*Addendum.

I would also just like to say that at least 15 people watched me dig my car out, and didn't offer to help. This would never, ever happen in Texas. If you get a flat on the side of the road in Texas, someone stops to fix it for you. If you're moving, someone offers to carry your mattress. If they see a girl in any sort of distress, they stop and help. They carry your luggage for you. They carry your groceries. They call a cab on their own cell phone for you, using their own precious minutes. If you're stuck in a ditch, they help you get out. They say, "Hello, how can I help?"

They don't avoid all eye contact, and snicker as they walk by. They don't watch you from the window, and laugh.

They bring you a cup of coffee, they come in droves with their own shovels, they call their neighbors, and they dig you out -- smiling the whole time.

Once I saw a kid get in a wreck on my street in Dallas. So many people stopped to help, one guy even ripped off his UT shirt, and wrapped it around the bleeding kid's head. Do you know how important UT shirts are to people in Texas? But this anonymous bleeding kid was more important than his most prized shirt. So yeah, they literally do give you the shirt off their backs in Texas.

If you wrecked here, they would just honk, and tell you to move...while you were unconscious and bleeding, they would be screaming profanities at you for blocking the road.

Totally different world here.

Go If You Seek Yourself.

Yes, ok, having an MX5 in Massachusetts is stupid. Yes, people warned me about this. But when I first moved here, they told me there was no way to get to the office on public transportation, so I had to bring it with me. Then, of course, I discovered we have drivers. And now I have this 2,000 pound dead weight in my life.

I paid to park in a private parking space, $100 a month. The space is owned by a Masshole. He digs out everyone else's cars, and piles the snow on my car. I guess he thinks it is amusing, as he loves to watch me dig it out from his window, with his hot coffee in hand.



Today it took me SIX HOURS to get the car out. Six. It involved spending six hours outside in 20 degree weather, $50, a tow truck driver, tears, calls to my mommy, frostbite, blood, and a pair of men's cargo shorts, but I am OUT.



You think I'm kidding? That is just one of my bloody blisters.

I was paid up through today, and I refuse to give this man any more of my money, so I had no choice but to spend all effing day digging.

AND when I called the tow truck driver, he didn't even help me get out, he just gave me a jump, chuckled, said good luck, and drove off.

Every bone in my body hurts, I have a migraine, and I hate the world. I hope that man's penis gets bitten off in a freak escaped panther incident.

OH, but I did help Karma along a little, and now all that snow, every last bit of it, is now resting in HIS parking space. He can't park today, so he will have a really nice shock when he tries. He will have to shovel it all out. And no, I don't feel bad. What I feel bad about is that he felt it was ok to pile it all on my car in the first place.

I am screaming. Right now. Screaming. You guys might be able to hear me there in Texas it is so loud.

And this is what Mogs did while I died inside:



So cute.

Train Tourists.

That's my train up there, the D line. Somehow I wasn't on it that day, imagine that. Every other possible thing has gone wrong on that line since I have been here.

So...I was on the green line trying to make my way home when I saw them all, all these people in their black and yellow jerseys. Bruins fans riding the train to the game, too cheap to cough up the money for parking at the arena, clogging my route, and making a mess of things.

Now, these people do not normally ride the train. They are train tourists.

I ride the train every single day.

I got to Government Center to switch from my out of service train to a Lechmere train. Don't ask me why my train goes out of service every day at Government Center. The train can't make it the final four stops? Are you serious? Yes, apparently they are.

But I digress, the point is, I knew the Lechmere trains would be packed. It was a sea of yellow and black, hockey fans everywhere, chomping at the bit to get to North Station. They're loud, rowdy, pushy, and mean.

Sure enough, the Lechmere train pulls up, and it is packed. Packed! The windows are fogging up from all the nasty hockey fan breath. I expected some people to get out, but no one did. There was room enough for maybe two people to squeeze in.

Now, you have to remember, I am already 1.5 hours into my nightmare commute home at this point. And the Lechmere train only comes about every 30 minutes. There was no way in hell I was going to let this train leave without me on it.

A very large hockey fan squeezed in before me, I squeezed in after him, and there was no more room, but a woman behind me was trying hard to get on. Not happening.

He had the NERVE to say to me, "You cut her off! Honey, she cut you off! That lady cut you off!"

