Another Awkward Week [8.1.14]; or, The Hotts' Big Move

Hola, chiclets! How ARE you? Did everyone have a delightful week? I hope so! My week was basically as hectic as you'd imagine a week to be when you're getting married in T-15 Days and counting. But no more about the wedding...for now. I'm going to take just a small slice of this one day to not talk about our impending Big Day and instead talk about our move.

How tremendously excited you all must be!

So yes, spoiler alert: we moved! Boom. It was a total smash success and we are now comfortably nestled into our new neighborhood, Park Slope which is, honestly, such a cliche. For those of you not up on your Brooklyn neighborhood stereotypes, Park Slope is basically just all upper middle class married white people with puppies and/or babies. Like, OF course we turn 30, get hitched and move here. It's inevitable. Puppies and/or babies, though, can stay on hold for a while. We're livin' that yuppie life. Or, I guess the cool new term for our tax bracket is is DINK: Dual Income, No Kids. But we're more like DINKBLIMECIAOWPSSPDP: Dual Income, No Kids, But Living In the Most Expensive City in America and One Works in Publishing So Still Pretty Dang Poor.

Great use of time coming up with that acronym, Liz.

How #Brooklyn is our new neighborhood? Well everything, and I mean, everything is quote-unquote artisinal: wines. furniture. coffee. Even podiatry:

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Artisinal Podiatry, guys. right next door! Livin' the dream.

ANYWAY, successful as it was, the move was not without its more absurd moments. Por ejemplo, we did our best to be minimalists and throw out/donate stuff we no longer need or use but still ended up with so. much. STUFF. Like this pile of totebags...only 1/6 of my vast collection.

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You know you work in publishing when...

Y'all know how it goes. At first you're so organized, packing everything snug and perfect, labeling each box and taping perfectly and then an hour later you're just throwing all your random shit into whatever box you can find, slapping a strip of tape somewhere on the box and calling it a day. I took to just labeling boxes "Liz's crap." "More of Liz's crap." "EVEN MORE LIZ CRAP!!!"

Except this box, the super VIP and rando contents of which were too funny not to list out:

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  • Iron? Check!
  • Foam roller? Cheeeeck!
  • Christmas wreath? Check plus.
  • Football?! Check and check.

All the essentials!

I didn't even know we had a football, that's how little we use it and yet we moved it from A to B. Why oh why.

Oh and while we're on the subject of packing, here's a masterpiece I'm particularly proud of:

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That'd be a tupperware container filled with packing peanuts and shot glasses. I didn't want them to break! GENIUS idea!

Also, much like the football, do we ever use those shot glasses? Of course not, this ain't the club. And yet, we moved them. Why oh why oh why?!

Oh riiight, THIS is why:

[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNtTEibFvlQ[/embed]

Everybodddaaayy!

Some things, such as curtain rods and the coat rack required us to use tools, so we reached for our brand new toolbox:

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This is a generous gift from my cousin and perhaps what follows is karma for trying to use your wedding gifts pre-wedding? Without having written a thank you note yet, to boot. Ugh I'm so tacky. Like Weird Al!

Anywhoo, this toolbox is, I assume, awesome and this is not to be negative towards the gift-giver, if anyone is to blame it's us, we registered for it. Well, no, really the person to blame is Stanley Tools himself because that there toolbox is screwed shut.

As in, you need a screwdriver to open it.

As in, one of the three screwdrivers that comes INSIDE the toolbox...which is screwed shut...requiring a screwdriver...to open.

What the actual fuck, Stanley?! If we had a screwdriver we wouldn't have needed this box in the first place! What kind of mind games are you playing? Is this a gift of the magi situation? Someone out there has a screwdriver and no screws to screw with and we're meant to meet so we can screw together (nonsexually!)???

How many times can she say screw?

SCREW!

Srsly, though, screw you Stanley, this shit cray. Also does anyone have a screwdriver and want to come over to my new house and open my toolbox for me? THAAAANKS!

It should come as no surprise, considering the chaos that we had to go back to the old apartment not once but TWICE after we "officially" moved out. We rented a zipcar the following morning for a planned trip to finish cleaning and pick up some things we weren't able to fit in the truck the day before and then realized, once we'd dropped off the car and returned to the new place "for the final time" that we'd forgotten to pack an entire kitchen cabinet. So three days later we jogged back across the park to pick up what we'd forgotten. We fully intended to carry our leftover belongings home by foot but thank JC we were able to get a taxi because we forgot like, a lot of stuff.

