Me and my shadow...

A few months ago, on the phone to my mom, I said "we slept in today." My mom said, "WE??" (As in, who is this other person that is a "we" that you've neglected to mention until just this very minute?) The we I referred to was me and my Lulu dog. I don't let men spend the whole night because I don't like to cook breakfast or make morning small talk. And if I did, I probably wouldn't drop it on my mother so casually.

Last week, a friend pointed out that I am "we" with my dog in a way that I've never been with a person, a love, a guy. Then I stumbled across this article on Salon, which puts the woman/dog relationship in such beautiful perspective it made me feel like I knew the person who wrote it because she could be me:

"Tova and I became a "we": We’re moving in the spring; we sleep late on Sundays; we favor cafés with outdoor patios. I’d never been a "we" with anyone else: There had been me and there had been him, and there had always been more him than me. Love meant indulgence. But all those times I made Tova sit for her supper, all those tussles in the dog park that I broke up, all those moments I pulled her to my heel and let the squirrels go by—that was love."
(from "My best relationship is with my dog" by Laura Bogart, Salon.com) 

Like Bogart, I have considered that I might be using my dog as armor, as another reason not to get too attached to another person in my life. An excuse not to make room for someone else. Considered, then dismissed. This is what I want from my life right now. I love the simplicity. I'm rarely lonely, and if I am, it's only for a fleeting second. I listen to friends talk about their relationships and, rather than making me wistful and wonder why I avoid intimacy, it makes me grateful for the every day that I have right now. It's easy to live in the moment when you don't have to work to maintain a marriage or long-term relationship. My dog is not a "stepping stone" to a "real" relationship. In fact, I have made real and lasting connections with other people because of my dog; being out and about with her makes it easy to talk to strangers. She makes it easy for my introvert self to put on the extrovert cloak for a while, gives me a reason to smile at people I pass on the street, and she's a hell of a social dog, which makes it harder for me to be antisocial.

I never thought I would be a dog person. And now I can't imagine not having mine in my life. And this, this one line from Bogart's piece after meeting her dog, brought me back to the cold November night in 2008 when I met my little one for the first time and she buried her tiny face in my neck and I was a goner: "I have no idea what I’m in for, but I’ve never been more certain of anything."

We call it "veggie casserole..."

...but there's nothing healthy about it. About 10 years ago (maybe more...) I started making "veggie casserole" for Thanksgiving. It was a hit and became my annual contribution, along with sweet potatoes and spinach dip in a bread bowl. Since I've already missed one Thanksgiving with family and will miss the second with them this week, I've gotten requests for my casserole recipe from my nieces, Lauren and Keri. I originally made it from a recipe I found in the Charleston Unitarian Church cookbook and it was called "company casserole." It morphed into "that vegetable stuff with crackers on top" to "Ritz cracker casserole" to simply "veggie casserole." And I can't remember ever having more than a spoonful left over.


In case you're looking for another yummy side dish that you can make last minute, here is the recipe verbatim as I sent it via email to my nieces:

(you can double this recipe - I usually did so I could make a big one)

1 can french style green beans, drained
1 can shoe peg corn, drained
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 cup grated cheddar cheese
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 cup sliced mushrooms
salt & pepper
1 sleeve Ritz crackers, crushed
1 stick butter, melted

Mix all ingredients except crackers, a little bit of the grated cheese, and butter. Pour into casserole dish. Top with crushed crackers, the rest of the grated cheese, and melted butter. Bake 45 minutes at 350 degrees.

I always chopped the celery and onion pretty fine so there weren't any big pieces. And when I doubled the recipe (which means 2 of everything on the list), I still only used ONE stick of butter on top because the butter is really just so the crackers would brown. The year I used 2 sticks of butter the casserole was really soggy and kind of not good. You can also leave out the sliced mushrooms if you don't like them and sub cream of celery soup for cream of mushroom, but I think most people liked the mushrooms. Don't used canned mushrooms - you can buy the fresh already sliced if you want, but the canned mushrooms taste like crap.

I love you, I miss you, I wish I could be there with you. My heart will be.

Luck and talismans, part one...

After realizing I've been living in Austin for a year and a half now and I still have no live plants inside my house (it's good feng shui to have growing plants in your home) because I gave the ones I had away when I moved, I finally broke down and bought lucky bamboo in a red vase. My first live plant purchase, which got me thinking about lucky objects, talismans, feng shui, and superstition.

