Things I Learned in New Hampshire
-I am related to someone who owns an apple orchard. I guess I did sort of know this before, but I'd never actually been to said apple orchard even though it is only a short drive from my grandmother's house.
-New England-style baked beans are different than Boston baked beans. Um, don't ask me how.
-Climbing Mount Mondanock is harder than I remember. The last time I climbed this mountain I think I was about 8. My father fell, broke a knuckle and sprained an ankle. Luckily that didn't happen this time. There were a lot of difficult parts that involved scrambling up large rocks. How did I do that when I was so much smaller? I'm not sure. But conquering the mountain was worth it for the amazing views. And I felt sort of like a bad ass because I made the climb down in the rain and didn't fall and break my neck.
-Mount Monadnock is the second most climbed mountain in the world. (Don't ask me what number one is.) And it is the reason a mountain that is not surrounded by other mountains is called a monadnock.
-Oh, and beer and cheeze doodles taste really good together at the end of a four-and-a-half-hour hike.
-How to eat a lobster. This was even harder than I expected. I blame my mother for raising me in a land-locked state. But I eventually defeated my beady-eyed foe and consumed all of its tasty flesh dunked in melted butter. (Not before spraying myself and my mother in the face with lobster juice when trying to snap the tail apart.)
-People in New Hampshire leave their cars unlocked in parking lots at convenience stores. I plead the fifth on whether or not I learned this when I almost put our 12-pack in the back of an SUV that did not belong to my cousin.
-So the Page side of my family has lived in New Hampshire since approximately the time of the pilgrims. (The exact date is in a book at my mother's house.) My ancestors specifically moved to the town where my mother grew up in about the 1750s. Apparently, one of these Pages owned a tavern that was shut down for serving liquor to the Native Americans. Maybe this is a sign that I need to quit my day job and open a bar. After all, it is in my blood.

Boston Beware
Lock up your Irish men! (Actually, please don't.) I'm going to be in the greater Boston area in a little less than two weeks to attend the annual Irish Connections Festival. (Think a fancy excuse for drinking Irish beer and listening to Irish music.) I plan to spend plenty of time with my new favorite Irishman, Jack. (He's my cousin's month-and-half-old son who is probably the cutest baby ever.) But any charming Irishmen wishing to vie for this title are encouraged to apply.

Ms. Manners Speaks Out
Note to roommates everywhere. It is considered rude to completely rearrange and redecorate the living room and kitchen without warning while your roommate is away for the weekend, especially after expressly having a conversation with said roommate that adding the little kitchen table and chairs is OK as long as it fits without rearranging the living room (which it did). So don't be surprised when your roommate's reaction is annoyance rather than glowing praise of your decorating skills. Common areas require common courtesy. Learn to use it. Thanks.

Anne Vs. the Jar of Spaghetti Sauce: An Epic Battle
So I decided to make spaghetti for dinner tonight. It's a nice, easy meal. I made some meatballs the other week that I could take out of the freezer to throw in the sauce. Hell, I even decided to get fancy and saute (that looks so wrong without the accent) some onion and green pepper I needed to use up. And to top it all off, I had some really nice spaghetti sauce that I bought on sale over the weekend. So I take the meatballs out of the freezer. I dice up the onion and green pepper. I throw the veggies into the frying pan and let them cook a little while. And then I get out the jar of spaghetti sauce, and this is where the whole thing starts to go down hill.

You know those jars that sometimes you just can't get open, so you hand them to whoever is nearby and make them help you? This was one of those times, but I was home alone. I put up a valient effort. I strained. I twisted. Nothing. I banged edges of the lid lightly to try to break the seal. Nope. I tried holding onto the lid with a towel, with a face cloth. Still not budging. I search my apartment for something rubbery that could help. I turn the heat off on the vegetables because they're going to start getting gross and soggy soon if this keeps up. I vainly wish for the jar opening contraption that is in the silverware drawer at my parents' house. I find some tongs with rubber-coated handles, but those keep slipping and don't help. I try opening the jar while wearing a nice winter glove that has some leather patches on the palm. Still nothing. I search the house in vain again. I get a jar of applesauce out of the fridge and open that easily to make sure I remember how to actually open a jar. I mean, maybe I've wasted all this time and energy trying to turn the lid the wrong way. Theoretically possible. I try holding the jar between my knees and twisting the lid with my hands, but my pants are too slippery, apparently. By this point, I'm contemplating going to the store to buy a new jar of sauce, but that would still leave me with an unopenable jar of sauce, and I will not be defeated by an inanimate object! I will not allow a mere grocery product to force me to spend money! I contemplate calling a British guy who lives three blocks away and went on a date with my roommate once. But I decide he wouldn't believe I really just wanted him to come over to one a jar of sauce, and that would be awkward. I think about asking a neighbor to help me, but I don't know my neighbors (this is New York City after all). OK, I don't know any strapping young male neighbors, and I don't think Sylvia, the elderly woman at the end of the hall will have much more luck than me. There are some guys who live on the fourth floor, but how awkward would that me. Um, hi, I've passed you on the stairs once or twice, could you open this jar for me? I don't really want to become the crazy spaghetti girl. So finally, finally, I break down and call my mother to see if she knows any secret jar-opening tricks. I know it's a long shot, but I'm desperate here people. I have nothing else to cook for dinner, and, she's my mother so she already knows I'm crazy. She laughs and suggests most of the things I've already tried and maybe running the lid under really hot water. OK, maybe that will work. So I run hot water in the sink and hold the top of the jar under it, dry off the jar and try to open it. Nothing! It doesn't even budge. I try knocking it on the counter a little more, but that doesn't help either. I'm seriously considering just smashing the jar and trying to pick out all the pieces of glass. I give the hot water one more try, getting the water even hotter and keeping the jar there a few minutes. I try the lid again, and at long last, it opens! Thank God. I'd almost been brought to tears by a jar of spaghetti sauce. That would have been kind of pathetic. And I finally got to eat dinner.

