Dear Santa, please don't trip over our robot.

It's almost time for Christmas.  And it's been a while since I've posted.   I did, after all, have a November 14th wedding to attend (ours!) and a blissful two-week honeymoon on the islands of Moorea and Bora Bora in French Polynesia.  Sorry - I know you're jealous.  But lest you get too green-eyed with envy, take a look at what I returned home to and STILL have to deal with: the HIDEOUS MESS that is our home on Woodward Way.

(Yes, Virginia, that is a robot guarding our fireplace, right underneath one of our darling new Christmas stockings.  Please don't ask.)

So, here's to 1 month of our newlywed bliss and newlywed mess.  May Santa bring me a dustbuster and some willpower -- not only to clean up, but to get back up writing on this blog, cause my list of ideas has grown longer than a 9-year-old's Christmas wish list. 

At least -- amidst all the chaos -- we put up this gorgeous specimen of a tree.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEWLYWED YEAR.

The Break In

Lest this post's title makes you worry we've now been victims of some heinous crime, I'll quickly get to my point: it's the squirrels again.  They are everywhere in my hood.  And they're THIS BOLD.

This is the top of my neighbor's house.  And this jerkazoid is just having a ball going IN AND OUT.   (So the neighbors were the victims of the break in this time, "nut" us. ha ha.)

But this guy's transgression I'll never get over.

He looked me in the eye as I was taking pictures and (I'm not making this up), ran up to the top of their house and mooned me.  I have witnesses...he wanted us to see his squirrelly butt -- and though there were no words, the message was clear.

While it is not my intention for this blog to morph from lessons on new home ownership/husbandship to animal pranks, this stuff sometimes writes itself.

However, I'd be remiss if I didn't say something profound about the fact that in less than one week, I'll be married to this wonderful darling man I live with.  So exciting!  People keep asking, "Are you nervous? Are you ready?" Well, remember that corny pun a few paragraphs back?  The word was "nut," folks, but perhaps I should've just said "nuts" because that's what I'm going.  But I can keep it in perspective: I've got the groom in the bag -- and he's an amazing one -- so whether or not I finish tying ribbons on all the programs, or ensure all of the welcome bags are complete, or stutter over my vows, or grow a volcanic zit on my cheek the day before, it's all going to be a-okay.  This time next week, I can scream at that squirrel's butt: "You get out of here and don't ever come back... Or you'll have to answer to my HUSBAND!"

Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'

Nevermore -- ain't that for 'sho!  Some relationships just aren't meant to be, and this one is done.  Done, dead, over, finito.  Who'd have thought I'd be initiating a break up just two weeks before my wedding?  And that my fiancee would be totally, 100% on board?  Yep, even my soon-to-be husband agrees it's time for me to say adios to R. the hairdresser.

Burn me once, shame on you.  Burn me twice, shame on me.  Cut a chunk of bangs on one side of my head that looks like I fell asleep chewing bubble gum and had my blind 96-year-old Grandmother cut it out -- after being explicitly asked to JUST TRIM MY DEAD ENDS AND NOTHING ELSE -- two weeks before my wedding?  Shame on... well, just shame.  A crying shame (and oh did I cry!).  But even I could have forgiven an honest mistake (or admitted it doesn't really look that bad)... had R. made any attempt to make it up to me.  What I can't forgive is that, after five years of loyal patronage and sending him four now-regular clients and goodness knows how many others, R. did not even bother to return my tearful message.  Nope, he had his assistant call me back -- LAME.  It was well below a C effort and really, at this juncture, I'm only interested in A's or above.

So we're moving on to better things, like handing out Halloween candy to what we've been told will be at least 100 neighborhood children.  My fiancee, who is giddy with excitement and dressed like the Hamburgler, just asked me, "Are the parents going to think we're the weird house instead of the cool house because I'm dressed up?" (Probably.)  He really wants to be the popular house for Halloween on Woodward Way, which is why he insists on giving out full-size candy bars so we gain some street cred with the kiddos -- though we may be missing the mark because the second most excited kid was the one who took the banana, which we put out as a joke.  Anyway, about the street cred: I do think it's working - we've had massive crowds already and only a few of them have laughed at my bangs.

The Masked Crusader was totally supportive of me throughout the bang ordeal and with my ensuing decision to call it quits with R. He's super sweet to the trick 'er treaters, too, whereas I insist they take only one item or else the demon who lives under our stairs will likely follow them home.

 

So maybe my hair didn't look so great pre-haircut, either; nevertheless, I'll consider going back to R. when this skeleton rises us out of his grave and gives me a full-size Kit Kat,  like the ones we're handing out.

The nerve of some people!

A few days ago, this shameless fellow had the nerve to poop on my front lawn and then happily trot up to my front door, where I was watching him through the window in horror.  He and his buddy were frolicking their way up and down The Way, leaving no bush or Herby Curby safe and with no owners in sight.

