Adulthood Lite

First off, salutations and many thanks to Mel, my 10th follower! Hooray, I made it to double digits!

Ok, as promised, I'm going to try and continue to keep these posts short so as not to bore any poor soul taking the time to read this...

I think I have made it abundantly clear that I have no interest in becoming an adult- I don't like the responsibility. And nothing proves that more than trying to deal with a house.

Don't get me wrong; I do love the space and being near alot of stuff (plus I'm renting, so it hardly counts. It's more like Diet Home-ownership- all the drama but half the responsibility).

Take this as an example...

I was finally catching up on some much-needed laundry and when I went down in the basement where our laundry machines were to switch loads I was met with a small pool emerging on the floor.

Before thinking about where the water was coming from I looked around to see what was at water-risk. Luckily we had invested in hard plastic crates for storage (including my entire spring and summer wardrobe). Unluckily, we do have a few cardboard boxes that (though they seem away from the water) have soaked up some of the water AND are a pain to get to.

I decided to worry about those things later and instead indulged in a nice helping of panic that the water would get to Joe's equipment.

I didn't see any moisture on his studio-side, but I still called him to warn him.

"Did you check the laundry-water pipe? The last time this happened it was because it had popped out of the laundry sink."

I had no idea what he was talking about so I went to check the washer. Sure enough, the black plastic foldable pipe was pointing up on the floor, where the water must have gushed out like a small geyser.

I stood around looking at this mess for a good minute, unsure what to do and/or where to begin, and cursing the fact that I had no mother or father around to deal with it. Stupid adulthood.

Joe eventually came home, and with a combined effort of towels and wet-vac (which I'm beginning to think was purposely bought by the owners for scenarios just like this) we managed to sop up as much water as possible.

Only things still left to deal with are a few (now moldy) boxes, but really, how long did I want a few notebooks from high school, a dozen dried-up white-out pens, and a VHS of "Billy Madison"?

Town-haunted-house?

So that was weird. Maybe I've been watching too much X-files, or maybe it's just the spirit(s) of the season, but I got all kinds of freaked out last night. I'll give you the quick recap and then continue with my description of my trek to Eastern State Penitentiary...

As I was typing last night's post, I was sitting in my living, towel tightly wound around my wet hair, with just the tall living room lamp on. Joe and Georgia had gone up to bed not long ago, and I was on such a roll I figured I'd get up to bed soon myself.

Suddenly I heard what sounded like papers dropping to the floor. I quickly glanced up, and realized it had come from the kitchen. Whereas usually an odd sound will come and go so quickly your mind reasonably dismisses it, the sound lasted a good few seconds. So long in fact, that it freaked me out enough to holler up to Joe a few times. He didn't answer and I was so immediately afraid I quickly finished my sentence and closed down my comp and headed upstairs.

I walked into the bedroom, trying to not wake Joe, but because our floors are all creaky hard wood, it was hard not to. When he told me to come to bed, I asked if he had heard me calling him. He said he didn't though I thought I said it pretty loud. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth when suddenly I heard what sounded like heavy footsteps walking up our stairs. Wanting to finally confirm that I was not crazy I yelled to Joe again.

"Did you hear that??" I asked, with a mouth full of toothpaste.

"I was cracking my ankle," he yelled back.

"No, it sounded like footsteps!"

"I didn't hear anything, but it was probably just the neighbors."

I spat out the foamy paste and rinsed my mouth. "No, it definitely sounded like it was right inside. Right up here."

He said again he didn't hear anything but when I finally came to bed he asked if it sounded like the bed moving. I said it did sound like creaking, so he recreated the motion he had done to crack his ankle. Sure enough, it sounded like creaks I had heard. Although it seemed that the mystery was solved, I still held a smidgen of doubt.

Besides, we've had other kinds weird things happening. Now, it might not seem like much, but all our light bulbs seem to be going out the same time. I guess you could imagine, rationally, that whoever installed the lights might've done so around the same time, so it would make sense for them to go out around the same time. But, as Joe pointed out, we aren't using them all the same amount. Probably nothing, but still kinda weird.

Another kinda scary thing happened yesterday as well. I have a route that Georgia and I take for our run around town. I actually don't mind it, and in some instances look forward to it; there always seems to be something new to see or people to meet. Anyway we were just about winding down when we decided to do a final loop around our block. As we were coming back around all of a sudden a big junkyard-looking dog jumped out, barked and began chasing us. My instincts told me to run, but I recalled something I had seen on "It's Me or the Dog" where Victoria Stillwell said that if a strange dog is coming after you you must remain still. (See, television CAN be educational) Luckily the advice worked like magic; as if broken from a spell the dog suddenly stopped dead in its' tracks and trotted away. I quickly scooped Georgia up and dropped her into the safety of our yard. When I relayed the story to Joe, I suddenly became nervous all over again. I thought I had met all the dogs in the neighborhood, all of which have proven to be quite tame and friendly, and this one looked neither familiar nor friendly. In fact, I didn't even spy a tag on it, so the very presence of a strange dog in a very dog-prevalent neighborhood struck me as unusual.

