Holly Jolly Christmas

Another Christmas has passed us by, and it was lovely. On Christmas Eve, we went to dinner with friends and then got into our jammies and played poker till close to midnight. Then our friends went home and Hubby and I opened our gifts to each other (while TJK looked on). Can you say Rebecca Minckoff and jackelopes and jewelry? I sure can :)

Besties on Christmas Eve

On Christmas morning, TJK opened her presents and was in heaven with all the Star Wars and American Girl Doll stuff. There was no hoverboard to be found - I think we will wait till they stop catching on fire and exploding before dipping into that pool. We then went to my parents' house with the aunts and uncles and cousins, and it was really nice. I always feel so lucky when I'm with my family. Not only am I super-close with my cousins of all ages (from the 4 year old to the 25 year old to the ones closer to my age), but I'm also lucky enough to consider my aunts and uncles as my friends, too. I spent about half an hour hanging out with one of my aunts on the porch, just gossiping and talking and having a few drinks. Couldn't love it more.

The day after Christmas, we finally made our way into NYC for the day. We usually go in one Sunday before Christmas to do the traditional holiday stuff, but this year was just too crazy. So we went in afterwards, and saw the tree and the store windows (always love Bergdorf's the best) and had dinner at Lasagna, one of our favorite restaurants. Hubby even bought me a belated gift of jewelry on 5th Ave. The best thing we did, though, was to take a quick detour upon arriving in the city to go down by the World Trade Center. I have yet to go up in the new building - it's still too soon for me, and I know I will just bawl and bawl. But across the street is a mall which had a light installation which was so amazing.

Beautiful light installation at Brookfield Place, Battery Park, NYC

You put both hands on the lighted block and it changes color repeatedly. You make a wish and then let go of the block. The color from the block goes up to the lighted blocks on the ceiling and then your color spreads from where you are standing to the back of the space, as if your wish was spreading from your heart out to the world. TJK and I decided we loved this more than the Rock Center tree and the windows. It was just so beautiful and peaceful and wonderful to watch.

My daughter and two goddaughters.

Then, on Sunday, we went down to Manasquan to visit with family again. This time, it was with cousins from Scotland who are here for Christmas and New Year's in NYC. There were probably 20 of us all together in my cousin's beautiful home, and we had such a nice time. The Scotland cousins are so friendly and talkative and interesting. It was cool to hear the stories of my grandparents and great grandparents from back in the day. I learned that my grandmother actually lived in Scotland for about 4 years as a child!

Now, I'm back at work and exhausted as hell. When we have these weekends that are non-stop and sleep-free, I dread them. Then when I'm in it, I love it...because I love to be busy and I love having experiences, whatever they may be. And then the next day, I am tired and have a headache and could fall asleep at my desk, but I don't regret a single moment of it (except maybe the insane stand-still crowd trying to get to the tree in front of Saks. Disastrous.).

Birthday Eve

Last night was my Birthday Eve. I had plans with friends (and the daughters) for some time, and those plans had zero to do with my birthday. We were going to go for dinner and then come back to a friend's house and watch some bad tv whilst having drinks and gossiping.

When I showed up at the house last night, my daughter was already there. I walked into the kitchen to find one of my favorite songs ("Black" by Pearl Jam) playing for me on my daughter's phone. On the kitchen island was a bottle of Walking Dead beer by Terrapin, with all kinds of my favorite candy surrounding it and coming from the top like a flower (the kids made it!). I opened the gifts to find a really awesome book about hidden secrets of Paris (because I WILL be going to Paris again, despite ISIS's threats to the contrary), and gorgeous necklace, and 2 bottles of exceptional beer. Not to mention some great little notes from the kids, some very kind words from my friends, and then a delicious dinner out with the ladies.

I can't tell you how much this meant to me. It was all just so thoughtful - all about me, so personal, so unexpected, so lovely. They know me so well and know how to show how much they care about me. That's not an easy thing to find in a friend these days. So many people are self-centered and can't think outside of themselves, but last night I was made to feel so special. Doesn't everyone deserve that every once in a while, especially on their birthday?

When I'm thinking this year about what I'm thankful for...last night is near the top of my list!

The Long Tale of Sir Street Gypsy Louis of Newark

I am having such a hard time.

Most of the day and night, I'm okay. I am a really busy person, so my mind doesn't get caught up in tangles of thought when I need to get stuff done. But I keep having these bursts of remembrance and it is just. so. hard.

People without pets just don't get it. Your dog dies and you move on. You just get another dog. It's not a person dying, after all.

