Really People, Really?!?!?!

It was 5:33 am and I was well into my commute to work - don't be jealous.
I had lesson 15 of my "Learn Conversational Spanish" CD on. (Which, by the way - if you are in Mexico and see a handsome Spanish speaking man and want to grab a beer with him - I'm the girl you want with you because I have gotten as far as easily asking someone if they want to grab a beer at a local restaurant. Anyway, it is how I kill my commute.)

All of the sudden, all traffic comes to a screeching halt. I'm amazed to see so many cars lined up I mean, it is the crack of dawn on a kind of mild, back "highway" going towards RI on an overcast day. I rarely see cars on this commute let alone so many just stopped as far as the eye can see.

I turn off Mr. Spanish and tune into the traffic channel on my radio. Nothing. No update, no word, just a static and crackle. Grrreat. As I creep along the road at 5 miles an hour, watching the GPS continually recalculating the arrival time...later and later and later.

I can't help but wonder what the hold up is.

About 45 minutes later, I pass the cause of the hold up. A guy broken down, changing his tire on THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD!

Seriously, I know it is hard to look away from a car accident or something but a guy changing his tire on the other side of the road is cause to slow down the commute for 45 minutes??!!?!?! Really people, really? Get a life and get out of my way.

The Migration Ends...With a Couch

I had abandoned my sofa at my last apartment in NJ. I, along with everyone helping me move, decided it was best to just leave it on the second floor walk up as it was an ancient, long, bulky, HEAVY, pull out couch covered in hot, scratchy tweed. As a result, I was without a place to lounge at my newest, seaside cottage.

I had asked around about where I could get a decent couch on my newly limited, graduate student budget. The consensus was a place called Alperts. Still laughing from the beer mug, falling debacle, my Mom and I venture off into the unknown to buy a couch. My Mom is driving, we don't have a GPS, don't know the area too well, and briefly listened as my landlord gave us directions. Needless to say, we were driving around in circles. The worst part was, we could see the Alperts building from I-195 (it is hard to miss as it is a big tacky mirrored cube on the side of the road) but no matter what exit we took...we couldn't get there. We started cracking up again when out of nowhere, we see an Alperts delivery truck...FOLLOW THAT TRUCK. Off we went, trailing the big truck....right into a gas station. We patiently waited while he filled his tank and then followed him to the store a few blocks over. We had arrived.

Before we got out of the car, we had agreed on a game plan...stick to the budget...don't make eye contact with sales people and maybe they won't swarm us....do not tell them our budget....say we are only borwsing...decline help...no polite chit chat... all we needed to do was stick to the game plan and we would find our couch.

We hop out of the car and hear music. The Mexican Hat dance is being piped into the parking lot over speakers. Very odd. as we approach the building, we start to dance a little jig, see ourselves in the mirrored walls of the building and begin laughing all over again. We bust through the doors and are greeted by a slew of sales people who had just seen our antics through the one-way mirror. One sales person approached and asked if they could help. As i was saying, "no thanks, just browsing" my Mom is saying, "she just moved here. She has no couch. We have to buy one today. We're desperate and she only has $500 bucks." Way to stick to the plane, Mom. Why don't you just give him my social security number and my checkbook. Geez.

As it turns out, here was only one couch that fit the bill and fortunately, it was adorable. We paid and booked it out of there....straight to the Brick Alley Pub (http://www.brickalley.com) for alcohol and appetizers.

A Meeting of the Minds

I promise to continue with a blog about the couch shopping shortly (I know, you're just holding your breath in anticipation) but I needed to make an announcement...

Over the weekend, my parents had my friends, Tim and Dottie over for dinner on the Cape (yea, so apparently when my parents moved out of NJ, they didn't have to worry about making new friends 'cuz the just STOLE mine but I was raised to share so whatever) and they all sat around and decided that they hated the "code name" I used for my hubby. They didn't think he was an "Alexander". My Mom really thought he should be Hank but that didn't really fly so it was settle that he should be called Abraham.

