So when we moved into our new house, I resolved to make a few fresh starts. The move was in November, which was close enough to the New Year to be another motivating factor, but NOT New Year’s resolutions. I need to be very clear about that. Because we all know New Year’s resolutions fail. Which is why we have to make them again each year.

Now that it’s been a few months, I thought I could share my progress.

Fresh start #1: Keep new house clean.

Have you ever moved before? It will really show you what a pig you are. (Or maybe it was just us?) When our stuff left the old place, I was appalled at the filth that was left behind. Dog hair, piles of dust bunnies, dirty bathrooms … I could go on, but you might vomit. How could we be so utterly disgusting as human beings?! That was it. I was converted to a cleaning-type person….Every counter, both toilets, floors, sinks, under beds….they were all going to stay clean. And, um….yeah. About that…

Grade: C- (Not an F because I do keep my new kitchen fairly clean, and because I swept the other day.)

Fresh start #2: Make bed daily.

Ok, so it’s not a big deal, but don’t things just look nicer when your bed is made? Everything just seems fresher and it feels more complete to turn down the covers at night, vs. fall into the pile where you slept the night before. I’m doing pretty well on this one. Mr. Q has even contributed a few times, and there were claims of a made bed even while I was away on my last business trip.

Grade: B+

Fresh start #3: Recycle glass

I can’t tell you how many conversations I had in my last house that went like this: Guest with an empty beer: “Do you recycle your bottles?” Me: “No. We are evil people. Please put that in the trash.” It was true. We were evil. Our piles of glass bottles will sit in landfills for years reminding the world of our failure to recycle in the old house. But along came the new house, and I decided that I could no longer live with my non-recycling ways. It was quite frankly laziness at it’s worst. Do you know how easy it is to recycle glass? Well let me tell you about Kansas City, at least. It’s really stinking easy. (And it does kind of stink. More about that in a second.) Near our grocery store, is a big blue dumpster. You put your glass in your car. Drive your car to the grocery store, (because you were going there anyway.) Stop your car for a second. Get the glass out and put it into the dumpster. (It might be loud, but you’ll survive.) Then, get back in your car and continue on your way, a better person.

Now here’s the part I wasn’t prepared for. Since most of our glass bottles do involve a booze of some sort, there was a bit of a problem with the return drive home the first two times I did this. As in the car reeked. As in, I probably would have gotten a DUI for the smell alone had and officer pulled me over. So, now I have to add the extra step of rinsing my bottles out with soapy water after each use, but it’s still totally worth it. I sleep better at night now.

Grade: A+

Fresh start #4: Cook more. Eat out less.

I’m ROCKING this one. Right before we moved, Mr. Quirky and I had gotten into a terrible habit of eating out all the time. It was bad for our wallets and our waist lines. Since moving in, I must say I have done a tremendous job at planning meals ahead, doing a weekly grocery store trip and cooking our meals. It works out really well for me because I work from home, so I just have leftovers for lunch. My favorite cooking sites are www.Macheesmo.com and www.skinnytaste.com. I like both of their recipes and cooking styles.

Fresh start #5:

Blog again.

Enough said.

It was all, “What? You want a piece of this? Are you afraid of my new fancy pasta making attachments?”

I was.

I was so afraid that I didn’t even remove them from their packaging. (Which by the way, made them very easy to pack up when we moved to the new house.)

Don’t get me wrong. I wanted to step up the the challenge. But I was a big fat chicken. (Sqawk begawk! <---That's my Arrested Development chicken dance.)

But yesterday, I dusted the dust off that beautiful red kitchen appliance and grabbed my flour. It was on.

At first, it was ugly. I mean U-G-L-Y. Round one went to the mixer. I had peas. That's right, peas. You know how when you make pie crust, the dough is supposed to look like it has little peas in it? Well that's what my pasta dough looked like. It also crumbled in my hands when I tried to work with it.

And into the trash.

So, we had to start alllll over again. Luckily round two was looking a lot better for Queen of Quirky.

Especially after I I discovered something marvelous. Why didn't you food people tell me how much fun it is to play with the roller attachments?!

