Sorry about that west nile virus, Brooklyn

For a few weeks we've been having a mosquito problem in our apartment, which is not something one generally expects in mid-November, but thanks to climate change, every season is now an adventure in the unexpected!

Still, though, this many mosquitoes in one apartment points to a problem … somewhere. Somewhere nearby. We tried to get to the bottom of this problem by scratching our wounds and bitching about it. Then one night, as Scott and I were preparing for sleep (translation: reading erotic poetry aloud to one another; flossing--erotically) the cat jumped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I assumed, as one does, that there were ghosts hovering up there--because everyone knows cats can see ghosts and it drives them crazy that they can't pounce on 'em--but I looked up and instead of glimpsing a floaty ancestor I saw approximately 1 billion mosquitoes.

As you can imagine, this was not a sight one wishes to see before one drops off to sleep.

Now that I'm picturing the scene a little more vividly in my mind's eye, it was maybe less like 1 billion and more like twelve. Even so, one does not like to share one's bedroom with more mosquitoes than zero. Much less A DOZEN WAITING UP THERE FOR YOU TO DOZE OFF SO THEY CAN DRAIN YOU OF YOUR DELICIOUS BLOOD.

Scott and I immediately leapt up and murdered each of the mosquitoes, or maybe if you want to be accurate Scott murdered them while I helpfully pointed out the stragglers and shouted, "Kill them! Kill them ALL!" Or, okay, maybe I just shuddered and rocked back and forth. At any rate, I made sure to keep out of his way until his spree was complete.

He felled all the mosquitoes that were waiting above us, but there were more. As soon as I began dropping off to sleep that night and for several nights after, I was treated to a series of those horrible ear-fly-bys, like they were saying, "Guess what, asshole."

We were baffled. Where were these mosquitoes coming from? What was going on? And then my brilliant husband, oh, he realized. It was a few nights later when he was awakened to another mosquito-party--this time going on on his body--and that's when it hit him: the roof deck. Where we had planters. And there had been rain. And we had not gone up there, because it was cold, and who goes up to a roof deck when it's cold? Smart people do to make sure there's no standing water, that's who. Smart people who are not us. Oh no, we had created a mosquito haven up there, and it was a short distance downstairs to our place, and I have no idea how they were arriving en masse into our apartment with our windows closed but I just hope we were the main victims and that everyone on our block was not similarly afflicted.

Anyway, Scott got up, in the middle of the night, and went up there and drained every inch of standing water SO THERE TAKE THAT MOSQUITOES HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAAAaa. HA. BAM. WE WIN.

Then we were still under attack, kind of a lot, actually, for another couple of weeks, and it finally occurred to us that the big giant planter up on the roof, the one that had plenty of soil in it, not water, so it didn't need to be drained, maybe was the problem? And come to think of it was kind of muddy? And maybe mosquitoes like mud? (Spoiler alert: THEY DO.)

Oh, I'll tell you, we are always learning! So it only took us 14 days or so to figure that out. We're really doing quite well for ourselves. This is why we're better off not owning a home. You're welcome, New Jersey.

Marriage!

-I would really like to figure out this weird chest pain I'm having.

-Shouldn't you go to the doctor? Chest pain seems like a good reason to go to the doctor.

-Well, no, it's not really my chest like my HEART. Maybe it's my lungs? Or my boobs.

-You can't tell the difference between your lungs and your boobs?

-Well, I mean I can in everyday life, yes, but since one area sits right above the other, it's hard to tell which hurts.

-That makes no sense. Your breasts and your lungs are different things.

-Thanks, doctor.

-I mean, just because they're close to each other, you don't know which it is? I can tell the difference between my pants and my testicles.

-So you're saying that breasts are the pants of the chest.

-That's exactly what I'm saying, yes.




Anniversary weekend!

Scott and I spent the weekend living it up, fancy-style, as befits our 11-years-married status. (We were dating for four years before that. 15 years! I was dating my now-husband when some of you all were wearing short pants!) As I mentioned previously, I got us a room at the Ritz-Carlton for his 40th birthday, but scheduled it for our anniversary. See what I did, there? It’s a present for him that is also for me. Thus sparing him the need to buy me an anniversary gift. I am a giver!

When we checked in, the, uh, check-in guy informed us that, due to its being our anniversary and all (you bet your sweet patoot I told them when I reserved the room), we were being upgraded to a suite. My first thought was that I had already reserved a suite, but nice attempt to impress us, Ritz-Carlton. But then, in order that we may understand the true import of this upgrade, he confided that the suite we had been upgraded to normally costs about two grand a night.

Well.

