Can we just be honest about something for a second here?
Deep breath.
Sometimes, I can be horribly, horribly jealous of friendships. Or if not jealous, maybe than just pessimistic about friendships. See, ever since I wrote about these little shenanigans, there have been some other developments, if you will. I sent a letter and got no response. I heard some updates through the grapevine, and Facebook stalking (no judgment!). And while yes, there are plenty of friends in my life, I’ve felt a little bummed out in the friendship department with the loss of some of my closest friendships this year.
I am not going to lie: I get jealous of what other people seem to have in their friendships. A bunch of bloggers met up in Vegas—they’ve formed amazing friendships, and I’ve never really met anyone I blog with. BlogHer was this past weekend, and I didn’t go, therefore missing out on meeting a lot of other bloggers—and let’s be real, a ton of free swag that sounded freaking awesome. Reading the tweets of people meeting up, seeing that people I love and admire online were meeting one another and drinking together and I was here watching endless Gilmore Girls and doing nothing and AHHHHH! Friendships in real life can be difficult, too—with my closest friends scattered all over the country, work schedules, school schedules, weddings, babies, and general growing apart, it can seem pretty lonely.
But something shifted for me yesterday.
Yesterday, morning, I had the chance to pick my friend Jamie up at the airport. Jamie and I met nearly six years ago when she moved to Sacramento, before moving back to her hometown of Portland. She recently returned from spending a year living in Chile and Argentina, and had an amazing experience. One of my favorite things about Jamie is that she is deep—meaning that our conversations always delve beneath surface catching up, and into “real” life. We got some coffee and had some good conversation. It was so nice to catch up and talk about life with someone who’s been around for many of the seasons of my life.
Last night, I met up with my old friend Stacy for a drink. Stacy and I met in college and were extremely close friends for a long time. We used to take walks, enjoy frozen yogurt, eat ice cream, read magazines and drink endless coffee together. Stacy and her husband moved to Seattle a few years ago, and we slowly grew apart. We reunited last night, and had the best time. Everything fell into place again and it felt like old times. It was so great to chat and laugh and have girl talk with my old friend.
As I drove home last night, with my sunroof open and my music up, I felt so, so grateful. Sure, I may not have gone to BlogHer, and I may not have done the Vegas Meet-Up, and people I valued and loved may have moved forward, but I am so damn lucky. So lucky. My friends are scattered around the country, but they are there. I come home every night to a guy who loves me, and who I adore; I have an amazing family who never fails me.
Sometimes, it’s nice to remember just how blessed I am.
A page from Sylvia Plath’s copy of The Great Gatsby:
My favorite poet writes in my favorite book. SWOON.
Thursday night, while Andrew was off playing a poker tournament, I was happily holed up in our hotel room. This is the third or fourth weekend-long tournament I’ve attended with Andrew. I’m used to being abandoned for hours at a time, for event after event. I usually go down for dinner breaks and to check in every once in awhile. But, for the most part, I spend time alone in the hotel and I’m fine with that.
I typically try and wait up for Andrew to return, but I was absolutely exhausted on Thursday night. Thanks to leaving home at 6:30 am, and a busy morning, I was more than ready for sleep. I spread out on our huge, comfy, King size bed, and fell asleep. Usually, I’m quite a light sleeper. But, the combination of being dead tired, a ridiculously comfortable bed and a blissfully SILENT hotel room free of snoring boyfriend and meowing cat must have lulled me into a deep sleep. Like, sleep through an earthquake sleep.
That was, until 1:30 am when my phone started ringing. It was Andrew. I figured he might be calling to tell me to come watch him play the final table, so I answered groggily.
“WHERE ARE YOU?” he asked.
I informed him that I was in the hotel room bed…and asked where he was.
“I’m outside the door—I’ve been banging down the door for nearly a half an hour!”
See, I’m a paranoid little bunny. I have watched enough Law and Order to know that people hide in hotel rooms, in showers, and under beds when they wish to murder you in cold blood. Plus, I don’t know who’s on my floor. So, I use the locks. And the deadbolt. Seems smart to me, right?