Sometimes the lemons turn into lemonade all on their own
So at 4 o'clock this afternoon there was a landslide in New York City. A landslide. No one was hurt, but it closed down a major highway, completely fucking with everyone's commute, specifically my commute as it happened two blocks away from the major bridge that takes me back into Manhattan. When I heard about it at 5: 15, estimates for getting across the bridge were an hour and a half and up. Awesome. And I'm sure New Jersey Transit will handle this without a hitch. I began to brace myself to spend two hours on a bus, assuming the bus every came. I was starting to consider walking back to Manhattan, as there is a sidewalk across the bridge, and really that sounded faster. Then my boss said she had to go into the city to go to a Broadway musical and she was going to brave to bridge. Did I want a ride to the East Side? You betcha! I figured even if I ended up stuck in traffic for two hours, her car would be far more comfortable than a bus. And then a fun thing happened. Traffic really wasn't that bad. It sure looked bad for all the poor suckers trying to get back to New Jersey, though. Good thing I don't live in Jersey. So we left the office at 5:30, and I was home by 6:15 (and that included a stop in my neighborhood so she could pick up her tickets. It was a beautiful day, and I was home so early I had no idea what to do with myself. So, in a very Mr. Rogers-esque moment, I took off my blazer, put on a cardigan sweater and then went for a nice two-mile stroll along the river. It was perfectly lovely. I wish I could do that every day.

Best Celebrity "News" of the Week or I only know this because I have to read so many gossip rags at work
The lead singer of Korn (really, they're still around?) and his wife recently had a baby boy and named him Pirate. Yes, you read that right. Pirate.

Celebrity Sighting of the Week
Yes, I realize it is pretty early in the week, but I think it will be hard to top this one (unless, of course, I do run into Orlando in an Indian retaurant). Sunday afternoon, I decided to take advantage of the one nice day of the weekend and go for a walk around the reservoir in Central Park. I was passing the tennis courts, and who do I see standing in the path ahead of me? Geraldo. At first I thought he was being hugged by an adoring fan. (Does he have adoring fans? I kind of doubt it.) Then I realized that he was putting a bracelet on the woman's wrist and she was saying something about how much she loved it. A mother's day gift for his wife perhaps? Whoever she was, I saw Geraldo, and for some reason, that really amuses me.

And you thought nothing interesting happened in New Jersey
So just about noon on Friday, the fire alarm in my office building went off. Ugh, how annoying, a fire drill, I assumed. Not that we'd ever had a fire drill before, but come on, what could possibly be burning, right? So everyone starts leaving. My designer and I put on our coats and start to head out. I stop and decide to grab my purse as an after thought. Good thing I did because there really was a fire. There were crowds in the hallway as everyone tried to squeeze out the one fire exit that apparently exists in our building (um, can anyone say unsafe). A bit unsettling. Why aren't people going out the front door? And now that we're outside, why is there smoke coming from one of the parking garage levels? Turns out a car was on fire right in front of the building. And the building is sort of on stilts, so when a car is idling at the front door, it is under part of the building. So the building caught fire too. (Lesson of the day, buring insulation doesn't smell good.) It was all put out quickly with minimal damage, but for a moment I had an awful thought. If the building really did burn down, I would have to start this issue completely from scratch. Good thing that didn't happen or I might have done something drastic. Instead we all just left for an early lunch until we could get back into the building. Oh, and the fiasco even made gawker. Must have been a slow news day. I want to know who their source was because we definitely didn't get to expense lunch. (Sigh.)

Orlando Update
I went to see Kingdom of Heaven last night. And I have to say, so far, Orlando is a much more satisfing celebrity crush than Vin Diesel. His movies haven't been nearly as disappointing.

Reverting to my inner 13-year-old
I've decided that maybe there is something I can learn from the junior high girls I write for every day. When dealing with heartbreak, simply fall in love with dreamy Hollywood type. Celebrity crushes = safe. So, rational 24-year-old woman that I am, I've decided to fall madly in love with Orlando Bloom. Hey, I have a good reason. Last week, I had this dream that I saw Orlando at an Indian restaurant and he followed me outside when I left in order to walk next to me and kiss my hand and tell me how strikingly beautiful I am. I woke up and realized it was silly, but I felt happy the rest of the day. (I guess even fictional compliments are good for self-esteem.) So this weekend or next, I'll go see Kingdom of Heaven to catch a glimpse of my new love. Or maybe I should go hang out at a restaurant down on Curry Row. Never know who I might run into, right? OK, maybe I'm not feeling quite that silly.

Two out of three ain't bad
-Sunday was lovely. I went to an arts and music festival, saw this band again, spent time with friends, enjoyed some sunshine, ate fried food and purchased a purse that came with a lifetime guarentee (OK, really just the artist's e-mail address in case the big stick that serves as a handle breaks and she needs to replace it, but still).
-Monday was rainy and gross, and I was so exhausted I was in bed by 9:30 and asleep by 10.
-Today was a little chilly, but I did two things that made me really happy. I splurged on a fabulous haircut at my favorite overpriced salon with amazing views of the city, (I'm officially in love with Denise. My hair rocks.) and I ate Chipotle for dinner. (Yum.)

Let's hope this trend continues.