Merry Christmas! I'm Getting Fat

Ok, so I'm not getting fat by American standards. I'm probably not even near average for good ol' USA. But I'm slowly and steadily gaining weight, even if I'm the only one that notices.

September

December

Of course, eventually someone is bound to notice. And that someone is Daddy.

Yesterday morning, during Christmas breakfast...

Daddy: Wow, you're really eating a lot, Jilly. You finished your omelette and now you're eating two pieces of French toast? Daddy's never seen you eat like this.

I pause, thinking maybe I shouldn't eat all this.

Jilly: It's not... that much.

Mommy: You'd be surprised. She can eat more than you'd think and stay that small.

Daddy: What do you think? Now that you're married, you can eat as much as you want?

This was met by an "Ohhhhhhh" from the rest of the family, the type usually reserved for "yo mama" jokes on the playground. Daddy quickly laughed it off, assured me he was kidding, and kissed me one too many times on the cheek.

Daddy, we're not friends. When I can curse in front of you, you can make jokes.

Am I The Only One That Still Loves Friendly's?

This ode* to Friendly’s has to do with another story (I swear I’ll get to it), but it turns out I have a lot to say about Friendly’s on its own.

In case you don’t live in the suburbs of the Northeast U.S., Friendly’s is a sit-down diner-esque restaurant chain, that is slightly fancier than Denny’s but less fancy than Ruby Tuesday’s.
...And if you don’t live in the U.S. at all, I’ve made nothing clearer for you - although, side note, we went to a Ruby Tuesday’s in India so that’s apparently universal.

Friendly’s is famous for their ice cream, especially:

The Wattamelon Roll

 sherbet with chocolate chips - you’d think they’d clash but they don’t

And, most of all, the Cone Head sundae.

order it with Black Raspberry (purple!) ice cream

When I was a kid, the Cone Head was the thing. And, it needs to be said, Friendly’s leadership! If you ever stumble on this:

DON’T THINK NOBODY NOTICED THAT YOU TOOK THE EXTRA REESE’S PIECES OUT OF THE BOTTOM OF THE CONE HEAD.

There used to be bonus Reese’s Pieces in the bottom of the sundae and the menu description even said “with a surprise at the bottom” but they stealthily removed that about 15 years ago and I will NEVER forget. Hope you're enjoying all those Reese’s Pieces savings, corporate fat cats. Actually, the company has been struggling in recent years despite improvements made over the last decade, but I digress...

Friendly’s has been a weirdly big part of my life, starting with my childhood. Here’s a preview of my to-be-self-published memoir, titled...

Ice Cream Cone Dreams: My Life in Terms of Friendly’s

When I was a kid, there was a Friendly’s right by our house,which Amy and I used to walk to with our parents. Now that I’m living there again, I’m sad it’s no longer around, and sometimes fantasize about buying the building from Aboff’s and convincing Friendly’s to reopen because the building is still vaguely Friendly’s-shaped.

View Larger Map

My friends and I also used to spend a lot of time at Friendly's in high school. You know, just eating fatty foods, annoying waiters, writing songs and plays, typical trouble-making teenage stuff. The cool kids hanging out at Mill Dam probably had nothing on us.

Many years later, Tom and I bonded over how we both still love Friendly’s and ended up going there on our third date. (Hot!) 

I’m guessing the future includes our taking our kids to Friendly's, and my begging the server to hide some Reese’s Pieces at the bottom of my hypothetical daughter’s sundae until she gets old enough to demand one of their new-fangled sundaes like the Monster Mash or Vol-Cone-O or whatever.

And after that? A Black Raspberry ice cream IV drip in my nursing home? All I know is that my love affair with Friendly’s won’t die until one of us (the restaurant or I) does.

*Disclaimer: I’m fully aware that I should be ashamed of my love for Friendly’s.

Why Are We Still Sending Christmas Cards?

You know what sucks about being a grown up in December? Christmas cards.

