2011 Can Bite Me

There are a lot of reasons that bloggers close their computers and disappear for a while. A move. A big life change. Apathy. All of these things happened to me. Not that I was a barrel of sunshine and happiness in the first few months of 2011, but after my holding pattern came to an end and I was preparing to move and start a new job 2011 actually got worse. A couple weeks after moving I went through a major family tragedy. My beloved grandmother died after a long struggle with heart failure. I had taken care of her for the past ten years and with her passing my life shifted in a major way. During this time my entire family leaned on me for support and I found myself withdrawing from certain things, like this project and my husband and eating well and brushing my hair and wearing pants when I didn't need to.

Baby Girl and I  (her Godmother) at her baptism

I won't dwell, although I'm sure it will come up in the future. I started hating 2011. This year brought me unemployment, death, and near death of loved ones, funerals, and financial strain. I tried to focus on the one great thing from 2011, my niece (Baby Girl,) who I started to call our angel and our blessing. She was born two weeks before the roller coaster started going up and down and holding on to her during a lot of the darker times made life seem worth it all. (Yes, this is a pretty heavy post for a welcome back!)

I would sit with my computer open searching for way to update this community or to fake happiness and blog about cooking (which I had stopped doing) or activities (which I had also stopped doing.) But I couldn't quite bring myself to do it and I explained before, once you stop something it is harder each day to pick it back up again.

Now for the light at the end of the tunnel! 2011 ended. It was a very symbolic New Years Eve for me. I jumped into the shower at 11:50pm on the last day of 2011 and stepped out into 2012, clean and ready to turn it all around. My grief had attributed to an extra 30 pounds on my short frame and I was determined to take care of that. The Professor and I signed up for a half marathon. We trained hard each week. I started cooking again, and cooking healthy. I unpacked our apartment (something I had avoided due to having to clean out my Grandmother's home and constantly finding her letters among my things.) We started actually exploring our new city. I adopted a puppy, Lil' Bit. My marriage became stronger. I was ready to hit the ground running.

Let's Talk About My Hat

Lately there has been a lot of chat concerning hats, and for good reason. There has been a royal British wedding and then came the Kentucky Derby. Hats are everywhere. I'm glad. I've been saying for a while we should bring hats back into fashion in this country. Maybe I say this because I look awesome in hats and I wish to accomplish my own selfish goals of wearing more hats? Maybe.

I inherited a large collection of vintage hats, which I grew up wearing and still wear to this day. Only when I moved to England did I start appreciating contemporary hats and all they have to offer. They are, in their own right, throw-backs with a modern twist. And naturally I bought too many.

One such lovely is depicted above, on yours truly. I stumbled across it while perusing M&S and had to have it. Unfortunately it was very close timing to our big cross-Atlantic move and I was a bit worried about how it would emigrate to America. But, like always, I ignored these worries and bought the hat, enjoying it (and a pimms!) on the one remaining day of sun in Britain that I can remember.

Far too soon my new hat was boxed up, with the best of care, and shipped to New York to live in said box for a couple months until we could be reunited. And it felt good.

Another fantastic hat

However when packing for the 7 month temporary move to rural Georgia, I did not pack the hat. We would only be there a couple months. I would find a job in no time. Then the hat would be moved to our new location. It was coming up on winter anyway. All of these reasons failed me when, in early March, it became very warm in Georgia and for this northerner, very very sunny. I missed my hat. But, I was convinced I would soon be employed.

Very similar to my lovely British hat

 I then gave in and cheated on my hat. It had been months and no job. It was sunny. I was in San Antonio, it was 95 degrees of Texas heat and I needed a hat. Luckily I was in Texas where the hat still reigns and found a fantastic sun hat (photos to come). I thought surely my job search is hopeless and I will be lucky if I ever see my British hat again. While my new hat was a comfort, it was not my long lost colorful English hat and when the opportunity came last weekend for my mother to bring me some clothing to my sister's baby shower, I jumped on the opportunity to have the hat back in my life. This of course meant my mother had to wear my floppy love on the plane. The images in my mind from this adventure were just an added bonus.

So hat and head are reunited once again, hopefully never to part.

Punting at Oxford

Punting instructions

The Professor and The Defunct Curator enjoying an afternoon of punting-watching in Oxford.

Speaking of hats... Since our trip to Oxford last summer I've been in search of a woman's Oxford punting hat. It's similar to the man's hat but with a more feminine ribbon. While watching the punters (we did not ourselves punt) I fell, once again, in love with these straw, historic hats. Are you in search of a new summer hat?

