the spinster girl's guide to life

File Under: What the Fuck? (Pun intended)

2008-07-08T23:58:00.002-04:00

I accidentally stumbled across this site. What the fuck, indeed.

Confession: I actually had a nice little post typed up to accompany this, but things were easier when I first started writing as Spinster Girl. Mostly because no one was reading it.

Michigan Eats

2008-07-08T14:55:00.002-04:00

The town I live in has one small store and it smells like smoke. I like my bread without a side of nicotine, so I don't think I'll be shopping there with any sort of frequency. One of the things I love about living in a new town is new local food favorites. This week: Spillson's Famous Original Rice Pudding, Dudek's Pierogies, Stroh's ice cream and bread from Russo's bakery (but purchased from Meijer).

A Little Help...

2008-07-07T11:10:00.002-04:00

I promised myself I wouldn't cry on Friday. Not in a bar. Not at Sam's. My friends, my wonderful, amazing, awesome friends, gave up a significant portion of their Fourth of July holiday to help me load up and clean my apartment. With five rooms, a basement and a porch and and my own aversion to austerity, this was not an easy task. I've had the same best friend since the 9th grade. Technically we weren't best friends in the early days (but she'll kill me if I tell the locker partner story one more time), but now I really can't remember a time when she wasn't. She arrived early and with that look of disapproval I've come to expect (and appreciate). Things hit a snag when we found out the neighbors had discovered a young boy on their porch. My friends arrived and got to work. After the initial discomfort of realizing how much I really needed their help, we fell into the groove. Weary, they took off on their way and I found myself alone in my empty apartment. Every sound I made echoed. I thought about events that had transpired earlier in the week, I thought about difficult it was for me to leave my office and how good I felt when the firm's managing partner spoke highly of my character, I thought about other things. About how I didn't get have enough parties and how I never bought a good couch. How, I'll never get another un-housebroken dog. And I thought about how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends. One of those friends will be coming to see me in a few short weeks, making me a stop on her whirlwind Scrabble tour. I can't wait!

Greetings from Michigan

2008-07-07T10:28:00.004-04:00

I've spent the past forty-eight hours with my parents. Some of it was spent in search of ice cream (folks in Michigan really seem to enjoy their ice cream stands), some in search of my dad's beloved Bud Light. There was a pivotal moment when my mom suggested that "some music might be nice" while we unpacked boxes and my dad learned that the only country music I own is the Alabama Christmas cd. So we listened to Regina Spektor, drank a few beers and I tried not to stress while my mom opened box after box. More important, we survived. We've been straddling the line between having a really nice time and wanting to kill each other (or ourselves). My neighbors are friendly and my new home is bright and modern. Weaver's making friends, too. He hasn't moved from the back deck except for the few times I've had to force him to walk around the block. I have a week before I start my new job and I'm preparing to transition mentally. Saying goodbye to my friends was hard and while I said goodbye on Friday with tears, I know how lucky I am. For the four years I've been back in Charleston, I've seen plenty of people leave; I've seen just as many people return. I'm not in search of something better, I'm in search of something different.

This monday morning, I'm enjoying the silence with a screwdriver on my back deck and a "borrowed" wireless connection. Right now it just feels like I'm on vacation. Next Monday I expect it will feel a lot different. And maybe that's a good thing.

Better Left Unblogged

2008-07-02T14:40:00.003-04:00

Someone very important to me encouraged me to keep writing and I think I will. Unfortunately, the only thing I want to write about, the only thing I'm currently trying to process (not counting a messy office, an unpacked apartment, piles of laundry and a needy dog), is something I want to keep to myself. I just don't want to share it with anyone else (at least not unless there's coffee or Sitar involved; maybe a nice red). And so in an effort to get off my mind what's on my mind, I started thinking about the whole idea of shared information. Not important stuff, but the effluvia we're surrounded by everyday.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that there's a lot I don't want to share with anyone else. Spend a day home from work and turn on daytime television:

"On today's Maury, Angela has slept with over 100 men, which one is the father? Today she's back to test a seventh man."

"Did my sister sleep with my boyfriend?"

The first ten minutes of The View.

I admit in my early college days I owned a copy of Jerry Springer's "Too Hot for TV," but that was then. I grew up with the "Real World," "Cheaters," and "A Current Affair." Today we have "stolen" celebrity sex tapes and people famous for no apparent reason (Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt, anyone? And how, without cable, do I even know who the hell they are?) I guess I understand the allure of television and magazines, but why can't I check out at my favorite "upscale" discount store without learning about the cashier's vagina? Or was that angina? Don't know, don't care.

(Special thanks to my (soon to be former) work crush for introducing me to effluvia. There are no royalties for words already existing; only shout outs. Word.)

Hm.