Well, apparently, Andrew tried to get in and couldn’t. He banged on the door and couldn’t get in. Instead of calling the room like a freaking normal human, he thought there was something wrong with the key and went downstairs to get a new key. He tried that; still no luck. Andrew claims he knocked on the door repeatedly, called, sent texts, and did everything but send a carrier pigeon, but I was dead asleep.
Next, he got a security officer. The officer proceeded to interview Andrew about a myriad of topics: was she drinking tonight? Does she have any medical history? Does she take any drugs? Was she alone?
This, my friends, is where my level-headed, completely sane boyfriend started to LOSE HIS SHIT. Apparently, Andrew thought I was dead, hurt, in some sort of coma or something horrible. See? Living with me and my neuroses has made him more paranoid! I’m rubbing off on him! He continued banging, banging, banging, while the security officer tried like the dickens to get into the room and “investigate.”
Finally, a phone call woke me up. I went to the door, boobs hanging out, hair up in all directions, makeup smudged across my face, thinking it was just Andrew. But no, a security officer wanted to come in and check out the room. I sleepily explained that I was just sleeping, and that the most exciting thing that’d happened that night was that I’d typed lesson plans and researched recipes. Oh, and finally saw the finale show of “16 and Pregnant” and cried my face off.
The security guard WOULD NOT GIVE UP and asked when he could come back. I assured him that it wasn’t really necessary, that I was totally fine, but he said he wanted to come back and take a look around. I told him again: I AM FINE. I WAS ASLEEP. Seriously, dude, I was asleep, not enjoying some drug-and-alcohol fueled orgy or being bludgeoned to death or anything exciting. Andrew finally got him to leave, and then told me how worried he was. It was cute, but I’m all, “Hey, babe—I’M STILL TIRED AND NOW IT’S TWO A.M.!”
This morning, I asked him exactly what he was afraid had happened, hoping to cash in on some of the cuteness from the night before. Instead, Andrew thought I might have some how made it all the way through the Gilmore Girls series and decided I had nothing else to live for.
The drama didn’t end there: I came back from breakfast this morning to find a security guard outside my door, speaking into his radio and telling them that no one was in the room but everything seemed fine. Later? Yet another one was outside, patrolling the hallway, and once again making notes outside our door.
The lesson here? DO NOT USE THE DEADBOLT.
Andrew and I spent the first part of our day in Lake Tahoe yesterday. If you’ve never had the chance to go, Tahoe is gorgeous. Lovely. Just plain gorgeous. It’s easily one of my favorite places in the world—a gorgeous green-blue lake, lots of little mom and pop restaurants, big trees, and tons of little shops to piddle around. Andrew and I had never been here together, so it was fun to show him around places I vacationed at as a kid.
We started with breakfast at Heidi’s, a family favorite with delicious food. I had some amazing strawberry crepes—crepes are their speciality—and nibbled at Andrew’s omelet. Oh, and guzzled coffee, obviously.
Then, we wandered down by the lake, and took a lovely walk along the beach. It was gorgeous.
Obligatory self-portrait (aka “the reacharound”) on the water.
Next, we decided to ride the Heavenly Gondola. It is a gondola that goes all the way up a huge mountain and offers spectacular views of the lake. Here’s some shots of our journey up the mountain:
We had such a nice morning. Now, I’m a poker widow while Andrew plays some tournaments. If you think about it, send some good luck our way—he’s hoping to score a huge win during these tournaments.
Yesterday, I decided against paying $13 for Internet in our hotel room & relyed on my trusty iPhone instead. Also, the hotels cable is severely lacking. No Bravo? Hello?
Anyways, in my Internet and TV free five hours, I managed to:
–type 10 weeks of lesson plans & make several power point presentations I need for teaching.
–Plan 2+ weeks of meals
–Sync my Google calendar & iPhone & write all upcoming dates in my backup planner
–Make a dentist appointment (more on this later)
–Schedule a vet appointment for Harry
–Edited Tahoe pictures (will be shared later)
Is it a coincidence? Um, I think the Internet and TV are ruining my life.
