Because I have so much to cover in a very very short amount of time (We still don’t have the Internet at our place so, again, I’m doing all this from the Lee County Public Library where they limit my compy usage to 1.5 hours daily. That’s just inhumane…) I’m going to give you a bulleted list of topics and you can scroll down to the one that interests you the most. See? I keep my readers in mind. Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you.

Also, I’ve been having blog-and-Internet withdrawal so please excuse me if this is rather rambly and self-indulgent. 

1) The Move
a) Elated
b) Nervous
c) Confused
d) Kinda Wistful
2) Meeting People
3) The New Projects

1) The Move
Oh man, it’s like I’ve said before: I’m positive there has never been a single human being more excited about moving to a small town in North Carolina than I have in the last couple weeks. I’m sure the novelty of it all will wear off but, Holy Crap, I feel like I’ve wandered into Pleasantville. I ventured out last Saturday, got myself a little cup of coffee, and checked out the local farmers’ market which was really more of a Stuff Old People Grow in Their Backyards Market, which is actually even better in my book. Anyway, while I was wandering around downtown buying a local paper and taking pics of the town for this here blog, I was delighted to find that every single person who passed me bothered to engage in mini conversations. Not just “Hi, how ya doin’?” but “Good morning! What on earth are you taking pictures of?” type conversations. I’m one of those people who thrives on getting to know local, grassroots culture so this was particularly exciting to me.

Sanford is a pretty cool little town, to be honest. It’s not one of those places that dried up once a Wal-Mart came to town and has one of those downtowns where people actually patronize and enjoy. There are tons of cool old houses where people throw block parties for anyone who wants to swing by. There are two local theatres, including one that I’m auditioning for in the next week but I’ll get to that later. Plus, the whole city is only 45 minutes from the Research Triangle area (Chapel Hill, Raleigh, Durham) and the Triad (Greensboro, Winston-Salem, High Point) so we’re close enough to the awesome forward-motion of city life without having to deal with the traffic and higher rate of crime, etc. (I was jazzed when I realized that we get the free weekly Independent Arts newspaper all the way down here! Culture! Life! Things happening! Whee!)

Also, in talking with some of the local people, this is one of those rare towns where kids are still kids. In Myrtle Beach it wasn’t uncommon for 11 year olds to be talking about giving blow jobs and where to get drugs, but here the kids still believe in Santa Claus until they’re 10 and don’t have cellphones until they start driving. Obviously, they grow more aware of the world as they get older (there’s drugs and sex everywhere) but it’s at a more traditional pace, which I’m a big fan of.

Again, I’m sure the novelty of small town life will wear off eventually but at the moment I’m loving the relief of not having to deal with godawful tourist traffic, not having to look at rundown outlet malls and shady strip clubs everywhere I go, not having to be blinded by neon signs and hideous billboards en route to EVERYWHERE. Getting to be around people who take pride in where they live and strive for better educations than a GED. It feels like I’m back where I started from originally and strangely, that’s exactly what I want right now.

So we’re in the process of unpacking everything in this cute little 2-story, 3 bedroom house in a quiet little neighborhood and are feeling unbelievably optimistic about the whole thing. I like it.

2) Meeting People
It occurred to me that, while living with a small child who isn’t in school, I have the potential to spend the next year in almost complete seclusion. Knowing my history with depression, this sounded like a good way to sink into a state of lonely hopelessness, which is something I prefer to avoid at all costs.

SO! I’ve taken it upon myself to push aside all my weird social anxieties, actually reach out, and meet some people. First, I emailed a local blogger who writes a lot about living a green lifestyle while being a mom. I just wanted to pick her brain about what Sanford life is like, if there were any places she could recommend in the way of preschools, family physicians, etc. Knowing that it’s totally weird to send a probing email to a stranger, i wasn’t really expecting much in the way of a thorough response. However, a few days later I received a 4 page email detailing everything from her preferred childcare centers to where not to get my hair done (apparently they employ drunk stylists). I was doubly impressed that she withheld any discussion of religion or spirituality because she didn’t like to push that sort of thing on people but if I wanted to know more about her church or what sort of spiritual gatherings are in the area, I was more than welcome to ask her about it. Even more impressive was the fact that she picked up on my mention that I wrote in my blog about depression and alcoholism and she casually recommended a psychiatric facility that members of her family had found success with. I was touched and refreshed with the knowledge that there are people here who don’t mind going out of their way to help complete strangers.

Additionally, one of my good friends takes an acting class once a week in Charlotte with a gal from Sanford and sent me her number. Once again, I pushed all my weird insecurities out of the way (By the way, it’s come to my attention just how unbelievably awkward I am, but I’m planning that as a post later on.) and just called her. She and her husband had me and mine over for cards and drinks last night and I was really relieved at how good of a time I had. We all seemed to get along, seemed to be like-minded, seemed to have a lot in common (although her kids are significantly older than mine) and, even though I don’t think we’ll be connected at the hip or anything, it’s so so nice to know someone else in town.

Although this merges into my next bulleted segment, I’ve also made it a point to join a couple Meetup groups and will be attending a tribal bellydance party in a couple weeks. I haven’t been part of a bellydance community in about 2 years but I miss it a lot and would love to meet other people who are into it and may be interested in traveling to events, etc. I’m thinking once I get settled I may attempt a book club in the area but that’s a few months off. Anyway, the point is that I’m trying, dammit.

