There's no place like...

There are no shortage of cheesy quotes about the idea of "home". Dorothy informed us that there is no place like it. We all know that "Home is where the heart is", "home, sweet, home", "home is a place to call your own", and (my favorite) "home is where you are loved."

Then, why does our brick colonial feel more like a museum than a home right now?

The full answer? Dan and I have been making all the appropriate moves to, well... move later this year. The market is lousy, but the low interest rates and deals on houses in better school districts are tempting, so we figured we might give it a shot. I'll write more on the emotional side of possibly saying goodbye to a house we adore later.

This post is dedicated to how getting our house ready to sell has been a royal pain in the ass.

It turns out that Dan and I are fairly disgusting. To the outside observer, our house seems uncluttered and charming, but if you were with us when we were scrubbing our floors this past week, believe me, you would judge. Grime, dust bunnies, dead crickets... oh my! (Okay, okay, I promise that will be my last allusion to Wizard of Oz.) We realized how often we accumulate an army of water glasses upstairs because we're too lazy to bring them down after we are finished using them. In his closet, Dan has a mountain of dirty clothes that could rival the size of Octomom's pile on laundry day. I wake up to wadded tissues when I miss the trashcan in the middle of the night. (What? Don't judge! I have a cold...)


Now, we live in the Land of Obsessive Tidiness (ruled by that bitchy tyrant Queen Clean). We can't wear shoes around the house lest stray leaves and dirt mar our perfectly polished floors. We have to keep swiffering to ensure dust free base moldings. And the worst part? We have to keep tiptoeing around the "exhibits" we have staged. Gone are all the dog-eared magazines and smudged cookbooks. Hello, bowls of green apples and useless candles. I staged all our closets with labeled boxes. We even have a fluffy, white bathroom mat that we plan on putting out right before people come to view the house, while we use a dark gray one in the meantime.

(What kind of anal-retentive person can actually keep a white rug, however small, clean? If you are one of said people, do tell me how you do it because I completely envy you and your spot-free existence!)

The one bright spot? I get to buy more loot for our house in the name of "staging" our home!

Here was our foyer before last week:

And here it is after a mini makeover:

On the other side, Dan thought of framing this photo of our house after last week's snowstorm:


Here is a close-up of that photo:

It's definitely still our home, sweet, home.

The saying is right: "Home is where you are loved"...
even if you are two of the most hopelessly messy people :)

Ode to my Snuggie

I've been checking you out for a long time, dreaming about your warm arms holding me.

You first caught my eye when I saw a commercial for you on late night cable television. Then, I saw another. And another. Each time, I couldn't look away. Your infomercials rivaled even the most classic ones. The Chia Pet and "the clapper" got nothing on you, baby! A blanket with sleeves?! Brilliant. How did I ever answer a phone or cook a snack while staying warm before? Your chic infomercials explained the financial, emotional, psychological benefits of owning a Snuggie. I would have lower heating bills, become better at math, be able to cook a five course gormet meal without getting chilly, find a cure for cancer, and, of course, look damn sexy while doing it all.

I had my doubts. You're so popular that I wondered if you weren't a bit of a player. Everyone, from Ellen to Weezer, was wearing, posing, parodying, caressing, and devoting themselves to you. 3,000,000 people to be exact. Would I just be another adoring fan?

I guess I'll have to share my obsession because I'm okay with all things cliché. Hell, it's time for one right now...

If loving you is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

When I opened my last present from my husband and found you in all your Pepto Bismal pink glory, I knew we would be a match forever. We could scoff at all those pathetic folks still using blankets. Losers.

You've been nothing but warm and wonderful. Even Dan couldn't resist your charms (picture withheld for future blackmail.) You, me, and 30 Rock Thursdays are going to be so happy together.

Just don't tell my robe.

