Day 30 - Chefs!

The text simply said hamburger meat.  Considering we've been together for over two years, I know that was meant to be a reminder.  Shorthand, if you will, for please stop at the grocery store and pick up some hamburger meat for dinner tonight.  You see, after this much time, we skip many of the formalities and cut right to the chase.  While stuck in horrid Cambridge traffic, I responded, Will do.  Heels are messed up so may stop off for sandals first.

I ended up not stopping at home first.  Instead, I decided to skip the grocery store altogether and go to the butcher instead.  Lately I've been on a kick for the best ingredients; I'm starting to realize that if you start with better quality ingredients then you (a)don't need as much and (b)it's better for you.  So, off to the butcher I went.  I ended up finding beef ribs on sale and ground sirloin for less than I'd pay for regular chuck at our local grocery store, so I picked up both.  $10 and we'll get 3-4 meals out of it?  Not bad!

When I got home, The New Husband was being particularly lovey.  "What's wrong with you," I asked.
"Nothing," he exclaimed, with a gleam in his eyes.  "Let's cook!"

"You don't ever cook with me," I said cautiously.

"I know, but I'm so excited about dinner, I want to help you cook."

I eyed him suspiciously.  "Okay then....get the tator tots from the freezer - the Trader Joe ones - and please wash the mushrooms so I can saute them."  We quickly got to work.  I was slicing and sauteeing the mushrooms and frying up the bacon - all for his monstrosity of a burger.  I don't eat mushrooms and I've cut all pork from my diet.

In the end, we made the juiciest burgers and crispy tator tots.  He slathered his with cheese, mushrooms and bacon.  Thankfully we don't eat like this every night or we'd both be dead of heart attacks in a matter of months.  "This," he said with his mouth full of food, "is the best burger.  You could put Fuddruckers out of business."

"Thanks," I said and laughed.  "I'm not quitting my day job."

"But you could.  You could is all I'm saying."

"I liked cooking with you tonight.  We should do that more often."

"Definitely!"

And so began the Era of Couples Cooking.

Day 29 - Neighbors

Not long ago, I wrote a post about The New Husband hanging out with an acquaintance in our building for whom I don't especially care.  

"What's the matter, baby," he asked me early this morning.

"Don't you hear that," I asked.  We paused and listened as the sounds of people being loud echoed from the walls of our courtyard.  "I hate this fucking place.  I can't wait to buy a house and get away from these people."

He pulled an old trick of mine, yelling out the window for them to quiet down.  We waited.  It didn't happen.  We thought the noise was coming from the playground at the end of our courtyard.  The New Husband got dressed and went outside to address the issue.  After about 20 minutes, when he hadn't returned, I called the cops.

Eventually he made his way home and explained that it was a group of friends of this acquaintance I don't like.  For the sake of character creation, let us call him Mustard - as I so often do behind his back anyway.

"What do you mean it was a friend of Mustard's," I said.  "Why doesn't he take them up to his house and hang out on his balcony and wake up his wife and kid?  Why does he need to have them hanging out in front of our building disrespecting people?  This is bullshit."  I was furious.  This is a very common problem and something that aggravates me because we pay quite a bit for rent - or at least more than either of us have ever paid for rent - and it bothers me that there are some folks here who seem to not give a crap about the fact that other people live here too.


"When I approached him about it, he got all in my face and shit.  Whatever, the cops took him away."


"Are you fucking serious?"  I was furious.  "You know, my mom always told me that when you hang out with a pieces of shit, it makes you look shitty."


"I saw Mustard, and he apologized."


"He should!"


"He should have his pieces of shit friends wake up his family instead of the rest of us!  I'll tell him that myself."


We just kept going around in circles.  Although Mustard isn't a friend, The New Husband still felt the need to defend him in my anger.  I ended up not being able to even attempt to sleep until 2 AM and then since I opted for the couch, I didn't sleep well.


Later this morning, we apologized to each other and agreed that we need to do whatever it takes to get out of here and into our own home - NOT a townhouse or a condo, but a H.O.M.E. - when this lease is up next summer.

Day 28 - Errands

For some reason, our weekends are generally either spent traveling (hello, Labor Day!) or running errands.  Of course, I also have a tendency to overextend and over-schedule myself.  Saturday was no exception.

We started the day by stopping at a local jeweler so I could drop off two rings I wanted swapped out.  I wanted to take the diamond from my engagement ring and put it in another setting and then take my birth stone from the other ring and add it to my engagement setting.  I actually wanted to use the other ring as my engagement ring, but The New Husband is quite traditional and felt he needed to get me my own ring.  Trust me, it's very appreciated, but it's much bigger than the wedding band I wanted and so it sort of overpowers it.  We should have them back in a few days and I'm super excited about it.

We then attempted to get The New Husband's haircut.  The girl we go to wasn't working, though, so we decided to come back.  Instead, we went to Trader Joe's so I could look for some gluten-free foods since I'm doing a two week experiment to see how I feel when I eliminate certain foods from my diet.  I digress.  Then it was a trip to Target and then on to the grocery store. 

For dinner, I made butter chicken - an Indian dish.  This was well received, much to my surprise as The New Husband is incredibly picky when it comes to food. I explained what was in it and once he raved about how delicious it was, then I dropped the news about it being Indian.  We must approach these things in baby steps.  You see, he loves grilled meats and yet he's refused for two years to come to a Brazilian grill with me, assuming (I can only assume) that he's not going to like it.  I know better, though.  This may be next on the list.

Days 26-27: Short and Sweet

I love that when I'm totally overwhelmed with life - ready to seriously take a step back and re-examine the choices I've made and how I got here in the first place - that I can send a simple message like "I need to come straight home.  It's been a long day and I really just need a hug".

That when I send such a message, it's received with "Okay honey" and not with a host of narcissistic or self-centered verbal diarrhea that shifts the focus so that my needs don't get met.  

That literally, what "okay honey" means is that I come home to a man who has already vacuumed, made the bed and cleaned up the living room, so that I can simply come home, kick off my shoes, get a hug and unwind.  So that I can leave the last two days where they belong - in the past - and refocus on the things I need to do versus the things I'd like to do at the moment.

I also love that this also means that for once, budgets and financial goals aside, we can have Date Night like we used to - with some takeaway, tv, and snuggling in front of the television.

Day 25 - Synchronicity

"Synchronicity is the coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related, conceived in the theory of Carl Jung as an explanatory principle on the same order as causality.  The concept of synchronicity -- when seen in a wider context -- raises strong questions concerning the existence of "coincidence" at all!  Before the concept was known by this name, people often referred to such synchronistic events as portents or omens." - DK Matai

I had dinner with a relatively new "friend."  I hesitate to take this word out of quotes because I'm not sure where we are in terms of building a friendship.  We met while taking a course together a few months ago, but this is the first time we've met outside of that space.  In any case, I have found that during the time we were in the course together, Ina presented a very good opportunity to view myself from a different perspective.  We are very much alike in some ways and polar opposites in others, however, in the context of the course, I found that I learned a lot from the experiences she shared and I hope that she found that likewise with me.

In any case, last night we met for the first time in this new capacity.  We caught up on life since the wedding with my filling her in on all of the fun details and then flipping through the album.  We oohed and ahhed and even when the food was delivered to our table - delicious Mexican food, something that was once commonplace in my life but has since been relegated to the Rare Treat category - we were remiss in even wanting to eat it so that we could finish looking at the photos.  We lingered on some, flew past others, and I reminisced the way a woman married a decade or longer might - with some nostalgia and with the insistence on only remembering the fantastic things and letting the mediocre and negligent slip away.

This is the way it should be, I thought to myself.  There's no need to let the small things turn into these large and unwieldy 'things' that can never be undone.  The more we talked, the more I realized that this was a lesson I could apply elsewhere in my life.

We caught up on her life and the relationship between she and her husband.  She's a relative newlywed herself, being married for perhaps just over or under a year.  I discussed the notion that I sometimes feel like a character.  To some of you, I'm just a series of words that magically appear on a daily basis.  In truth, I'm a wife.  A sister.  A daughter.  A co-worker.  A friend.  An enemy.  A real pain in the ass.  A confidante.  A psychologist.  A nurse.  A mentor.  An example of what to do.  An example of what not to do.  A survivor.  I can go on, but the point is that I am not just a simple, calm, rational being who sits around meditating and hoping for the best. 