3)The New Projects
At the moment, I’m having so much momentum from the move and the possibilities of new opportunity that I’m not sure where to put my immediate interest. The thing is, I’ve been wanting to get my writing career back on track and pay attention to working on a byline and getting a portfolio under my belt. (I just picked up an old Playboy from my collection a few days ago and realized that Sloane Crosley has been getting published WAY longer than I’d originally thought. Since she’s around my age, I kind of strangely consider her a peer and a bit of a pace-setter, although this usually leads to unnecessary comparisons between her career and mine and then the ensuing frustration that I’m not anywhere close to where I’d like to be.)

And then I just decided to do my first theatre audition in like, 3 years, so I’m preparing a monologue and short song for that. I’ve really wanted to get back into theatre but was really hesitant with the knowledge that it will eat a LOT of time and evenings with Greg. After talking about it and getting his encouragement and blessing, I’m going ahead with it and I guess we’ll navigate through our schedules if I’m actually presented with an opportunity for a role.

After taking the GRE, I’ve been looking at psychology degree programs and/or counseling certification programs. I’m ELATED to be in North Carolina as the university educations accessible from my location are incredible and seem ideal for what I want to do. This is something I probably won’t have the freedom or funding to get into for another year or so but I know I need to start working on applications and financial aid sooner than later so I’m not crunched for time.

And then there are countless extraneous things I’ve just been putting off for various reasons like working on scrapbooking these hundreds of photos from the last year and getting this website up and running and following up on my applications for grants for this book I’m writing. I don’t know how I plan to actually do all of this but I know I want them all to fit into my 5 Year Plan (such a ridiculous stereotypical idea…) and I know that means I actually need to do them. It just feels like everything’s been on hold since we’ve been waiting around to see if we’d be moving, so I hope that I can actually get back to living once we get settled in.

And THEN I noticed that there’s this old movie theatre for sale in downtown Sanford that flickered back to life that crazy dream I have of opening a mini multiplex that would consistently feature 1 indie/foreign flick, 1 children’s flick, 1 old film and 1 recent film and lend itself to a plethora of audiences. (I’ve written about it before but can’t seem to find the entry about it at the moment.) I’d love to do stuff like have a “Wizard of Oz” week where we play the movie all week and then have a big “Wizard of Oz” party on the last night. Same with “Rocky Horror” or “Tommy” or “Grease” or “Sound of Music” or any array of cool cult-y classics. Anyway, I’m going to call the realtor in charge to ask what the going price is…
… A girl can dream, right?

So that’s life in brief. Again, I’m using a compy that’s not my own so I don’t feel right posting pics at the moment. It’ll happen soon but I’m sure isn’t pertinent or urgent to anyone’s well-being so I’m not terribly worried about it at the moment.

In brief though: We’re happy. We’re optimistic. We’re relieved. We’re grateful.

These are all incredibly refreshing feelings.

Somehow, in two weeks we’ve managed to find a house, sign a lease, and move all our crap 3 hours away to beautiful Sanford, NC. I’m actually very very excited about this kickass little town but unfortunately, I’ve been too busy running around to talk about it. Look for a new post next Monday when I will take myself to my local library (we don’t have the internets yet at the house) and spill everysinglething that’s been going on recently. No joke.

or - A Postmature Striking-Out-On-One’s-Own from a Giant Dependent Wuss

Okay, here’s the thing. (“Get outta my waaay! You A-list bores. My Prada shoooes! Are as good as yours.”) I’m not a fan of Myrtle Beach. At all. When I first moved here in 1997 I was 15, so moving to a cool party town was rad and we had a lot of cool places to hang out on Friday nights (until someone’s mom came to pick us up.) And then the second year it all kind of soured for me. The overzealous neon, the realization that we’re the town blue-collar America comes to to get drunk, make bad decisions and leave, the scores of abandoned businesses and run down buildings (I used to joke that Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” must’ve been inspired by one of the band’s visits to Myrtle Beach and/or Ocean Boulevard. I even won an award for a piece about how it was a sick irony that this place is known as the Grand Strand) the canned tourist-centric entertainment that slides by as our only source of local “cultural arts.” (Except for the fine productions out of Coastal Carolina University, actually. They bring in some great acts and have a very talented theatre department for what they have to work with.) It all just got to be a little gross and sad. And then there was the whole “party town” mentality. While there are drugs and seedy areas of any town, only tourist towns have a guaranteed shipment of new drugs and fresh debauchery every single weekend. But really, just sitting in awful, poorly-planned traffic in sweltering heat on flat, tacky highways or flinching at the shamelessness of the bawdy advertising and outrageous gimmicks got to be more than I could handle.

