Wednesday, August 30, 2006

I have only myself to blame

God, I'm hangy. It's only criminal to waste GOOD champagne, not the cheap stuff. Oof.

Here's what I made for dinner last night for two former bridesmaids and a groomsman:

Lima bean, garlic and lemon puree with crackers
Assortment of very good cheese (brought by friends)
Artichoke leaves with butter

Lemon risotto with asparagus and artichoke hearts
Broiled salmon with thyme

Vanilla ice cream with fresh blackberry compote

....soooo much much...pleasure...brain overload...can’t stand it...(shiver, shiver)...POW! (sounds of head exploding and coworkers screaming)

One of the hazards of drinking and cooking occurred after I'd walked Beulah and Amanda home. After malingering on the couch talking to Simons in San Francisco and flipping through midnight TV shows, I got up and decided that MAYBE I'd do a spot of cleaning before bed. And the very last thing I put away was the blackberry compote, which I was amazed to find was still hot. Perhaps that was because it had been COOKING for well over an hour. God bless All Clad, because the blackened, wizened, crusty berries all came out after an overnight soak. I'm lucky I didn't burn the whole house down.

Anyway, it's another party to add to my entertaining journal, which makes me happy in a 1940s socialite kind of way.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Tired blogging

My that last post was bad. My apologies. Rescuing rodents really took it out of me.

I was just commenting on Barbie2Be's blog, who just finished what i assume was a blind date or an internet date. Either way, she's way braver than I am. Sadly, she said there was no chemistry but wouldn't discount him as a friend. I said, "I wouldn't know. Almost every guy I ever dated started out as a friend with no chemistry and eventually grew on me...much like mold. But you know, mold can be good. Take penicillin, for instance. The date could also have been 'meh' because it was a breakfast meeting. I NEVER feel sexy at breakfast."

And that's pretty true. No matter how awesome the date, how romantic the scenery, no matter how thick the concealer, it's never enough to disguise the fact that morning is a blight on the human psyche. Even yesterday, as I made Simons his farewell breakfast in a cute nightie (you know, something to remember me by), all I could think about was that the goddamn bacon was spattering on my silk teddy. And you know, bacon grease just ain't sexy.

Who's with me?

Sunday, August 27, 2006

I spy with my little eye

Saturday morning I woke up early, thinking of thank you notes and packing lists and classified ads that I had hadn't done. The dog seemed restless too, so off we walked into the sunrise. Only it wasn't much of a sunrise, because 20 minutes into our walk, the heavens opened (again) and it began to pour. While hurrying through the park, I saw Beulah stop to sniff at what looked like small carcass, and after shrieking at her to "leave it," I had a thought. I don't normally investigate things like that. I am not a roadkill afficianado or anything, but boy am I glad I did, because look what I found.

The poor little guy was in the tiniest ball you can imagine and barely breathing. When I scooped him up, he fit right into the palm of my hand, with his long tail wrapped tight around him. Beulah and I rushed home, and while she scootched her back on the dustcover (no sleep for Simons), I warmed Baby Squirrel on the toaster and called people in the know at an ungodly hour to find some wildlife service who would know what to do.
Thank God for Keepers of the Wild, because they knew just what to do. Baby Squirrel got a hot water bottle and a trip to Pet Vets in Mt Pleasant, who are awesome and take in stranded wild creatures as well as family housepets. They weren't optimistic, since poor Baby Squirrel had pretty bad hypothermia and was awfully small, so let's all say a prayer for the poor little guy.

Who knows, maybe Baby Squirrel would have grown up into the leader of all Squirreldom, and when the evil little rodents of the world take over the world, he would remember and spare me. And Dog.

Back in Realityland, I am cooking for one. It is awfully sad to go grocery shopping for small meals when you're used to making enough for two. Dog is mystified. We went to the beach and I didn't even get to swim, because there was nobody to hold her while I took a turn. Beulah gets very clawey in the water when she's hopped up on tennis balls.

I had the whole couch to myself and it was dreadfully comfortable. I hated it. So much of my life has been spent really enjoying my solitude and now I've forgotten how. The whole day was spent doing unproductive things and wandering from room to room wondering at the cleanliness of it all. It just seemed wrong. Sigh. Simons is just gone for a week, and I'm like an old widow, addled and neurotic. I hope I die first someday, because there will be no tolerating me.

Right now Simons is flying over Colorado, I think, on his way to find a fabulous new job and an apartment. With a gas stove and a dog park. We hope.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006


Thanks for all the nice comments. I was clearly having trouble breathing in the last post.

So Simons and I are officially moving to San Francisco. It’s something we’ve talked about doing for nearly three years now, and we’ve finally bit (bitten?) the bullet. Christ, I’m so scared and excited I could faint. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m getting an ulcer.

So here’s the status of things.

