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Other than my ceiling collapse, what’s new with me?
Still jobless, which kind of sucks, since I think Brian is starting to tire of my constant be-slippered presence in our house.
I started running. I know, people. Marie? Cardio? WTF? My preferred form of exercise is yoga, and apparently there aren’t any places looking for dedicated bathroom-swabbers in exchange for free classes that I can find (Boston peeps: Karma Yoga Studio in Harvard Square is always looking for reliable cleaners/desk people in exchange for some free/super cheap yoga classes and gym use. It’s one of the places I miss most, full of great people, great baked goods and all-around positive energy. Patronize!). We went to a class with Alex, a fine young lady I met while training for an SAT-prep gig (coincidentally, she spent some time in Boston and was also a Karma devotee. Small, teeny world!). Anyway, I’m out of shape and my hammies were reminding me of that fact for DAYS after we finished the class. So in the interest of returning to an exercise routine that makes me look good in a bathing suit, I took up the Couch to 5k program I read about over at Whoorl (go! Sarah is cute and awesome!). It’s an interval program, where a guy on a podcast encourages you to go! speed up! slow down! brisk walk! over some really cheeseball club music. Anyway, it’s pretty easy, and I have the time, and also it would be nice to be able to run 3 miles. So, I’m giving it a shot. I’m telling you in the hopes that if I make this knowledge public, someone is going to hold me accountable, say to me, gosh, how’s that running thing going?
We’ve been taking a few day trips here and there, and went to Palo Alto this past week. Such a cute little town, with an absolutely breathakingly awesome bookstore, Bell’s Books (70 years!), where I got this super-cute reusable book bag and a vintage volume of Emily Dickinson:
I love Emily Dickinson, and may, just MAY, get some verses added to my Harper Lee/Sylvia Plath tattoo love fest. 3 Cheers for awesome lady writers! I want to get a Flannery O’Connor one too, girlfriend is working with a theme up in here.
Brian was good about letting me browse the shops there (so many things to touch!) and even made a special pit stop into Anthropologie, where his head didn’t even explode with all the cute/expensive things!
Palo Alto has a lovely little downtown with lots of fun restaurants (try Sprout if you’re there, AMAZING salad). I think it’ll probably become a destination for when we have people come visit. We checked out Stanford University, which didn’t make me long for the hallowed halls of academe like Berkeley does, but sure was pretty:
I did some baking (satisfactory but not stellar blueberry muffins), and am going to attempt another round of homemade pizza crust, sure to make your mouth water.
My goals for this week are to get some artwork up on the walls, and hopefully to get our ceiling replastered. We may get some visitors this weekend too, which would be the absolute tops.
Seacrest out.
It’s been raining here a lot since we moved in, which I don’t really mind, because, whatever, it could be snow. Rain, psh, NBD, I can handle you. It’s been clear the last few days, but the rain resumed this afternoon, gently but distinctly pattering down our gutters. It’s a noise I’ve gotten very used to over the last 2 weeks, so I didn’t pay much mind when the rain picked up this evening. We were getting ready to relax, watch Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, when the pattering got a little louder and a little less gentle and a little closer. I went out into our hallway to investigate.
One of the more charming parts of our apartment is the end of our hallway. To the right is our bedroom door, ahead is the bathroom and to the left is a little recessed area that I’ve come to know/love as my Book Nook. It’s just the right size for my bookcase, ever-so-lovingly tended by my literary neuroses. Many of my knickknacks are displayed there as well, and you know, it’s just got this whole safe space vibe. You don’t mess with my Book Nook, y’all.
Well. Apparently we had some sort of blocked drain up on the third floor of our apartment building, and rather than rooting it out, the plumber just shoved the blockage down further. Then the guy in 301 (coincidentally the Superintendent, also very redheaded) took a shower, and the apocalypse came raining down on our hallway in the form of our ENTIRE CEILING. I guess drain on the third floor was clear, and draining water had pushed the blockage down enough to where the drain on the second floor tub backed up, and when the tub overflowed, the water leaked through their floor, our ceiling. The plaster got saturated and well… I went out there, wondering if a faucet was dripping and saw water coming out of that light fixture, and thought, oh shit. As I was finishing off the tuh of the t sound, the whole kaboodle just caved right in. I’m ok, my books are for the most part ok, and our managers came by right quick to tell us there was nothing they could do until everything dried out.