It’s like play-dough for grown ups. But when you eat it, it tastes good! (Of course I ate my play-dough. Didn’t you?)

I blame you for not telling me and keeping me from a whole year of pasta making bliss. (My hips, on the other hand are thankful.)

I think it’s safe to say Queen of Quirky won the battle. So what did I make with my new carb-factory?

Great question!

So, there is this blogger named, The Pioneer Woman. She cooks things sometimes and is on T.V. and stuff. I hear people like her.

Also, she has a recipe for stuffed mushrooms that I have adopted into my party repertoire. I really wanted to change the recipe, and put my own spin on it, but darn it, they are pretty much perfect. I wish I had invented them.

I wish I had invented a lot of things. Like snuggies and that little hook carry in your bag to hang said bag on when you are sitting at the bar and having too many martoonies. And yes, you say martoonies if you have had too many.

Focus.

So these mushrooms. Always a hit.

But always way too much filling. (I tried to over fill them, but then they tip over and you have to burn your fingers scooping the hot filling off the pan. I learned. Don’t overfill.)

However, thanks to my brilliant friend Elam, I had the leftover filling in my freezer from my last batch.

Have I mentioned Elam? He is awesome. He helped me cook my menu for my holiday party this year. We pretended like we were on Top Chef, only we were only in my kitchen and I was wearing my silly Cookin’ Clause apron.

Elam had the idea to freeze the filling. Normally, I would have eaten it in my bathroom with a spoon, but Elam is smart about food. He has ideas and stuff. He also has a blog, but I don’t know the URL and so I’m practicing horrible blogiquette by not linking to him.

So thanks to Elam, I had this filling which I decided would be amazing ravioli filling!

Guess what? I am smart about food too!

It was amazing. I whipped up a little mushroom wine sauce to go with it. I kind of felt like I was on a cooking show because “deconstructing” delicious things is the hot new trend, right?

So just in case you don’t want to eat the rest of your Pioneer Woman mushroom filling with a spoon alone in shame, here is a great use for it.

Queen of Quirky’s Pioneer Woman Stuffed Mushroom Ravioli

What you’ll need:
Leftover mushroom filling. Thawed, if frozen.
1 1/4 lb of Basic Egg Pasta sheets from the Kitchen Aid pasta roller attachment booklet thingy. (Or just 1 1/4 lb of basic egg pasta your way.)
1 egg white in a splash of water for an egg wash.
Large pot of salted boiling water.

1 stick of butter (I know. This is a treat.)
8 oz of baby bella mushrooms
4 cloves of garlic finely minced
1 teaspoon of finely minced fresh sage (Or more, if you love sage. It’s a strong taste, so use your nose to guide you.)
A generous splashy of Pinot Grigio (Sorry, I forgot to measure. Maybe 1/2 cup?)
Salt/pepper to taste
Fresh grated parm to taste

What you do:
Assemble your ravioli by cutting two squares of similar size out of your pasta, placing a dab of the filling in the middle, brush the egg wash around the square with the filling, and place the second pasta square on top, securing the filling by pressing on all four sides. Then trim. Repeat until you are out of pasta.

While your water is reaching boil, melt the butter in a saucepan. Add your garlic, mushrooms, sage and wine. Bring to simmer.

Carefully drop your ravioli into the boiling water- probably about 8 at a time, but no more.

Cook pasta for about 2 minutes. When each “batch” is done, use a slotted spoon to drop into the sauce. It’s okay if pasta water gets in too. It helps bring the sauce and the pasta closer together, like wine on a first date. Stir your pasta into your sauce each time. Add salt and pepper to taste and grate your cheese over the entire pot (to taste.)

When all the pasta is in the sauce, give it a good but gentle stir and serve quickly while piping hot.

Tada! You’ve used your mushroom filling to make something that everyone can enjoy! (Serves 6-8, depending on how hungry your gang is.)

The Kitchen Aid twitter people are nice and sometimes will tweet with me, but they in no way had anything to do with this blog post. My mom gave me my Kitchen Aid as a wedding present. It’s the second time she has gifted me a mixer. The first mixer did not survive my divorce, but I did. So in many ways I’m much stronger than the mixer.