2008-06-29T12:58:00.003-04:00

A few weeks ago I accepted a position with an Ohio-based business. My current job is my first professional job and because of that I think it was hard for me to admit that it was time for me to move on. I've had no trouble leaving part-time positions or graduate assistantships when they ceased to excite me any longer. This was different. I work with a great group of people. And today I really mean that. There were days when I wanted to run away and never come back; there were days when I closed my door and willed myself not to cry, but for the majority of the past four years I've been surrounded by interesting, intelligent (and sometimes witty)people. I've got a great group of work friends, most of whom I would consider real friends. I've exchanged some fun e-mails and engaged in some excellent banter with my work crush. I've learned that I have some hidden talents. I've also learned a lot about wine. So when I realized that this job was no longer challenging me, when I didn't care what I looked like in the morning and when I came to dread what I had once loved I knew it was time to start looking. And I did. One of the things I love about where I work is that we're an indedendent company. That was one of the things that I looked for when I began searching. Unlike previous job searches, I found that my skills were now in demand. (I have skills!) I went on several interviews in search of the right position (not, as I told many of my interviewers, just a new position). Just as when I accepted the position here in Charleston, I found myself accepting a position in one of the last places I ever expected to be. I think if I were younger I would jump at the chance to live in DC or NYC or Boston, but in my early 30's I'm realistic and I know that the dollar goes a lot further in a smaller town. I'm looking forward to living on the lake and being thirty minutes from Trader Joes and Ikea. I doubt I'll shop there anymore than I do, but it's the little things.

As excited as I am for my new job and my new life, I didn't take into account how difficult it would be to say goodbye to my work friends and winddown the work crush. I didn't take into consideration what it would feel like to say goodbye to friends. My wonderful, fabulous, could not ask for better friends. As sad as I am, I'm excited too. While I embrace my "spinster girl" status, my friends are all in long term relationships. They're getting married, having babies or having babies and getting married. Their lives are moving forward and I didn't feel like that would be possible in Charleston. Not for me anyway. And while I can certainly live a full life without those things, I'm not ashamed to say that I want them. So, did I make the right decision? I don't know. I might never know. I'm looking forward to finding out, whatever the result might be.

Better West Virginia Through Better Parameters

2008-06-24T10:36:00.004-04:00

I'd been working on a post about West Virginia since I'd made my decision to leave. It's funny how life changing events always make you want to be all introspective and deep. A simple dog walk along the Boulevard can turn into a nostalgic trip; a visit to Ellen's Ice Cream presents a culinary conundrum (do I waste my calories on Espresso Oreo or Curry Chicken Salad?). I found it kind of serendiptous that I'd been working on this post when I read the call for posts from A Better West Virginia. Against my better judgment, I submitted my post. The response reminded me of what it is that I find so loathsome about these endeavors:

Spinster Girl,

Apologies for delayed response. Below are the parameters for the better West Virginia blog project. I’ve read your post, and it’s more of a personal journal entry. However, you’ve got something important to say. I encourage you to cut it down big time, use the below parameters to guide you, and get your point across in half the words you’ve used to date. If you don’t have time to rework your post, consider posting a comment at aBetterWestVirginia after tomorrow’s post goes up.

Best regards,
ABetterWestVirgina Guy

These are rarely about "our" West Virginia, and almost always about "my" West Virginia, but that's the reality of many things. My West Virginia experience is not about moonshine and four-wheeling (though I've experienced both), but for some people it is (just ask anyone who has caught a swig from Larry Groce after a Mountain Stage performance). And who's to say that's wrong? The truth is that if we ignore the reasons why our stereotypes exist, we'll only continue to peremate a culture of resentment and self-ostracization. I'm from Lincoln County and God knows I've taken a few trips out some of those backroads that would make the scene (you know the one) look not only plausible, but tame. Our culture is moonshining and coal mining and music. It's good people and family ties. The new West Virginia is not unlike the new America. An arena for change and growth. Reading the "acceptable" blog entries, I find that they are represenative of the West Virginia I know. The West Virginia that has some of the smartest, wittiest, most interesting people I have had the pleasure of knowing. And I find myself with only one question: Why would we want to create a "new" stereotype? The burden should not be on us to change the minds of others; it should be on them to overcome their own ignorant ideas and expectations. Be who you are, and be proud of it.

For those interested in the West Virginia Day blogging project, you can find it here.

I am...West Virginia?