No, sir, you need to get something straight here. You are a train tourist, this is my train.

Got that? MY TRAIN.

And if you had better believe that if it comes down to me, a daily commuter, 1.5 hours into her commute home, and your train tourist wife, it is going to be me.

I win. Always.

(And the next time someone in black and yellow, or solid green, asks me if the Lechmere train stops at North Station, I am going to smile, and say, "No, the Lechmere train runs express.")

Welcome to Boston.

Is commentary even necessary here?

Birthday.

Today is Steve's 30th birthday! Last night we had an a really nice dinner to celebrate. We had a proper Southern meal -- sweet potato soup, collard greens cooked in bacon, corn fritters, a Vernor's glazed ham, and an amazing work of art, aka cake, done by Megs.

Aside from the cake, my favorite was corn fritters. I had never heard of such a thing, and I wish I had taken a photo, but you wouldn't have been able to tell from the photo that they tasted amazing!

This was the ham, you can see just a bit of the collard greens on the side. If you have never tried a Vernor's glazed ham, you really should! Here is the recipe, to give you an idea.



This is the perfect cake:



And this is what it looked like on the inside:



It was layers of cake, buttercream frosting, and chocolate ganache. Somehow there was espresso in there somewhere as well. I took some pieces home on the T, and everyone kept asking me if they could have some. No!

Random stranger, "Wow, that cake sure does look good!"

Me, "Yeah, doesn't it? See you later!"

So, my work environment is kind of like junior high, and I am the new kid.  I overheard two guys whispering and giggling about these free lint brushes we got from some provider, and how I really needed one, because of my apparent dog hair issue.  It wasn't very nice, or mature, but it did get me thinking that I could really put a bit more effort into my work appearance.

Yesterday I washed all my work pants and cardigans.  I took time to steam them, iron them, and hem them as needed.  It took a really long time, and was really tedious.  I even used two different types of lint brushes to ensure every single hair, feather, whatever was gone.

This morning I was looking pretty sharp, I thought.  There was a lot of snow on the way to the bus stop that reached well up onto my pant legs, but I brushed it off, and all seemed fine and dandy.

I finally got to Riverside Station after many T delays.  I noticed they had sanded instead of salted, and the platform and the stairs were a huge sloshy mess.  I was very concerned with getting the muddiness on the hems of my freshly perfected pants, so I was walking very carefully to the stairs.

But then, you guessed it, I fell anyway.  My feet went right out from under me, and I fell right on my ass, right down the stairs, in all the muddy messy puddles.  I got the wet, sandy, dirt/snow mixture all the way from my rear end to my feet, and was soaked through all three pairs of pants I had on.

So today I am dog hair free, but covered in mud.  My juvenile co-workers are not impressed. 

"I think punching someone in the face over and over is all that would make me feel better." - Courtney

I completely agree with that statement. It was -2 at some point today, according to Weather.com. The wind chill was minus one million. ONE MILLION.

Did you know snot can freeze inside your nose? It can.

My suit of armor consists of:

Thick cotton knee-high socks, three pairs minimum
Cotton leggings, two pairs minimum
Work pants
Tank top, two minimum
Work shirt
Cardigan
Hoodie
Jacket
Gloves, two pairs minimum (Have you ever had to wear two pairs of gloves at once? Not fun.)
Winter boots
Hat
Ear band thing or ear muffs, might have to wear both at the same time tomorrow
Hat

That is what I wore today. All of it. At once.

At home, I wear two pairs of knee highs, one pair of leggings, flannel pj bottoms, tank top, long sleeved long john type shirt, flannel pj tops, and I am still freezing.

Why?

Because THIS is what my apartment feels like:



I have central heat. You can see in the photo the top shows that I have it set at 75 degrees. You can see at the bottom that despite the fact that I have it set at 75, it is only 56 degrees in here.

Note that I also have two space heaters on, plus a wall heater, plus a traveling portable heater (Mogwai).

What kind of madness is this?

Blog Spam.

Meg taught me how to make macaroni and cheese. I can't decide if it was easy or difficult, but it tasted absolutely amazing. Even with onions.


I know what you're thinking, "Uhh...what? You ate that?!?" Yes, I did. Even smelly green sprouts taste good cooked in bacon!