In 2012, there are countless reasons not to send Christmas cards. For example, the internet exists. The phone exists. Well, those are pretty much the only two reasons, but do we really need more?

Is it the invention of the internet, or did this chore always suck? I remember my mom dutifully writing cards (usually containing a photo of Amy and me in red dresses) and she seemed fine with it. But how did she have time with two kids and work and going to school? Hmm, given that, I should just stop complaining right now... but I won't.

What about my grandparents' generation? Was sending Christmas cards no biggie because people were just sending letters all the time anyway? (Or was that my great grandparents' generation?)

Given my relative disdain for the process, you might wonder why I'm bothering. Well...

• I already bought Christmas cards on sale after Christmas last year;
• They are pretty and sparkly;
• I sometimes fantasize about being one of those together people that remembers birthdays and sends Christmas cards (oh well).

I gave it a try, anyway. Tonight is my last night writing cards and tomorrow I'm sending out whatever we have done. So if you get a card from Tom and me, you're either very special (grandparents), very lucky (random), or alphabetically superior (sorry, L-thru-Z).

Given that you're probably not one of those people, here's my Christmas Card to you, lovers and friends:

...and don't bother asking about our wedding thank yous. You'll get yours probably on day 364.

Excuses For Not Cleaning

It just occurred to me that anyone reading this blog, who doesn't know me personally, might be under the misconception that I am a clean person, just because I criticize Daddy's cleanliness. Well, I'm not. I try, but I encounter problems, such as:

• It doesn't come naturally to me.
• I didn't learn proper habits until college, and then I only did it begrudgingly under the guidance of the cleaning chart my roommate Peggy made out of a paper plate.
• I'm busy.
• When I'm not busy, I'm lazy.
• I spend a lot of time writing bullet point lists.
• I'm a type B person so I don't really beat myself up for enjoying my weekends.
• I don't hate myself. In fact, I like myself so much that I find my own faults endearing, as if I'm Liz Lemon or Old Christine.

my anti-heroes

Of course, on TV, even slobs have clean houses. I mean, we slovenly viewers don't want to be forced to look at a house that looks just like ours....

Liz Lemon's Ikea furniture

Feel free to lend me your best cleaning excuses.

Back Home Sitcom, Ep. 1

INT. NEWLYWEDS' BEDROOM - MIDDAY (SUNDAY)

Jill and Tom prepare to leave for the day. Jill puts her laptop in her purse as Tom slips on his jacket. There is a knock at the door. Jill opens it to reveal Daddy.

DADDY

Have you two been eating

in here?

JILL

(Guiltily) Um, yes.

DADDY

Daddy would really prefer

if you didn't eat in here.

This isn't college.

Jill glances at the mini fridge in the corner.

JILL

It feels like college.

DADDY

Yeah, I see that... Just 
eat in the kitchen please.

JILL

(Hangs her head) Ok...

Daddy closes the door as he leaves. Jill looks up at her husband.

TOM
(Whispers) I'm still

gonna eat in here.

A Very Special Blog Post

I hate to get serious, ever, but it's hard for me to laugh about the ridiculousness of living with my dad when I'm actually pissed off...

Daddy is nosy. My mom calls him a yenta. I mostly accept him but it's tough sometimes.

credit

He's been known to ask me inappropriate questions about money. I have no idea how much he makes but he thinks it's fine to ask me how much I make. Whatever.

He has repeatedly asked me, although I have told him many, many times, how much my MBA cost, how much I paid up front, and how much I owe. You know what? He paid for 20% of my graduate degree, which was generous and I did not expect, so if he really needs to know how much I owe in student loans, no big deal.

He also asks me how much I owe in credit card debt, which is patently none of his business. But, it's not that big of a deal to me. I've told my friends and it's not like I have a shopping addiction or something. I just have debt from throwing what constitutes a very modest New York wedding. So fine.

He started getting on my nerves a while ago when he told me, very cautiously at first, that, in his opinion, with a CPA and MBA, I should be making more money.

