I've been an atrocious blogger. Ugh, nothing since March 19! You all might start thinking I actually have a life or something. HA! Don't be fooled.
(Just kidding, I do have a life. It's rather nice, well, no it's actually awesome.)
Anyhoo, here's the big story that has finally ended today...
So, for Nick's birthday weekend, we went home to Russia. Always a great time to just hang out in the ROOSH and eat foods that I would never buy but always love to dip into (chips, cake, ice cream). Friday night (3/20) we decide to celebrate Nick's 30th by going to La Piazza in Troy.
It's supposed to be good Italian. SWEET.
So we all get dressed up and head to Troy, a little piece of Ohio I've never seen. Lo and behold, it's cute. Nick, Ron, Kay, and I met Keith at the restaurant. We sit down and I wonder where to hang my coat. I've been a little protective of my coat. It's pretty much brand new and it was the last thing I bought in Boston before my move here to Ohio. It's a white coat with pretty silver buttons and satin yellow daisies on the interior. In a nutshell (especially for men who read this blog), it's a great white coat.
Reluctantly, because I didn't see any hangers or coat racks, I hang it behind my seat and sit down. Not too long later, our server greets us and tells us the specials. As I am immersed in the menu, trying to find a non-cheese item at an Italian restaurant (I gave up cheese for Lent), I heard a terrible crash behind me. In my peripheral vision, I see scatterings of plates, food, and our waitress on her hands and knees apologizing to the table behind us.
I turn around and decide not to look so to not contribute to her clear humiliation.
Then, I look up and Nick is staring at me like I have a lobster sitting on my head waiting to clip off my nose.
"What?"
"Did you, uh, check your coat?"
MY GREAT WHITE.
I take a mini look down at the ground and see a small edge of my coat. It looks like a marinara massacre took place behind me and my coat is the only bloody survivor.
Oh dear...
The waitress goes running and that's when Keith decides to arrive.
So, the whole family gets up to hug him, greet him. I'm wondering what the hell is going to happen to MY GREAT WHITE and whether I should be nice (I'm with my in-laws, you know) or whether I should surrender to my east coast side where ever verbal exchange is a war of the worlds.
I decide the former.
So, a manager comes running out and proceeds to apologize profusely, offer dry cleaning, and "anything to make it right."
Damn. If it weren't a Friday, I would have asked for a filet mignon on the house, but I just smiled and said, "Accidents happen. It's a coat. I'll live."
She points out the obvious, "And it's white!"
You know when someone points out something really dumb but you don't want to make them feel bad by making a face? That's what I felt like the whole time. She was very sweet and Nick kept eyeing my face to see if I was going to explode, but it really was ok.
The rest of dinner was not nearly as entertaining except for the fact our server was beyond humiliated and wanted to make up for it by being an Olympic speed walker to fetch us pitchers of water, more bread, extra this, extra that...
After the marinara massacre was over and we headed out into the chilly evening, I, obviously, asked Nick to hand over his coat because I was wearing short sleeves and freezing.
I made a point to walk up to our server and tell her to not worry about it. She was more than relieved, "Thanks so much."
My parting words, "Look, I was a server once too. I lasted for 3.5 weeks and 2 of those weeks were training. On my last day, I burst into tears and quit. That was at Chi-Chi's. It's just a coat."
And then began the process of getting my coat back.
The manager took The Great White to a Great Dry Cleaners somewhere in Troy. I was supposed to hear back from them the next day, but I got nothing.
I waited three days and then emailed both the owner and the manager (again, that east coast bitchy side was coming out to play) with a message that was polite but was really saying, "DUDE, YOUR RESTAURANT KILLED MY COAT. FIX IT."
More email exchanges promising to send word once The Great Dry Cleaners contacted La Piazza. What drama.
And today, finally today, I have a package at my door and inside is my sparkling white coat with satin yellow daisies.