This is where I really want to go. I don't know why, I just really like the sign, and the phrase, Bean Town.

Abortion Donuts.

Yay free donuts! Oh wait, they're abortion donuts!

Mmm...I love abortion donuts. Even better when they're free. Too bad there is no Krispy Kreme here.

Dear Hot Water,

You know that old hair band song, the one that said, "You don't know what you got til it's gone"?

Every day I search for you.  As soon as I leave work, and step into the frigid air, I daydream of you waiting for me when I get home…you, filling the bath tub, accompanied by lavender soap bubbles…ready to wash the day away, and thaw my bones.

And to clean up the wounds I got when I fell off the bus.

And off the porch.

And down the driveway.

But you are never there.  Please come back.

Cause if I have to join the YMCA across the street for $23 a month just to find you again, the shit is going to hit the fan.

And I won't be able to clean it off.  Because I will have no hot water.

Love,

Jools

Two Hours, Twelve Items.

This is an actual photo I took in the Market Basket today. I know, everyone is tired of me ranting about the Market Basket, but today was different.

A snow emergency was declared for today at 3:00 pm. Apparently all that means is "move your car." It does not, contrary to what you may think, mean that there is actually any kind of emergency.

I needed some cereal and some beef stew (current obsession), so I decided to pop on down to the MB. It was a nice walk, as always, as it is completely down hill. When I got about halfway down the hill, I noticed cars were backed up all the way from the stop sign. That could only mean one thing -- the Market Basket is causing a traffic jam. Again.

I got down to the corner, and heard honking, name calling, everything you could imagine. The two lane street was four lanes now, as people were stopped trying to get into the parking lot, and other people were desperately trying to get around them.

EVERYONE should know not to use Somerville Avenue on a Saturday, so I didn't feel sorry for them.

I got inside, and there were no carts. I waited about 15 minutes for someone to give one up. I started shopping, and people were being SO rude. I would pull over to get something off the shelf, and then no one would let me back in the moving lane. They were telling me, "Uh uh! I don't think so!" And shaking their heads.

The lines were absolutely ridiculous. They stretched all the way from the registers, across the walkway, down the aisles, all the way to the back of the store. Each line was over 25 carts deep.

Now imagine this, carts are lined up down the aisles. What does that mean? No one can get anything off the shelves. So I am waiting there to check out, and all these nasty people are screaming at me to move my cart so they can get their Domino Sugar. Only I can't move -- one person in front of me, one person behind me.

So for about 30 minutes, I just took orders. What do you want? Let me get that for you. Oh you want the "just add water" brownie mix? Let me see what I can do.

While I was waiting, a voice suddenly came over the loud speakers. "Ok everyone, there is NO need to panic! We have plenty of food for everyone! We are not going to run out of food! The store will be open tomorrow! Stop fighting! Stop pushing! There is no need to panic! Be nice to your fellow shoppers! Make room! I SAID stop fighting! There is plenty for everyone!"

Uhh...what?

As I got closer to the front, I saw the cops were here. The real cops, not rent-a-cops. They were literally there for "cart control." I got to the front of the aisle, and needed to walk across the open space to get to the register. Apparently the cops didn't want this space blocked, so one of them came up to me and said, "Ma'am, please do not advance your cart. Please stay there, remember who is in front of you, and cross when you can. Please don't block this area." He was very polite, and kind of cute.

So I waited. I was freaking out because there was about two cart spaces empty in between me and the person in front of me. I KNEW someone was going to swoop and swipe.

And sure enough, a little boy, maybe 10, swooped and swiped. The cop told him, "Hey, the line starts WAY back there, you can't cut in here."

Whew!

So then finally there was room, and I advanced across the way to the register. Immediately this guy and his wife tapped me on the back:



"You can't go there! The line starts WAY down there! All those people are ahead of you! That is the line back there!"

I said, really nastily, "Yeah, I know. I just waited in it for over 30 minutes." And didn't move. That did not make those two people very happy, but oh well.

So all this drama, just for $35 worth of groceries -- 8 cans of beef stew, two boxes of cereal, soy milk, and some cheese for crackers.

Two hours.

Twelve items.

I really, really did not want to have to do this. I really thought that everyone could have common sense, and everyone could be civil. But after riding public transportation a minimum of four hours a day, five days a week, I feel like it is time to set some ground rules.

