Okay, so it’s not Sunday, or dinner, but I had to share as marinade for grilled shrimp that I discovered last night. I picked it out from AllRecipes.com after seeing that it had over 500 5-star reviews and that most of the reviews involved ALL CAPS and lots of exclamation points!!!!!!

I went in a little suspicious - I mean, it’s marinade, not some miracle drug, but I went ahead and tried it out on our new grill. I wasn’t convinced - the ingredients were really simple and didn’t seem to fit together well. And it didn’t seem to be bad enough for me health-wise or hard enough to make to taste that good.  AND THEN BEN AND I ATE THE SHRIMP AND TALKED ABOUT HOW GOOD IT WAS IN ALL CAPS FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING. IT IS THAT GOOD!!!!! AND I HATE EXCLAMATION POINTS, EXCEPT WHEN I REALLY MEAN IT!!!!!

Even putting the delectable taste of these shrimp aside for a moment, which is hard for me to do even 12 hours later, this recipe has everything going for it: it uses only “kitchen staple” ingredients (with the exception of the shrimp). It does not involve a stick of butter or deep-fried batter, like many other shrimp recipes I’ve test driven.  It cooks in six minutes. It makes you look like a  celebrity chef to anyone you have over for dinner.

In any case, without further ado, here’s the link: Marinted Grilled Shrimp.

A few notes:

1. If you want the shrimp spicy, double the cayenne pepper. As it is, the pepper only gives the shrimp a little heat.

2. If you’re using wooden skewers, soak them first.

3. Don’t marinate the shrimp for longer than an hour - the vinegar will start breaking down the meat.

I once again apologize for the absence of picture or many links - things will get better when the cable guys bring the magic of the internet into our home on Monday.

Go forth and grill shrimp!

We have successfully moved into our new home. It’s in the South Hills area of Missoula, Montana, which is about ten minutes from downtown and on the edge of town (and obviously in the hills). More importantly, the house has a front and back yard, a patio, a fire pit, a basketball hoop, and a dishwasher. Even more importantly than that, it has three bedrooms, which means that Ben and I each have our own office now. Oh - and there are closets! Seven of them! As compared to the zero closets we had in our New York apartment!

We’ve spent the last two days buying furniture and putting furniture together (note that Target seems to have the clearest directions of anywhere and the least likelihood of missing parts). We’ve also spent the last two days constantly grilling things (for example, tonight we had salmon, bell pepper, and pineapple skewers on a bed of brown rice). In the evenings, after our one-on-one basketball games, we gather round the fire pit and say things like, “I can’t believe we’re here!” and “Look! Remember stars!” and “This is so much better than the city!’ and “I can’t believe you made that jump shot!” I wonder if it will wear off.

Ripley is now an outdoor cat again, which she loves. She has a kitty door that she learned to use after Ben showed her how just once. I know it’s a little more dangerous to let her outside, but I really do think that it improves the quality of her everyday life so much that it is worth the added risk. Plus, it is just adorable to watch her roll around in the grass. Outdoor Rippy pictures will follow in the coming days.  I’ll also post a few pictures of the house once we’re a bit more set up - like the panoramic view of the mountains you can see from the toilet.

I should also mention that our internet connection for the next week - a connection we are temporarily stealing from the neighbors until the cable guys come - ranges from “poor” to “piss poor.” All internet activities will be spotty until next Monday, but I’m trying hard to post once a weekday.

There’s so much more Montana culture to catch you up on - in the coming days I’ll write about our time playing in the river, our glorious return to our favorite bar, Flippers, our experience at the infamous Testicle Festival, and… pain.

If I had to name one single thing that I missed about my life in New York, it would be my wonderful New York gym. It was just a few blocks from our apartment, loaded with all of the newest and nicest equipment, and basically always empty. Sure, the completely saturated workout facility market in New York must be tough on the owners, but it worked in our favor. I am told that John Travolta worked out at our gym, though I never saw him there and although it doesn’t seem like he spends a lot of time on the treadmill. In any case, it was nice.

Our new gym in Missoula is located in a strip mall, has some working equipment, and is populated by the same five guys who are always standing around not quite lifting anything. I mean, it’s not so bad. Part of the issue is that I’ve been having knee problems the last few months and I’m stuck on the stationary bike a lot, something that Ben describes as only being marginally better exercise than sitting on the couch. Worse, though, is that the stationary bikes at this gym have the following written on them:

“Stop exercising if you feel pain, faint, dizzy, or out of breath.”

