lucky

 ain't i lucky

to have seen what these eyes have seen

to have heard what these ears have heard

ain't i lucky

to feel such pain

and 

to feel more joy to erase the pain in this heart

ain't i lucky 

to be loved 

to have given love

to have held

felt

to have known the love this soul has known

ain't i lucky

to have kissed

hugged

missed

those i have loved the most

ain't i lucky

these arms 

have held those ones who have held me close

ain't i lucky

friends who are family

and family who have stayed through thick and thin

ain't i lucky 

to have and know someone such as you

Long Beach, LI, I love you, my summer home. I shall soon see you whole again. 

it's christmas up in this place.

well, RB got rid of that damn box. he did it in 10 minutes. it's shame that i had to wait 9+ months for it to be removed but it is what it is. the tree went up last sunday, and the decorations went up today with me taking a spill off the step stool coming precariously close to smashing my face on the coffee table. with that being said, it's christmas up in this place. now, to sit and relax and enjoy my lights!

"simply, having, a wonderful christmas time."

(i know that these pictures show presents, but they are pictures from 2010, and it looks almost identical to this years, sans presents and add 3 more Yankee Christmas Village houses)

the moocher gym member

for years i have been going to my parents house to use their treadmill, weights and pilates machines. i enjoy my free gym and the comforts of home. i not only get to workout but also spend some QT with one or both of my parents. mom often says things to me such as, "don't you have a treadmill in your building?" and "i'm going to start charging you for the water and electricity." i also, sometimes, bring laundry, so it totally is a multi-serving hot spot. recently, their hot water heater/boiler died, and i didn't go there for a few days. the day it broke i was however, there. it was the coldest shower i had ever taken. i could have gone home, but i had a hot date with Amy and i smelled WICKED bad! anyway, when the boiler/hot water heater was up and running, i received the following email from my mom: (which is totally one of the best emails that i have ever received and one of the many reasons i adore my mom),

Dear Member (a.k.a. Lil' Girl),

We are excited to report our gym will re-open to all members tomorrow, November 26th!!  

We now have heat and hot water at the Moocher Gym.  

Our amenities include: Hot showers, towels, shampoo, soap, moisturizers, hair dryer and flat iron.  Our treadmill and pilates equipment are available, whenever you show up.  

Your membership includes the expertise of a four-time Ironman competitor with close to 40 years of exercise experience, a Doctor of Physical Therapy to address any questions you may have regarding post-workout recovery and/or injuries.  In addition, to allow you to focus fully on your workout and feel safe, we provide canine security, who also provides a meet and greet upon your arrival.   

In addition, as a special perk for you, a Mother and Father's life-time devotion to all your needs.

To show our appreciation of your patience during our closing and your loyalty, we have extended your membership (if that were possible) to a lifetime membership.

Looking foward to seeing you soon.  

Management (a.k.a. Mommy and Daddy)

Happy Anniversaries!

how did i miss my October 25th anniversary?! Happy Anniversary Funny Girl, and Cheers to many years of writing nonsense on the Internet more! originally i didn't know what to expect from writing a blog, and i didn't think i cared to much. i was in such a weird place when i started this, and thought maybe if i wrote about the good, the bad, the frustrating, i'd feel better. i'm not sure if that is what actually happened, but nevertheless, happy anniversary to me and my bullshit.

now for an actual and happy anniversary... a tranplanniversary!! HAPPY FIRST ANNIVERSARY ON YOUR TRANSPLANT AMY! I know i have mentioned Amy before and told you a short story about our falling out and reconnection. recently we have been able to talk more in depth on the months leading up to her double lung transplant, and it makes me cry, because my friend was in fact dying for real. we talk about i wish i was there for her and with her during those tough months, and we come to terms with how our lives needed to work out together.

i know we are both forever friends, and i again, could never thank that glorious young woman that save her life, as well as 8 others this time last year. i'm always reminded when i talk about Amy, that this isn't my first encounter with a life saving transplant. in 2000, my uncle received a life saving liver transplant, and i remember how hard it was leading up to that operation. i was watching a strong man disintegrate in front of my very eyes. it has been 12 years, this February, and again i am forever grateful to that young woman who saved so many other people. for the people who lost their loved ones may peace be found in the thought that their family members saved so many other lives, we are forever grateful for saving the ones we love.

i know it's only December 9th but have a happy holiday season, a blessed Christmas and a happy, healthy and wealthy new year! cheers to 2013!!

box of cards

*please note, i wrote the following in the most disdainful tone, full of disgust*

RB's old college roommate gave him this huge Macy's box anywhere between 9 and 12 months ago. he told RB that if anything in the box had any value, he can keep it. fabulous. all RB had to do was go through this box. this box has been in my living room/hallway/ kitchen anywhere between 9 and 12 months. i have asked RB anywhere between 3 and 9 months to please go through this box. if you didn't already guess, this box, is still in my living room/hallway/ kitchen. i loath this box. i despise this box. i want to drive to the old roommates house and punch him in the nuts as a thank you for dropping his trash and collectors items in my tiny little apt.

every morning i look at this box and i am tempted to toss it in the recycling bin. every evening i am tempted to remind RB to go through the box and get rid of this fucking, god-forsaken box. i don't. i don't because if i did, that might translate to RB that if he waits long enough, i'll just take care of it. i'm not and i won't. 

RB loves Christmas and Christmas decorations. every year he wants to leave the decorations up throughout the year, because he loves it so much. RB offers to help decorate but i am so OCD that although i have tried to allow him to assist, he does it "wrong". he puts all the ornaments in one spot of the tree, he puts all the same colors in one area of the tree, and he wants to put way too many lights on the tree. have i mentioned RB was raised Jewish!? it makes me sad to put up a fake tree and not a real one that smells like Christmas to me. also, i can't stand the set-up. i hate the take down, and i hate the fact that RB refuses to pay attention while i am decorating so that in future years he could help me. (secretly, i think it's better that he not pay attention, it works out better in the end, i get left alone). but, i do love the way the decorations look. 

on November 27th i decided to use this love for a blessed christian holiday to my advantage. this wretched box sits in the one free spot of our living room/hallway/kitchen where i leave my Christmas decorations box. (the rest of the year they find a home in my old bedroom in my parents house). i proposed an ultimatum. 

me: "RB, can you please go through this box?"

RB: <usual answer, usual attitude> "sure babe, this weekend."

me: "RB, if you don't get rid of this box i can't decorate, because this is the spot for the decorations box."

RB: <horrified look on his face> "of course babe! this weekend, definitely."

he knows me well enough to know that if that box is still there the week before Christmas, i will not be decorating anything. i have to admit honestly, that i hope he doesn't go through the box, save me the trouble of decorating even though i do like the way the house looks with all the decorations up. 

it's december 5th, box, still where it has been for almost a year. what's the over under of him getting rid of it? 

the box, by the way, is filled with baseball cards. something RB loves and knows tons about. box, still there. ask me in a week where it is. we'll see what happens this weekend. 

do you ever get the feeling no one likes you?

question: is it just my own insecurities that come through or does it happen for others, do you ever get the feeling no one likes you? i mean, how could it possibly be that not one person you associate with in fact likes you? i mean personally, i don't care who likes me and who doesn't, this isn't a high school blog entry discussing how bad i feel about myself because no one likes me. honestly, i don't give a fuck that you don't like me. this is strictly about people who say one thing and act another way.

i know for a fact and because of my own experiences that there is no one person that i like every single day, and i'm no exemption. i sometimes don't like me either, but that's just day-to-day kinda liking and disliking. 

i suppose an example might help. i work with some people that say they don't like other people but yet hang out with them during work on a regular basis. now, does this mean they don't like them, don't like me, or just don't like being alone? (man, i really wish i could read people's minds, my life would be so much easier). 

i get invited to things, plenty of social activities, but i wonder am i being invited because of who i associate with or because i am wanted? if it's the first, then by all means, PLEASE save me and you the trouble and do not extend an invitation. 

i often feel used by a few "friends", as though i am only go for when they don't have a ride, or anyone else to hang out with. that kinda shit i don't like. just make a decision, because most of the time i can almost immediately decide what level of friend you are to me. 

