A Chill

I rarely blog about politics here. You all know how I feel about the right wing zealotry that threatens the very fabric of our country. I am an immigrant and a patriot. I vote in every election. Even the little, local ones no one votes in.

I love my country and I love her people. But these neo-fascist religious freaks and their self-serving apologists in our current government have so perverted the minds of the mindless masses that people like me are considered anti-american. Well, you bible thumping assholes... I don't want to take it any more. Fuck you. You want a fight, you've got one. I've had it with your code words. Intolerance is not MY family's values. Changing 200 years of Senate rules so you can push through judges who limit what I can do with my body and what my children can learn in school is NOT OK.

Americans come in all shapes, all sizes, all races and ALL RELIGIONS. Some of us even don't believe in GOD (gasp!). That doesn't make us any less moral or any less human or any less worthy than you. Quit pushing your jesus crap down our throats. I ain't buyin' it.

If you want to get involved, a good place to start is by reading Al Gore's brilliant, non-partisan speech against the nuclear option (where the bible thumpers are trying to change Senate rules so that they can push through radical right wing judicial nominees without any recourse by the opposing party). Click here. The nuclear option is a BAD idea regardless of which side of the political spectrum you land on.

If you feel as I do, please get involved. And if you don't, I'm happy to engage in healthy, respectful debate. But don't try to shove your God down my throat, thankyouverymuch. I may choke.

A Strong Offense

Instead of languishing melodramatically in my homesick depression, I've decided to have some fun for the next few days. You know, best defense is a strong offense and all that.

So what do we have on the agenda?

Well....

Tomorrow night, we're having dinner with an old friend from Louisiana, who happens to be both an old ex-boyfriend and our financial advisor. He's up here to attend a due diligence meeting in midtown, so I'm heading over after work for drinks and dinner. Since I'm a client, I'm going to insist he buys (not really, but I'll make him sweat when I suggest it!). Actually, I may steer him toward the Brandy Library (because I've been wanting to check it out) or the Bubble Lounge (because I love it).

Thursday night is wide open as my Thursday class is actually done for the semester and I will be free. Maybe a marathon Netflix evening as I can't remember the last time I was home on a weeknight (normally I have class two nights a week and soccer two nights a week).

Friday night, we're meeting up with the delightful J-a and her fiance for oysters at the Grand Central Oyster Bar and drinks at the Campbell Apartment. I am so excited to finally meet her!

Saturday, after a grueling day of looking at eight, yes EIGHT houses that our realtor has uncovered in our price range in neighborhoods we liked, I plan on vegging out without feeling guilty about it.

Finally, Sunday, we're going to Zum Schnieder for the May Day Oompah party and pig roast. Maybe I'll see you there?

See, I'll be much too busy to let these feelings of homesickness get me down!

Spilled Milk

There's no use crying, right? It's hard, though.

Two years ago today, John and I got engaged. We were having an amazing dinner at Clancy's and he asked me and I cried and the waiter cried and the table next to us cried. We decided right then and there that no matter what happened, we would eat at Clancy's every April 23rd to celebrate.

This weekend is the first weekend of Jazz Fest, one of the largest and most unique outdoor festivals in the world. The city of New Orleans throws itself an enormous party to celebrate its musical, culinary and cultural legacy--its gift to the world. We like to think that's it's our special party, too.

I've gone to Jazz Fest since I was a little girl. I can't remember a year that I have missed it. Last year, our trip home coincided with our engagement party. Here is the write up and the pictures from last year. I have been looking forward to this trip for about 6 months.

I haven't seen my family, my friends and my home since my wedding. I am crestfallen that we had to cancel our trip. When I thought we were buying a house, at least that was some consolation. Instead... no house, no trip, no nuthin'!

As much as I love my life here, New Orleans is and will always be home to me. This weekend is my parent's 35th anniversary, my grandmother's birthday (39th, again!) and I'm not there to be with them. I know I shouldn't sit here and have a little pity party for myself, but I can't help it. All weekend long, everyone's been calling my cell thinking that I'm home and wanting to make plans to get together. I just have to choke back my tears of disappointment and be strong.

I love my husband, but...

I don't love him this much. I'm serious. Click through. I dare you. There are PICTURES.

