It's another breezy, gorgeous evening here in the Heights, so I'm going to take my lawn chair and a book and go spend an hour or so reading in the shade instead of blogging in doors. Instead, I'll leave you with a repost of something I wrote about a year ago and posted on an old Myspace blog that I've pretty much ignored since then.

Also, I finally organized our house related photos and uploaded them to a Flickr account, now available for your parousal: here .

On The State of Women’s Bathrooms
Ladies, this one goes out to all of you. It’s about our bathrooms. Not the ones at home that we make sure to keep sparkling clean and filled with scented candles, triple ply toilet paper, and Plumeria scented Bath and Body Works Moisturizing Hand Foam. I’m not talking about the bathroom that we buy a multitude of products just to keep clean - the tile cleaner for the shower, the blue stuff for the toilet, the glass cleaner for the window, the scrubbing bubbles for the sinks…. I’m talking about the ones we use while we’re at work. Or at the mall. Or anywhere else where we can do our business in relative anonymity and not be in charge of cleaning.


See, it seems that as soon as we women get a change to pee somewhere where the level of cleanliness doesn’t directly reflect on us like it does in our own homes we lose all sense of etiquette, descend into filth, and adopt a group mentality where lack of class is acceptable as long as someone else is dealing with the aftermath.


When I was a little girl, my Grandma Loretta and I used to hang out while my Mom was at work. Okay, actually she was babysitting me, but it never really felt that way. She was a lot of fun and loved to go out so we’d often spend our days walking around the mall. We’d buy little trinkets, throw pennies into the fountain, gobble up free samples of cheese and summer sausage at the old Hickory Farms store, and eat ice cream cones while sitting on benches and watching people go by. Then we’d usually meet my Pa for lunch and sometimes catch an afternoon movie. Since I was a wee little thing with a wee little bladder, I often had to… well, wee. Loretta hated public bathrooms. She knew it was inevitable that in the course of a six hour day spent at the mall I’d have to go at least three times, but she hated it none the less. If she knew my Pa was coming soon she’d wrinkle her nose and squint her eyes and plead "Can you hold it just a little bit longer?" Most of the time the answer was no, and we’d march over to use the Food Court john.


My Grandmother had her bathroom procedure down pat and she never deviated from it, not for any reason. She would grab a bunch of napkins from the Arbys near the bathroom entrance and use said napkins to open the door as well as to push open and lock the door to the stall. She would throw that napkin in the toilet, grab a fresh napkin, wipe the entire seat with it, and then dispose of it. Then, even though she had wiped the seat, there was still no sitting to be had. I learned the Art of the Squat when I was very young.

1.No part of he body may touch the bowl. This includes not only heinie cheeks, but also the back of the thighs that are in danger of coming too close to the bowl.

2. Pants must not touch the floor. This means that while squatting one hand must always be holding up your drawers, but not holding them so close that you risk getting pee on them. This can pose a challenge.

3. During the squat you cannot touch the walls of the stall. Envision the walls as being made out of fire so that you’re not tempted to use any part of it for balance.

Leaving the bathroom was similar to entering it - your hands didn’t touch a single surface, not even the knobs to sink or the little crank on the paper towel dispenser. I did not dare break any of the sacred Rules of the Public Bathroom. The way my Grandma carried on about it I believed that there were colonies of germs that lived in every crook and crevice just waiting to spread horrible things like Ebola, Leprosy, and Beri Beri. If my arm grazed the dispenser while I was reaching for toilet paper I half expected it to fall off sometime later that day.

Now that I’m older, I’m pretty sure that while all bathrooms (yes, even the ones in our own homes) are swarming with germs and bacteria, women’s restrooms are much more disgusting and bacteria ridden then they need to be. Why? Well, have you been in a public restroom lately? They’re often stinky (which really can’t be controlled and I’m not suggesting we all carry Lysol in our bags just in case we plop something offensive out…), dirty, and in a condition that we would NEVER leave our own bathrooms.

When you’re at home, do you pee all over your toilet seat? If you were to accidentally do so, wouldn’t you wipe it off so that the next person to enter the room doesn’t have to look at your sprinkles? When you’re in your own cozy little powder room do you sometimes forget to flush after you do some nasty business? Probably not. Do you ever flush but realize that it hasn’t gone down and then just walk away from it? Of course not, because you’d be embarrassed if a guest at your home went into the bathroom and came face to face with yesterday’s lunch.

