Divorce? Never. Murder? Maybe.

Today is 21 years married for Joe and I. Our marriage is finally of legal age. It’s not the awkward, shaky, unstable thing it was when it first started. Don’t get me wrong, it was never in danger. That’s the little miracle about me and Joe. We’ve never doubted that we were supposed to be with each other. He’s the most honest person I’ve ever met and he’s said the same thing to me since I was 19 and he was 21, “there’s no one else for me” – and I believe him.

But loving him all the time and liking him all the time are not the same things. I was away this week for a work trip and when I got back he said,” I really missed you this time. This one was hard.” And I totally got it. I really missed him too. There are some work weeks that I’m skipping out of this house. Excited to have some alone time. Excited to not hear about his day. Excited to have a big, fat bed all to myself at night. And I’m sure he’s equally excited to not to have me around. Doesn’t mean the marriage is ending. It just means we’re human.

This past year I started going through some…..let’s say hormonal transitions. Although I didn’t have the usual signs and signals. Mine came in the form of exploding as soon as he told the same joke he’s been telling for 21 years. Or losing my patience and my mind as he used 50,000 words to tell a 500 word story, get to the point for God’s sake!  Also, if I have to hear about the grass on his lawn or the ill-managed roads in our township one more time I’m going to go postal. 

But I’m no gem either, lucky for me  he doesn’t have a blog so you’ll never know why!

All that said, I wouldn’t want to celebrate this anniversary with anyone else. Death – by each other’s hand or nature – will be the only way we leave each other. Romantic right?

Here’s to many many more years of our perfectly imperfect marriage. xoxo.
 


 

 

 

 

Shaking sh&t up

These past few months have been a cocoon of work and home and work. The biggest excitement I’ve had is finding a new show to watch (Atlanta!). Other than that it’s been the usual post holiday hibernation. Which I actually love.

But not today. Today I shook sh&t up.

That’s what my husband calls it. We’ve done it before.

Hey we’re in our 20s and have no prospects for the future… let’s have a baby!

Hey there’s a new job that requires us to uproot our family and move to a town where we don’t know anyone…let’s do it!

Hey husband…you should leave your crappy but stable job and start your own business!

You get the point.

So at 5:15pm today I went for it.

Only this time it wasn’t as crazy as moving or quitting my job.

I got a haircut. A big big haircut.

Like all my hair gone haircut.

This is what the salon looked like afterwards. Like a hair crime scene.


It was so much hair that other stylists came over to talk to my stylist.

“I never get to have fun like that,” they said

“Ugh! My person wanted an 8th of an inch taken off,” they cried

Not me. You could have made a tiny wig with my leftover hair.

Why you ask? What made me do it?  I truthfully decided on getting this cut about 2 weeks ago.

Here’s the part where I share the story and you try hard to not think I’m crazy.

For the 25+ years I’ve known my husband he’s tried to get me jewelry. Sometimes it’s completely right-on. Most times it’s…off. This is not news for him to hear. I’m good at a lot of things, but one of them is not pretending. My face shows all my truths instantly. He’s had his heart-broken by my narly look after many an important gift giving moment. Christmas morning. Birthday dinner. Valentines…you get it. I’m horrible. As you can also imagine after years of this kind of emotional gamble – he’s stopped. And I’m totally ok with it. And actually our gift giving to each other has kind of faded. Which sounds sad but it’s not. It’s awesome. It’s a relief. Judging yet? It’s ok. I’d judge us too.

But two weeks ago he surprised me with a set of beautiful, dreamy, totally me earrings. These earrings were made for me. They are simply the best gift I’ve ever gotten from him. The. Best. Almost like he’s waited for a decade to get me the perfect gift.

Cut to today. I started thinking about Thursday, when I’ve asked him to take me and my earrings out for dinner. I can’t wait. But something was off. You couldn’t really see my earrings because my hair had gotten super long and super out of control.

So I decided there was only one thing to do. Chop my hair.

When I showed my husband he laughed and said,”Look at you. Shaking sh&t up”

Yep. Always. Just like you taught me.




 

 

 

 

 

Signs that I’m growing as a person?

It’s Girl Scout cookie time. 

Talk about a cause that we can all rally behind. 

For years I’ve been a devoted follower/subscriber/supporter. This year was no different. Except for one thing.

My usual lean on Thin Mints has diminished a bit. All of sudden I’ve become a bigger fan of Lemonades. 


It’s shocking. Lemon? Over Chocolate? Could this mean tarts over cake? Pepsi over Coke? Just kidding, I actually can’t tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. I’m a monster. 



I’m also a judger. I’ve always silently but wholeheartedly believed that people who choose lemon dessert over chocolate are somehow…suspicious… up to no good. Or they were Grandmas. Let’s face it – there is a correlation between age and lemon love. There just is. 

So what happened to me? I’m still youngish and kind of full of vigor. I dunno! I can’t explain it. I’m just all about the lemon now.

