It’s been a funny couple of months, and by funny, I mean a lot of things that might not normally be deemed “funny” have happened thus making our lives actually pretty hilarious.

A leak of fairly gargantuan proportions has sprung up underneath our toilet, so that when we do laundry water gushes out from where it meets the floor, soaking the bathroom and recently, the carpet outside the bathroom and now it’s kind of seeping into the bedroom. The plumbers have been out several times and can’t seem to quite figure it out. This particular problem results in a vicious cycle. We put towels down to stop the rush of water, but then can’t wash those towels because doing laundry causes the leak to occur. So a few days ago, when all the towels had been used up for leak-stopping purposes, J and I were drying ourselves off with washcloths after taking a shower.

There have been a few other things. My laptop’s wireless internet capabilities have mysteriously shut down, thus making the whole freelancer-who-does-her-work-from-coffee-shops-and-town-hall-meetings rather difficult. A series of exciting, but slightly time-consuming trips to plan - San Francisco this weekend, Chicago for Memorial Day and Hawaii in June - and then the big thing, the thing that’s really taken a toll, is the fact that we were in an accident several weekends ago and J’s car is totaled.

I realize that seems like kind of a major thing, something I’d mention, but honestly, it’s just been a wild ride lately, a wild, but sort of fun ride, and I don’t know, we could get annoyed except that it’s all sort of entertaining in a weird, challenging way. This is our life. We rarely eat dinner before 9 p.m. if that early. We go away on whirlwind trips. We can’t seem to get the hang of paying our bills on time. We live in a rented house that sometimes fosters snakes and mice and relatively large insects, but we’re having a lot of fun.

To make matters more interesting, this accident occurred in Richmond. We were headed up north to D.C. for a quick, one-night visit to see some friends and take care of a few things and, I think it’s probably too complex to really get into the details on the internet, but we got off the highway to stop at a gas station and got into an accident that was technically J’s fault, but totally wasn’t, you know what I mean.

Anyway, no one involved was hurt, so we got the car towed to a local body shop, which was an exciting event as Mina and Cecilia were with us and got to ride in the cab. We got a rental and kept driving. See, that’s what I mean. When a lot of semi-crazy things happen all the time it’s not even that big a deal when you get in a crash and ruin your car. It’s just another thing that happened along the way.

After the long, drawn-out process of talking to our insurance company a bunch of times and having them do whatever they do on their end they declared the car (a 2001 Saturn) a total loss, which meant we needed to get back down to Richmond to retrieve any items we’d left in there. And because I usually “work” at home (which sometimes involves copious blog-writing and printing out color maps of the San Francisco Bay area) I offered to drive up yesterday to do that.

Because I was driving over two hours to complete the simple task of picking up a few items we’d been too hurried to collect after the accident occurred, I decided to somehow try and make my trip at least a little enjoyable. J helped me put some new music and podcasts on my iPod. And after I’d visited the body shop, packed up our belongings and said a quiet goodbye to the car, I decided to do something I’ve never, ever done in all the millions of trips we’ve made up and down the highway between North Carolina and D.C. - I decided to drive into the city and take a break. A real break. Not a break at the Sheetz gas station, not a break at Taco Bell, not pulling off the highway out of necessity or boredom, but a foray into a real, thriving, urban atmosphere.

I followed the signs to Shockoe Slip, only because I had a vague inkling this was a cute part of Richmond, that maybe I’d been there once before and liked it. Luckily, I was right, so I found a place to park my car and embarked on a little adventure. I browsed in a charming bookstore. I stopped at a Japanese restaurant for lunch, ate at the sushi bar with the other solitary diners, and got completely absorbed in the local weekly paper I’d picked up. Afterwards I took a long walk and checked out a few historic-looking buildings we always see from the highway.

When I got back on the road I was refreshed and happy - I was happy and even relaxed during what I thought was going to be a completely draining and rushed road trip. On my way back down south I listened to whole albums on my iPod - The Shins, The Arcade Fire, The Twilight Singers - it was this calm oasis compared to what life’s been like lately.

