Something Unexpected

You think you know someone inside and out, are pretty sure there are no new secrets to emerge, and poof: in the space of five minutes your preconceptions are dashed against the wall. There is a piece of devoted partner's childhood lore that he and a certain snarky Portuguese kid used to play a weekend sport together in their youth. Once a suitable amount of time has passed after the boys stopped playing the sport, snarky Portuguese senior recalled the hours he and devoted partner's father spent watching the boys and pronounced (sadly, accents don't come across in print), "you two were shitty!"

So imagine my surprise when we stepped out onto the ice at the Dorothy Hamill skating rink and devoted partner could, well, skate. Mind you, I'm not talking camelspins and triple lutzes, but damned if he didn't push off and confidently skate around that rink. Even backwards. Someone else, I'll give you one guess, began the afternoon clutching the side of the rink before muscle memory kicked in - and by muscle memory, I mean remembering how she can really only push off with her left foot. Clutching devoted partner's hand, I made it around the rink a couple of times before he claimed I was simply using him for momentum and left me to my own wobbly devices.

Now the thing it's important to understand about me and winter sports is that a) I'm not a fan of the cold; b) balance is not one of my more pronounce skills; and c) I have a massive fear of running over children. The several times in my life I have gone skiing, I maintain that the majority of falls taken were falls taken in the pursuit of not hitting a five year old who was confidently whooshing back and forth in front of me. Similarly, on the confined space of the ice rink, where many small ones are either learning or showing off, my lack of ability means I am forever petrified of running one over and severing his digits with my skate blade. Since I neither know how to stop short, nor really how to slow down, you can imagine the consequences.

But our afternoon of skating was actually lots of fun. True, I ruined it somewhat by attempting to talk about honeymoon ideas, but I didn't fall. And devoted partner impressed the poo out of me by his skating prowess - where prowess means he skated a hell of a lot better than I did.

Not All About Me

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Originally uploaded by reallyct

Except the part where I woke up at 6:30am to drive into Manhattan to drive to Staten Island via New Jersey to return to Manhattan and find a place for my car to take a subway to Queens, etc. etc.

But the star of the day, in my eyes, was The Boy. Of 45,000, I only had eyes for him. Which was tough because there are a lot of not-unattractive people who run this thing. In good shape. Sweating. But, really, I wasn't paying attention to that because I was scanning the crown for 30-759.

Except when I was tearing up at the beautiful, inspirational runners who made Benetton ads look like so much uniformity. I shouted at the girl with the Moroccan flag shirt twice because I didn't think all that many other people would have been able to identify it and, without a place name or a proper name, it's hard for people to cheer for you. I loved all of the Gunthers and Hiros and Esmereldas and Yvonnes. I loved the people in funny costumes and the people running for charity and the people running for family members and with family members; the people for whom this was a first marathon, the people who were just married, the people who volunteer to accompany a disabled participant all 26.2 miles. I loved unexpectedly seeing a guy from my high school and screaming at him as he ran by; I loved how happy people looked when you called out their name; how grateful they looked when you did it as they were struggling.

Look at this to get your fill of how beautifully diverse in ethnicity, age, sex, place of origin, the marathon is.

I had never paid attention to one until last year when The Boy ran his first. I'm sorry I missed it before that. It is a terrific event and the camaraderie is palpably heavy. If you've never gone out and watched for an hour or so, please do yourselves a favor and show up next November. If you don't live in New York, plan to stop by your own city's marathon. And if you want to see a sampling of the 2010 marathon through my eyes (it's very Boy-centric), you can check out the photos.

Woolapalooza

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Originally uploaded by reallyct

The first, and frankly most important, thing to note is that I emerged from my day at Rhinebeck very under budget. I treated the festival the way I treat the casino: take the money you're willing to lose IN CASH and do not, under any circumstances, get more. I also had a list of things I was looking for which kept me from the :SQUIRREL: effect.

The festival was huge. Way bigger than I had anticipated. Who knew so many people produced wool things?!? There were also tons of animals, including a for-sale border collie (see slideshow) that, despite the longings of my heart, remained for someone else to buy (intelligent Yelena knows that the border collie, while awesome, is about the highest maintenance of dogs and perhaps not suitable for the first-time dog owner). I also considered buying some goats. Especially after that Colbert Report report on how they can do my landscaping. But I like Pablo and I wouldn't want to put him out of a job (actual name of our landscaper is Pablo, please no one think I was making a generic Mexican gardener joke). Also I think goats might suck as pets. Though, on the plus side, if I got a lady goat, I could learn to make cheese.

