I can’t believe I forgot to post this, but I had my first public reading last weekend!

make/shift magazine, for which I edit, had a public reading in Chicago and invited me to read some of my work along with four other writers. I was so excited! My first public reading.

Unfortunately, Nick was still getting over whatever bug he had left in his system and we thought it best for him to just get rest so he can fully recuperate. Bummer, though, because it was a thrilling experience.

I drove to Chicago Friday morning and stayed with an old friend who lives in the city. That night, I expected about 10-20 people to show. I figured the weather was FRIGID – about 4 people died over the weekend in Chicago because of the cold – and I expected most folks to stay in doors. Would you believe we had a wonderful crowd of 40 folks or so, all interested in hearing us read our work and talk about our magazine. Isn’t that lovely?

The weirdest moment came when someone asked me for my autograph. No joking. No shit.

My autograph?

“Would you sign it right by your name?”
Sure.
“Would you personalize it as well?”
Uh, ok.
Scibble, scribble – Thanks for your support, Lisa F-B.
“Can I contact you?”
Getting weird. Um, you can see my contact information on the website, my email is there.
“Can I send you something directly?”
No, that’s ok. If you ever have questions about the magazine or my work, you can email me. Like I said, email is the best way for me.
“All they have here is a p.o. box address. Can I have your real address?”
NO.
“I like your dress. It’s really cute.”

Ok, now I am walking away from the guy.

So, other than that tiny exchange, I was all smiles at the Women and Children First Bookstore. The rest of the weekend was picture taking and, sure enough, the backdrop of Chicago is a beauty. Interested in some pics of the city? Click here.

Nick and I returned late last night from our a-w-e-s-o-m-e weekend out in New York City. We left late Thursday night after work and drove to Stroudberg, PA and stayed at the Quality Inn hotel right off of I-80. My sister, her beau Tom, and Nick fell right asleep, but I, a bit too excited to be in New York stayed wide awake staring at the ceiling until 4:00am. Eventually, my heart beat calmed down and I was able to catch some zeez.

We were off the next morning, only an hour and half from New York and I drove, weaving in and out of the traffic and loving the smell of the eastern seaboard. Ahhh, how I miss the grit of the Big Apple…

We dropped Carm and Tom off to see the Empire State Building while Nick and checked the car into a parking lot. We walked the city, Times Square and made fun of everyone, inlcuding ourselves. I grabbed a lovely NYC falafel sandwich while Nick slurped down caffeine and met up with my best bud, Tricia, who has a fabuous two story fantasy apartment 10 blocks from Central Park and 3 blocks from Times Square. I tell you, some people lead extraordinary lives. Her fiancee, a chef who cooks Alex Rodriguez’ lunches was off traveling somewhere in Boston. Nick finally met Pouzo (POO-ZOE), Tricia’s famous bulldog. I wasn’t sure how that relationship was going to go, but Nick seemed alright with him for the most part.

I headed off to meet my good friend, Jen Buckley, for coffee and Nick headed to meet up with the rest of my family. At 8:30pm, we all met downtown for a welcome reception. Delish food, wedding cake #1, and an open bar got us all off on the right foot as we toasted Geri and Jim on their wonderful union. My family – in from all over the country – had an awesome time just catching up and talking about the weekend, hugging, and laughing. There’s really no replacement for family. Nick and I were glowing.

Saturday began with Pouzo trying to lick Nick’s face and Nick jumping out of the roll-out we were sleeping on. We headed to Central Park for a nice long walk and experiened first hand why autumn in New York is arguably the best time of year in the city. Soooo gorgeous and relaxing.

If you remember my friend Becky, who was my dearest friend from my trip to the Philippines, lives in New York and met up with Nick and I for a quick lunch at Dean and Deluca. It was hard to tear ourselves apart and laughed for an hour straight while Nick just shook his head at us.

Off to the wedding at St. Francis Xavier…a beautiful church with rich music and lots of friends and family. I must must must learn how to take picures during the vows. I had to put my camera down because I was bawling when Geri started crying. Aigh, it was a debacle. I can never get a grip when people start crying. It’s like someone else’s tears are the keys to my tear ducts to lose control.

