As I mentioned oh so long ago, when my father turned 65 at the end of December, we threw a small party and got him 65 of his favorite things.

Most of them were silly little things, favorites foods and wines, books on his favorite topics, etc. The one that elicited the biggest response was actually the container of BOSCO! chocolate syrup. Not because he was particularly touched but because in front of everyone in the living room, he suddenly belted out the jingle that used to accompany the Bosco commercial back when he was a kid. Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.

My father has a huge booming voice and can arguably sing somewhat on-key. It’s pretty startling when you’re not used to hearing it or when you’re not prepared for the fact that he’s going to burst into song as if he’s the lead in his very own Rogers and Hammerstein musical. The windows of our house rattled as he sang, holding up the Bosco container and making it dance in mid-air:

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE BOSCO!

BOSCO IS FOR ME!

BOSCO GIVES ME ENERGY AND SUNSHINE VITAMIN C!!!!!

On and on it went as all his birthday guests stared slack-jawed at this man, screaming out a chocolate syrup commercial at the top of his lungs as if that was a perfectly natural reaction to getting a present, as if we all should know the song and eagerly join in.

When he was done, we all applauded.

And, as my father would say, rightly so.

…

Before my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer, he drove forty-five minutes to Riverhead every few weeks to donate his platelets. I’m not exactly sure how it started but it very well may be that the Red Cross called up my dad and was like GIVE US YOUR PLATELETS and instead of ignoring them like I do, he was all OKAY NO PROBLEM DAT SOUNDS GREAT!!!!!

And so it began.

The people at the blood center LOVED my father and he loved them back so very much. Turns out that Polack’s blood is so damn thick, when he donates platelets, they can get THREE TIMES the amount they get from a normal person. He didn’t even mind the fact that they stick BOTH of your arms with needles so they can take out the blood, separate the platelets in a centrifuge, and then put the blood back in you, taking over an hour. He used to tell me how enjoyable it was because “I CAN JUST SIT ‘DER WITH MY ARMS OUT, WATCHIN’ SEINFELD. DAT KRAMER CRACKS ME UP. SOMETIMES IF I HIT IT JUST RIGHT, I GET TO SEE EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND TOO. THAT RAYMOND. I LOVE THE FACES HE MAKES.”

Right. Me too. ?

The Red Cross (or the American Blood Society or SOMETHING blood-related, who KNOWS) compensates you happily for platelets as they are a hot ticket item. My father received gas cards, gift certificates to Macy’s, duffel bags and t-shirts, thanking him for his many donations. The clothing items were his very favorite thing to get. He wore his t-shirts proudly, anywhere my mother would let him which meant anywhere but church or a dressy occasion.

“You can’t wear that t-shirt to dinner,” she would point out.

“WHY NOT?!” he would demand.

“I THINK IT’S OBVIOUS,” she would respond.

And then we’d all look at dad who was wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon drop of blood smiling on the front with cartoon pants down around his little ankles.

DON’T LET US GET CAUGHT WITH OUR *PINTS* DOWN!!!! the shirt exclaimed.

“I think you look good,” I offered.

“YEAH,” said my dad. “I LOVE ‘DIS SHIRT.”

Sadly, with a cancer diagnosis comes a rule that you can’t give blood or platelets anymore. I believe you have to be cancer-free for two years before donating again, something that absolutely devastated my father. He was continually upbeat about his cancer diagnosis from the beginning but when he told me about stopping platelet donations, the man actually cried.

He was angry and sad that he could no longer help people. HIM! The man who gives THREE TIMES the amount of platelets in ONE sitting! The platelet SUPER HERO! I knew how good he felt helping other people. And I knew his sadness and frustration had nothing to do with the free t-shirts and everything to do with cancer taking something away from him without his permission.

…

 When I was gathering up 65 things for his birthday, I thought it would be a cool idea to get a bunch of people together to donate blood in his honor. I had previously tried to donate platelets, thinking I would just keep donating to replace what my father couldn’t give, only to be turned away and told HONEY, YOUR VEINS ARE TOO SMALL FOR THAT. DO NOT COME BACK.

You don’t have to tell me twice!

But giving blood was something I could do and while uncomfortable, something that didn’t really bother me very much. I had good veins (apparently except for the platelet needles) and never felt sick afterwards. WHY NOT GIVE SOME BLOOD!? I thought. Slacking off with donating blood is pretty lame, no? In fact, I decided it meant so much to me that I added it to my Mondo Beyondo list - #63. Donate blood four times a year.

I e-mailed a bunch of people and organized a GIVE BLOOD FOR MY DAD event on a Sunday afternoon. Regrettably, it was the Sunday afternoon after our first big snowstorm at the end of December. People were either snowed in or out of town and it didn’t quite turn out the way I wanted it to.

