A Glimpse Into My Personal Hell

We’re at T minus 3 days until closing.  We should be at T minus 2 days, but our stupid bank didn’t get the paperwork to the attorney in time, so I think we’ll be delayed.  This tidbit of information came to me at 4pm, while I was trying to wrap things up at the office to make the 5:20 train, as I was sure it would be delayed like it was this morning, because of a train derailment.  It caused me to melt down at my cube, making my grateful I don’t have to see my coworkers for a week, and fearful that my mortgage broker is now afraid of me.  I celebrated by having the most painful brow wax of my life.  I can’t believe I’m not dripping blood, and will be amazed if hair ever grows back there.  Then I bought beer.

Anyways, I decided to give you a little photo montage of my life in squalor and shambles:

The Boxes:

Please note the giant box standing upright in the back.  That box contains all of J’s clothes that he took off the hangers prior to shoving them into the box.  This includes the shirt he has to wear to a wedding tomorrow.  Uh-huh.

The bedroom:

 

The pathetically small kitchen:

 

The dining room table o’crap:

The amusing thing about this picture is that it includes a bottle of champagne from a customer of J’s, a cake server given to me by J’s grammy when I served birthday cake out of the pan I made it in, our fancy plastic ware and paper plates, and the newspaper from when the Sox won the 2004 series.

And, finally, the whole main room of the apartment, in its disgusting, dirty, messy, glory:

The pampassan, by the way, is free to a good home, provided someone picks it up by Wednesday.  You could have the entertainment center too, but J thinks it will fall apart if anyone attempts to pick it up.

Get me out of here!

I Could be the Next Design Star

When J & I moved into the apartment four years ago, we needed nightstands.  My mom (aka Bargain Queen of the North-East) found us a couple of nice wooden nightstands at yard sales.  I think I stripped them before I painted them white, with pretty red drawers to match our bedroom decor.  How Martha Stewart-like. 

The nightstands have taken kind of a beating.  J insists on leaving tootsie roll pop sticks on his, and I spilled a half a bottle of red nail polish on mine (prompting a “this is why we don’t paint our toes in bed” from J).  Plus, our bedroom decor will no longer be red, white & blue, but light blue & dark blue.  So, I dragged the nightstands to RI to paint them in my parent’s backyard. 

The original plan was to prime the red drawers and spray paint everything a fresh coat of white.  Sounds simple enough, right?  If you’re anyone but me, I’m sure it is.  I got to the house, spread the nightstands and drawers out on the yard, and started priming.  I like priming.  You can’t ruin it, and it never makes anything look worse than it already does.  Its Idiot-proof paint!  So, I happily slathered it on, thinking that this was easy and I’d be home in no time.

I bought a can of cinnamon spray paint at Home Depot last week, thinking it would look cherry-ish, and that I could fake people into thinking we own nice furniture.  I took my cinnamon paint and tested it on the inside of a drawer.  Looked good!  So I started spraying away at the nightstand.  Have you ever spray painted something before, aside from graffiti?   Its hard.  Seriously.  The paint pools and isn’t even, and it makes your thumb hurt to hold down the nozzle.  I didn’t like it.

I also didn’t like the cinnamon.  It looked too orange.  Instead of going back to my original plan of white, I found an espresso paint in my parents garage, and painted the other nightstand that color.  The espresso was a lovely dark brown that would go with nothing else in our bedroom, but it sure was pretty!

There was also only one can of it, so I got in my car, covered in paint, and drove to the local hardware store, vowing not to step foot in Home Depot on on Sunday morning.  Of course, on the ride there, I thought about the espresso and decided I wasn’t really sure if I liked it or not.  I convinced myself that it looked great and would class up the room. 

Then I got to the hardware store and there was no espresso to be found.  No cinnamon either, for that matter.  Not much of anything, actually.  I convinced myself that this was a sign, and that I can’t spray paint well anyway, so I should buy a can of white paint and a fancy new paintbrush to solve my problem.  Figuring out what white to buy was a whole other ballgame that I’ll spare you.

Back to my parents I went, to re-prime and repaint.  All to get white nightstands, which is what I started out with anyways.  I could have just painted the drawers and covered up the nail polish, but instead I spend 4 hours, $20 and a weeks worth of paint dried to my legs to get white nightstands.  Look out HGTV, here I come!

There’s Your First Car on the Road

I almost don’t want to say this out loud, but I fear my car may be dying a slow, painful death.

From the time I was sixteen ish (okay, almost seventeen by the time I passed the test.  Yeah, I know: Go aroundthe island, blahblahblah) until I was 21, I drove whatever car my parents had laying around the house.  There were plenty to chose from.  My dad was big on buying $500 cars and driving them until they died.  My personal favorites included the silver 1986 Escort with the tires so flat that you could feel the treads (no surprise when the front tire blew out on the highway during Spring Break), and also got us stuck in Newton on a road trip to Marshfield (I blame that on the ex boyfriend, though) and my brothers Toyota hatchback that needed the gas pedal pumped twenty times before starting.  That car was retired after the brakes completely went, even though my brother said I just didn’t know how to drive it.

