Last Night At Home

This is a strange feeling. Tomorrow night I'll be in my new apartment/house in Philadelphia (or maybe at Julie's place, since she has air conditioning). My stuff is pretty much all packed, despite the last-minute change of plans (long story short, U-Haul knows how to take the reservation, but they don't know how to hold the reservation). Thankfully, my aunt and uncle let us borrow their pickup truck, and between that and the minivan, we were able to pack almost everything.

Opening the trunks will be interesting tomorrow. When we open the back hatch of the truck, shoes will probably rain down on us!

It's a good thing my dad is so good at packing. Those vehicles could not possibly be any fuller. We shoved things until they fit, and there are barely millimeters to spare - and I'm not even exaggerating! So even though I'm leaving behind a chair, a TV stand, a few crates, and even (sniff!) some books, I'm still really happy. (I've also realized, for about the 748th time this month, that I have way too many possessions.)

So after hours of packing, including quite a long time crammed between two dressers, bent over to fit in the capped back of the truck, trying to cover mirrors while using a broom handle as an arm extender (it's a really good thing I'm not claustrophobic, and that I'm relatively skinny! I could have used smaller boobs and longer arms, but hey, nobody's perfect), I went shopping with Allison to avoid sitting at home alone on my last night in Rochester.

No, the irony of already having too much stuff and then going shopping is not lost on me. However, the mall excursion was totally justified - I had to use my Old Navy Groupon before it expires in a couple days! (Mission accomplished, by the way.) We also had Abbott's frozen custard, a Rochester tradition that seemed fitting (and delicious) on my last night in town, and then when it started pouring we danced in the rain like crazy people on the strange college green area in the middle of the shopping plaza.

And then I stepped in goose poo.

Still, it was a lot of fun! And I haven't cried yet, just felt really weird all day. Moving away from home after college, when you actually empty your bedroom, is much more final-feeling than going to college for the semester, when you leave most of your belongings behind. And the fact that I'm probably not coming home until Thanksgiving (or maybe late October for a wedding) is a strange thought, as is the very real possibility that my room will have transformed into the guest room when I return (complete with Mom and Dad's double bed).

Next time I blog, I'll be in Philadelphia!

Appreciate the Elders

Today I got to have lunch with my grandparents and my great-aunt (and my mom, but she's not really an elder - you're welcome, Mom). It was fantastic! For one thing, they're all really great people. Maybe it's the history major in me, but I really enjoy talking to older people. They have such a great view of the world. I guess that after you've lived eighty years, you really know not to sweat the small stuff, and you've learned that everything always works out for the better.

So even though they sometimes seem a bit racist or homophobic (today I accidentally brought up gay marriage - oops!), I know they mean well, and that some of their views are only that way because they've seen so many changes in their lifetimes; maybe they just want everything to slow down a bit. Plus there's the occasional nice surprise, like this gem from ninety-year-old Aunt Kate: "Why shouldn't they get married? They've been living together all these years; what's the difference?" I know all of them will support me no matter what, even if Grandpa worries that the big bad city will get me. I know they always like to hear from me.

I know I love asking them what life was like when they were my age. (Yeah, that's probably the geeky history buff talking.)

Plus I learned today that Grandpa S. met Jay Leno in California about twenty years ago. Apparently Grandpa was visiting his elementary school friend, who owned a high-end newsstand of some sort. Jay Leno walked in, and Grandpa recognized him. Mind you, Jay Leno wasn't quite as famous as he is now; back then he only subbed for Johnny Carson occasionally and didn't have his own show. Grandpa talked to Jay Leno, telling him that he and his late wife had been huge fans of his. Jay Leno listened sympathetically, and then gave Grandpa the number to call to get tickets to see the show later that week that Jay Leno was hosting. And that's how Grandpa met Jay Leno and got to see a taping of The Tonight Show. Why I never heard this story before today is beyond me.

I also got to hear how Grandpa S. and Grandma Grace met. The newsstand friend (his name was Joe Something) told Grandpa he should give Grace a call, because her husband had died a few years ago, and the two widow(er)s should get to know each other. Grandpa and Grace talked on the phone a little while he was in California. Then, six months later, Joe Something came to visit his old friends in Buffalo, inviting Grandpa to come to dinner with him, his wife, and another couple. Sick of being the awkward fifth wheel, Grandpa remembered that Grace also knew Joe Something, so he called her and asked her to go to dinner with them.

A few years later they got married. Joe Something was the best man.

