Jennifer Myszkowski bombs on Cambridge stage

Because I'm worried that this blog will soon turn into the Jennifer-Myszkowski-is-having-a-nervous-breakdown-about-the-house Blog, let's turn our attention to comedy.

I bombed tonight at the Studio. Everyone did, though in the audience's defense, some of them actually sucked. One fellow actually made some people leave. Scott and I laughed pretty hard when the show was over about how bad it was. I actually thought, "What the hell am I doing here?"

I can bomb at a crap club around here, no problem. I don't need to drive two hours for the pleasure of bombing on a famous stage. I was a little disappointed, I can't lie.

The good news is that I tried some new material about buying a house and it mostly worked for the people who were paying attention. I got a DVD of my set so I will be able to look at it and pick apart what I did wrong and do it better next time.

Having a crappy time at the Studio is such a foreign idea. It took me completely by surprise.

I'm officially out of my goddamned mind

Tonight I was crying out loud about my mortgage. Sweet God, I'm a human.

I got a bunch of paperwork in the mail and I didn't understand it. It looked, to my untrained eye, like I was going to have to come up with an additional $2,000 at closing time, which took me by surprise because I went over all of it about a thousand times with the nice lady from the bank because I didn't want surprises.

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," I told myself. It was after business hours, so I decided to call my nice mortgage lady in the morning.

But then I started feeling really anxious, so I called her right away and left a half-frantic message.

Then I started crying out loud, the cry of a panicking person. Then the phone rang. Thank God.

This stuff is so complicated. And I'm a human who is sometimes a moron. It turns out I didn't realized that so-called closing costs include downpayments made in advance of the closing and a few other things, and I didn't understand why line F was being subtracted by line J.

And then I understood it, so we could proceed to the laundromat to wash, dry and fold.

Soon we will be washing, drying and folding in the comfort of our own home.

Huzzah!

Holy crap. It's happening!

So we went this morning and talked with our realtor and filled out the form to make a counter offer. Because the seller is still out of the country (and will be until mid-April), we assumed that it would take us a week again to hear back from her.

No, indeed.

We heard back from her just now. She's accepted the offer. If everything continues to go our way, we will soon call a beautiful 1890's Philidelphia-style row house home.

It's all I can do not to start barfing immediately.

I guess it's time to start packing, like, for real.

Holy hell.

I called my mother and told her the good news. She said, "Holyoke? Are you sure you want to live in Holyoke?"

I said, "C'mon, Ma. Are we going to go through this again?"

She said, "It's just that, like, five houses down from you looks like it could be a crackhouse."

I didn't want to tell her that she was looking at the wrong house. Because, in fact, it's right next door that looks like it could be a crackhouse.

Crackhouse, sweet crackhouse.

I'm really excited. We're really excited.

Now it's time to start collecting appliances. If you know anyone selling a washer and dryer, gas range or refrigerator, send them my way.

This just in

We got a counter-offer from the seller today. We don't like it. Now we're going to make a counter-offer.

This stuff is really maddening and complicated and it's making me anxious. Last weekend when I was overtired and anxious at the same time, I nearly came undone. In fact, if you count Saturday afternoon when I was prepping for our games night with Scott's work nerds, I actually came undone. I cried and cried about what a terrible person I am.

When I told Bex at lunch on Monday about how I spent Saturday afternoon crying about being a terrible person, she actually laughed out loud. "You're a terrible person?!" she exclaimed. "That's so funny, Jennifer Myszkowski!"

Well, it wasn't funny when I was crying out loud about it, but I guess it's funny in retrospect.

We've recently made new friends with a couple. Being in a couple means you make friends with people in couples. Couples culture is really weird. That's a story for another day.

Anyway, one member of the couple is a mortgage specialist, so I consulted with her about the mortgage I got approved for, and her bank has a mortgage "product" that I qualify for that has a WAY lower interest rate.

I don't think in math. At all. And now I'm having conversations with various people that are basically all about the math of making the money I have stretch into a bunch of different things. It actually makes my brain hurt.

The beauty part is that I have no qualms about saying, "I have no idea what you just said to me." When I was younger, I had a hard time admitting total incomprehension. Now I just don't care if people think I'm a moron. Sometimes when the people are talking to me in math, I have to actually cover my eyes and listen just to the words to try to make myself understand.

I regret how things have gone with math and me. I was so good at it in junior high. I was so full of promise. God damn you, honors algebra 2! See! That's how good I was. My teacher recommended me for honors algebra 2. Alas, it was my math downfall, despite staying after school two and three times a week for extra help. I just couldn't recover.

We're consulting tomorrow morning with our realtor about our counter-offer. We'll see what happens. I'll keep you posted. Obviously.

No news

Inquiring minds want to know what the house story is, but I'm afraid there's no news to report. The seller is still out of the country.