But obviously, there are things unique to this area that I absolutely adore and will miss dearly. I love being near the beach. Sure, it’s crowded and tacky in places and our guests rarely clean up after themselves but there are stretches of beach in residential areas that everyone local knows about, where you’re likely to run into someone you know and you can spread out as much as you want any time of the year. There are beautiful waterways and rivers and marshes for kayaking, there are a few old buildings with rich historical value, there’s an element of small-town charm if you venture just past the city limits. There’s also been a small undercurrent of very cool artsy, “alternative” music and people that takes a little bit of searching and comes in waves but makes dealing with flashy, knockoff-Vegas-style shows a little bit bearable. (These movements come in spurts where there are a couplethree years of stuff happening and people creating and cool hangouts are thriving - anybody remember the Irish pub where Kono Asian Grill now is that was actually run by hip, Irish twentysomethings? or the Lazy i where everyone was friends somehow and we’d go and cheer for terrible screamo preteens just as loudly as we would for Against All Authority or any of the 20 bands Michael was in or when Garrett sang Queen covers on a mic plugged into a keyboard and called himself “Starchildren”? Or even the godawful open mics at Slacker 77? - but because the cool, hip scene here usually consists of poor poor hipsters, these businesses close, the artists move to other cities and the beautiful garage bands get married, have kids and move to the suburbs. There’s a new era of coolness picking back up with the opening of a few cool new spots and the new burlesque troupe and a few decent bands showing up. And I’m so so very proud of the Roundtable Art Group that was started by a few guys I went to art school with and is still thriving, showcasing young local artists in posh venues and events. It makes me hopeful!) There are people here I’ve called friends longer than any others before them that I am very lucky to have known and will miss for a very long time. So, like all places, there are things and people that I am lucky to have known.

The thing is, by 26, most people have successfully gotten away from home for a while and found themselves and, even if they’ve decided to come back to the physical Point A, they’re still rather in control of their lives and their location. Not me, man. And this is embarrassing. When I graduated high school in 2001 I was totally stoked to be going off to a great liberal arts university in a beautiful area of North Carolina where there was culture and life and ever-budding intellect and opportunity. However, due to an abusive relationship, a drinking problem, a suicide attempt, a stint in a mental hospital, and a GPA that doubled as a bargain gas price, I found myself planted back in my parents’ house in two short years, going to technical college and having a massive lesson about humility shoved down my throat. And I. Was. Miserable. (Mostly with myself but that would take a couple years of sobriety and therapy to uncover, wrestle with, and get over.) I wanted out so badly but had absolutely no drive to do anything productive so I kind of wallowed around in general academic progression. I transferred to an actual university in town that we’d always considered a glorified high school (but is really blowing that reputation out of the water these days) and planned to leave and transfer somewhere awesome once I got a couple years under my belt… then I planned to bolt after I got my undergrad degree… then we decided to leave after the baby came… and then we thought we should wait until Greg had been with his job for a year… and then we were waiting around for anyone to reply to our dozens of job applications… And then I looked up and realized that I’ve been here for six whole years wishing I was somewhere else.

The weirdest part about all of this is that, in the last 3-ish years, since I finally sobered up and finally started acting like I wanted to graduate and finally got rid of my high-school sweetheart/shitsack and finally started doing things that I’d always wanted to try (photography, journalism, bellydance, metaphysical meditation, kayaking) I’ve really created a comfortable niche here full of loving, cool, positive people who make me feel amazing about myself and don’t care that I tend to be completely self-indulgent and/or self-obsessed. Since early summer 2006, I’ve been really really happy where I am. (This was a lesson I recognized and accepted when Chloe arrived and God made it obvious that he wanted me to learn how to be happy anywhere I was… I’m not completely dim.)

So it all kind of feels like I’m doing a second take on this whole Having an Adult Life as I’m leaving town this time. It feels like the same sort of goodbyes and ambitious optimism most people feel when they graduate high school and while I realize that I absolutely needed to be home to get my mind together, I’m a little embarrassed to be doing this whole leaving thing so long after everyone else my age has.

And also, I - as well as my family - am more than a little nervous about having the safety net of nearby relatives taken out from under me, like I’m taking the training wheels off my Parenting bike. But even moreso, there’s the idea that I’ll have yet another mental collapse and come crawling back in shambles, doomed to live my entire life within 5 miles of my parents who will inevitably come in and make everything better. Granted, a LOT of things are different this time; I have a partner who loves and supports me, I have a child who’s dependent on my sanity, I have years of therapy and an obsessive tendency to keep tabs on my mental stability, I have a lot more drive and confidence in my life’s general direction, and I think it’s safe to say that the hand I’m playing is significantly more in my favor than last time.

So we’re both really optimistic. The town we’ll soon call home is about 20 minutes from where I grew up, which is kind of funny to me because I remember being 13, obligatorily miserable in my jr. high lifestyle and aching to get out to anywhere else. Now a small town just outside of a few exciting metropolitan areas that has it’s own little identity and humble culture and peacefulness sounds like a perfect first step for us out on our own.

This excitement will not enable any sort of logical sleep pattern for the next couple weeks, though. I’m accepting this now so I won’t be blindsided with exhausted delirium from lying awake all night pondering my current life’s ultimate status… Sometimes I feel a little too much like Angela Chase.

Still, more than nervous or in the throes of bittersweet sentiment, I’m excited. I’ve been waiting for this for a while and I’m glad the Universe has finally given us the green light for some definite forward movement.

I’m still kind of in awe with how much I love my husband.

Usually, when I say that I love him, it’s more of a declaration (Like, “My husband brought me flowers and let me sleep in. I looove hiiim.” although not always in response to gifts or kindness, of course.) but recently it’s been a kind of s surprised realization as I’m reflecting on how much more massive my love for him is in comparison to anything I’ve ever been a part of before.

Here’s where I’m going with this: My feelings of love come not only from the incredible joy he brings my life but from the unbelievable relief I feel with him from the pain usually associated with my love life. For yeeeeaaars, my ideas of what made a functional relationship were so skewed and generally fucked up that I’d made a lifestyle out of tolerating bullshit and abuse from my romantic partners and accepting that earth-crumbling feeling of betrayal as something that was just a natural part of any relationship. But now, about every few months or so, I stop and realize how far away I’ve been from that lifestyle since I’ve been with him. There’s never been a night we went to bed angry, there’s never been that terrible feeling in my gut when I caught him doing something horrible behind my back, there’s never been a time where I was made to feel guilty for something he’s done wrong, and there’s never ever been a single moment where I’ve worried about his whereabouts or motives or activities away from me. It’s amazing.

