I've fallen in love with Ina Gaarten's kitchen after many wintry, gray Saturdays watching the Food Network. I googled images to pull for our future home-- I didn't have too much luck; it just culled many East Hampton links. I chuckled a bit.

East Hampton. A few years back I was seeing this guy who lived out there. Mind you, this was years before I met Scott, of course.

I was in a dating tilt-a-whirl. I'd enlisted myself into a full time catch-and-release program-- meaning, I found those bachelors Unattainable to be rather captivating. Those Attainable...eh...notsomuch.

At a party, I met Lawrence. At the time, his most famous claim to fame was that he'd authored The Code. My curiosity was piqued. We hit it right off, and managed to keep in touch over a few months. He lived out in East Hampton, writing. It all seemed terribly romantic and yes, basically impossible.

A few months later, he'd landed a part time job in the city and casually looked me up. We started dating-- lightly. My mother, a staunch Rules believer, was truly horrified. I thought it was all fantastic.

That spring I'd also been introduced to a great guy who was pursuing me rather ardently. He was a very successful and good looking lawyer. Friends urged me to give the nice guy a chance. I set up one my girlfriends with one of his collegues and we had a blast. Corporate parties at the Central Park Zoo, ball games, gifts, live music, etc. I (agreed to - ha!) let him fly me first class to Hawaii for ten days while he tried a case. Caught. Released. (Truth be told, he got back together with his ex and they are now married. Yay!)

I returned, tanned and happy. Lawrence and I spent the rest of the spring and summer dating-- usually time spent in restaurants and bars talking and laughing. It was fun, but for all the dates we shared, I never really knew him. I thought I really liked him, but I really just liked the challenge. It was all just out of reach.

Things got serious enough, I guess, that he invited me to his house in East Hampton for the weekend. That was probably the turning point--I couldn't stand his friends or roomates. The house was precious, but I couldn't wait to get the hell outta there. I think I left early. It just felt tense and his people seemed terribly pretentious. I recalled the Saturday night dinner party that I suffered through, sharing insipid bon mots, splotchy from sunburn and bored.

Even still, contrived conversations, discomfort and boredom still didn't dissuade me. I hadn't won yet. My ego craved nourishment.

Shortly thereafter, and I do remember this vividly, we were to hook up on his birthday. I was at an advertising party on the upper east side, groomed and fresh-smelling with a one my favorite books tucked under my arm for his present. And he never called to confirm where we'd be meeting up. Blew me off. And that was pretty much that.

I remember having my feelings significantly hurt, but it was mostly my ego. My friends sat around for a good week or so convincing me that they never liked him and he was stuffy and pompous. And what had he written lately? It worked, my ego was humbled, but a little better off.

Which leads me to present. After my mental time-travel to the summer of 1999, I googled his name to see what was the latest. And I found this article.

I've been chuckling. If the previous relationship he referenced was me, I'm floored. Either it means that he totally exaggerated to the NY Times, or he must have been talking about someone else. Not sure.

In any event, I remained in front of the computer, eyes quickly scanning related links and reviews, braced to gasp and gaffaw. But you know what? He has a good style of writing. I may even like him now.

After living surrounded by concrete for about 15 years, I have lost the appreciation for city life. I grew up, after all, waking up to blowing sycamore trees and chirpy birds. Camping and swimming.

I also have a theory about always being bordered by tall buildings. For me, personally, it tends to turn thoughts [more] inward. Me, me, me, my job, my hair, my daily victories or disappointments, the state of ME! Now I know that could possibly mean I'm just self-absorbed, but I tend to be less so when I can view a little more perspective than inside my neighbors' windows to the right and left and across the street. Plus, I just really miss things like dirt and grass.

Scott and I have spent the last nine months talking with a builder about this very thing. Moving. Now, after lamenting about the need for space-- it may seem ironic that I am building a house in my parent's back yard. It is true. Snuggled up also right behind my brother, his wife and their two small children who live next door.

But first, I must explain: this is neither a hillbilly sort of set up, nor is it a Kennedy compound. My incredibly savvy grandmother bought these peices of property back when it wasn't worth much...and now it is. A lot. Its a truly wonderful place to live-- we're right on the Chesapeake outside of Annapolis-- which is equidistant from Baltimore and DC. In other words, Scott and I wouldn't have a chance in hell of living here had it not been for my grandmother's keen insights. Also worth mentioning, I get along famously with my parents and brother's family. As does Scott-- although I am sure moving into one's in-laws backyard may come with a little more agita. Heh. And, ok, I will confess, its not really a back-yard, it is set back a bit.

After nearly a year of meeting with a builder, Scott and I finally nailed down some house plans--a simple, beachy-looking house, which, apparently, isnt really done anymore. Turrets, multi-gables, windows walks and gigantic, character-less windows everywhere imaginable are the norm, it seems. Feh.

We finally received the call last week. The formal estimate was ready. Scott and I woke up early and groomed ourselves to look like savvy home-builders that we are absolutely not. Warmly greeted, we were shown into their conference room where two formal quotes were set in front of us. I looked at the grand total, felt my throat tighten and looked at Scott. I saw the color rise to his neck and face, starkly contrasted by his crisp, white collar. I felt like the Chex mini-wheat kids. It was 40% higher than any budget we can afford.

But we omitted the ostentatious "beach house 2.0" elements? Does it really cost more to customize a simple home? The answer may be yes. We're going to try and get the costs down-- already the discussions over the weekend have gone from "Should we go to Sabatinos tonight?" to "I really don't think we need a bathroom there. Do you?"

The shave-down has begun. Let's hope it works!