Newsflash to New Englanders: You live in a place with snow in the winter. We go through this routine every year. It's not the end of the world when it snows. School doesn't need to be cancelled with three effing inches of snow on the ground, even if the white stuff is coming down.
Drive a little slower, especially when making turns. Use that strange stick off of your steering wheel that creates that clicking noise and the yellow lights... BEFORE you actually start to change lanes ('cause it really doesn't do much good if you're already halfway into mine before you put it on-- I got that you're shoving over at that point, thanks).
And for the love of all that is good and holy, put your damn headlights on. I realize it's a bit much to ask you to brush a couple inches of wet, fresh snow off of your windshields-- because that is simply far too logical.
But dude, seriously. Lights.
And not just the fucking runners. The big white -- or those eye-blinding blue, if you insist - orbs in the front.
Grazie.
-----
My office is fairly abandoned today. I think that most of the schools have closed, so today's attendance is revealing the childless among us. The snow's coming down at a good clip in big gobs of white. It's sloppy. It's wet. It's everything that a pre-Christmas snowstorm should be. Although I have to say, it's actually not too bad right now in Boston. The wind hasn't kicked up yet, so you can walk fairly easily across Back Bay.
I don't expect to be able to repeat this feat this evening, when the wind tunnel effect kicks in and blows people down the slushy sidewalks into the alleys near Back Bay Station. I'm seriously debating altering my route to meet Erich at South Station and hop the #10 bus to Southie 'cause I can pick that up right across the street, rather than walk several blocks.
I'm just hoping that the reports I saw last night don't come true. If it's going to snow, stay as snow. I'd rather be able to at least enjoy the pretty whiteness tomorrow morning as I have coffee next to the Christmas tree, rather than deal with a mess of rainy and icy slush. Pretty please?
09 December 2005
08 December 2005
Cold December Morning
I first woke up this morning before dawn as I heard a weird noise in the neighborhood. Oh, it's Thursday. Recycling truck. Meh. But then I noticed something-- that's all I heard. My brain quickly started processing things as it forced me to physically sit up and take note of my surroundings.
Dead to the world Erich next to me. Check.
Four of five cats sprawled or curled up in various positions on the bed with us. Check.
Early morning radiator sounds? (crickets)
Ahem-- early morning radiator sounds? (still crickets)
Shit. Okay-- did we run out of water in the boiler? Gotta get up, go downstairs to the basement. Fuck it's cold. What time is it, anyway?
Time? Alarm clock's blank.
So's the cable box clock. Oh. Power's out. And it's really fucking cold.
At this point, my body's starting to wake up, so I need to use the bathroom. I practically hop back to the bedroom afterward because the wood floor is painful to my bare feet. Colley, who normally accompanies me anywhere I go, is still the lump of fur on the bed where I left him. The bed, at least, is relatively warm. Especially with a 6'3" tall human male (translation=furnace) and three other cats.
I scoot back into bed and nudge Erich. "Hon, where's your Blackberry?"
"s'downstairs, why?"
"The power's out. You need to set your alarm."
"mmmnnnfffff."
He gets up. He gets the Blackberry. He sets it. We mumble a couple more things. He falls back asleep. I try to, but the residual morning cough from last week's cold decides to stir up. I grab a cough drop, curl my body around Colley, and start dozing.
"Errrrk..." *sounds of things whirring as the furnace kicks in two floors below*
'sabout time
fall back asleep...
It was a slow morning, needless to say. We finally left the house around 8:45. I got to work at 10:30.
Honestly? I'd rather have stayed in bed. Now I'm practically attached to my space heater because I swear it's only 50 degrees in here. Maybe.
I think the problem is that I'm in denial of the whole winter thing right now. I normally enjoy the cold weather. This year, it seems to have hit way too fast, even ignoring the reality that it's December in New England. Despite the cold at night, I refuse to wear long PJ pants to bed. So by around 4 a.m., once Colley has taken over the middle of the bed and the comforter is all skewed so that my ass is barely covered by only the thin bedsheet, I'm freezing. (if only it implied that my ass would actually fall off, I probably wouldn't mind so much!)
How many more months of this weather before I can bitch about heat and humidity again? ;)
Dead to the world Erich next to me. Check.
Four of five cats sprawled or curled up in various positions on the bed with us. Check.
