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.

Dear Motivation,

Where are you? You used to be such a good friend, showing up exactly when I needed you. Well, maybe not exactly, but at least you always came through at the end. We had such great times these last three and a half years at college, bonding during late night stress sessions, as you sat by me with a cup of coffee and cheered me on, convincing me that the hard work was worth it. You're the reason I've written so many great papers throughout my academic career. You even helped me pick a thesis, pushing me to stick with a bizarre and challenging topic, not letting me give up when even professors were skeptical and discouraging.

Why did you decide to take a vacation? I understand that you, like most beings, abhor this chilly winter weather, but you've always bundled up and stuck it out before with me. Why, in my last semester at college, did you decide to leave? Sure, you helped me pick a challenging yet awesome thesis topic, but you've abandoned me in my true time of need - when I need to actually get to work and write this thesis!

I understand that you're tired after years of late nights and cheerful adrenaline-pumping. I'm tired, too. All I'm asking for is a few more months. After that, I'll leave you alone for a whole year! (Probably.) Please come back. I miss you and I need you.

Love,
Sara

Senior Moments

This is my last semester at college. I think it's finally sunk in. Tonight my roommates and I were just hanging out, watching TV, painting our nails (my toenails are now blue!), and eating a disgusting amount of junk food (I may or may not have eaten most of a large bag of potato chips - with dip).

And I realized that I really felt like a senior - I'm putting off my homework even more than usual, the stress has magically disappeared, and I'm even occasionally drinking on school nights. Maybe it's not the best situation in the world, but I'm really content. Graduation is about 100 days away, and I'm ready to move on to the next chapter of my life - one where I won't always be reading old books and thinking about obscure theories and mules.

I'm also really starting to realize that I'm going to be leaving all my friends, especially if my plans work out. I'll be off in a city far away from here, so I'll get to visit old friends only a few times a year probably.

Crap, now I'm really depressed.

For now, I'm just going to focus on the present and enjoy every last moment of this part of my life: the people, the places, the weird inside jokes, the frustrations, the joys, the labeled days of the week with my roommates.

I'm going to focus on the little happy things, even if that means drinking a glass of wine while painting my toenails blue in the middle of winter. I'm content with that for now.

Future?!

Tonight, I submitted an application for an Americorps-type program for next year. It's the first thing I've done that actually might have some impact on life after graduation! Which is a really strange thought. I feel shockingly mature. And calm yet excited at the same time. Also, today I got the first email telling me all about commencement. I clicked on the link in the email and found out that there is a countdown - to the seconds (though I think that's slightly off). As of right now, there are only 101 days till I graduate! Whoa.

I also feel really really awake and energized now, like I want to take on the whole world because I can do anything right now, anything at all. And when I do that anything, I will do it fantastically, better than anyone else could ever do it. It'll be pretty epic.

(I really hope I get accepted into this program.)

The only real question now, other than waiting for a response, is what to do with this excess energy. Homework? That sounds way too boring and still. Exercise? The gym is closed and my roommates are going to bed, so sprinting up and down the stairs seems like an unkind idea. Clean my room? Unorthodox but definitely overdue. Too bad we don't have broomball tonight.

Sorry for yesterday's depressing post. I feel much better today (clearly). After all, everything happens for a reason, and everything that's meant to happen will happen in its own time.

Besides, the dental hygienist actually complimented the clean state of my teeth this morning. I think it was the first time I've ever avoided the "You really should floss more" lecture!

So there's this boy...

I'm in a weird mood tonight, so I'm going to indulge these strange self-pitying impulses and most likely come off sounding like a whiny thirteen-year-old. You've been warned - read on at your own risk.

So there's this guy that I've had quite a crush on for quite a while. If I was smart and mature, I would have told him how I felt a long time ago. Instead, I continue to pine from a distance, over-analyzing everything, and going through some lovely roller coaster rides of "He loves me; he loves me not."

Tonight I'm trying to recover from a crazy upside-down loop that ended in a plummet of fifty-some feet. You know, the kind where you're feeling good until suddenly the world drops out from under you, and you swear you can feel your insides suspended above you as the rest of your body falls towards the ground. I hate those. (Yes, I'm being ridiculously over-dramatic for the therapeutic value of creative writing.)

I'm pretty sure this guy is moving towards a relationship with someone else. Yes, I could be wrong. However, my gut instincts (and, yes, information gleaned from Facebook) generally aren't too far from the truth. If I was smart and mature, I'd walk up to him and just tell him how I feel.

But now we're really good friends, and I don't want to risk losing that friendship. And I'm graduating in four months (yikes!), so even if things did work out it probably wouldn't work out in the long run.

