Tag Archives: love


26 Dec

Pete and I went shopping for desks a few weeks back.

Here’s the one I picked for myself:

Here’s the one I picked out for Pete:

(Guess what my favorite celebrity meltdown of the year was.)


Animal Autism

1 Nov

Last week, Pete and I were just hanging out and talking, and I asked him how his day at work had gone.

“Well, it was actually really sad,” he said. “This woman who owns an animal shelter for dogs with special needs came in and was trying to drum up fundraising money for the holiday season. These dogs are so sick – some of them only had three legs, and others have autism, and some even…”

This is where I interrupted.

How, I wondered aloud, could a dog have autism?

“Does it not like to cuddle and plays the piano really well? Does the dog not make eye contact and is into patterns and maps?” I asked.

“Well, I’m not sure, but the autistic dogs have seizures.”

“I think you mean epilepsy, not autism.”

“Oh yeah. I think you’re right.”

So that conversation got me thinking. I’m not sure if animals can have autism or not, but I found a few that I really do think fit the bill:

Chicago International Film Festival

10 Oct

A movie about depressing Chicago winters? Yes, please!

Let me just start this story with the following disclaimer: My father cannot sit through a movie in the theater without complaining about how annoying everyone around him is and how THAT GUY is chewing way too loudly. I never thought I would become that person. A few days ago, I had an experience that made me realize that I am my father.

Pete and I were lucky enough to attend the opening night of the Chicago International Film Festival. We got free food (which I think we actually stole, and then encouraged others to do the same, but that’s besides the point), rubbed elbows with celebrities like Gary Cole and Dennis Farina and attended a star-studded after-party (we SWEAR Billy Zane was there).

It should’ve been, like, the best night ever, but it was kind of a flop. Let me explain.

The main feature of the night was the premiere of this new indie film, “The Last Rites of Joe May”. We were soooo excited to be sitting in a world premiere!

Then the movie started. It’s about this old man who has no friends or family. While in the hospital with pneumonia, his landlord thinks he’s dead and gives his apartment away to a woman with an abusive boyfriend. Because that’s not depressing.

Oh, and did I mention the film takes place in the middle of a Chicago winter? I have to live through that ish every year and really wasn’t in the mood to be reminded of the sad, sunless season that starts in just a few weeks.

So about 20 minutes into the movie, I realized this film was not my cup of tea and started spacing out. That’s when I first took notice of the woman sitting next to me. She was wearing a bright blue skirt and leopard print high heels which should’ve been a sign that she was going to be a handful. She had this little clutch with a snap that made this little “POP!” every time she opened it.  She’d “POP!” it open every five minutes, search around for her phone with it’s glaring white light, then “POP!” it back closed. And she kept “POP!”-ing her gum. I think there was something wrong with her jaw because normal bubblegum bubbles are not that loud.

And then there was this smell. Someone was wearing wayyyyyyyyy too much perfume. And someone (might have been the same person, not sure) took a dump in their pants. Not even kidding, it really smelled like someone had an accident in a perfume shop, it was so terrible.

And I sat through that for over two hours. I wanted to die and I kept rubbing my temples and rolling my eyes. By the end, I was in a really horrible mood.

The only good thing that came out of the evening was that Pete dropped his (stolen) beer bottle on the ground and it rolled all the way down to the front of the deathly quiet theater. The whole theater broke out into applause and Pete said he felt like a real celebrity!

Today is Pete’s birthday. And you know what the only thing worse than that stupid movie I had to watch? This commercial:

Pete’s been singing this song all day, and I can’t say anything because it’s his birthday and I’m not allowed to be mean today. This is just not my week.

Home Alone

9 Oct

I am 27 years old. By this point in my life, I should be able to spend the night alone, but I can’t, and it’s really a problem.

I grew up with three sisters, two parents, and a dog. Since college, I’ve always had roommates, first friends, and now my life-roommate, Pete. (Half the time I don’t even want to talk to Pete, but just knowing that he’s there and that I COULD talk to him if I wanted to makes me feel less lonely.)

Well, the point of this story is that I have never spent more than a night or two in a home alone in my entire life. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s something I never had to get used to, or just because I’m a huge scaredy cat, but something terrible happens every single time I’m left home alone.

My parent’s house is particularly scary. It dates back to 1910, when there was this huge estate on our street. Our house was where the gardener lived. It fell into disrepair around the mid-century and a lot of work has been done to it since. (It’s amazing what my mom can dig up at the local historical society.) But it’s still really frickin’ scary and creaky.

A few years ago, I spent the night at my parents with my old dog, Mousse, to keep me company. He was 14 at the time, which would make him about a bijillion in dog years. In the middle of the night, we heard a huge “BANG!” coming from downstairs – it sounded like a broom fell over or something. Mousse and I both shot straight up and just stared at each other. “Can you go see what that was?!” I asked Mousse. He looked at me as if to say, “I’m 100 years old, you selfish, lazy piece of poo. YOU go see what that was.” And then he went back to sleep.

Well, the same thing happened this week, minus the trustworthy old dog (may he rest in peace). I was already bracing myself for a scary night when my parents asked me to sleepover while they were out of town. So that’s why I decided it would be a good idea to watch the new show, “American Horror Story” alone. It’s about an old haunted house. Fabulous!