Pioneer Woman said hi to me in the hall twice at BlogHer 2010, but she doesn’t know my name, or that I like to save her mushroom filling and cook with it, or eat it secretly.

What time?

Time for the weekend in review, duh.

Have you ever done a weekend in review before?

Well, no, but it seemed like a good idea, so I’m going to.

Get on with it, then.

Fine. Saturday, I decided to get my nifty thrifty finds on at our local Urban Mining. The best part was, sharing the afternoon with my gal pal @hrdlyclvr. (Follow her on Twitter! She’s actually quite clever.) I was looking for a coffee table. While I didn’t find that, I found some other fun items.

Looking for a quirky new chandelier? How ’bout this hatty one.

I really need an elephant with his party hat on.

A stack of whimsical fabric covered stools? Slightly Pinteresty, but too adorable not to share.

@Hrdlyclvr has a fancy music degree. (She’s a profesh musician, yo.) So, I think she was very qualified to pose for this picture.

I sent a text to Mr. Q, asking if he thought our parties would be enhanced if we owned this fun and oh so safe backyard game. Yeah, not so much…

And finally, I couldn’t resist picking up these kitschy cocktail trays. I’m dreaming up a classic cocktail soiree just to use them…

After urban mining, grocery shopping and miscellaneous errands, Mr. Quirky and I met some friends out to watch football. Correction: so they could watch football an I could have vodka sodas.

It got a little heated during the Lions v. Saints games. We let two rivaling fans sit next to each other.

We were later joined by a friend who was on a first date and wanted to bring her new man around to meet the gang. They stuck around for a drink.

When they got up to leave, he shook everyone’s hand and said it was nice to meet us. What a nice thing to do, right?

So what do I say in response to his polite salutation?

“Good luck!”

REALLY? Good luck? Ugh… So awkward. Good luck, I hope it lasts? Good luck, tonight? Good luck with your life, because I’ll probably never see you again?

Sometimes I wonder why anyone lets me out in public.

Luckily Mr. Quirky is used to my weirdness.

Today (Sunday), I got some stuff done around the house, discovered where all my missing socks were — in a load of laundry I apparently left in the dryer, took Ms. Gertie on a mega walk, clipped recipes from Cooking Light and in general got my Sunday on.

Is that all? I was kind of expecting a bit more the way you set this post up.

Yeah, well, well…. good luck.

Three months earlier, I was sitting at a kitchen table in Cedar Rapids, IA declaring that Mr. Q and I were not the buying type and were very content to be low-maintenance renters. (Otherwise, what happens in Cedar Rapids, stays in Cedar Rapids, so we’ll leave it at that.)

It’s funny how life changes.

It was a whirlwind crazy process, made slightly easier by the fact that one of my best friends was our real estate agent. I have to admit, looking at other peoples’ houses is quite fun. It’s kind of like being a guest without having to mind your manners. There was the one house where Mr. Q had to drag me away from the garden where I was inches away from grabbing a handful of fresh rosemary from a massive rosemary plant(bush?) There was the other house where there was a bathroom with a massive Jacuzzi tub right off the kitchen. I mean, we’re talking inches away from the stove. So bizarre. And while the idea of jumping up to stir my soup mid-bath was slightly intriguing, I had to wonder who had THAT idea?

Complicating our house buying experience was the fact that I pretty much lived in Chicago due to work travel during the month of October. This meant that Mr. Quirky had to do all the heavy lifting in getting our loan. Let’s just say, Mr. Quirky was gifted a pair of Chiefs football tickets because without him, we would NOT have gotten our loan.

I absolutely love the new Quirkyville. Most people have said it is “so us.”

(Whatever THAT means.)

But seriously, this house is awesome. Here are some of my favorite things we’ve put in it:

I have always wanted one of these:

I can already see the wine that will be sloshed while sitting in it this summer.

For Christmas, Mr. Quirky got me this. It’s so amazing. The cooking pot is currently in the shop (it’s practically an antique.) But I cannot WAIT until we fire this bad boy up.

Our house is old, like over 100 years old. I like to think of all the glamorous ladies who must have lived here. I have a pretty big imagination. Anyhow, I bought this at an antique market so I could try to be one of them.

