Would You Be Mine, Could You Be Mine, Won't You Be My Neighbor

Five days until I'm officially a homeowner. I got a jumpstart on things today by stopping by a house party on my new block. I met a bunch of my neighbors, a number of whom I thought were awesome. (Sidenote: My hostess ran the Marine Corps marathon, and then had 40 friends over for chili and fall treats. Talk about raising the bar.) I'm super psyched about the block. (Although slightly neverous that I may have run my mouth too much about the sellers -- am still angry about being called a PITA. Of course, I'm not sure that anyone really liked them, either. So it may be a wash.)

This is also the first time in my adult housing life where I'll know the neighbors, too. In NYC, I didn't know anyone, except for the slightly crazy woman living next to me in Brooklyn. So, it's fun to have neighbors on the street who maybe will invite you over to play Guitar Hero or something (as was discussed this afternoon). PLUS, one of my good friends lives on the block already, so I'll have a SuperNeighbor, as I like to think of her.

Meanwhile, back at the apartamento, I've been sorting through old paperwork trying to get rid of stuff for the move. I just went through a box of stuff from my office in NYC, that I hadn't looked at since I left some 18 months ago. It's kind of fun to pack your boxes and never look back. But now I'm looking back -- at least to organize the random stuffs in my apartment.

Blue Jean...I just met a girl named Blue Jean

I was watching What Not to Wear today, thinking about how I'd feel if Clinton and Stacey surprised me for a fashion makeover. On the one hand, you get $5000 worth of new clothing. And I definitely could use some more fashionable clothing. On the other hand, you have to suffer through the embarassment of having cameras follow you around in all your shlumpy outfits. Plus, I suspect you are limited to whatever store they want to send you to, as a result of their product placement. So instead of buying $5000 of awesome clothing, they would send me to somewhere random and I'd end up with all sorts of goofiness.

Meanwhile, I'm on the eternal quest for the perfect pair of jeans. In an attempt to find one good pair, I purchased 8 -- yes, that's eight -- pairs this fall. I had to try on probably 50 pairs to get to that number. I have no intention of keeping all 8, I just wanted to bring them home to compare. So seven pairs are going back, and it turns out I'm not that happy with the pair I decided to keep. The best of the bunch, for sure, but still not awesome.

How hard is it to find the perfect pair of jeans? It's the holy grail for the mid-30's woman -- how to find the pair that's not too dark, not too light. Neither too long, nor too short. Not too mom-like, or too emo. It might be worth it go on WNTW, just to get the ultimate pair of jeans.

This is not my Beautiful House...

Just over a week until I close on the new house. Part of me is super excited, and part of me is completely freaked out. I suppose it's good that as of this week, I'm more frequently excited than freaked out.

Also, I made the mistake of looking up the sellers on facebook to see if they had any comments about the house. The wife seems cool. But, the husband had a few bad comments about the neighborhood, selling the house, and whatnot. Sounds like he couldn't leave fast enough. It makes me anxious, thinking "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" On the other hand, the guy seems like he may not be cut out for city living at all. Plus, he loves the crap out of McCain. An unreliable narrator, as they would say. So, I'm trying to ignore the random stuff he said -- it's not like it's stuff I didn't know, anyway.

It does raise the question, though -- In the internet age, is there ever such a thing as too much information? I'd usually answer the question, "No." I think being well-informed leads to better decisions. On the other hand, maybe there comes a point when it's just too much information. For a deliberate person like myself, all that info can leave your brain running in circles.

In any case, it will be good to own a house, have cookouts, and get out of this apartment building.

Sit back and relax, enjoy the show

I went to a concert last night, for the first time in ions. It was good, but nothing exciting. I can't decide whether that's because of the artist -- Jason Mraz -- or that I'm just old. Probably both. His songs are mellow, which led to a downer kind of mood. And, I'm just too old to be at a concert unless I'm jamming out having the time of my life...like all the teenyboppers were last night. I realized that I'm closer in age to the parents outside waiting in cars to pick up the kids, or sitting in the lobby trying not to feel slighted when their kid pretends that he doesn't know his parental escort.

Also, I'm a little spoiled from the many Ben Folds concerts that I've been to. Now I know the world seems to be divided into two camps -- Pro=Ben and anti-Ben. I don't know too many people who are just blase about the man. You love him or hate him. Fortunately, a few of my friends happened to like him and forced me to a show at the 930 club, some 10 years ago. You may not like his music, but his shows are super energetic. Always had the best time dancing and singing. Immediately after the first concert I wanted to go out and buy all his old albums -- a sign of a good show.

If I weren't broke to the wind this week, trying to save for my new house, I might be persuaded to hit a second concert this week -- Ben Kweller at R&R Hotel. (I enjoy Bens.) Also, Ben Kweller is less a concert, and more of a show. I'm not sure what qualifies as a concert these days, and what's a show. But Kweller is a show, which offers much more indie yupster street cred.

Whatevs. Surely there must be some concerts that offer street cred. U2? Have been trying to go for years, but luck never seems to be on my side. Pixies reunion? The Stones? Guns & Roses? I just don't know any more. Maybe none of the above.

Dangermouse...

Caught another mouse tonight. I guess it's the fact that the apartment building is in the midst of renovations, or maybe the change in weather, or probably both. But I'm so over the mouse.

Why do the mice follow me around? I am the Pied Piper or Piper Peraboo of nothing. When eventually I'm famous - or even better, notorious -- and someone writes a thinly-veiled novel about my life, they'll throw in stories about the mouse, and people will think it's made up, and book groups will form and talk about what the mouse means. Is it a symbol for how small and insignificant we can feel in the face of a huge and senseless universe? Is it a symbol for the dark side in all of us, capable of killing (by glue trap) when adequately provoked (as symbolized by mouse poop on counter)? Is it an esoteric literary reference to the Gunther Grass' novella Katz und Maus, which I was forced to read in college, in its original German? (I use the term "read" very liberally, since I was never as good at the reading of the German as I was at the drinking of the German beers.)

Man I hate the mouse.

The Bitch is Back

I pulled out my passport again. It's been so long since I've traveled out of the country, I almost forgot to pack my passport for this trip. Of course, it's just Mexico, which is connected, so perhaps I'm forgiven if it seems like I'm traveling within the country.

So I'm off for a few days of R&R on the beach in lovely and beautiful, Cabo San Lucas. (Please pronounce that part like you are announcing the trip on the Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right. Of course, that prompts me to tell the story of when I went to LA to try to get on The Price is Right, some 13 years ago...but perhaps that's a different blog post.)

So, as I was saying, I'm off to Mexico. After my travels last year, this is pretty easy. No shots, no malaria pills, no Cipro prescriptions. Of course, no elephants, no dinners of impala schnitzel, no huge glaciers. Just easy, breezy traveling.

Which is good, since I spent all night hanging on to every word of the VP debate. I've got election fever, coupled with financial crisis OCD. Needless to say, between those two things, and my love of all things frivolous, I'm getting very little done, what with all the good stuff to read on the internet. And that's not even counting all the house buying minutia that occupied the majority of my September.

It's hard to believe that with all these great things to talk about that I've neglected writing on the blog for so long. So I'm back. Prepare for excruciatingly boring details about paint chips and hot water heaters, coupled with the occasional rant about political b.s. Prepare for details about my trip to Mexico and my upcoming trip to San Fran. And prepare for diatribes about how difficult it is for me to dress fashionably in the shoulder season, and how much I hate giving up flip flops. In short, if I may paraphrase (Sir) Elton John, the bitch is back.