It's ironic now to think back right before Nick and I first left for Russia, I looked at The Great White and thought I should have it dry cleaned sometime, but it's probably too expensive.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
The Crisis of Credit Visualized
If you are anything like me, you like pictures. You like visualization. Concepts and problems must be graphed, color coded, or drawn out for me to have a clear handle on things. If you are interested, for your own self-education, on how the credit crisis exploded (or imploded), here is a nice video that explains how it all relates to one another. I've been asking siblings who are all in banking and insurance to better explain it to me. While I'm still not there, this video helped quite a bit. It's basic and explains popular banking jargon. Also, it has funny animations that made me giggle.
The Crisis of Credit Visualized from Jonathan Jarvis on Vimeo.
The Crisis of Credit Visualized from Jonathan Jarvis on Vimeo.
Just Imagine This Scene
6:15am
Friday, March 13, 2009
Nick wakes up quietly, trying not to wake his wife peacefully sleeping and dreaming on his right.
His usual kind and loving tradition, he leans over to gently kiss his sleeping wife on the cheek before he goes to start his day.
It's still dark, but the morning sky is just beginning to turn.
Lisa is having a bad dream. Her eyes fly open.
The slight lighting from the window casts a silhouette outline of someone leaning over her.
She opens her mouth and screams bloody murder. Her left arm comes up in a helpless defense against who she thinks is trying to attack her.
"LEESE! IT'S ME! IT'S NICK! LEESE! LEESE!"
She recovers and shudders, "Ohhhhhhhh..." her heart pounding.
One of these days, someone is going to have a heart attack.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Nick wakes up quietly, trying not to wake his wife peacefully sleeping and dreaming on his right.
His usual kind and loving tradition, he leans over to gently kiss his sleeping wife on the cheek before he goes to start his day.
It's still dark, but the morning sky is just beginning to turn.
Lisa is having a bad dream. Her eyes fly open.
The slight lighting from the window casts a silhouette outline of someone leaning over her.
She opens her mouth and screams bloody murder. Her left arm comes up in a helpless defense against who she thinks is trying to attack her.
"LEESE! IT'S ME! IT'S NICK! LEESE! LEESE!"
She recovers and shudders, "Ohhhhhhhh..." her heart pounding.
One of these days, someone is going to have a heart attack.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Popcorn in Bed
There is a gaping hole in our kitchen ceiling and it is atrocious.
Our contractor had to rip it out because our noggins were endangered of having the thing collapse on us.
So, Bob, our very own Mr. Fixit, is kind and generous enough to help us through this problem. It's going to be finished at the end of the week. I can't wait because every time I stand in front of the refrigerator it feels like I am about to be sucked into a huge vortex of darkness and leaky pipes above.
The joys of homeownership. Nothing is better.
In other news...
Last night was an unusual night. I had a late meeting for a potential and temporary short term job and came home around 9:30pm. I chatted on the phone for an hour or so with my lovely sister in law and figured, with a quick peak at our shut bedroom door and the sound of the space heater, that Nick was already sleeping, passed out like the old man he is.
So you can imagine my surprise as I head upstairs after I was done talking to Kelly and my phone rings. And it's ringing Nick's ringtone.
Nick is still out to tell me he's on his way home. If he's still out, who in the hell is in our bedroom?
And the door swings open and it's bleary-eyed Nick, cell phone in his hand.
YOU GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK. WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME WHEN YOU ARE ONE ROOM AWAY?
"Oh, hi, babe. I was wondering where you were. I was getting worried."
HEY MR. SHARPIE - I'VE BEEN HOME FOR AN HOUR.
"Really? I didn't hear you."
So, I give him an odd look and get ready for bed.
As I snuggle into my side of the bed and begin drifting off to sleep, Nick speaks clearly as if it's the middle of the day, "I'm wide awake."
"Well, this is certainly a role reversal." I just want to get to sleep, but know it's not going to happen.
"Maybe I should eat something," Nick muses.
"If how I feel right now is what you felt the entire first year we were married when I kept yapping my head off because I wanted to talk, this is my way of apologizing right now and I swear I'll never do that again."
