Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

This might be my new favorite thing.



Guess what I use as a hat?

A lentil.

Sunday Morning Breakfast

As you know, last Sunday I was a bit of a pig. This Sunday I decided I should make myself a nice breakfast, a real breakfast, one that has less than 5,000 calories. As you may also know, I'm repainting my bedroom. It's a big ass bedroom and I've been painting like a mad woman. My entire body aches and muscles I didn't even know I had scream in agony every time I move, so I figured I ought to treat myself to a nice breakfast.

I started with baby Yukon gold potatoes, onions, and broccoli.

While they cooked, I beat 4 eggs and some milk.

Then I cut up some herbed goat cheese and added it right into the eggs.

Once the veggies had softened up, I poured the eggs down over them, turned down the heat, and let it cook.

The tricky part is flipping it over! I used a big plate and managed not to make a huge mess everywhere.

Tadaa!

I can promise you, it tastes just as good as it looks. And I have lots of leftovers, so I can eat more later. YUM!

Now back to painting!

Before: My Bedroom!

I've been living in my adorable new Coolidge Corner apartment for almost three weeks now. I love it to death and there's almost nothing I'd change about it. Almost.

My bedroom. It's huge. And it's red. Like really, really RED. Like I think I've been having bad dreams because of my close proximity to this blood red wall.

And while only one (enormous) wall is red, the other three walls are an unfortunate shade of peachy-beige.

I'm not sure who thought it would be a good idea to paint a bedroom, any room, these colors, but I can't take it anymore! I went to the hardware store this afternoon and bought all the paint and supplies I need. Before this weekend is over, my bedroom will look completely different. After pictures coming soon!

Hand Dance

Want to see something that's pretty fucking cool?




Incredible, right?

(My goal is to somehow master this and perform it at parties and be the envy of all my friends!)

Sunday Funday

When most people hear the term "Sunday Funday," they think of day drinking and the shenanigans that can lead to.

The Sunday Funday at Greenway Court is a little different...

A giant, 5-scoop Reece's Pieces Sundae.
(Pepper shaker to demonstrate sheer size of this monster ice cream treat.)

A burger with pretzels instead of buns.

And yes, that is a cheeseburger with grilled cheese for buns.

Then a quick little spramp over to the Brookline Booksmith for some books and an awesome new calendar.

A fat, nerdy kid's ideal Sunday.

(Paint)Ballin'

I had a pretty rough week last week. The physical and mental stress of moving, putting myself out there and the disappointment that followed, everything that happened with my little Sammy-dog... it was a lot. I took a metal health day on Wednesday. I just needed one day to sleep and recharge my batteries. And, once my reboot was complete, I decided I needed to do something to get all of that pent up frustration out. Then the perfect opportunity presented itself.

Paintball.


My friend Chris is turning 28 on Monday and he decided that he wanted to get a group together to go paintballing to celebrate the big day. Even though I've been wanting to give it a try for years, the idea of being pelted with paintballs was still slightly terrifying. But I did it! And, even more amazingly, I had a blast.

We went to Randolph Paintball and played for about 4 hours. They have a few different fields and organize all different kinds of games for you to play. My friend Deandra and I were the only girls there (except for one hardcore mom...yikes), so it was a little intimidating. My guy friends took it very seriously. They were all about strategy. My strategy was to get hit as few times as possible. It didn't work that well.


Just one of my battle wounds. It's protruding from my leg and turning a lovely shade of purple today. All in a day.

Now that I'm a badass paintballer with some serious street cred, who knows what's next: tattoos, base jumping, roller derby.. You don't know me!

All Dogs Go To Heaven

On Christmas Eve when I was 7 years old, I lay in my bed listening to the strangest sound. A high-pitched whining. Over and over. Since my aunt and uncle were in town with my new baby cousin, I was convinced they came back from the hotel and were staying at our house. The sound I was hearing was probably the baby crying. I almost got up so many times that night to walk down the hall to see for sure what the noise was. The only thing that kept me in my bed was that childhood belief that I would break the magic spell that allowed Santa to come.

The sound I heard ended up being the best Christmas present I've ever received. My puppy. He was in a crate that was covered in a Christmas table cloth and a bow. As we walked into the living room, the crate started shaking and whining. After my brother and I calmed down, my mom opened the crate and let him out. He walked out, sniffed a little bit, and climbed right into my lap where he stayed for the rest of the morning. He was so tiny. A little ball of fluff with the most adorable face I've ever seen. Like a little ewok. We named him Sambucca ('cause he's a licker.. get it?!), Sammy for short. And I've loved him unconditionally every day since that Christmas morning.

Yesterday morning I got a phone call from my mom.
Definitely not a phone call that I ever wanted to get.

