Holiday House Rules

Spastic and sporadic.

That's me! I have been slowly coming back up to the surface after the spring of my discontent. I've actually been busy around the house every weekend. Unfortunately for you, it's been mostly yard maintenance and not real projects. The mild winter and rainy spring has led to unprecedented growth. Holiday House was nearly overtaken by vines. But I pulled and weeded and pulled some more and then  trimmed and trimmed and trimmed, and we are not back to "presentable." Not "done," but no longer the house people point to in a not-good-way. Oh, you think they don't do that? Yeah, let me tell you how many neighbors have casually brought up the wood rotting at the top of our house. They notice and they are like, "get on that shit." But not really, they are more like, "Um, did you guys notice the wood up there?!?"

Yes. It's a fascia and it's rotten. And JWH has called the painter no less than 500 times. He's coming "next week"*

*Could be a secret Brazilian painter code for "when hell freezes over" because it is certainly not what you or I would consider next week, of that I'm sure - because "April" certainly did not mean the period of roughly 4 weeks that occurred 6-10 weeks ago. 

I will take some pictures when "next week" comes around so you can revel with me in the spending of $3000 that I cannot touch or even really see. But the neighbors will be delighted.

Taking Down Some Trees | an idea from Young House Love

via www.younghouselove.com

Dear JWH, I have long thought it would be possible to remove the hideous tiles from our shower. Now I know it's possible. Beware of the next rainy weekend. 

This simply cannot go on:

I mean, really, it's actually obscene.

Proof that things have gotten out of hand.

Well, there is the poltergeist  - you know, the guy haunting my house, rotting the wood at the eaves and the gutters? And rusting out the water heaters and breaking the tv? Oh, you thought he was gone with the last visit from the plumbers?

Really, how naive of you. He was just plotting his next move - taking it up a notch in the process. So, when JWH rolled on downstairs earlier this week and was greeted by a drip, drip, drip from the 2nd floor hall light fixture, were we surprised? Not so much. This particular fixture happens to be directly under our master bath tub, the one we have seriously spent $1400 on in the last year, fixing the drain, the trap, the cartridge... Remember, the one whose repair left this hole?

That I finally repaired this spring?

Yeah, I suspect it will be opened back up in no time.

We are currently in denial and using only the downstairs tub. I just cannot deal. At all.

And, as stated above, I have additional proof that it's all just out of hand. See, I bought a skirt a month ago to wear to a party. I wore it, I liked it. And then I lost it.

(Banana Republic)

I was going to wear it again to the reunion last weekend. Except I could not find it. I looked and looked and looked and waited for all the dry cleaning to come back. Nope. Lost. Who does that? Who loses clothing?!?

Me, apparently. So I sucked it up and ordered a new one. They were at least having a 30% off sale. Small victories. 

That's all I got.

Anticipation like Carly freakin' Simon.

Okay, so the last time I remember being totally stoked about a movie was in 1991 and the movie was Hook. Really, I admit that. Out loud and proud. I do think it was semi-situational and the excitement of the cute boy I was with at the time may have played a small role. Our "relationship" lasted almost exactly from the movie where we saw the preview for Hook to the seeing of the actual movie. 

It sucked. The "relationship" and the movie. 

I do also remember being intent on seeing The Hours. It being a favorite book, and all. I also remember that while Deb and I saw that, Marc and JWH saw something terrible with Jack Nicholson. Sometimes a man's desire to avoid a period piece takes him to an even worse place. Just sayin'. And just a few weeks ago at work I was talking to a young gal about something or other and I was like, "yeah, yeah, like in The Hours." I think we somehow were discussing being trapped in suburban motherhood roles... does not matter... what mattered was that she had never heard of the book or the movie. I heartily recommended both. And pulled up the Google to remind myself of Julianne Moore's name. At that point another gal, not as young but younger than me (picture the 40, the 30 and the 20 all in a room - hooray for workplace diversity!) popped in and she had never heard of it either. Sheesh, people, get caught up on literary greatness, will ya? Or at least NetFlix greatness.

So, anyway, I am again excited. This time it's for a musical. I know, I know, I have a very strict no musical rule in general, but for Jean Valjean I will suffer through some songs. I mean, Jean Valjean! 