The whole time we were bailing out and mopping up and dusting off, we were bright-siding the crap out of this little pickle… at least it didn’t happen later at night, at least we were home when it caved, it’s a good thing the Snuggler wasn’t in her litterbox (much of the plaster actually fell into her poop-zone).
Oh! And one of the management goons apparently is some kind of sexist douchebag (different guy than Bathing Superintendent Ginger Joel). He was pretty nice to me when we moved in, while Brian was off doing some sort of Manly Behavior, like parking the car or controlling the cat or something, he was just a little pandering, a little flirty, but you know, nothing invasive. He was all “Oh, a pretty young lady is moving in here! I’m your handyman guy!” And I was like, great, can you fix all these apartment things underlying message:because I pay rent so that I don’t have to repair light fixtures myself? I asked him to change the knob on the oven, because it was all painted over and you couldn’t read the degrees for the temperature. Brian walked in, and the guy said, and I quote, “oh good, you have a boyfriend, I won’t have to be taking care of you all the time!” But he was pretty good-natured about it, chuckling like, ha, see? I’m so tongue in cheek! I’m a feminist too! And that was the last we saw of him, until I was sloshing around my Book Nook in my rainboots.
Now, my floor was covered in about an inch and a half of used bathwater and I didn’t want to soak my slippers or my sneakers or any of my other, cuter shoes, so I put on my rainboots. Repeat: my hallway was flooded, due to his faulty plumber. I was in my pajamas, no socks, no shoes. My ceiling collapsed before my very eyes, unleashing Superintendent Joel’s BATHWATER into my apartment. And he laughed at me! And told Brian he should get me an Army helmet or a hard hat in case I was too scared to go into the hallway! Like I couldn’t get one for myself! Hell-o, I am totally capable of managing my own safety (hence the rainboots, loser!)(and also, um, I wouldn’t need protective headgear if my ceiling wasn’t collapsing, which is totally beyond my responsibility). Also that I was “so cute” for wearing them (not ’so pioneer wife farmer woman” which I think is more accurate) and that Brian chose well (very true, he may be sexist but the man isn’t blind y’all). The next time that asshole comes around, I’m going to wear a flannel shirt and overalls and toss some slops out the window. Psh.
I probably sound like I’m overreacting, but the guy was just so bewilderingly condescending in our interactions that I was ready to pop him one for making fun of me when again, it was raining bathwater from my ceiling. The ceiling I live under, in the building he’s managing. “Sorry you have to wear your rainboots and slop around in SuperGingerJoel’s soap scum in your hallway, rescuing the books you read and reread and cherish with all your heart” may have been a more appropriate response to the situation.
So, ick. To top it off, our apartment kind of smells like cabbage now, and we’re not sure why. All I can say is that after this little debacle, I think I’m going to calm the nerves by fondling grandma’s tablecloths and antique jam jars at the Alameda Flea Market on Saturday. Maybe find myself a vintage apron so I can at least look cute when I’m barefoot and pregnant, preparing meals for my hunter-gatherer-protector?
Listening to B vocally agree with a video of Obama taken this AM at the Senate Democratic Conference.
He’s listening to me vocally agree with the bloggers who all think Robert Pattinson is hot (although Jacob is a better guy, you know?).
Our interests rarely intersect, apparently.
So we have a wicked cute apartment (apahtmehnt?) here in Alameda, and I really can’t wait for my couch to come so I can get totally settled and post pictures. I’m still looking for artwork for my bedroom walls, either one large piece or several smallish ones. I got some really great prints on Etsy for Christmas, but they’re still in Boston, waiting for my mama to ship them out. They’re these puffy cottony trees, in grays and light greens (click links to see ‘em! woo!). I’m excited to get them, because they’re pretty and whatnot, but I have a pretty big room here, and quite a bit of space to fill.I’ve been poking around Apartment Therapy, but all they’ve revealed to me is that I need an Apartment Lobotomy.
