Jumping on the Bloggy Bandwagon
I’m back. Yes, back, for real.
Except not here. I’m here now, because like everyone else ’round these parts I have migrated all my old entries to a new URL in case this bloggy site goes “POOF GOODBYE.”
I’ve got lots to share and I will endeavor to get a post up today.
Let’s take a little look back at 2007, shall we…
January – I get a yearly bonus. Best Friend T turns 30, kicking off the year that the all of us will turn 30. My brothers turn 19 and 24. I feel old. My dad and my brother go to Seattle to see my grandfather, which will turn out to be the last such visit. Best Friend T almost goes into early labor and we host an un-shower “Spa Day” for her.
February — T’s son, Master J, arrives on February 2. Lending credence to the whole “Circle of Life” theory, my grandpa dies on February 5 and I am heartbroken. My sorority girls put together a great recruitment and we gain several new members. My schedule is abso-freaking-lutely insane for the entire month.
March — I start a blog. Currently, about 5 real people and 50 billion spammers read it. My cousin and her partner are united in a ceremony in Puerto Rico and it turns out that my mother didn’t realize said cousin was gay until the wedding invitation came.
April — We have what may be the coldest Easter on record and celebrate my mom’s birthday. I go to a big conference in the mountains of VA and enjoy a few days of very little work. I apply for a new job at work. The Virginia Tech massacre hits very very close to home. At the end of the month, I travel to Michigan with my parents for the first of my grandfather’s two memorial services.
May — I interview and am REJECTED for the new job at work. I begin to explore other options. I accompany Best Friend T and her two kids to D.C. for a weekend and learn lots of lessons about parenthood. The Boy and I dork out at Jamestown for the 400th anniversary. My parents’ dog Faye dies.
June — I ponder applying for jobs in Germany. My entire family goes to IL for the second memorial service, and thanks to the general shittiness of the airline industry, arrives more than 24 hours after we were originally scheduled to. Friend B turns 30. Best Friend A’s husband leaves for 3 months in Italy and we think about making plans to visit him.
July — I actually apply for two jobs in Germany as work kicks my ass. At the end of the month I fly to Orlando with the president of my sorority chapter to attend our nat’l convention. We cover the whole of Disney World in 7 hours. It is hot as hell. My friend M’s daughter M arrives 8 weeks ahead of schedule, tiny but perfect.
August — The Divine Miss M (T’s first kid) turns 2. The Boy and I have a big fight and that whole “thing” seems to be over. I go to Nashville for a work conference and am subject to more flight shenanigans. I also buy a new mattress. Friend B tells us she’s postponing her wedding.
September — My friends and I start a weightloss challenge, which I am sure to lose. I begn to wonder if I will be stuck at this job forever. My migraines return with avengence. Nothing else of note really happened this month.
October — Best Friend A’s husband returns home from Italy just in time to celebrate her 30th birthday with us. Friend E comes to visit from Atlanta. Friend B tells us she’s now getting married in December and we all expend a lot of energy trying to figure out a bridal shower conundrum.
November — With much trepidation, I turn 30. I also get a nice haircut. A neurologist tries to figure out why I’m having such migraine issues. I randomly put in my resume for a couple other jobs. Friend B has a bridal shower and a spa day. At the very end of the month, the possibility of returning to New Orleans (temporarily or permanently) resurfaces. Friend Al also turns 30. We are all now old.
December — Friend B gets married and I am the ONLY PERSON AT THE WEDDING WHO IS ELIGIBLE TO CATCH THE STUPID BOUQUET. New Orleans becomes a reality, at least for a 60-day temporary assignment. I get to go back for a couple days to transition with the person who currently has the job. I buy all my Christmas presents after Dec. 20. I will spend New Years Eve with some of my best friends, doing two of our favorite things — eating and playing games.
Soonish?
In no particular order:
The trip to NOLA last week went very well. I’m excited about going back, excited about the work I’m going to be doing and the people I’ll be working with, excited about being in that amazing city again. They really want to try and put me in this position permanently, so I’ll just have to see what happens.
