Romie's Profile

I enjoy washing pots and pans as long as I'm doing it as part of the cooking process - stuff comes out of the pan, pan goes quickly under the tap for a scrub, and on to the drying rack. But if it's a pan that's been sitting out for even two hours, soaking or dry, it makes me want to vomit. That means my husband and I can't do the classic "I cooked, so you clean" scout-style division of labor, because he is NOT someone who cleans as he goes (which he hates doing), and I am NOT someone who is willing to wait and do a pile of dishes at the end. Whoever cooks also has to do dishes (which as an economist I like anyway, because it solves the externality problem).

In a happier kitchen matchup, he hates chopping vegetables, and I love chopping vegetables. And I hate cooking chicken and he's great at chicken.

You know that "I don't buy books anymore!" (in which I assume you're including e-books, perhaps incorrectly) is the same thing as saying "I don't pay authors anymore!", right? Which is kind of weird if you're into reading.

I like getting photos, because I have friends and relatives I don't see every year and it's nice to see how they've changed. More so with the kids, because kids LOOK REALLY DIFFERENT FROM YEAR TO YEAR. Parents look about how I remember from a few years ago.

I had the opposite issue - I was always the youngest in my class, but also the most advanced academically. But I wasn't allowed to skip forward because my parents and teachers worried about me being so much younger than my "peers." I see what they were getting at, but it was also weird to be in a class with people close to my age, working on material that was so dramatically different from what I was doing. It was less of a big deal once I hit high school, with A.P. classes where grade level wasn't as emphasized, although I still did a lot of tutoring. I'm relieved to be past all that, at an age where I can define my peers without tying it to age.

Meanwhile, one of my best friends, who was redshirted, and who was valedictorian of her school, lied to her friends about her birthday until she was 30, first because she was afraid people would think she'd failed a grade, and later because she was afraid people would think she was top of the class because she "cheated" instead of because she was really smart. (And she is really smart.)

Meanwhile, my sister, who was borderline on the cutoff, repeated kindergarden because she had a reading disorder, and it seemed like she'd do better as the oldest kid than as the youngest kid. She wound up smack in the middle with both sports and academics - average. She worried that "average" was "stupid," but went on to be a successful artist and a pretty funny writer.

Which I guess goes to show it's really about the kid, that it's all about tradeoffs, and that given support most people will wind up okay - and will wind up like themselves.

I like goat milk on cereal. And goat's milk ice cream is wonderful.

@noticetothepublic. Some of us wear lots of stuff. It's not necessarily new stuff. For some people, clothes are like art supplies. No need to high horse about it.

Cool running water, then yellow mustard. I don't know why yellow mustard works, it just does. It may just be a matter of being cool from the refrigerator and being something I can slather on thickly that doesn't run and doesn't contain fats. Makes it feel better, and I don't get scars. I've searched for some kind of scientific backing to this, but haven't found any. On the other hand, I also haven't found warnings not to use it.

Gross.

Not only does this make sexist assumptions about which pastimes appeal to men and women, but it emphasizes the importance of catering to men in areas where women would not similarly be pampered. When is the last time there was a "ladies lounge" at a Home Depot where I could relax and get my nails done? (In the world where men don't buy furniture, women don't buy power tools.)

You could have called this anything but MANLAND and I'd be thrilled, since I love video games and hate being dragged along to IKEA. Instead, I have one more reason not to go.

We live in the Crazy Guggenheim house. I think Sinatra stayed in my bedroom.

My family moved constantly - my parents moved to their last house right after I moved out. And it's huge! More than a decade later, I'm living with them again (by choice for all of us; we like each other a lot, and as I said the house is huge).

We've been going through all the old stuff of mine they hoarded; they're more sentimental about it than I am, and it is a challenge to get Mom to let go of, for instance, my old Barbies. But we have all committed to the process, which is necessary because we were running out of storage space.

My husband loves the process of going through my old stuff, though, imagining me as a kid. That's been nice and kind of surprising.

Anyway, the house has never felt frozen in time; my DIY and redecorating instincts are perhaps genetically inherited, and rooms around here don't tend to stay locked down for long before someone decides to tinker.