We were doing really well. We had set up an IKEA shelving unit that had been in my old bedroom and put it in the living room. It became a pretty awesome way for each of us to display our tchotchkes, nick nacks and crappity crap. This is, in fact a really great way to begin merging your styles when you are moving in together. Aaron and I have remarkably different tastes. But somehow this shelf displays it all together in such a way that one might ALMOST think they were meant to live together. There are Aaron’s glass buoys and bobbers, my books (color coordinated), some flowers I dried and a bunch of Aaron’s toys and, um “collectibles.” I even put all of our collected seashells in a glass vase and stuck Aaron’s sailboat on top. We have also been able to add a few things we found or bought together. I was so into perfecting this shelf that I didn’t notice the pounding coming from the bedroom. Later that day, when I walked in I saw that my hilarious boyfriend (totally not being funny) had hung a picture of JFK with a crucifix wedged into the frame and beneath it, a plate bearing the likeness of John Paul II.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I think Kennedy is swell. I think JPII was seriously like the best Pope ever. And nothing wrong with Jesus hanging on the cross. However hanging on my bedroom wall? What was next? A sex fantasy with me in a habit? Now the thing is—and let me begin by saying there are many more things wrong here than one—but one main thing is that I was raised in a Jewish household, and somehow, a picture of the pope on my wall just felt really, well, wrong. (I have to say though that if I was not Jewish, I think this would still freak me out.)

Aaron, having once been an alter boy (although I can’t picture it) defended the pictures. He even went so far as to call me anti-American. When that didn’t work he launched into the artistry of the display and then quickly moved into the nostalgia factor and how these two pieces had always hung on his walls. As he was reminding me that it was my idea that we move in together, I finally put my foot down, and by put my foot down I mean, found a compromise. 1. Kennedy could stay. No one calls me Anti-American without fully succeeding in their manipulation. And 2. The Pope and the dying Jesus could not. Aaron’s reply: Kennedy and the crucifix will not be parted!

Now this is where the genius of our shelving unit came into play. Aaron decided he could make a home for his Pope plate and his Kennedy with Crucifix somewhere in our display, and I could filler up until it would take some heavy looking to find them. So, somewhere between my mother’s high school picture and her grandmother’s Hanukah Menorah, Jesus, the Pope and JFK are smiling.

So, there we were staring at this apartment full of, for lack of a better word, shit. It was just a giant maze of his and her crappety crap. From pictures of the pope to boxes of books, our faces turned whiter than the Osmond’s mid-winter just looking at it all. And then, here’s something else we learned about each other. In times of stress and strife, Aaron rolls up his sleeves and digs in. I go to sleep or play computer solitaire. The thing is, I really like my way better.

It was eight PM and Aaron’s stuff had been successfully moved. I figured it was time to crack open a can of Bud and pop in a Netflicks. I was just picking up the phone to order a pie when I heard the distinctive sound of a Leatherman cutting open a duct taped box. When I turned around to look, Aaron was knee deep in redundant kitchen supplies.

“Dig in!” was what he said, or something to that effect.

I hung up the phone.

“Really? Now?” I asked.

“Sure! Why not?” He said, all smiles as he tore into a box of records with no available shelf space for miles.

“Why not? Why not!” I began, certainly waving my hands around for effect (which I have been told is in the same family as flailing,) “Because it took everything out of us just getting the stuff here, is why not!” I said indignantly.
    
“What do you mean, out of us,” he asked pointing sharply at the fact that I had been home all day, well, playing computer solitaire, while he alone waited for the movers.

My eyes darted from side to side. I swallowed. My eyes, again darted or closed all together.

In the book we suggest making room for the partner who is transitioning into your space. I hadn’t moved a single thing. I started in the kitchen, taking his kitchen items out of one box and replacing them with some of mine. In the end, we managed to take the best of everything and put into storage the, um, picture of the pope and stuff. I still think, however, it could have waited until after the pizza.

