Dusk

It's been quite busy around these parts lately, what with the settling into our new town, looking for a house, putting an offer on a house, and taking care of all the nitty gritty details that go along with buying said house. More on that in another post, but on to more pressing matters first.

Twilight.*

Surely you've heard of it.

It's the teen vampire book series-turned-movie that has 13-year-old girls and 29-year-old Erins swooning. That's right. Edward the teenage vampire makes me swoon.

When Twilight hit the scene, I vowed I would not get involved. I didn't need a new Harry-Potter-esque saga to get hooked on. I was inspired by the story of the author, though—a stay-at-home mom who got the idea for the book based on a dream she had.

It was only when Erika—my trustworthy-never-led-me-astray-literary-Shakespeare-reading-friend—told me she was reading it to relax before her wedding that I had the first tiny inkling of interest. Then came a pre-Bahamas trip to Walmart in which I needed to pick up some fun beach reading. I have a list of dozens of books that I want to read. But Walmart, while it has everything from carrots to motor oil, doesn't have the greatest book selection. So when I saw Twilight in the book section, taunting me, I picked it up.

And devoured it. I would have finished it beach-side, but Alan and I were busy drinking and frolicking in the clear water, so I ended up finishing it on the flight back home. I was so desperate to buy the next one that, against my desire for all of the cool, artsy book covers, I bought the book's "movie cover" at the airport.

Ok, it's already embarrassing to be reading this teen romance novel. Putting the teen hottie actors on my book cover only makes it MORE embarrassing. Now random passersby might think I bought it because I like the movies, not for the literary genius and the writing.

However, buying the movie-covered book does have its advantages. Like a poster inside that is now the only decoration that we have hanging in our temporary apartment.



You laugh, but look at this close-up of the love-stricken vampire.

Hello there.

And yum.

Alan calls me a pervert. But in real life, he's 23, not the 17-year-old high-schooler he plays in the movie. And it's not just me: Just ask the thousands of "older" Twilight fans.


*I called this post Dusk so as not to scare anyone off. HAHA. FOOLED YOU!

Cock-a-Doodle Halloween!

The $10 I spend on Marti's Halloween costumes is maybe the best money I spend at Target all year. Marti thinks she's getting a present, and we get to laugh at her dressed up as various other animals. Marti the Moose was one of my faves in 2007, and I loved her as a bumblebee last year. They were a little picked over by the time we got in this year to make our purchase, so the barnyard theme was the only medium costume available. Luckily, Marti is also cute as a rooster.


The wings are absolutely my favorite part of the whole getup.

There is always some trouble with the heads staying on, but the side-rooster-head look is cute too.


Each year, Marti has gotten a little less squirmy when I've put on her costume. I think she knows she'll be in it for all of five minutes, she'll get a few treats while I snap pictures and then she can exact her revenge:


It's a win-win for everyone. Except the rooster.

Since We Been Gone

Is there anybody out there? (lights flash around the cold Atlantic)

If there is anybody still out there, checking in, hoping upon hope that I'll update...HERE IT IS!

It's be a crazy/busy/insane/hectic/stressful/wonderful time lately, so I'm sure you'll forgive the absence.

Since we left California we've...

1) Driven across 13 states to get to New Jersey. Want the list? California, Nevada, Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey. West Virginia barely counts because it lasted all of a blink, but we figured if you see the "Welcome to STATE" sign, it counts. The drive East was much prettier than the drive West. Thank goodness those western-bound folks back in the day had California and Oregon waiting for them otherwise I imagine there would have been a lot of suicides in Utah and Nevada.

2) Gotten to spend time with family and friends. While Alan was deservedly relaxing his ass off in our month "homeless," I had to keep working. I got so good at setting up my computer and Vonage phone to various modems and routers that I could do it blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. I feel like I didn't put in a solid week of work the whole time, but I appeared to be working, and that counts for something.

3) Gone to Disney World! Oh my gosh. That place is magical. My face hurt for the first two hours, I swear.

4) Gone on a lovely vacation to the Bahamas that included dolphins, copious amounts of piña coladas, amazing beaches and relaxation until I was giddy.