My favorite part:

"You can take a ring off your ring finger, but you can never put your ring finger back on once you take it off. It’s something that will last forever — it’s a physical testament to how much I actually do love him."

found, once again, via lindsayism.

Whoooooossssshhhhh!

That loud flushing sound you hear is the sound of my home sale going down the toilet.

Yup, we're walking away.

Lighter by a bunch of money (sunk costs like inspections, etc), but nonetheless, with our dignity intact.

There were just too many issues with this seller. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to do that. He wouldn't even commit to doing additional testing for a buried oil tank even after we got a mortgage commitment (the next step after getting a mortgage approval, which we have). I guess he is waiting for buyers who are really, really naive or really, really stupid. You'd have to be one or the other to buy a 1912 house and not insist on knowing for certain if there is a buried oil tank on the property*. I'm simply not willing to spend anymore money on getting a commitment and then deal with the possibility of a buried oil tank. So, we're at an impasse and he has opened it up for new offers.

I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about buying a house and John and I have made some good relationships with a real estate agent, a mortgage broker and a great real estate lawyer. So, we're still looking and hopefully, this aborted trip down the home purchase aisle has taught us some valuable lessons.**

*For those not of this area, old houses were heated from oil tanks, large refrigerator-sized vessels sometimes buried on the property alongside the house. When most houses are remodeled, they switch to gas or steam heat. If the oil tank starts to leak into the ground, you're looking at a whole lot of money and a whole lot of hassle to deal with it. I'm talking about tens of thousands of dollars and dealing with the town and state governments and the EPA . If you know anything about me, you know my love of bureacracy, so you can see why I would want this dealt with before I purchase a house.

**oh, fuck. Who am I kidding? I'm bitter as hell. Anyone want to go looting? I know a cute little house.... (just kidding, mom!)

Milestones

There are some things I'll let slide because I'm swamped at work; at school; at liife. For instance, I let the two year anniversary of this blog pass without mention. I let the fact that I finally qualified for a mortgage go by unnoticed. [There were some.. ahem!.. difficulties: people, stupid credit crap you do when you're in college really will come back and bite you on the ass even if it IS off your credit report!]. I haven't gushed about a really exciting development at work.

But, THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT DO NOT EVER, NO NEVER, GO WITHOUT A HUGE HONKIN' SAPPY LOVE POST.

Tomorrow will mark six months since the man I love, and have loved pretty much since the first date that we went on when he took me to the opening night of the New Orleans Symphony and held my hand while I, and everyone else in the audience, became overwrought with emotion (it was the Saturday after September 11th), agreed in front of WITNESSES to love me as long as we both shall live.

In the past six months there have been triumphs. There have been tribulations. There have been arguments and disagreements and outright fights. There have been tearful apologies (mostly by me). There have been nights when I came home from work and school so tired, so spent, that he would just sit next to me and be there. There have been major life changes. But mostly, there has just been LIFE.

And it's our life together. And for that, I am so grateful that I don't have the words to express it. Because he is the most amazing person who has taught me so much about what it means to love and to support and to care. Because he is everything I ever hoped for in a mate and so much more. Because I never knew that I could feel like this--loved, happy, safe, confident in his love for me and my love for him. Thrilled with his glances, his voice, his jokes, his intellect, his everything. Because my world has officially been rocked.

And I don't need to say any of this to him because he knows. Because we tell each other EVERY DAY in our words, and more so in our deeds, how lucky we are. How perfect in its imperfection our relationship is.

So, if you are in a relationship and it isn't rocking your world, change it**. It can be better.

I didn't know it until I met John.

Happy six month anniversary, my monkey. I love you forever. Here's to 100 more anniversaries to come.

Previously:

The State of our Union, Month 2
The State of our Union, Month 3
The State of our Union, Month 4

**(Just don't try to find love with MY man--not only is he not interested, I WILL SO CUT YOU!)

Shock and Awe, or How I Survived the Tartan Rage

On Saturday, we went to see Shockheaded Peter at the Little Schubert Theater off Broadway. The play is crazy, macabre cool and very, very funny. I highly recommend it. The show is about what happens to naughty, bad children. Let me cut to the chase, they all end up dead. It's full of campy, vampy fabulousity and you really really should go see it.