HOWEVER! PCG, Married Ashley and I took the challenge and off we went in two feet of snow to get our arms pierced by a very unhappy nurse named June. We couldn’t get a smile on her face, despite repeated attempts and so we concluded that June was a miserable woman who did NOT want to work on a snow day and MAYBE took it out on our arms a little bit because none of us could remember the needle hurting quite THAT badly.

THANKS, JUNE. FOR RENDERING MY LEFT ARM USELESS FOR A WEEK. CHEERS!

But the point of the activity was not to make me feel good.

It was to do something nice in honor of my father, a man who was a little bit too sick to do it himself. And though we only got three pints of blood that day, one from each of us, I think it was the perfect amount. TRIPLE the amount of just one of us.

As I sat around a table with PCG afterwards, munching on Lorna Doone’s, I read some facts about giving blood and was pretty horrified.

Do you know that only 2% of people who are physically able to donate blood do so?

Do you know that NYC has such a low number of people who donate blood that they have to BORROW blood from neighboring states?

WHAT THE!?!?

Peeps need blood, y’all!

Let’s give it to them!

This is just your friendly reminder to head out there and give up a little of your time and a 1/8 of your blood. You get free cookies afterwards and a fruit punch juicebox. Well. I did.

My 56 days are up around Valentine’s Day so I’m thinking of heading back for Round #2 pretty soon. Despite June nearly cutting up my arm, it was a rather enjoyable experience and I can’t thank PCG and Married Ashley enough for coming with me. Hell, Married Ashley and her husband even cooked a BRISKET the night before to make sure she’d pass the iron test the next day. NOW THAT IS DEDICATION!!! And PCG, certain that he would be disqualified for living in Africa for two years was cleared to donate because of some rule we didn’t know about. Either that or he lied to me and showed June the nurse his boobs. I’M NOT ENTIRELY SURE.

On a final note, when you donate blood, they wrap your arm in some cool looking bandage, usually a bright color and advise you to keep it on for a few hours after. When you donate platelets, since both arms are used in the process, they wrap BOTH of your arms and you wind up looking pretty badass.

One of my father’s favorite stories is the time he was driving back from donating his platelets and stopped at a Krispy Kreme because the light was on for a free fresh donut. (My dad cannot pass up anything free. Especially not a DONUT. AM I RIGHT?!) He was in a bit of a bad part of town and on his way out of the store, noticed a bunch of hoodlums in the parking lot, possibly up to no good.

The young guys took a look at my dad’s badass arm bandages and figured those must be his loud and proud gang colors.

“YO MISTA,” they shouted across the lot. “WHAT GANG YOU IN?”

My dad didn’t miss a beat.

“OH!” he screamed, voice booming across Riverhead. “I’M IN THE PLATELET GANG!!!!!!!!!!”

“NO SHIT,” said the guys. “‘DAS COOL.”

And so, should you ever want to join the coolest gang around, I highly suggest getting to a donation center near you, rolling up your sleeve and taking the plunge. Cookies and juice aside, I think it’s pretty much worth it just to say that my dad is your gang leader. I mean, he knows all the words to the freaking Bosco jingle from the 1950’s and I honestly don’t know that you need ANYMORE motivation than that.

<

I have a program for my blog that tracks the people that read it. I can’t tell specifics, sometimes just the states people live in or how they found my blog, what terms they Googled to get here. I was really into doing this early on because I was fascinated with who read my blog. Now, I sometimes forget to check my stats for weeks at a time. Since my readership is fairly small, it just doesn’t make much sense to me. I generally know who reads and who doesn’t.

I’ve learned over time that the stat counter can be way off in terms of geography. IP Addresses aren’t always accurately located and the program will sometimes tell me that my roommate, who works in Manhattan, works in Arizona because…well. I don’t know why, exactly. But my point is: it’s not an exact science unless of course a comment is made and I can sync up the IP Address definitively. Awhile back, I wasn’t so in tune with the fact that the stat counter could be inaccurate so I would label the IP Address by location, sometimes just guessing at who it was if they were a regular reader.

Apparently, I labeled Father Donald’s IP address back when he used to comment, back when I assumed that the PLANO, TEXAS blog reader was him.

I recently logged onto stat counter for the first time in a long time and nearly jumped out of my skin when I noticed a few instances of FATHER DONALD reading my blog earlier this week.

Naturally, that was an inaccurate guess on my part. As obviously, that Plano, Texas reader is not Father Donald.

Because he isn’t alive anymore.

And I completely remembered, all over again, that he wasn’t here. And he wasn’t going to comment anytime soon.

