Hey, look at this strangely unhealed part of me!

Scott and I had a stupid fight earlier this week. Not a fight exactly. A misunderstanding? I don't know what. He was laughing at me (like, really hard) and I wasn't taking it well.

We ended up having this really, really serious talk about mockery. I mean, I mock him from the stage all the time. And even though it's mockery, I think the undercurrent of my jokes about him really is that I love him very much. I think it's true of my jokes about anyone I joke about (my mother might argue that point).

He was mocking me at home and laughing so hard that he fell on the ground. Plunk! Right over.

When we got to our serious talk about what happened and why I was so upset, I had a really hard time articulating what the problem was. I mock Scott all the time, so why does it bother me that Scott mocks me? Part of the difference for me is that I mock Scott with his full permission and it's clear that it's all jokes - and that he's in on them.

Scott started asking me questions about my growing-up times. Was I mocked as a child? Uh, yes? A lot. Mercilessly. And it turns out I'm a little bit tender-hearted about it. Or a lot tender-hearted, as it turns out.

And that's when I realized that I turned funny so I could control the laughter. You can't laugh at me if I'm in on the joke. And it blew my fucking mind.

Last week, one of my friends was telling me about a teen-aged relative who had to have brain surgery that was risky but 100% necessary. I wondered what grade the child was in and when I found out that s/he was going to have to go back to school with his/her head shaved, I started to cry a little bit. The part where the child had to have his/her brain cut open? Scary, but okay. Fine. I don't have to cry about that. The part where s/he'd have to face his/her peers with a shaved head? I couldn't bear it.

My niece started wearing a camelbak this past spring. Apparently, she wants to stay fully hydrated. When I found out she was wearing it to school, I started having total anxiety. Kids are the worst. And when you do anything that makes you different from the other kids, you're basically asking for it. I asked my sister if the other kids were making fun of my niece for wearing a camelbak and she said no, that the other kids thought she was cool for having it. I asked if the other kids were getting camelbaks and she said no, but they thought my niece was cool.

I guess that means that we're doing something right with that kid that she decides she wants to do something, does it, and doesn't have the least bit of anxiety about it. That, my friends, is sweet success.

But coming back to my point here. Just when I thought I was a pretty whole and balanced person, somehow I found, with Scott's help, a terrible unhealed part of me lurking where I least expected it.

I was part of an interesting Facebook conversation tonight with some other comics about the Joan Rivers documentary (which I haven't seen yet), in which Joan's daughter says that comics are insecure and need reassurance. One of my comic friends said that it's just an old stereotype. I said, "I'm insecure and need constant affirmation. I assumed we all did." When pressed for more information about if my insecurities are the reason I started comedy, I said, "For me, it's all about controlling the laughter. People have been laughing at me my whole life, and I just needed to be in charge of it."

Anyway, this is a total breakthrough.

Aging gracefully a la chin hair

I'm turning 34 on Saturday. At the precise moment of my birth, 7:43 p.m., I'll be ushering in my 35th year by enjoying a Prairie Home Companion live from the Koussivetsky Music Shed at Tanglewood in Lenox. PHC is at Tanglewood every year on my birthday weekend, but I'm usually too busy throwing myself a party to go. This year, the party is going to be later in the summer (invitations forthcoming) and I, finding that I had nothing planned for my birthday evening, went and planned something for myself. If you listen to the broadcast, imagine me crying in the audience, because I will surely be crying. Uh oh, I'm getting choked up right now just thinking of it.

You may become jealous when you learn that Martin Sheen and Steve Martin are both on the show Saturday. I'm just saying.

About a year ago or so ago, I noticed that I had a small, black chin hair. I thought it was an errant eyebrow hair, but it didn't brush away. I plucked it instantly. It grew back a few months later. I plucked it again and began a vigilant search for it. Basically, I rub the area of my chin with my thumb in a sweeping motion a couple times a day looking for it. I've been finding it a little more regularly than I was initially, and I'm not all that pleased about it.

About a month ago, I plucked it and it was back in a week. I freaked out a little bit.

One thing about me that I may never have made clear here is that sometimes when I think about shaving my face, I get the anxiety. My great-grandmother shaved with an electric razor every day, and the thought of such a fate fills me with the dread and the full-on anxiety so much so that I have to force myself not to think of it.

The thing is, I realized that it wasn't the same hair. Now I have two chin hairs! Sweet god! The humanity!