I'm not just one of these things.  I'm all of them.  Sometimes when I sit back and look at the people I admire, it's generally because they're able to be all of these things, but generally not at the same time.  The more I think about it, the more scattered and disjointed I feel, especially lately with the expansion of certain areas of my life.  I've realized that the inability to keep certain things under wraps has hindered me in some ways.  It's helped to shape this ham, this character that I feel I've become.  It's been great for the narcissist in me, but it's definitely holding me back from being truly authentic. 

I used to think 'authenticity' meant certain things.  Like not giving in to The Man (thus, why I kept my nose ring through battle after battle with a certain boss).  Like saying exactly what I thought, unfiltered, at all times.  I throw my hands up and blame it on my cultural idiosyncracies when in reality it's because it's simply How I've Always Done It.  I'm loud, raucous, insubordinate and for as much self-awareness as I have, it's always couched with the edgy attitude of a person who will no longer be held down.

It's gotten me here, but it's not going to get me there.

I believe that the Universe delivers to us exactly what we need when we need it.  We may not know it at the time.  We may not realize what a blessing certain challenges truly are at the time we're going through them.  We may not understand how a chance gathering of a group of women can thoroughly change our lives, and in my case, provide me the opportunity to see myself through another lens.  This is the synchronicity of the universe and today, I am grateful.

Day 24 - Reconnecting

I haven't seen Em since the wedding.  She was a fixture in the days leading up to The Big Day - shuttling friends around and running errands and hot gluing the favors and bringing her usual sense of logic and reasoning to the chaos that was My Life then.  We had plans to meet for dinner at her place last week, but then the Great Compartment Syndrome Debacle of 2010 happened and I felt it was more important for me to stay home with The New Husband than to be galavanting with friends.  We rescheduled.


On Monday night, I hadn't slept well.  Needless to say, I didn't look so good on Tuesday.  I had a pounding headache most of the day that was threatening to turn into a migraine.  Fortunately, it didn't.  I left work at precisely five o'clock - famished - because I know that anything Em cooks is going to be amazing.  By the time I got to her house, my mascara and eyeliner were dripping down my face and I think I even frightened her dog.


She pointed to a plate of vegetable fritters on the counter.  "You hungry?  Those are for you.  Eat!"


"You don't have to tell me twice!"  She brought Korean ribs from the oven, bowls of rice, some corn on the cob and fresh salsa with tomatoes from a local farm we both frequent.


After I'd stuffed myself, she brought out cups of homemade flan, which I swear are one of her specialties.  When everything was done, she sat across the counter from me and asked, "Now, what is going on with you?  You don't look so good.  No offense, of course."


I didn't take any.  I thought about it for a second.  "I don't know. I'm in this weird place right now.  I'm not doing so great," I admitted.  "I'm so bored all the time.  I have nothing to do.  I complain and sulk.  I can't imagine I'm very much fun to be married to at the moment."


"Your problem is you always have to stay busy.  You should start your own company," she advised.  "I'll help you."


"I don't even know what I'd do.  At this point, I'm so determined to get out of debt and have a house next year that I'm willing to severely undercut my worth just to get some extra money to set to the side.  I think the problem is that I (a) don't know what I really want to do and (b) constantly reprioritize my life, sometimes on a whim."


"You have a lot of marketable skills," she said, reminding me of that scene where Napoleon and Pedro are discussing girls and what skills they look for in men.  Nunchuk skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills...I scanned my memory for the quote and realized that even in reverse, I have none of those.


"Yeah, I dunno.  I have to sort it out.  In other news, my boss told me I have to fill out time sheets.  Not like cause she doesn't trust me, but because she knows I'm clearly working more than forty hours a week."


"You haven't been filling them out?  What's wrong with you?" she asked, "Do you know how much money you're losing out on.  Oh my god!"  She paused for a second.  "You work at least fifty hours a week - always have as long as I've known you - so that's a LOT of money you're leaving on the table.  You could have had your debt paid off already with the overtime money you would have earned if you'd been filling them out.  Are you insane?"


"Quite possibly.  You know I do this to myself, right?"


"Girl, you're crazy.  Fill out those sheets.  That's another few hundred dollars a month."


"You know what I think is crazy?"


"What?"


"That you can run calculations like that in your head."


"I'm a Finance major, remember?"


"Yeah, but it kinda creeps me out."  Then we just laughed about it because in all honesty, it's a skill I admire greatly since it's not one I've ever had.


We chatted some more about options, finances and she gave me a ton of encouragement that yes, I'm doing the right thing here.  That I'm on the right path.  That the way I've laid out our financial plan is, in fact, smart and achieveable.


It was my turn in the barrel this week, but I've got the most amazing friends and support network for which a girl could ask.

Day 23 - On and on and on and on

I am prefacing this entry with a statement about how difficult it is to believe that this is interesting to anyone. I mean, anyone whose been married for a while knows that eventually all of the days meld into one big 'thing' full of bills and finances and dirty socks left on the floor and work demands and kids screaming for attention. What's fun and interesting and exciting about that? Fortunately we don't have kids screaming for attention and neither of us really have the kind of work that means bringing aggravation home to dump onto our free therapists...err, I mean spouses.

With that said, I've definitely reached a point I knew would come. Frankly, I'm surprised it's taken so long. I am now in the Post-Wedding Letdown Phase. Now, this doesn't mean that I'm depressed about some imperceptible thing that didn't go according to plan or anything like that. What it means, at least for me, is that I had so much to keep me busy in the months and especially days leading up to the wedding, that now there is this giant black hole called 'time' that I have far too much of.

I am attempting to practice patience while I wait for our thank you cards to arrive so that I can use up a few evenings by writing them out and addressing them and stamping them and all of the fun stuff that goes along with archaic communication. Then I can deliver them to the Pony Express so that sometime in the next appropriately determined year, we can express our gratitude to our extremely generous friends and family. But they have yet to arrive. They may be unceremoniously sitting in a warehouse or even on a FedEx truck as I speak, but neither of these do much for efficiency or for easing my boredom.

So again, I whinged and whined about my lack of ability to do anything. I stared inside our cabinets and left the refrigerator and freezer doors wide open while rolling my eyes about the options held within. "What do you want," The New Husband asked, trying very patiently to appease me. "Do you want a Hot Pocket?"

I scrunched my nose. "No." I continued searching. I threw myself on the couch and curled up.

"So what are you going to have for dinner?"

"Nothing."

He put his foot down, quite literally. "Nope. Get up and go get something to eat. I know how you get when you don't eat."

"I don't want anything. There's nothing interesting in there."

"There's pasta."

"I'm tired of it. I don't want anything." Eventually he gave up and I ended up having cereal because if you're going to act like a toddler, then frosted corn flakes are a perfectly acceptable dinner.

Eventually the sugar kicked in and I went back to the computer, scouring the Huffington Post and hoping that people on Facebook would provide some interesting reads, but it ultimately came down to a blog I can't leave comments on and something about bladder slings. No, really. Those were my options.

"Wanna look at more houses," The New Husband asked. And so, we spent the rest of our evening oggling MLS listings and examining Google Earth to see exactly where these houses are. "You should email that kid from the building," he said, referring to an acquaintance in our apartment complex who sells real estate, "He said he'd be able to take us out on Sunday to look at properties."

Suddenly, I was no longer bored.

Day 22 - House Hunting

The New Husband and I had plans to see his mother for brunch. We had received the books we'd made and printed with the wedding photos and we wanted to personally deliver it to his mom. She'd suggested we go to lunch and one of our favorite places - Tavern on the Square - is near where she lives, so we headed there.

After gorging ourselves on a most excellent brunch, I asked if I could stop into Rouge - another of my favorite stores - to pick up a new eye pencil. The woman who did my makeup for my wedding was there and insisted I send her photos. I promised I would. Then I pulled out my debit card and paid more for an eyeliner than I think I ever have in all my life. However, it's Paula Dorf and totally worth it, but I digress. This is not the point of this post.

"What's wrong, sweetie," The New Husband asked later that evening.

"I'm bored. I've read all of the books and there's nothing else on TV I'm interested in." I don't know how that progressed into looking online for houses, but the next thing I know, I'm logged into MLS listings in our area and he's pulled up a chair next to me to provide his usual brand of color commentary.