I wanted to laugh because it was such an absurd feeling, that maybe Father Don was logging onto the blog from heaven, checking on what was new.

But then I didn’t feel like laughing because I felt like crying and I felt sadness and heaviness for the transiency of people and things. And I sat there as still as could be, aching, knowing that everything is temporary and nothing stays forever but oh how sometimes, I wish it could.

photo by zitkay

This is the day for a boring entry about how I’ve been keeping up with my New Year’s resolutions.

HOW ARE YOU GUYS DOING OUT THERE?

Glad to hear it!

January went by faster than I expected and I naturally both succeeded and failed! I was a little too ambitious and got way busier than I expected. (SURPRISE.)

January Recap!

FRIENDSHIP

make dinner plans with K - SUCCESS! She came over a few weeks ago and I tackled the whole “learn new recipes” thing as well! I made minestrone soup and gnocchi in a white wine sauce with cherry tomatoes. We sat around the kitchen table talking for hours and I never wanted her to leave. HUZZAH!

schedule drinks with T - FAIL.

get breakfast with married Ashley - FAIL. We did e-mail back and forth about getting together but we haven’t confirmed anything yet so DANG! 1/3 on the friendship front this month.

HEALTH

attempt two weeks without sugar - SUCCESS. I even created a new rule where I avoid sugar Monday-Friday and only indulge on the weekends. I succeeded the entire month except for dinner with K where I made a vegan chocolate peanut butter pie on a Wednesday night! And those restaurant week dinners last week. OH WELL. SO WORTH IT.

go for a run, attempt to add sprint intervals - FAIL FAIL FAIL. Too cold for running! I believe I made it out on THREE, count ‘em THREE total runs for the entire month. FAIL. Am putting off any running-related goals ’til the spring.

CAREER

e-mail legit agent to follow up  - SUCCESS. Well. Success in that I completed the step. Less exciting would be her lack of response which sadly has me going back to the drawing board in terms of finding representation.

e-mail improv peeps to get a practice group together - SUCCESS. Practice begins next week!

MONEY

pay $300 down on the credit card - SUCCESS. I actually paid $500 down!! I did this by ignoring all e-mails about magical online sales. I also stayed away from Target, Whole Foods and Anthropologie. EASY PEASY.

no shopping for unnecessary items - SUCCESS. See above.

SPIRITUALITY

set alarm for fifteen minutes earlier to solidify AM meditation - FAIL FAIL FAIL. Do you know all the stuff you can do in 15 minutes in the morning? Stare at the wall, eat another bowl of cereal, go back to bed, etc. Apparently, what you cannot do is get your damn self to meditate. I vow to try harder as I think I averaged about four times a week of morning meditation. UGH. I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT MYSELF IN THE MIRROR.

OTHER

walk to library, join it, take out Ulysses, read it, check out Italian CD’s, etc. - FAIL FAIL FAIL which is so embarrassing because not only is there a NYC public library five blocks from my apartment, there is also a branch IN MY OFFICE BUILDING. HA HA HA.

IN SUMMATION: I locked down some things, accomplished some goals but ultimately was too ambitious and didn’t make the time in my schedule for all that I needed to get done. I now bring you my February list because nothing says boring like a play-by-play blog post of my day-to-day life.

FEBRUARY GOALS

FRIENDSHIP

* confirm getting together w/ married Ashley

* get together with non-married Ashley

* call D and see if he wants to get Thai food

HEALTH

* try different class at yoga studio, perhaps Vinyasa? Pilates?

* keep going with the no-sugar during the week thing

CAREER

* brainstorm ideas for new show, create an outline, write down song ideas

* register for next level of improv if a class opens up

* go to ballet

MONEY

* pay another $300 down on credit card

* pay for new bed in cash

SPIRITUALITY

* get your damn self up 30 minutes earlier to solidify AM meditation - THAT’LL TEACH YA

* pray/pause before meals

OTHER

As a follow up to my last post, I give you a picture of That’s So Raven (TSR) in my pink winter gloves and white winter hat. I left them at Alayna’s apartment on Friday night and I got a text message telling me that while Raven was over, he picked up my things, put them on and danced around the apartment.

I love that he is giving me jazz hands in this picture. I also love that this man is 6′5 and wearing pink gloves.

Alayna - YOU DONE GOOD.

A few weeks ago, Alayna’s boyfriend Raven sent me the following text message:

“Hey, I just finished reading the Nanny Diaries. It reminded me of the Owen and River stories on your blog except yours are better.”

That comment was one big AWWWWW happy hug on my heart because Raven is one of my blog’s biggest cheerleaders and often tells me I should write a book, on and on, blah blah, encouragement, whatever. He’s so nice. BUT, after I thanked Raven, I realized I was missing the bigger part of that exchange which was - why the heck was Raven reading the Nanny Diaries!?!

