le petit hiboux | owls gone wild

In the time-honored Internet Tradition, I have posted a photo in lieu of actually telling you anything interesting. Looks like this return to blogging is going well! Some things I'm not blogging about because I am busy doing them instead:

- getting a behaviorist for my dog and his weird ongoing harness issues. YES! My father will tell you we might as well move to California now, hopeless yuppies that we are. My dad also doesn't have to deal with Nano peeing in fear when he sees his harness. Bring on the psycho-analysis!

- learning how to be a runner. See how I am humble this year about how I have to LEARN how to do things instead of throw myself at them repeatedly and without any formal processes and then moan about how the brick wall is hurting my head? PROGRESS.

- waiting to hear about Stuff I Can't Tell You Yet But Doesn't Involve a Baby, Don't Worry.

- eating clementines and drinking tea. Lots of tea.

- writing (did you hear that chorus of angels? I KNOW!).
 
What are you up to, Internets?

I had an absolutely marvelous Thanksgiving, thank you for asking. And now, because really it's shameful that I forewent this hallowed Internet Tradition on the appropriate day, a list of things I am thankful for in no particular order but with the most important bits at the top:


I mean obviously I am incredibly grateful for Stuart and how he inspires and challenges me in a billion different ways every day (betcha didn't think anyone could do anything a billion times a day - that's hyperbole for you!) but I'm also more shallowly grateful that he is silly and loves our very silly dog and enjoys being photographed being silly with the aforementioned silly dog. I am madly in love with Stuart and Nano in that order (sorry Nano but you don't put my socks on for me when I'm sick).

I am also this year grateful a little for myself because I have challenged myself in some small but fundamental ways this year and truth be told, I wasn't at all sure I'd pull through on the goals I set for myself humble though they were, but actually I've made some headway on all of them and I have surprised myself by doing so - it had been a directionless time and I've gone some ways to rectifying that so there you have it, a very self-inflating entry on this list but it's true.

I am eternally grateful for my awesome family. My parents who are so generous and thoughtful you wouldn't believe me if I told you how generous and thoughtful but let's just cap that by saying they frequently drive two hundred miles to see me and help us with stuff. Which is awesome. And also for my amazing brother Lui who hosts me in Houston and pours margaritas down my gullet and stays up late talking about Stuff and is really the best brother you've ever had, yes even you! And the rest of my family also obvs because even though they are far away they are also awesome.

I am thankful for YOU, all of you, because you like me and encourage me (May!) and email me thoughtful recipes (RA!) and are snarky with me and then send me awesome books in the mail (Simon!) and have become my dearest friends (Kate and Jen!) and go to see stupid movies with me and edit my essays (Anna!) and obviously marry me (Stuart!) and I'm not linking to all of you because I'm lazy but you know I adore you.

I'm also thankful for my amazing friends who inspire me, when I look around and realize they're doing what they love, and they're picking themselves up and starting over, and they're being bold with their lives, and they're turning on dimes, and they're creating art that's worthwhile, and they're constantly IMing me with little 'beep!'s all week even when nothing is new and we're all inundated with work, and they're graceful and magnanimous and have I mentioned they're all incredibly attractive? They ARE.

And I'm grateful for New York, which suits me so perfectly that I can't yet imagine living anywhere else although I know one day I will, and I'm grateful for the beautiful apartment we live in, and I'm grateful that there's chili bubbling on the stove because it's Sunday night and Sunday nights are chili nights, because I'm a creature of habit, as if you didn't know that.

So in sum, I'm grateful for this little life I've carved out with a beautiful husband and a nervous dog in a dynamic, breathtaking city with my passel of fierce inspiring friends and HEY! It's time for chili. Come over sometime?

These are the facts.

I was pushing through the turnstile this morning when these two men started fighting. They were right in front of me and yelling at each other and I moved quickly to a wall about 10 feet away from them as one shoved, and the other shoved, and then the first guy punched, and so forth. I suppose at a certain point I realized that I could sneak past the fight and the gaping, freaked-out onlookers but it didn't feel like I could, it felt like the first moment had defined that I was stuck here next to an empty attendant booth as other people shouted down the hallway for someone to call the cops, as an MTA employee waddled - he was portly! - over and sort of waved his arms about fruitlessly trying to get these two dudes to stop fighting.

These two dudes were not the sort of dudes you'd expect to see fighting, either. One was better-dressed, with nice slacks and a white polo and a black jacket, and the other one was a little more working class hero with jeans and a black sweater. I think one of them even had a binder. And they didn't seem like they knew each other, at all. It seemed all very odd, like someone had spiked both their morning coffees with testosterone, or rabies. They just started fighting and they weren't very good at it, either, but Polo Shirt ended up with a bloody nose. It all lasted about three minutes, maybe, before a skinny kid (probably 25 or so, really) in a big NFL-branded jacket and square zirconia earrings, you know the look, just stepped through the turnstile and right between them, two arms outstretched and yelling "hey hey, HEY" to these two older, suddenly silly-looking men.

