YEAR OF ALDULTHOOD

Sometimes you can feel that a certain year will be different than the last. I am pretty confident that 2008 will be one of those years. Photogenic Wife mentioned to me on Saturday night that in the Chinese Calendar, we are coming upon the Year of the Rat. In the Farf Calendar, I am entering the Year of Adulthood.

Sure, people will argue that at 32, I have been an adult for some time. After all, I am married, have a career and, at least in theory, am responsible for my own life (as well as the lives of two doggies). But I never really felt like a grown-up before. I still sleep with my blankie (named Bubbe – although I have no clue why) and a teddy bear (named Buddy Bear), I sing childhood songs like “Itsy-Bitsy Spider” and “I have 6 pence” when I am in the shower, and my favorite television shows run along the lines of SpongeBob SquarePants.

This coming year is forcing me to realize that despite some childish behavior, I am solidly in the adult-world. First of all, I am now a homeowner. And, while it is a co-op, I still need to deal with things that a year ago seemed ridiculously beyond my ability: I hired a contractor, budgeted for a mortgage and renovations, and worried about how to cover rent and mortgage while waiting for renovations to be completed.

Then, there is my job situation. Evil Partner and I continue to do battle, but there is not much longer I can deal with his lies and every time I prove he lied about something, I lose a little more of my desire to work someplace where my boss and I hate each other. So I am thinking about changing jobs, but its not so easy this time. Unlike before, I need to make a certain amount of money (see above paragraph) and I would really like to work with good people in an interesting field. Sigh. See, adult issues…

And then finally, there is the news my mother was unable to keep to herself and this blabbed a day early – Husband and I are having a baby in late June/early July of 2008. Wow, if the job situation and new apartment did not make me an adult, this definitely does. Luckily, our apartment has two bedrooms so we have not outgrown an apartment before even moving in, but this whole baby thing necessarily means major life changes – and not just being tied to home. Husband and I are responsible for another person. It’s not like with the dogs where if we are home an hour late, the worst that happens is they pee on the floor. Nope, we are accountable to someone who will be totally helpless and dependent on us (for a little while at least) and who can (eventually) call us out on our flaws and imperfections.

So, here I am about to enter 2008 and become, in all senses of the word, an adult. But hopefully I can do so without leaving some of my favorite childish behaviors aside. Sorry Husband but Bubbe and Buddy Bear stay around even when my job-hopping days are over.

CODY'S BIRTHDAY ADVENTURE

Some of you have met Cody and readers of this blog know him as the dog that Husband and I adopted from NYC Shiba Rescue as a brother for Tiki the Wonder Dog.  Cody’s middle name is Houdini, since he has the uncanny ability to escape from any situation.  He can flatten his body and if his head can fit through something, the rest of his body easily follows.  Knowing this, we are very careful about the situations to which Cody is exposed.  For example, while both Tiki and Cody can jump a 5 foot fence in a single bound, Tiki respects barriers in a way that Cody does not.  So, as a result, the dogs rarely go to the dog run anymore – its just too stressful wondering if you will have to chase Cody through Manhattan.

This weekend though, we took both dogs to the Catskills to visit Husband’s aunt.  The plan was to spend the weekend walking the dogs through the snow covered mountains and getting some exercise and relaxation.  Unfortunately, both Husband and I came down with colds and spent most of the weekend napping.

We were taking just such a nap on Saturday afternoon (Cody’s second birthday) and both dogs were happily napping on the bed with us.  The door to the bedroom was cracked open so that the warmth from downstairs permeated the room and all four of us were completely content.  A perfect birthday snooze.

Suddenly, we were awoken by a yell that the dogs got out of the house.  We were up and dressed in a flash and outside calling the dogs.  These are city dogs that are never off leash and have pretty poor recall.  Plus, the snow had a thin coating of ice so that the 30-pound dogs could easily walk on it, but as adult humans weighting slightly more than 30 pounds, we fell through into knee deep snow.  There was no way to chance them through the woods on foot so Husband got in the car and followed along the roads while I waited in the hopes that the dogs would circle back.  The only saving grace was that while neighbors are few and far between, so are cars so we were not concerned about a dog getting on the road – in fact, we would have preferred it.

A bark.  A call from Husband and Tiki was in the car.  While the word “come” does not entice Tiki at all, the call of “Do you want some Cheese?” Had both dogs running to Husband.  Cody wriggled away but Tiki was caught and locked in the car.  Cody came circling back.  I tried every dog trainer trick I know.  I did an Emergency Stop.  No luck.  I tried running away from Cody in the hopes he would chase me.  Nope.  I also tried falling (well, it was slippery so I didn’t really have to try that hard) in the hopes that Cody would come to investigate.  Nothing.

