Madge Max: A Retrospective

Back in the Autumn of 2009, when returning to my childhood home from the fourth day of the third week of a spontaneous bit of freelance work I had commissioned to do in the Big Red Fruit (this was before I was offered employment for the rest of the year) I was surprised with a very unexpected phone call while pulling into the train station. On the other end of the line is my mother who gleefully asks "are you up for an adventure tonight?" Often times when an "adventure" is proposed it usually involves running errands or stealing things from restaurants, however in my post-work haze I still thought this may be some fun excursion out into the great unknown.

She then went on to inform me that they are currently stuck in Brooklyn with keys locked in the car. I was asked if I would possibly be able to return to the city and deliver the spare set of keys. Now, rather than having the house to myself all night I was to go on a great adventure that would take most of the evening, as well as the continual guilt-tripping being laid upon me by my parents even after I said I was coming tenebrous for the umpteenth time. Suffice it to say I was not a very happy camper. As I walked home from the train, the world around me turning ever more with each step I took, I assessed my options. I could turn around and hop right back on the train, getting off at Jamaica, then taking another train to Brooklyn; or I could drive.

Keep in mind, my mother had met up with my dad before their evening began since she was running late, so her car was left in the parking lot of some grocery store en-route. So driving wasn't a simple matter of hopping in the car, it involved propositioning my Grandmother at 9:30 at night to let me use her car, after she drives to the house to drop it off of course. Initially I planned to take option "A" seeing as I hadn't driven for well over a month and didn't fell like doing anything outside of brooding, however as I would later realize, thanks to the suggestion of Mapquest and HopStop, that there was about a 100% time difference in taking the car over the network of trains. I then swallowed my pride and picked up the phone to do something I've always hated: asking to borrow something.

I cannot recall whether I actually woke her up with my call, however I'm sure she sounded sleepy when answering. I explained to her that my parents were in Brooklyn and that she held the keys to my getting there. Fortunately entrusting me with her car wasn't an issue, but of course she wanted to tag along. Now I must remind you I was not in the most affable mood, however the last thing i wanted was to be unpleasant around my grandmother. With a hesitant "why sure!" our evening was set, it was time for an adventure.

In the fifteen minutes it took for her to arrive I inhaled some dinner, printed round-trip directions and triple checked to make sure I had the car keys securely on my person. I wouldn't discover until long after returning home that a GPS had been laying on the dining room table. No, this evening I would be flying blind, or just a few years outdated I suppose. When my grandmother arrived I was not certain whether she had intended to drive herself, seeing that it was late and dark, but a Chinese fire-drill or two after my initial confusion corrected our seating arrangement.

Fortunately for everyone involved the moment I sat down in the car my previous temperament had completely extinguished. It were as though my grandmother was a microwave and I a dish of butter, for those of you needing reasons to be sleepless tonight.

Our travels got off to a good start, I explained in explicit details the nature of our journey. How my parents were seeing a contemporary dance troupe in Brooklyn, New York and my father locked his keys in the car. How I had been in the area of where we were heading once before yet driving there would be a completely different experience. Despite the hairiness getting to the point of traveling, all seemed to be smooth sailing, that is until we got to the first turn. Now, I try not to fashion myself a dim man but often times I have trouble remembering names, in this instance the names of highways. With the directions stating one thing and the street signs another I made the necessary turn though my uncertainty did not sit well with my grandmother. From the time we entered the express way to the moment our exit was advertised my grandmother was convinced that we were headed in the opposite direction. This was not from the knowledge of a better route but more in that I did not sell her on my decision. What's worse is when nature took it's course and revealed to us that we were in fact on the right road, my grandmother was profusely sorry as if she were ruining the trip.

After continual praise over the fact that she was very much necessary for my enjoyment of the trip we came upon our second hiccup; the expressway would be closing for about ten or so exits. With now defunct Mapquest directions in hand I followed the orange detour sign along with everyone else as four lanes of New York drivers exited all at once. Fortunately at the mouth of the exit there was another detour sign pointing us in the right direction, unfortunately that would be the last one we see for fifteen minutes. It was dark and we were in a part of the island I had never seen before, not that I could see much anyway. We had a few noteworthy companions, victimized by the expressway closing, but none of them seemed to have a better clue as to what was going on than we did. Still, we chose fork after fork together until it appeared the expressway could be entered again. Though our detour was still an exit shy of completion and we traversed the dark a little while longer. Thankfully with end in sight the signs became more prevalent. We returned to the highway from whence we came and were home free.

Soon, I would begin to recognize my surroundings and while still not 100% confident in my turning decisions (making one left turn too early in the final stretch) our goal was in sight. The wild journey unscathed didn't persuade my grandmother any in believing that I knew where I was going, as she was second-guessing our turns till the very end.

After the final turn we were stuck behind a dump truck on a narrow one way street which gave me the perfect opportunity to call my parents informing them of our impending arrival, and what would you know the show ended the moment the phone buzzed. While it may not have been the night of ice cream and Mystery Science Theater 3000 I had in store for myself. It was a great adventure with great company the likes of which I could never have planned for myself.

