Welp! Yesterday was my birthday. I'm 27 now. And this year...I'm actually fine with it. I haven't been okay with my new age since I turned 22. But this year? Totally taking it in stride. This is for three reasons:
1. I've come to grips with the fact that I'm in my "late twenties", and as far as that goes, 27 seems young and spritely.
2. From what everyone says (and what I've seen firsthand), your thirties are when you come into your own and really figure out who you are and what you're doing. And I would like to know both of those things. So I don't mind getting closer to that.
3. It's the final year of my, and everyone's lives. Because the world will end on my birthday next year, and there are crappy Web 1.0 websites to prove it.
This year has been interesting. It started out mind-numbingly dull. This caused me to hitch up my bootstraps (or whatever) and start adventuring. I took improv classes, comedy writing classes, and then moved across the country. Which, considering my awkward neuroses, basically means it's been a year of self-doubt.
Curious about how I felt this time last year, I checked out my birthday blog entry for 2010. What I found was a list of goals. Since I wrote that list, I've expanded the goals to a Life List, which has grown to 75 since I posted it. But the first list of goals were things I was hoping to do within 2 years. I'm now halfway through those two years, so I thought I'd revisit the list. New comments are in italics.
Emily's List Of Young People Goals:
Self-Betterment
-Learn how to knit (Hmm. I started to crochet again but never counted my stitches and things went downhill from there. But there's a ball of yarn on my dresser, ever reminding me to pick it up again. Verdict: probable.)
-Take beginner photography classes, then take good photos with a good camera (I'm partway to completing this goal. I bought a Groupon for a class that doesn't expire until May. Problem is: still don't have a camera.)
-Improv classes (I did this one! I did this one! And I want to keep doing it!)
-Sculpting classes (I haven't done this one but I'd still like to. Problem is, I'd rather keep doing improv/comedy related classes. My Ghost fantasies may have to wait a while.)
-Dance classes (BAH ha ha ha ha ha....oh, ME.)
Travel
-Go to Scotland, find your ancestor's castle. (See, the problem with a lot of stuff on this list is that I didn't know what a precarious position my job was in at the time. I was running on the assumption that I had JUST been hired and there was no way we would lose the account and I would be laid off. Silly Emily. So trusting.)
-Go to Italy, eat a lot of pasta and cream. (I mean, these things are definitely on the list. But they probably won't be happening as quickly as my adorable little hopeful heart had wanted.)
-Go to San Francisco--Francisco! That's fun to say. (Well I can certainly check this one off the list with great aplomb.)
Work
-Go on a production shoot outside of Chicago
-Get promoted, earn what I think I deserve
-Write an ad that everyone loves
(................................................sigh.)
Other
-Pay off a big student loan chunk (OR defer your loans because you're unemployed. SIMILAR.)
-Buy a car (kcchhh...pfff...shah....)
-Become a roller skater (The more I think about this one, the more I fear falling and breaking my arms and knees. Also, now that I'm in San Francisco, the amount of hills makes this one a lot less likely. Sorry, 26-year-old me, I think this one is done-zo.)
-Be more stylish (I'm still determined that this will happen for me one day. I'll have money and I'll buy clothes from SUPER fancy places, like the Gap and Nordstrom. I'll have an infinity scarf that'll look really cute on me and I'll wear skirts and just generally look more like Zooey Deschanel.)
-Make more Julia Child recipes (Hmm. I STILL haven't done this yet. I just need to face my fears and channel my inner Julie/Julia.)
-Find an apartment with a reading nook for weekends--and then read on the weekends. (Well, I wouldn't say I have a "nook" but I do have bay windows? Which is closer? I don't read on the weekends but that is changing TODAY my friends. TODAY. Or tomorrow, or sometime soon.)
So all in all, I think I'm generally still on the right track. An actual income will help me accomplish a lot more of these. The question is: what will I accomplish in the next year? You know, before the world ends?
Showing posts with label Moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moving. Show all posts
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Everywhere You Look (Everywhere)
Joe and I finally made a video of the new apartment! It's as finished as we could make it right now, although it still needs a few homey touches, like curtains and a new comforter and rug.
We figured the best way for all parties to see it would be here on the blog--but please feel free to pass it over if you're not into an 8 minute tour of my closets. If you do watch it, you may notice Joe talking in the second person. That's for his parents. Everyone else should NOT, in fact, recognize our coffee table. In case you thought you might be forgetting something.
And to anyone who doesn't know me personally, welcome to my voice! And to Joe. And to my home, you snoopy weirdos. And to my awkward Sunday garb. Also, I was unaware of how often I sing to fill awkward pauses, but am WHOLLY unsurprised.
Without further ado, the apartment!
We figured the best way for all parties to see it would be here on the blog--but please feel free to pass it over if you're not into an 8 minute tour of my closets. If you do watch it, you may notice Joe talking in the second person. That's for his parents. Everyone else should NOT, in fact, recognize our coffee table. In case you thought you might be forgetting something.
And to anyone who doesn't know me personally, welcome to my voice! And to Joe. And to my home, you snoopy weirdos. And to my awkward Sunday garb. Also, I was unaware of how often I sing to fill awkward pauses, but am WHOLLY unsurprised.
Without further ado, the apartment!
Monday, November 14, 2011
But Waiting Just Around The Bend
I know! I know! I'm sorry! I have left you all on the edge of your seat, vis-a-vis The Great Move-In Of 2011. You don't know, maybe I was going for a season finale-esque cliffhanger. Or maybe I got caught up in reprogramming the TV.
Either way, consider my couch Ross and me Rachel because after months of "will they/won't they" we are finally reunited! JK, I'm totally the Ross in that relationship, let's not kid ourselves. Regardless, it didn't cost the nominal egg we thought it would. (TIME OUT to explain a Family Inside Joke: my mom knew a woman from Boston who thought the phrase was "a nominal egg" instead of "an arm and a leg" I would laugh but it hits a little close to home.)
Wow, I am WAY off topic right now. BACK TO THE MOVE IN. So we didn't have to pay for a shuttle because the truck made it to our apartment just fine, AS I TOLD THEM IT WOULD. And right before the truck was due, Joe and I stood guard over five parking spaces out front so the truck could take over all of them. We turned away the elderly and infirm and forced them to park far away and I'm not ashamed to stand here and say it right to your face.
The movers arrived, our stuff was moved in, Joe left for work and I spent the day agonizing over the extreme amount of mugs we brought along with us. Were we planning some kind of herbal tea party? Apparently yes. Regardless, everything is almost finished at this point. We have pictures to hang and rugs to lay out and boxes to toss, but we're mostly there. We have places to sit and a bed to sleep on and Regina is enjoying her options of places to hide in/lay on top of.
The question is: Now what? I've been aiming myself toward this move for so long, now that it's done, I can finally focus on what lies ahead. And what lies ahead is looking pretty good.
I've been on a professional roller coaster this year, including one very large dip. That happened a few months ago, when I was already questioning my abilities as a copywriter (I mean, come on. Laid off twice in two years? Everyone said it wasn't my fault but...it's hard to keep telling yourself that.) I went to a gathering with ex-coworkers who told me the agency was actually hiring already. That stung. When I got home, I had an email from someone I'd sent my work to. He told me that my book wasn't good enough to get a job in San Francisco.
So...it wasn't a GOOD day.
First, I did EXACTLY what Steve Carrell did in 40 Year-Old Version and walked through my apartment yelling. Then I tried looking for work in fields other than copywriting, like everyone had been telling me to do. Turns out, those jobs all require specialized knowledge in the writing topic, like parenting or healthcare or technology. The only thing it seems I can write for is How To Be Awkward and I think I already run that blog for free. That, or you need journalism experience. Which I don't have. So the only thing I was qualified for was a job that I was apparently bad at.
I don't know the right way to handle dark times. My way involved staring into space, getting back into Grey's Anatomy, and my cat laying on my neck. Now that I think about it, it is remarkably similar to the way I handled getting dumped in Paris. Except this time I had a boy who believed in me and supported me, who told me that I should do what felt right. Including staying in Chicago.
I had a lot of reasons to stay. And I weighed all of those reasons. But my gut still told me San Francisco. This was my next step. This was my new beginning.
Now that I'm here, I feel enormously good about it. Was it definitely the right decision? Hell if I know. Hell if I'll ever know. But the city is growing on me every day: the small shops, the crazy hills, the serious amount of Asian food. I like it a lot. And I've gotten more positive feedback about my portfolio, which makes me think that I may actually get a job at some point. And with a job comes more stuff that will make everything even better, including taking improv classes again, going on road trips, and buying a bike. Plus, it's mid-November and I went jogging in short sleeves today. Hard to complain about that.
So is everything perfect now? No. But it has potential to be. And for now I have a couch, my boy, and hope.
Either way, consider my couch Ross and me Rachel because after months of "will they/won't they" we are finally reunited! JK, I'm totally the Ross in that relationship, let's not kid ourselves. Regardless, it didn't cost the nominal egg we thought it would. (TIME OUT to explain a Family Inside Joke: my mom knew a woman from Boston who thought the phrase was "a nominal egg" instead of "an arm and a leg" I would laugh but it hits a little close to home.)
Wow, I am WAY off topic right now. BACK TO THE MOVE IN. So we didn't have to pay for a shuttle because the truck made it to our apartment just fine, AS I TOLD THEM IT WOULD. And right before the truck was due, Joe and I stood guard over five parking spaces out front so the truck could take over all of them. We turned away the elderly and infirm and forced them to park far away and I'm not ashamed to stand here and say it right to your face.
The movers arrived, our stuff was moved in, Joe left for work and I spent the day agonizing over the extreme amount of mugs we brought along with us. Were we planning some kind of herbal tea party? Apparently yes. Regardless, everything is almost finished at this point. We have pictures to hang and rugs to lay out and boxes to toss, but we're mostly there. We have places to sit and a bed to sleep on and Regina is enjoying her options of places to hide in/lay on top of.
The question is: Now what? I've been aiming myself toward this move for so long, now that it's done, I can finally focus on what lies ahead. And what lies ahead is looking pretty good.
I've been on a professional roller coaster this year, including one very large dip. That happened a few months ago, when I was already questioning my abilities as a copywriter (I mean, come on. Laid off twice in two years? Everyone said it wasn't my fault but...it's hard to keep telling yourself that.) I went to a gathering with ex-coworkers who told me the agency was actually hiring already. That stung. When I got home, I had an email from someone I'd sent my work to. He told me that my book wasn't good enough to get a job in San Francisco.
So...it wasn't a GOOD day.
First, I did EXACTLY what Steve Carrell did in 40 Year-Old Version and walked through my apartment yelling. Then I tried looking for work in fields other than copywriting, like everyone had been telling me to do. Turns out, those jobs all require specialized knowledge in the writing topic, like parenting or healthcare or technology. The only thing it seems I can write for is How To Be Awkward and I think I already run that blog for free. That, or you need journalism experience. Which I don't have. So the only thing I was qualified for was a job that I was apparently bad at.
I don't know the right way to handle dark times. My way involved staring into space, getting back into Grey's Anatomy, and my cat laying on my neck. Now that I think about it, it is remarkably similar to the way I handled getting dumped in Paris. Except this time I had a boy who believed in me and supported me, who told me that I should do what felt right. Including staying in Chicago.
I had a lot of reasons to stay. And I weighed all of those reasons. But my gut still told me San Francisco. This was my next step. This was my new beginning.
Now that I'm here, I feel enormously good about it. Was it definitely the right decision? Hell if I know. Hell if I'll ever know. But the city is growing on me every day: the small shops, the crazy hills, the serious amount of Asian food. I like it a lot. And I've gotten more positive feedback about my portfolio, which makes me think that I may actually get a job at some point. And with a job comes more stuff that will make everything even better, including taking improv classes again, going on road trips, and buying a bike. Plus, it's mid-November and I went jogging in short sleeves today. Hard to complain about that.