I’ll tell you why. Because he steals his girlfriend’s books and reads them, often without telling her and then when she’s discussing them with me like, say, the book she forced me to read entitled BIRTH about the process of, you know, giving BIRTH, which gave me nightmares for weeks, Raven chimes in out of nowhere and is all, YEAH, THAT C-SECTION RATE IS SO CRAZY, ISN’T IT? I RECOMMEND GETTING A DOULA.

And then we all just stare at Raven blinking because you are a DUDE, why do you know what a DOULA is?

And then I loudly exclaim, THAT’S SO RAVEN!!!!! which only I continue to find funny because DUDE! Your NAME! And that Disney TV show! Starring Raven Simone! OHHHHHHHH HILARIOUS.

But I’m getting away from the point of the story which was HEY, THAT’S SO RAVEN! I have another Owen and River story for you. And this is how it goes.

Completely unrelated to the story I’m about to tell you, I want to warn you all never to send your children to public school. Or let your children turn five years old. EITHER OR. I’m not sure which. Maybe a combination of both?

All I know is, Owen and River went to kindergarten this year AND they turned five and NOW? One of them is the MOST OBNOXIOUS KID I HAVE EVER MET. And I’m sure the other is close behind. The End.

No, I mean. That’s not true. They continue to be sort of delightful, especially when they repeat phrases I have taught them like, “WOAH! THAT LOUD NOISE TOTALLY FREAKED ME OUT!!!” and when they give me half their cookie and tell me they love me more than the universe. I mean. THAT IS CUTE STUFF RIGHT THERE.

But…they also drive me absolutely out of my mind. And this past weekend? HOO BOY. Tryin’ my patience, lemme tell YOU.

Saturday was a full day of 100% complaining about EVERYTHING coupled with that annoying thing kids do which is to call everyone a stupid doo-doo head and then when I put them in a time out for saying ’stupid’, they insist they weren’t calling a PERSON stupid, they were calling the TOY stupid and that’s not exactly wrong, is it? And when I explained it WAS wrong to use the word stupid ANYTIME to ANYTHING, inanimate object or not, I got hissing and caterwauling from the time out chair of WHYYYYYYYYY CAN’T I COME PLAYYYYYY, my life is so HARRRRRRRRD and LAURA, WHAT DOES INANIMATE MEAN?

It means that I am coming very close to doing something I regret, young man, and THAT is why I placed you in the time out chair. Not for YOU. But for ME. So I can sip my peppermint tea and take a breath and remember that at one time? I USED TO LIKE YOU.

There was also this annoying thing going on where That Twin would just snap at me for NO REASON and whine in the most irritating voice ever, the kind that just gnaws at that space behind your eyes and inside your head until your brain cells slowly fall out through your ears onto the pavement. At one point, I grabbed his hand while crossing the street.

“OWWWWWWW! YOU HURTED ME.”

“I did not! Oh my gosh!”

“YOU DID SOOOOOOO! OWWWWWWWWWWWWW”

“River! Calm down. It was an accident.”

“IT WAS NOT.”

“IT WAS TOO! I DID NOT HURT YOU ON PURPOSE!”

“YEAH? WELL YOU DIDN’T EVEN SAY YOU’RE SORRY YET.”

??!!!!

Oh, I’m sorry, alright. I’m sorry I didn’t BITE YOUR LITTLE FINGERS OFF WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE.

So we were having a bit of a rough day though there were sunshiney moments throughout, like the time we spent putting together a puzzle on the kitchen table talking about aquatic mammals and the trip we made to Moomah which is this incredible place for kids in TriBeCa, a place I would have LOVED as a kid which means now I can just whine to my own mom about how she never took me there even if it didn’t exist when I was small and how that ruined my life and OW YOU JUST HURTED ME.

So! You pick out an art project you want to make and then you sit at tables with your own personal art consultant who helps you put it together. It’s completely kid-friendly, with toddlers running around and moms breastfeeding their kids in slings, etc. and you can sit down and enjoy a decaf soy latte while making Valentine’s Day cards with Owen and THIS? THIS IS A BABYSITTER’S PARADISE. Even River was on good behavior, engrossed with pasting penguins onto an “Arctic Scene”, complete with igloos and snowflakes and copious amounts of blue glitter.

