Cold-blooded killer

After being without a car last week, Friday was a welcome return to independence. It also meant that I didn't have to get up for work at dawn to grab a ride with the beau. While he had to go in for an early shift (hello, 4 am!), I was able to sleep in until a lovely 7 am. Driving myself to and from work is one of those little luxuries that I definitely take for granted.

Cue Friday at 4: a very cold quittin' time. After parking in my spot (a blockish away from our place - thanks, east side!), I stepped out into the bitter lakeside wind, and muttered frozen profanities as I walked to our apartment. All I could think about was how wonderful our sweltering apartment was going to be. Living in what used to be a hotel back in the 20s, we're #blessed with radiator heat. AKA our heat is free... and beyond anyone's control... and we live in the tropics approximately 11 months of the year (or, well, in the winter more desert than jungle). As I stumbled blindly, eyes watering from the icy breeze, my one saving grace was that I would soon nestle up in that blistering heat. The thought  kept me going as I waited for traffic to clear so I could cross towards home.

Entering the lobby, my numb hands wiped the streaky mascara across my cheeks. Opening the mail slot, I found nothing, which meant the beau had beat me home, per usual. I made my way down our hallway (reminiscent of the Shining, minus the twins at the end of the hall - usually), deciding that I would not leave the warmth again until forced out at gunpoint. I dashed around the cat-lady on our floor and rushed away from her attempt to trap me in conversation (she uses the WTFuck-is-this-cat-doing-in-the-hallway-alone as bait). Keys in hand, I unlocked, entered and relocked in one fell swoop, glad I had escaped.

But something was wrong.
It was cold.

I immediately froze (literally and figuratively). Maybe the heat was out, I thought. Not yet removing my shoes, I did a quick assessment... No lights on - the sunlight was all but gone from our windows, so I flipped on entry light. The beau's work shoes were in their usual place - several inches off the shoe mat, in a slowly widening salty puddle, which I made a mental note to clean up. His work bag was at his desk. I tried a tentative "Hey babe, you home?" as I set down my bag. No response.

Not moving in any further, I tried to rationalize. He must be out for a run -- but his running shoes and the spare key he uses were there. Or maybe he'd popped out to the grocery store, or stopped by his mother's -- but his coat and car keys were there. Maybe he'd gone to talk to the building managers about the cold and gotten locked out of the apartment and -- no, our apartment door had been locked, you have to lock it on your way out, it doesn't auto lock. Standing there in my coat, all these things ran through my head in the thirty seconds following my abrupt entry. Where was he and why on earth was our apartment cold? Our apartment was never cold. Something was wrong.

Then, of course, it dawned on me. And I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt....
Someone must have broken in through a window and had murdered my boyfriend.

Years of watching Criminal Minds had prepared me and built up a perfect level of paranoia. Like all the soon-to-be-victims in the show, I wasn't just going to leave the apartment. I needed to investigate. To see the corpse and find a way to fix the window (or grab another sweater). As a precaution, I quickly typed a text explaining that we were both murdered and had it on deck to send to my sister, mom, and a coworker (so people wouldn't just think I was tardy for work come Monday - even in death, I couldn't besmirch my reputation of punctuality) the second somebody assaulted me.* I grabbed our letter opener - because I wasn't feeling creative enough to think of another weapon.

Friday night cut-a-bitch stealth mode

Still in my coat and shoes, I began to flip on light switches as I slowly made my way down the hall calling out "Hey hun, I'm home. You here?!" Looking around, I saw and heard nothing. Not a peep, not a floorboard creak. Nothing but an ever increasing chill running up my spine that I couldn't be sure was from the cold versus the assumption that I was about to be offed by a maniac who probably had some sort of twisted fetish with silver foxes and had quietly been stalking my beau as a victim for weeks...

A slight bang made me turn my attention right, towards our second bedroom. This was the source of the cold, no doubt about it. I could see the curtain blowing about as an arctic gust whipped into the room. My contempt over not being comfortably wearing shorts in my scorching rental already got the best of me, and I rushed at the window. Looking wildly about so I'd at least be aware of an attack, stopping the cold air was my only real concern. Flailing in the curtains, I slammed the window shut and snapped the ancient lock into place. The window hadn't been broken into, but it has no screen on it anyways... and someone could have easily scaled up to it using the iron gating on the window of the floor below....