So here they are, etiquette rules for riding the T:

1. Do not take off your shoes.
2. Do not take off your socks.
3. Do not have a meal on the train or bus. If you are absolutely dying of starvation, or your blood glucose levels are dangerously low, you may eat something. However, this food must not have an odor of any kind. Have you been on the green line lately? We are nauseated enough, we don't need to smell that shit.
4. No spitting, nose picking, naval lint clearing, or any other weird bodily thing you would normally do in a bathroom with the door closed.
5. No peeing or, god forbid, the other.
6. No changing diapers.
7. No talking on your cell phone. If there is a dire emergency, then you may make a call in a very quiet voice, think "library voice." Under NO circumstances should you EVER talk on speaker phone.
8. If you are perfectly able bodied, do NOT ask someone for their seat. I don't care if you went on a shopping spree and now you have 800 bags to carry and your legs hurt. You should have planned for that, and taken a cab.
9. Please don't talk at all. Ok, that probably isn't going to happen. So if you insist on talking, please remember a few things. First, if you are not within arm's length of the person, then move closer, or save it for later. Second, remember that you have an audience! Do you really think you should be discussing your sex partners, or your weird and creepy skin tags? Everyone can hear what you say. Everyone. So watch it. And do not discuss fellow passengers. Ever. They can hear it, no matter how quiet you try to be.
10. Don't bring your beer on the T in a plastic cup, and drink it while you ride. That's just nasty. Do you think that will impress the ladies? It doesn't.
11. Do not clip your nails. Especially not your toenails (see numbers 1 and 2).
12. Do not cough on other people. If you have a crazy coughing sickness, walk, or take a cab. Have a cough drop. Hold it in. Something.
13. Do not fight.
14. Do not sing out loud to the super song on your iPod. You might think it is super, but we don't, especially not when you sing it.

Note, this list will be updated, as new issues appear to arise every single day.

Another Photo Dump

Mogwai really, really loved the candy cane shaped bone she got for Christmas!



There was this gallery by the fake Sam Adam's brewery, and these wire sculptures were outside. I love them.



NOT COOL. This is what Nana and I saw when we went to get my car. I pay a guy $100 a month to dump snow all over my car, apparently.



Took us two hours to dig it out. Not fun. Felt the pain for over a week.

Went to Meg's for New Year's Eve, we had this fabulous panforte that she made from scratch, of course. Meg is a cooking genius. She is going to teach me how to make better macaroni than that horrible restaurant.

Nana Sweetie's Visit

Nana Sweetie came to visit me for Christmas, and we had a great time! We walked the Freedom Trail with a costumed guide, went to the Sam Adam's Brewery, rode the T a lot, went to a lot of great restaurants including The Fireplace and The Union Oyster House. We also went to The Publick House, but I will say the service was up there with the Worst of Boston (my new award). They tried to kick us out of our table to give it to someone else...after we had already sat down and started drinking our cider and beer.

So let's focus on Union Oyster House -- this is the oldest continually operating restaurant in the nation, it was built in 1636. In 1742, it was a fancy dress business, and in 1826 it became the oyster house. You can read more history here. This was definitely my most favorite place so far. This was a favorite Kennedy restaurant, and his favorite table there has a plaque in his memory. Note, we didn't get to sit at that table.



Here are some photos Nana took.

State House:



Sam Adams Brewery, worst guide lady ever -- I am thinking of taking her job. Seriously. Everyone thinks Sam Adams is so old and so great, but it wasn't even brewed until the mid 1980s, and has nothing to do with Sam Adams, and tastes terrible! Stop with the excessive hops, guys!



This is the Old North Church, Nana got a really nice shot with the sun shining pink.



This is the old City Hall:



Random Nana photo, can't remember what this is:



There are hardly any fast food places here, and the ones that are here blend in so well that you miss them. Perfect!



I took Nana to the skinny house, and they had THE Leg Lamp in the window. Hilarious.



Huge horses, Massachusetts State Police ride them in the Boston Common:



Fake Cheers:



Clock that doesn't work:



Another random Nana shot -- you guys need to pressure her to get on writing her Guest Entry!



This is a photo across the harbor from the skinny house and the bullet hole grave cemetery -- it was really pretty in the pink light:



We had such a good time -- everyone book your trip now!