I could have gone for a spider plant, a philodendron, or some other plant that's nearly impossible to kill. Even a cactus, considering I now live in Texas. But I went for the lucky bamboo. And as I placed it on my fireplace mantel next to my lucky Happy Hoi Toi (symbolizes health and happiness) that I got at LimeBlue in Charleston, a green candle in a Japanese bowl a friend gave me years ago, and close to photos of people I miss very much, I realized just how many lucky objects and talismans I have around my house. And whether they work because they work, or they work because I believe they do, I also realized that I am a lucky girl. I do believe we create our own luck, but that a talisman or two (or five) can't hurt, especially if they remind you of people you love.


Photo: Lucky Bamboo, Happy Hoi Toi, Lucky Candle, and my favorite photo of my BFF Mary Kathryn. A "quadplex" of luck.

I'm working with a theme this month, so this will be the first in a series posts about lucky talismans. Am I the only superstitious one out there? Do you have any objects in your home that could be considered lucky charms?

I surrender...

I admit it, I give in. This day has completely kicked my ass.

Started off with a way-too-early doctor's appointment (note to self: don't schedule during drive-time traffic). Also, I discovered I am running slightly low on clean clothes about the same time I was getting dressed to leave, so ended up wearing a Depeche Mode t-shirt from high school with a sweater thrown over it.

Back home with a loooong to-do list, I figured I'd throw a load of clothes in while I worked. Sounded good, but after I moved them from washer to dryer, it started getting really warm in the kitchen area. I had to pull out and crawl up and over and behind the dryer for the THIRD time in a year to re-attach the hose to the dryer (you know, so the outflow will go outside instead of turning my laundry room into a steam room). My laundry room is just about large enough for a washer, dryer, and some shelving, so contortions were required. I think I pulled something.

I remembered to eat lunch (leftover Chinese food), but it was awful. Good for dinner last night, terrible reheated. Add that to the list of why I hate microwaves.

As a freelancer, I find it really difficult to turn down any projects (a good freelancer really shouldn't), unless it's something that violates my personal ethics. What happens as a result is that your days run into other days with things called "sleep breaks" in between and you no longer have time to do laundry, shop for groceries, make hair appointments, get a pedicure (summer's just about here!), and those things that you used to call "weekends" are just extra work days.

I'm a terrible person to complain about ANYTHING. Seriously. I have work that pays my bills, a mostly flexible schedule, and I get to hang out with my dog all day wearing yoga pants and a tank top.

But today? I'm allowing it. Just one day that kicked my butt, I'm offline for the evening, planning on actually cooking some food for dinner, watching mindless TV (Glee!) and that should be enough to regroup and start fresh in the morning. There's a light at the end of the tunnel and its name is "Balance." Also: "Day Job." Still looking.

Best. Christmas. Ever.

I don't want to start this off by saying I have a small case of the post-holiday, missing my family blues. But there I went. I wanted to start off by saying I got to spend an amazing 10 days with friends and family back in Charleston after being away for a whole year - the longest I've gone without seeing my mom, sisters, nieces, nephew, and friends from Charleston. It took me less than a day to sink into the familiar comfort of home, curled up on mom's couch while she cooked something fabulous in the kitchen (poached eggs with fresh spinach and hollandaise for dinner? Yum.), hugging my sisters and nieces and my BFF Mary Kathryn, staying up late at night talking to my mom, shopping with my sister Katie and MK (always expeditions in hilariousness), lunch with my writer friend Angie that came with some nice inspiration, meeting my almost-6-month-old niece and namesake (Jolie Love) for the first time and getting to pinch her chubby little cheeks in person, feeling so much love surrounded my family and extended family and friends, it spoiled me just a tiny bit.

Now that I'm back in Austin, I feel invigorated, less homesick, stocked up on the family love, comforted, and so grateful that I was able to spend so much time with them. It snowed, giant fluffy flakes, the day after Christmas...like magic. I slept every single night I was there like I haven't in a year...going to bed after midnight and waking up at 7am ready to go. Why don't I sleep like that in Austin? I've been waking up earlier than usual since I've gotten back and don't want to sleep until noon, but I also wake up a lot at night here. Is it the quiet in Charleston versus living on a fairly busy street across from a bus stop in Austin? Or was it being back with family and feeling safe? After a year in Austin, I think I've done a pretty good job of getting myself into a safe space. And now I have new memories of being back home to lull myself to sleep.