And, in turn, it’s made me step up my game too. When I was in shitty relationships before now, my partner usually never cared enough about me to worry about where I was, who I was with, etc. When I lied about something it was rarely discovered and when it was all was easily forgotten as said partner never wasted too much time focusing on how to repair our ever-deteriorating trust in each other. I still went above and beyond my basic relationship responsibilities in most cases, being generous with gifts and time and effort but I was never held accountable for any crappy behavior this state of apathy allowed me to get away with. With my husband, I see that he’s always emotionally available, he’s always honest, he’s always keeping me and the Bear in the forefront of his mind and all his efforts to maintain an ideal relationship gives me the drive to provide him with the same in return.

This is not to say we never have arguments and never make mistakes, of course. The difference is that the problems and mistakes we do encounter are never ever based in fear or mistrust or any completely trivial mind-fuckery. The problems are usually exterior and, when they’re not, we’re able to honestly tackle them together instead of having to rely on one party to straighten out their crappy behavior or mentality.

And trying to keep up with him has changed me in ways I never would’ve thought possible a few years ago. I’ve always been one for secrets and lies, always into hiding away into vices and escapes from the immediate pains of my daily life but, being with someone who a) doesn’t make me hurt and b) doesn’t resort to lies or secrets himself has driven me to get rid of this sort of sick mentality of mine (which I thought was impossible considering I’d done it for so so long.) I’ve become more patient and tolerant which may not look like much in comparison to him but is pretty tremendous in comparison to what I used to be like a few years ago. (In fact, recently I’ve been AMAZED with how I’ve been able to maintain my decorum - just for the sake of my husband’s peace - around exterior antagonists.) It sounds like such a line but he’s made me a better person… or at least given me the drive to hold myself to higher standards.

And I’m positive I’ve never been more proud of anyone (anyone) in my life. In addition to jumping on board with the unexpected pregnancy and working his ass off to make me and the Bear comfortable, he’s one of those people who says he wants to do things and then makes them happen. Every time. But even more impressive is the fact that he’s remarkably selfless in his work and efforts to provide for us.

My major example is this: a while ago, the company he has been working for was about to lay him off due to this superawesome economy but a few of his coworkers cared enough about him to move around some funds and use him to replace a few outside contractors. Not only did that sort of generosity say a lot about my husband’s character but it said an incredible amount about the kindness of everyone at said company. But, while we were both incredibly grateful that he even had a job at all, the one he was designated was one requiring mindless physical labor that was usually performed by high school dropouts or immediate graduates. My husband did this work diligently and thoroughly but was constantly questioning himself and his talents because of the nature of work and was unbelievably self-conscious about what this sort of work said about him as a person. I kept trying to explain to him that it’s far less impressive for a family’s breadwinner to be working hard and raking in millions. I’m much more proud that I have a partner who will toss his ego to the side and do what he needs to do to provide for his family, even if it’s work that requires no intelligence or talent. In fact, I think having a husband who took this job with no questions asked and performed it to the best of his abilities without a moment’s hesitation is an incredible testament to his character and fills me with pride and gratitude at having someone so amazing to trust with the rest of my life.

Now, as we’re looking to move to a new town in a different state because of a job opportunity he beat out 60 local applicants for, I’m somehow even more full of pride and gratitude that I’m able to count on him during this and any other forward movements we as a family will make. It’s really an incredible feeling that I fight the urge to gush about daily and am literally constantly overflowing with joy about. I still battle the feelings of doubt and guilt I experience when wondering what I possibly did to deserve a husband and a daughter who are so emotionally fulfilling but, knowing what a waste of time that is, I try to focus on positive! Forward moving! Happy! Love!

I do love my husband.

After my family, a few friends, and my spirituality, Travel is easily the thing that I love the most in the world. I fully intend to spend all my years in “retirement” (I put that in quotes because I hope I never stop working, honestly. Not in that crazy, Wall Street workaholic sense, but in the wanting-to-produce-useful/beautiful-things-out-of-passion-and-general-life force)

I haven’t been to that many places, in the grand scheme of things. I’ve only been to just a few countries (which I desperately, desperately long to change… starting in the Mediterranean area) but seriously almost all of the U.S. states, which isn’t too shabby, actually. In fact, as much as I constantly, consciously loathe the “BIGGER IS BETTER AND WE’RE THE BEST!!!!” mentality of American commercialism and the staunch fear-based [arrogant, egocentric, aggressively domineering, theocratic] conservatism in our politics, when I’m out playing in the United States, I’m reminded of how wonderful a place this really is. I’ll spare you the melodramatic sentiment, but with the beauty and incredible variety of our country, it’s hard not to wonder if we really are the best country in the world, at least geographically. The two major mountain ranges in their vast differences (I much prefer the humble, ancient comfort of the Appalachians, although the skiing in the Rockies is way way better), the beautiful variety of our coastlines (I’m partial to Hawaii, but the Outer Banks are pretty divine, too, if not a little rocky. I love the lighthouses, though, even though I didn’t so much when my mom dragged us to every. single. one in a road trip during the summer of 1994) and their resulting aquatic-cities… it’s all great. But the real joy is in the land features that are completely unique to our country. Yellowstone is testament enough to that, of course, with the hot springs and sulfur pools (which are hard to see in person because of all the steam… faaaacial!) but the Everglades (best seen by fanboat, btw), Arches National Park (hooray dry heat!) and underwater cities like New Orleans are also pretty insane, not to mention the un-freaking-believable residential testaments to human spirit like Mesa Verde. And even though they’re no Ayers Rock, Stone Mountain and Devil’s Tower are pretty amazing in themselves. :::Sigh::: I still dream of making it to Alaska and the New England coast and being part of the annual Leafer[/Ben & Jerry's] migration in Vermont and experiencing the mythical glory of Burning Man, but I’m still pretty proud of the extensive American experience I’ve had so far. (And I am a GIANT nerd about history and grassroots, folksy heritage in places. I WILL drag my travel companions to historic sites, markets, and weird-ass museums/attractions.) The landscape here is the only thing I’ve always felt real, passionate patriotism for. It is only for the right to play on our glorious playgrounds that I would consider going to war if needed.