So I still assumed their was a killer present.

Looking back to the hall, I saw our main bedroom door - closed. It was never closed unless I was in it (to protect me from serial killers and fucking situations like this). So obviously, that's where the body must be. My handsome beau, with some sweaty-toothed madman waiting to get me. I'd made enough noise already so I gave one last shout into the void, "DEAR, are you dead on the street somewhere??!"** No answer. So, I threw open the door (the little bells I have on it jingling hysterically - again a warning system for me while I'm sleeping #becauseparanoid).

A wave of trapped warmth hit me. And there he was. Starfished on the bed, half tangled up in sheets, snoring quietly. I lunged at him, giving him a scolding hug, as I began rambling about how the window was open, how I assumed him dead, how he had to go search the apartment for psychopaths, etc. He sleeply mumbled about how he was napping since he'd had to go into work early. I asked if the window had been open when he had come in or if it's just blown open at some point later. A dreamy smirk and a half-asleep shrug accompanied by a "I guess I thought it was a little chilly" and I was already out of the room with a scoff.

This is how men act like boys sometimes. Paying attention to their surroundings: meh, hit or miss. He walks in, feels a chill, doesn't question it, and just goes about his day. Heads for a nap. I walk in, notice one thing slightly amiss, immediately assume someone is fucking with me or that I'm about to be murdered, grab a weapon, build a backstory, prepare a farewell text, shoot off a flare gun, and become fucking Nancy Drew.

Avoiding paranoia isn't exactly my strong point. But really, isn't it just be me being prepared? Like some sort of jumpy and neurotic boy scout? How badass that I was ready to fend off an attacker. How awesome that I realized the source of the cold and fixed it. Problem, solution. I basically came in out of the cold and was Wonder Woman. As I returned the letter opener to its place, the beau continued his nap. Walking past the kitchen, I set out some cookies - a snack for the murderer that was surely still in the apartment. I wrapped up in a blanket and curled up next to the radiator thinking about how many hours it would take for the entire apartment to reheat. And I flipped on Criminal Minds. Like a good boy scout. Getting prepared for the next time...



*After all, maybe the killer had already left and I wouldn't be killed. In which case, why cause a false panic. OR, maybe they were waiting in the lurch / were the kind to get weird with a dead guy, and I was about to bust into the room shrieking and then would get murdered myself. Either way, I couldn't send that text preemptively -  that's why people go investigate. 
**This is a typical greeting when he comes back late from a run -- "I assumed you dead. Dead on the street somewhere." Because I've always been a bit of a mama bear with a flair for dramatics.

Nothing's Gonna Stop Us

Saturday morning, I woke up to discover my car wouldn't start. It was only like -6 degrees, so it should've been fine. But, there's a joke in Wisconsin in the wintertime: come for the cheese, stay because your car won't start.

Upon discovering my dead car, I was already running late to meet up for a mall walk with my sister (yes, with the old people on a Saturday morning). The winter grumpiness has already been in full force, and I was pissed. So, I frantically ran inside, garbled some words at my sleeping beau (something to the effect of "I'm stealing your car" - which, for the record, he consented to) and dashed back out into the cold. A minor setback, and I was soon to my destination, gossiping and walking with my sis.

Leaving the mall later, I had a quick stop at the Post Office which put me in a wonderful mood (not even sarcasm: they were super helpful), and was back in the beau's car. It was a chilly but sunny day, and already the temperature had risen about 20 degrees (heat wave!). Everything was turning around and starting to look up. Things only got better when, cruisin' down the highway towards downtown, a mega jam came on the radio: "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" by Starship.

I cranked that little hybrid's radio up to full blast and started to belt out lyrics as I maneuvered towards MKE. The slow burn intro verses hit as the skyline was coming fully into view and I got slammed with a wave of emotion. There it was, my town. Full of vibrant, bustling people. Buildings tall enough to give that city vibe, but a place small enough to feel intimate. Small-waukee, where you run into a friend of a friend at the grocery story and spend an hour chatting. That city that gave me a chance to "make it on my own." Where I found my beau and have had some amazing laughs with wonderful friends. There it was, a concrete jungle, glistening in all its glory. Zipping amid highways in the sky, I took the off-ramp towards downtown, hitting the chorus with full vocals. I was literally a Brad Pitt gif with my epic in-car dance moves.