Behold:

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That'd be two cookie sheets, a slowcooker, the "lil' dipper" slow-cooker, rice cooker, mini food processor, and a strainer. These, no joke, are our necessities and yet THESE are what we left at the old apartment. Not the Xmas wreath or 9 shot glasses but all the kitchen stuff we actually legit use.

OY.

But now our move is d-o-n-e DONE and we can focus on getting settled into our new home - organizing furniture, decorating and, oh yes, setting up appliances such as this cable box:

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Which is, of course, a saga. I do hope you're sitting down. Do you need a water break? You might need to hydrate.

Let's GO!

SO. As I mentioned last week, I'd totally spaced on calling to set up an internet installation appointment for the new place and then proceeded to play phone tag with Time Warner for six straight days. When I finally reached them on Monday, I was delighted that they could schedule an appointment for Wednesday afternoon, between 4 and 5 PM. An appointment just two days later with a one-hour window? That's basically a Sasquatch Loch Ness unicorn. Usually they only have appointments available 97 days later, somewhere in the window of 2 AM to 7:15 PM.

It was almost too good to be true!

No, it was literally too good to be true.

Wednesday morning at 9:30 AM I got a text saying, and this is a direct quote: "Time Warner Cable  will call you shortly from a 718 number to confirm your appointment. You must answer to keep your appointment."

MUST ANSWER!

I turned my ringer up as loud as it could go and carried my phone everywhere with me - meetings, coffee machine, even the bathroom. Not to be crude but I was prepared to take this phone call while changing my tampon. GROSS, I know, but I just need to demonstrate how dedicated I was to holding up MY end of this appointment. By 12:00 they'd not yet called and I had to go to a lunch meeting, where I wouldn't be able to sit by my phone, so I called Time Warner and unleashed THE most insane slash quintessentially "LizHo" monologue upon the customer service rep, basically "HELLO, It's me, Liz!!! I got the text but they've not yet called and I have a meeting and then might be on the subway and there's no service in the subway so I won't be able to answer their call but I promise I'll be home at 4 PM this appointment is so important I can not lose it we need internet I have to plan my wedding and I need the internet OMG OMG OMG HELP ME!!!" all in one frantic breath. She assured me all would be peachy keen and not to fret.

WELL sure enough I missed their call around 1:30, whilst in my lunch meeting, a meeting from which I then RACED home, missing a full four hours of work, so I could be awaiting my cable appointment.

Did they show up? HELL NO they did not.

I tried to remain calm. I worked out. I read. I checked work email on my phone. I made Brian's lunch for the next day because I am seriously the best (almost) wife ever and y'all should be jealous you're not marrying me, I'm amazing. Finally at 5:40, with no cable guy in sight, I could no longer pretend to keep my cool, so I dialed up Time Warner, ready for some drama.

I called, no joke, nineteen times, and each time, I would be greeted by an automated message from NFL superstar Victor Cruz, telling me that Time Warner would help me make my dreams come true, then go through the automated voice system to be connected to a customer service rep and then...the phone would disconnect.

Nineteen. Times.

Dear Victor Cruz: I have but one dream and that is to speak to a Time Warner Customer Service representative and guess who is NOT making my dreams come true? That's right, Time Warner Cable. Or you. I'm sure Victor Cruz is a lovely human being and an ace football star but if I ever see him, I am going to punch him right in the face.

Long story extra long, I finally, FINALLY managed to get through to a real human customer service rep who informed me that, as we already had a modem and router, we could actually just set the internet up on our own, no rep needed! She walked me through a series of steps and, though I did everything she told me, I still couldn't get the internet to work. She told me it might take 24 hours, she'd call me back at 7:30 PM the next day.

I hung up, exhausted and dejected. Brian came over to help and, cliche of all cliches: the modem wasn't plugged in to the wall.

Great work, Liz! Great work.

We plugged it in and now the internet works so well I'm here type type typing away from my very own home. A whole lotta drama for one mediocre blog post. A win for everyone!

Also, did that lady call at 7:30 PM the next day? OF COURSE NOT. Time Warner Cable - so far, NIET ZO GOED! Which is Dutch for Not So Good. Did you guys know I speak limited Dutch? FUN FACT!

Ok this post is longer than longer than LONG and I only have 7 days left at the office before #hottwedding so I should probably do some of that thing people call "work." What is my job anymore, anyway? Hopefully looking at the Ikea website and frantically making wedding related to-do lists because that's baaaaasically all I've been doing.

Happiest of weekends, hotties! Hope it is splendid from start to finish!

xoxoxo Liz Ho

 

 

 

 

This Cable Box

Another Awkward Week [7.25.14]

OMG hi! I know, I so did not blog last week. I'm sure EVERYONE noticed and barely survived. Forgive me?