It's hard being away, but I realize how much has changed in a year. I've made friends in Austin. I love this city. It's not where my family is, but they're not as far away as it felt they were a month ago. And yes, I drove - 2 days each way - and it didn't kill me. The massage I got on Sunday after I returned helped, and so did the audio books that kept me entertained on the road. But something else is different: Now I know I can come home, even though things have changed in all of our lives, what I love the most doesn't change. As soon as I arrived and my mother gave me a great big "mom hug," I knew I was home and that home will always be there - no matter where I end up.

Yes, I'm rambling a bit, but I also promised above-mentioned writer friend that I'd blog more, blog more honestly, write even when I don't want to, write about things I don't want to write about, and get back to the "old Kelly Love." The one (thank you, Angie!), who is "the sh*t."

I feel so lucky to have the friends and family I have. I don't know many people who would pick the family members they've been assigned, but I would. If my sisters and nieces weren't already related to me, I'd love them anyway. And on top of that, I have some amazing friends. The simple version of what I'm trying to say in way too many words: I feel loved. And if feels great.

When I dream, I dream in Charleston...

Even after being in Austin for over seven months, I am often homesick. Homesickness, thankfully, isn't debilitating. But it shows up in the strangest ways.

I still love to look at photos of my house in Charleston in Wagener Terrace. Not only did I love that house and lived there for eight years, I adored the neighborhood. I have some good memories of that house. I wrote my first book in my home office in that house. I got my puppy in that house and met so many wonderful neighbors walking that little furball around the neighborhood. I trained her in the side yard. She played with her dog friends in the back yard. Someone else lives there now.



I miss azaleas. I miss Hampton Park. I miss Lulu's dog friends. I miss my family. I miss my sunroom. I miss my sweet neighbor Therese, who used to bring me the loveliest leftover dinner plates with ethnic and organic food. She once cooked me Ethiopian food simply because I mentioned I'd never tried it. I miss Carl and Donna across the street. There was something comforting on weekend mornings about watching them work in their yard or on their house. I miss my monkey, who lived a block up the street after he moved out and used to bring me fresh tomatoes from his garden. I miss Tom and Ellie and Lulu misses Nando, their Havanese - the first dog love she had at only 8 weeks old. I miss my freelancer friends I used to have lunch with at Earthfare's cafe. I miss my BFF, who used to come over and eat Chinese food from Hot Mustard with me at least once a week. I miss Doretha, Angie, Linda, Janet, Jason, Aluette, Jay (and Tater!), Sabrina, Margaret, Ida, Amy, Leigh, Lee, Misty, Archie, Colleen, and so many more.

I never really needed my GPS in Charleston, since I grew up there, but in Austin, Samantha (GPS voice) and I communicate frequently. I couldn't find my way around Austin without Samantha. But I am going to confess for the first time here: My "home" setting in my GPS is still Grove Street in Charleston. I haven't changed it.

I haven't gotten a Texas driver's license or Texas tags for my car yet. My tags don't expire until next month, and my license is good until 2011, so I figured it was OK to wait. If I get pulled over, I figured I'd just tell them I recently relocated. Something about switching tags and getting a Texas license makes it feel so permanent, and makes me feel a little like I can't go home if I wanted to RIGHT NOW. I don't, but I like having the option.

Sometimes when I dream, even now, I dream in Charleston. And sometimes I wake up and I'm surprised to be in a room I don't recognize. Where are my blush pink walls, my 1940s glass windows, my high ceilings, my hardwood floors? And then I remember: I am in Texas.

So maybe I've been dragging my feet a little bit, literally and figuratively. But next month, I'm going to have to go wherever one goes to switch tags. I will also have to have my vehicle inspected, as they do that in Texas. And get a new license at the DMV.

I'm making new friends here, new memories, and there is a strong chance that someday years from now I will look back and feel so much nostalgia for Austin that I can hardly stand it. But it's new to me still and that's not a bad thing. I know it will eventually feel like home. And I needed this change of scenery. I need to be here.

