Celebration Hangover

Is it possible to have a celebration hangover? Luckily, I’m officially done celebrating turning 40. I spent over a week connecting with dear friends in California and Seattle. I love birthdays because it’s an opportunity to show up and celebrate people. Sure, we should do this every day but let’s get real, some days you’re more concerned about getting through the work day and not eating cereal for dinner. That chance to say, hey! I’m glad you were born and are in my life! is one I don’t like to miss. I am so grateful to all the folks who came out of the woodwork to help me ring in 40.

Mr. Darcy, a man who shies away from planning most anything and who is not a party person, stretched outside his comfort zone to throw me a birthday bash. I could not be more touched or more proud. So many of my close pals showed up to partake in cupcakes and beer and a pinata (yes, I love pinatas!). Here’s some photos from the party:

Love hug! Me, my sis, Jeni Angel, and Finn

Favorite people! My bro-in-law, sis, husband, and BFF Meghan.

I’m pretty sure my nephew was more excited than anyone for cupcakes & singing.

Lovebirds C & S.

BFF Jenny Two Times drove all the way from Portland for the party. <3

Hand sewn garland and happy birthday sign thanks to my talented sister.

Me & my pinata before I whacked it open.

Meghan handled the meat (tray). There are many jokes in that statement but I’ll refrain. I love her.

Heather & Aimee (former college roomies!) stopped by to celebrate with me.

2 friends both named Jen gave me the same awesome card. How cool is that?

Friends from work came by to partake in the fun.

Our wonderful moms. Mr. Darcy’s parents flew in from New Jersey earlier in the week. How nice is that?

My nephew makes any party fun.

Surprise of the weekend? Tomato flew up from LA to be there! 23 years of friendship.

I always say this but I always feel it: I am so lucky to be so loved.

I already am convinced 40 is going to be fantastic.

Hello 40

Today I turn 40.

How did that happen? I can blink and picture myself on my 30th birthday tipsy and laughing at party with my 50 closest pals, thinking forty sounded so far away. It’s amazing where life can take you and how quickly time passes the older you get.

My thirties taught me a lot about risk and faith and trusting myself and being brave. They taught me I am stronger than I thought and that being strong doesn’t mean being hardened to life, to being vulnerable, or feeling all the feelings. In fact, doing all of those things makes you strong. During the past decade I have made peace with parts of myself and parts of my life that I always wrestled with- my relationship with my father being the biggest one. I packed up my entire life in Santa Cruz, CA to move to Seattle where I knew 3 people and didn’t have a job and in that leap of faith, I got to experience living in a big city, being a single woman in a hip part of town, going on some good and some (very) bad dates that eventually led me to Mr. Darcy, and finding a life I wouldn’t trade with anyone.

In my 30′s I not only found my person, I found myself. I found a woman I am proud to be. Ten years ago I was in therapy writing out lists of qualities I liked about myself (the list was short and difficult to write) and a list of qualities I’d like to possess- the woman I’d like to be. It’s safe to say that I’ve spent the last ten years becoming that woman I dreamed of but didn’t think was possible. I’m imperfect but my flaws give color to my character and I’m okay with that. I make mistakes but I no longer shy away from trying out of fear of failing because I know that the attempt is sometimes as meaningful as the success. I no longer feel like I have to constantly be doing something, to be busy, to have plans. I don’t strive to multitask every aspect of my life. I relish in a day with nothing on my calendar. Who? Me? YES ME. I don’t give everything I have to everyone I know because I have finally learned that I don’t have to prove my worth, that I don’t have to be everyone’s friend, that (and this is a big one) people don’t need rescuing. I’ve retired my cape.

I’ve gotten more and more okay with people not liking me. I’m still flummoxed when it happens but, fuck it, that’s life and it doesn’t mean I am a bad person just because someone doesn’t find me delightful. I’ve learned that you can be hurt or hurt someone and repair the relationship if you’re both honest. That fighting doesn’t mean the end. That the people meant to stick around will stick it out with you even when it gets messy. I’m grateful to all the people who have lead me here, even the ones who broke my heart or made me cry, because all of it shaped me. I can now write a list about all the things I like about myself. I wish I could call up my therapist from when I was 30 and having a mini nervous breakdown, falling apart in her office on a weekly basis, and read her my new list. I’d like to say thank you to her for helping me when I felt like no one could.