"I will go eat something," he decides.
"Fine. There's some popcorn I just made sitting out downstairs if you want that."
Now, if you know ANYTHING about Nick and popcorn, you know that popcorn is not just another snack like, say, Pringles or M&Ms. Popcorn, in the Borchers family, is eaten in a rather methodical, non-stop robotic nothing can interrupt my rhythm, kind of way.
So you can imagine my surprise, slight annoyance when I am drifting off to sleep and all of a sudden I hear the clank of a glass (filled with sprite and ice, I'm sure) hitting the side table near our bed followed by Nick easing onto his side of the bed and I hear the back and forth of hand-bucket-stuff into mouth -hand-bucket-stuff into mouth - hand-bucket-stuff into mouth rhythm. All in the background is the distinct sound of Nick chewing the grains and fluff of salty popcorn.
I flipped over, "Are you eating in bed?"
I can't see him in the dark but I hear the crunching continue, "Yup."
My tiredness turns into sarcasm, "Is it good?" referring to the popcorn. I try not to think of the crumbs, particles, and oil that are going to get on our sheets or on me because of this late night snack.
"Mhm- MHM!"
With the dark veiling my face, Nick could not see me roll my eyes. I just laid on my back and waited for him to finish the bucket. It didn't take long. For Nick to finish a bucket of popcorn, it never does.
As I heard him clap his salty hands and throw the excess on the ground because I know he doesn't believe in napkins, I closed my eyes for much needed rest.
Sure enough, he falls asleep.
Our contractor had to rip it out because our noggins were endangered of having the thing collapse on us.
So, Bob, our very own Mr. Fixit, is kind and generous enough to help us through this problem. It's going to be finished at the end of the week. I can't wait because every time I stand in front of the refrigerator it feels like I am about to be sucked into a huge vortex of darkness and leaky pipes above.
The joys of homeownership. Nothing is better.
In other news...
Last night was an unusual night. I had a late meeting for a potential and temporary short term job and came home around 9:30pm. I chatted on the phone for an hour or so with my lovely sister in law and figured, with a quick peak at our shut bedroom door and the sound of the space heater, that Nick was already sleeping, passed out like the old man he is.
So you can imagine my surprise as I head upstairs after I was done talking to Kelly and my phone rings. And it's ringing Nick's ringtone.
Nick is still out to tell me he's on his way home. If he's still out, who in the hell is in our bedroom?
And the door swings open and it's bleary-eyed Nick, cell phone in his hand.
YOU GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK. WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME WHEN YOU ARE ONE ROOM AWAY?
"Oh, hi, babe. I was wondering where you were. I was getting worried."
HEY MR. SHARPIE - I'VE BEEN HOME FOR AN HOUR.
"Really? I didn't hear you."
So, I give him an odd look and get ready for bed.
As I snuggle into my side of the bed and begin drifting off to sleep, Nick speaks clearly as if it's the middle of the day, "I'm wide awake."
"Well, this is certainly a role reversal." I just want to get to sleep, but know it's not going to happen.
"Maybe I should eat something," Nick muses.
"If how I feel right now is what you felt the entire first year we were married when I kept yapping my head off because I wanted to talk, this is my way of apologizing right now and I swear I'll never do that again."
"I will go eat something," he decides.
"Fine. There's some popcorn I just made sitting out downstairs if you want that."
Now, if you know ANYTHING about Nick and popcorn, you know that popcorn is not just another snack like, say, Pringles or M&Ms. Popcorn, in the Borchers family, is eaten in a rather methodical, non-stop robotic nothing can interrupt my rhythm, kind of way.
So you can imagine my surprise, slight annoyance when I am drifting off to sleep and all of a sudden I hear the clank of a glass (filled with sprite and ice, I'm sure) hitting the side table near our bed followed by Nick easing onto his side of the bed and I hear the back and forth of hand-bucket-stuff into mouth -hand-bucket-stuff into mouth - hand-bucket-stuff into mouth rhythm. All in the background is the distinct sound of Nick chewing the grains and fluff of salty popcorn.