I was talking to my friend Erika at the time and we agreed that -- despite how mad it makes us homeowners to see a neighbor-dog relieve himself Number Two-style on your turf -- no amount of poo makes these types of yard signs acceptable.

What  IS acceptable, however, is the call I'm putting in to Wade Blasingame.

Gone Baby Gone

The only neighbor we've really bonded with is L*., seen in this picture snuggling up to my fiancee. (*Name abbreviated here to protect the innocent)

L. used to come over all the time. She would show up at our back door and meow to tell us "hello!" before sunning herself on our porch.  Sometimes she would greet us at the front door and rub against our legs.  Needless to say, we adored L.

Then, one day, I heard what sounded like violent homicide coming from our bushes.  I ran outside and watched in dismay as BDNC (Back Door Neighbor Cat, another truly UNFRIENDLY neighbor with whom I've had several a run-in), sped off as fast as his guilty legs could carry him.  My dismay slowly turned to horror a few moments later when L. sheepishly creeped out of the bushes.

"WHAT WERE YOU DOING?" I shouted. "NO, don't answer that. I KNOW what you were doing, you little hussy!"

I called our sweet little neighbor kitty a hussy, and now we've never seen her again.  That was weeks and weeks ago.  She's gone.  We have a couple of theories about where to.
#1 - She hates me for what I said and simply refuses to come back around (as she should... who am I to judge, when I myself am living in sin!?)
#2 - Her owners "sent her to Europe to study for the semester" -- and we all know what that means!
#3 - She and BDNC ran away together to California and eloped. 

Seriously, L.'s gone.  My fiancee says he recently saw the guy next door holding a kitten -- her love child? Or her replacement? I hope it's one and not the other, because I really can't bear to think something bad happened to her.

We miss you, L.  You were the only one who seemed to notice we were here.  Come back, and you can do whatever in our bushes anytime!

Enemy, Thy Name is Squirrel

Show me a squirrel anywhere near my home, and I'll show you my nasty side. You may even hear a curse or a threat come out of my mouth. That's because of a series of events that unfolded back in August, revisited here, for your reading pleasure.

SQUIRREL PART 1

AUGUST 4, 2009. MY MOTHER'S FIRST VISIT TO THE HOUSE. WE OPEN THE DOOR, AND LO AND BEHOLD, A SQUIRREL IS SITTING IN THE LIVING ROOM JUST STARING AT US. WELL, STARING, UNTIL ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE. HERE'S A LETTER I POSTED TO FACEBOOK:

Dear Squirrel who is currently terrorizing my office:
Thanks so much for giving my mom a welcome tour of mine and W's new home that she will never forget. There was nothing greater than opening my front door and seeing you freeze in your tracks over near the doorway into our office. The little poops you left everywhere are fabulous too. And now that you're hiding, I just hope you know how much I love having you in our office to wreak further havoc on our computer and all my wedding planning folders.
Love,
C

SEVERAL HOURS LATER. IT TOOK LITERAL POKING AND PRODDING TO GET HIM TO COME OUT FROM BEHIND OUR FILING CABINETS.

Dear Squirrel,
In the words of Taylor Dayne, saying goodbye is never an easy thing. I'm sorry it took W 7-8 violent pokes from the end of a Swiffer to persuade you to finally walk (haul a$$) out that door from behind our file cabinets, but we figured an abrupt departure was better than dragging things out... you know how much I hate goodbyes! We'll miss you!
Love,
C

P.S. Never come back.
************************
WE THOUGHT OUR TROUBLES WERE OVER, UNTIL...

SQUIRREL PART TWO

AUGUST 12, 2009 - LETTER TO FACEBOOK

Dearest Squirrel,
It was so good of you to "drop" (down our chimney) back by again today! What a glorious surprise to hear you perambulating up and down our office blinds again! I have to admit, many folks thought you'd come back for another visit, but I truly thought when you said goodbye it was forever. Forgive me my shortcomings as a hostess! Next time I'll be ready for you with a glass of lemonade.
Love,
C

P.S. That lemonade will be spiked with weedkiller.

********************

He left evidence of his journey throughout our house all OVER the house!

 

He had a time running around on our computer keyboard. At one point he Googled the letter "L." We can only assume he was trying to type "liberation," or "locksmith." (I broke my key off in the door trying to open it to let him out!)

One of four window sills he mutilated.

His hiding place until he was poked out.

********************************

The exciting conclusion to our squirrel saga? After visit #2, we called an exterminating company's Wildlife Division.  They came out and convinced me that not only did we have a home ripe for squirrel drop-ins but that we had access points all over for other errrr, creatures.  Needless to say I was the perfect sell (AKA sucker!) because I just opened up my checkbook in fear (and I, of all people, should know better!).  The good news is we should be critter-free from here on out, though the dead chipmunk in our front yard this past weekend made me wonder.