When I was getting near home I pulled off at a rest stop. I was feeling a little sleepy as a result of the hot sun beating down through the windshield and decided to get a Diet Coke. I almost never drink soda - I think a remnant of my mother’s watchful eye when it came to soda and “sugar cereals” when we were children - and it’s hard to explain to someone who never drinks the stuff, but it is possible to crave a Diet Coke, crave the harsh bubbles and saccharin sweetness and mild caffeine boost that - and here’s the greatest part - doesn’t make you fat and Jesus, I wanted a Diet Coke.

The vending area at this particular rest stop included a myriad of vending machines and I put my money in the first one on the row, anxiously awaiting that first sip, but something went haywire and the machine returned my money and yielded no goods. Not wanting to deal with a less than perfect operating system, I tried the next machine, which took my money, kept my money, and produced no soda. This was troubling because I wasn’t sure if I had ample change left to try again. I searched my cavernous bag and even marched back to the car to check under the seats, and I was getting extremely nervous - would this row of incompetent vending machines ruin my otherwise wonderful day? - when I pulled out a crumpled dollar bill. I tried yet another machine and was granted a Diet Coke that was not only cold, but so cold that some of the soda had frozen. A partially frozen Diet Coke on a hot day when I needed it most - could life get any better? No. And so I drove onward back towards the chaos, enjoying those last few moments of solitude and quiet before arriving back at our busy, ridiculous little house, that probably, right now, could also classify as a swamp.

I thought for a while today about what kind of post I could write to commemorate J’s birthday, and then realized, you know what? You’ve all heard enough from me. So I asked a few people if they could tell me their favorite thing about J so I could post their thoughts on my blog. And they delivered. And I didn’t even have to threaten them.

These are the things people love about you, J:
(Happy Birthday!)

My favorite memory of Justin was the night The Black Udder took on their ultimate feat. It was a week before we graduated from high school. It had been a long standing tradition to spray paint this giant rock that sat at the entrance of the school. Kids would secretly paint it in the middle of the night. Well, spray paint was so 80’s, so we got a little more creative. The 3 of us (The Black Udder) decided to take heaps of sod, that had been torn up at the church in an effort to put a new side walk in, and sod over the rock so that it would look like a giant lump in the grass. Back and forth from the church to the school with trash cans of heavy sod. We laughed like crazy! Then the cops came. It got feisty. Apparently the law enforcement of Woodbridge has no problem with teenagers and spray paint but extra grass….is going too far. In the end we lost the battle. We were forced to dump the sod in the woods and sweep off the rock. It was the most adventurous night, just me, Geoff and ….oh, wait, Justin never came! It was Kristen. Justin was too lame to come out on a school night to have a little fun with the Black Udder. Boo Justin. And poor Kristen wasn’t even in the group. She risked walking for graduation just to try to recognized by our superior membership committee. But where were you?? - Eileen P.

J’s Uncle Bobby and family sent this amazing photo tribute:

Tiger Beat

Turn Ons: Puppys dogs, long walks, sunsets, bluebirds, white birch beer

Turn Offs: Tuberculosis, unibrows

I guess one of my favorite memories was driving back from winter break with Justin and my college roommate, Diana. Diana was infamous for getting pulled over for speeding…and very early on in the trip, we got pulled over on the Jersey Turnpike. And as Diana and I were scrambling in the front seat to find her registration, etc., Justin was in the backseat pretending to fight the policeman w/ his Darth Vader piggy bank that he had gotten for X-mas.