2008-06-19T11:19:00.003-04:00

It feels weird to be writing about West Virginia and what it means to be a West Virginian when I've spent the last several days packing up my apartment and sifting through my things (and yes many, many pairs of shoes) in anticipation of a move to Michigan. I've spent just as much time thinking about how much I'm going to miss my friends, my family, my friends who have become my extended family, and the mountains. I'm going to miss the mountains. Growing up I was one of those who couldn't wait to get out. Upon my graduation from high school, I went as far as I could (with no savings and no car) -- Morgantown. I spent an unhappy, and for the most part uneventful, semester in Brooke Hall, the same dormitory that had once been home to my dad. I fell in "love," made out awkwardly with a friend (Wilmore, where are you?) and came home to repeat the coursework, though not the adventures, of my first freshman semester at West Virginia State College.

I spent the break crying and smoking Marlboro lights inside my bedroom. I remember the disappointment on my parents faces and the frustration they must have felt trying to deal with my angst (and their wasted dollars). I remember the excitement when I found out that State was going to offer Japanese for the first time and that I would be able to take full advantage of the D/F repeat rule. Not surprisingly I made the dean's list. I did okay at State and eventually graduated from Marshall with a degree in English. I didn't want to teach; I didn't want to go law school (though I did sit for the LSAT); I didn't know what to do. I spent a year working for my dad and trying to find ways to justify not going back to school for an accounting degree when I found it. I went to graduate school in Ohio and studied technical writing. I graduated with a 3.9 (not bad for a slacker). My only B was in a class not in my major. I made great friends, had some great adventures, had a few fights. When I completed my degree I came back to West Virginia.

The day I drove home Ohio was not a happy one. On the radio, Lee Maynard, an expatriate West Virginian, was discussing two kinds of West Virginians -- those who never leave and can't Just as I'd felt a few years ago, I didn't know what was going to happen. I felt like a failure. My best friend had been working for several years with a local theater company. She'd been living in an apartment and seemed to have it together. I was moving back home with no clear future in sight. I spent several months looking for a job. A job anywhere but in West Virginia and then, reading the Gazette one morning, found a job that I thought sounded promising. By the time I received a call for the interview, I'd forgotten that I'd applied. I interviewed with the man who would become my boss and while I wasn't sure about the job, I knew that he was someone with whom I wanted to work. When I got into my car, Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" was playing on the radio. I was offered and accepted the job and began to "learn the ropes." During that time I was introduced to some wonderful women who have become (I hope) lifelong friends. These women have taught me about life and love and what it means to be a friend. Of course I've had this all along with my own lifelong friend, but adding to the mix I became aware of the fabulousness of the female friendship. We've shared some unforgettable times (both good and bad) and I am better for having known them. I don't think this would have been possible anywhere but Charleston. Sure life might move a little slower here at times, but that also means I don't have to wait in line for a cafe au lait (or, when I'm feeling bad and consumerist, a caramel macchiato from Starbucks). It also means that not everyone is familiar with certain brands that find their way to Gabe's (that's Gabriel Brothers for you refined folk). More deals for me!

Before I left West Virginia, I didn't know who I was. I was searching. But it took coming back to West Virginia to discover who I am. Now that I'm leaving, I know that West Virginia made me who I am. West Virginians are strong, they are brave and they are (naturally) free. As I prepare to leave again, I leave strengthened by the knowledge that know matter where I go, I am West Virginia and West Virginia is me.

And on another note, and related to my title, I'm not a fan of the "We are Marshall," campaign, though I do appreciate the sense of community that it brings; but I hate that West Virginia University is synonymous with West Virginia. We're all West Virginia. We're all Mountaineers.

Hello, it's me...

2008-06-09T13:55:00.003-04:00

Hey there. How's it going? It's been awhile. Just as I never intended to start blogging, I never really intended to stop. It just happened. It became a chore. And, oh yeah, people figured out my no so secret identity. There was something comforting about blogging blindly. I didn't feel the need to take such care with the things I was writing. I'm in a weird place right now and because of that I'm ready to wrap myself in the security blanket of my words. it doesn't so much matter to me that people know who it is wrapped inside.

In a few weeks, I'll be packing up my worldly possessions and heading north. I've been presented with an opportunity that was simply too good to pass up. It's an opportunity that would never have presented itself in Charleston, but it's an opportunity that presented itself because of my time in Charleston. Funny how that works. I came home to West Virginia, the last place I ever expected to be, and am leaving five years later for another unexpected location. Like Charleston, the place I'm headed gets a bad rap but I hope like Charleston it's filled with wonderful surprises.

I'll be hard pressed to find friends like those I'm lucky enough to call my own, but I'm hoping. And I'm hoping that I won't be so far away that they won't come up and visit. I'm also hoping that Ian over at Fried Rice Thoughts will show me the ropes at the famous Zingerman's deli (even if it does mean I have to watch him eat liverwurst). I'm excited and scared. I'll be working a lot, but I plan to play a lot as well. I'm thankful for the perspective that the past five years have given me. Over the coming weeks I know that tears will be shed and that margaritas will be swilled (and words will be slurred), but beyond that I don't know. And for that I'm especially glad.