And that was really the oddest thing. All us commuters pressed against walls and yelling at MTA employees who then joined us with only a little more authority, maybe a shout or two, and then here comes this skinny good-looking kid in an oversized jacket and he just goes between them with two outstretched arms and it stopped. Of course they fronted a little, moving forward only to hit the invisible wall defined by Skinny Jacket's hands, hands angled straight up and fingers splayed like a traffic cop. And then Working Class Hero grabbed his jacket and stalked off and up the stairs, and the MTA employee rushed forward to the now-bloodied Polo Shirt and I decided to get out of there with my heart thudding around like a trapped bird in my ribcage.

I climbed the stairs right in front of Skinny Jacket and he met my eyes and shook his head, and I was amazed that he'd just stopped that and was now lighting a Newport Kool and I wondered if the cigarette was calming him down a little, whether his heart was thudding too, with plenty more reason than mine, since he'd been the only person in that subway entrance who'd actually done anything productive. The rest of us just flapped around like chickens or got stuck to walls. And then I thought, what did I expect myself to do? And I don't know, except I know I didn't expect myself to be that spooked and freaked by two idiot commuters in a lame headlock with one good right hook to the nose.

* * *

And I know, don't remind me, that I haven't actually blogged in the month of November. I didn't realize how much my blog's physical presentation has an effect on my desire to be here, and how the lack of your presence in the comments does too. It's like I've had this closet in my house that's just a mess so I've stopped using it even for the stuff that belongs in there. This blog has become that closet. I mean, MT4 has just totally stumped me - I don't even know how to change that horrible red banner up there - so I just despair every time I open it up and poke around and realize I don't even know where the stylesheets have gone. Much less the bigger problem of completely busted comments. It's like driving a car without knowing how the gearshift works.

Ugh. Anyway, it's a damn shame and I'm sorry (especially you, Simon, who asked me mournfully when I was going to start blogging again and made me realize that it looks for all intents and purposes like I've stopped) but I'm coming back, I promise. I have stories and photos and changes! And I have a gorgeous new banner made especially for me by one of the most talented ladies on the web, which I certainly don't deserve and hope to do justice with the words underneath. So I hope to fix a lot of it this weekend with some professional help (everyone wave to Adrian), just in time for no one to be reading blogs because it's Thanksgiving. HA.

I should probably mention, as you stare at the horror or boredom that is this MT template, that I'm going out of town for the weekend. I'm going to Houston! I know, right? I'm like that girl at your party who shows up late without any booze to contribute, drinks your best gin and keeps you up until 5AM talking about her fucked-up family and then falls asleep on your couch and you think, oh well, at least she'll help me clean up in the morning but you sort of know she won't and sure enough, she doesn't!

I've never actually met that girl, since my friends are not douches, but I can imagine her. And that's what I'm like here. Or maybe I'm more like a toddler that starts a craft project and then wanders away to sling mud at the dog. That's probably more like it.

Anyway, I'm off to Houston for four days to lounge around my brother's house and hang out with old friends and drive on those gorgeous expansive Houston freeways. Hear that, Houston freeways? I'M COMING. State troopers, look the other way, what's that fire over there!, I'm not even here.

I'll probably post some photos while I'm gone. Then again, that might be sort of like that girl promising she'll totally cover brunch. In the meanwhile, here is an amusing video. Sorry you can't even post comments. HA.

Hello! We are making some changes around here. Obviously I've taken down the wallpaper and oops, does anyone know where my comments are? It might be like this for a few days but never fear; there's a glorious re-designy sunrise around the corner. Plus, 200% less spam! (let's hope).

Last night, to celebrate four heady glorious years of marriage, Stuart and I made pasta from scratch. Stuart stirred the eggs into the flour well with superb care. I kneaded the dough like a pro (and wore black to work with flour, just because I like to keep the world wondering if I'm playing with a full deck). Nano generously offered to eat any scraps that fell on the floor. It was truly a family affair.

Four years ago, my honey and I woke up and put on some fancy duds and along with my parents and brother, waltzed on down to the City Municipal Building to get ourselves hitched. We bought a bouquet from the ingenious bouquet-seller wandering the hall, and then we threw the bouquet to my brother and went to lunch. After waving goodbye to my parents and relaxing at home for a few hours as newlyweds, we took ourselves to dinner at Babbo, courtesy of some very generous friends.

On our walk back to the subway, arm in arm after the most delicious meal we'd ever shared, we walked past Washington Square Park. Now, in the two previous years I'd lived here, the arch had always been surrounded by chicken-wire, but on the night Stuart and I got married, we walked under the arch for the first time as the Empire Building shone white. We went home delirious with happiness and that was our wedding day. It wasn't a big tulle-strewn bash but in a lot of ways, it was perfect for Stuart and me.

Tomorrow is another anniversary; a year ago today, Nano was sleeping in a crate in the office of an adoption counselor at the ASPCA. Then, on the 20th, during what everyone swore was a rousing rugby world cup, Stuart and I nervously visited the ASPCA. On the way up, on the subway, we wrote down potential names for the dog we might meet. After nearly four hours and a tortured lunch a block away where we weighed the merits of a very sweet but uninspiring dog named Allan, we nearly gave up. But as we walked back in and started to make our regrets to Beverly, the wonderful counselor who'd patiently helped us meet every dog in that shelter, I remembered she'd said she had two chihuahua-mix puppies in her office.