Lesson of the Day: You never know where life will take you. Stay open-minded, go with the flow, and talk to the famous person you recognize in a newsstand. Oh, and if your significant other dies, life's not over - you might meet the second love of your live and live happily ever after again.

Oops

So much for keeping up with blogging...

So, to catch up with the last few months: I was accepted into City Year, I finished the mules thesis (for now), I graduated with a rainbow of honors cords around my neck, I moved back home to work at the convenience store for the fifth summer in a row, and I started the apparently endless search for roommates and an apartment.

But I think that's almost over. At least, it better be almost over, since I start City Year in less than a month, and Julie said she's really rather I didn't live on her couch for a month. The good news is that the stipend apparently went up a bit, so I'll be slightly less poor next year! Still frighteningly close to qualifying for food stamps, but whatever. It'll hopefully be a really good chance to change lives and have a positive influence in the world, and that's the important thing.

So, yeah. Tell your representatives in Washington not to cut funding from Americorps, because they already have almost no money to give to their volunteers who are trying to make this country a better place. We'd like to be able to eat some food while saving America, thank you very much.

It's weird to think that I'll be moving in a few weeks, to a totally new city. And yeah, my sister lives there, so I won't be totally alone, but it's still a bit terrifying. After all, I don't want to rely on her too much. No one wants to be the annoying older sister who hangs out with her younger sister's friends because she doesn't have any friends of her own. And I've definitely lost enough friends over the years to doubt my friend-making abilities, so that's a bit unnerving, too.

I guess moving to a new place will be good for me. I'm pretty sure if I stayed here I'd spend even more time with my parents than I do now, and I"m already starting to miss people my own age. So yay! Fresh start!

And yet I can't stop comparing my move into the "real world" with my parents'. When they were my age, they were already married. Mom moved out of her parents' house after graduating from college a semester early and straight into Dad's apartment. Dad lived on his own for a few months, but Mom helped him pay for his (soon to be their) apartment - and he was getting paid a hell of a lot more than I am. They had each other, and while I know I have an amazing support system in my family, I still feel pretty lonely. Asking a fiance to help pay for an apartment is a lot different than asking your parents. And crying on your parents' shoulders when you're overwhelmed is comforting, but you feel like you're about five years old again, which just makes you feel worse. (This is all hypothetical, of course.) I know I'm a strong, independent woman, and that plenty of other twenty-somethings have also gone out on their own - some with far fewer resources than I have - but it's still tough.

Okay, enough moping. It feels so much better to get it out there, even if no one I know reads it. (Actually, on second thought, it's probably better if no one I know reads this.) I always forget how therapeutic blogging can be.

I'm Old(er)

Another birthday has come and gone, and I have to say that turning 22 is not nearly as exciting as turning 21. I mean, I didn't expect it to be, since all birthdays after a milestone year pale in comparison to the crazy celebrating that happened the year before. And 21 is pretty much the biggest milestone birthday in terms of celebrations (unless you buy into that "My Super Sweet Sixteen" crap).

Still, it was fun. My friends kindly drove me out to Wendy's at 11pm when I was craving a cheeseburger, and they made me a cake (that led to the accidental temporary loss of many frozen waffles). I played in an orchestra concert, saw my parents and my godparents, ate a delicious dinner, stole creamer from a fancy restaurant, ate cheesecake, and talked to my sister. A good birthday!

The real fun happened later that night after my parents left. Occasionally, without any logical explanation, people act in unusual and crazy ways. That was Sunday night, when I returned from Wegmans to find my three roommates and Brandi (who basically lives here) engaged in an epic battle with a plastic doll from Becca's Happy Meal. They were trying to dismember her (the doll, just to be clear), using brute strength, scissors, nail clippers, a hole punch, and a lighter.

We're really curious as to what, exactly, was in the cheesecake that my mom made.

Anyway, they managed to rip the doll apart and then tape it to the wall above our TV, using the mustache on the wall as the doll's new torso. Then I had the brilliant idea to bring all my neon paper down to the living room to create posters to explain our interior decorating to visitors (and possibly to ourselves, in case we lost our memories overnight).

Next to the doll, on bright pink paper, is written, "A Lesson in Perspective: Your life isn't that bad. You could be dismembered and taped to a wall."

It seems to be cheering us up already, although people are probably going to stop visiting us when they see how crazy we are.

We also now have a massive, multi-neon-colored quote wall, and we invented a game called "Find the Torso!"

I love crazy townhouse bonding nights!

The best part was probably when Wyatt, who had somehow avoided the craziness, walked downstairs, stopped in his tracks, stared at us for a few minutes (Becca had a loop of tape on her nose and a red "L" on her forehead and was threatening to kill me as I backed away to stand on the armchair in the corner) and just said, "You guys are completely insane - but in the best way possible, of course."