Off to Cipriani’s on 23rd street where we partied like rock stars all night. If this gives you any clue how the night was going: NICK FAST DANCED WITH ME. It was like an alternate universe. I loved it.

Typical Factora family scenario: we waited outside on the sidewalk for 45 mintues because we couldn’t decide where to go. Never mind we had native New Yorkers in the group, never mind that everyone was fine with WHEREVER, never mind that we were in walking distance of a gazillion of suitable bars and restaurants that could have accomodated us. No, we wait 45 minutes until my uncle states, “Ok, we’re going to the Waldorf Astoria lobby and we’ll decide there.”

RED FLAGS, BUTTONS, RINGS, LIGHTS, AND BANNERS were waving in my head. Nick is shaking his head, “Typical Factora decision. We’re in Manhatten and decide to go the LOBBY OF WALDORF to try and make a decision about where to hang out.”

I kind of screech, “No!! We’re going to Dewey’s. It’s three blocks from here. It’s a bar. That’s where we’re going!” and proceed to march in the wrong direction.

Thankfully Nick redirects my shoulders and says appreciatively, “Nice effort though, babe. They’ll follow.”

So another 30 minutes later we finally enter Dewey’s.

A bit of drama rama enfolded after about an hour: we were kicked out of the bar.

Oh, so typical…

We had two underage boys with us (my cousins – one 15 the other 7 year old – who were appropriately not allowed in the bar. We spoke with the manager who said that as long as they stayed with their parents and didn’t drink, they’d be fine.

Cool.

So we sit and order drinks.

After they get their orders in and take 3 sips of their beer, the manager comes out and says, “please finish up and leave.”

Uh, ok.

So, apparently he changed his mind that we could stay. Fine, I slirp down my crazy drink of tap water with ice and lemon while Nick barely had drank his draft and got up from the table. My male cousins, 827 men strong, are puffing out their chests like angry peacocks and flooding the bar, demanding to have their bill waived because they should have told us up front we weren’t going to be allowed to stay and why should we now have to pay for a beer that we got 3 sips out of. Oh dear.

So, all hell is breaking loose and I’m rolling my eyes. I tell Nick, “Let’s get out of here before we’re all arrested.”

Not to stereotype males in bars, but things can go from pleasant to out of control is .04 seconds.

So, I’m anxiously waiting for Nick to get out of the bath room so we can leave and I hear escalating voices from the bar. Oh dear.

Nick, where are you? Let’s go! Let’s go!

I sneak through tall people’s armpits and raised glasses to find Nick standing absolutely still, enraptured in ESPN sports scores. While my family is having a throw down with managers and bouncers and threatening to sue, Nick is trying to figure out the Red Sox scores.

“NICK!”

“Ohhh! Hey!!”

“LET’S. GO. NOW. NOW.”

“I was just checking -“

“I know what you were checking. Now is not the time to be checking ESPN scores.”

So we exit in the midst of a lot of drama and make it home after an eventful night downtown.

Sunday morning we wake up and head to brunch at the Waldorf. Geri and Jim were upgraded into the finest suit they had to offer in the Waldorf Towers. Barack Obama had just checked out as the previous guest and Geri and JIm were next in line. Of course everyone – regardless of political party – was going crazy and my father whipped out his cap that said, “McCAIN FOR PRESIDENT 08!” while we feasted on our lovely brunch.

I was brainstorming what to touch in the suite so I could say I touched the same things as Barack and decided touching every door handle was the best option. I also plopped down and sat on the bed to make sure I got sit on the same mattress that our potential next president had slept in.

After a family picture, Tom, Carm, Nick and I loaded up the car and head west for Ohio.

This post doesn’t even BEGIN to give this weekend justice. It ranks in the top 3 weekends of all time.

Pictures soon!

Nick’s packing job for NYC, departure time: 5:15pm EST

Nick and I, along with my sister Carmen and her beau Tom, are off to New York City, the backdrop for my cousin’s wedding. This has been a much anticipated event in my side of the family. Weddings are usually an enormous gathering of my cousins from all over the country and this will be no exception.