And lo, we met Nano. His name was Popi and he was almost excruciatingly shy, a little on the young side, and smaller than I'd ever considered, but somehow when he skittered curiously over to us, he grabbed our hearts. I'll never forget sitting quietly on the floor waiting for him to approach me and looking up at Stuart, and seeing this shine, this delighted shine in his eyes, that told me that Stuart, who'd really struggled with the decision to get a dog, was in love. So nervous or no, puppy or no, there was nothing to do. We took Nano home and made him ours. Nano is a little jumpy and a little neurotic and he's completely unlike every dog we'd considered taking home but in a lot of ways, Nano is perfect for us.

And it might seem strange to combine a post about these two anniversaries - for the record, the wedding was more important than the dog! - but when I looked at this picture last night, it reminded me what a family we've become, and how very complete and warm it feels to be in this city, this home, with this man, and this crazy little dog.

Completely failing to answer straightforward question isn't, apparently, limited to presidential candidates. Behold this gem, from the CIGNA Open Access Plus FAQ:

Am I covered for emergency care?
Whenever there is an emergency, seek medical help immediately. An emergency is an accident or sudden illness that a person with average knowledge of medical science believes needs to be treated right away or it could result in serious medical complications or permanent disability.

No wonder I can't even get an answer on whether it's an HMO, PPO, or a FWPOSBABOC*.

* Actually spelling out this expletive-laden acronym would violate someone's sense of moral decency. Probably my mom's.

Stuart and I hosted Kate and Conrad today, offering a mean bowl of chili with all the fixins as a trade for their football-watching company. And of course, by football-watching company, I mean a crash course in what exactly a down is, illegal tackling (apparently only strangling someone really runs you afoul of the refs), and all the other ways that football is like trench warfare.

HIGHLY enjoyable trench warfare, mind. I think I finally like football! Stranger things have happened.

Yesterday was Stuart's 29th birthday and we celebrated by having the most beautifully lazy morning - omelettes, crossword puzzles, spontaneous napping! We took ourselves to MoMA for Free Friday and wandered around looking at art until they kicked us out. We dawdled in Rockefeller Plaza and had an amazing glass of wine at Morell's (Stuart, above!) and then celebrated with dinner at Casa Mono, where Stuart had brains. Because that's the sort of guy he is.

Stuart is also the sort of guy who'll bring you your cell phone from the far reaches of the house every morning, every morning that you sleepily ask him for it, and he'll never mention that maybe you should start remembering to put it on your nighttable the night before already. He's the sort of guy who has no problem making hilarious cooing noises at the dog or doing that funny chipmunk face to cheer you up, and he'll always, always smile from ear to ear when you come in through the front door after work. Every day! He's also the sort of guy who loves your parents, who suggests you use some air miles to fly to Houston when he knows you're homesick for it. He's the sort of guy who, at a wedding where your feet are hurting to much in your fabulous shoes to walk (and he'll understand that you can't just go barefoot because that's not the sort of dame you are), will take you into an unused room at the Four Bloody Seasons and give you a footrub so that you can keep going.

And all day I was thinking about this stuff, looking at him and his mop of unruly wonderful hair and his laughing hazel eyes, and I was thinking that maybe I should leave the Universe a thank-you gift for nudging him across the Atlantic four years ago. But I sort of think maybe the Universe understands, since it's made me the happiest girl in the world and that's got to be sending yummy happy goodness into the karmic jetstream, right? The Universe is into that.

So basically, he's really the best sort of guy in the entire world, and even the Universe thinks I'm getting spoiled, I'm going to keep him forever. Happy birthday, babeleh. I love you.

This was a particularly workity work week and my usual walk from the office to West 4th didn't do its usual miracle. My brain was still redoing charts of accounts! And fretting over the intricacies of the USCIS as pertains to student visas! And storming over how to effectively manage online calendars! And wondering if my new filing system is more or less efficient! And thinking about jazzing member revenue! Buzz! Buzz!

But maybe you don't know my home. My home is very good at decompressing me. And when I got there, my home told me to just throw on something comfortable (yay, the cords are out again!). It told me not to turn on the TV or the computer; lie down on the couch and listen to some Ben Folds, it said.

So I did. I turned the lights down low and I lay down on the couch. And Nano, weary from his long day of sitting around on my office desk and sleeping, decided to join me. He's accommodating that way.

So we curled. And we stared. And we listened to Ben Folds. And without the TV or the computer making demands on my beleaguered little brain, I started to decompress. I forgot about work and remembered that tomorrow is Stuart's birthday and we're celebrating by playing hooky around the city. And we're celebrating with friends on Saturday night! And on Sunday, we're watching football and I'm looking forward to it, can you believe it? So I'm thinking up good football-watching recipes for our shiny slow cooker. Any ideas?

Quality time with friends, our dog, our slow cooker, our city, and each other. Isn't that all just so much better than work?