We wish you a Merry Dunce-mas

When I checked through my mail yesterday, I saw an envelope from an unfamiliar address. Another Christmas card with family in cheesy sweaters, perhaps? An adorable photo post card of a friend's baby? As I ripped it open, eager to add to the card collection on my fridge, I found a marked-up copy of a story I had written instead.

What the...?

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Those of you who read my blog regularly (all two of you... holla, Mom and Dad!) know that I recently tried to take a writing class. I skipped two of the six meetings because I was sick of feeling like the class dunce. The group was led by a pretentious woman in her mid-sixties who was obsessed with the the sound of her own voice. She would pose topics just so that she ramble on with her own judgmental assertions. A few of her gems? People who read best-sellers have "simple minds", her own book is the best thing to happen to the world since creation, and the Harry Potter series sucks. I read all the Harry Potter books, and I'm not simple minded.

A nerd, yes... but we already knew that!

I'll admit, I'm paraphrasing her words a bit, but seriously, this teacher was obnoxious. She interrupted people constantly ("let me just play devil's advocate") and never, ever let anyone have the last word in a conversation.

Anyway, not able to handle anymore, I skipped the final meeting's writing workshop. This meant that I never had a chance to hear her feedback on a story I had written. Oh, darn. Instead, I drank wine, watched the Office, and trash-talked this woman's teaching ability to Dan. She may be one hell of a writer and a pretty decent editor, but I could tell her a thing or two about how to teach. Like maybe you should occasionally listen rather than talk.

Just a thought.

A month and a half later, I had completely forgotten about this teacher until I received the envelope with my story, the one that I had turned in but then skipped the workshop. She had written her revisions all over it.

One hundred and sixteen different revisions, to be exact.

Merry f&%*ing Christmas to me.

I told you she liked to have the last word.

(Dunce picture from here.)

The Jolly List

Yes, it's been two weeks since I've last written (I know, very naughty!), but I promise I'll be better about writing and come up with some new, scintillating posts when I'm on winter break next week. Until then, I'm praying for December 18th to come quick and am basking in this oh-so-fun season. Here are a few items that are making me feel jolly right about now...

1. Playing my yule log DVD

So what if our fireplace isn't in working order yet? Nothing like a LCD screen to keep you warm! Is this not the most hilarious thing ever?! It even makes crackling noises.

2. Romantic winter dates with Dan
Dan always surprises me with a winter date every year. In the past, we've gone to Colonial Williamsburg to see their winter fireworks, driven to every house on the tacky light tour, and have even taken a night carriage ride around Maymont, a local park. This year he surprised me by taking me to Christmas Town at Busch Gardens. (Believe me, there were many theater students in costume. We had fun chortling over the cranky teenagers dressed in elf ears and tights.) Cheesy? A bit, but luckily I adore all things cheesy! What more can a girl ask for than s'mores, hot cocoa, carols, thousands of lit trees, a light show, a train ride, and even real snow?


3. White Elephant Swap

Every year, we go to a party where there is a white elephant gift swap. For whoever who has never played, it's basically where everyone brings a gift and people can swap to try to get the item they want. It taps into everyone's competitive and greedy side! Last year, I won my own gift back, the Yule Log DVD (see #1)!

4. The white chocolate and cranberry cookies I just finished baking

So delicious... Let the emotional eating begin! I'll be better in January '10!

4. The Nutcracker
I try to go every year. I love everything about it: the costumes, the tiaras, the swelling music...
Later, I come home, play my Nutcracker c.d., and try to get Dan to imitate the grand, strenuous lift that the dancers do during the pas de deux. It usually ends with him groaning, "You're too heavy!", thus killing my "No one puts Baby in the corner!" moment.

5. Elf Yourself

Why should the theater students at Busch Gardens (see #2) have all the fun? Here is a video of Dan and me kicking it as elves. A shout-out to Mali and Laura for exposing me to this hilarious website. If the above link does not work, just click on this sentence.

Who else has a jolly list? Come join me by the (faux) fire!

(Cookie photo from here and I-wish-I-was-that-light- Nutcracker photo from here)