We narrowed down our search to the towns that we're interested in and that are both affordable and commutable. We've set our preferences - at least two bedroms and preferably a bath and a half. Most importantly, we didn't bother drooling over houses we either can't afford or would require the kind of mortage payment we don't want to struggle to pay each month (even though the bank says we're qualified for a mortgage that high).

I ran the numbers through Bank of America's Home Loan website and we decided that we'd like to stick with a mortgage payment that is around what we pay in rent now, maybe slightly higher if the house was really great and didn't need a lot of work. We're willing to put in some elbow grease, but we don't want to have to reno an entire home. Pulling up some carpets, adding some paint and possibly refinishing cabinets and/or hardwood floors are all acceptable. Having to completely redo wiring, drywall, roofs and windows - totally not going to work.

We found quite a few homes that were real gems, including this amazing single family in Stoneham (a town I totally adore). I finally agreed that as much as I love those triple decker Victorian and Colonial homes, the only way we could afford one is in Lynn - which is a hit or miss area and which won't retain property values or, more importantly, gain them. It was a great exercise to see what things we agree on (stylistically as well as what we'd change in a home) as well as the things that are non-negotiable (a decent size yard is a must).

Of course all of this could change if by some strange reason the economy were to totally turn around. I don't see any signs of that happening in the next year. I believe the recovery is going to take longer than that. While I'm bummed we couldn't do this when the $8,000 Home Buyers Credit was in place, I'm excited that we're putting our noses to the grindstone to simultaneously pad our savings and work diligently to pay off what we owe on revolving creidt so we'll be in the best possible place when we go to pre-qualify for a loan.

Day 21 - I can haz food?!?!

We didn't have much planned for Saturday. This is sort of the aftermath of The New Husband having been out late at the game and my knocking myself out with Benadryll and other meds to stop the allergy attack. Eventually we woke up, rubbed the sleep from our eyes and showered. Then we sat around, waiting.

My dim sum plans had fallen through, so I decided to use the majority of the day relaxing. Now that I've had a taste of it in Maine, I opt for relaxation - true relaxation - at least one day a week. It's hard, though, and I take it as it comes.

By the mid-afternoon, our Best Man had arrived with laundry - which is tradition in our home, now. I'd started making a roasted chicken in our new Calphalon roasting pan (a wedding gift from one of my bosses) and the scent permeated the house within a half hour of it going into the oven. The New Husband flicked the oven light on and kept watching it cook, "It smells so good!" he'd say on and off throughout the afternoon.

"And you were worried about all of those herbs and the citrus I added, silly boy," I'd tease.

Eventually, the timer rang and we set the table to eat. I'm now of the opinion that there is a negative correlation between the amount of time it takes to cook a meal and the time it takes to eat it. In this instance, cooking for about three hours yielded scarfage in about fifteen minutes. This is confirmable on days when I make a fresh Italian gravy as well. Three-to-six hours of cooking means the food will be gone in fifteen minutes or less. Cooking a quick thirty minute meal results in scarfage taking far longer.

"I should come for Sunday dinner more often," The Best Man said.

"But it's Saturday," I retorted.

"Yeah, but this might as well be Sunday dinner."

"I'll give you that. Well, you're welcome any time. You don't even need to wait until your laundry is ready."

I reminisced about the days when I was younger and my entire family would cram themselves into either my grandmother's or my mother's apartment and we'd all eat and play cards or Rummikub. It was a weekly thing and we all looked forward to it, except maybe now that I'm older I can see how the Hostess might not've enjoyed all of the work, but the end result was always the same - a wonderful meal shared with family and friends every week.

I miss that.

Day 20 - Invaders

"Hey, my sister's friend won tickets to tonight's Sox game. Do you mind if I go?"

"No," I said, "Have a good time." This gave me a chance to flip through my contacts to see who I could call to hang out. I used to have a huge issue with making my partner my life and I've worked really hard to overcome this. With that said, I do try to respect the need for couple time, and so I fit in friends around our schedule on a regular basis. "I'm gonna make plans then, so I'm not sitting at home just waiting for you."

"Cool! Have a good time tonight."

"You too!"

I called up a friend - Milo - who had just received some great news earlier in the day. She was free, so we decided to go to dinner. We mulled over the decision of where to go. "Chinese!" I exclaimed, "I so rarely get to have Chinese food since The New Husband doesn't eat it. Let's go! I'll pick you up in about a half hour."

We went to this fabulous place in Reading. I love hanging out with Milo and picking her brain about things because while we think quite alike in a lot of ways, she's almost like my polar opposite in terms of the political spectrum and she always provides an interesting perspective. Also, it's nice to chat with someone who holds true to their beliefs without getting frustrated and just telling me I'm a "god damned liberal" - the nicest thing my Grandfather has probably said when we've debated. I digress.

The New Husband called around the fifth inning, "We're getting killed. It's 11-0 now. We're going to leave after 'Sweet Caroline'. See you soon!"

I came home and relaxed, perusing CNNMoney and Motley Fool. I'm serious when I say I want us to get out of debt and into our own home next year. Our lease is up in June. That's less than a year. I started itching. First it was my shin. Then, my elbow. Eventually I caught myself scratching my chest, my face and my opposite hand. "Shit," I said, "I must've eaten something to set off my allergies. Clearly, this post was never about the Swedish rock band, The Hives. Of course the best way I know to handle this is to write a post about it on Facebook.

I immediately started getting text messages and a call from my friend Nic. "I have Benadryll," she said. I made my way over to her place, popped two and waited there for them to kick in. Eventually, I made my way home, expecting The New Husband to walk in any minute. By 11pm he still wasn't home. I'd sent him a text two hours earlier about the allergic reaction, with no response.

I called. "Where are you?"

"We're at Kenmore now. We stayed til the end. I'll be home soon."

I have no idea what time he actually got home because I finally passed out from the Benadryll. I vaguely remember him saying something about a power outage on our train line and him kissing me goodnight and tucking me in.

I tend to downplay the severity of incidences like these. However, it wasn't that long ago that literally everything I ate sent me to the Urgent Care center for epinephrine shots and the doctors told me that if I came back, they were going to put me on steroids. No thank you! With that said, I have had issues where allergic reactions have gotten so bad that I've had my throat start to close and then it gets really dangerous. Nic kept asking me if I was feeling okay, was it getting any better or worse, and I was just trying to keep myself calm enough to not make it so bad that I'd have to go to the hospital.

This morning, I said, "I'm kinda bummed that you stayed for the whole game. I don't know what happened with that text, but it all worked out in the end."

"I know, I'm sorry. I wanted to leave, but you know how it goes."

I've tried taking it easy today, eating food that I know aren't irritating. I've still got a few itches here and there, so I'll follow up with some more Benadryll tonight.

Day 19 - Catch Me

"What are you still doing here," a coworker asked.

I sort of shoved myself against the door frame, rolled my eyes and sighed, "I've got work to do." Not that I mind having work to do. This question made me think, however, that perhaps I'm a true nine-to-fiver except in extreme cases. This was an extreme case. A project is coming off the rails right as its about to launch. "I just need to figure this one piece out and then I'm going to take some editing home," I said.

"You're not going home to The New Husband," another one asked.

"Him," I asked, while pursing my lips and rapidly expelling air, "He's been calling me like crazy trying to find out when I'll be home. He'll be fine." And with that, we switched gears so I could get the answers I needed and finish what I needed done.

When I got home, he was showing our wedding photos to an acquaintance in our building. "Oh hey, Sal," I said when I walked into the apartment, "What's going on?"

"Just looking at wedding photos," he said. "You're just getting home?"

"Yea," I said nonchalantly while putting my bag on the counter and scanning the house while quickly building into panic mode that someone was in my apartment when it wasn't completely spotless.

Eventually he headed home and while I was proofreading a document on the couch, squinting because let's face it, Ikea doesn't really sell rice paper lamps that can give off much light, The New Husband asked, "You hungry? I'll heat up some leftovers for you."

"Yea, that's would be great," I said, nary looking up from my work.

He heated up a plate of pasta and brought it to the coffee table in front of me. "Sorry," he said, "We ran out of the cheese you bring home from New York."

"I know," I said. I put the paperwork down. "Thanks so much, hon," I said, giving him a kiss. "I really appreciate it."

"Any time."

What do these interactions have in common? Well, for starters I realized that harking back to my Anger Management days, sarcasm is really a cover for anger. About something. Anything. And indifference, which is more of what I felt I might have been exhibiting in these interactions, is really damaging to relationships. Not exactly the best way to start off a marriage.

