Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Crack my shit up! Fo shizzle.

Okay, I have a list of eleven things I'd like to write about. And not one of them is the least bit funny. And after yesterday's post, well, enough of that boring shit for now.

So I was checking my stat meter and trying to think of something light-hearted to say.

When I came across this. I'm probably late to the game as usual, but it cracked me up. And now I can't stop talking like Snoop Dog. It ain't pretty.

I don't gangsta mizzle at all from mah pimpin' day.

Whizzat, oh what, have they done ta mah preshizzous shawty boy?

Maybe that would makes a good Valentizzles Day gift n shit.

Speaking of which, so a lot of you are men. Right? Or you're married to men.

In all the years we've been together, I can't recall ever once really wowing my husband with a Valentine's Day gift.


Um, suggestion that cost under $200?

Thanks fo` yo hizzle, playas.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Snapshots, Part 2

Part 1 is here.

While I was in New York, Patrick and I kept revisiting a conversation about memories.

I am awful about remembering things. I can remember lists of mundane facts and schedules down to the smallest detail, but I can't remember the first time my husband told me he loved me. I can't even remember the first time we had sex.

All of my special memories are more like snapshots. They isolate one moment in time and freeze it forever in the album of my heart. (As sappy as that sounds, I was going to say brain instead of heart. But these really are memories more of the heart.)

I don't remember much at all from my wedding day. Oh, I can tell the stories like I remember the moments. But I'm really only repeating stories I've told before. I have a very clear memory of me smashing my head as my father enthusiastically helped me out of the limo before the ceremony. I can remember feeling so afraid that my voice would come out as a cracked peep when I started to say my vows. But I don't remember what we said.

I barely remember my childhood at all. But I have a clear mental picture of stealing my brother's sneaker from the back steps of my grandparents' house, and how my brother chased me around laughing trying to get it back. I wasn't even two-years-old yet according to my mother. Which makes sense, because I can remember laughing around the pacifier in my mouth.

The only thing I remember about my first date with my husband was having a hard time choosing what movie snack we wanted. We settled on Oreos.

I've won some important sports games in my life. My teams played basketball in the Boston Garden, won a state softball championship, and twirled at the World Chamionships. But my only clear memories are of arguing on the team buss, getting knocked out at home plate, and shaving my legs for the first time before a competition. Oh, and there was that one time we lost a couple of softball players at Disney World. There's no way I could ever forget that.

It's sad to me, but most of my kids' lives are a blur up until this point. I'm still at a point (maybe I'm not far away enough from it yet) when most of my clear memories are of bad times. And my son will probably resent it someday, but I can remember the moment my daughter was born with crystal clear clarity. All I remember of his birth is searing pain.

Even my recent memories are hit and miss.

I can recall recent things if I sit and think about them. For example, I can pretty much remember everything that happened when I went to New York in December of 2004 to meet a bunch of bloggers. But I know that over the years those memories will fade and wash out, like old newsprint. Who knows which ones will stick as snapshots? Who knows what moments in time I'll be remembering when I'm a grandmother?

I can guess.

I bet I'll remember the overwhelming feeling of excitement as I got off the plane. I'll probably remember the way Patrick looked when he caught my eye in the terminal. And I might remember saying goodbye to MAK and Patrick in front of my hotel.

Or maybe not.

Maybe all that I'll recall from that trip is the extremely frightening drive through Queens to get to the airport in the hired car.

It took me years to figure out that I'll only keep a few snapshots from these times. But now that I know, I try to hold on to some moments. To be savored later. To hold on to when times are hard. To hold close to my heart and never let go.

My daughter's face during her ballet recital.
My son's reactions on his first day of school.
My husband's speech when he was promoted.
My parent's wonder at my daughter's violin playing.
Patrick's reaction to the gift my husband gave him.
CB's sentiment the day she moved away.

Because just like the snapshots here, these moments in time...these are the moments I want to remember. Moments as beautiful as the people I love.

And if some of these snapshots are of bad times, or injuries, or fights, or yelling? That's okay too. Because as my life unfolds more and more I realize that these moments are beautiful too. Because they are real. As real as the people I love.