One of my favorite “design elements” (check me out, using the lingo) in my bedroom in particular, is a sort of hand-me-down vibe. When my parents cleared out my grandparents home last summer, I ended up with my grandfather’s high school diploma (Mechanic Arts, City of Boston, Class of 1940!), which I finally got around to framing and it’s now displayed on my bedroom wall between our TWO WALK IN CLOSETS (yeah folks, the combined closet space we have in this apartment would be considered a Beacon Hill studio, f’real.) and alongside some of my other more precious photographs and furniture and knickknackery:  You can see the diploma up on top, and a great portrait of my mother and her siblings on the left and beach-boardwalk photo booth shots of Brian and I the first 4 summers of our relationship on the right. Below is an antique sewing machine, sans machine, that I inherited from a high school friend (hi, Marielle!) when I moved into an apartment after she sublet the summer. I’ve been using it as a desk for the past several years, and had to fight the good fight to even keep it (Brian wishes to exact vigilante justice upon it, for some reason) and it’s really one of my favorite things. Now it holds up all my little bits of fun that I’ve collected over the years (will have detailed photos later, if you even care as much about my knickknacks as I do) and just kind of sits there, lookin’ good.
Anyway. The smaller photos beneath were already in gold frames, so I got a gold one for the diploma. Combined with some gold lamps and shades, I feel like I have this whole gold-tone THING you know? So I want to continue that on the two remaining blank walls with any prints I might get. There’s a pretty cool frame shop chain here in the Bay Area called Aaron Brothers, and of course Ikea has a painful selection of framing options, so I’ve got that under control. I need artwork now.
Lately, I’ve been enjoying Gustav Klimt’s artowork. My tarot cards each have a work of his, and you know what? Dude was a gold-tone freak. So, I’m thinking maybe some of his prints: this, this and/or this? Do you guys have any suggestions for some great, framable artwork, famous or unfamous? Etsy shops? Stuff you’ve painted that I could buy? Let me know, girlfriend is in the market.
My hope was to give you guys a newsy update after my epic Moving To California post about how Great Life Is Here and all that. Bummer that it rained all last week. And, by rained all last week, I literally mean rained all last week, just a consistent, soaking downpour that made me want to sleep all day (mission accomplished!). After a few days of that, we got a little cabin-feverish and took off to the farmer’s market in Jack London Square in Oakland.
One thing that Moving To California has changed in our lifestyle: we eat locally grown, often organic, fresh vegetables every single day. I don’t think I can convey the impact of this- I am a vegetable person (I really only don’t eat members of the squash family, or big tomatoes) so I get pretty psyched over a salad. And now I eat them every day! In Boston, eating really good, fresh vegetables was pretty expensive- produce is cheaper by about half here.
I digress. New Thing #2 is trying a vegetable with a dubious reputation. I’m not an adventurous eater unless I cook it myself (I’m always waiting for restaurant folks to sneak mayonnaise into sushi or something), so I don’t try new ones very often. But, at the aforesaid farmer’s market, I bought these little cherubs:
 Brussels sprouts. I’ve avoided them my whole life, because they look like teeny, tiny cabbages – I forgot cabbage on my list above. Also because my grandmother liked them- she was a terrific cook, but often served those gourmet items that are so fancy they are not fit for consumption by a 12 year old afraid of mayonnaise (cold peanut soup? Really? Isn’t that just watery peanut butter, refridgerated?). Anyway. I bought 2 handfuls of the sprouts and started looking up recipes. Found a basic one that involved slicing them in half, browning in olive oil and sprinkling with salt, pepper, Parmesan.
The result?
A very vegetably-vegetable. Earthy flavor, with a teeny bit of sweetness to it, not unlike broccoli. Will be a good meat substitute on salads, especially a nice cold Caesar. I might also try quartering them and putting them on a pizza or in pasta. Will probably select the smaller sprouts next time, as they were more tender, and will probably sprinkle with feta instead.
After doing some scouting, I’m learning that the sprouts contain a compound called “sinigrin” which is thought to help prevent colon cancer. Sinigrin is released when the sprouts are overcooked, and release a sulfuric flavor and odor. The general opinion seems to be that most people have had revolting reactions to overcooked Brussels sprouts.