One of the nice things about living in apartment complexes is that you never really fear the presence of ghosts or lingering spirits, because apartments, for the most part, are for people in transition or in need of temporary lodging. But now that we are living in a townhouse, not to mention one that has been around since the 50s, I guess it's more likely that connections could exist. I dunno, but I do hope that whatever freaky stuff is happening quits it soon. Or, at the latest, November 1st.

Sorry I didn't get around to finishing the Penitentiary story. I'll make that priority numero uno for manana. Until then, g'nite!

Dog-gone It!

This time I really mean it. I am going to keep this s.o.b. short! Especially with how early I was up this morning. Let's begin.

So as you can probably tell from the title, this one's going to be about my sweet little angel face, Georgia. Or "dog" as I like to call her when she's pissing me off. Like lately!

The thing I've noticed about Georgia is that she goes through peaks and valleys, behavior-wise. For about 80% of the time we've had her she has been surprisingly good: doesn't whine for our food at the dinner table, doesn't bark, and hasn't had an accident in the house for weeks. It's just that pesky 20% of bad behavior she dips into that drives us crazy. Luckily it usually only lasts about a week before she's back to being very good. But what a week...

A few days ago, while Joe and I were inside watching a DVD, he received a message from someone saying that he had our dog. We both looked at each other, and realized we hadn't checked on the dog, naturally assuming she was just frolicking in the yard, as usual. Oh this happened on Sunday, the same day I felt like ultimate crap but put on a brave front because we were going to the Renaissance Fest with friends and I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer.

I had been trying to nurse my hangover the whole morning, but the second Joe told me about the message I sprang (well, quickly hobbled is more accurate) to my feet and tried to find some shoes. It just so happened that our friends were meeting us at our house and they arrived around the same time as our dog-rescuer did. We thanked him profusely and he explained where he had found her.

Apparently she had either slipped through a gap in the fence or simply hopped over it, I assume in pursuit of a squirrel. He said she seemed to be trying to figure out a way back in, as she stayed near the fence. This was a small amount of relief to me, since the road right next to our sidewalk tends to get busy and cars often surpass the speed limit by a few miles.

We were happy to have her home, but once again our trust was broken with her. Joe had spent a good deal of time and money fencing in the rest of the walkway, but the reward was that Georgia could run and play outside without much supervision. Now we were both panicky and paranoid.

The next day as we were getting ready for work we let her out to go to the bathroom. Joe and I were talking about something and as he turned his back to check on her he noticed her trying to squeeze her body through the gap at the bottom of the gate. He shouted at her and immediately she pulled back out. This is, we guess, how she must've gotten out, but we're still not 100% positive.

Then I came home from work, walked into the kitchen and couldn't believe my eyes. She had not only been on our small make-shift card-dinner table, but she had completely destroyed the fabric on top. I walked in to find the top of the table in complete and utter shreds. As if that wasn't enough, I then walked back into the living room and spied a fresh, wide, wet pee stain on the rug.

The next day I stayed a little late at work, but Joe texted me to tell me that the place was fine but she had still peed on the rug. Later that night (or Wednesday morning I should say), Georgia woke us both up by suddenly tearing down the stairs and whining. This is unusual for her, as normally if she wants to go out to go to the bathroom she just comes to my side of the bed and whines a little till I wake up. It's not strange to see her animated in the morning, but hyper and hysterical is.

I thought maybe it was because I wasn't being as diligent as I had been with taking her for a run with me, so I made it a point, after dinner with Ash, to tear-ass home to get in a run with her. Unfortunately, with the days getting shorter, it's a rush against time before it's too dark to go. I made it just before it got pitch black, and though it wasn't as long as our runs usually are I still figured I had worked out alot of her pent up energy.

Sure enough this morning she tore off downstairs again, at around 5:00 a.m. I also wanted to try and curb her bladder so I gave her water to drink with her food, but took it away when I left for work. Sadly, when I walked into the house again, there was the yellow puddle, right by the door. I raised my voice a bit, but even without that she knew she had done wrong. Btw, does it make me the most evil person to admit that I think she looks the damn cutest when she's scared or guilty? Her big ears flatten against her head and that curly-cue tail unfurls between her legs. It's so hard to be mad at her when all I want to do is scoop her up and cuddle. But then she's basically learning that peeing by the door is A-OK. I'm not sure what to try next, but the week IS almost up, so maybe we're on our way to the peak.

I'll keep you posted. Until then, goodnight!

Weed B Gone

Before I forget, just wanted to say hidey-ho to follower numero 8! Not sure if you are my dad Ken or my friend Ken, but either way, welcome and thanks for giving a crap!

Anyway, so just to give a rash-rehash...It's both better and worse. I haven't seen a new crop on my body in a day or two. However, they have instead chosen to appear...on my FACE! Woke up this morning rubbing my forehead and when I went to the mirror I noticed a bump on the right side of my forehead, another one just below my hair line on the left side of my forehead, one on my chin and (the kicker) right below my eye. I looked like freakin Woogie from "There's Something About Mary". They didn't itch as terribly as the ones on my actual body did (and sometimes still do) but instead looked like hive-things. I finally took some advice and used the plain Dove soap but I have no idea what the face-bumps are. So, the mystery goes on.