For the record, if I had a choice as to where to live in the U.S. the answer is always Portland, OR. Always. Sure, I’d love to camp out in Berkeley, or have a little house in Asheville or Athens or even Austin, and I’ve kind of always wondered what it’d be like to spend a year living in a massive city like Chicago or New York (Tribeca, of course) but if I could pack my bags and leave today, I’d be in Portland. This is among those dreams Greg and I are planning on working toward; maybe one day we’ll own a little B&B in a tiny town around Portland and can spend our spare time biking and hiking and skiing and writing and doing photography and visiting drag shows, concerts, art shows and living crazy, artsy, liberal lives.

Anyway, I live for road trips. I spent my two years as a dorm-living undergrad hopping in my Jeep and driving to insane destinations. A friend of mine and I drove up for a freezing weekend visiting a friend in Chicago, another friend and I went to stay with her granddad on Islamorada, FL (it’s one of the Florida Keys, for you international readers) and one of my all-time best weekends involved me and two awesome buddies spontaneously driving to Memphis for the express purpose of visiting Graceland. (We’re not Elvis fans; we were just bored on a Friday night and thought it’d be hilarious. 10 hours later, it was just absurd.) We stayed in the Heartbreak Hotel, ate fried peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches, and wandered around the King’s house in an awed stupor. It was amazing. Aside from the completely insanely-long sporadic trips, I would routinely drive 5 hours to Asheville to visit my bestie about once every 6 weeks until the Bear came along and really, a weekend getaway via road was just one of those things I did. Visiting friends 4+ hours away, staying at someone’s Outer Banks beach house, all just part of a typical weekend. I kind of did the same rambling-around thing while I was in Australia, although with the INSANELY low plane fares of JetStar, I was able to trot around the continent with must greater ease and expedience.

But the best trips are the ones where you’re not really sure what your itinerary is, how you got to wherever it is you are and if you’re going to make it home in any sort of realistic time frame. I’ve mentioned my accidental weekend in San Francisco when Aussie Immigration botched my visa on my way to Melbourne for a visit, which was particularly rad (except I never made it back to Aus. :: sigh ::) but there have been handfuls of adventures in the same vein that I’ve been lucky enough to experience. Screwed-up flights, broken-down cars, backseat camping, staying with complete strangers who were kind enough to take us in for the night… Man, I miss being on the road.

So anyway, this weekend I finally get to return to beautiful Chicagoland. I’m excited about this because I haven’t been in a couple years and I haven’t had the chance to really enjoy my time there in about 7 years. Additionally, I haven’t been to the city in the summer time since 1998 and, even then, I was only there for about 24 hours as it was just a stop on a continent-wide bus tour I took with a group of fellow high-schoolers. So seeing Chicago in the summertime will be a fantastic treat. And yeah, I’m one of those people who much prefers the chilled Chicago vibe to the uptight, pretentious, image-centric attitude of New York. And I still harbor dreams of running away with Second City.

Due to the incredible restlessness that having a small child for the last 18 months has instilled in me, I’m finally breaking out and getting back on the road to do a little [relatively large, compared to what I've seen in the last year] travel in the next month. It won’t be anything ambitious or groundbreaking but I’m still excited to catch a couple ferries to Hatteras with Chloe to visit an old college roomie at her beach house and even to drive back up to the northern NC Piedmont to see my Gran and a few other college buddies in the quiet outer-Triad. Again, it’s nothing massive like I used to love, but after only being able to drive to Charleston, Ocean Isle and Atlanta in the last year and a half (not including the wedding trip to Kauai last September, of course. That’d be a treat no matter how long I’ve been cooped up,) any sort of vehicular freedom is going to feel amazing. I’m not saying dragging Chloe around by myself is going to be a breeze, but I think it’s worth it to just get out for a change. And then my family is taking our annual week-long break to Fripp Island in the beginning of August, which I could not be more excited about if I tried.

So, even though it’s nothing huge, I get to start getting out again. It’s weird; I always thought that in married, parenting life I’d miss a nightlife or the freedom to do spontaneous things every day or anything in that vein. As I’m recognizing my unbelievable excitement in making travel plans, I’m realizing that indulging my wanderlust is easily the one thing I’ve missed more than anything.

Also, please go easy on grading the coloring and brightness; I don’t have Photoshop on my new compy just yet so I had to make do with Photo Editor. Not great, but it works.