So, why are these things done in public bathrooms? Why is the sink area always so slopped with water and soap remnants that anything placed on the counter will immediately absorb a few pints like a sponge? Why are paper towels left on the floors? Why are things a lot worse than paper towels left in the bowl? Why are disgusting, used feminine hygiene products not properly wrapped up before they’re haphazardly placed in the little box (if they’re even put there at all)? NO ONE NEEDS TO SEE THAT.

Even though I no longer fear getting Ricketts from the door handle of the mall bathroom, I understand where my Grandma was coming from. I don’t want to sit on a pee splattered seat covered in someone else’s crusty butt germs. It’s gross. That’s why I am challenging every woman who reads this blog . Yes, challenging you. Let’s make a little bit of an effort to keep our bathrooms clean. Aim. Wipe. Flush. It’s really not that difficult. Let’s re-claim our bathrooms from clogs, filth, and apathy! Let’s put the ladies back in Ladies Room! Let’s have a heart and realize that someone has to deal with that mess every day, and even if you’ve never met him or her that doesn’t mean you should treat the space they clean any different than the space that you clean.

After all, if it’s difficult to squat while holding your bag and your pants up while trying to balance without hitting the wall imagine how it is going to feel when you’re 80.

The Luckiest

One year ago, I married the greatest guy in the entire world. Bring on the next fifty years. Hell, bring on the next sixty. We're ready.

Here is a litle something I wrote, shortly after we were engaged in February 2007. Oh, memories.

Mawaige...is wat bwings us togever today.

I'm getting married.

As many times as I've said that in the past few days I still can't get used to it. In fact, just seeing it written up there and knowing that it applies to me is making me tear up a little bit. I never thought I would be one of those somewhat sappy ultra-emotional brides-to-be, but I would be lying if I said I couldn't include myself in that category just a little bit.

Because I am a hotbed of emotion, I do have to get pretty mushy and say some things about Jeremy. Those of you who know him (which is a majority of you...) already know most of what I am about to say. Jeremy is one of the best people I have ever met. He is thoughtful, intelligent, kind, and genuinely cares about each and every person who comes into his life. He is the guy who makes everyone smile. It didn't take long after I met him for me to know that Jeremy was the person I wanted to get old and wrinky with I can't imagine anyone else that I would be happy turning pruny around. I am so honored to have him in my life, not only as the man I'm going to marry, but as my best friend forever. I, my friends, am the lucky one in this relationship.

The proposal was so classic Jeremy that it was perfect. I came home from work and he had ordered sushi, and had set the table with tea light candles and two dozen red roses. I was instructed not to read the card with the roses until after dinner, so I scarfed everything down and I am pretty sure I swallowed at least one or two California rolls without even chewing. When I finally opened the card, it said only the crypic phrase: "Look in the dryer." So I did. There I found a valentine instructing me to look under a towel in the bathroom, where I found yet another valentine telling me to look elsewhere in the house. This continued until I had found 60 (!!!!) hidden valentines, scavenger hunt style. These valentines were hidden on top of the kitchen ceiling fan, between specific pages of books on the bookshelf, behind smores flavored Pop Tarts, and a ton of other places.

The last valentine (although I didn't know it was the last at the time) was hidden behind a picture of us taken a couple of years ago at my cousin's wedding. This valentine didn't lead me to another place - it said "Will you marry me? Circle yes, no, or maybe." I started crying the second I saw the word "marry," and when I turned around he had the ring. I was so overcome and couldn't stop hugging and kissing Jeremy that I think it was a minute or two before I said yes. I have not stopped smiling since.

So there you have it. Planning is still in the very early stage, obviously, but I have already started obsessing over bridal guides and overpriced bride magazines, so I'm sure it won't be long until we have some details. As of right now we would like to have the ceremony in late April of 2008, possibly the 26th if everything works out. I'll keep you posted!

The Failure

I am pretty much at the end of my rope when it comes to training the dog, and I think it's time to call a professional in. Group dog training was unsuccessful at best, and although it was handy to get Winston to sit (which he does, he just can't master the stay command), it didn't begin to address the main issues we're having - namely his playful (but constant) nipping and licking, his insane barking at other dogs and people, and his Houdini-like knack for escaping from the backyard.

We adopted Winston when he was about seven months old, and we have no way of knowing what kind of training he has before coming to live with us. Most of his behavior issues were apparent right from the get-go, and we only have ourselves to blame for not nipping them in the bud. He was, and is, the first dog either one of us has ever had, and we probably treated him too much like a child and not enough like a dog. As a result he thinks he has he run of the house, and it shows in the way he acts.

