Kitchen!

So yesterday while I was baking focaccia Nick stayed home and dealt with our awesome handyman. Now look, we have more shelf/storage space in our kitchen!

It feels like a home!

Blogging About Bread

Today was an important day for me at work for several reasons-- the most important being, I learned I could make bread! Yes, I can join Jesus at the table and break bread with Him that I myself made.

Grape Focaccia Bread, to be precise.

To be less incendiary, let me explain myself. My best friend Keagan's cousin Oakley, who is also my friend, shared with me a link to this cooking website/blog called Smitten Kitchen. I was immediately in love. The writer/chef takes excellent photos, writes out great recipes, and gives some really insightful tips. I can't wait to try out more of her stuff.

The one that immediately caught my eye, however, was her recipe for Grape Focaccia With Rosemary. I decided to give it a try.

Sure, I had never baked bread before, and sure, I was a little scared. The recipe called for water at precise temperatures and active yeast. But I've been baking "professionally" for half a year now, and I figured it was time to step up my game.

That night at work, I got the necessary active dry yeast (I don't just have that lying around). Then I worked until nine PM, where Nick and I took a quick (relatively) detour and saw/met Jon Stewart and his crew at a book signing. That was neat. They were all really nice. I told Jon Stewart that Nick would one day be working for them and he was super cool and asked "when" and then said The Onion was stealing all the funny people. Mr. Oliver and I talked about rainbows. All in all, it was a successful event.

Anyway, back to bread!

As you can see by the recipe, it involves a lot of kneading and a lot of patience. After I made sure the yeast was good (it involved this foaming/sugar test) and I added flour and kneaded, etc, I covered the mixture with a ton of good quality olive oil and let it rise for another two hours.

The bread, rising:

Then I slathered it some more with olive oil and such, let it rise some more after splitting the balls in half

, and then got it ready to go into the oven!

Look at all the sliced grapes, coarse sea salt, and sugar on the bread! How beautiful!

There is something so relaxing about kneading/touching uncooked dough. It feels like nothing I've ever touched before. I loved it. Also, the scent of fresh rosemary baking with olive oil reminded me of childhood visits to Italian restaurants. This made me so happy.

It was really invigorating, making all this bread-- a basic human sustenance -- successfully. I felt really whole. Which is strange, I know it's just food, but still... this wasn't some baked dessert where throwing extra sugar in covers any mishaps. This required me to be precise and good at my job. And I did it.

AND THEN IT WAS DONE! AND I SUCCESSFULLY MADE FOCACCIA BREAD!

Mmmmm, Yummmmy!

Nick The Builder

So I've been working so much over time at work I had to call in sick today due to exhaustion/a cold that took hold of me.

However, an amazing thing happened on Tuesday. I stayed at work late, and Nick built the cabinet for the bathroom! It's beautiful!




The home is coming together. Huzzah! Our landlord visited today (I thought he was going to have a heart attack) and kept saying how beautiful our apartment was! Now I'm just doubly worried he will die.

Em

Notes on Living Together

So Nick and I have lived together for almost three weeks now (soooooooo long. sarcasm.) and I've already learned a lot of interesting tidbits.

1. Just because you live together doesn't mean you see each other all the time.
- This is especially true considering my job. As head of client services at the 5th Avenue Sound Lounge location, I work from eleven am to at least eight pm. Often I'm here closer to ten or eleven at night, depending on how late a session will go. Meanwhile, Nick has a more "regular" work schedule that requires him to be there by nine or ten and means he gets out at five or six. This, in turn, means he has around five hours alone at the house before I show up. By the time I'm home, I'm exhausted and wanting a shower, and he's mid-way through work/listening to an album/watching Friday Night Lights on Netflix Instant Watch. Often I'll retreat to the bedroom and he'll come join me. Last night he had me watch Sunshine, a sci-fi slasher flick I appreciated but didn't necessarily enjoy.

2. When you live together, you can't conveniently forget things
- For example, Nick noticed I have yet to read two of the books he gave me to read. He, bless him, has meanwhile read my beloved Then We Came To The End. I gave it to him about six months into dating. I don't think he liked it because he conveniently forgot to ever mention having completed the book.