Early morning radiator sounds? (crickets)
Ahem-- early morning radiator sounds? (still crickets)
Shit. Okay-- did we run out of water in the boiler? Gotta get up, go downstairs to the basement. Fuck it's cold. What time is it, anyway?
Time? Alarm clock's blank.
So's the cable box clock. Oh. Power's out. And it's really fucking cold.
At this point, my body's starting to wake up, so I need to use the bathroom. I practically hop back to the bedroom afterward because the wood floor is painful to my bare feet. Colley, who normally accompanies me anywhere I go, is still the lump of fur on the bed where I left him. The bed, at least, is relatively warm. Especially with a 6'3" tall human male (translation=furnace) and three other cats.
I scoot back into bed and nudge Erich. "Hon, where's your Blackberry?"
"s'downstairs, why?"
"The power's out. You need to set your alarm."
"mmmnnnfffff."
He gets up. He gets the Blackberry. He sets it. We mumble a couple more things. He falls back asleep. I try to, but the residual morning cough from last week's cold decides to stir up. I grab a cough drop, curl my body around Colley, and start dozing.
"Errrrk..." *sounds of things whirring as the furnace kicks in two floors below*
'sabout time
fall back asleep...
It was a slow morning, needless to say. We finally left the house around 8:45. I got to work at 10:30.
Honestly? I'd rather have stayed in bed. Now I'm practically attached to my space heater because I swear it's only 50 degrees in here. Maybe.
I think the problem is that I'm in denial of the whole winter thing right now. I normally enjoy the cold weather. This year, it seems to have hit way too fast, even ignoring the reality that it's December in New England. Despite the cold at night, I refuse to wear long PJ pants to bed. So by around 4 a.m., once Colley has taken over the middle of the bed and the comforter is all skewed so that my ass is barely covered by only the thin bedsheet, I'm freezing. (if only it implied that my ass would actually fall off, I probably wouldn't mind so much!)
How many more months of this weather before I can bitch about heat and humidity again? ;)
07 December 2005
Drowning in Rivers of Satin
Growing up, I had the typical girly-girl dreams of marriage in a church, a long flowing train behind me, with all of my family and friends beaming as I walked up the aisle in some completely poufy, princessy dress. Somewhere along the way, I'm sure I also dreamed that flowers would sprout from the imprints of every footstep, and fairy godmother-like billows of glittery love would spread out during the wedding, too.
To sum up, I seemed to want a Barbie doll wedding.
And that's rather odd, considering I never was big on Barbie dolls as a kid. Poofy dresses however, I craved. If my parents would have allowed it, I guarantee I would have been wearing 50's era circle skirts complete with criolines to school every day. As it was, I was able to get out of the house wearing them fairly often. :)
So when it came to dreaming of a wedding dress, something completely utterly (insert swoon) romantic would be the only thing that would do, right?
Well, fast forward about twenty years, and the entire concept of wedding dress hunting has become a nightmare. I no longer have the slender, dancer’s figure that I did in high school. I’ve definitely swerved from girly-girl to tomboy. I avoid almost all things frilly, glittery, and most of all… pink. I swear that Cinderella's evil stepmother is physically in the dressing rooms, ready to cackle and condemn me-- only me, for both my size and horrible appearance in a wedding gown. Nightmare in White Satin-- that's sure to be me, once I get a dress. Whomever goes to a fitting with me is sure to have her eyes burned out of her sockets by the horror of the vision in front of them.
My friends, being the wonderfully patient women that they are, insist that I’m over-reacting, attempting to calm me down while at least visibly resisting the urge to roll their eyes at my frenzy. A couple of them offer to go with me, especially after early signs of my mom becoming Motherzilla-of-bride this summer.
I was fully prepared to be calling them in a panic this spring because omigoditsonlysixmonthsawayandidonthaveadress would be setting in.
But then the first dress sampling came with no fanfare. We walked right into a salon, no appointment, completely out of the blue, last Friday. We did this while we were on a hunt for shoes for my mother for her holiday party. The store next door to the dress salon was a specialized shoe store, and my mom wanted to “just pop in” to the dress shop “since we were there.”
It was quiet, being around 11 a.m. on a Friday. The woman working at the shop was quite welcoming and not at all pushy. They had a limited number of plus-sized dresses. Everything was sold off the rack there, so it was a “what you see is what you get,” plus alterations as needed.