Geri, my cousin, and her fiancee Jim are in the NYC elite, selecting some of the finest establishments the Big Apple has to offer to hold their prenuptial festivities. Of course Nick and I are there to witness love sanctified by the sacrament, but it sure doesn’t hurt when you get to have brunch at the Waldorf or dance your patooty off at Cipriani’s where, word on the street claims, P-Diddy had his birthday party. The most exciting part, though, is for my whole family to be together and getting to hug my NYC, where I feel my blood runs most smoothly.

I was born a little outside the city in New Jersey and lived in both states before my family moved to OH-IO in gradeschool. Growing up, we frequently went back to visit our family who swear by the east coast waters. I must admit, while Ohio is my home, my heart still beats for the east coast too. It’s the same way Nick feels about Russia. We live in different places as we get older and we love where we are, but, had life gone in separate directions, he’d choose Russia. I’d choose NYC. Dorothy said it best, “There’s no place like home.” So, we’ve packed our Sunday best, and then some, and are headed off to drive to the Big Apple tonight. We’re staying over in a hotel a little outside the city before driving in Friday morning and then we’ll be back late Sunday night.

While making the hotel reservations last night, I was having problems getting my perfectly clear American Express to go through in the reservation. I ended up calling American Express and spoke with Loraine who explained the card had been temporarily on hold in hopes that I would call because they noticed suspicious activity on my card. Some fool tried to buy Travelocity tickets and other purchases on the internet. I was furious with this nameless, faceless phantom who tried to use my card. I was half-panicked that someone was pretending to be me, doting a black wig and sunglasses, signing my unmistakably long name Ana Lisa F. Factora-Borchers on each and every purchase. The thought made me sick. Nick, the steady hand in sticky situations, was not too alarmed.

Nick reasoned, “Well, at least they denied those charges. We’re not paying for anything that we didn’t buy.”

“I DON’T WANT TO PAY FOR SOMEONE TO VACATION IN THE BAHAMAS!”

He replied,”We’re not. And if they try again, American Express will deny it again because of what happened today.”

“WHAT IF IT GOES THROUGH TOMORROW WHEN THEY TRY AGAIN?!”

Nick looks to the side as he always does in thought, “Well, we’ll call and cancel the card, explain the situation, and then they’ll revoke the charges.”

I calmed down, “I just don’t like the idea of some fool trying to be me.”

Nick is turning his interest to the laptop, “Yeah, but it’s just someone trying to use your card number. They probably won’t try again because everything was denied.”

I get fired up again, “I PRESSED LORAINE TO TELL ME DETAILS SO I CAN FIND THIS IMPOSTER.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“I want to say to this fool, ‘You want to be me? Just try it. I’ll kick your ass if you try to be me.’ Then, I’d ask them, ‘You think you could pull off being me?’ It’s not easy to be me, you know.”

Nick was patiently waiting for my rage to spill over, listening to my rants, “That’s for sure. Now help me pick out what to wear to the brunch.”

is looking pretty amazing downtown!

Nice improvements, Queen City. Doesn’t that just make sense the square looks this great AFTER Nick and I have left?

If you want to see the greatest orange pictures of your life, click here.

By the way, these are my nephews and niece along with sister, sister-in-law, and brother thrown in there too. (Good question, Mandy…)

After a horrendous decision to eat a slider from White Castle at 4am, I fall into an exhausted sleep in Keith’s room.

In the morning, I felt worse. Part of what made it psychologically overwhelming was the fact that Keith’s room was bathed in red light. Since he had just moved into that space that the previous day, he didn’t have much in way of decorations. There is one window in Keith’s room and he had covered it, naturally, to prevent morning light from streaming in. In lieu of curtains, Keith had draped an OSU flag over the light and the red shading felt like I was seeing the world in anger. Everything was red.

Sparing you the details, I felt like my stomach hated me and anything I tried to offer it, including water, was rejected. (I’m sure the slider was not appreciated last night.)

But, we manage to get dressed and get on the road. We stop at a gas station so I can pick up Gatorade and Nick picks up the most disgusting cheeseburger inside the gas station. He drives while I unwrap it for him. The bread is stuck to the paper wrapping. One tug later, nearly half the bun was stuck to the covering. I almost puked just smelling it. The meat was a nauseating beige.