And thank you to YOU. Ten years ago I didn’t know what a blog was but now I can’t imagine my life without this space and without all of you. I appreciate you reading, commenting, and supporting me through the years. You’ve cried and laughed with me. Today, let’s celebrate! I’m forty, damn it! In honor of my birthday and my journey to self-acceptance, I want to hear from you- what’s something you really like about yourself? And if you feel like it, what’s something you like about me? Let’s blow up my comment section with a lovefest, okay?

Here, I’ll start: I  like my honesty and my sense of humor. I really like that you show up for me.

Your turn. . .

Sunshine Celebrating

I spent the weekend in California, soaking up the sun and the company of old friends. There’s nothing like spending time with people who have known you for years, who you fall easily into conversation with as if no time has passed, who you can fight and make up with like siblings, who you can be completely yourself around. What better way to kick off my birthday week celebration than that?

It was great to see RaeRae and RunRun who graciously hosted me in their lovely Oakland apartment, to finally get to dine at my friend’s very popular and deliciously successful restaurant, State Bird Provisions, to meet up with Supple in Napa, and to enjoy a sunny brunch with James Dean, Natalie Wood, and Bird.

I could have tacked on a bunch of meet ups with other friends but I made the hard choice to keep this trip simple instead of shoving people into slots of time, running from cafe to bar to restaurant in an attempt to make everyone feel included. I always end up exhausted and I hate rushed visits with people I care about. I will be back in August for a family wedding and reunion so hopefully I can fit in get togethers with folks I didn’t get to see this time around.

Two days until I turn 40. . . I think I’m feeling okay about it.

“Enough”

I read some of my old journals the other day. You know, the kind where you use a pen and write words on paper. (I believe that’s considered retro now, that’s how old I have  become.) Entry after entry I talked about how I needed to lose weight. The pages were filled with body hatred and self-loathing, interspersed with boy drama. But the idea that I didn’t deserve love because I wasn’t thin, the notion that if I couldn’t get to a certain weight, nothing in my life would ever work out, was ever-present. It made me so sad to read. Because essentially I’ve spent my entire life feeling bad about my body.

I’m a week away from 40 and still haven’t figured out how to fully accept my size. I have wasted so much time and energy on this. I’ve been on every diet. I’ve been fatter; I’ve been thinner. I’ve gone to therapy. I’ve tried everything except self-acceptance. I would go out on a limb and say that one of the biggest regrets of my life is that I’ve never been able to look in the mirror and say, “I’m beautiful.”

The biggest bullshit lie I’ve ever swallowed is that thin equals beautiful. I’ve spent a lifetime unable to love myself or feel worthy of being loved because I am not thin “enough.” This message is delivered to us pretty much everywhere we look. I’ve found it reinforced in the media ad nauseum and in my relationships, particularly with some of the men I mistakenly chose to give my heart to. The guys who said I’d be “really hot” if I lost weight (but they’d still have sex with me) or who claimed they didn’t know what they’d say if a friend of theirs commented on my size (no one ever had) or who casually mentioned over dinner that his friends looked down on him because he dated me (because of my body) (I never met these friends and assume they were imaginary). I could go on but I don’t really want to fall into a shame spiral this early in the morning.

When I turned 30, I quit smoking. I was an “occasional smoker” I’d say, but then I was smoking on breaks at work and on my drive home and at parties and after dinner and well, I was a smoker. But on my 30th birthday I gave it up, finally, after many failed attempts. I thought about how I wanted to become a mom and be around for as long as I could for my kid I’d someday have and so I quit.

For my 40th birthday I’m giving myself another gift: I’m quitting body hatred. I’m not going to stop working out or eating vegetables or taking care of my health. I’m just going to drop the ridiculous guilt and shame cloud that I’ve lived my entire life under. My problem hasn’t been not knowing what to eat or how much to work out. Rather, I’ve been stuck in my body loathing, operating from a place of hate and embarrassment rather than self-love. It’s just that, you guys, I’m tired of feeling less than because I weigh more than someone told me I should. I’m fed up with it defining my worth. I’m over the bullshit and done living out the lie.