Anyways, I got out of college and vowed to buy a car.  Never mind the fact that I didn’t have a job, which my grandmother so kindly shared with the Honda salesman after doing a few test drives.  I waited until October, when I had been gainfully employed for 4 weeks, and the new Honda Civics were out and ready to go.  I left the dealership with a brand new 2001 Honda Civic with 7 miles on it, and I was officially an adult with car payment.

I love my car.  Its the best thing I’ve ever purchased.  Its gotten me safely from RI to various points in MA on a daily basis.  At one time, my commute was 150 miles a day.  Every day, the Civic starts right up (well, except last winter when I had to stop with a foot on the gas and one on the brake before she got a new spark plug).  She keeps on trucking, even when I accidentally run over things like curbs and rocks.  Did I mention that at 7-1/2 years old, she has 186,000 miles on her?   And all I’ve done is routine maintenance?  The guy who sold me the car opened the hood, pointed to a blue cap, and said “see that?  That’s where you put the washer fluid.  That’s the only thing you should have to touch under here.”  And I happily obliged.

Now, the Civic seems to be flailing a bit.  It started with the death of my A/C.  Driving with the windows open sucks, by the way.  J & I peeled ourselves out of the car last weekend and skipped into La-Z-Boy to cool down.  Now, its the radio (which, in all fairness, is a whatchamacallit — after model stereo, so not really the Civic’s fault).  We couldn’t hear the radio last weekend unless we turned it way up, and now it goes in and out.  Weird. 

I know there things don’t really matter, but she’s also making an odd rattling noise.  But that goes away.  And the Check Engine light has been on for months.  But my average daily commute at the moment is 6.5 miles, and next month it will go down to between 0 and 1 mile.  And I treat her well: oil changes, pats on the dash when she passes inspections, apologies when I accidentally bump her.  Sure, I don’t clean her like I used to, but just because she’s unclean doesn’t mean I don’t love her anymore.

I know one day the mechanic will shake his head and tell me its time to pull the plug.  And I know I’ll cry, not only for the new car payment, but because of all the memories we’ve shared together.  I don’t think anything can take the place of your first car.  Stay strong, little Civic!  You can do it!

**Post title is from “This Time of Year” by Better Than Ezra.  I had a boyfriend who begrudgingly made me a boy band CD and added a few of his favorite songs as well.  After our long (one month) romance came to an end, I’d hear this song (after sobbing though Brittney’s “Sometimes”) and pat the Civic’s dash fondly.

Its That Time of Year Again!

Team GDT is gearing up for Komen!  We have an official fund-raising goal of $50,000, but I secretly think we can hit $100,000.  Our auction site is up and running at www.teamgdt.com, and there are some really great things there already, with new stuff every week.  And, as always, our cookbook is available and makes a great gift!  (You can find the link on our site).

I think most of us are in agreement that cancer sucks.  I lost my grandfather to cancer a few years ago, and it was something I’d prefer my family never have to go through again.  I just watched my friend’s future husband lose his dad in almost the same way, and I wish my friends didn’t have to go through that either.  I’m sure all of us have our own stories about how cancer has affected our lives, and Komen is making some great strides in finding a cure.  As always, any donation will help.

You haven’t heard the last from me on this subject!  But, please, take a second to check out our site and see if anything looks good enough to bid on.  Shop for a cure!

Happy Fourth of July!

Yes, I am blogging today and not anywhere fun like a cookout.  Why?  I don’t know.  I have few friends with yards, one of whom in away.  My parents aren’t here, J is at work.  I am washing glasses we don’t use and packing them.  Whooppee.

Actually, I’ve had a busy morning.  I woke up at 5:30 with J, and made him an iced coffee to bring to work.  I should be wife of the year!  I was pretty awake this morning at that hour, as i went to bed at 10 last night, worn out by my pedicure and running for the train.  Have you ever ran for a train wearing flip flops with toilet paper in your toes, desperately trying not to ruin a $40 polish change?  Its not easy.

After fulfilling my wifely duties, I headed out in the rain to my big Fourth of July event:  The Hingham Road Race.  Miraculously, the rain stopped (making my friends who were supposed to run with me and bailed look like even bigger weenies) and the weather was nice for a 4.6 mile jaunt into town.  I know, random length, but its a nice course, full of million dollar houses and nice, rich people drinking coffee.  This was the 50th running of the race (my 3rd) and probably my last year doing it.  I would have to get up around 4:30 am to make it here by race time when we move, and that ain’t happening. 

After the race, I went to see J at work.  He was bored out of his mind.  He always has to work on the fourth, which stinks, but its not like anyone invites us to do anything anyways.  Next year we’ll have our own party!  Anyways, J gave me some food, and loaded me up with iced coffee, so I’ll bounce off the walls for awhile and probably crash right before we watch fireworks on tv.  Go me.