3. Living together means getting out of more shit
My beautiful boyfriend won't go to my cousin's kid's baptism in Jersey. So I guess we give and take on what's important to us. And Nick hates God.

4. The bed is somehow smaller
According to Nick, my big ass keeps taking up room on his side of the bed. We never thought my double too small before... but now I'm seriously considering investing in a queen.

5. You see each others gross eating habits
Nick has discovered I love to eat like six sugar free popsicles in a sitting. And I always manage to spill popcorn kernels everywhere. I've discovered Nick drinks a beer before bed. That doesn't count as gross, though.

6. You learn how much you love each other.
I love that adorable boy.

Twist and Shout

Well, I expected the weather to change with the season but not this drastically.

So, there was a tornado in Park Slope! Ahhh! Alert the media. Oh wait, gawker, gothamist, and apparently everyone with a twitter account has been reporting this news. I feel like this is the new "Ground Zero Mosque" thing, only actually far more interesting. And hopefully Tea Partiers won't find a way to ruin this.

I knew something funky was going on because while at work the sky darkened and there was sleet and rain that went horizontal. And this was in MANHATTAN. And then I learned that there was a tornado in Park Slope, and I saw the video linked above. And this spooky picture (that is apparently from 1976?). Then Nick called and informed me that there were fallen tree branches/trees all over our route to and from the subway. Gothamist has pictures!

Things Nick and I learned: our "fixer-upper" apartment is not 100 percent fixed. The windows are cracked/open at the top (it didn't help that we left them open either), which of course allowed rain to get inside and drown Nick's Ninja Turtles DVD. And some furniture. And the floor.

Then we found out that our fridge is leaking.

So much to be done! But at least we have a roof over our heads... so far.

Bookslut

I grew up with parents who had a library. We're not talking like one bookcase, we're talking at least three bookcases-- LARGE ONES -- confined to a room that was basically dedicated to their ownership of books. When I was little, like ten, I used to love standing on the ledges of the bookshelves (they were built into the walls/super strong) and pulling books that looked interesting and asking my mom if they were appropriate. If they weren't, I'd get to a "sexy part" and ask my mom to skip forward. I was one prude kid.

[Random fact: the first time I got so into a book's story that I kept reading through a "sexy part" was the rape scene in THE THORN BIRDS. I was terrified of the idea of sex for a long time after that.]

When we moved to La Canada Flintridge, where my parents still preside, the library expanded. Not only did it have my mom's books from when she was a teen (we're talking 49 cent romances), but her books from college, and then my books from middle school along with my dad's science shit. An entire room was nothing but books! As this was where the "work computer" was for me and my little brother to do our homework, I spent a lot of time in that room. It was also basically sound proof, so thus the location of many a movie night with my louder friends.

Thus, I took way more books with me to college than was normal, and I took those from college to my first apartment, where I added books, and added more books, and then shipped all three bookcases worth to Brooklyn, where I had another bookshelf built so I had four bookcases, plus a bookcase for DVDs. Seriously. That's all one wall of my old apartment was:


And I love owning books. Lots of books. It's a point of pride. I like being able to say "oh, you want to read that? Well I own it, let me lend it to you." I love having people over and looking through the bookcase and talking about our similar likes or dislikes. I love recommending new books to people, and often to do that I have to peruse what I already own. It's my collection.

So, moving with Nick was wonderful but also hard in that I suddenly had to get rid of a lot of books. Not a ton, Nick, while mocking my book collection, didn't like forbid me or anything from having them. After all, the guy owns a shit ton of records. They're just able to be confined to one spot because they're thin.

But, for basic reality's sake, I had to get rid of some books I didn't read as much as I thought, or didn't really NEED to have around. And I had to get rid of two bookcases. They were shitty ikea ones anyway. So when Nick and I moved in to our pink house, we found that I had still six medium boxes full of books while the two bookcases I HAD brought were brimming.

Thus, I began the search to find a bookcase that could hold DVDs AND books. Thanks to Keagan's tip, I found the great site homedecorators.com (which I guess is part of Home Depot) and found this bookcase:


Pretty, right? Funny-- there's a REASON they don't show the books sitting straight up. Ends up the shelves barely hold them.