Happy birthday to me.

The Karaoke Neighbors: Episode 2

I tried the nice approach. We have called in noise complaints three times in three weeks and police have come out to shut the party down. We’ve tried enduring it, turning up the TV, shoving earplugs deeper in my ears. The neighbors insist on loud karaoke parties weekly, sometimes 2-3 times a week. Friday night, I was home alone and their party started up around 8 and was still going on past 11:30 when I attempted to fall asleep, rocked by the vibrations of their bass. By Saturday morning, I was pretty much a wreck. Having endured The Music Man for five years while managing the apartment, I have some sort of PTSD when it comes to this shit. I broke down crying to Mr. Darcy. I feel so stressed out living in our house! How messed up is that? That these fuckers should impact my enjoyment of our home to this degree?

So then it’s Sunday and my family is over for Easter dinner. It’s a beautiful, sunny day so we dined outside as did our neighbors and their mounting crew of people. As we sat there eating, more and more cars drove up the driveway and their chatter increased. I became very tense, worried that what would follow would inevitably be how they celebrate every holiday and every damn day, really. More karaoke.

It was about 8pm when we started to feel the vibrations. We’re sitting on our couch, clear across the house, and can feel it. We talked about what to do, tried to watch some more of the show, but then Mr. Darcy was like, “I’m going to go over there.” So of course I said I’d go too even though the thought of it made me want to throw up. As we walked across our lawn, I had to stop to take a deep breath. As ballsy as I might be, I loathe confrontations like this. I just want to be nice and have everyone get along. I don’t want to have to negotiate with karaoke terrorists.

We knocked on the door multiple times which turned to pounding on it because their music was so loud they couldn’t hear us. I knocked so hard my knuckles hurt. A guy opened the door and I think I said something like, “Your music is too loud.” He kind of shook his head but appeared drunk and I’d never seen this guy before so I said, “I want to talk to John. Where is John?” He wouldn’t get John and meanwhile the karaoke singer just kept going even though she could see us standing there at the door. I broke my own rule and swore during a confrontation saying “I’m sick of this shit.” I try not to do that because it always escalates the situation. The drunk guy blearily said something like, “This is my house blah blah blah.” I’m like, “This is YOUR house? Where is John?” He tried to shut the door in my face and that’s when shit got real and I don’t totally recall everything I said because I was SICK OF THIS SHIT. Mr. Darcy said I kind of lost it. Yep, I did.

I smacked that damn door open and said loudly, “I WANT TO TALK TO JOHN!” Over and over until John appeared. I was going nowhere. I had reached my limit of nice and it’s not pretty when I cross over. There’s a reason people think I’m east coast. Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy is standing behind me ready to punch that little drunk dude as he was getting in my face. John finally came to the door and came outside to talk to us. Darcy introduced himself and we attempted to reason with him. We tried to be nice. We want to be neighborly but when we can feel the bass from our couch clear across our house, it’s not cool. At one point I almost started crying, lamenting how I didn’t move to the suburbs for this after enduring the apartment managing for years. I don’t know you guys, I was kind of breaking down under all the stress. Meanwhile. some chick kept opening the door while we were talking to John to yell in Vietnamese. He’d wave her off, she’d shut the door, then a few seconds later, she’d do it again. These people are crazy, man. Mr. Darcy made sure to repeat to John: You understand that we are giving you this chance to make this right? That we need the volume and bass turned down? He said yes and honestly, when we got back home, we couldn’t hear it.

As we were walking back to our house, our across the street neighbors arrived home and hollered over, “Good! I’m glad you went and talked to them. I’ve had to go over there in my pajamas it’s so loud!” So we walked over to them to meet them and talk about how crazy these karaoke people are. It helped to know we’re not the only ones suffering and that if it came to it, we’d have more neighbors on our side to get these assholes evicted. We also learned that the woman who used to live in our house before it was purchased at auction and flipped, had a son who murdered someone. The neighbor showed us an iPhone video he shot of the SWAT team surrounding the house, looking for the suspect. The woman/mother was the only one home and they tore her house apart. Holy shit! I hope us living here can bring some joy to what was obviously a very sad house. If only we can get these karaoke neighbors to cooperate or leave.