A few weeks ago I was interviewed by Chick Chat Radio without Elena and almost passed out in terror. However, they were very nice and I am pleased to say I managed not to put my foot too deep in it. Interview begins at 00:28:04. Thanks for listening:-)

Download it here

Sept 1, 2008

Aaron moved in last Monday. It has been quite a week and has required a week to…well, process:

We hired movers. We didn’t get fancy, we just went for the guys who hang the signs on the telephone polls all over New York City for $19/hour. That, you might be thinking, was mistake numero uno. However, I used them myself back when I moved from Williamsburg to Ft. Greene. Two adorable Russian Mafiosos whom then-roommate, Lisa and I came to affectionately refer to as “our Russians” helped us move about 90 boxes to our new brownstone. Things that day went swimmingly. We were all moved in in under two hours for just over $100 dollars.

Fast-forward three years. Aaron, as I phone him back in Queens for the fifth time, is still waiting. It is almost three o’clock. I had left at 10AM, an hour after the scheduled arrival time. After calling and getting a definite “We are on our way!” from the Russian headquarters, I took a load in the Jetta and left him surrounded by boxes. The nice thing about Aaron is that he is very organized and has everything ready to go. The not as nice thing about Aaron is that he doesn’t have much patience for tardiness or general disorganization. So by 3PM he is really hating on my Russians. I don’t blame him. The last phone call where someone actually answered the phone ended with, “For an extra hundred we can be there in a half an hour.”
    
The thing about moving, in my opinion is that it is always best to have overlap, fifteen days if possible. Aaron had six months. Of course, he only had one month from the point at which he knew himself to be moving cross-country, from Queens to Brooklyn. He had already moved a few smaller items which included toothbrush, pillow, two pairs of boxers and one clean t-shirt. But other than that, everything was waiting between the hallway and the living room of his one-bedroom in Astoria.

I was still swearing by my Russians at 5 O’Clock when the price had already gone up to $500, a record collection and any small pets. At this point, Aaron told me to politely f’off with my Russians (“Why don’t you move in with one of them?”) and called the Chinese Mafia instead. These guys, turns out, are listed on-line, cost two-dollars per hour less and were outside his door in less than fifteen minutes.

They moved everything in, collected their hundred bucks and a gorgeous tip from me to show Aaron that I appreciated his gumption and respected that he turned his back on the boys from the Motherland, and were on their way. Now, with a maze of furniture littering the place, we sat down on my couch between a box of kitchen supplies and two garbage bags full of linens and took deep breaths.

On the exhale I think we were both pretty clear on one thing: This was not going to be easy.

And here it is... the moment you've been waiting for... the unveiling of our first TV appearance to promote The Good Girl's Guide to Living in Sin!

 

 

What do you think? Is there more TV in our future?

Okay, here's what I always envisioned as a "book tour:" Fancy hotels, expense accounts big enough for a steak dinner every night, adoring fans who flock to your signings, a hair and makeup team--and, well, you just have to show up and let the awesome book you just wrote speak for itself.

Not so for us first-time authors who are still climbing up the ladder. LA trip aside, if we were going to get a "book tour," we were going to have to make it happen ourselves. But, luckily we had the help of Joselin's sister, the amazing Hilary Griffith, a PR guru in Columbus, Ohio (Joselin's hometown). Hilary worked her contacts and got us a spot on the local morning show, Good Day Columbus. We were pumped--the biggest city in Ohio and we were going to be its stars!

Well, let's just say, the trip started off on a less-than-glamourous note. I spent about 14 hours in the Newark airport trying to get on a plane (because of a 1 hour storm. What's up?) before actually getting to the great state of Ohio (and sadly, missing the spa day we'd planned). And Joselin discovered she was missing a main component of her planned TV outfit because of a minor dry cleaning fiasco. You should have seen us in Target (the only store open on Sunday night in Columbus) trying to find a replacement cardigan. Luckily, Joselin thought up a plan C and we amped up for our appearance.

Monday morning arrived quickly and after a quick stop for some much needed McDonald's coffee, we made it in perfect time (7:30 am) to the Fox 28 studio. We were led to a break room by the production assistant, who then told us he'd be back in 15 minutes to usher us to the set for the interview. Inside, I freaked out a little. "So, what exactly are we going to be talking about?" I asked him. Yep, that's right. They were just going to throw us on set without any prep. Is that what you would have envisioned? Me neither. Hey, we wrote a book on this stuff--we know it. But I like to be at least a little prepared. He rattled off a few things from his notes and left the room.