My thoughts exactly.

Some thoughts on Hallmark

Valentine's Day is just about over, and I've done a fantastic job being single and happy (albeit sick) all day long. I have wonderful friends, a fantastic family, a bright future full of endless possibilities - and I think I'm a pretty cool person, too. My Valentines were my fellow single ladies, and myself. And I'm very okay with that. Romance will come when it comes.

That being said, I still feel like taking a few minutes to rant about Hallmark's Valentine's commercials this year. There were two main TV commercials that I saw enough times to want to shoot their marketing department, so let's re-hash them, shall we?

The first is a lovely, early morning shot of peaceful, sleeping children. Their loving mother is creeping around the house placing bizarre stuffed animals with notes and treats at the play tea table, on the nightstand, etc. The voice-over tells us, "Mornings are not for making beds. Mornings are for telling them how much you love them."

So Hallmark is telling mothers that, if they make their kids make their beds in the morning (or, heaven forbid, other chores), their kids will know that Mommy dearest hates them. Even setting aside the blatant "Your kids won't know you love them unless you buy these hideous stuffed animals for them and then put more crap in said stuffed animals" plug, this is a ridiculous idea. Yes, I hated making my bed when I was younger. I hated all chores. I still hate most chores. (Okay, all chores.)

But doing the few chores I had to do taught me how to clean. They taught me how to be a responsible adult (something I'm still learning). Mom and Dad making me make my bed did show their love for me - it showed that they loved me enough to teach me what I needed to know to grow up and be a real person, someone who isn't a total slob, someone who knows how to do hospital corners and has some standards of cleanliness.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. I'll make my bed before you come visit me this weekend.

Hallmark's second commercial is actually kind of sweet, and definitely less ridiculous. We see couples of varying ages - 30-somethings at a hockey game, 20-somethings on a bench, and even what looked like a high school couple somewhere. This voice-over informs the American public that "Valentine's Day is not about saying 'I love you.' It's about saying 'I love us.'"

This is adorable, and probably true on some level. For people with significant others, Valentine's Day is like another anniversary (which is why you shouldn't get married in February), a day to really look at that person who seems to complete you and truly appreciate who you are together.

That being said, this is quite possibly the commercial that wins the prize for "Most Likely to Make Singles Want to Strangle Couples." Really, Hallmark? The hearts and flowers and chocolates and mushy cards weren't enough? You really have to remind us that, as single people, we don't have an "us"? I mean, I'm okay with just having a "me" and not an "us", but I don't want that lack of an "us" shoved into my face every time I sit down to watch Cake Boss during dinner.

Luckily, Valentine's Day is over, and those commercials should logically be taken off TV. I'm going to enjoy the flowers and chocolate my fantastic friends gave me, and focus on myself. One thing's for sure, though - I will not be buying myself, or anyone else, a card made by Hallmark anytime soon. Take that, Hallmark!

Next!

Go here, this kinda sums up my night: http://bentobjects.blogspot.com/2010/11/trumped.html

(Well, okay, so maybe I didn't actually tell him, but that's what it feels like. A little. And I just love this guy's work, so you should check it out.)

Clearly I need to go meet more people - specifically guys. Next!

In slightly unrelated news, I'm going to try to not blog after consuming multiple alcoholic beverages, as it seems to lead to depressing posts.

Not So Happy (Sorry)

I miss the feeling that someone wants me. I miss knowing that someone thinks his life is complete because I'm in it. I miss feeling sexy because that's how he sees me. I miss cuddling, fitting into the curves of his body as if I was born to be there. I miss the small quick kisses. I miss the longer, passionate kisses, loving each other as if we'll never stop.

I don't miss him, I just miss the idea of him. I don't want to miss even the idea of him. I want to be independent and sexy on my own, but it's tough in a world filled with movies and TV shows and music that revolves around the idea of finding your other half, how love is the most important thing in the world.

I'd like that idea a lot if I had someone to love.

So as I pine over various guys, I can't help but wonder if I actually want them - or if I just want the relationship, the cuddle-buddy, the lover.

I don't want to, but despite my feminist views I still kind of want to find my other half. Or my other quarter, or eighth, or sixteenth, or seven-hundredth. I want someone to share things with, to cuddle with, to make me feel beautiful and loved. And I want to make him feel beautiful and loved, too (I don't think I'm quite as selfish as I sound).

So where is he? It doesn't even have to be The One, but I'm really ready for someone to try to be a one.