As I hit every single red light on my way through downtown, my full on jamming hit a crescendo. Zero regard for anyone in neighboring cars, I thought about how lucky I've been to find a home here. How lucky to have a man who just lets me take his car to go on a walkabout with my sis at dawn on a weekend. A guy who's supported me and put up with living with me, even in the winter months when I'm arguably only one notch nicer than an angry bear. My heart was beaming as I rolled up to one more stoplight and the bridge of the song ("Oooh, all that I need is you..."). I was excited to get home and tell the beau about my happy moment.

Singing to myself at the light, just past the War Memorial, I noticed that there were an alarming number of geese in the park next to the intersection. There were people walking down the trails who were  avoiding that area because of the intimidating swarm. I made a vague mental note that a flock of geese that big was clearly stupid, because they should've long been south by now. The last chorus kicked in as the light turned green. (I was more or less screaming about how we could "build this dream together" by this time and punching my fist into the air like I'd just won the frickin' Breakfast Club.)

As I rolled forward, one of the walkers on the trail veered towards the flock. Small woman that she was, she was trying to restrain what was a very determined tiny dog. To no avail. She lost grip on the leash and the dog took off into the gaggle. Nothing was going to stop that dog now.

It almost seemed to play out in slow motion.... As Starship boomed on into the outro, my singing turned to a loud shrieking as I slammed the brakes and was enveloped with the scattering birds. They knew they needed to escape the dog, but didn't quite calculate what elevation they could reach in a matter of feet before clashing with the road. Flopping all about, the geese skimmed across the hood/top of the car. A flurry of feathers and avian adrenaline surrounded me. 

And then... it was over. The geese were lollygagging about trying to return to the park. The dog had been tackled and restrained by his owner. And I was free to drive again. My screaming ended with the fade out of the song, and I carried on home (where I quickly evaluated my beau's car for damage / feathers - and luckily didn't find either present). By the time I got into our apartment, the warm and fuzzies had mostly faded, as I returned to preparations for the day. Cleaning, planning logistics for the two surprise parties we were to attend that day, and other adult nonsense. I fully left the Starship, and settled back into my winter blues for a bit until I had to ramp back up for socializings.

Later, I did explain to the beau about the geese, pointing out that I did NOT hit any birds with his car, and that the birds effectively hit ME. He laughed, gave me a forehead kiss and gave me his typical "oh you" look. I grinned. The warm and fuzzies (which usually hide in the winter) came right back. This world that I found is too good to be true. Dead cars, rogue dogs and crazy geese... Let the world around us just fall apart. But baby, we can make it!

Let 'em say we're crazy, what do they know?

Gonna Kick Until I Need New Shoes

This is it. 2018 has officially arrived. With the chiming in of a new year, I raised a glass specifically with three dear friends to toast us in particular, as we enter into what will be our 30th year. The other revelers we were with had already crossed the threshold, but there we were, four fools, still in our 20s, toasting to life and ready for more.

Livin' that dream, stuck between 28 and 30.

The big 3-0 is still many months off in what will be a divided year for me. 2018 straddles my second vs third decade of life, so it's bound to be a year of self-created chaos, reflection, and debauchery. As such, I figured I should put down a few little anchors for myself. I've done the resolution thing some years, and tried for smaller monthly objectives in others. This year, I figured a few general guidelines and some specific to-do's wouldn't go amiss.

1. Check my credit score: like an adult.
2. Become debt free: only a few thousand bucks on my car stands between me and unshackling my burden. Could pay it off immediately, but will let this low interest loan trickle down - at least until we've nailed down vacation plans (and costs) for the year. For sure before my birthday. 
3. Get back to and maintain "base" weight: without letting the summer slide balloon me back up to walrus mode. This equates to losing about the weight of the holiday goose the beau cooked up the other day (#becausegoose) and keeping it off for all of 2018. Anything beyond that would really just be a bonus. 
4. Vacation like a boss: tentative travel plans for the years include: Vegas, Faroe Islands, Copenhagen, a few pop-downs to Chicago, and if I can swing it, another bout in NYC. 
5. Be a boss lady: time to decide what my next position at work should be. Movin' on up, friends! Gotta make those boss lady decisions and figure out which direction to go (and support my fellow boss ladies in the process). 
6. Maintain blogging pace: for the past three years, this little bloggie has been averaging about 2+ posts a month. With the summer dip (in which life is crazy busy and I neglect the internet entirely), that sounds about right. I could lie and say I'll increase my posting, but. Lies. We don't lie to each other on here.
7. Shower mindfully: speaking of nighttime zen, I plan to take more candlelit showers as night. Also, to take shorter showers. A hot shower is fab in the winter, but those long liquid blasts of heat also really dry out your skin. And, it uses up a lot of water as well, so, mother earth and all.