Also also, please keep in mind that before we moved in there were only bare, white walls and hideous, brass fixtures everywhere. Ergh. It felt nice to put a lot of work into making it a home that was personalized, even if we don’t own it.

We’ll start with the kitchen. It’s laid out weirdly but it’s easily four times larger than the one at the apartment we had before this, so I’m not complaining. There’s a lot you can’t see from the angle this is taken, but the spaces on the walls are decorated with vintage manifesto pubblictario, (better known as artsy painted Italian alcohol ads from the early 20th century that I adore) which I got for $1 each at Target about 5 years ago. Score! (There will be a lot of mention of bargains in this entry because I do like to brag about a good deal. If you’re a female, you may understand this, assuming you’ve ever lived outside of your parents’ house in your undergrad years.) You may notice the paint job in the breakfast nook that extends all the way into the dining area. This was a two-color job that my husband and my best friend did together using a rag to create a rough, Tuscan-stucco-wall effect. I LOVE IT.

Another shot of the breakfast nook. Please note up front that almost all the furniture in the house is on loan from my sister and mother, Greg’s parents, or was bought for us as gifts. This table and the chairs were part of a set that my sister had in her apartment in Charleston and is no longer using at the moment. Luckily, we had a place to store it for her and it matches the room like a dream. Also, the Mac wasn’t a purchase but a freebie that someone at Greg’s office just didn’t want anymore. I only use it for surfing the Net, but it’s great to have in here so I can keep an eye on the Bear without her getting into everything in the office while I answer emails.

And here is our lovely dining area. Okay, you probably noticed that the chairs don’t match the table and there’s a perfectly good reason for this. We bought this table with matching chairs at a place called The Junk Barn for $120 total. It was exactly what we needed but had this gross Golden-Girls-Miami-retiree-in-the-80’s finish on it (read: light light beige.) so Greg refinished it with this beautiful mahogany coat, which he’s currently doing with the matching chairs. This is something I’m very very proud of. Also, he installed the totally rad bar lighting suspended over the table, installed a dimmer switch to add to the ambience, and hung the floating shelf on the wall behind the table. All without me asking. This is not the only reason I love him, but it certainly helps. On an unrelated note, the spoons and salt shakers you can baaarely make out on the floating shelf were handmade gifts from my sister’s time in South Africa, although I think she got them in Namibia. (I think the shakers might be made of ivory but, knowing my undying allegiance to the pachyderm species, she opted not to disclose this information and I try not to think about it. Too often.)

Into the living room where we took a risk (and freaked out our landlord) by creating a giant accent wall, which we adore. Somehow, it makes the room seem like it’s in a different space entirely, disconnected from the dining room, even though they’re all in the same 40 ft. The couch was a gift from his parents, the entertainment center and ottoman are all from Target wedding gift cards and the little toy chest/bench was Greg’s when he was little. The art sitting on the DVD/CD shelves was done for me by my best friend many years ago when I was going through the darkest part of addiction, depression, and the beginning of recovery. I hope to have it framed one day but I’m saving up so I can get a bang-up job of it as it’ll best be served in a shadowbox. The giant poster on the white wall next to the couch is a real calendar of events for the Plaza del Toros in Valencia, Spain that Greg got after watching a bullfight while studying abroad. We splurged to have it framed but I thought it was well worth it being that we plan to keep it foreverandever. The floor lamp was one that I got from Wal-Mart my freshman year at college for $10 and looked like crap until Greg spray painted it with a textured finish that makes it look at least 5 times the price. Whee!

THIS IS MY NEW DESK!! (Again, please note that this, too, was a freebie inherited from Greg’s workplace.) Amazing, I’ve only had it a week and it’s already loaded with assorted paper-based crap that somehow spills out onto the kitchen table most of the time. Oh, and naturally, this is the rest of the office where we’ve crammed in a treadmill, a keyboard (I’m teaching Greg to play as an ongoing Christmas present,) an oversized beanbag chair, a bookshelf full of car models, racing trophies, software texbooks and ‘Alien’ action figures, a small chest of drawers, and a little workspace for Greg. (Being a graphic artist apparently doesn’t require so much bulk or need for storage in the workplace.) This is not to mention the cameras, cords, artwork, and other misc crap piled into the closet. Junk; we has it. Also, if you can see them, the pics on the wall are my favorites from my time in Australia. They’re perfect.

Guest bathroom. All the towels and the shower curtain are products of my mom’s end-of-the-semester dorm Dumpster diving, as are most of the towels in my house (Cleaned and used for utilitarian purposes only! We have nice linens for guests and ourselves! Just not for the cat or the car…)

And thiiiis is my little slice of heaven: The Master Bedroom (with live, sleeping Greg!) We just went for the color and have not regretted it for a second. I love the bay windows, I love the French doors going into the bathroom, I love the walk-in closet, I love the massive bathtub, I love the dual sinks, I love the little potty nook, I love the extra linen closet in the bathroom, I love everyeveryeverything about this room.

Little Altar

We went with a weird Pacifica theme that incorporates stuff from our Hawaiian wedding vacation (not really a honeymoon, except for the last three days, I guess) and some Asian touches that we just had lying around. The headboard was a $20 one my mom got from a Habitat for Humanity resale store and had refinished as a birthday present for me and the square lamp next to the hanging shelf was a product of her Dumpster diving as well (I think it’s RAD.) The suitcase is one we purchased on our honeymoon at this tiny old plantation house in Kauai that was renovated into the coolest antiques shop I’ve ever been in. It’s from the mid-1900’s and is covered with authentic, old college and travel stickers, some from transportation companies that haven’t existed in decades. The lei draped across it was handmade and given to Greg by our landlord/host when we first arrived at the bungalow in Kapa’a. Also, I spent a lot of time on the island trying to find an authentic original hula girl figurine that wasn’t $75+. On her last day there, the host’s visiting friend left one in our little apartment as a farewell/wedding gift.