So is everything perfect now? No. But it has potential to be. And for now I have a couch, my boy, and hope.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
You Miss Your Old Familiar Friends
You guys all appreciate stories about my ever-approaching demise, right? Yes? Good? On we go.
All my dreams have come true: our stuff arrives tomorrow. "But, Emily! I thought you said you'd get 2 days notice before your stuff arrived!"
...
.....
.........
............
.................DIDN'T I?!
Well, in true "all moving companies are a bunch of assholes and there's nothing you can do about it" fashion, my driver called to inform me that I had less than 24 hours to get my affairs in order, and that he would be needing a shuttle truck (an additional $350 minimum charge) since he was sure he wouldn't be able to drive his 18-wheeler through the streets of San Francisco.
................WOULDN'T YOU?!
I started calling around to all the official city numbers I could muster. I was assured that the man could drive his truck down the necessary roads. I called him back to tell him this. He told me to call the moving company because he's done it before and gotten ticketed. FINE. I called the company. Are you grasping the number of phone calls I made today yet?
Once I assured the manager that I had all the maps and the phone numbers the driver needed to ensure a good route, he started giving stuff like "well aren't there a lot of hills?" and "you're really close to the ocean" (Side note: WHAT now?!) and "he needs a place to park" and SOOOOO many excuses, it makes me wonder if these semi trucks ever get to their destinations. Like, unless you actually live ON the highway--like, ON IT--how does a 70' truck EVER deliver your stuff to your home? How? I have no idea. None.
I called 311 about bagging a few meters so the man and his beloved truck could park. They told me I needed over 24 hours notice. "YES," I told them. "That would have been LOVELY, wouldn't it?" The officer told me that what I COULD do was just get a bunch of friends to park in the metered spots until the truck came, and then have them move. I wanted to sob to the woman, "But I HAVEN'T any friends anymore!" (When you get really overdramatic, you have to talk like Amy March from Little Women, by the way.) "I've deserted them in their wintry time of need!" I'll tell you, if absence makes the heart grow fonder, my lady friends have become superheroes in my mind. They'll do anything for me now that we're apart. Adrienne would have parked there all night for me! Laura would have parked sideways and DARED anyone to complain about it. Michelle probably would have just laid across the parking spots! And Jane would...well, she would have come with hummus to keep everyone's cars company at the very least!
Oh my god, I just had a genius idea for a comic book and it may or may not involve my friends deflecting lasers with their chest plates.
So no, Officer. I do not have anyone to help me with my ketchup/catsup problem.
All of these issues, plus a few calls made by Joe and between me and Joe in which I sobbed more or less uncontrollably into the phone, took all freakin' day. With little conclusion. We will likely be paying an amount of money (in cash) the likes of which I always thought I would pay someone someday, just while adjusting my monocle and top hat.
Oh but wait. Cash. Right. And how I need to have that by tomorrow. Hmm, that's interesting. And how my bank isn't in California. Yes yes, I see the issue now.
Well I've been needing to switch my money to a bank out here. And considering all the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad banks out there, I thought I'd do the hippie thing and join a Credit Union. I'm still unsure of exactly how Credit Unions function. But all I know is: they aren't mean banks that do mean things with your money. Okay, cool. I'll take a hundred. A hundred Credit Unions.
After all this dealing with people who are hell-bent on taking every penny they can squeeze from me, I headed over to switch my account and take out some money.
To understand my emotions upon entering the building, please watch the following:
There were actually a couple people applying to open new accounts at the same time, so a man took all of us and explained the basis of what a Credit Union is and how it works and where to find ATMs and all this.
He was...the most wonderful, adorable 30-something gay man I have ever met. He was just so freakin' cheerful. And I say again, not fake cheerful in order to get something. He was legitimately happy. Like he hadn't just spent the last 6 hours on the phone, fretting about how to park a semi on a six-lane residential street. He took out his own debit card to show us how he'd customized it with a picture of his dog. And he said things like "Let's be frank. My name's actually Carl but...sorry, stupid joke." And when he told us there was a $5 fee to sign up, he actually APOLOGIZED about it. It took every ouce of will power in my loins not to jump wholly, trustingly, into his arms, Dance Of Joy style.
Later, I went one-on-one with another guy to actually open an account. Still untrusting about hidden fees, I ripped open a fun-size M&Ms bag on his desk and started popping them like House pops Vicodin, only with slightly less scruff and to a calmer effect. Yes, I am a stress eater. I don't need your judgement, I only need your chocolate. But the guy assured me that there were no hidden fees. He also assured me that he couldn't give me the cash I needed to pay my movers. And he sent me on my way. I took an extra bag of chocolate Vicodin for the road.
So ONCE AGAIN, here I am, stuck without a bank and with maximum withdrawal limits. I'm going to try with a real bank tomorrow, and Joe can take out a bit, too. So it's not the end of the world, but it was just one of those icing on the cake moments you really love.
It was one of those days that, despite the calming affects of the Credit Union, when I got home and saw a note by the elevator that our new washer/dryers now only use h.e. soap, I threw myself face-first against the wall and pounded on it, screaming, "WHY, GOD, WHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!" I wish it was a day ending with an ANTM potluck or a wine and cheese gathering or an Office marathon. It would have been nice to end the day laying on the floor with you guys around me, swearing to the high heavens about my woes and telling me how correct (and how pretty) I am.
And finally, I leave you with The Oatmeal, who put my day's emotional spiral into perfect words.
See you guys on the other side of Stuff-Having and Money-Haven'ting.
All my dreams have come true: our stuff arrives tomorrow. "But, Emily! I thought you said you'd get 2 days notice before your stuff arrived!"
...
.....
.........
............
.................DIDN'T I?!
Well, in true "all moving companies are a bunch of assholes and there's nothing you can do about it" fashion, my driver called to inform me that I had less than 24 hours to get my affairs in order, and that he would be needing a shuttle truck (an additional $350 minimum charge) since he was sure he wouldn't be able to drive his 18-wheeler through the streets of San Francisco.
................WOULDN'T YOU?!
I started calling around to all the official city numbers I could muster. I was assured that the man could drive his truck down the necessary roads. I called him back to tell him this. He told me to call the moving company because he's done it before and gotten ticketed. FINE. I called the company. Are you grasping the number of phone calls I made today yet?
Once I assured the manager that I had all the maps and the phone numbers the driver needed to ensure a good route, he started giving stuff like "well aren't there a lot of hills?" and "you're really close to the ocean" (Side note: WHAT now?!) and "he needs a place to park" and SOOOOO many excuses, it makes me wonder if these semi trucks ever get to their destinations. Like, unless you actually live ON the highway--like, ON IT--how does a 70' truck EVER deliver your stuff to your home? How? I have no idea. None.
I called 311 about bagging a few meters so the man and his beloved truck could park. They told me I needed over 24 hours notice. "YES," I told them. "That would have been LOVELY, wouldn't it?" The officer told me that what I COULD do was just get a bunch of friends to park in the metered spots until the truck came, and then have them move. I wanted to sob to the woman, "But I HAVEN'T any friends anymore!" (When you get really overdramatic, you have to talk like Amy March from Little Women, by the way.) "I've deserted them in their wintry time of need!" I'll tell you, if absence makes the heart grow fonder, my lady friends have become superheroes in my mind. They'll do anything for me now that we're apart. Adrienne would have parked there all night for me! Laura would have parked sideways and DARED anyone to complain about it. Michelle probably would have just laid across the parking spots! And Jane would...well, she would have come with hummus to keep everyone's cars company at the very least!
Oh my god, I just had a genius idea for a comic book and it may or may not involve my friends deflecting lasers with their chest plates.
So no, Officer. I do not have anyone to help me with my ketchup/catsup problem.
All of these issues, plus a few calls made by Joe and between me and Joe in which I sobbed more or less uncontrollably into the phone, took all freakin' day. With little conclusion. We will likely be paying an amount of money (in cash) the likes of which I always thought I would pay someone someday, just while adjusting my monocle and top hat.
Oh but wait. Cash. Right. And how I need to have that by tomorrow. Hmm, that's interesting. And how my bank isn't in California. Yes yes, I see the issue now.
Well I've been needing to switch my money to a bank out here. And considering all the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad banks out there, I thought I'd do the hippie thing and join a Credit Union. I'm still unsure of exactly how Credit Unions function. But all I know is: they aren't mean banks that do mean things with your money. Okay, cool. I'll take a hundred. A hundred Credit Unions.
After all this dealing with people who are hell-bent on taking every penny they can squeeze from me, I headed over to switch my account and take out some money.
To understand my emotions upon entering the building, please watch the following:
There were actually a couple people applying to open new accounts at the same time, so a man took all of us and explained the basis of what a Credit Union is and how it works and where to find ATMs and all this.
He was...the most wonderful, adorable 30-something gay man I have ever met. He was just so freakin' cheerful. And I say again, not fake cheerful in order to get something. He was legitimately happy. Like he hadn't just spent the last 6 hours on the phone, fretting about how to park a semi on a six-lane residential street. He took out his own debit card to show us how he'd customized it with a picture of his dog. And he said things like "Let's be frank. My name's actually Carl but...sorry, stupid joke." And when he told us there was a $5 fee to sign up, he actually APOLOGIZED about it. It took every ouce of will power in my loins not to jump wholly, trustingly, into his arms, Dance Of Joy style.
Later, I went one-on-one with another guy to actually open an account. Still untrusting about hidden fees, I ripped open a fun-size M&Ms bag on his desk and started popping them like House pops Vicodin, only with slightly less scruff and to a calmer effect. Yes, I am a stress eater. I don't need your judgement, I only need your chocolate. But the guy assured me that there were no hidden fees. He also assured me that he couldn't give me the cash I needed to pay my movers. And he sent me on my way. I took an extra bag of chocolate Vicodin for the road.
So ONCE AGAIN, here I am, stuck without a bank and with maximum withdrawal limits. I'm going to try with a real bank tomorrow, and Joe can take out a bit, too. So it's not the end of the world, but it was just one of those icing on the cake moments you really love.
It was one of those days that, despite the calming affects of the Credit Union, when I got home and saw a note by the elevator that our new washer/dryers now only use h.e. soap, I threw myself face-first against the wall and pounded on it, screaming, "WHY, GOD, WHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!" I wish it was a day ending with an ANTM potluck or a wine and cheese gathering or an Office marathon. It would have been nice to end the day laying on the floor with you guys around me, swearing to the high heavens about my woes and telling me how correct (and how pretty) I am.
And finally, I leave you with The Oatmeal, who put my day's emotional spiral into perfect words.
See you guys on the other side of Stuff-Having and Money-Haven'ting.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Evening TV
We still don't have our furniture yet. Technically it could be here as late as the 21st. THE TWENTY FIRST, PEOPLE. That's twenty-one days without a microwave or baking sheet (they are all packed and hell if I'm going to buy a new one when we have like seven perfectly good ones in a box somewhere within the continental United States) which means all our hot food is cooked in A single pot I packed. By the way, that's a short "A" as in "A gun, let alone many guns which would necessitate an entire rack."
I really do miss all my kitchen stuff, though. All my non-perishables are also lost in the abyss somewhere: my spices...my flour...that one box of Pasta-roni that I keep telling myself I'll eat someday but I haven't and now it's been 3 years and I feel bad giving it away to a food pantry because come on it's like 3 years old but why am I never in the mood for fetuccini alfredo anyway?
I wish I had all my cooking stuff because the area I live in (and possibly all of San Francisco but I don't have proof to back this up) is LITTERED with small markets. I guess my neighborhood is also considered Little Russia, so there's all this crazy Russian and eastern European food I've never tried, including a serious amount of feta. And it's California, so of course they basically throw produce at you when you walk by. "You want an avocado? Catch! *THWACK!* I said catch!"