Yeah. I know. A parallel structure nightmare. And I have to stare at it for 30 minutes a day. It’s like driving by a flaming seven-vehicle car crash that you can’t help but stare at, except that it’s with nouns and adjectives. It’s a word crash.

Now, I’m not a grammar expert by any stretch of the imagination, but this sentence follows me through the day like a terrible parallel structure ghost, shaking its chains and turning my blood cold with its crappy sentence balance. Whenever I’ve made a list in my head lately, it sounds something like:

“I need to mail those thank-you notes, buy some silverware, and pain.”

Or:

“Today I’m writing two press releases, some brochure copy, out of breath, and two web pages.”

I also often imagine a terrifying world in which people talked like that and it went totally unnoticed. For example, I might imagine a man sitting in a doctor’s office and explaining that his symptoms make him feel “faint and pain.” Or I think about two joggers finishing up a marathon, where one of them turns and says, “I’m dizzy,” and the other one says, “I’m pain.”

If you are thinking, “why don’t you just look somewhere other than the tiny 8-point font grammar mistake written on the bike, like maybe, for instance, at the TV directly in front of the bike? Or even the wall?” then I don’t think we’ll ever truly understand one another.

I saw my first beaver last week. I was walking over a small bridge into town, and there it was, hanging out in the river. I guess this is one of the small differences between New York City and Montana - more diverse rodent sightings.

It was HUGE. Nothing that I had learned about beavers when I was growing up ever led me to believe that when I was 27 I would be faced with a four-foot long, 60-pound, very, very serious looking beaver. In fact, popular images of the beaver (see right) led me to believe that beavers were maybe a foot tall, extremely goofy, and possibly high on drugs.

The beaver that I saw meant serious business. In fact, when I first spotted it, I assumed it was a baby black bear before his tail came out of the water. It did not have buggy crossed eyes. It was not up to any antics. It was not cheering on a local sports team. It was in Nature, Surviving Majestically.

After I did some reading on beavers when I got home (I suggest typing in “North American Beaver” instead of “Enormous Wet Beaver”) and found that they are, indeed, serious, hardworking animals and not silly at all. They are the second largest rodent in the world. They can change the flow of entire rivers (in fact, the second largest beaver dam is located in Montana and at 2,140 feet long and 14 feet high, it can be seen by freaking satellite). They carry entire logs in their teeth and then pack mud and rocks into the crevices with their forepaws. They defend their dams and lodges with vigor. (Down below is a REAL beaver, much like the one I saw. Although this one may or may not be dead.)

So what’s with all of the lame beaver press that paints them as small and wacky instead of smart and majestic and maybe a little intimidating? Is it kind of like artificially fruit-flavored candy that doesn’t taste like the real fruit but is weirdly consistent in taste with other artificially fruit-flavored candy? Is the beaver the blue raspberry of the animal kingdom? Was I the only person on earth who didn’t know the truth about beavers?

I feel like running some sort of public awareness campaign for them that reveals their true size and disposition: Hardworking. Dedicated. Enormous. Sober.

I’m not dead yet. I’m simply trying to claw my way out of New York City by July and keep my new freelance writing business afloat at the same time. It is, at best, vomit-inducingly stressful. The good news is that in about ten days Ben and I will be pulling into Missoula barring any disasters and that about ten days after that (July 10) BROOD will be back up and running.

Don’t think that just because I stopped updating that I’ve stopped brooding. On the contrary, trying to move 2,500 is very, very brood-worthy. In the last month or so, we’ve bought a car, had our car vandalized within 9 hours of its purchase, and then fixed our vandalized car. I’ve gotten some great new clients, stopped returning the calls of a few clients who treated me badly, and raised my rates twice. I’ve broke my six-mile time, then seriously injured my knee the next day, and only today managed to walk at a fast pace on the treadmill without acting like a little wussie. Ben has flourished at his two new jobs at CagePotato and Sports Illustrated and watched his old company fold mere weeks after he quit. Brood-worthy moments to come in the next three weeks: packing, road trip, finding abode, unpacking.

Just so you don’t think I’ve only been ignoring you while continuing to live a normal life, I’ll list some other things I haven’t done since I stopped updating my blog: read a book, called a single long-distance friend, flossed, gone shopping without a specific purpose, gone more than two days without an embarrassing bout of emotional eating, sat at a desk, regularly worn a bra, made small talk, had a moment of peaceful reflection.

What else? I’ve had several requests for Ripley updates (yes, it’s clear who is the draw is here). Ripley is sitting next to me now, as she always does when I’m “working.” Instead of taking her in the car with us on our four-day trip across the country, we are planning on flying her. I am terrified for her safety, but not so terrified that I want her yowling in the car for four days. In general, though, I think she’ll be much happier in Montana, at least until we get the dog that we’ve been planning for.