We have to sell my car (2004 Mini Cooper, still under warranty...any takers? Anyone? Who wants cream? Anyone?). It’s so cute and happy, and it’s kiiiiilling me to sell it. But the damned thing won’t hold more than the dog and a shoebox, so camping trips and skiing would require bathing suits only. Plus parking is too expensive in San Francisco for two cars. Sooo...goodbye Mini. (does someone hear weeping?) I’m going to try eBay, as my friend Billy is excellent at selling cars online.

We have to have a yard sale, because there is no way we can afford to move all of our crap. Most of our furniture will have to go, and we’ll make up for it at Ikea when we get there. Hopefully we’ll have a decent sized kitchen, so all my implements of tastiness will fit. Is a gas stove too much to ask? Simons is flying out there on Sunday to interview with architecture firms and find a place for us to live, and if the boy comes back with a lease with an electric stove, I will dissolve. Call me a princess, but if he wants to actually enjoy my cooking, he has to deliver the goods.

I have to find a job. Ideally, I would like to start freelancing full time, which would definitely motivate me to hustle up magazines and pitches. However, I’m moving to a city where I have no contacts and won’t even know where the nearest grocery store is. So it might be better if I work at a newspaper or magazine for a while to get my feet wet. Of course, it would be easier to start sending clips if the #@$% publication I freelance for currently would send me my requested stories. Curse them! A pox on their office!

Breathe, 2, 3, 4...

We need to paint the porch of the little house, and tidy the yard. It’s my dad’s rental property and since he’s rented it to us for the bare minimum, we want to leave it better than we found it. We also want to find a renter before we leave, so Daddy won’t be left with no rent. I guess I could put it on Craigslist as well as the graduate school sites. He has a loathing of college renters, as they tend to suck and be destructive.

Then we have to pack and put the stuff we want to keep, but can’t take, into storage. Moving! Bah! By all accounts, movers rip you off. And steal from you. And break everything. And charge you weird and unexpected fees. So should we put everything in a U-Haul and do it ourselves, or drive across the country in his Subaru and let someone else suffer with parking and slow driving and all that?

And my nieces! My delicious and silly, scrumptious little nieces! What do I do about them? Bean will remember me, I know, but I really like being able to visit my sister and fix her tricycle and watch Cinderella and eat her toes and watch her ballet classes. And the new baby, my namesake with her sweet smelling, wooly little head...Oh! How I’m going to cry at leaving her. Bean and I will always be close, but Sarah won’t have any idea who I am. And that KILLS me!

At what point do we have to say, “Yes, it hurts, but that is someone else’s life and I have to go live mine”? The Leo part of me is absolutely longing for adventure, and logically, this is the best time to go before my parents get too old, and we have (maybe) children of our own. We aren’t truly settled in jobs, although mine was definitely set to lead somewhere good...only I didn’t like it that much. We’re the most flexible we will ever be...God, we’re getting old. But the little crabby Cancer part of me is already under the bed weeping and clutching at the door frame and is prostrate with regret and sadness and bad scenarios.

Moving is hard on the heart.

Monday, August 21, 2006

In other news

I resigned from my job.

Just resigned. This very minute. Have an ulcer. Freaked. So official. Boss was nice. Tenth is last day. Oh my God. Poverty. I’m going to die under a bridge in the coolest city ever. Fuck.

Movers. Again. Broken dishes. Stolen silver. Smashed wine glasses. More poverty.

Need a home. Need shelves and storage. No brown carpeting. Bay window. A view. Hardwood floors. Gas stove. Pet friendly. Nearby park.

Goodbye nieces. Goodbye boat. Goodbye Mini. Goodbye friends and family.

Hello job search and writing career and figuring it out finally. Hello being on our own.

Hello San Francisco.

Hello hyperventilation.


Am back from maine and wish I weren't. Mmmm...lobstah, blueberries, mountains, sleeeeeping. Charleston...get up early, running, work, no lobstah...waaaaah!

Pemetic Mountain

Jemima can find food anywhere.

Sitting on our friends' dock, watching the sun go down.

Waiting for Simons to push me in

Making friends with the locals

Learning new things

Thursday, August 10, 2006

The Most Amazing Thing Ever

Introducing my newest niece, Sarah Elizabeth. Named after moi, practically delivered by moi, and definitely, definitely adored by moi.

My sister let me stay in the room, knitting a blue blanket for the baby I was sure was a boy. And they checked on her once to see how things were progressing, and she was at 5 cm. Then 30 minutes later, they checked again, and THERE was the baby. I instantly dropped several stitches, which I think adds a certain history to that particular knitting project. The nurses called the doctor and warned Melissa not to push, and the second the doctor walked in and got dressed in her "ball gown," they told her to start pushing. Four pushes and five minutes later, out slid the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, all six pounds of her.

I got to cut the cord, and hold her, and instantly this little person became such an important part of our lives. I was convinced I could never love anyone so much as Bean, but as it turns out, the heart is a very stretchy organ, and I can. Just as much...

Monday, August 07, 2006

Al and Jemima Go To (Paris) Market

This weekend, Beulah Buckethead and I took a trip down to Savannah to see our long lost Aloysius. I was so excited to see her/get out of town/have some girl time, but I must say that around noon on Friday, I was already missing my sweet Simons.