And yet, amidst the sheer volume of things, I found myself rather, if not underwhelmed, undermotivated to buy. A lot of the yarn for sale was of the coarser variety than I am accustomed to, being that it wasn't very processed and kept a lot of the raw-wool essence that is especially popular with those enormous Scandinavian sweaters. Instead of shopping with my eyes, I was shopping with my hands. I'd reach into the hanks and if they weren't tactile-y what I was interested in, I didn't bother allowing myself to be seduced by color. Only if the touch was right did I then assess the colors. And, gosh, with few exceptions, there was little that leapt out at me as BOTH something I was in love with AND something that would be practical for a project I was going to make. There was lots of beautiful impractical stuff, don't get me wrong. But I was trying to be the kind of sanguine adult who makes responsible decisions.

I did have some unnecessary apple pie, though.

All in all, though, it was a simply perfect autumn day and I got lots of exercise walking from booth to booth to booth with Julie and Jen, my two fellow stich n bitchers, with whom I shared the day (thanks to the generous carpooling of Jen).

I think some of the pictures turned out quite well, though I'm still getting the hang of my prime lens. And next year, I think I might take devoted partner with me - if I can convince him to wear a kilt like some of the other boys I saw.

Love Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry For Posting Photos of Him Kissing a Camel

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Originally uploaded by reallyct

While in Tennessee, we stayed at a B&B cum farm called Ocoee Mist. We affectionately termed it Llamatown due to the (unphotographed and kinda shy) llamas on premises. Also on premises:

two camels
some donkeys
a horse (maybe more)
a slew of goats
a potbellied pig
three dogs
a cat (or two)
two peacocks (one dead and stuffed, one alive and shy)
some parrots
some other birds not native to Tennessee
occasionally some guinea hens from the neighbor's farm

If this sounds a little crazy to you, let me assure you that it is. In the most wonderful of ways. I hope Kevin and Carole know they're a little eccentric and that if it ever gets back to them that I said as much that they take is kindly. Because they were amazingly nice people who ran a beautiful property and served one helluva breakfast, but it's not every day you encounter people with a hobby farm full of llamas, camels, and peacocks.

Mel the camel, took a special shining to devoted partner, even before we had the apples. My narrative couldn't possibly compete with the evidence, so please, enjoy the slideshow. In the interest of fairness, I included an unflattering picture of myself being gnawed by a donkey.

GSM: The (Long) Summary

- This place is almost unspeakably gorgeous. It really doesn't ever stop being gorgeous. Yes, that as a trailer park, but look just behind it and pooppooppoop it's pretty. Also, there are quite a lot more mountains than I had thought - just tons of them really, and they actually don't all look the same. I know this because we pulled over at 75% of all scenic overlooks.

- Kudos to the national parks of Tennessee and North Carolina for having some of the best maintained roads we have ever been on. It can't be easy to keep mountain roads in such pristine condition, but we would have been hard-pressed to complain about anything we drove over.

- Southern people, you really are very very nice. Not every last one of you - devoted partner felt one of you may have judged our living in sin status and been less pleasant to us on that account - but for the most part you said hello and please and thank you and have a nice day with such alarming frequency that my jaded ears nearly wondered if it was a put-on. I think I'm more than a little in love with your gentility.

- But, holy crap, are you people ever fat! I mean orca fat. I mean in any given grouping of people, devoted partner and I were the slenderest. BY 100 POUNDS! We are not slender people. In any given grouping in Greenwich, we are the orcas, but you all (and I mean ALL of you until we got back to Charlotte where women in expensive running gear were athleticizing with their labradors) made us look like we had just emerged from the pages of SI. I thought I had an eating problem, but you guys are probably the least healthy people I have ever encountered. Your fatness was fascinating it was so, pardon the pun, larger than life.

- Which is at least a little understandable given what you all eat. Let us, for a moment, put aside the sheer bounty of your fast food (I had my first Arby's sandwich - it wasn't bad, I just didn't think it tasted like anything; on the other hand, Arby's, your curly fries and god help me banana split shake were a little piece of heart attack heaven), and go back to your indigenous cuisine: bbq. There was not a plate that was put in front of me that didn't contain food enough for two-three people. In my defense, I did only eat the amount I thought was food for one (except for hushpuppies which, as noted last month, are only really delicious in quantities above 10), and I was still too full. A pound of meat, no matter how tender, fatty, and slow-cooked, is still a pound of meat and is, as such, an unsuitable amount for one person to eat at a sitting unless said person is an Olympic athlete which, as I have just mentioned, not one of you is.

- My entirely unscientific survey of what bbq was available gives the nod to Old Hickory House BBQ Restaurant in Charlotte. While your bbq was not wholly Carolina authentic, it was tasty and your hushpuppies were, well, let's just say I'm thinking inappropriate thoughts about them right now. It's still no Allen and Son, which now that we have some comparables, is off the charts delicious, but as a last stop before the north and food privation, it was a delightful send-off. The wood-paneling was a great help to the ambiance as well.