In any event, I wanted to mention my attacking of the weeds back on Sunday since I said I would, although thinking about it now, it wasn't all that terribly interesting. But I'll let you be the judge...

So the thing that's awesome about a yard is having basically an outdoor room. The thing that sucks about having a yard is that you have to actually maintain it. We've been having some rather soggy weather lately and Joe informed me that it's not good to mow the lawn when it's wet (as it causes the mower to buck and get clogged). And since Saturday we were wiped out from walking around Fell's Point, we decided to would work on the lawn on Sunday.

I took Georgia for a run while Joe mowed the lawn. When I got back he was just starting to do some weed whacking. Because we had never bothered with the weeds they had become quite jungle-like and overgrown. Normally it would just be a cosmetic thing, but as a neighbor informed me a while ago, we were the proud owners of some poisonous-berry weeds that were harmful to humans and possibly deadly to dogs if consumed (yikes!), so I was obsessed with chopping those down.

It wasn't long before Joe informed me that the weeds were too thick in the middle to completely cut through, so after he was finished I went about the yard picking up the weed entrails he did slice off and decided to do battle with the weeds still intact, man0 y mano. I slipped on some gardening gloves and approached my target, like Terminator. We have two patches of these berry weeds, so I decided to try the smaller one first. Luckily because of Joe's weed-whacking I was able to rip off the major strips with the evil berries still attached. Unfortunately, I was unable to rip out the whole thing, roots and all. I went over to the bigger patch, like the last level of a video game as I was about to come face to face with the Boss. I crouched down, still wearing my sloppy work-out clothes, and yanked and twisted, breaking off one arm after another. With determination in my eyes and sweat on my brow, I destroyed the invading branches that looped through the fence wiring and scooped up the clumps of berries hidden in the grass. Not to say the thing didn't put up a fight. I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed watching my struggle, as I got smacked in the face by branches I lost my grip to or when I nearly slipped on my ass.

But when I stepped back to acknowledge my work, it was indeed a shadow of it's former self. In fact, the feeling of finally getting to these berry-weeds inspired me to tidy up the yard with some weed-pulling elsewhere.

The other problem I face with having a yard that's ours and yet not ours, is trying to figure out what plants are meant to be there and which are not. I began yanking at some thin-stalked plants and was astonished at how easily they came up with their roots still attached and packed with soil. It almost seemed too easy. I then became somewhat paranoid that I had just tenaciously pulled up our land lady's prize flower bed, but Joe made the good point that as long as we rented there, it was technically our yard, and as long as we hadn't planted anything in it didn't matter what we pulled out.

So that was my first hand at weed-pulling, and it really was satisfying. I may do it again...dare I say to those berry weeds, I'll be baahck?

Sunday, freaking, Sunday

Has anyone ever used that deodorant called "Tom's All Natural"? I think it's based in Maine or something? Holy crap, that shit irritates the HELL outta my skin. Today at work I looked like a god damn orangutan scratching their armpits trying to get a banana from a zookeeper. Gross. Anyway, onto the thrilling (I think) conclusion to my weekend.

So like I said Saturday mostly consisted of me recovering from a hangover, a trip to the Home Depot, and not much else. Let's move on to Sunday.

Sunday- I woke up feeling much better, and made it a point to start cleaning the townhouse while Joe played handyman and put up the new fence. When he went downstairs I came out, just to check up on Georgia and take some trash out. I noticed a 7 or 8 year old boy with his father, looking and smiling at Georgia. Being the overly/annoyingly polite person, I walked over, wearing a crappy small tank top and stained workout pants, hoping they were just curious as to her breed (as everyone in their mother seems to be).

I couldn't totally understand what the father was saying the whole time, but he was smiling alot. The kid asked questions about her and wondered if he could pet her. I managed to get my hands on her and let him pet her. Then he said he'd like to throw the ball for her. I grabbed the ball and let it toss it to her a few times. Now I probably should've just stopped it there because the next thing I knew the kid was climbing over the fence because he wanted to play with her.

Now, Georgia is NOT a vicious dog. Her one problem that we have to train out of her is that she sometimes plays a little rough with us humans. She has a hard time discerning play from pain, unless we yelp loudly to indicate the difference. The kid start trying to mess with her and she began nipping at his heels and when he started flailing his arms, tried to bite those as well. It wasn't as if she was trying to attack him, but still the kid started to look petrified and clutched his arm. I tried to grab Georgia to keep her away but she thought it was all part of the game. When I finally managed to get a hold, the kid suddenly said he wanted to play some more. Finally coming to my senses, with this strange kid in my yard, I apologized and said that I thought it was time for Georgia to go in now. He looked at me wide-eyed, as if that was ridiculous and unfair.

"Yeah, you know, she's just getting really excited...she sorta nips when she's playing," I stammered. Still the look was blank. Finally the father helped me out by saying it was time for them to go, still smiling. He made it seem like he was just going to pull the kid back over the fence the way he came, so I walked back inside with Georgia in tow.

When Joe came back upstairs, he noticed the father and son in our backyard.

"Ummm why are there people in our yard?" I glanced back and noticed they were trying to actually go through the back gate. Not really wanting to make friends, I closed the door and hightailed it upstairs to continue with my cleaning, and hoped for the best.

