Birthday Shout-Out: Rhymes-With-Tzarina

February 13, 2010 at 8:21 pm | Posted in Misc. | Leave a comment

Today, the ladies (don’t laugh – we heard that…) of Factinis & Factomelettes would like to send a special birthday shout-out to Sarah’s maid of honor and dear friend, Rhymes-With-Tzarina!   

Happy Birthday, RWTz!!!  Your darling “daughter” Lily wanted to show her love on this special day, so she requested a cake baked for you in her image…  

Arf means Happy Birthday!


Sorry it looks a little creepy. 
And oddly unappetizing. 
But it’s the thought that counts… and who said dog cakes would be flattering?  

Love you,

P.S. Jealous of Rhymes-With-Tzarina?  We don’t blame you – she’s kind of a big deal… However, if you’d like a little Factinis & Factomelettes Bday Shout-Out, too, all you have to do is ask!  Or get someone else to request we do it for you, if you’re feeling modest…

What I Learned in San Diego

April 25, 2012 at 10:10 am | Posted in Family, Home Ownership | 2 Comments
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Nota Bene: If you have a weak tummy, skip to the second paragraph. 

When I last blogged, I was sitting in the airport terminal after having tossed my cookies on the Logan Express.  My Mo’s guess (that it was a result of taking ‘roids on an empty stomach) may have worked for that first instance, but the rest of the flight will need further explanation because I ralphed the entire way.  Seated between a very proper gentleman and a 15-year-old boy, I was that girl in the middle seat who got sick over and over and over again.  The one who used every barf bag within a two-row radius, and who grossed herself out, along with most of my fellow passengers, on the flight now known as The Great Disgust of 2012.  I arrived in San Diego exhausted, ill, slightly dehydrated and thrilled to see my besty, even in the state I was in.

Anywhoodles, what I really wanted to talk about today is the surprising insight I had about my parents while visiting Rhymes-with-Tzarina.  Tzarina and I did not make any plans for our visit (other than attending a Padres game).  We hung out, watched silly TV, ran errands, walked her dog and did some apartment decorating.  And then it hit me…

I finally get it!

One night Tzarina was making dinner and I started cleaning her refrigerator door handles (of all things – weird, I know).  She gave me that look – I know because I give it to people, too – the one that says “please don’t judge me; I know I’m not perfect.”  And this realization hit me like a hipster on the latest iGadget: when my parents visit and My Mo cleans my counters or puts away dishes or brings groceries or does whatever she does, when RWFOTB works on my jungle of a yard or makes suggestions about future home improvement projects, it has nothing to do with my inadequacies (of which I have many, though they would certainly contradict that statement in the public domain) and everything to do with how much they love and want to care for me.

What I was doing had nothing to do with critiquing Tzarina (who is amazing) or her refrigerator door handles (which were fine before I even touched them), and everything to do with demonstrating my affection for someone who is the closest thing I have to a sister.

I traveled across the contiguous United States and felt closer to my parents – and that’s what family is all about. 

And because I rarely write anything too saccharine, I’ll bookend this blog with the ridiculousness of my journey home.  Waiting to board the red-eye back to Beantown (cough cough never again cough cough), I noticed the fella standing in front of me was none other than the very proper gentleman who was unfortunate enough to have had to sit next to me en route to SoCal.  He did a double take when he saw me, and, in the most polite way he could, said:

“I hope you’re feeling better… what row are you in on this flight??”

Awkward, people.  Very, very awkward. 

The Journey is Less Important than the Destination

April 11, 2012 at 2:37 pm | Posted in Around Boston | 2 Comments
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I’m finally taking a trip to visit my gal pal Rhymes-With-Tzarina in San Diego (N.B. The jury is still out on what that name means – agree to disagree).  I was supposed to visit weeks ago, but had to postpone my trip until I was at least mostly over “the plague,” as I like to call the pneumonia/bronchitis/sinus infection I’ve been so graciously hosting for the past two months.

I packed last night, worked remotely this morning, took a cab to the Logan Express Shuttle and then things started to go wrong… You knew this was going to happen, both because something inevitably goes awry whenever I travel and because I probably wouldn’t be blogging about a totally normal journey.

So here I am, sitting at Logan International Airport, attempting to hide from/avoid acknowledging a woman waiting in the same lounge I’m in.  She was on the same shuttle I was on – or, should I say, the same shuttle I started on.  You see, not five minutes after the shuttle left a wave of violent nausea overtook me (and NO, I’m not pregnant and this is not morning sickness).  I let out the loudest, rudest burp I’ve ever heard, and said fellow passenger literally turned around and glared at me.  I started to apologize to her and then it happened.  I couldn’t hold it in.  I vomited.  And it was completely mortifying.  Not to mention really uncomfortable.

The shuttle driver was very sweet about having to turn the shuttle around and hightail it straight back to the lot, and didn’t make me feel like the biggest rhymes-with-glass-bowl on the planet.  But this lady was less than kind.

I get it.  It was a disgusting thing to do.  But lady, if I could have avoided it, don’t you think I would have?  I mean, come on!