My heart is full...

When I left Charleston for Austin in January, I did so with a heavy heart. I was leaving behind three sisters, five nieces, a nephew, my mom, my best friend, and many other friends I would miss terribly. I was also leaving a city I loved, the house I'd been living in for 8 years in a neighborhood I loved, and my comfort zone.

I made the decision to move to Austin in early November and found out that my niece Keri was pregnant right around Thanksgiving. I was thrilled for Keri and her husband Tim (who I also adore). Sadly, Keri's father passed away on the Monday after Thanksgiving last year, just a day or so after she told him he was going to be a grandfather. The idea of leaving my pregnant, grieving niece and moving halfway across the country made my heart even heavier. I knew it would be expensive to fly back to Charleston and I hated that I was going to miss her pregnancy and the birth of her first child.

Yesterday, Keri was admitted to the hospital to have labor induced (she's a tiny little thing and the baby was growing fast!). After being in labor all day, she finally had to have a c-section. I was on the phone for about two hours - talk and text - with my mom and my sister/new grandma and my heart ached to be there with the rest of the family. My mom and sister did a great job of making me feel like I was there; the minute my new niece was born I received a flurry of photos via text.

I already knew they were going to name their daughter Jolie, after Keri's dad Joseph. And that her last name would be Martin. When my mom texted "Jolie Martin, 6.5 lbs., 19 inches long" along with a photo of Jolie in a bassinet, I texted back, "what's her full name?"

Ever since we found out Keri was pregnant, we had all suggested names (some jokingly), and I told Keri (also jokingly) that she should give her my middle name because (a) it's awesome and (b) I don't think I'm going to pass it on myself, being the least maternal member of my family. But I never expected her to seriously consider it.

My mom responded to my text with, "I'll let Keri tell you when she wakes up." And when she called me, I told her that I wasn't serious about her giving the baby my middle name and my feelings wouldn't be hurt if she didn't. She told me Keri would probably call me this morning. She didn't. She called me last night, groggy and exhausted, to tell me that her daughter's name is Jolie Love Martin. And I immediately burst into tears. Keri, being Keri, said "don't be sad, you'll see her over the holidays," thinking I was upset that I couldn't be in Charleston. I had to choke out the words..."happy tears." And they were. I don't think I've ever felt so honored in my entire life, so connected to my family, or that I realized how amazing it would feel to have a "namesake."

Keri has already posted pics of Jolie to Facebook, being Keri, from her laptop in her hospital bed. And I've been weepy on and off all morning looking at photos of my new niece and namesake. I can't wait to meet her. Keri told me when she told the nurse what the baby's full name is, the nurse said, "it sounds like a rockstar name."

Indeed. And now I'm excited x100 to go home and visit for the holidays and get to hold my new niece for the first time, to tell her how amazing her mom and dad are, to tell her how lucky she is to be part of our screwy family. I have no doubt this beautiful little girl will live up to her name.

Update from Austin...

I've been in Austin 2 weeks today, so I figured it was time for an update!

It was a lot of work (with help from friends and family, who I owe big time) packing and getting utilities turned off in Charleston and on in Austin, opening a new bank account (I had SC Federal), and getting ready for a really long drive. I have to say (and they're not paying me for this), using UNITS Storage and Moving was the best decision I made. They have amazing customer service, my UNIT was delivered exactly when they said it would be, shipped to San Antonio over the holidays, and the driver from San Antonio actually called me when they left for Austin to give me a heads up on their arrival time. And I did a lot of calling around to similar companies (like PODS) and the quote from UNITS was well under the rest.

On travel: I drove to Austin in my Honday CR-V with a sedated cat in a crate in the back seat and my Pomeranian, Lulu, in the passenger seat next to me. I left on Sunday the 2rd and drove for two and a half days, stayed two nights in Interstate hotels (the first night in Tuscaloosa, AL, and the second in a tiny town called Buffalo in TX). The whole drive was about 21 hours and there was a freak cold front in the deep south. Snow flurries the entire drive through Mississippi that didn't let up until Louisana, having to make frequent stops because of the dog (who was surprisingly patient and well-behaved the entire trip), not being able to find pet-friendly hotels before dark (I hate to drive long distances at night).