The largest dress they had was a size 24. The woman also recommended trying on a size 22. This surprised me because everything I’ve read about wedding gowns suggested that they tend to run small, and I wear a 24 or 26 in street clothes. The dresses that were available were all in their protective bags, so we eliminated gowns by the decoration on the bodices to start. We came up with two to try.
And almost immediately, I groaned as I went into the dressing room—because this just HAD to be the day that I was wearing my comfy slack-off day leopard-print mesh underwear. JUST what I want to be showing off to my mother and some complete stranger as they help me step into wedding dresses.
Ugh.
Ah well, suck it up and deal. It wasn’t like I was wearing the right kind of bra for this, either. It was a basic utilitarian white day.
The first dress was the size 22. It was very pretty and light fabric, which I was specifically looking for. It was a straight-cut neckline with tiny spaghetti straps, champagne colored, and elegantly beaded all over the bodice. The a-line skirt and train were plain. The train was designed to bustle nicely in back.
My mom helped me into the dress—I was surprised just how much help was needed to get into it. But it closed! A Size 22! And it wasn’t pulling! Mentally I was bouncing and screaming in glee that a 22 was fitting. Because THAT meant I had some size room for dresses, and I wasn’t doomed be trying on sizes 28 or 30, as I was lead by the bridal magazines to believe would be happening.
The dress now on, I tiptoed, dress hem lifted in hands, over to the alteration area and up on a dias. Mirrors surrounded me. And there I was, standing in my first wedding dress ever, looking in the mirror at the reality of what was coming up in my life for the first time, my mom beaming as she helped adjust the train to trellis down the stair.
Holy shit, this is weird.
And I really, really liked the dress. I’ll put it on just a smidge off of feeling like a princess. It fit quite well, too—in my incorrect undergarments for the special occasion, only a few spots would need tucks and alterations. Nothing needed to be let out. It was all taking in. The sales clerk gave me some ideas on how they could alter it, including adjusting the back if I preferred to have a ribbon lattice look, but did declare that it was fitting quite well for a first try, especially for wearing an everyday bra.
My mom loved it, too.
But I resisted the urge to do “THIS ONE!” immediately, given it was the very first dress I’d tried, AND we hadn’t checked out the reputation of the salon or their policies.
I went back to the dressing room to try on the second dress.
To sum up the second, it didn’t fit well at all—the fabric was heavy and sat on me even heavier. The cut hit me wrong. Although for the first time in years, I felt very tiny in the boob department—whomever this dress was cut for must be a fat chick porn star who’d gone over to Europe for the huge implants—because the bustline was easily four times the size of mine. That, or it was designed for me to rest one of our cats during the wedding ceremony. Because… damn. It had to be somewhere in the M-range for cup size.
That is about all that should be noted about that second dress.
So back to the first dress…. ;)
Last night, I talked to Mom briefly just to catch up on things from the weekend after she left, thank her again for all that she did for us for the house, and share some amusing stories about the combination of a Christmas tree and four month old kittens.
I mention to her that I did really like that dress. She gushed about it over the phone. But then I said "But I don't want to rush into it too quickly. I mean, it's the first one that I tried on..."
She replied, "Well, you bought the first house you saw, didn't you?"
She does have a point...
;)
To sum up, I seemed to want a Barbie doll wedding.
And that's rather odd, considering I never was big on Barbie dolls as a kid. Poofy dresses however, I craved. If my parents would have allowed it, I guarantee I would have been wearing 50's era circle skirts complete with criolines to school every day. As it was, I was able to get out of the house wearing them fairly often. :)
So when it came to dreaming of a wedding dress, something completely utterly (insert swoon) romantic would be the only thing that would do, right?
Well, fast forward about twenty years, and the entire concept of wedding dress hunting has become a nightmare. I no longer have the slender, dancer’s figure that I did in high school. I’ve definitely swerved from girly-girl to tomboy. I avoid almost all things frilly, glittery, and most of all… pink. I swear that Cinderella's evil stepmother is physically in the dressing rooms, ready to cackle and condemn me-- only me, for both my size and horrible appearance in a wedding gown. Nightmare in White Satin-- that's sure to be me, once I get a dress. Whomever goes to a fitting with me is sure to have her eyes burned out of her sockets by the horror of the vision in front of them.
My friends, being the wonderfully patient women that they are, insist that I’m over-reacting, attempting to calm me down while at least visibly resisting the urge to roll their eyes at my frenzy. A couple of them offer to go with me, especially after early signs of my mom becoming Motherzilla-of-bride this summer.
