The Newlywed Game

For those of you who don't know, Joe is training for his first full Ironman. An Ironman consists of a 2.4mile swim, 112mile bike ride and a full marathon. The limitation is 17 hours to finish. It's crazy, but what's crazier is the training involved. For the past 24 weeks, Joe has trained morning and night on the bike, in the pool, in a spin class, on a run or in the gym. Lets face it, he's pretty buff right now and it's a wonderful perq (wink, wink), but its also left a lot of time to myself. Some of the time is spent wondering why I don't work out more, but the rest I've been able to fill with more interesting activities, like watching cable. 

Before moving in with Joe I hadn't had cable for almost 8 years. It just hasn't been a priority and frankly, it's never worth the money. However, this past weekend I had an opportunity to watch four episodes of The Newlywed Game. Who knew that this show was back on the air??  Sherry Sheppard hosts and is quite humorous. So, as I say watching I began to see of I could answer the questions about my own relationship. That's when Sherry asked the best question. The gist of the question was what your husband would say is your pet peeve. This is great. My pet peeve?  Everything. Seriously. Chewing with your mouth open. Yes. Chomping loudly on your gum. Definitely. Sniffing rather than blowing your nose. Ugh. Biting your cuticles. Just stop!!  

Are pet peeves genetic?  Do we develop them from bad experiences?  Can they be overcome?  Do you get new ones as you age, like allergies?  So many questions. 

However, if Joe and I ever find ourselves on The Newlywed Game, we've now established the answer to be "Everything" for me and for him: "The sheer number of per peeves that I have about him". Fair. I'll take it. In the meantime, chew with your mouth closed. 

Dear Diary

For the past three weeks, I've joked about my new life outside of city limits. I've casually ragged on my boyfriend for slowly adjusting to our new life as roommates. I've groaned about Septa, only on time when I'm running late. But the fact of the matter is, I couldn't be happier to come home to someone like Joe every night. He is warm and understanding; he loves me even when he realizes that he'll never be right. So, today's rambles are dedicated to him ( despite the fact that he barely knows what a blog is let alone knowing that I'm blogging...)

Dear Joe,

First and foremost, thank you. Thank you for being there even when I think that I don't want you there. Thank you for opening doors and making dinner. Thank you for watching endless episodes of Say Yes to the Dress without so much as an audible sigh. Thank you for listening to my baby crazy rants and not hopping on that billion dollar bike of yours and heading the other way. Thank you for letting my three year old niece call you 'Tuti' in public. Thank you for knowing that all of the laundry beyond towels and sheets is out of your league. Thank you for serving as my personal chauffeur even when you have no interest in the destination. Thank you for knowing I'm a control freak and just letting that happen. Yes, I know it's easier for you this way too. I'm not always the easiest to deal with and somehow you fumble through on a daily basis, now from sun up to sun down. 

I jest quite a bit about marriage...and frankly most of it isn't jesting really. When I say to get on the horn and invest in a diamond, I mean that. Like, yesterday. Gravity is going to take over soon and I'm not getting any younger. But, until that time, I'm content with the life that I'm fortunate enough to lead by your side every day. 

Thank you for perfection. It may not look like someone else's perfection, but in my eyes, it couldn't get much sweeter. 

I love you, Roomie. 

Life is good. It's easy to forget sometimes, but should never be ignored. I'm a lucky girl, and not just in this relationship. 

Suburbs Time

I've been volunteering with an organization called Back on My Feet for approximately three and a half years.  It's an amazing non-profit that uses running as a vehicle to build self-confidence and ultimately sustainability in the homeless population.  Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning at 5:30AM, we meet at Saint John's Hospice to run 2, 3 or 4 miles.  Its a great start to the day, physically AND mentally.  

Though, it used to be so easy.  Wake up at 4:50AM, lay in bed for 10 minutes wondering who else gets up this early, hop out of bed and run around like a maniac trying to find everything that I need to dash out of the house by 5:15AM and run down to meet with the team. Chaotic, but my routine nonetheless.  Until I moved to the Hamptons.  For a week, I still tried to get up at 4:50AM.  First mistake.  Do I have amnesia in the mornings??  I would still race around like crazy and have to run almost a mile to my Zipcar before driving the 15+ minutes into Center City.  This goes without saying:  I was late.  Every morning.  