• level 1 friend: divulging everything, have most likely shared a bed at some point, i have cried a lot with you, you have met my family, considered family, there through thick and thin. 
• level 2 friend: trusted with a lot of information, have not yet shared a bed/sleeping space because the circumstances have never called for it, however, overnights might have occurred, met the family in 1-2 occasions, can call on this friend for a good time, or when in dire straits.  
• level 3: friendly, hang out on occasion or often, everything is superficial in conversation, nothing to terribly deep, but you can call on this friend in dire straits. 
• level 4: friendly, idle chit-chat, smiles, hello's, perhaps co-workers, or friends of friends. i do not have your number or address. 
• level 5: acquaintances. 
• level 6: i barely remember your name. i would say- we are not friends at all. 

i'm sure i could give more in depth description of each level but you get the idea. so the friend thing is directly related to the liking and not liking thing. if i don't like you, you might be a level 5 or 6 or not on any level at all, i don't pay you any mind really. if you don't like i am hoping that it is the same. if you are a level 3 or higher, i don't think about you liking me vs. not liking me, because it is a basic assumption you do because of the level you are on. that's when it gets tricky. people on these levels act funny, which makes me reevaluate your level and your level of liking me. 

here's the basic thing of all. if we were once friends and now we aren't, i just stop talking to you, or something had to have happened for our friendship to no longer be. if i make an effort, and so do you, then obviously we are friends. if i tell you i don't like you, we aren't friends, figure it out. 

it's the wishy-washy friends i have that piss me off. one week i'm invited to a ton of events, life events, parties, etc, and then another week you barely say hello to me. make a fucking decision and just let me know until then leave me alone. 

do you ever get that feeling that no one likes you? 

thankful thanksgiving

yes, i am thankful for everything i have every day. i mean my alarm in the morning rings & says, "it's a beautiful day and it's great to be alive"; the saying was a camp must have from when i went to camp for a total of 3 weeks over 2 summers. every morning it was mandatory to say it after being woken up by the counselor, otherwise you were told to do at least 50 push-ups, so you bet your sweet ass i said it at 5:45 am.

i hate thanksgiving. the holiday that is. it's dumb. wasteful and seems like a lazy holiday. oh sure, my uncles and cousin-in-law like it; what do they do all day but eat and watch football- well except for *bill, my cousins husband, he helps, but still. this year was particularly aggravating.

every year RB and i split thanksgiving. we go to his aunt's house for a few hours before heading to dinner at my aunt's house. why don't we switch each year--- RB doesn't want to. (not-so-secretly, i'm happy to oblige). the split isn't really an issue and works fine, why we can't just have dinner with our respective families at some point before the holiday is beyond me, but it is what it is. i don't like turkey so i could give a shit about that fucking turkey. i can't stress this enough. "WHAT!? You don't like turkey?!" no, i don't. i don't like gravy, or cranberry sauce either. i am always so grateful that my aunt makes eggplant rollatini and so many vegetables you'd think looking at my plate i were vegetarian, so needless to say having me eat other than my aunts would leave me to starve because on top of all that i am pretty particular on how my vegetables are cooked and presented to me. (this food preference is a whole other blog we can address later).

aside from the food, the traveling to 2 different houses, and the lack of the male assistance, thanksgiving would be fine except in the case of this year. for the first time in my 31 years of life, i spent thanksgiving without my mom and dad. i know, how did I survive?! mom was really sick, which wouldn't be the first time one of us was sick for a holiday, but she was so sick that my dad was afraid to leave her alone in the house and come out for dinner. i had to bring food to my parent's house for my dad to eat as well as pick up an apple pie my mom made the night before for dessert. that was fun.

my dad texts me and says: don't ring the bell. bring your key.

easy-peezy-lemon-squeezy. except for when he bolts the door closed and your key is useless and have to knock on a wrought iron door making the knock reverberate throughout the entire house. dad opens the door seemingly angry for my knocking to which i reply- if you left the door unbolted this wouldn't have happened. dad then shushes me as if i were yelling at a baseball game, and then plops himself in front on the tv, assuming his original position. i must repeat he shushed me, then proceeded to put the tv back on blast! oh dad, you're cute.

i started to make an attempt at going up to my moms bedroom before my dad sent the "you do and your dead" stare while my failed attempt to book it upstairs began at back of my head, that it burned the image into the back of my eyeballs. i refrained thinking dad doesn't got this "taking care of mom" thing covered. little did i remember from my years of living home, or even living with my dad, is this. my dad is great at pretending he's taking care of you. you see, he leaves you alone. you could be dying, choking on your own saliva, lying in your own feces, smashed your head on the toilet after passing out from throwing up so much, he wouldn't have a clue. he puts the tv and assumes you're just resting. he's sweet and means well, but he also can't hear you while he's down stairs, so if you are calling for him for something, there's no way he hears you and since he doesn't want to "disturb you" he won't walk upstairs to check. my poor mom. i finish my errand and head back to my aunt's house.

my grandparents were leaving because it was 6 pm, almost bedtime, and dark. i told her repeatedly, "grandma, when you call to check on mommy, DO NOT CALL THE HOUSE PHONE!" okay, okay, she tells me and even repeats my request. this was important because the relationship my dad has with his mother is an interesting one, and he would totally rip her a new asshole had she disturbed his poor, sick wife, more so than he would have ripped me. sure as shit, the little nana of mine calls the house. man-o-man, her saving grace was she told my dad that she was sorry, she was such a shithead and that i told her NOT to call and she did anyway.

all in all, mom's fine. grandma is annoying and old, dinner was delicious as usual, and we were exhausted. no one waited till my aunt, cousin and i sat down before they started eating in gluttonous fashion, and no one said grace. that's what got me the most. we literally as a family say grace a few times a year, and now you all can't even wait for us to be in the room and say thanks on thanksgiving? stupid thanksgiving.

i think i get so annoyed because it's a holiday that just happens, and no one is truly grateful for anything. they all wonder when they are going to get their next thing or complete the next year. it's all so hurried and rushed.

i know i could have written something short and sweet, and slightly more entertaining about thanksgiving, but that wouldn't be my style.

the woes of me.

i really wish i was more entertaining than i actually am. i mean, i used to think i was pretty entertaining/amusing but now, i look back at my blogs and think- "what an asshole." i certainly don't write to complain, but sometimes i feel like that is what's happening. i also feel as though i think my stories are hilarious and in reality they aren't. not to mention, that the funniest things to me are simple, and small and i appreciate them all but never seem to get them down on this here blog. the woes of me.

it's sad to me that at 31 i am still looking for some kinda of approval from friends and outsiders that what i am in fact doing amuses them in some way. pathetic.

anyway- a few things have crossed my mind recently to "blog" about but i have yet again either forgotten, or have yet to put them down. needless to say, i'm wicked lazy.

RB and i recently went to get our mortgage in order for our fancy 2 bedroom apartment. we have, what seems like forever, to wait for everything to kinda work out, but i know inevitably it will. about a month ago i told suggested to RB that he call our landlord and plant the seed of living month to month for the beginning of next year and not renewing our yearly lease. my suggestion was ignored, brushed off as though it was silly of me to suggest such a superfluous thing. here we are almost december and our lease is up on the 17th. after mentioning that suggestion again RB tells me, "why didn't you suggest that sooner?" really?! god love him, because sometimes i want to put my fist through his face. i calmly said that i did suggest it about a month or so ago and you, good sir, simply dismissed me.

--- I know what you are all thinking, if i thought it was a good idea, why didn't i just do it myself? well, for one, it's not my job to do those things in our marriage <ha, ha>, two, my job doesn't allow me time to generally make phone calls or randomly send emails throughout the day, especially if it's not on my mind or work to do list, third, when it comes to things like this i usually defer to RB thinking his way is better.---

RB emailed our landlord asking that we live month to month and today we have received a reply email. it states that they no longer do month-to-month leases but we can do 6 months. <insert that sound that goes off when you have lost on a game show or bid to high on the showcase showdown> in reality we would only need (hopefully) 3-4 months. now you ask, why not go for the 6, because money doesn't grow on trees. how am i paying a mortgage, maintenance and rent for 6 months? am i suddenly becoming independently wealthy? because if thats happening, i want to go on plenty of vacations instead.

shrug it off, some might say. move home for a few months! thats a brilliant idea. however, i will be living with my parents (and i will do it happily!!) while , RB would move in with my MIL and either kill her, or himself. he can't live with my parents being that Bene the dog resides there and he is allergic to him. Guess we'll live apart. i'm not going to shy or not admit this, but i couldn't be more excited if that is really what will happen! i mean, sure, i'd miss RB and sleeping with my husband, waking up and being lazy in my own house in my own space with my own husband, however, i really love being home, and love my parents and would just love to be home for the holidays!! (i'm getting giddy just thinking about it).

many friends of mine when i was younger couldn't wait to move out of the families house, get their own space, etc. NOT ME! i was more than content on staying there forever if i could. i'm pretty sure that if RB wasn't allergic to the dog, we might have lived at my parents house for a little while after being married, and now we wouldn't think twice about it for all intensive purposes. alas, that wasn't the case.