If you’re into cooking, I’d recommend these as a quick side dish- nutritious, packed with dietary fiber and flavor and really easy to cook (the sooner you stop, the better, apparently). Also, if you’re one of those people into the color of their dishes, Brussels sprouts are a lovely rich green outside, and a cute, baby’s-room yellow inside.
Welcome to my diet, wee little sprouts. I’m happy to have you.
I’m not the biggest fan of bucket lists. I always get a little bored with mine, because as I change, you know, maybe I don’t want to backpack across Europe (Hostels? Wearing underwear more than once before i wash it? ew. I was over that the week after I grauduated High School) or something. I like New Year’s Resolutions a little more, they only have to remain interesting to me for a year, then I can onward and upward to something new, or keep them up if they’re working for me.
My resolution last year was to stop using plastic bags when I went shopping. I did really well, only slipping up a handful of times in the most desperate of circumstances, and then, the bags were reused and toted around until they were recycled. For some reason, I feel an enormous guilt when I get bags at the grocery store or Target or wherever, so that was a nice, double-edged sword of a change, PLUS my kitchen cabinet where I used to stash them stayed a little neater. Bonus. A NYR I’ll keep up with.
Other big doings of 2009?
 Adoption is a two way street.
 Finally! Something permanent.  Staying up late is usually worth the groggy morning.*  Making new friends is my Abby Getman.** This year, I am going to try new things. I’m a brand-loyal customer, a creature of habit, a dweller at the very epicenter of my comfort zone. I can handle change pretty well, but I crave stability even when I can’t stand the circumstances of the routine I get stuck in.
My first new thing:
Move to California.
Obviously, this is a pretty big thing, you know? On the surface, it meant sorting out, packing up and moving all my shit more than 3,000 miles, then finding a suitable apartment, cat and boyfriend in tow, then unpacking all my shit and making a home. I think that’s what I’m looking for here, a home. I haven’t gone a single year without moving for the last six, and hope that I stay put in 2010. I’m a little tired of not having a place I can hang my hat, where I can have things just so, where I can look forward to going to after not being there for a while. I gather that most people have a place like that, whether it be where they grew up or where they live now, but I’m starting to think I’ve never really been happy in any living environment I’ve had in my short existence. I want a sense of “I’m so happy to be here” rather than “I’m so happy I’m not where I just was,” and I don’t think I’ve really felt that sentiment with much sincerity. Sooo, I did this.
A little dramatic, yes, and more than a little driven by some other exterior circumstances. And it’s totally scary because um, I don’t have friends here. I don’t have family here. I have Brian, and I have my cat and I think the three of us, after spending the last three weeks in a sort of solitary confinement, are starting to step on toes/paws now.
I think New Thing #1 is going to ultimately lead to most of the other New Things I try this year. I hope 2010 is about growth, confronting fears and getting what I want. What I want is happiness, a contentment that doesn’t imply complanceny or lethargy. I’m trying to strip away the things that are making me unhappy or uncomfortable, to find my core, to realize what means most to me. I want to find things in my life that I like, and I want those things to have precedence over things I don’t like. And I’m hoping this new area will inspire a sense of place for me, and help me get over this situational laziness that I’m guilty of.
Whew, blog confessional. Do you make New Year’s Resolutions? Do you keep them?  *Stolen from Katie-Jo’s Facebook profile. I can’t handle how cute this picture is, I didn’t have a better one myself.
** Stolen from Abby Getman’s Facebook profile, because I don’t really take a lot of pictures at the All-Star Sandwich Bar.
Moving in still. Pictures will come when the place is done up all cute.
Also- battling the angriest outbreak of icky, gross acne I’ve ever had. How do I get rid of this?
So. We finally got an apartment on an island in the San Francisco Bay. It’s off the Oakland (eek!) coast, and it’s a really seriously super cutesy complete-with-cottages-and-art-deco-downtown little ‘burb. Apparently, it has zero crime and is fairly commutable to SF, which is great. It’s not as hip as the city, but Brian and I aren’t as hip as most San Franciscans (or as Asian, as it turns out. Man, those railroad workers really procreated. Digression! On Christmas Eve, Brian’s cousin-in-law Mark hadn’t heard the news that we were Expanding Westward and was all “San Francisco!? Be careful, there are Asians there.” There are a few kickers to this story: Mark is half-Korean, he said it like there aren’t Asians anywhere else, AND Brian’s family is located in Lowell, which has the largest number of Cambodians outside of Cambodia. Also I love Vietnamese food, and there are tons of little pho joints everywhere, the end.). Where was I? Oh, we’re not too hip. Although I did score some cute, mildly hip things for xmas and the obligatory final passes through Filene’s Basement and Second Time Around yielded some booty, not to mention the thrift-store frenzy I kicked up in the Haight last night.