But I made it to Austin and so did my furniture. I'm still unpacking because I jumped into work pretty quickly and am now going into the office every day (which is weird after working from home for over a year, but it made me realize how much I missed having a place to go every day and working with other people). I love what I'm working on, even when it's a little stressful.

I get flashes of homesickness from time to time, but am keeping busy and it's exciting to be in a new place and explore a new city. The freakish cold weather has subsided, the sun actually came out this week, and I'm sleeping through the night again.

More soon...and lots of love from Austin!

The downside to working from home...

Is that you're home all day. Which means you're home when the doorbell rings. I've had two solicitation visits this week from people selling weird "natural cleaning products" (they really need to do that door to door?), one from a sketchy guy selling "magazines" (I saw that one coming and told him I didn't know how to read), and this afternoon, one from two Mormons on bicycles who wanted to know if I'd be interested in discussing the fact that there is a prophet on earth.

Nothing against Mormons - I actually know a few progressive Mormons and they're nice folks - but I don't like home visits from religious types, especially if they're part of a religion that almost singlehandedly helped raise the most money to support Prop 8 and defeat legal same-sex marriage in California.

So when the LDS boys showed up on my doorstep, I didn't invite them in. I let them begin their spiel earnestly before I held up my hand to interrupt. "Nothing personal, guys. I'm sure you're very nice people. But your religion isn't inclusive. In fact, your church donates millions of dollars to make sure gay people will never have the same rights as everyone else. Therefore, I don't want to hear what you have to say."

They both just stared at me. "Unless that's something you're willing to discuss before you leave me with a bunch of pamphlets about LDS?"

I got a mumbled "thanks ma'am" from one of them before they backed down the steps.

Honestly, if I hadn't been in the middle of a project that required my full concentration and if it hadn't been the 4th time this week I'd been interrupted by people ringing my doorbell, I might have invited them in if they'd been willing to discuss why their church hates gay people. I might have told them that some of my very best friends are gay, that my sister is gay, and that I think there is something very wrong with a religious organization putting a great deal of money into a campaign against equality (particularly in this economy - aren't there other things the Mormon church could have done with all of that money instead of taking out hateful anti-gay ads?). Also, my gaydar works with almost 100 percent accuracy and I think I picked up some vibes from one of those LDS guys, so it might have been an interesting discussion. I actually enjoy debating theological issues.

If I worked in an office, they never would have made an assumption that I had the time to listen to their story of a prophet that walks the earth, of the Book of Mormon, or read their pamphlets. But because I work from home, they probably think I'm a shut-in, a housewife with some time on my hands, or independently wealthy and extremely bored.

Maybe I was a little mean about it. I hadn't realized how much pent-up hostility I've been carrying about the issue. And I still don't understand how same-sex marriages is going to "lessen the validity" of heterosexual marriages, more than 50 percent of which end in divorce anyway. In fact, I believe I just heard that notorious religious zealot and bigot Mel Gibson and his wife are divorcing. Even though his church "doesn't believe in divorce." Are there any religious groups left on the planet that aren't comprised of stunningly ignorant hypocrites?

To sum up, I'm going to ignore the doorbell during the day unless Fedex or UPS truck is outside. Because I don't want to be responsible to marring the psyches of a couple of young, earnest, naive LDS "messengers."

Also: I know I have a good thing going. I get to work for myself in my pajamas most days, come and go as I please, pick and choose the projects I work on. And I'm happy. But don't think that means I'm going to stop bitching about day-to-day bullsh*t. Because I am fairly certain I will always do that. A Zen mind is a lifetime pursuit, yes?

Cleaning house...

It's not a euphemism. I'm working long days now, usually six days a week (because politics never sleeps), and after about five weeks of it my house looks like a deranged pack of 16-year-olds have been camping out for Spring Break weekend (without the empty beer bottles and vomit). Disarray rules. It got so bad last week I didn't want to go home one night so I spent almost an hour killing time at Whole Foods (if you know how much I hate grocery shopping, you'll understand) in order to avoid my messy home. I realized if I go straight to the back bedroom without turning on the living room lights, I don't notice it as much. Except for the pile of clothes on the bathroom floor and the fist-sized dust bunnies in my bedroom.

I am gross.