I was fully prepared to be calling them in a panic this spring because omigoditsonlysixmonthsawayandidonthaveadress would be setting in.
But then the first dress sampling came with no fanfare. We walked right into a salon, no appointment, completely out of the blue, last Friday. We did this while we were on a hunt for shoes for my mother for her holiday party. The store next door to the dress salon was a specialized shoe store, and my mom wanted to “just pop in” to the dress shop “since we were there.”
It was quiet, being around 11 a.m. on a Friday. The woman working at the shop was quite welcoming and not at all pushy. They had a limited number of plus-sized dresses. Everything was sold off the rack there, so it was a “what you see is what you get,” plus alterations as needed.
The largest dress they had was a size 24. The woman also recommended trying on a size 22. This surprised me because everything I’ve read about wedding gowns suggested that they tend to run small, and I wear a 24 or 26 in street clothes. The dresses that were available were all in their protective bags, so we eliminated gowns by the decoration on the bodices to start. We came up with two to try.
And almost immediately, I groaned as I went into the dressing room—because this just HAD to be the day that I was wearing my comfy slack-off day leopard-print mesh underwear. JUST what I want to be showing off to my mother and some complete stranger as they help me step into wedding dresses.
Ugh.
Ah well, suck it up and deal. It wasn’t like I was wearing the right kind of bra for this, either. It was a basic utilitarian white day.
The first dress was the size 22. It was very pretty and light fabric, which I was specifically looking for. It was a straight-cut neckline with tiny spaghetti straps, champagne colored, and elegantly beaded all over the bodice. The a-line skirt and train were plain. The train was designed to bustle nicely in back.
My mom helped me into the dress—I was surprised just how much help was needed to get into it. But it closed! A Size 22! And it wasn’t pulling! Mentally I was bouncing and screaming in glee that a 22 was fitting. Because THAT meant I had some size room for dresses, and I wasn’t doomed be trying on sizes 28 or 30, as I was lead by the bridal magazines to believe would be happening.
The dress now on, I tiptoed, dress hem lifted in hands, over to the alteration area and up on a dias. Mirrors surrounded me. And there I was, standing in my first wedding dress ever, looking in the mirror at the reality of what was coming up in my life for the first time, my mom beaming as she helped adjust the train to trellis down the stair.
Holy shit, this is weird.
And I really, really liked the dress. I’ll put it on just a smidge off of feeling like a princess. It fit quite well, too—in my incorrect undergarments for the special occasion, only a few spots would need tucks and alterations. Nothing needed to be let out. It was all taking in. The sales clerk gave me some ideas on how they could alter it, including adjusting the back if I preferred to have a ribbon lattice look, but did declare that it was fitting quite well for a first try, especially for wearing an everyday bra.
My mom loved it, too.
But I resisted the urge to do “THIS ONE!” immediately, given it was the very first dress I’d tried, AND we hadn’t checked out the reputation of the salon or their policies.
I went back to the dressing room to try on the second dress.
To sum up the second, it didn’t fit well at all—the fabric was heavy and sat on me even heavier. The cut hit me wrong. Although for the first time in years, I felt very tiny in the boob department—whomever this dress was cut for must be a fat chick porn star who’d gone over to Europe for the huge implants—because the bustline was easily four times the size of mine. That, or it was designed for me to rest one of our cats during the wedding ceremony. Because… damn. It had to be somewhere in the M-range for cup size.
That is about all that should be noted about that second dress.
So back to the first dress…. ;)
Last night, I talked to Mom briefly just to catch up on things from the weekend after she left, thank her again for all that she did for us for the house, and share some amusing stories about the combination of a Christmas tree and four month old kittens.
I mention to her that I did really like that dress. She gushed about it over the phone. But then I said "But I don't want to rush into it too quickly. I mean, it's the first one that I tried on..."
She replied, "Well, you bought the first house you saw, didn't you?"
She does have a point...
;)
Holidailies commences
It's December 7th, which this year marks the beginning of the Holidailies season. There might be some strange entry writing here, but I'll be forcing myself to write every day... hopefully multiple times every day... for the next month. :)
Since it is the beginning of Holidailies, and I've also met several new people online in the past several months, I'll start this year's challenge by simply reintroducing myself. Whatever bio is linked to my journal probably hasn't been updated for years at this point, and well... it's been a life-changing year.