Husband jumped out of the car and chased Cody on foot.  Cody darted in and out of bushes, wagging his tail and enjoying his game.  Husband fell into the snow in defeat.  I was crying.  Husband was swearing.  We were devastated.  For a brief moment, I envisioned life back with just Tiki.  With no doggie that would spoon me while I was napping on the couch, not being awoken by kisses at exactly 7am daily and walks without having to be ever-vigilant about potential food sources that a dog would try and eat (that includes hot dogs out of the hands of children who pass too close) – life suddenly seemed bleak.  Unacceptable.

Then, miraculously, a neighbor came out and asked if we had lost a child.  I explained we had lost a dog and, hoping that the neighbor would have dog treats, I asked if he had a dog. 

“No,” said Neighbor. “I have a cat.”

“Cat?”  I suddenly got excited.  “Do you have a fish-based cat food?” Cody loves fish and I was hoping this would lure him to us.

Neighbor disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a Tupperware container of dry cat food. 

“Cody,” I called sweetly.  “Do you want some din-din?”  I shook the food as extra enticement.  Suddenly, Cody ran over, eager for the treats in the bowl.  I slipped the leash on his and hugged him.  Cody looked at me like I was insane.  After all, he had just had the best birthday fun imaginable.  And, having my dog safe, well that answered every thing I would have wished Cody on his birthday anyway. 

We got the dogs back, gave them extra treats and rawhide bones and refused to let them out of our sight the rest of the day.  Cody may have had the best 2^nd birthday he could imagine, but in doing so, he took at least 2 years off my life.  

THE COST OF FRIENDSHIP

Sorry for the delay in posting but it’s been a crazy week: We are closing on Wednesday and I was sick for two days. Blah.

Last week Mara, Justin and their adorable baby Adena came from London and stayed with me and Husband for a week. We had been looking forward to their visit for a long time and were bummed that on the day they arrived at our place, we had a dinner with Father’s law firm to attend and could not be home. No big deal though as we left a spare key with Suzanne and then left the party early in order to run home and spend more time with our friends from across the pond.

When we got home there were hugs and kisses all around (as well as a peek into the spare bedroom to gaze adoringly at the sleeping baby) and we settled in the catch up.

“Umm, we are buying you a new television,” Mara started. For a brief second, I was totally offended. Our main television is less than a year old (46” LCD flat screen) and the thing Husband would save first in case of fire – even before me and the dogs – on the theory that everything else important to him has legs and can potentially save itself. The television in the guest room will likely not move with us and is perfectly adequate for its purposes.

“We broke the TV,” Mara continued.

“Oh,” replied Husband. “No, the buttons on the remote are totally confusing but I can fix it.”

“No, it’s really broken.” Justin insisted. “Mara tossed me a sippy cup and it hit the television and now it’s broken.” (By the way, he said this is in a most adorable Kiwi accent. I can seriously listen to him talk all day.)

We turned on the television, mostly because we could not believe that a plastic sippy cup could break a TV, but sure enough there was no picture and a spider-shaped crack was visible in the bottom center of the screen.

“Whatever,” Husband said. “If it can’t be repaired we will figure something out. Don’t worry.”

Mara was shocked. She offered to leave and go somewhere else. Why would we kick her out? And no way we were letting Adena leave – she is so cute and happy that the only thing keeping us from kidnapping her was the potential jail time. So the TV broke. Big deal. It’s replaceable. (And for the record, the new television arrived in less than a week. Thank you Mara and Justin!) We felt awful. They were staying with us to save money and now they have to buy a television. Really, there were contests over which party felt worse about the whole thing, but within a few minutes, it was also something to joke about.

“We’re leaving for work – there is a list of things we need broken on the coffee table!” Hahaha. I am still cracking up over that one.

But the thing is, never for one second would such a wonderful friendship have ended over something like a television set. In fact, I thought it would end over earrings.

See, Mara lent me the pearl earrings she wore on her wedding day for me to wear on mine. I did not wear them, but instead put them away for safekeeping. Then, I forgot about them. I attempted to return them when I was in London, but returned the wrong earrings. So, I attempted to give Mara a different pair when she was in town, but those were also the wrong ones. (No worries Mara, I have 5 more pairs and one is bound to be yours!) By all rights, she should hate me. But she doesn’t.

Because in the end, real friends deal with the stuff life throws at you and televisions and earrings are not as important as people you can call when you are having a 2am anxiety attack over something stupid.

I have another friend who does not seem to understand this concept. I am not sure where we went wrong, but we used to be incredibly close. But for a month now, she has made a point of avoiding me. So today, despite many promised to myself, I reached out via email. I received back the following: “I am taking space....It has been too many excuses and too many hurt comments”

I have no idea what excuses/comments she is talking about. But that is the kind of person she is. She gives people the silent treatment when she is mad so the simple things escalate until they become unbearable to her. That is sad. A small hurt, such as a broken television or misplaced earring is not a friendship ender and real friends are able to see past the little things to the big picture. I will miss her, but I have been mourning her silence for the last month and can’t continue to do so. I will not contact her again. Instead, I will continue to live as I have and, as I do with all my friends, welcome her back when she is ready.