Hers & His Blog Anniversary: A Taxing Experience

Being a giant fan of anniversaries, I rarely pass on the opportunity to commemorate any moment. Like the time Zane and I celebrated our 1 year anniversary of our first kiss, this time without that pesky girlfriend of his in the picture. Or when I made a cake to commemorate a month of Zane having put his clothes away. So I won’t be the one to drop the ball and not take note that today is our one year anniversary of our blog. A full year already?! You betcha. That means Zane and I have been living in sin for what feels like a lifetime. We’ve had highs and lows, but we’ve prevailed. Through 4 moves (since the blog, but 6 total since knowing each other) we’ve always found the humor amidst the tears.

It was just one year ago today that Julie and I sat down to write an email detailing all the daily news about our wild and crazy lives together. We were constantly being pestered (or "pleasantly asked" for any of those I'm referring to) about what we've been up to. We didn't want to be jerks and CC our loved ones on generic emails, however we were far too lazy and self-absorbed to actually call everyone repeating our tales like Crunchberry at a corporate meet-and-greet. Instead we took the lazy route and amassed all our stories for a blog. What transpired would go down in relationship history, our relationship history.

Since living together has become so blasé we’ve spiced things up by adding weekly challenges to keep things fresh. Last week Zane fared pretty well being left in the wilderness with nothing but a fork and a can of beans. This week we thought we’d take it to an even scarier level... Taxes.

Since we are both adults who have had full lives before crossing paths, it’s rare to have a first, let alone a first for both of us, that we can experience. So as we grumpily sat across from each other on our laptops, a twinge of sappiness seeped into my bones. Sure, we were filing separately… maybe for the last time? Ha. I took the opportunity to invoke a little friendly competition. As the deductions mounted I excitedly announced each dollar added to my pot. “Ooh! Another $100!” “Wow! Do YOU qualify for that $400??” Somehow my delight didn’t seem to amuse him. So what if he has to pay in since he’s a consultant? He can still be a good sport.

While Julie and I are a very nostalgic couple there is a no more nostalgic bunch than the US Government. "Oh you worked on a small project for a friend and they gave you some money for it? Wow that was nice of them, may I have some of it?" Or even, "have you ever purchased anything online? We'd like to have some money for it as well, I mean it's only right since you're using your duck-shaped foot scrubber in OUR state."

Never have I felt more abused in my life, well maybe not since last night when Julie pushed me off the bed. The US government is like that nagging roommate that who is the ultimate mooch. "Hey what you got there? Is that honey? Mind if I have some of it? It's cool I'll buy honey next time." However they don't get the good honey, the primo honey, they get the fake store-brand stuff. I don't mean to sound bitter at the US, I mean they did just win 37 medals at the olympics so that must count for something. Does it?

Being unable to sit still for lengthy periods of time, we rewarded ourselves with shoveling out the car. That’s right, our delightful break from our painful chore was to chip a 2 foot mound of ice and snow from barricading the car. It didn’t take nearly as long as I’d hoped, Zane is quite handy with a shovel. So then it was back to government.

I felt that doing taxes online somewhat cheapened the experience. Not in the preferred way of leaving me with more money to spend at the OTB. Doing taxes online takes away from all those personal touches I had planned to make growing up. For questions I'd like to fudge, I'd switch to my favorite turquoise crayon: Method of Payment - Cash [] Accruement []DelicioUs CHicken [X]. No, I was forced to play by their rules, the man's rules. How are they supposed to think that I am a man desperately in need of money? They only give me so many opportunities to write "You best not be referring to MY money" or "that's really none of your business". Not to mention doodles are COMPLETELY out of the question.

Hours of crazy questions and learning a new language have left me questioning everything:
*Do I suffer from accelerated depreciation?
*Why do they keep insulting my income and calling it gross?
*Is there any way to claim Zane as my adoptive child?
*Why do they ask me 20 times if I’m blind? Should I be? Is this beneficial? How would I be able to read that question online anyway? Trick question?
*Is this one of those instances of “When in doubt, choose C”?
*Is personal interest the same thing as self esteem?

After guessing my way through hours of deeply invasive and intense questioning, I told Zane to stop it and that I must get back to my taxes. They didn’t take as long as I expected and warranted an expressive victory lap around the living room and immediate “I did it!” call to my mom. Zane’s got a little ways to go, but he’s done a great job defining himself as a man to the IRS. I am still trying to figure out why it’s okay for the IRS to ask where this relationship is going, whether he’s single or married, but when I ask that it causes a ruckus. Maybe next year I can start calling Zane my “write off” but I think we’re a long ways away. For now, I’m basking in our joint success in doing something so adult while still being in our jammies.

Hers and His: The Movie Teaser #1

Certain people have been asking me (and by "certain" I mean no one) what ever happened to that Hers and His movie you hinted at however many months ago. Well sit tight kiddies do I have something for you! Here is a sneak peak at what you might all be in store for should the loan from our neighborhood church get approved!

The Hers and His Guide to Having a Gouda Valentine's Day

Greetings loyal readers! Please set down your red heart boxes of candy, wipe that candy heart powder from your lips and pull up a chair. While all of those are good and sweet, we have a few modern day twists to make your Valentine's day... and night... a little better.

The secret to a happy Valentine? Distance. Hear me out. This year, the His has to be in Maine to visit relatives while the Hers doesn't get Monday off from work. Thus: Long Distance Valentines. While I first sought pity from friends and my love alike, I have now embraced this decision.