i'm concerned now that RB will refuse to move home, and make us pay the 6 months rent, while waiting our new place, but i have to say that i really don't want to. I think it's a complete waste of money and it's silly. of course you could argue that this whole new apt thing could fall through and we would be homeless. that would suck on a whole other level. for now, i'm dreaming about being a young adult again, and dating my husband while living with my parents. it all sounds so magical.

i only feel a little bad...

when i was about 15 years old i had decided that when i was 18 years old i would get a tattoo. i thought long and hard about what i was going to get permanently placed on my body and would only do it once maximum twice. the first week i was at college i went with friends to get my thoughtful first tattoo. of course being 18 i still kinda got something silly, but nothing off a wall. it was an Asian character that read "free spirit". it worked well for me, and it helped me pay tribute to my recently deceased friend, jason, who was hit by a mack truck and died a few days later after being declared brain dead. that was it, i was done. well, until i got the itch a few months later.

they say once you get one tattoo, you never really stop. i believe this holds true for people who really put thought into their artwork and the meaning behind it.

august came just before starting sophomore year and again after thinking long and hard, i decided on my second and "final" piece of ink. when i was 13, my dad, my forever valentine, gave me a stuffed frog. it also commemorated the fact that i survived my first year away from home and completing that first year of college. so, yup, that's what i got. a frog.

i went a while before getting the itch again. after graduating in 4 years, surprising all of my family who assumed i would have transferred and moved home due to the crushing home sickness i felt after the first year, and getting a job plus getting into grad school, i put some more thought into what would be my next and "last" tattoo. i got a beautifully done horseshoe for luck in the next step of my adult life.

years continued to fly by, and the itch grew stronger and stronger. i had thought of 2 more tattoos to get and decided that once i got those i would be officially done. while all this thinking was happening, life was going by, and big things, little moments, everything was happening. my parents are not fans of tattoos, and they knew i had at least one and mom had asked if that could be it. i told her it would be. of course that was before the horseshoe- oops! oh well. anyway, my 4th tattoo actually was a cover-up. i covered up my first tattoo ever. after 11 years of gaining weight, losing weight, and working out, that original symbol wasn't looking good, not at all. it looked nothing like it used to and to be perfectly honest it never really looked good, it wasn't done very well. the cover-up i used is/was an elephant. my grandma loved elephants and i had thought long and hard of what to get, so that was it. an elephant silhouette. a cover-up. almost done.

can't even tell where the original one is.

i had been through a lot at this point and again decided that a hummingbird would come next. i had an artist friend of mine draw it out and brought it to an amazing tattoo artist who was recommended by another friend. of course while finalizing the plan for the hummingbird, it hits me. another tattoo idea. fine, fine i tell myself, it'll be small. i asked my mom for hand written letters by my grandmother, and she asks what for. i tell her i want to get a small tattoo of the word "faith" in grandma's handwriting. as my mom is telling me how stupid i am to get another tattoo, she is also looking for the letters. thanks mom. you make me feel only a little bad about doing it. i chose faith because my mom constantly reminds me to have faith regardless of what i am doing and what is happening around me. to have faith that "it" will all work out and be the way it was meant to be, to have faith in myself and my abilities as well as my ability to choose right from wrong and lastly, to know that someone out there is helping me out when i need it. my amazing artist did the best she could with the letters. she was able to recreate every letter to a "t" except for the lower case "f" we fixed that together from my memory. i love this tattoo and it is beautifully done. it took about a minute and a half to get done and felt like a tickle.

a few months after the "faith" was completed, i went back to have the hummingbird completed. i had to find an alternate placement for her. i forgot to mention earlier that all the previous tattoos, (except "faith"), are on my lower back, hidden from public view on a daily/regular basis. i wanted the hummingbird larger, but again, not in public view. i decided on my ribs. it only hurt a little and took about an hour. my amazing artist doesn't do color, but liked me and my ideas so much, she agreed to add just a little bit of color. with RB's help, some awesome details were put in.

that's it. i'm done! i don't regret any of my tattoos, not even the first one. i do however, feel a little bad that i "defaced" my body, as my mom would say. i feel a little bad because growing up all i heard from my mom was how hard she worked on creating me, keeping me healthy, and how she didn't drink coffee for 9 months. she would tell me that she felt guilty that i got my dad's genetics for eyesight because we both wore glasses, or that she didn't work hard enough on my self-esteem because she wasn't positive enough about her own body image in front me as a young impressionable girl. so, yeah, i felt kinda bad that i voluntarily "defaced" and "ruined" her hard work.

that guilt lasted about a year...

mom: "you think i don't know that you have a bunch of tattoos?"
me: "i never said that. i just don't feel the need to announce or have them in public view."
mom: "well, i know. there's no point in thinking otherwise."
me: "i don't think i'm done. i think i'm going to get daddy's handwriting, you know from a card, of 'love daddy' tattooed somewhere, maybe my hip or something."
mom: <gasp> "daddy's handwriting is so ugly. i can't believe you, you have all these tattoos and you don't even think about getting 'lil' girl'!?"

my mom has been calling me, and writing notes to me addressing them as "lil' girl" for as long as i can remember, so it would make sense that she would suggest it. oh wait a minute, NO IT DOESN'T! my mom is now suggesting ink ideas?!

next step. get it done. and i did. i don't know if she's seen it yet. dad has. he has no comment other than "what's that?" to which i respond, "what's, what?" all in all, i only feel a little bad that i have "defaced" her hard work 7 times.  i just wonder where my next one will be.

when you're fortunate and you know it clap your hands.

it has taken me a long time to become more grateful for the things i have, and even as i write this i am realizing that there are certainly times that i don't act as grateful as i should. i think this realization comes with age, and the lack of acting as though i am grateful at times is apart of being human.

when RB got sick the first time, i kept asking "why?", "why me? why us? why now?" after he got sick for the second time, and we went through everything we went through, i started becoming a more grateful, happier, thankful, 'it happens for a reason', 'it'll work out', kinda person, silver-linings and shit. even the negative people in or life have helped to teach me to be more grateful for what i have and what i have been through, because i know things aren't as bad as they all perceive them to be. it could and has always be worse.

last weekend i sat in hour and a half traffic to drive 4.5 miles. i almost peed myself- which wouldn't be the first time- in my new car, while sitting in this traffic. i was praying that i would make it home to use the bathroom. luckily, i did. i mention all this because on monday, NYC and the east coast was hit with hurricane Sandy. she destroyed neighborhoods, shore lines, some of my favorite places. i wish my vocabulary was larger so that i could possibly explain to you what when on here from sunday to tuesday. it's totally one of those things that you need to experience for yourself to understand and truly comprehend.

i've been home since monday, waiting for schools to reopen, the subways to be de-flooded and cleaned up, and electricity to be fixed. some friends lost everything, some people i know lost friends. the photo's of what happened here are pretty incredible and so surreal. my family, are safe and sound. i mean, my cousins both lost electricity, but otherwise everyone, safe and sound. completely lucky. absolutely fortunate.

it's like a war zone in some areas. nothing is normal. nothing. trees down, super markets struggling to be filled again, lights out, roads closed, people homeless, the list goes on. the latest development is the lack of gasoline. people are rioting, and waiting on gas lines, similar to how my parents described the 70's. i believe everything will be fine, and eventually everything will go back to being the status quo, just not the same.

after all of this, i find that people are still complaining, about having to go to work, about the weather, about whatever they normally complain about. it's frustrating to me after everything that has happened and continues to happen that people can still feel ungrateful for anything.

if the worst thing that happens to me this week is that i almost peed myself in my new car while sitting in traffic for an hour and a half, and only having to go to work one day this week, i'm pretty sure i am one of the lucky ones. in addition, i was surprised when some friends extended their concern and have shown more care than anticipated towards me, my family and my city. i couldn't be more grateful.

i'm definitely fortunate, and i know it, so i'm clapping my hands and feet.

a funny thing happened on the way to the bus.

M & M are identical twin second grade boys. during busing we hear the following:

m1: "stop! no! don't say that! stop! leave me alone!"
m2: mumbled words

JD, while separating the twin boys: "what's the problem? what's going on?"

m1: "he's calling me ugly!!"