Hours later I was due to pick up Ashley at BWI at around 7:40. Also, quick side note- since doing this Living Year thing I HAVE noticed I'm on time for more things. In fact, sometimes I'm even early...yet somehow I still get bitten in the ass...

So I make my way up there over a half hour early. I find a nice spot right near her airline exit, and, since my car has no a/c, step out to suck in whatever stifled air I can. I keep glancing at my watch, and when I realize it's almost time, I finger my phone waiting for her call and look around for a sign of her.

Suddenly, at around 7:36, an airport cop begins walking to all the cars, including mine, and telling the owners they need to move. I immediately comply, asking if I should just go around the terminal again. She says yes, but as I move forward I get the call. I tell Ash to meet me at the Air Jamaica section and pull over. I'm not there for more than 2 minutes before the same cop rolls over.

"This is the second time, right?" She said, leaning into my car.

"Yes, I'm sorry, but my friend JUST called me. She's coming out right now," I said.

"Ok, well, you know how they say third times a charm? Third times a ticket," and she starts to move on. I'm left thinking she meant if I stay there too long and she tells me to move again, she'll give me a ticket so I wait a few more seconds. I then see her in my rearview, making her way back to me, and suddenly get the message. I pull out and drive all the way around the terminal.

Ashley calls me again, asking what happened. I explain that this freakin cop told me to move so I had to circle the terminal. When I finally get back around the quiet airport is now packed and tense. I pull over where I can, holding my phone to my ear and trying to move up a bit, as requested by some guy in a giant lime-colored shirt. Still I see no sign of Ash; instead, I see the same damn cop, and this time she is just signaling me to move AGAIN.

After going through the terminal a third time, at long last, I spot Ashley and practically yank her into my car before the cop can see me. As I explained the whole thing, Ash suddenly made me realize it wasn't just me. Apparently, while she was craning her neck to find me she stepped a little too close to the curb. The same cop came up to her and barked at her to move back. When she explained she's looking for her friend (who's had to circle the terminal three times, she pointed out), the cop ignored her after she told her to move again.

*Whew*, so yeah, that was my weekend in a nutshell. A very colorful and long-winded nutshell. Don't worry, tomorrow's will be shorter. G'nite gang!

...Two Steps Back

Just a quick caveat before I begin-- I really loved that title I used yesterday ("Writers on the Storm'), I think it's been one of my better puns. However I really worry that I'm going to use the same pun twice, so if I do please call me out on it. If there's anything worse than a pun, it's an overused pun. In any case, onto other forms of pun-ishment.

You ever feel like you are finally passed a certain issue only to have it come hollering back to you? It's that whole, two steps forward, one step back deal. (Or is it one step forward, two steps back? Whatever, either way, it's annoying.) Let me explain...

So back when we went to pick Georgia up from the SPCA we came bright and early to make sure no one else adopted her. We walked into the small office and told the guy working there we wanted to adopt "Coco". He barely glimpses away from the papers he's scanning and says, "Well, I hope you did your research already. She's a dachshund, and dachshunds don't housebreak, so be prepared."

Both his attitude and statement surprised us. Didn't they WANT people to adopt the dogs? Why the hell would you immediately throw out a big negative like that to two eager people? It's like going to a car dealership and the salesmen says, "Yeah, it's a Hummer, so be prepared to waste half your paycheck every week just to fill 'er up."

We didn't let him scare us off and in fact, for a while now when Joe and I would return home from work and find not only everything still intact, but not a drop of poo or pee anywhere. We'd open the door to our yard and she'd sprint right outside to do her business. We'd exchange glances, and with all the pride in the world in our chests, say, "And they said she couldn't be housebroken!"

Well, we were having a good streak anyway.

About a week ago I went up to take a shower while Joe went down to the basement. Georgia, after realizing she wasn't coming into the bathroom with me, finally wandered away. I figured she had found her toys and was playing happily when I finally got out and came downstairs. There, on our new rug was a fresh wet pee spot. I called down to Joe to let him know, but we chalked it up to the fact that we had the back door closed so she wasn't able to get outside in time.

Then about a day or two later, the same thing happened, only it was Joe this time (and poop). The odd thing was THIS time not only had the door been open, but she had just been outside for a while a few moments before. We were frustrated, but again, we just figured it was her odd puppy system.

Finally, this morning was the last straw. She woke us up as usual to let her outside to pee and for me to give her breakfast. Joe let her out and then wandered up to the bathroom. As I was walking back to the bedroom to sleep for a few precious more minutes, I noticed the door to the guest bedroom had been nudged open. And then I saw two nice little puppy presents on the floor. Annoyed, I let Joe know and while we both cleaned it up, we wondered what was going on with our once perfect angel.

It's not even just the accidents. Another one of Georgia's delightful traits is her ability to escape. Now granted, she only did this once before, but with the putting up of chicken wire and my spraying the crap out of it with dog repellent, we somewhat washed our hands of the problem. She seemed to get it; when we were walking back and forth along the chicken wire she knowingly kept her distance. Again, until this morning.