And then, the migraine kicked in. I had a migraine when I was about fourteen. I thought I was going to die. I'd never had another one until a few days ago, but I knew that the sensitivity to noise and light meant it was more than a mere stress headache. I ended up taking a Percocet I had left over from my surgery, which ended up being a bad idea. I'd forgotten that the stupid things dull the pain, but keep me awake all night. I'm a zombie. Bridezilla indeed.

Day 18 - Infantitis

I spent the better part of my afternoon talking to my friend Jen about how the hell people afford to have kids. "You just work it out," she'd say.

"But how?" I'd lament, citing an average cost of $300 per week for infant daycare, the cost of diapers, skyrocketing insurance premiums, just for starters.

"You re-prioritize what's important," she said. "There are so many things that seem like necessities when you're not a parent. You find out pretty quickly, that's not the case."

On the other side of the screen, I grunted. I also bristled at the notion that I don't know the difference between a want and a need. I mean, I manage our finances and I've been doing a lot of reading, learning and shuffling things around so that we're in the best possible financial situation.

"How much do you guys bring home after taxes?" she asked. And thus began the long, hard and often times painful examination of where our money goes. This should not have been difficult since I have been hyperfocused on this in the weeks since the wedding. I'm throwing every possible cent towards becoming totally debt free, to the point that at times, it feels really uncomfortable. We run through the absolute basics - rent, car payment, car insurance, gas, utilities, groceries. I discover that I'd be left with enough to cover daycare and still have a whopping $140 left at the end of the month.

"Too tight!" I said, panicked. I should note that I am not even, in fact, pregnant. I am nowhere near it. Suffice it to say, however, that the idea of being that tight financially sent me into full blown anxiety attack mode. We re-ran the numbers a bunch of different ways and with different scenarios: no debt; a mortgage with no other debt; some car and personal loan debt but no credit cards. The numbers began to ease up a bit and I started to go from blue to beige and all seemed right with the world. "I think we can do this," I finally admitted. "But let's be clear. I am not ready."

On my way home, I thought more about it. I don't sleep in anyway, I thought. Clearly, it's more than that. You have to be truly ready to give up a certain amount of freedom. Certainly not all of it, but it does require sacrifice, even for the very rich who don't come up with $140 left at the end of the month. We love to take off on weekends and just drive. We love to have the extra money to party and see our favorite DJs when they come to town (or ya know, within about 8 hours of Boston). I, for one, love manicures and pedicures. We also love having a clutter free house.

"How was your day," he asked me when I got home from work. He was still laying on the couch, leg elevated and iced.

"Very stressful."

"Why?"

"I started running the numbers to see if we can have kids."

"What? I thought we were buying a house first."

"We are, but you know me. I'm The Planner. I don't even want to entertain it if we can't do it."

"Kids are expensive."

"I know. I ran the numbers."

"We can't afford them."

"That's what I thought too. Turns out that we can. Assuming I have complete control over both of our incomes since I had to factor your income to make it work and it was really, really, like uncomfortably tight."

"Well what kind of time frame are you thinking," he asked.

"If we're able to buy a house next year, then how about the year after that? That gives us time to get used to being married, then some time to get adjusted to being in a house and then we can take the plunge. I mean, like, the real one. I mean, if we're going to do this, we really need to try before I turn 35. That would mean trying between 33-34. What do you think?"

He took a deep breath, obviously relieved that I didn't mean that we should meet with Boston IVF next week. "I think that sounds perfect."

"I mean," I said, "I'm totally fine with not having kids too."

"So am I. They're expensive."

"Yeah, I said to Jen 'if it came down to $1200/month for daycare for 18 months or having that same almost $22K in my savings account, I'd rather have the money'."

"Shit. Me too."

Later that evening, I stopped by Nic's place to drop off some dessert I'd made. We started chatting about the day's conversations and she confirmed that yes, kids are expensive. Yes, you do have to sacrifice. And that yes, she wasn't ready when she had her daughter either, but you adapt.

"You totally have Sierra-itis," she said, referring to her daughter.

"No I don't." I protested.

"You do too. I saw how you were looking at The New Husband on Sunday when he was watching her and playing with her."

Ugh. Clearly, I still haven't mastered the art of Mask Face - you know, not wearing your emotions on your face. I finally relented, "You're right. He'd make a great dad. Did you see how great he handled her being fussy and stuff? Poor thing, I hope those teeth come through soon."

I have a fierce case of Infant-itis.

And with that, I admitted defeat and went home.

Days 16-17: In Sickness and In Health

It wasn't that long ago that we agreed to the words 'in sickness and in health' so imagine my surprise when the 'in sickness' decided to test us so soon. Last night, I received a text message about going to play basketball. This is pretty typical a few times a week. I decided to use the time to rebalance my 401(k) and get a better handle of our finances. Because math doesn't come naturally to me, this is something I have to do when I can be super focused.

Around 8:30 p.m. The New Husband comes limping through the front door. "That doesn't look very good," I said, stating the obvious.

"Yeah, it kinda hurts. I did something to it."

I dramatically checked the clock, "You mean like playing for...I dunno...three hours?"

"That might have a little something to do with it." He limped to the couch.

"Put your leg up on the arm of the couch. I'll get you some naproxen and ice."

"What do you think I did?"

"I dunno. Where does it hurt?"

He starts gesturing and explaining and I determine from my limited wisdom that it's either shin splints or quite possibly a stress fracture. Please just let it not be a stress fracture I repeat to myself. Eventually, he falls asleep on the couch. I help him get to bed.

This morning, after watching him hobble around the house, I said, "I really think you've got to go to the ER or Urgent Care. You need an x-ray to rule out a stress fracture." Of course he hemmed and hawed about it, but off we went.

We didn't have to wait long. The doctor sent him for an x-ray, which thankfully showed no fractures - full or hairline. I asked him about the possibility of shin splints and then the language barrier kicked in and we had a disagreement that resulted in an orthopedic being called down to examine The New Husband.

After a series of exams and tapping and marking points on his feet, we learn that he has 'anterior compartment syndrome' which tends to happen with overuse. He's out of commission for a few days - no work, just rest; ice; compression; NSAIDs; repeat. After most of Day 1 laying on the couch with a freezer pack on his leg, he's walking better, so there is hope that by tomorrow night he'll be well enough to be ready to go back to work on Thursday.

He and I are so alike in our inability to just 'do nothing.'

Day 15 - Still Partyin' Like Rock Stars

After some confusion about where exactly we were supposed to be hanging out yesterday afternoon (our building's billiards room) and what kind of hot sauce we were supposed to bring for the buffalo chicken dip (we settled on Frank's), we made our way to the party to celebrate our friend Nic's upcoming birthday. We [okay, I] gorged ourselves on dip - artichoke spinach, buffalo chicken, Mexican bean, and fresh salsa with cilantro.

Much of the afternoon was spent BS'ing, eating, and throwing back some beers (mostly the guys) and champagne and wine (for me). We watched the Red Sox game while booing Texas at the appropriate times and the guys spent most of their time watching Nic's daughter so she could enjoy her "Mommy Free Day".

Somehow the conversation switched to being pregnant and the process of labor. Since I'm not the person who can have an 'oops' since I can't just get pregnant; it's a more involved process, I found this conversation astounding, really. The brutal honesty in the room made me laugh at times and at others, made me seriously consider whether this is something I could really see myself doing. "I don't think I'll even be ready to think about it til I'm 35," I told the room.

Hearing about the woes and costs of daycare pretty much cemented the deal for me.

Later, when we got back to our own apartment, I said, "New Husband, will you still love me if I'm never ready to have kids?"

"Of course."

"Is it something you feel you have to do or like your life won't be complete or something?"

"Of course not. And besides, my life is complete."

"Oh come on, I'm being serious."

"I am too. Look, having a kid isn't going to make or break me. I could have one or not. I don't feel strongly about it either way."

"But you're so good with kids. I mean, look at how great you were today with Nic's daughter."

"Yeah, but we feel the same way about them, it's nice to give them back too."

"You know, I'm wondering how the hell people even afford kids. Did you hear that woman say that she pays $600/month for three days a week of daycare? I don't even know how we'd pay that!"

"People have kids all the time and figure that stuff out later. No one is ever really ready for them."

"I guess. I dunno. That one lady said she paid like $50 out of pocket for in vitro. We have the same insurance."