Anyone know where I can find a West Virginia hot dog outside of West Virginia?

Here I am, the great reflector

2007-12-29T13:56:00.001-05:00

So here we are at the end of a year, a pretty good year. I met someone with whom I thought there was great potential, but he ran away 1800 miles not long after we met. Our brief time together taught me a lot about what I'm looking for in a relationship and even more about what I'm not. He was bold enough to call me on my shit (something I admire in anyone), but what he didn't seem to realize is that my actions were largely in reaction to his own. I think we spend too much time caring about what others think. Great lovers should know that they're great lovers, just as great cooks should know they're great cooks and great friends, who are so hard to come by in this world, should know that they're the greatest. Not that I can remember what it's like to have a great lover (am I kidding? I'll never tell), but I was fortunate to have some great food this year and I continue to wonder how it is that I got so lucky to have such great friends in my life. I turned 30. I got to hold an awesome little baby when she was just hours old, her whole life ahead. I spent a beautiful night dancing in Fayetteville. I ate a lot of sushi. But this coming year, I want to be selfish. I want a boyfriend. Or at least great sex. Or maybe just sex. I want more great food, and I want more time with my friends. I want to eat less meat, and drink more wine. I want to enjoy the outdoors. I want to explore my surroundings. I want to get organized, and pay my rent on time. I want to get rid of my cable, but not until this season of nip/tuck ends and I've seen the I Love New York 2 Reunion Show. I want to get to know myself better. I want to not cringe when I look in the mirror. I want to buy my dog a pair of doggles. I want my parents to know that I love them even if they are freaks. And my sister, too. I want to find my passion and I want to get paid for it. I want to live a life fulfilled. I want to have money in my bank account the day before payday. And I want everyone I love and care about to have a happy new year.

Fifth Grade Tammy Faye

2007-10-29T08:15:00.001-04:00

When I was in the third grade (attending the second of my four elemenatry schools), budget cuts forced us to share a room with a fourth grade class. Before school, and during breaks, a girl named Michelle would offer makeovers to the third grade girls from this giant plastic case. She charged fifty-cents which was just enough for two bags of Dipsy Doodles, sold by the sixth graders to help cover some of the expenses for their patrol trip. I used to watch as she'd grind the sponge tipped applicator into the power shadows and then cover a hopeful nine year old's lids in emerald green or sapphire blue. When she finished, the girl looked like what I'd done to my Barbies at home, it was a fine line between punk and putrid. My parents forbade make-up (as most parents of elementary school students would), nevermind the ridiculousness of wearing make-up at such a young age (when your skin is blemish-free), they warned of eye infections and other grossness. It was enough to keep me in Dipsy Doodles and out of eyeshadow, but I went to a school where some girls came out of the womb with a tan, a perm and glittery eyes; I also went to a school where a number of the girls were pregnant before graduating high school. I used to watch as she would pick from one of the small squares containing every color imaginable. She'd carefully select from her palette making each girl look different and yet eerily the same. When a round of pinkeye was spread, the makeover business went under. Years later, in junior high, a girl with hair so bleached it looked like cotton and eyes so mascara'd and lined you could barely see them, turned to me and asked concerned, "Why don't you wear make-up? Won't your parents let you?" She didn't understand that, to not wear make-up, was a choice a 14 year old could make. In fact, my parents had let me wear make-up beginning in the seventh grade. My mom had taken me to the local Merle Norman, where the woman matched my colors to the colors of clothing I normally wore (at the time, it was black). The result was horrific and I've been a little scared ever since. While I've since learned that you really don't need that many eyeshadow selections, make-up still fascinates me. On a good day, I'm lucky to put on a little mascara and lip-gloss and on a bad day nothing at all. I'm not one of those women who can't leave the house without make-up, though I admit a little lipgloss does often make me feel better. So when I received an e-mail from Sephora and found out that they still make such palettes, I have to admit I was tempted. But how many eyeshadows does a girl who doesn't wear it really need?

