Little Things

Tomorrow my sister, my best friend in the world, moves to Texas.

While I'm excited for her new adventure, I can't help but feel completely heartbroken today. I don't think it helped that I looked at her Pinterest page, which includes a board called "Sister" where she posts funny things that remind her of me (OK, I may have guilted her into creating it after I saw she had a board for her best friend that included images about being happy to be "unbiological sisters." Say, whaaaat?!). Anyhoo, it got me feeling sad, and this rainy weather outside isn't helping.

I know people live far away from their family. It happens all the time. My boyfriend's brother lives in Colorado along with his mom, and my mom has family in San Diego and Texas. I even moved 500 miles away when I went to college. Still, why does this move make me feel sad? Well, for selfish reasons, clearly.

I do want my sister to explore, and I do want her to find new opportunity. I do want her to be happy in her relationship, and I do want her to follow her heart. It's just hard to think that all the little things we've done together won't be happening anymore. Our quick weekend visits that usually include sushi, a movie, getting tipsy off one glass of wine or making fun of our parents. Our annual "must do's" like our pre-family reunion get togethers with our cousin, autumn trip to Apple Hill to pick out pumpkins and doing a Mother's Day cancer awareness walk.

All of these "little" things add up to a lot. I think that's why it's sad - she will no longer be a quick drive away for us do "little" things. Every trip and visit will have to be big. Every trip will require major planning, perhaps taking time off, shelling out hundreds of dollars on a plane ticket (don't even get me started on how pricey Southwest and American Airlines flights are to Dallas. FML).

Sure, you could say that our visits will be that much more precious and special. We will appreciate every phone call and FaceTime that much more. But never in all my life have I taken my sister for granted. Never have I not appreciated her being just a 2-hour drive away up Highway 80. I've even thought that was too far away.

It's times like this that make me really hate getting older. You're just that much more attached to people with that many more memories. You're more likely to have routines and comfort you can rely on. Changes in your life aren't as frequent as when you're younger and life is more transitional. But change as an adult is usually a bigger deal. We have families and jobs and friends and memories and social circles and hobbies we've come to love and expect. Yeah sure, there may be a job change here and there. And friends come and go. But in general, your life becomes comfortable and, in some ways, predictable. I've loved my life thus far - particularly these last few months of comfort and predictability. For once I feel like I have it all - I'm balanced.

But this move throws that balance off a bit. By no means should she not move on my account. This is her life, and I want her to live it. But I can't help but feel so sad today. Like tomorrow a part of my heart will be taken away and gone to Texas.

A Walking Cliche

Clearly I've been absent in my blogging, and all I can chalk it up to is that I'm happy. And happy is boring.

I'm happily in love with a wonderful man, and now I know I can never judge someone again. I always hated those people who said cliche things like "When you know you know" or they'd escalate their relationship from 0 to 60. Welllllll, I definitely know my guy is it for me, and after only a few months of dating, we're already living together. Whoops. I'm the cliche now.

But at the end of the day, if I know I'm doing the right thing, then that's all that matters. I'm a reasonable person who doesn't do wild and crazy things, and when I put my mind to things, I do them. And this is one of those things. I'm determined to be happy and have a partner in life, and I'm lucky to have found that.

I'm sure I'll be back to blog more. But wanted to share a quick update to show I'm still alive. And happy as ever!

Fear

 

I've seen and heard this quote hundreds of times and never really thought about its meaning. Until now.

Granted, my fears are pretty meek compared to actual fears. Who actually gets scared about throwing up? This girl does.

But honestly, it's the anxiety of something happening that is truly scary - usually scarier than the thing that actually happens.

Take for instance my throwing up example. Anyone who knows me knows I wash my hands constantly, carry hand sanitizer religiously and avoid holding any friend's hair back during a drunken regurgitation. When people say they are/were/feel like they're sick, I inevitably follow it up with, "What kind of sick?!?" and pray they're fighting the common cold.

Well, all of these years of worry came to a head this past winter when I contracted a stomach virus and keeled over the toilet in dry heaves. It wasn't a picnic, that's for sure, but it was honestly not as bad as I thought it would be. Do I want to avoid it in the future? Sure. But do I need to be paralyzed every time someone tells me their stomach hurts? No way. The anticipation of it was worse than the 24 hours of feeling icky.

In that same vein, I spent months worried that an ex of mine wasn't in love with me. I used to dissect everything he said and did, hoping it would calm my fears and prove he was secretly in love with me but scared to say it. When I finally got the guts to confront him and ask how he felt (months and months later), I literally had a panic attack trying to spit the words out. And you know what? He told me he wasn't in love with me and didn't see a future with us.

After some crying, I later felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. The one thing I feared had happened - now I didn't need to fear it anymore!

So here I sit, still fearing all kinds of trivial shit that is out of my control - namely, relationship stuff. Dating gets me so worked up. I am terrible at it. I'm impatient and curious, and all I want is to know ASAP if what I'm doing is worth it and not a waste of time. But that's not how it works. You have to ride the wave in order to see where it goes.

