T.Hanks

My friend Erin always said that life goes in circles. Sometimes you’re at the top, sometimes you’re at the bottom.

This was right after college, when everyone was at the bottom of their circles. Because, let’s face it, immediately post-college is a black hole of suckiness. Sorry, Hannah. But her point was to look up, because eventually you'll be at the top again. You can’t stay in the Pit Of Despair forever.

I’ve just come up from the bottom and I’m sitting at the top of a really big circle. It might be my first authentic Top Of The Circle moment. I’ve got a job that I love which keeps my writing chops honed, I have a boy so amazing that he secretly signed me up for an all-day “Television Puppetry” class taught by a Muppeteer, and I’m living in a city with endless possibilities for entertainment. I have real, actual hobbies that aren’t “hanging out with friends” and “drinking” (although I still enjoy both of those greatly) and I have a cat whose favorite pastime is cuddling…immediately after pooping. Hey, you can’t have everything.

I’m sure I won’t be at the top of this circle forever. Call it pessimism or realism, but if the circle theory is correct, eventually you have to dip back down. So while I’m still up here, I want to enjoy it as best as I can. And part of that is going to be letting go of the blog, at least for now. Posts usually take me an hour at best--the good ones much longer--and I want to give over that time to other things, like fostering my relationship with Joe, enjoying the city and the sunlight, and using my writing energy to help my work become a thriving business.

So I want to say thank you to everyone who followed along, whether loudly or quietly. This blog is literally why I’m in the good place I’m in now, and you forced me to stay at it. Don’t be surprised to see blog posts pop up now and then, and maybe in full force again one day. For now, I'll just say: see you later.

10 Differences Between San Francisco And Chicago Which I Have Noticed Since Moving Here

1. People are serious about this "Bay Area" business. From what I can tell (aka, what Wikipedia says), The Bay Area--which also includes cities like Oakland, Berkeley, and San Jose--is about 7,000 square miles. The Chicago metro area is about 11,000. But whether you're from Skokie, Hinsdale, or I'd venture to guess Rockland, if you take one step outside of Illinois, where are you from? Chicago. It's just allllllll Chicago. But Christ forbid you say you live in San Francisco if you do NOT. I mean, these other cities have their own SPORTS TEAMS. That is how serious they are about being from the "Bay Area" and not from "San Francisco". I think it has to do with this whole limiting bodies of water thing they've got going on.

2. We live near the ocean. I mean, EVEN NEARER than other people in the Bay Area. Which means, when it's foggy, foghorns keep us awake at night. CORRECTION: foghorns keep ME awake at night, because Joe falls asleep if you so much as say the word "pajamas". The problem is, the foghorns keep me awake because then I start thinking of Angel Marie's foghorn noises on Muppet Treasure Island.


Every time. Also, our windows don't keep out much sound because they are possibly the thinnest windows ever created. They might actually just be tightly stretched Saran Wrap. It makes sense: if there's never an insane winter, why bother spending money on stormproof glass? Because of the foghorns. THAT'S WHY.

3. To rival Luna, I present to you: Sleep Train Mattress Center. Jingle: "Sleep Traaaaain! (*train whistle*) Your ticket to a better night's sleeeeep!" And what image do you see while this jingle is rolling? Why, a VAN, of course. Apparently proximity to Los Angeles does not make for better local ads.

4. San Francisco is some kind of magical Mecca for restaurants. The combination between small-business love, hipsters, transplants from around the country/world, and young people with money creates a cesspool of creative, amazing restaurants. And you will never go to all of them. You just won't. There is always a slightly different experience you haven't had yet, and they all have descriptions to rival Stefon's. It's like that thing, where you sit outside with heating lamps and eat gourmet curry fried chicken while you watch a movie on a giant brick wall?

5. The weather. So listen. I know Chicago winters are eyeball-numbingly cold. I'm not going to stand here and gloat. But San Francisco is not southern California either. Basically, if you wear close-toed shoes, a scarf, and a medium-weight pea coat, you'll be fine almost every day of the year. And I'm okay with it.

6. Some of these buses are HIT. Like, Mickey Rourke-level hit. Graffiti everywhere. They look like how I imagine all of New York looked in the 80's. The double-length accordian buses have seen the worst of it, because the bus driver can't see people back there. It's become so bad, they have a special announcement on the bus that tells you how to report vandalism--in 3 languages, no less. I even witnessed it, too. I did what the announcement said and texted in the bus number, but nothing happened. I really wanted to be there when a squadron of police kicked open the back doors and dragged the guys away (how I imagine cops handle light vandalism). I could even bear witness because I took pictures of them IN THE ACT. But for nothing. Just so I could have pictures of two idiots ruining a bus.