From now on, we’re not negotiating with the terrorists. We’ve got the police noise complaint number memorized and will use it. We’ve looked into the tax records with the help of our realtor friend but it only shows the address next door for the landlords. I’ve got a few other friends with sneaky connections who are investigating the landlords. I am determined to locate them and inform them of the situation. The across the street neighbor said the lady who owns it is very nice and had mentioned she might open the house up to a section 8 renter so I’m also going to call that office. This is a neighborhood of families and retirees. These people are in the wrong damn neighborhood and they’ve pushed me past my breaking point.

Almost 40: A Retrospective

It’s funny to think that as a teenager the thought of turning 40 sounded so old and yet here I am, weeks away from it, and I only feel slightly old. I’m reminded of my age at work sometimes as I eat lunch with friends who are in their 20′s who don’t get my pop culture references and me, theirs. As I hear about their late night adventures or group trips with pals, I nostalgically recall the time in my life when that was my reality. They share their dating stories and I’ll chime in with one of my old tales, “I once went on a date with a guy who unhinged his jaw as we ate sushi.” There’s entertainment in having lived a life. I’ve got the stories to prove it.

I can look in the mirror now and see what time has done to age my face. I can feel the creakiness in my knees and my hips as I take the stairs. After a few cocktails, I wake up with a slight headache and severely dehydrated after a night of fitful sleep. I prefer to go to bed at 10 because I will inevitably wake up before 7am whether I want to or not and I somehow need 8+ hours of sleep now to function. I don’t want to go to a concert if the main act starts at 10pm or if I am forced to stand in a crowded room of drunk people vying for a good position to see the performer. I don’t want to wait an hour for a table at a popular restaurant. I don’t care about having a lot of friends but rather, a small crew of A List friends suits me just fine. I live in suburbia and prefer it. I have a husband, a house, a career, a 403b, and a savings account.  I’m kind of a grown up even though I often feel like it’s still the 90′s and I’m still in my 20′s.

My teens were tumultuous: Alcoholic dad in a dysfunctional home. All girls Catholic high school education. Driving around in cars with friends with nothing to do but hang out, sing along to the radio, and dream. Delaying a four-year college for a two-year to stay closer to home. And then on the cusp of turning 20, my dad passing away.

My 20′s were marked by grief. I was angry and wrote a lot of mediocre poetry. I spent my free time in thrift and record stores, palling around with Jenny Two Times and Tomato and other friends, hanging out around the pool at my mom’s house, drinking wine coolers and sneaking smokes of clove cigarettes. I’d wear thrifted housecoats with Converse or mailman pants with bowling shoes. We were called “alternative” just like the music we listened to.  I lost a bunch of weight and spent a few years that way then gained it all back. I moved to Santa Cruz and eventually graduated from UC Santa Cruz with a degree in Women’s Studies & a minor in Literature. I went there with the intention of studying creative writing but the most I’ve ever done with that dream is become a blogger. I dated a series of guys who taught me a lot about love and heartbreak- they are a post or two unto themselves. I made friends and lost friends and smoked a bunch of weed. I became a women’s self-defense instructor which was probably one of the most pivotal experiences in my life. I worked a bunch of jobs: Michael’s Arts & Crafts, a pottery painting place, housing and admissions offices at UCSC, read books aloud for a blind girl, office administrator for a group home, volunteer coordinator for a youth empowerment organization, community educator for a sexual assault/domestic violence non-profit, and a development director for an AIDS organization. I had roommates, good and bad, and for the first time in my life, lived all alone.

In my 30′s I felt dissatisfied. Wasn’t I supposed to know what the fuck I was doing with my life already? I moved to Seattle and in doing so, everything changed. I learned to be an urbanite and a Pacific Northwesterner. I got lost a lot but now I know my way around pretty well. I came here with no job, just enough savings to get me through 5 weeks. I went on many interviews and turned down a bunch of jobs until I was offered the one I still have, almost 7 years later. I dated some guys, some good, some bad, and even had a few boyfriends. I lived in apartment for the first time in my life. I became an apartment manager which taught me a lot and helped me pay off my debt and save money for the first time ever. I met Mr. Darcy and our first seven hour date turned into moving into together, to getting married, to where we are today. I got through cervical cancer. I paid off my student loan debt and my car. I did a lot of grown up things, some of which sucked. My adorable nephew whose impending birth was the impetus for my big move, is going on 7. He likes to play Mario Brothers, and soccer, and have nerf gun fights, and would live on cheese and nut crackers if he could. I am forever indebted to him for being born and giving me the gumption to change my entire life. Seattle has been good to me and my 30′s allowed me to finally settle into myself. It’s where I found home, and love, and ultimately, the life I dreamed of.