I actually started to write my usual weekly thang but it just did not happen. Typically I at least draft them (believe it or not, the drivel I post here is actually edited. Scary, right?) on Thursady nights and then just clean up a scoonch and post on Fridays but last Thursday my friend was like "want to get drinks" and I was like "duh" and then when I got home it was 10:04 aka my bedtime and I had a big day ahead travelling to Pennsylvania so I set my alarm a whole 12 minutes early for the next morning to allow myself to get about a million things done before I caught my 9:05 AM train. I did manage to pack (see below),  eat half an avocado (normal), wander around the apartment for a while and attempted to squeeze in a quick Pilates sesh which was basically just me laying on the floor flopping around until Brian came in and inquired what, exactly, I was doing down there, and I gave up. I then sat down to blog, realized I had about 12 minutes left with which to shower and get to said train soooooo I ditched the blog.

Win some, lose some. Am I right? I'm right.

We then spent the weekend in Lancaster for THE weddingiest planniest of wedding planning extravaganzas: met with the florist (aka my awesome cuz Angie), hair trial, makeup trial, met with rehearsal dinner space, toured hotel where we're all staying, met the photographer, walked through venue, menu tasting and met with our officiant (aka my mom's BFF). It was long and kind of crazy but also awesome and I'm feeling so ready for la dia grande. Emotionally, anyway. Logistically, well, we'll just have to see about that one. It's so soon! I (understandably) couldn't sleep that Saturday night, my mom came out of her bedroom at 6:30 AM and found me wide awake, wild-eyed after having already drunk a full pot of coffee, furiously typing out to-do lists.

I have a feeling I'm going to be a real treat to hang out with these next 22 (but who's counting?!?!) days.

COOL STORIES, LIZ. Let's cut to the chase and take a look at what was keeping it awkward these last two weeks.

This Suitcase:

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From last weekend pre-trip to PA. Chock-o-block full of dirty laundry because somehow it is easier/better to haul dirty clothes 300 miles to a totally different state on multiple forms of transportation than it is to go down the street to the laundromat.

This is marginally better than the time I had Brian's mom wash my undergarments...but not by much.

This Get-Up:

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I worked out over lunch the other day and then came back and found out our office was hosting some kind of bake sale so I immediately undid all my hard work in le gym with a fat pile of cake. Worth it.

Anyhoodle, while at said bake sale a colleague asked me "if I meant to tuck my shirt up into my belt like that??" which, of course not! I just don't know how to dress myself.

Additionally, upon further inspection that top shows way too much back for the workplace, gah. I need to get it together on the business cash front. Whoops.

This Bouquet:

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It was my sweet colleague's birthday over the other weekend, so I brought her a bouquet of flowers Monday morning so she'd have someting pretty to look at and celebrate all week.

I S to G they were alive when I brought them in but by Monday afternoon they were deader than Marley's Ghost.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KATIE. I bought you a dead plant.

She said she extra appreciated them because dead plants was very "me" and she knew it would mean she get a blog shout-out.

So, you're welcome, Katie! Happy Birthday from me and my cool blog!

(Side note: does anyone else find "bouquet" a difficult word to remember how to spell? No? Just me?)

This Plate:

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Speaking of Katie (so many shout outs!), she hosted a fun, classy birthday party at a local restaurant to celebrate. There was free flowing hibiscus champagne and delicious food and the only thing more yummy than hibiscus champagne and delicious food is to spill your beverage all over your plate and mix 'em together. Saves time! You're getting your booze and your dinner in one tasty little package.

I was also, obviously, wearing white jeans to said dinner party and they're now in need of a serious bleaching.

That's what my mom's house is for!

Also, who do I think I am wearing white jeans? I can not handle that sort of pristine responsibility.

This Other Plate:

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Well, that food was on a plate but oh, look, it's on the floor. I was home alone the other night and made myself the yummiest dinner of baked sweet potato fries with chipotle aioli (yeah, I make my own aiolis, what of it?) and a salmon burger with avocado and then was furiously shoving it in my face and shoveled so hard that I knocked it all on the floor.

PWOMP.

Luckily I'd made 3 full potatoes worth of fries, so I could sacrifice a few and, I'll be honest, I just picked up the burger, dusted it off, and dug back in.

Gross?

Gross.

Also funny, while this happened I was reading some kind of mom blog and she remarked about cleaning up after her kids spilling food all over the place and I realized my toddlers are going to write a blog about cleaning up after me.

They're all doomed.

This Tote:

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Another day, another tote.

