sweat and books

A new gym just opened down the street from our house.  It's called Sweat.  But as I proved today, one does not need a gym membership to sweat.

Why am I so sweaty and disgusting?  Well, because first I carried these bookshelves up the stairs, all by myself.

And then because I carried these 18 (yes, 18) boxes full of books (yes, heavy heavy books) up the stairs by myself.

I realized that maybe we have too many books, so my friend Leslie came over and helped me sort through them.  As a fellow English graduate student, she was well-equipped for the task, reminding me that I don't have to keep the 800 page book of John Updike criticism since my field is African lit.

Speaking of books, here is a link to a list of 1001 books to read before you die: 

http://www.listology.com/content_show.cfm/content_id.22845/

It's certainly a debatable list, but my mom, dad, sister and I had fun going through it in Arkansas last weekend.  I read all 1001 titles out loud and we kept score.  I won't say who won, but all performed admirably.  I had between 115 and 120, depending on whether I count books that I read abridged versions of, and allowing for errors in memory.  Check it out if you're bored, and leave a comment if you beat my score and feel like bragging.

horror

I'm not afraid of bugs, heights, or spiders.  If a piece of cheese or bread has mold on it, I will cut it off and eat the rest.  I don't always shower every day.  The point I'm trying to make is that I don't think of myself as overly squeamish or high maintenance.  Generally.

But mice.  I hate mice.  They have fur and bones and blood, and if you step on one, it might squirm under your foot.  Bugs don't do that.  

The first apartment I lived in after graduating from college had mice.  Luckily, the nice gentlemen downstairs emptied the traps for us, and I managed to put them out of my head. Until one morning, a few months later, when I looked down as I was shutting off a lamp and saw a long, curled tail poking out of a trap.  I called Greg, cried the entire way to work (a 40 minute drive) and by the end of the day had plans to move. 

So I am not joking when I say that I hate mice.

Well, this week, Greg found a dead mouse in our storage facility (pictured above).  The fact that I was not present did not stop me from shuddering, curling up into a fetal position, and calling my mom. The mouse was in between two boxes, but the nibbled hole in a tablecloth suggests that he was also inside one of the boxes.  The storage facility said that he probably ate some of their bait then wandered inside and died.  So far there is no other evidence, but it is taking all of my zen to continue reaching my hands into boxes full of newspaper and packing peanuts.

Christmas in May

When Greg and I got married on May 29, 2005, many people gave us many wonderful gifts.  We used some of the gifts, but lots of them were packed away for when we had our own house.  I already had a set of hand-me down dishes, and most of what we needed for our apartment, so we decided to wait on opening the nice stuff that we had registered for.

On May 29, 2008, our third anniversary, I started unpacking our gifts.  The kitchen is ready, so we are setting that up while we wait on the carpet and unpacking upstairs.  It's been so much fun to open boxes and find things we forgot we had.

One thing I didn't forget was my popcorn.  I've been called a popcorn snob more than once--I won't eat microwaved popcorn, only stove-popped.  And I only buy Amish red or ladyfinger popping kernels at that--no Orville Redenbacher for me!  Made the right way (light on the oil) popcorn is a healthy and cheap snack, and I can eat it every night of the week.  Last spring, my usual supplier stopped carrying Amish kernels for a few months and I went crazy.  Greg finally ordered me a box of twelve bags online.  I didn't get through all of them before we moved, so we took a few bags to New Jersey and put the rest in storage.  My New Jersey rations gave out long before Christmas, and both my sister and our friends the Mulhearns can attest that I nearly cried when I opened their gifts to me and found Amish popping corn.  Those bags disappeared quickly, so I was thrilled when I unpacked the stored bags.  They already have a spot of prominence in the pantry.

I've been slowly working my way through the boxes, trying to get stuff organized for when we have places to put it.  One thing I've realized is that we have a lot of junk.  For example, there is a box in the basement labeled "Bobble Heads."  Greg promises me he will weed his collection down to only Philadelphia teams.