Those who know me, stop snorting due to obvious-ness of that statement.
Anyway... hi, how are ya? :) My name's Melissa. I normally go by Mel, or by my childhood nickname-turned-online handle, Measi. I'm 30. I’ve been blogging online for just shy of five years now, and I literally write about everything and anything here—so if you pop by every day, you’ll find completely random topics to read about.
I'm engaged to a wonderful man named Erich. We're coming up on a year of engagement next month and are just starting the wedding plans. (we're shooting for next October, but we haven't finalized a date yet). Erich and I bought our first house this year, moved in at the end of June, and now are adjusting to life as homeowners , long distance commuters, and that odd sense of settling down into that life that we saw our parents living, but didn't think we'd ever quite reach.
We live in Providence, Rhode Island, having escaped Massachusetts and the frightening housing market that exists there. Rhode Island, being the smallest state in the United States, also has the longest official name: State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. I have not yet seen any evidence of plantations in Providence. Perhaps, though, my idea of great southern mansions isn’t quite what they mean by “plantation.” In any case, I like it here. It’s a very small state—only a bit more than 30 by 40 miles. But because of its location, it’s a huge melting pot of generations, cultures, and economic classes. Diversity is good. Erich and I both still commute to our jobs in Boston, however, so in many ways, we still haven’t left Massachusetts.
We're owned by five... yes, five... cats. Numbers four and five joined us this past September, and we recognize that we’ve finally reached official “Crazy Cat People” status. You’ll see entries about them throughout the month, but to sum up, we have Colley, Fizzy, Gus, Noby, and Elly.
My hobbies include writing (blogging, stories, penpal letters, etc.), reading, cross-stitch, computer games, and movies. Both Erich and I are bonafide geeks—we play Dungeons & Dragons every month. We go to Renaissance Fairs in period garb. Occasionally, we hit the fandom convention circuit.
So that’s me in a nutshell. Welcome into my little corner of the internet. I love to hear from anyone who’s reading, so please drop a line in my comments to say hi or drop me an email! And please let me know if there’s a topic you’d love to have me write about over the month, whether holiday-related or not. With few exceptions, I’m up for anything!
Best,
Mel
Since it is the beginning of Holidailies, and I've also met several new people online in the past several months, I'll start this year's challenge by simply reintroducing myself. Whatever bio is linked to my journal probably hasn't been updated for years at this point, and well... it's been a life-changing year.
Those who know me, stop snorting due to obvious-ness of that statement.
Anyway... hi, how are ya? :) My name's Melissa. I normally go by Mel, or by my childhood nickname-turned-online handle, Measi. I'm 30. I’ve been blogging online for just shy of five years now, and I literally write about everything and anything here—so if you pop by every day, you’ll find completely random topics to read about.
I'm engaged to a wonderful man named Erich. We're coming up on a year of engagement next month and are just starting the wedding plans. (we're shooting for next October, but we haven't finalized a date yet). Erich and I bought our first house this year, moved in at the end of June, and now are adjusting to life as homeowners , long distance commuters, and that odd sense of settling down into that life that we saw our parents living, but didn't think we'd ever quite reach.
We live in Providence, Rhode Island, having escaped Massachusetts and the frightening housing market that exists there. Rhode Island, being the smallest state in the United States, also has the longest official name: State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. I have not yet seen any evidence of plantations in Providence. Perhaps, though, my idea of great southern mansions isn’t quite what they mean by “plantation.” In any case, I like it here. It’s a very small state—only a bit more than 30 by 40 miles. But because of its location, it’s a huge melting pot of generations, cultures, and economic classes. Diversity is good. Erich and I both still commute to our jobs in Boston, however, so in many ways, we still haven’t left Massachusetts.
We're owned by five... yes, five... cats. Numbers four and five joined us this past September, and we recognize that we’ve finally reached official “Crazy Cat People” status. You’ll see entries about them throughout the month, but to sum up, we have Colley, Fizzy, Gus, Noby, and Elly.
My hobbies include writing (blogging, stories, penpal letters, etc.), reading, cross-stitch, computer games, and movies. Both Erich and I are bonafide geeks—we play Dungeons & Dragons every month. We go to Renaissance Fairs in period garb. Occasionally, we hit the fandom convention circuit.