Sam died on Sunday night. He was 16 years old. He can't really see that well anymore, or hear, but he's healthy. I was hoping that my mom was going to tell me he passed away in his sleep, but unfortunately that was not the case. He fell into my parents' pool. My dad found him there.

And then my heart broke.

I am trying not to let my thoughts wander, because when they do they go to a place where I can't let myself go. Like how long was in the water before... How hard did he try... How scared he must have been... I just can't. My sweet little dog. He didn't deserve to go like that.

I don't know what was worse - hearing what happened, or my parents voices as they broke the news to me. That is something I will never forget. My dad crying because he knew that he not only let Sammy down, but me down as well. I don't blame him, of course I don't. It was a terrible, tragic accident. But I know he feels guilty nonetheless.

I do, too.

So Sammy, I am sorry. From the bottom of my heart. You deserved so much better than that. I loved you so, so much. You were the best dog I ever could have asked for. A good dog, a wonderful dog, who didn't ask anything except for cuddles and a treat at exactly 9pm sharp every evening. And I was more than happy to give that to you. I always wished I could have brought you to Boston with me, but I know you wouldn't have liked the move. Please know that I've missed you every day the last five and half years that I've been up here. I know that your last moments were probably terrifying and confusing, but I hope that now you are not afraid anymore.

Rest in peace my little Blamface.
I love you.

Putting Myself Out There

A few days ago I did something that I am extremely proud of.

I told someone how I feel about them. Not just someone. A guy. The guy.

Let's back up a little bit. Just so you understand what I'm saying. This is a person who I've been friends with for a while now. From the minute I met him, I was smitten. And then we became friends. And the better friends we became the more I realized that it wasn't a school girl crush. I like him very much. Over the last year or so, we have had our moments. No matter what other guys I've dated or been interested in, for me, it always comes back to him. Last weekend, a particularly great weekend, I reached a point where I knew that I just couldn't play these games anymore. Because as much fun as we have together (which is a lot), it is not a game to me. My feelings for him are very real.

And so I called him and told him.

Girls are supposed to be good at talking about their feelings, right? Good at telling and showing people how they feel? I am not one of those girls. I don't know how to fawn over someone and be that laughing, silly, frivolous thing. You know that saying, Still waters run deep? That's me. I am the female version of Mr. Darcy. That conversation was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I was terrified. My heart was pounding and as I dialed his number I could see my hands shaking.

So how did it all turn out, you ask?

He was the gracious guy he is. (Can be. Sometimes.) He was just as honest with me as I was with him. He said that he likes me too and told me how wonderful I am. He said that if he was going to be in a relationship, it would be with me. He said, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm 28 years old, I feel like I should want that, a relationship, but I just don't."

The kicker is that I knew this is what he would say. I know him well enough to know that's how he would respond. And despite knowing this, I told him how I felt anyways. Is that courageous? Or idiotic. Maybe both. But I did it, and I don't regret it for a second. There is nothing I could have said or done differently to change his mind. I'm not going to beg and plead with someone to be with me. I took a deep breath, put myself out there, and hoped for the best. The best is not what happened but I knew that risk when I dialed his number.

So now what do I do? Lick my wounds and try to tend to my not broken but heavily bruised heart? Necessary. Watch Moonstruck and listen to Billy Joel's "And So It Goes" 25 or 50 times? Eh, perhaps. Keep smiling, my eyes wide open, and continue hoping, not necessarily for him but just.. in general? Absolutely. Such is life.

Happy Birthday Mama!

Today I am wishing a very, very happy birthday to my beautiful, funny, wonderful, amazing, superwoman of a mother. Happy birthday, Mom! I love you very much. :)

The Big Move

Well folks, it's official. I am now a resident of Brookline!

I was so stressed about moving. Like beyond stressed. Like I couldn't fall asleep at night because all I could think of was how much had to get done. But, honestly, it wasn't so bad! Minus the fact that it was literally 95 degrees outside, it wasn't too bad. Oh and then I fell down the stairs. That wasn't fun. So other than the heat and Domenica taking a tumble, it was all good.

And the tenants that lived in my apartment before us left a case of Bud Light in the fridge. Score!

Look at our adorable kitchen! The kitchen in in my old apartment was the size of a closet and didn't have any windows, so I feel like I'm living in the lap of luxury now.


And our pantry!


And LAUNDRY! I'm doing loads of wash just because I can.


We still have lots of unpacking and organizing to do. And, the most fun part, decorating! I'm also going to paint my bedroom in the next week or so. Right now it's the most atrocious shade of oatmeal and red. Yikes. More on that later. For now, I'm enjoying getting settled in the new place. More pictures to come soon!