5) Moved into our apartment in New Jersey. Considering that we just picked it on the basis of one drive-by and online pictures, we're very pleased. It's almost twice as big as our previous apartment, has a walk-in closet and a workout room. Plus, Alan doesn't have to rough up his soft hands because we now have a dishwasher.

6) Gotten lost about 10 times because there is no method to the madness when it comes to streets around here. There is no standard north/south/east/west grid layout. No numbered streets to guide you. It's all named streets. Curved named streets that twist and turn and wind. There is no creativity, so roads and town names are repeated everywhere. We go by landmarks instead, so it's "You take a left at Just Plain Dave's" or "There's the pet hospital...we're almost home!" Needless to say, Garmin has been our best friend.

7) Gotten in a hilarious road-rage incident that involved a skinny man yelling at us at a stoplight in the rain. A semi couldn't make a turn, so we backed up to give the guy in front of us room to let the semi by. Apparently the 10 feet we gave him to back up just wasn't enough, so after what felt like two minutes of cars honking, he got out his car, making a pushing motion with his arms telling us to BACK UP! It was the most absurd and awesome road-rage incident ever.

8) Started looking at houses. It's simultaneously fun and exciting and torturous and discouraging. We just want something in our price range that doesn't look condemned. Is that so much to ask?


But New Jersey has been great so far. Lots of rain. Lots of beautiful leaves on the trees. Alan and I have decided that the reason NJ gets such a bad rap is because people here have no confidence in their state. "You moved here from where!?" Come on, New Jersey! You've got a lot to offer! It's beautiful. At least in the fall.

Moving on...again

Our time in California is winding down. The movers came yesterday and packed up our apartment, so we've got three more nights' sleep on an air mattress until we move out of here. Bless those movers. They come in and pack and load everything, down to the paper towels I had set aside to do the final cleanup. We even had a separate company to pack for our massive flat-screen TV. How precious is that?



Funny story about the movers. Super nice guys; one of them shared our last name, which doesn't happen often. They were down packing our storage unit, and I noticed that the microwave that had been sitting in the common laundry room had been moved out into the garage next to our storage unit. I made sure they knew it wasn't ours, and in doing so said that it had been sitting in the laundry room for months and I had no idea what was going on with it or why it had been moved. So hours later, after our storage unit had been emptied, I noticed that the microwave had gone missing. I asked about it and Shared-Last-Name was like, "Yeah, I took it. You said it had been in the laundry room forever and I have a buddy who needs a microwave."

Um....Ok? I'm all for someone taking something and getting use out of it, but WHO DOES THAT!? Plus, if the microwave was moved from the laundry room, someone obviously moved it...and maybe it belongs to that somebody? Oh, movers. You crack me up.

It seems like just yesterday that Alan and I packed up and headed out to California. Now, we're sitting in a near-empty apartment on an air mattress, getting ready for another long haul. We leave on Sunday. And while I'm really excited to move out and move on, there is a part of me that's a little heartbroken about leaving the West Coast. We've had so much fun out here and so many adventures. It's just sad to close a door, even if another equally exciting and adventure-filled journey lies just down the road. Or way, way across the country.

I'm trying not to be too sad, though. Sure, I'll miss the beautiful weather (although there are those hot spells) and the strawberries the size of my hand.


But honestly, as much as I love California, as long as this guy's with me, I'm home no matter where I am.

Mighty Yosemite

In our last few weeks in California, Alan and I have been busy trying to cram in a few things we'd wanted to do while we were out here. We knew it would be a travesty if we didn't make it to Yosemite, so a few weeks ago we drove up on a Saturday and did a much-too-short whirlwind tour of the park. Honestly, it's a travesty that it took us this long to get there. I would have loved to have been able to go a few times and go on some of the hikes that I'm sure are amazing. As it was, we got to look at a lot of great scenery, but we didn't have the time to explore the zillion hiking trails there.