"Well, if and when you're ready we'll check it out."

"I think the order should be house, dog, kid."

He laughed, "You're such a planner."

Day 14 - Shop Til We Drop

We received a few gift cards as wedding gifts, and I'm pretty sure that no one likes a gift card more than I do. I mean, sure, we registered for things. But the gift card means we get to prioritize the things that are important. In short, I love them.

We decided to shop this weekend as it's our Tax Free Weekend here in Massachusetts. Our first stop was to Bed, Bath & Beyond where we registered. We had precisely sixty dollars to spend. After a frustrating morning attempting to get the old jersey sheets to stay on the corners of the bed, and with a few more weeks of warm summer weather left, we decided that our top priority was to buy some sheets.

While we registered for another few sets of jersey sheets, when we went around feeling them up (because let's face it, how else do you know you're going to like them?), we decided there was another set with higher thread count that we liked better. I was leaning towards the taupe color, but The New Husband apparently has an interesting eye for design that I didn't know was there, because his selection was actually better in our space - cream.

We meandered around, considering towels. Shower curtains. "Oh hey," I said, "How about that really cool garbage can we registered for?"

"Oh yeah, I totally forgot about that! Let's get it." We ended up purchasing the Simply Human 10.5 gallon slim plastic step can. It's probably the most expensive garbage can I've ever owned. And I mean, it's plastic, people. However, it's clear that I'm a Wife now because things like shocks on the garbage can so it can close itself ever so gently, make me squee. Also, we opted for grey rather than white because our last one was white and it showed every bit of ick. We won't make that mistake again.After this excitement, we headed to the grocery store. We shop at a local place known for its deep discounts - Market Basket. Now, Market Basket isn't for everyone. See, in places like New Hampshire, the people are nice, the layout is orderly. But we don't make the 45 minute drive to another state to do our grocery shopping. We go to the one in Chelsea which is chaos incarnate. The photo below must have been as soon as they opened on a day mid-week because I've actually never seen it like this. Today was no exception.

We haven't been to the grocery store in three weeks thanks to the wedding prep and then the honeymoon, followed by just diving back into work last week. We had a little more than average, but it wasn't bad. And yes, you can still very easily tell what food is for me and what is for the New Husband. With that said, we did get him some awesome mushrooms to saute this week.

After the fun task of putting away three weeks of groceries, we headed back out to use up the $150 gift card we had for Crate & Barrel. Let me start by saying that I'm far more a West Elm girl, but I never turn up my nose at gifts. And besides, this gave me a chance to really explore the store without any pressure.

We checked out the entire store, thinking we may purchase a rug to replace the one under the dining room table. Then we realized that the size we could afford was too small to help define the space. One really cool thing that came out of that experience though: our sense of style is definitely merging as we both preferred the same rug for the space. Once we realized the rug wouldn't work and that $150 wasn't going to make a dent in the purchase of a headboard (the only other big thing we could have really used), we headed back to the kitchen section, mildly disappointed.

We ended up picking up a few things that we realized we could really use: OXO pop containers (airtight! I'm in love with these right now), two new cutting boards, some serving utensils, another set of tongs, a packet for mushroom dip (for the New Husband), a packet of spice rub for steaks, and perhaps the thing that made me the most excited: Bellini jam! Still, it didn't feel like $150 worth of stuff, but I did notice that much like some of NYC's high end stores, sometimes leaving with the smallest bag meant the most amazing purchase(s).

Day 13 - Pounding. Screeching. Kill Me.

I am lying face down on the bed. My face is buried in the pillow. I hear the key in the electronic lock and I know he's home, though I wasn't expecting him yet. I hear his bookbag and keys get flung onto the kitchen counter. I want to cry. "Bay-beh-looz," I hear him call. We don't have any way to spell this particular nickname, but that's how it sounds. "Where are you?"

"In bed," I half whisper, half speak.

He comes in the room and takes a look at me. "Well this can't be good."

"Understatement of the year," I whisper.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I have the beginnings of a migraine."

"Okay, well don't worry about cooking," he says, likely not knowing that a migraine means I'm not doing a whole helluva lot of anything. I think I've had only one other one in my life. "Can I get you anything?"

"Yes, some naproxen. It's on the kitchen counter."

He brought me two naproxen and a cup of ice water. "Anything else? What should we do about dinner?"

"Why don't you just go to the place next to Kappy's?" I give him an order explicitly including some soda, which I very rarely drink, but knowing it can help curb migraines, especially in the very beginning.

He came home a little while later with dinner and a can of Pepsi for me from the vending machine down the hall. He made this awesome plate for me with a little of everything and I dragged my ass to the couch, curled up with the Red Sox blanket I made for him last fall and started feeling better after about an hour thanks to the naproxen and Pepsi.

"Feel better," he asked. I nodded. "I hate when you don't feel well. I hate seeing you sick like that."

Thankfully my health has been on a steady increase since my surgery a month before the wedding. It's so reassuring to know he's here, though, ready and able to take care of me when and if I need it.

Day #12 - Putting the Damage On

"Hey, I just want to let you know that I got into a car accident, but I'm totally fine."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I just said I was fine."

"You sure?" The New Husband is clearly concerned since he's not there to assess the damage himself.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. I still have to pick up the marriage license and then I'm coming straight home. I'm not going to run the other errands."

"Okay, I'll see you at home. Be safe."

I don't much take my foot off the brake the rest of the way to City Hall and further on to home. I slide into a parking space near the entrance of our building, and still shaken, make my way to our apartment. He comes home not long after. "Where's the car. I didn't see it."

"It's right in front. I'll come out with you and show you the damage."

We make our way down the hall and into the marble lobby and eventually out to the parking lot. I walk him around to the front of the car. "So, I had my foot on the brake and I was easing it off, but I wasn't looking ahead because I was actually looking for the turn to City Hall. I only tapped the guy at like less than five miles an hour."

"Well how much damage did he have to his car?"

I walk over to an SUV parked nearby. I point to the rubber piece atop the normal bumper. "See that rubber piece? Well that came off, and then see how the bumper wraps around like that? Well that wasn't off, but it wasn't sitting flat against the car anymore, it kinda popped out a little bit."

"That doesn't sound so bad. So what's wrong with your car?"

We go back over to my car and we're looking at the front end, "Oddly enough, it only cracked this piece right here," I said, pointing to a small crack in the front that covers the air intake, "But I'm concerned I may have bent the frame because look, my hood doesn't sit flat anymore and there's a little accordian fold right there towards the driver's side window."

"This isn't bad at all, considering you hit an SUV."

"I know! I'm surprised!"

"I wouldn't have even gotten the insurance companies involved."

"I didn't want to, but he insisted. I noticed he had a commercial driver's license, even though the vehicle looked personal. I wonder if that had anything to do with it. Oh well."

He gave me a hug. "I'm glad it wasn't worse."

I hugged back, "Me too. I think I have ADHD."

"What? No way."

"Yeah, so I was reading about it and it says that in adults, the hyperactivity can come across like being easily distracted and constantly having racing thoughts and being engrossed in a million things at once..."

He cut me off, "Yeah, that's you alright."

"Well I always just thought it was me being Type A. You know how I always preface things with that." He nodded. "But I think it's more than that. This is technically my third accident in a year."

"You don't pay attention much when you're driving."

"That's my point! I mean, the two others were me hitting inanimate objects, but still...they caused damage to my car. I know how to drive. I don't think I need lessons. It's not that...it's that when I'm behind the wheel, I become completely distracted by everything else - even if the everything else is the stuff running through my mind. I think I'm going to get checked out."

"Those tests are expensive."

"I know, but we have insurance."

"So what are you going to do if they tell you you have it?"

"I don't know. I'd have to see what treatment plan they recommend."

"Alright, well, you do what you feel you need to do."

Most of our evening was spent in separate locations. I sat at our computer for over five hours putting together a book of our wedding photos to print and make for our parents and grandparents. An old acquaintance of his was coming by for a visit, so he went to the billiards room with another acquaintance from the building - one that I don't particularly care for - so I just continued working until I finally couldn't keep my eyes open anymore.

We had a good chat when he came home about how I don't like this particular acquaintance and how I'm glad he doesn't spend that much time with him. This is a far cry from how we communicated and handled situations two years ago when we first began dating. I can accept that he's got some people in his life I don't like and that doesn't mean he needs to not have them in his life, particulaly since he doesn't bring them around me, which eases tensions. At the same time, there are some folks in my life that he's less than pleased with, but it doesn't disrupt our relationship either.