Part "E.T. Phone Home," part Bates Motel

8. Declutter: specifically underneath the beds in our apartment. If I can continue to purge junk throughout the year, like normal, and attack the stuff squirreled away under the beds. It'll be a win all around. 
9. Book it: must book appointments for both dental and eye check-ups. Mustn't skip it. 
10. Call: because the last iOS update was a personal attack on slider phones, texting has become a pain in the ass. Back to good old fashioned telephone calls. 
11. Shut down: no internets after 9:30 pm. Nothing is so important that it can't wait, and this gal needs some end of day zen time (maybe that'll give me time to read the next Outlander book).
12. Drink: water. Like it's going out of style.
13. Listen: to more Mika. Seriously, his music always makes me smile. That'll get me back on my French music track as well, which is always a good time. 
14. Turn 30 gracefully: we'll see how that goes. But at this moment: I'm nothing but excited. 

Beyond this short list, my top goal is to stay feisty. It's easy to grow complacent. It's easy to be bitter. It's easy to hate. One must stay lively. Be determined. Keep fighting until love wins. Kick down every barrier to happiness. Prove that age is just a number, and badassery is timeless.

So. Let's go team. Let's keep kickin' it in 2018.*


* Kick ass. Kick the dust off this old town. Kick the patriarchy square in the balls. Kick a bad habit. Get a kick in the pants and get out there. Get a kick out of living. Get your kicks. Don't get kicked to the curb, or be dragged kicking and screaming into the new year. Whatever you do, just be alive and kicking! (I think you get the point.)

Hindsight Is: 2017 Edition

Here we are again, looking back at another year gone by. My oh my, dear friends, was it another doozy! Looking back at my 2016 reflection, I had to laugh. 2016 was an exceptional year, which I exited out of feeling really pissed. The state of the union was a real drag leading into 2017, and that shit-storm sort of loomed throughout. But beyond that, there was a lot of awesome stuff that went down.

So, let's take a little stroll down memory lane, and see how 2017 did right by me and what occupied my time these past 365....

• Soapboxing: Give me some markers, a piece of tagboard, and something to be enraged about and let me loose! This was definitely a year of shouting from the rooftops and Norma Rae'ing about. From the Women's March in January to the March for Science in April, there were a lot of beautiful voices trying to be heard. 
• Love was in the air: It was another headliner year of stellar weddings, with eight more "I Do"s witnessed. So many nuptial shenanigans were had. Also got my jam on at a variety of bachelorette parties - from a bloody/brunch crawl, to a waterpark/cabin adventure in the Dells, to a very memorable stint in Vegas (which my liver is probably still recovering from). 
• Wanderlust fulfilled: Travel is my lifeblood, and 2017 didn't disappoint. February had a week in Florida to explore the Disneyworld parks and of course Harry Potter World at Universal (which I will never pass up). Had a good old fashioned gal's trip to the Grand Canyon and Vegas (for the aforementioned bachelorette) in June. In August we returned to visit my heart, in that concrete jungle where dreams are made of - and extended my work trip to NYC into a vacation up the coast to Boston. Mini trips were taken closer to home, as well. I used mead to lure the beau to his first MN Renaissance Festival and pure enthusiasm to get him to the House on the Rock for the first time. 
• Family time: Many a cousin pub crawl was had. One which also allowed me to refine those zombie makeup skills I started learning in 2016 (see? useful!). There was a lot of family time around the final cleanup of my dear grandma's house as well, which lead to much bonding over eye drops from the eighties and the other junk we all keep. Extended family kicked in as well in November, with a combined Thanksgiving of my immediate family and the beau's fam (major adult points). 
• Boss lady: This year I created a new role, and convinced everyone that I deserved to have it.* It's been a challenge but it keeps things interested and has helped me grow. I'm constantly learning new strategies and even if it's frustrating at times, it's also weirdly rewarding. That promotion also came with a new title, a raise, and later a bonus. A badass year for business, bitches!
• Showtime: Many great movies were seen, much television was consumed. Also, we hit up several live events as well: we rocked out to Diana Ross, laughed our butts off at Alton Brown, and held back tears / the desire to give her a big hug at Hillary Clinton.
• Socialest of butterflies: Between hosting and attending, there was almost never a dull moment. Happy hours and going away parties. Housewarmings and coolings. Derby day, wine and cheese parties, Passover Seder, a Paella birthday bash, Friendsgivnakkuh, and taverns of the paddle and pedal variety. 
• Etc: Beyond the above, plenty of other things went down as well. I was a spectathlete extraordinaire for the 13 races the beau ran this year. Got my DNA test done! Did my own taxes. Finished up root canal number two. Hit and ran past my three year anniversary with the beau. Worked my way through various bouts of anxiety. Played hooky.