We did arrive at about dusk on a Saturday, though, and were able to hit a grove of sequoias that had a short hike to a tree called the Grizzly Giant. Even at dusk it took your breath away (and that's not just because we were literally out of breath after having to sprint to the end of the hike because of the darkness). You can't even fathom how huge and amazing these trees are until you're up close and personal, but this picture of an uprooted fallen sequoia might give you a good idea of how awesome they are:


That picture needs no explanation because it is just CRAZY.

Even Marti came out to enjoy nature at its finest. I'm wearing my glasses because they're not kidding when they say that hydrogen peroxide contact lens cleaner "only works with provided contact case" and that it will burn like hell if it touches your eyes. I was later able to throw my contacts in after major rinsing with saline, but it was a scarring experience. Almost literally.


Alan winks with Half Dome in the background.


The views at every stop are amazing. This is a view down into the valley; you can see one of the waterfalls.

Yosemite was so awe-inspiring that I think if I had another month out here I'd be able to convince Alan to go camping in the park. Alan. Camping. I told you it was an amazing place.

Surfin' Safari

My former boss told me that one of the greatest places to visit in Northern California is Elkhorn Slough, an estuary/nature reserve close to Monterey. It had been on my to-do list for two years, but Alan and I finally got down there earlier this summer and it did not disappoint. It's basically a salt marsh along the coastline that is home to lots of wildlife—sea otters, seals, sea lions, and birds.


I think there are trails to walk, but we rented a kayak for a few hours and that was really the way to go. Besides getting to see Safari Alan...

...we got to get up close and personal with all of the animals. You're supposed to give the wildlife a wide berth, but it is nearly impossible to stay far away from them. The sea lions and seals can pop up in the water right in front of you at any moment. At times it felt like Jaws.



We even saw a sea otter battling with a crab. You can see the crab in this photo sticking out of the water. It was a fight to the death; I'm sure the sea otter came out on top.

After a few hours of nature, we navigated our way back through the slough, Alan with a blister and me, jeans wet from the waist down. Note: Water "skirts" only serve to prevent water seepage when they don't have holes in them. Note No. 2: Following suggestions from the kayak rental facility can save the day when you have the extra clothes you need after a kayaking trip. Good thing I follow directions.

Santa, Revisited

Hold on to your britches, folks. Two blog posts in two days. Oh my!

Faithful readers may remember a post in which I talked about Marti's little stuffed Santa. Although the pug has ripped the stuffing out of too many stuffed toys to count (see also: Mr. Hedges), there is no question that Santa is her absolute favorite (thanks Crystal!). I swear the pug only parts with Saint Nick when he's in "the operating room" (aka the bookshelf) waiting to get his latest hole patched up.

Here is Santa in 2006:

Sure, he was missing an arm and a leg, but Santa was still looking pretty good.

Here is Santa now. WARNING! Not for the faint of heart:






It's true that Santa still looks bright and shiny. This is because I'm not afraid to throw Marti's entourage in a scalding wash cycle. But as you can see in the photos, Santa's falling apart. Exhibit A is what I call "Santa's Cuff." Exhibit B is what I call "Santa's Hand." And Exhibit C, well, that's Santa with his stub of an arm. What you probably can't see is the slit across Santa's forehead and the fact that he has one threadbare patch that is barely keeping the stuffing from shooting out of his nose.

When Santa's Cuff and Santa's Hand became detached, Marti thought she had two new toys. They have since disappeared; she either ate them or they're stuck under the couch. I don't know how Santa's Right Leg has managed to get by unscathed, but I'm patiently waiting for the day when Santa's Hat Ball becomes Marti's next target.

Breathing Easy...In More Ways Than One

So Alan can breathe now. That sounds weird, I know, because what was he doing all of this time if he couldn't breathe, right? Perfecting the art of one-nostril breathing, that's what.

The poor guy broke his nose as a teen and has been suffering ever since. So, for more than half his life he's been unable to breathe properly. And has suffered monstrous headaches as a result. And has gotten crazy-addicted to the only cure he could find: Afrin. (Which by the way, is the most amazing over-the-counter drug ever. If you have a cold and can't breathe, GET IT.)