15 minutes (and a little brushing up on the book's content) later, we were on set, putting on microphones and being told we'd be on the air in 10 seconds...

...in all, we think it went well. There were a few "Oh we shoulda said..."s in there. And I wish we'd been asked a better variety of questions. But we were happy about it--especially, that they kept mentioning The Good Girl's Guide To Living In Sin throughout the show!

That night we had a book signing at Barnes & Noble right next to the Ohio State campus. We got a bit lost getting there--Joselin says the city has changed a lot since her days there--but luckily Midwesterners are nice and we got some quick directions. Being late to your own book signing really isn't cool. It was a good turnout considering there were no classes in session, and some of Joselin's former high school teachers even showed up. Fun stuff. Afterwards, we celebrated with some of Joselin's old friends at a local watering hole. We really felt accomplished after one busy day!

On Tuesday, we had a little time to kill, so we headed to the Ohio State Fair. It was a big lesson in things Midwestern for me--sculptures made of cheese, cow milking, log rolling (I never knew what this was before) and even a giant Smoky the Bear that spoke (and, I think, was trying to hit on us...)

After a quick shower, we were back in a bookstore, this time, a B&N in the posh neighborhood of Easton. We got there early this time, but realized there had been a bit of a miscommunication... the manager on duty thought there'd only be one author and that we weren't doing a reading. She'd just set up a small table for signing near the door, and we anticipated a big crowd from Joselin's family and friends alone so that just wouldn't do! I was a bit worried that we wouldn't get it all together in time, considering I had to hop a flight at 8 pm--and it was already 6. But we kicked it in to high gear. Joselin distracted her peeps--and I helped the store staff move chairs to create a discussion area upstairs. We got it done and it was a successful event! While Joselin did more distracting, I signed all the store's copies of books and sneaked out a bit early in order to catch my plane. There'd be no hanging out in airports on my way home!

All in all, the tour was less than glamourous--but fun nonetheless. To check out more photos from the Columbus trip, go to our Facebook page. While you're there, please join our group!

I'll be posting the video of our TV appearance here on the blog, so check back soon!

7/26/2008

Today Aaron told his landlords that he is moving out. We had a fight last week. My argument was that if he wouldn't move in, he couldn't possibly be as invested in the relationship as I was. It didn’t help that I’d had about 5 glasses of wine. That accounts for most of the crying. The packing my stuff and threatening to sleep in the car, well, let’s call that the Chardonnay Attack.

The good news is, I didn’t have to sleep in the car because after he told me he’d like me to step away from the alcohol, he explained that this move was a scary thing for him. What if it didn’t work out? It was going to be expensive and really complicated to change the direction of things. But then he admitted he wanted to try.

Eventually it became clear that I was feeling more confident aboutliving together because 1) I have lived with boyfriends before who I didn’t feel as committed to as I do about Aaron and 2) I wrote the book;) so I am feeling pretty certain that not only can we live together, but we can live well together.

I know we both aren’t really considering marriage yet. We are in this thing. That’s what I know. I am finally in a relationship in which I feel respected and heard. I am in love and feel ready to make a home for the family we are becoming. English doesn’t have enough words for the strengthening of a relationship, but this feels so right to me. 

I promised I would be willing to talk more about the logistics of this move and help in every way that I can. Right now, I am just sohappy this is really going to happen. In one month he's moving in! When I say it to him outloud, he turns a little green.

 

I think this is a little like how the kid is feeling about the whole business... 

6/25/2008

We have been staying over here at my place a lot. I refer to it when speaking to people as our Brooklyn home. The Queens place is where we summer. I make sure to reference our domestic state in front of Aaron as often and as glowingly as possible. I am hoping that now that Lisa and Elijah are no longer regulars on the sofa that he will start to feel like this is his home too. I let him take over some of the drawers and shelves. I constantly complain about paying bills alone and am sure to use phrases like, “In my house we put down the toilet seat. In your house we can leave it up…” hoping it will ignite a spark of longing.