You may remember last year, we also incorporated this Valentine's tradition of distance and traveled to Atlantic City to partake in the most memorable holiday to date. This year, we opted to stay separate and keep what's really important in focus: gifts. Kidding, kidding... but welcome.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder and Absinthe makes the heart get a bit fuzzy. Tonight I plan to pour one out to my funny Valentine and consume a well chosen bottle of wine and fabulous cheese pairing. (Riesling and Smoke Gouda, try it.) Along with those treats I will ration my heart shaped box of chocolates that was delivered today nestled snugly next to my dozen roses. That's right, Zane got me flowers! I'm not sure if it was the constant commercialism that finally got to him, or the well placed hints he may have located in his laundry, the fridge, and pinned to his coat. Either way, it brought a great big smile to my face and warmth to my heart that he planned ahead to make sure I felt loved this weekend.

This Valentine's Day it's like we're newly dating again. Anticipating the next time we'll speak, looking forward to hearing about each other's days, not having to pick up each other's dirty socks. And the best part? We still get to celebrate after he returns! So, as in true Julie fashion, it is not just Valentine's DAY, but WEEK. Or, if properly stretched out, MONTH. But don't tell Zane that. I just love any holiday that forces him to profess his undying love: tomorrow, Arbor Day, T. Hanks Giving Day. Just to name a few.

So tonight as each of you falls asleep dreaming of your one true love or can feel their chilly feet hitting yours under the cover, just know that Zane and I are happily sleeping sprawled and diagonally miles and miles apart counting down the hours until we can celebrate Valentine's Day in style just so we can report our adventure to you, dear reader.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Keeping Abreast of Our Neighbors

While still mourning the loss of our beloved Ocho, we have decided to take an uncomfortably close interest in our new neighbors. After all, Z's New Year's Resolution for 2010 was to make friends, so obviously that meant having to uproot ourselves and all the bad blood we caused in Chelsea and start fresh in a new land that has no knowledge of Zane's history with little boys and trenchcoats.

First, we met our Landlord, a young hot Greecian who could only be dubbed "McGreece-y". Oh, that sounded better in my head. Well, needless to say, I'll be glad to call his cell for any problems I might have.... apartment or relationship related. Then we met Old Man Greece-y. You guessed it! McGreesey liked me so much he wanted to introduce me to his parents. Sure, they live downstairs from us and just so happen to be the Supers of the building, but that's all semantics.

So, with our things in place and the friendliest of Supers in the history of the world, we've been enjoying our new digs. Yes, Old Man Greecey has taken the welcome wagon and parked it a little close to our hydrant, but sometimes it's nice to come home to a little old man in your bathtub caulking. And he has found a way to be considered charming when I come home from work and catch him napping in our bed. Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't have given him a spare key to my car.

In the first week we made friends with our fellow second floor dwellers, Drake Cakes and ????? okay, we only made friends with Drake Cakes. But is it possible to want to be friends with someone so badly, you feel like you know them? 2B is compiled of 2 late-20s professional chefs. So far the smells coming from their door have been nothing short of amazing and my attempts to compete have left the halls wishing I'd stop.

In the midst of moving a giant piece of furniture we met our upstairs gal pal Shannon Dougherty and her roommate Princess Fiona. They are both awesome girls who invited us to a party we ended up not being able to attend. I have high hopes for future Girls' Nights In and Sex and the City-ish brunches in the neighborhood. If those fail, I've developed a way to befriend the girl who lives in the building across from us. Our windows line up exactly, so it's like looking into a mirror. Only her side is a bit girlier and comes with a half naked man who shows up on Saturday mornings. I think we'd be great pals in different circumstances, but every idea I have to initiate contact just comes across as creepy.

1. Sign in the window. "Hi, my name's Julie. I like your couch pattern. Want to be my friend?"

2. "Your boyfriend's cute. So is mine. Want to all hang out? No, we aren't swingers."

3. "Call me. 555-1234."

4. "I see in your fridge that you have some butter, can I snag a stick? I'm out."

I'm still working on that one... definitely will keep you posted.

One of our favorite new neighbors is a furry little critter that keeps following me home. No, not Zane. His name's Gato and he's the neighborhood bakery's cat. He is quite possibly the friendliest little pal anyone could ask for and he literally followed us home, into our building one day. He loves to be pet and meows up a storm. A girl on the street informed us that the bakery lets him out at night to wander and make friends and people "borrow" him and bring him into their apartments. "Don't worry," she says "he'll let you know when he wants to leave. He just scratches at the door." Zane and I melted inside at the thought of a part time pet and have been anxiously waiting for his return so we can scoop him up and steal him for an hour or two. Hopefully he won't pee in our bathtub like our last cat did. Unless that was Old Man Greecey...

So now that you have met all of our fun loving neighbors and have grown to love them as we have, let me tell you a quick tale of late. Casually going to the recycle barrel the other day, I was sorting my plastics and papers when lo and behold, in the barrel alongside my corrugated cardboard and old news lay a collection of magazines. Now I am not much of a magazine thrower-outer and always welcome more materials for collages and bathroom literature. As I flipped over the recycled rag I discovered something new about my loving neighbors. They like porn. Lots and lots of porn. And not like normal porn. We're talking boobs that would make "Jugs" blush. How these ladies manage through the day without backaches and shoulder strain is beyond me, but they appear to be very happy. Buoyantly happy. But why on Earth they'd choose mesh lingerie as their preferred method of support is beyond me. You'd need a forklift to maintain any semblance of perkiness.