How did Nick and I find this out? Well, after going to Home Depot and purchasing a power drill-- my new favorite toy--


Nick and I spent two hours trying to BUILD said bookshelf. This is after we found it propped downstairs in its packaging. As the warning labels all over the beat-up package warned us, the thing was over 70 pounds. Thus, Nick and I had to individually carry up each piece of the bookcase.

I, deciding I was the next Wonder Woman, took a crack at the bookshelf. All was going swimmingly-- Nick had The Simpsons on as background fun -- until I got to the part involving hinges/the bottom cabinet. I could NOT figure them out. Then Nick got involved and did, but it took us an hour of wondering why the pictures were so poorly drawn.

But then we succeeded! And I filled the bookcase (and the below cabinet, double the times in the cabinet) with books and DVDs! And then Nick added his DVDs! Success!

So while now all of my bookcases in the apartment are double-stacked with books, we are box free. Huzzah!

Note: building the home decorators bookcase was a helluva lot easier than building the piece of shit hanging wall unit Target sent us for the kitchen.



In other news, my stitches are out! Now I just have a bandaid on my chin. So I guess I grow beards?


Em

Home Sweeter Home

So I thought some of you might want to see what we've done with the place so far. There's a good deal left to do-- cabinets for the kitchen, some sort of flooring for the kitchen, another bookshelf for my leftover five boxes of books, a dust ruffle to be put on the bed... but we're getting there. Below are some photos of our home in progress!

View from the kitchen of the left corner of the den. That's Nick's "study" area. The den looks over Garfield Place and gets a ton of light.


The other two windows to the right of the window by Nick's desk. There's a lot more light than my iPhone camera shows. There are our beloved armchairs, and the couch I inherited from my parents which faces the fireplace/TV stand.


The fireplace/TV stand and my blue hutch filled with only "pretty" glasses and plates, much to Nick's annoyance.


The bedroom. It looks so dark in this photo! The bed faces the second fireplace. There are still boxes in here to be unpacked, all mine. Sorry sweetie.

More photos coming soon! This weekend we put up cabinets, bookshelf, and get a dust ruffle on that damn bed! Wooohooo!!!!

Keep Your Chin Up

My chin.

So sorry for the delay in updates, but on my way to FedEx and Bed Bath & Beyond on Tuesday I tripped and ripped open my chin. It was around four pm and on 21st street outside a valet/parking place. This woman who saw me fall (I tripped on the driveway right in front of her SUV) started screaming when she saw me. I hadn't realized how bad my trip was until I looked down and saw blood pouring out of my chin. She was screaming "you need to go to the hospital! you need stitches!" and the valets looked terrified and had me look in a car side mirror and that's when I saw it. I saw the gaping hole that looked like someone had stuck their finger in a raw hamburger patty that was my chin. And I knew just then that shit, yes, I needed to go to the hospital.

The woman wanted to drive me but I took a cab. I called my friend Alice who works at Sound Lounge as their awesome marketing coordinator and started crying in the cab, blood pouring all over myself and the cab and the bag of Bed Bath & Beyond supplies to return and the purses to mail via FedEx and I was hyperventilating and the cab didn't seem to know where to go with the command "nearest hospital." Alice told me to take it easy and I was just sobbing and blood wouldn't stop gushing and the cab driver gave me his Subway Sandwich napkins but those were soaked through.

The cabbie was so freaked out that he drove onto the sidewalk outside Bellvue Hospital thinking it was an emergency ramp and then the cops were yelling at him and I was still crying and trying to figure out how to pay him and the cops saw me and let him go and I paid and got out of the cab and saw everyone staring at me. I walked as calmly as I could through the remarkably modern and clean hospital entry rooms and into the ER, which was like walking into a movie set because holy shit, those shows have it right. The place was a hell hole of humanity run by caring people trying to do their job but god there are a lot of assholes out there.

So they saw me and this nice lady cop helped me figure out where to go and then I was put in the suture ward which is where they also store the crazies so I was surrounded by people in handcuffs with cops guarding them and I had no phone service so I couldn't text or call Nick or my mom... and finally a doctor saw me and said it was a clean wound, but I'd need two to three stitches. I ended up with three. They gave me tylenol.