A Girl's Gotta Live

2007-10-23T23:58:00.001-04:00

So I've been packing my stuff for a few months now with the intention of, if not finding a new job, at least finding a new place to hang my hat. Renting in Charleston is a frustrating process, made even more so by the fact that I'm a dog owner with no plans to leave my little muppet behind in favor of a nicer place. I didn't realize that being a single woman would make the process difficult as well. I've decided that I'm at a place in life where I don't want footsteps above me. I don't want to be awakened at 7 in the morning by my neighbor's bed squeaking above me during her "boyfriend's" regular visits (even if does only last three minutes, poor girl). Yesterday I phoned about a house with potential (3 bedrooms, wood floors, a fenced yard)and was met with suspicion. "Just you moving?" "Yes, ma'am," I said. "Just me and the dog." "Sure you're not going to have any friends moving in?" "I'm sure," I said. "Well, okay..." she said hesitantly before giving me the address. Upon drive-by I decided it wasn't for me, but the whole situation left me with a bad feeling. A few weeks ago I lost out on a house to a married couple. Undoubtedly it was their two incomes that made them better, safer candidates in the eyes of the owner. And having seen some of the tenants on my own street, I can appreciate that. The longer I stay in Charleston, the less likely I think I am to move. When I look at the cost of living elsewhere, that in itself is enough to keep me here. I've become more comfortable in my career over the last year or so (yes, after four years I'm finally getting the art of cat herding) and I think I'm starting to come into my own as an adult, as a woman, and maybe even as a spinster. But that's not what keeps me here. Tonight, as I was sitting on my couch (taking a short break from packing, I swear) I saw a man lurking outside my door. My good, no, GREAT, friend had read a status message I'd left on my Gmail expressing my desire for chocolate pudding. She placed a call to her husband who was at the store and sure enough it was him standing on my front porch with chocolate pudding. It was, without a doubt, the best chocolate pudding I've ever had. So while to a landlord I might be a woman living alone, I know that I'm anything but and that's what keeps me hopeful.

Return to sender

2007-10-21T18:41:00.000-04:00

I don't write about every date I go on (not that there are that many to be discussed); I prefer saving those stories to share with my friends over a few margaritas. This last run-in with "the boy," however, I think bears mentioning. We got off to a bit of a rocky start when, after hanging out briefly, he didn't call. I mentioned it to a friend of mine who worked with a friend of his and I heard from him shortly thereafter. Were it not for the fact that he had supposedly mentioned to the friend that he was in a state of limbo, but was very interested in me I probably would've written him off an refused to go. We decided to meet for sushi. Minutes before I entered the restaurant I received a text from another friend who thought it might be funny to declare his love for me via text message. It wasn't. I know it might come as a surprise, being a self-declared spinster and all, but I'm not always quick to warm up to strangers. Things went well. He was cute, funny, smart. I thought it went fine. And then I didn't hear from him for a week. It wasn't until I sent an e-mail saying something to the effect of, "If I'd known you weren't going to call, I would've at least copped a cheap feel. Or something," that he was prompted to call back. We had an even better second date. We made plans to hang out again, but he "forgot" me in favor of getting new tires for his car. We made plans to meet out later and he couldn't understand why I was giving him the stink eye. He left to take home some friends and said he would call me the next morning. He didn't. He didn't call again for a week at which time he met me out after dinner with a friend. My friend was parked several blocks away, so I said that we would walk to her car and that I would give him a call later. As we were approaching our car, he pulled in and said, "I'll be back in a minute," as he ran around the corner to talk to his friend outside of the local strip club. After waiting several minutes, I was kind of disgusted with myself for waiting that long and we headed home. I called him. He said he'd call me back when he was finished talking to his friend, and you guessed it -- he never called. He called seconds within receiving a text message from me to explain what had happened. So this is where I find myself. Thinking about what I want in a relationship and what I need in a man. I have enough people in my life who want to be there. I'm blessed with great friends. I don't have time to chase people who don't want to be part of it. And looking back on it all, I'm more offended that he never tried to cop feel than the fact that he didn't want to spend time with me. I think next time I go out with someone with whom I'm solidly on the fence about, I'm just going to skip to the "good stuff." Traditional gender roles be damned. Spinster girls need love, too.

spinster girl goes on a date (maybe two)

2007-10-09T17:34:00.001-04:00

So during my brief hiatus, I've been on a few job interviews, lost a few pounds, looked at some houses and been on a few dates. Charleston is a funny place. A few years ago I was out with a friend; those who know him, and especially at that time, will find no surprise that on this night he was a little drunk and a lot obnoxious. I can't remember the details fully, but as I recall he began heckling the band and after a few grimacing minutes, a large, looming figure in a work shirt turned around and glared. Recognizing that it was more of a look than a threat, I offered a silent thanks and from what I recall the night ended shortly thereafter. For whatever reason, I like to tell this story if only because it's the closest I've ever come to thinking I was possibly going to die in a bar, and that's including the time I was escorted from a Brothers of the Wheel function in Boone County. Or that other time when I was escorted from the Edge on Capital Street. The latter was all me, but the former was really just a matter of being with the wrong person at the wrong time. It sure did make for a great story. But I digress.