So that’s me in a nutshell. Welcome into my little corner of the internet. I love to hear from anyone who’s reading, so please drop a line in my comments to say hi or drop me an email! And please let me know if there’s a topic you’d love to have me write about over the month, whether holiday-related or not. With few exceptions, I’m up for anything!
Best,
Mel
03 December 2005
Catching up
Ugh, I didn't expect it to be a week before I caught up on an entry. It's been a crazy week, kicking off the holiday season in its usual fashion.
Thanksgiving was quiet and relaxing. My turkey recipe absolutely rocked. (and yes, I'll post it sometime in the next week, in case you need holiday recipe goodness). I'm seriously going to challenge my mom's turkey with this recipe. I may even beat her. :) There were only three of us for Thanksgiving dinner-- Erich, his dad, and myself. So several of the things I'd planned to make were put off to the side. It seemed pretty pointless to make so much. We had plenty of leftovers as it was.
I honestly loved it, though. It didn't quite feel like Thanksgiving since it was such different surroundings and nothing routine from what I'd done in years past, but a good start to the new house.
The day after Thanksgiving, Erich had to work. I spent the day getting some stuff done around the house and going grocery shopping for the weekend. By around 4:30 p.m., both of us were on the way to Cape Cod from completely different directions-- Erich from Boston and myself from Providence.
All day on Friday, though, the warning bells were sounding-- I was getting an increasingly irritated throat, signifying the impending cold that would hit me like a hammer. Erich had been sick the previous few days, even having to take a day off because he felt so lousy. As it looked, I would get slammed at the LAN party on the Cape. *sigh* Joy.
LAN parties are always a weird experience. It's basically a group of people huddled in a somewhat darkened living room with headphones on, shooting at each other or working together toward a specific goal for hours on end. Junk food abounds. Soda is drunk by the gallons. And if you hadn't gained weight at Thanksgiving dinner, the couple days afterwards were sure to pack on the pounds.
The cold hit me on Saturday afternoon, forcing me to crash out in bed by around 10:30-- which is really shitty for a LAN that usually goes to 4 a.m. each night. But I did have a good time for the limited amount I did play. Call of Duty 2 seemed to be the hit game of this year's LAN. It is a beautiful game graphics-wise, and even I was able to do a fairly good job. :) I still am an Unreal Tournament 2K4 and Ghost Recon fan, though.
We came home late Sunday afternoon and promptly went into slack-off mode to unwind and get sleep. I felt like shit, but I knew I had to go work Monday because I was taking my last couple vacation days later in the week. Bleh.
My mom and Jim came up on Wednesday night, driving a small U-haul trailer full of used furniture, paintings, and decorative knick-knacks for the house. We have matching furniture now! :) Every room has something. I can already see that the sunroom will become my favorite stitching room-- it's going to be so cozy and relaxing in there. I can't wait to get it painted and finished!
Mom agreed with an idea originally suggested by Kevin that Erich took to: move our TV in the living room to another section of the room. The problem has been that we brought our big green comfy couch with us to the house when we moved in-- but it's one of those long 92" ones. It was simply too long for the dimensions of our living room, but we dealt with it by putting it in the only space it really would fit. THe problem was that it blocked the beautiful large arch between the dining and living rooms. I knew it had to change, but I didn't like the idea of the big couch moving into the space Kevin suggested.
Mom solved it in two ways-- she brought up a loveseat and large chair w/ottoman that DO fit into that suggested space. We moved the green sofa out into the sunroom-- it's a sage green color, so it will fit in with the sunny, earthy feel of that room anyway. The loveseat and chair can be spaced now to open up that arch, and when we move it, the arch will be completely free so we'll be able to set up our gaming tables or extend a long dining room table as needed.
For now, the TV isn't moved. We need to drill a hole in the floorboards of the living room to run the TV cable over in the cellar before we can move anything. My mom also had some great ideas for curtains and colors to decorate. I'm a bit wary of some of them, but she's offered to send samples of the wallpapers she's thinking of so we can see them-- and I'm willing to at least consider them before we make final decisions.
We did a ton of shopping the past two days. My feet hurt like hell. My mom is an insane shopper. I'm honestly thankful I skipped this development as I grew up.