I have this memory of lying back in the stretcher and thinking how weird it was because I knew the new doctor who took over, this female doctor, was putting a shot of some sort of anesthesia in my chin. Like she was putting a shot directly into the open flaps of the skin in my face and I didn't care. By then I had had a painful tetanus shot and had my chin ripped open. And then I laid back and watched upside-down as she sutured my chin shut.

Then I left. And I threw out the bag of Bed Bath and Beyond returns and purses because it was covered in my blood and I wanted no memory of what had happened.

Then I went back to work because I felt bad. I guess this means I have a good work ethic?

I blame the move for this. If I hadn't had to mail more shit to my cousins, if I hadn't had to return things to Bed Bath & Beyond, I wouldn't have been carrying such a heavy bag that knocked me over after the original trip onto my knees. But it's my own fault. Shit happens.

As my dad says, keep your chin up!

My chin the next day, post stitches.

A Laborous Labor Day Weekend

As Nick so cleverly tweeted in his twitter about our first year living together ShackingUpInSin, "adulthood means taking a break from moving boxes and furniture and going to work." It also means using labor day weekend to unpack and hire handymen (aka, Lynn The Painter) to hang up cabinets.

After two pretty tough days where I thought Nick was going to kill me as I put up yet another framed photograph, we were finally able to relax a bit. And a special thank you to my friend Elysse for the lovely Welcome Home card and to Genevieve Santos of le petit elefant for the beautiful pillows she made me and Nick!

It's me and Nick talking on a tin-can phone!

Park Slope is a really sweet neighborhood. There are kids everywhere, so you have to be cool with the kiddies, but there's lots of shops and good restaurants and it's nice to finally feel safe, like really safe, late at night. I realize it's sort of hippies-turned-adult yuppies, but I'm a fan.

Later I'll post some photos of the new place.

I love my boyfriend.

I love my boyfriend.

The Onion Gets It.

This article from The Onion totally gets it.

More storage

Of course, with every move I throw out stuff but end up needing a new batch of things. Thanks to Keagan, I learned of a great site called Home Decorators... they have cheap(ish) furniture.

So, for an additional bookcase/DVD storage unit for me and Nick/our bedroom.
I love this dresser.

If only I were rich.

Photos - Move Part One

Here are some photos of our disaster of an apartment post-move/the beginning stages of unpacking. I'm happy to report that after these photos were taken more things were put away. That, or I'm just getting used to the clutter.

Yes, those are my clothes strewn out all over the sofa. I was busy putting the winter clothes in the very back of the closet.
In the right corner you can see the blue hutch that I refuse to let be 100% functional, much to Nick's chagrin. Poor guy.

The bedroom. Full of random chairs, etc.

Another look at our bedroom.

The den... sigh.

Nick took this photo from our bedroom. You can see the kitchen is an entryway to the den.

Moving Styles

The next day was equally as long. Nick and I woke up and basically immediately started unpacking. We also still have to wear sandals in the apartment because the kitchen floor is coming up and the whole place needs a deep clean. So, dirty because we hadn't properly figured out our bathroom and sweaty because it was in the nineties and we had the AC only on in the bedroom, we unpacked box after box.

I wouldn't mind sweating if I looked like this.

I soon discovered that Nick and I have different moving styles. I, for example, unpack for an hour, then take a break to watch an episode of Friends or Gilmore Girls. Then I unpack for another few hours, take a break, or have the shows on to distract myself. It makes packing/unpacking fairly pleasant.

This show always makes me feel good about life.

Nick, meanwhile, is a machine. HE PLOWS THROUGH THOSE BOXES. However, this also causes him (me) to tire and become crankier. It was only after four hours of unpacking that I thought to suggest to Nick we put on some music. It wasn't Gilmore Girls, but it definitely helped things out. As Nick put it, "Bob Dylan keeps [him] sane."

Is Nick the Terminator in disguise?

I think around that time I was waring on the guy's nerves. For example, Nick wasn't as interested in making things look "pretty" as much as getting them out of boxes. I, meanwhile, wanted to decorate while unpacking. So while Nick was wanting to throw his, for example, water bottle in the display hutch that I decided would show our "prettier" plates and mugs, he quickly realized that I was against that. This, in turn, frustrated the guy. Women!

I'm starting to relate with Annette Benning in THIS scene from American Beauty. Oh my God, I'm becoming my mother.