- Also, if I can go back to the fat thing for a moment, it doesn't help that you consider paved walkways "hikes." Hike to the top of Mount Mitchell, read the sign. The hike in question was 250 yards of slightly inclined 10-foot wide pavement. Chimney Rock's Exclamation Point, the highest part of the park, was billed as a strenuous hike. We were advised against climbing to Chimney Rock and then trying to make it to Exclamation Point. Exclamation Point, while making one's heart beat faster, was reached by stair. Some ricketier than others, but stairs. Not a hike. A stairmastering. Perhaps if more of your hiking trails were hikey, you could eat your bbq and assorted fried comestibles with more impunity.

- But none of this should dull the message that you put on an excellent nature show. I saw a bear. Actually I saw two, but only one was slow enough to be photographed (like many of you, it was eating). I saw a deer run by the side of the road - which is exciting for a city girl like me. And, if you've been following my tweets, I saw devoted partner make out with a camel. This was a good trip.

Farewells

Beep....You have reached Yelena and Devoted Partner. We're not here to take your call right now. We are most likely underwater. Or above water. Sweating. Because the Nicaragua is hot in June. Beep.



Beep...You have reached Yelena and Devoted Partner. We are unable to take your call as it appears we have been eaten by sharks. This was, most likely, my fault. I leave all of my shoes to Charlotte. You can burn the rest of our stuff. Beep.



Beep...You have reached Yelena and Devoted Partner. We will be unable to communicate with you due to permanent beach paralysis, a little known malady we have suddenly contracted. Please send money that we may enjoy more beers. Beep.



Beep...The number you have dialled [redacted phone number] is not in service. No further information is available for [redacted phone number]. Please check the number and dial again or call your operator for assistance. This is a recorded message. Beep.

My Secret Obsession

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Originally uploaded by reallyct

I may have hinted at it. If you've seen me recently it might even be hard to ignore. I'm not embarrassed qua embarrassment about it, and yet I haven't mentioned it. Which is strange. Because I do it all the time. All. The. Time. So, I'll just come out and say it: I'm a knitter.

There. That felt better.

I've known how to knit for years, but I had a lot of anxiety about actually completing projects. There was the ridiculous misshapen hat I made in eighth grade which I insisted on wearing; the two tone mohair v-neck; some shiny scarves. But anytime I attempted something really big, I left it in pieces, afraid that when I sewed them together, the result would look like a Frankensweater.

All this changed when we moved. I got rid of somewhere between 200 and 400 books because I was tired of going from place to place with titles like James Joyce and Pudding: A Critical Study. That left me with just enough bookshelf space for the books I already owned and not enough room, comfortably, for another bookshelf. Something had to give. I knew that having the commute every day filled with new books would quickly result in a massive storage crisis and something about storing extras in the attic still doesn't sit well with me. So I needed a new, absorbing hobby and fast. I honestly can't tell you how I chose knitting, but choose it I did. I walked into a store asking for a cool sweater dress pattern and walked out of the store with a book that had an even cooler riding jacket. Which I made. And which I wear.

That was in September. Since then, I have also made the following: a camel colored handkerchief hemmed jacket, a midnight blue tweed shawl collared sweater (a total winner - I'll be making more next winter), hats for my mother, father, sister-in-law, and Chaters and a scarf for the boy, a red daisy stitched jacket, a forest green cabled cropped turtleneck (deeded to my mother after it was apparent I could be more flattered by a garment), a sea green cropped bamboo cardigan, a fuchsia ruffle sleeved sweater. I am in the midst of three projects as we speak: the bamboo cardigan in the picture (mother's day gift), a dark green jacket for next winter, and (if the yarn ever comes off backorder) a hooded lightweight sweater for me. There. I have both bored you and looked like an insane person at the same time.

I even joined a knitting social networking site that allows you to track your own projects and see other people's. It is actually invaluable for tips, tricks, and best of all, buying other people's excess yarn at a discount. I now buy a lot of yarn. Like I used to buy a lot of books. So the net expenditure is similar, but the storage issue is different. The yarn eventually becomes a piece of clothing and we have ample closet space. I mean I have a closet I only sort of use and I mostly use it as a place to chuck things that don't have a good place to live and so live on the floor until we have guests when they go in the closet. It also saves me from having to buy clothing!

So, I admit my obsession and now I can feel like I'm not hiding things from you any more. Add knitting to my list of nerdy things.

Low Light

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Originally uploaded by reallyct

I don't remember where I read about this (though my gut feeling is that it was a link off some piece of Clay's in the Examiner), but a couple of weeks ago I discovered that every Sunday you can go into the bowels of Brooklyn. Hmmm, couple nerd archeology with New York history with demi-spelunking and you've got an activity primed and ready for devoted partner and me. Throw in the knowledge that a Montreal-style delicatessen is four blocks away and you have a full day.

You can find out more about this at the website, but I'll start by telling you what they leave off: there's a bit of a wait to get into the tunnel. We lined up at 11:00am and by quarter of noon we had descended. We were told to bring flashlights and, being the strange household we are, what we came up with was one supersized maglite - the one that weighs about 10 pounds - and a head lamp. It was a diverse group of people agewise if not in other ways and people were really really excited to see underground. Having done no research myself save getting directions from our house to the meeting point, I didn't really know what to expect, though I assumed rats would be involved (actually, they weren't).