Also humorous, was the time he found my sister’s breast pump at my house in CT. Yeah, that was awesome. Right out of a sitcom stereotypically awesome. I’m sure if I haven’t told you this story already, you probably can see it play out in your mind. But he picked it up and started playing with it and repeatedly asked what it was. I didn’t want to really draw attention to it, and figured he’d put it down and forget about it. But of course he couldn’t. So he kept examining it and then he asked if it was for the baby…and i was like ‘well…kinda…indirectly.”
“No…seriously…what is it? Why won’t you just tell me?”
“It’s my sister’s breast pump.”
And with that the breast pump was dropped to the ground. - Kristen McC

Although the story is a little fuzzy on my end it goes something like this… Justin comes over to my place, plays the card game asshole, wanders outside, pukes in the bushes and then passes out smack dab in the middle of the driveway… where I’m pretty sure my parents find him a little while later (and narrowly avoid running him over) upon returning from something or other…
All in all a pretty damn good night! - Geoff S.

My favorite thing about Justin is the fact that’s he’s so enthusiastic about all the things that are important to him in his life and he’s not afraid to let other know about it: aka TB, Birds, Cara, etc… - Manpreet H.

(J’s labmate and our good friend Nate sent me a comment but I can’t post it here because children sometimes read.)

I like how he loves to get naked in dark rooms and stand on tables, but runs for cover faster than a greyhound if someone turns on the lights….faster still if that person who turned on the lights also has a camera in hand. - Tom O.

Number 1 is that Justin and cara are so in love –so happy–having a great life amnd will continue to have a great life.
Number 2. Justin is serious, focused, yet with a great sense of humor. The combination of scientist and bird nut makes for an interestin son in law. - Fred R.

Besides all of the wonderful things that dad said, all of which I completely agree with,
Justin takes wonderful care of you, he always asks to help with anything
that needs to be done, he has increased our knowledge of birds
(especially bluebirds, which we had at the Bay without even knowing it)
and he can make technological things work. - Kathy R.

My favorite memory of justin was when i first met him and it was at that christmas party during that …difficult…time so i felt like i really had to scrutinize him carefully and put him through the ringer and i think after just a few minutes (perhaps it was only one :) of talking to him i pulled you aside and said “cara, i LOVE him”. i was a total failure as the scary “what are you doing/ what are your intentions with my friend” friend. he passed the boyfriend test with flying colors. :)
…and another memory just occured to me too…at justin’s first ashby court—naked swimming—pj making—house party he ended up sitting on the floor of the dining room playing guitar for a small crowd of people WELL into the night…it was awesome. like a campfire in your house…which was exactly what had been missing at the previous parties… - Sarah E.

I’m always excited to hear about his newest personal growth challenges (like giving up elevator riding, or running all the streets of Chapel Hill). - Sherry K.

I love how Justin works day in and day out with a wonderful bacteria, Tuberculosis, and yet is scared of crickets…especially flying crickets.
He reminds me that we don’t always have to be rational adults and that even some of the smart ones have fears.
Happy Birthday J! - Becky O.

(If you’d like you can add your own thoughts in the comments sections and I’ll keep updating as I get more emails…)

I’m all for respecting all God’s creatures and I’m totally, totally in favor of those reptile guys who come to elementary schools and let little kids pet otherwise horror-inducing creatures in a safe and even fun environment, but if snakes aren’t the pure, unholy incarnation of evil, I don’t know what is.

I was getting the mail the other day when I noticed the some tall grass just a few feet away moving in a suspicious manner and I didn’t even have a chance to move a safe distance from whatever it was before I saw what it was and it was a snake, godamnit. A SNAKE. A long, black snake, and it didn’t have any weird markings or enormous fangs or anything but I was fairly certain it could take my life if it wanted to so I retreated fast, my survival skills in high gear.

I was ok with it - we live in North Carolina, not Manhattan - and I know there are things like snakes around, I’d just appreciate it if they’d keep out of my way, just like I keep out of their way, and I don’t, you know, venture into their dens, or whatever the hell it is snakes live in, where they concoct their potions, and I don’t know, worship Satan from time to time - anyway, the point is, I think they should try and keep out of my yard.

When telling J about the incident this morning, he asked me to describe the snake, how big it was, and all that specific nonsense he’s interested in, overlooking the obvious point that IT WAS A SNAKE IN OUR YARD WHAT ELSE DO YOU NEED TO KNOW? I spread my fingers wide to try and illustrate it’s thickness to him, at which point he told me that it was impossible a snake that wide, like a boa constrictor or python, was living in our yard. I also told him it was several feet long, and he looked at me, again, like I was crazy, a crazy, snake-fearing woman who makes up stories and cowers indoors, afraid of nature, harmless, everyday, nature.