In reality, that was a terrible idea. At 10:45 p.m., I prepared for bed like this:

At 11 p.m., I tried to wash my face with my eyes open in case someone tried to sneak up on me. At 11:30 p.m., I called Pete to say goodnight.

“I’M SLEEPING,” is how he answered the phone. “I CALLED YOU 50 MINUTES AGO.”

“Sorry I didn’t see that you called. I just wanted to say goodnight.”


“I’m so scared. I was watching this show…”


At 12:45 a.m., I was laying in my sister’s bed with all the lights on trying to focus on my book until I fell asleep. Except my book was also about a haunted house (it’s called “The Thirteenth Tale” and I recommend it) so that wasn’t working out too well.

I don’t know how I eventually fell asleep , but I did and was THRILLED when I woke up and saw that the sun had some up. I was also exhausted at work that day.


15 Sep

Earlier this summer, I attended a conference for work in Washington, D.C. I was only gone for a days, but missed my fiancé all the same.

When I got home, he asked how my trip was.

I said, “It was fine, but there was this weird guy there who was hitting on me ALL week. He said I had a ‘beautiful spirit’.”

“Did he have brain damage?” Pete asked.

So don’t be surprised when I run off with the guitarist from Journey.

It starts with an “F” and ends in an “ootball”

8 Sep

Last week, I was sitting in my fleece robe on the couch in a little ball, watching “True Life: I’m in the Marijuana Business.”

Then Pete came home. And the worst thing in the world happened.

I believe it’s called “pre-season football”.

Without so much of a “hello”, Pete walked over to the TV, switched off my trashy show, and turned on the pre-season Bears game. Then he started chanting “Football! Football!” I wanted to puke.

I immediately threw a tantrum – balled up fists, arched back, flailing limbs and all. Even that didn’t catch Pete’s attention, so after about five minutes, I got up and sulked into the bedroom to watch Netflix.

It’s not even that I hate football so much – I love watching Iowa games and the fall weather is so crisp, it’s hard not to get into the spirit of the season! But what I do hate is being ignored for FIVE AND  A HALF MONTHS. Has someone ever given you the cold shoulder for that long? Because it’s pretty miserable.

Pete cannot be reasoned with when football’s on. Speaking in grunts and shoulder shrugs can only last so long before the conversation tapers off. I’ve even tried to talk to him in the same voice I used to talk to my old dog Mousse in, but I guess Pete isn’t a dog, because it doesn’t seem to work.

But on the plus side, at least I get a lot of reading done in the fall.


27 Jun

Pete and I have been super busy over the past two months – traveling for work, moving in together, going to Ireland, getting engaged, having friends in town and going to our friends’ weddings – and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. So needless to say, we’ve barely had a spare moment to think about our own wedding.

Maybe it’s that I really haven’t had any time to start planning our wedding, or maybe it’s just that I’m overwhelmed by all the details I’ll have to plan over the next 12 months, but I haven’t turned into a Bridezilla quite yet.

But, I’m afraid to say, my mother has contracted a severe case of Momzilla syndrome. From my observation, symptoms of Momzilla syndrome include the following:

1) Obsessing over wedding details before, during and after daughter becomes engaged

I saw the first hint of trouble starting the day after Pete and I got engaged. I called my sister Didgie from Ireland and we were talking about the wedding.

“Do you guys think you’re going to get married at Westmoreland (my parent’s country club)?” Didgie asked.

“Yeah, I think so. We really haven’t talked about it that much, but Pete and I both think that would be a really pretty setting.”

“Good,” Didgie whispered into the phone. “Mom really wanted you to get married there. She’s already been looking through the Westmoreland book and picking out the gardens she thinks would be good for a wedding.”

2) Extreme panic over wedding vendors

Since I got engaged (four weeks ago), this is how a typical conversation with my mother goes:

“Hey mom, are you gonna be around on Sunday night? I was thinking about stopping by.”

“Eva, did you listen to that wedding band I told you about yet? We really need to book the band THIS WEEK.”

“Can we talk about it on Sunday?”

“That’s three days away. I really don’t think we can wait that long. The band I wanted is already booked.”

My sisters confirmed that my mom already had a wedding band in mind less than a week after the engagement.

3) Spontaneous displays of giddiness

My mother is normally not easily excited (as a woman who had four kids in six years and worked in a hospital for her entire career, there’s not a lot she hasn’t seen), but there have been at least three times in the past month where she’s said something along the lines of, “I told so-and-so you were getting married AND EVERYONE IS REALLY EXCITED FOR YOU!!!!!!!!” (Her voice just gets louder as the sentence goes on.)

Or, “Your ring is so beautiful and the CUT IS LOVELY AND IT’S SO SPARKLY!!!!!!”

4) Exhibits understanding, generosity, and overall great mom skills

As much as a Momzilla can pressure the bride into planning a wedding, my mom has also been great at keeping me on track, making sure I’m doing everything right, and listening to me vent about all the stress I’m under.

Also, a Momzilla would be great to take to one of those crazy wedding dress sales. She’d just throw some ‘bows and the dress of my dreams would be all mine – at a discount price, of course.