Rich People Problems

July 9, 2013 at 11:37 am | Posted in Family, Married Life | Leave a comment
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The other day the hubs and I were bickering about household chores – he feels like he does the lion’s share and that I spend more time reading baseball blogs than helping.  I feel like he needs to relax every once in a while and understand that our house will never be as clean or tidy as he imagines it should be.

Okay, okay, it was the opposite, but sometimes it’s refreshing to pretend it’s the gal who puts sports over washing bottles.  Annnywho, in one of my dramatic retorts, I said something like:

“Fine, I’ll just get the maid to do it!  But you never help plan menus with the chef, the gardener is still waiting to hear exactly how many millimeters you’d like him to hand trim off the lawn, and the chauffeur has really been slacking on polishing the dipstick handle.  Can you get off your lazy butt and order people around for a change?  Or do I have to manage the staff alone as usual?”

I think my golden throne (haha) needs polishing!  Where's the bathroom maid?!?

I think my golden throne (haha) needs polishing! Where’s the bathroom maid?!?

It was enough to break the tension between us, but that got me thinking: is that how fights between the uber rich actually sound?  What do the gajillionaire couples of the world squabble about?  Because I’ll bet it’s not dishes, laundry, or which bill to pay first and which to postpone.

I think an experiment is in order.  Here’s what I propose: give me a few gajillion dollars (one of you can give me a lump sum or take up a collection or something; how you make this happen isn’t the important part – don’t be penny wise and gajillion foolish).  I’ll move into a mansion, hire a full-fledged staff (first hire: a personal assistant and then a household manager who will actually hire the rest of the staff for me – that’s not something a gajillionaire like me should have to concern herself with), and report back.  I promise to answer this, and any other questions you have about how the upper crust lives.  We’ll all be the wiser!

You can’t put a price on knowledge like that.  But do try.

The Pregnancy Inquisition, Part Deux

March 29, 2012 at 9:28 am | Posted in Married Life, Pregnancy Fun Time | 2 Comments
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In my last post regarding procreation pressure (like that alliteration?), I lamented the awkwardness of having my friends, colleagues and loved ones harass me about my reproductive status, and received some great tips and feedback from you, dear reader(s).  Well, today I’d like to expand upon this topic and bring every retail establishment that sells anything related to children into the mix.

Mind Your Own Bees wax

Mind your own... (Photo from Beyond The Hive)

Have you seen the story in the New York Times by Charles Duhigg about how Target knew a teenager was pregnant before her own father did?  It’s both fascinating and creepy, and, apparently, happening every day, much to my annoyance.  The gist of the article is that, based on just a smidge of demographic information and the things you buy, even things that don’t seem like obvious signs at first glance (fragrance-free lotion, cotton balls and hand sanitizer, for example, indicate you’re about to pop out a tiny human), retailers can virtually predict major life events like pregnancy.

Lucky for me (ha!), it seems I’ve found myself on the list of “probably preggers, so shamelessly market baby-related products to her” distribution list.  From emails (cough cough Target cough cough) to catalogs (Pottery Barn Kids, I’m talking to you!), coupons (Babies “R” Us, back off!) to advice (no, I don’t need to purchase X, Y or Z to prepare for my inevitable parental cluelessness), I’m being bombarded on a daily basis with baby-related information and savings (but at least it’s helping the post office stay afloat).

I’ll say it again: I’m NOT pregnant.  Yes, I’ve been happily married for over a year, am in my thirties and recently bought a home, but I am not “with child.”

I am, however, thinking about how this must feel to women experiencing fertility struggles.  These retailers don’t know what our reproductive status is – they don’t have a clue about whether we find these communications exciting or a difficult reminder of a very sensitive, very personal issue.  I understand the need to make money, to attract customers at this time in their lives; I even respect the power of the statistics nerd!  (Seriously, all hail the nerds of the world!)  But for goodness sake, please back off.  Or at least hide your intentions a little better so we can assume it’s just a coincidence that diapers are on sale… again…

I’ll procreate when I’m good and ready,

Photo Phriday: Tacky Yard Décor

March 23, 2012 at 8:09 am | Posted in Photo Phriday | 2 Comments
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As you may recall, I love all things tacky.  From tacky Christmas lights to obviously faux fur (unless you believe Elmo’s family has been targeted for their hides) to “hair I buy” (aka faux locks), ridiculous accessories hold a special place in my snarky heart.  And this extends to home décor.