Friday, January 27, 2006

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

I just read an e-mail my husband had forwarded from work. The subject line was:


And he wrote:

I am worth more now!!



You know, he's really always wanted to go skydiving. Maybe that would make a good Valentine's Day gift.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Breaking the Curse

I have my own stall at the local Barnes & Noble.

I don't know what it is about that place, but every time I go in there, I end up using the restroom. And when I say "using the restroom" I mean using it in the most used manner possible.

I thought it was just the local store, but I have found this B&N curse to hold true for me in Vegas, Boston, and New York. Even when I don't think I have to go, I can wander around the store for just a few minutes and then have to dash to the Ladies'. (By the way, the restroom in most Barnes & Nobles is located near the children's section. There are probably less accidents that way, I would guess.)

Yesterday, my husband and I got to spend the day together. After sitting through a meeting at the kids' school, we ended up at the Starbucks Cafe, located in the Barnes and Noble.

We sat and talked for an hour.

After an hour, it suddenly occurred to me that not only hadn't I had to run to the bathroom, I still didn't feel like I might need to. "Hey! I haven't been to the bathroom yet!" I told my husband. Woo hoo! The curse was broken. Now I could maybe start looking the B&N employees in the eyes.

We only had about fifteen minute to kill before we needed to pick up my son, so we started to peruse some books.

And, damn it! I had to pee.

"Figures," I told my husband. "I have to pee. I'll be right back."

Well, at least it was just pee.

I did my business, washed up, and returned to shopping with my husband. And not one minute went by, before I had to make a mad dash.

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

"What the hell is it about this place?" I asked my husband as I raced away. He only laughed at me.

Well, on the bright side, at least I know of a place where I can go if I ever get constipated.

Does anyone else have a curse like me?

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Before and After Monday Tuesday, Part 2

Alternately titled: What I Did On My Winter Vacation

This is our playroom before the holidays.

Yes. It is humiliating.

And then a dear relative sent us a check for Christmas with a note attached that read, "Do something for yourselves. No paying bills!"

So a thousand dollars and about thirty hours of labor later, Santa was able to fill up a newly organized room with way too many toys. It costs a lot of money to be organized!

Who knew we had blue carpets?

The best news? It's been a month and the kids are still keeping it neat! Woo hoo!

Monday, January 23, 2006

Before and After Monday, Part 1

Alternately titled: What have they done to my child?!

My poor baby boy. This is a picture of my child before the butchers got to him.

And this is a picture of my child after he'd been scalped.

What, oh what, have they done to my precious little boy?

They've turned my child into a future serial killer! That's what. Or maybe a militia member. Whenever you see pictures of those people as kids, they always looked like this. Didn't they?

Every night after his bath, we have a little routine that we go through as we comb his hair.

I rub it with a towel and make it stand up all crazy. He giggles. Then he says, "Make it neat, Mommy. Make me handsome!"

I spike it all up and say, "Do you want to look like Uncle Patrick?"

And he says, "Yes!"

So I do that thing where you smooth out most of the top but leave a little spiked in the front.

And he giggles maniacally and says, "NO! NO! Smooth it out. Make me handsome."

The night before I took him to the barber he asked me if he could get his hair cut like Uncle Patrick for good. He wants the spiky front all the time.

Except, whoops. Mommy doesn't know the right words to get the right haircut and now he looks like his daddy.

My husband says that if he ever goes to bootcamp, we can send him this picture to show him what he'll look like with shorn hair.

I think if he ever finds this picture he's going to come back to us wailing, "Mom! Dad! How could you have done this to me?"

Friday, January 20, 2006

What I Learned in 2005

I'm not one much for looking back. I like to plan for the future, and I can dream about it too. But I'm usually so intent on the present that I don't spend a lot of time in reflection.

But I have another whole year of my life sitting right here on my blog for all to see.

Over the last couple of nights, I've been re-reading everything I wrote in 2005. And wow. Holy crap. We went through a lot last year.