Aaaah, typewriters. I’m not sure where my love of typewriters began. Perhaps it was with my Papa Lou-Lou, my dad’s dad, who died last year. He used to type letters on his old, black typewriter and send them to us. I had never really seen or used one, growing up in the computer age, but had always been fascinated with them.
My school holds a yearly rummage sale, and my good friend Brittany snagged a gorgeous teal typewriter I was always envious of. One day, she left it in my room. I was thrilled! It sits proudly on my desk at home now, brightening up the room—it’s very similar to the teal typewriter of above.
I’ve always had an obsession with writerly things, and mail. This seems to blend the two perfectly—I always think of what it must have been like to type out letters to friends and loved ones in the pre-email days.
I’ve typed a bit on mine, and I must admit that while the sound is endearing and the type is fun, I do prefer old-fashioned e-mail. For now, I’ll settle on a decorative piece, and my ring, of course.
On Tuesday night, Andrew and I went to a tennis match to watch our local team, the Sacramento Capitals play. I’m not a huge tennis fan, but I got Andrew tickets for his birthday because he loves tennis. Despite it being 103 degrees, we trekked out to the courts. We were also total rule breakers and sneaked Subway sandwiches in—a major no-no, as they were totally checking bags. Good thing I brought my big purse and smiled sweetly. The match itself was good, despite the Caps getting spanked hard by the St. Louis Explorers. The Bryan Brothers–tennis legends–played and since they are some of Andrew’s favorite players, it was fun to see him get so excited.
A few observations after watching tennis for three hours with a huge crowd:
—Watching people’s heads go back and forth as they follow the ball is fine entertainment if you’re not quite sure what’s happening on the court.
—What on earth is the problem with people in bleachers?! We arrived a bit early, and settled in to our spots. A few minutes later, a couple tried to sidle in next to me. And by next to me, I mean on my lap. WHAT THE HECK?! I don’t want anyone sitting on my lap, particularly in 100+ degree weather. And I certainly don’t want a cougar who doused herself in some nasty perfume before coming sitting on top of me, while flipping her flip flop and flirting with her gentleman caller. NO THANKS.
—Also, bleacher sitters, if you bring those cushions, here’s a tip: sit them on the front edge of the bleacher. You leaning back against my legs makes the whole situation my personal hell. I don’t really like it, or you, and I don’t have a cushion which already makes me bitter. It’s sort of like being on an airplane—sure, your seat CAN recline, but I hate your guts if you take advantage of that feature.
—This particular stadium played 10-second snippets of songs every time they had even the smallest of breaks. Sounds nice, right? It is, until the middle aged women start dancing. The one on the row above me took every single opportunity to shake what her (freaking old) mama gave her. My personal favorite was when Black Eyed Peas “Boom Boom Pow!” would come on and she’d do her own sort of explosion for each “boom.” I enjoyed it very much. I think she knew that I was enjoying it since I stared. Probably a bit obviously. Oh well. Anyways, she wasn’t the only one—it seems to me that if you’re in your late 30′s, music is a personal invitation to shake it.
—The couple in front of me was very sweet. Kind of icky sweet, though. The man was rather furry—like back, neck, ear hair crawling up his back. His wife was very sweet, and it was clear that they loved one another. Perhaps a little too much. You see, halfway through the match, their hand-holding progressed until she’d removed her shoes, placed her feet on his lap and he was stroking from thigh to toe. It was awkward to say the least. Why, oh why do people feel as if that’s appropriate behavior for a public event?! I am all for some PDA, and Andrew and I are quite affectionate, but…wow. It was a bit extreme.
—The father-daughter behind us were very sweet. For the first few sets. The daughter asked cute questions, talked tennis and clearly adored her dad. Then the clock struck nine, and I was treated to whines about needing to use the bathroom, not understanding why the Capitals were losing, needing more ice cream or french fries, REALLY NEEDING TO GO TO THE BATHROOM, having a tummy ache, not knowing why the her friend didn’t want to come over, and on and on and on. Lesson to parents: if your kid is tired of tennis after an hour and a half—and I don’t blame her!—take her home. Poor kid was basically in tears before dad finally got the message and carted her home.
Anyways, despite the above observations/complaints, it really was fun. I’d definitely go back, armed with a cushion and far away from the couple and whiny kid.