In the meantime, it’s nice to know who I can count on when I need a 2am friend or that ugly poster (adored by Husband) in our spare room broken.

MID-WINTER AND MID-WEEK BLAH

Thusday was Husband’s birthday. We headed up to Boston for a long weekend so his birthday dinner ended up being at the Chili’s in Hamden. I know. He can thank me for the gourmet meal later. Actually though, the whole weekend in Boston (second annual) is a birthday celebration for Husband, topped off with a Patriots game on Sunday before heading home. Really fun weekend and like last year, Photogenic Friends were there for the whole thing.

When we got up on Friday, we really meant to sightsee around Boston. All of us have a strong interest in American history and I wanted to see the site of the Boston Tea Party and Photogenic Wife wanted to see Paul Revere’s house. Instead, as we walked from the hotel to the harbor, we all got chilly and decided to duck into a store near Quincy Market. Then we went into another store. Before I knew it, we had done the entire length of Newbury Street and the idea of sightseeing was never again mentioned. But on the bright side, anything under $175 was tax free, so that is one more reason to love my new shoes, sweater, bra (seriously the most comfortable one I have ever owned), underwear, and sunglasses. Plus, Photogenic Wife made us spa appointments for Sunday morning so it was an all around awesome time.

But then, reality set in and on Monday we were all back at work. Maybe it’s the time of year, maybe it’s the fact that the sellers are being really annoying about setting a closing date*, or maybe its because I have literally never been so tired in my life, but I really don’t feel like working. I seriously want nothing more than to lay on my couch and watch the week’s worth of television saved on the DVR. Oh, and maybe nap.

And the thing is, I have a major project right now at the office and I can’t motivate to even start it. Or think about it. Really pathetic, I know. So, in an effort at procrastination, I have come up with every other possible thing I can do. I dealt with a pet insurance bill (Sorry Husband, the charge is not covered), called back a contractor, made a doctor’s appointment and various other things. So it’s not like the day is a total waste.

And there is my phone ringing and my boss on speaker asking me the status of this project, so off I go to work on it. Can’t wait for 8pm when I can head home…


* While writing this post, the seller’s offered December 19th as a closing date so keep your fingers crossed!

CLOSING

December is going to be an exciting month this year. Hanukkah starts tonight and Husband’s birthday is Thursday. We are heading to Boston for the weekend to see the Patriots play the Steelers on Sunday and spend some quality time with Boston-based cousin, two of whom will be celebrating birthdays while we are there. It is also Cody (the dog’s) first birthday as a member of our family. But, all of that aside, it is also the month where we will finally close on our new apartment. Yup, after months of sweat (its hot going from open house to open house in the summer), tears (you try getting your credit record cleaned of your sister’s spending habits) and blood (well, there were several blisters from walking to all those apartments and one bled) we will finally be the proud owners of shares in a corporation, which will allow us to reside in a building near Riverside Park. Yippeee!

Yes, you read that right. The long-awaited closing is expected to be in the next couple weeks. Then we can get the contractor in and the fun begins! I am so excited…

SOMETIMES, THE FIRST TIME IS JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER TIME

I have recently been doing much self-censoring on this site. Part of it is that I have been tempted to write things that, while they may be true right now, are certainly not true over all and some things can’t be taken back. Part of it is also that I have suddenly developed a new-found sense of privacy and, as such, my posts have suffered in that they are less of me and more generic.

And all this is why I read Suzanne’s post about collecting stories about a woman’s first period with such amusement. There is nothing generic about first period stories and so many women have great stories to tell about, if not their first period, at least a pretty eventful menstruation experience. Well, so many women - except for me.

Sure, I read “Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret” just like most other pre-teen girls of my generation and I was a little jealous when all my friends got their periods first. But, not too jealous since it seemed more of an inconvenience than anything else. For example, there was Sarah from camp who was being raised by a single father. She got her period at camp and wrote to her dad asking for a box of pads. Within a week, a care package arrived filled with 20 legal size note-pads. Then there was Lea who got her first period while on vacation with my family and refused to use to pool in Las Vegas since she did not know how to use a tampon.

Maybe for me, because I did not get my period until my mid-teens, it was a non-event. In fact, the only reason I remember it at all was because I expected more fanfare and was disappointed. After all, Sister had already had her period for years and it’s not like I did not have tons of aunts and female cousins. So, when I looked in my underwear and saw blood, I did not panic, I simply went into the bathroom, read the instructions about how to insert a tampon and rejoined the party that was going on in my parent’s backyard. My mother’s response to being told was simply, “Ok, just remembers to change your tampons regularly.” That was it. No fanfare and no great story.

In fact, it was the same annoyance for me it seemed to be for other friends. Every month, around my period, I would develop debilitating stomach pains, which lasted until a doctor put me on birth control pills. I hated having to run to the bathroom to change tampons, even when I did not need to pee and having my period never made me feel “more like a woman” than before.