But like everything in life, I can learn from it. And what better way to culminate a year, then in seeing what I learned in 2005.

Oh, and the one thing I didn't learn? What the hooks in my ceiling are for.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

I Hate to be Late!

Oooh. I'm in deep shit.

I went to babysit my daughter's class today while the teachers had a meeting. The meeting was supposed to be over at noon. The other mothers who were supposed to help me didn't show up. The teacher didn't come back until 12:30.

And during all that time, my husband was home for lunch and watching the boy. He was supposed to be back at work as close to noon as possible.

But there I was. Stranded on a playground all alone with 42 first graders. What could I possibly do?

To make it worse, I had forgotten my phone and couldn't even tell him I would be late. And then I hit every red light between school and home.

It's not like he was missing some boring accounting meeting. He was supposed to be mission planning.

As soon as I pulled up in front of our house, he came out of the door and hopped in his truck. With me yelling, "I'm sorry!" after him.

I feel bad. But I'm pissed off too. There is nothing, nothing, that bothers me more than people who are late. Except for people who don't show up at all.

Have we lost all sense of responsibility?

Oh! And to top off my afternoon, the kids decided to play Guess How Old the Substitute Is.

"Thirty-nine?" No.

Forty-two?" No!

"Thirty-eight?" Jeepers!

"37? 36? 35? 34? 33? I know. 32!" Yup.

"That's old!"

Yeah, well, I'm younger than your mother, kid.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

The Night Life, Tuna Style

My husband is flying tonight.

It's been a while since he's had a night flight. And it's been half a year since he was deployed.

I've forgotten what it was like to have an entire evening to fill by myself. Albeit, an evening when I cannot leave the house.

I took the kids out to dinner after their homework was done and they had played outside for a while. Then I took them to the bookstore and spoiled them rotten.

I considered renting a movie for myself, but it was getting late and we had to get home for violin practice and baths. So I figured I'd watch some TiVo instead.

But by 9 p.m. I was bored out of my skull. I sprawled across my bed and just thought and talked to myself for over an hour.

I should never ever, under any circumstances, spend that much time in my own head. It is a scary place to be.

I've been cruising along as happy as a clam here for a while. And then wham! Someone must have pulled the emergency breaks. (I'm betting that someone was my hormones. Damn hormones!) And I've been singing the I hate myself song.

Do you know that song? I think everybody has their own version. Mine is to the tune of I Touch Myself by The Divinyls. What does that say about me? No wait. Don't answer that.


I know I should go to bed.

Waiting up until 3 a.m. when my husband will probably be home will not make for a happy Tuna Girl in the morning. And I have to substitute in my daughter's class for a couple of hours, with my son in tow. So I need to be on top of my game. God! How I dread that.

But greeting my husband when he gets home, and asking him, "How was your flight?" will make me feel better. And snuggling up next to his warm body and listening to his heart beat and hearing him tell me how much he loves me will make me feel great.

In fact, sucking up some of his good vibe may even give me the strength to deal with 42 first graders tomorrow.

Or not.

I'm betting on not.

Quick! Trade lives with me?

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Kids and Pets say the Darndest Things

We were eating dinner at the dining room table the other night. (We do that, occasionally.) I have family portraits on the buffet and the wall in that room, and the kids love to look at them.

Son: (Looking at our wedding picture) Mommy, I was so happy for you when you got married.
Daughter: Buddy, you weren't around yet when they got married. You weren't born yet.
Son: Oh. Mommy, when are you going to get married again so I can see you?
Me: Never, Honey. You only get married once. (pause) Well, you only get married once if you marry the right person.
Daughter: But what if you don't marry the right person?
Me: Well... (looking at my husband for support!) That's why you have to make sure you marry the right person. Like I married Daddy.
Daughter: But how do you know who the right man is to marry?
Husband: (Laughing!) You just asked a question for the ages, Honey.
Daughter: Well...how do you know? (Looking at me)
Me: Stop laughing! When you love someone as much as I love Daddy, you'll just know that they are the right person.
Husband: (Laughing harder!)
Me: Okay. Yes. That was the same thing my mother told me, and it didn't answer my question either.
Son: I'm going to get married! I'm going to marry the right person.
Me: Yeah, Buddy. Who are you going to marry?
Son: (Looking me over, than turning to his sister) My sister!
Daughter: You can't marry someone in your family, Bud.
Son: Yes I can. But, Mommy? I'm not old enough to drive yet, so will you drive us to getting married?
Husband: (Laughing so hard he's snorting now)

So, I thought this was a pretty cute story. Today I had the choice to either masturbate or call my friend Patrick. But I hadn't talked to Patrick in a few days and I have sex every night so...