7. On the bus, you don't notice the hills. In a taxi you DO. I guess because the bus is going slower and pulling over every second, and a taxi is careening through time and space. But I really almost forget about the hills until I'm in a taxi.

8. I have never smelled pot so often in my life. I guess it's the mixture of hippies and easily-attainable legal mary jane. But SERIOUSLY. Probably every day.

9. Homeless San Franciscans are on a whole different level than Homeless Chicagoans. See, people in Chicago are homeless because stuff has gone down in their lives. They've seen things. The homeless people of San Francisco have only seen things because the people in their head TELL them so. Sure, there are crazy people in Chicago, too. But more often than not, Chicagoans are just cold and hungry and quietly smelly. The homeless people in San Francisco are of a louder, more rambunctious seed. One guy just stands on the corner blowing raspberries into the air to make himself laugh. They do not claim doorways to hide from the wind. They move freely and with gusto. And it requires a serious ability to ignore those around you, which my little sister simply does not have.

10. I do not get tired of Joe.This isn't actually a difference between San Francisco and Chicago, it's just something I've noticed of my San Francisco experience. Before I moved, I was curious--when we moved to a new land with few distractions to keep us apart, could we survive on nothing but each other? The answer, so far, has been yes. I just don't get tired of him. EVEN when he calls laundry, "Laundo Calrissian" (Which he does. Every time.) I mean, maybe talk to me in 50 years when we're yelling at each other in Walgreens because neither of us can see to read the cough syrups any more (or perhaps did we witness that from an old couple last weekend). But for all the time I spend with the guy, and it's a LOT, I don't find myself planning his untimely demise. All in all, it's been pretty smooth sailing.

Let's Do This.

First things first: the ankle is doing much better. There was a Quasimodo limp going on for a bit, but I'm walking normally now. There's pretty xtreme bruising (no E, that's how bruised it is) but I'll be fine. My first day home, Hannah kept calling me Beth, so I wrapped myself in a blanket and told her that the only gift I wanted for Christmas was for the war to end and father to come home.

But I'm healing. My time in Chicago has been another great vacation from my problems. I needed some time to just be with people I know, in a place I know, without stressing about working. And now I'm ready to get back to it.

It feels like every sentence I utter anymore is: "Once I have a job, I can..." and I'm tired of it. It's been a year since I felt safe enough to spend money and it's wearing me out. I mean, it's not like I want to toss my mink pelt over my shoulder and start ordering people around with my scepter, I just want to buy pure maple syrup without feeling "extravagant".

But it's more than money, too. I don't feel like a productive member of society without a job. Sure, I feel better when I get stuff done. I can exercise and write and clean and basically do ANYTHING besides scroll through Pinterest and Tumblr (Oh, Tumblr...your Parks and Rec gifs are so hard to turn away from). And I'll feel like at least there was something to define my day, to prove that I was here and I helped.

So I'm ready to go back. I'm actually still in Chicago right now, back in SF late on Wednesday night. At first I imagined myself leaving Chicago kicking and screaming (or at least slightly tearfully) just because I was so happy to be back with everyone and didn't want to leave them again. But now I'm ready. I'm ready to actually get this thing started FOR REALZ. The last few months laid the groundwork. I've made connections, I've interviewed, I've figured out a lot about where I want my next steps to fall. I just need that final leap to an offer. That way I can start the rest--the adventures, the extracurricular classes, the pure maple syrup--that will complete the circle of why I went in the first place.

My Penultimate Birthday

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?

Happy Fall Or Whatever

The weather in San Francisco is in the upper 50s. Always. Europeans reading this right now are like "SWEET JESUS, ARE YOU OKAY?!" so let me clarify I'm talking Fahrenheit here.

It's awesome, the weather. You can go outside in jeans and a moderate jacket and be comfortable. In Chicago, we have days like that. They are always days where you are cooped up at work or school. On the weekends, it rains. Like whiskey for the Irish, it is God's way of keeping Chicagoans from ruling the world.