I, meanwhile, learned that taking constant breaks was not in Nick's plans and learned to take a mini break and plow through. And you know what, that was smart on Nick's part because we have a lot less boxes now cluttering things. (Pictures to come.)

One particularly fun adventure Nick and I had was pushing my old Ikea metal kitchen stand from my old apartment (I had originally planned on leaving it) to our new place. It was 1.1 miles of constant noise, but I got to say... for all the bitching about Ikea not holding up that thing put up with being pushed on shitty sidewalks for half an hour. And now we have SOME kitchen storage. We enjoyed pushing it and the weird looks we got. It was nice to bond.

My boyfriend is so beautiful!

However, near the end of the night the move wore on both of us because Nick tripped on the stairs and strained/tore/pulled his ankle. He was laid up (after stubbornly helping me carry a 12 pack of water) that night with a bag of frozen asparagus on his leg. Hopefully he can relax this weekend. Hopefully we both can.

This experience has been really educational. Nick and I haven't "fought," and we've both been so good at telling the other how much we appreciate them. That said, this is hard. There's no room for romance right now, thankfully we have plenty of trust and understanding. And love. We can bring the romance back. Once we unpack.

Moving Is Hard

So... moving sucks. Like, a lot. It's trying and every time I move I say I'm never going to move again but I mean I know I will until I own a house. I don't see myself living in an apartment for the rest of my house. I fairly 1950s suburban in that I one day want a house (well decorated in a country french style) with a small yard.

So moving sucks and this was no different. First, the movers I hired a month in advance were two and a half hours late to Nick's and they didn't bother to call. Meanwhile, Nick had somewhere to be at one so he was stressed. I ended up going over there in case they didn't finish before Nick needed to go, saying hi to the movers who showed up, then meeting them back at my apartment. When I first saw their truck I was concerned not all my shit (we're talking like 30-40 boxes) would fit in their van but it did. Miracle. And they ended up being a lot nicer to me once they realized I wasn't some spoiled bitch. At first they gave me attitude when they found out that 233 Garfield was a walk-up with no elevator, but it's not my fault that message didn't get passed on. They were lucky Nick's and my original apartments were with elevators! Poor Nick looked terrified when the mover started giving me attitude but I just gave it right back. I've dealt with enough movers my life to realize it's in their job description to have a bad attitude no matter how much money I throw their way. ANYWAY, once the movers got to my place they were much nicer. I bought them water and offered to buy them lunch and they appreciated that I correctly packed my books in small boxes.

Things got iffy once we finally (seven hours later) made it to The Pink House. For one thing, it was getting dark. For another, it's an old house that they couldn't just push their way through. And lastly, they started to harass the Park Slope residents. For example, during their breaks in the truck I'd watch them have a cigarette and when a woman jogger (and there were many, this is Park Slope) ran by they'd say something suggestive in their native language. While neither myself (watching from the den window) or the jogger spoke the language, as women we knew that tone and it was uncomfortable. I wanted to ask them to stop but I didn't know how. Plus, they were perfectly mannered with me.

So Nick arrived near the end of the move and was exhausted from his orientation at Nerve and I was exhausted from having to pace around whatever room the movers weren't in and from telling them where to place what and then I went to give the movers what I thought was a big tip ($100) only to have them demand a $300 tip so that was awkward. AND THEN we discovered the kitchen wasn't really complete and instead we had two very angry plumbers working in our kitchen until one am. It was a very, very long day.

The Hunt For The Kitchen Cabinets

My friend Vince informs me that Nick and I should be demanding a rent decrease from the landlord due to all the TLC we're putting into this place, but I have a feeling that won't go over too well. As is, we've got a pretty cheap rent for the neighborhood. But sometimes I think about approaching Mr. Henry and asking if he could help out with the whole "one single kitchen cabinet" issue.

But likely I won't.

I've spent the past few days studying the websites of places such as Target, Ikea, Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrel, Overstock... and still have yet to find a kitchen cabinet I like. Who knew it was so hard?! But we need one. Or three. So I think in the end we'll just have to buy something from Target and make due.

I guess that's the quandary... do we buy something more sturdy/fancy, even though we might leave in a year, or do we just get something that will do? That's been my question all along. I've been good about staying in a sort of middle-ground area, but it's proving hard with kitchen cabinets.