Me: Oh, the kids said the cutest thing. (Blah, blah, blah and I tell him the story) And she said, "But how do you know who the right man is to marry?"
Patrick: The one with the biggest dick.
Me: Nice.
Patrick: Tell her, "The one who makes the most money and has the biggest dick."
Me: My husband's going to kick your ass, you know.

I should have just masturbated.

Monday, January 16, 2006

I swear I used to be smarter.

I wasn't going to post today, since it is a holiday and the kids and husband are all home. But I oddly feel like they're all playing hooky and I should be going about my normal Monday routine.

It's been an odd weekend, all around.

On Friday, I was headed to the dog groomers when I suddenly realized that it would be a lot more effective if I actually had the dog with me. So I headed back to base.

When I drove through the base gates I saw something odd. There were huge signs for a Coast Guard tenant unit. It's odd because they never post big signs for tenant units. And...oh yeah. The coast is a couple hundred miles away!

I also saw a big charter bus with Coast Guard painted on the side parked on the mall. And throughout the morning, I saw Coast Guard aircraft buzzing around the flight line.

Just as I was starting to think that some major base realignment had happened without me knowing it and that maybe I'd get to meet a blogger friend whose husband is in the Coast Guard, my husband came home.

"Did you see that they're making a movie on base?"

No. But that would explain a hell of a lot. Apparently it's a big budget flick featuring a very famous actor who I won't name. I'm just surprised they couldn't find a Coast Guard base to shoot at. (Wait! That sounds wrong!)

By the way, while I was getting out of the car on Friday, I poked myself in the neck. Don't ask me how I managed it, but I somehow planted the tip of my van key right into the side of my neck. It hurt like heck and I have a stupid looking bruise.

Saturday we spent relaxing, except for when I went to the gym and ogled men--I mean--worked out.

Sunday we took the kids to the new touristy area here on the river. We had a nice day. We saw Hoodwinked and it was really quite good. If you don't have kids to take, you should probably borrow someone's. It was really funny and worth seeing.

And today was all about taking my van to the shop to get things all perfect so that I won't decide that I want a new one. But the Honda Odyssey is so pretty! (I'm not going to mention how I told them that my van's VCR wasn't working and it turned out that I just hadn't put in a tape. I'm just going to blame one of the kids for ejecting a tape without me knowing it.)

That's my life in a nutshell. I swear I'm not a ditz. No really. Ask around. I just do these cute little things so I'll have something to blog about on a holiday Monday.



Friday, January 13, 2006

The Good One

I rarely talk about my brother here on the blog. He's a good guy, but we've drifted apart. We're so very different.

When we were growing up, my brother was always the good one.

He was the one who never got in trouble, whose room was always clean, and who helped around the house. He was an Eagle Scout, dressed conservatively, and barely dated. I was in trouble all the time, I had to clear a path in my room just to get to my bed, and I had to be threatened to complete chores. I played sports, dressed to attract boys, and slept with those boys whenever I got the chance.

He studied hard and got good grades. I barely studied at all and got good grades.

He chose a college near our hometown so he could live at home. I got the hell out of dodge as soon as possible.

He married a local girl from a good family and bought a house in our home town. I married a military guy from a crazy family and moved 3,000 miles away.

For a brief time, when I had my daughter, I was the good one, because I had provided a grandchild. But days after she was born, my brother called to say that his wife was pregnant. With twins. How could I compete with that? (Not that I ever wanted to.)

But over the next few years, things shifted.