But this was my baby.
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This was the puppy who, almost 16 years ago, I picked out from the Newark Shelter. The weekend after we closed on our house, I NEEDED A DOG. We went to a few places to look at rescues and finally ended up in Newark. Not a pleasant place, and definitely a kill-shelter. When we got there, they were bringing in a passel of pit bulls, one pregnant, and the woman at the desk gave the people holding the leashes the signal - hand across the throat. Put them down.

So when we walked among the cages, with the roar of cooped-up dogs surrounding us, I was looking for someone to save. My first love at the shelter was a 6-week-old German Shepherd. It was tiny and adorable and sick. But it couldn't be adopted for a few more weeks and I couldn't wait. So we kept looking.

We came upon a cage filled with 4 dogs. Three of them were big, and they were aggressively trying to get our attention. The fourth was under the mass of the other dogs, trying to check us out but getting nipped and pushed back at every turn. I made eye contact with the little guy, and that was that. He was mine. We had him taken out of the cage and he was shy and sweet and nervous. He was also full of scars from who-knows-what and he had gum stuck in his matted fur. He was my boy.

The tag on the cage said that he was a "Black Lab Mix" - which, I didn't realize, was code for a pit bull mutt. I just saw his sweet face and kind demeanor and I had to take him home.

My husband was not so sure. He did not grow up with a dog and thought we should get settled in the house for more than 2 days before bringing a dog home. I would hear nothing of it. We took him home that day, after a stop at Petco to have him groomed (he stank) and at my parents's house to show him off. My mom freaked out that I was bringing a pit bull into my house (and, despite her being totally in love with him, she still, to the end, had a hard time telling people he was a pittie).

We name him Gypsy, as we will not conform to your gendered name expectations. Boys are gypsies too, was my answer when people questioned his moniker. He was manly enough to deal with a girly name anyway, haters.
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Day one, day two, day three...all is well. He is not quite as manly as we had expected. He is sweet and all that, but he does not bark. He chirps. Like a bird. Our friends mock us for having the one and only chirping pit bull in the world. I street-fight them to defend Gypsy's honor.

Suddenly, he starts getting mean. I think he got comfortable. He realized he now has a nice house and all the food and treats and toys he can handle. He is not living on the rough and tumble Newark streets any longer. He comes out of his shell, and he is kind of a dick.

But he is only mean to me. Me, the one who saved him from sure death. Me, the one who catered to his every whim. Me, the one who took him running in the park. This dog was trying to eat my face. I didn't know what to do. My mom was in a panic - "you need to get rid of him! He is going to murder you in your sleep!" No. He is my baby and I said I was going to save him and that's exactly what I am going to do, whether I have a face left or not.

I got scared though. This was one strong dog. He was hard to fight off. I counted the minutes till my husband got home so he could control this dogmonster. Finally, I got a trainer, who taught me in 3.5 minutes that it was all my fault and that this was not an evil dog; I was just a bad human.

Dogs are pack animals, and Gypsy thought I was beneath him in the pack. I was basically too nice to him. When he wanted to sit on the couch, I'd move so he could have my spot. When he wanted a treat, I gave him 10. Once I stopped being a dog's doormat, my sweet puppy was back and he never left me after that.

Oh, and she also tried to teach him to walk on the leash, proclaiming it to be a simple thing. He never did learn that trick - he was always just so happy to be outside going for a walk that he didn't care if he walked in circles. He just wanted to be out there.
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For the next 15-and-some-odd years, he was my loyal companion. He was waiting at the window when I pulled up to the house. He sat outside the bathroom door and waited for me every time I peed. He curled up on the couch next to me and chilled. Now don't get me wrong. This was not a lovey-dovey kind of dog. He didn't cuddle. But he was a sweetheart and he loved us.

When True Jersey Kid was born, we were nervous about how he would be with her. I mean, he was a pit bull and they eat babies, right? My mom, in particular, was sure we were going to have to get rid of Gypsy because he was going to murder the baby's face. Well, TJK was born, we brought her home, Gypsy sniffed her and then went and laid down. Did not care about this alien in his house. And the truth was: When people told me that my dog might not get along with my baby, my answer was always that the baby would have to be the one to go because I knew and loved my puppy and this baby was a stranger. Luckily, that decision never had to be made.
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Gypsy loved to go the park and was horrendous on the leash. He would pull me around the park like I was a rag doll, and he would have that pit bull smile on while he did it. This terrified people and when they saw us coming, they would hide their little chi-chi dogs while he dragged me past them. He wouldn't have hurt a fly though. He truly just wanted to play with everyone - dog, cat, bird, human, whatever - and was very exuberant about it. His exuberance came off as aggression, which was really okay with me because no one messed with me when I was with him. His playful craziness came off as homicidal, and that kept me safe. So while he wasn't a protective dog, per se, he did protect me in his own way.
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I was walking Gypsy around the neighborhood when he was maybe 8 months old, just taking a stroll around my development. This man is sitting in his driveway on a lawn chair (do people do that everywhere or just the Italians in Jersey?) and he saw me coming and basically freaked out. Ran at me. Got on the ground. Had my dog all up on him and did not care. Then finally talked to me: Can you wait here a minute? I have to get my wife, she will love this dog so much. He looks like our dog who just passed away.