So I broke down on Sunday morning, went to my friendly neighborhood Food Lion, and bought a cartful of cleaning supplies. I bought anything that looked like it would clean something. The woman at the checkout said, "so, you're cleaning house today?" I said, "No, I just like to have an entire aisle of products in my house in case I ever feel like cleaning." Ha. I really just said, "mmm hmmm" and tried not to look her in the eye. She scanned my product after product, at one point holding up a bottle and asking, "did you know you have three kinds of bathroom cleanser?"

OK, so I'm not an expert on cleaning products. Also, there are hundreds of them. And they all look like they do something. Better safe than sorry, right? I just told her that I'm not used to deep cleaning (as my former roommate would say, I'm a "surface cleaner"). The checkout lady asked me flat out if I had a housekeeper. Still not looking her in the eye, I said, "used to." She laughed her ASS off. Seriously, she was scanning and bagging and laughing right in my face. The laugh sounded something like: "spoiled brat isn't used to cleaning up after herself and it serves her right for bein' spoiled so I'm going to go ahead and ring the hell up her $75 worth of cleaning products and bag them and send her ass on her way because she is STUPID and I hope she has fun sticking her hand into a toilet bowl." I might have been reading a little much into it, but I swear that's what it sounded like.

However, she did give me a fine tip before I departed with my bags: "Don't use that bleach on hardwood floors, now!"

I spent hours cleaning and am now well-acquainted with Swiffer, Mr. Clean, Kaboom, Lysol Tub & Tile, Clorox spray with bleach, Greased Lightning, Oxyclean, Lysol floor cleaner, Murphy's Wood Oil Soap, fizzy toilet bowl spray, fizzy shower spray, vacuum cleaner belts and bags, Febreze dusting polish, and some kind of "all surface" cleaner that smells like lavender. Note: "all-surface" does not mean all surface. This should not be used on electronic items. Also, you shouldn't use more than one product on your shower and tub unless you want to wake up on the floor with a headache three hours later. And there's my wisdom for the day.

Today, I get to go home to a clean house. I no longer have to worry that I will wake up to a dust bunny uprising and mutiny. I can find the book I was reading instead of giving up and starting a new one. Today is a good day.

Care and feeding of a writer...

When I was still working at my day job, I didn't have time to do a lot of home cooking. Most often, dinners consisted of takeout, Earthfare or Whole Foods deli, or delivery. Now that I'm working from home again, I have time to cook for myself. It's definitely healthier and (surprisingly) I'm better at it than I thought I would be. Even though I had to call a friend and ask how to cook fresh broccoli. I have Food Network on in the background on my office television for most of the day and have made a lot of the recipes (found a good one for broccoli with garlic and olive oil from Rachael Ray). I baked a chicken (OK, I did forget to take out the bag of ick stuffed inside until it was halfway done, but the chicken was still good). I made homemade pizza with wheat crust. I located my wok, which hasn't been used in about five years, and made stir fry. I've discovered that I actually like the chopping of the vegetables, the prepping of the food, and even shopping for the recipes.

It never occurred to me that my newfound experimentation with cooking would have an impact on others. And I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I've probably ordered takeout from the same Chinese Food place (very healthy, no MSG, and they have brown rice) two or three times a week for the past five years. Yesterday, I discovered a menu from said restaurant under my door with the following hand-scrawled note:

"Just stopped by to see how you were. We haven't heard from you in a while and we miss you. Signed, Joe."

Joe was my regular delivery guy. We knew each other by name. In fact, when my friend Aleigh was visiting after I had surgery in January and we ordered Chinese food, she answered the door and Joe was very surprised to see her face instead of mine.

I might have to give them a ring one night this week and skip the home cooking, just because I miss Joe too. And I have yet been able to recreate their sesame buckwheat soba noodles on my own.

Time to grow up...

Ever since my landlady called me last week to tell me she's putting the house I rent on the market for just over a half a million dollars (she did offer me first dibs on buying the place), I've been stressing about buying a place of my own.

I have rented for most of my adult life, first because I wasn't sure if I'd stay in Charleston, then because my credit sucked too hard to buy, then because I didn't have any money, and now just because I don't want to deal with the stress of owning my own place. Everything about owning seems so haaaarrrd, from inspection to taxes to regime fees to insurance to how much it costs to fix a leaky roof. I have a huge place right now with a working fireplace; my rent is much less than a mortgage (at least the mortgages of the people I know), I don't have to pay taxes on the place, worry about my house payment skyrocketing because the loan people randomly decide to raise the interest rate, and I can pick up the phone and call someone else to pay for whatever's broken.