This pisses me off not because it's nosy, but because it proves that he doesn't know me at all.

Yes, if I sold my soul and went back to public accounting, I could be making a few tens of thousands more than I'm making now. But let's look at the costs:

• Dreams of becoming a writer. (No time to write when you're working every night and weekends.)
• Free time to spend with family, friends and husband.
• Mental and physical health.

Maybe he doesn't care about my writing dreams or free time but the mental health part is non-negotiable. I literally had a nervous breakdown and spiraled into depression at my old job. Guess what? If you can't get out of bed in the morning, your income prospects are severely limited.

Sorry, this is getting really personal. Anyway...

And he seems to think Tom's finances are his business too. So the other day, he's talking to me about how I should really be saving money for a house (because that's all a married woman can dream of, right? No chance I might want to have flexibility to travel?) and I'm nodding and he says:

"And Tom is talking about going to the Olympics in Russia, and I'm like 'Dude, you have $XXX in debt.'"

[Silence.]

Seriously, what the fuck? Does he really think I'm going to take his side over my husband's? And yes, our student loan debt is astronomical. Yes, it's terrible and it's going to take forever to pay off, but what are you saying? We're not allowed to travel for the next 30 years? And I don't even want to go to Russia but he's turning me into a rebellious teenager and now I want to go out of spite!

So I'm stewing, and he continues on about how we'd be surprised how much money we can save if we really try [Trust me, living with Daddy IS trying!] and then he says "You know, it seems to me that you should both be making more money." Enough!!!!

So I say "Daddy, you know, you're getting a little nosy."

And he says "Well, you're living rent-free in my house."

Oh! Didn't know his offer to live with him came with strings attached! 

This is bullshit. Yes, I'm lucky to have him. But I also have a mom and a mother-in-law and a husband's aunt with an empty apartment in Brooklyn and friends and enough money that I could still live on my own (if I never want to pay off my credit card debt) so, you know? Shit, fuck it.

I am tempted to just move out now but Tom is really sick of moving.

I guess I have to have the talk... you know the one, accompanied by sappy music at the end of any very special episode.

Really, my dad just wants to help me make my life perfect. Too bad I've got my own ideas.

Sorry for getting so real with you guys.  To counterbalance this very special post, tomorrow I will post a list of Ms. PC's personal favorite very special episodes.

The Shower Head Incident

Tom and I moved into Daddy's a few weeks ago and immediately noticed that the shower head was super low-flow, which, as we know from Seinfeld, is not good.

my first homemade gif

We bought a new one about two or three weeks ago but didn't install it right away because we couldn't find a wrench. So we got around to it on Friday.

Oh, and when I was at Home Depot, I called and asked Daddy if he wanted me to buy a new faucet for the bathroom (also an issue). He kind of panicked and said that no, we would go after work one night and pick one out together. 

I just want to say right now that I don't give a shit about picking out the new faucet. I just want one with working knobs. Meanwhile, he hasn't done anything about that yet.

Anyway, we changed the shower head without asking. [Dun dun dun!]

#SixSeasonsAndAMovie

Sunday, we got a talking-to:
"Daddy doesn't like unilateral decision making."

Too bad Ms. PC doesn't like low-flow shower heads.

I guess I feel bad because I don't want him to feel like we're taking over his house. But I just don't think he'll do anything if I don't do it myself.

Exhibit A:

my girly stuff juxtaposed with the ultimate bachelor faucet

But anyway, Sunday night I decided to take a nice, long shower in celebration of our new-found water pressure. Unfortunately, the water went completely cold after about 12 minutes.

I told Daddy and he said "That's why Daddy had a regulator in the old one."  Whoops.

Daddyism #2

Rabbit Rabbit.

"You know, you really should be eating more fruit."

My husband, the chiropractor, enters the kitchen.

Daddy: There's a pear in the fridge if you wanna take it for lunch.