I flipped over, "Are you eating in bed?"
I can't see him in the dark but I hear the crunching continue, "Yup."
My tiredness turns into sarcasm, "Is it good?" referring to the popcorn. I try not to think of the crumbs, particles, and oil that are going to get on our sheets or on me because of this late night snack.
"Mhm- MHM!"
With the dark veiling my face, Nick could not see me roll my eyes. I just laid on my back and waited for him to finish the bucket. It didn't take long. For Nick to finish a bucket of popcorn, it never does.
As I heard him clap his salty hands and throw the excess on the ground because I know he doesn't believe in napkins, I closed my eyes for much needed rest.
Sure enough, he falls asleep.
Friday, March 6, 2009
The Bliss that is Natural Light
As much as Nick loves natural light, I've never seen him wear shades before.
Little fun fact about Nick: one of his favorite things in the world is natural light. He freaking talks about how awesome natural light is at least three times a month. If you add that up over the course of the years I've known him, that's a lot of time spent talking about something as simplistic as the sun's rays.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love photography. I practically salivate over natural light when I shoot photos. The best weddings photos are the ones that are shot with as much natural light as possible.
But Nick's not a photographer. He just goes nuts over sunlight.
He, and I'm not exaggerating, does not like curtains because of this. He would PREFER a curtainless world to let as much natural light into our house as possible. When we were looking at houses to buy last year, he's say, "Look at those windows! Think about how much natural light we'll get."
And I, looking at him from the corner of my eye, say, "Sure. Yeah. I mean, looks great."
When we're driving, Nick is usual steering while I am off in my own world blabbering about my thoughts on the Universe, whether we'll live to see the scientific proof of another galaxy beyond the Milky Way, and all of a sudden Nick will explode, "DID YOU SEE THAT HOUSE? THEY HAD ALL FRONT WINDOWS THAT WERE HUGE. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH NATURAL LIGHT THEY MUST GET?"
And I, again, dumbfounded that he doesn't even get that excited over Xavier basketball or a Beanie Wells run, or a discounted oil change will reply, "Huh. Where?" I'll strain my head, look in the rear view mirrors, "I didn't see it. Darn."
And just like the calm sea after a brief storm, Nick will return to his 98.6 degree body temperature. His eyes will return to their normal shade of blue-ish green, and the torrent of emotion will subside as he drives on.
So it was no surprise yesterday, out on a long walk and taking advantage of our 50 degree day, Nick says, "Guess what?"
"What?"
"It's 5:30pm now and look how light it is. Just think - next week, it'll be this light out at 6:30pm!"
"Yes. Daylight savings time. Incredible." I am bemused watching him practically skip down the sidewalk like a little boy.
I remain silent, enjoying his enjoyment.
"You know," he continues, "I don't even know what I'd be like if daylight savings time were on the same day as my birthday. I wouldn't know what to be more excited for."
"Mhm," I speculate, "I'd air on the side of celebrating existence than natural light, but that's just me."
I don't think Nick hears me. He is lost to the world, absorbing his joy of the impending spring.
And with that story, my friends, I am sure you will remember to jump your clocks forward an hour this weekend. I don't know if Nick will be able to sleep the night before from his excitement.
Little fun fact about Nick: one of his favorite things in the world is natural light. He freaking talks about how awesome natural light is at least three times a month. If you add that up over the course of the years I've known him, that's a lot of time spent talking about something as simplistic as the sun's rays.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love photography. I practically salivate over natural light when I shoot photos. The best weddings photos are the ones that are shot with as much natural light as possible.
But Nick's not a photographer. He just goes nuts over sunlight.
He, and I'm not exaggerating, does not like curtains because of this. He would PREFER a curtainless world to let as much natural light into our house as possible. When we were looking at houses to buy last year, he's say, "Look at those windows! Think about how much natural light we'll get."