But I’m struggling with it too. Some people think it would be good for me. Other people (namely my boss) think I would be making a big mistake. That the job will be a dead end or that I won’t be happy. And I have to admit that his doubts have put a few doubts in my mind too.
Which drives me crazy — there are some people that want all the advice and opinions in the world. I am not one of those people. I listen to the advice and the opinions but in the end, I have to find the true answer, the right answer, within myself.
And right now my mind is clouded and filled with too many voices and I’m frantically trying to handle everything that needs to be handled in the next 3 weeks. I don’t have the time to second-guess my decision. I don’t have time to be worried. The time for analysis and discussion and obsessing is over.
Now is the time to take a deep breath, block out everyone else and do what I think is right for ME. Not for my family or my friends or my boss or the office or my sorority girls or anyone else. I have to be completely, totally selfish. And if it’s a mistake, at least it’s a mistake I made on my own terms and I have no one to blame but myself.
It was great to be back in that office. It was great to see old friends. It was great to have a new challenge to look forward to. My gut and my heart are telling me that I need to take this opportunity. I’m so excited I can hardly stand it and that may not make sense to anyone else but me.
And I don’t care. Because right now, I’m the only one that matters.
I’m not moving to New Orleans. Not yet anyway.
I am flying there THIS AFTERNOON, to stay for a couple days. And I will be returning on Jan. 2 to work there for 2 months.
Because clearly, I have lost my mind.
But anyway, I have to go there this week to spend a couple days with the woman who currently has the job that I’m going to take over.
And I’m super, nauseatingly nervous. Why? Let me give you a lil’ list:
Oh, AND, I had a telephone interview for another completely unrelated-to-NOLA job last week and it turns out it’s down to me and one other person. And I’m kind of sure I don’t want it at this point (main reason — it is in the boonies…aka NO STARBUCKS!) but if I do get an offer, I’m going to agonize over what the right thing to do is.
Also, due to a crazy weekend and the last minute nature of my trip, I was up waaay too late, scrambling to pack and whatnot, and then I got up early because I couldn’t sleep (too nervous) so I’m working on about, uh, about 4 hours of sleep. Which is clearly not enough.
One piece of good news — I’m going CARRY ON ONLY, baby. That is something that I have rarely ever been able to achieve. I even feel…dare I say it…streamlined?
I’m not going to talk about “skydiving” (or moving to New Orleans) because I have no clue what the eff is going on or how this whole thing is going to shake out.
Instead I’m going to get all political and shit. Less than a year from now we will elect a new President and I’m still not sure which candidate I’m rooting for.
I am a Democrat. Period. I vote Democratic, always. I’m not going to go on at length about why I’m a Democrat or why it’s better than being a Republican. If you’re a Republican, good for you. The only time I have ever in my life voted for a Republican was when I voted in the Virginia Republican Primary, just so I could vote against Bush twice in one year.
So anyway, I think the Democratic race will come down to three people — Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama and John Edwards.
A lot of people HATE Hillary. I mean, really really hate her. I have heard her described as “evil,” which is a word I generally reserve for, you know, the Sadam Hussein’s and Adolph Hitler’s of the world. I would looove to have a woman president. I think it’s about damn time. And I think Hillary is as good a female candidate as anyone else. But frankly, my fear is that if Hillary becomes the nominee, people will pour out of the woodwork to vote AGAINST her. Just on principle. I think she will lose and lose very, very badly.
Barack. Barack Obama. That’s just a fun name to say. I also think it’s about time to have a minority president. Or even a serious minority candidate who’s not Jesse Jackson (don’t get me started on Jesse Jackson). I really don’t have a firm opinion on Barack. He seems like a nice enough guy, and smart and capable. Solid. Interesting. But I don’t know, I guess I haven’t caught the Obama fever yet.
So that brings us to the white guy — John Edwards. First, I think John Edwards is cute. Dreamy, even. I greatly admire his wife. I was backing him last time because John Kerry was not the candidate I really wanted to vote for. Edwards seems the most charismatic of the three. Charisma is big with me. He doesn’t have a lot of experience, though.
Of course, none of these folks is or has been a governor. Being governor seems to be the best prerequisite for getting elected president (Carter, Reagan, Clinton) if you weren’t the Vice President. There is one Democratic governor in the running (Richardson) but I honestly don’t know a lot about him.