HA <an uproar of laughter>!! 3 staff members, including myself and JD, begin hysterical laughing because we cannot make these things up!

more grown up things

eek. should i be worried? i mean, we placed a bid on an apt. and it was accepted and we are currently going through the motions of owning something! eek. adult-like things are happening fast.

i called my grandmother the other day, she's 83, i told her about the apt. the conversation went as so, according to my memory:

grandma: how many bedrooms?
me: two.
grandma: oh, baby's room.
me: guest bedroom.
grandma: <chuckle> baby's room.
me: guest room. <chuckle>
grandma: <in a almost whisper with a hint of sneaky-ness in her tone, paired with a maniacal laugh> baby's room.

my grandma, has never said anything to me, or my mom about us having kids, or when my mom was younger, her having a kid so its rather funny that she even said what she said to me. my mom and i think that she wants great-grandchildren before she dies. funny thing is - she's one of those that will most likely NEVER die.

when we told my MIL the conversation went as so, according to my memory:

RB: you can tell her.
MIL: tell me what?!! <eyes all perky and happy>
me: ok. MIL, we put in a bid on an apt and it was accepted, so i guess soon we will be "home owners".
MIL: <slightly deflated, and disappointed look on her face> oh. that's nice, congratulations.

later i told RB that my MIL must have been convinced we were going to tell her i was pregnant. ha ha- sucker!

we will not be moving in until all the work it done. oh wait! the best part, the apt is kinda out of date- well really out of date. so, we will be gutting and renovating the entire apt. new everything, down to the walls and ceiling. kinda fun, kinda scary, but simply the only thing i'm kinda excited about. that, and having my friends have a place to sleep when they come visit, and have other friends and family over.

growing up ain't looking to shabby as of now. we'll see how this whole thing goes... and those of you i know and love- you're more than welcome to come stay in our new GUEST ROOM coming march 2013!! (maybe i'll throw myself a birthday party ;-) )

no workout makes for a lousy mood

unbelievable. after months of getting on track and improving my workouts and trying to learn how to run, i hurt my knee. here we are week 3 of no running, just constant stretching. I'm getting cabin fucking fever. i couldn't get a doctors appointment to see an ortho guy till next friday morning. i see these girls running out on the street and it makes me sick. i haven't gained weight, i mean my clothes don't fit quite right but i feel weak, and lazy. everything about a knee injury truly sucks because even when i try to do some pilates, it hurts for the next three days.

i registered for a run in november and i am optimistically hoping that i'll be able to do it. on top of all that, i'm so tired, and in such a crap mood. not always, but generally i'm just in a funk. i don't like being in a funk, and i suppose i can try to control it, but i'd rather just let the funk make its way out of my system. i know it'll pass, it's just because i can't workout the way i want to. even my headaches have been coming back with a vengeance and i really believe it's all because of the lack of working out. alas, i'm just waiting till i see a doctor and hope that it's an easy fix- i'm trying my best to not let the natural pessimist work its way through my psyche and stay positive about everything but i'm being a little anxious. we shall see what happens after october 12th.

i never thought i'd be upset that i couldn't work out- but i guess it was bound to happen at some point. at the very least, i know what to do when i can workout again. here's hoping.

the idea is growing on me

there is so much that has come into my brain since reading past posts on http://www.growingupmaine.blogspot.com i should start slow though and begin with what was on my mind.

i have, for years, had issues with aspects of being a grown-up. one aspect that has always been atop of the list, babies. the other, a "house" or something owned. if it were up to RB we would have had something owned, and at least 1 kid and another on the way by the time our first anniversary came 'round. i thank god everyday that it's not up to him! :-) i know i have mentioned this before, numerous times, but our first 2 years of marriage were far from pleasant. if we owned something, i would have had to have someone else help pay our mortgage, because whatever you think about living off one salary, that of a NYC teachers salary isn't enough. dealing with a depressed, sick husband with a kid or 2 most certainty would not have been fun, or easy. there is no doubt in my mind that i wouldn't have survived. what i really mean to say is that i would have lived,  but i can say with almost 100% certainty my marriage would have not. again, i thank god everyday that it's not ALL up to RB.

for a long while i have laughed off the suggestions that we should have a baby. "when are you going to have a baby?" is one of those most irritating and ridiculous questions i think you can ask anyone, especially me. one, it's not any of your business, b) i'm not a fortune teller, i can't see the future, 3. i don't know that i want to be a mom, 4. i don't know, i haven't tried! what i want to know is where is the law that states at a certain age, and certain amount of years married you need to get on that? anyway, i am seriously loosing focus. i've warmed up to the idea of being a mom. i really owe a lot of it to three things, 1. therapy- everyone should go to therapy even if you think you shouldn't at some point in your life, not forever, but it's a healthy place, 2. my best friends & their kids- i love them, truly with my whole heart, i couldn't imagine life without them or their wonderfully magical kids, when E, LV and BDS look at me, call my name or respond to me in such a loving way, it melts my cold heart and makes me want one of my own- don't tell RB. lastly and most importantly, RB's health- he has been taking such good care of himself, there's still room for improvement, like anything else, but he has become so much more meticulous about it and he makes me proud.

something owned... this has been an internal battle for me for years. on the one hand i completely understand the "good idea" it is for us/me own something, however, the freedom to move whenever, and not have to fix "it" ourselves, the lack of responsibility seems absolutely dreamy to me. unfortunately, we have outgrown this place, its small and when friends come we stay at my mom's house. it seems silly to NOT buy something and just move to a bigger apartment. we've been looking on and off for YEARS. we've looked at everything IMAGINABLE. co-ops, condos, beach houses, cottages, houses, tudors.

I had decided that if i was going to invest in something that i wasn't sure i was ready for it better be spacious. unfortunately, we live in NYC. to buy a house in NYC you must have a lot of money to spend up front- houses are expensive, taxes are cheap, however, in LI taxes are high but to buy the house it's fairly inexpensive. i looked and looked and tried to picture myself living in LI- if you don't know any LI people, lucky you. They are distinctly different from city people, very distinctly different. i have statistics that prove how much i don't like LI people. for every 5 i meet, i like and can stand 1. 20%. that's it, 20%. i became sure that i wouldn't fall into the 20% of people i liked from LI if i moved there. i know, i know, technically i'm from the city, but if i had a kid, that kid would be from LI- NOT GONNA HAPPEN. the only caveat to this plan was Long Beach, a section of LI that is an island all it's own, with it's own rules, and feel and it's on the beach, one of my most favorite places on the planet. RB wasn't into moving to LB, (i'm working on this as an eventual plan),  so i had to rethink how i was feeling about space.

live in area that isn't terrible but i can't picture living there but i can afford it, OR, do a city search and live in smaller quarters in a place i am very comfortable with? again, a city search becomes a problem, like i said, we can't really afford a house in the city in a neighborhood we would want to live, what i originally thought i didn't want, a 2 bedroom co-op/condo was now on the list.

so here we are. looking at 2 bedroom apartments, essentially. we have found a good alternative and have come to a conclusion. we have decided that we will put a bid on a 2 bedroom, 1 bath co-op in the same neighborhood in which we currently live. it is old, but cheap. it could potentially cost us as much as our current rent, with utilities, which actually makes it CHEAPER. the fun part and super scary part, it needs work. IT NEEDS WORK. it's livable, but OLD. the idea is to fix it to our taste, and lets face it, that's really my taste. I'm kinda excited and scared of course, but it'll be my space, my ideas, and it won't cost an arm and a leg. eventually, we could and will sell it and make a profit so that we can use it to buy a house in the city, a real life house, 3 bedrooms, 2 bath or a super fabulous beach house in LB.

so grown-up, i know. the amazing thing about my friends, my best friends, the ones i can't live without, is that they do grown-up things, and own houses and have kids, but they are far from grown-ups. shit, my parents have a kid, own a house and are far from grown-ups! i think that a few grown-up activities that are life changing may not be so bad. they probably won't make me that much more grown-up than i already am. i could probably use a little grown-up stuff here and there, nothing serious though. we'll start small, and buy an apartment, the idea is growing on me.

grown-up stuff

my cousin, who i often refer to as my younger sister unfortunately has crohn's disease. it's not a nice disease, it causes all these intestinal problems etc. it's a genetic disease. so, after visiting with my gastro doctor, a lovely petite asian woman, it was suggested that perhaps my severe IBS (irritable bowl syndrome- delicious), could be crohn's. the only way to tell... colonoscopy. i hope everyone knows that this type of procedure isn't normally done prior to age 50, unless of course, there's an issue. how lucky and happy was i when i found out i might have an issue and this was the solution at 31.

i scheduled my fabulous procedure for a date that i knew i'd be off from work, because as much as my principal is caring, i don't like having to explain to her why i need certain procedures, because she gets a little overly concerned. the directions specifically said, no corn, iron, high-fiber foods, green leafy vegetables at least 3 days prior to the procedure. day before procedure only clear liquids, no solid foods, or anything with red/purple dyes. then of course there's the "bowel prep kit"!! drink 6 ounces of this liquid "mr. plumber" at 5pm with 10 ounces of water, drink it within 1 hour at your own pace. then the next hour drink 32 ounces of water. repeat this process 6 hours prior to your procedure. my procedure was at 9:30 am so you can imagine my excitement ot get up at 3 am and do this task all over again.