What will my 40′s bring? I’m hopeful it will just keep getting better.

Record Breaking

I’m so, so exhausted that I don’t think I can do much more than tell you that the fundraiser was a smashing success. It blew all previous fundraising goals out of the water and broke the million dollar mark. As in two commas needed! I really didn’t think we’d hit that this year though for the last 3 years I’ve been told we should strive for it. Here’s some perspective: I started managing this event five years ago and our goal was to get 800 people in the room and break $500,000. Wednesday we had over 1,100 people in the room and raised $1,073,129.

(I’m still having trouble saying the number out loud. WOW!)

Was it really only a week ago that I was having a complete and utter meltdown in my cubicle, thoroughly convinced that the program was not going to come together and be compelling to guests? I pride myself on a tightly executed (everyone in and out in an hour) program that packs a big punch with our message mainly through youth speakers who have used our services. I went out on a limb this year and had a singer/guitarist, a spoken word poet, and a rapper (all our youth) perform. I wondered if the audience would be able to relate or feel moved because art is subjective. They got standing ovations and guests sought them after the program to congratulate them. That’s my favorite part of the entire event, really- seeing the youth I’ve worked with take the stage and shine. To hear the praise and watch them bask in it. They deserve that recognition and so much more.

Of course, there were some major hiccups but none of them were on our part and luckily most guests had no idea they were even happening. We premiered our new logo and a brand new one minute commercial about our organization that I’m super proud of. I don’t normally attach my place of work with my on line presence but I’m making an exception this time because I really hope you’ll watch it and see who I work for and why. (Watch for a boy standing at an opening door holding a suitcase. That’s my nephew! And me opening the door but you can only see my hand.)

I’m incredibly lucky to work for an organization where I get to do what I love (event planning) and support changing the trajectory of the lives of foster youth alongside fantastic co-workers. I’m so grateful my life led me here.

A Whole Lot of What

Has it really been over two weeks since my last blog post? Time flies when you’re up to your eyeballs with event planning. Our annual luncheon is on Wednesday and long-time readers know I usually disappear during the weeks leading up to it. I’ll hopefully be able to have a life again come Thursday. You know, like cook an actual meal, see friends, and not wake up every few hours with event-related thoughts.

When I last wrote, I had met the karaoke neighbors. Sadly, my nice approach did nothing to dissuade them from partying on and so, a week later as they karaoke-raged for four hours, we called the cops. Within 20 minutes of making the call, it was blissfully quiet. A week went by with no episodes and I thought, naively, that they had gotten the message. That maybe it just took cops knocking on your door telling you to knock it off to really understand what an incredible nuisance you are. Nope! They were at it again this weekend and by hour 3, I was at my wit’s end. It was still going on when I went to bed after 11pm even though both myself and Mr. Darcy had called in noise complaints within the last hour and a half.

Sigh.

I just really feel like I served my time with this loud music bullshit having put up with The Music Man all those years at the apartment. We’re going over there today to be a bit more blunt. The music is too loud. The bass is up too high. KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF.

In other news, Kaply has decided to abandon me for the high desert which, while I understand her wanting to live closer to family, really makes me super sad. She was one of my first Seattle pals and it just won’t be the same having her close. This news followed on the heels of Jeni’s announcement that she’s moving to Austin in the Fall and just days after another good friend packed up and moved to California for a really great job opportunity. Let’s not forget that Supple moved back to California not that long ago too. While I’m happy that all of them are going after the lives they want, I’m seriously bummed to lose 4 girlfriends in the span of a year. It’s hard to make friends as you get older and while, of course, I will still remain friends with all of them, it’s not the same as having them in the same city. When did life get so complicated and how in the hell did time whiz by so I’m this almost-40 year old woman trying to get pregnant, going to bed at the hour I used to leave the house for a night on the town, complaining about karaoke neighbors, and lamenting the challenges of aging?