Tom: No thanks, I'm ok.

Daddy: You know, you really should be eating more fruits and vegetables. I mean, I'm not trying to tell you what to do but you really should be eating more fruit.

Jay Z Speaks

I never really gave an update on the amazing Jay Z concert I saw a couple weeks ago at the Barclay's Center. Here's the short version.

Tom and I took the drunk train in. Since the LIRR is always awesome, our train from Huntington was late to Jamaica so our transfer left without us. While waiting for the next train, I bought a Grolsch, which opened with the sound of a champagne cork popping and all the drunks around us cheered. Tom was drinking coffee like a nerd.

paper bag = class

The concert was, as I tweeted, a religious experience.

Then Tom and I luckily just made the 11:55 train. But when we got to Jamaica we realized that there wasn't a train to Huntington for over an hour so obviously I fell asleep while waiting for it.

Blah blah, another LIRR story. Really, I just wanted to pass on some advice from Jay Z. 

He referenced the media having reported his owning only a small percentage of the Nets and gave some words of wisdom ending with...

"Don't let anyone diminish your accomplishments."

Church! Then he launched into "99 Problems" which, in case you forgot, is awesome.

Got any wise words from a random source?

Ladybugs and Omens

When my parents first moved into their house in Huntington, Mommy found ladybugs everywhere, and she felt like it was her mother's spirit looking after her.

an especially ugly ladybug gif

Ladybugs have always been a special symbol of good luck in my family. There was a ladybug on my leg the day my team won the xAct (xTREME Accounting) local case competition at Binghamton (full on nerd in the house - TF3 forever!) And other than that... I can't remember a specific time when ladybugs have really brought luck but I've always liked them and I got a ladybug tattoo on my hip on my 21st birthday and no you can't see it.

On Sunday, Tom and I returned to this house, which is now Daddy's house. And we were greeted by a different insect...

Bees.

Now, in Tom's family, bees are considered bad luck. Well, it's not so much a family superstition as Tom just doesn't like them because he was stung multiple times as a kid and, really, who needs a bunch of bees around?

When Tom and Daddy went to move our mattress, there was one on the mattress cover, which seemed to be injured. Daddy vacuumed him up. Later, I found one on the bathroom window, which Daddy shooed out. Then there was a dead one on one of Daddy's several keyboards.

Finally, we found the source: the nest in our bedroom window. 

Bees.

Daddy said he'll knock it down but he didn't say when. Then he said "This house just seems to attract bees." Bees.

As we were leaving, a bee landed on our windshield. We then went to the park to enjoy the weather for a few minutes...

And as soon as we sat down, three bees landed on our bench.

Bees.

If my mom took the ladybugs as a sign that she was supposed to be here, what are the bees trying to tell me?

Bee Afraid!

Tonight will be our first night staying at Daddy's.

Daddyism #1

Rabbit Rabbit.

"It seems like everyone wants money from you these days."

Tom, Daddy, and I are walking from Daddy's to the Mediterranean Snack Bar.

Daddy: You know, it seems like everyone wants money from you these days.

Me: Are you talking abou those kids having a car wash?

Daddy: Well, yeah. Not just there. Everywhere. Like the supermarket. There's always someone outside asking for money for charity. I'm at the point where if I see that, I'll go to a different supermarket.

Me: Seriously?

Daddy: Yeah, and Wendy's. I go there and get two 5 piece spicy chicken nuggets, which costs $2.18, and then they want a dollar for charity.

Me: Uh huh.

(There is no point arguing a Daddyism.)

The Cast

In case you don't think like me for some reason (weird), you should know that I think of my life as a sitcom. Before I get any further into the story arc of this season, allow me to present the characters.

Main Characters

Jill (me) - Typical 20-something professional. I lost my burning desire to climb the corporate ladder a couple years ago but I work in a semi-important job to pay the bills. Like most people of my generation, I spend most of my time at work fantasizing about going back to college.