I wanted to get a new bedspread set for our bedroom. Okay, so I really wanted an excuse to shop at Anthropologie. But the set I wanted was sold out online. So, I found it on eBay for a decent price. Two weeks after I got it, I went to the Black Friday sale and found it sitting in a sale bin for about 70% LESS than I paid for it. It made me sick. But despite that, I still love it. It’s called the Love Letters duvet set, and it’s made from old love letters from a vintage book store in Brooklyn. Isn’t it sweet? It’s fun to try to read some of them too.

Speaking of reading, you never know when you are going to need a little assistance in life. A Magic 8 ball can come in very handy…

“You May Rely On It.”

There’s nothing wrong with that.

Discovering your husband is Pinteresty? Now that’s a problem.

Earlier this week, I made it clear that according to Pinterest, I fall well below the bar on innovations around the home.

After a few glasses of wine with my girlfriends, I discovered, Mr. Quirky has been secretly trying to raise the bar in Quirkyville. Damn him!

This is how it went down.

Friend number one was trying to leave, but she couldn’t find her keys. Friend number two went on a key-finding excursion.

I stayed put and drank more wine, because that’s the type of hostess I am.

Friend number two was not coming up with any lost keys, but she did think it was clever to have a shoe organizer on the main floor. Only when she looked in the shoe cubbies, she discovered….the shoe holder was not keeping the Quirky family shoes organized.

Wait a second! These aren't shoes!

The clever Mr. Quirky turned a shoe organizer into a remote control organizer.

And just like that, he became Pinteresty right under my nose.

I almost panicked and started looking for an old Lysol Wipes container to start filling with expertly rolled Target bags, but I stopped myself.

Because I can’t compete with that kind of home storage innovation.

And because there was wine to drink.

Meanwhile Friend number two was confirming that the remote controls did not go on one’s feet. While Friend number one still didn’t have keys. (We found them minutes later.)

This morning, I got up and stared at it.

It’s so stinking clever! How on earth did the Quirky’s end up with a Pinteresty storage solution?

I determined it had to be a fluke. It’s the only explanation. And suddenly everything was right in our world again.

Only I might have to put a pair of shoes in there…just in case.

*Pinteresty- Queen of Quirky’s word for a person who can take ordinary items and use them in a clever or crafty way they were not intended for, in order to create an efficiency or attractive solution for the home. A Pinteresty person would then share their ingenuity on the social bulletin board, Pinterest.com. In a sentence: Queen of Quirky is not Pinteresty.

Image clipped from Pinterest. Originally from a creative genius who probably owns a glue gun and blogs at tatertotsandjello.blogspot.com

Neither did I. Until Pinterest told me.

If you are unfamiliar with Pinterest, let me quickly bring you up to speed. It’s an online world of people’s virtual bulletin boards. Find an image online? You can pin it on one of your many themed boards for all the world to see. Or, for Queen of Quirky to see and know just how hard she fails at life.

Want to know where MY stash of Target bags and the like are? Squished up under my kitchen sink, so anytime you go to get anything else out, all the bags fall on the floor and you have to pick them up and shove them back in. Be sure to close the door fast before they fall out again.

Want to know where they are going to stay? That way.

Other things Pinterest has taught me that I’m failing at:

Photo from Pinterest but originally from unplggd.com, where someone apparently has more ingenuity than I will ever hope to have.

The cords under my computer are not labeled using the plastic tags that hold the Wonder Bread closed. Nope, they are a tangled mess. You know how I can tell which cord goes to each device? Pull on the cord and see if my monitor doesn’t come crashing to the ground. It didn’t? Then it’s probably the printer.

Clipped from Pinterest but originally from martinfamilyliving.blogspot.com, where all the family boots are in pristine condition and well-organized!

And the three pairs of brown boots I own are slouched over in my closet, somewhere on top of the 18 pairs of flats and certainly on top of the 21 pairs of heels I can no longer wear because I’m old and they hurt. They are not hanging adorably from a skirt hanger. (Do I even own a skirt hanger?)

Pinterest also likes to tell me that I fail at fashion, crafts, decorating and cooking. (Ok, cooking not so much. If I were to ever blog food again, I could totally get “repinned.” Hint: being repinned is the ultimate Pinterest compliment.)