We took the Amtrak back to NYC last weekend and there's always a stressful moment as it pulls into the city, everyone gets up out of their seats and lines up by the exits, ready to pour out into the hellhole that is Penn Station. As we filed out my tote bag handle got stuck on the handle of the bathroom door. It was a sliding door, so as I walked forward, I pulled the door alllllll the way open behind me. I then had to hold up this whole long line of humans frantic to disembark while I untangled myself from said door.

LUCKILY there was no one inside but still, you guys. BUT STILL.

And that was my week. Weeks, plural. What is everyone up to this weekend? We're moving! Just casually moving and wedding planning and it's all going to be GREAT and omg I need a nap. I'm super stoked about our sweet new pad (I'm a skater tween from the 90's now, did I tell you that?) and I know it'll be pretty easy and not that big of a deal but whoo boy, will I be glad when this move is behind us. Just get me to Sunday, Dear Lord Beyonce. I believe in you.

Happy Weekend, beautiful swans. I will do my best to write next week but someone forgot to call Time Warner about setting up internet in the new apartment so I can't make any promises. Lest you think we're not even married yet and I'm already throwing huffy wife shade, don't worry, that someone is totes, obvi, no duh me.

WEEKEND!

xoxo Liz Ho

One Awkward Relationship Milestone

Ack, I’ve been gone so long! On top of work and "The Wire," I just moved into a new apartment so I’ve been a little helter skelter of late. But now I’m back with a bang! Or at the very least, an audible toot. This past Saturday I moved from Manhattan to Brooklyn, such a hipster now, and all went surprisingly smoothly. I hired movers, which meant I got to laze around eating cheese while other people did all the work. It was glorious. Plus, my gentleman friend B was up for the weekend to help, which meant we got to spend so much time doing nauseating coupley nonsense like shopping for linens at Target and building shelves and organizing my shoe collection. It was que romantique. And amid the domestic bliss we celebrated a major relationship milestone: I farted in front of him for the very first time.

I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed, everyone does it (except Kate Middleton!) but ughhhhhhhh mortifying! As we all know and love, I’m not shy about discussing bowel problems and make frequent reference to my own debilitating digestive issues, but as much as I gleefully enjoy toilet humor, I prefer to keep my own toilet humours to myself. Especially in front of the one person I want to think of me as a perfect ladylike angel from heaven. Or at least someone he wants to bone on the regular.

Ok, it might not technically been the first time, but it was at least the first time neither of us was pretending to be asleep. I swear to God I could go days at a time without so much as a twitch of the intestines until I’m laying little spoon and suddenly it’s like all the Indian food I’ve eaten in my entire life has just kicked in. All the ladies know what I’m talking about, right ladies?!? (Ladies? No, just me? Someone please tell me this is a normal thing?) So there may or may not have been at least one other time where something escaped and then I just laid there pretending to be asleep, praying he was also sleeping or at least had the decency enough to pretend as well and never mention it again. So far, he has, but now I’m telling the whole internet and I’m sure he’s reading this so the jig is very, very up.

So after 6 months of sleepless nights and Bean-o, I finally broke the seal. We were rearranging my new bedroom, I was in the hallway, surveying from the outside in and he was standing just a few feet away inside the room.

“Hmm, let me think,” I said, pausing to observe our handiwork.

As I pondered the position of my bedside table he gazed lovingly back at me, eagerly awaiting my keen home decor insight and then a puff of air escaped my body and obliterated our tender silence. It was very small and did NOT smell but oh, there was no denying it, no passing the blame, no pretending it didn’t happen. He was looking right at me. Just staring at me, waiting for me to speak and instead, my hiney did the talking. We then stood, staring at each other, for a full hour and a half (at least!) while I considered my next move and he tried not to laugh at me. I should have taken the opportunity to bust out a Steve Urkel style “did IIIII doooo thaaaat?” but I couldn’t think quick enough. I must have tooted out all of my creative energy.

Kill me.

So blah, blah, it all ended fine, of course. B apparently found the whole situation to be adorable, but now I’m obviously panicking that the magic is gone. A friend of mine, who’s been in a relationship for years, told me that the magic stays until you pee in front of each other, so there’s always that to look forward to!?! I’m certainly making this more mortifying by telling the whole internet but you know what, someone had to do it! I mean, maybe (hopefully?!) there are millions of women laying awake right now fearful to break wind in front of their significant others who will read this and become emboldened and confident with their bodies and all things their bodies emit? I can be the change the world needs. I am the Mahatma Ghandi of female flatulence.

Ladies, get farting!

Gentlemen, you’re welcome!