Tom (my husband) - A disillusioned chiropractor that actually is going back to college. But not in the fun way. Before he goes to PA school, he has to retake some of his prereqs from college because his credits expired (already? seriously?) so he's the "old" freshman on campus. He goes to school 4 days a week and works 3 days so I should just stop complaining right now. But I won't.

Daddy (my dad) - There is no need to give my dad a name other than Daddy because that is what he calls himself. Confused? You know the way a young father might talk to his two year old? "Daddy doesn't like it when you bite me." That's how my dad still talks to me. "You know Daddy's not big on birthdays." But you gotta love a guy that loves his little girls that much. 

His house is a mess but he's working on getting it cleaned up for us (at the last minute - wonder where I get it from).

Secondary Characters

Amy (my sister) - Amy has lived with us for the last 2 years in the city. She's renting a room from a girl in Queens for the time being. I'm going to miss having her around but Tom will not miss her cat Frosty and her constant shedding.

How could anyone be mad at this face?

credit: Rae

Gail (my mom) - Pretty awesome mom. Retired, lives about one mile from my dad. It's no secret that I wish we could live with her, but her house is smaller and fuller than my dad's.

Cutie (my stepdad-to-be) - Ok, his real name is Ron but my mom calls him Cutie and then my sister and I started calling him Cutie too because, I don't know, it's cute. He and my dad kind of have an Ashton-Bruce-8-years-ago thing going on, in that they get along and both cook (occasionally together) for family dinners. As a divorced kid, this is the most one can hope for.

Recurring Characters

I don't really know yet... my sister's boyfriend Ben? My mom's friend Aunt Kath that lives with her half the time? Maybe.

My friend Alice, who is also stuck living with her dad in Huntington? Definitely.

My in-laws, various Long Island friends of both Tom and me, my desperate alter-ego that attempts to manipulate a move back into the city? Probably.

Futon Week

And now...

The suckiest things about futon week (as it shall henceforth be known):

1- Having no TV in the living room. Don't worry, I survived with a combination of Netflix and the TV in my bedroom. Close one.

2- The futon. It wasn't so uncomfortable, but it was so not like a bed that I couldn't sleep at all the first night and slept crappily the rest of the week.

3- Packed our curtains + position of the futon + position of the sun relative to the earth this time of year = sun directly in my eyeballs starting at 7am.

Doesn't capture the true blindingness of it but you get the idea.

4- When my procrastination paid off and I had to stay up all night packing/moving, hopped up on Jamba Juice energy drink and Wendy's iced tea.

5- I miss Frosty! (My sister took her to their new apartment.)

 mrrrow.

Crashing on Our Own Futon

As I mentioned, we moved the majority of our stuff last Sunday, but we still had a few things to move. Ok, so maybe we had all this to move...

Ugh, I realize now I got my bra in the shot but I don't have photoshop and

really? It's a bra. Get over it, my god.

...and more.

So while Tom packed and I procrastinated packing, we spent our last week in Brooklyn on our old futon that we then left at the curb.

Couch and bed?! What an invention!

Note that my husband built that "table" all by himself (oh, and he cooked).

More to come...

Meet the Neighbors, Part II

As I was saying, we moved ...our stuff.

First we had to drop my sister's stuff off at her new place in Bayside... or Flushing? eh, Queens, anyway. Speaking of neighbors, Tom mentioned more than once that he's jealous that Amy lives so close to Dunkin' Donuts.

On our way to Huntington, we made a quick bagel stop and by the time we got to my dad's, our Super-Movers had unloaded almost all of our stuff.

As they finished up, we (re-)met the neighbors.

Bill, from next door on the left just said a warm hello and welcomed us.

I have to admit that the first "welcome back to the neighborhood" kind of sent a shiver of panic (is that a thing?) down my spine... or up it? Spine idioms are hard.

Then Jay, from across the street, who is my age and was just visiting for the weekend ...because he's doing enough with his life not to live with his parents.