So after some nagging from his loving wife, I finally convinced him to chat to his doctor about his nose. Which led to seeing an ear/nose/throat guru. Which led to a CT scan of his noggin. Which led to OH MY GOSH HIS NOSE IS SEVERELY JACKED UP.

But after going through all of the leg work, he just couldn't get around to scheduling the surgery to fix the deviated septum and turbinates that were effectively blocking his nose. Too busy, blah blah. So I nagged. And nagged. I must have emailed him with the surgery coordinator's phone number at least 10 times. I think he was getting grouchy about my nagging.

But guess what?After an hour of surgery, a couple of days with bloody tampons shoved up his nose and a huge wad of cotton taped to his face, guess who can breathe? Alan. And guess who he is forever grateful to for the nagging? That's right.

So, after that victory for my husband's health, here we were last week. Alan had to take a drug test and pass a background check for his new job. The boy has never touched a drug in his life, and although he did have a warrant in Kansas City for an unpaid ticket, he's had that cleared up for months. I reassured him that all would be fine and that he was worrying for NO REASON. But his paranoia was such that you would have thought he was an ex-convict with track marks on his arms. He was paranoid that the three pain capsules he took after his surgery would show up. He was worried that his Flintstone's chewables would turn into, I don't know, CRACK, on the drug test. I'm only exaggerating slightly.

Now, we're coming up on leaving in just a couple of weeks. We have an apartment set up in New Jersey. The wheels are in motion for our mega lifestyle change. So I can see why he'd be a little nervous. After all, we didn't need a Seinfeld poppyseed drug test failure moment.

After barely squeaking out enough pee to even take the drug test, guess whose urine was as clean as the day he was born? Alan. And guess who is getting a track record of being right a lot lately? That's right.

I'm Cool Now

Now that I'm officially on Twitter. Ok, I admit, I'm kind of anti-Facebook, anti-Twitter, anti-telling-people-what-I'm-doing-every-minute. And while I can't make any promises about how often I'll update, I thought I'd use Twitter when I have something funny or interesting to say that doesn't warrant an entire blog post.

My first "tweet" (oh my God, this is SO LAME) was going to be about how I just peed on myself testing out this product. But I didn't want my first tweet to be about peeing on myself, so instead it's basic. You can check me out at https://twitter.com/erin_wh for what I'm sure will be my thrilling updates.

(P.S. In testing my Twitter link, I noticed my first tweet is gone. Although it says I have two updates. We'll see how long this relationship lasts.)

Poor Neglected

Oh, poor, neglected personal blog. How I've missed you! I do honestly miss updating over here, and each time I do, I vow to myself to post more frequently for my loyal (and by now non-existent) readers. Maybe this will be the month I start to keep that promise. But I make no promises.

Things have been going well over here in Erin-Alan-Marti land. No, we still haven't set a leave-California date, but we're thinking it's going to be mid-August. Then, we'll drive back home because I refuse to put little Martikins on a plane. My precious little pug is not cargo, I'm sorry. And being a snub-nosed breed, most airlines probably wouldn't fly her anyway for fear she'd overheat and keel over. Which I've no doubt she would.

Once we get back to the Midwest, we plan to stay a couple of weeks, splitting the time between Kansas and Missouri. We are so excited to be able to come home, see family and friends, and not be in the big, fat rush we're usually in when we're home for visits. We were home for a wedding in May, and Alan was there for a total of 36 hours. Plus, Martikins will be able to see her old friends, Chuck and Lucy, and I can't wait to see if they all remember each other. Judging from how Marti reacts to labs at the park, I think it'll be like no time has passed.

While we're home, Alan will be relaxing and maxing, while I'll be working from "home." Then, and most exciting, we'll be taking a trip to the Bahamas. Which we've also not planned AT ALL. Hmm. Maybe we should do that soon.

My already precious time has also taken another hit. For job numero dos, I scored six weeks of sessions with a personal trainer at a gym here. I've been getting my rear whooped by a tiny little trainer, and it's awesome. You all may not recognize me when you see me next month because I'll have veins bulging out of my arms and will be running around in circles so fast I'll be just a blur.

See...that was easy. It took but 10 minutes. Hopefully I'll be able to find 10 more minutes to get back here before August.

