PH doesn’t necessarily think that, but agrees there’s a lot less arguing when I’m behind the wheel (I still say I wouldn’t be such a bad passenger if he wasn’t so bad about not braking until we’re practically in the trunk of the vehicle in front of us. I’m just saying.)

And I knew the honeymoon was over when, a few hours after arriving home, the PH insulted not just me, but SJ too! As we were telling friends about all our Setback playing adventures, I told them the PH and j always try to anticipate how we’re going to play our hands and act accordingly. But it often backfires because SJ and I aren’t exactly known for our logic when it comes to cards (We say, “You know what to do” a lot, but I don’t think either one of us takes that seriously…)

“Yeah,” the PH said. “You can’t outplay crazy.”

Oh, good. It appears my husband has returned.

We are living in a material world, and I have unfortunately packed all of mine.

Oh my god, you guys! I'm moving in 9 days!

The whirlwind that has been my selling and buying is nearly done, but I will not actually exhale until this pony has left the stable. Because if you think I'm paranoid, well. You know me really well.

We've been very slowly packing our house up room by room for the past four weeks, and we're coming down to the wire. And by wire I mean "all of the crap that wouldn't easily go in boxes." I also mean: "that scary box in the basement I'm afraid to open because I found a dead mouse right next to it."

In the process of moving and packing, I've had to do some cleaning.
And by cleaning, I mean:


Serious overhaul:


Thank god this process is almost done. (Did you hear that? It was the sound of me knocking on wood for six weeks. My knuckles are totally sore.)

Although, one thing I've learned. It is much easier to keep your house super clean when all of your stuff has really been packed away into a storage unit. I'm hoping that it also feels like Christmas (but won't actually BE Christmas) when I unpack it all.

Taking all the fun out of Halloween with my whiny recap

* I worked on Halloween night. Which means while all of you were dressing up, handing out candy, going to parties and generally enjoying the holiday, I was reading news about how traffic fatalities increase when Halloween falls on a weekend, how people could guard against getting the swine flu from trick-or-treaters (put candy into the kids' bags yourself instead of letting them reach into the bowl...) and how to clean up your property to avoid having people hurt themselves and then sue. It kind of took the fun out of the day.

* My dad and the Pretend Husband manned our door, handing out candy to the 20 kids who braved the weather, the swine flu and our treacherous yard to make it to them. But they were rewarded because we handed out full size candy bars this year. Congrats to us for avoiding having our house or cars egged for at least the next year!

* The PH was the one who answered the door while Dad tried to keep the dogs wrangled. My dad commented that the PH was great with the kids, chatting with them and complimenting them on their costumes. Since that doesn't exactly sound like the PH, I asked him about it and he said, "I told them, 'Here you go' when I gave them the candy and then told them to have a good night." Not exactly stellar conversation.

* My sister had 250 trick-or-treaters visit her house! She had originally been prepared for 100 but luckily heard from a neighbor that the neighborhood is a popular one, so she ran out and had enough candy for everyone who showed up. At one point, she opened her door to 40 costumed lined up from the road to her porch!

* What is the deal with parents who collect candy? Kat's lil sis said she had at least five mothers who pointed to their six-month-olds sitting in strollers and said, "I'm collecting candy for them." Um, no. Be honest. And buy your own candy.