I guess I need to do some homework. Our primary isn’t until after New Hampshire and Iowa and Super Tuesday and by then, I have a feeling the landscape will be a lot less crowded with candidates.
I love election years!
Don’t mind me, I’m just having a lil’ panic attack over here this morning. Here’s why…
How about, hmmm, an analogy.
Let’s say there’s something that you’ve REALLY wanted to do. Let’s say it’s, oh, skydiving. (It is not skydiving.) You definitely want to skydive. You’ve told people that you want to skydive. You can totally picture yourself skydiving. Maybe you’ve had, like, a taste of skydiving (I don’t know what a taste of skydiving without actual skydiving would be, but just go with it) and you think, “I could totally do this skydiving thing, no problem.”
So you’ve been ready. But the skydiving company has been wishy-washy and they’re all, “I have no idea if we will be able to take you skydiving. Soon. Or ever. We know you want to skydive but you know how these things go…keep in touch.”
Okay, so maybe skydiving won’t be happening. You investigate other, uh, extreme sports options. Bungee jumping or something. You realize that skydiving isn’t the only option and maybe some other extreme support would be BETTER. Or more exciting or what have you. Who needs to go skydiving anyway?
And then, all of a sudden, the skydiving company calls. “We want to make your skydiving dreams come true!” They’re ready to take you up, like, tomorrow, and push you out of a plane. Here, here’s your parachute, jump on board.
So now, skydiving is a reality. And what seemed like such a fabulous idea when it was a foggy, distant someday seems, uh, super-duper scary now. Because F**K, they want you to JUMP OUT OF A PLANE. Who does that willingly? It’s crazy. And meanwhile the skydiving company is all, “But we really, really want to take you skydiving. We’re willing to do whatever we have to do to get you skydiving immediately. Please come skydive with us. We’re desperate.”
But all you can think is, “Did I really want to skydive? Seriously? Was I crazy? Why would I be so enthusiastic and willing to do something that is so insane?” And your hands are shaking and your head is muddled and you’ve got butterflies in your stomach and all you can think about is skydiving.
Now substitute “moving to New Orleans” for the word skydiving. It might be happening. For real. If all the pieces fall into place (which to be honest, I don’t think is too terribly likely), I could be heading down there before Christmas, at least temporarily.
If you need me, I’ll just be curled up in a little ball on the floor.
I had the weirdest, most realistic dream last night. About donating blood.
I’ve never donated blood before. I was always too scared of the whole process. And then after 9/11, remember it was the thing to do? When there was nothing else people could do, they were lining up for hours and hours to give blood.
I thought to myself, “Self…we are in a time of national tragedy and crisis. You should suck it up and donate blood, instead of being such a baby.”
And it was along about that time I learned that I am BANNED from giving blood. I am tainted. Indeed, anyone who lived in most of Europe for longer than 6 months in the ’80s is prohibited, including military members and their families. It has something to do with Mad Cow Disease, and the possibility that we may have eaten some tainted beef or something, I don’t know.
Well secretly, I was gleeful. There it was, a reason in black and white to skip out on giving blood with a legitimate excuse. So I gave money to the Red Cross instead, and have worked a blood drive at my church but yo, you can’t have my blood, for it might be tainted.
So this brings me back around to the fact that I had a dream last night about donating blood. We have a blood drive coming up at work and my dream involved me whipping out my legitimate tainted blood excuse only to find out that I wasn’t banned anymore. This very realistic dream actually involved me checking the Red Cross web site to learn that my excuse wasn’t good anymore and it ended with me being forced to give blood.
And I woke up wondering for a split second if all of that had actually happened, and I was going to have to give blood. So naturally, I checked the Red Cross web site this morning, just to make sure…
Yup, still tainted. You don’t want mah blood. So for now, I can still smile angelicaly when talk of donating blood comes up and say, “Oh, I really wish I was able to give blood, but I am prohibited, and what a shame that is.”
(I was going to post this on Monday, but one of the things I got for my birthday was a delightful head cold so I have been operating on about 50% power since Sunday. Better late than never.)