So, I am curious to see the stories that Suzanne collects, but I am also curious to know if my experience is the norm or if it is more common for a woman’s first period to be some life-changing event. I would be happy to hear other’s thoughts on the subject.

A LITTLE EXCHANGE OFFERED

I have a confession to make. I did not go shopping at all on Friday, and on Saturday, the only time I entered a store was to exchange a book that, through some crazy printing error, went from page 192 back to page 1. In fact, with the exception of Mother and Brother, all my holiday shopping is done and both Husband (12/6) and Sister (1/4) have their birthday presents purchased. Even better, I know exactly what I am getting Mother and Brother and just have to run out and pick it up. In fact, I consider Brother’s shopping done since he is going to send me a link so I can order his gift on-line.

How did I suddenly become so organized? No, it was not some weird alternate personality taking control; it was simply that I reduced my “buy for” list.

This year the list of holiday gifts is pared down to the core folks who I know I will either see over the holidays, or with whom I routinely exchange gifts. I am not purchasing any “emergency” gifts just in case an unexpected person shows up with a present.

In fact, with the exception of Sister’s presents (one of which is coming from Thailand, one from Ghana and one from Brazil for Hanukkah, belated housewarming and birthday respectively) all of the gifts are already in my office waiting to be wrapped.

There is something really nice about the holiday shopping being completed. It made Thanksgiving more relaxing because I did not feel any pressure to run out over the weekend and go shopping. In fact, while millions of Americans were hitting the malls on Friday, I spent the day wrapped in a blanket, relaxing on the couch in Husband’s parents’ family room, watching Family Feud reruns and trying to digest the two Thanksgiving meals I had consumed the day before.

The meals this year were wonderful. Meme’s sweet potatoes were the best they had ever been, the turkeys at both homes were cooked to perfection and you have never seen such an array of desserts as there was at both my family and Husband’s family celebrations.

And yet, I have a small complaint. Minor really when you consider how great everything tasted: Mother did not make an apple pie. She bought one. And, while I love her homemade pies, I can not stand the taste of a store-bought one.

My favorite part of Thanksgiving is the apple pie. Cousin Ado and I love it so much that we routinely steal a pie and hide somewhere and eat it with our hands. Mother even makes an extra pie so that there is a pie to steal, so it’s not a secret that I love this pie. Now, Mother claimed that because her arm is in a cast, she is unable to peel and slice apples for the pies, yet she made everything else as usual and without issue. So why no pie? Is it because Ado was with T’s family this year? And, if the only reason for not making the pie was her injured arm, then why not ask me to slice and peel apples? Was she secretly afraid I would do a better job?

Hmmm, maybe there is an underlying reason why her gift has not been purchased. We should do a trade: pie for Hanukkah gift. And in that case, my holiday shopping is complete, at least until I see a homemade apple pie show up on my counter.

NOW FOR THE FUN

It was so anti-climatic that I forgot to tell anyone, but Husband and I were approved by the Co-Op Board and now can close on our new apartment. So the fun begins.

A few months ago, when we were putting together the Board package and trying to obtain a mortgage, I announced that I did not want to be involved under it was time to pick paint colors. Well, that time is upon us and I am excited. I called two contractors and am going to set up times for estimates. I know exactly what I want and just need the contractor to make sure I don’t get carried away and spend more than I mean to spend. Hopefully, one of these guys will work out and then I can get down to the fun of decorating.

I love that the apartment stuff is basically behind us – now we just have the closing left and that should be easy since all the other work is done and the sellers have already moved – so that I can begin the holidays relatively stress free. Most of my shopping is done as well. I only have to buy for Mother, Father and Brother (the hard people on my list since they all have pretty much everything they want) and my Secret Santa recipient at work.

My office has a tradition where we all draw a name from a bowl and then at the holiday party each person is presented with a gift (under $20) and no one knows who the gift was from. I sort of like it in theory but the pressure is terrible. I have a new person and I don’t know much about them other than he keeps kosher, and is getting married in August to a Rabbi. That’s all I got. What the heck to get him? Does he even drink? Will a bottle of wine be wasted? Plus, I am always disappointed with my gift. Last year I got champagne, but anyone who knows me would know I hate all carbonated beverages. It was probably a re-gift. I know I re-gifted it to someone else….

Maybe this year my Secret Santa will buy me a new couch. Too bad that is going to be slightly over the $20 cap.

INSTEAD OF SPLITTING THE BABY, KING SOLOMON SHOULD HAVE RECOMMENDED ALTERNATE WEEKENDS

Growing up, Thanksgiving was always my most favorite holiday. Besides the oodles and oodles of food, it was a chance to see my cousins and for the entire family – sometimes close to 40 of us – get together and spend some time together.

When I met Husband, he told me that Thanksgiving was one of his most favorite holidays as well. His mom cooks dinner for everyone and his entire family - there are 12 of them – get together for some quality time.