Maybe it's good that I can't cook all the new meals I'm envisioning, because without a job I probably shouldn't be buying expensive baklava ingredients anyway. But there's one thing I miss more than anything in the whole world. And it surprised me way more than it should: my couch.
*quietly sobs into her hand*
I don't know if this is a thing, but I am a Couch Person. Not Couch Potato, because that implies that I am lazy and don't go on adventures. But what I mean is, if I'm home and it's not dark out, I'm on the couch. I nap there. I watch TV there. I look at internet there (take a look at internet, Michael!). I blog there. I work from home there. In my studio, I only had an armchair. NOT GOOD ENOUGH. You can't stretch out on an armchair. I mean, you can sit sideways, but my rickety late-twenty-something body can't handle that position all day anyway (that's what she said--HEYO). And you can't lay in bed/air mattress all day because, besides feeling insanely lazy, you will never be able to fall asleep later. I don't even understand that phenomenon. How is your brain THAT stupid? "What? You were here all day! This can't POSSIBLY also be the place you want to sleep."
But I miss the weekdays spent on that couch. Me, sprawled out; Joe, huddled in the corner of the couch, thwarting my attempts at putting my cold feet under his butt. We'd make dinner and sit down in front of the TV to watch BSG or West Wing or something else nerdy. Then eventually we'd get up and walk to a totally separate room (imagine!) and go to bed.
That's what I miss most. That's what I want my stuff here for. Not the cookware, not the chilly-weather clothes, not the cat toothpaste because, oof, that is some CAT'S BRAAAAATH. But the couch and the simple, do-nothing, relaxing times.
I really do miss all my kitchen stuff, though. All my non-perishables are also lost in the abyss somewhere: my spices...my flour...that one box of Pasta-roni that I keep telling myself I'll eat someday but I haven't and now it's been 3 years and I feel bad giving it away to a food pantry because come on it's like 3 years old but why am I never in the mood for fetuccini alfredo anyway?
I wish I had all my cooking stuff because the area I live in (and possibly all of San Francisco but I don't have proof to back this up) is LITTERED with small markets. I guess my neighborhood is also considered Little Russia, so there's all this crazy Russian and eastern European food I've never tried, including a serious amount of feta. And it's California, so of course they basically throw produce at you when you walk by. "You want an avocado? Catch! *THWACK!* I said catch!"
Maybe it's good that I can't cook all the new meals I'm envisioning, because without a job I probably shouldn't be buying expensive baklava ingredients anyway. But there's one thing I miss more than anything in the whole world. And it surprised me way more than it should: my couch.
*quietly sobs into her hand*
I don't know if this is a thing, but I am a Couch Person. Not Couch Potato, because that implies that I am lazy and don't go on adventures. But what I mean is, if I'm home and it's not dark out, I'm on the couch. I nap there. I watch TV there. I look at internet there (take a look at internet, Michael!). I blog there. I work from home there. In my studio, I only had an armchair. NOT GOOD ENOUGH. You can't stretch out on an armchair. I mean, you can sit sideways, but my rickety late-twenty-something body can't handle that position all day anyway (that's what she said--HEYO). And you can't lay in bed/air mattress all day because, besides feeling insanely lazy, you will never be able to fall asleep later. I don't even understand that phenomenon. How is your brain THAT stupid? "What? You were here all day! This can't POSSIBLY also be the place you want to sleep."
But I miss the weekdays spent on that couch. Me, sprawled out; Joe, huddled in the corner of the couch, thwarting my attempts at putting my cold feet under his butt. We'd make dinner and sit down in front of the TV to watch BSG or West Wing or something else nerdy. Then eventually we'd get up and walk to a totally separate room (imagine!) and go to bed.
That's what I miss most. That's what I want my stuff here for. Not the cookware, not the chilly-weather clothes, not the cat toothpaste because, oof, that is some CAT'S BRAAAAATH. But the couch and the simple, do-nothing, relaxing times.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Cats On A Plane
Well the biggest hurtles of the move are over. Yes, it was a little touch and go for a few days. Kinda Charlie Brown Christmas feeling, in the "CAN'T ANYTHING GO RIGHT IN MY LIFE?!" milieu. There might as well have been a little droopy tree with a red ornament. There was definitely walking like this:
But I'm in San Francisco! And Regina is in San Francisco! And all of the trees are green...it's very weird. It feels like the Land That Time Forgot. How do you mark the passage of time here? Wrinkles? I mean, would anyone ever know it was fall if they didn't change the coffee and beer flavors?
Anyway, I want to tell you about the trip over. I'm not sure I've mentioned on the blog about transporting Regina. Or maybe I have a million times. I don't know, moving is all I've talked about with anyone for a month, so I can't remember what transpired where and I'm too lazy to read my old posts. Although you are welcome to. Read and share. Read and share. (Not to be confused with "LIIIIFT! And SLIIIIIDE." God, I really need to lay off the Friends references. OR DO I. Shut up, shut up.)
So the way they recommend traveling with cats is to take them on the plane with you as a carry-on. You buy an airport-approved soft case with mesh sides for breathing and just take her on board with you. And yes, that also means taking her through security. I had to leave the case on the conveyor belt, and take out Regina, putting a cat leash on her just in case. She didn't try to escape because she was in such shock, but I felt better knowing she couldn't get far. So no problems there. It was slightly embarrassing feeling like a cat lady holding tightly to my cat while walking through a metal detector like I couldn't make it through on my own. John suggested dressing her up. I think a pilot's hat really would have sealed the deal, actually. It cracks me up to no end thinking about my cat, already donning her natural mustache, also in a pilot's hat. Awesome. In faaaact...
But anyway, the security part was fine. It was the plane ride where things got harried. Or should I say: HAIRIED!!!!!!1 (Oh my God, what is wrong with me.)
So here's the thing. The case I bought Regina was not TECHNICALLY airplane-sanctioned, in that nothing on the store tag indicated that it was. And it also only specified that it was for dogs. Dogs shmogs, I thought. What's good enough for Fifi is good enough for Regina.
IS IT?!
Well this particular pet case had the parallel zipper on top. You know, like on a duffle bag. And where the zippers closed was a little latch. I forgot to take a picture of it and I'm at a coffee shop right now so you have to use your imagination, SORRY. What I'm saying here is: there was a gap. There was a gap in the top of the bag. Now, your typical traveling Yorkshire Terrier is probably too stupid to realize the consequences of a gap in a bag. Your typical cat is NOT. Hence the case's dog specification.
So here we were, taking off. I'm looking out the window as all of Chicago starts to come into view. Tears begin to well up in my eyes, when I hear a distinctly louder "MEOW??" than the muted ones I had heard coming from her case earlier. I look down at my feet, and there is Regina's head, sticking up out of the bag.
We had a bit of a conversation. It went like this.
"WHAT?!?!?! NO!!! No! Get back! Get in there! Stop it. GAH! Get back in there! Ow! Stop squirming!"
"Meow! Meow? Meow. Meow! Meow. Meow?"
So out pops Regina like an alien out of a dude's stomach and I'm powerless to stop it from happening. Luckily, I had chosen the right place to sit on the plane: the very back, with no one in the middle seat and a cat-loving guy sleeping in the aisle seat. Since even the flight attendants were safely buckled in during takeoff, no one saw as I sat with Regina on my lap for a good 5 minutes, her pupils so big they were taking over her face. I calmed her down and then gently, geeennnnnnnnntly shoved her back into the case. I made sure all zippers were closed and secure and started reading.
A few minutes later, "MEOW?!"
Yeah. She got out again. She had tasted freedom and she wanted more. There was swearing as I tried to get her back in. Silent swearing in my head, which turned to whispers, which then became fully vocal f-bombs. Don't worry, everyone nearby had their headphones on. At least I think they did. ("Hmm. Where ARE they?")
So finally I gave up on getting her back in and held her again. Convinced that this was my new life for the next 5 hours, I put Regina in the case once she had settled. I pulled the zippers as closed as they would go, and prayed for a few minutes respite before she tried again. But by this point, Regina had been awake for at least 6 hours straight, and I think the adventures of the day finally got to her. She calmed down and fell asleep.
Of course, this terrified me. Here was a cat who had been meowing for about 3 hours nonstop, now totally silent. Had I broken her? Did the cabin pressure make her brain explode? I got worried. I picked up the case to check.
"MEOW? MEOW? MEOW? MEOW?"
I couldn't tell if I was annoyed or relieved to hear her meowing again. But meow she did. For most of the flight. And through the airport. People kept turning around to make sure they weren't going crazy, hearing phantom meowing. "Yes, it's coming from me." I would say. But eventually, we got her (and me) to the new apartment. Joe had the air mattress and litter box all set up, so we let her out to explore. She seems fine with her new home, and I'm VERY happy. I'm back with Joe, back in a real apartment, back to living my real life, not a temporary one.
Now I just need to find a job so I can start actually doing real things in this real life, and I'll be set. That's next.
But I'm in San Francisco! And Regina is in San Francisco! And all of the trees are green...it's very weird. It feels like the Land That Time Forgot. How do you mark the passage of time here? Wrinkles? I mean, would anyone ever know it was fall if they didn't change the coffee and beer flavors?
Anyway, I want to tell you about the trip over. I'm not sure I've mentioned on the blog about transporting Regina. Or maybe I have a million times. I don't know, moving is all I've talked about with anyone for a month, so I can't remember what transpired where and I'm too lazy to read my old posts. Although you are welcome to. Read and share. Read and share. (Not to be confused with "LIIIIFT! And SLIIIIIDE." God, I really need to lay off the Friends references. OR DO I. Shut up, shut up.)
So the way they recommend traveling with cats is to take them on the plane with you as a carry-on. You buy an airport-approved soft case with mesh sides for breathing and just take her on board with you. And yes, that also means taking her through security. I had to leave the case on the conveyor belt, and take out Regina, putting a cat leash on her just in case. She didn't try to escape because she was in such shock, but I felt better knowing she couldn't get far. So no problems there. It was slightly embarrassing feeling like a cat lady holding tightly to my cat while walking through a metal detector like I couldn't make it through on my own. John suggested dressing her up. I think a pilot's hat really would have sealed the deal, actually. It cracks me up to no end thinking about my cat, already donning her natural mustache, also in a pilot's hat. Awesome. In faaaact...
But anyway, the security part was fine. It was the plane ride where things got harried. Or should I say: HAIRIED!!!!!!1 (Oh my God, what is wrong with me.)
So here's the thing. The case I bought Regina was not TECHNICALLY airplane-sanctioned, in that nothing on the store tag indicated that it was. And it also only specified that it was for dogs. Dogs shmogs, I thought. What's good enough for Fifi is good enough for Regina.
IS IT?!
Well this particular pet case had the parallel zipper on top. You know, like on a duffle bag. And where the zippers closed was a little latch. I forgot to take a picture of it and I'm at a coffee shop right now so you have to use your imagination, SORRY. What I'm saying here is: there was a gap. There was a gap in the top of the bag. Now, your typical traveling Yorkshire Terrier is probably too stupid to realize the consequences of a gap in a bag. Your typical cat is NOT. Hence the case's dog specification.
So here we were, taking off. I'm looking out the window as all of Chicago starts to come into view. Tears begin to well up in my eyes, when I hear a distinctly louder "MEOW??" than the muted ones I had heard coming from her case earlier. I look down at my feet, and there is Regina's head, sticking up out of the bag.
We had a bit of a conversation. It went like this.
"WHAT?!?!?! NO!!! No! Get back! Get in there! Stop it. GAH! Get back in there! Ow! Stop squirming!"
"Meow! Meow? Meow. Meow! Meow. Meow?"
