Parked City

This is my last night in Park City and I am beyond exhausted. I am also crushed because my husband thought it would be a good idea to start a fight with me. This happens, like clockwork, every time I go to a festival. Day 6 hits and he starts to turn into a little whiny bitch and actually gets mad at me for being away for too long. Yes, yes, I'm doing it to spite you. It's not a work trip. Like god damned clockwork. Every festival. And I just can't take it. I have to hang up. I don't know what he thinks I'm doing out here but comments like "you have fun out there with your late night parties and affairs" and "are you drunk" every two seconds start to get old fast. Yes, I drink more than usual at festivals but that comes with the territory. In fact, it is mandatory to be social and engage in borderline illicit activities for my job. Mandatory, I say! He hates me for it. I think he thinks I'm one of those acquisitions people who cheat on their significant others in other cities. Well I'm not. Sure, I may have had a flirtatious encounter or two but that is not really the same. In fact, it is necessary in order to calm my ego and make me feel like I'm not a cane toad. I'm human. I'm not a festival monster who fucks CAA agents so we can share clients and I've never let Harvey touch me. Sure, I've batted an eyelash or two but come on, I think I could still slip into those pearly gates.

Guilt

I'm feeling sort of bad that I'm at Sundance while my husband toils away on the farm like a slave. (I don't mean that in a racist way, I mean like the dictionary definition as in someone who works really hard and isn't paid) Here I am complaining about sitting on my ass watching movies all day while he is lifting giant cinder blocks with his dad and two guys that don't speak any English. (Not that there is anything wrong with not speaking English except that it complicates the art of conversation.) I also miss Zelda. I want to come home and lift cinder blocks. I wonder if I can change my flight. Nope. Stuck here for six more glorious days of sleeplessness and wading through drunk teenage girls in mini skirts and Uggs on Main Street.

Closed for business

I just took a photo of myself with photobooth and I sure am looking awful today. My face is fat, my bangs are uneven and my skin is a disaster. And what's worse is that I'm starting to feel like I don't really have anything else to offer up right now except my cuteness and possibly my excellent dishwashing skills. I have never set out to be a desperate housewife though. 99.9 per cent of the time I feel like I am married to the most amazing guy in the world. He is like a bottomless pit of giving. He really is. But .1 percent of the time he's an asshole, especially when the "pussy store is closed for business". He gets cranky and justly so, I suppose, but he's being a little beatch and won't let me look at his plans for the barn because "you won't understand, just finish the dishes". Excuse me? Okay, I did sneak a peak when he went in the bedroom and they were was a tad more complicated than I expected- about 50 pages of sketches and numbers and charts and I do admit to never having been a math prodigy but they there is a pretty simple rendering that goes along with them that made total sense. I realize I sound a tad ignorant right now and I may not be able to construct a building from scratch, but I can read those bloody drawings. I wish he would let me contribute. I'm going to be pissed when this thing is missing a window or ventilation or something...

Saved by the rain

Half day of work camp today due to a treacherous downpour. See me crying. The only bad thing is that now we're that much more behind on ever finishing the house, and we only get the Mexicans on the weekends. Although I must admit I wasn't exactly sad when we headed back to the city at noon which means I can go to the gym, see Book of Eli (for research!), and get a blowdry, all before 9. The Sunday night weekend recap is gonna be extremely uneventful this time around. Highlight of the weekend: flat tire on the backhoe which led to a half day wasted. Carlos and Jorge were getting paid for just standing around. At least we didn't risk blowing Jim's dad's back out again.

Only a mild Headache

It wasn't so long ago that we would be lying in bed on Saturday morning, groaning when the garbage truck came and wondering why the hell it had to come so early. Imagine my surprise when I realized that I was not only awake before the garbage truck came, but I was also cleaning up a steaming pile of shit when it arrived. Fortunately today it was milder than it has been in weeks so standing in the cold waiting for the dog to take her sweet old time letting one drop was a lot less torturous than usual. The dog. Oh the dog. Another one of Tim's scams. Don't get me wrong, I love the little bear-wolf to death, but we just did not need a dog. "It's for the farm" he said to which I replied "that's great but we are still living in the city" but somehow my logic was bypassed and we now have a German Shepherd puppy living in our five floor walk up apartment. Yes, she's only 21 pounds at the moment but she'll be 70+ in just a few more months. I just keep telling myself that never have I seen so many sunrises and I should feel invigorated by the cold air. Myself doesn't always listen, but I keep telling her anyway.

Another weekend of Work Camp

So I'm having friends over tonight and am getting paranoid already that I am going to drink too much wine. I have this nice malbec I'm excited about. yumm. ok. lost myself. They think I'm joking when I say that I have to get up at 7am tomorrow morning (Saturday) but clearly they do not realize that my weekends consist of hard labor that begins at 9am on the farm. Yes, I live in Manhattan during the week, have a job that to my friends and relatives from central PA that seems "glamorous", I'm a little bit high maintenance, and I do take pride (probably too much) in my appearance. A typical high-strung super driven, slightly psychotic but endearing nonetheless, City Girl. So I'm a bit out of sorts when my husband forces me to get on the roof of the barn and remove shingles. Remove shingles? wtf? I swear to you, I almost fell off the roof because I was wearing platform rain boots and lost my balance while trying to pry out a stubborn nail (one of those ones that you hammer, not that you paint). When I realized that my NYC friends really didn't understand what the f is going on in my new weekend farm life, I thought I'd start a blog. A place to bitch and moan about the back pain, shoulder cramps, and cracked rough hands that have begun invading my previously simple city life after my husband and I bought a 23 acre farm in Frenchtown, New Jersey. A decrepit farm in need of some SERIOUS work I should say. Let the bitching and moaning begin