You do descend through a manhole cover and down a ladder (I might have chosen a different ladder, this was a pretty standard, fairly rickety Home Depot $9.99 ladder) into, well, underground. I'm not going to say it wasn't awesome in a "I am 8 and I should definitely not be doing this" kind of way. After ducking under some pipes and walking down some wood plank stairs you're in the tunnel. And they're not lying. It's dark and it's tunnelicious.

I took this opportunity to see just how well my new fancypants camera worked in low (no) light. And I was impressed. Yes, every little movement became a wild blur, and there is a fair bit of noise, but when I tell you that the only illumination came from bare 60 watt bulbs spaced approximately 50-100 feet apart and the ambient light from people intermittently turning on their flashlights, you should be impressed with the power of the camera.

As for the tour itself, I'll be honest: the man who rediscovered the tunnel in the 80s and who leads the tour is a trifle long winded. It's true he's incredibly knowledgeable and there isn't more than 300 yards or so of tunnel to see, but there was a lot of stuff I could have skipped (or heard a more Reader's Digest version of). Still we were in a defunct subway tunnel and that was unspeakably cool. It had a "From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler" vibe to it that may or may not appeal to people who didn't grow up in New York, but for this nerdy city kid, it was a broken taboo of fantasticness.

And Mile End, the deli, was pretty good too. If you like brisket. Especially brisket as part of poutine.

Where The Wild Things Are

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Originally uploaded by reallyct

So something you might not know about me is that I'm not opposed, either in theory or practice, to the outdoors. Sure, there are things that exist in the outdoors, bees, opossums, drifters, that I'm not especially partial to, but oftentimes the outdoors is pretty and I like pretty things. I also have this fancy new camera which I need to learn how to use. And it is far nicer to take pictures of pretty things than to snap shots of, for example, your collection of dustbunnies.

With this in mind, I decided to find myself some attractive outdoors for a little photo practice. I looked at a google map of my house and found the nearest bits of green which denote nature. About 30 minutes from my house is the Ward Pound Ridge park. It looked quite green on the google map.

And in fact it was greenish in person. And by green, I mean nature-y. It had the requisite trees and hills and rocks and water. Armed with my camera, two tripods, and a phone that probably wouldn't have gotten service any way, I proceeded to hike. It wasn't the loveliest of days and there was quite a bit of precipitation on the ground from one of the many deluges favored by our region of late, but it mattered not, for I had wisely chosen boots as opposed to Converse. For I am not an enemy of nature. Yea, I am pro nature and am quite at home amidst the wonders of creation.

Wait. Did you hear that?

That was clearly not a nature sound. That was very very very much a human sound. A male human sound. And, while it was just momentary, I heard crazy in that sound. And now that I've paused, I see another person. A male person. Most likely crazy. And only about 50 yards behind me.

I should pause now and say that bears, rabid deer, snakes, poisonous toads, none of these frightens me. Because they are part of nature and nature is good. Other people in nature, however, are, with practically zero exceptions dangerous crazy people of the I-am-coming-to-rape-and-dismember-you variety and should be avoided at all costs. And, as luck would have it, one was less than half a football field behind me.

Fortunately, my cunning survival skills were at the ready. The first, and most important thing was to put down the camera because there would clearly be more moss to photograph later at a time when I did not need to protect my person from raping, and get to higher ground. I should be able to see my attacker from above (where I could rain rocks down on his head etc.). As I scampered uphill, I kept my eyes peeled for nature's weapons: pointy sticks and rocks for braining. A pointy stick would be preferable, but in a pinch, I felt certain I could hold a rock in my fist (roll of quarters style) and fend off my attacker with my Mohammed Ali-like grace and agility.

I guess now would be as good a time as any to explain my particular brand of hubris. In pretty much any fight I give myself at least even odds. This is why I don't fear small (under 6 foot) sharks, black bears, pythons, and the religious right. I figure that in a showdown with any of them, I stand as good a chance, if not better, of being victorious. There is no basis for this in fact, but my thoughts are: if the shark is about my size, I'm sure I could inflict as much damage on him as he could on me. Devoted partner assures me this is ABSOLUTELY NOT THE CASE, but I think he's just being a worrywart. So, even though I only caught a glimpse of the crazy man in the woods on his way to chop off my body parts, I am completely positive that with a pointy stick at hand, I could incapacitate him prior to losing any limbs I really care about (I also spend no time wondering exactly how much blood a person could lose before she would be a less effective fighting machine - math is for people not as primed for a fight as I).

So the stick in the first picture was what I settled on (albeit long after I had lost sight and sound of my attacker - presumably he found a nice squirrel to torture). And, I won't joke, for a good fifteen minutes I was in super fight/flight mode. My pulse was up, I tasted metal, and I prepped myself heavily for the coming battle. I reached high ground quickly and surveyed the area below, assessing all possible routes of ascent. The good news is that when the threat of imminent ouchiness was deemed neutralized, I was up on top of high ground able to look at the pretty bits of nature that surrounded me.