“Dear Simons, Your crackhead wife is already missing you, and I’m only going to be gone two days and had coffee with you four hours ago. Clearly I am totally dependent and clingy and you are having an affair with your secretary.”

“Dear Jemima, I have a secretary? Sweet! Is she hot?”

“Dear Husband, NO! She’s fat and hairy with a wart!”

“Dear Wife. Bummer.”

I pulled into Al’s driveway, rang the bell 62 times per second and got her dogs completely out of control before she’d even finished her doorbell heart attack. Then we abandoned Ian to the pack of wild dogs before fleeing to eat crab legs on Tybee Island. I forgot to bring my camera out there, or else you’d have photographic evidence of the toothless wonders hitting on us at the crab shack. Um, Aloysius, that guy with the red T-shirt....HSTITY! Ian and Simons better WATCH OUT, because we are hot shit out there at Café Loco.

We had enormous fun dishing about work and fashion and boys and weddings and other things that suck. Al gave me tons of advice on freelancing and moving and I gave her pep talks about weddings and the fine line between drug dependency and necessary xanax usage. And we drank beer, that marvelous Cure-All to a rotten week of slaving and under-appreciation. After the music got too cool for us, we went home and showed our age by falling asleep mid-way through Letterman. I did get her to try on her new wedding dress (I have pictures, and no, you can’t see them), which was so beautiful and makes her look like a stick insect with a C-cup. Bitch.

And the next day! Oh my God, the next day was so fun. The shops there are so much cooler than here, and my favorite was @Home, this awesome vintage home store, and I am so in love with all of their paper stuff. If there are notepads, cards and stationery, it’s a sure bet I will buy something, despite the $30 a polka dot pricetag. This place had report cards for different kinds of people, such as the Hysteric (me) and Lover/Spouse (Simons got a D- for Fidelity after having an affair with his fat, hairy wart-ridden secretary) and old grocery lists pads you stick on the fridge, and even a Pro/Con list pad for people who have to fret and worry and second guess themselves and analyze every decision for a million years. I have to make split second decisions to avoid giving myself an ulcer deciding on lunch. This way, I can leave my decisions lying around the house for the dog to eat.

We got to visit the new Jepson Center, which had Simons committing acts of wild gesticulation and pulling out sketch pads to show me I-beams and light patterns and rolling his eyes and frothing. So I was prepared for it to be cool, but I SO did not totally grasp its full awesomeness until we got there. Here’s Al and me in front.

This is the inside.

I wasn’t supposed to take pictures outside of the lobby...but I did! Here is us with Polynesian tattoos and here is this fun webcam thingy.

Savannah, the land of a thousand Jemimas.

Al and I went to eat chocolate at a nearby café. Here is Al eating what looks like a tiny African American nipple.

No wonder she looks so frightened.

I stayed at my old friend Lisa’s house the next night, which is in one of those neighborhoods with the old brick houses and green parks and wrought iron gates. Beulah and I went for a 6 am run on Sunday down through Daffin Park. I loooooved the whole morning, pretending I lived in the houses and how I would plant differently and sit on my front porch and drink my beer and eat cupcakes every Saturday. Maybe I will move there after I move to San Francisco.

Once it got good and hot, Aleigh, Lisa and I sat at the Yacht Club by the pool, watching the large boats and applying 45 and adjusting our enormous sunhats. Notice there are no pictures of that. You can thank me later.

Home Again

Simons and I spent last night eating shrimp and grits with churrizo and lounging on the couch watching Grey’s Anatomy and being boring and snuggly. Then he drew the layout for his rental house yard project while I took pictures. Here’s us being boring and drawing.

Here’s me eating his brains.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Harbinger of Noise

Well, the house is mostly clean, although @#$%^&* Liza had already created new dust camels that were cavorting all over the kitchen this morning. I never ever ever want a dog this big or this fluffy. It makes me throw up a little in my mouth to watch the prowling furballs while I eat my breakfast. Urgh. There I go again, just thinking about it.

Hi, My name is Liza. I am a pain in the ass.

Also, It’s 109 degrees here today, and my older sister is having my niece’s fourth birthday party at my house today. And since it’s too hot for them to play outside, there will be 17 children running amuck through my tiny house, stabbing each other with porcupine quills, bleeding on the upholstery, playing body roulette, crying, wetting and missing the potty.

Oh my God, I don't think I can have kids. Simons and I had a financial discussion at lunch, and I became immediately ill. On top of being loud and destructive and tedious but totally cute, children are so freaking expensive. And what if you have a stupid one? It'll never get any financial aid and you'll be supporting the little delinquent until you die.

And yes, of course Simons and I have chosen the most expensive city in the universe. In order to get an apartment, you have to slap down about $8000 at one time, pay for new utilities, gas to get out there, loan bills, mover's fees, insurance, and all the while we don't actually HAVE jobs. My stomach hurts. I'm going to die. Wait, I mean, I'm going to die poor.