A few weeks ago I was in that same bar watching another local band with another drunk friend when the guy in the work shirt sat down. I had two choices: I could either gush about the time he stared down my friend and risk sounding, oh I don't know, cuckoo bananas, or I could say nothing. I chose to say nothing. Maybe it was because I'm shy. Quiet. Whatever. Doesn't matter. We were introduced and I found him to be a rather intriguing figure. My friend whispered loudly (or at least it appeared loud to me)"Want me to fix you up?" I shouted, "No!" This came from my own mortification and not a place of disinterest. He made fun of my beer (which was well deserved) and then he was gone. The next morning, I mentioned him to a friend and got some positive feedback. It was at that point I decided to do what any "normal" single woman does in 2007 -- I looked for him on MySpace. And I found him. I decided it was time to put down the knitting needles, let down the bun and remember what it's like to be single, not a spinster. And so with much hesitation I headed out on a date...

Out of a Funk, Comes a Spinster

2007-06-28T19:57:00.000-04:00

If you need a change, get pregnant! It worked for me.
--sage advice from a friend of spinster girl

Well, I'm not pregnant, but I definitely needed a change. It's been awhile. About a year ago, a friend of mine declared blogging so late 90's and suggested that it should be put away in a closet with Doc Martens and house music. And I guess for awhile that's what I did. I've been in an incredible funk. Paralyzed by the unfulmillment I was finding in my job, my station in life and the world around me, I found myself avoiding the things from which I find pleasure and instead coming home, (sometimes) walking my dog and lapsing into a near coma until it was time to get up and do it all over again.

I was ready to begin looking for a new job when I had a fabulous evaluation. Only time will tell if the glowing words used to describe me were in fact simple puffery or if there is indeed a change coming round the bend. I work in a very male dominated environment and for the most part don't have any female allies, at least not in my area of responsibility. I know that I'm smarter than I'm often given credit for and have become increasingly disheartened over the years when we sought to outsource things that I could be doing. Today during a meeting, the same thing appeared to be happening when a co-worker spoke up. "Spinster is a very good writer," he said. "Perhaps this is something she should do." Following was another meeting in which I again started to feel more than capable and that perhaps that sense of self I'd been missing all these months was finally on it's way back.

I'm starting to visualize myself as a professional. And after nearly four years, it's about damn time. My graduate school roommate used to have a poster on her wall and on it, one of her musical heroines has written, "If you can believe it. You can achieve it." I used to scoff. And it's hard for me not to do so now, but maybe my cynicism was holding me back. I believe that I can make things happen and I'm willing to wait it out and see if I might be able to achieve it. Part of that is this blog. I need a place to try to make sense of who I am and who I want to be. I need to get my words to paper and I need a forum to just be.

One Step Towards Spinsterhood

2007-04-21T03:41:00.000-04:00

So I turned 30 a few days ago and save for one Sybil like moment on my couch last night where I kept saying "I'm 30..." over and over and over again, I'm doing okay. I said a few weeks ago that I wanted to live my 30s like I should have lived my 20s and in many ways that's true, but looking back on it I realized that perhaps that's not the way to go. When I think about living my 30s like I should've lived my 20s I realize that there's a lot I'm not taking into consideration. Making out with questionable boys after downing too many cherry lifesavers in a dark, pit known as the Stoned Monkey, playing pool with my dormmates at another bar while meeting a man we only referred to as Hushpuppy. Hooker shoes. Trampy clothing and a lot of black eyeliner. The Counting Crows. No, when I say that I want to live my 30s like I should've lived my 20s, I mean that I want to take chances and not spend too much time worrying about the outcome. I want to travel. I want to live my dreams and not take the safe way home. I don't know if I'll do it and I'm not sure that I really care. What I do know is that, when I was I was 19 getting ready to turn 20, I was living at home with my parents and scared as hell. I'm a lot more self aware, much more confident and, um, entering my sexual peak. I spent tonight surrounded by friends, many of whom I've only met in recent years. I look at my friends in larger cities and I see how difficult it is to connect with people on even the most basic level and I know that I'm blessed. If my birthday celebration is any indication, I think my 30s are going to be okay.

Purge-a-thon 2007

2007-02-24T16:22:00.000-05:00

I'm not a very good Catholic in many ways, but I enjoy the Lenten season. It's a time of purification, repentance and renewal. When I was thinking about what to give up this year I thought of many things and many obvious things: television, fast food, meat, gossip, but ultimately I decided that I would give up "stuff." My life is cluttered and I think that carries over into all aspects of my life from my physical appearance to my mental clarity. I decided that I would pack my things into boxes and at the end of Lent I would give away those things I did not truly miss or need. I purchased boxes and began packing things away on Ash Wednesday. Four days later, I'm still packing. While the process may take all of Lent, I've found that I do have a connection to material possession. When looking at a book I'd purchased several years ago, but had never actually read it was strangely difficult for me to part with it even knowing that it was just going into a box for the next 40 days. Holding onto things is okay, but I've learned more in the past few days about the things I've been letting go. Ridding myself of this clutter while initially a Lenten sacrifice will ultimately, I think, bring me the sense of inner peace and clarity for which I've been looking.