I can't decide, in retrospect, if hiking alone in an unfamiliar place is a horridly stupid idea, or if thinking that what essentially amounted to a solo walk on a marked trail in a state park is a stupid idea is an even stupider idea. The good news is that I found a pretty and large (4000 acres) green area nearby that I can explore further as the weather improves. And I can arm myself with the greatest weapon of them all: devoted partner.

Collateral Damage

I think I need ski pants. No, dear readers, not for skiing, which is an activity I still have difficulty wrapping my mind around (cold, wet, high likelihood of torn ACLs), but to avoid what happened yesterday.

Since Cablevision's DVR sucks like a thousand black holes of uselessness, one cannot have a series set to record and then, prior to recording, choose to not record certain of the episodes; if you attempt this, the DVR assumes you no longer want to record the entire series. So, if, for example, you want to record HGTV's House Hunters, you must record either only new episodes or ALL episodes; it's up to you to delete them post recording. I decided that a good use of my snow day, rather than say, doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom, or writing the great American novel, would be to selectively watch and delete as many episodes of House Hunters and Property Virgins as I could.

Some things I have learned: St. John is really viciously expensive and there is no beachfront property; Toronto is expensive for no reason I can come up with; Arizona, if you care to live there, is a place where for the price of a Manhattan studio apartment one can have a sprawling house with pool; and everyone in humanity wants granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances, but none of them knows why. See where I'm going with this? My brain was officially a wasteland yesterday, to the point where around 6pm, I seriously considered re-tiling things just because. While it is true that I also knit the front section of the sweater I am working on, it just doesn't seem like the trade-off was worth it.

So I'm making at least a mental list of the things I need prior to the next snow day. It includes: waterproof pants; waterproof gloves; long underwear; wool socks. Because the snow was actually sort of inviting-looking. Had I these necessary items, I could have dragged devoted partner from his work, at least for a moment or two, that we could do such fun things as make snow angels, throw snowballs at each other, sled down our driveway (which is hella steep) on the lids of our garbage cans, craft the world's least life-like snowperson, and, snow-texture permitting, make igloos. In my mind these things seem somewhat fun, though whilst a city dweller, I would have never considered any of them (dog waste makes snow evil and dog waste in snow occurs immediately in Manhattan).

The fact that I will most assuredly look like a misshapen yeti in the above outfit is ameliorated by the fact that in the suburbs fewer people are around to see you. I promise, if the above ever comes to pass, I will take pictures!

The Other New Year's Resolutions

Everyone is back to the grind today along with all the resolutions for the new year: "I will lose 100 pounds while working out every day, quitting smoking and white flour, finding a man to marry, and getting serious about recycling."

Admirable. But not the whole story. What about the minor resolutions? Why do they get such short shrift? Sure, remembering to call your grandmother once a month might not be as momentous as dropping six dress sizes, but if you make it the whole year having remembered, once a month, to see if your grandmother is still alive (hi, Grandma, I call you at least once every 2-3 weeks because I love you! note: Grandma does not use the internet), that's worthy of the happy feeling of a job well done.

In this spirit, I would like to share with you my other New Year's resolutions:

1. I will wash my face. Every day. At least once.
   
2. I will make a really good stab at flossing regularly (is weekly considered regularly?).
   
3. I will (a)handwash my unmentionables when I take them off at night so that I may (b)wear the emergency Hanes Her Way cotton jobs less frequently which will enable me to (c)throw out the Hanes Her Way cotton jobs that really should not be worn by a person without a medical condition.
   
4. I will realize that even though the temperature feels like 10 degrees outside, this is not carte blanche to leave my house looking homeless.
   
5. I will not consider floss the enemy.
   
6. I will not, throughout 2010, eat a loaf of bread in one sitting and consider it a meal.
   
7. I will take the $400 I would have blown at the Manolo Blahnik winter sale and put it into the vacation savings account.
   
8. I will consider doing likewise at the Manolo Blahnik summer sale.
   
9. I will get up at least two days a month and go take pictures of something. I will attempt to improve my skills (z?). This will be my dedicated taking pictures of stuff time, but will not preclude me from taking pictures other times.
   
10. I will stock more than one roll of floss at a time so that when one roll is finished, I can not use my lack of floss as an excuse to not floss.
    
11. I will change the polish on my toes more frequently than every time I either (a)go on vacation or (b)go to a wedding.
    
12. I will use my new hair dryer at least once a week. This will help me to look not homeless even as it means I have to spend more time "doing myself up."
    
13. I will throw out papers on my desk once their usefulness has expired - I'm looking at you car payment reminder from September.
    