We get to Bellarmine and take a seat. We sit by the Creasons and I’m excited to be next to them so we can chat. I take one look at Nick’s face as he is now 4 people removed from the aisle and I can sense anxiety in the air. Nick was going to be a server for the mass and we were going to be eucharistic ministers as well. He wanted easy access to the aisle.

“Do you want to move?” As if he would say no.

“Yeah, I just don’t like -” He started explaining.

“No need to explain, I get it.” I get up, apologize to the Creasons and we move to the very end of another pew. The relief is pouring out of Nick and he smiles like a 10 year old who just got his second serving of ice cream as we park ourselves in our new space in Bellarmine Chapel.

The mass goes smoothly and we help out with the Eucharist without any problems, except for the fact i felt like I needed to lie down the entire time. Afterward, he headed off to my friends’ place, Mary Kay and Heather, to drop off wedding photos that I had taken of them in their ceremony we had attended in Florida.

About two months ago, Heather and Mary Kay asked Nick and I to join them in Florida for their big day and I, of course, couldn’t resist being the photographer. Being the procrastinating photographer that I am, I was just giving them the CDs of their day two months later. We begin to drive up to the Kenwood mall area.

As we cruise through 71 North, Nick looks over at me, “Is there something wrong with our car?” Our rental is a black Mazda 3. The sound filling our car sounded like the airy noise of an axel problem, but I knew better.

I am unenthused with my knowledge, “Actually, we are now in Cicada Nation. Those horrific things, Goatee said, are everywhere, but especially prominent in the Kenwood area.”

“No…are they really?”

“YES. I hate them.” I slink in my seat because the thought of a cicada hitting me in the face made me even more nauseous. Our windshield is splattered like a Cicada memorial and I try not to look straight ahead. The obstinate heat of Cincinnati bakes the remnants on the car.

We make it to Heather and Mary Kay’s even though I run from the car to the house as if there is a war going on with bombs and grenades everywhere.

After we drop off the CDs, we head to Colerain’s BW3s where folks were passing time before the reception. As we slow at the exit off of the Ronald Reagan highway onto Colerain Avenue, I shake my head in wonder, “As we pull up to this area, there is not one inch of doubt in my head that I do NOT miss living in Colerain, or my commute to Miami…” Colerain is straight out a West Side textbook and we should have heeded the warnings not to live there three years ago. Oh well, no regrets. We’ll just say that we learned a lot from Colerain about what we don’t want in a future neighborhood.

BW3s is fun and uneventful with beer, oversized TVs, and UFC fights. We see some Xavier faces that we haven’t seen in years. Books has taken off his sports coat to reveal his suspenders. The fun part of the wedding is beginning.

The toasts to Matt and Bella are hilarious and the evening unfolded without problems. Nick and his buds sang, “For the Longest Time,” to Bella. The dancing begins and the reception goes flawlessly.

Of course we head to Dana’s where I sleep in the car parked in the parking lot for the first 20 minutes. I’m so lame.

The next day we head out in separate directions, Nick to his friend Josh’ birthday party and I go to the Ryans’ new pad in Loveland for a lovely afternoon BBQ. Julie and Goatee’s gorgeous new house looks like they are real adults; it’s some serious space. I think about the college days of renting fixer uppers and eating macaroni and cheese. Life has definitely changed since 2001.

After a few hours Nick is there as well and we’re all gathered to meet babies, eat BBQ, and talk. I’m so lame and fall asleep on the couch, fatigued.

We head back to Massillon and do closing paperwork on our house with a nice man named Norm. I have never had anything but love and devotion for my entire full name Ana Lisa Fernandez Factora-Borchers, that is, until you close on a house and you sign your name for 1 hour straight. Things definitely took longer because of my signature. Oh whale, that’s life….

We had a great dinner at my brother’s house because waking up Tuesday morning to head to Akron/Canton airport to fly back to Boston ONE LAST TIME.

This trip was jam packed with all kinds of events, but our adventures in moving were just beginning….

I didn’t sleep last night and now I am wandering, unblinking, in the Boston heat wondering how my body is functioning on no sleep and a few sips of Raspberry Lipton tea.

Nick and I just got back from the airport. We walked into our apartment and I had temporarily forgotten that our life here is almost over and is waiting to be shipped in brown boxes. Ugh…why bother unpacking?