I stopped feeling nervous about it, which is good. I stopped feeling nervous on Monday sometime. I'm taking a wait-and-see attitude, while at the same time hoping for a good outcome. Just the same, I'd like the seller to find her way to a telephone so as to let us know what the what is.

Scott's been collecting boxes at work and he's started packing his books. I haven't started packing just yet. Since I did such a huge cleanse before he moved in, I think I'll only need to shed a little more crap before I'm lean and mean and ready to move. I mostly need to shred stuff, which I find to be an odious task (and which explains why there's a giant box of papers to be shredded by my desk). Paperless society, where are you?

Grandma

I was talking to my mother yesterday and she kept saying, "I'm sorry it was so hard for you with Grandma."

I said to her, "It wasn't hard for me at all; it was hard for Grandma."

Is it easy to be with a human who is so confused? No. And I admit that it was hard not to get annoyed by the constant questions. But at the end of the day, I know where I am and how I got here. I'm not constantly looking for my keys, my coat or my purse. I'm not waking up in the middle of the night to look for my car.

All I did is spend three hours on a Saturday afternoon with a nice, albeit confused, old lady.

It's very hard for my mother, who has taken both Grandma and No-legs in. My mother can be a real so-and-so sometimes, but she sure does have the courage of her convictions. She decided that she didn't want her parents in a nursing home and she rearranged her life so that they wouldn't be.

It's also hard for my sister who is filling in for my mother while my mother is taking a much needed vacation.

But it's hardest of all, by far, for Grandma, who constantly is trying to figure out what she's doing here and why and can't seem to figure it out for more than a few minutes.

Big news!

We put in an offer on a house over the weekend. We haven't heard anything yet, but we're on pins and needles.

It's an 1890's Philadelphia-style, brick row house (end unit) with a small yard, lots of windows and loads of charm. It needs some work, but not more than we can handle (hopefully).

I just talked to our agent and she reported that the seller is out of the country now and that she'll keep us posted. Meanwhile, I'll just be barfing nervously into any available receptical.

Sweet God!

Yesterday when I was signing the offer form, I was actually weeping from the nerves. Everything feels right about this place, so I'm not nervous about that part, it's just the whole thing is so big and scary and I'm a human.

'I'm sorry it's so hard for you right now'

That's what I kept saying to my Grandmother today. Over and over. I spent the afternoon with her. She's got the Alzheimer's.

She kept saying, "I'm so confused. I'm so confused!" She cried about being confused for a while and I turned my head so she didn't know I was crying too. She spent our entire time together trying to order her world.

"Did we just see Grandpa?"

Yes.

"Did I kiss him goodbye?"

Yes. And you held his hand and he told you he loves you and you told him you love him.

"Oh. Okay. I saw Grandpa yesterday."

No, you just saw him today.

"When is he coming home?"

He's coming home on Wednesday.

"Your parents are in Florida, right?"

Yes.

"Did they drive there?"

No, they flew.

"When are they coming home? Wednesday?"

Yes, Wednesday.

"Aren't they going to be tired from driving."

No, they're flying.

"Oh, that's right. When's Grandpa coming home?"

Wednesday.

"Where's my purse?"

You didn't bring it with you.

"Did I bring my purse?"

No, it's at home.

"Where's my coat?"

I hung up your coat on the coat rack.

"Did I hang my coat up?"

No, I hung it up for you.

"Where's my purse?"

It's at home. You don't have your purse today.

"I thought I had my purse here. How am I going to pay?"

I'm paying. You don't have to worry about it.

"Thanks for helping me, Jenny. I really appreciate it. I have to pay you back."

No you don't. Everything is fine. Don't worry about it.

"Don't go getting old, Jenny. It's hard to get old. You just keep forgetting."

I'll try to avoid it if I can.

"Do you have my purse?"

Your purse is at home.

"How did I get here?"

Tesia drove you.

"Where's my car?"

You haven't driven it in a few years and you gave it to Kaelyn.

"Oh, that's right. I miss Grandpa."

I know. It's hard.

"We've been married more than 60 years!"

Yes. That's a long time.

"I was born in 1926. It's two thousand and..."

Eight. It's 2008.

"Am I 62?"

No, you're 82.

"82?! Hm."

Yeah.

"Have I met your friend?"

Scott?

"Is that his name? Have I met him?"

Yes. Here's a picture of him.

"Oh, Scott! I've met Scott!"

Yes.

"I was born in 1926. It's two thousand and..."

Eight. It's 2008.

"Gosh, I guess I must be...82?"

Yup, you're 82.

"Does your sister know I'm with you? Does she know to pick me up here?"

Yes.

"How did I get here?"

Tesia dropped you off to visit Grandpa and I picked you up to take you to lunch.

"Oh, that's right. How am I getting home?"

Tesia knows you're here. Remember we just talked to her on the phone to be sure she knew?

"Did I kiss Grandpa goodbye?"

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Alzheimer's is a terrible disease.