Of course I brought one of the magazines up to Zane as a little present for making me bring out the recycling. We enjoyed flipping through the pages and laughing our heads off at what any other magazine would have the title "Morbidly Obese Women Who Only Gain Weight in Their Chests." We laughed and laughed until we realized the pages started getting a little crinklier. Then we cried a little and vowed never to speak of it again. After 10 rounds of hand sanitizer and 3 sessions with a neighborhood shrink, we've returned to our definition of normalcy. But still, that lingering question.... who, oh who, is the Watermelon Wanton?

Welcome Back Kotter

Hey hey blog fans! Or, should I say “fan”. On behalf of my writing partner and myself, I wish to convey a heartfelt “woops!” on the fact that we have seemingly fallen off the face of the Earth. LOTS has been happening since the new year started (and even before!) and like an anxious tween, “like, OMG we have SO much to like tell you!”

Firstly, we are still together. Rumors have been running rampant that much like Conan and NBC, Hers and His creators have gone their separate ways. No, we are like Conan and Andy Richter, though uncomfortable to look at and slightly vomit inducing, we will always remain together.

No, we didn’t get engaged/married/elope/adopt a baby/puppy/kitten/homeless man. Though some of those things are on the agenda for this year, we’ll keep you guessing by not revealing which!

Are we still living with that middle aged man who takes recreational steroids and enjoys VERY loud intimate times with his many many revolving man lovers? Nah. I, for one, am elated that we have moved but Zane is finding it hard to sleep without the lulling sounds of men “high fiving” in the background.

Yes, it’s true, we are the proud renters of a beautiful 2 bedroom apartment literally a block from out old digs in Astoria. We are also only a block away from the street corner Zane and I met on that fateful July day 2 years ago. I enjoy this proximately purely for the times I can drag Z there by the ear and remind him of how great our story is and not to F it up now after all the moving we’ve endured together. He’s in it for the long haul. Whether he wants it or not.

Speaking of bars and long hauls, one recent development was with Zane’s favorite neighborhood bar where he so lovingly watched his pals the Jets (not sure if you’re familiar with them. They are a motley crew of newbies to the land of football who seem to have hit some streak of fortune after their quarterback had the revelation to start throwing it to the players who have the SAME outfit on as him. Revolutionary.) Anywho… this bar around the corner… we walked past it last night and all the doors were closed, lights off and gates down and one of those infamous yellow signs was plastered on the front door. Closed by the NYC Health Department. Ewwwww. Luckily neither of us ever consumed anything there but the smell of locals and the feeling of hope for the J-E-T-S.

As for the rest of our time, both Z and I have been busy working and being regular people for the first time ever. I have been at my new job almost a whole month and am loving it. Working for a Jewish food distributor has its perks, lots of free kosher food in our fridge!!! I am also starting to incorporate a little Yiddish into my everyday dialect. Mostly, I am shvitzing most about my short Fridays, as we are required to leave by sunset to observe the honoring of the Sabbath. Why Black Sabbath is so popular in Israel I have yet to figure out, but I’ve decided to not ask questions and just shout “rock on!” Friday afternoons as I depart.

So, that’s what’s been new with us. We are slowly emerging from our gopher hole-esque existence and welcoming friends back into our lives. While we may not have been writing to you, dear fans, not a day has passed where one of us didn’t say “aww crap, we should probably write on the blog.” Aww, that’s love.

Up next: Julie learns to stop referring to her coworker’s yarmulkes as “teeny beanies”!

Hustling Our Fans For a Little Charity

So, we don't do this often, ask something of our readers besides your undivided attention and a hearty chuckle on occasion. But, in the rare instance that it is important, such as Bud Light Lime becoming an unofficial sponsor, or a dear friend raising money to support his late brother, we make a little blog room to spread the message of love and support.

A little back story...

I met Brian in college, we were 2 of only 4 in our year with the same major and worked alongside each other all through our 4 years. We were friendly competitors who both enjoyed hard work and the pride of a job well done. When I needed a place to stay when I first moved to New York City (even before I met the "His" to my "Hers"!) Brian was the one to offer me a roof over my head for 3 whole months till I got my feet on the ground. In that time, he lost his brother to a very long battle of respiratory illness. When most would hole themselves up and feel pity for themselves, Brian refused to slow down. He turned his loss into a gain for all in need. Only a month after losing his brother he participated in his first "Hustle Up the Hancock" and hasn't stopped since. I am very proud of him for carrying on the memory of Eric and I asked him to write a little something for our fans in hopes that if you wanted to contribute to a good cause this year, you'd chose this one.