Day #11 - Well Hello, Volcano!

You know that line in Eminen's new song "Love the Way You Lie"? You know, the one about "Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano..." That is precisely what happened last night when an overly stressed and cranky New Husband met an overly cranky menstruating wife. I hear the resounding UGH now.

We received four CDs worth of photos from our photographer last night; encased in plastic and then wrapped in an unassuming manila envelope, which was shredded by the time I got home. The New Husband was chatting with his mom and waiting for me to get home since he knew I'd stopped at our Leasing Office to pick up another package. "Pics came," he said nonchalantly.

Mapquest tells me that I work 10.5 miles from home. Ten and a half miles. I'd been sitting in traffic, ne, Terrible Boston Traffic for over an hour by the time I'd run into the Leasing Office like a lunatic to pick up the unwieldy thing. I popped the trunk, "Do you mind getting that?"

It was well after the time I'd normally have dinner ready, but that wasn't supposed to matter, you see because I'm Super Wife. I leap buildings in a single bound and I have dinner in the Crockpot all ready to go. Except that I wanted to use the last of the Maine corn we'd picked up while we were there to go with my slowly marinated and cooked ribs.

"You have to see these," he exclaimed after he'd torn open the box to discover that the replacement Correlle that BB&B had told us would take two weeks had actually taken about three days. He ran over to the computer and began furiously clicking the mouse.

"Can I drive," I asked.

"Just sit and relax and let me show you the pictures."

But I knew that there'd be a disconnect. I just wanted to flip through them fast so I could get dinner finished and then relax, but he wanted to comment on every photo, explaining in detail what he liked and didn't like about it. There were over 500 photos across the four CDs. Clearly, there was conflict.

Finally he agrees to let me start copying the files to our external drive so we can keep only the best ones we like and will use in the books we're making for our parents.

"Why can't you just use the Control key to copy and paste these?"

"Because then I have to take my hand off the mouse, move it to the keyboard, make some keystrokes between two windows and then go back to using the mouse! It's easier and faster this way, just let me do it my way."

"I think the keyboard is easier."

"You're not doing this, so let me do it how I want." He finally threw his hands up in the air, grabbed a beer and went outside for a cigarette.

Eventually we apologized to each other for being snippity because of course this is the sanitized version of events. I crashed on the couch while Rachel Maddow was interviewing a woman who is leaving West Point and going to Yale due to DADT (or Don't Ask Don't Tell for those of you living under a rock). I remember her saying that she'd return to the military when she was welcome to be who she is. I fell asleep feeling grateful that I am not only welcome to be who I am, but am loved this way...even on the days when I will slit your throat for a chocolate bar and am as bloated as a water balloon in summer time.

Day #10 - Pesky Dollars

"I'm so pissed!" he said, when I asked him if he'd just called me like two seconds ago. "Do you know that tickets to the Celtics v. Heat opener are like $400 each for the face value $20 seats?"

"I didn't know that, actually. How is that legal?"

"My point exactly!"

We used this as an opportunity to talk about finances and how we need to get better at anticipating our entertainment expenses for the year. I mean, we know pretty far in advance what games and events we're planning on attending, and we don't often have 'random' events that just pop up. He's really on top of the tour schedules of our favorite groups, so not much catches us by surprise here. Though it did seem a shocker to me that tickets to Electric Zoo actually cost me $324 by the time they added in the service charges and shipping fees, etc. I mean, yea that's $81/pp per day which for a music festival that's 12 hours long each day is a pretty fierce deal, but that's also quite a bit of money I wasn't expecting to spend. I seem to have forgotten that last year, we only attended one day.

So we worked out how we're going to use the nifty joint accounts that my bank opened for me today and I toyed with the idea of consolidating another account into our joint savings. I wasn't prepared for merging such things because we'd never intended to do so. However, when I went to the bank this afternoon, they informed me that the easiest way to deposit the gifts that people gave us to a woman who at that point didn't legally exist and included a husband whose name was not on any of my accounts prior to this, was to open new joint accounts.

I wonder if it's overwhelming if you've planned it out. If you've already had the discussion. But our plan had been to maintain our separate accounts only. We didn't think we needed joint accounts. It seems like every day I read something else that tells me that everything I thought was right, is in fact, wrong.

So there I am, sitting in the branch, reviewing the paperwork when I notice that when they created the joint accounts, they listed his name first on them.

"Excuse me," I said to the Customer Service Rep. "This is my bank. I've had multiple accounts here. He doesn't have accounts here. Why did you put his name first on our joint accounts?"

"Because he's your husband."

That's it. Because he's a man he gets listed on our accounts first. I'm sorry. I didn't know that I woke up in 1952. It was disconcerting. I'm sure it doesn't matter. Joint is joint. It's ours not mine or his, but it just felt like a slap in the face to be told I'm somehow second because I'm a wife. Maybe that's not the bank policies and this was the personal decision of the CSR, and for reasons I won't discuss on a public blog, I could see how that could be the case. But still, I felt viewed as somehow less instead of more.

I am keeping my own accounts. He is keeping his own accounts. We both believe it's important to individually have our own money and financial freedom. This is 2010, afterall.

Day #9 - Medically Speaking

There are a flurry of text messages.

What time are you coming home?

Are you working late?

I think I may go play basketball. I should be home around seven if no one is there, or eight if there are.

I love you. I'll see you when I get home.

I am concerned about practicalities like dinner and the financial discussion we need to have. It's not anything terrible like hiding $50,000 worth of debt until after the marriage or anything like that, but I did learn that with marriage comes the loss of some of my freedom. For instance, prior to our marriage, I had left a certain small percentage of my meager 401(k) to my mother. I learned today that I can now not do that without the New Husband's permission. I also learned that I cannot simply deposit the wonderful wedding gifts we received into my checking account because it is not a joint account. I can either provide him with access to the account, thus merging our finances and making it our account or he can sign a waiver allowing the checks to be deposited into an account to which he has no access. Ah, how marriage complicates things.

But these are things that would have to wait until I've dug myself out of the email at work and until he's returned home from playing basketball.

We arrive at our building at much the same time. I am crossing the parking lot and I see him drenched in sweat, carrying his basketball with a gym bag around his neck. Since when did the New Husband turn into Basketball Mule?

"Hey hon, how was your game," I asked.

"Good. It was good. I think I jammed my thumb, though."

"Can you move it?"

"Yeah, but it hurts. I was mismatched. Imagine me playing against Shaq."

"Well that's not right."

"Hey, that's how the game goes sometimes."

"So, do you want to go to Urgent Care?" I had just uttered his least favorite word combination.

"No way."

"Okay," I said, hesitantly. We had dinner, leftovers from our aggravating dinner at Polcari's the night prior with our Best Man. Aggravating because as soon as we entered the restaurant, a hostess decided to snottily share her personal opinion about the New Husband's choice of sports jersey. But I digress.

After dinner, he mentioned that his thumb was really bothering him. I've got a year or so of CNA work under my belt that comes in useful at times like these, but it also means that there is less of an inclination to get real help when it may actually be needed. A quick refresh of the memory tells me that he needs to ice it, get a brace and take some naproxen. Off to Walgreens we go!

When we get back, I fill a plastic cup with crushed ice and instruct him to keep his thumb in there for a few minutes and alternate between ice and no ice every few minutes for about twenty minutes or so. He falls asleep with his thumb in the ice, but not before I learn that this is going to impact him pretty extensively because he is left-handed.

"Of course you're not left-handed," I argue. "I never see you use your left hand for anything."

"Give me a pen then," he said. He held his arm up to show me how he writes. "Left. Hand."

"Damnit! Why didn't I know that?"

"I don't know what you don't know. You're right-handed. Why do I know that?"

"Well that's because statistically you'd have a better chance of guessing that I'm right-handed than I'd have of guessing you're not."

"What?"

"Nevermind. I can't believe I didn't know that. I'm a terrible wife."

"No you're not."

"I must be. How could I not know something like that?"

"It's fine. I think it's funny actually."

"I don't." My mind starts racing about a million other things I realize I don't know. Like his blood type. And an extensive summary of his medical history. Any surgeries he's had. Oh my God, I think to myself, What if he was ever in an accident and I needed to tell an ER nurse this kind of stuff?