From California Will Come Chaos

Oh, dog-loving father-in-law. I hope you're prepared for the havoc the pug will wreak upon your calm, retired life when we pass through the Midwest this summer.


I'll make sure she comes hungry.

The Mocha That Wasn't

I've had a bit of a migraine problem as of late. In the past year, the headaches of my youth returned. Luckily, the debilitating pain didn't accompany each migraine, but I was getting frequent auras that would have me blinded for 30 minutes at a time. It's best compared to looking at a bright light and not being able to see for a moment after, only it lasts the length of a sitcom. Or I get psychedelic squiggles through my line of sight. Or I'll feel the motion of a ceiling fan over my head even though there isn't one.

I couldn't nail down the trigger for my migraines, but when I cut down on my morning coffee, they decreased dramatically. Until they didn't, and came back with a vengeance. After seeing my doctor several times, I finally nailed down the cause: good old-fashioned stress. Now that I've gotten that under control, I've been sporadically returning to coffee as a treat.

When Jenn came out to visit, she ran to the corner convenience store to get us a morning coffee. It has a full espresso bar inside, and they'll make you whatever kind of coffee treat you'd like. She made the comment that if she lived so close to this amenity, it would be a problem. It hadn't been a problem for me because I'd stopped the coffee intake, but there she went, putting thoughts in my head.

A couple of weeks ago I made it my Friday treat to stop in and get a mocha. Then yesterday I was really craving one again. I put it off and put it off, waiting for the craving to subside, but it didn't. So off I went, walking to the corner. I was almost drooling as the barista made my beverage...and it wasn't until she was about to hand it to me that she sees my debit card and says, "Machine's down...I can't take cards." She points me to the ATM. Dismayed but not fully dissuaded, I went over to get cash. And then saw it would be a $3 ATM fee. Add that to the fee Bank of America would charge me, and it was adding up to a $9 cup of coffee. Slow tear. Fast tear.

I apologized for the coffee fake-out. But there was no way I was paying that much for a coffee. Sister's saving for a down payment in New Jersey.

The Hotness

In case your air conditioner ever breaks (God forbid, you'd have my utmost sympathy), below are a few signs that will signal to you that your misery is at all comparable to mine.

Signs Your Living Quarters Are Too Hot
1) Your pug has wild eyes and looks like she may expire at any moment.

2) You must lock both yourself and your pug up in the bathroom where it is a few degrees cooler so that you both can survive.

3) You make a sandwich and your bread feels like it just came out of the oven.

4) You take a shower and your shampoo is actually hot coming out of the bottle.

5) You lock the pug in the bathroom and go to the library for the entire day Sunday.


Of course, it's freezing as I sit here at the library. I had to put on my sweatshirt.

Marti Goes Golfing

After months (maybe years) of trying to get Marti back to playing fetch, I've learned that the only ingredients that matter in the fetch recipe are the ball and Marti's mood that day. She'll usually run after the ball, but will rarely, if ever, bring it back. The dog psychologist in me tells me that it all goes back to her playing fetch with Chuck and Lucy, which was more of her actually chasing them and then barking at them while they got the ball. I think she's convinced that she'll never get to it fast enough, so why bother?

It wouldn't be that big of a deal that she doesn't want to play fetch if I a) didn't remember the hours I used to try to wear her out with fetch as a wee pup and b) if she hadn't gotten a little chubby as of late.

That's right. Marti is now on Weight Watchers.

She really doesn't look too chunky when she's up walking around, but when she lies down, there's a bit of a pug pudge going on. And when I took her to the vet and she'd hit 27 pounds, and the vet told me she could "stand to lose a couple," I knew something had to be done. So I've dialed back the food intake a bit, and we've been taking long walks at noon that have been great for both of us.

I also increased my efforts trying to get her to play fetch and I finally found something that worked. One day when I tried a brand-new tennis ball someone had left at the park, it was like Marti had rediscovered her inner puppy. She played fetch for 30 minutes straight, while I stood there with my jaw on the gross dog park ground. And when I play with the special squishy tennis ball that she's stripped naked, she'll play forever too. And apparently now that's she's taken up fetch again, golf balls aren't off limits either. She not only ran after this golf ball with gusto, but ripped into its cracked casing with the fervor of a teething puppy (see picture below).