On Sunday, I was rubbing my chin, felt a chin hair, moved posthaste to the bathroom mirror, brandished the tweezers and basically stared at my chin. I couldn't see anything. I moved to another mirror and different light. I still couldn't see anything, but damn it if I couldn't feel a wiry little hair. Finally, I trained the tweezers upon it and pulled.

Friends, what I pulled out of my chin was a white chin hair. Oh. My. Fucking. God. It was white. And just a tiny smidgen of the end was black. So my former black chin hair is now white.

This is great, because now it's way harder to see and there's little risk of anyone observing my chin hair with their own eyes. But I'm not sure white chin hair is what I'm ready for at this juncture.

Luckily, I don't have a choice. It's just an extra-special birthday present from my waning hormones to my face.

Awesome!

We're fine! We're fine!

One afternoon a few years ago, Ann and I were driving to the Studio in Cambridge. I was at the helm of her car, which is how we roll. Right near where I-84 spills into the Pike, a vehicle came to a dead stop right in the middle of the fast lane, which is where we were. Since all the lanes were nearly bumper-to-bumper, I could do nothing but slam on the brakes.

It was really scary. But the scariest part is the part where I started shouting, "We're fine! We're fine!" over and over again, at a point where it was not clear that we were nor would be fine.

Perhaps it was the power of my positive thinking that helped us narrowly escape a giant highway pileup. I would like to think that it helped in some way.

We drove a distance in silence. We were a bit shaken (not stirred) by the whole experience. Suddenly, it blew over when Ann began openly mocking me by shouting, "We're fine! We're fine!"

She asked with a laugh, "What was that, 'We're fine! We're fine!' thing all about?"

Hell if I knew. But it's become a thing we shout when things are more stressful than we'd like. We've even shared it with some colleagues. Every now and again, you'll hear cries of, "We're fine! We're fine!" coming from our area of cubicles followed closely by laughter and hard work.

We're basically in a constant state of, "We're fine! We're fine!" in the house right now. Things are just starting to shape up and seem almost like it's a place where people can safely live.

Scott's doing much better than I am. I have a hard time with chaos, and have been falling apart regularly due to same.

I've been trying to keep it together so I can get things done, but sometimes I find it pretty paralyzing. Also, I have been having the racing thoughts about everything we need to do. A couple nights ago, I came undone reciting lists of things we had to do. I kept listing all the things and talking in circles and making just about no sense. When I had worked myself up into crying out loud, Scott handed me a clipboard and some paper and advised me to make a list.

So I did, and it really helped. Now we have the clip board and a dry-erase board with the stuff we need to do and want to do ranked by when we want to do it and how big the job is. This is progress.

Moving is so hard. I don't know how people do it. I know people who move every couple years and I, frankly, don't know how they maintain any level of sanity. I really don't intend to move ever again. It may happen; since I am not a seer, I can't know what the future holds. As far as I'm concerned, however, I'm here for the long haul.

We made some real progress over the weekend. My dad and I hooked up the stove and lit all the pilots (scary) on Saturday. When I say, "my dad and I", what that really means is my dad did it while I stood by and handed him things (and worried just a little bit about blowing up). On Sunday, Margaret came over for most of the day and helped me set up the pantry and unpack all the kitchen stuff. All of these things mean I can cook up proper meals again and we can stop eating take-out and mooching off our friends.

Also on Sunday, the Comcast man came and fixed the internet connection in the house, so now we're online. I can't seem to get the wireless to work properly, but at least we can plug in and have a connection.

So, in sum, we're fine! We're fine.

Moving on up, to the east side to our deluxe house on Saint James

Our official move date is Sunday. Holy hell. It seems like we've had the house for months and months, what with all the work we've done. But it's only been three weeks since our closing!

We met a very nice man thanks to craigslist* who sanded our floors and basically made them totally beautiful. Joe (that's his name) told us that our floors are not pine, which is what everyone else said they were. Of course, he became intimately acquainted with them in a fashion that no one else did. But it turns out that our floors are hemlock. How about that?

Anyway, our floors will be done tomorrow, and then will need a couple days to mellow, so we're moving in on Sunday.

I'm really pleased about this turn of events because I am about 100% ready for this moving process to be over. I reached a fevered pitch of heart-pounding anxiety tonight. Sunday can't come soon enough.

Today, Scott got a U-Haul and moved a bunch of stuff he can move by himself. I'm gathering a small band of ladies on Saturday to help me with the final packing while Scott is at work. Then Sunday, we'll have a small band of helpers to help with the final big stuff. Then it will be over.