Maybe it was Beyonce’s last album. Or me finally breaking down my bias and reaching across to the aisle to better understand my fellow humans.

A chocolate fan is not better than a lemon  fan. Lemon lives matter! 

Whatever. Atleast I’m still better then the peanut butter cookie fan. What a freak.

Dear 50’s housewife, it gets better

I read this article someone reposted from an old lifestyle magazine.

Then for laughs I rewrote it. Let me know if there’s any other advice that should be in there. Click link below.

tips-to-look-after-your-husband

PSA 2016

I use a lot of products. Too many I think. A few months ago I got rid of one of my routines. I no longer buy make-up remover. I’m done. No more wipes, lotions or pads. About 6 months ago I bought thisThis little vat of goodness does it all. It was bought to help me get my feet ready for flip flops. But in the end I started using it for my knees, elbows, lips, you get the picture. Then I read a small line on the back that read,”removes make-up.” So I tried it. 

Guess what? It’s amazing. This and a washcloth and the make-up is gone!

Here’s proof (is this an overshare?)


I know what you’re thinking. I’m a genius! And I wear too much eyeliner. Both true. But it’s better than anything else I’ve tried. 

I’m obsessed. I may or may not carry around smaller amounts of the butter everywhere I go in little Tupperware containers. Embarrassing and yet totally useful.

Ok. Back to your Sunday. PSA over. Xoxo

It’s begining to look a lot like I’m late decorating for Christmas.

Are you still eating Thanksgiving leftovers? Are you still in a turkey coma? I hope everyone had a good holiday. Here’s a couple of pics of the last of our turkey which went into some pies. Our pot pies are one crust only – which caused a lot of controversy in our house at first. No bottom crust? Crazy. But now everyone’s in line.

img_1460img_1467I know it’s December, and I know everyone has moved onto lights and trees and stockings hung by the chimney with care – but I’m a little behind. The leaves are still falling in our neighborhood and my dead mums are still by the front door. And guess what – I don’t really care. The plaque on the door still says Gobble Gobble and my mantle is still living in the past too.

This weekend is it. I’m on it. I need to make the move. The switch. Goodbye rotting, half eaten pumpkins! Hello Christmas. Can’t wait! Well, I mean, I can wait just a little.  I’m not doing it today. I’ll do it tomorrow. When I say weekend I mean Saturday. Sunday tops.

The gobble gobble 

It’s the Tuesday before Thanksgiving – my absolute favorite time of year. Who would have guessed that a vegetarian Indian girl who never even really acknowledged the holiday until 1991, would be this obsessed. I hear my husband saying it’s all him. He’s the reason I love it. Maybe. 

First turkey day ever: Milford, PA circa 1991

Memory: Aunt Dee Dee (whose real name is Mary inexplicably) handing me the sausage to cut up for stuffing. First time I ever touched sausage. Good times.

For years we went to her house every year – even right after my little baby girl was born. Speaking of baby girl – she came home for the holiday. On her 18th birthday. We missed cake for breakfast so we did cake at a normal time. 

18. As in a year younger then I was when I went to my first Thanksgiving in Milford. This is some twisted time warp. But she’s home! And by home I mean she’s out with friends but in the same town as us. I’ll take it.

 We also saw some oldies but goodies. Katherine. Howard and Luigi. Santa. And Janey. The picture says it all. It’s blurry. Off center. Everyone’s smiling – even Howard – he’s the bald head floating on top of Janey. (On a side note) Katherine has her tree up. We have neighbors who have lights up. I know it’s tradition but I’m still rocking the pumpkins. I need to hold on to pumpkins people. And that is in no way a diss to Christmas-on-Thanksgiving people. You do you.

So anyway it’s the Tuesday before…Thursday  and all through the house, not a creature was stirr… that’s not true. Creatures are stirring. They’re stirring all over the place. 

Turkey #1 is in the brine! Do you brine? Do you dry rub instead? Do you do none of the above and your turkey comes out better then mine? Don’t tell me.

I brine because I’m a sheep to The Food Network. If Ina tells me to do something – by god I do it. My brine is a combo of mulling ingredients and things I’ve heard are good to dump in there.  Yes that is star anise in there. And yes, also some dried apples and pepper cloves. Citrus? Yep. Onions and garlic? Yep. Good turkey. Nice turkey. What do I care – I’m not eating it! Just kidding..  And now something that has nothing to do with anything but is just as important. I want to share a photo taken by an amazing photographer(among other things) in our town – who as fate would have it just happened to be my baby girls soccer coach in middle school. Small beautiful world. 

He took this pic of the lake in our town. I screenshot (or is it screenshotted? Is that even a word?) it a week ago and have been looking at it ever since. I was totally going to pretend that I took it – but he’s too nice a guy. Thanks Pat for sharing your talent!

 

Thanksgiving week is on – and in the words of Jim Morrison or Mandela or Bobby Flay…the only way out is through. Let’s do this.

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