Unfortunately, in turn he is making observations like, “I sure do love those 30th Avenue markets in Astoria. You can run right outside if you need anything.”

I counter on those nights we crash at his place, with a four AM elbow in his side followed by, “Bars are closing,” as the alley below fills with the noisy swell of dispersion.

He comes back with, “Queens sure knows how to keep it real.”   

I pout.

5/25/2008

We are hanging out at my boyfriend, Aaron’s place in Queens, when he asks me what I’m going to do after my roommate, Lisa moves to Rome.

I am all sorted out for the next few weeks. A couple is subletting from me for 6 weeks while they get themselves settled in the city. I am going to be traveling for most of that time so it works out. Aaron has already agreed to let me stay with him for the days I’m in town. The subletters will pay for my rent for a month and a half, which means I don’t need to really worry about a roommate until September. This gives Aaron plenty of time to gleefully shout “yes!” when I ask him to move in and then start packing. Right? I mean, he lives in Queens…   

“So,” I begin, “want to try our one week of living together and then make it official in September?” I ask with a confident wink.

Crickets. There is no parade. He does not get up and start a conga line or pop the cork on a bottle of bubbly. He blinks. At least he is still alive.

The subsequent “talk” is the kind that usually involves tears, someone being called a jackass and then, if you’re lucky ends in make-up sex. In this case, we fight and then I go call a psychic. I’m not kidding. That’s what I do. It’s okay because I have a few career questions too and since I’m a first time caller I get my first half hour for $20.

The lady tells me that he isn’t going to move in for a few months but he will definitely move in. She tells me I shouldn’t worry because he’s a good guy. She says that him not wanting to move in right now isn’t about me and that I have to let him grow into the idea. Then she gives me this interesting nugget: “But if you force him too, he’ll move in before he’ll let you end the relationship.”

He had said as much during our fight. She promised me I’d be able to hold out until the decision is his. She advises me to use some of my savings and keep the apartment by myself. I hang up with her before my half hour is over. But not before she offers this wallop, “Look for work in Horticulture, you know, Botany or something. No wait, Bus Driving. Yes. I see your future driving a bus.”

Fabulous. Grayhound or school?

3/1/2008

I don’t want another roommate.

It might be that I am 33. It might be the wheat germ incident of 2001 when I lived with 5 hippies in a Berkeley co-op who found the smell of cooking chicken stock offensive. These people made me chip in to a monthly wheat germ fund even after I insisted that I didn’t know what it was or how to use it. After three months, I moved out and into a place with a vegan tri-athlete in Oakland. A step up, if you can believe it. Or maybe it has to do with how things have gone this whole spring.

Things in roommate heaven took a nose-dive when four large-ish people began, for all intents and purposes, sharing an apartment barely built for two. First, I met Elijah and then through Elijah I met Aaron. Lisa met Elijah through me and pretty soon we were all staying up nights drinking bottles of wine and playing endless rounds of Celebrity. But there was a whole lot of people happening around here. None of us is under 5’8” and the tallest among us is 6’3”. Lisa and I both have those Eastern European child-bearing bodies, so while I'm not calling anyone fat, none of us is what others might call “petit.” The point is, it became really crowded in this Brooklyn brownstone.

When Lisa and Elijah started spending all of their time together in this apartment, Aaron and I started to spend a lot of time at his. 

But I love my Brooklyn brownstone. This place has a backyard, two bedrooms, hardwood floors and a dishwasher. The dryer in the hall is broken, the toilet runs and there is very little counter space, but it is, otherwise, an awesome apartment in an awesome neighborhood at an affordable price unheard of in the city with the most expensive real-estate market in the country. Affordable for two. But if I post for a roommate on craigslist I am liable to end up with a vegan tri-athlete who won't let me eat a turkey sandwhich. Or worse, a person with a boyfriend who prefers our place to his. Then what?

I take a serious look at the guy sitting next to me. Aaron. We’ve only had this relationship up and running since September. He’s got big blue eyes. He snores. He makes a really good hollandaise sauce. He has road rage. I am a writer. I live in Brooklyn, NY. I know. I know. This isn’t going to be easy.