My parents discovered that my brother had married a bit of a control freak. (Which is my way of trying to avoid using the B word.) And he would let her be absolutely awful to my family. His twins turned out to be brats. And by the time they had their third kid, they were using my parents for childcare and totally taking them for granted.

So for about five years, I've been the good one. I may be keeping my kids way too far away from "home", but we've made sure that they've developed a very strong bond to their grandparents.

Being the good one was a novel feeling.

But then...well, first I made some friends over the Internet. And those friends were mostly male. Shocking!

Then we invited one of these friends to stay in our summer house. (Actually, my husband issued that invite, but they seem to have ignored that fact.) The summer house that my parents had been expecting to make a lot of use of. But they couldn't just come and go with that kid staying there. (Umm, that kid is a thirty-five-year-old man, but okay.) And then they found out that kid was G-A-Y! More shocking still!

But the topper happened over the holidays.

They came to visit and assured me that they would only stay for a few days. But since the kids were very ill, and they weren't able to spoil the hell out of them...Excuse me. I meant to say, spend quality time with them. They decided they wanted to stay longer.

When I told them that I was heading to New York for New Years, well...

Now my husband is the good one. He hasn't pissed them off or disappointed them. They call and talk to him and never even ask for me.

And you know what? I'm fine with it. Because after twenty some-odd-years of being the bad one, it's a more comfortable place for me to be.

Besides, my parents need me to keep them on their toes. If it wasn't for me, they'd never learn anything new.


My mother called me last night to tell me that a good friend of my brother's had died unexpectedly in his sleep. They had gone to high school and college together and had worked for the same company for over 13 years.

My brother is 36-years-old.

I know that this should make me feel something.

I should feel like I've wasted years feeling apathetic about my brother and his life. I should feel a strong need to call him and reconnect. I should feel a sense of shock and loss and grief, not for a man I hardly knew, but for my brother's sake. I should feel that life is precious and short.

I don't feel anything.

Have I spent so many years building up my defenses against the good one, that I feel nothing for him anymore?

I am a good, caring, loving person. In fact, I have been told by people I love and trust that I am the most caring person they have ever known.

So why don't I care about my brother?

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Snapshots, Part 1

I downloaded the pictures I took in New York in preparation for uploading them to Flickr. And I have to say, except for one cute picture of Aaron, there's not a good one in the bunch.

I'm not one much for taking pictures. I'm either too busy having fun to take out the camera, or I'm too shy. So I usually only have a few snapshots to choose from when I get home from a trip.

But these, well, I have to admit. I look like crap. I look sick. And tired.

In the last couple of days, my husband and I have had two big talks about appearances. We've also talked a lot about the unrealistic physical expectations of gay male culture. I think my husband was a little surprised at at just how deeply ingrained this is. "Worse than women," was his assessment, and I think he's right.

So I've been thinking a lot about looks. Neither one of us is really all that hooked up on appearances. We tend to see the beauty in everyone. But we're human, and we'd both like to weigh less.

So instead of uploading my New York pictures, I uploaded some older photos.

And as I went through my picture folders, I came across some of my favorite snapshots. And I thought I'd share. You may have seen some of these before, but they're worth sharing again.

These are some of the most beautiful people I know (and there would be more pictures of my husband if he was comfortable with me posting pictures of him in his uniform). And yes there are pictures of me too.

Because, damn it, people. We look good! We're all beautiful and it's time we started acknowledging it.

Besides, to me, these snapshots represent moments in time. Moments I want to remember. Moments as beautiful as the people I love.

Me and Patrick in Cleveland

My kids at my husband's promotion celebration

My man and my boy at Disney World

Aaron in New York

My daughter before her ballet recital

The day I got my braces off!

Patrick at Six Flags

Me, three months pregnant. That smile was all for my husband.

And Answers

We haven't gotten final word on my husband's possible deployment, but we did get a most likely answer.

As it stands right now, he will NOT be spending a year in Iraq. He also WON'T be moving to his new job until this summer. Which means we'll be stuck here through summer of 2009 and his next promotion board.

