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.
Showing posts with label Paris is for dumping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paris is for dumping. Show all posts
Monday, November 14, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Heartbreak Recovery
Not everyone has an ex who they are forced to think about one day a year. I do. So in honor of the early St. Patrick's Day celebrations tomorrow where I am sure to eat my weight in tots, as well as spew out a few bitter remarks, I thought I'd get serious for a moment and say how I feel without the aid of green beer.
If you’ve ever had your heart broken, you know how it goes: the world becomes a dark, cold place.
Nothing will be good ever again. Everything—BUT EVERYTHING reminds you of that person, right down to the type of cement they use to pave your sidewalks. When you brush your teeth, you remember the time you bought toothbrushes together and suddenly you find yourself bawling and brushing, bawling and brushing. It’s an awkward way to brush your teeth, with tears streaming down your face.
But eventually, just like they said it would, things get better. Even though you promised that this time things wouldn’t. And you don’t even know how it happened, or when it happened. But you find new music that doesn’t make your eyes brim, and you find new people that have no idea about your past. And one day you find someone that makes you happier—BUT HAPPIER than you can ever remember being, even happier than back when you used to buy toothbrushes together and you were sure that it was the best you would ever be.
You start thinking, why did I cry so much? How could I have thought there’d be no one better? You remember the stupid crap you put up with. You remember that you used to cry, even when you were still together. You remember that you were always a little in love with their best friend anyway, and you realize how disastrous that could have been.
You look back at pictures of yourself from when you were heartbroken, and your heart breaks all over again. But this time, it isn’t for the person you loved. It’s for the person you were. You want to reach out to your old self, gather yourself up in your arms and just rock. And rock. And rock. You want to say, “Oh my God you are about to meet someone so amazing and you don’t even know it.” And you want to say, “Get off of that couch. Brush your teeth like a normal person. Trust me, you don’t need to cry.”
But you did. Because you needed the world to feel colorless before you’d ever notice how blue the sky could be.
And it turns out, everything the other didn’t want, everything that made you question the choices you made and the way you spoke or stood or laughed, those are the things that make you and your new love fit just right. This must be how a lost puzzle piece feels, you think, when it’s saved from a vacuum or a dog's rogue tongue and finally finds its home. Your corner of bright green makes so much more sense when you see the whole grassy field.
If you’ve ever been in love, you know how it goes—the world becomes the most dazzling place.
If you’ve ever had your heart broken, you know how it goes: the world becomes a dark, cold place.
Nothing will be good ever again. Everything—BUT EVERYTHING reminds you of that person, right down to the type of cement they use to pave your sidewalks. When you brush your teeth, you remember the time you bought toothbrushes together and suddenly you find yourself bawling and brushing, bawling and brushing. It’s an awkward way to brush your teeth, with tears streaming down your face.
But eventually, just like they said it would, things get better. Even though you promised that this time things wouldn’t. And you don’t even know how it happened, or when it happened. But you find new music that doesn’t make your eyes brim, and you find new people that have no idea about your past. And one day you find someone that makes you happier—BUT HAPPIER than you can ever remember being, even happier than back when you used to buy toothbrushes together and you were sure that it was the best you would ever be.
You start thinking, why did I cry so much? How could I have thought there’d be no one better? You remember the stupid crap you put up with. You remember that you used to cry, even when you were still together. You remember that you were always a little in love with their best friend anyway, and you realize how disastrous that could have been.
You look back at pictures of yourself from when you were heartbroken, and your heart breaks all over again. But this time, it isn’t for the person you loved. It’s for the person you were. You want to reach out to your old self, gather yourself up in your arms and just rock. And rock. And rock. You want to say, “Oh my God you are about to meet someone so amazing and you don’t even know it.” And you want to say, “Get off of that couch. Brush your teeth like a normal person. Trust me, you don’t need to cry.”