Dear fans of Hers and His,

My good friend Julie has given me the opportunity to write this short message to all of you in hopes that I can continue raising money for a cause that means the world to me. The Hustle Up the Hancock is a climb up 95 flights of stairs for the Chicago Respiratory Health Association. This is my third year doing it and I have been doing it ever since my brother passed away 2 years ago. He was 26 at the time and had climbed the Hancock building for 3 years after receiving a double lung transplant from that. There are more details on my donation page and I truly hope that everyone can look into their hearts and wallets, and help donate as much as you can. Thank you so much for your help and of course, thank you for being awesome since you are a fan of Hers and His. The link is here: http://my.imisfriendraising.com/personalPage.aspx?SID=35119

Thank you,

Brian

Livin' Lavida Sano

With 2009 securely in the past and our 2010 Astorian future looking bright, we've taken some time to get acclimated with our new digs. Our first order of business was to remove a large Armoire lent to our apartment's previous inhabitant by the landlord to make up for the lack of a closet in the master bedroom. You read correctly, "master" as in "superior to..." implying "more than one" signifying "we have a two bedroom apartment!". While gloating is hardly my style, nor is it very gentlemanly, one cannot amass the excitement that Julie and I share for this place without the proper embellishment.

Now before you start packing your luggage for a visit we should warn you that we don't really have anything to put in that room yet. Instinctively, I consider it as some sort of "office" implying that I have a work ethic large enough to encompass a room's worth of stuff. Julie, on the other hand has used the space for her own secret agenda by referring to it as "the baby room" whenever possible. Why she considers my football and automated coin machine as babies is beyond me. Women... you can live with them, you can even enjoy it part of the time, but they'll be talking about babies a lot.

When figuring out what to do with this large clumsy piece of furniture we thought it was only right to lend a hand to our landlord by offering to bring it downstairs for him. How "downstairs" became "anyone's apartment who wanted it" I have no idea but far be it from me to deny help to our new prospective pals. We were informed by the landlord that our neighbors next door may like the piece of furniture for their apartment. As Manhattan chefs working on opposite schedules we had a bit of difficulty finding them home, so with a note attached we left it in on their front step like some unwanted child. While they ultimately turned down our offer, it provided a good, albeit inconvenient ice breaker (given that it took up 80% of the hallway). My only hope is that they do not look down their noses at us for our Bertolli dinner parties.

On our friendly paper towel note was a proposition by a neighbor one floor up that if the gentlemen did not want the piece that she would gladly take it. Being the friendly neighborhood movers as we are, we knocked on her door and asked if we could bring the hulking semi-mobile closet to her.

What followed would be a half-hour of "how the hell did he get it up the stairs in the first place". When all seemed for naught the idea arose to remove the doors to lighten the load. Once that was accomplished it was smooth sailing. Well as smooth as carrying a 100+ pound piece of furniture up a narrow stairway.

The experience may have been taxing on our arms, still weary from the New Year's Eve move but it was all worth it in the end. We met the locals and netted an invitation to a post-holiday party (although we probably will not be able to attend being that it's on the same day as plans to party it up with Big Bad "Old Uncle" Blaine, but still).

However, the best experience since the move came last night at the sports bar down the street. Without TV I was fearful that I would not be able to watch my beloved Jets fight for a playoff birth against the Cincinnati Bengals. As I watched the Jets play in top form surrounded by half-interested bar goers and a chill winter breeze sneaking through the front door I knew that Queens, New York is the only place to be.

Astoria: So Nice We Moved There Twice!

Happy New Year loyal readers! As promised we are starting off the new year in front of the keyboard to recant our latest tales of laughter, love, and loquaciousness for you, our dear lovelies. What better way to mark the new year than from the office of our brand new apartment!

Just one block from the apartment where this blog was conceived not 11 months ago, we are just now making ourselves at home in what should be the first place Julie and myself can really make "home", since we are NOT moving again any time soon. Sure I may be cheating. I did write this post yesterday knowing full well that we most likely won't have Internet for a few days, but worry not, I will be back to proof-read this eventually.

Having not had any decent New Years Eve plans this year we decided to move instead. With the assistance of veteran movers (my parents) and the new addition of my cousin Big Bad "Old Uncle" Blaine we braved the elements and changed locations in a flash... I'm assuming. I cannot help but shed one tear for the sublet we just left. Sure it was creepy and offensive, but it was also eye opening (elaboration to come in future posts... whether you're prepared for it or not I shall leave to your discretion) needless to say, we're very grateful to have a place all to ourselves again.

We here are Hers and His wish you all a Happy New Year! Good luck losing weight, quitting smoking, loving your family a little more, and succeeding in whatever other resolutions you may have thought up for yourselves!

Merry 2010!

Hers and His Holiday Greeting Video

Dear Loyal Fans,

While it may seem like this blog has merely become a bulletin for wishing happy holidays we want to assure you all that with the new year will come a refocusing on writing for all you fine people. As you will soon find out there have been many exciting things happening for us and many more things coming up in the next week, so I hope you will understand why December has been sparse on content. So Happy Holidays to all and we'll see you in 2010, goodness knows you will be seeing A LOT of us!

(For people reading this on facebook please follow the link to the blog so that you may view the lovely video greeting above)

Love,

Hers and His

Dollah Dollah Bill Yo!

Some of you may know I have been dancing around the prospects of a few potential jobs since returning to the city after Thanksgiving. With the reality of something to do everyday just a mere phone call away, I want to reflect on how this can positively impact my life. Sure, I won't be able to stay in my jammies till 4 or be up to date on the latest wedding dress shows, but I guess being a contributing member of society is nice too.

Things I will enjoy doing once I am gainfully employed:

-Not squeezing a box of wine into my wine fridge, actually getting it by the bottle.