Overall, I can't complain. 2017 was my last full year of my twenties, and the big 3-0 is just around the corner. So, 2018, since you get to straddle this big decade divide, you sure better not disappoint! Hope you all have wonderful kickoff. See you on the other side!

2017 was kind of like me and this squirrel:
we were cool with each other but like, not BFFs.

* If anyone needs a career cheerleader or a fire lit under their ass, let me know, because I'm very adamant about women stepping up, grabbing that job success ladder, and climbing like hell, and I'm happy to discuss! (In fact, I probably won't shut up, but that's a different thing.)

Playing Hooky

Cutting class and going on madcap adventures is the golden stuff that 80s movies are made out of. It's glamorous. It's exciting. You always get away with it, and even if you get close to being caught, it doesn't matter because shenanigans!

Ferris Bueller is that cool guy who I aspired to date in high school. In reality, I ended up being more of a Cameron. Pretty sure the only time I really skipped class was in college - to go see then President-Elect Obama give a speech. So, even when I cut class, I was still a total Cameron about it. Guess I just wasn't cool enough to pull that shit off.

As an adult though, playing hooky is more up my alley, because I'm using my well-earned vacation time to do it! (#TypicalCameron) Since the year is drawing to a close, the beau and I decided to hook it up together, and took off a random Thursday. Here's what the adult version of madcap, skipping-class-and-being-youths adventure looked like...

We slept in - til 8 am. Before hitting the road, we scooped up some local donuts and coffee. They had a Homer Simpson style one, which was obviously my pick.

"I could be the walrus.
I'd still have to bum rides off people."

The destination: IKEA. Along the way: a Jelly Belly distribution center. So for second breakfast, we got to sit on a train, wearing silly paper hats, while our conductor explained all the delicious ins and outs of the jelly bean business to us. With all that knowledge, we promptly proceeded to raid the giant gift shop. Samples and sales meant that we walked away with at least five pounds of candy (in bags, and on our person). It was heaven.

"It's a little childish and stupid,
but then, so is high school."

Next stop: Gurnee Mills. AKA a giant mall also on our route. The remainder of the morning was spent walking about,* checking out the occasional store, buying miscellaneous things like a shower curtain and candy cane tights. We discussed life, the holidays, the logistics of hijacking a dinosaur mall scooter rental, etc. Naturally, I went from zero to starving at some point, and figured that since we were on a mini vaycay, we should escape to somewhere tropical... the Rainforest Cafe.

One raving recommendation from a hostess later, and I had a giant mango mojito in front of me (the glass came free with the drink - and was promptly re-gifted for a White Elephant exchange a week later). The beau had a beer and a sandwich, while I partook in chicken tenders. The creepy animatronic animals (whose homeland is the uncanny valley) raged on as each "storm" rolled through, and by the time we were ready for the check there was a beautiful starry sky above and a rainbow nearby. Yeah, I'll say it, being two of ten people in a Rainforest Cafe is my jam. I drank the koolaid. I'd do it again. It was worth every overpriced penny. 

"It's one of my personal favorites and I'd like to dedicate it to
a young man who doesn't think he's seen anything good today."

Following our jungle excursion, the beau proceeded to run about the oddly massive (for a mall) arcade area, attempting each and every claw machine. There were at least a dozen. All clearly rigged and not acting in his favor. This spurred our departure onto the next location, the end goal, the mecca: IKEA. The place most relationships go to die.