And I, looking at him from the corner of my eye, say, "Sure. Yeah. I mean, looks great."
When we're driving, Nick is usual steering while I am off in my own world blabbering about my thoughts on the Universe, whether we'll live to see the scientific proof of another galaxy beyond the Milky Way, and all of a sudden Nick will explode, "DID YOU SEE THAT HOUSE? THEY HAD ALL FRONT WINDOWS THAT WERE HUGE. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH NATURAL LIGHT THEY MUST GET?"
And I, again, dumbfounded that he doesn't even get that excited over Xavier basketball or a Beanie Wells run, or a discounted oil change will reply, "Huh. Where?" I'll strain my head, look in the rear view mirrors, "I didn't see it. Darn."
And just like the calm sea after a brief storm, Nick will return to his 98.6 degree body temperature. His eyes will return to their normal shade of blue-ish green, and the torrent of emotion will subside as he drives on.
So it was no surprise yesterday, out on a long walk and taking advantage of our 50 degree day, Nick says, "Guess what?"
"What?"
"It's 5:30pm now and look how light it is. Just think - next week, it'll be this light out at 6:30pm!"
"Yes. Daylight savings time. Incredible." I am bemused watching him practically skip down the sidewalk like a little boy.
I remain silent, enjoying his enjoyment.
"You know," he continues, "I don't even know what I'd be like if daylight savings time were on the same day as my birthday. I wouldn't know what to be more excited for."
"Mhm," I speculate, "I'd air on the side of celebrating existence than natural light, but that's just me."
I don't think Nick hears me. He is lost to the world, absorbing his joy of the impending spring.
And with that story, my friends, I am sure you will remember to jump your clocks forward an hour this weekend. I don't know if Nick will be able to sleep the night before from his excitement.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
A Belated Thanks from the Birthday Gal
Over the weekend I went to Hocking Hills for the first time. I went with a group of women who dubbed the getaway, "Wild Women's Weekend."
Believe me, there was nothing wild about it, except how we got CRAZY and ate sweet potato quesadillas, cheesecake, lasagna, and about thirty pounds of fresh carrots with hummus.
It's been a long time since I shared a big house with 16 other women. Of the sixteen, I knew three very well and the rest by connection or acquaintance. It struck me that I was one of the oldest among them, at a ripe 30 years of age, and as I continue to wear my thirty crown, I am blessed to have weekends where I just giggle, write, exercise, and go for hikes around caves and waterfalls. I don't have a neurotic husband who doesn't know how to feed himself or have the lovely grace/burden of children who need their Mama.
It was the first time in a long time I had back to back nights of 2am/3am bedtimes. This morning, Wednesday, was the first day I felt really recovered. Whatta wimp I am.
When I returned home, my voicemail message box was full (no phone reception in the woods) and it suggested I delete messages to make room for new ones. Considering I am eagerly waiting for interviews and job prospects, that might be a good idea.
Some messages were quite hilarious. Of the several I received, here were the classics:
PHONE
[insert angry tone] Hi, Leese. It's Victor. I don't know where you are or why you're not picking up the phone, but I'd like to wish my sister a Happy Birthday on her actual birthday. So, pick up next time will you?
[insert exasperation] Hey, Leese, it's Tricia. Why don't you pick up your freaking phone?! Pick up! Pick up! We have to talk. You won't believe who called me. I know it's your birthday, but I have to tell you something.
[insert happy] Heeeyyyy, Leese, it's Jennnniiiifffeerrrr! How are you? Just calling to say Happy Birthday. We really need to chat! Why do we wait so long to talk? Here's an incentive to call me: I think I might be in love! AHAHHAHAAH - how's that? Call me!
FACEBOOK MESSAGES
[from Mike, a childhood friend] I swear, back in the day, I once gave someone a humongous New Kids on the Block card. If I could get another one I would give it to you now. Happy Birthday.
[from Leslie, former colleague] At 30, I was dating ugly men and making bad decisions, you're doing awesome!