As for her weight loss, after two weeks of checking on the digital at home, she still hovered between 26 and 27 pounds, which I took to mean she hadn't really budged. But lo and behold, when I took her to the vet a couple of days ago, she weighed in at 25.8 pounds! I was beyond proud. All of our exhausting efforts are paying off. She's still got a few pounds to go, but I'm hoping that she will eventually get it off and become a lifetime Weight Watchers member.

Potty Patrol

It's been months since I've seen poor old Silvia, so I can only assume she's finally escaped the assisted living facility and gone to the sweet by and by. But there's a new Silvia in town, and she goes by the name of Shirley.

I met Shirley recently when I was out with Marti, letting her sniff around in the mulch and the bushes by the patio of the assisted living facility. Marti is typically content to putter around for much longer than I prefer before she really gets down to business. So we're dilly-dallying around and Marti is playing with seed pods in the mulch and out of nowhere I hear:

"PICK UP YOUR DOG SHIT!"

It took me so by surprise that I didn't even know how to respond. I turned around to Shirley in her wheelchair, and said, for lack of a better defense, "But she hasn't even gone yet!"

So she repeated herself. Just to make it clear that dog poo wouldn't be tolerated. This time I said, "Don't worry, I always do!" Her reply? With utter disdain, she says accusingly, "With what??"

To which I waved at her with my black poo-pickup-bag covered hand. I was trying to be lighthearted through the accusations, but I was a little defensive, which is understandable because I live in a neighborhood where these signs once appeared:


Shirley's got her difficult side, for sure, and I know she puts the nurses through the wringer. I've heard her tapping on the windows from the patio to get their attention, saying "HELLOOO!?!" over and over again. I also hear her demands for coffee, and she doesn't exactly say please and thank you. But we've actually spoken since our first encounter, and she can be quite friendly when she's lucid. She sees me and asks Marti's name and whether she's had any puppies. On her good days, we're friendly. But I'm fairly certain I heard her curse at me again the other day. I'm pretty sure that somewhere deep inside her troubled mind she must remember a dog that used to take large dumps on her lawn.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Big changes are in store for the W household yet again. Since I last posted, life has gotten a lot crazier and hectic. But now we have big decisions made and a new direction: East.

The plan all along had been for Alan to start interviewing over the fall, get a couple of job offers and figure out our next step. Unfortunately, the economy put a bit of a crimp in those plans. Not nearly as many companies came to do on-campus interviews, no one was biting, and it was looking grim. I kept telling him it would all work out; I pulled out every cliche in the book to keep his head up. I didn't want him getting too depressed about getting 25 years of education and then being ready for a real job just as the economy tanks harder than it has since the Great Depression.

At long last, Alan gets a call to get his academic life on paper and in presentation format so that he can interview with a company in New Jersey, as well as their location in Boston. Finally, movement.

Interviews in the science community are totally different than any interview you or I will ever see. It's not just a howdy-doody how-do-you do type of deal. It's two 100-hour weeks getting an hour-long presentation on your life's work together to present to your potential future employer and some of your future co-workers. It's three days of all-day interviews, plus dinners at night. My mouth gets dry just thinking about doing eight hours of interviews. I guess when you've prepared for 25 years for a job, it only makes sense that the interview would be a sort of final exam.

Regardless, Alan gets his presentation together and stresses us both out in the process. I know what a monumental task it is for him to put together these presentations, but I must say, he can memorize the crap out of some big sciencey words.

He goes on his interview, does a bang-up job, and alas! GETS JOB OFFERS. For both locations! Hooray! This is the best scenario; we're back on our plan. He was super pumped about Boston and seriously, Boston versus New Jersey? Is it even a question? We are absolutely moving to Boston. I'm ready to go, sight unseen.

But doesn't God do funny things?