Suburbs time is kind of like the overtime of life.  It takes time and a half to accomplish anything due to the extra cushion of time needed to get to the car or get from the car.  I can't simply walk out of my door and walk to work.  I need to memorize the Septa schedule (which, mind you, never changes on paper but never stays the same in actuality), and be out of the house 10 minutes prior to walk to the station.  Then there is the 15 minute walk to work from the station.  Whew, I'm finally at the office.  Is it time to go home yet?

Thankfully I'm adjusting to this new schedule.  It's a complete shift from the life that I was leading that allowed me to be just 30 seconds behind if I wanted to be.  Just in case you don't know, Septa is not real keen on waiting for me to arrive.  Hmph.  I haven't missed a train in an entire week, though!  The man-friend appreciates it greatly as with every minute that I make us later and later, that little vein in the middle of his forehead starts to bulge just a little...bit...more.

...'til Septa do us part, honey.  I love you.

Counting the days

Boy oh boy.

In the last five days, I've moved all of my belongings in heat that makes hell seem relaxing and restful, I've driven to New York, attended a wedding, sat through 4 innings and a rain delay in Yankee Stadium, and returned to my new home in the Hamptons around 1AM this morning.  I love a full life, but I. Am. Exhausted.

(In a related side note:  have you seen this? http://wapc.mlb.com/nyy/play/?content_id=27700845&topic_id=47150750&c_id=nyy)

However today I woke up for the first time in my new home.  Despite the pouring rain, that we soon found out was flooding our kitchen, I was so excited that we're finally sharing a home.  In my mind, we would wake up and go about our morning routines in order to head out on our first of many joint commutes to our respective offices.  We'd share a quick smooch and head off for what would be the best Monday all year.....

....at this point, if you haven't watched the video above, please do.  You can liken what follows to that type of startling crash of thunder....

So, the morning routine started just fine despite the shower going a weeeeee bit cold on me.  GOOD MORNING!  I really need to unpack my belongings.  I think that I spent more time this morning looking for things to wear than I did psychically getting ready to leave.  We had a rental car from the weekend that we needed to return, so it was out the door a bit early to head over to drop the car before taking the train to work.  Aforementioned rain still hitting us with cats & dogs, the morning commute by car was slower than slow.  Crawling.  People who drive to work in Philadelphia every day deserve a medal of courage.  All the while, the man-friend was staring at his watch, deeply sighing and growing more anxious by the second.  By the time we had gotten to the car drop off, we were both anxious.  I was not even late for work, or risking be late for work, but I was already thinking that I need a stiff drink.  8:15AM EST equals 5:00PM somewhere.  I was able to distract myself with trying to do the math on what country is currently 5PM for a little time, however the intensity of Joe's sighing and anxiety brought me back to reality. We finally  hop on a short train ride from 30th Street Station to Suburban Station - one stop, a few minutes and a lot of clock watching.  It hits me at this time that I've also forgotten to grab my Rent the Runway dress that needs to be returned today. Shit. This is where I finally start to fall apart.  I start thinking about how lovely my walks to work were just one week ago.  The peace, the music of my iPod and an easy start to my day.  I start to speak to Joe in a tone that resembles talking to your teenager about the responsibilities that accompany wanting to borrow the car.   "You are completely off the deep end" I remember myself saying in a low, calculated tone.  The train ride is quick, however my build up of angst is not.  Since you likely don't know me, it's fair to tell you that I cry a lot.  I cry over happy, over sad, over uncertainty, over everything.  And this morning was no exception.  As I exited the train trying to manage my own anxiety and my boyfriends distress, the tears start to well up.  I have 89 more days of East Falls living; is it ALL going to be like this? Joe & I stop to say our good-byes for the day, including a few apologies from his end while the tears stream down my cheek.  What is happening?!  Just as we're about to part for the morning, one of Philadelphia's lovely Subarban Station dwellers says in a muffled voice "Don't break up.  Wait until the afternoon".  And with that, I was off to make it a better day.  And with a small blessing from above, this day has been better than it began.  I will trek back to the train to head home and hope that tomorrow is a bit smoother.  This cohabitation thing is going to take some adjustment.  A lot of adjustment....