In other people’s homes.

It was in this spirit that Factinis gumshoe RWFOTB submitted the following tacky-tastic example of yard décor:

Bravo, overzealous homeowner!

A yard like this takes effort, so here’s to you, overzealous homeowner!  Can’t wait to see what it looks like around the holidays!

P.S. If you, dear reader(s), see anything tacky-licious, feel free to send it my way for Factinis stardom!

Fortunately, I Have Optimistic Friends

February 9, 2012 at 9:40 am | Posted in Around Boston, Home Ownership | 2 Comments
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Everyone knows that fortune cookies are trustworthy and accurate prediction mechanisms for everything from personal milestones to financial and linguistics-related changes.  Want to win the lottery?  Check out your lucky numbers.  Want to learn the most spoken language in the world?  The dessert will teach you one helpful Chinese word at a time (for example: roast duck is, apparently, pronounced “kăo yā”).  Curious about your personality, friendships, relationship status, etc.?  Turn to the cookie.

Which is why yesterday was so distressing for me.  After some yummy Chinese food (read: always too salty, bloat-inducing, hungry-in-an-hour-but-do-this-to-myself-every-time-anyway), I opened my cookie with great expectation, only to find this:

Fortune Cookie Fortune

Move to a wonderful new home this year??  WHAT??  After all the shenanigans and tomfoolery that has ensued from the house we purchased less than a year ago, I’m supposed to move again???  I’m sure you can empathize with my tumbling into a pit of despair upon reading it.  Honestly, I don’t think I could take moving again so soon!  And I’m pretty sure my family, friends, colleagues and random passers-by couldn’t handle listening to me have to move again, either.  But the cookie decreed it, so it seemed I was doomed.

Until my friends reminded me that sometimes the wise cookie speaks in metaphors.  Home, my friend Michael said, is not where you hang your hat; it is where your heart is.  And Dipika echoed that sentiment, saying that the cookie meant within the year our house will be in good enough shape for it to start feeling like a wonderful home – we’ll be metaphorically moving from our “in progress house” into our “happy home” soon!

Thank heavens for optimists!  Because of friends’ proclivity toward silver linings, my faith in the wisdom of the cookie is intact, and I’m feeling more optimistic about Chez L-ski, too!

The Pregnancy Inquisition

January 16, 2012 at 2:18 pm | Posted in Married Life, Pregnancy Fun Time | 11 Comments
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Thought things would change in 2012?  Sorry, folks!  I’m going to continue my habit of complaining about something fairly insignificant and then soliciting your advice.  Because that’s how to start the year on the right foot.

What’s got my knickers in a twist lately?  Pregnancy!

Or rather, the overzealous, overwhelming, overabundant questions regarding my hypothetical (and at this point, purely fictional!) pregnancy. Friends, family, colleagues, frenemies, even random baristas, stylists, salespeople and hobos (true story) are prying into my obstetric beeswax!

I know I’m not alone in this. It seems like the questions start the second you get hitched. But now that the hubs and I have been married for over a year, the frequency and intensity of questions has become more like an Inquisition.

My question is: how do you deflect these questions?

While I usually answer: “I’m birthing a house!” because, as you know, dealing with our little fixer-upper has been akin to creating new life (and going through a really, really, really long labor), there must be a better way to do it.

Most people ask out of love (or what I assume is love).  People seem to think an Andrew + Sarah combination is just what the world needs, so I don’t want to be insulting – because that is actually very flattering.

But at the same time, it’s a LOT of pressure and, quite frankly, nobody’s business!  So how, dear reader(s), do I handle this?

P.S. I am also aware that some folks are assuming that my “winter padding” is actually a bun in the oven.  Frankly, I’ve been so stressed over the past eight months, that if there was an actual bun in my actual stainless steel oven in my actual kitchen, it wouldn’t last long.  Eating one’s feelings isn’t the same as eating for two.  But here we are.

Photo Phriday: Religious Intervention

September 1, 2011 at 8:22 pm | Posted in Home Ownership, Photo Phriday | 2 Comments
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As you may have gathered, life hasn’t been easy at Chez L-ski (e.g. dead deer, power loss and flooding basement, tree falling on our house, among other nonsense).  While the hubs has taken it all in stride, I’m having a tougher time going with the flow. But thanks to my diverse group of friends, I think it’s all going to turn around for us.