In the weird, slow, science hiring process, Alan gets a second, less formal interview. Overlap of the job in Boston requires him to go back to New Jersey to speak with some of the folks there, and I plan to fly out and meet him in Boston for his schmooze-fest there. When he meets me in our room in Boston, he's singing a different tune. He's re-thinking New Jersey.

Um, no. You're not. We're moving to Boston. I wrap my mind around the possibility of not moving to Boston. NO. My brain refuses to cooperate. Even in the bitter Boston cold, IT'S A DONE DEAL.

Then we go on an area tour with a realtor.

Now, don't get me wrong. Boston is beautiful. It's everything you'd imagine Boston to be. Beautiful brick, old buildings. It's got a great vibe. But neighborhood after neighborhood, street upon street, among visions of condo living and sharing yards with five units, tandem parking spaces—or to avoid all of those things, hour commutes to work—I started feeling claustrophobic. I'm not an urban girl. I'm not just not an urban girl, I'm a KANSAS girl. I need yard. I need space. I NEED TO BREATHE.

We decide to extend our trip and drive around Boston more to see what we can see on our own and then drive down to New Jersey to see the area. (I also have it in my head that NJ is north of Massachusetts and every time we talked about it I'd say, "Let's drive up to NJ." Oh, geography.)

So after crossing more states off on my states-to-see list during the drive, we arrive in New Jersey. OH MY GOD, I'M EVEN LESS IMPRESSED WITH NEW JERSEY. Industry. Highway. Grossness.

Thankfully, the company knew what it was doing when it booked us our hotel in New Jersey. We arrive in the most adorable town of Westfield, with a cute little downtown and lots of little shops and restaurants. The realtor shows us town after town, all with accessible grocery stores (for some reason that's insanely important to me), and house after house, all with yards, all with more than two bedrooms. And all of these towns within 15 minutes of Alan's work. AND, we were able to hop on a train and in 35 minutes be in New York City.

Sounds like a done deal, right? For whatever reason, we struggled so much with the decision. For each positive, there was an almost equal and opposite negative. Neither place was screaming our name. We went round and round, made pros and cons lists, talked until we were blue in the face. We slept on it, night after night. We flipped coins. We flipped coasters. We cried. Well, I cried. We decided on New Jersey twice. Then a coin flip landed Boston. And we kept thinking. I kept waiting for one of us to have an epiphany...for one of us to have that "ah ha!" moment where we'd know. But it didn't happen until the morning before we had to decide.

After a talk with my mom and my first moment of true clarity, I wrote Alan an email that I'd made my decision. He wrote back wanting to know what it was. After all of that, I refused to tell him via email. He called awhile later. He'd made a decision too. I silently prayed that we made the same decision because I had no idea what we'd do if we hadn't. Actually, I know what I would have done: Had a mental breakdown.

Luckily, we arrived, separately and together, at the same conclusion. New Jersey made too much sense. Short commute. House. Yard. More pugs. Less chaos. All the chaos we could ever want a short train ride away.

Now that we've made the decision, we haven't looked back once. Now we just have to have all guests arrive at night and close our eyes when driving near the airport.

P.S. Northern California has to be the most beautiful place to live, period.

Absentee Blogger

Why I'm not finding time to (personal) blog: A typical day for me.

7:30 a.m. or 8:00 a.m. Roll out of bed. (Yes, this is what time I get up. Sue me. I used to get to work by 7:00 a.m. and work until 6 or later anyway, so I figure I might as well sleep in if I'm going to work late regardless.)

8:01 a.m. Hit my office.

12:00 Think about taking a lunch. But don't.

5:00 Take Marti to the dog park.

5:30 Back to work.

6:30-8:30ish Work out. Start on dinner. Eat dinner. Clean up after dinner.

8:30-12:00 Spend some time with Alan. Take Marti out. Try to fit in laundry, other chores and oh, yes, that other JOB I'm doing.

Oh, and weekends? Fuggedaboutit. They consist of maybe grocery shopping, a dinner out, catching up from things I couldn't do during the week, and most of all, Other Job. So yeah, I'm a little stressed. A lot busy. Ok, a lot stressed. But something's gotta give eventually right? I'm hoping it's the day job.