I cannot even wait. I have never seen the broadway thing (the "no musical rule," after all) but the book? The book! Oh, how I loved the book. I felt bad for the book, even, that the whole world sees the words "Le Mis" and thinks "Broadway!" Nononono. It's a book, damnit. A real, old school epic of a book.

http://www.hollywood.com/news/Les_Miserables_Trailer_Anne_Hathaway_Dreamed_a_Dream_Comic_Book_Blockbuster_of_Movie_Musicals/29141533

And, now? it's a Hugh Jackman movie. Man almighty that's some damned good casting.

Reunion.

Last weekend was JWH's reunion for his fancy-pants business school. Since I didn't know before he went, I'll tell you that "business school" is the inside-baseball way to say that you got your MBA. For some reason, saying you "got your MBA" is low-rent. Or something.

So, his was the big 10 year hoo-ha, and it was actually quite fun. Maybe it says something about marriage, but more likely something about me, that at this point I consider his reunions my reunions. We went to his High School 20th last year and I was as excited to see folks as he was. They had a little slide show of pictures from back in the day and I was right there gasping, "OMG, that's Molly!" and "Look at Luke's crazy hair!"

But, B-school (see, another secret insidery way to say it), well, the reunion was even more sooo totally up my alley. Despite the fact that I took no classes, and got no income-boosting degree, I feel like I pretty much attended with him. We moved from our swank Back Bay pad to be right across from campus. I used the school gym almost daily ($40 a semester, woot!). I was what was then known as a "partner." Very progressive of them to include all the "partners" like they did. For the most part, partner activities were not my bag, though. There was an actual flower-arranging class - I kid you not. So, you know, I just acted like a student. And, 10 years on, with a nametage that does not say "partner"on it (they have gotten even smarter over there!), several people at reunion greeted me as their fellow alum. Yeah, baby, I got my MBA.

But, I digress. My point is that the 10 year reunion was cool. At the 5 year, everyone was all, "look at me, I'm successful!" and whatever. At the 10? People were like, "yeah, work sucks, but whatever, want to see pictures of my kids?" Yes, yes I do. The same Princeton/McKinsey/uber-networker tools who I used to not like so much were now all like "How's the Bun, she's 5 now, right?" Yes, sir, she is, and how are you this fine day?

The pretense is just gone, and the hugs are longer. On the first night I actually did one of those movie-like runs across a parking lot to embrace an old friend, and when he declared his intent to introduce me to his fiance I felt moved to ask, "Is she going to mind that we are hugging like drunken sailors?" Then we nearly got hit by a car. Oh the hilarity. 

JWH and his peeps are my peeps now. By marriage or by force of personality, I'll take 'em!

Sign me up.

Last month I met a lady through a mom friend - we have a similar interest in joining a certain tennis club. The mutual friend knew this, so we were introduced that way. All well and good, except for the part where I am not the kind of person who ever really thought I'd be introduced as "having interest in joining a club." A club? Like a Country Club, my mom asked (insert bewildered punctuation as necessary).

No, not really. But a club with a page of rules about how to get in and whatnot. The new friend, Potential Club Friend (PCF), sent me the page of rules with the caveat to "take it with a light heart." Okay, I can do that. And I did. I made it through about 30 lines of "endorsers should..." and "proposer should" and "cocktail party with at least 3 members of the membership committee..." without much trouble. Okay, full truth? I did kind of blanch at that last part. But PCF had warned me about it, and told me that 2 potential members could share a party, and that helped. But then, the silliest thing threw me over the edge: "nametags must be provided and worn at said cocktail party."

Huh, now? Nametags? At this age? Really?!?! (That, there, is bewildered punctuation.)

PCF was all, "calm down, it's cool." So I did. And then she copped to her panic point: "endorsers should be people you have entertained in your home for a cocktail party or similar." If "or similar" covers toddler birthday parties, neighborhood barbecues, or standing on the porch bitching about National Grid tearing up the street, then fine. But, really, how many of us throw cocktail parties? This is not 1967, people. Time to update it to something like, "if this person is a Facebook friend with full tagging rights" or "you hit 'like' on this person's status at least as often as their mother," then we are good. 

In fact, I think I'd like that club!