And thus began the holiday split. My family eats dinner around 2pm so we spend Wednesday night at my parents house, wake up there Thursday morning and around 4:30pm, we say good-bye to everyone and drive 45 minutes to Husband’s parents’ house where we have a second dinner and spend the night. Then we spend all of Friday and most of Saturday with Husband’s family, before heading back to have dinner on Saturday night with the folks in my family who were unable to make Thanksgiving on Thursday and drive back to NY with my Dad on Sunday. Sound exhausting? It is.

Neither Husband nor I were very happy with this arrangement. We both felt we did not get to spend enough time at either house and felt torn between the two. I love my in-laws and want to see them as much as possible, but I also want to see my cousins, aunts, and various family friends that spend Thanksgiving with us.

So, this year, we got a bright idea. Why were we schlepping between houses? Why weren’t we alternating? (Yes, neither of us are very smart since it took us almost 5 years to come up with this plan). So, we announced that this year is the last year we will be spending time in both houses. Next year, we will pick a house for Thanksgiving and the other family will get us the following year. We will still spend time with both families over the extended weekend, but the actual day of Thanksgiving will no longer be split. Which family goes first? Maybe we will flip a coin. Maybe we will coordinate so that we overlap holidays with my cousin Ado, who also needs to alternate with his partner’s family. I am not really so concerned about that right now.

And, if anyone asks me what I am thankful for this year, it is that next year (and every following year) should be a much more relaxing holiday…

GROWING UP



On Saturday evening, Husband and I had dinner with his friend PTG and PTG’s fiancé. Turns out, he met a woman the night of his going away party (where we were sending him off to live in Denver), fell in love, got engaged and had dinner with us to announce that he was moving back to NYC. I am totally psyched at this news. It’s good for Husband, who missed his friend terribly, and good for me, who liked the cool places that PTG would find for us to hang out.

So, on Saturday night we all had dinner at a Latin-fusion restaurant by my apartment. Dinner was at 7pm and everyone arrived on time. We enjoyed some drinks (although only a couple) and dinner was over by 8:45pm. We laughed and talked about the home buying process that each couple is currently undergoing. Then, after dinner, Husband and I hailed a cab from PTG and his fiancé and began to walk the 5 blocks home.

Husband turned to me and said, “I loved dinner tonight. For the first time in my life, I feel like an adult and am excited for the prospect.” At that moment, we heard a sound like a bird squawking and turned toward where the sound was coming from. It was PTG driving past us in his taxi, his head out the window, yelling. “How much for your woman,” PTG yelled as he whizzed passed.

We laughed, not quite as grown up as we felt a few seconds prior.

FACING FEARS

There is an old joke about people’s number one fear being public speaking and their number two fear being death. The joke goes something like this: At a funeral, more people would rather be the person in the casket than the person giving the eulogy. I am definitely more scared of death than I am of public speaking (Hello? I am a litigator! My entire job involves public speaking).

My comfort with public speaking can actually be traced to one particular moment in third grade. I was new in school and our class was putting on The Wizard of Oz for the entire school. I was cast as the Wicked Witch of the West. At the time, I thought it was because I was a wonderful actress, but I have since figured out that it is the only part in the entire show without any signing, and despite the accolades I give myself while signing in the shower, it turns out that the general public does not share my appreciation of my own voice. Anyway, I was terrified to say my lines loudly and went through rehearsals in barely a whisper. It was so bad that the teacher actually spoke to my parents about it. So, my Dad (who is also a litigator and one of the best public speakers I have ever heard) took me to a park and had me stand on a tree stump. He hid behind a bush where I could not see him and fed me my lines.

I had to yell all my lines in order for him to hear me. I was totally embarrassed and confessed my fear of public speaking to my father. His response was simply to remind me that if someone walked by and saw me, all they saw was a cute 8-year old reciting lines from a play. If someone walked by and saw him, they saw a 30-something man yelling lines from a children’s play and really, which one of us should be embarrassed? I took it to heart and went on to be a smashing success in the Wizard of Oz and never had a problem speaking in public again.

Unfortunately, while I never developed a real phobia of speaking in public, I did develop another debilitating phobia. I am terrified of needles. Sure, I know what you are thinking – no one likes needles. Nope this goes beyond that. I am more scared of needles that I am of dying. Don’t believe me? Let me tell you a little story…

In early 2002 or thereabouts, I was walking down Columbus Avenue in Manhattan when suddenly everything went black. I woke up a second later on the ground surrounded by strangers. Humiliated, I assured everyone I was fine and went on my merry way. A few days later it happened again. And then again a few days later. This time, I was worried and contacted the very cute and very capable Dr. Kendler, who immediately performed an EKG and, when he did not like the results of the EKG, sent me to a local hospital for tests.