But that’s just the thing. Since my close encounter I haven’t been cowering indoors, I’ve been bravely venturing to all parts of our front and back yards, sure that I’d never see my little buddy again, so you can imagine my surprise when I was out back a few hours ago, heard a rustling behind me, turned around and saw, once again, a long black snake, just inches from my flip-flop clad feet. Inches. I don’t know if it was the same snake, but once I’d reached the safe (”safe” being a relative term - we’re being invaded) confines of my carport I took a good, hard look at it, slithering through the grass, it’s body a writhing S shape (Jesus Christ, how do they live with themselves?) and determined that if it wasn’t the same snake, it was a very close relative. Just as long as I’d told my disbelieving husband. Long enough to strangle me. Long enough to inflict fear in the hearts of courageous men.

As I continued with the things I was doing outside, I spoke out loud to the it - even though I couldn’t see it anymore, I was pretty sure it was there - telling it I knew what it was up to, and that it had another think coming if it thought it could just live with us in our yard, just like part of the family.

If I see it again, I might have to take some drastic measures. Like moving. The crazy thing is I’ve never really been afraid of snakes, just like I’ve never really had a problem with mice, or cockroaches - it’s just the prospect of never knowing who you’re going to run into when you head out back to throw a ball for the dogs. And yeah, I know it’s probably not poisonous and can’t kill me or anything, but I’m talking quality of life here. And a quality life that’s worth living doesn’t normally include tiptoeing around your property holding your breath, looking frantically for your enemy, ready to flee at any moment. So all I’m saying is that one of us has got to go, and since I’ve put up art and pay for cable and all, well, I think we all know which one of us it should be.

Thanks to Max B. for pointing out this Variety.com article regarding my very favorite story about a man burdened by the “gift” of time travel and the woman he loves (Max sent me the link in an email with the subject line “your wildest dreams are gonna come true”).

I’ve spent the last couple of days, like most of the nation I’m sure, watching the unbelievable coverage from Virginia Tech, feeling tense, sad and helpless. While I can’t express, at least not in any graceful way, how much I feel for the victims’ families, friends and everyone affected by the tragedy, I do hope everyone involved gets the support they need during this obviously very difficult time.

Whether appropriate or not I don’t know, but there are always those breaks in the clouds that remind us why this life is worth living, for instance, while watching the neverending news reports this morning on “The Today Show,” J got very excited when Matt Lauer, who is on location in Blacksburg, turned the camera back over to those in the New York City studio, who just so happened to be Ann Curry, Natalie Morales, and another attractive young female, whose name I don’t know. No matter, the point it they were sitting on the couch in that pink-hued studio in their nicely tailored suits, and J excitedly looked up from his science paper and said, “Cara, LOOK! Look at them,” you know, as though I might share his male enthusiasm for the pretty, unattainable newscasters. I am glad he tells me about his various crushes, however, as I find it adorable he has them. Particularly cute is fondness for Ann Curry, his favorite. Seriously, I don’t know what he’d do if she left the show. J reminded me this morning that my father shares the feeling. Apparently one morning when we were home for Christmas vacation, he and J were the only ones up, watching the morning news, and my dad, in the midst of various phone calls, reading the mail, basically holding court from his designated seat in the den, looked up and said, “That Ann Curry, she’s an attractive broad.”

In other news, I was struck last week by the death of Kurt Vonnegut, whose name always brings up memories of high school for me. The thing is, I wasn’t one of those kids obsessed with him, but my friend Matt sort of was and I remember, before he moved away to New Orleans for our senior year (a fate worse than death for two close high school friends), he gave me his copy of “Breakfast of Champions,” which was slightly tattered, the pages soft, leading me to believe he’d read it maybe four or five thousand times. This is how I became inducted into Vonnegut’s world and I read many of his books afterwards, my favorite being - not “Cat’s Cradle,” which all the dramatic adolescents seemed to love - “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater,” mainly because I found that foot-long pubic hair bit hilarious. I recommend it if you’re up for a good laugh. In my mind it’s on par with John Kennedy Toole’s “A Confederacy of Dunces” -that subtle, touching humor.