So out pops Regina like an alien out of a dude's stomach and I'm powerless to stop it from happening. Luckily, I had chosen the right place to sit on the plane: the very back, with no one in the middle seat and a cat-loving guy sleeping in the aisle seat. Since even the flight attendants were safely buckled in during takeoff, no one saw as I sat with Regina on my lap for a good 5 minutes, her pupils so big they were taking over her face. I calmed her down and then gently, geeennnnnnnnntly shoved her back into the case. I made sure all zippers were closed and secure and started reading.
A few minutes later, "MEOW?!"
Yeah. She got out again. She had tasted freedom and she wanted more. There was swearing as I tried to get her back in. Silent swearing in my head, which turned to whispers, which then became fully vocal f-bombs. Don't worry, everyone nearby had their headphones on. At least I think they did. ("Hmm. Where ARE they?")
So finally I gave up on getting her back in and held her again. Convinced that this was my new life for the next 5 hours, I put Regina in the case once she had settled. I pulled the zippers as closed as they would go, and prayed for a few minutes respite before she tried again. But by this point, Regina had been awake for at least 6 hours straight, and I think the adventures of the day finally got to her. She calmed down and fell asleep.
Of course, this terrified me. Here was a cat who had been meowing for about 3 hours nonstop, now totally silent. Had I broken her? Did the cabin pressure make her brain explode? I got worried. I picked up the case to check.
"MEOW? MEOW? MEOW? MEOW?"
I couldn't tell if I was annoyed or relieved to hear her meowing again. But meow she did. For most of the flight. And through the airport. People kept turning around to make sure they weren't going crazy, hearing phantom meowing. "Yes, it's coming from me." I would say. But eventually, we got her (and me) to the new apartment. Joe had the air mattress and litter box all set up, so we let her out to explore. She seems fine with her new home, and I'm VERY happy. I'm back with Joe, back in a real apartment, back to living my real life, not a temporary one.
Now I just need to find a job so I can start actually doing real things in this real life, and I'll be set. That's next.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Is That All You Get For Your Money?
Okay! Time for a quick catch-up. I moved everything out of my studio on Saturday and into a storage unit. Then Sunday the movers came and took it all away. (And I fly out on Tuesday, just to make sure we're all following along here.)
As you would expect, a million things went wrong (well, or like a few but work with me) because it is me and this is my life. All of these things could be detailed but you would likely die of either boredom or panic attack. Maybe both. So here's the summary:
1. My family was 3 hours late.
2. My mom couldn't come so we were down a car.
3. Construction workers were in the way of us moving.
4. The freight elevator stopped working.
5. I lost the key to the storage unit and had to have the lock cut off.
6. I GROSSLY underestimated the amount of stuff we owned, to the tune of 100 cubic square feet. (Whoopsie!)
7. I have to go back to the studio for the run-through because the landlords were gone by the time I was moved out.
In the end, it all worked out and my family pulled through without an ounce of complaining--AGAIN. Seriously, you are jealous of my awesome family (especially my parents) and their car-packing abilities.
But there was one thing that went wrong that you need to hear about.
We had to pay the movers about a grand yesterday (DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT THE COST OF THE MOVE IT IS ALREADY MAKING MY HEART DO THIS) and in cash or money order. I had the cash in my wallet. My mother assumed I would pull a Monica and stashed $500 in her coat "just in case." Thanks, mom. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.
Yeah...I left my wallet at home. So we had half the money. On a Sunday.
I know every stand-up comedian in the world has talked about this, but HOW ARE BANKS NEVER OPEN WHEN THE PEOPLE NEED THE MONEYS. Also while we're speaking of worn-out subjects that never change no matter how often Louis CK discusses them, what's with dentists being like, "See? When I slice open your gums they bleed! You need to floss!"
BAH. Where was I? Oh, right. The bank. It was closed. So we went to the ATM and took out $400 more, the max the ATM would allow. This was still not enough money to cover all the charges we would incur. So we did the next logical thing: we scammed my mother's own debit card.
We took that debit card to the grocery store self-check out aisle. We bought a pack of Altoids. $102. We walked to a different self-check out. We bought some water. $103. We bought some heavenly sandwich pinwheels. $104 dollars. Voila! We had the money we needed, and the bank was none the wiser! SUCKERS!!
I just need you to imagine my mom and I in the store, looking around all shifty-eyed like we had figured out how to beat the system and someone was going to come and arrest us at any moment. There was nervous giggling. Of course, this was the South Loop and there is so much more shifty activity happening that absolutely no one paid attention to the two pasty white ladies and their pinwheels. But there we were, cackling in the morning sun over our sweaty wad of money.
That is, until we got in the car, closed the door, and my mom said, "Wait. Why hasn't the bank called me by now?" "Huh."
So that's all. My mom and I will be entering a life of crime any day now. If any of you lose your debit card and then see purchases on your account for a wheel of cheese: $107...you likely have me to thank.
As you would expect, a million things went wrong (well, or like a few but work with me) because it is me and this is my life. All of these things could be detailed but you would likely die of either boredom or panic attack. Maybe both. So here's the summary:
1. My family was 3 hours late.
2. My mom couldn't come so we were down a car.
3. Construction workers were in the way of us moving.
4. The freight elevator stopped working.
5. I lost the key to the storage unit and had to have the lock cut off.
6. I GROSSLY underestimated the amount of stuff we owned, to the tune of 100 cubic square feet. (Whoopsie!)
7. I have to go back to the studio for the run-through because the landlords were gone by the time I was moved out.
In the end, it all worked out and my family pulled through without an ounce of complaining--AGAIN. Seriously, you are jealous of my awesome family (especially my parents) and their car-packing abilities.
But there was one thing that went wrong that you need to hear about.
We had to pay the movers about a grand yesterday (DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT THE COST OF THE MOVE IT IS ALREADY MAKING MY HEART DO THIS) and in cash or money order. I had the cash in my wallet. My mother assumed I would pull a Monica and stashed $500 in her coat "just in case." Thanks, mom. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.
Yeah...I left my wallet at home. So we had half the money. On a Sunday.
I know every stand-up comedian in the world has talked about this, but HOW ARE BANKS NEVER OPEN WHEN THE PEOPLE NEED THE MONEYS. Also while we're speaking of worn-out subjects that never change no matter how often Louis CK discusses them, what's with dentists being like, "See? When I slice open your gums they bleed! You need to floss!"
BAH. Where was I? Oh, right. The bank. It was closed. So we went to the ATM and took out $400 more, the max the ATM would allow. This was still not enough money to cover all the charges we would incur. So we did the next logical thing: we scammed my mother's own debit card.
We took that debit card to the grocery store self-check out aisle. We bought a pack of Altoids. $102. We walked to a different self-check out. We bought some water. $103. We bought some heavenly sandwich pinwheels. $104 dollars. Voila! We had the money we needed, and the bank was none the wiser! SUCKERS!!
I just need you to imagine my mom and I in the store, looking around all shifty-eyed like we had figured out how to beat the system and someone was going to come and arrest us at any moment. There was nervous giggling. Of course, this was the South Loop and there is so much more shifty activity happening that absolutely no one paid attention to the two pasty white ladies and their pinwheels. But there we were, cackling in the morning sun over our sweaty wad of money.
That is, until we got in the car, closed the door, and my mom said, "Wait. Why hasn't the bank called me by now?" "Huh."
So that's all. My mom and I will be entering a life of crime any day now. If any of you lose your debit card and then see purchases on your account for a wheel of cheese: $107...you likely have me to thank.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Urrrrrrgggggbbbllleeeeh
(Now THERE is a blog title that is SEO-optimized)
Whose idea was it to move?! HMM!?!?! Why am I putting Saran Wrap around my spice rack?? How many lists CAN I possibly make? THESE ARE QUESTIONS I WANT ANSWERS TO, PEOPLE.
Whose idea was it to move?! HMM!?!?! Why am I putting Saran Wrap around my spice rack?? How many lists CAN I possibly make? THESE ARE QUESTIONS I WANT ANSWERS TO, PEOPLE.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Fears and Pet Peeves
"....Ancient History, Literature, and IT'S ALL RELATIVE." I'm sorry, but I'm a lady who likes to complete her Friends references. DEAL WITH IT.
Ahem. Well, hello. And how are YOU today? You're well? That's marvelous. Come, follow me into my chateau. Have a seat on this velvet armchair.
Sorry, I don't even know where I'm going with this, suddenly I just felt like pretending to talk like a Mrs. Robinson-type for no reason whatsoever. Also, a preemptive warning--if this post seems incomplete and has a lot of non-English words, it is either a) a typical post and you should be used to such things by now or b) prematurely posted by my cat who has decided that laptops are for walking across, and wrists are for wiping your nose on.
So as you are all aware by now, I am moving to San Francisco in a week. And as of today, I have an actual flight reservation, as does Regina (My god, she is going to hate flying SO HARD) and a moving company picked out. I'm nervous about the movers. These ones totally check out--they have an A rating with the BBB and everything. So it's not that they're sketchy, it's that I just assume everyone taking my money is trying to take MORE of my money. And let's be honest, that's probably a good assumption.
But they ask you for an itemized list of stuff, and damn me if I can remember what we jammed into that storage unit 4 months ago before Joe left. I had to guess the number of boxes. I said 30. It could be 100 and I wouldn't be surprised...we had an unnerving amount of things. And when you tell them it's a 1-bedroom, how do you explain that it's a 1-bedroom, but for two people, and one of those people may or may not own multiple sets of Star Wars figurines and a barrel? (A BARREL.) (.............A BARREL.) So I'm pretty freaked out that the movers will get there and be like "We won't move this barrel! It's not in a box!" or "We won't move these Star Wars figurines! You said there are 30 boxes total and there are 32 boxes of JUST Star Wars figurines!" or "We couldn't fit the mattress in the elevator so you owe us $4000 dollars." I don't know...I'm scared. I'm scared because I am not making money right now, and this move is going to be a son. of. a. bitch. And Joe already spent the money his work gave him to move on moving himself out there earlier.
Truth be told, I'm scared of a lot of things about this move. I'm finding that this fear is like the head on a pint of Guinness: It covers all the good stuff underneath, it's the only thing you can taste at first, and it follows you down through all that good stuff, too.
I don't know...I'm still working on my metaphors. Michelle is helping me, she is the Metaphor Master.
My biggest fear is in going bankrupt. I'm going to be paying a lot more for rent in SF than in Chicago, and unemployment isn't going to get me through for very long; neither is temp work or Starbucks. I'm going to need a real person job. And I'm scared I won't be able to find one. San Francisco is filled with tons of great places to work. But it seems like they're all just 10 people per company, and I'm filled with fears that tiny companies won't take a chance on an unknown kid.
I'm also afraid of homesickness. I haven't felt really homesick since college, and even then my emotions were more about pining for dreamy Teenage Boyfriend. I'm moving far away from my family for the first time, so even though we have the internet, I can't go visit them for a weekend whenever I want. A lot of my friends have scattered (Again. I was hoping post-college would have been the last of it but NAY.) but those who are still nearby won't be able to visit and we can't go out for drinks. Even if I haven't seen some friends for a while, just knowing they're in Chicago or even in the Midwest feels comforting, knowing we can hang out if we WANTED.
I'm afraid San Francisco won't feel right. Y'all know me, I move ALL the time. What if I start feeling the need to move cities every year? I don't have that kind of money. Despite people's assertions that it's the best city ever, that you can make of it what you want, and that I personally am going to love it...I'm blindly afraid that I won't. What if I start resenting the hills? or the less-than awesome transportation system? Or the smaller-than-Chicago feel of it all?
I can tell myself a million times that the pros WILL outweigh the cons. I can tell myself about all the reasons SF is going to be awesome. And I do. And I even tell OTHER people why SF is going to be awesome. I hear it. I think about it. But no matter what I do, the foam still stays on top of the Guinness, keeping me from really enjoying the good stuff under it. So while, yes, I know everything will be okay and things will work out and I'm going to love it, I wouldn't be honest if I said I'm totally fine about it all. I'm not--I'm scared.