That’s it for now.  Sit tight and I’ll be back soon.

The last week has been extremely difficult but also extremely rewarding. My business picked up a little too much a little too fast, which led to an impressive string of 14-hour days and the very weird sensation of feeling both self-pity and a sense of accomplishment at the same time. The good news is that I’ve made in a week what it took me a month to make at my office job, not that I have the time to deposit the checks, let alone spend it.

And even though I haven’t had the strength to update my blog for more than a few days, much has happened in our little world. I’ll start catching you up with an update from our freaking horrible neighbors - you remember, the Christian children’s performance artists who play a variety of instruments all day long very loudly and very badly?

On Friday night, our best friend Dan came over to hang out for the evening after a long week of work for all three of us. All we wanted to do was watch a movie and catch up. However, around 10 PM, the girl evil neighbor knocked on our door. I answered. I was told by the evil neighbor that we were being too loud. I nod and close the door.

For the next three days, I seethed and brooded (what I do best). How could three people be louder than a tuba? I could not, for the life of me, stop thinking of cooler scenarios than nodding and closing the door. It was as if God gave me this one chance to tell the evil neighbors off, and I let it slide by. I suffered deep, deep insult regret.

In one imagined scenario, she tells me that we are being too loud and I respond with, “Really? I’m surprised you can hear anything over that cello that you torture daily.”

Or I’d say, “Yes, we are being too loud. After almost two years, it’s our turn.”

Or, as soon as I opened the door and saw it was her, I would close it before she said anything.

Oh! Or I’d go the personal-but-unrelated attack route: “We’re being too loud? Well, to that I’d have to say that you are a simpering, mousy, tone-deaf troll whose hell will consist of eternally living next to an orchestra of monkeys attempting to play French horns.”

Then, on Sunday night, as both Ben and I were racing against any number of deadlines, the cello playing starts. Again, I’d like to remind everyone that when I say “playing the cello,” I don’t mean that she’s playing scales or songs. I mean that she is playing the cello in much the same way that I would play the cello if I were to go across the hall and try.

Now, while neither Ben nor I are the type of people to complain (we’d rather keep to ourselves) we are the kind of people that respond to an open attack. Ben walked over, knocked on the door, and told her to stop playing - they had been playing all day and it was ten at night. She agreed, but then, five minutes later, began playing again! I could tell that she was trying to play softly, but let me assure you that there is no way to play the cello badly and softly.

We have now openly declared war. And, since we are moving in about a month, we can alienate them even more than if we had a longer lease. What is our next step? I am open to your ideas. All I know is that I’m not going to just nod next time.

One of the problems that I’ve been struggling with since I started my freelance business has been holding my cell phone to my ear with my shoulder while I talk to clients and type notes on my laptop at the same time. To free up my hands, my parents got me a blue tooth for my phone on my birthday - you know, those things that short men with leather suit jackets always have stuck in their ears at the grocery store?

Well, I know it’s a little uncool to wear when you aren’t using it, but this thing has changed my life. Although its number one use is to allow me to take detailed notes during meetings with clients, I’ve also discovered an even better application for the blue tooth: it allows me to do whatever I want during the two-hour multi-office conference calls that I often have to sit through. During these calls I often don’t have to say more than “hello” and “nice talking with you.” The majority of these calls are about web design and roughly 5% is about written content - it’s kind of like listening to a baseball game on the radio but only having to pay attention to one inning.

For the last two months, I’ve sat through these meetings as if I were physically present at a meeting - kind of paying attention, very bored. But now my blue tooth - which not only frees my hands but also blocks out background noise — has unshackled me from my conference call prison.

Before the blue tooth I would do regular meeting things: drink a lot of tea, try to pay attention and fail, stare at the clock, think about other things I could be doing that are also not pleasant but that I would still rather be doing, like folding the laundry. Now, though, today - I actually did get to fold my laundry. And since I get paid to sit in on these meetings, it’s like I’m getting paid to fold my laundry! I also got paid to write some thank you notes, iChat, brush the cat, and pay my phone bill - all for the same hourly rate. At the end of the meeting, I even started writing the web content that the meeting was about, both saving myself some time and saving my clients some money. What a beautiful world.

It also makes me wonder what the other three people on the line are doing, since we all work from home. Is the coordinator flossing her teeth? Is the tech guy putting the final touches on that free verse poem he’s been working on? I never thought I’d say this before I started working from home, but it might be true: there’s such a thing as a productive meeting.