We've taken a lot of big steps over the past few months. He is crated each and every time we leave for the day (which, because of our overlapping schedules is for about five hours), and he is crated at night instead of sleeping on our bed, waking up in the middle of the night, barking at nothing, and jumping all over our sleeping heads. Since we started making this a rule instead of an option it seems like his separation anxiety has improved. I hope that this is only a temporary situation, and that once he realizes that although he is a dog, he's not the Alpha Dog, we can go back to nighttime snuzzles.

Still, just when I think that things are on the upturn, another setback occurs. Last month, Winston escaped between the slats of the backyard fence, ran out through the neighborhood and onto a main road, and caused an accident. With new fencing pretty far down on our list (that shit is EXPENSIVE!), but realizing that the dog needs fresh air and exercise, we took a garden pole and securely fashioned a leash to it so long that it stretches to the boundaries of the fence without allowing him to go through it. It's rather unsightly and far from ideal, but it's been working like a charm. Until today.

Most of the time either Jeremy and I are in the backyard with Winston, playing fetch or reading a book while he runs around chasing dandelion puffs and whatnot. Still, in this little house there are times where he just needs to be outside. Like tonight, for instance. My brother was over, graciously installing a new overhead light that I bought as a big first anniversary surprise for Jeremy. Winston kept running into the bathroom and I was afraid he would ingest a drill bit, so into the backyard he went, hooked up to his ingenious leash contraption.

A half hour later, my neighbor called, asking if I was missing a dog. Sure enough, I was. Winston had somehow unhooked his collar (I'm telling you, if I knew when these things would happen I could make so much loot off of my magical escape dog), which set him free of the ingenious leash contraption. Since he's so tiny, he wriggled his way through the slats in the fence and took off. Born free, as freeeee as the wiiiiind blows.

Luckily, my neighbor was able to entice him into her house with a treat, where I promptly claimed him and cursed the gods, because I have no ideas left for how to contain this little monster. I am incredibly frustrated, and I don't have any more tricks up my sleeve. I watch TV, people. I see Cesar Millan LOOK at a dog and it behaves from the rest of its life. What am I doing wrong? If we can't even keep a thirteen pound dog in check, how the hell are we going to manage having a kid one day? How will Winston react to a baby in the house when he greets people by jumping on them and then nipping their fingers?

I think tonight was an eye opening event because I am more sure than ever that we need professional help. I want to be able to enjoy having a dog, and I want my dog to be the happiest he can possibly be, so it's really my only option at this point.

What can I get for one doll-ah? Any-ting you want!

Long before all this recession business started cramping my spending habits, I was a huge fan of our local dollar store. I live in Delaware where we have absolutely no sales tax, so everything there actually costs a buck, as opposed to $1.06 or $1.09, and there is serious satisfaction involved with going into a store with a Hamilton and coming out with ten useful items.

Please don't misunderstand - I'm not one of those people that buy bacon from the freezer case or weird foreign version of Aquafresh and Dial soap. I have a complete fear of putting anything on or in my body that could very well have been refused for sale at a Mexican grocery store due to exposure to scorpion larvae or botulism. Call me crazy, but I am a firm believer that most name brand items being sold at the dollar store are there for a reason. Maybe they're too close to expiration date, maybe the label was printed incorrectly, maybe they're simply overstock. I'm still not taking my chances.

I also realize that there is a ton of junk at the dollar store. Stinky off brand perfumes, those little parachute men that you throw into the air and watch plummet down to Earth, can openers that may or may not last through a single night of drinking. At yet, there are gems amongst the piss poor quality plastic goblets and possibly contaminated Turkish cookies.

Here are a couple of things I've picked up in the last month that I am not ashamed to tell you I got for one dollar. ONE DOLLAR!


I snagged BOTH of these brown and tan ceramic planters for a single greenback. As soon as my garden sprouts this Spring, I'll do a quick transfer and have a perfect set of plants for my living room.



I am a freak about using coasters on the coffee table, but my naughty puppy snatches the fabric ones and uses them for a chew toy. Solution? These white brushed metal beauties. Goodbye, soda can rings!


We lined the top of the toy piano in our bedroom with these awesome votive holders for the cost of - you guessed it - ONE DOLLAR.