But in San Francisco, every day is in the upper 50s. (BLAH BLAH sometimes it gets hot and sometimes there's fog but WORK WITH ME HERE, it's call hyperbole) I'm really--and I mean REALLY--excited for it to be 58° in late January. I might put on my swimsuit and run around outside just for kicks. But it's December. And as I've said before, it's the only month where cold is acceptable because you get to do all these Christmassy things (if you celebrate Christmas) that make the cold kinda nice.

I'm doing what I can to make the place feel like Christmas around here. Paper snowflakes on the window, pine scents coming at you from every room in every method of fragrance possible, and an alarm system set in my phone for Christmas movies on TV. T-Minus 5.5 hours until Charlie Brown Christmas, BTW.

But there really is no replacement for snow to make it feel like the season is upon us. And yet I'm about to go running in knee-length stretch pants. It is extremely bizarre for me.

I don't really have a conclusion for you. Just wanted to inform you that California is weirding me out this month. Luckily I come back to Chicago in time for Christmas and snow and all that jazz. So Chicago--YA'LL better deliver on this snow stuff, OR ELSE. Except not enough to ruin my flight or put me in peril. Just enough to make it pretty.



Always.

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!

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.

The Milkman, The Paperboy...

There's this book I read where a British family visits America for the first time. They're in Tennessee and everyone at the hotel keeps smiling at them and telling them to "have a nice day." The daughter leans in to her friend and whispers, "What do they WANT?"

I always laughed at this. Oh, BRITISH PEOPLE. They just don't understand. Har har, hoo hee ha hem.

And now I am one of them.

I don't know if it's too early to be making sweeping generalizations about the people of a city, but I'm going to do it anyway: people in San Francisco are disconcertingly nice.

The lady at the fruit market struck up a whole conversation with me about how gorgeous the pomegranates were. The girl checking my I.D. at the grocery store asked me how Chicago was because she wanted to see snow. The waiter at the highly-praised, Southern comfort, deserves-to-be-snotty restaurant wasn't snotty.

But these weren't people who were gunning for tips. You ever had one of those waiters or waitresses that is SO nice and smiley and eye contact-y that you consider tipping them LESS for it? Those are not the people of San Francisco. They are legitimately nice. Either that, or they are just infinitely better actors than Chicagoans.

Is it something in the water? Maybe. It is pretty good water. Is it the weather? I mean, it doesn't get too cold in the winter, but you'd think the fog and constant need for layers would make people a little more surly.

Or maybe it's because it's a city of transplants. Everyone is here because they CHOSE to be here, and you just can't be too crabby when you've chosen to live in a pink stucco apartment on a hill overlooking the ocean.

OR! Maybe it's just that Chicago is a lot more hardened of a city than I thought. I always claimed that we were the city with Midwestern kindness and sensibilities. But we're kinda just another city that ignores you on the elevator and doesn't make eye contact when you hand over your credit card. We're a city that doesn't care much for pedestrians and forces them to play real-life Frogger.

All I know is, I've been surprised daily by people being a lot more kind and helpful than I've been prepared for. I'm going to get auditory whiplash for all the times my ears have done double-takes.

What Ever Happened To Predictability?

Okay, I thought I'd share with everyone what I've been up to since arriving in San Francisco. But since we are a visual people, let's do it in PICTURES! YEAH! PICTURES! LESS! READING! MORE! SEEING! LESS! READING! MORE! SEEING! WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP!

I don't know...I'm in a weird place right now. A weeeeird place.

So just a bit of overview: I haven't been doing anything extremely touristy. One, because I did those things when I was here the first time. Two, because I'm unemployed and have to conserve my money. And three, because I have a life to live and internet to catch up on, and I can't spend my days riding a trolley all day.

But if you are curious about what my life is currently looking like, here it is:

First and most importantly, I discovered that I live about half a mile from Robin Williams during my run this morning.

....

I'm just giving you all a little moment to let the majesty of that sentence grip your hearts.

I made a nifty little map for you. The orange star is where I live. The kooky neon green star is where Robin Williams lives.


And yes, you heard right. I am running again. I have to run now. I'm a runner. Way far away from the dock, with the, with the wind and the sky and everything. Ahoy. I am not amused. There are no gyms near me because APPARENTLY it's nice weather all year and there is a giant park nearby and SOME people think that is reason enough to forego my precious, precious ellipticals for "fresh air" and "free exercise" and "scenery." WHATEVER.