I’m unable to get pics of the Bear’s room at the moment but I promise that’s up next as I love it, as well.

WHEW! If you’ve gotten this far, thank you so much for letting me be self-indulgent and a bit obnoxious in my boasting. I’ve never had a house before and I don’t get to show it off that much to other people, so it’s nice to get to play tour guide, if only through electronic devices. I love that Greg and I were able to collaborate on ideas and come up with decorations and design that we both love and are proud of. Even moreso, I’m so grateful and glowingly happy to have a home filled with love and (albeit superficial) tangible gifts to remind us that we are loved and remembered. I know it’s just a little neo-ranch house and it’s not anything unique or upscale or even bordering on the gauche style of the nouveau riche, but to me it’s an absolute palace that I wouldn’t mind occupying for many many years. In fact, I hope the next home we live in can compare to this one or I may spend a lot of time missing it. Anyway, I’m enjoying the freedom of one’s own space and the chance to express ourselves within it.

This weekend, my husband not only acquired a beautiful (huge!) new desk for me to have my own workspace, but he set up one of his old[er] computers so I’d have one to work on (he even transferred all my files from his to mine), organized the desk area with a mini-hutch and other office-space accoutrement, AND gave me three hours to organize my countless files and binders and Sharpies (I have a real problem) while he watched the Bear yesterday afternoon. All of this without me ever asking for any of it. (He claims it’s all because he hates sharing a workspace with me, but I’m convinced that if this were the case, he would have taken this new desk and left me with the crappier one he’s still using.)

Have I mentioned that he’s perfect?

Let’s talk about me. Just a little more.

~ Aside from the actual relationships I’ve had, I’ve been on a lot of “dates” with various men/boys over the years. (At the moment, I’m not including casual sexual romps in this list of dates.) The problem with me, however, is that during many many of these incidents, I didn’t realize we were on an actual date until later on in the evening when he went to pay for dinner or a movie or tried to make out with me and I found myself in the awkward position of having to “reject” someone with whom I’d honestly never entertained thoughts of romance/sex/etc. You’d think I would’ve learned how to differentiate but then, I didn’t even know my now-husband was into me until the moment he kissed me.

~ I hate Scooby-Doo. Always have. It’s boring, it’s annoying and it don’t make me laugh.

~ I now weigh in lighter than I have in 9 years, since the spring of 2000 when I went on the Atkins Diet and lost 15 lbs in two weeks that immediately came back when I allowed myself more than 15 grams of carbohydrates a day. If I lose another five pounds (which I plan to) I will be the lightest I have been since the 8th freaking grade. (This is all sort of surreal to me as I’ve struggled for over a decade to be rid of this extra baby weight and am now watching it slowly melt away without frantic overexertion like I’m used to.)

~ There are some old guys (over 60) who rank in my Top Ten Sexiest List. However, my Top Ten Sexiest Old Guys List looks like this:

1) DUSTIN FREAKING HOFFMAN
2) Ed Harris
(Gran and I share a little crush on this one. Yum.)
3) Paul Newman circa early 2008.
(I know, I know. He’s not around anymore, but I still think he’s fresh enough to keep on the list, although at #3 instead of #2.)
4) Patrick Stewart
4) David Bowie
(I cheated. It’s a tie for #4.)
5) Morgan Freeman
6) Tom Robbins
(That’s right; I’m such a nerd that writers made my list.)
7)Pete Townshend
(Yeah, I was all about Daltrey but the man just didn’t age well.)
8 ) Mark Harmon
(So I’m a typical housewife; so sue me.)
9) Ian McKellen
(I don’t care whose team he plays for. The man’s handsome.)
10) Harrison Ford
(I’m sorry. He’s a cliche but he’s so necessary.)

(Yeah, I never got on the Sean Connery bandwagon. In fact, I think he’s a little overrated. Sorry.)

~ Screw “Wicked Games”, the most turned on I have ever been and continue to be while watching a music video is watching Pelle Almqvist screaming and rocking out in “Hate to Say I Told You So.” Something about a teeny tiny man with a tremendous ego who can scream like a banshee is so freaking hot to me. (And that sexy, exhausted face he makes while keeping the beat during the bass break… oh man.) I still enjoy a good one-handed viewing of that video from time to time.

*Don’t get scared; it’s just the title to a Smiths song.

My best friend gets sick a lot. And not just little, insignificant sick. And not sick in a series of relapses of one Great Sick that will stick with her forever. Just a lot of various shit comes and wreaks havoc on her body. About once a year, actually. To an outsider, you’d think she was some sort of hypochondriac but the truth is that each health problem she has is actually real. And relatively major.

(I hope she doesn’t mind me talking about this but I think I’m safe considering I’m keeping her name anonymous. This entry may disappear in the future, though, if it causes problems.)