Basically, our plan is to take the cash we’re saving by living in Alameda (our rent is $100 less than in Somerville, with almost double the space, plus all utilities are paid. and omg, we can turn one of the FOUR WALK IN CLOSETS into a spare bedroom.) and stash it for something really super awesome, like oh, I don’t know, AN AWESOME DIAMOND RING, or an apartment in the city after our lease is up.Basically, Alameda is all things to all not-too-hip cheapie cheaps like ourselves. Also! Beaches!
So our stay with Colleen is coming to an end. I can’t begin to imagine what this experience would have been like without someone who had already lived all over the Bay area and knew where all the people get shot. Seriously? Without her, we’d probably have happily moved into an apartment in downtown Oakland, been stabbed twice, been initiated into a gang and sent through rehab all before the final boxes were unpacked.). We’re incredibly grateful for her letting us stay in her little condo, taking us hiking, petting our cat, feeding us all KINDS of fun things, telling us secrets about Brian’s parents (ah, friends from the seventies!) and in general providing us with a warm, snuggly atmosphere to start our California Rebirth (dude, how West Coast am I? Who wants to do a trust fall now?). Also she’s giving us her couch! With a pull out! So YOU can come and visit!
 Where the skies are so blue...
So. Christmas. Spent the day with my parents and sister, opening gifts and not stating the obvious (that i’d be leaving in 2 days.). We went to the Bergeron’s for Yankee Swap, which my dad MCs every year and dessert. Brian’s uncle Gary roasted Brian for about an hour beacause we’re not married (yay!) and oops, I got drunk again. Danielle and I enjoyed some more champagne, party party party.
To be honest, the rest of that weekend was a blur of grumbling, packing, re-packing and worrying about the cat and my suitcase being too heavy.
We got some good flying advice from Pops Bergeron on what time to arrive at Logan for our flight- we waited in check-in and security for just the right amount of time. We only had to wait at the Gate for a few minutes before checking in started. Snugglecat behaved herself admirably and the flight arrived almost an hour early. Whee!
We started looking at apartments the next day, and it feels like we’ve done nothing else since. I think we’re ready to settle on a place and will apply tomorrow. You’ll get your pleasatly snarky updates back soon.
So. We packed, and it sucked. I hate packing, and Brian did most of it. The POD truck came and carted our stuff away on December 22 (and it’s still not in CA!) and we were left to our lonesomes in our drafty, creaky, dusty apartment, without carpets or kitchen tables or whatever to muffle the sound of the nutjob upstairs.
We went back to our respective parental households on Christmas Eve, which was my last day of work (ttyl!). After an epic battle royale to get The Snuggler into her duffle bag, we headed back to Lowell/Tewksbury and moped around until it was time to party righteously. We went to the usual Kathy/Greg Open House situation in Natick, where everyone told me how expensive California is, and where I got a lot of Twilight discussion out of my system (Team Jacob! All the way!). We scooted back to Lowell and made an appearance at the Schermerhorn’s par-tay where the unthinkable happened. Yes. I drank a bottle of champagne.
Apparently an amount of Veuve Cliquot turns me into a person called The Warrior. I don’t remember very clearly what it was about the Schermerhorn household that made me so warlike, but I THINK either Kyle or Nick dubbed me The Warrior and that was that, but again, my memory is a little foggy, so it could’ve been anyone. The Warrior also came out on Christmas day, because Brian’s family…well…they like to party. And I absolutely cannot withstand peer pressure when it comes from people my parents’ age. I guess that’s not really “peer pressure” but you know what I mean.
We were out pretty late that night, and I stumbled to bed, visions of sugarplums dancing in my spinning head.
Part 2: Christmas Day, the Warrior Returns.
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