The BUCK Stops Here...

Let me start with - I absolutely love our apartment. Could this one bedroom/one-and-one-half bath be  slightly more spacious? For sure. Does the lack of a grill or outdoor "patio space" sometimes sadden me? Definitely. But I adore it - I love our neighborhood of dog-walking, stroller-pushing young professionals, the hipsters who write tomorrow' best-selling novel at the gazebo in the park two feet away, the friendly construction overseer in charge of the neighboring building of apartments who always compliments Miss Jolene on her growth and (occasional) manners, and especially the beautifully kept gardens and homes of the gay men on the next block.

It makes me feel (sappily and ironically) a little like Carrie Bradshaw - minus the sex, the booze, and the column. (I would lie to myself and say that the fashion is there... and it is, on the days I put on "cute" clothes instead of the t-shirt and cheer short combo that gets Jolene outside the quickest...) But as much as I love our neighborhood and our little (make that TINY) slice of heaven on the Short North, there are some things this Southern girl who is long past college would equally love to see vanish.

Unbeknownst to me, our neighborhood (apparently like all neighborhoods in Columbus?!) backs up to THE Ohio State University. Pet peeve number one is having people always throw that emphatic THE in when I've simply said "Ohio State University". I so far have been too well-mannered to say "If it's not in THE SEC, then it doesn't matter to ME." But I do clutch my pearls and purse my perfectly glossed lips together in mock chagrin!

Something else that has me raising an eyebrow - and I know I'll catch hell from many of my friends (Hello, Golden Coast - I'm looking at you!) for this one - are the number of rules that are clearly stated in our leasing contracts that are being broken on a regular basis. I am a school teacher. I like rules. And more importantly, I like rules that are followed. To the nines. EXPLICITLY. So when it says "No Alcohol or Glass at the pool", and I look up from my library book on a chaise in the sun and see your (not merely single bottle - but - ) 12 PACK of bottled Shock Top... I'm going to get a teensy bit perturbed. Because it's clearly stated on the wall of the pool house that you're doing something "illegal" in this little corner of paradise. At least have some decency and put it in a Red Solo cup - even Toby Keith has a little decorum and propriety!

Next- the weekend raucous parties that are going down routinely in the apartment above us. Now, I don't mind if you don't share my monkish hours. After all, not everyone has a precious pet who loves 5:00 am bathroom breaks. But a couple weeks ago, when dear Jolene was on the three-hour rotation, that meant a 2:00am excursion as well. Wasn't THAT a trip down college memory lane?! As I sleepily slung Jolene into the stairwell to stumble out into the dark, the pup and I came upon a couple in a "compromising" position.... in the STAIRWELL. Needless to say, she was no Southern Lady and he was no Rhett Butler.

I could have let the expose go with an eye roll and snort, but this insouciant "Long Island Princesses" wannabe reached out towards my preciously innocent fur baby and slurred "What a pretty puppy!" Before I could stop myself, my mother's lifelong example stepped in... mixed with a bit of my own tough streak.

"If you touch this dog... ever... I will punch you in the face," I threatened in a low, calculated voice that teachers, parents, and dog trainers everywhere know. With that, we proudly (if quickly) departed to "piddle" and I prayed profusely that the drunken duo would have found a room (nowhere NEAR mine) before we returned. I know - I was tacky, but in my defense - my dog's health and safety could have been at stake...

The circus continued at the 5:00 am bathroom outing. This time, Coach John took the lead and returned looking spooked. He was babbling about a man on the lawn, sleeping. I immediately awoke and asked if there were many homeless in the area. To which he responded "I think it's a drunk kid". Welcome (back) to the frat house, ma'am... I thought....

For the rest of the early Sunday morning, the anonymous drunkard became our hobby. We would lift the blinds, hoping to be inconspicuous, and note his minimal movements - especially when it began to rain. Finally, around 8:00 am, he roused himself and blundered down the sidewalks on his cellphone. It should be mentioned that he'd kicked off his shoes (perhaps in a fit of joy or drunken merriment?) and was in his sock feet as he disappeared down the block.

By the afternoon, all that was left of our induction into Buckeye nightlife were a gigantic pair of Nike sneakers and a Cincinnati Reds cap, left in the shrubbery where our vagrant friend had slept. We did, unabashedly, take photos to commemorate our first weekend in Columbus - but because we are classy, genteel people, they will only be shown in private... because the BUCK stops here...

XO,

Puppy Love

Let me set the scene... June has been an unbelievably busy month for Coach John and I. We attended our Catholic Engaged Encounter (which was, admittedly, much more meaningful and worthwhile than I originally intended it to be), signed the lease on our fab new apartment in the "with-it" Short North area, moved into said apartment (without a couch, a dresser, or a dining table - but with wall hangings), continued planning our winter wedding... And got a puppy... Because really, if you're going to upend your entire lives, why not go for it in a completely wholehearted and unabashed way?!

When you see her, you'll understand that there was really no question. I'm an avid dog lover - provided the dog is more protector than pocket-size. No offense to all my darlings toting pets of the toy variety; however, I like my dogs with paws like saucers and bodies like full-size bed pillows. And while she is small now, there is no doubt that the little lady sharing our new home will soon take up a bit more space and make me feel great about my weight and workout endeavors! Poor Coach John didn't really have a say - I've been campaigning for a German Shepherd since I knew he was "the One". My enthusiasm became contagious and before long, JP was searching Want Ads in the local paper to find us a canine companion. Despite the naysaying fathers that challenged our vision, we found the perfect puppy... in the hills and hollers of Breckenridge County. As my brother said upon hearing of her background, "Could you have gone further back in the sticks?!"

So it was only fitting that this lady from the backwoods of Kentucky should have a name that spoke of the South. We were after all holding tightly to the last strings of our belle heritage as we made the move to the "Yankee North". While walking alfalfa field laps with Big Pat before "pulling the trigger" on the purchase, we threw out strong female names for the new addition...

Thatcher (after Margaret)

Lilly P (after Pulitzer's preppy prints)

Dixie (the South will rise again?!)

Rowdy Girl (Designing Women episode, anyone)

Dolly? Reba? Minnie Pearl? June?.... 

And then, it came like a bolt out of the blue. So obvious - a name that spoke of sweet Southern summer nights and classic country music. So let me introduce you to the lovely lady....

Jolene (Berry-Perin... she's a modern gal after all)

Admit it, you fell just a little bit in love. It's been totes exciting spending time with Jolene exploring our new home north of the Mason Dixon. Here are just a few highlights of our 'getting to know you' experiences...

* Jolene has her mother's distaste for small dogs. She is already attempting to obliterate them with polite play. 

* Jolene is not much for the great outdoors - probably because there is too much concrete. Can't say that I totally blame her. 

* On our first weekend in the apartment, Jolene (playfully) bit an Ohio State football player. Let me assure you, he could have stood to lose the half pound she might have removed. You mess with the bull, you get the horns. Or puppy needle teeth, as was the case here. 

* Jolene is finding her bark, playing hard, and working to be released from her crate at night for late playdates. Her "dad" falls for this. Her "mom" does not. 

So, the fun continues. It's not easy - but it's perfect. It's always nice to have a buddy in a new place... even if she's got four feet and a tendency to dress in hipster black. And no, guy on the bike (another item that Jolene and I both abhor) - she's not a black Lab.