At approximately 90 miles away, our "local" IKEA is at what I like to call a "safe" distance. Just far away enough to not often damage my wallet and cause an overload to the small square footage of our apartment. I allotted three hours to roam, which was just barely enough. The beau knew going in that I treat IKEA like a scavenger hunt / playground. Since we don't make the pilgrimage often, I insist on going through every display area on every floor. I let the arrows lead me and follow the floor plan they've specifically designed to entrap me. Unlike a timid rabbit, sniffing around a trap, I simply walk right up and lay upon said trap, and die happy. (Too morbid?)

"The place is like a museum. It's very beautiful and
very cold, and you're not allowed to touch anything."

At various points, I settled into my lovely living room of choice and take a little sit break to tally up what things I plan to squeeze into the car (and to calculate dimensions to see if it will jigsaw into the trunk). The whole plan of attack went smoothly.** We also stopped for some meatballs #BecauseSwiss (and because whenever I'm even slightly stressed, the beau assumes hanger and promptly feeds me - a fair bit of assumption that I chose not to argue against). And in the end, we both spent barely any money (sub $100 between the two of us) but took home lots of goodies and a few essentials.

En route back home, we swung into a swanky strip mall restaurant (where the walls were literally just bottles of wine and we were next to a fireplace) to meet up with some of our best dear friends for a catch-up dinner. Hours later, after what was probably our fifth meal of the day, darkness surrounded us as we cruised up the super-secret-spy-route to avoid tolls and head home. We were exhausted, and we had work the next day, but we were content.

So there you have it, a skip day that was perhaps the opposite of oh-so-glamours (NO-so-glamorous?), but was just what the doctor ordered. Candy, cocktails, furniture, food, friends. And at one point, sure, maybe we randomly broke into song in the middle of a parade. Maybe. It's all a bit of a blur. After all, life moves pretty fast...

* Fun fact: mall walking is one of my fave things. Like, old people mall walking where you just get your steps in, not even like shopping mall walking. 

** Until we ran into the random houseplant section near the checkouts - where I ripped open my wallet, started making it rain credit cards, and shouted "take my money!" Or something to that effect. 

#CompanyIsComing

AKA Weird Shit I Clean / Do to Get Ready When We're Going to Have House Guests*

Tis the season... for guests! Holiday travel means overpriced and overbooked hotels. Which also means holiday crashers.

Given my extreme extrovert tendencies, the more humans in my presence, the better. As an incognito 50s housewife, hosting is my bag. Tag on the fact that we have a second bed/bath in our apartment and live in a city with a viable airport and BOOM, we're a prime candidate for taking on company!

Since we're often a boardinghouse, I've refined my approach to prepping and have expanded my previous routine. I still firmly stand by my list of hostess essentials (snacks, drinks, sheets, towels and TP), but I've added a few other tricks up my sleeve. Sometimes I'll even just do basic tidying plus these, and nothing else - that's how stellar they are!

1. Greenery: Make sure it at least looks like you can keep something alive (gives visitors confidence that can keep them alive, too!). That means putting out flowers and/or making sure all potted plants are alive and watered. Or, sometimes, buying new potted plants that look more alive than the ones you've already let die. (Hide those.) 
2. Floorboards: Seriously. Clean them. You'd be amazed. Instant adulthood level cleanliness. Our little dustbuster hand vacuum with a bristle attachment, I just cruise around with that. If you don't have one, a swiffer works, too! Or, grab an old sock and put it on your hand and just run around - hell of a thigh workout since you're basically squat shuffling. (Vacuum after you do this, so you don't knock dust down onto a clean floor)
3. Focused Cleaning: Instead of losing your mind deep cleaning, think about the places your visitors will be the most. An overnighter: second bathroom, bedroom, living room. A party goer: any bathroom, living room, dining room. A dinner guest: any bathroom, dining room, kitchen. ETC. (Note the common rule: BATHROOM. Everyone will always go there at some point!) Anywhere that's not a main area, just tidy up, and don't freak out about. 
4. WiFi: Make sure you have WiFi deets written down somewhere so people don't have to ask. I cross-stitched ours and framed it in the second bedroom. 
5. Hot Stuff: In our apartment, we have blasting radiator heat that we can't control. Meaning it can be 10 degrees outside and a tropical heatwave inside. Warning guests in advance allows them to dress appropriately. Then they're more comfortable and you magically seem like a better host because they're happy. If you live in a cold, drafty space, either warn in advance, or have extra slippers and blankets at the ready.
6. Get Lit: Light up one candle per room, a half hour before arrival. Keep the scents generic, like good old "fresh linen" (some folks hate candles that smell like food, like my beau, so you don't want to put anyone off - though in the kitchen that works). Blow them out before you go lead the welcoming committee - that way, when they enter they don't see 800 candles lit and think you were desperate to cover up something nasty. I usually leave the living room candle still burning, just in case they call me out on the candle smell.
7. Stock Up: Yes, "drinks" was always on my list, but now we have both a bar cart and a beer fridge that need stocking. If the cart / fridge are stocked, no one feels like they're imposing / being that asshole who's taking your last beer. A pile of snacks is always a win as well.