14. I will schedule an appointment to go to the dentist even as this means I will be chastised for my lack of flossing. I will remind the dentist that I am resolved to change this.
    
15. I will throw out the plastic shoe boxes that I bought at The Container Store six years ago that I hated from the start and which now stand empty because I have two double-door closets in which I may store my shoes, on a dedicated ledge, covered by their shoe bags to prevent dustiness. This will let me see that I do not expressly need to visit the Manolo Blahnik winter or summer sales as I already own a satisfactory number of shoes.
    
16. I will further remind myself that my calves are currently too "shapely" to fit into the pair of knee-high Manolo Blahnik boots I already own and that even were they on sale, I do not need a similar pair in brown. Not until they would, you know, fit.
    
17. I will get the battery in my watch changed. It's been about five years. It might be time.
    
18. I will understand that healthy teeth are important and that I would look really really bad without my teeth. This will help me understand the importance of flossing and, studies show, would decrease the amount of blood I spit out when I brush.
    
19. I will not pick my nose while seated at my desk and consider any paper product "close enough" to a tissue. I will walk my fat ass to the bathroom for actual tissue.
    
20. I will remember that, based on the number of packages shipped to our house during the holidays, my Amazon Prime membership has, already, paid for itself. This should help me to avoid purchasing things from Amazon multiple times per week (day) simply because I have Amazon Prime. I will deposit the savings into the vacation savings account.
    
21. I will wear my existing pairs of Manolo Blahnik shoes more often, even in winter, because, by doing so, I will be reminded that it would not be a tragedy if 2010 was a year without a new pair.
    
22. I have lived in Greenwich for five months. I will finally get a parking pass and stop paying daily. I will deposit the difference in price into the vacation savings account.
    
23. I will make recipes from the cookbooks I already have before buying new cookbooks simply because I "like the pictures."
    
24. I will realize that it is better to have the gross "floss gunk" on my fingers than where it was before, stuck between my teeth.
    
25. In an effort to look less homeless, I will wear at least a tiny bit of makeup when I go to work.
    
26. I will not purchase the Crest Pro-Health toothpaste again because the tube does not close and leaks all over the bathroom.
    
27. I will no longer anthropomorphize my muffin top. No one is laughing.
    
28. I will attempt to be at peace with Cablevision, even as they, without warning, took away FoodTV and HGTV. I will cease all thoughts of violent retribution and remind myself that FoodTV sucks, HGTV was fast becoming a dangerous obsession, and that living with privation is a part of life. (I will continue to hope that Time Warner Cable comes to my town.)
    
29. I will get my car washed every 4-6 weeks. It costs 10 bucks and it makes the car look so nice and well taken care of.
    
30. I will stop looking at pictures of people my age on Facebook and commenting on the sorry state of their skin. It is not a nice habit. I should be happy that I inherited good skin genes and not look at others and say, "what, they don't have sunscreen where you live?" Other people's wrinkles in no way ameliorate my fat.
    
31. I will not have 50 pounds of citrus shipped to me this winter. I have enough citrus zest in my freezer to last a lifetime and I will never use it. I will buy citrus when I need it. They stock the same brand in the stores now, I don't need to order from the source.
    
32. I will stop thinking of activities like flossing, face washing, hair drying, and makeup application as time stealers. After all, now that I no longer have HGTV, I have some extra time on my hands.
    
33. I will pack the books I clearly am not taking to be donated in a box and put them in the attic. That is what attics are for, and they look ugly just stacked on top of my shelves.
    
34. I will do the hand laundry backlog, frightening though it is, in shifts, if needs be.
    
35. I will wear my perfume more often. It was a gift and, as I discovered, will go bad after five or so years if not used so that using it is less of a waste than not using it.
    
36. I will seriously consider liking a less expensive brand of perfume.
    
37. I will get Kate her Christmas presents before the boy's birthday. That gives me 6 weeks.
    
38. I will round up all the shot, but undeveloped film from, presumably 2000-2002, and have it developed. I will hope there is nothing incriminating on any of the rolls.
    
39. When I get home today I will make lemon curd before the lemons go bad. Because Meyer lemons are expensive and waste is stupid.
    
40. Likewise, I will waste less produce overall. If this means more frequent trips to the store to buy fewer things, so be it.
    
41. I will throw out the white chocolate that is so stale as to make it nearly impossible to work with. I will treat this as a learning experience and stop buying white chocolate, which I use infrequently, in 22lb. sacks.
    
42. I will throw out clothing that has holes in it. So that I may look less homeless.
    
43. I will throw out devoted partner's clothing that has holes in it (while he is not looking and with one or two notable sentimental exceptions). So that I may look less like a person who dates homeless people.
    
44. I will impulse shop less at whole foods (marinated peppers), and when I do, I will make sure I use the impulsively shopped item before it goes bad (marinated peppers).
    
45. Similarly, I will empty the fridge of items that have gone bad. Even when it is not garbage day. I will simply haul my ass downstairs and deposit the bag in the can. Which is outside. Where I cannot smell it.
    