I had reserved one of the lowest-tier suites, and the only reason I even bothered with the whole “suite” idea is because in these parts, hotels, even the glamorous ones, often have alarmingly teeny rooms. I figured if I got a suite, we could at least be sure that when we took a shower, the bed wouldn’t get wet. I didn’t really think we needed a galley, full living room, office, and dining/conference area. But we got it, and my god, we were going to use it.

Here’s Scott conducting a meeting.

Good point. Exactly.

Really? Are you clowns serious?

Hang on-- he has to take this.

Damn it!

NO! DAMN it!

OH, FOR THE LOVE OF—

HA! Good one, Johnson! (Johnson can always calm him down.)

At the end of a long day, nothing like a little telescope action to unwind.

Aw, Christ. What’s the point. What’s the goddamned point.

We did that for quite a while.

Then someone actually called on the actual phone; we missed it, because by then we were busy taking turns on the Toto Washlet. (Now, you may ask: does one need a warmed toilet seat that oscillates and/or pulsates and can direct jets of water and puffs of drying air to your various toilet-related areas? Turns out, yes.)

While we tried to figure out the voice mail, Scott excitedly called out “Maybe it’s something free!” and I observed that we were letting this enormous room go to our heads, with the crazy thought that more free things would simply be brought up to us. And then I listened to the message, which was that more free things were being brought up to us.

It turned out to be a complicated structure made entirely of chocolate-covered strawberries, and before the door was even closed we had crammed most of them into our mouths. I decided we should call room service and say “We eated the chocolates and they hurt our insides and now we need more chocolates.” And then answer the door with our mouths smeared with chocolate. Because the great thing is, you know they’d all just smile and agree to our insane requests! Yes yes and more yes! Fancy places put up with lunatics, and that’s what makes them fun!

I also wanted to call the concierge and ask to have our view changed (not our room—just our view) but Scott felt that both my ideas were strange and unnecessary. While I maintained that concierges enjoy a challenge. It’s this kind of conflict that keeps the marriage lively.

Then we went back to using the Washlet for a few hours. And not that I’m complaining, fancy hotel, but we couldn’t get two of those? You know what it’s like waiting for some refreshing bottom-cleansing? Wondering if you should oscillate or pulsate or both? What, was I supposed to use the other non-warmed seat, like some kind of primitive?

It was pretty fun.

Look who's turning 40 today

It's Scott! Everyone wish him a happy birthday! Go on!

Doesn't he look distinguished?

For my 40th last year, Scott threw me an amazing surprise birthday party and got me a super-fancy camera. For his birthday, I’m getting him the Gift of Packing and Painting! His two favorite activities!

He is a lucky, lucky man.

Actually for his birthday I am taking him for an overnight stay here. And we will be eating dinner here. It will be fantastic.

But those will have to wait for a couple of weeks. Because there’s packing to do, mister! Get to work!

I asked Henry what he loves about his Dad, and he came up with a list. Here it is. I heartily agree with them all. And then some!

Forty things I love about Daddy. By Henry.

1. All his love.

2. He takes me to get a snack after school.

3. He gives me an allowance.

4. He buys me Legos.

5. When he calls me “Buddy bear” or “Hank.”

6. And how bushy is that beard? …not so bushy.

7. The man is strong and a good wrestler.

8. He plays soccer with me.

9. He reads to me a lot.

10. He cuddles.

11. He makes me the best macaroni.

12. He draws funny comics with me.

13. He takes me to the movies.

14. My daddy is very, very kind.

15. I also think he is funny…

16. …and he’s cool.

17. I love how he makes all the funny creations when we’re playing with Legos.

18. His movies are good and detailed.

19. He’s always happy to see me.

20. I like the way he wakes me up.

21. I like the way his glasses make him look funny.

22. He thinks that I’m very kind and good.

23. He tells me that he loves me.

24. He plays me Indiana Jones.

25. I love that I know that he knows that I love him.

26. He tells me stories.

27. He trusts me.

28. He tucks me in at bedtime.

29. He’s the friendliest man I’ve ever met.

30. I like that he can work from home, so we can hang out.

31. I like that he is my Daddy.

32. He sets up the best birthday parties.

33. He helps me find Lego pieces.

34. He’s always proud of me when I say something smart.

35. When we get into fights he always gives me a true apology.

36. He always solves the problem, whenever there is one.

37. He helps me when I’m scared.

38. He lets me do things that are very fun.

39. He always goes camping with me.

40. My Daddy is the best.

Happy birthday, sweetie. You are, indeed, the best. I can’t wait to see you turn into a grizzled old man. It’s happening more quickly than I could have dreamed!