Andrew came to help me organize my classroom today. I definitely get a little stressed out with the start of school—thankfully, we got a lot done and I’m feeling a lot more ready to go.
Before I start the post, I want to let you know that today is a special day! It’s 20-Something Bloggers Blog Swap Day—meaning that someone else will be writing today’s post, and today, my words can be found over at The Happy Cactus. So, go check me out there, and in the meantime, leave Ari some love over here! Also, if you’re in your 20′s, and you blog, why haven’t you joined 20SB yet?! I mean, REALLY?! DO IT. Sign up now. Without further adieu, here’s Ari’s post:
Hello! I’m Ari from the Happy Cactus. I live north Alabama with my 2 yr. old German Shepherd, work as a graphic designer for a local independent newspaper, and up until recently was married. My life has taken an unexpected twist and so far, its been wonderful.
See, this is the first time in 26 (almost 27) years that I have ever lived alone and been accountable to only myself (and of course, my dog). I went to college in same city I grew up in, and naturally lived with my parents. I moved out of my mother’s house when I was 20 and into an apartment that I shared with two other girls. Unfortunately, that apartment was expensive and so I moved in with my then boyfriend, who later became my husband. I lived with him until this past February when I decided that my dog and I would be better off on our own. It was the hardest and most frightening decision that I have ever made. But here we are, on our own and doing great.
I was raised by very Southern (not to be confused with redneck) grandmother. She, my grandfather, and my mother always told me that I could do anything that I set my mind to; to always be confident in myself and my decisions; and how to be a strong woman. I kinda believed the first two but “being a strong woman” was never something that I thought I could do. Unfortunate for me, there were always people in my life working to undermine this lesson. First it was my stepfather who was verbally abusive; then a physically abusive boyfriend; and then my unhappy alcoholic ex-husband. So, being confident in myself is never something that came easily to me.
And then I made the decision to move out.
Suddenly I had a new found confidence. I realized that I really can do anything I set my mind to and I can do it without help. Before, while I was outgoing and confident with my friends, I was terribly shy with new people and at my job. Now, well, I’ve meet more new people in the past 2 months than I had met before then. I find its easier to open up and befriend people. I’m more confident in my job. And I’m actually acting like “myself” with my new boyfriend and not just trying to mold into the person he wants me to be. Our relationship has definitely benefited from this, as have my nerves. I don’t worry about saying the “wrong thing” or acting like the dork that I am. If he likes he likes; if he doesn’t then someone else will. Its incredibly exhilarating.
Also affected from my mental state before, was my appearance, my opinions, and my creative drive. I would never ever wear shorts much less a skirt, unless it came all the way to the floor. Now, I’m buying dresses and actually wearing them! For the first time in 9 yrs., I’m drawing again and getting into debates on art with friends. I have my voice back and that’s probably the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Now when I hear “nothing is impossible” I actually believe it. I’m finally a happy cactus.
A big thanks to Ari, for being so honest and contributing a great post. If you’ve read my story, you know how crazy it is that we were paired—it’s so reassuring to find others who’ve shared similar experiences. Don’t forget, I’m over here today!
I picked up this ring from the Vintage Typewriter booth at Renegade yesterday. Since I’m obsessed with all things writerly, and happen to own a super-cute vintage typewriter, I couldn’t help but pick this up. Plus, I love the “A”—it does double duty for me, thanks to it being the first letter of my name, and of Andrew’s. It’s adorable, if I do say so myself.
Also, I submitted an article to Work It, Mom and it was published today! Check out my thoughts on how to get along with your child’s teacher. Or, just check out the byline—it was a sick thrill!
Finally, I boiled an egg for breakfast today (boring, I know, no one cares what I had for breakfast!) but this has lead to me spending a ridiculous time researching egg cups online, and coveting them. Here’s my favorite:
Sigh. I need it. How cute is the robin’s egg blue? I can see myself, enjoying a perfectly soft-boiled egg, with a big cup of coffee and the sun streaming in. Clearly, this will be in a future life, when I am just a writer, not a teacher who usually leaves the house with a piece of peanut butter toast shoved in my mouth.
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