But you did. Because you needed the world to feel colorless before you’d ever notice how blue the sky could be.
And it turns out, everything the other didn’t want, everything that made you question the choices you made and the way you spoke or stood or laughed, those are the things that make you and your new love fit just right. This must be how a lost puzzle piece feels, you think, when it’s saved from a vacuum or a dog's rogue tongue and finally finds its home. Your corner of bright green makes so much more sense when you see the whole grassy field.
If you’ve ever been in love, you know how it goes—the world becomes the most dazzling place.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Emily Show
The cat's out of the bag. You can all stop pretending. I've figured it out, all on my own.
I am on The Emily Show, and you are all actors, paid to interact with me. CUT. HOUSE LIGHTS UP, PLEASE. SHE FIGURED US OUT. Yeah, that's what I thought.
Seriously, though, do you guys ever get that feeling? Like the other day, I walked into the gym and just a FEW too many people stopped and looked at me. And, trust me, this wasn't like a "whoah, she's hot" kind of issue. If you've ever seen me at the gym, you would understand this. I mean, I'll admit when I look hot. Last Friday? Smokin'. Every boy in the bar should have wanted to have my babies. But at the gym? Nooooooot so much. I mean, an oversized shirt with sweat stains, bright red nose and dark circles under my eyes? Helloooooo fellas.
Where was I? OH! The Emily Show. So anyway, I feel like this happens a lot, where people are paying just a LITTLE too much attention to me when I absolutely don't deserve it. It's like they know. It's like they just watched me this morning, dancing in my room with Charlie to Bad Romance, but they know they aren't allowed to recognize that fact to me. Because they are only supposed to be the person in front of me at Wendy's who ordered the Baconator Triple so the director can get a good shot of my horrified face.
Or whenever I raise my hand to ask a question, I feel like an absurd amount of people turn to look at me. I guess I know how to make my voice carry, which catches people off guard. OR they are all excited to have an excuse to turn and stare at the STAR OF THE EMILY SHOW.
And, come on now. WHO gets dumped in Paris? Me. I do. I get dumped in Paris. Because it made for a great season finale, perhaps?!?!?!?! You people are SICK. I'm going to steal a boat and float away from you all, despite the fact that my father was killed in the ocean and then brought back to life.
All I have to say is: wouldn't it be a GREAT ratings boost if I got a job? Aren't Sweeps coming up or something?
I am on The Emily Show, and you are all actors, paid to interact with me. CUT. HOUSE LIGHTS UP, PLEASE. SHE FIGURED US OUT. Yeah, that's what I thought.
Seriously, though, do you guys ever get that feeling? Like the other day, I walked into the gym and just a FEW too many people stopped and looked at me. And, trust me, this wasn't like a "whoah, she's hot" kind of issue. If you've ever seen me at the gym, you would understand this. I mean, I'll admit when I look hot. Last Friday? Smokin'. Every boy in the bar should have wanted to have my babies. But at the gym? Nooooooot so much. I mean, an oversized shirt with sweat stains, bright red nose and dark circles under my eyes? Helloooooo fellas.
Where was I? OH! The Emily Show. So anyway, I feel like this happens a lot, where people are paying just a LITTLE too much attention to me when I absolutely don't deserve it. It's like they know. It's like they just watched me this morning, dancing in my room with Charlie to Bad Romance, but they know they aren't allowed to recognize that fact to me. Because they are only supposed to be the person in front of me at Wendy's who ordered the Baconator Triple so the director can get a good shot of my horrified face.
Or whenever I raise my hand to ask a question, I feel like an absurd amount of people turn to look at me. I guess I know how to make my voice carry, which catches people off guard. OR they are all excited to have an excuse to turn and stare at the STAR OF THE EMILY SHOW.
And, come on now. WHO gets dumped in Paris? Me. I do. I get dumped in Paris. Because it made for a great season finale, perhaps?!?!?!?! You people are SICK. I'm going to steal a boat and float away from you all, despite the fact that my father was killed in the ocean and then brought back to life.