well, i followed these directions to a "T" and i was so hungry. i thought that it wouldn't be so bad, but the more food i realized i couldn't eat, the more lime jell-o i ate. i don't think i could have lime jell-o for a long time. of course the liquid "bowel prep kit" was another issue. it smelled like cough syrup, which isn't anything i mind, but the taste! oh goodness THE TASTE!!, is completely indescribable. i choked that shit down as fast as humanly possibly concentrating on not bringing it back up. I went to the bathroom every 5-10 minutes for the next 2 hours. I swore i lost 10 lbs, but i didn't. the first round of drinking the 48 ounces of water and prep kit, my belly looked like i was 6 months pregnant it was so full of liquid, and it hurt. the act of running to the bathroom was annoying for the next few hours but the act wasn't terrible.

waking up at 2, because i knew what i was in store for i pushed it an hour, was a bit of a struggle. i drank that shit again in 15 minutes, the next 32 ounces in 15 minutes and watched some Seinfeld from 2-3am. Thank goodness for something good to watch. bath rooming was not as frequent or necessary.

after arriving at the office at 9:15 for my procedure, my blood pressure was taken, 106/60, weight taken, and prepped. i was knocked out, because when you think about what a colonoscopy is there AIN'T NO WAY you can do this awake. i woke up, asked for RB and waited to go see the doctor with results. i felt no pain, my blood pressure was even lower than before something like 98/60, to which i informed the nurse i usually have a really low bp. we went in and saw my petite asian doctor, i told her usually i prefer dinner and drinks before anyone sees my ass to which she chuckled and agreed and told me that i was free of crohn's. i have nothing extremely serious wrong with me, just some severe IBS.

i'm sure you are all wondering why did i tell you this story. the reasons are simple; i OFFICIALLY feel like an adult. this kind of doctors appointment and procedure makes you a sure-fire adult. i wanted to tell you that it's not that bad. it sounds unpleasant and i don't recommend it before you need it, but it's not that bad, plus, i find the humor in the seriousness of having procedures so young, they make me prepared for anything later on. it's the same way i feel about RB being so sick years ago, or when we lost his dad and his grandfather a few months apart after being married a month. it's not funny ha ha, but funny odd, and i feel prepared for anything because of all of it.

next adult things on the horizon- a possible home/co-op purchase and maybe a kid... we'll see. i doubt though that i'll ever really be a grown-up, regardless of my experiences.

k-2 summer school

when i started my teaching career, almost 10 years ago, i started out teaching high school leveled special education students, 14-21 years old. I taught math mostly, some years science and some years art and english. during summer school i taught high school, middle school, 2-3 grade, autistic, emotionally disturbed, and physically handicapped students. after 6 years of teaching high school i switched to elementary school. i currently teach 5/6 grade emotionally behaviorally disturbed. what that means to you is pretty much nothing, my group of students have severe emotional, behavioral and social issues, they are great! i mean that sarcastically and slightly literally. I was switched to the librarians position for the month of june because the librarian needed surgery, and it was easier to have my class get split up and me cover than pay for a sub.

i like my job, i mean if i have to work this is kinda what i'd prefer to do. anyway, like i said i work summer school, for the past few years i've had my own class during summer which totally sucks, because the enjoyable part about working summer school is a new group of kids, new problems, new place to work, but now getting stuck with your own class is like 12 months of torture. 

this summer was different. i was placed in the k-2 class emotionally disturbed class. i was scared as usual to do something new and different but i had 2 amazing paraprofessionals, and the kids although nuts sometimes were fun! so refreshing, so much fun, i actually felt like i was doing something... sometimes.we read a lot of stories, did plenty of science experiments and learned about potential and kinetic energy. we went to the playground, and park, we went for walks, and played games.  i'm not saying that i want the younger kids all i'm saying was that it was fun, and i was glad to have the opportunity to do something different. keeps me fresh, i told my principal that i must be a shirt that says one-size-fits-all because she keeps putting me in any old position she has.

I have to say with it being september 1, i am not looking forward AT ALL to going back to work. I like my days off to work out and go to the beach and not deal with fake people or crazy kids. hopefully, this year will be as much fun as this summer, with older kids. heres hoping.

everything's not lost

my 10th annual summer visit to Maine, was better than it has been, (no offense to those i see or love seeing). the weather was great, not perfect, i ran 3 times including race day, i slept fairly well considering there was a 2 year old running around every morning, i relaxed, i ate A LOT, and i laughed  A LOT too. 

aside from playing games, which led to uncontrollable fits of laughter, seeing old friends that i hardly get to see, eating a ton of food i shouldn't, and running, thats right i said running the race, not finishing last, feeling pretty good going a little over 12-minute miles, i saw my two best friends in the entire world, their kids, and their husbands. 

Jan and June are the best friends i always wanted. they are all i've ever really needed. i think everyone has a best friend, but i'm lucky to have two. it works out best for us really because we keep each other grounded, stable, "normal" in an abnormal way. it's difficult to explain if you don't have two amazing people in your life. they are smart, funny and amazing women and mothers. i got to spend some quality time with not only them, but also their 3 amazing kids between the two of them. i was only slightly harassed for not having any kids myself, but i laughed and didn't let it bother me like it would if it were anyone else because i know where it is coming from. i enjoyed almost every minute of my time with them, the only time i didn't enjoy was saying see you next time. it is truly the only time where we three pretend we live in the same town and maybe thats how it should be because if we actually did live closer, we might not see each other as much in a quality sort of way. our lives get busy, and i believe being far apart helps us to stay close together. love you sleeves. 

when you drive into the state of Maine you read nothing but the following mottos "Vacationland" and "Maine: The way life should be" and it was exactly that. 

i won't get lost this time

one week from today i will be done with summer school for this year and heading up for my annual 5 day getaway to Maine to visit my Maine family. the 5 days that, to quote June, "June, Jan and I pretend we live within driving distance of one another". as usual all the wonderful things Maine has to offer will be done, including a much needed nap on the hammock, lobster, beach time and vegan approved dinner with *katie and *meg, along with some outlet shopping. even RB is making the trip!

last year, i was wogging, and signed up for that Maine Summerfest 5K that i looked at as a workout, and if you look back, you'll remember i got lost and turned it into a 6K. i'll be doing that damned "race" again and i will NOT get lost. i started wogging back in March, and I was feeling really strong and figured that i would get better and better. then, i got sick, repeatedly. wogging, and even working out wasn't happening. we went to europe and i had decided when we returned i would turn my wogging into a real run- wogging = a walk/jog. unfortunately, i got so sick, that i could barely eat when we returned, as you might remember. i lost 6 lbs on vacation, 2-3 more once i got home, which eventually turned into a total loss of 12 lbs in 6 weeks. i'm not complaining AT all about the weight loss, it feels great too be lighter, however, i am super flabby, and nothing fit.

when the end of may hit, and i was finally feeling well enough to "train" again, you guessed it, i got sick, and to top it off, the meds that i was ordered to take, for 15 days, clearly states "no exercise". even my doctor said, "no exercise" no strenuous activity while your on the meds and 5 days after. 20 days?! really!?

finally, july came and i was all set, 12lbs lighter, ready to "run". i began doing pilates again 3 times a week and wogging at least 3 times a week. i am seriously so slow. it hurts to wog, but i try, tight hips and all. there's no possible way i will keep up with Jan and June who are runners, regardless of what Jan says/thinks. i know i will NOT get lost this time, and i sure as shit better go at least 40 minutes. i've been averaging 12-13 minute miles these last few weeks, but you never know once i get on the road. god help me, Jan's gonna kick my fucking ass.

the night i decided to drive

my mother-in-law or i like to refer to her as... no, no i'll be nothing but pleasant when it comes to my MIL, although... anyway, my MIL was kind and generous enough to lend me her lesbian looking subaru. i have nothing against lesbians, i enjoy lesbians, however, i look like a total lesbian in this particular vehicle. it also has hardly any pick-up, however it has a killer sunroof! i digress. rb and i went to visit some friends this past weekend, and usually rb would drive but i offered to drive with the contingent plan that if i were to intoxicated to drive home, he could drive his mother's car home. this time it wasn't the case. i enjoyed a small glass of white wine whereas rb indulged in slightly more than that. 

rb almost never drinks. he often is afraid of being an angry drunk- never angry or violent with me, but rb has a slight filter as it is, when alcohol is introduced the filter disintegrates and everyone is fair game. he will remember almost everything, however, he will have a hard time controlling what he is saying as he is saying it and in what volume he is saying it. i absolutely love it! 

rb and our friend john first had some bourbon, than moved onto the Johnny Walker Gold Label and finished off the bottle. both john and rb were wasted face, as i love to say. john we are used to consuming large quantities of alcohol whereas both john and dana his wife, and a long time friend of mine, have never and i mean never seen his like this. 