A lot of my impatience has to do with my fears - my fear of not being able to trust my gut, "see" things for what they are or end up disappointed after getting my hopes up. I don't want any of that to happen.

But thanks to FDR, all I need to remember is being scared of something that hasn't happened yet is pointless. Worst case scenario, my fears come true. And then where will I be? I will be right where I'm at and perfectly fine.

Now, time to breathe. 

Re-Direction

I was maid of honor in a wedding a couple weeks ago, and near the end of the evening, I broke down crying.

Was I getting choked up over the my friend getting married? Nope. Was I drunk? Potentially. OK, yes.

The drinking didn't help, but what I was really feeling was sorry for myself. I'd made some feeble attempts to flirt with a groomsman, and then I also attempted to dance with another. Both of them ditched me in favor of flirting with another bridesmaid, one who has a boyfriend (and a better rack than me, admittedly, although that's not very difficult to accomplish).

Surprisingly, this stirred up some old feelings I hadn't felt in awhile. For 2 years, I dated someone who made me feel completely loved. I never questioned his affection for me, and I grew used to that comfort of always feeling wanted by someone.

So it's been since before I met the ex that I experienced several rounds of rejection from a variety of fellows. It hurt me a lot back then - I remember shedding a couple tears after a guy wasn't into me after one date (one date!). I took it hard, and I took it personal every single time. All of those single years of getting rejected by one after another, hopes running high and then swept out from under me. Sure, I rejected my share as well. But there was nothing quite like the desperation of my early 20s. And that wedding night a couple weeks back made me think of every single tool out there whom I couldn't charm.

Stereotypical drunk bridesmaid-never-a-bride crying aside, I think I'm somewhat getting the hang of this rejection deal. Rejection isn't even the right word. It's more like re-direction - just moving with the ebbs and flows of meeting people, and changing my focus once one doesn't reciprocate.

Granted, I'm not all that happy about this "re-direction" business every time. It's really getting old at this point. Like recently - I went on a couple dates with a potential, and he really impressed me. We had great conversation and chemistry, and things seemed to be heading in a mutual direction.

Then radio silence.

The fool hasn't talked to me since! It did bum me out at first, and sure it stings a little today when I start to get in those feeling-sorry-for-myself moods. But it sure hasn't made me cry like that loser that dropped me after one date (if I recall, he cancelled our plans on a Saturday and said he'd be "busy with work" for awhile. And by awhile, he meant forever). It's more perplexing as to why someone shows interest up front, and then pulls a disappearing act. And for the record, no there was no "getting the milk for free" scenario here. I know better than that.

Before I met my ex, I was such a happy-go-lucky, independent girl. I loved my alone time, and I thrived knowing I was a free bird. I know I'll get back to that, but for now, I'm still re-building that single self. It's not as difficult to be alone as it used to be. It's boring, sure, but I know how to occupy my time. And thankfully work is keeping me plenty busy.

Regardless of it all, I'm still as hopeful as ever. I guess it's that quasi-pessimistic optimist in me that thinks there's a disappointment quota we all have to meet, and I'm slowly reaching mine. The balance of the universe is sure to come my way after all of this nonsense. Right?

Growing Up

Maybe I assumed once I got my first job after college, paid bills, started a 401k and ceased to have a curfew that I was considered a real adult.

But that assumption was proven wrong today when I got into a foul mood while talking with my sister about holidays.

My family is number one, and traditions are crucial to me. My sister is family-oriented too, but she also has a serious live-in boyfriend. So they have to juggle whose family they visit for holidays.

As we started talking about her missing another Christmas so she could be with his family, it dawned on me that this is what it means to be an adult - you find a life partner, and that becomes your new family. You can no longer just skip over to your grandma's house, open gifts with your cousins and watch "A Christmas Story." You have to do things as a unit, and this new partner basically becomes your No. 1.

Problem is - I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that. My family is my blood. I didn't get to choose them, but I got pretty damn lucky. I have so many wonderful childhood memories of our holidays, so it's hard for me to imagine disrupting tradition. Things are changing - people are getting older, starting families of their own, moving away. And I hate it.

Call me Peter Pan, but I want things to keep going as they have been for the last 27 years of my life. I don't want to grow up and miss out on one ounce of family time. That's idealistic of me, I know, but sometimes change it hard.

My sister might be moving across the country, and she plans to spend pretty much every Christmas with her boyfriend's family (the trade off is he will spend Thanksgiving with ours). They are probably going to get married one of these days, which is so exciting, but a selfish part of me just wishes we could go back to being the little girls in our playhouse, making home videos and playing "Mall Madness."

I don't know. Maybe this is all a result of me being alone. It's hard for me to picture sacrificing seeing my family for some future, remains-to-be-seen guy. But I know I'll have to grow up eventually and start new family traditions of my own. And I'm sure those will be exciting times and a special new phase in my life.

But until then, I'm still nostalgic for the "good ol' days." And it's true when they say that it really sucks to get older.