I can tell you his waist size. His favorite meals. How you have to keep his towel closest to the shower curtain so he can wipe his face after he washes his hair. How great he is at taking care of me when I'm sick. How fabulous it is that he does laundry.

But God help him if he needed a transplant or something serious happened because I wouldn't have the answers.

Day #8 - All for a Buck

As usual, I am up early. I am wasting time on Facebook re-reading old posts and notes and catching up on the people who are not on my news feed but whom I can't seem to delete altogether. My phone buzzes with a text message from my friend Nic: Ask The New Husband if he wants 30 bucks to help me clean for two hours...I have to clean this shit hole.

In the end, I let him sleep and I went over instead and got to work. It was not, in fact, a shit hole. I've seen those. But the fifteen bucks an hour meant that perhaps now I could not feel guilty about the small things - like those lunches out because I'm too lazy to pack them - or something equally dull.

The New Husband stopped by not long after and said he'd use the opportunity of having me out of the house to clean our own. Not that it was in dire need of anything.

Afterwards, "So can we go to Bed Bath and Beyond to return that broken gift so we can get the new set," I asked.

"Sure."

"Okay, so I'll take you out to lunch with my earnings from today."

"Didn't you say you wanted my help to control your spending?"

"Yes."

"So here it is: use that money for something you need, like gas in your car, and not for lunch. We don't need to go out for lunch today."

I sigh. He's right. "Okay." I pause. "So can I get my hair cut instead?"

He sighs. "I thought you were growing it out to donate it."

"I was, but look at it! It's all knotted. I can't do anything with it. I hate it. I don't like it this long."

"Yeah, but I love your long hair."

"Can we compromise? I mean, it's hair. It will grow back."

"What's the deal?"

"I'll cut it, but not too short. Just enough to get these stupid ends under control and to give it some actual style so I'm not just throwing it up in a bun every day."

"Okay, let's go."

I know better than to have my hair done at SuperCuts. This one time, right after I was married to my now ex-husband I'd gone into one in Central Florida and asked for a perm. I'd come out with hair that was so short I looked like I'd had an afro. It was awful. But since I've moved to Boston and am no longer friends with my Newbury Street hairdresser and am, in fact, trying to buy a house (which means saving money is key, right?), I decided to give it a try. In truth, I'd had my hair trimmed there once before and the girl was awesome. However, that girl was not on the schedule today when we arrived.

"I don't think you should let any of them cut your hair," the New Husband advised.

I had a knot in my stomach, but the urge to get this mane under control far outweighed common sense. "I know, but I can't take it. I won't go too short, I promise."

I show the girl a photo of an Ashley Simpson-esque cut with lots of layers, fringe and sharp razor edges. It was still a medium to long length, so I wasn't going to lose much length, but would lose a considerable amount of volume - something I don't mind with my thick Sicilian hair.

Everything had been going fine. Then, she whipped the cape off, announced I was done and asked if I liked it. "No, actually, I don't."

"Well what's wrong with it," she asked, starting to get defensive.

"Everything is fine except the bangs."

"Well I don't know what the problem is."

"The bangs," I repeated. In the photo they're well into her cheek area and on my head, they're above my eyebrow.

"Well that's because in that picture, her bangs are flat ironed and waxed."

"But you did that to me and my bangs are cut too short."

"Well that's because in the picture, they brought the long layers from the crown of her head over her eye."

Now I'm furious. "Listen, why can't you just admit that you messed up my bangs and let's move on? It's hair, it will grow back and in six weeks I will love them, but for now, you cut them too short."

"Well fine, then don't pay for the cut! It's free!"

"I don't need to scam a free cut from SuperCuts,"I exclaimed, "Fortunately for you I'm not the kind of person who does shit like that." I got up, threw $25 on the counter and stormed out.

The New Husband exclaimed, "I told you not to let anyone other than Jess cut your hair there!"

"Yeah, I know!"

Once we were in the car and I'd calmed down a little bit, I asked, "So what do you think of it other than the bangs?"

"Other than the bangs, it looks great. I can actually get my fingers through it now."

This, my friends, is why we ladies should never follow our impulses, especially when they are so strong that they override our good sense.

Day #7 - Back to Life

I wake up early. I shouldn't be surprised by this, but I am. Though we had an amazing dinner with Mich last night at Gaylen's in Bar Harbor followed up by a presidential dessert excursion to Mount Desert Island Ice Cream and though we are leaving today to head home, I'd hoped to sleep in past six a.m. I began packing. Doing laundry. Making sure that the house is left in pristine condition.

The New Husband woke up shortly after. "You know I can't sleep once you get out of bed."

"Sorry. We've got to get going though."

"What's the rush?"

"Well I want to get out of here before all of the people with their Saturday to Saturday rentals are on the road. I want to get home and dig myself out of the email and voicemail black hole and we did say we were stopping at the outlets to pick up a few things for ourselves."

"True. I'll go get ready."

We had the car packed by 8 a.m. We trekked over to Mich's place but it didn't look like he was awake so we left him a note on the refrigerator and said our farewells to the Cove. Around Belfast, we got stuck behind a parade of motorcycles. It was fun to watch them pass and far less fun to be driving behind them most of the way back to I-95.

Outlet shopping was fun - for me at least. I'm genetically prone to enjoy such things. The New Husband, however, was ready to leave after his first misadventure in the Reebok store. We did manage to get some much needed items, even if I've still not cured my body dysmorphia which means that I almost always buy clothes that are too large on me and then end up disappointed when I get home. Look, those fitting rooms freak me out and distort me even further. And sizing is weird at outlets anyway.

It felt nice to get home to our own space. It was even nicer that our Maid of Honor, who stayed at our place after our wedding, had not only left the place spotless, but had also restocked some of our supplies for us.

We immediately fell into our routine. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

"No, where do you want to go?"

"Let's snuggle on the couch and watch some t.v."

"Okay, but really, think about where you want to go for dinner."

"Maybe we should stay in."

"There's nothing defrosted."

"Oh yeah, good point. Okay, so where do you want to go?" Until eventually, I just had to make the call or we would've been going in circles all night. To keep it interesting, I chose a place we've driven by countless times and had never visited. A woman played piano while we ate. We discussed the virtues of popovers, but how these weren't as good as the ones from Maine.

Ah, Maine.

Day #6 - Pie of all Pies

This morning, we decided to skip out on big chains and instead try a local dive advertised as "The place where locals eat." I've only met a handful of locals, but it appears to me that they eat well. The greasy spoon did not disappoint! For a whopping fiver, I received a filling egg, hash brown and wheat toast breakfast that meant we could skip lunch.

We noted that the sky was clearing and that this was really our last chance to get to Cadillac Mountain before needing to head home. We climbed into my car - aka The Little DVD Player on Wheels since I once saw a name inside the engine that reminded me more of an electronics company than a car company - and my poor little vehicle struggled up that big bad mountain, but eventually we reached the Summit.

We looked out over Frenchman's Bay, towards the Porcupine Islands and just soaked it all in. It was still a bit hazy, but was really the pick of the week in terms of making the trek. We looked South and squinted, trying hard to see New Hampshire's Mount Washington. It didn't happen. I got bit by something miniscule, "Okay, I've had enough of this being one with nature stuff. You ready to head back to solid ground?"

"This is a mountain. It's as solid as it gets."

"I have vertigo. Didn't you catch me almost vomiting on the ride up?"

"You flew on a Zip Line in a third world country and this gives you vertigo?"

I start making my way around the rest of the pre-determined path along the perimeter of the Summit. Eventually we head back to the car and down the hairpin turns. We stop at an overlook to take his King of the Hill photos (in short, him standing aloft a mountain whilst wearing various sports jerseys). Yes, climb every mountain indeed.

We meandered through Northeast Harbor and Seal Harbor, spying for estates of the Rockefellers and the Stewarts (or ya know, just Martha to the rest of us). At some point, we found ourselves at a rocky beach and I decided for good measure and for some spontaneity points to attempt the water. "I'm not walking on that sand...or those rocks," he said, but when he saw that I wasn't making an attempt to turn back, he followed suit.

I waded in, ankle deep, and almost keeled over. "Holy crap, this is cold!" I exclaimed, not realizing that what he was doing with his camera was recording me not simply taking photos of this event. "Okay, I'm ready to move back to Miami! I'll learn Spanish! I swear! Holy crap!" After a few more seconds, he starts laughing and says, "It's your first dip in New England's waters!"