I am not Shaun White (or Some lessons don't need to be learned)

2007-02-19T19:09:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my sister and a friend headed to Winterplace to conquer some fears and enjoy the snow. Because none of us had snowboarded before, we decided to give it a try. From the beginning I was terrified. I've spent most of my life a klutz, but locking my feet on a sheet of fiberglass and heading down a hill? Not something I'd ordinarily do. We signed up for lessons, got our gear and my heart pounded. I put my left foot into the front binding and glided as the twelve year old leading the class had instructed. I went a few feet and fell. I got back up. I went a few more feet and fell. I got back up and immediately fell again. I was prepared mentally to fall. Falling didn't scare me. It was the getting back up that was a bitch. I made it to the bottom of the hill, stepped off my board, thanked the instructor and went tubing instead. I turn 30 in two months and I'm scared that as I get older I'll not try new things. That I'll become set in my ways and forget what it feels like to take on new challenges, new adventures. I want to climb mountains, I want kayak, I want to watch the season finale of I Love New York while sitting in my fat pants and drinking a beer. As I sit here this evening, the only thing on my body that doesn't ache is my fingers. I think trying new things is important, but I think for the first time in my life I've learned that saying, "Hey, this just isn't for me" is okay, too. So, Shaun White I ain't and will never be, but for now I'm okay just being me.

Henry, I'm Sorry

2007-01-17T21:39:00.000-05:00

I was flipping between two quality television programs when I was reminded of an incident from the seventh grade. First let me say that in junior high I was as nerdy as they come. It was the early 90's and I represented everything wrong with that time. In homeroom, we were charged with the task of electing a homecoming court representative. A girl named Amy who'd done a miraculous geek to chic makeover during the summer between sixth and seventh grades was the obvious choice and an arrogant asshole (yes, even at the age of twelve) named Matt seemed to be a shoe-in for the boys. Until the boy next to me suggested a gangly, but adorable kid named Henry. Henry was a funloving kid and was okay with the nomination, but our homeroom teacher was not. She assumed that because Henry didn't possess Matt's (wholly subjective) good looks and self assured cockiness that he was nominated as a joke. And sure maybe it would've been funny if one of the (again subjective) "cool" kids had nominated him, but neither I nor the guy sitting beside me were that lucky. She lectured us on our cruelty and shot me mean looks for the remainder of the year. Beauty & the Geek has quickly become my guilty pleasure. And watching this evening as the boys (geeks) were made over, I was reminded of that seventh grade homeroom classroom. I don't know where Henry is today and I sincerely doubt that he remembers that morning in Mrs. Hoh's homeroom class, but I hope he knows that I didn't seek to cause him any harm that day and that I'm sorry if I did. I just wish he'd represented our class that year because he certainly would've represented me.

Turn on the lights!

2006-11-30T19:47:00.000-05:00

Okay, so now that December is upon us I have to admit that Christmas lights make me happy. They just do. The brighter, the bolder, the better. Glittery. Gaudy. Gorgeous.

Turn off the lights!

2006-11-08T21:30:00.000-05:00

About a year ago a guy down the street purchased some interesting African statues and placed them on his porch and throughout his house. Those on the porch were strung with holiday lights and have remained lit throughout the year. When walking my dog or driving home I look at them and they make me smile. Driving home today, however, I couldn't help but notice my new neighbors and their house which was lit up like like, well, a Christmas tree. Last week I watched the cute kids in their costumes go door to door asking for candy and in a few weeks I will sit across from my slightly senile grandmother and give thanks for the fact that I don't consider Grace Livingston Hill a great literary figure and that I own no Tupperware with my name written on it. Until that time comes I beg of my neighbors to turn off the lights. Time moves fast enough. I don't need to be reminded of that everytime I pull into my driveway.

suck it

2006-11-03T19:41:00.000-05:00

I haven't been out of the greater Kanawha Valley in a few months, so I don't know if this is a countrywide epidemic, but the rudeness of the people by which I find myself surrounded is getting a bit out of hand. My friends are great, my co-workers, too; but the people in front of me at Kroger, beside me at the library or behind me at 7-11 are fucking wreaking havoc on my nerves. Waiting to pay for gas at my local convenience store and with hot chocolate in hand, I was jarred from my zone-out by three women complaining to the cashier. They had two cups each (one stuck to the other) and the clerk told them they would need to pay for two cups or take the cups off. They insisted that the cups were stuck together and began to make fun of him. He threw up his hands and went to the back for more cups while they continued to mock. The woman behind me muttering, "Come on...come on," under her breath then shouted, "You're going to waste three cups, now!" And while it was true, I admired the man for sticking to his guns. The woman behind me continued to mutter as the cashier visibly shaken attempted to make his way back to the register. From her impatience I assumed she had a bottle of cheap wine and was hurrying home to make some sweet love with her unattractive man friend. Alas, she was armed with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and some Kraft Mayonnaise and was buying some off-brand smokes. Look, I'm blogging about standing in line at 7-11 on a Friday night. I had Subway for dinner. And some leftover Halloween candy for dinner. I'm not pretending I've got anything going on, but I'm also not bitching to the poor guy stuck in 7-11 with people trying to bitch over cup of bad cappucino. And if you are, you can suck it, too.