I did have to roll my eyes at the New York City-ness of it all, the gluten-free options on the menu, the organic cotton changing table in the ladies’ room, etc. The best example had to be the sign next to the register that said - 10% OFF YOUR PURCHASE IF YOU ARE WEARING YOUR BABY.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Oh, attachment parenting. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. But I’m saying that signs like that make me crack up. And also, once I realized you could get 10% off your purchase, I tried to think of all the ways I could feasibly wrap River around my body and pretend I wore him like that regularly. “Of course! I ALWAYS stick the five year old I’m babysitting down my shirt! HE LIKES TO FEEL CLOSE TO ME.”

Oh God. This blog is getting weird.

ANYWAY.

On our way back from Moomah, we decided to stop and get some pizza to take home for dinner. Actually, it was River’s idea and it was the one good idea he’d had all day so I jumped on it. (Other less than palatable ideas he’d suggested previously included “Let’s hold this puzzle piece up to the candle and see what happens” and “Let’s sing a song I made up about poop”.)

So we stopped into the pizzeria and ordered a few slices and waited for them to warm up in the oven. As we were doing this, the door to the pizzeria swung open and a homeless man walked in, wearing a knee-length skirt and a sweater vest.

Without any explanation, he immediately launched into an impressive rendition of “THE MONSTER MASH”, sung at the top of his lungs, complete with choreographed dance steps.

“HE DID THE MASH!” the homeless man screamed, swaying side to side and snapping his fingers.

“IT WAS A GRAVEYARD SMASH! HE DID THE MASH!”

He spun. He twirled. He winked at me.

“IT CAUGHT ON IN A FLASH! THEY DID THE MASH! THEY DID THE MONSTER MASH!”

When he was done, he turned around and headed for the door.

He didn’t want any money, he didn’t ask for any help. The man just wanted to dance.

From what I can see, Owen totally understood this guy’s need for creative outlet. Either that or he felt compelled to COMPETE in some sort of bizarre Homeless Person vs. Five Year Old DANCE OFF! and so, right before the door shut behind the homeless man, Owen screamed out, “I CAN DO A SPLIT!” and proceeded to show the entire pizzeria his amazing flexibility.

It was excellent, in case you’re wondering. The guys making the pizzas clapped for him.

We paid for our dinner and headed out into the cold night. I decided maybe we should talk about what we had just witnessed.

“That guy was a good dancer, huh?” I asked them.

“YEAH,” said River. “HE SINGS LOUD.”

“He didn’t see my split,” mourned Owen, dragging his feet on the sidewalk.

“That’s okay!” I said. “I saw it! And I thought it was GREAT!”

“Thanks,” said Owen.

“And maybe you can show him your split the next time you see him,” I offered.

“Welllll…” said Owen slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because that man? TOTALLY FREAKED ME OUT.”

I told him I completely understood and 100% agreed and why don’t we spend the rest of the night eating pizza, taking a bubble bath and reading books while being NICE to each other and thinking about how lucky we are that we have a safe apartment to go home to with a family who loves us because some people don’t.

And that’s exactly what we did.

My darling blog readers! What are you doing this weekend?

Tell me everything, let me make you a cup of tea, come here, sit down, fancy a cookie?

I’m sorry I’ve been MIA on the blog this week but HOO BOY, restaurant week has come upon New York City and what can I say? Mama likes to eat. I tend to go a little overboard on reservations because I get SO FREAKING EXCITED at the chance to eat for cheap at all these yummy places I otherwise can’t afford. I call everyone I’ve ever met and I’m all, HEY REMEMBER ME? I bumped into you at the Duane Reade that one time? It’s restaurant week, WHERE DO YOU WANT TO GRAB DINNER?

It always sounds like such a good idea until I look at my calendar and I’m all WOAH, that’s a lot of 3-course prix fixed meals which means WOAH that’s a lot of dessert and you DO still want to fit into your pants come spring time, right?

Meh. Sorta. It’s not really high on my list of priorities when there’s things like “Cheesecake Lollipops with Bubble Gum Whipped Cream” on the menu. AM I RIGHT!?

It’s winter time and my fleece sweat pants are extremely forgiving so I’m thinking it doesn’t really matter. Especially considering that last night, PCG ordered the “Chocolate Butterscotch Tart w/ espresso toffee chip ice cream” and I had one bite of that and was all GIVE ME MORE GIVE ME MORE. I ended up with the “Citrus Cheesecake w/ tangerine sorbet, pistachio financier” and I was all THIS IS DELICIOUS, HOLY THAT SORBET and WAIT, WTF IS A FINANCIER? ISN’T THAT A PERSON? IS THIS RESTAURANT INTO CANNIBALISM AND I DIDN’T KNOW IT? AM I EATING A GOLDMAN SACHS EMPLOYEE!?!?

Then I had horrible flashbacks to that time I sat through “The Road” and started shaking uncontrollably.