After we cleaned up the guest bedroom and started to get ready for work, one of us let her out to enjoy the backyard before we kept her in for the day. As I was getting ready to leave Joe suggested we get her in then, before she tried to follow me. Too late.

As I was waiting for him to give me the ok, I realized it was taking a while. I looked out the window and realized she was OUTSIDE the fence. I dropped my bag, grabbed some treats to lure her back, and ran out the back door. Luckily she saw me and came forward and while she nibbled on the treats, Joe snagged her up and dropped her back inside the confines of the fence.

It's been one of those days, and I can only hope we haven't completely lost all the training she had been taught. I want to think that maybe she's just still testing her boundaries with us. But who knows...and who knows what's waiting for us at home....

The Summer Bucket List

Wow, I really suck at this 5-Posts a Week thing. I'm considering making an amendment that declares I shall not even try to write on Fridays, at least until these 1/2 day Fridays are no longer in effect. I just end up beating myself up for the weekend. So, I'll try to, but if I don't, you'll know.

Anyway, happy Monday everyone! Can you smell that? I think there's a slight scent of Fall in the air. I noticed it last night as Joe and I sat in our folding chairs at Outlaw Jam, and we actually experienced our first chill in a long time. Sad, and I'm really not ready for the change, despite the fact that I managed to do some cool stuff this year: saw bands I always wanted to at some outdoor concerts- Scorpions at M3, Bad Company and Blue Oyster Cult at Outlaw Jam. I also combined a band I never saw with going somewhere I always wanted to go to- Collective Soul at Preakness. Plus we managed to get to the Beer, Bourbon and BBQ Festival, Artscape in Baltimore, even a dog expo.

However, there is still so much I want to do before the summer slips by, which is what tonight's post is about...my summer bucket-list.

1.) Crab Feast-- I know that anyone who knows me has probably heard me whining about the fact that I have YET to pick a single crab this summer. Truthfully I haven't been able to go to many crab feasts, either because I couldn't afford to, I was busy, or there just weren't any going on. I am hoping to rectify that soon, which leads me to #2.

2.) BBQs-- Now I have been to a few, but I could always go for more...especially since we moved into this place with the nice big yard that just SCREAMS BBQ. Joe and I have already plotted for a big Labor Day party, complete with meat, beer, and (you guessed it) steamed crabs.

3.) Taking a ride on the Tiki Barge-- This is something our friend Jeff told us about. Apparently it's a big docked party barge that holds both a pool and good sized tiki bar. We were planning to go the weekend we ended up getting Georgia on. I kept racking my brain to figure a way to both pick Georgia up AND manage to hit the barge (I know, it's so comforting knowing where my priorities lies...God, I'm horrible). Since we got her we've managed to leave her alone for several hours and now that we know we can pretty much trust her on her own I intend to see what that damn barge is all about.

4.) State Fair-- Not really surprising I haven't been yet, seeing as how it hasn't started yet. But we have made it to the fair every year for the past 2 or 3 years, and I really hate seeing a tradition die, so we will have to plan a day for that.

I have a bunch more things I'd like to do/see/eat/hear, but these are probably the ones I keep telling myself that I want to do most. I know there's still time. I just can't help but think, as we slowly start turning our A.C. off in exchange for the crisper night air, I know that summer will be gone just as seamlessly as it came in. Guess that means I have to stop being an anti-social cheapskate and get out there.

Oh well, see you tomorrow kiddos.

So Long, Saddlebrook

Ok, so I'm gonna attempt to do the speediest post of my life because I've been doing this long enough to know if I don't do it now I will completely forget to later on today.

So the latest is that, at last, the weekend has come for Joe's parents to visit, which is pretty awesome, although I seem to have retained some of that old fashioned "must impress the in-laws" mentality where I want to make sure everything is perfect. It's kinda unwarranted because A.) they are totally relaxed and easy-going fun people and B.) Ummm they AREN'T my in-laws. Even so, Joe and I busted our asses all day yesterday cleaning and organizing our madhouse of a townhouse to make sure it was not only livable but comfortable. And I must say, it did turn out pretty well.

I walked down to the kitchen this morning to let Georgia out, and I suddenly got this warm-cozy feeling. To finally see the place pretty much all set up, with our pictures and art up, and all the furniture laid out, it allowed me to take a final breath and say, "Ahh, I'm home." The feeling began yesterday when Joe's mom and I went back to the old place one more time. She had never seen it, so we walked around the once packed apartment into the open space that I hadn't seen in two years. I realized just how small it had been, and yet at the time we got it, we figured it would be plenty of space.

We walked down to the rental office to drop off the keys, showing her the pool area and explaining all the little alcoves that held some sort of memory. I had to basically shove the stupid keys into the Rent Drop box, smiling at the irony of how even now, with no claim to us anymore, Saddlebrook still liked to mess with us. Oh well.

We walked back to the car, and with a final look to old place we drove out. I did experience some feelings of melancholy. Even Joe joked, saying, "I know you. Even though we were sick of this place you are going to feel sad about leaving and say, 'It wasn't so bad'". He was right. Even though we will still find reasons to go through the neighborhood, it won't be the same. After two years of living somewhere (which, in rental terms, seems like a long time) you can't help but feel connected to the place. Maybe not completely with the actual apartment, but the neighborhood for sure. There's the place Joe filmed the Christmas movie, there's my running route, there's the Target we always went to, there's the place I first tried Indian food. So many memories that I'll take with me, but won't ever be able to really visit again.