Mostly I'm just too much of a coward to put myself out there that much.

So I'm feeling lonely again, knowing in my mind that I'm still very young, and that everything happens for a reason, and the guy who is perfect for me will show up sometime, and that I don't actually need a guy to make my life complete anyway.

But knowing all that doesn't make me feel less lonely tonight.

At least I know I'll feel better in the morning, because I always do. Tomorrow morning I'll wake up at the crack of dawn to get to the dentist before class, and have a fabulously productive day. Maybe I'll even get to the mules!

Racquetball: Possibly the Craziest Sport Ever Invented

Today was Daddy-Daughter Day! And, because my Dad is who he is, the day started with a trip to the gym. He introduced me to racquetball, the craziest sport ever invented (in my opinion). If you've never tried racquetball, you should. You should also try racquetball whenever you are stressed or angry, because I'm pretty sure it's the only sport that involves hitting a rubber ball as hard as you possibly can and watching it bounce off four walls, a ceiling, and a floor.

Dad's theory is that racquetball was invented by a guy in jail, since you basically play in a large cell.

I'd like to apologize to everyone in the surrounding courts and weight rooms for my girly squeals, shrieks, and yelps. I'm kind if a sissy sometimes. I'd also like to apologize for the increasing frequency of swear words that came out of my mouth, especially since I'd forgotten we were in a facility belonging to a Christian college.

Racquetball is actually much more difficult than it seems. A small rubber ball bounces everywhere, and you have to either hit it before it bounces twice - and hit it towards the front wall, even if that means slamming it hard enough against the back wall for it to reach the front wall without touching the floor - or get out of the way so your opponent can hit the ball.

Yeah, it's crazy. But it's also surprisingly fun! I'm definitely making some friends play with me when I get back to school (you know you want to). Which, someone pointed out to me yesterday, is less than two weeks away. What happened to my vacation?

Becoming a grownup, one baby step at a time

Today, I applied for my first ever credit card. I guess that's just one more part of being an adult, but it's kind of weird.

When we were younger, Julie and I liked to play house. Of course, like all normal siblings, we often fought about who got to play which part, and who got to use the good purse (we preferred the fancy white clutch to the other hand-me-down purses from Mom). We had one credit card to play with, so we fought over that, too. I'm sure there are actual fake credit cards for kids today, but ours looked totally legit. It was clear plastic - one of those freebies we got in the mail in an attempt to convince Mom and Dad to get a fancier card from a different company with a higher spending limit, blah blah blah. Julie and I loved it, though. It made use feel so grown up to go to the pretend store and hand the credit card to whoever was cashier at the moment in exchange for plastic pizza and corn.

The weirdest part about applying for a credit card was that when I asked Dad his opinion (he's my financial adviser), he didn't have much to say. He just looked at the website I was on, asked a couple questions that I could answer, and said I should go for it.

I guess the fact that I understand most of the terms and conditions means I'm that much closer to being an adult. Next on the list: finding a job, or at least finding how to get a job!

And now for something completely out of character...

I'm not much of a girly-girl. The only makeup I wear on a daily basis is chapstick and one quick swipe of mascara. I dry my hair only to keep from freezing. Said hair is usually in a ponytail. I only got my ears re-pierced six months ago (that's a story for another day). I can look nice when I need to - although for some reason people are always shocked when I wear a dress - but normally I just can't be bothered. I'd just rather be comfortable, and spend my time doing something else fairly useless.

But tonight I'm sitting in my sister's senior prom dress, wearing makeup on both my upper and lower lashes, as well as tinted lip gloss (what, it's all I had!), with curled hair and a pearl necklace. Is there a wedding reception tonight? A New Year's gala?

Nope.

For some reason that I can't even figure out, tonight I had the urge to get dressed up. Part of that was probably because I got a lot of "Did you lose weight?" compliments this holiday season, and the best test for someone who doesn't own a scale is to try on clothes that haven't fit in a while. Another part was that when I got out of the shower this afternoon, I felt sexy, and wanted to take that sexiness to the max.

Another part was probably because of that dream I had the other night, when Josh Groban was my boyfriend, and he took me to the Grammy's, and I looked gorgeous on the red carpet, and everyone was interviewing me.

But tonight I have nowhere to go. I'm just going to sit here all pretty, because I spruced myself up for myself. I spent a couple hours playing dress-up like a little girl, even though I'm officially an adult now (I think). I haven't felt this sexy and beautiful in ages - and I didn't do it to impress a guy. I'm not taking pictures; I'm not asking other people to compliment me. I know I'm beautiful and sexy, whether I'm all dolled up or not.

This is a pretty good start to my mental health for 2011, if I do say so myself!