Adam's birthday

32

Today is the birthday of one of the best people in the world: my husband.

Adam is kind and patient without being a pushover, gentle while still strong, clever without being cruel. I fell in love with him long ago, far more quickly than I could have ever guessed, and waited for him longer than I'd ever imagined. In the seven and a half years that I have known him, he has made so many incredible personal steps -- and I'm glad to be part of those leaps.

I cannot say enough about what this relationship has done for me. He is the only man I have truly loved and the best sparring partner I could ever find. I love you, baby, with all of my heart. Happy, happy birthday.

Thankful

I took Oliver to the vet today and he's looking good! (Cross fingers, knock on wood.) His heart sounds good and his weight is holding steady, which is great news on both counts. I feel so lucky and happy that my old guy is doing well!

The Beatles, "Let It Be"

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be an answer
Let it be
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer
Let it be

Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
there will be an answer
Let it be
Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

And when the night is cloudy
There is still a light that shines on me
Shine until tomorrow
Let it be
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
There will be an answer
Let it be
Let it be, let it be
Let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom
Let it be

Email today

ME: "I apologize to Elin. I apologize to my kids. I apologize to all of you I hurt because I have forced the funding of new VD medication. I apologize to Allison because I should."

ADAM: He is way less cool than you!

ME: And I am WAAAAAAY more faithful than his sorry ass.

ADAM: I have a feeling his ass was faithful. It was the rest of him that was the problem.

Today's writing

I tug on a black sweater and a black-and-white tartan skirt. I smooth black leggings from my toes to my hips and slide into the only pair of heels I own.

And there’s Christopher’s voice: Damn. You look hot.

Oh, I know. I know he can’t see me, that he’s in the bathroom getting prepared for my funeral, yeah, yeah, yeah. That doesn’t stop me from hearing his voice the way I heard it for years. And of course now I idealize him. You know how the living romanticize the dead? The dead return the favor.

Yes, I was nervous!

I just interviewed Donald Trump Jr. about 40 Wall Street. He was a funny guy and down to earth. Some mornings are cool!

Today's writing

When I was six I learned to tie a tie.

I was taught from example. My father knelt before me with red-rimmed eyes and lifted the collar of my white shirt. He smelled like something woodsy and somber, something that had spent years crying, decades maybe.

“Chrissie,” he said, “you’re learning early.”

With steady hands he looped the small blue swath around my neck. My father’s hands were too dignified to betray emotion, no matter the occasion, regardless of circumstance. His was the touch not of any father, but of my own: solid but not overbearing, warm without excess heat. It was the touch you feel in your sleep when you need comfort. It is the feeling you remember when the floor goes missing and the roof tumbles down.

Happy best friend day

I met you seven and a half years ago, first kissed you seven years ago, started dating you five and a half years ago. Moved in four years ago, engaged three years ago, married nearly two years ago. Lucky, lucky, lucky. We are both lucky.

I love you.

Room service

Today's writing

He is not Henry. He is Bernie. He is my grandfather, my insanely badass, loving grandfather. When he was a kid he walked the Bronx with a two-by-four, daring the corners and alleys to attack. At seventeen he put pinpricks in his condoms so his father wouldn’t steal them. Nine months later he was presented with a baby brother.

Our street bursts to pink life in February

Ringo covered in plum blossoms

Yesterday I went to the reading of someone I don't like in order to support someone that I do like. As it turned out, everything went great. The piece that he read was awesome and very heartfelt, I got quite drunk, and I wore my kickass new red boots.

I felt good. I sat between my husband and one of my longtime writing colleagues, listening to another friend read. When the girl I don't like got up to introduce people, she stumbled nervously and I laughed.

I never said I was a nice girl.

So here's where I can feel superior

As of Feb. 6, Adam and I will have been married for twenty-two months. In that time, I have never regretted playing the wedding low-key. I'm sitting next to this couple and their Wedding Guest spreadsheet at a cafe and it's giving me a stomachache just listening to all this crap. They're spending $20,000 on one frigging event. What, is she going to match her tampon to his?

I do feel superior because I wasn't a damn bridezilla, because I didn't push my husband away with my whininess and demands before he even put the ring on my finger. I feel superior because we are not in debt up to our eyeballs for a single day, and because we stayed friends with all two of our vendors: Luke, our photographer, and Russell, our caterer.

I want to turn to them and tell them -- her especially -- that being married is so much better than getting married. I wonder if they'd listen.

2000, "Barbie Girl"

It's slow to download onto my doddering PC through my dial-up line, but I do. There is so much to learn, so much to be taught.

Today's writing

My splinter still hurt. Berkeley Bowl bag indeed.

See, Meredith’s not my type. I don’t even know what my type is, but she isn’t it. I like ... longer. Leaner. Maybe that’s my type. The double L’s. But there’s a turning point in your brain when that element of surprise strikes. You look at this person and you say: Nooo. The triple-O is not optional. It’s not merely no, it’s beyond that. Then a funny thing happens and the letters start to hiss. Like when a no becomes a yes. Something like that.

When that happens, watch your ass. You’re going to fall quickly.

Today's writing

Then her touch on my hand was no longer curative, but a disease. A wanted one. The kind that makes you burn inside and flush externally. Her tongue was hot and eager and indecisive. I had to wonder how many times she’d done this before. It didn’t seem like a whole hell of a lot.

It was that kiss that’s a first-time kind of kiss: both mouths open wide, lip tightly to lip. The kind of kiss where the tongues can’t seem to find enough space. The kind that makes you dizzy either because it’s romantic or wretched or somewhere in that awkward middle, leaving you hanging on an unsteady platform.