Upon hearing of our trials, those near and dear to us supplied religious items, talismans and good wishes, and since luck knows no religious preference, we’re embracing them all! So last night I performed every cleansing ritual I could:

  • I said a prayer when I entered the house by my mezuzah
  • Used sage from New Orleans
  • Made a sweet gift to Ganesh on his birthday
  • Took a deep, cleansing breath with the statue from Buddha’s hometown
  • Performed a cleansing ritual with a candle and jar of salt water
  • And even took the difficult step of indulging in the global deity, Dos Equis


I feel more blessed already!

So here’s to friends from all walks of life, to religious tolerance, and to a little luck!  Happy Labor Day weekend, dear reader(s).


Hurricane Irene Blows

August 30, 2011 at 11:43 am | Posted in Around Boston, Home Ownership | 15 Comments
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If I hear one more person talk about how they weren’t at all impacted by Hurricane Irene, I may lose my… errr… cool.  Because, as you can guess with the way my life has been heading lately (my house is only considered inhabitable to drunk twenty-something boys, my husband’s armpits burn, and our kitchen and bathroom are, well, practically nonexistent), we are still feeling the love from that rhymes-with-witch, Irene.

But given the choice between dissolving into a puddle of tears or utilizing every magnifying glass in my purview to find the elusive silver lining, I’m doing my best to look for that Ag.

Always look on the bright side... and that's an order!

Take, for example, the fact that we still don’t have power at Chez L-ski.  Can you imagine more flattering light than that generated by candles?  Seriously, those sticks of wax hide every flaw!  I’m practically a supermodel when there’s no one else around and my house is almost dark but for the light of the Yankee Candle (which I managed to unearth even though I can’t unpack anything substantial yet).  Win!

Or consider that the basement flooded (again) and without electricity, we can’t wet-vac the water out.  Arps found the best of that situation, encouraging me to reflect on how romantic my situation is.  Don’t believe her?  Just think about Venice… if I could locate a gondola, I could mimic the canals and create my very own romantic – and private! – honeymoon spot in my home!

You might say: yeah, but what about the dead deer on your front lawn?  Well, dear reader(s), that one is harder… but after much consideration, I’ve found the plus with that, too!  You see, this morning we were “alerted” to the fact that there was a deceased Bambi sprawled across our front lawn (looks like someone hit it with a car last night – you know, without street lights it’s tough to see in the wilds of Boston’s Metro West), by a distressed jogger who was startled by the sight.  The plus: with no electricity, the jogger’s scream worked even better than my silly old alarm clock.  Let’s just say I wasn’t late for work this a.m.!

And I’d like to give a special shout-out to my staying-classy colleagues!  Megan, who brought me a kickass sage stick straight from New Orleans to help cleanse my house juju!  And to my browntastic gal, Dipika, who has treated me to many a meal during which I could eat (and sometimes drink) my feelings!  My disastrous living situation has shown me how lucky I am, and for that I’ll always be grateful.

But I think I’ve learned the lesson well enough, and it’s time to move on…

Please.  Now.  Seriously.

~ Sarah

Breaking News: 30-Year-Old Woman Lives in Frat House

August 24, 2011 at 2:49 pm | Posted in Around Boston, Home Ownership, Married Life | Leave a comment
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unAssociated Press – August 24, 2011 – Earlier this week, officials discovered a 30-year-old married woman living with a younger man in a frat house.  When questioned by mental health workers assigned to the case, the unidentified woman reportedly responded with confusion, stating she had no idea how it came to this…

Old School

Even Will Ferrell can't make living in a frat house appealing to me...

Oh wait, that’s me.  You see, a few days ago, the hubs figured out that the best way to describe living in our new home was to compare it to Greek life… and not in the awesome parties, lack of responsibility kind of way.  In the day-to-day existence as a smelly, dirty, immature boy who gives Martha Stewart nightmares kind of way.

As a former frat president, Andrew noted the eerie similarities between our current home and his life as big man on campus – mainly, you can’t leave your bedroom without protective footwear and the ratio of beer to food in the refrigerator is shameful for even the booziest of boozebags.  Seriously, we have three bottles of ketchup, a few frozen dinners and innumerable cases of beer.  And that’s it.

Don’t get me wrong, having a bevy of brewskis on hand at Chez L-ski is an awesome thing.  And we’re grateful that everyone who comes to visit brings truckloads of liquid courage (because lord knows we need all the courage – both liquid and otherwise – we can get).  But I do wonder what this is doing to my reputation…


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