So this guy runs in the house and he and his wife bolt back out. She ignores me and rolls around on the sidewalk with Gyspy, who is totally cool with it. They tell me all about their dog, with tears in their eyes, and we kind of become besties. Then, a few weeks later, they come to a BBQ at my house. The guy pulls me aside and offers me $1000 for my dog. I look at him like he's insane, for several reasons:

1. I paid $100 for this dog and got $50 back when I had him fixed. So this is a $50 street dog.
2. You can go to the shelter on any given day and get a pit bull for $100 with a $50 rebate for fixing; why do you want to pay $1000 for mine?
3. Um, you freak, this is my baby and you know that and do you think for one minute I would sell him to you for any amount?

So I tell him no, hell no, hell fucking no. The next day they go and get a new dog who could be Gypsy's twin and we never see them again. Very strange.
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I am very protective of my dog, and I will not have him disparaged in any way.

So we start hanging out with Diddy, who is a co-worker of my husband's and also Patsy Darling's boyfriend. He is annoying when he drinks and we fight all the time (not any more, but we did back then).

I'm pouring tequila shots for us all and as we are doing the shots, of course Gypsy is right underfoot. Some tequila gets spilled on him. Diddy starts yelling that my dog is 50 Cent. He is all shot up.

I get furious because in my drunken state, I am assuming that because my dog is black and is from Newark, Diddy is calling him a thug. This becomes an ongoing joke, and Gypsy comes upon another of his nicknames: 50 Cent.
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We go to CT every year for Thanksgiving and 4th of July. In 2004, TJK was going up to CT for her first Thanksgiving. She was 11 months old. We leave Gypsy home, with a friend of ours staying at the house to watch him.

We get home on Sunday and of course, Gypsy bounds for the door when we get there and greets us as his long lost family (which we are). As soon as she sees him, TJK says her very first word: Gypsy. She pronounces it "Gypy" which becomes another of his nicknames.

My kid did not say Mama or Dada or No for her first word. She called her dog. For some strange reason, this was always a source of pride for me.
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There are a thousand stories I could tell about Gypsy Lou, and I may come back at times to add them when they come to mind.

This is a dog who was so loved. So loved that for the past 2+ years, he has been peeing in the house due to kidney disease, and we just cleaned up after him every day, sometimes multiple times a day. So loved that again due to kidney disease, he got up 2-3 times a night for the past several years and we had to get up with him and let him out (okay, so Hubby did most of that). So loved that even though he had been sick for a couple of years and wasn't himself and walked sideways and had several strokes...I couldn't let him go. I still saw a spark in him, that spark of a puppy who still wants to run and greet you even though his legs won't take him any more.

I can't talk yet about the whole process of saying good bye. I'm going to leave this here and just say that every word has been typed with tears in my eyes.

Miss and love you, LouLou.

Recording History

So the truth is that I live a really great life. I have a job that I don't hate (most days), a brilliant and smart and gorgeous daughter, a husband who is so wonderful that all my girlfriends want to find a man like him, a beautiful house that's fully paid off, a convertible BMW, and all the purses and shoes a label whore could possibly want. And on top of that, I have so much fun. We just do fun things together and make every bit of life an adventure on our own terms. So what that means is that no, we are not jumping out of planes. But we are hopping in the car on a moment's notice to go to the racetrack and then to wander the boardwalk and then find some new place to eat. Or that we are hearing about that new brewery and popping in on day one to celebrate with the owners and letting them know that we will be back often. Or going to see an old punk band at a theater an hour away and seeking out a new joint in that neighborhood for dinner and cocktails. So it's not that we are adventurous, per se. It's more that we just decide to do stuff and then we do it.

Most people I know have calmed down a lot. They have kids, some of them. And they just don't want to be tired all the time. And I get that, because I am fucking tired all.the.time. But my motto since high school has been "I'll sleep when I'm dead" and I still adhere to that. We generally do something at least one weeknight per week, and then Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday. We just like to go. We like to explore. We like to be together as a family, bonding over visiting our favorite places again and again or finding a brand new favorite.