I guess I shouldn't be afraid for one reason and one reason only. And that one reason is lkookloddddddfffbbbbbbbbbbbhhh
Ahem. Well, hello. And how are YOU today? You're well? That's marvelous. Come, follow me into my chateau. Have a seat on this velvet armchair.
Sorry, I don't even know where I'm going with this, suddenly I just felt like pretending to talk like a Mrs. Robinson-type for no reason whatsoever. Also, a preemptive warning--if this post seems incomplete and has a lot of non-English words, it is either a) a typical post and you should be used to such things by now or b) prematurely posted by my cat who has decided that laptops are for walking across, and wrists are for wiping your nose on.
So as you are all aware by now, I am moving to San Francisco in a week. And as of today, I have an actual flight reservation, as does Regina (My god, she is going to hate flying SO HARD) and a moving company picked out. I'm nervous about the movers. These ones totally check out--they have an A rating with the BBB and everything. So it's not that they're sketchy, it's that I just assume everyone taking my money is trying to take MORE of my money. And let's be honest, that's probably a good assumption.
But they ask you for an itemized list of stuff, and damn me if I can remember what we jammed into that storage unit 4 months ago before Joe left. I had to guess the number of boxes. I said 30. It could be 100 and I wouldn't be surprised...we had an unnerving amount of things. And when you tell them it's a 1-bedroom, how do you explain that it's a 1-bedroom, but for two people, and one of those people may or may not own multiple sets of Star Wars figurines and a barrel? (A BARREL.) (.............A BARREL.) So I'm pretty freaked out that the movers will get there and be like "We won't move this barrel! It's not in a box!" or "We won't move these Star Wars figurines! You said there are 30 boxes total and there are 32 boxes of JUST Star Wars figurines!" or "We couldn't fit the mattress in the elevator so you owe us $4000 dollars." I don't know...I'm scared. I'm scared because I am not making money right now, and this move is going to be a son. of. a. bitch. And Joe already spent the money his work gave him to move on moving himself out there earlier.
Truth be told, I'm scared of a lot of things about this move. I'm finding that this fear is like the head on a pint of Guinness: It covers all the good stuff underneath, it's the only thing you can taste at first, and it follows you down through all that good stuff, too.
I don't know...I'm still working on my metaphors. Michelle is helping me, she is the Metaphor Master.
My biggest fear is in going bankrupt. I'm going to be paying a lot more for rent in SF than in Chicago, and unemployment isn't going to get me through for very long; neither is temp work or Starbucks. I'm going to need a real person job. And I'm scared I won't be able to find one. San Francisco is filled with tons of great places to work. But it seems like they're all just 10 people per company, and I'm filled with fears that tiny companies won't take a chance on an unknown kid.
I'm also afraid of homesickness. I haven't felt really homesick since college, and even then my emotions were more about pining for dreamy Teenage Boyfriend. I'm moving far away from my family for the first time, so even though we have the internet, I can't go visit them for a weekend whenever I want. A lot of my friends have scattered (Again. I was hoping post-college would have been the last of it but NAY.) but those who are still nearby won't be able to visit and we can't go out for drinks. Even if I haven't seen some friends for a while, just knowing they're in Chicago or even in the Midwest feels comforting, knowing we can hang out if we WANTED.
I'm afraid San Francisco won't feel right. Y'all know me, I move ALL the time. What if I start feeling the need to move cities every year? I don't have that kind of money. Despite people's assertions that it's the best city ever, that you can make of it what you want, and that I personally am going to love it...I'm blindly afraid that I won't. What if I start resenting the hills? or the less-than awesome transportation system? Or the smaller-than-Chicago feel of it all?
I can tell myself a million times that the pros WILL outweigh the cons. I can tell myself about all the reasons SF is going to be awesome. And I do. And I even tell OTHER people why SF is going to be awesome. I hear it. I think about it. But no matter what I do, the foam still stays on top of the Guinness, keeping me from really enjoying the good stuff under it. So while, yes, I know everything will be okay and things will work out and I'm going to love it, I wouldn't be honest if I said I'm totally fine about it all. I'm not--I'm scared.
I guess I shouldn't be afraid for one reason and one reason only. And that one reason is lkookloddddddfffbbbbbbbbbbbhhh
Thursday, October 20, 2011
REAL UPDATE!
GUYS!! THINGS HAVE HAPPENED!!!
Q: Gasp! Do you have a job?
A: Well...no.
Q: Gasp! Did you buy your ticket out there?!
A: Errrrrr.....
Q: Do you even have movers picked out?!
A: CAN I PLEASE JUST TELL YOU MY NEWS WITHOUT A BARAGE OF QUESTIONS. COME ON, Shelly.
No but I actually do have real news! Joe got the job officially! (Quick catch up: Joe has been in San Francisco for 4 months on contract-to-hire, and while we've been planning this move for a loooong time, he only just found out that he got the job a few days ago.) So this means we won't have TWO unemployed people living in an overpriced apartment, we'll only have ONE! HUZZAH!
And speaking of apartments--we have one of those, too! And check THIS action out!!
Windows that look out into things! Drawers that hold silverware! It's all I've ever wanted and more! And it's ours for the low low price of the top of our price range!
Now the next piece in the puzzle is getting our stuff over there. I've been talking to moving companies (almost got scammed by one. Let me tell you, there is no stress quite like the few hours you spend believing you just got scammed out of $500. Luckily Me+Ledge÷Joe+Megaphone=everything was okay.)
But I didn't realize movers give you such a wide timeframe with which to move. I thought you told them "pick it up on Saturday." And they said "It'll be there Tuesday." Then you'd do one of those single-pump handshakes, spin 180 degrees and walk away. Turns out, moving companies follow the John Locke school of stubbornness: DON'T TELL THEM WHAT THEY CAN AND CANNOT DO. So there's no way I'll be able to just fly to San Francisco the day the movers get there. Our new plan is this: Joe gets us an air mattress, shower curtain liner, kitty litter, and plastic silverware, and we camp out in our empty apartment for an unknown number of days until our stuff arrives. It actually sounds very romantic in a "middle part of Benjamin Button" kind of way. Which means inevitably everything will go wrong and it will be the worst, because that is how things go.
So in conclusion, our to-do list is coming together pretty well....even if it might not look like it from an ACTUAL to-do list perspective.
X Joe gets job
_ Emily gets job
X Find an apartment
_ Hire movers
_ Buy plane ticket
_ Gently stuff Regina into a case and fly out there
_ Move stuff in
Oh well. We're still on our way!
Q: Gasp! Do you have a job?
A: Well...no.
Q: Gasp! Did you buy your ticket out there?!
A: Errrrrr.....
Q: Do you even have movers picked out?!
A: CAN I PLEASE JUST TELL YOU MY NEWS WITHOUT A BARAGE OF QUESTIONS. COME ON, Shelly.
No but I actually do have real news! Joe got the job officially! (Quick catch up: Joe has been in San Francisco for 4 months on contract-to-hire, and while we've been planning this move for a loooong time, he only just found out that he got the job a few days ago.) So this means we won't have TWO unemployed people living in an overpriced apartment, we'll only have ONE! HUZZAH!
And speaking of apartments--we have one of those, too! And check THIS action out!!
Windows that look out into things! Drawers that hold silverware! It's all I've ever wanted and more! And it's ours for the low low price of the top of our price range!
Now the next piece in the puzzle is getting our stuff over there. I've been talking to moving companies (almost got scammed by one. Let me tell you, there is no stress quite like the few hours you spend believing you just got scammed out of $500. Luckily Me+Ledge÷Joe+Megaphone=everything was okay.)
But I didn't realize movers give you such a wide timeframe with which to move. I thought you told them "pick it up on Saturday." And they said "It'll be there Tuesday." Then you'd do one of those single-pump handshakes, spin 180 degrees and walk away. Turns out, moving companies follow the John Locke school of stubbornness: DON'T TELL THEM WHAT THEY CAN AND CANNOT DO. So there's no way I'll be able to just fly to San Francisco the day the movers get there. Our new plan is this: Joe gets us an air mattress, shower curtain liner, kitty litter, and plastic silverware, and we camp out in our empty apartment for an unknown number of days until our stuff arrives. It actually sounds very romantic in a "middle part of Benjamin Button" kind of way. Which means inevitably everything will go wrong and it will be the worst, because that is how things go.
So in conclusion, our to-do list is coming together pretty well....even if it might not look like it from an ACTUAL to-do list perspective.
X Joe gets job
_ Emily gets job
X Find an apartment
_ Hire movers
_ Buy plane ticket
_ Gently stuff Regina into a case and fly out there
_ Move stuff in
Oh well. We're still on our way!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Devolving
I feel like I'm really bad at blogging lately.
The problem is, my mind is filled 100% with finding a job in--and moving to--San Francisco. There just isn't room for anything else. I want to give you awesome anecdotes about the crazy stories of my life (and what crazy stories they are, my stars), but as soon as I sit down to write about something it quickly devolves into a breakdown. Something like:
This weekend I went to a party called "Spuds 'N Suds" where everyone had to bring a potato dish and beer. I brought sweet potatoes because I wanted practice for when I make them in DC for Thanksgiving with Joe's family. I'll be flying there from San Francisco. I'm moving to San Francisco. I don't have a job in San Francisco yet. I'M NEVER GOING TO FIND A JOB BECAUSE I'M USELESS AND LAME AND EVERYONE HATES ME AND I'M NOT CREATIVE AND I NEVER HAVE GOOD IDEAS AND I MIGHT AS WELL JUST GET A JOB STUFFING ENVELOPES AND LIVING IN JOLIET BECAUSE NOTHING WILL EVER BE GOOD AGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN.
See what I mean? It's pretty bad.
I'd like to think I'm getting a little better each day, though. Surrounding myself with positive thinking and helpful lists and fun-sounding back-up plans. Seriously, here's what I'm thinking: if no advertising agency wants to hire me (BREATHE, EMILY. STAY WITH US. WE LOVE YOU.) I'm going to give it a few months(?) and then get a job as a secretary so I can (just barely) pay for rent and food, then I'm going to take stand-up classes and improv classes and spend my free time writing sketches and spec scripts.
I think it's a stellar back-up, in my opinion. Besides the fact that is still leads to me never saving up money, maybe one day I will be rolling in it after working on TREAT YO SELF: The Donna/Tom spin-off show and THEN I'll finally be able to buy luxurious things like a car and socks and dental insurance. One can dream.
The problem is, my mind is filled 100% with finding a job in--and moving to--San Francisco. There just isn't room for anything else. I want to give you awesome anecdotes about the crazy stories of my life (and what crazy stories they are, my stars), but as soon as I sit down to write about something it quickly devolves into a breakdown. Something like:
This weekend I went to a party called "Spuds 'N Suds" where everyone had to bring a potato dish and beer. I brought sweet potatoes because I wanted practice for when I make them in DC for Thanksgiving with Joe's family. I'll be flying there from San Francisco. I'm moving to San Francisco. I don't have a job in San Francisco yet. I'M NEVER GOING TO FIND A JOB BECAUSE I'M USELESS AND LAME AND EVERYONE HATES ME AND I'M NOT CREATIVE AND I NEVER HAVE GOOD IDEAS AND I MIGHT AS WELL JUST GET A JOB STUFFING ENVELOPES AND LIVING IN JOLIET BECAUSE NOTHING WILL EVER BE GOOD AGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN.
See what I mean? It's pretty bad.
I'd like to think I'm getting a little better each day, though. Surrounding myself with positive thinking and helpful lists and fun-sounding back-up plans. Seriously, here's what I'm thinking: if no advertising agency wants to hire me (BREATHE, EMILY. STAY WITH US. WE LOVE YOU.) I'm going to give it a few months(?) and then get a job as a secretary so I can (just barely) pay for rent and food, then I'm going to take stand-up classes and improv classes and spend my free time writing sketches and spec scripts.