46. I will have a fridge that has only edible products in it. And weed. No. I did not write that.
    
47. I will remember to put the coupon my mother lovingly clipped for me for $1.00 off jello pudding into my wallet, so that I will have it when I get to the store to buy yet more sugar-free jello cinnamon rice pudding, and will then be able to save $1.00.
    
48. I will buy some sriracha - many fridges I have looked into recently have it and I feel left out.
    
49. I will endeavor to floss my teeth regularly (at least every other day) and definitely after ingesting something that has poppy seeds in it, or similar.
    
50. I will not blog another list for at least two weeks as I think I've pretty well mined the genre for the time being.

Mii

So I would like to have a conference with you wherein we discuss how I would like our future conversations to run.

You: Hey, Yelena, I see you've taken up a new hobby.
Me: What?
You: Eating cookies!

Why is it that the only person who can, with no embarrassment, call me an Orca to my face is my brother. He'll take one look at me and go, "shut your piehole, fatty." The rest of you are in severe dereliction of duty. Chances are I know I've fallen off the cookie wagon, but your reprimands keep me honest.

In lieu of your assistance, I have taken up with Todd. Todd is a pixelated trainer, and his name is not Todd. He doesn't have a name, but he looks like a Todd, so I have decided to call him Todd. I have no illusions that Super Hula Hooping for 10 minutes a day followed by Rhythm Kung Fu will be any kind of antidote to the cookie-as-meal conundrum, but I hear tell that some movement is considered better than no movement, and spending 30 minutes a day with Todd and the Super Hula Hooping avatars is, at least, fun. And can be done from the comfort of my own house.

The surprise in all of this is the Wii Yoga. You may have heard me mock yoga, or at least mock yoga practitioners, among whom my mother may be counted. Yoga on its own seems innocuous, but it is frequently followed by faux-Buddhism and vegetarianism, two things I think we should eradicate sooner rather than later. When in college, I tried my hand at some yoga. It was an unmitigated disaster. In the best of shape I am not what one would call especially graceful, add n pounds and I start to resemble the elephant seal using its stomach to flop itself onto shore. So I was in a yoga class with my college classmates, the vast majority of whom were at least 20 pounds slimmer than I, and therefore, even if not graceful, not graceful while taking up less space.

I lasted two classes before I crawled back to my room to sit in the dark, eat M&Ms, and cry over my poor coordination and lack of rear end definition.

So yoga and I were on the outs until Todd came along. He told me I could try out yoga in the safety of my own home, where (even though I rationally know no one was looking at me before) no one would look at me and giggle at my falling down thing, nor where I would have to see myself in bike shorts and a jog bra writ large on a massive workout room mirror, and where I could discover that, hey, yoga is like really good stretching.

It's not going to make me thinner, but it might strangely, make me more coordinated if I do it from time to time (fine, twice a week). Yes, there were some poses - I'm looking at you shoulder stand; are you kidding me with that? what possibly makes you think normal people should bend like that - that perhaps should be reattempted when I am overall more comfortable, but I can stand on one leg while holding the other leg out and stretching with the opposing arm. In fact, it feels really nice. Like when devoted partner pulls on my leg.

So Todd and I will continue to work out together - he tells me I'm doing a good job and, unlike real life trainers, does not require $75 every time we hang out. I look forward to my Mii looking slightly less like a ball and slightly more like a person. Now if only I could find out whether or not there are any more songs worth unlocking on Dance Dance Revolution.

Doing Stupid Stuff

IMG_5240
Originally uploaded by reallyct

Once upon a time, due to serious malaise, weekends were spent huddled in the corner, fingers stuffed in ears, pretending the world didn't exist for 48 hours until the world had to exist again. As you can well imagine, this was not the best use of time. Bearing that in mind, and bearing in mind how easily I can personally while away the weekend playing any number of empire building computer games (give me a scenario where I can be Caesar and I'm good), I resolved that with new living arrangements would come better weekend utility.

We've been making pretty good on that resolution. Sometimes to our detriment.

Two weekends ago we went to the annual Greenwich dog adopt-a-thon. In 40 degree rain. In wholly unsuitable clothing. We spent an hour permitting hypothermia to get a toehold while I played with dogs. It was great fun until I couldn't get rid of the cold feeling. Finally, a very hot shower several hours later solved the problem, but I could see where better decisions could have been made.

Which is why it seemed perfectly reasonable to go apple picking in the rain this past weekend. As it wasn't yet raining when we woke up, we decided to forge ahead. Naturally, it only started to rain once we reached the orchard. Devoted partner was the ultimate trooper, hanging out until we had enough apples, even as we both got soaked (note to self: perhaps new ex-urban living should influence rain gear purchases). Then we guarded ourselves against fresh baked pies and instead bought the supplies needed to make our own hard cider - which devoted partner is currently in charge of in the basement.

And you know what? It was fun.