Until then, Marti has taken to wearing earplugs to block out the noise of my screams.

Dorkus Extraordinaire

Awkward situations come along and sometimes you just can't do anything about them.

I said "Hi" to my neighbor just now. She was walking to her car and was about 15 feet away from me. But my "hi" didn't come out very loud at all. It was the meekest "hi" ever.

Then she said "Hello!"

My brain rapid-fires: "Crap. Did she actually hear me say hi? Or does she think she's saying hi first?"

So I say "Hello!"

I guess it's better that she thinks I'm a friendly doofus (Hi, Hello!) than a snob who doesn't respond at all.

Best of 2008

I'm fully aware that it's no longer 2008. This means I'm a bit late with my traditional year-end post. But better late than never, right?

Biggest accomplishment: Starting The Blog. Collaborating with one of my dearest friends to create a place that thousands of people visit on the already saturated world wide web is my greatest accomplishment by far. It gives me a greater professional purpose, keeps me in shape and keeps me writing about topics outside of construction. I can't wait to see what 2009 brings for us!

Best work trip: My trip to Portland, Oregon. Although my flight around the Grand Canyon was awesome, you just can't beat two days of being at such a major event, seeing athletes and lines of shoes and apparel, and getting to meet editors for top fitness publications—for my own business.

Best celebrity interactions: I talked to Denise Austin! Seriously, how cool is that? Be checking in the coming months for more. Jenn and I also made Bob Harper blush via email. Hehe.

Best hair decision: Going darker with my hair! I think it just looks more natural and better. And it's so much cheaper.

Happiest moment: KU winning the national championship. There are truly no words to describe the moment, but I was on a natural high for more than a week.

Funniest find: My mom finding my diary from third grade. I got more laughs out of this than anything else this year.

Best big trip: Buenos Aires. Such a fun week, with lots of beef, wine and friends.

Best weekend trips: My trip to Phoenix to meet my mom and Kyle was a blast, and Vegas was hard to beat.

Best web find: Mint.com. Sign up at this website and in minutes you can see a pie chart that tells you that you're spending as much eating out as you are on rent. I mean...it lets you track your finances by signing up your bank accounts, credit cards and even student loans so you can see where your money goes. Cool for the money conscious.

New foods added to the menu: I made tofu for the first time (simple, yummy!) and tried Brussels sprouts as well. Now don't get all bent out of shape that I've gone all Crazy California. I've also been eating Chick-O-Sticks regularly.

Best natural wonder: Iguazu Falls. I didn't think anything could be worth two 20-hour bus trips. I was wrong.

Most amazing shopping moment: Not everyone can understand, but trust me, it was amazing.

Surprising kicked addiction: After discovering that it's a maybe-cause of my migraines, I've kicked the caff to the curb and gone for decaf when I have coffee at all, which is now rarely.

Marti's countdown
Funniest new nickname: I could do an entire post (or book chapter) on nicknames I have for Marti. But the one that currently makes me giggle is "Angel of Grace." She's definitely not always an angel, nor is she always full of grace.

Funniest Alan/Marti moment: We were out for a walk one dark night, and Marti started dragging me toward the middle of the street. I saw white painted X's on the street, and thinking she was checking them out, I let her lead me toward the middle of the street, saying "What is it girl?" When she wasn't actually interested in the painted lines, but kept pulling me across the street anyway, Alan goes, "Erin, she's not Nancy Drew."

Marti's worst malady: Poor little Marti came down with a whopper of an eye infection that took a shot to the eye, several weeks of antibiotics, eye drops, several trips to the puppy eye doctor and hundreds of dollars to get rid of. But she's still got both beautiful brown eyes!

Marti's biggest scare: Being jumped from behind by the neighbor cat. I was, of course, out of town, leaving Alan in charge. It should come as no surprise that this was when Samsi decided to strike.

Marti's new obsession: Mud. She's started chowing down along with the other dog park pups. It is disgusting. Foul. She gets three strikes and then we're OUT.

And there you have it. 2008 in a nutshell. Here's to a wonderful 2009!