Luckily, I just took a sip of wine and another bite of tangerine sorbet and BAM! Back to my happy place.

This is just one of my tricks for surviving the winter which comes in handy on a day like today when it is -1 degree below 0 with wind chill. THANKS NEW YORK CITY!!!

This weekend, I’m going to an engagement party in Washington Heights, babysitting the twins in Chelsea and going out for Lebanese food with my siblings in Gramercy. Let’s just say I’m a world traveler, you feel me?

I fell in love with New York City again recently. It rarely happens in the colder months. I’m far too bitter and hunched over and wrapped in ten thousand layers to appreciate anything about this town and WHAT IS WITH THE WIND TUNNELS UGHHHHHHHHH.

But I was sitting across from PCG at this fancy restaurant eating a PISTACHIO FINANCIER and I was suddenly hit by the fact that if I had to leave New York, I would be achingly, horrifyingly sad. How wonderful it feels to go out on a random Thursday night and get all dressed up for no reason and take a cab home, racing down Amsterdam which is still all lit up with tiny Christmas lights, zooming fast across the bridge, past a thousand tiny apartments, past a million tiny people kicking their feet up and watching television, making dinner, putting little ones to bed, all of us, in motion, bundled up and bumping into and saying good evening, smiling and kissing with the city skyline in the background, tall buildings standing together, lit up like a night light, pointing the way toward home.

A few weeks ago, I received a card in the mail from Owen and River thanking me for the Christmas gifts I bought them. They didn’t write it themselves but dictated what they wanted to say to their dad who wrote it down verbatim. River begins the narration and Owen finishes it off. Here it is, for your amusement.

“Dear Laura,

Thank you for ‘A Light in the Attic’. I miss you so much. I love you. I love you. Owen’s turn.

I’m not going to say anything else. I love everybody.

Love,
Owen & RIVER.”

Best thank you card ever?

PROBABLY.

Here are two videos from the winter weekend. The first requires some explaining.

As I mentioned, I was pretty sick during our trip. On Sunday, after breakfast, I decided to go back to bed and take a nap. Apparently, while I was sleeping, PCG took a very relaxing hot bath in our large awesome bathtub. When I woke up, he was all LET ME RUN YOU A BATH! YOU’LL LOVE IT! And I was so so so excited because it sounded AMAZING.

Of course, when I stepped into the bath, it was ice cold.

Because PCG used up all the hot water for HIS bath.

I decided to take a video and ask him how his bath went since I sadly was not going to get the chance to experience my own. OH I AM SO SARCASTIC AND HILARIOUS.

Noteworthy tidbits from the video!

1. PCG’s real name! I believe I use it in both videos because, duh, I do not refer to him in real life by his blog pseudonym. SHOCKER.

2. PCG spends the first part of the clip grumbling about me and “Long Island girls”, namely “North Shore” girls (PCG is from the SOUTH shore of LI.) and then the rest of the video telling the camera how I was drooling in my sleep, etc. He’s so nice, no?

3. His last question at the very end of the clip - “What kind of car are we driving?” cracked me up at the time because it seemed to be the running joke of the trip. You see, when we picked up our rental car, I was on the phone with my mom and to her, I said, “Our rental car is awesome! Brand new!” and when she asked what kind of car it was, I said “Red” which apparently was hilarious because for the rest of the trip, PCG was all LOOK! ANOTHER RED CAR! THEY SURE DO MAKE A LOT OF THESE TYPES OF CARS, etc. etc. EXCUSE ME. I meant to say - BRAND NEW RED TOYOTA COROLLA but I didn’t know that at the time, I just knew the color and by the way, SHUT UP.

So, knowing all that (aren’t you so glad you know all that?), here’s some video fun.

The second video requires far less explanation as it is simply PCG and I going down a mountain on a snowtube. HOLLER?

My Boyfriend Used Up All The Hot Water from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

Snowtubing from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

The philosophy school I’ve been attending for almost three years runs almost completely on volunteer service. The tutors who teach class, the people who serve refreshments at break time, the secretaries who take attendance, the people who run the retreat weekends etc. are all giving their time for exactly Free Dollars. This astounded me when I first found out about it because that school runs in the most beautiful harmonious way and I was all, wait, nobody’s getting PAID to act like this!?!?

The tutors have been asking for a long time if any of us in class were interested in service but I could never seem to commit to giving up a weeknight or a Saturday morning for twelve straight weeks, which was the requirement. I volunteered elsewhere and kept a pretty hectic schedule so I figured (as most in my class did) that others would pick up the slack. Then of course, things changed.