-Paying someone to cut my bangs instead of the scary "a little more on this side, a little more on that side, OMG too much!"

-Buying a pair of shoes instead of super gluing the heel back onto my broken pair. Who am I kidding? "in addition to," not "instead of."

-Eating something other than pasta and ramen... What? Those are the same thing??? Crap.

-Not watching Hoda and Kathy Lee. Okay, I'm gonna miss Hoda a little.

-Three words: No More Roommates.

-Throw out my ripped pantyhose instead of just adjusting what I wear to not show the runs.

-Ooooh! Metro Card! No more 40 minute walks to go see my friend for lunch.

And lastly....

-Enjoying coming home to a home cooked meal the way Zane has been all this time! :)

Compass Companion Conundrum

A boy and his dog... ahh a lovely sweet image of true companions, buddies, pals, if you will.

A grown man and his GPS... an odd entanglement of penis envy, get out of the car now.

I have been thinking of discussing this modern day romance of technology for quite some time, but it was only this past weekend that I was propelled into full blown need to publicly discuss this epidemic.

Men. You will always be superior to your GPS unit. Give it a rest.

Here are 3 examples of different bonds men I know have:

Mystery Man #1 Questioning

Mystery Man #2 Defiant

Mystery Man #3 Loyal

Traveling with #1 is a lose-lose situation. Constant wondering whether the alternative route would have yielded better results. Blaming whomever recommended to just go with the original route. Asking rhetorical questions of the little device. Even harassing its speaker for being just a bit too pushy.

Now, you want an adventure, get in the car with #2. Why he purchased a GPS is beyond me since he clearly knows the best route to get everywhere already. You know when you have to silence your GPS because it loses its voice after chastising "Recalculating" too many times, you really don't need one. This type of man enjoys showing his dominance over this little advice that doesn't know sh** about where he wants to go or who he is as a man.

I find #3 endearing. Thank God the GPS was invented, otherwise he would still be in his driveway figuring out how to read a map. He turns all power over to his electronic compass and would follow it into a lake if it asked that of him. Whether it be down the street to the supermarket or cross state lines to a wedding, that good ol' GPS has earned a spot in the Christmas card photo as the best addition to the family this year.

No matter which man yours is, you probably have your own anecdote of some car trip gone wrong or some lane change missed then cursed to high heaven. If only men could accept that they aren't asking for directions by purchasing a GPS unit, they are just asking for a hand. The world might navigate a little more smoothly.

A Time to Give Hanks

It is time once again to brave the crowded highways, face the impenetrable guilt trip set by family, and as always "remember your spirit". It is the same with every 4th Thursday of November; the American tradition of Thanksgiving. It is the one day a year (aside from Valentines Day, Halloween, Easter, Christmas and "All you can eat for $5 buffet Wednesdays" at Pizza Hut) where gorging oneself is not only expected, it's celebrated!

I personally do not celebrate Thanksgiving Day. While the theme of taking pause to be grateful is virtuous and undoubtedly necessary in our country, I find that the story in which this moral is wrapped in is anything but exemplary. I refuse to perpetuate this idea that the Pilgrims and NATIVE AMERICANS had a fair trade on this fateful day. As the story goes, or moreover should, the Pilgrims were new to the neighborhood and as a house warming gift the Indians taught them to grow corn and play Lacrosse. In return, the Pilgrims gave the Indians spices and invited all their family and friends over to live and party like teens at a parent-less house.

My family often celebrated the holiday in true historical fashion by finding a neighbor with a nice backyard and paying them pennies to hang out there for the evening, then as a sign of good faith give them the unwashed comfort blanket of which ever family member had the worst cold that year. After the first year we modified the tradition to sharing a meal with police officers to commemorate our group arrest for trespassing that first year.

While it wouldn't be right to spend the holiday like an average Thursday: eating a pint of ice cream while watching the Lifetime Movie Network, I devised my own holiday a few years back. Rather than celebrating the beginnings of US history with it's racially exploitative impinging and incessant hand-turkey art in Thanksgiving Day, I celebrate the career of a man who has brought nothing but joy and appreciation to the entire world with T.Hanks Giving Day!

On the 4h Thursday of November family and friends worldwide gather around to give one another their favorite Tom Hanks movie. From Philadelphia to Turner and Hooch every one of his movies comes with deep lessons about how we should be thankful for what we have. With BIG, we see that while adulthood comes with many great responsibilities, but it also has its perks; like living in apartments unnaturally huge for New York City and being able to nail broads. Toy Story, with it's message that even old things have some use; and Saving Private Ryan, where we are taught that Hitler sucked. Every T.Hanks Giving evening is sure to leave you and yours with a smile on your face and appreciation in your heart.

What better way to say thanks, than to have Tom Hanks say it for you!

HAPPY T.HANKS GIVING DAY!

Thanks for the Giving! (Julie's Holiday Reflection)

With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I feel it's time to reflect on things I am thankful for. Here's my list for 2009:

Here are 2 things that came about in February. The birth of this monkey baby into Zane's family and the birth of our very own monkey baby into the world of online story telling.

This little treat was received in March and I have been thanking my parents ever since! If you don't already have one I HIGHLY recommend getting one. It improves your sleep and gets you more dreams! Our faves? Thunderstorm and Ocean Surf.