So anyway, yesterday I ran south to Golden Gate park. There were hills involved. It was not awesome (The hills, I mean. The park is, in fact, quite awesome.) Today I decided to run north to the ocean and see what that was all about. Now, I knew Sir Williams lived in San Francisco, but I didn't know where. Once I got into the neighborhood I started thinking about it, though. Every house was gorgeous, and if you were in the right place you got a view that looked something like this:


I wasn't actually looking for his house or anything...but then I saw this one.


Bigger than the others, with actual space around it (rare in this city), an enclosed basketball hoop, and the best view of the Golden Gate Bridge. THEN, across the street from the house was a bench with this on it:



Whoa. When I got home, I googled it to be sure and YEP. That is the one!

Question: Do you now play out different scenarios in which you run into Robin Williams to varying degrees of interaction, from hand wave to “You’ve got a lot of spunk! Why don’t you play my daughter in my upcoming feature film?”
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question: Do you realize how silly that is?
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question:…But you can’t stop, can you?
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question: Also, that's not how Robin Williams talks.
Answer: Quiet, you.

So that happened. Anyway, here are a few more things about where I live.

This is my apartment building.



Here is what is directly next to it.


Here is the sole piece of furniture in our apartment right now. It is a borrowed air mattress.


Here is Regina sitting awkwardly in the sunshine. She will be even happier when our furniture arrives than I will be.


OH! Speaking of Regina, here she is in her carrier (BEFORE she wriggled out.)




These are the two canned meals I had bought in preparation for easy, cheap dinners. Then I remembered we don't have a can opener yet.


Here is how we eat our meals. On the floor. Next to a cat toy because...of course.


Once we get furniture I will take you all on a virtual tour of our apartment. Until then, there's not much to see, obviously. Although there are a lot of windows and closets, which is pretty awesome.

Anyway. San Francisco composts. Like, as a thing. Hippies.


My first day I went on a grocery store hunt. I found one, which sold these. I obviously thought of Michelle.


Then I went past this. I obviously thought of Adrienne.



Then I walked past this church. I obviously thought of Jane. JUST KIDDING. I thought of Monica. Who is St. Monica? The patron saint of being a badass? I’m pretty sure.


This is an authentic Irish bakery that I think Joe will enjoy, next to a pub. I'm excited to bring his family there when they visit. (Oh, and I forgot to take a picture of the burger joint called Bill's Place which I will OBVIOUSLY take my father to when they visit. Because it is absolutely "Bill's place".)


And finally, apparently San Francisco is littered with Whomping Willows.



So that about sums it up. Everything I haven't pictured is me sitting in various coffee shops looking for a job or watching Hulu+ on my phone (Mother Necessity, where would we be?) or Joe and I running through our endless To Do lists. We spend the majority of our relationship compiling lists and schedules. It's our way.

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

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!

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.

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)

Movin' On Out

Well I started inklings of it here. And then I really got into it here.

But when Joe and I were in Seattle, we shook on it. It's official: I'm moving to San Francisco in November.

Question: Gasp! Do you have a job out there yet?
Answer: Welll...no I do not. But Advertising is a very in-the-moment, we-need-you-yesterday kind of business, so this doesn't worry me. EDIT: Joe's contract job isn't full-time yet either. We just decided that even if he doesn't get it, we'd both have to look for a job somewhere, so we might as well make it San Fran.

Question: Do you have a place out there yet?
Answer. No we do not. Joe doesn't have much spare time to devote to checking out places, but once we get our credit reports and checkbooks ready, he is going to go apartment searching by himself to try and find us a place that is not a) falling apart and b) a hundred million dollars. Apparently this is a difficult task.

Question: Have you bought your plane ticket yet?
Answer. No I have not. OKAY SO I KNOW THERE ARE A LOT OF "NO I HAVEN'T DONE THE RESPONSIBLE PARTS OF MOVING" YET CAN YOU PLEASE GET OFF MY BACK MOVING IS HARD I'M DOING MY BEST TO KEEP IT TOGETHER NOW LOOK WHAT YOU DID I'VE STOPPED USING PUNCTUATION AND I FORGET WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT....wait, what? Oh, okay so no I haven't bought the plane ticket yet. Gotta do that, but I probably should know when we're moving in before I do. And flying with Regina Phalange means a few extra tasks so it's going to be really fun and complicated and annoying.