Man's punting hat

Migration Woes

As I posted recently, I've been hired! Such a weight has been lifted and for a bit I felt free and celebratory. Now I'm overwhelmed again, but instead of self-loathing and job-searching I'm filled with apartment anxiety. In just a few shorts (read: 2.5!) weeks we will be moving to....drum roll please.....

Washington, D.C.

Washington!

I've wanted to live here for many, many, many years and while a short internship a few years back was a great experience, it also taught me how much I want to live inside the beltway (as my commute at that time seemed even longer than now.) However, D.C. is expensive. VERY expensive when compared to the bill-free living of the cottage. Really, it's more expensive than anywhere I have ever lived before.

So now the apartment hunt begins. Any advice would be most welcome. It's proving difficult to find a two-bedroom place big enough for our pup and cats, not to mention our two U-Hauls (that's right) full of stuff.

While I can't wait to move, get on with my life, be ME again, ect... I'm also worried about starting a full time job (gulp) where I have to wear big-girl-pants and have vacation days and not jet off wherever I want to go whenever I want to go. What is that like?

So, expect some rantings concerning packing, moving, temporarily living with my Aunt who will undoubtedly have us do free labor for her, and the like.

Crazy For You

After a long weekend working dawn to dust towards a deadline, The Professor has a few days off, which means I get to enjoy the 1.5 hour slog to work all by my lonesome. One silver lining of our holding pattern and our commute is that we got to spend more time together than most couples, three hours a day in the car, then all our evenings (which granted, after we got out of the car, were short) together as well. Today was weird and made me realize how lucky I am to have a partner I desperately want to spend every waking moment with.

Well, that sounded crazy. But maybe that's what I am, crazy for him. When we were first together we lived over 1,000 miles apart and were lucky to see each other once a month for a few, fleeting days. We'd fall asleep on the phone. All I wanted was to be together. Then we got our chance, moved to England and never looked back.

When we're apart, this song reminds me of The Professor. It also makes me want to be swinging on a hammock near a body of water while drinking something delicious. With The Professor of course. I also love Adele and listened to this album on my lonely way to work this morning.

I think space apart is important but I also think we've had our fair share of time apart. We respect each others' needs for personal space. We both do our own thing. But we just really like spending time together. We've both said we could be that couple that could work together and maybe one day we will. As of now we newlyweds are just enjoying being completely and utterly in love with one another.

A New Day

Thank you for allowing me a bit of hopelessness. It was a hole I dug myself into, but some days you just have to allow yourself to feel exhausted and finished. Thank you especially to T from DSS for all her sage advice. I know it will be OK and that we'll be settled soon, it's just the waiting I can't stand!

So fear not, I've come out of the sorrow pit and am trying to be positive once again. I'm busying myself with The High Power Pregger's baby shower (whatever will I call her when she's no longer pregnant!) The theme is Toy Story and here is what I have so far:

Guests will come in and choose a character badge (a circular badge with a print of one of the Toy Story characters on it) and pin it to themselves with a baby diaper pin. They won't know it, but whichever character they chose will determine what teams they'll be in for the first game, which I'm calling Potato Head Baby. I've printed out silhouettes of a potato head as well as packets of photos printed on regular paper of the future mommy and daddy. Some of them have them making funny faces, ect. Teams will have five minutes to cut up these photos and paste them to the potato head, making it sort of a "if they mated" game that Conan O'Brien used to play. But super-duper more mature (because you know, I'm all about maturity!)

We will also play a trivia game based on questions concerning The HPP's pregnancy (cravings, aliments, ect.) and baby bingo, which The HPP specifically requested. I've made it Toy Story themed by creating a Toy Story bingo board, which I'll share on here when it's completed.

Favors will be "Oh Baby It's the 80s" 1981 pop song mixed cd as both the future mommy and daddy were born in 1981 and the cover will be adorned with their baby photos. I found the Billboard top hits of 1981 and can't wait to pick and choose what to include. Any favorites from the list?

Other Toy Story touches include the fabulous Toy Story invitation, seen above, a cowgirl hat headband that I'm making my sister wear throughout, red and yellow decorations, cupcake toppers (possibly these!) and special gifts such as a Jessie-themed blanket I'm actually crocheting. Do you know how hard it is to crochet a cow-hide pattern?

Serenity

Serenity. For two weeks anyway. This is the amount of time I'm told I must wait further. Another two weeks of this holding pattern. Another two weeks without a full breath, time wasted, uncertainty.

I know I sound dire. I also know this outlet for my frustrations has become just that, no longer talking about the joys in my life, for which there are many, but instead focusing on this gnawing, this constant itch to be settled and the journey I've been on in my attempts to do so, mainly through acquiring a full time job. It's all coming to a boiling point for a number of reasons, reasons that make it all so much more dire. First, I no longer have health care and have been denied when trying to apply for individual health care due to a pre-existing condition. Apparently all the health reforms we've fought so hard to achieve do not go into effect for a few more years, during which time it seems, unless I am employed full time, I will not be able to get health coverage.

