no man is an island

Last night, I slept in our bed.

Normally, of course, that's not unusual. It's just that I've been hacking up a lung for like the last week, and whenever I lie down my lungs think that's a cue for them to start acting up. So, I banished myself to the couch, because I didn't want to keep Paul awake.

The first night, I think Paul was worried. He came out in the morning looking all concerned and was like, "did I say something?", and I responded by promptly coughing up approximately six and a half tons of phlegm.

Yuck.

And yesterday was Paul's birthday and I thought what would be a better birthday present than a good night's sleep?

See, I'm not the best sleeper even when I'm not infected. You know when you watch romantic comedies and there's that shot where the dude sees the girl sleeping and she looks all angelic?

Well, I am not that girl.

I am an Ugly Sleeper. Really. First, I like to wedge myself directly underneath Paul, after which I proceed to drool, grind my teeth, and mutter weird things in a strangely high-pitched voice. Ugly. Add constant coughing and, well.....

I just didn't want to go there. Even I have my limits.

Yesterday morning Paul woke me up, and I wiped the drool off my face and shouted HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and Paul smiled at me.

"You can sleep in bed, you know," he said. "I'll just get earplugs."

And I thought, that's a beautiful moment we just had. Marriage is all about compromise. Also earplugs.

cha-cha-changes

I gave my blog a haircut.

I went with minimalism.

I'm going to have my friend Jake do some blog design for me. He's kind of a tech-y genius.

If you don't like my blog's haircut, that's okay. It can always grow back.

Just don't say anything mean, okay, because then my blog might cry and then I would have to soundly kick your trash. And I really hate doing that.

Okay, bye.

eating stew with paul (what i love about today)

What I love about today is that it's Paul's birthday.

I also love that I got to take a shower so hot that my skin turned lobster pink, and I love that it's the perfect weather for beef stew and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

Most of all, though, I love that it's Paul's birthday.

I'm glad he was born.

Also, I'm glad he grew up and married me even though (or is it because?) I have the entire screenplay for The Music Man, Fiddler on the Roof, and Oklahoma! committed to memory.

And I'm also glad he decided not to abandon me when he found that out.

Also I like the gap in-between his front teeth.

The other thing I love about today is that in approximately one hour and forty minutes, Paul will ring the buzzer and come upstairs and we will eat beef stew and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies together, after which he will allow me to sing Happy Birthday to him even though he doesn't like birthdays at all.

Not even a little bit.

thoughts while eating a fun-size snickers bar

I really like Halloween.

My reasons are threefold: first, I rejoice in the fact that there is a holiday centered entirely around candy and dressing up (two of the best things in the world), second, I really love candy, and third, I also really, really love candy.

While it is perhaps slightly less socially acceptable for me to eat candy for breakfast, lunch and dinner now than, say, when I was nine, my love for Halloween hasn 't faded a bit. The only thing that makes me kind of sad is that I will never again be as cute in a Halloween costume as when I was a kid.

My time has passed, you know? I had my glory days, when all I had to do was put on a tutu or a crown or my mom's high heel shoes and everyone was like "Awwwww....". Now I'm just another washed up thirty year old wearing a Cinderella crown while I chase some Swedish Fish with Yoohoo. And people still go "Awwww...", only now I get the feeling it's for a different reason.

Except for this year, I didn't dress up because I was sick and Paul wouldn't let me go to any Halloween parties because he didn't want me infecting any kids. Whatever. Honestly, I think he's a little embarrassed to be seen with me on Halloween and he saw my sickness as a blessing from God. Potato, po-tahto.

Well, that's life, you know? You buy some cough medicine, and hang up your Halloween costume and you eat like a pound of candy and you move on, right? If I could go back, (not that I would, okay?) I would totally go back to fifth grade when I dressed up as half of a pair of dice and I wore my black leotard and black tights and I had this box that I painted white and stuck black dots all over it and I won best costume and got to sit in the special chair shaped like a huge hand all day.

But that was then, and this is now.

And I'll always have the fifth grade. And candy.

Let's not forget about candy.

the cat wears the pants

Andrea: There are pants on the floor.

Paul: It was the cat.

Andrea: Except for the cat doesn't wear clothes.