However, I have found a few things here and there that don’t make me feel like a failure. Most of them fueled by my addiction to shopping, and because my Amazon Wish List was getting too long, and I had to have a place to document all my materialism.

Also, I really like elephants. I think they are the new “put a bird on it.“. I have an entire theory on how owls were trying to be the new birds, and then cranes stepped in while the octopus tried for a brief moment of fame, but elephants are where it’s at. You’ll get it when you see my boards.

This gets me to my point. I’ve given up on hating on Pinterest. It’s kind of like hating Giada for being so skinny and still being able to eat all that pasta. At some point, you just give up the hating and start making her food because it just tastes good.

So while you won’t find clever tips for organizing your Q-tips, or how to make a wreath out of your old underwear (I swear someone is going to post that someday and I’m going to be all, that was MY idea!) you will find a variety of quirky clips — recipes, fashion inspirations, elephants or whatever I decide the new bird of the moment is, on my boards. So, if you are so inclined to click the little Follow Me on Pinterest button that my Fairy BlogMother added for me this morning, I’d love to show you my stuff. And you can show me yours, but I’m not repinning that clever idea for storing your towels in hanging wine racks over your toilet. Because wine racks are for wine. Not towels. End of story.

Clipped from Pinterest, but originally from itsrusticliving.blogspot.com where they apparently do not drink enough wine, but they take a lot of baths.

*Lysol did not have anything to do with this post.
*Target only knows me by my Visa card.
*The images taken from pinterest were repinned by many friends and did not come from anyone in particular
*The bloggers/websites represented in the images are amazingly crafty, creative, innovative people and I’m just jealous.

No, not the fish.

BASS- where your ass meets your back and you can’t tell the difference.

Ew. Why are you sharing this, Queen of Quirky?

Because words such as bass, butterflies, fire hydrants, bridges  and planks that used to conjure up neutral, if not pleasant feelings (who doesn’t like butterflies?) now conjure up images of pain and fear.

Fear that I might get a bass.

Pain so that I might not.

Rinse and repeat.

These things happen at noon. And I hate them. But I love them.

Readers, meet my latest work-out obsession: Poolside Fitness Class. Otherwise known as the nooner.

This whole mess was started when I decided to train for another marathon. Holy geebers, remember that disaster? Why would I want to do that again?!

I don’t know. I clearly have a problem.

Luckily this time, my marathon was put on hold due to a stupid injury to my hip. An injury that involved hours of physical therapy in which a good looking dude, close to my age, spent 10 minutes a session waving an ultrasound wand on my lower right hip bone. This was very awkward.

I mean he is a nice dude, but usually when I meet nice dudes my age, I keep my pants above my hips.

It also meant I couldn’t run for a few months.

First I cried. Then I drank some vodka. Then I cried some more. I decided vodka wasn’t going to make anything better, so I decided to enlist in spin class.

Have you ever taken a spin class?

They are awful. And wonderful.

During the first class, I learned that even though I do have ample padding on my rear, in order to continue taking said class, I would need to add more padding. True story.

I also tried not to pass out on the bike. That was my main goal: keep moving without passing out.

During the second class (gel bike seat now in possession), I learned that there was a monitor in front of us playing video of what I could only imagine was supposed to be images of Mexico. I think we were supposed to be looking at it and imagining we were riding through Mexico. Or maybe Africa. (Clearly I have some geographical challenges going on.) I don’t know, there were elephants at one point.

I think.

Anyhow, the video was supposed to be inspiring.

So why did I want to throw a rock through it?

(Note: I don’t bring rocks to spin class, just so you know.)

During the third class I realized there were other people in the class who were really good at keeping up and following directions. They would probably look good riding a bike through Mexico with elephants cheering them on.

During the fourth class I realized I was never going to be good at the thing, but I had purchased the gel seat, and so as far as Amazon.com  was concerned, I was committed.

Also, the spin teacher knew my name.

It’s always bad when the director of pain knows your name. It’s kind of like when you go to a small Christian college where you can’t skip class because the teacher will run into you in the salad  bar line at lunch and ask you why you weren’t in class. Accountability. It sucks.