I am the first one to admit that I am mulishly resistant when it comes to issues of finance and investment. I don't open my 401K or bank statements. I don't balance my checkbook (I have overdraft protection and a vague method of keeping up with how much money I have by accessing my account online). I have a few minor dings on my credit report that I hope will just go away eventually (magically). I don't like to talk or think about money, period. And I'm defensive as hell whenever someone launches into the "why you have to buy a house RIGHT NOW" speech.

What I don't like to admit: Being single is hard. I like to think of myself as single by choice (as opposed to single and desperate). Most of the time, I'm really happy that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, without having to consider someone else. This weekend, for the first time in I-don't-know-how-many years, I actually wished I was half of a couple so I could have someone else help me deal with the Business of Me. Perhaps what I really need is a financial advisor, but what I was thinking is more along the lines of another person to worry about this stuff with me (not for me); and then there's the factor of having a second income.

The whole thing makes me feel weak. It also brings my self-esteem down a few notches in the Feminism category (because a truly independent woman would have all of this under control). I should be able to deal with all of this on my own, right? Shouldn't I be able to act like a grown up by now?

And then the house whispered, "GET OUT"

I arrived home last night in a foul mood around 7:30 after an excruciating three-hour meeting with my accountant (she is a lovely woman; I just hate dealing with money). I noticed a large-ish fur ball on the dining room rug (Miss Kitty likes to leave those around), felt uneasy about it, and turned the light on to discover a MOUSE. A real mouse, not a play mouse, curled up on its side.

My first reaction: Scream. But I didn't, because I'm an independent woman who is perfectly capable of ridding her house of bug and pests. I circled the mouse, holding my breath so I wouldn't scream and scare it in case it was still alive. It wasn't bloody; it looked like it was sleeping. But in the middle of my dining room floor? I know Miss Kitty had nothing to do with its demise, unless it died from fright as she stared at it. She won't chase her toy mice, so I know she won't go after a real one.

So I walked back and forth, thought I'd call Michael, remembered he was in Houston, peeked at the mouse again, tried not to scream again, thought about holding a mirror near its face to see if it was breathing, started hyperventilating. Decided to go out front and check my mail (in hopes that Rodent Monthly magazine had arrived and it would tell me how to dispose of mouse? I wasn't thinking clearly). My neighbor happened to be taking his trash out at that exact moment. He said "Hey" and I blurted, "THERESAMOUSEINMYHOUSE!" I think he said something like "I'll handle it" or "is it dead?" and then asked me for a broom and dustpan. I stood in the corner, trying to suppress my shrieking so I was holding my breath, but when he went to pick it up he jumped back and I SQUEALED(seriously) something like "OHMYGODISITALIVEIT'SGOINGTOGETME."

Neighbor didn't seem fazed. He got it into the dustpan and took it outside. When I took the broom and dustpan back, I asked him if it was dead. "I don't know, I just flung it across the street."

Jesus. That means it could COME BACK. Did I want him to bash its little mousy brains in? Maybe. I thanked him for the mouse removal, went back into the house, found my xanax, went into the kitchen to get water to take the pill and discovered that my kitchen sink was BACKING UP WITH BLACK SLUDGE. In less than 10 minutes, my house had turned from Shiny Happy Place Theater to Amityville Horror. I tried the garbage disposal and only got more black sludge and dirty water. I dry-chewed two xanax and decided I'd better start bailing the sink out before it overflowed.

I bailed into a bucket, was afraid to dump it outside BECAUSE OF THE MOUSE, so I dumped it in my bathtub, which promptly backed up. It was right around this point that I started checking the other rooms of the house to find out what demonic possession had overtaken them. If my fridge magnet letters had rearranged themselves to spell "you're dead" or if I'd even IMAGINED hearing "GET OUT" I would have run screaming from the house (after I grabbed Miss Kitty) with no shoes or jacket on.

I only got about four hours of sleep last night because I had to keep getting up to check for rodents and/or demonic sludge bubbling up from my drains. Not to mention the shame spiral I created by having to ask for help because I was afraid of a teeny little mouse.