And of course, in the midst of the incidents that shape our entire world are the lovely, if mundane, harbingers of spring, the fact that bluebirds have once again inhabited the bluebird house in our back yard, built a nest, laid eggs and two new babies hatched just the other day. J says they’re featherless and tiny. The azaleas - two shades of pink, as well as white - have blossomed in the front yard, and the dogs have taken to basking in the patches of warm grass when I let them out in the back, that is until they spot a herd of deer in the woods behind our house, or decide to harass the dog next door and all is chaotic again.

Despite the fact that my first few months without a regular job after returning from Maine last summer were rough, I’ve really settled into my schedule. I like my days - a lot - I like them so much that sometimes I wonder if I’ll be able to return to the structure a regular job requires. I like working from home in our little office/laundry room, completing various freelance jobs and looking for new opportunities. I like checking in with the newspaper where I’m contributing regularly, having a chance to work with and be around people from time to time - part of a team.

My days are more organized. Sure, sometimes I turn on “What Not to Wear” while eating lunch, but that’s it. I don’t get drawn into endless television-watching marathons when the rest of the world is putting in an honest day’s work. I’ve learned to be productive while remaining flexible. For the most part, I’m doing things I like. And when I’m doing things I don’t like, I’m able to rationalize their professional value.

Whereas before I tended to get a little depressed if I wasn’t sure what to do with myself on a less-than-busy day, now I’m able to redirect my energy and do something worthwhile, if not directly related to becoming famous and scoring a major book deal, and one of my new favorite things to do when I’ve got time on my hands is take the dogs on a long walk. This is an especially enjoyable activity now that winter is becoming a distant memory. We walk around our adorable neighborhood checking out any new flowers that have appeared in neighbors’ yards and thoroughly tiring ourselves out. Mina views the walk as a hunt - she’s constantly ready to kill man or beast with the brute force her 10-pound body can deliver - but Cecilia is happy to plod along by my side, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, looking up at me every once in a while as though to say, “Isn’t this the best?” - so I sometimes leave the smaller dog home. She’s just a little intense, which I explain to her as she looks on, bewildered, when I bypass her pink leash and leave it hanging on the hook. “Sorry, it’s not happening,” I tell her.

Today was one of those days so Cecilia and I, both in a good, carefree mood, set off on a walk. It’s been one of those indescribably beautiful days in North Carolina, the sky a pure, intense blue and the temperature - there’s no better way to say it - perfect, around 75 degrees.

We’d gotten a few blocks from the house when I heard an unfamiliar noise, much different than the other neighborhood noises I’m used to. I know what most the common birds sound like because J, in addition to pointing their calls out to me, now has books and CDs that play their songs. And many, many thanks to everyone who gave him those books and CDs as presents, by the way. No, really.

But this sound - this sound was unlike the others - a loud, repetitive screeching and I stopped in my tracks, checking the sky and nearby trees for the source. I realized, of course, that this might be a bird J had not seen - a bird he hadn’t even heard of, maybe - and that if I caught a glimpse and identified it I’d succeed in a rare double-win situation where I’d get to surprise my husband with the discovery of a new bird AND beat him by seeing it first.

I searched high and low, dragging my confused dog around with me, until I found what I was looking for. A low-hanging tree branch, swaying in the soft springtime breeze, was scratching back and forth against a metal bus stop sign, producing the high-pitched, avian-like noise I’d heard. Not a bird at all, but instead a rather shocking moment where I wondered what on Earth had gotten into me. Was I, too, now obsessed with birds through osmosis or proximity?