Additionally my student loans are due. On top of that The Professor seems to be having an even worse time than me in our eternal waiting. I was told, by the same people I've been interviewing with since March, that I would know their decision Friday of last week. Friday before Good Friday. I heard nothing until Wednesday and was on edge with each passing day. I then learned that I was a finalist, something I had already figured on my own. I continued to wait throughout Easter weekend during which time I was told that I would be interviewed again, for the 7th time, through video conferencing. I figured surely this was the meeting where we'd discuss salary, start dates, and any final questions. But it was another interview. The same questions. Similar answers. And I was told they would decide in two weeks. Two. Friggin'. Weeks.

I used to get sick a lot as a child (let's just say I'm not the most 'robust' of humans) and my mom would tell me the serenity prayer, because I could not control that I was sick, but I could control how I dealt with being sick. Since then I have had this outlook on almost anything, always attempting to react best to bad situations. This resourcefulness has protected me and gotten me through some bad times. But now, in the 11th hour, I'm just not sure I can handle this any more. I've gone through worse things, it's true, but never for 12 straight months. An entire year of being told no. It's hard not to take it personal. It's hard to remember my serenity prayer.

God, Grant to me the serenity of mind to accept that which cannot be changed; courage to change that which can be changed, and wisdom to know the one from the other, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

Last night I told The Professor that I no longer have any hope. That each time I get my hopes up I am told no, or to wait longer. Thus I think my hope has dried up and now I am jaded, constantly expecting the next no, and accepting the idea that I will never be back in my field and we may waste away depending on others to get by financially.

I know this is all depressing, and not what you might want to read on this Tuesday morning. But it's overcome my thoughts. It's become my entire world. I have so many other blogs in my mind that I'd like to share. About our trips. About Easter weekend. About the snakes and other critters which have come out of the woodwork at the cottage, terrifying this city girl. About cooking a whole chicken. About my first ham dinner and how well it went. But all these stories would seem fake to me if I didn't first express my current state of mind and being. At least for today anyway. Hopefully tomorrow I will have a more cheerful story for you. For now, I repeat:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference.

Still Waiting

No news is good news. That common expression can’t really be applied to the job search. On one hand if you have not yet been told anything, there is still hope that the answer will be yes. On the other hand, if you have not been told anything, realistically, the job was most likely offered to someone else who is now weighing their options and deciding to take it or not. You might be able to get the offer, the sloppy seconds, if they turn it down.

So in my mind, no news is definitely bad news. And I am still waiting, no news in hand, no way of knowing to head north or south. No reason to put down roots anywhere. The waiting game has been, by far, with each new opportunity the worst aspect of this holding pattern.

Back to the quest. After my horrible interview in D.C. we enjoyed a fantastic birthday dinner, where I allowed myself to eat many calories, before jumping in the car and heading north once more to the city of brotherly love. Little Miss Dirty Martini (as named by Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong) met us outside her very college-like residence (one large room, small kitchen, futon) and I loved every square inch of it. It was real life. I miss that. I would trade this entire cottage for her slice of real life any day.

We enjoyed late-night birthday spring rolls (made by her own hands!) and had our usual conversations, and by that I mean we talked about everything and deeply. I’ve missed these talks, which face to face are so much better. I realized I miss all my friends and see how isolated I’ve been, surrounded by The Professor’s family and friends, but never my own.

In the morning we head out to Reading Terminal Market, by far one of my favorite places of all time. Then it is GPS time as we needed to head into New Jersey and find the last interview, which went really well (too bad it’s not for an open position, just for networking.)

That night Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong burst through the door and we were all reunited again. These past few years I’ve felt like the silent idiot girl in all their adventures. I’ve always been out of the picture. School, fellowships, and The Professor have guided where I end up, how much free time I have, and what I do. Now, finally, when it is up to me to decide, and I want nothing more than to live close to what I call “my people” I can’t. What’s holding me back now is the job market and the utter desolation to my prospects.

Staying positive and chipper, we all go out to the best restaurant I’ve been to in ages. That’s the thing about living in the middle of nowhere and having little to no money, a huge lack of good food. Being a foodie I’ve missed that life so much. We went to Amada, Jose Garcia’s tapas place, and I fell in love. It became a mini-birthday gathering and I tried to soak up as much of the moment as possible. I was in Philadelphia. I was with my friends. I had The Professor by the side. All was well.