Yuppers, that's right. From now on, he will be known as ABRAHAM in this blog. I didn't pick it. I just try to please the masses. Just sayin'....

The Migration Continues...

Now that I have found my little ocean side piece of heaven, I meet my Mom in NJ, jam our cars full of my stuff from the basement and drive (on 4th of July weekend let me remind you - yes, my Mom rocks) to little Rhody.

I have been stressing to her how uptight the landlord is, how he really wants a nice, quiet person, not a party girl (me? a party girl? what had he heard? So I still wore my Donut Shop t-shirt - the infamous sink your teeth into these tee- once in a while as a joke - how could he know that?!?!). I assured him I was his girl but he was still leery. I wouldn't feel secure until I had the apartment keys in my hand. As we approached the street, my Mom calls me to say she wants to stop for gas. As I pump her gas, she's complaining about how hot she is. Well, no kidding Dick Tracy.

The year is 2000 and the temperature is 92 degrees. The outfit my Mom has chosen to wear to drive 4 hours and move me into my apartment is: beige shorts (ok, this makes sense), socks and sneakers (my feet crave flip flops but whatever), a t-shirt (also makes total sense), and a giant, over-sized, brown furry Express sweatshirt I bought as a high school sophomore in 1991. I call it her flying squirrel sweatshirt because it is so huge on her that it hangs to her knees, the "sweatshirty" part (you know, the soft fuzzy inside you like to curl into in the winter) is on the outside (I think that was a trend in the early '90s), and when she raises her arms, it looks like wings.

We finally get to the apartment where my uptight landlord meets us, clutching my precious keys. He eyes my Mom's car (a sensible, boxy Volvo - that screams respectable), and my BMW (hello, how yuppie can one family get - I'm so not portraying myself as a party girl - give me the keys already). He has me go inside the apartment to sign something and hand me my keys. My Mom is still getting "organized" in her car so I head in. As he is handing me the golden keys, my Mom busts through the door, she's clutching a box, her pocketbook is hanging from her wrist - dangerously close to the ground - she has sweat pouring off her nose so her sunglasses have slipped down...she misses the stair into the sunken family room...stumbles...tries to catch herself...gets caught up in her flying squirrel sweatshirt...loudly proclaims, "aw shit, I'm going down" and then promptly falls at the feet of my landlord. To her credit, she never drops the box though it is labeled in large block letters, "BEER MUGS TAKEN FROM VARIOUS BARS". Grrrreat. I get her up, grab my keys and the lease before he can change his mind and usher my landlord out the door. My Mom and I go into uncontrollable hysterics and decide we've had enough unpacking for today...let's regroup and go buy a couch. Sounds simple enough, right? As if.......

Stay tuned for the final installation of the migration....CeeCee and Mom shop for a couch.

And So The Migration North Begins.....

The time had come for me to consider career advancement. I had gone as far as I could within the State's Prosecutor's Office and I figured I needed an edge...that's when I remembered my parents' words of wisdom, "education is never wasted" and the even more important words, "we will pay for your education for as far as you want to go - 4 years of undergrad (a must no matter what), 2 years of grad school (if you choose), 4 years for a Doctorate (again, if I chose)." If it took longer to get through the programs than the specified years, I was responsible to pay the additional time but otherwise, the world was my oyster.

Ah ha!.....my edge would be graduate school...courtesy of my parents. (I know what you're thinking...I'm spoiled but here is another thing my Dad once told me...people who appreciate everything they are given, all of their life advantages and use it responsibly and with respect - those people are not spoiled, they are fortunate. Boy, did I ever appreciate all the advantages life had to offer me so while you may consider me spoiled I consider myself fortunate and indebted to my parents!)