After we’d nearly completed our regular loop and were on our way back to the house, Cecilia and I stopped to watch a caterpillar make it’s way across the street. She perked up her ears and lowered her head, placing her nose nearly right on top of its furry back as she watched it crawl, but lost interest after only a few seconds and we moved on. And then I realized that’s the thing about she and I, we’re not out for the hunt and probably never will be. We’re too distracted to get worked up about the specifics and that’s why it’s important that we live with others who alert us those life-changing events, like the sighting of a Downy Woodpecker, or the arrival of the mailman.

The day I bought my 2002 Honda Civic and drove it off lot at Leith Honda in Raleigh, playing a CD in the brand new CD player and giddily playing with the automatic windows and door locks, was the day the car, maybe by some cosmic twist of karma, ceased being a sleek, shiny new vehicle and became, in my hands, a bad luck magnet with the added bonus of all the unfortunate vehicular incidents that would occur being mildly hilarious.

Shortly after purchasing the car I got into a bad accident, hitting someone who was making a left turn onto a two-lane highway and simply didn’t happen to see me hurdling at 55 mph towards her. The air bags deployed, the police were called and my car was almost totaled, but thankfully me and my new friend, who turned out to be a very nice woman and immediately apologized for pulling out in front of me, were mostly uninjured. I was a little sore the next day. She broke her pinky. It could have been a lot worse.

After that things sort of went downhill. My car suffered strange problems for being so new, no doubt the result of being picked apart and put back together after the accident. But there were other things, like a break in, a slew of flat tires, other minor accidents. And the one time I drove over a plastic bucket that had fallen off the back of a pickup, which got lodged under my car and made some pretty bad noises for the next mile until I could safely pull over, get down on the asphalt, and remove it.

Point being, I’ve always liked my car - it’s a sporty little stick shift that’s taken me up and down the east coast what seems like hundreds of times - but I’ve never been crazy about it since I spend what seems like a disproportionate amount of time dealing with little issues that crop off. If the car was older, sure, I’d understand, but it’s not old.

Anyway, after talking about the possibility of trading in my car for some time, I started looking a little. I like going to car dealerships in the same way I like touring apartments or going to makeup counters at department stores - learning about so many possibilities without any commitment! It’s one of our rights as Americans.

A couple weeks ago I headed to a local Honda dealer and before I’d even parked and been attacked by the salesmen I spotted this little blue number so I wandered right over and took a look. It turned out the car was a 2005 Honda Civic Hybrid and let’s just say I fell in love with it, and I don’t usually say crap like “fell in love with” about cars, because I think that’s retarded. People fall in love with people. And sometimes chocolate cake.

After the obligatory sales pitch from the guy who very quickly appeared after my arrival (”You are NOT going to find a better deal than this”) we went for a test drive (the car was and quiet, the ride smooth and I contemplated impulse buying, which, really, should be reserved for new clothes and minor electronics) then sat down and calculated some numbers, and it was then that the stars disappeared from my eyes because, as it turns out, 2005 Hybrid Civics aren’t dirt cheap and my car, which has a lot of miles on it for being only five years old, it just so happens, isn’t worth millions. So basically, they weren’t going to give me my New Favorite Car for free.

I didn’t come home with a new car, but since then I’ve become slightly obsessed with the idea of getting a hybrid car. It’s part Al Gore-induced hype, part me honestly wanting to do something good for the world, and part, well, I just tend to have a one track mind when it comes to something I decide I want to do.

Now, all of a sudden, I feel like everywhere I look there’s somebody driving a Prius - Toyota’s hybrid vehicle - and I look at them and their neat little environment-saving cars jealously and then head back to my good-for-nothing Civic (which, to tell you the truth, gets great gas mileage and is a lot better than some of the monstrosities you see out on the roads).

Unlike some of my other recent interests, like buying a bicycle or my serious attempt at upkeep of my stylish, short haircut, however, I think I mean it this time and may start to look seriously for a hybrid car. And someone who will pay me one million dollars for my Civic. Or you know, a comparable amount. But really, what do a few car payments matter when you’re trying to save the world? Especially when saving the world means you get to drive around in something new, instead of your two-door with scratches on the driver’s side window from where those bastards tried to break in before they succeeded in actually busting the back window so they could steal your David Bowie CD and all your loose change.