This is what 30 looks like:
Well, that’s what a few days short of 30 and a fresh-from-the-salon expensive haircut looks like, but you get the idea.
30. And I am okay with that. A whole brand new fresh decade.
I have been doing some thinking about my 20s. When I think about everything that happened to me between turning 20 and the day before turning 30, the mind, it boggles. And then I am okay about being 30, because just IMAGINE what kind of wonderfulness might happen in the next 10 years.
During the decade of me being being 20-something, I…
So yeah, that was my 20s. And now I’ve unpacked this brand new fresh decade out of the box and I’m all ready for it to be filled with lots of little bullet points like my 20s, ’cause I’m organized like that.
P.S. Michelle, thanks for my birthday wish on Monday!!
I jokingly have always referred to Nov. 11 (Veterans Day) as my Birthday Eve, and deeply appreciate the fact that a federal holiday falls so closely to my birthday because it basically guarantees that I get a freebie day off on which to celebrate, well, me.
But in all seriousness, Veterans Day is, to me, one of the most meaningful days that our government has chosen to commemorate. My father is a 23-year Air Force veteran. I grew up in military communities all over the world and he deployed during the first Gulf War. I know firsthand what members of the military and their families give up on a daily basis to ensure our freedom. My wonderful grandfather, who died last February, was a member of the “Greatest Generation,” a John Wayne lookalike who enlisted in the Marines during WWII and fought in the Pacific.
However, when I think of a veteran, the first one that comes to mind is Uncle Bill. He is a man I’ve never met, but one who has achieved a hero-like status in our family. Uncle Bill was the older brother of my grandfather, the oldest of my great-grandfather’s five children. My great-grandpa was a veterinarian and cattle farmer in a very small town in central Illinois. Our family was pretty prominent in this small town, which is to say that a great deal of the town was related.
From everything I’ve heard, Bill was a sharp kid — smart, witty, funny. He was a good student and went off to college at a challenging private liberal arts college in IL (the same college both of my parents would graduate from 40-some years later). He majored in English, acted in drama productions and served as editor of the college paper. After college, Uncle Bill eventually returned to his hometown and became an English teacher at his old high school.
I believe he was drafted into service in the Army after WWII began, and was sent to Europe, where he served in Holland. Like any good English teacher would, Bill continued writing, in the form of long, chatty, descriptive letters — to his parents, his brothers and sister, other family members and friends, students, etc. It was nearly the end of the war when Uncle Bill was killed — some of his fellow soldiers were guarding a border one night, he went out in a jeep to take them dinner and drove over a explosive device. He was buried in one of the American military cemeteries in the Netherlands. After his death, the family collected all his letters and had them published in a book for family and friends.
When my father was stationed in Europe, we had the chance to visit the cemetery and see Bill’s grave. It was especially meaningful because my parents had chosen to name my youngest brother (who at the time was a newborn) after Uncle Bill. A couple of times we attended a Memorial Day ceremony at the cemetery, where family of the deceased were honored guests. Coincidentally, Uncle Bill is buried not too far away from his brother-in-law Bob, the husband of my Aunt Elizabeth, who had also been killed in WWII.
It’s funny, but I’ve always felt that my immediate family had some weird connections to Uncle Bill — echoes of his personality, maybe. I mentioned that my parents went to the same college, and that’s actually where they met and fell in love. My parents and my brothers and I have all acted in drama productions over the years, like Uncle Bill, and we’re really the only ones in our extended family who are into the performing arts. And I’ve always been a writer, like he was, and I served as editor of my college paper as well. Plus, I’ve read some of the letters my father wrote to his parents while he was stationed overseas, and I can see the same chatty, conversational tone that Uncle Bill’s letters had. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if my Dad had a lot of his uncle’s personality.
I have always wished that we hadn’t lost Uncle Bill during WWII, because I really would have liked to get to know him. But I’m thankful for him, and my Grandpa, and my Dad, and the millions of other men and women who have served…those who died and those who lived who tell their stories.
(I don’t have a picture of Uncle Bill, but that’s my Grandpa in his Marine uniform…he was very handsome.)