A Weekend of Illness, a Flat Tire and Tap Dancing

Warning: I'm pretty sure I have a fever, so apologies in advance for any loopiness you detect in this post.

Shitty.

That's the only way to describe this weekend. And it's not even over.

Calling it shitty might be a bit dramatic considering that everything is fine, and there are naturally more serious things. But it's just been a weekend with a string of bad luck.

On Thursday I started feeling sick with a cold - my third one since starting my new job 5 months ago. I guess that's what happens when you work with thousands of people and touch all the same handles and buttons. Eww.

Friday it got worse, and I had to drive all the way to Loomis for a dress rehearsal for dance. It was a struggle but I made it through.

Then yesterday was just awful. I was sicker and had zero energy. I had my dance recital in the afternoon, and I figured I'd muster up enough strength to drive to Loomis again and dance one number full out. But first, I had to run a couple errands.

Sure, running errands when you're sick is stupid. But in my delirium, I figured running to a couple places around the corner wouldn't hurt anyone.

As I pulled into the post office, my tire pressure light turned on. I heard the hissing sound as soon as I approached my back tire. Shit. After going inside and coming back out, the tire was slowly leaking, and I knew it would be flat soon. All at a time when I had an hour to get my show makeup on and drive to my dance show.

Thankfully, my Grams lives close by, and she said I could borrow her car. So I trudged my way up to my dance show, feeling like I could faint at any minute from my cold. I danced and immediately left, heading home and basically passing out on the couch at 7. I was in and out of sleep for awhile, feeling so loopy.

Then there was a big wake-up call at about 9:15. I observed outside from my balcony three cop cars with flashing lights and a circling helicopter calling out with a megaphone. Well that can't be a good sign.

The cops finally went away after about 15 minutes, so I passed out and slept for a good 10 more hours.

Today, I called AAA to come fix my tire, and those bastards said they wouldn't come out until tomorrow because I'd only renewed my roadside assistance membership yesterday, and they have a 48-hour waiting period. WTF. So I cancelled my membership, and I'm seriously considering changing insurance as well since they wouldn't work with me. Bitches!

I headed to my Grams' today, and my aunt and I tried to start the tire changing process - me with my cold/cough, and her in sandles. This was going to turn out well.

We made an effort, but we couldn't get the bolts loosened. So we called my uncle, who came and changed it to my spare, all the while rain starts coming down (in June!). I'll get it fixed tomorrow before I head out of town to Denver for work.

Oh, and did I mention I think I found out why my cat throws up all the time? I've given her the same food for years, and apparently she's experiencing an allergy, which is why it's recommended you switch your cat's food every few months. I'm a terrible owner!

So yes, this has been my weekend thus far. I feel like crap, my car is effed up, and I live in the ghetto. It could be worse, of course. And I'm a firm believer that when a bunch of bad luck comes your way, the good inevitably follows. So here's to a week of (hopefully) good luck!

The Bright Side of Ghetto Living

The fantasy of living alone is that you live in this fabulous downtown abode, outfitted with pristine hardwood floors, and you come home to a big glass of expensive wine and go to sleep in a huge canopy bed fit for a princess.

The reality?

You live in a 1970s shitty apartment in the hood, sandwiched between an abandoned elementary school that's been tagged by the Crips and a halfway house for people just getting out of the looney bin. Oh, and there's the questionable "massage parlor" down the street that has "Client List" written all over it. Your carpet is stained with cat vomit, you drink tap water and go to bed on one that sits atop a metal frame from Costco that has wheels on it.

Admittedly, I moved to this apartment to be closer to the now ex-boyfriend. It made sense for other reasons too, of course, like it's 5 minutes from my Grams, 10 minutes to downtown and an easy 20 minutes to both work and my dance class.

But there are times I really wonder why the hell I live here. Exhibit A:

No, this is not a full moon. This is a glimpse of my neighbor that apparently doesn't believe in belts or thinks it's 1995 when sagging was cool.

Exhibit B: My landlord called the other day to tell me Henry the maintenance man would be removing some rotted wood from my balcony. I come home to this:

As in - the entire balcony was gone, and Henry left this ridiculous sign.

Despite all of these quirks, I have to admit that these last couple months of singledom have allowed me to appreciate my ghetto apartment. Some highlights:

• I have been belting out songs to my cat. Crazy cat lady status.
• I'm officially obsessed with "Damages" on NetFlix. So sitting on my ass watching it is all the companionship I need.
• My bed may be janky, but it's all mine. Oh, and Cammie's too.
• The old-lady-chain-smoking-neighbor smell can easily be remedied with a couple Bath & Body Works candles and a Scentsy.
• My bedroom walls aren't shared with anyone, so neighbor sex noises are not an issue.
• Guest parking is a cinch - you'd be hard pressed to stupidly park your friend's car in the wrong place only to have it towed to Rio Linda (I may know something or two about that).
• With my neighbors, there's never a dull moment. Ever.