My 40th birthday is in a little over a month. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t yet panicked about it. Is there really anything to panic about? I managed to eek some major life accomplishments in during my 39th year- marry my person, buy a house, beat cancer. I just had my second PAP check up post-surgery and it came back clear again. No HPV. No abnormalities. It’s hard to trust that I might be okay after having not been okay. Does that make sense? My ability to live in that place of carefree ignorance is gone. When someone tells you that you have cancer, you don’t ever exist in the world the same way. Even after you get it cut out of you and get a clean bill of health. I’m still trying to make sense of it but know it’s changed how I see myself and the world.

Where am I going with this? I have no idea. I just wanted to pop in and say hi, tell you I’m okay over here, living my little life. Despite life’s little annoyances, I’m content. I’ve been blogging here since February 2005. HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN? Sometimes I think maybe it’s run its course. Maybe it’s time for me to sign off as Sizzle Says and live outside the blog world. I’m not entirely there yet, ready to pull the plug. I’d miss you. That’s the honest answer. I keep sticking around because I like you guys. Even though blogging is nothing like it was back in the early days, I’ve managed to find a community here and that’s what matters. For me, it’s never been about notoriety or getting a book published or being voted “best”- it’s about connecting. And so I keep showing up here with my stories, albeit with less frequency, to talk to you. Thanks for reading and being here, even the ones who just stalk me and never comment.

The Karaoke Neighbors, Episode 1

Last night when I got home close to 7pm, their music was so loud I could hear it as I came through the back gate from my car. I got inside, shut the door, and could still feel the bass vibrating the house. This was the second night in row that I could physically feel their music from clear across my house. The night prior I had to turn my tv volume way up just to drown it out and I could still FEEL it as I sat on my couch. I’m on day five of a nasty head cold, three weeks out from my biggest fundraiser of the year, and a week before my period- it doesn’t take a mathematician to know that adds up to one very cranky, short-fused Sizzle.

I didn’t even take off my jacket but instead feed the cats then walked out the front door, across our lawn, around the side of our house and a massive tree to cross their driveway and knock on their door. I rapped on the screen door a few times with no response. I rang the doorbell but couldn’t hear if it works over the music. I pulled open the screen door to knock louder on their actual door that is adorned with a white wreath with blue ribbon. I knocked again. I must have knocked five different times before someone turned on the porch light and opened the door.

“Hi I am your neighbor!” I somewhat yelled to the short Asian man who answered the door, hoping to be heard over the blaring song.

“Uh. . . which one?” He looks from left to right, suspiciously.

I point to our house on the right. “That one. I just wanted to . . .”

He interrupts me with, “We are just testing our new system! We won’t have it on all night.” No one has turned the music down so we are talking loudly at one another, him inside the house, me on the porch. From my vantage point I can see it’s dimly lit in the living room- most of it from the television and this disco ball-like light that twirls bright green patterns on the ceiling. There are multi-colored holiday lights strung around the front living room window.

“Oh well okay I just wanted to introduce myself. We’re new to the neighborhood too- my husband and I. Did you just buy this house?” I am very friendly, not wanting to come off as rude even though my immediate reaction to anything all week was capital B for Bitchy. Not wanting to get into it with them when Mr. Darcy was working late and wouldn’t be home for hours and I hadn’t thought to text him I was going over there before I arrived at their doorstep.

A petite woman appears in the room and I wave at her and smile. The man, apparently realizing I am not there to yell at them, ushers me in. “Please, come in. My name is John. We rent this place.” He points to the woman, “This is Sandra.” I shake both their hands. Then another woman appears and I wave to her. They introduce her as another roommate who does not speak much English. Sandra asks, “Do you like Vietnamese food?” I shake my head agreeably, saying yes as I look around the room. She smiles and disappears into another room.

“Wow, you’ve really got this place set up! You guys really like to karaoke?” I exclaimed as I took in the room- the massive television where a handsome young Asian man was signing his heart out, the words of his song running along the bottom of the screen in a language I don’t know. I think to myself- we’re so screwed.

