There's one problem, living with a comedian.

Mostly everything turns into material.



I just spoke with my ex-boyfriend, T, who told me that they had to put Wallace to sleep yesterday.

Wallace was the dog that T and I owned while we were living in Hoboken, way back in 1996. When we broke up, it was just her and I for a while, until I moved to a place that didn't allow dogs. Luckily, T's family was able to adopt Wallace, and they took excellent care of her for the past 8 years. I didn't see her often, but was glad to get updates and photos from T when he went home for visits.

I still remember meeting her for the first time, a tiny puppy who was all ears, wrapped up in a blanket and shivering. And I just tearfully laughed on the phone with my mom, thinking about the time when Wallace jumped up on our kitchen table and devoured an entire stick of butter before anyone could stop ber (her coat was extra shiny for weeks).


Stress Test

Sensing that I might need more help than my 'breathe' wristlet can give, B got me a gift certificate for a massage at Bliss. (I love him.)

Which is a good thing, as the stress of negotiating my move to his house just amped up a bit, with the subletter for my place wanting to know when he can move in, and the lease-holders for his (subletted) apartment unsure if they want us there (without their crap furniture) until the end of the sublease (April 1) or sooner (January).

Oh, and I also have to schedule a time (and the guts) to tell my family that I am moving. Not that I need their approval or anything...but it's tricky.



When life is swirling around you, a reminder to indulge in basic self-care can be helpful.

Especially when B's mom asks you at the Thanksgiving table what you're thankful for, and you have trouble thinking of a single thing to say...which sucks because of course there's plenty of good stuff...but you still end up blank.

Breathe. Breathe.


Pod People

B's house (now my house too, I suppose) has wireless Internet. Which is a luxury I'm not accustomed to. (I'm not even gonna get into the 42" flat screen television with cable *and* DVR.)

The problem with the Internet everywhere is that, most nights, I end up on my computer, catching up on blogs and writing emails. And B ends up on his computer doing the same things.

I wonder if we'll get to the point where we talk through email while in the same room. Which makes a certain sort of twisted sense, because we met on match.com.


A Supernova

A long time ago, on our 5th date, B and I went to dinner with two of his friends. One of them noted that our relationship was like a supernova, since we seemed to be connecting so fast.

My limited knowledge (wikipedia) of supernovas is that they burn intensely and then burn out. (Oh, and then there's the champagne variety mentioned in that Oasis song.) So I absorbed this compliment (?) and took it for what it was - an offhand remark.

Intensity isn't a bad thing. It doesn't mean we will fade.

Today, in the spirit of supernova-ness (or, perhaps, against it) B and I made arrangements to sublet my apartment. As soon as we can pack and hire movers, we'll be living together. Officially. For real. No, really, we mean it.

Logic tells me that this is craziness, that there is risk and potential for heartbreak. How long have I known this person? What if we fall apart? All these little thoughts that pop up in my brain and settle somewhere in my nervous stomach. But I look at B and see this person that I love, and I know that there is nowhere else that I want to be. I realize just how right this is and how much fun it's going to be to live together. Hell, we already live together (I never really went home after Ireland) so this just means continuing with the benefit of having all my stuff.

And as soon as the dog gets on board and stops acting like a territorial maniac, it's going to be even better.


He Can Be Taught

This morning as I was getting dressed for work, I asked B what he thought about my outfit.

Perhaps warned by my reaction from the last discussion about my clothing choices (and by reading my previous blog post), his response was that I looked like a 'social worker' and that he felt 'soothed' by my presence and wanted to tell me all of his deepest secrets, because he 'trusts' me.

And gosh darn it, I believe him!


Thanks Honey

While I was getting dressed for work this morning, B noted that I was wearing pants again.

And then he asked if I was Hilary Clinton.

Doesn't he know that there is reason and logic involved here? That if I wear a skirt to work, I obviously need to wear my black high-heeled boots. But there's a 6 block walk to the office from the subway to consider. I can't very well wear other shoes for the walk because a) sneakers with tights look ridiculous in a bad way and b) boots are cumbersome to carry.

And if I can get past all of that, it is very uncomfortable to be in high heels all day.



The brief work update is that we've been moved back to the main hospital building. [sarcasm] Luckily, we were given 6 hours of notice so we had plenty of time to prepare [/sarcasm].

The new space has security! And heat! And cleaning service! And a lack of dead vermin!

Now I just need internet and phone connection, and to be able to organize my things sufficiently enough so I can see clients.

Oh, and to get over the fact that I was there waaaay too late last night, directing the movers as to where to put all of our stuff.


For My 500th Post

As if I needed another reason to have a crush on Brian Williams...



Following more craziness in our house today, per B, I have a new name:

'Makes Mountains Out Of Molehills.'

Please adjust your browsers accordingly.


The Dream Has Died

Yesterday morning, my brother and SIL emailed to ask if I could participate in a bookfair that my SIL is organizing for The Peanut's pre-school. It was a good opportunity, rife with the possibility of ridiculousness: dress up in a Curious George costume at a bookstore during a reading for kids. It was stipulated that I wouldn't have to actually say anything...I would just need to "wave and sign autographs."

Awesome, I thought. This is gonna be hilarious. And so I readily agreed to help. And then instructed B that he would need to bring the camera, because this was surely going to make for good joke/blog fodder. Especially if I ran into someone I knew, which was very likely, given that the event was being held in my hometown.

Alas, like most best-laid plans, it was not to be. My SIL emailed last night to tell me that they found someone else who could fill in. And so my dream of dressing and acting like a fictional cartoon monkey abruptly ended.

I feel so empty inside.


The House of the Crazy

b: I like how when we argue, all your insecurities come out.
me: What do you mean?
b: Like last night, when you asked me if all you were here for was to mess up my bedroom with all your stuff. Ridiculous.
me: Actually, my favorite part was when I told you that you should date someone from the dog run.
b: Yeah, that was funny [laughing].
me: And what about when you asked if I wanted sushi, and I said that I wasn't hungry and then went to sulk in the bedroom...
b: But then I brought it in to you and you ate all of it?
me: [laughing] I'm like a child. How old do you think I was last night?
b: I dunno. Maybe 7?
me: That old? Really? I thought it'd be closer to 2...