The twist is: vodka!

8. Spare key: If you can provide one, do. Especially if they're staying for more than a night. Because we've all been that person who forgot something in the car and has to awkwardly ask how to get back in the building (#apartmentliving).
9. Spot Check: Magic Eraser sponges, the white ones that wear away as you use them, are actual magic. After I hit both toilets with bowl cleaner, I spend the 15 minute "wait time" running around spot checking with that soapy magic sponge in one hand and a dry rag in the other. I systematically stalk** my way around the walls of the apartment, stopping at every light switch, door and corner. It takes only 15 minutes to do this rapid spot check. A swipe with the sponge, dry towel it off, move along.
   At lights: wipe the switch, plate, and any smudges around the plate - also make sure switches and bulbs work fine. At doors, on both sides: wipe down the knob, any hand smudges above or below the knob (you know, where you put your hand to push/pull a door instead of using the knob), and also any "kick board" smudges (aka the bottom of the door where your foot might hit it). At corners: jutting corner walls are surprisingly easy to smudge and nick up, so wipe that shit down!
10. Expiration: Clean out anything in your fridge that's overdue for tossing, so someone doesn't accidentally find themself drinking chunky milk. 
11. Big Fan: If you have any fans, dust the damn blades. Else, any cleaning you did is automatically null and void as someone flips that fan on and it starts shooting dust around. As someone with allergies, if I see gross looking fan blades, I'd rather sweat to death than turn it on.
    For ceiling fans: take an old pillow case, put it around the blade and pull the dust off - it'll fall in the pillow case instead of all over your stuff then! Other fans: unscrew the blade and take it with you the next time you shower (aka detach and hose down). 
12. First impression: Make sure whatever your entryway is, it's clean. And guests know just where to put shoes/hang coats, so it doesn't become a cluttered tripping nightmare. 
13. Dishware: Leave some out or make it obvious where dishes are. I added a mug rack to our counter by our coffee maker. So, at the very least, people know just where to get a cup for their morning brew / water in the night. 
14. Spruce: Fluff up at least one element in each room to make it looks like your space is slightly more badass than it is normally. Bathroom: new funky shower curtain. Bedroom: more pillows and throw blankets. Living room: put out a good coffee table book. Kitchen: squirrel away anything cluttering counters. 
15. Outlet: Have extension cords handy / outlets exposed - someone will always need to charge something!

An equally important outlet... is one for you as a host. Even with visitors, you need a place / time to get away. Whenever we lodge out-of-towners, I keep our bedroom door shut (normally it's open - except when sleeping #becauseserialkillers). This also shuts off our bathroom, making it clear that guests have their sleeping space and their bathroom, and we have ours. If I need to go hide for a minute, there's a closed door to go throw myself behind.

Having guests is supposed to be fun: there's no point in driving yourself crazy. Sometimes (even if you're a hostess with the mostest), you still need just a minute between crazy ramp-up cleaning mode, being chairman of the welcoming committee, playing chauffeur, being tour-guide extraordinaire, and running a bed & breakfast for family and friends out of your apartment. So hang in their, friends, and get that Treat Yo'Self spa day in now, because company is coming!

Just for good measure, I also usually spray paint
something gold. Totes profesh decorator, right here.

* The internet has mixed feelings about spelling it as "houseguests" vs "house guests." To me, no space looks correct, and the word "guests" along looks completely insane the more times I stare at that string of letters. Literally, it's a freak word with too many vowels and S's. </rant>
** Instead of the classic fave "the floor is made of lava," it's the new age fave "I'm stuck to the walls" - sure to be a big hit with the youths!