Up, Up in the Air

I start this entry not even sure, in so much of a holding pattern am I, of my fate or life plans that may be in place by the end of this post. I have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting for something to come of my quest. My sister always says, though it never calms my nerves, that the second best answer to yes is no. Meaning, at least they told you no and did not let you sit around unknowing.

Well here I sit, at work, unable to do work, uncertain. My best prospect, and really last hope, is a position in D.C. for which I interviewed during my quest. I was told they would contact me either Friday (which did not happen) or today (which has yet to happen.) Every time my phone rings (stop calling me people!) I jump. But alas, no news. So I continue to wait.

In the meanwhile, since I'm ruined for work anyway, I'll attempt to recount some of my life over the last month of the holding pattern. By far the most exciting of the last six months, due to the final push for employment. When I left you last I was deeply emerged in my nostalgia series, recounting a holiday to Scotland. During this time I had what I supposed could be called a meltdown and decided we had to do something about our life. We could no longer go on in this constant stream of applications and rejections, driving 3 hours a day during extreme hikes in gas prices in order to get to part time jobs. This was it. We decided to head north, visiting cities where my most promising prospects were. Charlotte. Washington, D.C. Philadelphia. We called it the "Grab Destiny by the Balls Tour, 2011."

I called all my prospective employers and let them know I'd be "in the area" on such and such days and could I "drop in" and meet with them. I call this forced interviews, but it worked. Three agreed to see me. I won't go into our morning in Charlotte, as I've since learned that I did not receive that position, news that broke my heart just a little as the job was perfect perfect perfect and exactly what I wanted. After a beautiful day in Charlotte we drove to Washington, stayed overnight with my Aunt, and I interviewed for the position which has since become my most hopeful.

About that interview, let's be diplomatic and just say it was hard. OK, let's be serious and say it was the hardest interview ever. I've had difficult interviews. Panel interviews. Dissertation defenses for goodness sakes. This was brutal. After three interviews, which included a panel, I met with the head boss who put me through the ringer. Asked me questions I could never answer. And I didn't answer them. I smiled and joked and hoped that the purpose of all this was to see if I would cry or not and not entirely dependent on my actual answers. Then he pointed out a typo. A typo I made on my resume. A typo I noticed before leaving on the quest and corrected, printing out new resumes, one of which I handed him at the start of the interview. He said he noticed I had changed the typo. How, then, can I be detail-oriented if I make typos. The shit has hit the fan.

Once again I laugh it off, tell him how cleaver he is to have noticed, and try to make jokes. I basically dance for my supper. Let's hope, once again, that this was a test of my ability to stay calm and cool and not what it seemed, a meany bully pants.

And, it was my birthday.

Nostalga: Wet and Rainy Skye

March 24, 2010

On this day, exactly one year ago, it rained, it poured. It rained the soaking-wet rain that enters your bones and makes you forget any memory of being warm and dry.

It was also a very fun day. Dressed as rain-resistant as possible, we (seemingly the only souls on this lightly inhabited peninsula on Skye) hiked around the Clan Donald lands, playing in the rain. There were some beautiful flowers and trees, like this one.

Side note: I understand this Nostalgia series does, in a way, act as a procrastination tool, delaying me updating about my life, or my holding pattern (which is more-so what my life is) or my failure to procure lasting employment. I am admitting this. I just really have no new news. Applications are out. Interviews are interviewed. Now I'm waiting, and continuing to apply. And that's all the updating I'm prepared for today.

Storage Unit Tease

Today is was hot. Well, for me. Having lived in England for a while and not having a “normal” summer experience, today was the hottest temperatures I’ve experience since 2009. For serious. So I celebrated by being completely lazy and taking the boat out while trying to remember how to wear a bikini.

I was not completely lazy as The Professor and I made the sad trip to visit our storage unit. Our “temporary” living situation is getting less and less temporary and sifting through my suitcase on the floor (filled with the same 15 or so outfits I’ve had for almost two years now) is losing it’s appeal (wait, it was never appealing to start with.)

I remembered some plastic drawers left in our storage unit before the move to England. It’s always a downer to drive down the road, open a large metal door, and stare at all your belongings. They aren’t even all mine. Half of my stuff is in that cold cell. The rest is in New York where many things have been in storage for almost 8 years now. Beautiful things.

The door goes up with a bang and you desperately want to take everything out to a safer place. A home. An actual existence. Oh, and you see the rat poop on the ground and the steam rising from the not-temperature-controlled space and you remember what a bitch it will be when that day actually comes.

It’s always a tease. Hello my things. I’m sorry you can’t come with me. All you nice, new wedding presents will be used one day. I hope.