It was fun to get wet and be stupid and enjoy each other and throw apples at each other and play with dogs despite not being ready to adopt one. It's been fun, ok not fun but fun-ny, to spend hours upon hours in Home Depot, buying stinky inedible lamb from the farmer's market, canoeing in the world's worst canoe for 30 minutes in the cold while being menaced by spiders, having friends and family over. It's honestly preferable to building up enough legions to overcome the Gauls. Sure, downtime is important, and I have spent more than my fair share of time on the couch, in the corner under a blanket, knitting and watching tv, but I don't need to do that all the time. As winter (yuck) approaches, I know it will be slightly more challenging to find things to do outside our house on the weekends, but I'm definitely more inclined to search those things out provided they do not involve snow balls being thrown at me or shoved down the back of my shirt.

Applefest 2009

Lunch on the Tracks 5
Originally uploaded by reallyct

[by the way, if you like pictures more than words, click on this one to see my whole flickr set of Applefest]

I am a sucker for a county fair. Ask devoted partner what my eyes look like when we innocently drive down a road and discover that a ferris wheel has been set up and that someone, somewhere, is frying dough. I have no Ur-fair to trace this fascination, I just know that there's something about a fair that makes me feel euphoric. Most of the time, devoted partner will be a mensch about it and pull over so we can take a turn around the fair, maybe get cotton candy or lose a dollar at a game, but every once in a while, I need more than that. Every once in a while I need something like

APPLEFEST 2009.

For 21 years the town of Warwick, NY has hosted Applefest. Let me disabuse you of some things to begin with: while there are plenty of apple-y things around, this is not one of those festivals with booths of people who have turned apples into sculpture, have made dried apple skin sweaters, etc. There are apple for sale, and cider, and pies, but this is more an autumn festival. Which, in no way, makes it rock less.

If you like live music, there was plenty. Each distinct area of the fest had a makeshift bandstand and there were people performing all day long. Some of them sounded good.

Do you like food? Everyone from the remote region was offering his wares. Local restaurants took care of lunch unless, like devoted partner, you chose to support the local firehouse by purchasing one of the cheeseburgers the firemen were grilling up. There was traditional Irish pub fare, bbq, deep fried pierogies, cheesesteaks, burgers and dogs, nachos, well nearly anything you could think of. And that's just the lunch options. Don't forget that there was a farmer's market, an abundance of bake sales, stalls selling pastries, pies, jams, syrups, hot sauce (some of which made me cry), and you would be surprised how LITTLE I ate.

There were woodcrafters, metalcrafters, candlemakers, soapmakers, weavers, not to mention the enterprising local residents along the fair route who chose yesterday to have their garage sales. If they didn't have our number...

Yeah, so Saturday I bought a desk, finally. A painted over mahogany secretary that I set up and had begun using as my desk. Yeah, there was a small problem: putting my monitor on the top shelf caused me to crane my neck; putting it on the secretary level was too low. So when we saw a desk at someone's garage sale for $75, we snapped it up. Now I have two desks reminding me of the raining/pouring thing people occasionally talk about. We also found one of those kinda neat lamps that come attached to a wooden table. Well, devoted partner wasn't sure it was worth $85 in the morning, but in the afternoon, as I intentionally maneuvered him back that way (cause I knew he really liked the thing), it was down to $60 and I told him to just give the man three twenties and be done with it.

This was terrific. We got two pieces of furniture. All we had to do now was pull the car around and pack it up. Start laughing now.

You see, we had taken the shiny red Jetta to the fair with us, not the beat up but storage-friendly Subaru. So we had just purchase a desk with chair and a table with a lamp sticking out the top of it, and we had one tiny car with which to transport it. I am truly truly apologetic that I forgot to take a picture of the final product, be cause I was really proud of us. The seats in the back came down, bunjee cord was given us by a local samaritan. A girl's white desk was wedged as far into the truck as possible, sans drawers, and the trunk bunjeed around it - half of the desk was too tall, in any configuration, to go in the trunk. Then a lamp was disassembled, a base turned on its side and stowed in the backseat, and drawers and lampshades disbursed wherever there was room.

It took less than twenty minutes. We pounded fists and decided it only made sense to now go to Woodbury Commons.

Yes, the outlet stores of evil. It MUST BE NOTED that it was devoted partner who suggested the detour. I hate outlet malls. They are evil. Devoted partner, however, has had great success in the past getting winter coats there, and it's time for a new winter coat.

From the moment we entered the compound, we knew it was a mistake. The line to get out of the mall looked to be 1.5 hours long. So now we were trapped. We had to at least walk around until the traffic abated. We did not get a winter coat. However, between us, in the space of oh 75 minutes, we bought, together, 5 pairs of shoes, 4 pairs of socks, and a pair of Ray-Bans. Fortunately all of these items could be stowed in the few empty spaces left in the back of the car. Unfortunately, we hadn't anticipated buying anything when we left Applefest.