So this is what happened…

On Thursday, June 5, we took an uneventful train ride to the airport with our bags so heavy, our arms were ready to fall off. Awesome – our flight is delayed three hours. I love American Airlines.

So, Nick is flustered because our gate has changed and while I am crooning to Whitney Houston’s old school ballads, he is pacing the terminal, looking nervous. As he sits down, he’s muttering, “I have a feeling we should be at the other gate and we’re going to miss our flight.”

I counter, “Didn’t they just announce that we need to be at C42?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t we at C42?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem, man?” It’s odd being the logical one.

“I don’t know. I’m going to check it out.” He’s off, taking long strides before he’s even done talking.

I go back to my iPod.

Sometimes I think Nick would prefer for the world to be full of oversized signs and arrows, written in the sky so there are no questions when it comes to traveling and itineraries. Whenever we are in Dayon and there are enormous painted white arrows on the highway that point forward with huge 75 N above it, he grabs my hand, “I LOVE these things! So easy to read!”

I just shake my head.

Anyhoo — we get on the plane and land in Akron without any other major obstacles.

We head to my brother’s house where we need to pick up the key to my parents’ house, where Nick and I are staying. It’s late, after midnight, and Fran asks if Nick wants a homemade enchilada, “They’re still warm, ” he tempts Nick. Through the dark, I can see the hungry blue in his eyes. He smiles, “Well, if you make me….” and saunters off toward the kitchen.

As we chatter and catch up, we watch clips of one of my favorite movies, Rocky Balboa, while Nick passes out from his enchilada on the couch. Fran grumbles that the Celtics clinched Game 2 and that it should have been the Cavs, we leave for my parents’ place.

An empty split level house, we make it through the door, thoroughly fatigued. We fall asleep pretty quickly, not even bothering to cover ourselves with blankets. Exhausted.

Friday, June 6
We wake up at the same time and immediately start talking.

“Do you hear that?” Nick smiles.

“Yes – it’s been awhile since I’ve heard that.”

“Birds singing. When was the last time we heard birds sing in the morning?” He stretches like a cheetah, taking up 90% of the bed.

“I’m used to the bus screeching, people yelling, a police siren – the usual.”

Nick pauses, “I’m just used to this,” he contorts his face into a hell ball and lets out a scream that sounds something like a cross between a lamb being slaughtered and a ten fingernails on a blackboard.

I laugh deliriously and know we are on a good path to moving to a place where we appreciate the quiet and simplicity of the morning wind.

We quickly shower and head back to my brother’s house, Fran, to finally meet my newest nephew, Joseph Gaetano Factora, who was born last month. He is baby boy #3 and child #4 for Fran. It’s getting to be a full house. After a few hours, we head up to Cleveland to finally see our house.

I have not yet seen our future home and entrusted Nick to see it several weeks prior. With nothing but online pictures to go on, I was more than eager to finally set my eyes on it. We pulled in and I gasped, I loved it.

A 1928, 4 bedroom, 2.5 bathrooms, and new kitchen home will be ours on Thursday. I adore it. End of story. We stop by St. Dominic (Nick’s workplace) to drop off paperwork. We run into Nick’s staff, who are more than warm, welcoming, and generous with tips, suggestions, and furniture.

We get on the road and I am deep in thought about our house and keep reassuring Nick my silence is more contemplative, not disappointment. I think he just wanted to make sure that I loved the house and he didn’t want to hear anything else for the next 55 years of our life together about how I should never have trusted him to make the decision.

We change clothes at a gas station (classy) to get ready for Bella and Anderson’s wedding rehearsal. We make it in time and it’s fantastic to see everyone. The Ohio temperature is unreal. When we left Boston it was in the mid 60s and Cincinnati was dangerously close to triple digits.

I feel like a wilting flower.

My reminders to Nick that we need to purchase a GPS is confirmed as we take nearly 30minutes to get to Montgomery Inn. “Pete Rose Way is down this way…I think…”
What a debacle. A quick call to Keith helps us navigate to Sawyer Point and eventually to the Boathouse, aka Montgomery Inn; home of the best ribs and Saratoga chip uptopia.