Garrr.

The Obamas: Just Like Me!

Looks like I'm not the only American giving their abode a facelift. Gawker reports that the Oval Office has gotten a fancy new makeover. I like the new look myself. Though I have to admit I'm jealous... the President's office is about the size of my entire apartment.

Spring Cleaning

So during every move I've ever made, I've thrown some things out. Not just cheap stuff either, valuable goods. I remember how when I was packing up my freshman year at Butler all my things to send to my new school USC, I ran out of boxes and ended up throwing out a small television and a twin-sized duvet. When I moved across the country to New York, I ironically let go of the least amount of stuff-- just some hats and mugs. Oh, and some furniture that ended up going to my brother's first apartment. But that furniture was originally my parents', it wasn't mine.

This time, for this move from my one bedroom in Prospect Park to the one bedroom apartment in The Pink House, I'm getting rid of a lot. A lot a lot a lot. For one thing, there are only two (relatively large) closets. For another, it's a one bedroom that has to house both me and the boy.

Poor Nick is such a trooper. While he goes for a minimalist approach to keeping things, I've inherited my father's hoarding traits. I save almost everything. Old copies of stories I've written? Saved. Old textbooks? Saved. Clothes? Definitely saved.

But that was back in the luxury of only having to worry about me myself and I. So, in a grand gesture of LIVING TOGETHER, I've thrown out/donated/mailed to my younger cousins a great deal of things. Martini glasses, some old plates. Dresses, dresses, dresses. Board games. More dresses. Some sweaters. Stacks of my old stories. Dresses. Bookcases. Dresses.

But even I have my limits. While I've gotten rid of a great many of my books-- or rather, set them aside to sell back to Strand -- I'm still keeping more than we'll outright have room for. Shelves will need to be built. Books will be stuffed in my closet. And Nick is being a dear about that.

What's Nick's biggest collection? His impressive records. And they only take up one small bookcase.

I'm embarrassed about how much crap I have. Sometimes I look at the pile of boxes and wonder what the hell I'm doing with so much junk.

The furniture I can't really be blamed for. My mom, when I first graduated college and was striking out on my own apartment wise, took me to Ethan Allen and bought me a bed set and a desk. There's no way they are going anywhere. And we split an armchair from Pottery Barn that I will be buried with.

The chair.

So, considering I have furniture that I can't part with, in the process of planning the move I've come up with ways to make these space-hoggers more couple-friendly. For one thing, the desk I never use save to house my random pens and crap will be used by Nick, who actually needs and uses a desk. And the blue hutch that housed all my DVDs? It can house plates, or books, or something more useful.

Perhaps the hardest thing I had to do was take most of my DVDs (save Criterions, etc) out of their cases and put them in one big booklet. But let me tell you, it's quite the space saver.

And yet still, STILL I have well over twenty or so boxes. It's disgusting.

Nick has gotten rid of some typical "bachelor" things, however. His futon, for instance, has passed.

And I guess he'd joke that he's lost some of his independence.

But here's the thing, and I hope Nick knows it. If I needed to get rid of all my books or even the expensive furniture to live with him, I would. Because I love him. And it's totally worth it. No apartment or house can hold our love.

Paint

So, after a week of emailing Nick a variety of possible paint colors with impossible names like "serenity sky" and "key lime pie," with the help of the AWESOME painter Lynn (anyone needing an affordable and awesome painter contact me for his info) I chose Soft Chinchilla for the den (a soft blue a la Ben Moore) and Violetta (a new offering from Ben Moore) for the bedroom. Below are the results. I am quite pleased.

The bedroom. It looks lighter in the daylight, but as poor Lynn worked eight hours trying to make our warn-down walls look pretty (and he succeeded) it was around 8:30pm when I took this photo.

The bed will likely come out from this wall.

What a calming purple. I just found a duvet cover from Macy's that will go great with this, really class up our joint.

Look at our pretty den! The blue is beautiful.

I am so pleased with this. So is Nick.

A future project is to fix up the kitchen-- which has torn walls with black paint showing through and a fake linoleum floor covering a beautiful old marble one-- and the bathroom. But for now, go us! Huzzah for the miracle that is a fresh coat of paint! Our home is starting to feel like a home.