"And my last! I'm done! Done! Totally done!" I start hobbling out of the water on my now numb feet. He steps in.

"It's not that cold."

"You're from here!"

"Not Maine."

"New England, same thing." I made my way back to the car, expounding on the virtues of Caribbean waters. We continue along to Bar Harbor and just as we've made the decision to head back to our temporary home and nap for a little while before dinner, I remember the Pie Lady. I veer off to the right into her driveway and throw the car into 'park.'

"What the hell are you doing," the New Husband asks.

"Pie!" I say, exasperated. "Look, it's the pie lady!"

"So?"

"See that sign with the old lady holding a pie in each hand? Well yesterday they sold out by 3 pm. It's almost three now. I've got to get a pie before she sells out."

He follows me out of the car and towards the ominous 'pie room' sign. "What's a pie room? Who needs a whole room for pie?"

"I'd love a pie room of my own." We enter the house and there is indeed a pie room. Now, for the uninitiated (as I once was), let me inform you that a pie room is nothing short of spectacular. It is a room. Full of pies. And other baked goods. But of course the pies are the real draw. They sat, like golden orbs on a folding table covered in oilcloth with small laminated signs in front of each row. There were danish and muffins and cookies too, but the pies.....oh, the pies.

An elderly woman enters with a pie in each hand. "Just like the sign," I whisper. He elbows me.

"Can I help you folks," she asks.

"I'd like a blueberry pie, please."

"Which size?"

I eye them all. I'd love a big pie, but I'll be the only one eating it. I know this already. I make the responsible choice for my waistline. "Small, please. Oh, and a blueberry muffin." She begins wrapping them in Saran Wrap and as she's about to return my quarter in change, I ask, "So, are these Maine blueberries in this pie?"

She cocks her head to the side as though she is deeply pondering the question, "What other kind are there?"

"Oh ya know, the regular non-Maine kind...the big ones."

"Well the sign on the pie says Maine Wild Blueberry Pie so I guess it's safe to say they're Maine blueberries."

"Oh I was just curious if people from Maine ate any other kind of blueberry."

"Why would we?" I didn't know. "But I understand your confusion, dear. When I go to Florida in the winters, I feel the same way. They call them things lobsters, but they're really crawfish. I don't know how one can confuse them, but people do."

I thank her for the lesson and head back out to the car with my prizes, err...purchases. On the way out, a couple exiting a minivan with diplomat plates ask, "Is that the last blueberry pie?"

"May-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," I respond, drawing out the last syllable for dramatic effect. They run, full on run to the pie room to see if it's true. "Quick, let's make our escape before they realize I bought the last pie."

"Why?"

"They're diplomats! I don't want them using their diplomaty powers against my blueberry pie. I was here before them!" I peel out of the drive and back onto Route 3 heading towards Trenton.

"I love you," the New Husband says.

"Yeah, same here." It takes a special kind to put up with me. I know this now.

Day #5 - Lost

We braved the fog and got ourselves good and lost on Mount Desert Island today. We criss-crossed the island from Northeast Harbor to Bar Harbor and eventually to Jordan Pond House, our intended destination. Mich told us numerous times that we should go and the views from the Acadia guidebook looked amazing.

We strolled through the gift shop and I subdued the urge to buy the overly priced Maine-themed items I may never use again, although the nautical rope trivets were inspiring. Eventually we were seated and I had a total panic attack. Our options for lunch were two chicken dishes, neither of which the New Husband would eat. I settled on the curry chicken sandwich which is likely exotic to most visitors but is nothing new and which I found unbearingly bland.

I followed this up with a blueberry crisp and a scoop of homemade ice cream, which made the excursion totally worthwhile.

"Do you think people in Maine only eat Maine blueberries," I asked as the spoon flashed in and out of the bowl furiously.

The New Husband laughed and responded, "I don't know, why don't you ask someone?"

"Okay, the next opportunity I have, I will." I put the spoon down. "The nutritionist was right. The fifth bite never tastes as good as the first." I pushed the dish away.

We took a walk down to Jordan Pond and along part of the trails. I'm convinced this is one of the most beautiful places on earth. Now, if only my knees would cooperate so I can explore.

Day #4 - Winds

Today is our second anniversary. This is why we picked the wedding date we did - so we'd be away to celebrate it together.

We began with breakfast at Denny's. I'd been craving it since we drove past it on our first day here. The service was slow, but that just meant we had more time to chat and hold hands in much the same way old lovers do. I wonder how we appear to strangers. Certainly no one has guessed we are honeymooners - drunk off relatively new love and the hormones that go with it.

After breakfast, we returned to the cottage where I napped. Mich assures me it's the salty sea air that is making me unusually lethargic. Perhaps it is breaking out of the routine and living instead by how we feel, rather than by a set time by which something must be done. Here, we are not home by 5:30 PM with dinner on the table by 6:00 PM, lovemaking complete early enough so that we can be in bed after the 10 o'clock news in order to work the next day and start the cycle all over again. Instead, I awake to the gulls and crows and the tide. In fact, it almost felt like an intrusion when for practicality's sake we needed to set a time to go boating with Mich.

We made our way along the back roads, past fields and trees. We stopped at Mike's - an old trading post to pick up drinks for the ride. The New Husband noticed the penny candy quickly. "Look," he said as he pointed at the counter, "You never see that any more."

"If it's called 'penny candy' then why is the cheapest kind two cents," I asked.

He laughed and replied, "Smart ass." He never explained why.

We arrived at the van de Wetering estate and I was awed at how gorgeous it was. The landscaping was impeccable and scattered throughout the property were sculptures the owner had made. We made our way down the cliff, along a winding, wooded path until we reached the dock. Waiting for us was a 22' motor boat. We made our way along the coast, between the islands - the wind whipping my hair - dodging lobster buoys like meandering minefields. Mich let the New Husband take the wheel for a while. Eventually we made our way to the Bass Harbor Lighthouse which was absolutely stunning. I loved being on the water and I can totally see this becoming a life goal: owning a boat, of course.

For dinner, the New Husband dragged the grill out and made delicious steak tips. We're enjoying the grill since we can't do so at home. It's nights like this that I can't wait until we have our own home.

Day #3 - Shopping

I did not sleep well last night. Perhaps it's all of the napping or the fresh air, neither of which my body is used to. Maybe it's the months and years of being on go and running around like crazy. Here, I can slow down and wile away the long, lazy days of summer in much the same way I did as a child at my Uncle's trailer in Pennsylvania.

We notice the small things here - the way the wind changes direction so suddenly, the noise of small Sessnas escorting the wealthy by air to avoid traffic. It's astounding the way our senses adjust to our surroundings here, as though these are the things required for survival.

There were small drops of rain on the windows this morning and the air smelled particularly salty. I was standing over a frying pan full of bacon for the New Husband this morning when I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel drive.

"Knock knock," Mich - our landlord for the week - said as he approached.

"Good morning, Mich! Come on in. Can I get your anything?" I asked, suddenly wondering if I'd magically shifted into heels and pearls.

"Oh no, not at all. I don't mean to interrupt but did the New Husband mention going boating some time this week?"

"Yes, we're looking forward to it." We reviewed the tide schedule for the rest of the week and agreed that tomorrow would be a fine day for a short tour by boat - until we'd heard on the radio that may not be the case after all.

We made the short drive into town - in this case, Trenton, Maine. We perused an antiques store where I found a vintage Cole Haan bag. It looks 1940-1960s-esque to me. At the end of the day, designer bags tend to retain value over time and if nothing else, I have a new-to-me Fall bag.

We went to the L.L. Bean Outlet but were disappointed in their selection. Let's face it: we're not exactly L.L. Bean material anyway. It's been chilly here and I am woefully unprepared for such weather. We stopped at some other outlet where I purchased a long sleeve Lucky Brand tshirt ($13 from $32) and a Columbia hoodie ($20 from $55).

Afterwards, we took a ride to Bar Harbor, which frankly after all of the peace and quiet we've had was overwhelming. We stopped for lunch at Testa's - one of the only places with more than one non-fish option on the menu. I quickly realize how smart a decision we'd made to stay at Kells Cottage just over the bridge in Trenton. Bar Harbor is stunning, but expensive and overrun with families with small children - not how we wanted to spend our honeymoon.