Condo Update: Rubbish

I've realized a few things in the past week:

1. Reuniting with old friends from a joyous period in your life involves lots of good times, lots of good food, lots of laughter and smiles, and very very little sleep.

2. I'm sick of being sick. Over the last week I've experienced nausea, night sweats, arthritic achiness, mind-numbing headaches, stuffy nose, fever, sore throat, cough, and now I have no voice. Calgon take me away.

3. You reach a certain point in some life situations where you just say, "I don't care how much it costs or what my other options are, I just want to pay for it and get it done." I've reached that point with the plumbing fixtures and hardware decisions on my condo.

4. Heaven bless the men who have turned my house from this:



and this:




into this:

and this:

Because I really really don't like doing this kind of stuff, not to mention it would take me at least 3 months to do what my contractor and his crew can do in roughly 3 hours.

Dear Winter (aka, A Bad News Letter)

Old Man Winter,

Bad news: You've grown old.

Your cold and gray skies springing a sneak attack and pushing out the last ray of sunshine on an otherwise pleasant day are so tiresome. They don't even surprise me anymore.

Your weekly dusting of snow on the mountaintops is no longer beautiful, nor easy on the eyes. It's just annoying and quite frankly, a bit rude.

The rain mixed with sleet mixed with snow is so last year.

Sub-zero temperatures for the better part of 6 months?!? Puh-leeze. Surely you can do better than that.

And the torrential winds that precede your storms are soooo played out. Can't you come up with a new gig?

Maybe you need to take some time for yourself. Just pack up, think through some things, regroup, formulate a new plan of attack, and come back better than ever...say next winter.

xoxo,

J

P.S. More Bad News: I heard that Spring is on it's way. We all know how tempermental she is, what with her April showers and May flowers. She is not to be toyed with. I'd hurry on up and get outta here if I were you.

Condo Phase I: Demolition

We bought a cute little condo nestled on the hillside with expansive views, HOA's, and friendly neighbors. It's brand new 1985. Literally. It's got bright white carpet that has never seen the sole of a shoe in its 25 year lifetime. And a dishwasher that's never seen a dish.

We'll be making some minor modifications before we move in. I'm thinking about buying this pink ladies tool kit to make it official. And to match my tiara and heels.

Dumped (aka, Last Week We Got 24" of Snow in 24 Hours)

I spy with my little eye,

A Mini so very buried--poor little guy.

My husband saw his lil' car and he almost started to cry.

The weatherman says more is on the way--sigh.

With a winter like this, we're just hoping to get by.

*according to the weather report, we've only just begun*

When Fashion Must Be Sacrificed For Function: The Goose

This is the warmest coat on the planet. I've tried it. I've tested it. So have my NY pals. So have Arctic researchers. It is the truth.

It's 6 degrees here right now. It feels like the coldest place on the planet.

I wish I wore the Goose.

*update:* inchworm version here

To House Or Not To House? That Is The Question.

We're still looking for some permanent digs here in our new locale. It's been a struggle to find something we both like/agree on. Five months and a few hundred home tours later, we're finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

We've come to the decision that it is quite likely we do not want a house. We are condo dwellers. It was a hard fought battle. Here's how it all played out:

Me: I don't do boy jobs, i.e. mow, snowblow, rake, take garbage out, shovel, and the like.

G: I don't really do them either.

Condo:1 point.

House: 0 points.

Me: Why do said jobs when I can pay a reasonable monthly fee for someone else to do them?

G: I've built a financial model that shows the benefit of the fee as it offsets the cost of purchasing equipment to do said laborious jobs.

Me: Life is too short to snowblow.

Condo: 2 big ones

House: nada.

Me: Trash shoot.

G: 'Nuff said.

Condo: 3 ways to melt my heart

House: starting to look unappealing.

Me: I want a pool!!!

G: I want a hot tub, heated garage, gym, and clubhouse.

Condo: 4 dancing panda bears tossing rose petals for excess

House: nearing extinction.

Me: It's no NYC pad with a sweet view and wacko neighbors, but it'll do.

G: Synthetic city living. I like the idea.

Condo: 5 "you had me at HOA's"

House: 6 feet under.

Reason #22 I Miss Manhattan: Cucch

In Manhattan, we have a friend named Cucch. That's not his real name, just what everyone calls him. He's a big-talking, wise-cracking, hard-working Italian from Boston with a thick accent. And one of our dear friends. He always has a good story to tell, and his most recent email was no exception.