So, I began applying to lots of schools - all in and around by beloved NJ. My plan was to get a Masters degree in 2 years and hop back into the job front at a higher ranking, better paying position. Of course, none of the programs were exactly what I was looking forbut they were in NJ so I was willing to compromise. However, I had recently spent some time with my brother (who had settled in RI) while I was in their wedding, loved the ocean, salty air and surfer guys so I figured I would look at schools in and around RI. Amazingly, there was a program that had every component I had ever wanted in a degree. It was as if I had written the ciriculum myself. That it happened to be in stunning Newport, RI was the icing on the cake. I applied, was accepted, gave notice at the Prosecutor's Office, packed up my apartment in my beloved NJ (with all my stuff stored in my parent's basement) and began my search for an apartment in Newport, RI.

I found a fantastic in-law apartment with french doors that opened to a patio where I could smell salt water and hear the waves crashing. It had its own driveway for parking multiple cars (a huge deal in Newport), private access to the famed Cliff Walk and I could easily walk to classes, downtown, the bank, the grocery store, the beach. It was newly renovated with a large bathroom and bright, airy open floorplan. In essence, I had found heaven. I had to have this location - it was made for me! My landlord lived upstairs with his wife and young son so you can understand his concern that the "right" kind of tenant live there. During the application process, I put my best foot forward - wore a tasteful skirt and top to meet him, had my resume in hand, references from my former landlord, personal references...and a check with first, last and security deposit. He said as long as I wasn't a late night partier, the place was mine as of July 1st. I couldn't have been happier as I signed on the dotted line. It was the first apartment I had ever moved into without at least showing my parents first and I couldn't wait for my mom to see it so I quickly enlisted her to help me move in....July 4th weekend.

And so the move began.....

Stay tuned to hear about our adventure of moving us in and furniture shopping!

Have I Ever Steered You Wrong?

Do something nice for your feet.

GO BUY SANUK YOGA MAT BOTTOM FLIP FLOPS! It's like the best $20 some odd dollars you will spend this summer. They run true to size and there are styles for men and women....even kids

Don't know where to get 'em?

http://www.zappos.com/sanuk-yoga-mat-pink

Free shipping. Free returns.

Trust me on this one....

“Grown-Up” Really Isn’t a Bad Word….Who Knew?!?

When Did You Realize That You Had Become A Grown-Up? Think about it - your answer might surprise you.

“Honey, put your shoes away. Daddy and I spent good money on those.”

My Mom said this to me every afternoon when I came home from school, as I kicked my shoes across the kitchen floor, and draped myself across a chair (leather, Pottery Barn – no doubt they spent good money on this item too). I couldn’t help but think…if you guys spent such good money on my shoes, why should I put them away? Shouldn’t everyone who enters be able to view my shoes? Yes, even as a kid, I was sarcastic.

One day I actually said it out loud and I got the parental glare of disdain which I promptly followed with, “Oh Mom, you’re such a grown-up.” I remember the pride I took in saying it with such angst.

Fast forward - When I came home for my first winter break from college with my dorm room packed up, my withdrawl form from the University in hand and proudly announced that I had dropped out to drive cross-country and take some time to enjoy my youth, I got the look of disappointment followed by a reality check from my Dad. Come January I would be returning to a college. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Geez, just another buzz kill grown-up.

College graduation - my parents were so proud, had their cameras at the ready and inquired constantly what I planned to do now that I was entering the world as a grown-up. The thing was, I didn’t feel much like a grown-up.

I would play the game, go through the motions, apply for jobs but in my heart, I was still a kid, excited for another summer on Cape Cod. I spent 20 summers on the Cape at my parents’ summer home, I wasn’t ready to trade in the flip flops for pantyhose, thank you very much.

At 16, my parents insisted I get a summer job – to help pay for the shoes and designer clothes they kept insisting that I put away. As grown-ups, they thought a part-time summer job would make me appreciate all of my carefree days and that at some point, I too had to grow up. Being the kid I was though, I got a job on a strawberry farm. It abutted a sparkling lake, required minimal labor, paid well, and I was done by noon. In my eyes, it was a dream come true, I could go to work fairly messy, I was outside enjoying nature while getting a tan, making money and best of all, I could still spend all day at the beach, evenings out with friends. Ah youth – something my parents, as grown-ups, couldn’t appreciate no doubt.

