More Healthy, More Metrosexual

Our friends Max and Karla, an undoubtedly adorable married couple, have purchased an apartment in Chapel Hill, and are in the process of doing some major fixing-up on the place so come summer they can rent it out to students. J and I swung by yesterday to take a look at the "before" picture. The floor, now covered by a dingy rug, was littered with various painting tools, solvents and glues. They were in the process of removing wallpaper from the kitchen, a wretched, drawn-out process. The toilet was in the tub in the hallway bathroom. But the one room, a dining room it seemed, in which they'd painted both the ceiling and walls, looked great.

We've volunteered to help in any way we can. They're doing a lot to the place and while I'd like to sit around and talk, maybe bang a nail or whatever, I get the feeling J would really like to get in there and BUILD. I especially got this feeling when after leaving the apartment, I spotted the look in his eye. It was the gleam of a crazed boy, my J, who, no matter what else was going on, had something on his mind and there was going to be no distracting him from this thought. Usually, with this look, it's a new life direction.

"Do you want to help them? That would be a lot of fun," I asked, nervous.

"Yeah," he said. And then, "Yeah! I don't want to go into the lab anymore. I just want to wear whatever and fix up apartments and listen to jazz music really loud."

While I know he doesn't really mean this, I find it funny when he launches these grand plans. It's like, in his eyes, there is the remote possibility.

Later that night I was watching the Food Network, a new obsession, and dropping cuticle oil at the base of each fingernail. This is something I rarely do, so J inquired about the process when he spotted me.

"Should I do that too?" he inquired. I thought about his plans to work on apartments, jazz music blaring in the background, his recent boasts to take better care of himself in the new year, to become more healthy.

He looked at his fingers, and I told him he probably didn't need any help with his cuticles, but sure, why not. After all, there is nothing like the year's end to make promises we will or will not keep, but at least see all our potential and deliver our most dedicated attempts to try.

Wine and Birds

Aw, shit. I looked, for the first time, at The Knot website last night and my stomach started feeling real throw-uppy. Now, why in the name of God do they have do many crazy little detailed sections and suggestions on that beloved marriage website, and why in the name of God did I feel a sudden urge to follow all their rules? What if my mother does want to wear the same color dress as the bridesmaids? I didn't realize the plethora of problems that could come about, and we don't even have a date set yet. Furthermore, J and I need to join a church and fast so that when the gracious holy people at whatever church we choose up north say to my parents, "And where do the two intended worship in North Carolina?" they will have at least some sort of (untruthful) response. I went to church Christmas Eve, but besides that, I'm afraid, it had been well, since last Christmas Eve.

I swore I wouldn't become one-of-those-people who goes beserk with the wedding planning, but instead plan in a fun, and party-inducing way, and I plan to stick with that. After my moment of stress with the internet and it's strict rules of etiquette when it comes to getting hitched, I looked to J for guidance. "I'm stressed," I said. He sat me down and made me feel better by listening to all such items of stress, and explaining how easily they could be swept away. And I felt better. Besides, aren't we still in celebration mode? New Year's is right around the corner. Ok. Come 2005, I'll be a responsible (but fun and carefree) bride-to-be, but for now, pass the champagne. Hey, my friend Lee called FROM KOREA yesterday to congratulate me on the engagement. You can't beat that. Plus, J and I are just finishing unloading Christmas presents from the car. The holidays still reign. J got binoculars and some books about wild birds. I got a book about wine to place atop my new wine rack. J said we're going to be well informed. "We'll know all about wine and birds," he explained. We sat on barstools in the kitchen after eating dinner I made. We discussed how to rid our lives of stress, and the potential knowledge to be gained on two great subjects. No matter what the experts say, no matter what rules we follow, the wedding will work out just fine.

"Baguette in the Laundry Basket: My Story"

MVC-016L
Originally uploaded by caramaria.

She writes. She poops on the floor. What more could a person ask for?