rb was signing and slurring most of his words. at one point he said, "i'm worried i'm going to get angry drunk." i responded with, "if you get angry drunk, i will punch you sqaure in the face." rb replied, "oh, you think you can punch me, but, i am kung foo serious!" the three of us laughed, and in reality i knew what the dag-on-fool was trying to say but it was hilarious to see someone who is "so put together" fall apart. after a few hours of his ranting and versions of "call me maybe" that i so totally wish i caputured on video, we ordered a pizza. he scoffed down some pizza, spilled his scotch on dana's couch, watched some olympics with one eye closed because he was convinced that that would help him from seeing triple and left around 11:30 to head home. 

the entire ride home was priceless. "oh rapunzel, i'm so drunk! did you know i was this drunk?" "its good that i'm not driving, i couldn't drive, people might die." etc. all this was said with a slurred sort of speech impediment, and a giggle. we get home, i put rb to bed, take off his glasses, give him tylenol, water and say goodnight. again, i get a mumbled mess of an "i love you" and "i'm really drunk, but not as drunk as i was before" and he passes out without moving for 12 hours. 

i know none of this may sound all that funny or interesting to you, but if you knew rb at all, you would recognize the hilarity of this evening. i hope it happens again when we go to maine for our my 10th annual week in maine vacation. i want to share it with jan and june and their respective husbands, but it needs to happen naturally and apparently with bourbon and scotch! 

really?

this whole car thing is for the fucking birds. i was perfectly content with my vehicle and now after 21 days i am still driving around in a ridiculous rental car and wasting time. i'm so over being frustrated. i finally picked a damn car and guess what, we can't find it anywhere. it needs to be custom made. part of me thinks i should just give in and get a damn automatic, but part of me feels like if i have to get a new car, and i have to put all this money into a car, i should at the very least get what I want. the car shopping, the rental car, the waiting is making me completely aggravated.

i just know that this fucking 20-something fucked me. my plans are all in the air for the summer, i'm completely uncomfortable driving a rental, so i barely go anywhere. if it wouldn't make me so sweaty and gross i would just ride my bike to work. i realize that all of this might be ridiculous however, i didn't want or need a new car so this entire experience is annoying. i know that it's good to be ok, and alive, but 21 days, c'mon, i'm done.

someone seriously talk me down because i am almost ready to drive to the insignificant 20-somethings house and punch her in the face.

*i know totally overdramatic, but i can't help it these two days*

remove the sign

please remove the sign that apparently is on me or every vehicle i drive that say "HIT ME". when i graduated form college my parents helped me buy my very first car, my dream car, a punch buggy. i loved "nancy". she was a great little beetle. gray, 6-disc changer, tape-player, moonroof, she was fabulous. until one fateful night in NJ when i made a left turn and a guy going 55 mph in a 25 mph area smashed right into me. luckily i wasn't badly injured. my car was fixed in 3 months time and i was back in business, however, "nancy" was never the same again, so my uncle came home from work with "lucy" my volvo S40.

 i wasn't happy about it, but it was better than dealing with the issues that "nancy" had been providing me with. "lucy" was fast amazingly more roomy, and i loved her. being a volvo, i would have her and run her into the ground, i wouldn't trade her in. i debated a few times trading her in, just as a quick thought and it went away, i was happy with "lucy". last month, i was driving to the city for work, and a man made a left turn right into me... $4,500 in repairs to the front end of my car, his insurance paid for it, again, luckily i was ok, and i was so happy to have "lucy" back. i did again, debate trading her in, but i took that thought back and was happy to drive her back to the beach.

this past tuesday on my way to my last day of tutoring i was in stop and go traffic. i was stopped for a few minutes when a beautiful 20 something driving an acura SUV slammed into me so violently that rear-windshield shattered and flew into my front seat, my front seat back separated from the seat part, and my trunk was in my backseat. i have no idea what on earth she was doing. all i know is that my car was pronounced totaled out friday afternoon and i am left to go car shopping, one of the worst types of shopping there is. i'd rather go bathing suit shopping. yeah, i went to the hospital, yeah, i've got a bunch of bruises and i was feeling beat up and tired for a few days, and yeah, i'm ok, but my "lucy"! my unnatural love for inanimate objects kicked in, i was so sad, i began to cry. i cried when i went to the auto body shop to clean out my car, the poor guy must have thought i was insane.

now, i am left to worry that insurance may fuck me out of money towards a new car, i have to partly pay for a rental car, i have to shop for a new car instead of being on the beach, and i have to stretch and make sure that the pain i have in my neck and back isn't accident related. i've already had enough.

one day i fear someone is going to kill me. i'm always glad that thank goodness, i am alone in the car, but what if that sign isn't removed and i'm not alone. all i could say this last time when i was hit was "oh, fuck" it was quiet, but it was said.

i would like it very much so for the sign to be removed from my cars and people to please oh please, stop hitting me. i'm not fucking invisible.

what a day to be a dad.

my dad is working today. this blows. i mean, i am happy to hang out with my uncles however, fathers day, similar to mothers day, sucks as it is and now i don't even get to be with my own daddy. that's right i said daddy, because fuck you if you don't think that this man is not my fucking daddy, he was my daddy when i was 2, 10, 15, 25 and now 31, so fuck-off. sure when i talk to people i refer to him as "my dad" and when i talk to him i call him "daddy" majority of the time, same thing holds true for my mommy. my mom's dad died when she was 10, my dad's dad died when he was 28 and RB's dad died when he was 29, so, yeah, fuck off if you think i'm not going to call this man that i am lucky to have around still daddy. i digress...

father's day. another dumb holiday. forcing me to be places i don't want to be. i just want to be with my dad, like i need an excuse to be with him. this year fathers day has been combined with my aunt's birthday and my cousins daughters birthday. 3 birds, 1 stone. so, i guess it's safe to say that this father's day isn't really fathers day, its more like a family gathering with cake. so it works out, kinda.

my dad is very special to me, and that isn't to say that your dad isn't important or special to you. but growing up with both parents who lost both their fathers at a fairly young age i learned to cherish my dad early on. my dad has always been one of my favorite people and best friends. my dad has died once for a few minutes and been revived, he has broken his "damn-fool-neck" twice and lived to tell the tale, he has done at least 4 ironman triathlons, 3 half-ironman triathlons, and hundreds of other races. he's been a friend, an enemy, a supporter, and a protector. he's a hero, my hero, and i love him, more than i can ever conceive. RB not having his dad makes me love my dad even more. RB wants to spend father's day with his dad, but now that he can't, says he's so glad he gets to now spend it with my dad. my dad is a special man. you should love him, most people that know him do. but i don't need a day to love him more. i love him more and more every day i have my dad in this world with me.

happy father's day dad, and to all the daddy's, uncles, godfathers, cousins, friends, brothers, men, and women who take care of someone special in their life. thank you from me to you. i cherish you, all of you and i don't need a day... 

dave matthews band for the, what, 9th time?

i have gone to a bunch of dave matthews band concerts. i have seen dave alone, and with the band in a variety of venues, in a variety of cities. this week i saw DMB for the second time at jones beach in new york. the band put on another great show. dave rarely disappoints. the great thing about seeing a band like dave's is that they will usually do a great cover. the last few times i got the talking heads cover "burning down the house" which is amazing to say the least. i was waiting patiently for the cover when all of a sudden this jem started up. RB and i went nuts! we couldn't believe it. although dave didn't do any rapping, just the fact that the band played beastie boys, "brass monkey" was awesome.

the other part of this night is this. i took along family friends' 18 and 16 year old daughters. they are "huge" DMB fans and had never been to a DMB concert or a true concert for that matter. i was super excited. dave and the band played a very eclectic set and the girls, god love them, didn't know a lot of the songs, which meant to me that although they are fans, they must really only listen to a certain repertoire of songs. when brass monkey came on and RB and i went berserk for the change up in dave's setlist, i turned to the girls and began commenting on how lucky they were to be seeing a change in the setlist and also beastie boys cover, "brass monkey". the girls looked back and me and smiled, nodded and began bopping to the music. it was at that point they weren't true music fans because i turned back and said "you have no clue what song this is do you?", they replied, "sorry, no." i then asked, "do you even know who the beastie boys are?" the answer, no again.

seriously, this ISN'T an age thing. when i was their age i knew such a wide range of music and songs. this is simply a lack of musical variety. these girls are wonderful girls, sweet, good girls, but they are white bread, plain, simple and boring. there isn't anything wrong with white bread, i love white bread for bologna sandwiches, but it's plain, and simple. seriously girls, who are the beastie boys? really? the other thing they asked... "what is going to happen tonight?" what does that even mean? i didn't know how to answer at first. then i realized, they had never been to a real concert so i had to explain how there would be drinking, and singing and dancing, and wait basically...sex, drugs and rock & roll... it was weird. i was so different at their age. needless to say i had a great time as always,  and they enjoyed themselves despite their lack of musical knowledge. all in all it was a good night for everyone. maybe i inspired them to think outside their musical box into the deep abyss.

dead bunnies:

"rabbit, rabbit"

so, rabbit, rabbit is said on the first of every month for good fortune, and luck for the month. well, about 3 years ago i put up as my devil-facebook status, "rabbit, rabbit". well if only i knew what was about it ensue. my aunt and my cousin (who is my aunt's first cousin) began responding as follows, now please bare with me, it's the best i can do from memory...