Fast forward - I got a job. A real job. One that required me to wear a suit and heels. I worked at the State Prosecutors Office – a very grown-up job. I liked the work. I liked the people and the socializing better. All the suits and pantyhose and responsibilities still, did not make me feel like a grown-up.

After a couple of grown-up years at work, I went to graduate school. A very grown-up thing to do. But I chose to go to graduate school in Newport, RI and when my dad asked me how classes were, my response was that I could see the ocean from every class. Ah, still just a youth.

I got a much coveted job (you know, the one where I get paid to be nice to people). Same feeling as the State Prosecutor’s Office. Loved the job. Appreciated having it. After all, it paid for my seaside apartment and introduced me to lots of new, fun friends. Nope, still didn’t feel grown-up.

I was making decent money so I upgraded to an apartment with a guest room. I had apartments before but could only ever afford a studio or 1 bedroom. Good enough for me, people could crash on the couch if the stayed over. So was it the 2 bedroom apartment that made me realize I was a grown-up? No, not exactly.

My 26^th birthday. By then, I was an Auntie. I had a professional career. I had earned a masters degree. I was a self-sufficient, strong young woman. None of this made me feel like a grown-up. But on that fateful 26^th birthday, my parents gift was to offer to buy me a bed for my guest room. “So you can have proper company” my Mom explained. Not some hand me down mattress. Not a futon. Not a $99 special or Salvation Army find but they offered to buy me a real bed to set up the spare room for “proper company”. Here is the kicker….I WAS TOTALLY EXCITED FOR IT.

I comparison shopped. I wheeled-and-dealed with the area mattress companies. I thought about sheets and comforters. I was excited to have company pay me a visit. On the day the mattress and box spring arrived, I was so excited. The delivery men couldn’t get out of my way fast enough. Finally, with the room set up, I stood back and admired the guest bed. Leaning in the doorframe, sun gleaming through newly Windexed windows, dust floating through the air, with an enormous sense of happiness for my birthday gift is when it hit me. I’m excited about a guest bed. A bed. I got a bed as a birthday gift and I’m happy about it. I mean, it isn’t even a bed I was going to sleep in and yet, I couldn’t wait to show it off. Right there, in that doorframe, three days after my 26^th birthday is when the realization settled in – I had grown up. I was, in fact, a grown-up.

I had to share my revelation with my parents so I got to the phone and invited them for a proper visit – to stay in my guest room with the new beautiful bed. When they arrived the following weekend, I served them lunch, bought them dinner, made breakfast the next morning. It was unbelievable. I talked to my parents as adults and we laughed and I discovered that being grown up is fun.

What's In A Title?

Saturday morning, I awoke - before sunrise - by the ringing of Alexander's work phone. I can faintly hear the voice on the other end asking if his wife is there. I can't hear who it is but I hear Alexander's reply, "Is everything ok? I will see if she is available."

Ummm, "I will see if she is available" must mean me (right?) and I'm thinking, I'm right here, where else would your wife be at 5:30 on a Saturday morning?!?!? What, do you need to search through the bevy of women in your bed to see if your wife is available? Helllooo, I'm right here and despite whatever fantasy you may have, I am the only woman in the bed (and will be as long as he wants to live).

I take the phone and on the other end is a co-worker of Alexander's who needed assistance on how to be nice to a person - you remember, I get paid to be nice to people....anyway, I walk through the scenario with him and tell him I will see him at the office shortly for further assistance. All is good, right? Wrong!

On my night stand sits my blackberry, silent. You see, Alexander and I work for the same organization but at different branches, 70 miles apart. I have worked there for 7 years and was always known by my name, my work capabilities and my title (a title I will admit, i am quite proud of as it reflects my 14 years of on the job experience and 6 years of education and hard work that earned me this title within this organization) but the day I married Alexander, I became, Alexander's wife. Co-workers introduce me as, Andrew's wife. I will ask a question and the answer will be told to Alexander to relay to me. I send an email, Alexander gets the reply.

