Count Down

So, in less than seven weeks I am going to be boarding a plane and flying to Barcelona to start a new chapter in my life. Obviously this is very exciting, intimidating, exhilarating, scary and a host of other adjectives. Everyone who knows about this trip asks me about it pretty frequently and I actually surprise myself with the sort of lackadaisical manner in which I've been responding. "I'm excited, it'll be cool," I'll reply to enthusiastic inquiries about my trip, or "No, I'm not worried, I'm sure I'll be fine."

I don't really know why this is. I am absolutely excited and think this will be an incredible experience, but for some reason, I'm just very blase' about it right now. Maybe it's just because I get asked about it so frequentl. I can't sustain a high enough level of enthusiasm for every person who asks. It's like when you go out the night before Thanksgiving the first few years after graduating high school and have the exact same conversation with 28 people from your class who you don't really care very much about. "Yeah, I'm at <>, I'm majoring in <>. Dude, did you see how fat <> got?!"

Or at your college graduation party when you answer the same questions from extended family and friends about your plans. "Well, I'm taking the summer to figure out what I want to do. Yes, I know real adults don't get summer vacations. No, I don't want to be a teacher so I guess this will be my last summer off. No, I hadn't heard about how successful your kids are, please tell me."

Maybe when it gets closer, maybe when I have the address of where I'll actually be living or when the other two big dates on my summer calendar (my friend Beth's wedding and a couple events for work)have passed and this is the only thing on the horizon, then it will really sink in. Although maybe it will be good if it doesn't; the blase' attitude could certainly help me fit in with the Catalans.

Fairytale Wedding

My brother's wedding was Saturday and it couldn't have been lovelier. I was so happy for them and had so much fun. I don't even have any jokes or snarky stories about it, it was just a beautiful and fun three days (rehearsal, wedding, next day brunch).

I can't wait to see all the pictures and see the entire wedding video. You can see a teaser highlight reel here: http://www.dvideography.com/theater/?phpMyAdmin=461c49f0ae4ct2773281f

You can see how oddly short I am compared to other humans here (yeah, wearing my heels here):

This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

My car was in the shop yesterday having the brakes replaced. Since I am at my parents' house right now, my mom said I could drop her off at work and then take her car to run errands during the day.

I was pretty excited about this since she just got a BMW convertible over the winter and it was a perfect, beautiful day to drive around with the top down. So I take off for my first appointment of the day, top down, sunglasses on, hair blowing in the breeze.

When I was about five miles from my destination I noticed some darker clouds appearing and the wind kicking up. "Don't tell me it's going to rain," I thought. Sure enough, a few drops started to fall. I was able to pull over before it really rained and put the top up, which is pretty easy, you just push a button until the roof stops moving and making noises. I drove through the little storm pretty quickly, though and then it was sunny again.

I made it to my appointment and after it was over I had a call for work. I wouldn't have time to get back home so I set up my computer in passenger seat of the car and put the top down to get some air while I worked.

When I finished it looked like it could rain again before long so I started the car and pushed the button to put the top up- nothing. I pressed the top down button to make sure it was really down and then pushed the top up button- still nothing.

I turned the car off and re-started it and pushed the button again- no dice. I called my mom to see if there was some trick to it that I'd missed. She had nothing for me, it hadn't worked for her once before, in January (I didn't ask why she'd had the top down in January in the first place) and it turned out it had shorted out.

In case that's what had happened this time, she suggested I take it to the dealership which, luckily, was only a few miles from where I was parked. I tried it one more time and then drove to the dealership. By drove I mean I made about seven K and U turns in my attempt to get where I was supposed to be going since I have pretty much the worst directional sense ever.

I finally got there, frustrated and windblown and they sent a technician out to look at the car while I sat on a bench outside of the service office door. After only two minutes someone drove the car up to where I was waiting, the top securely up.

"What was wrong?" I asked. "Nothing, I just pushed the button and it went up," the guy replied.

"Really? Cause I pushed it a few times and it didn't work."

He didn't even answer, just demonstrated the functioning hood, pressing the buttons to send it up and down, twice each and it worked perfectly each time. It was as though he didn't even want to acknowledge my idiocy with words.

I wanted him to know that I realized I looked silly, "well, I'd rather I look stupid than there be something wrong with the car," I said with a laugh.

"I know, right?" he replied with a smirk that said that he did, in fact, think I looked stupid.

Then I got in the car and proceeded to turn around three times in the parking before going out the entrance.

When I went to pick up my mom, she went to get in the passenger side. "Oh no," I told her, putting it in park and getting out, "I'm done, you can drive it the rest of the way."

I'll stick with uncomplicated, hard-topped Honda from now on.

And a Partridge in a Palm Tree

I just completed the first week of my new life living at the shore. For anyone who doesn't know, I'm taking the summer to live at the beach and spend time with my family before I move to Barcelona in September (more on that later I'm sure).

I wrote something last summer about all the random food that could be found in our kitchen here. Well, while prowling around during the week here I realized that this doesn't just apply to the kitchen; the randomness spreads throughout the building.

Of course there is the requisite junk drawer in the kitchen with things like a flexi-straw with three plastic Santa Claus heads on it, a picture of my dad and his brothers circa 1977, five golf pencils, a broken wind chime, a box of long matches and a 1992 Philadelphia Phillies yearbook.

But then there is the drawer in a bureau that is stored in what we call the "bonus room" on the first floor, basically an extra family that we use for storage and playing drinking games. The top drawer of this chest contains a book about John Adams, a wiffle ball and a figurine from a box of Red Rose tea in the shape of a goose.

The drawers of the two end tables in that room have several pictures of my family from the late '80's, the empty packaging from some sort of lighter and other various animal figurines from Red Rose tea boxes.