The 500-Year Flood

We move to Woodward Way... I start a blog called Woodward WAY-WARD... and then our street suffers some of the worst damage by what folks in town are now calling "The 500-Year Flood." Now I'm not saying the Great Flood of 2009 and my blog are related in any way. (Nor is the fact that I haven't written in nearly a month related to the Great Flood.) I'm just saying it's an interesting coincidence....

On a serious note, we felt very fortunate to be on higher ground during the flood, which occurred on Sept. 21, 2009. We had a tiny bit of water in our basement, but it was cleaned up very easily. Our hearts go out to our neighbors and all others who were not as fortunate, and especially those who lost a loved one because of the flood.

Yep, those are the tops of stop signs in the back of the picture, and that's a black mailbox on the right.  Earlier that morning I turned around in that driveway... by the end of the day, the water was too high to even get down the street.

For context, here's the same view of the street after the waters receded.

 

Lesson learned: instead of cursing the steps I climb each day from the carport to the back door, be glad our house is on high ground. 

Lesson #2 learned: never buy in a flood plain!

Welcome to the Block!

This little separation of limb and trunk was discovered on the morning of June 20 -- the day of our engagement party and five days before we were set to move in. Family and friends were descending upon us for the celebration, and I’d planned to conduct several tours of our new street as well as move in an antique table that my aunt and uncle were bringing me from my grandmother’s. So, I thought my fiancée was joking when he called and said, “I’ve got good news and bad news…”            

The good news for me was that, while the falling limb required a “caution” police barrier around our block for the rest of the day, I -- the uber-important owner of the house -- was able to navigate past it. “That’s my house,” I explained matter-of-factly to the tree and power guys as I ducked under the yellow tape. I kept looking around and wondering when all of my soon-to-be new neighbors would come pouring out of their homes, offering comforting words and an apple pie or two. Perhaps that was the bad news. Even while taking out their power for several hours and blocking the passage way for their Volvo station wagons… our arrival announcement didn’t seem to make much of a splash.

Hopefully Granny Tree won’t try to outdo herself next time.

Eat Your Heart Out Restoration Hardware

Decorator, I am not.

I would rank my inability to decorate right up there with my weak cooking skills and my tragic sense of style. Thank God for darling roommates throughout the years who have hung cool pictures, fed me and said, “You can’t wear that out.”

But decorating has been the one area that really stings my ego… so the day we closed on our house I decided that as a young bride on Woodward Way I would not only face my fear of decorating but I would ultimately deliver it a smug shoulder shrug and sassy “in your face!” smirk -- with the most awesome, deceivingly affordable, superior-to-even-HGTV décor on all the street.

So here’s our first decoration: an accoutrement for the grand staircase.  We made it before even officially moving in.  It was June 15, one of the first evenings we had possession of the house.  We ordered pasta to go and ate it sitting on folding lawn chairs in our den.  We toured the empty house, toasting each other with Solo cups of wine.  Then we created this masterpiece.  It’s colorful!  It’s unique.  It cost nothing but our labor of love.  It’s sentimental, too – a countdown to our wedding day.  We tear off a link each day... err, when we remember.  And even though it will soon disappear, I know Vern Yip is jealous.

***

The first time my mother-in-law-to-be walked in our front door, she exclaimed, “How adorable!  The children who used to live here left you a present.”

A Whole New World

Domesticity is not all throw pillows and fancy rugs and movie nights and home-baked cookies.

Vulnerable tree crotches. Missing chimney dampers. Buying towels to match the wallpaper and a soap dish to match the towels.

These were things I’d never even heard of – much less considered – on the day my man proposed. But we’ve been homeowners for three months now, and I’ve realized I’m as awestruck (dumbstruck) as the princess in Aladdin about the fact that our domestic life has begun, that we’re in charge of it, and that I’ve nearly mastered backing my Corolla into our carport. It’s a whole new world! Moving in together, living in this neighborhood where we don’t quite fit in yet, deciding who loads the dishwasher and who deals with the whacked-out German washing machine… every day we learn something new or figure out a new way to do something or maybe try to unpack a box (or just lug stuff from one room to another). And in between the “ordinary” days we’ve had a few extraordinary days that have become the heart of what I've come to think of as pledging a homeowner's fraternity. It’s true; we’ve endured our fair share of hazing so far, but dude, it’s like, totally worth it. We love our house, and everyone knows that being beaten down together creates an unbreakable bond between people. So it has to be a good way to start our life together. Right? Well, at least we've got some good stories to tell.

So that's my plan -- to chronicle some of our experiences as first-time homeowners, as newlyweds, and as the newbies on Woodward Way – be these experiences wayward or just plain Woodward. That is, if our Hummer-driving, Nantucket-vacationing neighbors and the squirrels agree to let us stay.