First off, I got super fed up with NY Cares. It’s a great organization, don’t get me wrong, but approximately FORTY BAJILLION PEOPLE belong to it and as soon as the monthly volunteer schedules go up, EVERY SINGLE EVENT gets booked up except walking dogs in Brooklyn at 5 am and I get very sad because UGH WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS WINNING AT VOLUNTEERING, PEOPLE!? To make it more irritating, the little music program I used to volunteer for down in the projects vanished and I can no longer sing and dance with kids in the ghetto and you have NO IDEA how much joy that used to bring me. (LOTS.)

Secondly, towards the end of last semester, the suggestion to serve was brought up again because enrollment in the School had suddenly gotten OUT OF CONTROL. I contribute this to the recession and people walking around NYC all depressed, searching for meaning, blah blah, who knows. It’s wonderful though but completely overwhelming as the volunteers can’t seem to keep up with the volume right now.

And so! When one of my classmates wanted to know if he could split a service session with someone else and alternate weeks, I jumped at this idea. Probably because I’m selfless and ever-loving.

Sort of.

It was probably really because 1) volunteering always helps me out of that narcissistic ALL ABOUT ME acting funk and B) Alternating weeks seemed like the perfect fit for my schedule, allowing me a test run of philosophy service while not dominating EVERY SINGLE TUESDAY NIGHT until Spring.

I headed over to the School last night, dragging my feet. I was tired. I’m still a little sniffly. I was cursing the part of me that was all, YEAH YEAH I WILL TOTALLY VOLUNTEER, I LOVE VOLUNTEERING, SERVING OTHERS ROCKS!

I mentally started whining about how I wanted to go home and take a nap. Or order some Thai food. Or stare at the wall and blink for no reason.

But I remembered what everyone at the school said about service. I remembered my classmates’ stories about how good they felt helping others, how they were always always served in return, without ever setting out to be. I told myself that I would probably undergo a vast transformation of both character and attitude.

I thought I would write you all a poetic, inspirational post afterwards, telling you how I looked into each person’s eyes and saw God. How I doled out hot chocolate and coffee with a bright smile and how I was permanently changed. How I stayed present in the Now and guided those weary new students toward bodily refreshment, thanking them sincerely, touching their arms gently, telling them that they MATTERED, that I was there to HELP and LOVE them, fully and unconditionally.

Instead…

HUGH FREAKING JACKMAN SHOWED UP TO CLASS.

And I was all, DAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN! Serve and be served, INDEED, y’all!!!!

I CANNOT WAIT FOR NEXT WEEK.

**Disclaimer: I have always known that Hugh Jackman attends the school when he can but had never before seen him. You can read about his participation in the School of Practical Philosophy in this interview or on his Wiki page. BOO YAH.

A few weeks ago, in an effort to combat some winter blues, PCG suggested we spend a holiday weekend in the Poconos.

“WE COULD GO SKIING,” he said.

“I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO SKI,” said I.

“You want to learn!” he pointed out.

Which was completely unfair. And true. In fact, I put “Learning How To Ski” on my Mondo Beyondo list. (WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?) It’s #6. And it’s worthy to note that on my list, I wrote, “Learn to ski without complaining” and let me just state right here that I’m not sure I can cross it off as completed because that “without complaining” part? UMMMMMMMM…FAIL.

ANYWAY, despite my reservations—what if I break a bone? I don’t have HEALTH INSURANCE!!!, etc., PCG soon sold me on the trip with the phrases “hot chocolate” and “sleeping in” and “snowwww!”

WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN:

Pack up my car Friday after work. Drive it an hour and a half west to Pennsylvania. Let the awesomeness ensue—hot chocolate, ski lessons, hot baths, naps.

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED:

On Wednesday night, I went to bed with a mild sore throat. On Thursday, the sore throat was severe and the congestion in my nose was mild. On Friday morning, my throat was on fire, I couldn’t breathe out of either nostril and my head was throbbing so intensely that I thought it’d be less painful if I just lobbed it off completely with a machete.

On top of this, earlier in the week, after pulling out of PCG’s garage, I noticed my car had been leaking a suspicious fluid. A few days later, the CHECK COOLANT light buzzed on because OF COURSE IT DID.

“We can’t leave for Pennsylvania until you take it into the shop and have it looked at,” said PCG.

“LET’S JUST DRIVE IT THERE ANYWAY AND IGNORE IT,” I suggested, which is my way of solving car problems.

“UM. NO.”

Shortly after, I found myself at the Pep Boys in Long Island City, Queens which, if you haven’t been, YOU SHOULD GO! YOU ARE IN FOR A TREAT. The last time I was there to get my car inspected, they forgot to put the brakes back on correctly and PCG almost died.

“The brakes won’t stop,” he told the mechanic.