All I have to say is: wouldn't it be a GREAT ratings boost if I got a job? Aren't Sweeps coming up or something?
Monday, January 4, 2010
My Travel Plans
I’m not partial to New Years Resolutions. I tend to be in the when-I-want-to-I’ll-change camp. But this year, I just so happened to go to a yoga class right before the New Year and discovered how sadly sad sad my abs are. So I’ve resolved (and it just so happens to be at the New Year) to do a couple crunches. You know, here and there. And today as I listened to my Songs I Should Know By Now mix, Free Bird came on. At my first crunch I heard the lyrics, “Lord knows you cannot chaaaaange!”
Screw you, Lynard Skynard. No one asked your opinion.
Another thing I’ve been thinking about that is very New Years Resolution-y is travel. While unemployed, these travel plans are all put on hold. But I also assume that I WILL have a copywriting job in the near future and will not be forced to go back to school to become a Kindergarten teacher (which, despite my surly exterior, I honestly think I would be good at). So once I get back to Corporate America, I have a few places I’ll be flying to. In no special order...
New England:
I’ve seen New York and DC and Pennsylvania, but I have never been to true New England. I’m talking lobster-catching, sand-dollar-finding, old-women-who-smell-of-the-sea New England. And for some reason, I am dying to go.
Reasons Why This Is Ridiculous:
1) I hate all food that comes from the sea. (EVEN CUCUMBER SUSHI?!?! Yes. Stop judging me.)
2) Is my biggest reason for going that I once read a charming tween book about a girl who visits her grandmother who lives in New England and she gets her first kiss from the shy blue-eyed neighbor? Yes. That is my biggest reason.
3) Is my second biggest reason syrup? Yes. That is my second biggest reason.
California:
The fact that I have never stepped foot on California soil is a horrible injustice. Why?
More Lists:
1) Many (if not most) ads are shot in California. I have produced many ads, and have yet to go on an ad shoot. It’s embarrassing.
2) One of my best friends from college is from southern California. Her family is rolling in it, and her mother has told me that if I ever want to come to California, whether to visit or, you know, live indefinitely, I can take up residence in their home. And they would give me delicious food and possibly a Jag. And yet I have never been.
3) My favorite ad agency is in San Francisco, so it is my goal to become worthy enough to work there. Although I am really bad with hills. This might pose a problem; I hear San Fran has a few.
Scotland:
I am more or less a mutt, heritage-wise, but I always just tell people I’m Scottish. My family has a Scottish crest, a plaid, a castle, my great uncle plays the bagpipes, and the only semi-close relative who is 100% anything was my great-grandfather, last name: MacBeath.
So I want to go to Scotland, visit my castle, maybe plant a flag, and then drink Scotch with the locals until I understand what the hell they are saying to me.
I was very close to Scotland a number of times when I dated The Irishman, but he refused to take me there because he didn’t want to spend his money travelling to a country that is basically the same as the one we were already in. So instead we went to Mainland Europe. Which brings me to my next destination—
France:
I am not going over the entire story. But yes, the man dumped me in front of the Eiffel Tower. So I am determined to go back to France and have it not be the worst experience of my life. Because I think France deserves as much. Certainly their cheese does. And their crepes. And their crème brulee. And their scarves.
Greece:
I used to really want to go to southern Italy, just for the fact that it was distant and warm. But I have changed my mind. I must go to Greece. And I will even endure the fact that you can’t flush toilet paper (I hear.) I will endure it for this reason:
CATS EVERYWHERE
(photo courtesy of Erin C)
I know a couple that went to Greece and whenever they sat outside to eat, they were barraged with cats. Just cats, flying in from everywhere to eat their yogurt and baklava.