There is also a small table in the entryway- that drawer contains five keys of varying sizes and a purple bouncy ball, the kind you would get from a machine at the grocery store.



Right now I am sitting in the kitchen and the counter directly across from me is like a still life of our beach existence.

There are:

- two ears of corn (cause, you know, someone might want some at any given time, best to keep it handy)

- a jaccuzzi owner's manual topped with an awkward photo of myself, my mom, my brother and my sister all wearing sunglasses (taken indoors...at night)

- a sleeve of Solo cups (best way to transport margaritas to the beach)

- a set of walkie talkies (for communicating from the beach to the house- mainly for the purpose of requesting drinks and snacks)

- an iPod doc/radio (for cooking music)

- little plastic cocktail cups (these are better for taking wine to the beach)

- some paint brushes in a jar (they are probably just still there from a touch up job done weeks ago)

- a camouflage-patterned flask (probably left by a recent guest- and will probably stay there until that person returns- or be relegated to the depths of the junk drawer)

Also, next to me on the counter is my sister's ID card from our 1994 season passes to Sesame Place.

I guess this is just what happens when you live in a place that is meant for vacationing.

I'm Awkward, I'm Awkward and Shy- A Tribute

Tonight was my last night living with my roommate Sara in Montclair. To commemorate this occasion, we went out for a few drinks at Tierney's, my favorite Montclair bar.




While there, we reminisced about the great times we've had living together, and also the poor decisions we've made during our time as dynamic duo; particularly in the arena of young men.


We started discussing how amazing it would be if the guys we regretted knowing were to show up tonight in a parade of our bad choices. This parade would include characters such as:


- Oscar, the bald-headed, over-eager guy posing as a buddy in order to gain trust



- Dr. Erik, the chiropractor living at home who specialized in mixed messages



- Dan, the reformed alcoholic who drinks coke at bars and travels to dance competitions throughout North Jersey


-Sam, AKA Pastor Sam, who introduced himself as a man of the cloth- yet another attempt to gain trust


- John*, who had this conversation confessing his affection for Sara:

John: "I really like you"
Sara: "That's nice"
John: "No really, I've had a crush on you for a really long time."
Sara: "Ok...Ali, can we go now?"


- Timmy G, The snow clearing master, hard to shake, yet convenient to keep arond in winter months


- Damian, Encountered at 30,000 feet but dropped due to his over-enthusiasm for intense work outs and tea


-Oakley, The a*hole to end all a*holes-'nuff said (if you know me well you know the story and no, I never heard from him again but I still hope to one day punch him in the face)


- Mike, the 30 year old vet's assistant, i.e. puppy nurse who could not read non-verbal cues, leading to the exclamation of this post's title


- Chris, random make-out from two years ago who was the only one in the parade who actually was there tonight, possibly fulfilling his destiny of marrying Sara one day


- Uncle Dougie, forty something sugar daddy who recently came into money and insisted on buying us "the most expensive shot the bar had to offer," whether it was something we wanted to drink or not




I am going to miss this place.













*name has been changed to protect identity

Goodbye, Cupcake

If you know me, you know I have an intense, at times uncontrollable sweet tooth. So one of my favorite places in Montclair is Gimmee Jimmies Cookie Bar. It has been my go-to spot for a while now to get amazing cupcakes and cookies. The thing that made them so special is that every cupcake was different. They were all decorated with bright colors and designs like tic-tac-toe, smiley faces, flowers, anything the little staff of bakers came up with.

I went there a couple weeks ago and they were closed with a sign saying they were preparing for a grand re-opening with their new five star pastry chef, or something along those lines.

I finally went back last night with a friend, excited to see what fancy new stuff they had added to their line up. The shop itself looked a little different, but what struck me most was the difference in the cupcakes. No fun colors, no wacky designs, not a huge variety from what I could see. The cupcakes looked fancy, but they didn't look fun. They were also either really big or really small and some of them looked like they had whipped cream on them instead of frosting- not cool.

I couldn't hide my disappointment even a little bit, I couldn't help it, I created a totally uncomfortable situation for the person working behind the counter. I just looked at the dessert cases, distraught. My friend patted my head and talked to me like a distressed child, asking in soothing tones, "do you want a cookie instead? How about the red velvet, they still look good, how about that, hmm, what do you think?"

"No, it's not the same. They look so different. I guess I'll just have an M&M cookie." The woman working handed it to me with an apologetic look and guiltily took my money.

Gimmee Jimmy's, if you have Google Alerts and happen to see this, please, at least keep some of the fun stuff. Whenever I introduced people to your wonderful selection of treats, the beautiful, bright cupcakes with loads of icing were what they remembered and what got them excited to come back. Please, if not for me, do it for the kids- actually really for me, kids won't miss what they never had. I, however, love those GD cupcakes.

Atonement

I haven't blogged in a while and I think part of the reason why is that I feel a little guilty about T-Bone. My last two posts were about her and didn't paint her in the best light, although they are written with affection.

Recently, I had to tell T-Bone's mom that I'm going to be moving and won't be able to keep taking her out after the month of June. I didn't think T-Bone would mind that much; I thought she would be a little disappointed that she would no longer be guaranteed french fries and ice cream bi-monthly but that that would be about it. I honestly didn't think our friendship was all that important to her.

Well, when I saw her mom after she'd broken the news to her, she let me know that T-Bone broke down and sobbed for about half an hour, asking her mom why she would tell her that when she'd been having a good day.

So, needless to say, I feel like an a-hole for using my interactions with her as blog fodder when clearly they meant something to her and she was getting something out of it. Even though she'll most likely never see this stuff, I still feel bad about it.

I'm going to try to make it up to her by doing whatever she wants the next (last) time I take her out. I'll let her eat anything she wants and I won't share the details.