As the driver did a little cleaning, I got off the shuttle, called my mom in a panic, and asked what I should do.  Was I pushing it?  Was “the plague” sending me a message and ordering me to stay in Beantown?  What should I do???

As the shuttle pulled away, “Mo” calmly walked me through my day… when did the nausea start?  Did it feel like a tummy bug or food poisoning or something else?  What had I eaten?  And then we figured it out.  I hadn’t eaten.  I’d been so busy trying to cram work in and get to the airport on time that I neglected to eat when I took my prescriptions, which very clearly state: “Take with food.”


Here’s hoping that’s the worst (and only) ridiculous and icky thing that happens this trip.  But I’m issuing a warning to all San Diegans: don’t be surprised if I accidentally mess something up in your fair city.


Stay Classy, San Diego... If you can!

Photo Phriday: Happy Hallow-August?

August 26, 2011 at 10:14 am | Posted in Photo Phriday | Leave a comment
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It’s no secret that consumer goods companies have been hyping holidays early to try to increase how much we hardworking American citizens spend, but, as our intrepid reporter Rhymes-With-Tzarina discovered, this trend is getting a little “frightening!”

When perusing the aisles in her local grocery earlier this week (aka the dog days of summer), MOH Tzarina stumbled upon this display:

Boo! It's August?

We’re pushing Halloween candy in August??  Really?  I’m appalled.

(Truth be told, I’d eat the candy any time of year – but that’s hardly the point.  Focus, dear reader(s) – we’re being bamboozled!)


Photo Phriday: Celebrate Good Times, Come On!

March 11, 2011 at 11:43 am | Posted in Photo Phriday | 6 Comments
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Today’s Photo Phriday image was submitted by my gal pal, Rhymes-With-Tzarina (aka MOH), who was recently walking along the shore in beautiful San Diego (ask Ron Burgundy if you want to know what the name means) when she spotted this “interesting” congratulatory message scrawled in the sand:



Tzarina, I have no idea how to respond to this. Part of me wants to giggle like a nervous school girl as I break into a blush and find myself unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

Part of me wants to roll my eyes and say, in the most crotchety voice I can muster: “Oy: kids these days have no respect!”

And a tiny part of me is a little jealous of Chelsea. I mean, where was my sand-message-of-accomplishment? Where was my inappropriate congratulations missive? Why wasn’t I welcomed so warmly into the tribe of women? (And since my parents and my in-laws read this blog, I should clarify that this message would have been appropriate *only* the morning after I was married… Andrew and I had a two bedroom place before we got hitched so we could remain pure as the freshly fallen snow. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

Anywhoodles, congratulations, Chelsea Brookmeyer. And thanks to your beach-messaging friends, our readers all around the world are in on your little milestone.

You’re welcome 😉


I Quit – Part Deux

November 11, 2010 at 2:49 pm | Posted in Around Boston, Office Humor | 7 Comments
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Today was supposed to be the big day.  I was going to put myself on a pedestal, hop on my high horse, triumphantly enter my office and inform my colleagues (who I may or may not have planned to refer to as “chumps”) that they would no longer have the pleasure of my sparkling wit and enviable companionship.  I was gonna tell them that they could take my “salary” and (mom, please don’t read this part) shove it.  Because I didn’t need them anymore!  I’d make some noise, flip some birds and burn some bridges.


Yeah... It's gonna be like that...

You see, I was planning to win the lottery last night.  Tzarina and I had it all figured out.  But like so many of our best-laid plans, something went horribly wrong.


Tzarina told me that, from where she stood in the future (aka being in Japan where she’s a day ahead of me), she was certain the winning PowerBall number had an 8 in it.  So I bought a ticket with the number 8 in it.  And the winning numbers drawn included an 8… just not where I put it, or surrounded by the other numbers I chose.

In other words, I did not win the PowerBall drawing.  And this morning I could not quit my job.  Or mouth off to my colleagues.  Or lay to rest my financial concerns.

I’m depressed and disappointed.  And I’m even poorer than I was yesterday before I bought the PowerBall ticket.  And I intend to blame some idiotic butterfly in Africa for screwing me over.  Jerk.



P.S. A special note to my colleagues reading this post: Just kidding!!  You know I’d never ever leave you… not even for a better paying gig that didn’t include a horrendous commute… He. He. He.  This is awkward…

I Quit!

November 9, 2010 at 9:20 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 15 Comments
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I can hardly wait to utter those words! You see, I’ve been working my tail off to make ends meet (okay, it’s not that dire, but I’m certainly not rolling in it) for years now and honestly, I’m getting pretty tired of it.

Unfortunately I married for love, not money, so that solution is out. I seriously doubt I have a mysterious relative I’ve never even met who has decided to leave me boatloads of money when he passes away. And goodness knows I’m not raking in the cash at my job, so I have to continue working ad infinitum. The whole thing seemed fairly hopeless… until yesterday.

Who needs luck when I have Tzarina?

You see, my gal Rhymes-with-Tzarina is on an adventure in Japan this week, and she’s going to be the key to our financial liberation. How, you may ask? Well, dear reader(s), in Japan, it’s already tomorrow!