Almost a New Year, Let's Get Planning

While Christmas has come and gone, we are now in final countdown mode to New Year's Eve and the welcoming of 2005. It's great how this time of year works, because if New Year's was not coming up, I feel quite certain we'd all be seriously depressed. "I've got a car full of presents! And...weeks of boredom ahead of me." This way we get to come back to work for a few days (or like SOME LUCKY BASTARDS GET THE WHOLE WEEK OFF) but with the knowledge that there is a mighty big party around the corner, and in the case of my circle of friends that party will once again take place on the Chesapeake bay, where we brought in 2004 with dangerous bouts with fire, and mysterious juice concentrate and whiskey mixtures.

My friends and I warmed up the house with a serious get-together over Christmas break. Not serious as in sad, boring, or otherwise, but serious in the sense that all eight of us, who've been emailing since high school, made it for the event. We realized that we may never have all been in the same place at the same time (save the hallways of St. Stephens and St. Agnes) and found great cause to celebrate because of it. We even made a list for the evening, including such items as "solve all our problems" and "plan Cara's wedding." This one, of course, was of great intrest to me as I've gone into full-fledged I-SEE-WHY-PEOPLE-GET-SO-INTO-THESE-THINGS! mode and am ready to plan a damn wedding like nobody's business. And despite my careless blog title, it will certainly need to have an agenda.

The latest comical notion is that not only should the reception be at the bay, but the ceremony as well. We'd stand at the end of the pier as friends and family pulled up in various boats, rafts. Because J and I will both burn in hell should we not be married in a church, with God and all the saints witnessing our happy union (No, of course we don't live together yet, Father!) the boat idea will probably just remain a daydream. Plus, our friends aren't nautical types. Come on, now.

Small Disappointments

This is my column for the December 23 Chatham Record. Don't like using one writing source to fuel another, buy hey, we aren't all lucky enough to get the Chatham Record, so I thought I'd post this.


My life has been overcome with joyful occurrences as of late.

After my trip to Italy and the onset of the Christmas season my boyfriend surprised me when I was truly least expecting it and we are now engaged.

We happily called family and friends to tell them the news. This went on for a couple days until there was no one left to call and we finally had some peace.

I could regale you with the more precious moments, try to pluck a few heartstrings, but to be honest, I’d rather talk about the tortellini.

The tortellini we discovered while on our vacation is called cappelacci di zucca and means squash-filled hats.

I found a recipe in my Mario Batali cookbook Simple Italian Food and decided to make it for friends coming over that Saturday night.
“Simple” is not a word I’d use after the experience.

Using an ancient pasta maker my mother had given me years ago (no doubt she’d grown tired of the thousands of hours making homemade pasta takes) I rolled out thin layers of dough from setting one to two to three and so on until I reached setting six and held my breath as the paper-thin dough escaped the metal grasp of the pasta machine, hopefully, without holes.

You can’t fill up pasta with anything if there are holes. Lesson one.

Each little square I cut so carefully using my sharpest knife and never quite measuring up to the three by three inch prototype set out for me by Mario had to be filled with the squash mixture, then folded not once but twice using intense precision and tiny sprays of water for adhesive.
Lesson two: no patience, no homemade pasta.

When I’d finally crafted three suitable little hats, I boiled them for the short time required, and performed a taste test.

My creation was not beyond edible, but certainly not good, or tasty, or any other desirable adjective.

I tried several more times, painstakingly forming the triangles, and attempting to get the filling just right, but each time my attempts were met with, again, not failure, but certainly not success.

Lesson three, at least in my book, was: give up.

I was ridiculously dejected after this process. I knew, of course, it didn’t measure up to true tragedy – it was more on the level of a failed Christmas shopping trip to the mall, coming home empty-handed – but weren’t things supposed to flow with ease now? Wasn’t I engaged and happy? Weren’t friends coming over to celebrate? Shouldn’t my squash-filled hats be perfect?

I sat on that bleak Friday afternoon in the solitude and quiet of my kitchen, flour dusting the floor and my dogs’ noses, before realizing the positive response to the first two questions, and the absurdity of the third one.

Cheese and crackers, I thought, will be just fine, and with that, decided this season, especially lately, deserves more than ruminating on the small disappointments.