We went with the Mararians, friends of John's who, I like to think, I would be friends with anyway, even if they weren't inherited (you know, when you become a couple, each persons brings his or her friends to the relationship). Getting back to the narrative at hand, they are this very cool couple--he's a graphic designer who was a theater major in college and she's in fashion, but not in that snooty, I-am-in-fashion-bow-before-me way at all (trust me, I've met those types too), and we were really psyched to see this play.

We were seated in great seats with a perfect view of the stage. Unfortunately, about three rows behind us sat a high school group. They started laughing before any of the actors reached the stage and in that undeniably annoying teenage way, spent the entire performance competing with one another for who could laugh the loudest--at the most inappropriate moments. We were ready to kill.

After the show, Mike apparently told them off (I was in the bathroom, so I missed the drama) and we went on our merry way. A few glasses of wine later we were in full story-telling mode. Mike was regaling us with tales of the fact that last year duringTartan Week he also got in an altercation with a teenage boy, somehow, it was renamed the Tartan Rage. I honestly believe that either I am getting old and crotchety (and not in a good way, you perverts!) or teenagers today are just little assholes with no manners. But that's neither here nor there.

The crescendo of the evening's hilarity came when we all started bitching about that fact that this past two weeks' news have been All Pope - All the Time. Mike suggested that the next thing is the "Pope Cam" - a live feed from inside his coffin ("now watch his femur rot...").

Where am I going with this? Nowhere. Just that our friends are so cool and funny and I love my life. Crazy, huh?

Coming soon, by demand... stories of my wacky childhood and stories of my first love--La Nouvelle Orleans.

Back That Thang Up!

I'm feeling a bit melancholic today. Don't know why.

I have a whole long post partially composed in my head about last night's evening with some very cool friends and the amusing conversation we shared as well as the fabulous play we saw, but somehow, I'm not feeling it today.

A few months (years?) ago I realized that I hadn't backed up the laptop in a long, long long time... ok, I'll admit it-- "long, long time" is a euphamism for never. Plus, we had been talking about getting a safety deposit box or something for our important papers (social security cards, passports, marriage certificate, naturalization papers, life insurance, etc.). A few weeks ago, I broke down and bought us a small fire-retardent safe. It's briefcase sized and will hold the bare necessities.

So, now we have to decide what goes in it.

Does our wedding album take precendence over John's old family photos? Do pictures from my high school years get precedence over our honeymoon mementos? What goes in when space is finite? Additionally, we only had two zip disks left (and they're pretty expensive and we're broke), so I had to cherry-pick which files I backed up from the computer.

It's been a grueling decision-making process in Daniella-land today, kids.

I think next week, I'm going to go buy a bigger fire-retardent safe and some additional zip disks. Let's hope the house doesn't burn down in the meantime.

My Eyes! My Ears!

I have never actually watched something so vile that it made me want to simultaneously gouge out my eyes and cut off my ears.

Behold, the singularly most offensive faux-christian, jingoistic, craptastic video ever. Click here, but don't say I didn't warn you. I wish Mike was here so I could torture his refined musical tastes with this pablum.

Anyone notice how much the South Park episode where Cartman starts a christian-rock boy band resembles this video? Or is it vice versa? Hmmm...

(thanks to lindsayism for the link).

By Request, John's Egg Nog Recipe

The Joy of Cooking, p142. "Uncooked Egg Nog."

By the way, that Linus is a FREAK.

More later. I promise.

What do you guys want to see that I haven't shown you?

Really. I'm too busy to think about something to write that's in the realm of blogging (i.e. stuff I can write about and am willing to air on the blog).

So work is out, sex is out (hi, Mom!) and mean stuff about other bloggers is out (aw, c'mon, I'll totally talk shit about them with you on the phone).

Last time I wrote about my shoes, you loved it, so what else do you want to hear abour?

I can and will talk about weighty issues, too, it just doesn't ever seem to be what anyone is interested in. So fluff and puff is OK, too.

So, let it all out... what do you want to hear about and or see pictures of? Remember, has to be Safe for Parental Consumption ("SFPC").

Memories

In late summer of 1978, I was five years old and we lived in the beach town of Ladispoli near Rome. We lived there for an idyllic summer and fall awaiting our visa to come through to come to America--land of the free and the home of the brave.