Rapunzel: "rabbit, rabbit"
A-Mia: "Did it Die?"
Fran: "Yeah, did it?"
Rapunzel: "did what die? the rabbit?"
A-Mia: "Yeah, the rabbit. Did it die?"
Rapunzel: "I Don't know? do you want it too?"
Fran: "Yes!"
Rapunzel: "Why would it die?"
A-Mia: "If it dies than you're pregnant."
Rapunzel: "NO! It's still very much alive. What the hell are you talking about? why are rabbits dying, and that meaning your pregant??!?"

A-Mia: "A long time ago, they used to test to see if you were pregnant by injecting your blood into a rabbit and if it died, it meant that you were pregnant."

Fran: "So it didn't die?"

Rapunzel: "Nope, all rabbits, still very much alive here."
Fran: "Oh."

from then on it became, rabbit, rabbit, did it die? I'm curious to see if and when i ever do happen to become pregnant how clever i can be with this whole rabbit dying thing. so odd people were in the 60's with their random dead bunnies.

first for june...

here it is fucking june, and i'm sure all of you loyal readers have been missing me! ha. i can only imagine. well, let me tell you something, there is almost nothing to fucking report and i mean nothing. we have gone nowhere. we have looked at a few new house online, but have yet to actually set up appointments to visit them in person and that's mostly because it's summer time and i just want to do nothing in the summer but lay on the beach and work out. i have to say that RB's and i communication skills have improved 10-fold. (thank god) and we finally feel like we are getting somewhere with one another as a married couple. which is always good news.

i tell my unmarried friends all the time, don't be in such a fucking rush to get married. sure, there are some great perks to being married, but sometimes being married really sucks, and it's like having a whole-other job. it's not easy, it's not always fun and it's certainly not always the best time of your life. of course the same can hold true for being single, i suppose.

another friend and i often talk about how our married friends told us these tremendous lies when we were getting married years ago. we refer to them as the "rainbow and unicorn" lies. sure, my wedding was great, and fun, but the first 2 years of my marriage was really, really rough. some of my dearest friends might say that i had an abnormally rough 2 years, but nevertheless, i didn't help in making it better, and neither did some other people by feeling bad for me. all i'm saying is that being married isn't "rainbows and unicorns". don't rush something that isn't real, isn't there and/or isn't going to work out because you think it should. luckily enough, after 3+ years, RB and I figured our shit out, and this just might work... gotta tell you, in my heart of hearts, i always knew it would. he is my best friend after all and i always had faith.

"i vow to love you and no matter what challenges might carry us apart, we will always find a way back to each other."

nothing interesting at all.

i wish i had something interesting or funny to say but alas i do not. nothing particularly funny, or interesting has happened in the last few weeks. other than the overwhelming need people seem to have to tell me how gray my hair is and how i should be dying it. why is that i wonder? seriously. i am 31 years old, i am fully aware of the fact that i am going gray, and it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it seems to be bothering others. i'm most obsessed with weight than i am with hair color. 

gray is gray, it was genetically destined to happen. 

that all being said. i remembered something. i have decided this apartment is way to small. i have come to terms with the fact that after almost 4 years of our lovely 800 square foot apartment it's time for a larger space. its driving me nuts here. we would love very much so to continue to travel, which we will, but the walls of this place are closing in. in actuality, there's hardly anymore room in the closets and i'm starting to feel bad for my mom, (also tired of hearing her say get your crap out of her house) for having all my shit in her house and swapping summer and winter stuff every season. i've managed to maximize every ounce of space in this place without making it look like a shit hole, but i'm running low kids, real low... 

so, where should we go?

 ... fuck, who wants to pack... 

shit... i don't feel like looking for a place to live... 

can't somebody else do it for us?...

Mother's Day Cometh

"a mothers love for her child is like nothing else in the world. it knows no law, no pity, it dates all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path." 

agatha christie, "the last seance"

a day before mothers day. i usually get this answer from my own mother when I ask her what she wants to do to celebrate, "i don't care, i don't want to celebrate, my mother is dead, i don't have a mother." nice right. so pleasant. i end up responding, "well i do, so too bad." this year was different. when i called to tell her that things have changed due to an unforeseen family scheduling conflict and the planned brunch at our apartment wasn't going to happen, and i said, "mommy, what do you want to do?" i waited and hoped not to get the answer that longed made me upset, "i don't care, my mother is dead." i was pleasantly surprised to hear, "ooh, i don't know, i'll think about it. we'll make it low key, because i have a daughter to celebrate it with." ahhh, finally, i felt like she understood what i had been trying to say for years . 

just because i am not any ones mother, i am a godmother. you'd think my godchildren or their parents might take that into consideration- but they don't, it's ok, its better and easier for me. i'm sure though that if the tables were turned they would be annoyed that my kids were not respecting the fact that they were their godmothers, but it's not that serious and i'm not willing to put that much stock into it. 

mothers day is a silly holiday anyway. i don't need a holiday to be grateful for my mother, or her love, or her teachings. for that matter, i don't need mother's day to appreciate any of the mother's i know and all they do. besides, as a person who isn't a mother, it does nothing but cause stress on me. it reminds my mother that she doesn't have her own mother. it forces her to spend time with people that she may or may not want to spend time with. like i need an excuse to tell my mom she's awesome or my aunt or my cousins. 

mothers day to me, is a way to make shitty mother's feel better about themselves. a day to make husbands buy crap for their wives, and daughter-in-laws kiss their mother-in-laws asses. mother's day makes me feel bad for my mother that she doesn't have a mother, it makes me sad that i don't have my grandmother. on one hand it makes me real happy that i have my own mother. on the other hand it makes me annoyed that i have to spend it with anyone else's mother.  

happy mother's day to all you wonderful women out there, whether you're a mother, godmother, sister, cousin, aunt, step-mother, lady of the house, daughter-in-law, wife, daughter, or simply just a friend. enjoy your special day with a special woman. 

first there was Vegas...

told you i was going places... first we went to Vegas for a friend's 30th birthday. it was a good time, just 2 1/2 days of laughing, gambling, some good eating, nice warm weather, and oh a day in bed with 100+ fever, headache, stomach because i got some horrible virus from the plane that afforded me the opportunity to lay in bed for an entire day by myself while my friends and husband enjoy Vegas for what it has to offer. i told them all to go, i mean it was a party and what good does it serve having people watch me sleep. i went to dinner for my friends birthday that night and went right back up to bed. luckily, the next day, as slow moving as i was, i felt better and was able to enjoy one day of Vegas.

then of course there was the weekend i was supposed to see Jan and June that i told you about. karma just coming back to get me for being a nasty human being. it actually came at a good time, a week before our first trip EVER to Europe.

here we are... up to date... Europe. 2 days prior to leaving for Amsterdam, Paris and London, a vacation planned for months, a vacation that hasn't been had in almost 2 years because 2 years ago RB was ill and out of work blah, blah, blah maybe one day you'll want to hear that sob story maybe not, a vacation a traveling expedition because all i can definitively say that i want in this life to do is travel. (as i am sure you are gathering, things didn't go as smoothly as planned, because god laughs at those who make plans). so 2 days before leaving i need a script because i  get an ear infection, loose my voice and have an awesome cough. fine, so be it, it is what it is.

we arrive in Amsterdam, Holland and the weather is nice the first day, kinda gloomy the next few days and chilly. Amsterdam is a lovely city, but in my opinion you don't need a super long time in the city, it's pretty small. i'm still feeling that total shit, but i'm doing my best to ignore it, take my meds, and watch what i eat. people are kinda rude, RB is finding the map reading annoying and i'm getting bored ready for Paris, personally my main attraction. in reality, i've always wanted to go to the south of France, but RB has been kinda anti-France so as a compromise we went to Paris.