I don't know if I could call it home. I still have a hard time calling ANYWHERE in Maryland home. And yet, this new place, it feels the closest to home than any other place I've lived. We have to do more exploring, rediscover Towson as adults instead of as students. But there are more memories to be made here. The holidays and seasons we have yet to experience here will become rich with memories...and then maybe I can call it home.

Gettin' My Hands Dirty

So basically the reason I was late (or missing, I should say) with a post yesterday is because we are STILL in the midst of moving, which is getting old, let me tell you. Moving SUCKS! Let the sound of that word sink in...SSSUUUCCCKSSS. Joe and I both, short-fused and short-tempered, have been hauling 2 years worth of crap into the bed of his truck and my car for the past week. I really shouldn't complain, because really Joe has suffered the brunt of the moving shit storm, but it is still pretty annoying to me.

I think it's been doubly difficult because we've been bringing Georgia with us over there, thinking she'd be good and quiet while Mommy and Daddy swear under their breaths and break finger bones lifting boxes and crates that have unknown realms of crap inside. But no, she seems to mistake the disassembled apartment for her own personal PlayPlace, and continued to leap and chew on anything she could get her mouth on. So while asking each other questions or game plans we have to constantly tell her no or avoid tripping on her. Needless to say we are both so SICK of moving I am so glad we can actually see ourselves staying here for a while, cuz I'd just as soon torch my belongings than have to move them into another place.

So, that all being said, I do really love how the new place is coming along. And, surprisingly enough, I'm finding the things I disliked about the place are slowly becoming not bad...even good. For one, the bathroom, which anyone who has followed this thing knows I was really upset with...But now, since Joe sprayed the tub with a refinishing spray, and I've gotten to see what it's like with a window that actually blows fresh air...I actually think I love the bathroom. Once we get a storage thing in there, it really is gonna be a nice little bathroom.

Also, the kitchen, which still irks me with the lack of counter space and available wall space, but I've actually grown to not totally hate the "no dishwasher" thing. I think it helped that we are coming from an apartment with such a crappy dishwasher that we had to hand wash the dishes anyway. It's not a total shock. But it is shocking that I don't really mind hand washing stuff...which is the breadth of what this post is about...

You ever see that scene in "When Harry Met Sally", where Harry is describing the two categories of women?: the low maintenance and the high maintenance. I've always wanted to be categorize as the former, yet for some reason I think I actually fall under the latter. Not really because of how I like to look or my fashion sense (which anyone will tell you is safe to dub "low" maintenance). But food, especially caked-on cold-and-stuck-in-the-sink food, makes me really high maintenance.

I don't know when it began, but ever since I was a kid and we'd clear the dinner table I always was grossed out by touching cold food. My mom or dad would ask me to wipe down the table with a sponge and I used to hold it like a scalpel, carefully dusting the food so it wouldn't touch my skin. It got so bad that at one point I just started volunteering to clear the packaged or bottled things, just so I didn't get stuck wiping the table.

The only thing worse in my mind, when we didn't have a garbage disposal, was clearing the sink of stuck food. GOD, it still grosses me out, just thinking of that slimy cold rice or peas. I really figured this same weird aversion would become a serious problem at this new place. With no dishwasher OR garbage disposal, I'd have to deal with this cold food all the time!

But, like anyone with a problem, you find a way to cope. My first thing? Rushing hot water into the sink, to not only warm my hands but warm the dishes and caked-on food. Next, I still avoid actually touching the stuff stuck in the sink my maneuvering a fork to lift the catch and then carefully lift it over the garbage can. No fuss, no muss.

Since I have those ways around it, washing the dishes really isn't so bad. In fact, it's almost like knitting, in that you seem to do it mindlessly, and plus you have the reassurance that it's clean because YOU cleaned them. Now, granted I haven't had a pile that consisted of more than just a couple of bowls and pans, but I think as long as I can scald the pots and not touch the drain...I think I'll be just fine....

Meet the Rexs and the Fidos

While watching Joe adorably hammer away at some posts and chicken wire like John Henry's Italian cousin, I suddenly realized how much this new place is already starting to not only look like home, but feel like it too.

It's not just the actual townhouse. It's got to be partly due to how friendly our neighbors are. But then again, I might not have even had the guts to strike up a conversation with them if little Georgia wasn't around. I had no idea how dogs (among fellow dog lovers) really can bring people together.

Joe did a great job already introducing our little bean to anyone who walked by while I was away. So much so in fact, that a few nights ago while taking her out to do her business one last time before bed (at around 10 or 11) two separate people came up to the yard and called out Georgia's name. I was pleased but surprised as well. These people didn't even know who I was, yet they remembered Georgia. I was a tad anxious, still unsure how she reacts to strangers. But fortunately, she just wags her curly-cue tail and flattens her ears to be petted. I would normally think it would just be the novelty of seeing a dog that would bring people forward, but truthfully, I have met all these people's dogs as well: there's Raven, the Boston terrier across the street, Buddy the cavalier spaniel, Cedric the pug, and Cocoa Bean, a border collie mix. And those are just the dogs that have walked by here to stop and say hello. There are tons of dogs (and ironically, hardly any children), but the worst part is while I seem to remember the dogs I can not remember the owners names to save me.

