Tag Archives: dad


I’m humbled after this weekend.

On all accounts.

First – the move.

Oh, the move.

But we must back up to day-before-the-move when Stephanie has a melt down. I took a half day from work to prepare myself and run around town getting msc. moving things done. Then, I decided to go ahead and move my kitchen by myself. It was going well until I realized that there was no way it was all going to get done. Ever. And what if no one showed up on Saturday? And if they do show up would  they hate me and my worldly goods for existing? And why was I doing this again? And is this place really bigger and nicer than the last?  And so on.

Then the boyfriend came over so that we could see one another for an hour or so before I took him to the airport and he tried to calm me down, but it didn’t help that there was a mysterious beeping coming from somewhere seemingly in my apartment. Turns out it wasn’t my apartment. It was the upstairs apartment. And it sounded like her carbon monoxide detector.

So we got out of there. (With Gertie)

On the way to take him to the airport (in the snow – which I hate!), I was trying to get a hold of my apartment manager and figure out what should be/could be done. She tells me it’s ok and so I return home.

But it’s really cold. And getting colder. But I decide not to worry about it so I took a Tylenol P.M. and hit the sack. A few hours later she’s standing in my living room shouting my name. I drowsily wake up and stumble out.

She tries to tell me she turned off the heat b/c she couldn’t live with herself if it was carbon monoxide. Can I check into a hotel?

Um, not really. I’m kind of drugged.

I convince her I’m ok and I put on a stocking cap and return to bed, making sure Gertie is covered up with me.

Moving day: I shiver out of bed and hit the ground running.

Is anyone going to come?

After I took Gertie to the boyfriend’s mom’s house, I recieved the first of many calls that day.

Ben. Melissa. Justin. My parents – both of them. The boyfriend’s brother. His friend.

It was unreal. I coudn’t believe all these people would come help me carry my stuff into my new place.

I purchased the two largest pizzas I have ever seen and some beer for the troops. By the time I returned from that, the move was done. My dad was still busycleaning out my fridge from the old apartment and installing my nice shower head in my new bathroom.  Aside from that, everything was done.

It was amazing. I still have things to organize, but to have all the stuff moved was such a load off my shoulders.

To all who helped, I can’t thank you enough!

A few hours later, the boyfriend called and said he had won his card tournament. As part of his prize, he was able to pick out some details that may be used on a future card. He wanted my input so that the card could reflect a little of me. Again, an honor. 

My dad came over yesterday and helped me hang pictures.

All in all, it went infinitely better than I expected. And now I’m home again.

Gertie, on the other hand, is a little confused as to what happened when she went to play with Lily for a day.


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Ah. Facebook. A curse and a blessing.

The events of last night are as follows:

  • My apartment manager calls me to tell me they were unable to fix my thermostat, and in fact, they’ve now realized that my heat is, in fact, out.
  • I post the following Facebook status: Stephanie is going to be without heat in her apartment tonight. At least they called to tell her. Good times.
  • I attend an after-work meeting during which I receive two calls from someone at from parents’ number.
  • At 7:30, following the meeting, I return the call.
  • They have both read my status (yes, both of my parents are on Facebook) and want me to come over, bless them. 
  • When I tell them I’m fine and I’m going to the boyfriend’s, this does not set well. (Mind you, I’m 31 years-old!)
  • No, you don’t need to do that, they tell me.  Come over here where you have a warm bed. (90% of the time they put me on speaker phone. This was no exception.)
  • But, you don’t want Gertie at your house over night.
  • Gertie is fine, my dad says. (Apparently my mom has walked away from the phone.)
  • Well, regardless. I’m going to the boyfriend’s house.
  • He doesn’t live in a safe neighborhood, my dad tells me.
  • Enter into whinyvoice circa 1990 when I’d ask for something such as a ride to the mall: “Daaaaaad, it’s fine. I’m there all the time.”
  • Dad enters into denial mode. He clearly didn’t hear the part where his 31-year-old daughter confesses to staying with her boyfriend on a regular basis. He’s fixated on the safety of the neighborhood.
  • Where does he live, he asks.
  • I tell him.
  • Well that is absolutely not a safe neighborhood.
  • I remind him that the boyfriend has two roommates, one of which is a bouncer at a punk rock bar in Westport.
  • My dad is still in denial about me staying there and we change the subject to the Muppets.

I’m still her:

Photo courtesy of my dad’s Facebook account in which he has taken up converting old slides into photos and posting them for the world, or at least his Facebook universe to view.


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My dad wanted to invite me to dinner tomorrow, but he wanted to make sure I didn’t have a date. Gee Dad, I would have cancelled if you would have just asked. But of course I don’t have a date. Why would I have a date? I guess if you count Gertie…

Mr. D stopped by drink celebrations last night. I guess that was a date. It was enough of a date that my friends were cracking up about the fact that I managed to swing a date to my divorce celebrations.

In my fire engine red strappy dress.

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