So I'm pacing around the room complaining about the loss of my identity to the very man I'm feeling I lost my identity to. His response, "sorry you keep getting identified as my wife. that must be a bummer, you worked really hard to get where you are. Sorry."

That's when it hit me...I waited 30 plus years to find the ideal mate so that I could change my Miss title to Mrs. and here I am complaining to the man that has made me happier than I can imagine and he's apologizing for me being known as his wife. Am I crazy?!?! There's no other title I could wish for.

That's What I Like About You

HAWAII


1. Kona Coffee - just the memory of the smell off 100% Kona Coffee - freshly brewed - makes me smile

2. The People - mahalo for your patience and kindness to all of us tourists - I know I would never be that polite to so many haoles asking annoying questions


3. Blue Sky, Blue Water, Powder White Sand - really, no explanation needed, right?


4. Duke's Hula Pie - It's not really pie and I don't really care - it is fantastic!


5. Snorkeling the Na Pali Coast - a hot rainy day, just my husband and I and thousands of tropical fish and coral - paradise found!


6. Diamond Head - the view from the top is indescribable. The fact that I made the hike to the top makes me feel like I can do anything. If I had a bucket list, this would have been on it and it would have felt fantastic to scratch it off the list.


7. The Seven Sisters Waterfalls - natures waterslide


8. Black Sand Beaches - lava tubes, smooth black stone pebbles against colbalt blue waters.....you just can't make that beauty up.


9. Did I mention the Kona coffee?


10. Dole Plantation - fresh pineapple, lightly salted (yes, you read that correctly - just when you thought fresh pineapple couldn't get any better...) comes with everything from pancakes to steak to fish.


11. The Banyon Tree - taking up an acre of land, it is said to symbolize eternal life as it has never ending expansion. Beautiful tree, beautiful symbolism.


12. the Postal Code Is HI - how great is that?!?! The people are so flipping friendly, even their state code is welcoming.


13. Fraaaaank - Nobody gets hurt on Frank's tour


14. Disney may claim to be the happiest place on Earth but 2 weeks in Hawaii with the man I love is my happiest place on Earth.


These are a few of my favorute things...Hawaiian style.

Pre Wedding Conversation

The day before my wedding, my 5 year old niece, Jess, was showing all the kids on the playground how she could skip monkey bars - only she couldn't...she fell...she broke her arm. She called me to tell me she had a bright pink cast (she hoped I was ok with that), promised not to let anyone sign it until after the "formals" (photos, that is), and most importantly, she asked, "Does this mean I can't get my very first manicure and pedicure with you?" I tell her as long as she feels okay, I would love for her to still get her nails done. She seemed very relieved and declared, "phew, I've waited my whole life for this and would hate to miss it. See you at the salon, Cee."

The afternoon of the wedding, all the ladies were made up and ready to go to the ceremony. I had arranged for a limo to pick up my parents and me and another to pick up the bridal party (including the flower girls - one of which is Jess, in her bright pink cast and painted nails). As I'm getting into the first limo with my parents, I hear the following conversation:

Jess: Mommy, is that a HOLLYWOOD limo?!?!

Her Mom (my sis-in-law): Uh, yes, I suppose that could be considered a Hollywood limo.

Jess: Am I going in that Hollywood limo???

Her Mom: Yup, you are!

Jess: That's awesome!!! I told all my friends at school that I was going in a Hollywood limo but I didn't think I really was going in a Hollywood limo. I thought I was lying but now I'm not.

Her Mom: What? You lied to your little friends at school?

Jess: No, Mom, I thought I was lying but I am going in a Hollywood limo so I'm not lying.

Her Mom: But Jess, that is lying.

Jess: Huuh? But it's true, I am going in a Hollywood limo.

This conversation went back and forth a couple more times before her Mom said, "ok, sure, sure, whatever you say...just get in the Hollywood limo.

Classic.