When I first met her some 7 years ago, she had some sort of growth (it has an actual medical name but I can’t remember it right now) on her vocal cord that had to be removed and then the vacant spot had to be filled with a littleteenytiny bit of fat from her tummy. A year later she had a lump in one of her breasts that had to be removed and was tested as just a benign cyst. And then after that she was given an antidepressant that reacted really really badly with her system (trembling, borderline seizures, etc.) so she was hospitalized briefly so they could keep an eye on her while they tweaked medications. Two Christmases ago some drunken bodybuilder gave her a hug at a party and fucked her back up so bad she was confined to bed for a week and had to go to physical therapy. And then some masseuse gave her some sort of new, crazy hippie massage that literally made her knees unusable for a while and she had to go back to physical therapy. She’s also had a handful of other serious problems, but those are of a more private nature, so I won’t go into detail. Suffice to say she’s had a time of things.

It’d be different if she lived a crappy, unhealthy lifestyle, but that’s just not the case. She’s health conscious with what she eats (she was vegetarian for a couple years but had to start supplementing protein because of migraines or something… I can’t remember. Anyway, now she basically just eats fish and veggies and fruit.), she’s into supplements and homeopathic remedies, she sees a therapist and an acupuncturist, she exercises, she doesn’t smoke, she drinks sparingly… these things just kind of come out of nowhere and attack her and it really blows, to be honest.

And every time one of these things happens I’m always at the ready. I’ve called her in the hospital and sent her things to entertain her and I even moved everything out of her apartment at college and transferred it to her parents’ house a couple hours away when a hospital trip ensured that she’d be staying at home for a semester. I don’t immediately retreat into Holy Freakout Mode, but I do tend to worry a great deal and have spent more than one night worried about the outcome of her various illnesses and mishaps.

I got a call from her today as I was coming home from a playdate and was told that she was back in the hospital. After a few days of deafening migraines, she’d gone to the ER to find that she has spinal/viral meningitis. Unfortunately, at the moment she doesn’t know much about her treatment or her prognosis as they’re running a bunch of tests. In the meantime, however, I’m trying not to freak out about the long list of bullshit that meningitis is capable of causing to the 50,000 cases of it treated every year in the US. (Yeah, the girl’s got great odds.) Of course, I’m not freaking out to her and fueling any anxiety she may already be having and I’ve agreed to stay in town and not immediately drive up there until we learn a little bit more about her specific condition. And I’m sending out good, loving vibes and trying to stay positive but, goddamn it. When is she going to get a fucking break?

I don’t know; maybe God’s trying to toughen her up for something major in the future. Or maybe she’s just getting it all out of her system now. Or maybe her [un-freaking-believable] gifts with metaphysics are causing her to be somewhat of an amplified empath.

And, whatever the case, it won’t help anything for me to sit around churning out anger and frustration toward her rotten health-related luck, but I needed a second to just sit around and be pissy and whiny about it. Mostly because I’m worried and I hate this powerless feeling that I feel like I’m getting used to because of the frequency of her health problems. And then I’m pissed because I’m getting used to the powerless feeling and that that means that this is happening way more frequently than even reasonable. I’m not saying it would be better if she had something like cancer that kept coming back over and over, but it would at least be something she could watch out for and have consistent expectations of. It just seems like the Universe is flinging her a bunch of physical wild cards that she has to struggle to even make sense of before she can begin treatments. It seems a little cruel, to be honest. And that, too, pisses me off.

So yes. I’m pissy. And that’s what this entry is all about. And I’m sorry if reading this was a total waste of time.

But mostly I’m just really really worried. I’m worried about this particular diagnosis, sure. But I’m also worried about whatever’s inevitably coming for her next and how long she’s going to be able to jump all these annual hurdles. I don’t want to see her get worn down and start losing momentum when she has to duke it out with her health complications. That - aside from the unmentionably-bad worst outcome to health problems, of course - is what I’m worried about the most.

I just want my friend to be okay. And stay that way for a while. I don’t think that’s too tremendous of a wish.

I honestly don’t know if I can do this.

I know what I believe. I know what I want to make of myself as a person. I realize that the crime this incarcerated penpal of mine committed has nothing to do with me and, therefore, does not require my judgment or forgiveness. I know what the right thing to do is right now, but I don’t know if I have the strength of character to do it.

Before I Googled this woman yesterday, I was halfway finished with a letter that I was writing to her. I hadn’t caught up with her in a while and I owed her some correspondence as I felt bad for having neglected her in the last few months. When I read what she had done, I was immediately put into a tailspin and was really confused and troubled by what I’d learned about her. All afternoon my heart was heavy with shock and grief and, hours after I laid down to go to sleep, I was still unable to stop thinking about it, wondering about it, trying not to put a visualization to it.

I finished the letter today although the words were staggered and awkward without the usual comfort I’d been able to exude in the first half. I fought my way to the post office and sat in the drop-off lane looking at the letter until the man behind me honked for me to make a drop or leave. Holding my breath, I dropped the envelope into the slot and roared away before I could begin to regret what I’d done.

I immediately threw up when I got home. Even now, I’m anxious and troubled and unable to think about anything else.

Christ, it’d be nice not to have to feel every single emotion I have so damned intensely for a change.

I know what I believe. I know what kind of person I want to be.

But I feel more sapped of energy and strength than I have in a long time. I am ashamed with how defeated and cowardly I feel about this whole thing and how my overwhelming judgment could be capable of changing my entire relationship with and personal worth of someone else who has never done anything to hurt me or my family. I’m embarrassed and troubled about what that says about me as a person. I am embarrassed about what that says about my commitment to my convictions.

Suddenly, I feel very very weak. Very very small.