“Ohhhhh,” said the mechanic. “We forgot to the put them back on the right way. MY BAD.”

!?!?!?

Naturally, I couldn’t resist such amazing customer service so I took it back there AGAIN to see what the heck was up with the leaking and the coolant light and was my little old car finally going to die because that was going to be the straw that broke the sick girl’s back. OR SOMETHING.

I sat in the waiting room at Pep Boys for well over three hours, blowing my nose into tissue after tissue, watching some horrible television show where some lady asked the host if it was okay that her seventeen year old daughters go to tanning salons and the host actually said YES, of COURSE it’s okay, there are FAR WORSE things you’re kids could be doing! And I was like, what on earth is worse than knowingly giving yourself skin cancer!? And on that note, what mother asks questions on a talk show and LISTENS to the response!? Doesn’t that mother have any friends?! Doesn’t she have Google? Doesn’t she know she should stop her daughters THEY ARE ALL GOING TO DIE AT A YOUNG AGE and the mechanics were all LAURA, PLEASE STOP THROWING YOUR SNOTTY TISSUES AT THE TELEVISION.

Turns out, they finally found the leak.

(Which of course was leaking coolant, which, if you don’t know, is vital to your car running properly, THE MORE YOU KNOWWWWWWW!)

The leak was in the coolant reservoir.

(HA HA LIKE I KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.)

Which was cracked.

The issue was that they didn’t have the part in stock and had to call the manufacturer to see where they could get a replacement.

I sat and watched more terrible daytime television.

And then, because this is my life after all, the mechanics were all, SORRY! THEY DON’T MAKE THAT COOLANT RESERVOIR THING ANYMORE. LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE GOING TO GO TO A JUNKYARD AND FIND ONE.

And that’s when I sort of spaced out and started thinking of that scene from the Brave Little Toaster when they’re all going to get sucked up in the junkyard?

ANYONE?

“You’re worthlessssssssssss…”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Um. Nothing. Can I drive the car home at least?”

“Yes. But the longer you drive it, the higher the possibility of the car overheating and damaging the engine.”

“Um. So, a ski trip to the Poconos is out?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Unless you want a smoking car on the side of the road somewhere in Jersey.”

“Actually…”

I took my car home and wallowed in my misery.

PCG suggested we rent a car and of course, I snapped at him with a WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM? MADE OF MONEY? comment which was SO super nice of me, I know. You must remember I was on non-stop blow-my-nose duty and was at the mechanic’s mere HOURS before we were supposed to be on the road. FUN!

With the power of Google, I discovered that a place near LaGuardia Airport rented cars out for $32 a day and we were all SOLD! DONE!

It should’ve been easy and smooth sailing from then on and I suppose it was with the exception of some minor mishaps.

For example, when attempting to pack up the car, I picked up one of PCG’s bags and promptly dropped it on the pavement outside my apartment. I knew it wasn’t good when I heard glass shatter and saw liquid oozing onto the street.

Turns out PCG had packed some wine for the trip, a bottle of red for him and a bottle of white for me.

GUESS WHICH ONE BROKE?

The white wine! Of course! Throughout the rest of the trip, PCG kept saying, “It’s so weird, I vaguely recall purchasing TWO bottles of wine…I wonder where the white one went…”

ONTO THE STREET. ALONG WITH SHARDS OF GLASS.

I thought we were in the clear once we scored our amazing rental car (a brand new red Toyota Corolla with 44 miles on it! HOT!) and were speedily cruising along I-80 through New Jersey listening to NPR. I decided to unscrew the cap to our BPA-free water bottle and as soon as I took a swig, PCG braked and water went all over the place and by all over the place, let’s just say it looked like I was both participating in and winning a wet t-shirt contest.

Anyway, we did finally arrive at the cutest Bed and Breakfast that ever lived. I learned to ski, a feat which I will talk about in a later post and on the way back yesterday, PCG and I decided to go snowtubing which was the funnest activity ever in Fun Stuff History.

To recap, all it took was:

* an overheating car that required a four hour stay at a Pep Boys in QUEENS
* terrible daytime television
* an entire box of tissues, a dose of Dayquil, a neti pot with saline solution squirted up into my nostrils every few hours
* an addition on my To Do list that reads “GO TO JUNKYARD”
* a wet t-shirt
* a shattered bottle of white wine
* a cold/headache/sore throat the size of Kansas
* the most patient boyfriend in the universe who paid for our rental car
* copious amounts of hot chocolates spiked with Peppermint Schnapps

If you’re ever considering asking me to go away with you on a holiday weekend, I seriously recommend you think LONG and HARD before letting the words come out of your mouth because HOO BOY! YOU ARE ONE BRAVE SOLDIER.