Paul: Not when you're home......

the beautiful logic of husbands

Hey, guys.

Long time no blog.

I swear I have a really good reason.

Well, maybe not.

It's just that I started at Columbia last month, and I've been so busy buying tweed and going to protests and writing really long papers about things that I in no way understand that I kind of slipped on this whole blogging thing.

Everything is different now, though. For reals. Seriously. I, Andrea Boerem, solemnly promise to no longer neglect my blog no matter how much I might need tweed. (mental note: need for tweed. Work this into a conversation somehow.)

I actually should be doing homework right now, but my brain was overheating and also guess what happened this morning:

So, my sister got into town this morning, and since I'd like my sister to think that I'm a reasonably clean person, I took it upon myself last night to thoroughly clean our apartment. And Paul helped.

Paul knows how stressed out I can get about cleanliness when people come over. I think it's because while I have learned how to be a clean person, I am not naturally a clean person. I'm kind of like an addict, a mess junky living one day to the next just hoping I don't wake up in the middle of a pile of Ben and Jerry's containers.

So, last night when I was buzzing from room to room shouting things like WE SHOULD REALLY CALL THE SUPER ABOUT THE CRUMBLING WALL IN OUR CLOSET and I'M JUST GOING TO PAINT THE WINDOWSILL REALLY FAST, Paul sweetly ignored my panicked rants and did the dishes. He knows how I hate a dirty sink.

Which is why when Miriam got in this morning and I offered her a bowl of cereal, I was rather amused to find, sitting in the refrigerator in front of the milk carton, an empty (but dirty) Tupperware container.

I pulled it out. Paul finished the pork, I said. And he stuck the container back in the fridge. Nice one, Paul. And Miriam and I shared a laugh. Oh, husbands. And then I realized: Paul stuck it back in the fridge because he knew how mad I'd be to see a dirty dish sitting in the sink.

And I was so touched by his thoughtful gesture that the fact he stuck a dirty food receptacle in our refrigerator was in no way annoying.

When Paul woke up, I teased him. You couldn't wash a dish, I asked.

Well, I was tired, Paul said. It's just I knew how mad you'd be if you saw it in the sink.

The logic of husbands. I kind of love it.

i am liberated by a lie

On Monday at approximately 5:14 p.m., I told a deliberate and premeditated lie.

I don't normally lie. At all. Actually I'm a pretty terrible liar. There was this one time when I was like six and three quarters and I knew mom had a birthday present under the seat of the blue mini-van, and so I went outside and I peeked. It was the box set of Little House on the Prairie. I felt this tiny thrill course through my body and I went back inside and mom was like, where were you, and I was like, there was....a really big star.

And that's pretty much how bad I've always been at lying. Until Monday.

I was walking out of the Columbia campus after a solid eight hours of orientation. It was good and all, but after like eight hours of hearing that the journey I am about to embark upon will be the most gut wrenching and difficult thing in like the history of the world, I was ready for some Chinese food and Judge Judy reruns. So, not so much feeling like talking to people.

There's this hair salon a few blocks south of the campus, and sometimes they send out little perky, highlighted minions to drum up business. So I wasn't too surprised when the perky redhead bounded up to me and asked if she could ask me a question.

I said yes. Why do I always say yes? I could say no, I guess. It's just that being nice is way more socially acceptable. It's probably Donna Reed's fault. So she was like, how much do you pay for a haircut, and then something miraculous happened.

I lied.

It was like some switch went off in my brain and my brain was like, hey Andrea, she's just trying to get your hard earned money which is actually Paul's hard earned money but still it's the principle of the thing, and then my brain was like just tell her some price that's so low she won't be able to beat it, and so I told her....

Fifteen dollars.

She looked at me, surprised. Wow, she said. It looks....really cute. I grinned at her. Thanks, I said. Then she was like, can I ask you just one more question?

Sure, I said. I mean, I was ready for anything.

How do you feel about facials, manicures, and pedicures? She looked at me all triumphant, like she'd just offered a junkie some crack.

I looked earnestly, directly, into her eyes.

I don't really like touching, I said.

And she sprang back with a look of supreme pity and bounded away.

And I stood there, enjoying a lightness of soul only experienced by those expert in rejecting solicitation.

It was a new world. A beautiful, new world.