yippie, the day has arrived, we board a train headed for Paris and i'm feeling sluggish, sleepy, nauseous. I just want so badly for some sunny weather and of course to feel better, but i am convinced it's just being in Amsterdam. We arrive in Paris and a man takes our bags speaking French and i'm please with my understanding as well as my ability to tell him in french that we don't speak french can he please try English. Get to the hotel, still pouring rain, cold gloomy rain, nothing like it is in the movies except i look like a wet, ratty mutt of a dog, and every french woman i pass on the street sans umbrella looks fabulous, like she just stepped out of a magazine. first thing, food. i eat a small meal, it was delicious, but like most meals in the last few days it isn't sitting well in my stomach.

for the next 2 days i'm getting worse and worse, less food can go into my body and what does doesn't stay for very long at all. i'm walking around this beautiful city and the weather is becoming more pleasant but i'm becoming more unpleasant. total shit. RB is becoming frustrated because this is vacation why am i so sick. i need to nap midday to function? what the fuck is this all about? i need to sit on benches to catch my breath? oh god this isn't good.

i wake up one morning around 4am, and that was the end of me, and our trip. the "water closet" became my home, the bed became my best friend and a flight on air France became our direct flight home 6 days early, missing part of Paris, and all of London. no shopping, hardly any eating, good amount of sight seeing but not all we wanted was accomplished. a disappointing trip, to say the least.

so what was wrong? doctor's still can't figure it out. still not at full rapunzel strength and speed. we went from having an appendicitis, to a violent reaction to the antibiotics i was already on but have taken before numerous times, to having some kind of bacterial or protozoa infection, similar to drinking the water in Mexico or e coli or salmonella.

yes, this was taken from a plane window- vegas to nyc

that was it. i was going places. and i did. i'm not going to stop traveling because the 2 attempts this year didn't work out to my benefit, that would be ridiculous. although, it is par for my course. i feel like the universe is trying to tell me something and it's not to stop trying to go places, i just can't decipher the code.

like a caged animal

locked up. i should have been locked up like a caged animal in a sound proof cage. for days i was suffering from word vomit and it was falling out of my mouth. most of it, if not all of it was not warranted in any way. almost everything i thought came spewing out of my mouth. reactions that i would normally keep to myself, especially those that might hurt someone elses' feelings i would keep to myself, simply fell out of my mouth out into the air; i offended people.

i should have been locked up.

instead, i tried desperately to keep away from everyone. i stayed in my classroom, i didn't answer the phone, i even warned people prior to speaking to me. oh shit, it was bad. i told a friend of mine that i didn't particularly care for one of her friends, in not so many nice ways. i wasn't even provoked. i apologized a day later. another day, i mocked another girls friend for thinking something stupid, when in reality it wasn't that big of a deal, again, came clean and apologized. i didn't drink all week for fear that i might spew some heinous shit on other innocent bystanders.

don't worry, all the unwarranted nasty mouthing off karma came back. i was supposed to visit Jan and June last weekend and managed to get violently ill for the weekend. i was on my way up to new england when i had to pull over and actually vomit on the side of i95. no more word vomit. turned right around and drove home. i was alone the entire weekend. RB had made plans and was out of the apt everyday all day, as was everyone else. no one actually wanted to be near me.

i suppose in the end of trying to keep myself away, i became like a caged animal. i couldn't go anywhere, and i had no where to go. karma got me. maybe karma went a little overboard with the pain and the violent illness, i mean i did apologize and felt bad for my unwarranted behavior.

either way, karma will get you, i knew it would. i'm actually glad it locked me up like a caged animal, i got my just desserts... maybe next time don't go so far karma, i'm still feeling your effects.

i need help

i know i said that this hair will grow, and i didn't lie. shit. i didn't fucking lie. i know my hair grows fast but this is fucking stupid. i'd say that in 3 weeks, about a half-inch to an inch has grown. i can completely pin the bangs back, i look silly at this point. i'm not sure why i even bother. it's never bothered me to have gray hair, but the way my hair falls, and won't stay straight or curl, i have these rando wavy white hair. pretty creepy looking if you ask me,

and

i officially have no idea how the fuck to use a curling iron. i don't give a shit who tells me how "simple", "easy", "five minutes it takes", it doesn't. i'm not good at it. i can't do it. tools and i are not friends. i need to go to beauty school just to learn how to put on make-up myself and do my own hair.

someone help, i'm pathetic at 31 years old...

bitch please...

you ever wonder how phrases become apart of your everyday vernacular? your friends, that's how. "bitch please" is just one of many phrases that has made it's way into my everyday words and phrases. it's the newest addition. also, its one of the funniest. it's not just funny because of the women with whom it originates from, because they are all fucking hysterical, but, the way in which they, and now i use, "bitch, please", puts us into a fit of laughter. "bitch please" can and is used for a variety of reasons; in exchange for an "excuse me", "watch it!", "fuck-off", "c'mon", "seriously?", "no way!", "of course", "absolutely", and just in sheer agreement with one another. use it in addition to the word PERIOD with the motion of making a PERIOD in the air, and you've got a few idiotic looking women laughing and shouting "bitch please, PERIOD" for what seems like, no good reason. 

"what?" with and extended "-at" sound is courtesy of another friend, as well as "wicked", "really?", and a personal favorite, "just the tip". 

"just the tip" fits almost anywhere, even when you think it doesn't. seriously, tomorrow, try it when someone doesn't suspect it, or when you hear the word, "tip", say, "just the tip?" it can sound so dirty, but yet not be dirty at all. simply fabulous, i tell you.

i love having conversations with certain friends, you can always tell who you have been hanging out with most recently just by which phrases you have been using... PERIOD. 

 

it's only hair...

obviously my name is rapunzel for my long hair, and although it isn't blonde it's rather long. i recently went to get a trim. a much needed trim. i usually go once a year. my hair dresser is a family friend who did my hair for my wedding and we love her very much. however, when she has certain clients in the shop she tends to not pay attention.

i requested a clean-up kinda of a job. 3 inches tops off of my hair and no one would have even noticed. last year i cut bangs but after doing so, noticed I have a problem. i can't style my hair. extra brushes, combs, flat irons, blowers, or curling irons and any styling products of any kind, i have no idea how to properly make use of.

here i am asking for a clean up, minimal of 3 inches, and i remove my glasses and it begins. she becomes distracted, chatty, pulls the hair to the front, and cuts. finally, after about 20-30 minutes, blow dried, curling ironed, and brushed out, my year before bangs aren't cleaned up, they have now reappeared, and 8 inches have been removed from the end of my hair!

it's only hair and it'll grow in no time but, now i am left with getting up 10 minutes earlier, attempting to style my hair, buying a curling iron, looking like a damned hipster. the other issue that i have is i feel like i have to find a new "hair" person.  which in it of itself is upsetting. either way, i gotta tell ya, i want to shave my head, instead of  styling my hipster short haircut.

it may not be short for you, but it's short for me... but it's only hair and it'll grow back... eventually.

my month...

happy march! who says you can't go for a run on the boardwalk listening to the waves crash on the shore to welcome a new month.. "rabbit, rabbit" and good luck with that...

fuck yeah i'm annoyed.

someone knows something and isn't telling me. i'm feeling fine. really i am. but someone isn't telling me something and it's beginning to piss the fuck out of me. seriously. i'm smiling, i'm laughing, i'm going places, i'm doing things, i'm staying out of my own fucking head. i'm not debbie downer, i'm having a good time. i'm walking along, i'm getting shit done, and i'm feeling good, but, here they are, multiple people, people that are close to me telling me, insisting in matter-of-fact tones, that something is up.

are you fucking serious? is this a fucking joke? i'm feeling fine. i'm feeling good. i'm going places. the sun is coming, i can smell the spring air, and your telling me that i ain't right? i'm confused. all those other months, when i was crying and telling you something wasn't right, i was screaming that i was drowning in my own thoughts, and you, you just let it be. now you got something to say? nope. i got nothing for you. i'm done talking, i'm done screaming, hollering, & crying. i'm not drowning anymore. i found my way to the surface, i swam-a-fucking shore.

you know that phrase, "damned if you do, damned if you don't"? that's how i'm feeling. you wanted me to talk, i talked, you weren't listening. i'm done now, i said what i had to say, you didn't want or couldn't hear me. i helped myself, and i'm better for it. can i go on, i'm fine. if you don't believe it, then that sounds like a personal problem, maybe you should talk about it with someone, leave me out of it.

fuck yeah i'm aggravated. i'm aggravated because no one seems to listen. HELLO!? are you fucking listening now? i recently saw a phrase that said something along the lines of, "my family tells me i have a big mouth, or that i am too loud, so i should be quiet. but when i am quiet, they ask me what's wrong?" i guess i just wish i could get a straight answer from someone when i actually need it or ask for it...

"you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need."