“Ohhh yes! We have people over but we try not to have it go too late. Sometimes we go karaoke then come over here to karaoke more.” He talks fast with an accent. He’s compact, shorter than me but I’m wearing heeled boots so I’m probably standing about 5’5″.

“Where do you go karaoke? It’s almost like you could set up your own karaoke bar here.” I smile but am thinking ‘holy crap please don’t set up your own karaoke bar next door to my house anymore than you already have’.

“We go to the International District- lots of places. We try not to be too loud.” I take that as my opening, “Sometimes we can hear your music clear across our house into our living room. It’s not always the volume but more often the bass level. It vibrates. It’s not that it’s often going on too late but rather that it’s so persistent.” I hope that he’s getting what I am saying.

“Oh yes, yes. Do you like to sing? You and your husband should come over, sing with us!” He’s enthusiastic, like us coming over solves any problem there might be with the exceptionally loud volume and vibrating bass. I laugh and say, “Yes I love to sing. My husband, not so much.”

“Do you like to drink?” he asks eagerly. “Well, we are Irish, so YES! Do you guys like to?” thinking we have found our common language in alcohol. “Yes! We do!” All of a sudden I am picturing us two pale Irish folks in that room, towering above the avid karaokers, a lavish spread of Vietnamese food on the table, and the music endlessly blaring as we get sufficiently drunk to stand it.

Sandra reappears with a baggie full of something hot. They shove it into my hands as a peace-offering and I make my way to the door with thanks and promise to drop off some homemade kahlua to them. “It was nice to meet you. It’s good to know your neighbors.” They smile, nod, wave and shut the door.

And that’s how I came to meet our neighbors with an invitation to karaoke and a bag of mysterious, gelatinous Vietnamese food. But hey, after that they turned their music off.

Up My Sleeve

The weekend I went away with girlfriends to Doe Bay, all of Mr. Darcy’s plans with his nerds fell through. I felt sad for him and mentioned that he needed a true nerd weekend back in Philly with his best friends. He claimed none of them would get it together to hang out all at one time. While we were exchanging texts about this, I was emailing his friends back east to find a time that I could fly Darcy out to hang out with them. By the end of the weekend, I had a mutually agreeable date and a plane ticket for Darcy. Surprise!

While he was gone on his adventure this past weekend, I managed to pull off another surprise for him. We’ve been talking about how to set up his nerd cave now that the basement is finally fixed (YAY!). We’re planning on getting a new flat screen and hiring an electrician to come out to drop the cable line down so we can use that space as the “family room”- that way while Mr. Darcy is working on painting his little men, I can be down there watching a show with him or reading. So, I enlisted the help of my mom and brother in law to put some necessary touches on the space. Double B came over and hung a bunch of framed stuff- 3 photos from our wedding and four of Mr. Darcy’s concept art- plus some shelving.

A photo of Darcy, then of us, then of me from our wedding day. New pillow covers thanks to Ikea. Cat comes with room.

While he was doing that, I was sorting through a mountain of boxes that were shoved under Mr. Darcy’s art tables. I discovered that my husband has so many tiny little men that have yet to be assembled and painted and I’ve decided that there is no way on earth he could paint them all in his lifetime given that new boxes of tiny little men arrive weekly. And he got rid of stuff when he moved in with me three years ago!

I added shelves and the white cabinet. I’m a fan of hiding things away. What is not pictured is what’s on the opposite wall- 4 cases of nerditry!

While I rearranged the space so he’d have a place to paint and to work on his computer, my mom was diligently sewing new curtains. We’d braved Ikea earlier that day where we’d found some material I found suitable for the windows and then I dragged her to Lowe’s and Target. By the time we got home, 4.5 hours later, we were beat but there was much to be done still. This is what I do, I invite you over for a sleep over, buy you dinner and set you up in a comfy bed and then make you work until you’re exhausted the next day. (You are forewarned.) After all the sewing, we realized we probably should have purchased more of the fabric but we’ve got a plan to add white fabric at the top to extend them. For now they give us privacy which was sorely lacking.

Bright and cheerful, perfect for a basement family room.

It feels good to have things hung on the walls, more like home. Mr. Darcy came home after being gone 5 days and was touched by our hard work. The room definitely needs more work to pull it together but it’s a start.

Thanks for the help, Mom! Dash enjoyed your visit (and so did I).