My springtime thanks go to the Shroom Burger at Shake Shack in NYC and to... of course... our someday sponsor: Bud Light Lime!

Our summer couldn't have been complete without the sanctuary that was offered to us. We thank you for the hospitality and awesome blog material!!

I was very thankful for TWO opportunities this year to go up to Maine and meet/visit with Zane's Grandparents. This is their lovely home we went to:

I discovered this favorite sometime in the fall and still giggle about it whenever it crosses my mind.

Of course this is not something new circa 2009, but I am still thankful for him and that he will be spending Thanksgiving with me and my family.

Lastly, I am thankful that you are following Zane and me in a very important time in our lives. When we are learning to settle with someone because no one else would put up with our crap. A time of penny pinching and "staycations." We are glad you are a part of our blogging family and for that, we wish you a Happy Thanksgiving.

This is the Ultimate Showdown

Today. 4:15. Zane vs. Julie. I mean, Jets vs. Pats. Who will win? Who will cry? Who cares?

We do!

There has been a request to do play-by-play blogging as the game progresses. Challenge accepted.

First, we must set up a blog appropriate bet. Hmm. Ah!

If Zane wins, Julie will quit taking pictures through the peephole and inviting Ocho over for dinner.

If Julie wins, Zane will stop screaming "Big Daddy wants his meal, woman!" as he ascends the stairs in the evening.

Let the games begin!!!!

3:33pm. We enjoy a little Top Chef before the showdown. Noshing on cheesy bacon dip Momma Gould delivered yesterday. Zane is wearing a green t-shirt (as he always does on game day) and Julie put on a blue t-shirt to mock his weekly ritual.

3:35pm. Julie is asked not to keep reading what she is writing aloud.

3:35:24pm. ...

3:57pm. Zane "picture in picture"s the game before ours so now the loser of this Top Chef challenge has a football game in her belly. You can see in her sad eyes the indigestion must be too much. She goes home and the Falcons get a touchdown.

4:01pm. Julie clarifies that she only signed up to watch one game today. Now after watching 2 repeat Top Chef episodes, she can't catch the latest one she hasn't seen because the Falcons just tied it up with 32 seconds left in the game.

4:03pm. Sigh.

4:05pm. Colts win. Surprise surprise. Wait... weren't we watching the Falcons? We flipped again.

Sidenote: I am enjoying seeing the "Boy Ads" on TV. I watch so much girly television I'm used to toilet paper ads and diaper creams. (My favorite is some ad with a creepy clay kid saying "ewww" to regular liquid medicine.) Now I am inundated with sandwich commercials, beer hawking and that awesome looking cheesy gordita crunch. I'm sold. Can I get fat through commercial osmosis?

4:15pm. Kickoff. Zane has already gone to the bathroom, put his electronics away, and is perched on his chair in anticipation. My mom enjoys watching Zane watch his boys play because she never sees him yell and I think on some sick level she likes seeing him cry.

What are these announcer men wearing? They need wives to dress them. Yellow shirt, white collar, polka dot maroon tie. Blegh.

4:16pm. Consensus is that we are all pleased they are wearing their normal uniforms. This whole "throwback" concept has been irking us.

4:23pm. Zane is sounding pretty pleased so far. In order to combat this, I will take this time to let you know he is wearing Jets underwear. That's right. These sacred man panties... "manties" if you will, were on the top of the list of what to pack when we moved. So take that. 0-0 still.

4:25pm. Pats flea flicker fail. Zane chortles.

Sidenote: What do you think Bill Belicheck looks like in pink? or lavender? or anything but grey? Do you think Bill B. wears Patriots underwear?

4:28pm. Confusion on the field. Fumble? No fumble? Is there proof? Challenge by Pats. Commercial. ...4:31pm still fumble, Pats lose timeout. Zane stays quiet and polite.

4:34pm. PATS INTERCEPT FOR A TOUCHDOWN!!!! Zane swore, I cheered. He then turns as I open my laptop and sassily says "Write about it." Thank you Mark Sanchez, you are responsible for a lot of great plays this year. Unfortunately, most of them were to the benefit of opposing teams.

4:52pm. End of 1st quarter. Zane's been shaking his head a lot. The refs and teams have seemed confused throughout. Woah, they somehow had one last play with 00:00 on the clock. Pats got another touchdown. Zane is now spending more time on his computer. I'll let you know if he smiles again. 0-14 Pats.

5:08pm. I've decided to root for the Jets. It's just too sad watching us anihilate them. It's more fun to watch a close game. P.S. I just asked Zane how to spell "anihilate" but he won't tell me. I think he's mad. Sorry you have to suffer with bad spelling because he's a poor sport.

5:10pm. It's annihilate. I had to look it up. 0-21 Pats.

5:16pm. What'd I miss? What'd I miss? I get up to go to the bathroom and there are shouts. I guess we got ANOTHER interception. The sadness is palpable.

5:23pm. In the spirit of football, I've decided to take the time to boil and fit my new anti-grinding mouth guard. The water's heating as I type.

5:38pm. Zane smiled. I smiled because he smiled, but my mouth guard is too bulky to notice. 7-24 Pats still ahead but at least it won't be a shut out.

5:51pm. Embarrassing missed field goal by the Pats. Zane just "Oooooooo" ed but didn't rub it in. There's a smidgen of optimism in his occasional noises. Let's hope, because Ocho is set to grace us with his model-ness at 7pm for dinner otherwise!!