The test involved running on a treadmill to see if I would faint. I readily agreed until the doctor at the hospital explained that I needed to have an IV in my arm for him to perform the test. Apparently, if/when I fainted, the medical staff needed the ability to quickly administer medication. I refused the IV, explaining that if I had an IV, I would faint anyway and be unable to run on the treadmill. The doctor was insistent but so was I. No IV. Finally, the doctor looked at me and used what I believe had been his ultimate manipulation tool, “You could die without this test,” he said. “If there is a problem with your heart and we don’t fix it, you may not live.”

I listened to the doctor. I really do not want to die anytime in the near future. But, I also did not want to have an IV. Plus, the doctor said I could die and that I may not live. He did not know the ultimate outcome. On the other hand, if I took the test, I would definitely have an IV. I rejected the test, the doctor yelled at me, and 5+ years later, I am perfectly healthy and have not had any fainting spells.

So I think it is clear that on my list of fears, needles rank higher than death.

Which leads me to day. I needed a flu shot. I have never previously had a flu shot (see fear of needles, above) and always preferred to risk getting the flu (which I only may get) to the definite outcome of a needle. But, my doctor was adamant that given my medical history and the seriousness of the strain that is expected to hit this year, I get a flu shot. He would not even argue with me about it (although, I have to say, if you are a doctor and feel I need a shot, it is best not to give me an alternative). I was terrified and walked into the office today knowing full well what was coming. And so I called Husband.

And, if I ever complained about Husband, I take it all back now. He came with me to the doctor, held my hand during the flu shot and even distracted me with logistical questions about this evening’s plans. And, even though Husband is squeamish about doctor’s offices, he did not show it.

Maybe a few more of these sessions at the doctors and my fear of needles will go the way of my old fear of public speaking. I certainly hope so.

EVEN BLOGGING IS MORE EFFORT THAN I FEEL LIKE EXPENDING

I am completely unmotivated to do any real work today. I have stuff piling up on me and since Evil Partner is always on my back, I better do an amazing job, and yet I have zero interest today. Really, all I want to do is curl up on my couch with a book and relax. Maybe nap.

Part of my lack of motivation is easily attributable to exhaustion. I am just tired and really should get more sleep. But part of it is just that I can’t muster the strength to care today. I want to eat Halloween candy and flip though US Weekly. That book mentioned a second ago could be too much effort. The only saving grace is that hopefully there will not be a staff meeting tonight since most people in my office have kids and will race home to take them trick-or-treating.

Even tonight I am not going to get my much needed rest. First of all, I am assisting in a dog training class tonight and even if I don’t want to help out, I need to continue working in the program in order to earn my dogs their 75% discount for doggie day care.

Sigh. In the time it took me to write this, I was just given two more assignments. Grrr. I can’t wait for the Thanksgiving break. Seriously, I have way more important things on my mind than work – like how to eat another Oreo without gaining any additional calories.

PIZZA TASTES EVEN BETTER WHEN EATEN IN SECRET WITH SISTER

I love traveling with Sister. We have so much fun. Last weekend, we drove to DC and spent 4+ hours in the car each way, belting out show tunes at the top of our lungs and trying to guess where on the map we were after we past the leaving NJ sign, but before we saw the Welcome to PA sign. (Seriously, is it the black line on the map? Are we in no-man’s land?)

This weekend, we headed to a spa in the Pocono Mountains for a well-deserved “Sister Weekend.” We took Pilates and Belly-Dancing classes, had massages, facials and reflexology and basically relaxed all weekend.

The best thing about the weekend is that Sister and I have the same approach to traveling. Traffic on the way down? That just means there is time for Disc 2 of Phantom of the Opera. Spa food leaving you wanting more? Sneak out to a local pizza palor.

Yes, you read that right. The food at the spa was delicious, but they limited us to 950 calories each. Ummm, while I am all about losing weight, I really need at least 1200 calories a day. Especially if I am doing Pilates and Belly Dancing. We were starving. So, after lunch, while everyone else went to a lecture about nutrition and longevity, Sister and I snuck into the car and devoured a pizza and gigantic helping of baked ziti.

Of course, we were not really hungry come dinner time and could not finish our food. When asked, we simply told everyone that the portion control method really spoke to us and we were no longer going to eat everything just because it was on our plate. We were praised for our dedication to the program and had a good laugh. Who says cheaters never win?

I HATE ELLEN DEGENERES

I am not sure why people who are celebrities seem to think that they are above the law. Sure, they get away with more then someone like me, but you would think that they would be pleasantly surprised when catching a lucky break, as opposed to shocked and outraged at being forced to follow the rules.

In this case, I am taking about Ellen Degeneres and her deplorable behavior toward a rescue dog from Mutts and Moms.

I am totally siding with the rescue group. Ellen Degeneres was wrong. I used to like her but have become so upset over Ellen’s behavior that I am making a public vow to never watch her shows (either live or televised) again. Further, I have since thrown away my signed Ellen Degeneres poster, from way back in 1994 when she performed at my college.