It’s the small things that throw Nick and I off. Things like valet. Why is there mandatory valet parking? I hate the awkwardness of the tip, exchange ticket, bleh…But, we get through it with our usual side jokes and laugh at our awkwardness and move into Rib heaven.

The rehearsal dinner was lovely and I felt that if I tried to stuff one more bite of anything, I would burst into million little BBQed Filipino pieces. At around 9:30pm, my teeth began to chatter and my head began to pound. Thinking I had one too many glasses of vino, I kept ordering more water, but the achiness began to spread throughout my body. Within a few hours, my head felt like it weighed 90lbs and loud noises hurt my eardrums. Not even the site of black raspberry chip ice cream from Graeters (dessert) cheered me up. When Nick spotted my forlorn appearance, he knew it was time to go.

We headed back to Keith’s place where he had just moved in with Jay. The Borchers brothers were all under one roof. Kelly and Tim drove down from Columbus to spend time with us. Kelly hugged the stuffing out of me even though I was lame and immediately laid down on Keith’s bed. They hit Dana’s while I sadly wrapped myself in a blanket and waved goodbye from the couches. Curse whatever bug just invaded me.

At least there’s good movies. As I watch Halloween 5 and Cinderella Man (I adore underdog/boxing movies) and try to hydrate myself with plenty of water, I grow increasingly frustrated at my health. I wanted to go out and drink watered down beer from Dana’s and take an incredibly expensive taxi ride home and then wake up in fog and hear about what ridiculous comments I made to Nick in private that he would eventually blast to everyone else to further humiliate me. I couldn’t sleep and felt my stomach begin to turn sour. Ugh.

Hours past.

As I began watching A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila, I heard the door rattle open and see a suitcase plop down on the coffee table. I sat up to read the words, “What You Crave.”

“What’s this?”

Nick kisses my forehead as greeting, “Kelly’s treat!”

I watch a sea of hands reach eagerly for the suitecase as I squint to see an uncountable number of White Castle sliders on the coffee table. Ignoring the most advanced parts of my brain that were schooled by fine teachers and philosophers, brushing aside my digestive misery, I reach for a mysterious soft square of bread, cheese, and something that resembled meat. I take a small bite.

How is it that I don’t even have to chew before it goes down my throat?

That was a critical decision.

The clock now reads 4am.

Hunter Mountain

Nick and Vanessa

(Tom, I’m sorry there are no pictures of you and I watching Lethal Weapon IV)

Last weekend, Nick and I spent a gorgeous weekend with our friends, Tom and Vanessa, at a condo located at the base of a beautiful Hunter Mountain. A skiing mountain was the perfect backdrop for a restful weekend with friends. A lot of talking, laughter, good food, lots of alcohol, and nature’s restorative energy embraced our time in New York.

Tom and Vanessa live in New Jersey and this was the perfect midway point for all of us. Nick and I were Hunter-bound by Friday evening and got stuck in city traffic. The elevation messed with our heads a bit, but that didn’t stop us from getting there, ready to relax.

The no-skiiing rule was put into effect rather quickly as Nick retold his skiiing stories of when he ventured this sport two years ago with his brother Keith. If you’re surprised that Nick is not a good skiier, that means you haven’t heard his skiiing stories. When a skiier has no ability to shift to the left, this poses signficant navigation problems. This happened to be Nick’s problem. As he tells it, his fear of runing over the children at the bottom of the hill forced him to “slide like it’s second base.”

Ineffective theory for skiers.

I hardly have room to talk. To prove my ultimate badass coolness, I joined the Ski Club in highschool. In retrospect, why in the world would I join the Ski Club when I have never skiied before? To make a 6 week story short, just know that falling off the ski lift, almost having my legs amputated from frost bite, and crying while face down in the snow is not my idea of a good time.

I also tried cross country skiiing about 6 years ago. Yeahhhh, that didn’t turn out so well either. That adventure resulted in me taking OFF my skis and WALKING the rest of the journey with my friends cajoling me the entire way home.

Regardless of our inept skiiing skills, we had a tremendously wonderful time at Hunter Mountain. We owe a million thanks to Tom and Vanessa for their generosity, friendship, and warmth. When’s our next visit?