He sent a recent news article about his uncle, The Cheeseman, who owns a cheese shop, and is also the supposed mob boss of Boston. People who know people like this are priceless. Not something you see everyday. Unless you live in New York City. Where things like this are pretty normal. Virtually everyone is a transplant from somewhere, which makes for great storytelling. Love that about the city. Take a few million people from all over, pile them on top of each other on a tiny island, shake it all up, and you'll end up with some of the most amazing life stories you've ever heard.

Reason #41 I Like Living Outside Manhattan

Target. Duh. This one's so obvious it almost pains me to say it. Almost. But I was gonna title this post "An Ode to Target, Part I", but I couldn't decide and then I remembered that I wouldn't be able to even drive to Target at 8:30 p.m. in Manhattan on a Thursday night and wander the aisles, just because. Hence, the title.

But back to Target. Oh, Target, how I love thee, let me count the ways...Just kidding, if I actually did this, I lalalalove Target so so so much we'd be here 'til kingdom come. Even though I pronounce it like a Frenchi doofus, "Tar-jay"--soft on the "jay"--it's only because it's like a pet name or something. I don't know. What I do know is that my heart skips a beat when I walk in the doors. I have the layout memorized (seriously...love that every store has basically the same layout), and a route that I take every single time.

Walk in the doors, take a right into the electronics department and see if any good movies are on sale, head to the back to check out the seasonal gear (Halloween at the moment), walk down the middle aisle and see if there are any good shoes that I can't live without, take a right and that puts me smack dab in the womens/juniors clothing department where I always always always check out and covet the latest GO designer before making my way to the beauty/hygiene section, then straight away to the grocery in case I need any small items, and finally I'm on my way.

My latest find was really really stellar. Right next to the beauty section where they sometimes have seasonal candies and delights, what did my wondrous eyes behold? Flippin' Franken Berry, Count Chocula, and yes---hold your breath---Boo Berry cereals. When I was a kid I loved Boo Berry so so much. I'm really not a cereal person anymore, but you betcha I bought the last box on the shelf. On sale for 0.99 cents! I would like to personally shake the hand of the individual who had the idea to bring the classic 3 Monsters cereals back for a Halloween go-'round.

Ahh. Sigh. I've been to Target twice this week, and all is well in the world.

Campbells

It's officially official. Fall is here. It all started when I realized today was the first day I quit craving shave ice and had a hankering for a warm bowl of soup. This was further confirmed when it seemed everyone else had the same idea I did. It took 3 stops before I found a spot that hadn't run out of soup for lunch.

It also makes me miss NYC. Fall is the best best best time of year to be in the city. If I were there today, I'd first of all get me a nice bowl of soup to go from Au Bon Pain in Rockefeller Center, sit down on a bench and enjoy the people watching alongside my soup. Then I'd hop on over to the MOMA to enjoy some more soup, Andy Warhol style.

The Case of the Beady-Eyed Binky Caper

We've had a little visitor the past few weeks. Miss Famous (codename: Scraps), our Brussels Griffon extraordinaire who receives far too much attention and is therefore far too demanding, has handled things pretty well. Or so we thought.

Little Max's binkies have slowly been disappearing...one here, another there...with little explanation or reason. Were we losing our minds? Were they lost in the mounds of bedding also known as Max's shrine? Was Max chucking them outside the stroller on our daily walk? Were aliens coming down and snatching them for scientific purposes?

Nay, I tell you. 'Twas the black-eyed Griffy with the pink tongue and whale of an attitude. Slowly, but ever so surely stealing them away unnoticed, and stashing them in her storehouse under the bed. She's a sly fox, that one. A saucy little minx! Very passive aggressive behavior. This dog lives up to her name times a factor of 10.

Case closed!

Reason #17 I Like Living Outside Manhattan

Laundry day. Because, is there anything, I ask you, more repulsive than sharing a laundry room with NY's whosits and whatsits? To be sure, I lived in a fine luxury building with a laundry on every floor. But still. Finding a foreign hair amongst your intimates? Grossity gross gross gross.

I lalalalove having my own clean, secure laundry room. Wherein I can be rest assured that my sweet nothings are cleaned to the highest standard with no intruders (ie., stray hairs, socks, wrappers, etc.). Not mingled in with the muckity muck muck of the communal laundry room.