Oh! Hear this excellent news! I found an awesome, awesome dining room set on craigslist for a low price. It's extra fancy and the table extends to eight feet long! Scott and I had just been talking about what we were going to do in our big new dining room. Now we will dine there!

I'm hoping that once we're done with the madness that I will return to blogging about hilarious things. I hope you will bear with me as we get through this crazy time.

Thank you.

* If you're looking for someone to sand your floors, consider Joe. He came in with the best quote and he was just about the nicest person ever. We met a couple total shysters -- one that quoted us fully twice as much as this guy and bellyached about how hard it would be to sand our floors. Joe definitely knew they were hard floors, but he didn't bellyache or try to separate us from any more of our money than his original quote. I can't recommend him highly enough.

Jennifer Myszkowski, home owner

Everyone told me there would be a bunch of signing, that my hand was going to hurt, that it was going to go on and on. Turns out it wasn't so bad. Maybe it's because everyone prepared me so well that it was like a breeze.

Now the real work begins.

You may be interested to know that I didn't cry at all at the closing. I did cry a little bit at the walk-through, but that's because I'm a human. On our way to the walk-through, I had to rush to a nearby Dunkin Donuts to avoid soiling myself from the nerves.

All in all, though, we made it through with flying colors over here. Now we just have to wait for the deed to be filed this afternoon, then we can go pick up our keys (the seller's lawyer is crazy old-school and wouldn't let us have the keys until the filing).

If anyone wants any recommendations for such things as mortgage broker or real estate lawyer, please e-mail me. I'll be glad to pass some names on to you.

I have to develop a callous (first I have to grow some skin!)

I went to my bank this afternoon to have money taken from my savings account and turned into a bank check in the amount of my down payment.

I was at the radio station this morning getting ready to leave and do that very thing and I started feeling shaky just thinking about it. I was having a bit of anxiety and ended up talking about it with my buddy Jeff. We talk every Saturday after my radio show for a little bit. He's on the air right after me at our sister station. It's funny how we've made friends just from talking casually for about 10 minutes every Saturday.

Anyway, I was saying to Jeff that I knew I'd be a little anxious about all the house-buying bullshit because I'm an anxious person in general, but I was surprised to be freaking out just giving a person a check. It's just that it's so much money. And it's not that much money in the grand scheme of things. But it took me SO LONG to save - I've been saving for damned near forever - and even though I have been saving for this very purpose, handing a sizable check to someone is a big deal.

He totally agreed with me, which was helpful.

I went to the bank and asked for a bank check. I told the teller that I was buying my first house and I was freaking out a little. Turns out she's buying her first house too, so she had the empathy. I had to fill out a form with all the information about the bank check, and as I was signing the paper, I thought, "Jesus Christ, I'm going to start crying."

She started entering everything in to the computer to get the check going. She double-checked spelling and made sure everything was right. The longer I stood there, the more my eyes filled up. I was in a total state of panic.

I was thinking about thousands of things about the house, but mostly I was thinking about how much money it is.

Of all the things I worry about, money is probably number one. I'm wired to worry about money. I cannot escape worrying about money to matter how hard I try - even when I have plenty of money. You can imagine my state of mind getting this check cut.

Up until this point, I kept my tears in my eyes, but when the teller walked over to get the check off the printer, it was basically over. I was crying; tears flowed in earnest.

She put the check in an envelope and handed it to me and I could hardly thank her for the tears. She smiled at me and said, "Good luck, Jen."

(Aside: I go to one of those banks that insists on calling you by name, but they want it to seem familiar and friendly, so they shorten your name into a nickname no one calls you.)

I gurgled something back to her and ran out to the car and cried out loud for a few minutes. Then I drove over to Margaret and Jeremy's and cried at their kitchen table.

Margaret said that from now on everything is going to cost a thousand dollars or some multiple of a thousand dollars and I'll need to develop a callous to it or I'm going to lose my mind. I know she's right. I just don't know how I'll afford anything ever again.

How am I going to make it through the closing without panicking and crying out loud?

I'm just not going to. I've met myself a few times and I know myself well enough to know that I'm going to panic and weep through every part of this process.

Here's the balm for my weary soul: I'm not just spending this down payment money. It's an investment. This house is a great bargain. I'm in an excellent position. I'm doing the right thing.

As Jeff said to me while I was coming undone at the station, "Deep cleansing breaths, Jennifer. Deep cleansing breaths."

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.

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.