I know most people are of the cats-are-evil persuasion, so the idea of CATS EVERYWHERE makes them want to curl up and die a little. Not me. Cats are awesome. So are dogs. So are hamsters. So are rabbits. Summary: if you have fur, you are awesome. (Another reason why I'm with Joe.)
So *jump* <-- That’s me, jumping on the Greece train.
These are my top places to visit. Not for 2010 necessarily, but hopefully within the next five years. Howabout all y’all? Where do you want to go?
Screw you, Lynard Skynard. No one asked your opinion.
Another thing I’ve been thinking about that is very New Years Resolution-y is travel. While unemployed, these travel plans are all put on hold. But I also assume that I WILL have a copywriting job in the near future and will not be forced to go back to school to become a Kindergarten teacher (which, despite my surly exterior, I honestly think I would be good at). So once I get back to Corporate America, I have a few places I’ll be flying to. In no special order...
New England:
I’ve seen New York and DC and Pennsylvania, but I have never been to true New England. I’m talking lobster-catching, sand-dollar-finding, old-women-who-smell-of-the-sea New England. And for some reason, I am dying to go.
Reasons Why This Is Ridiculous:
1) I hate all food that comes from the sea. (EVEN CUCUMBER SUSHI?!?! Yes. Stop judging me.)
2) Is my biggest reason for going that I once read a charming tween book about a girl who visits her grandmother who lives in New England and she gets her first kiss from the shy blue-eyed neighbor? Yes. That is my biggest reason.
3) Is my second biggest reason syrup? Yes. That is my second biggest reason.
California:
The fact that I have never stepped foot on California soil is a horrible injustice. Why?
More Lists:
1) Many (if not most) ads are shot in California. I have produced many ads, and have yet to go on an ad shoot. It’s embarrassing.
2) One of my best friends from college is from southern California. Her family is rolling in it, and her mother has told me that if I ever want to come to California, whether to visit or, you know, live indefinitely, I can take up residence in their home. And they would give me delicious food and possibly a Jag. And yet I have never been.
3) My favorite ad agency is in San Francisco, so it is my goal to become worthy enough to work there. Although I am really bad with hills. This might pose a problem; I hear San Fran has a few.
Scotland:
I am more or less a mutt, heritage-wise, but I always just tell people I’m Scottish. My family has a Scottish crest, a plaid, a castle, my great uncle plays the bagpipes, and the only semi-close relative who is 100% anything was my great-grandfather, last name: MacBeath.
So I want to go to Scotland, visit my castle, maybe plant a flag, and then drink Scotch with the locals until I understand what the hell they are saying to me.
I was very close to Scotland a number of times when I dated The Irishman, but he refused to take me there because he didn’t want to spend his money travelling to a country that is basically the same as the one we were already in. So instead we went to Mainland Europe. Which brings me to my next destination—
France:
I am not going over the entire story. But yes, the man dumped me in front of the Eiffel Tower. So I am determined to go back to France and have it not be the worst experience of my life. Because I think France deserves as much. Certainly their cheese does. And their crepes. And their crème brulee. And their scarves.
Greece:
I used to really want to go to southern Italy, just for the fact that it was distant and warm. But I have changed my mind. I must go to Greece. And I will even endure the fact that you can’t flush toilet paper (I hear.) I will endure it for this reason:
CATS EVERYWHERE
(photo courtesy of Erin C)
I know a couple that went to Greece and whenever they sat outside to eat, they were barraged with cats. Just cats, flying in from everywhere to eat their yogurt and baklava.
I know most people are of the cats-are-evil persuasion, so the idea of CATS EVERYWHERE makes them want to curl up and die a little. Not me. Cats are awesome. So are dogs. So are hamsters. So are rabbits. Summary: if you have fur, you are awesome. (Another reason why I'm with Joe.)
So *jump* <-- That’s me, jumping on the Greece train.
These are my top places to visit. Not for 2010 necessarily, but hopefully within the next five years. Howabout all y’all? Where do you want to go?
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