The good news: He's not going to Iraq. (Yay!)

The bad news: He may not be going anywhere, ever. (Boo.)

He suggests that I start earning the millions I'm worth and he can separate from the military and live a life of leisure on Cape Cod. There may be some holes in his plan.

It's weird because my first feeling whenever I hear that he won't be included in a deployment is guilt. Why should I get to have my husband home when so many other wives don't? I know that's strange, but we can't help what we feel, right?

And then, of course, I feel relief. 2005 was not an easy year for us. But even in the midst of it, I knew that we were working through a lot of shit to get to a place on the other side where our marriage would be even better than it was before.

And we're there. And it was worth it. And I really didn't want him to go away just when things were getting so freaking good.

Anyway, it might not make for the most exciting blog post. But I realized last night (when I realized that I hadn't even told Patrick about the not-going-to-Iraq-thing) that there are people out there who worry for me. And I wanted to set their minds at ease.


If you haven't yet, scroll down and de-lurk. You know you want to.

Oh, and for the record, if I had my way, I'd be playing ring toss with some Krispy Kremes and Paul Walker.

Monday, January 09, 2006

I've always wanted to do this.

Feed my ego.

I have it on good authority that today is De-lurking Day. (Or actually, it is De-lurking Week.)

I've always wanted to ask my readers to de-lurk. Every once in a while I meet non-bloggers and non-commenters who read my blog. And I'm always a little shocked.

But asking people to comment seems a little, oh I don't know...so validate-me-my-blog-and-my-existence-please-ish.

But what the hell. Maybe we can have some fun with it.

How about we each use the comments to say hello? And maybe tell us all the celebrity you'd most like to sleep with. Or your favorite food. Ooh, ooh. Or maybe how you'd like to use your favorite food while having sex with your favorite celebrity.

Or you could just say hello. That will work too.

Don't let me down people. I'm enormously shy and I have an extremely fragile ego.

No, really. It's true.


By the way, thanks for all of your kind comments about my husband's possible deployment. Your support really does mean a great deal to me. I appreciate you all being eHere for me.

See how important comments can be?

Last night...

Four. Hours. Straight.

How can I even consider letting this man go off to the desert?

Friday, January 06, 2006

Decisions, Decisions...Out of Our Hands

I take a certain amount of pride in being a military wife. I like to think of myself as strong, and when things get tough my internal mantra sounds something like: I am a military wife. I can deal with anything!

But I also know myself pretty well. And the one thing I can't deal with is uncertainty.

When I met up with my friends in New York, they all asked me about this decision I've been alluding to. The thing about this decision is that it's not so much a secret as it is just really hard to explain. And I generally avoid talking about my husband's job here anyway.

It's complicated.

You see, my husband's next promotion board is in three short years. And it's a big promotion. He needs to do something pretty big to stand out in these next three years, or he won't get promoted.

He is currently in limbo here. He belongs to one squadron but is working in another. It's all fucked up. And it's all because he is a hot commodity. There are only three or four people on this whole base with his exact qualifications, and everybody wants him.

But the job that he should be moving to is on this base. It's a steady, predictable kind of job. And it is a three year commitment. Which means that we'd be living right here, in this same house, with the kids in the same school for another three years. Which sounds great, but...how is he going to distinguish himself to get this next promotion?

Enter the decision.

He has the opportunity to do something that will really distinguish him from his peer group. He has the opportunity to go to Iraq and serve on a staff for a year remote tour.

(Notice my use of the word opportunity there.)

And most importantly, after serving in Iraq for a year, he would get his choice of follow-on assignments. The military folks out there know how huge that its. It would open up a world of opportunity for us. We could finally go to Europe. He could serve on a command staff. His next two ranks would be locked in!

So we had to decide. Did we want to pursue this opportunity and break our ties here? Or did we want to live a safe, predictable life together for the next three years.

We talked and talked about it. We weighed all the pros and cons. We talked about our life's priorities and dreams.

And we decided that, yes. This year-long deployment would be worth it in the long run. It was interesting to note that we also both brought up one particular point while we were discussing this.