So there I was, going to spin class threeish times a week.

But that wasn’t enough.

I don’t know why, but it wasn’t.

Bring in the nooner.

And her.

Image courtesy of Scott Fitness

Yup. That’s my teacher.

You too can have a nooner with her.

But I would advise caution.

Unless you want pain.

Lots and lots of pain.

Also, she’s not going to go easy on you just because it’s your first time.

Let me paint an image of my first nooner (Please stop giggling at this. Let’s be grownups about this word.):

Enter QoQ.

Observes class. Everyone is on a big open floor area and has a set of hand-weights.

Not wanting to be overly ambitious, I grabbed the 3 lb weights. (You should know I have graduated to the 5lb. weights.)

And suddenly class was ON. And there was no stopping it.

I couldn’t press pause and go get a piece of cheese from the fridge. I had to do this thing. Crap.

The class starts with a bunch of jumping jacks.

After the 10th one, I felt pretty good. Ready to go home.

Oh noooooooo.

That was only the beginning. The beginning in which QoQ spent the next 50 minutes remembering basics such as you can tell your left side by making an L with your hand.

And how to count.

They aren’t kidding about that Kindergarten stuff.

Also, I fell over a lot. Specifically when doing a thing called a side plank. (Note, not sure why this image has two girls doing a side plank. Maybe it’s one of those things better done with a friend.)

I was pretty sure I was missing some ingredients necessary to hold myself up that way. I almost went to my doctor for an ultrasound.

But lo and behold, a few classes later, by accident, I’m pretty sure, I made it up for all of 20 seconds!

And then I was hooked.

Marathon? What marathon? Screw you 26.2 miles. I can do a side plank! (Note: I’m still trying for the half marathon, hip be damned!)

And so, dear readers, I’m pretty sure I may be one less side-plank away from having bass, but you can rest assure that I am putting myself through enough pain to enjoy my cheese and my whine too. I mean wine.

For shenanigans, wine, girl talk and many, many laughs.

This is their story.

It all started off with a few wrong turns.  And it ended with a few too. I mean, If I’m honest, we were lost the entire trip.

But the first wrong turn took us to a glorious place where they sold cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. More cheese than any other place in Missouri.  (I’m pretty sure that is a true fact.)

Thank goodness for bell service at the hotel. We might have spent our entire weekend lugging our bags up the four sets of stairs to our room if it weren’t for Lenny who carried our 10 bags and coolers like they were nothing.  Every story needs a hero. You should know Lenny was truly the hero of the trip.

The faster for us to get our cheese and wine on!

Mmmmm….cheese.

So much cheese.

Did I mention we ate cheese?

I um used to love cheese….

Cheese and wine brings out the silliness in us.

You know what else goes with cheese?

The next morning….

Our little hotel room reeked of cheese. You did NOT want to open the mini fridge. Oh, the poor souls who stay there next…

Also brunch was very necessary. A little eggs benny, some mimosas and coffee…it sounded so lovely.

The only problem was we were lost again. For an entire hour.

Only weren’t really lost. We were just blind, seeing as how we drove past our favorite lake brunch spot five times before we realized it.

Thank goodness they saved some food for us.

When we got back to the hotel (it was too stinking hot for much else) we discovered that ABC Family had a marathon of girly movies just for us!

I should write them a thank you note.

Or rather, add them to my overdue thank you note recipient list.

And then there was dinner. You just can’t go to the lake without dining at a place with a huge cow out front advertising all you can eat prime rib. That would just be wrong.

The next morning it was a little overcast, so we decided to get up and take a walk. We probably needed it.

Because we spent the rest of the day having pool time!!!!!

You know what’s amazing?

Drinks by the pool!

(Roomie totally takes one for the team with the obligatory swim suit shot from pool day.)

After pool time, we did some big primping and called a cab for dinner.

And more drinks.

(Hey, it was vacation!)

By this time, it was becoming very clear to me that a Kindergartner could have put sunscreen on more evenly than I did.

Oy.

Whatever. I was still having fun.

When our tickets came, we noticed that the waitress had named our table “Three Ladies.”