I was especially thrilled to come home from work one day and see Georgia playing with Raven in our yard while Joe and Raven's owner sipped beer on the lawn chairs. For one I was happy to see Joe bonding with a neighbor already but also I hadn't been able to see her really interact with another dog ever, so to see her hopping and chasing Raven, I dunno, made me feel like I was watching a kid walk for the first time. Awww really? Yes really, go ahead and call me obsessed and ridiculous, it's TRUE.

But I don't think I realized how lucky we were to have these kinds of neighbors until some recent drama took place. Now, because the yard is (almost) completely enclosed I felt fine letting her out the door to play without a leash on, figuring she wouldn't try to escape....let me say again, I FELT that she wouldn't escape.

After work one day I called Joe and found out Georgia had gotten out. "What? What do you mean?" I said frantically. "It's ok, a neighbor found her and brought her back," Joe said calmly.

Apparently he had nodded off on the couch and she just slipped right through the small gap between the gate and the gate door. He hadn't even realized she was gone until the neighbor returned her.

A couple of days later, the same neighbor was walking by, said hello to Georgia and informed me that she had been the rescuer. I thanked her profusely and was genuinely touched that a perfect stranger would not only let us know she was loose but actually try and rescue her.

We vowed to make sure we were more cautious with her, hence Joe's chicken wire barricade. But it's still comforting knowing that you have neighbors who care. It's weird having neighbors at all, at least the kind that you actually meet and not duck eye contact with while scurrying into your apartment.

But the dog definitely helps as an ice-breaker, as well as the nice big yard we have now. Anyone who's shown any interest in us has been thoroughly invited to participate in the many barbecues we intend to have. So who knows if they will really like us. Maybe we'll just keep luring them in with our dog and yard. Either way, it feels good to be neighborly.

Moving Women

No, I didn't die or get lost in the bowels of New Jersey. I got sorta caught up in my own crap on Thursday and Friday, and then when I finally got home (to the NEW home), I realized our internet was still not existent-and won't until Friday. So here I am, leeching onto whatever internet I can siphon off, but finally happy to be back and ready to bring smiles (or at least good-humored smirks) to you, the wonderful readers. So let's get to it.

First of all, I enjoyed spending time with my family, although I couldn't help but think about how spending time away from them makes me turn around and look back at my life. They've never made me felt that it wasn't good enough...well, except for my car. You know your car might be ready for retirement when people start fights over who gets stuck riding IN your car.

Now I'll admit it, my car is hardly a Rolls, but then again it's not exactly a total lemon. And you want to know why? Because, even though the air conditioning doesn't work, even though my driver window doesn't work (at least not without nearly breaking the bones of your left middle finger pulling the button up), even though the antennae struggles to go up or down (and sounds like an umbrella getting mangled in a garbage disposal), the overhead fabric flutters, the driver visor has broken off so I have to drive around like I'm either looking out to sea or giving a half assed Nazi salute in order to keep the sun from my eyes, and the dozens of dings and scratches...that sucker still STARTS! And really that's all I need a car to do- start, and get me from A to B.

Maybe I can look into getting a different car, once this townhouse stuff has settled. And speaking of the townhouse...

So I drove home, soaked both from sweat and the downpour of rain (really that AC thing is prob the worst part of my car, because I HAVE to keep the windows down at all times, otherwise you suffocate), and finally arrived at the new place. My heart broke for a second because as I pulled up and saw Joe playing with Georgia outside, she didn't seem to recognize me. But once I started talking I think she finally remembered my voice.

Meanwhile Joe and I began moving more stuff back and forth from the old apartment to the townhouse. As we watched (with white knuckles) the mattress and box spring lurch and sag in the back of Joe's truck, he recieved a call from our friends Dylan and Heather who said they were going to stop by. They showed up only a few moments after we did, with a few bottles of wine in tow. The boys attempted to haul the box spring up our teeny stair case while Heather and I stood by. When they decided to give up and just head back to the old apartment for a second load, Heather and I decided to give it a try.

With a healthy swig of wine, we each took a side and began working the box spring up. In a matter of seconds the box spring finally moved up the hallway and we managed to get it into the smaller bedroom. Extremely pleased with ourselves, we waited for the boys to get home to notice what we had done.

Unfortunately neither one said anything so we finally had to prod them along.

"There's something missing from this room," Heather said, coyly. They looked around confused until finally we said, "The box spring!"

So it was a little anti-climactic, but still, we were both beaming with pride at accomplishing what the two boys couldn't.

My high fell a bit later on, however, when Joe mentioned the next day that we probably wouldn't be able to fit a queen-sized mattress, let alone box spring, up the stairs. So now my mission is to find a "split" box spring for a queen at an affordable price. I know it probably makes me sound, ironically, a little queeny to insist on a larger size mattress. I guess because this is the first place I've lived on my own that actually resembles a house, I want to feel as adult as possible. And besides, we need a new mattress anyway, so why not just upgrade? I dunno, if anyone out there has tips on where to find this elusive "split" box spring, but any ideas are welcome.