Question: Did he like it so he should have put a ring on it?
Answer: Well, well, well. The question I knew you were REALLY wondering all along. Only took you four tries before you got the heart of it. He does like it, he has not put a ring on it yet. We're getting there, don't worry. My personal opinion? I'd like to feel a little more grounded before we start throwing rings around willy-nilly. You know, slightly less like a giant helium balloon flying high above the parade of life. (PS in this metaphor it's best to think of me as a giant Kermit flying above your faces. Really drives the point home. But I digress.)

Question: But! But! What about...And then there's....You can't just...!!
Answer: I know. I know! When I started to think about moving away, my core group of friends was starting to break off and do their own thing. And it felt like the move would be really easy. And then Laura finally moved back into the city and my niece learned my name and I moved next to the lake and my little sister became legal drinking age and I have a friend who could use me close by--I KNOW!

Question: SO?! THEN?! HMM?!?!
Answer: Well the thing is, I've never memorized a zip code that didn't start with a 6. But this isn't one of those "I've gotta get out of this dump" situations, because Chicago is awesome. I'll even say that in January and mean it. I just need to experience somewhere outside the prairie. And it's not one of those "I've gotta get away from these people" situations because these are my family and my friends and the people I love more than anything. Ever. These are the people who loved me when I had glasses the size of my face. These are the people who hugged me until I stopped crying after I broke up with my boyfriend of 4 years. These are the people who ACTUALLY think I could be a successful Muppeteer if I went out and did it. It's not at all about leaving. It's about arriving. I need to do this terrifying thing because if I don't, I'll always wonder if I could. I'm also going to try (possibly for the last time) to see if I really can be a good copywriter in a city that seems to have better options for me. And besides all this, I get to have an adventure with Joe that's as close as I'm willing to come to "Man, Woman, Wild".

Question: Pff...kcchhh....ccckk...
Answer: I know. But it's happening. It has to. I have to. I don't know how long I'll be there. Maybe I'll hate it and I'll be back in a year. Maybe I'll love it and stay forever! I don't know! Somehow I think it'll be somewhere between those two. A warning: you might be hard pressed to rip me away from a city that's a quick drive to 80 degrees and wine. Just keep reminding me about deep dish pizza. I'm sure I'll come around.

Finally, The Truth

Warning: this post is just about my personal life. If you're all, "Boo! Get back to disparaging Johnny Depp!" you can skip this one. May I suggest getting hooked on 2birds1blog?

Okay guys. I have a lot of truth to spill all up on your grill. It might get a little sloppy so I want to apologize in advance. (Also, that's what she said. But that's neither here nor there.)

I've been laid off. And it is totally and completely okay. In fact, it's not just okay. It's good.

Question: Did you write this post the day before you were laid off?
Answer: In fact I did.
Question: Yowza. Are you currently editing this post under the influence of a day's worth of PBR?
Answer: Y'all don't know me.
Question: Did your dinner consist of scavenged garlic fries and congealed nachos?
Answer: LAY OFF ME, I'M STARVING.

Yes. It happened. But in order for you to get the full picture, in the words of the great Lil' John, "Back back back it up."

Here are some life facts, coming at you in waves.

Let's all recall how about this time last year, I was hired full time at an ad agency after a long time of unsteady/no work. I was happy to have the money and dental appointments and treated myself to AN shopping spree at American Eagle. Because, yeah. I'm worth it. About three months later, my account was put up for review. Clearly this had nothing to do with me; it is literally a billion dollar account. So basically I've known since 2010 that my time at this job could be limited. So there's that.

Completely beside this point, I was miserable. I came home every day with a new boiling anger. There were tears. Often. It almost always had to do with interpersonal issues. But the ads I was making weren't making me happy, either. They always came out clunky, cheesy, boring, and once even misogynistic. I didn't know where I was going wrong. I stopped believing that I could even make a good ad. So why didn't I just ask to transfer? Well...

Elsewhere, Joe was in his final year at grad school and was looking for jobs in Chicago, but it wasn't going well. He was getting really down on himself. Somewhere along the way, we decided it would be okay if he started looking at other cities. That's when I wrote this post about potential cities where he had leads.

I figured it was silly of me to raise drama and awkwardness in the office by asking to be moved when Joe and I could have been moving across the country when he graduated in May. Add on the fact that I thought it would look bad to ask to be transferred off an account in review, and there I was, feeling stuck in limbo.

Eventually Joe got the contract job in San Francisco where he is now. What I haven't told you, though, is that the contract job is very likely to become full time. They told him that they had the intention to hire him once the 4 months was up. But since he hasn't signed any papers to that effect, we didn't want to make assumptions and move our lives out there prematurely. But there are tons of great ad agencies out there, so it wouldn't just be a good professional move for Joe, it would be one for me, too. The fly in the ointment was that I still had a full-time job and couldn't just pick up and go.