Very apropos, don’t you think?

Before we knew it, our trip was over and it was time to go home. See you next year, lake!

I like to tell people that I can multitask. That I can balance a whole bunch of really interesting things at once– cooking, blogging, friendships, running, work, marriage, keeping up with the Real Housewives, etc…

Truth be told, I’m not always good at keeping up with it all.

And so I let the blog go for a while. It was something I needed to do for myself for a while.

About a month ago, I started feeling twinges of quirky longing.

It started with a moment here or there, but nothing really enough to push me to dig out my old log-in info to my blog and dust it off.

Then, last week, my good ole 1996 Maxima died for the 6,000th time in our driveway. It looked like I would need a jump from Mr. Quirky.  (Wow, it’s good to be back!)

Since I am a notoriously horrible parker, I didn’t leave much room for a second car to come along and help me charge the battery. Luckily our other car is pretty small, so I thought Mr. Quirky would still be able to squeeze by.

Just as he was almost lined up with the hood of my car, I heard the sound.

The sound of our cars coming together in the most unpleasant way.

All I could think was, “oh my gosh, we’re those people who have to call the insurance company and say we crashed into each other in our driveway!”

Mr. Quirky jumped out of the car muttering some words that I won’t post today

Meanwhile, I was busy propping up the hood of the car with the toilet plunger, since the stick that holds up the hood is long gone.

As if this scene wasn’t weird enough, as soon as Mr. Quirky touched the cables to the battery, the car alarm started blaring.

With our hands over our ears, we tried to communicate.

Mr. Q: It won’t stop.

Me: What?!

Mr. Q: Why won’t it stop?!

Me: What?!

(Repeat for about five minutes.)

There was something so comical about this scene that all I could think of was how much I wanted to blog about it.

(P.S. The car is back up and running.)

And then about five more quirky things happened to me and I knew the universe was calling me back to this silly little blog.

It’s good to be back.

Mr. Quirky and I in front of my old apartment complex where we shared our first kiss

One of the odd side affects of working from home is that the lack of daily interaction with co-workers makes me extra chatty.

It didn’t take much, really.

Tonight on my nightly trip to the grocery store (why can’t I learn how to do this once a week?!), I recognized a woman from my old apartment complex. Despite the fact that I never once exchanged words with her while we lived under the same roof, I felt compelled to say hello. (See previous statement about being extra chatty.)

She recognized me.

We both had dogs and often passed on the sidewalk, or in the parking garage.

Without much else to discuss, I asked her if she still lived there. She said that she had recently moved in with her boyfriend. I shared that I was married in February.

We congratulated one another.

“It’s so nice to be out of there, isn’t it?” she asked me.

Well, I hadn’t really thought about it that way. I really loved living in the complex, especially the days I shared the apartment with roomie. The pool, the proximity to the Plaza, the beautiful fountains and view from the patio…

But sure, I thought, it is great to be in a house again. And even better to share my home with Mr. Quirky.  I mentioned that I lived there after a divorce and despite some crazy management issues, it was a wonderful place to enjoy my single days.

“Exactly!” she said. “I was married for 27 years. I moved there after my divorce too! It was a great place to rejuvenate and find myself.”

Suddenly I felt warm and tingly. (And no, it had nothing to do with my close proximity to the wine section.)

I couldn’t have said it better myself. “A place to rejuvenate and find myself.”

Isn’t that the key to moving on after divorce? Isn’t that the reason that despite such a horrific and jarring end to my first marriage, I’ve been able to sink cozily into the institution once again?

On my way home, I thought about what it meant to “be out of there.” Being out of there means I’m out of the dark early days. It means I have a wonderful husband to laugh with and spend my days with. It means I will never have to go back “there” again.

I really did find myself in that apartment. I found Queen of Quirky (and not just the blog), I found my love of cooking, I found a dozen wonderful friends including DD Girl and Roomie. And most importantly, I found Mr. Quirky.

And even though I live in a house with a couch on the front porch, (Will someone please come take that darned couch?! We moved it to make room for my new office.) I’m happy to be out of a place where I needed to rejuvenate and find myself.

I guess I am really glad to be out of there.