I think it's a stellar back-up, in my opinion. Besides the fact that is still leads to me never saving up money, maybe one day I will be rolling in it after working on TREAT YO SELF: The Donna/Tom spin-off show and THEN I'll finally be able to buy luxurious things like a car and socks and dental insurance. One can dream.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
An Update On Moving:
I have no further updates on moving.
Here's the thing. San Francisco is very small. But it is very awesome. And everyone wants to live there. Which means apartments are really hard to find. Well, unless you are willing to spend $2000 a month on a studio in the shady part of San Francisco called the Tenderloin (and while it sounds delicious, trust me, it is not.) Because THOSE apartments are PLENTIFUL.
So we're doing our best at finding a place that can fit us and our small cat. But we haven't found anything yet. Since we don't know where we're living, we haven't hired movers yet to take all our stuff (although I'm realizing we might need to hire them anyway, even without a specific destination and hope they accept this.)
Since we don't know when our movers will get there, I don't know when I can come out there. Since I don't know when I can come out there, I haven't bought a plane ticket. Also I still don't have a job out there waiting for me.
THEREFORE: My update on the move is that I have no update on the move. But DEAR GOD I would love to know all those things even more than you, believe you me.
So if you're wondering how I feel about moving, I'd say it's close to this:
Time goes by really quickly, nothing seems to be accomplished, no blog posts are written, and my stomach feels like I've been eating nothing but lemons for five days. Usually the day ends with me having a breakdown to Joe on the phone, convinced that no one will hire me, we'll never find an apartment, and Regina will run away. I don't know how, but I imagine a Homeward Bound situation with Regina traveling across the desert with one of those desert hats flowing down her neck.
So in conclusion: I am still a floating Kermit balloon. Working on that.
(Image from Hyperbole and a Half)
Here's the thing. San Francisco is very small. But it is very awesome. And everyone wants to live there. Which means apartments are really hard to find. Well, unless you are willing to spend $2000 a month on a studio in the shady part of San Francisco called the Tenderloin (and while it sounds delicious, trust me, it is not.) Because THOSE apartments are PLENTIFUL.
So we're doing our best at finding a place that can fit us and our small cat. But we haven't found anything yet. Since we don't know where we're living, we haven't hired movers yet to take all our stuff (although I'm realizing we might need to hire them anyway, even without a specific destination and hope they accept this.)
Since we don't know when our movers will get there, I don't know when I can come out there. Since I don't know when I can come out there, I haven't bought a plane ticket. Also I still don't have a job out there waiting for me.
THEREFORE: My update on the move is that I have no update on the move. But DEAR GOD I would love to know all those things even more than you, believe you me.
So if you're wondering how I feel about moving, I'd say it's close to this:
Time goes by really quickly, nothing seems to be accomplished, no blog posts are written, and my stomach feels like I've been eating nothing but lemons for five days. Usually the day ends with me having a breakdown to Joe on the phone, convinced that no one will hire me, we'll never find an apartment, and Regina will run away. I don't know how, but I imagine a Homeward Bound situation with Regina traveling across the desert with one of those desert hats flowing down her neck.
So in conclusion: I am still a floating Kermit balloon. Working on that.
(Image from Hyperbole and a Half)
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Life Update
Wow, this week has been very...different.
So if you can recall, I moved this week. Still within the city limits of Chicago, but BARELY. I took off work on Wednesday and Thursday, moving my stuff from our apartment in the South Loop up to a studio in a neighborhood called Edgewater, which is North Side to the xtreme. (Yeah. No "e". THAT'S HOW FAR NORTH I LIVE NOW.)
The second day, we moved the rest of our stuff-we-don't-need-for-four-months-which-makes-me-question-if-we-REALLY-need-it-at-all-and-then-I-remember-it's-stuff-like-a-couch-and-a-blender-and-I-don't-feel-SO-bad-but-really-I-still-question-it-and-then-I-watch-Hoarders-and-think-"well-at-least-it's-not-mummified-rats-and-old-toothbrushes"-and-I-feel-a-little-better-but-seriously-do-we-REALLY-need-this-chair? into a storage unit.
And the rest of the week was spent unpacking and learning about my new neighborhood. It is seriously bizarre how much I feel like I'm in a totally different city right now, to the point where it felt odd coming into work because, well, shouldn't I WORK somewhere else, too? Something consistent in my life?? HUH??
NEW THINGS: I live walking distance to the beach (WHAT?! AWESOME), there are trees everywhere instead of cement covered in dog pee, and the woman working the cash register at Dunkin Donuts is best friends with everyone and calls us all "My Friend." It might just be the most glorious thing ever.
The sad thing that comes with all this is that Joe is gone to San Francisco. His zip code starts with a 9 instead of a 6. It is sad. And quiet. But I've been preparing for it for so long, it doesn't feel that horrible yet. I'm emotionally prepared AND physically prepared: I've been waiting to read Bossypants for a month so I'd have something to do. And we've already done a Skype video call in which I spent most of the time looking at my own hair and wishing I'd put on a little eyeliner.
ALSO, I'm making a puppet but I can't tell you why!! I wish I could but I can't for like two weeks. I'm making it for a contest and if I tell you what contest it will mess with my chances. But I can show you the puppet! And I can show you my test run with him. I'm trying to get a hang of his personality and voice, so I just started talking...and out came the Brady Bunch theme song. And yes, THIS is officially the nerdiest thing I've done since the time I memorized all the words to the Black Knight scene in Monty Python.
So that's basically where I'm at. Studio, Reading, Work, Puppet. I'm cool with it.
So if you can recall, I moved this week. Still within the city limits of Chicago, but BARELY. I took off work on Wednesday and Thursday, moving my stuff from our apartment in the South Loop up to a studio in a neighborhood called Edgewater, which is North Side to the xtreme. (Yeah. No "e". THAT'S HOW FAR NORTH I LIVE NOW.)
The second day, we moved the rest of our stuff-we-don't-need-for-four-months-which-makes-me-question-if-we-REALLY-need-it-at-all-and-then-I-remember-it's-stuff-like-a-couch-and-a-blender-and-I-don't-feel-SO-bad-but-really-I-still-question-it-and-then-I-watch-Hoarders-and-think-"well-at-least-it's-not-mummified-rats-and-old-toothbrushes"-and-I-feel-a-little-better-but-seriously-do-we-REALLY-need-this-chair? into a storage unit.
And the rest of the week was spent unpacking and learning about my new neighborhood. It is seriously bizarre how much I feel like I'm in a totally different city right now, to the point where it felt odd coming into work because, well, shouldn't I WORK somewhere else, too? Something consistent in my life?? HUH??
NEW THINGS: I live walking distance to the beach (WHAT?! AWESOME), there are trees everywhere instead of cement covered in dog pee, and the woman working the cash register at Dunkin Donuts is best friends with everyone and calls us all "My Friend." It might just be the most glorious thing ever.
The sad thing that comes with all this is that Joe is gone to San Francisco. His zip code starts with a 9 instead of a 6. It is sad. And quiet. But I've been preparing for it for so long, it doesn't feel that horrible yet. I'm emotionally prepared AND physically prepared: I've been waiting to read Bossypants for a month so I'd have something to do. And we've already done a Skype video call in which I spent most of the time looking at my own hair and wishing I'd put on a little eyeliner.
ALSO, I'm making a puppet but I can't tell you why!! I wish I could but I can't for like two weeks. I'm making it for a contest and if I tell you what contest it will mess with my chances. But I can show you the puppet! And I can show you my test run with him. I'm trying to get a hang of his personality and voice, so I just started talking...and out came the Brady Bunch theme song. And yes, THIS is officially the nerdiest thing I've done since the time I memorized all the words to the Black Knight scene in Monty Python.
So that's basically where I'm at. Studio, Reading, Work, Puppet. I'm cool with it.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Light As A Feather, Stiff As A Hoard...er
Hey guys, hey guys, hey guysguysguys.
Look, I'm going to be straight with you. I came here to write a post and got lost in a sea of Liz Lemon YouTube clips and now I can't remember where my brains were.
BLERG! NERDS! *EYE ROLL* I WANT TO GO TO THERE!
Oh my God, STOP BEING ME.
There, I think it's out of my system.
So Wednesday and Thursday are the big moving days. It'll be two solid days of me alternating between yelling at Joe and pretending to not be mad at Joe while telling everyone that "I'm fine, I'm FINE! NOW WILL SOMEONE PLEASE JUST MOVE THIS G.D. LAMP BEFORE I START USING MY FINGERNAILS AS WEAPONS?!"
What can I say? It'll be my 8th move in 9 years. I know how I work.
But then after we've moved our stuff to studio/storage unit, we'll have two full days of peace and box-scrounging before Joe walks out of my life. Well not really out of my life. I'm going to see him once or twice a month while he's at his contract gig. Yay being in your late twenties and going to weddings every weekend!
So this weekend I had people over to take my unwanted stuff. It was therapeutic. I am genetically both pack rat and unencumbered garbage-tosser. My father is of the "salad dressing doesn't expire" and "sure, you can never have too many hammers" persuasion, while my mother is from the "throw it away before she gets home for summer break, why would she want a Stay Puft action figure any more" side.
Side note: I think about that marshmallow man every day, Mom. EVERY. DAY.
I have a little of both hoarder and thower-outer in me, which I guess is supposed to make me well-rounded but really just creates extreme interal anguish every time I move or clean.
It's an empty tin. Toss it.
But I could put things in it! Keep it.
What, more things you don't need? Toss it.
But I have a lot of lip gloss that could go in there.
You don't wear lip gloss because it makes your hair stick to your lips when it's windy. Toss it.
Pencils?
No.
Eyeshadow?
No.
Thumb tacks?
No.
Lip gloss?
WHAT DID I JUST SAY.
I actually think I've done really well with getting rid of unnecessary things. Did I finally get rid of some muscle relaxants from 2004? Yes. Even though they did not have mold on them or anything. They were probably FINE. And just because I didn't trust something 7 years expired that is supposed to render me unconscious doesn't mean I wouldn't need them SOME time in the future. But they were still tossed. Because that's how important it was for me to finally purge myself of my literal extra baggage.
Joe also did quite well. And especially since school is over, he got rid of tons of supplies. We put everything in a pile...which then turned into a few piles...which then became our entire dining area filled with stuff that we didn't need or use. I was amazed at how much stuff we'd had hiding in our apartment that we didn't even use. This is what happens, I suppose, when you are blessed with a lot of storage space: a nice, clean apartment that is SECRETLY FILLED WITH CRAP. Luckily a bunch of people came over and claimed stuff. It's amazing how much more awesome things seem when they're free. (The first time I had Potbelly was their opening day when they were giving away everything for free and I still maintain it was the best meal of my life.)
The rest of everything goes to Goodwill. I was reminded by Jess that Goodwill was the NON homophobic charity company COUGHsalvationarmyCOUGH so that's where it's going. It'll be nice to have had such a purge. Everything I now own has been deliberated with the same level of scrutiny as a line of children picking the next Red Rover runner. The things moving forward with me to the other side are the biggest, toughest of children. Only the truly best nail polish. The truly best note pads. The truly best muscle relaxants.
I feel light as a feather. A feather that still probably has way too much stuff.
Look, I'm going to be straight with you. I came here to write a post and got lost in a sea of Liz Lemon YouTube clips and now I can't remember where my brains were.
BLERG! NERDS! *EYE ROLL* I WANT TO GO TO THERE!
Oh my God, STOP BEING ME.
There, I think it's out of my system.
So Wednesday and Thursday are the big moving days. It'll be two solid days of me alternating between yelling at Joe and pretending to not be mad at Joe while telling everyone that "I'm fine, I'm FINE! NOW WILL SOMEONE PLEASE JUST MOVE THIS G.D. LAMP BEFORE I START USING MY FINGERNAILS AS WEAPONS?!"