Red Hooded Sweatshirt (with apologies to Adam Sandler)

2006-10-24T23:10:00.000-04:00

Those who know me, know that Sam's (Uptown Cafe) is where I go when I just want to grab a quick beer and do a little hanging out. I think most people would be rather unimpressed by its appearance and maybe even find its ambience lacking something to be desired, but these attributes aren't what draw me to Sam's in the first place. To me Sam's is like that comfy college sweatshirt I put on Sunday mornings while I sit on the couch with a cup of coffee and the paper. And it was that college sweatshirt and unbrushed hair I was sporting when I ran into my junior high nemesis (not just for super heroines, kids). It's funny how much we like to think we change. How much we like to think we've forgotten. And how one glance can send you back to a time and place you never thought you could possibly revisit. I didn't speak not because I couldn't, but because I didn't want to and I didn't know what to say. In my defense neither did she. The animosity I once felt was certainly gone, but I was surpised that while I was obviously aware of her presence, I wasn't particularly concerned with what she thought. And yet I find myself thinking about it just the same. Of course I wish I was thinner and I certainly wish I'd looked a lot better when running into her; I really wish I'd been wearing a little lipstick. Had I been looking better I might've been inclined to say hello or smile, but I kind of doubt it. I don't know what kind of person she's become and to be honest I don't care. I was among friends, my oldest friend and one of my newest. And it felt good. I know that I could make more money in another city and maybe I wouldn't be constantly reminded of the lack of dateable men or question my own dateability, but that's probably because I wouldn't go out at all. Sure, I'd have my comfy college sweatshirt and my unbrushed Sunday hair, but I wouldn't have my Sam's.

A Little Change...

2006-07-30T17:59:00.000-04:00

Change is inevitable and it's scary and it's what I've been craving lately. There are a lot of changes going on in my circle of friends these days -- some are going back to school, some starting families, others new jobs, houses are being bought; houses are being sold. And amidst all this change, I find myself almost at a standstill. Over Thai food a few weeks ago, I mentioned to a friend how scared I was to make a move, to make a change. She stared at me a moment and said, "Everyone is." I'd been so busy looking at my friends making their moves seem so effortless that I never thought for a moment that were scared as well. I know better than to blog about work, but let's say that I didn't go to graduate school to play girl Friday. I love my job and it presents some unique challenges, but there's little room for growth. I have the privilege of getting paid to do essentially what I went to school to learn to do and I get to develop and hone my skills under some of the most intelligent, interesting and unique people I've ever known. As far as starter jobs go, I couldn't have asked for better. So I guess I find myself in this quagmire of sorts: If I don't need a change, why should be looking for one? I cut my hair and I hate it. That wasn't the change I was looking for this time. I recently changed my diet, too and so far I like that. I've given up meat and dairy and am what I'd call an "almost vegan." After only a few days I certainly feel better and I guess time will tell if that's reflected on the scale. I spent Friday night with some newish friends. Of the nights I've spent with them, I don't know that I've ever had a bad one. Near the end of the night (for me at least), one of the women with whom I was with suggested to another that next time we not just sit there that we seek out men and make eye contact. That we meet someone new. I looked around (Sam's, naturally) and couldn't for the life of me find someone with whom I'd want to make eye contact that I didn't already know. That's the nature of a small town, I suppose. But it's not like Charleston's the size of Mayberry. And it's not like I don't have nights where I see absolutely no one I know. It's just that I don't see anyone I'd like to know. So, yeah, I'm looking for a change. A bigger one, anyway, and, maybe, in truth, I'm just too lazy to make one.

Blahg...

2006-07-18T23:33:00.000-04:00

So I have to admit, I'm kind of proud of myself for keeping up this endeavor for over a year. I quit pretty much everything I start. Kayaking, mountain biking, piano, tap (wait, I think my parents quit that for me), rollerblading and of course all the things I never even started: skateboarding, harmonica, the "great" novel of my generation . Better writers gave it up and others whooped it up consistently. My posts have been sporadic, usually interesting to only me, but for whatever reason I've come back to do it again (and again) and for like the first time in a long time I haven't even felt like quitting. It's not a chore, it's not job, it's just retarded fun. But that said, it's just too damn hot to blog.