Erich and I are having a big birthday party for one of our friends tonight who really needs all of the love and emotional support from his friends as he can get right now. Mom offered to come over and play around with what we have in the friedge and make some munchie plates for us (yay!). We'll get some lunch together. She'll give her furry grandkids some last minute love before she and Jim get on the road. And Erich and I will be getting our tree so we can hopefully have it up and decorated by the party tonight. :)
Wedding updates are coming next entry! :)
Thanksgiving was quiet and relaxing. My turkey recipe absolutely rocked. (and yes, I'll post it sometime in the next week, in case you need holiday recipe goodness). I'm seriously going to challenge my mom's turkey with this recipe. I may even beat her. :) There were only three of us for Thanksgiving dinner-- Erich, his dad, and myself. So several of the things I'd planned to make were put off to the side. It seemed pretty pointless to make so much. We had plenty of leftovers as it was.
I honestly loved it, though. It didn't quite feel like Thanksgiving since it was such different surroundings and nothing routine from what I'd done in years past, but a good start to the new house.
The day after Thanksgiving, Erich had to work. I spent the day getting some stuff done around the house and going grocery shopping for the weekend. By around 4:30 p.m., both of us were on the way to Cape Cod from completely different directions-- Erich from Boston and myself from Providence.
All day on Friday, though, the warning bells were sounding-- I was getting an increasingly irritated throat, signifying the impending cold that would hit me like a hammer. Erich had been sick the previous few days, even having to take a day off because he felt so lousy. As it looked, I would get slammed at the LAN party on the Cape. *sigh* Joy.
LAN parties are always a weird experience. It's basically a group of people huddled in a somewhat darkened living room with headphones on, shooting at each other or working together toward a specific goal for hours on end. Junk food abounds. Soda is drunk by the gallons. And if you hadn't gained weight at Thanksgiving dinner, the couple days afterwards were sure to pack on the pounds.
The cold hit me on Saturday afternoon, forcing me to crash out in bed by around 10:30-- which is really shitty for a LAN that usually goes to 4 a.m. each night. But I did have a good time for the limited amount I did play. Call of Duty 2 seemed to be the hit game of this year's LAN. It is a beautiful game graphics-wise, and even I was able to do a fairly good job. :) I still am an Unreal Tournament 2K4 and Ghost Recon fan, though.
We came home late Sunday afternoon and promptly went into slack-off mode to unwind and get sleep. I felt like shit, but I knew I had to go work Monday because I was taking my last couple vacation days later in the week. Bleh.
My mom and Jim came up on Wednesday night, driving a small U-haul trailer full of used furniture, paintings, and decorative knick-knacks for the house. We have matching furniture now! :) Every room has something. I can already see that the sunroom will become my favorite stitching room-- it's going to be so cozy and relaxing in there. I can't wait to get it painted and finished!
Mom agreed with an idea originally suggested by Kevin that Erich took to: move our TV in the living room to another section of the room. The problem has been that we brought our big green comfy couch with us to the house when we moved in-- but it's one of those long 92" ones. It was simply too long for the dimensions of our living room, but we dealt with it by putting it in the only space it really would fit. THe problem was that it blocked the beautiful large arch between the dining and living rooms. I knew it had to change, but I didn't like the idea of the big couch moving into the space Kevin suggested.
Mom solved it in two ways-- she brought up a loveseat and large chair w/ottoman that DO fit into that suggested space. We moved the green sofa out into the sunroom-- it's a sage green color, so it will fit in with the sunny, earthy feel of that room anyway. The loveseat and chair can be spaced now to open up that arch, and when we move it, the arch will be completely free so we'll be able to set up our gaming tables or extend a long dining room table as needed.
For now, the TV isn't moved. We need to drill a hole in the floorboards of the living room to run the TV cable over in the cellar before we can move anything. My mom also had some great ideas for curtains and colors to decorate. I'm a bit wary of some of them, but she's offered to send samples of the wallpapers she's thinking of so we can see them-- and I'm willing to at least consider them before we make final decisions.
We did a ton of shopping the past two days. My feet hurt like hell. My mom is an insane shopper. I'm honestly thankful I skipped this development as I grew up.
Erich and I are having a big birthday party for one of our friends tonight who really needs all of the love and emotional support from his friends as he can get right now. Mom offered to come over and play around with what we have in the friedge and make some munchie plates for us (yay!). We'll get some lunch together. She'll give her furry grandkids some last minute love before she and Jim get on the road. And Erich and I will be getting our tree so we can hopefully have it up and decorated by the party tonight. :)
Wedding updates are coming next entry! :)
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