What can I say? It'll be my 8th move in 9 years. I know how I work.
But then after we've moved our stuff to studio/storage unit, we'll have two full days of peace and box-scrounging before Joe walks out of my life. Well not really out of my life. I'm going to see him once or twice a month while he's at his contract gig. Yay being in your late twenties and going to weddings every weekend!
So this weekend I had people over to take my unwanted stuff. It was therapeutic. I am genetically both pack rat and unencumbered garbage-tosser. My father is of the "salad dressing doesn't expire" and "sure, you can never have too many hammers" persuasion, while my mother is from the "throw it away before she gets home for summer break, why would she want a Stay Puft action figure any more" side.
Side note: I think about that marshmallow man every day, Mom. EVERY. DAY.
I have a little of both hoarder and thower-outer in me, which I guess is supposed to make me well-rounded but really just creates extreme interal anguish every time I move or clean.
It's an empty tin. Toss it.
But I could put things in it! Keep it.
What, more things you don't need? Toss it.
But I have a lot of lip gloss that could go in there.
You don't wear lip gloss because it makes your hair stick to your lips when it's windy. Toss it.
Pencils?
No.
Eyeshadow?
No.
Thumb tacks?
No.
Lip gloss?
WHAT DID I JUST SAY.
I actually think I've done really well with getting rid of unnecessary things. Did I finally get rid of some muscle relaxants from 2004? Yes. Even though they did not have mold on them or anything. They were probably FINE. And just because I didn't trust something 7 years expired that is supposed to render me unconscious doesn't mean I wouldn't need them SOME time in the future. But they were still tossed. Because that's how important it was for me to finally purge myself of my literal extra baggage.
Joe also did quite well. And especially since school is over, he got rid of tons of supplies. We put everything in a pile...which then turned into a few piles...which then became our entire dining area filled with stuff that we didn't need or use. I was amazed at how much stuff we'd had hiding in our apartment that we didn't even use. This is what happens, I suppose, when you are blessed with a lot of storage space: a nice, clean apartment that is SECRETLY FILLED WITH CRAP. Luckily a bunch of people came over and claimed stuff. It's amazing how much more awesome things seem when they're free. (The first time I had Potbelly was their opening day when they were giving away everything for free and I still maintain it was the best meal of my life.)
The rest of everything goes to Goodwill. I was reminded by Jess that Goodwill was the NON homophobic charity company COUGHsalvationarmyCOUGH so that's where it's going. It'll be nice to have had such a purge. Everything I now own has been deliberated with the same level of scrutiny as a line of children picking the next Red Rover runner. The things moving forward with me to the other side are the biggest, toughest of children. Only the truly best nail polish. The truly best note pads. The truly best muscle relaxants.
I feel light as a feather. A feather that still probably has way too much stuff.
Monday, June 13, 2011
I Think I'm Alone Now
Oh heyyyyy guys. How've you been? How was your weekend? What have you been up to lately?
Sigh, I'm sorry. I feel like I've been gone/absent for a while and now we've gotten to that point like when you haven't seen a good friend for an awkward amount of time, you know? And you feel weird asking them about their life because they're supposed to be a good friend and you should KNOW if they have a boyfriend/job/car but you don't, but you also feel weird making small talk because they're your good friend and you refuse to discuss the weather. You know.
You do know, right? Please tell me you know. Don't tell me I'm the only one out there who gets that awkward. Although God knows I'm capable of it.
Anyway, I'm avoiding it now. Here's the skinny. The nub. The gist. The low-down. STOP IT, EMILY.
Joe has accepted a 4-month contract job in San Francisco. He'll be gone from the 4th of July to Halloween. I will be alllll alone. I'm moving to a studio on the (extremely) north side. I will be a sad, lonely, destitute old hag, with no one to comfort her during the cold, dark nights but her mustachioed female cat named after an obscure Friends reference.
Thing is, though...I'm actually really excited. But like, REALLY excited.
Not so much excited that Joe is going to be gone. That part makes my insides feel like burning. But I'm excited to have my own place for a little bit. I've never lived alone in my entire life. I've never blasted my music in the middle of a living space for hours. I've never been able to constantly pick my own movies and tv shows without consulting someone else (why HELLO, marathon of old Grey's Anatomy episodes. And how are we this evening? Anyone object to a Miranda Bailey lecture once every 40 minutes? Regina Phalange? Refrigerator? No one? Excellent, let's begin.)
Dishes will be done WHEN I SAY THEY'LL BE DONE. Everything in the fridge is mine, MINE! ALL MINE!! BWA HA HA HA HA HA!! What's this goo on the bathroom sink? Who knows, but I created it and therefore I won't get the Black Lung by scraping it off. THE FREEDOM IS ENDLESS, PEOPLE.
I'm also looking forward to forcing myself to do more alone-time things. I'm going to go to a movie by myself for the first time. I'm going to go out to eat by myself. I'm going to go to movies in the park by myself. Rent roller skates at the beach? Maybe! You never know what kind of kooky adventures I'll find myself in.
It's not that I couldn't have done these things earlier. I just...never did. I guess I never really thought to. Even when I was unemployed and had all the alone time in the world, the whole pesky "lack of paycheck" thing was keeping me from reaching my true adventuresome potential.
So what does this mean to you? Because, let's great real. The world revolves around each and every one of you. Separately. What it means is that you get nonstop complaining for the rest of the month as we pack up our stuff and put it in storage until Joe's gig is done and we know what we're doing next. HOW FUN FOR YOU! Also, you get to hear about the adventures of a single girl who is not really single. Read: no posts about awkward first dates BUT INSTEAD posts about how I broke my pride falling into the lake while roller skating. Yippee!
Sigh, I'm sorry. I feel like I've been gone/absent for a while and now we've gotten to that point like when you haven't seen a good friend for an awkward amount of time, you know? And you feel weird asking them about their life because they're supposed to be a good friend and you should KNOW if they have a boyfriend/job/car but you don't, but you also feel weird making small talk because they're your good friend and you refuse to discuss the weather. You know.
You do know, right? Please tell me you know. Don't tell me I'm the only one out there who gets that awkward. Although God knows I'm capable of it.
Anyway, I'm avoiding it now. Here's the skinny. The nub. The gist. The low-down. STOP IT, EMILY.
Joe has accepted a 4-month contract job in San Francisco. He'll be gone from the 4th of July to Halloween. I will be alllll alone. I'm moving to a studio on the (extremely) north side. I will be a sad, lonely, destitute old hag, with no one to comfort her during the cold, dark nights but her mustachioed female cat named after an obscure Friends reference.
Thing is, though...I'm actually really excited. But like, REALLY excited.
Not so much excited that Joe is going to be gone. That part makes my insides feel like burning. But I'm excited to have my own place for a little bit. I've never lived alone in my entire life. I've never blasted my music in the middle of a living space for hours. I've never been able to constantly pick my own movies and tv shows without consulting someone else (why HELLO, marathon of old Grey's Anatomy episodes. And how are we this evening? Anyone object to a Miranda Bailey lecture once every 40 minutes? Regina Phalange? Refrigerator? No one? Excellent, let's begin.)
Dishes will be done WHEN I SAY THEY'LL BE DONE. Everything in the fridge is mine, MINE! ALL MINE!! BWA HA HA HA HA HA!! What's this goo on the bathroom sink? Who knows, but I created it and therefore I won't get the Black Lung by scraping it off. THE FREEDOM IS ENDLESS, PEOPLE.
I'm also looking forward to forcing myself to do more alone-time things. I'm going to go to a movie by myself for the first time. I'm going to go out to eat by myself. I'm going to go to movies in the park by myself. Rent roller skates at the beach? Maybe! You never know what kind of kooky adventures I'll find myself in.
It's not that I couldn't have done these things earlier. I just...never did. I guess I never really thought to. Even when I was unemployed and had all the alone time in the world, the whole pesky "lack of paycheck" thing was keeping me from reaching my true adventuresome potential.
So what does this mean to you? Because, let's great real. The world revolves around each and every one of you. Separately. What it means is that you get nonstop complaining for the rest of the month as we pack up our stuff and put it in storage until Joe's gig is done and we know what we're doing next. HOW FUN FOR YOU! Also, you get to hear about the adventures of a single girl who is not really single. Read: no posts about awkward first dates BUT INSTEAD posts about how I broke my pride falling into the lake while roller skating. Yippee!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Potential Life Changes
I haven't really talked about what is going on in my life recently. This is because it is so MIGHTILY up in the air right now.
The deal is, Joe graduates in a few minutes (or like a month or two but you get it) and he's looking for work. And APPARENTLY the job market is a little touch-and-go at the moment OR SO I HEAR. So it's not a very stress-free process. And then throw ME into the mix and what do you get, boys and girls? Seven ulcers. That is what you get.
In my opinion, we've both been really good about taking each other into account when it comes to next steps for his job. Open-minded. I told him that if we have to move, we can. I'm not going to keep us cooped up in Chicago if that's not the right option--just because I'm afraid to leave. And in exchange, he gets to continue to date me. NO, no. ...Yes. NO! In exchange, he has to make sure we both approve of the city, and that it has good Advertising gigs so I don't have to become the next Real Housewife of Boise or something.
At first, the motto was "Chicago first, but if we must, maybe another city." But the more and more we talk about it, the more the motto changes to "F*ck it, let's do this."
Obviously nothing is set AT ALL. And Joe is trying hard for Chicago-based places. But if it has to happen, here are some of our current options, and why I'd be happy to move to any of them:
SAN FRANCISCO:
1. Francisco! That's fun to say.
2. Apparently the weather is constantly 50-70 degrees. SIGN. ME. UP. Plus, I can rock the light jacket like no body's BEESWAX.
3. It seems really laid back. And everyone I know there is really awesome. It must have some connection to the weather. People don't get cooped up for months on end, nor do they get irritated by constant boob sweat.
4. I do not have a Sassy Gay Friend. Maybe I could finally find one in San Fran.
SEATTLE:
1. Again with the laid back attitude.
2. I see your "it rains too much" and I raise you "It rains while you sleep or while you enjoy a nice cup of tea and a book on a lazy Sunday afternoon." Game set match.
3. Two of my aunts live near or around there. My aunts are super adorable.
4. Fresh fish at the fish market MIGHT mean I am able to choke down seafood.
PORTLAND:
1. I feel like Portland is like Seattle, but with less water and more hipsters.
2. In preparation for a potential move, I watched all the Portlandia episodes on Hulu and I have to say, Portland might just be the rich man's Wicker Park. And I love Wicker Park.
3. I could get a bike. I could get a bike and ride it around everywhere. And since everyone else has a bike, it would be way cooler and I would not fear for my life because people actually WATCH for bikers unlike SOME cities coughCHICAGOcough.
4. Joe and I could recreate the Oregon Trail and, as always, Hannah would get dysentery.
LOS ANGELES:
1. The constantly nice weather means I could get a scooter instead of a car and be like Jason Segal in I Love You, Man or like Zooey Deschanel in Yes Man. Basically any movie involving a scooter and ending in Man? That could be me.
2. I would be SIGNIFICANTLY closer to Future Husband John Krasinski. A plus for me, a negative for Joe. But these are the sacrifices we must make.
3. Higher potential for becoming famous. I assume everyone who lives in LA is famous, right?
So that's it. That's what's going on right now. Yes it is crazy. Yes it is frustrating not knowing for sure what city I'll be in within a few months. Yes I would be moving far away from my family and friends. Yes I have never lived outside Illinois. Yes it is creeping dangerously close to the end of our lease. Yes I need to go chug some Maalox right now.
The deal is, Joe graduates in a few minutes (or like a month or two but you get it) and he's looking for work. And APPARENTLY the job market is a little touch-and-go at the moment OR SO I HEAR. So it's not a very stress-free process. And then throw ME into the mix and what do you get, boys and girls? Seven ulcers. That is what you get.