[from Kristie, good bud] I hate to tell you this on your birthday, but you might be crazy.
TEXT AND VIDEO MESSAGES
[from Amanda, one of my best friends] records herself singing and dancing to, "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves
[text from Alexis, friend and former co-worker] writes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE MUFFIN IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE.
So, a big thank you to all those who sent me wonderful and fun-filled greetings. It was a birthday I shall never forget.
Believe me, there was nothing wild about it, except how we got CRAZY and ate sweet potato quesadillas, cheesecake, lasagna, and about thirty pounds of fresh carrots with hummus.
It's been a long time since I shared a big house with 16 other women. Of the sixteen, I knew three very well and the rest by connection or acquaintance. It struck me that I was one of the oldest among them, at a ripe 30 years of age, and as I continue to wear my thirty crown, I am blessed to have weekends where I just giggle, write, exercise, and go for hikes around caves and waterfalls. I don't have a neurotic husband who doesn't know how to feed himself or have the lovely grace/burden of children who need their Mama.
It was the first time in a long time I had back to back nights of 2am/3am bedtimes. This morning, Wednesday, was the first day I felt really recovered. Whatta wimp I am.
When I returned home, my voicemail message box was full (no phone reception in the woods) and it suggested I delete messages to make room for new ones. Considering I am eagerly waiting for interviews and job prospects, that might be a good idea.
Some messages were quite hilarious. Of the several I received, here were the classics:
PHONE
[insert angry tone] Hi, Leese. It's Victor. I don't know where you are or why you're not picking up the phone, but I'd like to wish my sister a Happy Birthday on her actual birthday. So, pick up next time will you?
[insert exasperation] Hey, Leese, it's Tricia. Why don't you pick up your freaking phone?! Pick up! Pick up! We have to talk. You won't believe who called me. I know it's your birthday, but I have to tell you something.
[insert happy] Heeeyyyy, Leese, it's Jennnniiiifffeerrrr! How are you? Just calling to say Happy Birthday. We really need to chat! Why do we wait so long to talk? Here's an incentive to call me: I think I might be in love! AHAHHAHAAH - how's that? Call me!
FACEBOOK MESSAGES
[from Mike, a childhood friend] I swear, back in the day, I once gave someone a humongous New Kids on the Block card. If I could get another one I would give it to you now. Happy Birthday.
[from Leslie, former colleague] At 30, I was dating ugly men and making bad decisions, you're doing awesome!
[from Kristie, good bud] I hate to tell you this on your birthday, but you might be crazy.
TEXT AND VIDEO MESSAGES
[from Amanda, one of my best friends] records herself singing and dancing to, "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves
[text from Alexis, friend and former co-worker] writes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE MUFFIN IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE.
So, a big thank you to all those who sent me wonderful and fun-filled greetings. It was a birthday I shall never forget.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Nick as Big Brother
Nick always makes ridiculous statements about how he married an older woman. He says this at least once every other month and it annoys me to holy heaven because I am three weeks, yes WEEKS, not years, older than him. He just likes to pretend he is funny and say he's married to an older woman for effect.
I'm older by 21 days.
Nick's 30th birthday this year is the last day of winter, March 19. I've asked him repeatedly on how he would like to celebrate. He says he hasn't given it any thought and this only furthers the evidence that we are two separate human beings who like to celebrate our birthdays in different ways.
Considering I take the entire month of February to celebrate, I suppose that's right.
So, I will take March to celebrate Nick since he has given me no bright ideas on how he would like to proceed forward.
I thought I'd start with a classic picture. This one is dated August 1992.
(No matter how I try to find embarrassing photos of him, Kelly or Keith (usually Kelly) tend to win in the "Oh my..." department.)
And Now I Shall Put the Answers
Go back to the quiz.
Answers available now.
Happy March!
Goodbye, Birthday month.
Till we meet again in 2010...
Answers available now.
Happy March!
Goodbye, Birthday month.
Till we meet again in 2010...
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