For those of you unfamiliar with the controversy, here it is in a nutshell from Access Hollywood:

The talk show hostess and her partner Portia de Rossi adopted Iggy, a Brussels Griffon mix, on Sept. 20. But when things didn’t work out, DeGeneres gave the dog to her hairdresser.

In doing so, DeGeneres violated an agreement with the Mutts and Moms dog rescue agency by not informing them of the handoff.

When the agency called DeGeneres to ask about Iggy, she said she found another home for the dog. The agency sent a representative to the hairdresser’s home Sunday and took the dog away.

DeGeneres went public about the situation Monday while taping an episode of her show to air Tuesday. She admitted she didn’t read all the paperwork involving the adoption.

Ummm, exactly. She did not read the paperwork.

I am extremely involved in the rescue community. I help to run a rescue group dedicated to re-homing Shiba Inus. I have volunteered at shelters and recently, have been working on socialization and training with rescue dogs, in order to make them more adoptable. So, while not an expert, I do know something about the subject.

And, here is what I do know: NYC Shiba Rescue (and other similar groups) all spend HOURS trying to match the right dog with the right family. We interview families, visit their homes, and otherwise make every attempt to ensure both the humans and the dogs will be happy together. We turn down people who do not meet our critera for a good home. We argue among ourselves about what the best match is and will not adopt out a dog until all this happens. And for this reason, we have adoption agreements.

Since our goal is to have to dog matched with the perfect home – and to make sure we can keep tabs to ensure that the home remains perfect – there is a clause in our adoption agreement which states that if an adopter finds that at any time during the life of the dog, for any reason they can not keep the adopted dog, they will contact us immediately and we have the first right to have the dog back. You can not give the dog away. You can not sell the dog. You have to give the dog back.

Now, while it has never happened to us yet, if someone called NYC Shiba Rescue to tell us that they could not keep their dog because it was terrorizing their cat, we would offer to come get the dog immediately or to work with the adopter on training. If the adopter did not want to keep the dog but suggested another family that had fallen in love with the dog, I am pretty sure we would tell the adopter to have the potential family contact us and then we would complete the adoption process with them. See, everyone wins.

Adopting an animal is a wonderful experience. I did not think I could ever love a dog as much as Tiki until Cody came along. But, it also comes with responsibilities and upholding an adoption agreement is one of those responsibilities (as is spaying/neutering and training). While Ellen Degeneres was willing to do the former, she did not bother with the latter. Why? I am not sure but I guess it was because she just didn’t think anyone would care.

But of course Mutts and Moms, just like NYC Shiba Rescue, does care. That is why they bother to mention it in an adoption agreement.

Of course, Ellen Degeneres also complained that she spent $3,000 on the dog. But that $3,000 did not seem important when she gave the dog away. And really, not to be petty, but what percentage of her income are we talking about? I mean really.

And now, according to a quick Google search, Mutts and Moms has been forced to suspend operations. Their petfinder account is de-activated and their links no longer work. So, instead of one dog going to a home that Ellen Degeneres did not pre-approve, no dogs are being adopted out by this organization. Simply translated, dogs are languishing in shelters because Ellen Degeneres is a selfish, horrible person. (If I were Suzanne I would call her a fucking cunt and douchbag bitch, but as you know, I refrain from swearing).

So I hereby publically announce that I am no longer a fan of Ellen Degeneres. Frankly, I am sorry I was ever a fan in the first place.

EVERYONE KNOWS THIS BUT ME

Clearly my goddaughter is so brilliant that she reads Suzanne’s blog. Yesterday, upon attempting to give her the best day of her young life, I made plans to take her and her brother to the NYC Children’s Museum. I was very sad to get there and discover that it is closed on Mondays.

After trying the locked door several times, because “sometimes doors are hard,” my goddaughter looked up at me accusingly and said, “Auntie Sara, you really should have called first.” I admitted she was right and asked her if she at least enjoyed the 10 block walk to the museum from my apartment.

“Can we please take a taxi home?” she sighed.

Looks like I am not the super cool babysitter I was hoping to be.

IT TAKES TWO

This weekend was a lesson in parenting. Husband and I hosted my best friend from high school, her husband and their two children (the older is my most brilliant and beautiful goddaughter) for a long weekend: 1000 sq. feet , 6 people, and two dogs. It was loud and crowded and I will likely be wiping little fingerprints from countertops for a long time. And, while I adore the entire family, I was not unhappy when they left. I needed the quiet.

Generally, Husband and I spend weekends at home, catching up on reading and maybe watching a little television. We are generally quiet folks while at home (or at least our neighbors have never complained about noise) and we had no idea what was in store. First of all, children wake up really early. Even when they stay up late, they wake up early – the staying up late just means that they wake up cranky. And, they have no idea how to whisper. I am exhausted.