I quit the Y a while ago - which, just so you know, I didn’t do because of the millions of nude older women I kept involuntarily catching glances of in the locker room. I decided to switch to a gym that had better hours and was a little cheaper. Also, a few of my friends go to this new gym and you can’t beat that. Friends are a great impetus to work out, because all of a sudden you can make plans to go to the gym together. And as hellish as that sounds, it gets you motivated.

I’ve only been to my new gym three times and already I know it’s not for sissies. I’ve attended two classes so far - one yoga class, which made my thighs burn - and at 6:45 this morning I went to my very first cycling (or spinning) class. I know that 6:45 a.m. is pretty early to get on a stationary bike and try to give yourself a heart attack all in the name of health, but a friend of mine is the instructor. Plus, I thought it would be a great way to kick off the weekend. I know that’s crazy, I do, but I’ve been slacking big time lately when it comes to being in shape and now it’s almost bathing suit season, I’ve got to convince myself to exercise a lot more than I have been by saying things like “Cycling class at 6:45 a.m. would be a great way to kick off my weekend!” That’s simply what I have to do.

The good news is the class turned out to be really fun. No, honestly, there were fun parts, like the fact that cycling classes are held in this neon-painted room lit by black light and my friend played incredibly upbeat music, like Young MC’s classic “Bust a Move.” But it was also hard. Very, very hard.

One of the nice things about classes, cycling in particular, is that you control how hard it is, really. If you’re having trouble doing a particular yoga pose, they always tell you to just lie down and relax. In cycling, you control the resistance level on your bike and therefore, can make the experience easier or more difficult and no one will really know the difference. And this could work to one’s benefit - my benefit - in theory, but in reality I get strangely competitive about certain things, things like throwing the best parties, and beating my brother at the game of life, and doing stuff correctly when exercising and therefore I CAN’T make it easier for myself because then I WILL LOSE.

So the class, to put it mildly, made me feel, a little bit, like I was going to die, and when I feel like that while exercising what I like to do is think about people who have it way worse than me in terms of pain. I think about back surgery patients and people who live in the coldest stretches of Antarctica and people who have food poisoning and I then I realize how good I have it because me? All I’m doing is taking a one hour class, a class I chose to take, and I’ll be fine.

So today, during a particularly grueling part of the workout, I started thinking about all the people who were most definitely suffering more than I was and I didn’t mean for my thoughts to take this turn, really I didn’t, but all of a sudden I realized that the Easter is almost upon us and that today is Good Friday, and being a trained, if not particularly good, Catholic, I know that this is the day that Jesus died for our sins, and I know how he died too, because Catholics remind you that Jesus died a lot - crucifixes everywhere - and I realized that if he could handle all that mess, I could certainly handle a few more minutes on the stationary bike. So I made it to the end of the class no problem, and even if I don’t do anything else particularly Jesus-related today, I kind of feel that I’ve paid my respects.

The other day I decided, for some unknown, completely ridiculous reason, not to have coffee in the morning. I have coffee every morning, so really, I don’t know what I was thinking. And it’s not like I have tons and tons of coffee every morning, either. Just a moderate cup or two, and since I rarely drink soda, I’ve never really felt bad about my caffeine habit. Am I addicted? Maybe. I’ve never suffered headaches, or had monumental temper tantrums (minor ones, sure) due to lack of coffee, so while the need for coffee in the morning sometimes feels, upon first waking up, like a life or death situation, I’ve realized it’s not. Not entirely. It’s just something I love. I love everything about it. I love my husband, who makes the best coffee, in the very nice coffee maker we got for a wedding present. I like sitting around drinking coffee before work, those moments of quiet before the day begins.