I didn't care about any of that. I was, after all, five years old. We stayed with an older couple who took us in. Their own children were grown, and my parents, barely past childhood themselves (27 and 33 years old), were a good substitute. My mother had taken English in college and had an affinity for the language. My father spent his days in Rome, taking English classes.

Me? I played on the beach. All day, every day. My posse and I would run up and down the black sand beaches, laughing, playing in the Mediterranean surf and poking the dead octopi and jelly fish that washed up on shore with sticks. I was brown and happy and spoke fluent italian. The old, curmudgeonly Italian fishermen loved me and my friends. They would laugh and play with us and feed us octopus that they cooked over beach fires.

My father struggled with his English. My mother watched over me and, I realize with the benefit of hindsight, struggled with her loneliness. They were alone, with a small child and no money in a foreign country, getting ready to move even farther away from everything they had ever known. I still marvel at their strength. I wouldn't have been able to take that leap of faith.

One day, my dad came home from work to find the old man and his wife weeping on the front steps of the house.

"Papa morte!" they kept crying out. My father was horrified and thought they had received a phone call from Latvia. He thought his father had died.

By now, of course, you have figured out where I'm going with this, right?

John Paul I had died and all of Italy mourned him. So, I guess I was there, in Italy, when John Paul II took the papacy. But my memories are not of him. They are of that idyllic time in Italy. Of the little, happy girl I was. Of the amazing thing my parents did at my age to give their child and themselves a better life.

So, thank you to the late Pope John Paul II for reminding me of what is most important at the end of the day--the sacrifices that you make for those you love and that happiness is all in the context in which you view it. And thank you to my parents for having the strength.

Out with the Old, In with the... NEW!

Feelin' blah? Feelin' depressed?

Do what I do.

Get something NEW.

New, short and sassy hair:



New, teeny little phone:


(yes, that IS a picture of my husband set as the wallpaper--it's a camera phone.)

And finally, and most importantly, buy a cute, charming little 1912 cottage located, somewhat ironically on NEW street:


please note, if you say anything bad about this thing I am about to sign my life away for 30 years for, I will like totally CUT you.


living room with view of hallway leading to downstairs bathroom and two small bedrooms (to be the office and guest room). We plan to paint this room a pale celadon. The office is going to be a neutral pale terracotta color called warm praline. The guest room will remain white because we have no furniture for it and we will decide on color when we buy furninture--which at this rate may be about 10 years from now.


dining room, located at the front of the house, right off the semi-open kitchen. Will be either a sunny yellow to match with the celadon in the living area or maybe a darker moss color to pop the celadon.


the kitchen. Not really remodeled to my taste (I wanted stainless steel appliances and modern, smoked glass cabinetry with brushed nickel hardware), but we can make changes over time. We're actually asking the seller to take that cheap stove and give us a credit to replace it with something slightly better--we'll see if he agrees. Additionally , we're puting in a dishwasher under the counters near the sink. What we lose in cabinet space, we will make up for in convenience. We will be painting this room the same as the dining area as they are open to one another.


the original brick fireplace. I haven't decided what color it should be. It is open to both the kitchen/dining area and the living room. I have half a mind to strip the paint off the mantle and have a wood stain instead, but I don't know if that may be a bigger project than I can handle.

Upstairs are three bedrooms and a small bath. The largest bedroom has two big windows and is long and somewhat narrow. We are painting it a pale greyish blue, similar to the color in our current bedroom at our apartment. The other two bedrooms face the front of the house and have peaked ceilings. One will be a nursery (some time in the future, people, don't get excited!) and is going to be a denim blue with bright white trim and the other is going to be Daniella's dressing room. It will be painted a deep cranberry and all the furntiture in there will be white (when I can afford to buy furniture which will be like 10 years from now!). It will have one wall of shelving which will hold my shoes and sweaters, my dresser, a vanity where I can put on make up and do my hair and a chaise with a lamp for a reading nook. I am dreaming of this... can you imagine? A dressing room all my own! I never thought we would ever get a five bedroom house.

So, there you have it. We close, depending on if the seller agrees to some of the conditions that I asked for after the inspections and my mortgage approval (we have pre-approval already), on May 6th. Housewarming party slated for late June or early July. make your plans accordingly.

It's all about the NEW.