Which means it’s practically like she time-traveled.

Which means she is in the future.

Which means she can tell me what happened in the past.

Which means she’s gonna give me the inside scoop on some lucky numbers!

Here’s the plan: I’ll buy “the” lotto ticket today and be a new-money-goddess by Wednesday! Then Tzarina and I will split the winnings. Flawless!

So if you want me to be generous once I’m made in the shade, now’s the time to break out in dance to the Sycophant Shuffle!


The Car Gods are Cruel

September 23, 2010 at 8:44 am | Posted in Around Boston | 6 Comments
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Also known as “Stressed Bride, Dead Chariot Part Tres” 

Is that a lemon I smell?


Well, dear reader(s), I’m afraid the car saga continues. Are you tired of hearing about this situation yet? Because I’m sure tired of living it, and I therefore promise this update will be brief (and bullet pointed – ooh la la).
Here’s the latest… 

  • Picked up my newly repaired car from the dealership and took it out for a joy ride (read: to run some necessary errands).
  • Parked it temporarily on the street while I went about my business.
  • Returned a few hours later to find that the darn thing died again! Again!! That’s the second time in less than one week that my brand new set of wheels conked out on me.
  • Called Andrew to rescue me.
  • Called the dealership to rhymes-with-witch about it (yes, I let my Bridezilla out) and demand they give me another courtesy vehicle that night (sadly, no “Call Me”-mobile this time).  And I was, as Andrew says, “in a hoof” while I waited two hours for the tow truck.
  • Called my parents, emailed my MOH and my bloggier half to vent my growing frustration.
  • Tow truck jump-started the car so I could drive it to the dealership (and avoid the towing fee).  Andrew followed behind the entire way in case the darn thing died again en route.
  • Arrived at the dealership. The dealership manager asked where the tow truck was.  I said that we were able to jump-start the car.  His response: “Oh, then everything is okay with your car now.”

Ummm, no.  My six-day old car had to be jump-started after it was supposedly fixed – nothing about this situation is “okay,” mister. 
And this is the part that’s really unbelievable: last night when Andrew was coming home from class, his car’s check engine light started flashing…  



Not So Hotmail

August 10, 2010 at 9:31 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment
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Yesterday my MOH, Rhymes-with-Tzarina, was feeling a little under the weather. Being the kind, caring, thoughtful, considerate (should I keep going with the adjectives or do you get the picture?) gal my momma trained me to be, I checked in with Tzarina periodically throughout the day. Or at least I tried to…

Apparently Hotmail decided my message of concern sounded a lot like spam and prevented me from sending it. I’d like to submit the following screen shot as evidence:

Hotmail says I'm full of junk!

I tried re-writing it dozens of ways: changing the message, capitalizing letters at the beginning of sentences (admittedly I don’t always do that when I’m sending off a quick personal note), and reworking it into actual paragraphs. I tried sending it alone, with the history text, removing my “cultural” words (oy, for example). But Hotmail wouldn’t let me send it and I kept receiving the same message.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the added security. What I don’t appreciate is the nincompoop way they are implementing it. As I struggled for over 30 minutes to send my message to Tzarina (finally having to compose a totally separate email), I received at least five junk mail messages. At least! Each contained terms like Cial1s, Sex Meds or Ro1ex watches. Clearly spam messages. But they made it through without issue.

What about my original communiqué would make the Hotmail gods interpret it as spam? Should I start incorporating terms that made it through the filter in my messages? Would it be awkward to inquire about Tzarina’s health and recommend that she bribe her doctor with a luxury Ro1ex watch so he will prescribe some little blue pills?

I sense mischief afoot. And I don’t approve.


Welcome to Alabama, Y’all

July 19, 2010 at 10:41 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 46 Comments
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A few weeks ago my hubs-to-be and I traveled to Mobile, Alabama for a friend’s wedding. (You can tell how much we adore said friend because we voluntarily went to the miserably hot South in July, and you know how well I do in the heat). Whoodles, I packed the same way I would for a normal summer weekend/wedding getaway: shorts, t-shirts, bathing suit, little black dress, “going out” clothes, etc.  

The stylin' ladies of Mobile, Alabama!


But as soon as we arrived at the Mobile airport and saw the locals, I realized the error of my ways.  

I did not pack anything like this pastel-perfection (complete with parasol). I don’t even OWN anything like this! So I turned to some of my most trusted advisors for an explanation…  

  • My bloggier half asserted that they must be preparing to stand atop a gigantic Barbie Cake.
  • My super-stylish mom told me she hoped the *ahem* gowns came in black or dark grey so she could sport one come 10/10/10 – after all, pastels don’t really mesh well with my wedding color scheme.  She also decided to skip the umbrella (no need to show off, after all), and justified this extravagant purchase by saying she can wear this “unique” outfit to a number of functions this year…
  • My fab future mom-in-law is using this as a threat for her high school daughter: Behave or this will be your prom dress next year!
  • My MOH, Rhymes with Tzarina, told me I’d need more help explaining this “style” than she could provide, and implored me to turn to you, dear reader(s), for insight.


What’s your explanation?  


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