Well. While I was visiting Joe in San Francisco we found out that my agency lost the account (yes, when you are a billion-dollar company, it takes you 7 months to make a decision of this magnitude.) Which meant that I would probably be let go. So I've known Doomsday was coming for weeks.

I still couldn't mention any of this on the blog or Facebook because (and here's the HUBBA WHA? part) In a way, I wanted to be let go. (HUBBA WHA?! I told you.) What we realized is, if I got laid off then I could collect unemployment. Which means if I moved to San Francisco, I would have a (paltry but existent) income while I looked for work. But if people at work found out I was considering moving, I was afraid I would be denied it somehow. I mean, I don't know, maybe that makes no fiscal sense. I nearly failed BOTH macro- and microeconomics so you shouldn't listen to me. Alls I know is, I didn't want to negatively influence the decision either way. So I zipped my lid.

And in the end, I got let go with the rest of the crowd Tuesday morning and spent the day at the bar down the street. I'm not going to move to SF right away for a few reasons, but the biggest is because I signed up for the next level of improv (and I know I haven't talked about it since the day I complained about my failure, but it's going well and I plan to write about it soon.) and another writing class that I'm really excited about. Both of these classes run through the end of October, which was when we were originally planning the move anyway.

So what all this means:

- I am no longer miserable.
- But I am back to spending as little as possible.
- But I can get unemployment money.
- And I can freelance for different clients.
- It's very possible I will move to San Francisco before the end of the year.
- I will keep blogging from there and I'm sure there will be stories in pictures to be had.
- I can spend some time really considering what I want to do professionally, and figuring out if it's copywriting or some other form of writing/creating where I don't get turned down because my idea is "too funny." (OH IT HAPPENED.)
- Hopefully I will become "unemployed skinny" again, since I can work out all day and afford to eat nothing but air sandwiches.

How's Blank?

Lately I've been getting the same 5 questions. I'm actually pretty impressed. 5 questions means people know 5 different things about me and know that there may be updates in any of the five worth sharing. Frankly I'm impressed. Although everyone's knowledge of me may be due to my ability to grotesquely overshare on the internet.

Hmm.

Oh well. I thought I'd catch the rest of you all up in one fell swoop by answering the same questions you may be wondering yourself.

How's Joe?

He's great. (Mini explanation: He's in San Francisco working a contract job for 4 months.) He's in a city with a plethora of coffee shops and restaurants. Let me break it down for you. Joe : Cafes as Little Foot : The Great Valley. I'm sure you understand.

(*obligatory moment of silence for Little Foot's mother, may she rest in peace*)

Joe is enjoying his job, he likes the people, he likes the work, and he's doing well at it, from what I can tell. He has a few friends in San Fran so he hasn't been totally on his own the whole time. Plus, he makes friends easily so he's already found a few peeps to see his nerd movies with.

How are you doing without Joe?

I'm actually doing better than I thought I would be. Perhaps it is because I know there is a clear end in sight. Perhaps it is because Skype helps us see each other's faces all the time. Perhaps it is because I am a grown ass woman who does not need a man to make her life feel fulfilled and has better things to do than pine over her lost love such as hanging out with friends, taking improv classes and watching instant Netflix to fill the silence. Take your pick.

How was San Francisco?

I know I only really touched on it earlier, so I will add to what I told you before and say: it's hard to tell. Since Joe had to work 3/5 of the days I was there, I spent a lot of time by myself. And, while I enjoyed the city and traveling around, I think it's more fun to explore with a buddy after a while. Like...okay. There were these fuchsia flowery vines all over houses in the city. I think they actually were literally fuchsia the flower (Google search aaaaaaaand....no they were not. Well whatever.) They were pretty. And I'M SORRY, I wanted a picture of myself next to them. I'm a THAT GIRL. Sue me. See, I have these dull grey-blue eyes that turn insane, Alec Baldwin blue in bright light near bright colors. But I couldn't just take a picture of myself next to these flowers because that's awkward. That's when you need a travel buddy around, to take a picture of yourself doing things. I actually tried to, pathetically, because I thought I could do it subtly with my front-facing camera. Well, one squint-eyed attempt and some lady passed me and said "I can take that for you!" NO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET AWAY FROM ME I WILL NOT BE THE CREEPY GIRL ASKING STRANGERS TO TAKE PICTURES OF HER NEXT TO FLOWERS DANGLING FROM SOMEONE'S RANDOM FENCE. I quickly put my camera down, said something incoherent and ran the other direction.