Oh and hey! Running into someone from high school! So glad that I had decided that it was pointless to shower on moving day, that I'd rock my holey Bearcats sweatpants and my Jen's Pink Lady Bachelorette Party "NOT too pure to be pink!" t-shirt*, and that I'd throw my greasy hair back in some claw-clip/bendy-clip monstrosity.

I'm starting to get a glimpse of the awkwardness that awaits me.

Next was Jay's dad Andrew, who offered to help my dad clean up the house (which my dad refused, sigh).

And finally, Jean, from next door on the right. Her daughter Alex, a photographer/filmmaker, used to take photos of Amy and me. Alex also happened to be home because she was using her parents' house as a set for her latest project for the LA Film Festival (doing something with her life).

Also, Jean informed us that Alex is pregnant with twins at the age of 42 (go girl!) and that she's considered a geriatric obstetrics patient... ugh, I better get on this whole "kids" thing, one of these days...

and I'm gonna be 40! ...someday!

...ok maybe I have a few good years left.

*No offense, Shea, that shirt is awesome.

Meet the Neighbors, Part I

Sunday at 9am, our super-efficient movers arrived. These guys were, like, serious. The one guy wrapped all our furniture in blankets and some special... movers' wrap?... before the two of them carried it out, and the whole thing took less than 1.5 hours.

Ok, so you're like... um, yeah? That's what movers do? Know-it-all. 

I only hired movers once before and they definitely didn't wrap my then Ikea furniture and they were way more expensive. Anyway, I was impressed. They're called Bee Moving, Inc. if you're interested.

Before I left, I ran into this older lady from down the hall that I sometimes see when I'm leaving for work in the morning.

Lady: You're moving? Getting out of this dump?

Me: Oh, yeah... we're moving in with my dad to save some money, so...

Lady: Good, you're young. Get out of this dump.

Me: Um, yeah... kind of...

I didn't know what to say to that. 

For the record, I've never called this building a dump but it is kind of crappy. But I'm young/sometimes-broke and living in the second-most expensive city in the US (and working in the first-most) and I've only ever lived in crappy apartments, so I'm used to it. I've just always been grateful that this building doesn't have mice or rats (like my Hoboken and Morningside Heights apartments, respectively).

And I didn't want to be all... yeah, the building in which you are continuing to live is a dump... but she seemed pretty determined that it was and I didn't see the point in arguing.

There's more to this moving story but to jump ahead a little, my dad is having a plumbing problem so we're camping out in Brooklyn for the rest of the week, then next week we're crashing at my mom's while she's away.

Everyone I've mentioned "plumbing problem" to has had a similar reaction, so I won't be offended if you made this face...

Packing

We moved today! Well, most of our stuff, anyway... we have until this Saturday to be completely out.

I'll get to the moving story but, first, here are some gratuitous shots of my sister's cat, Frosty (who has lived with us until now), helping us with the move...

helping me pack my shoes

helping me pack my suitcase

helping my sister, Amy, move her mattress

having a sit-in on the boxspring

For my husband, who said my first post was "cute" but needed more pictures. Ya welcome!

Pilot Post

This Sunday, some professional movers (see? I'm a grown up) are coming to take my husband's and my stuff from our beloved Brooklyn apartment ("beloved" is too strong, but it's ours) and move us to Huntington, Long Island.

In the words of Snooki (and probably baby Lorenzo) "wahhhh!"

After living not with my parents through college, business school, working... I'm moving back home. Why? To save money! (Surprise! Bet you thought I was doing it for fun!) Well actually, before I can save money, I have to pay off my credit card debt from the wedding and honeymoon. whoops.

My husband, Tom, and I are going to be staying with my dad because my mom's house is too small and my mother-in-law's house is too far from work. And, after all, moving in with her divorced dad in the house where her parents' marriage fell apart is the dream for most new wives.

In case you can't tell, I'm not super excited about this move. But it's happening.

Won't you join me in seeing how this drama unfolds?