5:56pm. Halftime. We all eat a cookie.

Sidenote: This isn't a very exciting game for me to be play-by-playing. Maybe that will change in the second half! I still wish the Patriots snag a win, just that Zane has a small ounce of hope that is quickly squashed at the last second! Bwa-ha-ha!

Other sidenote: Maybe I should play-by-play my cookie eating. It's a bit more exciting, and everyone's a winner. The chocolate chip was down on the 1st, but it really pushed through in the last drive and wound up being the 4th down into my stomach. 0-7 Julie.

6:17pm. My mouth guard fits well in case you were wondering.

6:17:04pm. "There you go" Zane gently encourages his team as they score another touchdown. It's like a kindergarten teacher whose student just learned how to use their Fiskers. P.S. I ask Zane if touchdown is one word or two and THIS TIME he pleasantly tells me one. Sheesh.

6:19pm. No, I'm not eating cookies with my mouth guard in, that's just gross.

6:21pm. It's a 10 point game, Zane has set his computer back down and is actually devoting a little more attention to the big screen. 14-24.

6:29pm. Z: Oooooo! J: What happened? Z: He grabbed him and drove his head into the ground.

6:30pm. Z: Oooooo! J: What happened? Z: He fumbled the ball. J: I think I should start actually watching.

6:41pm. Apparently Brett Favre is a serial butt slapper. The men announcing say so, so I believe it. Oh to be Brett's teammate. :) Yet another thing he and Edmoney have in common. First being their ages, of course.

6:46pm. OMG Mark Sanchez!!! Just sit down on the bench. Sit there and think about what you've done. You had all the time in the world, had a great fake and then royally screwed it up. Interception by Pats. Stop making it so easy, Sanchez.

6:56pm. Repeat previous entry only this time he "threw it away" right into the arms of a Patriots guy. Way to go Marky Mark.

7:01pm. Ocho's a no show. Hehehe, I just wanted to type that.

7:03pm. Yet another NE touchdown. It doesn't look this easy when Zane and I play with his football in the park across the street. I think between Brady and my new mouth guard I'm inspired to actually try and catch the ball next time we go out and throw around the new ol' pigskin. 14-31 Pats.

7:13pm. 3 minutes and 33 seconds left in the game. Which means about an hour left in the game.

7:24pm. Still going... 5 seconds. Zane's dad calls so they can commiserate.

7:24pm. Time's up!!! New England wins. Jets attempted hail mary... so close, didn't work. Final score: 14-31.

Zane is upbeat and not sad. He expected this to happen. In true New York form, he knew his team would bomb. Go Jets?

I am indifferent, as I always am with sports. Go Pats?

Actually no. I am not indifferent. I am thrilled. The game has wrapped up and now I can proceed to my favorite Sunday night event: Bridezilla marathon!!! All in all, everyone wins.

Except Zane. He double loses.

My Idiosyncrasies

Here's a list of weird things about me:

• I don't like to grocery shop alone because I feel I look too young to be buying groceries and that everyone must be looking at me wondering where my mom is.
• My guilty pleasure is opening a fresh jar of peanut butter and being the first to unseal and put a knife in it.
• The only good part about my job at the theater in Hartford was when I made the coffee each day I'd get to cut open the vacuum sealed coffee pouches and they made that "whoooosh!" sound.
• I can hear electronics when they are on even when they are muted.
• When my parents bought the lakehouse I could hear the high pitched screeching bat deterrent.
• I sucked my thumb until I was 12.
• I still get a kick out of twirling my 24 year old Kid Sister doll's hair between my fingers. (It's best when cold.)
• Zane has to fluff my feather pillow at night because I don't do it as well as he does.
• I like to read labels of products and make sure they have all the letters of the alphabet on them. (This is best done in the bathroom)
• Most often the only missing letter is J. Q and Z are more common than you think.
• I always hoped to marry someone with a last name higher up than Whitehouse in the alphabet. (For my kids' sake in elementary school seating.)
• I thought I mistakenly purchased "boy glasses" when I first got them in 2nd grade because a boy in my class had the same ones.
• Out of the million freckles I have, I pick favorites.
• I absolutely hate tending to plants despite appreciating their existence.
• When I was in grade school I pretended I had an even older brother who lived in our attic. He was cool.
• There is nothing worse to me than a girl who tells you what your Barbie should say.
• My recurring nightmare is trying to run away from something bad and it only coming out in extreme slow motion.
• I still can't comfortably drive in rain after the car accident.
• When I see people's feet I instinctively do a quick count of toes because it always looks to me like people have an extra one on first glance.
• The only reason I went into stage management was because I was rejected as an actor every time I auditioned for 4 years in high school. I would have been a graphic designer otherwise.
• My favorite drink was Hawaiian Punch until my high school boyfriend found out and bought me one every day for 4 months.
• I still can't tell when people are talking on the phone into an earpiece or just a bit schizophrenic.
• If given the option, I will always choose the even number or left.
• I write right handed but play sports left handed.
• Never once this year have I answered the proper age when asked. It's always 24 or 26, never 25. I'm in denial.
• I like to minimize my Gmail window so when it says I have a new message it's like opening up a Christmas present.