Binge Hip

There's a certain phenomenon that's been spreading like a plague the past decade. It's an issue that has increased exponentially as the years have gone on. A phenomenon I fondly refer to as "binge hip."

You know how it is. You've had a long week at work. Hell, you've had a long frickin' month. The summer has been busy, you've barely had any time to yourself, and then this workweek decided just to give you the dagger.

Getting home, you wish to slip into some sweet abyss. You click on the TV. And there it is, an escapist fantasy tailor-made for you (and your demographic), blinking in a spotlight feature on your fave steaming platform.

Some new season has just dropped. It dropped harder than you dropped your weekend plans. A half-hearted "Not feeling well. Raincheck?" text, followed by your prompt phone call to the local delivery joint. All the food. You tell them to bring all the food. These provisions will need to last you for at least the next 8.5 hours. A mug of cocoa. A heap of blankets. You kill the overhead lights and plug in that random strand of holiday bulbs that you've somehow never taken down* and you settle the fuck in.

This is for the long haul. You've earned it. You deserve to just turn on, tune in, and drop out... but without psychedelics, and instead with a solid binge-watch. This is your means of escape. This is your time.

The doorbell buzzer goes off. Only an hour has passed, you've barely gotten into the second episode, and your food has arrived. A brief hiatus to tip the delivery guy and grab a fork from the kitchen (since of course there wasn't one in the bag - #TipRegret). A timely switch from cocoa to wine. The briefest of bathroom breaks. And you are BACK in it.

That'll do. Just enough to get through the
emotional roller coaster of the last seven episodes.

Before you know it, day has become night. Night has high-five the witching hour as it drove past it, on its way into what one might call the "wee hours." You've already had a judgmental automated prompter ask you not once, but twice, whether or not you're still watching. (The answer is, yes, I am. Save your criticism for my "to watch" list, bitch.) And then there it is, the black screen. Actual final credits rolling, instead of the usual spillover into the next episode. At least a minute before it'll serve you up the trailer of some similar black hole for you to crawl into as it sucks away your time. You stare into the blackness, back at your own haggard reflection, and click back to the main menu.

It's over. Accomplishment unlocked. You've concurred another wave of content. The water-cooler talk on Monday will be filled with your epic tales of this adventure you've had. You are a g'damn champion.

Blinking, the moisture slowly returns to your eyes. You look about and debate whether a move to the bed is actually worth it, or if you should just remain in your nest, surrounded by empty food and drink containers. It's so late, it doesn't seem worth it. After all, you've got a lovely imprint on the couch that is swaddling you just fine. But then that twinge of guilt hits, over what you've just "accomplished," and you decide that moving to the bedroom would be the "adult" thing to do.

You go to stand up, and a loud creak emits from your hip. Despite your best effort to rotate couch positions, you had continually settled back into that one spot. Nestled firmly into your blanket mound, with one hip holding you slightly aloft so you could snack. And that hip is not happy to have beared the burden of your binge.

To the bed you go, limping like someone sixty years your senior. You collapse into a deep sleep, your eyes embracing the darkness and lack of television glow... Nearly half a Saturday is gone before you finally glimpse the world again. You roll over and out from under the sheets to take a step towards the shower. A creak, a crack, and a pop later, and your hip has proclaimed its continued state of rage. Its warning you. Don't do this again. Go out into the world, walk about, exercise, move, or otherwise give it some room to shake its thing. That hip wants to be free.

You shuffle your way through a shower, your foot barely clearing the edge of the tub as you lift your lifeless leg up and over. A sleepy towel dry, and you promptly return to your pajamas. Grabbing a half-frosted pint of ice cream out of the freezer, you make your way back to the couch. The binge hip lets out a loud protest as you return under the covers and queue up yet another show. Real life, responsibilities, and binge hip be damned -  willpower was never one of your strong points.

If it's not on social media,
did it really happen?

* Hey, it worked in college, right? Strands of cheap lights can set the mood and are arguably less harsh than regular lighting. Let's not shame that shit. It's twinkly bulb magic and should not be typecast as only being able to supply a dull holiday glow. Also. I definitely typed "bulbs that you somehow've never taken down" and then stared, wondering why "somehow've" wasn't recognized as a word. You don't know me, spell check!