In my opinion, we've both been really good about taking each other into account when it comes to next steps for his job. Open-minded. I told him that if we have to move, we can. I'm not going to keep us cooped up in Chicago if that's not the right option--just because I'm afraid to leave. And in exchange, he gets to continue to date me. NO, no. ...Yes. NO! In exchange, he has to make sure we both approve of the city, and that it has good Advertising gigs so I don't have to become the next Real Housewife of Boise or something.
At first, the motto was "Chicago first, but if we must, maybe another city." But the more and more we talk about it, the more the motto changes to "F*ck it, let's do this."
Obviously nothing is set AT ALL. And Joe is trying hard for Chicago-based places. But if it has to happen, here are some of our current options, and why I'd be happy to move to any of them:
SAN FRANCISCO:
1. Francisco! That's fun to say.
2. Apparently the weather is constantly 50-70 degrees. SIGN. ME. UP. Plus, I can rock the light jacket like no body's BEESWAX.
3. It seems really laid back. And everyone I know there is really awesome. It must have some connection to the weather. People don't get cooped up for months on end, nor do they get irritated by constant boob sweat.
4. I do not have a Sassy Gay Friend. Maybe I could finally find one in San Fran.
SEATTLE:
1. Again with the laid back attitude.
2. I see your "it rains too much" and I raise you "It rains while you sleep or while you enjoy a nice cup of tea and a book on a lazy Sunday afternoon." Game set match.
3. Two of my aunts live near or around there. My aunts are super adorable.
4. Fresh fish at the fish market MIGHT mean I am able to choke down seafood.
PORTLAND:
1. I feel like Portland is like Seattle, but with less water and more hipsters.
2. In preparation for a potential move, I watched all the Portlandia episodes on Hulu and I have to say, Portland might just be the rich man's Wicker Park. And I love Wicker Park.
3. I could get a bike. I could get a bike and ride it around everywhere. And since everyone else has a bike, it would be way cooler and I would not fear for my life because people actually WATCH for bikers unlike SOME cities coughCHICAGOcough.
4. Joe and I could recreate the Oregon Trail and, as always, Hannah would get dysentery.
LOS ANGELES:
1. The constantly nice weather means I could get a scooter instead of a car and be like Jason Segal in I Love You, Man or like Zooey Deschanel in Yes Man. Basically any movie involving a scooter and ending in Man? That could be me.
2. I would be SIGNIFICANTLY closer to Future Husband John Krasinski. A plus for me, a negative for Joe. But these are the sacrifices we must make.
3. Higher potential for becoming famous. I assume everyone who lives in LA is famous, right?
So that's it. That's what's going on right now. Yes it is crazy. Yes it is frustrating not knowing for sure what city I'll be in within a few months. Yes I would be moving far away from my family and friends. Yes I have never lived outside Illinois. Yes it is creeping dangerously close to the end of our lease. Yes I need to go chug some Maalox right now.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Happy Blogaversary!
Wow, today is this blog's one year anniversary. That is CRAZAAYYY! It seems like just yesterday I was dragging my laptop to Lovely to force myself to finally make a blog, even if I had no idea what I wanted to do with it.
I tried to write a little somethin' somethin' along the lines of "here are all the things I did this year" but it just sounded so Dullsville, USA, population me. So what do I do? I turned it into another story in pictures, of course.
So here it is, a bit of the past year, as seen from EJS IS ME:
Here is essentially what the Cheese Knives debacle looked like.
In which I realized that not everyone remembers classic Bible stories in the same way.
If you haven't caught on yet, whales are the bane/joke upon my life. But the original post about them was not all fun and games.
I really did want to become a Roller Derby girl. For now, I'm going to settle on buying myself some roller skates next summer.
This is a bit of a random one, but it pretty well represents my time as a true Freelancer.
What a disaster. For the entire story in pictures, go here.
Here is a good representation of the place I sat when I first started the internship that turned into a real job. That window was like God shining his love down upon me.
My most crass title to date, but I still don't take it back.
I don't think I ever got around to explaining the 3rd disaster of our camping experience: besides the fact that it was a ghetto piece of land in podunk Michigan and the showers probably gave me smallpox, there was also a nearby group of Russians playing and yelling Hotel California--and nothing BUT Hotel California--for 24 straight hours, including those times most people reserve for sleeping. What was crazy was that when they first started, Joe and I couldn't figure out what song they were even trying to play or sing. And by the time we left, they were singing in perfect harmony and even playing the crazy bridge part.
Two days after I got a job, I got a cat with a mustache. She likes it with us.
And I really mean that. Thanks to everyone who's shown support for me or for this blog by reposting, voting, becoming a facebook fan, commenting, or even just telling me that they enjoyed what they read. It's the reason I kept going, blog-wise, and life-wise. Your support has honestly changed the way I've been doing things lately. For the better, obv.
Oh! And I didn't include SO SO many posts, like the dogs in sweaters, a bunch of Bible posts, the one about Advertising that got a gazillion hits, anything involving Muppets or my embarrassing childhood, my disdain for sports, my British teeth issue (in which I got a few angry comments from British people who apparently only understand sarcasm if it's coming out of the mouth of Ricky Gervais)...the list goes on. Feel free to go back and read as much or little as you want!
I tried to write a little somethin' somethin' along the lines of "here are all the things I did this year" but it just sounded so Dullsville, USA, population me. So what do I do? I turned it into another story in pictures, of course.
So here it is, a bit of the past year, as seen from EJS IS ME:
Here is essentially what the Cheese Knives debacle looked like.
In which I realized that not everyone remembers classic Bible stories in the same way.
If you haven't caught on yet, whales are the bane/joke upon my life. But the original post about them was not all fun and games.
I really did want to become a Roller Derby girl. For now, I'm going to settle on buying myself some roller skates next summer.
This is a bit of a random one, but it pretty well represents my time as a true Freelancer.
What a disaster. For the entire story in pictures, go here.
Here is a good representation of the place I sat when I first started the internship that turned into a real job. That window was like God shining his love down upon me.
My most crass title to date, but I still don't take it back.
I don't think I ever got around to explaining the 3rd disaster of our camping experience: besides the fact that it was a ghetto piece of land in podunk Michigan and the showers probably gave me smallpox, there was also a nearby group of Russians playing and yelling Hotel California--and nothing BUT Hotel California--for 24 straight hours, including those times most people reserve for sleeping. What was crazy was that when they first started, Joe and I couldn't figure out what song they were even trying to play or sing. And by the time we left, they were singing in perfect harmony and even playing the crazy bridge part. 
Two days after I got a job, I got a cat with a mustache. She likes it with us.
And I really mean that. Thanks to everyone who's shown support for me or for this blog by reposting, voting, becoming a facebook fan, commenting, or even just telling me that they enjoyed what they read. It's the reason I kept going, blog-wise, and life-wise. Your support has honestly changed the way I've been doing things lately. For the better, obv.
Oh! And I didn't include SO SO many posts, like the dogs in sweaters, a bunch of Bible posts, the one about Advertising that got a gazillion hits, anything involving Muppets or my embarrassing childhood, my disdain for sports, my British teeth issue (in which I got a few angry comments from British people who apparently only understand sarcasm if it's coming out of the mouth of Ricky Gervais)...the list goes on. Feel free to go back and read as much or little as you want!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Three Things:
1. I'm getting my hair cut at 1pm this afternoon. I have given you all plenty of warning of this impending chop, and it's finally happening. For. Reals. No tears! (I'm looking at you, Michelle.)
2. I start an internship next week! This means a few things: "My Monday" comic strips will likely return, I'll have money, and I may even get a cat. OH THE SHENANIGANS.
3. We start moving tomorrow. All my stuff! My precious, precious STUFF! It'll be back in my grubby little paws where it belongs. My couch, and my couch pillows, and my couch sores from laying on the couch too long...it'll all be back!
4. BONUS NUMBER I haven't talked to Laura in a million years and I miss her. I know this is not pertinent to any of you (unless your name rhymes with Shmora) but maybe if I write it in blog form, I will finally pick up my deteriorating phone to call her.
2. I start an internship next week! This means a few things: "My Monday" comic strips will likely return, I'll have money, and I may even get a cat. OH THE SHENANIGANS.
3. We start moving tomorrow. All my stuff! My precious, precious STUFF! It'll be back in my grubby little paws where it belongs. My couch, and my couch pillows, and my couch sores from laying on the couch too long...it'll all be back!
4. BONUS NUMBER I haven't talked to Laura in a million years and I miss her. I know this is not pertinent to any of you (unless your name rhymes with Shmora) but maybe if I write it in blog form, I will finally pick up my deteriorating phone to call her.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I Need Packing Advice
I need some advice, and I am serious this time. Not like those other times when I ask for advice and then start daydreaming about cheese.
No. I need packing advice. See, Monica and I are moving out of our lovely apartment by the end of this month. She is moving back with her fah-shah for now and I am going to dump all my stuff with my loving parents and live the life of a nomad for a month until Joe's lease is up. And then I HAVE TO LIVE WITH A BOOOOOOY! (Friends quote, people. Keep up.)
So really, we could pack up and move right now if we wanted to, since parent's houses are not time sensitive. But frankly, we paid good money to squat here for the rest of the month. However, people keep referring to the fact that I should have things in boxes already.
And I don't. I have nary a box. Everything is just as sprawled out as usual. The only thing I've done so far to get myself closer to moving out is to stop cleaning the bathroom, since we just have to clean it before we move out anyway. Baby steps.
The way I usually pack is, unsurprisingly, the way I do everything in life. I start in one corner, forget what I was doing, start something else, realize I need to sweep, do that, come back to the original box, discover old love letters I forgot I had, read those, throw them away, have a sandwich, call it a day. I don't know why I do it this way. I guess when your attention span hinders on the question of Is there, or is there not, something shiny over there? your packing skills are slightly erratic. This may also explain why I haven't started packing yet. Because once I start, there are just forty half-filled boxes in every room, and the pan I need to cook my rice in is currently under my Ninja Turtle figurines.
So what I want from all of you is advice. Packing advice. Things you have learned in your own personal packing journeys. Should I not put all my books in one box because it's too damn heavy? Where should I start? Where should I end? How should I label? And do YOU think I should be packed already, even though I have a week left in this apartment?
No. I need packing advice. See, Monica and I are moving out of our lovely apartment by the end of this month. She is moving back with her fah-shah for now and I am going to dump all my stuff with my loving parents and live the life of a nomad for a month until Joe's lease is up. And then I HAVE TO LIVE WITH A BOOOOOOY! (Friends quote, people. Keep up.)
So really, we could pack up and move right now if we wanted to, since parent's houses are not time sensitive. But frankly, we paid good money to squat here for the rest of the month. However, people keep referring to the fact that I should have things in boxes already.
And I don't. I have nary a box. Everything is just as sprawled out as usual. The only thing I've done so far to get myself closer to moving out is to stop cleaning the bathroom, since we just have to clean it before we move out anyway. Baby steps.
The way I usually pack is, unsurprisingly, the way I do everything in life. I start in one corner, forget what I was doing, start something else, realize I need to sweep, do that, come back to the original box, discover old love letters I forgot I had, read those, throw them away, have a sandwich, call it a day. I don't know why I do it this way. I guess when your attention span hinders on the question of Is there, or is there not, something shiny over there? your packing skills are slightly erratic. This may also explain why I haven't started packing yet. Because once I start, there are just forty half-filled boxes in every room, and the pan I need to cook my rice in is currently under my Ninja Turtle figurines.
So what I want from all of you is advice. Packing advice. Things you have learned in your own personal packing journeys. Should I not put all my books in one box because it's too damn heavy? Where should I start? Where should I end? How should I label? And do YOU think I should be packed already, even though I have a week left in this apartment?
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