Point being, on the day I decided not to drink coffee, for whatever reason, somehow believing taking a day off now and then might make me “a better person,” I decided, instead, to drink green tea, because what on Earth could make me a better person, I thought, than a nice cup of healthy green tea? I feel like we’re constantly bombarded by the health benefits of green tea and wouldn’t it be great if I started drinking some now and then, and reaping those benefits?

It WOULD be great, if green tea wasn'’t the most vile substance in the history of the world. I can’t even begin to explain how much I dislike the taste, and the amazing thing is that every time I drink it, I re-realize this very fact, having somehow, inexplicably, forgotten since the last time. I guess it’s all the brainwashing. From the health nuts. The crazy green tea enthusiasts.

I know my dislike of green tea isn’t likely to raise any eyebrows, but I did want to point out, for the record, that it’s disgusting. And I won’t ever try it again. Let this post serve as a self-reminder. Luckily, I love coffee. I kind of don’t understand people who don’t drink it, I’ll tell you that much, but as long as they don’t get in the way of my having any, they’re alright with me.

My life has been a pretty sweet tour of the east coast. Growing up in D.C., college in Boston, spending my twenties in North Carolina and soon, Connecticut.

That’s because my brilliant scientist husband will be finishing his PhD in microbiology in several months and has accepted a post-doctoral position at Yale.

J can explain it way better than I can, but basically, after many years of really hard research, research that sometimes requires these grad students to, like, stay up all night looking at tiny molecules or whatever under microscopes, they end up doing these post docs where they do the same sort of stuff for a few more years before going out into the world on their own. Most of them get really pumped about it, too. They’re crazy. Honestly crazy, but God bless them.

We don’t yet know the specifics - when, exactly, J will graduate and when he’ll begin his new job, but nonetheless I’m very excited for many reasons. We’ll be living in or near New Haven, near J’s parents and hopefully his sister Megan (who should, by the way, stay up there for a while so we can totally hang out) and many of his aunts and uncles, and we’ll also be living very close to New York City which is a) my favorite place in the entire world and b) where a lot of my good friends live. Then there’s New Haven itself, a very hip city, and then there’s Yale - Yale! I love Yale! And I’m fully expecting to get invited to some Yale parties where, besides loads of scientists who I will not be able to really talk to much about particles and atoms and stuff, there will be, by random chance, (maybe they wandered over to the wrong party by mistake - it’s hard to tell who’s who with academics) some people from the English or Philosophy Department who will meet me and find me pretty charming and offer me a job where I just sit around and think about life, you know?

J’s not going to like this but I’ve been getting really excited about the Yale thing and telling a lot of people - this is the part he’s not going to like - that we’ll be moving soon because “my husband has accepted a job at Yale.” And then whoever I’m talking to says something like, “Wow! How impressive! Yale!” and I just nod demurely, like I understand how they feel, but at the same time, it’s just the level of perfection I’m used to.

I don’t know how many times he has explained to me, and other people, that it’s the LAB that’s important - not the fact that the lab is at Yale, and I know I don’t quite understand how the whole science thing works, but I’m telling you, it is really hard to say it his way, when you could, instead, make it sound like you are married to someone who will undoubtedly be winning the Nobel prize. I know, I know J, that you probably don’t even do research in a Nobel-recognized field, but allow me the indulgence, just for a few more months.

The other notable thing that’s occurred since my husband has accepted a job at Yale is that I’ve started getting a little emotional every time we do something fun, remarking how sad it will be to leave North Carolina and everything - and everyone - we love here. Our screened in porch. Our favorite restaurants and coffee shops. Winters that are not unbearably freezing cold and very long.

No doubt when our departure date grows near, I’ll just be walking around Chapel Hill crying all over the place about all the things I’ll miss, but I’m equally sure that the thought of a new life up north, with so many yet unknown opportunities, will get me over being sad. Also, in New Haven they have some of those great, traditional Italian bakeries that sell those colorful cookies that taste like each one was baked with maybe a full stick of butter, you know the ones, and just thinking about that, knowing the proximity that I will live to those cookies, that is a really, really happy thought.