But, we also had a lot of fun. I will go to extraordinary lengths to hear a two year old giggle and really, there is nothing better than watching a movie on the couch with two children snuggled into your lap. And, Husband and I loved having conversations with my goddaughter (who is, as she will tell you, not just four, but four and a half!). Both kids were good natured, adorable and, we think, brilliant.

Husband and I want to have a baby and have been trying for several months without luck so far. I spoke to my friend about this (who was convinced that a weekend with her children would push back family planning by several years) and she suggested that I attend a “fertility circle” with a group of women she knows. According to my friend, they have a 100% success rate within 3 months. I have to admit, for a second I was tempted. Fertility without needles and/or drugs? I am a big believe that positive energy accomplishes many things and I was tempted to try out the fertility circle on the theory that it could not do any harm.

I was sort of worried about convincing Husband to go along with something like this and I asked my friend how other women approached their potentially skeptical partners about participating. It was at this point that my friend told me that no men were allowed. Basically, a group of women partake in a ritual and send positive energy to the woman trying to conceive. Then, her fertility increases.

Hmmm. That would make sense, but it takes two to make a baby (at least, if you are trying the old fashioned way, which we are) and we have no idea which one of us is the reason it is taking longer than we originally planned. The feminist in me is all riled about this. I can have all the positive energy in the world and be incredibly fertile, but if Husband is not, a baby is not happening (enter Stephen Colbert…sigh… ooops, I digress). So, on that basis (or until a medical doctor says it is all my issues), I am not sure that the point of the fertility circle really is. Thus, since I can’t see the point, I am not schlepping more than 2 hours in order to attend one.

Maybe while I was learning about parenting, my friend should have been learning about feminism….

A BOOK OFFER

As thought I needed more proof of how lucky I am to have married Husband, he sent me the following email this morning: "In case you want to go get your boyfriend's new book at a Borders," and attached this link for a discount at Borders.

Its good to be married to someone who not only understands my unrequited love for another, but actually encourages it!

ME: IN 500 WORDS OR LESS

I remember back a few (okay, more like 15) years ago, when I was applying to college. There was so much paperwork to gather, letters of recommendation to obtain and personal statements to write. Then, when I applied to law school, I had to do the entire process all over again. When I got into law school, I breathed a sigh of relief that my application days were over. It just seemed so unfair that I would be judged on the basis of some papers that really did not give a peak into who I really am.

But now, in my attempt to purchase an apartment (or rather, in NYC, shares in a corporation which will give me the right to lease a certain apartment through the co-op), I am faced with the same thing. Husband and I each needed four letters of recommendation from friends (preferably who were already co-op shareholders), current bank statements (and not the kind you can pull off-line, but actual paper statements), a personal statement and various other documents.

But, none of these reflect who I am. For example, according to my broker, neither the letters of recommendation nor the personal statement are supposed to mention dogs – and not just owning them, but I am not supposed to mention my work with NYC Shiba Rescue (made you look, Jenna!) or my classes to become a dog trainer – or politics. I also can’t mention controversial subjects like abortion, so talking about my work for Haven is out. And, while you are supposed to mention that you cheer for local sports teams, I can not mention that those teams are the Mets, Giants and Rangers. Apparently there may be an anti-dog, anti-choice person on the Board who roots for the Braves, Eagles and Devils who would then black-list me from the building.

So the letters and personal statements are just hollow and generic, which is too bad. If I were on the Board, I would much rather hear about a person who was passionate about their causes and teams (even if I disagreed with their opinions) and, as a person who is making a family dinner tonight in order to celebrate Tiki the Wonder Dog’s second birthday (happy birthday Tiki!), I would appreciate living near someone who was equally as passionate about their animal companion, even if such a companion were a rabbit or goldfish.

But, I guess this way I have a better chance of getting accepted to live in the building. Just like in applying to college and law school, when my applications made me sound serious and academically motivated, I was forced to wait until after the acceptance to be myself. So, once I am moved in, I can be the real me. But this time, I am really serious when I vow to never go through an application process again.

A DIFFERENT KIND OF WRITING

Several people have emailed me directly to ask me while I have not blogged very much in the last few weeks. I know. I am sorry. I had no idea that buying an apartment was so time consuming. It’s not like in the suburbs where you go into contract, hire some inspectors and wait until closing. We need a Board Package, which has to include 6 letters of reference from people who are not related and preferably owners in co-op buildings themselves. Then, we need business references. The letters can not mention the dogs or politics (pretty much the only things that define my life) and of course, they need to be vetted by the broker.

So, since my friends are lazy, I am busy writing, but instead of writing blog posts, I am writing letters on my own behalf. Board package is in on Monday and then I will resume my regular schedule…

ON TO A NEW SPORT

Grrr. Seriously. What the f*ck??? Wondering what has me so riled? That would be the NY Mets. You know, the first team in MLB history to be 7 games ahead in the division standings on September 12th to lose the division and not make the play offs.

I would love to write some metaphor about life and how a fast start does not necessarily lead to success, but I am too depressed…