He joined the military to serve. And there are kids dying over there. Who is he to walk away from that just because he has some rank and a cushy job?

So we got ourselves all psyched up and he met with his commander to tell him our decision. Only to have his commander tell him that it is out of his hands now. His interest in the assignment has been noted, and it will be discussed. But the powers that be don't really want him to go. They can use him here.

So we're in limbo. We're floating in the unknown.

If the answer is no, we probably won't even hear. If the answer is yes, he could be packing his bags for the next flight out.

I hate the unknown.

I can deal with anything. Year-long separations. A husband in a war-torn country. Danger and loneliness, and lost friends, and more.

But I'm learning to deal with the unknown. Because that is my constant state of being.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Goodbye, My Friend

Last night, my daughter sat at her playroom window, looking over at CB's house and crying her eyes out. The moving vans showed up on Tuesday.

Tonight, CB and her family came over for one final goodbye.

It was sad.

I have a headache.

I feel very, very alone right now.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Back Home and Broke

What does a thirty-something housewife do when she is let loose from all her responsibilities and spends New Year's Eve in New York City?

She goes to bed at 6 p.m. on the Upper West Side.

And then she plays mother to a certain person she went to visit who went out with his coworkers and got so drunk he can't remember how he managed to get home at 3:30 in the morning.

It's okay though. That certain drunk person is a pretty cute drunk.

"Buzz me in."


"I didn't make it."

And the reason I was so wiped out on New Year's Eve is because I had a great few days before hand.

On Thursday, I met up with everyone's favorite Famous Author, Patrick, and some of Patrick's coworkers for dinner. They were a blast and dinner was great. I hadn't realized that everyone else had been drinking before I arrived. Which is why the dinner conversation turned to the strangest place we'd ever had sex. My back of a limo story was a dud compared to everyone else's.

Then Patrick and I joined Rob for a Cosmo or four at Posh. There was quite the interesting crowd there that night. And a certain fellow found it necessary to show Patrick his Prince Albert. I'm not sure how I missed that one.

On Friday night, Patrick and I joined Jess, Marc, and Aaron for dinner at the restaurant where Patrick works. It was a nice place and dinner was excellent. It was also very obvious that Patrick is very well-liked there. (Of course!)

The five of us ended up at O.W. for after dinner drinks, but not before we called Pua. The crowd there was even more interesting. There were no P.A.s in sight, but holy hell there were some very drunk folks. I think Aaron should have FREAK MAGNET tattooed on his forehead.

I had a blast with those guys too. Jess and Marc are as sweet as can be. Patrick and I were going to hang out more with Aaron that night, but I wasn't feeling so hot. So Patrick played nursemaid and took me home and tucked me in.

We spent New Year's Eve day brunching and shopping. I had planned to go to Jess and Marc's in Long Island after Patrick went to work, but I was feeling sicker and sicker. I begged off (which I hate to do) and hit the hay.

Patrick's neighbors woke me up sometime that night. Someone was getting a little New Year's nookie. And they weren't quiet about it. But I at least got to call my husband and wish him a Happy New Year. I also got to listen to the sound of the fireworks. I've heard plenty of fireworks before in my life, but never in such an urban setting. The sounds echoing off all the buildings were really quite eerie.

Patrick was still drunk the next morning, so we had a pretty low key day. We brunched again and walked Central Park and the Upper East Side. He got off of work early that night and just the two of us had a nice dinner. (A certain Famous Author and his boyfriend couldn't stay up late enough to join us.) We capped my visit off with a quick drink at Marie's Crisis.

I had a really nice trip. It was so nice to see Patrick settling into his new home. You know how sometimes you come home from a vacation and you feel like you need another vacation just to relax. I didn't feel that way at all. I was sad to say goodbye to Patrick as I always am, but I was very happy to be going home to my family too.

And my completely amazing husband had completely cleaned and organized our house while I was away. What an amazing thing to come home to!

I feel so positive about everything right now. I have the greatest best friend, the most wonderful husband, and two very special kids. What a great way to start off a new year.