Meanwhile Joe is at it trying to resurface the tub in the bathroom with some spray he bought. I'm pretty optimistic about it, and if it works we will have saved a bunch. The only negative is we have to let it dry for over 3 days (!) so are going back and forth to the old place to bathe.

But other than these small bumps, the place is looking better and better. I'm trying to not be a Debbie Downer about the lack of counter space or dirty spots, especially since Joe has been busting his ass getting the place ready while I was sunbathing in New Jersey or escaping to work.

Guess this is that whole teamwork thing they talk about in relationships, huh? Or at least that whole, keep-your-negativity-to-yourself craze that I need to catch on.

Anyway, tomorrow, maybe an update on the No TV Challenge or anything else that comes along. Happy Tuesday!

Movin' On Up and Out

As I was so lovingly made aware, I am talking about television too much. Normally I'd have nothing else to talk about but thankfully I have news...I will not in fact be homeless when our lease is up in July, because we FOUND A PLACE! And a townhouse, at that.

Yes, for those of you who didn't hear Joe and I have been rushing to find a place since we informed out apartment complex our plans to vacate about a month ago. Now, normally you'd wait to do this until you knew where you were going, but we (apparently) like to live on the wild-side. Go for the gamble, put it all on red, etc. And, unlike most of my bets, we came back on top.

The problem with our search criteria was how specific it was: Joe's in the city, I'm in Hunt Valley. We wanted someplace with a bigger kitchen, a second full bedroom, and nice bathroom. And ideally we wanted enough room to bring home a snugly bundle of joy...NO not that, a dog.

In any event, we seemed to agree on a townhouse, figuring it was a nice step between apartments and an actual house. So that made our hunt even more difficult. As it turned out, there aren't alot of townhouses that are a.) available or b.) affordable. Not even including the difficulty in finding a place that would be a reasonable commute for both of us. It seemed as if we would be doomed. And then, one day Joe was scrolling through craigslist and out popped in his eyes a listing for a townhouse in Towson.

I became excited as he read off the description of the place. But then just as my heart leaped, and my hands went for moving boxes, he informed me of the price. My heart and hands dropped. It wasn't out of our price range, but let's just say it was the peak. We figured it wouldn't hurt to take a look, which we did this past Saturday.

As we were driving there, Joe kept going back and forth debating on whether he thought it was located in a safe spot, while I just sat there quietly calculating the money aspect. I figured, there's probably no way we will even like this place. I was right, we'd didn't like it at first sight, we LOVED it.

It's an end unit with a backyard that wraps around the front all the way to the back, complete with shady trees, and even a big picnic table that was staying. We saw all these things in the picture on the post, but seeing it in person was different. A small fence ran all the way around, enclosing it safely should we get our puppy. The entrance was covered in a charming V-shingled...thing. Joe was giddy and I was fairly impressed. I figured that these details alone would make it worth the money...so long as the other requirements were met...

The landlords took us in for a tour and we walked in to find hardwood floors throughout the living room and upstairs bedrooms. Awesome. Plus, since it was an end unit there were windows EVERYWHERE. Double Awesome. I really started to think it couldn't get any better, until we stepped into the kitchen. My smile quickly faded as I noticed the sparseness of the tiny kitchen. It had a fridge, oven and sink (plus some overheard storage) and that was about it. And none, zero, no counter space (one of the things I used to lament and scream to the heavens about was how little our current kitchen had in counter space). But for the Pros list, there was a door that lead from the kitchen down to the yard (complete with a doggy door!)

"Oh yeah, and there's no dishwasher either," the guy said. What? I've had a dishwasher my whole life, and I don't care if that makes me sound spoiled. It was something we had even in my girlfriends' and my first apartment. I tried to hide my disappointment.

However, I was back on happy street when they took us down to a good sized/semi finished basement with washer and dryer. Next we went up stairs and saw the one (grr...wanted at least another powder room so I could get ready while Joe was in the shower) bathroom. BUT it did have a window and allowed natural light in (def another point for the PRO list). BUT it also lacked counter space (point for the CONs).

Then we saw the second bedroom which was small but def big enough for guests (i didn't realize we'd have the basement so Joe could put all his recording crap down there and we could actually use this room for guests or even as an office for me). Then we saw the master, which was a good size with plenty of windows.

Joe was sold immediately, but I still reserved some doubts. We made up the list of pros and cons for real, and we quickly realized the pros outweighed the cons. It was a beautiful neighborhood, well kept and near bars, restaurants, the mall, etc.

Still I was hesitant, but when Joe asked me for real, if we didn't get it would I be disappointed, I thought of the yard, the windows, the hardwood, the doggy door, and realized I would be. It felt like home. It felt like our home.

So we filled out the applications and dropped them off, and bing bam boom, yesterday Joe got the call that we got it. I was thrilled.

But as for the other issues: kitchen, bathroom, counters, etc. That remains to be seen. At least, until we move in. But thats for another entry.