Romance

November 5, 2008

Lately I have found myself overwhelmingly caught up in the responsible decisions of life. How much could we sell our apartment for? If it sells, where should we live? Do we move back to the east coast or stay where the palm trees grow? 

When this happens my head starts to spin, it gets harder to breathe and my usual fun-loving self is cast very far away. 

Sometimes my hubbie and I will light candles, play Norah Jones and slow dance in our living room. As we turn in circles, my dog trails us from the side, his tail wagging the whole time. We no longer remember the waltz steps that we debut on our wedding night, but we are in synch. 

I don’t know where we will end up in life, but I do know that if we get there together we will be ok. Tonight I was finally able to cast worry aside. I realized that it is not the location of the living room that will make me happy, it is the person that is twirling me around it. 

On that note, is there a prettier song than this? 

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Posted by marcypoz7

Vrooooooom – Puuuuuuuur

August 25, 2008

We were going to a movie tonight. We were ready. Milk Duds and Sour Patch Kids were in hand. Bottles of water were ready to be smuggled in the oversized bag. Then, Nick goes to drive the 100 meters from CVS to the theater (not very Earth friendly, I know) and my car makes this “vrooooooooom” noise without the accompanying purr of a running engine. He tried and tried again and again – nothing. I got into the front seat, ready to work my magic. It is my car after all, and we do have a special bond. I encouraged her with a pat on the dash and turned the ignition. “Vrooooooooom” – no purr. 

After much debate about the proper towing location, contemplation over whether we should go to the movie before calling for help and angry words for the makers of Infiniti, we broke down and called AAA. 

I was sitting in the car when Jason, my mechanic friend, rolled through in his blazing white vehicle. Like a knight in shining armor he popped the hood and took a look. Then he asked me to start the car. “Vroooooooooom” – no purr. I gave him a sad half smile and an understanding nod. I don’t know much about cars, but I knew this was bad. 

Jason then asked me for my key. He popped himself into the drivers seat and with a turn of the hand I heard it – “Vrooooooom Puuuuuuuuuuur” – Just like a cat. What!? I was just there for an hour. How did Jason do this? Does he possess special AAA magical powers? 

As I was trying to convince him that the problem was real he says, “did you have your foot on the brake?” Did I? Did Nick? How can this be? How could we both make such an independent asinine mistake, at the same time? I hung my head in shame and signed Jason’s little clipboard and sent him on his way. 

It is this day, one year, 10 months and 18 days after our wedding, that I am officially worried that we are turning into the same person. 

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Posted by marcypoz7

The Man Cave

July 7, 2008

As you read this post, there are couples all over the world fighting a serious battle. It does not involve weaponry or blood, but it does involve cunning and determination. It is a battle of domestication. This clash is over the placement of previously owned possessions in a shared home. 

I remember when Nick and I made the big decision to move in together. I envisioned romantic nights at the new abode – making dinner, popping a bottle of wine and curling up on the couch to watch  a movie. What I never imagined was the subtle power struggle that would ensue. A game of tug-of-war, if you will, which resulted in many sentimental goodbyes for Nick. The stained leather couch – donated. The obscene speaker system – relegated to the closet. The tattered lamps – replaced. 

Women nest. Men do not. Women want to primp their home, while men want to pimp theirs. This is a fact. It is for this reason that I look forward to the day when Nick and I have a home large enough to accommodate a full scale man cave. A day when he will happily retreat with his man friends to a den of Coors Light, PlayStation, poker and fantasy football.

I took a little audit of our apartment tonight and realized that his future man cave is well underway. Several items did survive the domestic battle five years ago and several have been added as gifts throughout the years. 

We have the Trans Am, a perfect accent to the crystal vase. Snoop is nestled on the shelf below.

 I also came across our good friend Michael Jackson. I introduced him to Indy, but the meeting did not go well (clearly the dog thinks he was guilty as charged). 

We have sports paraphernalia up the wazoo.

And electronics galore. Although I am savvy enough to know that these products will be completely worthless in the eyes of any testosterone driven male when the next-gen comes out. 

But nothing, and I mean nothing, will be more meaningful than the moment when our loyal Indian Chief friend can stop standing guard on our patio and instead guard the man cave beer cooler.  

Yes folks, I look forward to the day when we can build Nick the most enviable man cave in all the land. Until that day, I will sprawl out on the new leather couch, watch TLC on the big TV, sneer at Snoop Dogg and hope to God that Indy doesn’t confuse the Indian Chief with an outdoor fire hydrant.

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Posted by marcypoz7

Ticking Time Bomb

June 16, 2008

Turning 30. It is like a ticking time bomb. For the past 15 years you have been riding the excuse of being young and carefree. All of the sudden you turn 29, enter your 30th year of life, and society starts to have other plans for you. When are you going to have a baby? What do you want to do with your career? Why are you still going out to bars? Why are you not going out as much as you used to? 

I remember my parents in their 30s. I remember watching my mother get ready for a big night out. Standing in the hallway in my pajamas, as she leaned over the bathroom sink and applied her mascara. I remember thinking that I had “the prettiest mommy in the world”. Suddenly I am in arms reach of the age she was then. Would we have been friends? I do not know.    

Nick and I got married a year and a half ago. We had quite the whirlwind romance. Bottles of wine at night, jetting off on the weekends at a moments notice, $300 dinners on Saturday nights. Lately, our talks increasingly center around the falling real estate market, career paths and (drumroll please) having a baby.

Now I know that age is just a number, but the age of 30 represents much more than a date on a calendar. It represents a coming of age. A time when you inevitably start taking life a little more seriously. A time when responsibility creeps in and infringes on your former ways of life. Yes, turning 30 is like a ticking time bomb. 

Tick tock, tick tock.

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Posted by marcypoz7