Our dollar store is pretty much the hotspot for cheap picture frames. Yes, there are plenty of frames targeted at the 9-14 year old market, and plenty targeted to the 70-100 year old market, but you can find some treasures if you take the time to look. I bought a bunch of these antique looking frames to fill a blank wall in our bedroom with photos of Winston, pictures of my alma mater well as my husbands, and shots taken around both of our home towns. We printed the photos off on high quality paper from our very own paper, making it a really affordable and fun project.

Speaking of picture frames, these simple black 4 X 6 frames are a staple in my house. I love the way they add a classic, finished look to my photographs. Here's a skinny sliver of wall in my living room spruced up with photos from Europe hanging happily in dollar store frames.




So, lest you think that Goodwill is the only place you can pick up cheap decor items, go check out your own local dollar store and spend some time digging through the junk to find your own gems. Just don't buy the bacon.

3-2-1- Contact

Pretty much every time I start a new project related to the house, I garner a new arch-nemesis. The list of Things That I Absolutely Cannot Stand grows exponetially every week or so and ranges from the truly benign (tubes of bathtub caulk that for some ungodly reason refuse to dispense themselves in an even manner) to the kind of stuff that will really put your panties in a bunch - things like giant tree roots that invade plumbing like they're part of a Blitzkrieg.

This week's arch-nemesis is...wait for it, this is exciting...CONTACT PAPER! Yes, contact paper. The stuff that you apply to the bottoms of drawers or cabinet shelves to make them look pretty and/or serve as a buffer between your junk and the vessel that your junk lives in. It's terribly exciting, eh?

I had always poo-pooed the idea of contact paper, although I'm not quite sure why. It may have something to do with fleeting memories I have of the drawers in my childhood bathroom. While it's probably not possible to describe them as well as I'd like to, let's just say that they involved red, blue, and yellow blocks accented by a steady stream of Aquafresh toothpaste. That was fine when the bathroom was red, blue, and yellow, but once we moved past the primary color decor and on to a more mature color scheme, those stinking drawers were still rocking the pre-school style. I'd have to check to be sure, but I am almost positive that paper is still lining those drawers.

Although I've ignored my mother's not-so-subtle hints that no kitchen is complete without kitchen cabinets that look like a decoupage project inside, last night I actually bought some during my weekly expedition to Lowe's. I was looking for wooden bed risers (our new bedskirt is awesome, but unusually long) and found myself in the contact paper menagerie. The usual suspects were there - including faux wood contact paper, which scares the hell out of me because I can't even fathom all the scary uses people find for it. I'm imagining faux wood countertops, shellacked to hell with contact paper. Shudder.

Then I spotted this. Ain't she a beaut'?



I snatched up a couple of rolls and spent the short drive home in a state of fluttering excitement, thinking how amazing the paper would look not only in my current kitchen, but even with the cabinets and paint color that will hopefully adorn our space by the end of the year.

And then I got home, and my silly little dreams were destroyed, one by one. I struggled with measuring the depth and width of the shelves. I struggled with keeping the damn thing from curling back up into a tube shape while I was cutting. I struggled with cutting the paper in a straight line. Yes, a straight line. It's not as easy as it seems, okay?

In the end, I resorted to removing the shelves from the cabinet, sitting on the floor, and stretching the paper out over the surface with one leg holding down the paper (to keep it from curling) and cutting around it like a pie crust, all the while cursing my inability to complete simple tasks.

In the end, I completed about half of the cabinets I intended to paper, and my self esteem had been stomped down a few notches due to undeniable home improvement ineptitude. The worst part is that I still have the most difficult cabinets left - the corner unit, the small cabinets over the fridge, and the double cabinet (with permanent shelves that I can't even take out and straddle out of sheer desperation) over the stove.

And yet, tomorrow is another day. Full of contact papering joy. I wish you could feel the apathy oozing out of my pores right now. It's intense.

and I will stand here no more, and I will stand here no less

My backyard has finally recognized that it's Spring. If only we can get this pesky weather situation to cooperate, we're in business. I'm already planning the menu for our first cookout of the season, and least you think I'm joking, you should check my laptop's browsing history. I've made the ten day forecast my start page,and I check it obsessively. As soon as a Saturday pops up with a temperature that starts with a seven, I'm busting out the lawnchairs and serving spritzers.

On a completely unrelated note, can I just take a moment to say how amazing the album Desire and Dissolving Men by The Wheel is? You don't have to take my word for it. Download My Hanging Surrender. You will thank me for it a thousand times, I promise.