Side note, What is it with people offering to take pictures of you when you're trying to take it yourself? I kind of like the occasional picture of people squeezing into the bottom of a frame. For one thing, the smiles are more natural because you are not saying "cheese" to some idiot in a Hawaiian shirt and for another thing, strangers always seem to know how to cut a picture at the perfect place to make me look horrifyingly obese.

So...that's how San Francisco was?

How is the apartment?

I have one window.
In that window is an air conditioning unit which I am not allowed to take in or out.
That a/c unit also sucks up 9/10 of the electricity in the apartment. So if I want to microwave something for longer than 2 minutes or use my hair dryer to dry my entire head, I blow a fuse. It's one of those things that, when I look at starving children in Africa, feels like a stupid thing to complain about. Oh, I cannot cook my plethora of food AND cool off my apartment from its balmy 80 degrees AND make myself look beautiful all at the same time, my life is JUST. SO. HARD. But seriously it's every other day and I'd really like it to stop.

Then there's the fridge fiasco. When I moved in, the fridge was hardly cold. I tried the dial at both ends of the spectrum and nothing worked. My milk spoiled in a week. And if you must know one weird thing about me, it's...well, it's that I'm scared of whales. But if you must know ANOTHER weird thing about me, it's that I am sickened by milk that is above 32 degrees Fahrenheit. People who say they don't like skim because it has no flavor? That is WHY I like skim. So imagine my chagrin when, a week after buying my milk, I discovered it had gone off. There was wretching. So I called my maintenance guy and he came while I was in SF. Upon my return I discovered that my water and a tub of cottage cheese had frozen all the way through. Well that's lovely, isn't it? I checked the dial, it was at THREE. OUT OF FIVE. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT POSSESSES MY FRIDGE. Again, it feels pretty #firstworldproblems to complain that my fridge keeps my food TOO fresh but seriously. I've now been living off of pretzels and Twizzlers just to avoid the whole fridge situation all together.

How's work?

If you're really curious you'll need to do some sleuthing because I won't say anything that might get me in trouble. But there has been a recent shake-up in the world of advertising in Chicago and I am mixed up in it. I haven't done anything personally, I'm just a casualty. Nothing has happened around the office as a result yet, but that is a very large "yet". It would be type 72 font if I could figure out how to do that on Blogger.


And so those are my life updates thus far. More to come on the horizon.

3 Things I Learned About San Francisco:

To be honest, I had a great trip. The weather was nice, the coffee was great, and I appreciate any place whose top two foods are bread and avocados. Now I have three things to share that I didn't know about San Fran and they are going to sound like I am complaining, but that is just my way and you will have to take it with a grain of salt because honestly I did like the city in general.

1. The public transportation system goes all over, but it is a hot, hot mess.



The Bart (the subway) is not connected to the other modes of transportation, governmentally, but it is physically. The buses and street cars have a different card, and there are multiple ways to pay and transfer. It made my eyes water in frustration when I tried to figure it out. Joe had to talk me off a few ledges.

2. No one sent SF the memo that they don't have to hand-paint their signs.



Perhaps this is leftover sentiment from being hippie central, perhaps it is a newer concept brought from Mexico. Perhaps it is maintained by hipsters and independent shops. But my word, San Francisco has a lot hand-painted signs.

They are also really big into hand-painted murals. There was a page about this in my Touristy Tourism book but I forgot to read it and then left it with Joe. So the murals are still a big mystery.


3. When you walk out the door, bring more layers than Joey wearing Chandler's clothes.


Could he BE wearing any more clothes?

I'm sorry, you think the weather in Chicago is unpredictable? Just because it rains once a week? In San Fran, you walk out the door and it is chilly and overcast. By noon it is sunny and warm. By evening a frost has settled upon your nose. So I walked around with a cardigan, hoodie AND fleece on--AT ONCE--and gradually stripped them off and then put them back on again throughout the day. If you are at the Golden Gate bridge you will want some kind of parka. And if you are at the Bay Bridge, a bikini will do fine. And keep in mind that the two are a FIFTEEN MINUTE DRIVE FROM EACH OTHER. Microclimates are WEIRD.