I decided that I wanted to document our summer in some way, and a scrapbook seemed to be my best bet. I'm forever picking up postcards or business cards and taking pictures of every little thing...why not put all that to use? But yo, I'm not that kind of girl. I am not the picture of a scrapbooker. So I'm going to make my own way of it - modern scrapbooking? cool scrapbooking? urban scrapbooking? punkbooking? I have no bloody idea. But I want to be able to have a way to show my daughter, when she gets older, here is what we did when you were 11, before you were a teenager and potentially shunned us from your life. Here's all the fun we had. Here are all the cool places we went and all the awesome things we did. Here's you, here's me, here's Daddy, here are Grammy and Pop, here are your friends...and here's how we all spent our summer.

So off I go...starting my documentation of the Summer of 2015, which starts with Memorial Day weekend. So far, we have 2 breweries, mini golf, a diner visit, a trip to Asbury Park to the boardwalk and Johnny Mac's and dinner, a visit to the racetrack for food truck day, dinners out, a concert by TJK herself where she dressed as Dolley Madison...and that is just the past 4 days.

This is going to be one full scrapbook.

Short List 2015

You know what a short list is, don't you? It's the list of 5 people (a laminated list, if you are Ross Geller) who you can sleep with and your significant other can't get mad. It's basically your get-out-of-jail-free card.

So I was reading back in this blog (wow, I was quite amusing and a lot of fun, if I do say so myself) and I found two short lists I'd made in the past. I haven't looked at them yet (no cheating!) but I am going to link to them. I can't wait to compare.

ETA: Here is my 2006 list and my 2005 list. Only Eddie Vedder and Jared Leto are repeats! How interesting.

1. Eddie Vedder: I have gone totally old school lately. I saw Pearl Jam in concert (for the millionth time) last October and it just reinvigorated my obsession with the band and with Eddie. He is just so passionate and when he sings, his soul shows. I love that. Not to mention that he is so gorgeous and that his voice is just so mmmmmmm.

Oh Eddie....loved you in 1992 and love you now.

2. Jared Leto: Ok so I can't say I love his look lately. The Jesus thing doesn't really do it for me. but at his core, Jared is just so good looking that no matter how ridiculous his current persona is, it does not matter. His bone structure is amazing. His eyes are OH MY GOD. And I wish I had his hair (although I would wash it).

I'd even do you with your Jesus hair.

3. Michael Pitt: I developed a crush on him a few years ago and it hasn't quit. I had never heard of him before and then I saw him and fell in lust. I even started listening to his band, Pagoda. But really, it's all about that face. I mean, those lips. Nuff said.

Oh Mr. Pitt. You can reach out and touch me any time.

4. Aaron Paul:I thought maybe I really had a crush on Jesse Pinkman, the character he played on Breaking Bad, and not really Aaron himself. But no. If you hear this man talk about his wife and the way he totally reveres her...it's breathtaking. So I guess really, I wouldn't sleep with him because I love the relationship he has with his wife but he's still on my list because yum. Look at that face.

Yo, bitch! Get in my bed!

5. Channing Tatum: My type is usually long hair, dirty, tattooed...you know, that boy who you know is going to be trouble because he is going to crash on your couch and eat all your food and play with his band all night and get arrested for something or another. Which is why Channing Tatum surprises me. I love him despite him being completely against my type. I love his all-American face. I love his body. I love his abs. I love his general hotness without seemingly anything going on behind the eyes. And I don't know why. Other than holy hotness, this is one good looking man.

At ease, soldier.

BONUS: If I ever run into this guy,whoever he is, he's all mine. YOWZA.

A Good and Happy Life

I haven't blogged here in so long. It's not because I had nothing to say or because I didn't have time...it's because life just got in the way. Something about the calendar turning to 2015 made me think about this blog again and remember how much fun it was to document all the fun I was having in my life. And I figured, my life is just as fun now as it was back then (if not more so)...why am I not posting about it? Even if no one reads a word on this page, I love to write and I got away from it when I got away from this blog. So here is my plan. My resolution, shall we say:

I will blog here at least once a week in 2015. I am committing to that.

I don't even remember what I used to blog about, other than my Princess (who is now 11 years old) and Hubby, and partying with Patsy Darling and Diddy. So of course, there will still be posts about all of that, since they are all solid parts of my life. But I'd expect some fitness posts, some green smoothie posts, some travel posts, some craft beer posts, maybe some fashion and politics posts...and I guess we'll just have to see where the year takes me to find out what else.

This is really going to be about me getting time to write about my life. I swear, I stop myself all the time and say "Wow, this is a good and happy life you have here." I want to challenge myself to getting it down on paper (or screen or keyboard or whatever). I'm up for the challenge!

Edited to add: I just found this on a blog post from 2007, about what I hoped to accomplish in the next few years...and I did ALL of these things. Time to be proud of me ;P

I hope to: be promoted to Director, go to Oktoberfest in Germany and maybe back to New Orleans or Vegas, take my daughter to her first concert, and get one of those Sharper Image massage chairs.