J in the Spotlight

We're out to a very nice dinner with our friends Nate and Jen last night when the unresistable topic comes up - J and my upcoming nuptials. While we haven't nailed down a date or location yet, things like DJ vs. band are being discussed as though we are dealing with a life or death situation. And so we discuss the music. I bring up the fact that I hate it when DJs announce the bridal party or newlywed couple to tones of rap or sports music, as though we are at some extravaganza of tackiness. J mentioned how jazz would be a nice choice and then started rhapsodizing on various songs that could announce various people.

He was a good three seconds or so into telling us all that "I want to walk about to something upbeat!" before he stopped, sat back a little dejectedly, looked at me and said, "Wait, I guess we'll be walking out together."

Merry Christmas from Cara's Desk

MVC-005L
Originally uploaded by caramaria.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
EAT PECAN LOGS!

No, Seriously

MVC-003L
Originally uploaded by caramaria.

This shall become a glorious scarf.

Bring on the Champagne

It's 10 p.m. and I'm sitting at the kitchen table drinking Spanish wine and listening to Christmas tunes on Sunny 93.9. This means one thing, one very obvious thing: I am alone after a long-ish stint with an unusually social period, and I'm talking social for the girl who gets antsy after two nights of staying in.

Now, anyone who this is news to: YOU DIDN'T PICK UP YOUR PHONE OR ARE LIVING IN A FAR AWAY COUNTRY THAT I CAN NEVER SEEM TO CALL AT THE RIGHT TIME. J and I are ENGAGED. And I've been contemplating "engaged" for the past couple of days, because it is precisely the past couple of days that the new title has applied to us. It means - basically - that I got a ring and everyone gets SO excited. But on a deeper, more serious level, it means that we are ready to move to the next step. While we drift from friend to friend to beer to beer to congratulations call to the next, my mother is on the ball. We spent nearly an hour in her NC office yesterday discussing potential plans. Do we get married in fall '05 like once upon a time it was planned, or do we wait longer, give the caterers and photographers and all the other integral persons more time to get their act together for us? Damn I want to buy a bridal magazine! Karla informed me last night over one such mentioned beer-and-friend gathering told me that she bought one of day TWO of being engaged and that means it's ok for me. This is so up my alley. Now I've got a really big party to plan.

One Reason Pets are Good

Because they bring life into a house that might otherwise have calm moments.

We just got home from buying our very first Christmas tree together. It smells of sweet Christmas tree sap. We pulled it carefully from the trunk of J's car, proceeded to go inside where I plugged in the brightly colored lights I've hung in our kitchen. I turned on the radio and James Taylor's gentle voice sang "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." My next step was to get a beer for myself and my man, take a moment to relax, but instead I had to participate in a vicious little fight with Mina, who'd grabbed an olive pit from the floor as I went to empty a plate into the trash. She picked it up and started to chew with all the might of a tiny dog and when I picked her up growled at me and bared tiny teeth. Mine, this is my bounty, she said. I started to give in before envisioning some olive pit digestion related emergency vet visit later in the evening. I finally won by picking her up by the stomach, using my free hand to pry open her mouth and bouncing her up and down until the pit fell from her mouth and onto the floor. Silent night, holy night.

Regarding the Holiday Season

My friends and I have plans to meet over the Christmas break. Some of us haven't seen each other in months. I was just thinking that when we meet up, I might have to point out that I am really me, as I may well weigh over 400 pounds at that point. Josephine gave me a bag of Hershey's kisses she picked up actually in Hershey, PA over Thanksgiving, and I placed them in a nice, white basket on my desk. "Here," the basket is meant to say. "Have chocolates, friends." The basket has inched, since it's initial placement, ever closer to my keyboard, so that I, mid-typing, can grab, oh seven or eight of the little fuckers, unwrap and eat them, and then remember that this does not comprise "GETTING IN SHAPE," the most talked-about least-realized event of my recent weeks. Don't tell me that the holidays are no time for this. The holidays are, in fact, an excellent time to practice self-restraint, punishing oneself mercilessly with each Santa cookie, each block of cheese beautifully matched with crackers, wine, and the unending plea to oneself to just let loose, or at least go on a daily walk.